By Dawn's Early Light

by Jason Fuesting

  Turing’s lips quirked a moment and before Eric could interrupt he asked, “Doctor Lainz, we’ve danced around this quite enough. What would you propose we do with the rich then? And what of the truly damaged people our gene clinics cannot help? What about places where prenatal resequencing isn’t widely available?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Doctor Lainz said. The grin on his face said Turing had walked into a trap. “First, we must stop pretending that the rich aren’t stealing from the poor. We stop giving them legal protection to keep their plunder and we tax it back out of their claws if they won’t stop their greed. If they resist, that’s what the SSB and the Provost is for. Treat them like they’ve treated us. Put them against a wall and shoot them or, I suppose, exile them.”

  Half the crowd, all recent newcomers, smiled or nodded furiously, but Eric saw looks of concern on the faces of the people who’d been on Solitude longer. Then it struck him. Those dubious to Lainz’s words, most weren’t just old hands here on Solitude. They were the engineers, the scientists, the lawyers, the scholars.

  Is it their education or the fact that they’d probably be considered rich by Lainz? Or maybe because they’re older than the others? Does a decade really change people that much?

  “As for the genetic accidents? We’re already resequencing the truly worthless. Those that resequencing didn’t help? They’re already given opportunities to be something useful already. We’ll never stop needing test subjects. No need to change that.”

  Eric gazed at Doctor Lainz in horror. Similar looks spread through the crowd, but Lainz didn’t seem to notice.

  “And what of the people who would come to the rich’s defense when you start, and I quote, putting them up against the wall?” Turing asked wryly.

  “Their toadies can join them, same with anyone who can’t understand what needs to be done. Any reasonably intelligent person can easily see this is the only way, but I guess some people just can’t be reeducated. Their continued existence only harms society, so we’d have to address that.”

  “Wow,” Eric managed.

  Doctor Lainz shook his head and said, “That’s why your idea of freedom can’t work, Eric. Your so-called free society would fester on the vine because you can’t cull the herd. Instead of being run by the properly enlightened, your society would be pegged to the lowest common denominator. Beset on all sides by cretins and greed with no way to combat either. It would be only a matter of time before the brightest amongst you would only be able to do little more than scrawl on the walls in their own feces.”

  Turing turned to the crowd and said, “And there you have it. All must serve the State. All are equally disposable to the State. Only the properly enlightened will have any say, the rest will be eliminated. Any questions?”

  The crowd chose instead to begin dispersing in stunned silence. Doctor Lainz seemed unfazed by the revulsion in people’s faces.

  “Turn your noses up then,” he spat.

  “Doctor Lainz,” Turing said quietly. “Count your blessings I am not the sort of person who subscribes to the Protectorate way of thinking. Or your own. You won’t be shot for what you said, but I do expect that you will stop poisoning my guests with your nonsense. We can coexist or not. Your choice.”

  Doctor Lainz’s expression soured even further and he stalked off muttering under his breath.

  “You know, based on how he reacted to finding out his idea of history was manufactured, I’d hoped he’d come around,” Eric commented.

  Turing turned to Eric with a sigh. “When a man erects his idea of himself around a false foundation and spends decades building atop it, Eric, asking them to let go of the lie seldom works, even with proof on your side. They’re too invested. Still, I think we’ve deviated quite a bit from the original discussion. Would you mind picking our discussion back up next week in my study? Say around noon on Friday?”

  Eric nodded and then looked down at his plate. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

  As they left a few minutes later, Leah commented, “I’m not going to say you were right, but, well, Lainz certainly wasn’t. Good God, what that man said.” Leah shivered. “Look, as a lawyer I saw no end to the special exceptions written into everything. That’s why I went contract law and not criminal. I guess I knew things were twisted. I just wouldn’t admit it to myself. I-I had no idea they used people as test subjects. How horrible.” Leah shrugged after several moments of silence and commented, “What you said fits with what you’ve had me read. Was there ever a place like that? I mean, where they actually implemented your alternative?”

