Murphy's Lawless: A Terran Republic Novel

by Charles E. Gannon

  Murphy nodded and sighed. “Yeah, it is, Pistol…and if we have another ten triumphs like that one, half of us will be dead or cripples.”

  “Sir?” Makarov sounded surprised and a bit miffed.

  “Captain, it’s a great victory and the one we needed, no doubt. But it’s also a wakeup call. There’s going to be a lot of fighting to be done on R’Bak, and if we do the bear’s share every time, we’ll be putting ourselves out of action. No, we’ve got to transform our table of organization. Make sure it’s filled out by indigs, with our own personnel reserved for command positions or as ‘embedded technical advisors.’”

  Makarov had no reply; frowning, and apparently confronting the unpleasant and deflating context that Murphy had brought to what had seemed a cheer-worthy outcome, he wandered out of the CP.

  Sorry to be a downer, Makarov, Murphy thought after him. Bo did a hell of a job, but we’re still in deep shit and can’t afford to have victory celebrations just because our second battle wasn’t anywhere near as costly as it had every right to be. He kept reading the observations that Moorefield had deemed worthy of mention.

  It turned out that the casualty count was even less representative than it appeared. It had been significantly impacted by two variables which might have cancelled each other out. On the one hand, even some of the most severely injured WIA were expected to be fit for duty in no more than two weeks. Judging from their wounds, several should have been out-and-out KIAs. But the Sarmatchani healers—almost exclusively women—were surprisingly near at hand when the battle came to an end and were ready with roots and other exotic plantforms that healed most wounds so quickly that Murphy found it hard to believe the reports.

  But Tapper and Moorefield were two of the steadiest Lost Soldiers Murphy had, officer or otherwise, and their accounts of the efficacy of these ‘native remedies’ included specific details of both the compounds used and hourly observations on the progress of the wound reversal. Bottom line: if the Sarmatchani healers hadn’t been there and ready to offer their help, the list of fatalities and permanently disabled WIAs would have been at least twice as long as it was.

  On the other hand, the actual Kulsian raiders, whom, it was said, the satraps and their Kulsian overlords dubbed “coursers,” not only had impressive personal weapons, but some extremely effective ammunition. So effective that two of the KIAs could not have been saved by any herb in the universe; they’d been hit in the torso by dum dums. According to the wounded abandoned by the fleeing J’Stull, the ammunition had been reclaimed from the same cache as the vehicles that they’d used to chase Tapper’s column.

  Other dum dums were found scattered among those J’Stull troopers furnished with refurbished Kulsian weapons, but those had been reloads or, as Bo had labeled them, “local remanufactures.” So much of the satrap materiel fell into that category that Bo had created a new term to shorthand it: “reman.” In the long list of battlefield spoils, that word figured very prominently and provided further insight into why the satrap troops inspired such fear.

  Over the centuries, they’d had the opportunity to clean up various battlefields as well as come across the remains of Harvesters who had either been ambushed or fatally stranded due to weather, vehicle failures, or other misfortunes common to the wastes. The salvage the satraps had acquired was not restricted to weapons, but included advanced optics, simple electronics, and other useful equipment, all of which was hoarded, lovingly restored, and given to their best troops. It conferred a significant edge on the battlefield.

  A timer toned. Murphy had to start moving or he’d be late for his meeting with the new replication liaison down at the staging bay. He put his slate to sleep, reached over to turn off the formidable computing and communications array that reminded him of a desktop PC and mission control all rolled into one…

  And blinked when the screen went dark before he even touched it. The saving and buffering wait screen came on, then went dark, and was replaced by an inquiry he had never seen before, in an unfamiliar typeface:

  “If alone in a secure environment, enter assigned access code. N & N.”

  Murphy fell more than leaned back in his chair. The N & N access code? The identifier he’d been given by Nuncle and Nephew, and then never used? Exhaling slowly, he remote-activated the door lock, turned on the home-built white noise generator Makarov had cobbled together—apparently, you learned all sorts of strange lessons in Soviet Russia—and entered the code.

  The screen illuminated. Nephew’s face was suddenly smiling out at him. Murphy leaned back as the Terran started to speak.

  “Hope this is a surprise, Major Murphy. If it’s not, then Alnduul over-sold the security of his software monitoring AI. And no, I’m not going to say anything more about that because, frankly, I don’t have the information myself.

  “At any rate, the system is sure it’s you, and not just because of the code you entered. More about that later.

  “First order of business: there is new data at your disposal. Only two things are required for you to access it: that you enter this code and that you are at this computer. And when I say ‘at this computer,’ I mean exactly where you are sitting right now, plus or minus half a meter.

  “The new data are schematics, about ten times the number we left with you. Part of the reason these are being freed up for your use is because you have already been sparing with the ones you have. Had they all been shared out, all at once, this system’s AI would have been highly suspicious of the activity. Either it would mean you were being careless or being pressured into providing access to schematics you hadn’t shared yet, or someone had in fact hacked this supposedly unhackable system.

  “Since that did not occur, and since you are personally sitting in front of this computer, I am told that by monitoring all traffic that comes into or is sent from your linked systems, the AI has deemed it is both a safe and useful time to release this information to you.

