“Uncertain. They struck our southern camps first, wiped them out before we could finish securing the main camps. We sent a detachment of troops to Outpost Gamma, in the east, and they reported engaging the enemy yesterday afternoon, and we haven’t heard anything since.”
“And the other outposts?” El-Badry asked.
“The two surviving outposts were as secure as we could make them when we turned turtle twelve hours ago. We just powered up now to get a status report and that’s when we found you in orbit.” There was a pause. “Needless to say, I have a lot of frightened people down here.”
“Well, we’re on the scene now, we’ll take over,” El-Badry said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll send troops to the unsecure outposts and advise you on their status.” He paused, thinking. “Have you got any idea how the N’xin got here?”
“None, though I assume it would have been one of their stealth recon ships and not an actual warship, or they would have just blasted us from orbit. Probably thought they’d have a little fun on some refugees before tearing off to alert the N’xin fleet to come and finish the job.”
“Probably,” El-Badry said grimly, barely keeping his disgust in check. Raids like this weren’t new. “Keep us appraised of your status, and we’ll let you know of any developments.” Though it may have seemed strange, El-Badry giving orders to a fellow captain, as the commander of the largest warship in this theatre, the chain of command started with El-Badry.
“Understood.”
“Scanners haven’t detected any N’xin craft on the surface,” Marino offered, having moved himself to the sensor station. “But that could just mean they’re well shielded – Titus IV has some unique mineral deposits that…”
El-Badry waved him off, fully aware of the composition of Titus IV – the same veins of ores that inhibited probes was one of the reasons that had tempted the Commonwealth to set up a refugee camp here – any settlements were naturally protected by long-range scans.
“Commander, alert the sector fleet and let them know of our situation. We may need them to rally to our defence.” El-Badry turned to face the rear section of the bridge, where his Second Officer was currently overseeing the rear duty stations. “Lieutenant Commander Hunter, proceed to the surface. Secure the outposts, get any wounded up to the ship. Use as many resources as you deem fit.”
Hunter didn’t even glance at him as he acknowledged the order, his hand already reaching for the intercom. “Aye, sir. Combat teams, report to the launch bays. Flight Operations, ready all fighters for immediate launch. Medical teams, standby for triage.”
*
“You’ve looked better, James. I think you’ve aged about twenty years since I saw you last.”
James Hunter looked up from stowing his gear in a foot locker. Shutting the lid to the trunk, he began his routine of double checking all of his weapons were secure, as well as his combat armour, all while his combat implants began their diagnostics and started their power-up cycles.
“And yet, I’m still looking better than you,” James shot back.
Troy’s hands went to his chest, as if he’d been shot. “Where do you want me?” Troy sobered, gesturing vaguely about the shuttle.
“What do you mean?” James asked cautiously. “This is a combat mission, Troy, I don’t want you anywhere near this planet.”
In all honesty, James didn’t even want Troy on the Eisenhower, period, but the High Command had sanctioned this inspection tour, and the Commonwealth Senate had appointed Troy – along with two dozen others, including James’ eldest brother Michael – as one of those inspectors.
“I’m doing my job, James. Captain El-Badry already approved –”
“You went to the captain?” James hissed, vexed as he cut Troy off sharply. Michael had at least had the decency to remain on the bridge and observe operations there.
“Well I knew if I asked you, you’d say no.”
“Very astute,” said James through gritted teeth. He nodded as Lieutenant Franklin – his pilot – boarded through the portside hatch, thankfully keeping silent. James heaved a sigh. “I suppose I can’t talk you out of this?”
Troy smiled mirthlessly. “Contrary to what you think, Jim, I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.” He shrugged expansively. “If this war’s good enough for you to be a part of, it can surely squeeze me in for a few hours.”
The flippancy irked James no end, but he let it slide, if only for the sake of not having to fill out reports on just how Troy had found his head stuck in an exhaust vent.
“Fine,” James relented reluctantly, stabbing a finger in the direction of one of the benches that lined the side of the shuttle. He could take issue with this decision to the captain, but it wasn’t an argument he’d win, so it would be as pointless as it was a time-waster.
“Sit down. Don’t touch anything, and do exactly what you’re told.”