  “Yeah, actually there was. Until the Protectorate bombed most of the United States flat, anyway. Almost everything I’ve shown you led up to the creation of the United States.”

  Leah sighed. “Do you think you could put together a reading list for me? I’m tired of not having the bigger picture and not knowing what you’re talking about.”

  Eric squeezed her hand. “Sure.”

  Day 930

  “Eric,” Turing said with a broad smile, “You have surpassed even my expectations. You have satisfied any and all tests put before you by every expert in the fields you have tested on. You have mastered every topic put before you as best can be expected given our circumstances and limited resources. While this will not be honored beyond our circle, I confer to you this token of recognition with the concurrence of your peers. Know that in our eyes, this is equivalent to a degree in Mathematics, Physics, and History, in addition to the Political and Military Sciences. I only regret that I cannot give you recognition that would be more widely recognized. May you find your thirst for knowledge never slaked, for the journey to true knowledge seeks an ideal not a destination. Do you have anything to say to your peers?”

  “You guys are assholes,” Eric said. “If I’d known I was going to show up for a six hour grilling session by everyone, I’d either prepared or gone off to live in a cave by myself. I don’t know what else to say other than maybe, ‘Thank you’?”

  “Doctor,” Elizabeth said as she shook his hand.

  “What?” Eric blurted.

  “Oh,” Turing said with a grin, “It’s by joint decision. It wouldn’t pass a University review board. Hell, it wouldn’t pass any collegiate review, but you did stand a thesis defense even if it was highly irregular and wholly unrelated to what we’re conferring the title for. Commander Grace, Travis, Trevor, and Terry all agreed that your competence on mathematical matters was sufficient for the title, even if we didn’t force you to write a needlessly long dissertation or publish some new pointless theorem for our posterity to forget and rediscover a century from now on their own.”

  “Translation,” Elizabeth laughed, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  Turing smiled and said, “Precisely. If you’d like to appeal, you can talk to the guy in charge, but I hear he’s a bit of an eccentric asshole.”

  Eric snorted.

  “Eat, drink, have fun,” Turing told him. “As for me, I’m going to get another drink.”

  “So what’s it like to be a bigshot doctor now?” Leah asked him.

  “Same as all the other positions I hold. More responsibility, no additional pay. No pay, actually. I really should talk to Turing about that. I’m pretty sure I get a stipend or something now, right?”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

  “That only comes with tenure,” Turing joked.

  Sometime later Eric spotted Turing alone where the bottles had been set up.

  “Nice party?” Turing asked.

  “Been fun, sure,” Eric said as he checked to see if anyone was close enough to overhear. “So, how’s your insomnia?”

  “It got better.”

  “So still not in?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Turing said. He sounded almost insulted.

  “Well?”

  “Like I said, it’s mostly boring details. Navigational data, surveillance data. On the plus side, we now know that our wardens have become incredibly
lax. They’re not actively scanning for laser at all, only monitoring RF and visual. Granted, knowing what the low end of what they consider an RF threat is useful, but overall this is a pile of nothing so far.”

  “Nothing?” Eric sighed.

  Turing nodded. “Trust me, if anything comes out of what little I have left to go through, you’ll be the first one down here to know.”

  “So no ulterior motives for the party, eh?”

  “Nope. I needed the distraction to decompress. Happy?”

  “For you? Sure. For the rest of us, not so much.”

  “It’d be poor form to rub it in, but that disappointment is precisely what I was trying to avoid in everyone else. Have we had any further problems with Doctor Lainz since our little show?”

  Eric answered, “None that I can tell. He’s been pretty quiet from what Byron’s said.”

  Turing allowed himself a brief smile. “Good. At least that’s settled.”

  Day 1023

  Leah rolled off him and curled against his side to nuzzle his chest. The two lay for some time getting their breath back.

  “You know, Doc was telling me the prophylactic injections they give prisoners should be wearing off any time now,” Eric said.