  “If you’re getting angry right about now, all I can say is that I’d feel the same way. But this was the only secure method we had of continuing to support at a distance: by giving you access to information that would not only prove useful for your operations, but good leverage in dealing with your hosts.

  “These schematics are far more varied than the ones we left, which were mostly from American defense industries during your Vietnam era. These range across not only more time periods and nations, but other species. I think you will be interested in both human and Ktor designs for transatmospheric vertibirds. Nothing revolutionary, just smarter and more efficient designs. The one constant that cuts across all these schematics is that they do not require or contain any scientific or engineering insights that the SpinDogs do not already possess.”

  Murphy swallowed. Problem is, how do I get the SpinDogs to build them? They’re already bitching about exceeding their capacity. But, damn it, with the increased rate at which the raiders and satraps are completing that transmitter.…

  Nephew hadn’t stopped. “We anticipate that sharing these schematics could entail increased risk; your hosts are pretty greedy and ruthless. Again, we’ve taken that into account and placed your final recourse protections right inside the most valuable asset under your control: the Dornaani satellite network.

  “You already know that neither the system nor the individual birds can be hacked. What you don’t know is that there are a few other features which can be used to protect you from exploitation if hostile push comes to deadly shove.

  “Before waking you and your cadre fully, you all had nanite-scale biosamplers implanted. They not only routinely signal that you’re alive, but function as a distributed network. Think of it as the biological equivalent of a dead-man switch. If any of your biosamplers stop sending the ‘everything’s okay’ signal, the satellites turn off unless they get a countermand from you. Same if you, or any of the others, are registering extreme emotional or physical duress when you attempt to access the satellites; again, no go.

  “On
e last thing we didn’t advertise: the satellites are also transmitters. Each of them is capable of a battery-depleting comm burst to Kulsis. If anyone tries to take control of the satellites, either with you or without you, and no matter the method, the Overlords will find out—and find the SpinDogs. So, if anyone on the Red Team decides to pull the trigger on hacking the system, there is no calling back the bullet.”

  “You might be wondering: why is the transmission calibrated to deplete a satellite’s battery? Because there’s no way for an enemy to reactivate a dead bird. And even if they manage to get their hands on one and, by some miracle, do an end-run around the anti-tamper system, they’ll need to provide a correct biosample and the scan of a functional retina to reinitiate the network.”

  Nephew looked thoughtful before finishing. “This is all grim stuff. A real joy to hear, I’m sure. And I wouldn’t want anyone screwing around with my freedom of choice and action the way this system’s AI is set to do. But in the end, these decisions were taken to ensure that you always had another rabbit to pull out of your hat—and one that only you could grab by the ears. If we’ve done our jobs correctly, this should keep any would-be backstabbers at bay. Take care, Major. We will be back as soon as we can. My word on that. Even if I have to return alone.”

  The screen blanked and resumed the program Murphy had been about to exit.

  * * *

  He reached the loading bay only a minute ahead of schedule. Max was following further behind than he liked to and doing so under protest. But this was the first meeting with the liaison from Primus Kormak whose replication plants had now begun cranking out Hueys at a prodigious rate, the first post-trial example of which was soon to be loaded for transfer to R’Bak.

  Murphy had originally tried to line up a meeting with the primus himself: Dolkar Kormak, first among the Hardliner Family heads. But his requests had been ignored and a liaison had been assigned instead: none other than the suspicious bastard from the ops center stand-off, Bramath.

  Murphy wasn’t sure which he liked less: having to make nice with a guy who’d held a gun on him for no sensible reason, or the brush-off from the Primus. Because by sending a second-tier Scion in his place, Kormak had actually sent a definitive response to Murphy’s request for a face-to-face meeting. And it was: You are in no way my equal, so I will not meet you. I will not even send my son to meet you. I will send you my second nephew. And you should be glad for that.

  So much social dancing when a simple “fuck you” would have sufficed. Murphy would have liked to beat the tar out of something or someone, but instead took a deep breath, released a long sigh, and entered the bay.

  Bramath was waiting at the side of the Huey while cargo-hands checked the straps that kept its rotors tied-off for loading: it was going to be a tight fit in the shuttle’s hold. The Second Scion saw Murphy, nodded.

  Who nodded back and began walking very, very slowly toward the liaison.

  Who eventually became so impatient that he, too, began walking to close the distance, and ultimately met Murphy halfway.

  Which had been the whole point of the exercise.

  “Are you injured?” Bramath asked with a smile that was all shark.

  “No. Are you?”

  Bramath frowned. “Of course not. I feared you might have suffered some mishap.”

  “I thought the same of you when you did not move at all.” You prick. But it was time to play nice, so…”You and the Primus must be very proud of the helicopter. I’ve seen the trial results. Extraordinary by any standard, particularly for a first production model built from schematics you’d never seen before a month ago.”

  “It was a modest challenge,” Bramath allowed with patently false humility.

  “Even more astounding, then,” admitted Murphy. “And singularly encouraging given the recent events on R’Bak.”

