The Terran Mandate

by Michael J Lawrence

  A whisper of awareness touched his consciousness, like a butterfly landing on an a petal. It held still just long enough for him to feel a shimmer of comfort ripple through his mind, then fluttered away. He was rolling the cup between his hands when he felt her hand on his shoulder.

  Shahn'Dra knelt down next to him and looked at the cup. "He is safe," she said. He turned away from the memory of Jommy's voice wailing over the radio. "He is scared," she continued. "But he is safe and very far away from them."

  He took her hand and lay the cup in her palm. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing," he said. She scraped the rim of the cup with her claw, curling away the uneven bumps and ridges and scratched around the indentations left by his thumb, smoothing them over.

  "I, too, am learning new ways," she said.

  STI

  When they were far enough away that nobody could hear them, Dekker fished the STI grip from a bag hung on his belt and held it in his palm. Both Lt. Simmons and Sergeant Preston stared at the device. Preston seemed to stop breathing and reached out to touch it, as if it were made from a web of glass threads, ready to disintegrate and blow away in the wind.

  "Is that what I think it is?" he asked. Dekker nodded, easing the device towards him. Sergeant Preston let the words roll off his tongue as if he were describing the first bone of a new species dug up from the ground. "Forward Observer's Strategic Target Interdiction Fire Control Assembly." He froze when he turned the grip over and saw the display. Catching Dekker's eye, he said, "This is a live track."

  Dekker nodded. "Uh huh."

  Preston squinted. Where did you get this?"

  "General Lane."

  Preston tapped the screen. The tracking line shimmered and a faint red X flashed on the screen. "You know, we could bring this whole thing to a screeching halt with this."

  "If we had the codes," Dekker said.

  Preston turned the grip over in his hand. "We don't just need the codes" he said. "We also need a com link to the bird"

  Dekker closed his eyes and felt his shoulders starting to slump. "Can you rig something on the HQ track?"

  Preston smiled. "It's - complicated sir." He shook his head. "Bottom line is this is just a trigger. There's a lot of infrastructure we just don't have."

  "Lay it out for me Sergeant."

  Preston cocked his head. "Alright. First, we need two codes. One for the grip to the linkup, the other one for the bird. Then we need an SGL system and a big enough dish antenna to go with it -"

  Dekker put his hand up. "I'm an infantry officer, Sergeant."

  "Sorry, sir. Basically we need a radio that can talk to the satellite so we can conduct TT&C - I mean, so we can control it."

  "And we don't have any of that?"

  "Not even close sir. We need the ground station."

  "And that's at MEF," Dekker said. A chill ran through him. "Can the Guard get into this thing now that they've compromised MEF?"

  "If they got their hands on the codes."

  Simmons caught Dekker's eye. "Do you have something to add, Lieutenant?"

  "Well, first off, S-2 would have purged the codes if they really were overrun. The codes are kept in the S-2 bunker. It has a full magnetic purge that wipes everything. If they got in, I'm sure he pulled it."

  "Well then this thing is dead in the water," Preston said. "Without the uplink codes, we can't do anything with it."

  Simmons clasped her hands behind her back and scraped the ground with the toe of her boot.

  "What is it, Lieutenant?" Dekker asked.

  "Neither of you is supposed to hear what I'm about to say, but under the circumstances -"

  "Just spit it out."

  Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't a trivial matter, Colonel. I'm about to break orders." She took a step closer. "Very important orders." She stepped back and folded her arms. "And you're not going to like it. I need your guarantee of amnesty, right here, right now."

  "Again?" A whirlwind kicked up and danced past them, splashing against the tower as he stared at Lt. Simmons.

  "This is different. This is orders. I need your personal guarantee," she said.

  "Whose side are you on, Lieutenant?"

  Simmons let her hands drop and the tension in her face drained away. "I'm on your side," she said. "I'm totally, completely on your side."

  "Then you need to trust me."