  Leah looked up at him and said, “So?”

  “Well, we might want to be a bit more careful about things. Just saying.”

  “Why? Eric, I’ve never wanted children before I found you. If we’re not getting off this rock, I’ll raise them here. They’d grow up free, which is better than I can say for anywhere in the Protectorate.”

  “Oh, well, are you sure?” Eric asked.

  Leah giggled. “Am I sure what? Doc said the same thing to me last week. I’m pretty sure what we just did is proof enough that I’m okay with it. Why, are you afraid of being a dad?”

  “Me? A dad? Okay, maybe a little. Our children could be little monsters.”

  “I’m pretty sure they all are,” Leah purred. “It’s up to us to make them civilized, isn’t that what that piece on your tablet said? Still, if all you’re going to do is worry, it’s not like we’re in danger of having kids. Care for another try?”

  Forsaken

  Day 1024

  Distant rumbling dredged Eric from a dead sleep.

  “Goddamnit, if that’s Julien testing Jorge’s new explosives formulas again,” he groused.

  Leah stirred next to him and mumbled, “Go back to sleep, hon.”

  On the nightstand next to him, Eric’s tablet screen lit up. Buzzing, the tablet flashed red as a second rumble sent shivers through the floor. Eric glanced over at the device. Tired disbelief broke under a cascade of sudden cold realization.

  “Honey? Hon, get up!” Eric barked as he rolled out of the bed.

  “What? Why?” Leah groaned.

  “We’re being attacked!” he barked as he raced to get dressed.

  “WHAT?”

  Long strings of distant gunfire interrupted the silence followed by several loud concussions. Only half into his jeans, Eric nearly tripped as he groped for his tablet. Eric furiously tapped the screen and opened the app for their radio monitor.

  “CONTACT! CONTACT WEST GATE!” a terrified young man shouted. “We’re taking heavy fire. Rockets and small arms, over. Heavy casualties.”

  “Copy that, west gate,” the reply came moments later.

  After a short pause the voice continued, “Break, break. All units on this station, Mountain Home is under attack. I repeat, Mountain Home is under attack. Instructions to follow, standby.”

  Eric had finally managed to get dressed and was slipping into his rifle plates when the amount of gunfire to west doubled and was joined by more to the north.

  The radio squawked, “Contact! Contact! North Gate! Foot mobiles incoming north and northwest.”

  “Copy that, North Gate. All mountain home units, wolverine actual,” Byron’s voice burst from the speaker. “Hold your positions, reinforcements are coming. Spiders two, three, and four, guillotine. I say again, spiders two, three, and four, guillotine. Spiders one, five, six, seven, and eight, move to support. All units, acknowledge.”

  “This is it,” Leah gulped as he silenced the tablet. Eric handed Leah her rifle. He fit his earpiece in and pulled on his helmet while she tugged the charging handle on her rifle.

  “Sounds like it,” Eric told her. He put a reassuring hand her shoulder as he handed Leah her helmet. “Stand by me?”

  She nodded earnestly and squeezed his hand before following him out into the hall.

  “All Mountain Home units, Mountain Battery. We are online and waiting targets, over.”

  “Mountain Battery, west gate. At least a hundred foot in the open. Peg whiskey-fifteen-twelve and closing.”

  “West gate, copy. Fire mission incoming, danger close. One round, whiskey papa.” Eric felt the vibration from the concussion through the ceiling in his lungs. “Shot out.”

  Racing through the chaos clogging the foyer, Eric missed several seconds of radio traffic.

  “West gate, copy. Firing for effect.”

  Every other second, the 120mm mortars on the roof barked.

  “How bad is it?” Eric asked a grim-faced Byron as he and Leah made it to Turing’s study.

  “Bad. Lost half of west gate in the opening barrage. Gate’s broken, Gliar’s moving to breach,” Byron said calmly between the rhythmic thump of the mortars. The men know their orders. They’ve already set off a few preset explosives. With luck we won’t need the fougasse.”