  “To which events are you referring?” Bramath asked carefully.

  “Our seizure of the J’Stull convoy, and a great deal of equipment left on the battlefield by the following force they routed. The powerplants of the vehicles and the capabilities of the weapons are very impressive. I suspect the greatest difficulty will be to select which ones should be slated for replication. I was hoping we might schedule a meeting to discuss that.” Murphy stopped as Bramath’s incipient consternation became an extremely deep frown.

  “Do you mean to embarrass us?” the Second Nephew asked in a low voice.

  Murphy did not have to feign perplexity. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you not realize this touches on our limits? That in broaching such a subject, you may ask more than we could manage?”

  “You consider that an affront?”

  “I do. More importantly, we do. If you were of the Spins, you would know this. You would also know that such an offense might warrant a challenge.” Bramath allowed his frown to fade slightly. “However, I am a patient man.”

  Yeah, right. “Bramath, I meant no offense, and apologize for any I might have given. But how can we productively discuss future replication projects, if you do not share your production capacity?”

  At that moment, Bramath Kormak’s frown became more thoughtful as he grappled with that conundrum. Then, as if realizing that his frown wasn’t quite dour enough, he pulled his brows down again.

  Murphy managed to keep the surprise off his face. Bramath wasn’t trying to come to terms with his “allies’” alien value system; he was…acting. In that brief moment, the veil of his “injured honor” had slipped and revealed that it was mostly, if not entirely, a charade. But performed to what end? To see how Murphy would react…?

  No: to surprise me—and so, make it easier to throw me off the topic you wanted to avoid: the Kormak Family’s replication capacity. So, the strategy had been to distract the alien newcomer by feigning a possible diplomatic insult, thereby derailing any strategically sensitive discussions. And since Bramath is supposedly pissed because my inquiry would have “embarrassed” his Family by revealing its limits…

  It meant he was trying to conceal the opposite. Which was consistent with the speed and quality of the production they had been achieving. Hell, these guys aren’t at the edge of their capacity; they’re not even close…

  “Major Murphy?”

  “Er, yes? My apologies, Bramath. I repeat: I meant no offense. I retract my query. In the interest of friendship between our peoples, I hope you will agree to overlook my misstep.”

  Bramath made a gesture of dismissal, offered an easy, agreeable smile…but Murphy spotted the careful, assessing glint in his eye. Watching to make sure he hasn’t overplayed his part…So, my best move is— “Let us proceed in a different fashion, then. I shall relay copies of the most tactically useful new equipment to you, for study. So, when you find it convenient to do so, perhaps you will approach me regarding which would be the best candidates for eventual replication, and when.”

  “That is agreeable,” Bramath consented.

  Murphy nodded eagerly “And I intuit that will also be the most appropriate and polite moment to share our own more complex schematics with you,” Murphy added.

  Bramath squinted. “You have…more schematics? Ones you have not shared?”

  “Of course. I thought that was intimated by our commanders before they left. Perhaps not, or perhaps that detail was not widely shared.” It wasn’t a lie, exactly; more like a wild exaggeration “I suspect that is why our respective leaders settled on the UH-1 helicopter as a trial platform: it was, as you say, only a modestly complex replication challenge. I don’t mean to diminish its tactical and even strategic importance, of course, but compared to the other schematics we may share—vehicles, aerospace craft, weapons, power plants—it is but a humble beginning.”

  In fact, the Huey’s status as a dirtside gamechanger was largely due to its comparative simplicity. It was also comparatively easy to store, which meant the SpinDogs now had the option to create their own planetary caches with smaller, less expensive vehicles that we
re optimized for atmospheric operations.

  Murphy concluded with a wide, innocent smile. “I suspect you will find many items in our inventory that will be of intense interest to you, when that time comes.”

  “Doubtless,” Bramath muttered as Murphy nodded, gave a short bow that was in keeping with SpinDog customs, withdrew…and had the distinct impression that the other man was now no longer entirely sure of just who had played whom.

  As Murphy headed back toward his point of entry, Max peeled off his post just beyond the blind corner of the bulkhead. As he swung in behind Murphy, Messina muttered, “So that guy’s a well-greased dick, isn’t he?”

  “Sure is.”

  “Where now, boss? The fabrication bay for an update on how Lieutenant Bowden’s, uh, ‘project’ is coming along?”

  “The captain doesn’t need me looking over his shoulder.” Or seeing the face that might have to give him orders he’d rather die than receive, if push comes to shove. “I’ll just send him today’s update from the CP.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirty

  Spin One

  The command update flashed across Bowden’s slate just as he was about to enter the fabrication bay where the modifications to the three interface craft were under way:

  First ground operation completed. Sufficient enemy weapons and vehicles commandeered for phase two. Ground attack remains primary/preferred tactical option for mission completion.

  However, regional and orbital recon suggests enemy is outpacing initial completion estimates. Continuation of that trend could promote air attack contingency to primary option for mission success.

  Murphy.

  Bowden stared at the data slate. Well, shit. Of course this whole mess is going to land in my lap. After all, everything was going to follow Murphy’s Law, right?