  Simmons looked away, blinking. "I guess so," she said. "The STI has a one-time override passcode that resets the SGLS transponder to accept a new primary key for encrypted coms."

  "In case the MEF ever lost control of the keys," Preston said, his eyes lighting up.

  "That's right," Simmons continued. "Or if they're compromised. But we can only do it once. After that, it's locked to whatever new key we generate for it and that's it."

  "Well, alright," Preston said. "That's all well and good if we have the override."

  "The SGL uses the P series bands," Simmons said," but we can rekey with Ka, Ku or even S band. Whatever frequency band we use for the rekey, it will let us continue to use that band for TT&C"

  Dekker cleared his throat.

  "Um," Preston said. "Right. Well, all she means is that we have a choice of fequency bands to use. That's good because it gives us more options depending on what equipment we have available. TT&C is like command and control - the stuff that tells the satellite what to do, including the firing sequence."

  He turned to look at Simmons. "We still need the one-time passcode though. Without it, we're just talking here."

  Simmons glanced at Dekker and let out a sigh, as if she was pushing away a lifetime of secrets. She reached down to her boot and unzipped a pocket stitched into its side. She pulled out a composite armor plate and then a thin plastic circuit card that had been nestled in behind it since they had left MEF headquarters. She held the card out to Dekker.

  He stared at the card, then at her. "Why do you have this?" he asked. Her eyes remained fixed on his as she held the card. He needed the card more than he needed to know why she had it. She probably knew that, too, but he waited anyway. She said she was on his side, but there was more, and he needed to hear her say the words.

  She took his hand and placed the card in his palm. "My mission", she said, "was to make sure you didn't use the STI against the Paladin."

  Edge of Survival

  Jommy dug his feet into the ground, pushing his back against the cord tree as hard as he could. His back ached from the bark biting into his skin, but he would have pushed himself into the tree and wrapped it around himself if he could have. He had lost the radio during the night and had no idea where he was. He pulled a ragged bit of root plant from his pocket. His hand trembled as he squeezed a few drops of its juice onto his swollen tongue. He worked his mouth, trying to reinvigorate it with moisture, but the inside of his cheek just scraped against his gums. A knot of aching hunger sat in his stomach like a rock.

  The sound warbled again in the distance. Without thinking, he tried to push himself away from the sound and into the tree, digging up a fresh pile of dirt with his boot. The sound ebbed up and then fell back to a whisper before surging again, growing closer as it moved down the slope behind him. He knew it came from an electric motor, but he didn't know if he should be scared or hide or run or just sit there.

  When he heard the snap of dried twigs and crunch of rocks being pressed into the ground, everything fluttered away and left a question to fend for itself: What was that? The whir of the motor was a steady gyrating whine now and he could hear the thump of tires rolling over rocks. Something metallic clattered as the driver shifted gears. It almost sounded like one of the tractors that had worked the bigger plots on Dirt Hill when he was younger, but it was different. His heart started to ache as something inside reminded him to be scared. Too tired to endure the sensation, he tried to dispel it by huffing out a breath through his cracked lips.

  The engine surged as the vehicle crested the hill behind him and started rolling towards his patch of cord tr
ees. He pulled his knees into his chest, closed his eyes and started rocking to dispel his aching fear. He was so weak he didn't even know if he would be able to stand up. He was so thirsty his throat felt like it was made of dirt. Yet, the surging ache in his chest didn't seem to know these things or care as it consumed the last of his will.

  The vehicle rolled out from the bottom of the hill. Something squealed as the sound veered to the side and started to traverse the space along the edge of the cord trees behind him. As the sound swam away from him, he eased his head around to peek out from behind his tree. Through the thicket of cord trees, he caught a glimpse of green resin smeared with grooves, as if a wire brush had dug into its surface. The block letters were faded and broken, but he could see the letter M, a patch of smeared black and then the rest of the stencil: 1-B.

  A faint image tickled the back of his mind. The tank that had torn away his home glistened in the moonlight. Bullets rang against the side of the troop carriers that climbed Dirt Hill. The Terran Guard made their vehicles from metal and steel. The vehicles the Marines had were more like toys.