  “North gate’s in contact, but holding,” Hadrian said. He winced and spoke into his microphone, “Negative west gate. Hold your position, over.”

  Byron shot Hadrian a look of concern and spoke into his radio, “West gate, Wolverine Actual. Badger’s ETA is two minutes. Hold your position at all costs, over.”

  Byron growled and threw an old Earth stapler across the room. “Badger, Wolverine Actual. West gate has fallen, move to cover. Mountain battery, correct fire to west gate proper. Load frag, airburst. Fire for effect, how copy?”

  “Fallen?” Leah gasped.

  Hadrian shook his head. “They’re breaking and running.”

  “But those are our people! They’re still alive!” she shouted at the commando.

  “Our plans always centered around getting reinforcements to a fallback position before the gate retreated and using the fougasse to turn it into a bloodbath. If they fall back now, we can’t stop Gliar from taking the wall. If they get in the walls we’re done. This is a house, not a fortress. Those men are already dead and if we don’t shell the gate, we will be too.”

  “Where do you need us?” Eric asked.

  Byron opened his mouth to reply when Turing burst through the door.

  “Sorry, misplaced my radio,” the man gasped. “All the cameras on the south side went dark. I thought it was a glitch but I couldn’t find anything wrong on my end.”

  The first to break the stunned silence, Hadrian told Eric, “Take Leah. Julien and his team will meet you in the south hall.”

  As he stalked from the room, Eric overheard the reply to Byron’s request for status, “Mountain home, south gate. Situation normal. No contact.”

  Eric grit his teeth while they waited in the hall and cycled through frequencies.

  “Mountain battery, wolverine actual. Have one of your troops check South Gate. Report, over.”

  “Wolverine, battery, copy,” came the reply. A few moments later the same voice said, “Wolverine, battery, there’s at least a thirty in white passing through the gate.”

  “You heard that?” Julien asked Eric as they stalked down the hall. Eric nodded grimly.

  “Battery, wolverine. Priority tasking as follows. Guns three and four, correct fire to south gate minus fifty. Twenty rounds mixed, how copy?”

  “Guns three and four, twenty rounds HE and frag, south gate minus fifty.”

  “Okay, you guys stick with me,” Julien told Eric and Leah. “Edwards, Chambers, Volk, and Lear, s
econd floor, overwatch and keep anything from getting near the house. Oleg, Veer, guard this door like your life depends on it. Everyone else, we’ll mop up whatever makes it past the mortars.”

  Eric followed Julien onto the porch as the mortars fired overhead. Julien held out a set of binoculars. Eric peered through them. At least fifty men in white camouflage were fanning out from the southern gate, sprinting in their direction. He spotted the crew that had been trusted to man the gate milling about to either side of it. Eric swapped to the command frequency and jerked as the group he’d been observing disappeared in a sudden cloud of snow and debris.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered.

  “Behold artillery, the fist of God, king of the battlefield,” Julien said with pleased grin and stepped off the porch. “Battery, wolverine three. South gate targets suppressed. Keep it up.”

  Round after round dropped ahead of them. Some detonated several meters off the ground, the resulting angry balls black smoke filled the air around them with shards of metal. Others tore divots into what had been a field full of corn before winter’s arrival.

  “Wolverine Actual, Eagle Two,” Eric transmitted hoarsely. A heavy machinegun opened up from the second floor sending tracers streaking overhead through the thin line of trees separating him from the field before him.

  “Copy Eagle Two, go ahead.”

  “South gate did not fall.”

  “Say again.”

  “South gate did not fall. They let them in.”

  Eric heard anger and disgust in Byron’s reply, “Copy that.”

  Eric ducked as something buzzed through the air past him.

  “Relax. It’s only mortar shrapnel,” Julien jovially called out over his shoulder. “At this distance they’re not lethal.”

  Eric ran faster.

  “Battery, wolverine actual. When active mission for guns three and four complete, correct fire to south gate actual. Four rounds frag, pick your fusing.”