  Jommy strained to stand up, grimacing as fire shot through his legs. He grunted and tried to form a fist to pound his leg, but couldn't curl his fingers in tight enough. "Not now," he said. He pressed the palm of his hand against the tree as hard as he could and let the bark gouge into his palm as he forced himself to his feet. He couldn't pick his foot up, so he scooted his boot forward. Still leaning against the tree, he scooted his other foot forward and then let go. Unable to balance his weight on his own feet, he fell face first into the dirt.

  The sound from the vehicle's engine was starting to fade. He thought of trying to stand up again, but without the tree to help, he knew he didn't have the strength. He reached forward with his good hand and kicked his leg, scooting himself forward. He winced when he tried to use his other hand, blood oozing from its palm, so he used his elbow instead, keeping his hand off the ground. He kicked again and slid forward some more. Eyeing the vehicle as it started to fade behind the cloud of dust kicked up from its tires, he kept kicking and crawling until he was clear of the trees.

  Rolling over on his back, he stared at the vehicle and held up his hand. He tried to yell, but only felt a grating pain, as if a sheet of sandpaper was stuck in the back of his throat. He wanted to cry, but there were no more tears. All he could do was breathe and bleed and hold his hand in the air until somebody saw him or he fell unconscious.

  The sound changed. The whir of the motor wound down to a purr. Something squealed. The dust clouds boiled away as the troop carrier stopped. A clatter clicked through the air and the whir started up again as the vehicle backed towards him.

  Jommy felt his chest heave with laughter, but the sound bunched up at the back of his throat and his abdomen ached as it strained to draw more air into his lungs. Nothing came out, not even a croak. His arm creaked back and forth like a rusted pendulum as he waved.

  The vehicle stopped and the rear hatch swung open. A Marine hopped out and turned around to drag something out of the carrier. Another hopped out and picked up the other end of the litter board; then they ran towards him. When he heard the thump of their boots, he let his hand down and felt a river of air ease from his chest. He felt the inside of his lips stuck to his teeth when he tried to smile as he became intoxicated by the giddiness welling up inside him and wrapping around him like a blanket.

  The Marines dropped the litter and crouched down next to him. One of them grabbed his feet while the other hooked his hands under Jommy's shoulders. The one holding his shoulders puffed out a short count: "One, two, three." They hoisted him onto the litter board, picked it back up and ran back to the carrier.

  He felt the world fall away as he allowed the feeling of being cradled consume him. As they trotted along, he felt the anxiety evaporate and surrendered entirely to the comfort of being taken care of by gownups who stood between him and everything the outside world had done to him - or ever would. For that moment, there was nothing that could find him in the bastion of his litter board guarded by his Marines.

  When they reached the carrier, his Marines lay the litter board down head first and shoved him backwards along the floor until he was all the way inside. They climbed into the vehicle and swung the hatch closed. Red light infused the air as the whir of the carrier's motor spooled back up and Jommy felt the terrain beneath them thumping through the frame and into his back.

  Somebody put a hand behind his head and pulled it up as the lip of a plastic water bottle appeared in front of his face. Water trickled out of the bottle and between his lips. When it reached the back of his throat, he clutched at the bottle like an animal. He wanted to feel it wash over his face. He wanted to feel it fill his mouth and peel away his cheeks from his gums. He wanted to breathe it in and drown on the stuff and cough it back out, choking on it.

  "Easy, tiger," a man's voice said. Something tugged at the bottle, keeping it out of his control. He felt like growling, but could only manage a croak. "Not so much at first," the voice said. Barely a splash had found its way to the back of his throat when the bottle disappeared.

  His eyes were starting to adjust to the light and he could see the forms of the others riding with him. Many of them had the bearing and bulk that told him they were Marines, but some weren't dressed right or their hair was too long. One of them wore a sling. Scanning the compartment, he realized one of them was a woman from Dirt Hill. His heart quickened as the thought of his father sitting there with him scampered through his mind.

  He scanned the faces. There was the woman, two sturdy boys on the verge of manhood, and the old man wearing the sling slumped over and staring at the floor. Jommy looked to the spot he was staring at and saw a spatter of blood forming the outline of a body. "Was there somebody else?" he asked, pointing at the steel plating inside the outline of blood. He felt a sting in his arm and a hand on his forehead. "You need to rest, Tiger," somebody said.

  The world grew soft around him and the light faded so that he couldn't see it anymore; he could only feel it shimmering around him. He heard his own heartbeat and his arm burned as the IV fed his blood with something that he wanted to ask about. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, something soft rolled over his entire being and he fell asleep.

  Command Decision

  Dekker picked up another rock and threw it as far as he could, watching it tumble through the air, pushing its way through the sky with all the vigor he had been able to put behind it. It hit the ground and kicked up a satisfying clump of dirt before coming to rest. General Lane's voice echoed in his head as he told Dekker to hunt down the most effective weapon the MEF had to defend against the Terran Guard - to prevent what he could only assume was the real reason why he could no longer contact the General. Lt. Simmons's voice came next, telling him she had come along for the sole reason of making sure he didn't carry out that order. He put his hands on his knees, shook his head and scoffed. Between the two of them, they had managed to run him in circles and put him in the middle of nowhere, helpless to do anything but take it. They were chasing their tail while the enemy moved forward, the only ones who seemed to actually know what the hell they were doing.

  His headset chimed. "Enforcer Six, Enforcer Six. This is Bravo Company, First Battalion, over." Dekker froze, uncertain he had actually heard the transmission. The voice crackled again. "Enforcer six, Enforcer Six -"

  Before the voice on the other end had a chance to finish, Dekker slapped his headset hard enough to make his ears ring. "This is Enforcer Six Actual, go ahead." His eyes flitted across the ground as he let a slow breath whistle between his lips.

  "Enforcer Six, Bravo Three. Uh, sir, we're outbound from a one click offset south of MEF on bearing two eight five and sure would appreciate a fix to rendezvous."

  Dekker squinted and pressed his thumbs along his brow. He should have fetched the darling of intelligence and had her vet the call. He should have sent her on a combat patrol to verify exactly who it w
as once they had a fix. But they didn't have time for any of that.

  "Bravo Three, Enforcer Six, authenticate bearcat." The line clicked off. Dekker curled his lip and shook his head. His stomach knotted when he thought of having to ask Simmons to recce whoever was claiming to be coming in from MEF, but it seemed like he wasn't going to have much choice.

  His headset crackled. His eyes flew open at the sound of the wheezing voice straining to talk to him. "Enforcer Six, this is Farmboy, over."

  "What's your name?" Dekker asked.

  The voice wheezed back at him, the words weakening. "Sir, this is Jommy Ford." The voice faded out with the last words he was able to manage. "They took Mama's cups."

  Dekker shuddered and dropped to one knee. He drew in a deep breath and pawed the ground until he found another rock. He heaved it with a grunt, exhaling as if to blow the rock through the air. He sucked in another breath and said to himself, "Alright then."

  The original caller came back on the line. "Enforcer Six, Bravo three, will that work for now sir?"

  Dekker felt power ebbing through him, pushing out the web of confusion that had settled into his mind since he had left Lane's office. Something made sense. At the same time, something told him not to rush into it.

  "Bravo three, that'll do for now. Work up a sampled sequence on the hour with back card Zulu One for this date and call me back."

  "Sir, we're in a gocart here. We're running in a logistics rig. We barely have a radio and our batteries are in pretty bad shape."

  Dekker gritted his teeth. "What's your name, Marine?"

  "Sir, this is Corporal Ortiz, second squad, third platoon Bravo."

  "Alright, Corporal. Maintain your current heading. We'll be the bivouac station on your left. Can't miss it."