“You sound like my last date,” Troy quipped as he spun about, unslinging the military-style backpack he’d prepared. Only as he marched over to his proffered spot did James realize he’d actually donned a combat uniform.
“Terrific,” James sniffed, rolling his eyes as he turned to enter the cockpit. “Oh, and Troy?”
Troy looked up from his seat as he fumbled with the harness. “Yeah?”
James fixed his twin with a deadly stare. “Don’t call me Jim.”
*
It was like a scene right out of the nightmares that had plagued him – nightmares that would, without a doubt, start up again, after witnessing this… depravity. Dying once isn’t nearly enough punishment for the N’xin. James grimaced – he wasn’t sure there would ever be a suitable punishment to atone for what he was wading through right now.
In the years since he had been assigned to the front lines, James Hunter had attended many post-battle scenes, and in every instance, he had managed to find new ways to be outraged by the utter barbarity one sentient being could inflict on another when they put their mind on to it.
Titus IV, however, was the worst he’d ever seen. Or heard of. The capacity for N’xin cruelty had reached a new level, breaking through the glass ceiling of total war and entering the realm of utter depravity. Outpost Alpha, the main administrative hub of the colony, had been the first hit. Lightly defended, and fifteen kilometres from the refugee camp proper, the people here hadn’t put up much of a fight.
Actually, James thought as he crouched over the body of a young female ensign, her throat slit and her eyes staring vacantly at the sky, I don’t even think they put up a fight, period.
Combat Teams Four and Five were reporting similar scenes from Outpost Beta, located at a crevice to a ravine a few kilometres to the west. Outpost Beta was where the colony kept most of their non-critical, or spare, supplies.
“Everyone accounted for at Outpost Beta,” Lieutenant Brooks reported over the open comlink. “All dead. We’ve also got twelve dead N’xin, wearing something like Black Ops gear.”
“We’ve got none here,” James said as he rose up, barely keeping his disgust from bubbling over. The squawking of the birds circling above – four-winged versions of Earth vultures – were making enough noise to compensate for the deathly silence that pervaded the air.
“I’ve got their shuttle.” That was Ensign Levine, currently patrolling the sky above in one of the four fighters Eisenhower had deployed for aerial reconnaissance.
“How’s that again?” James asked. “Where?”
Even as he bought up a topological map of the area on his virtual-vision, a navpoint was blinking – its location was barely a kilometre from Outpost Alpha.
“Right there,” Levine clarified. “Well camouflaged, it doesn’t even show up on my scanners, but the sun caught one of its fins at an angle and nearly blinded me before my viewport polarized.”
“Team One, secure that craft,” James ordered immediately. “Levine, any idea as to how many troops that thing could hold?”
“Hard to tell from up here, but
based on dimensions, can’t be any more than two dozen.”
James breathed a sigh of relief. Assuming that there was only the one craft on the surface, that meant most of the N’xin had been dealt with. The defenders of Outpost Gamma had, during the course of last night, engaged in guerrilla warfare with the N’xin interlopers, dispatching seven or eight of them, possibly more.
“Continue looking,” James said. “And make sure there aren’t any other shuttles out there. Last thing we want is to be ambushed by these cowards coming to get their getaway vehicles.” James paused, rubbing a bloody hand over his face. “Get Eisenhower to send a tug down here, we’ll strip apart that shuttle and learn all we can from it.”
“Acknowledged.”
A few minutes later James found himself wandering around the compound, having updated the captain about their unfortunate, grisly findings here. Outpost Alpha had been home to over a hundred people, some of them children. This was the third battle scene James had been to that had involved civilian casualties – and he doubted it was going to be the last.
Despite the gruesome, evil nature of the battle – no, this wasn’t a battle, it was a slaughter – one had to admire the sheer efficiency of the N’xin campaign. Security footage had shown how the N’xin – aided by cheap knock-off combat suits they loved to deploy – had snuck into the camp under the light of dawn, stealthily moving from person to person and slicing through their throats with aplomb. Most of the colonists were killed in their sleep, with only a few perimeter guards having any kind of chance of defending themselves. Unfortunately, just like the ensign James had left behind, being awake wasn’t enough to guarantee survival.
The N’xin had spared no one. The youngest victim was a nine year old girl, her throat cut – most probably by a N’xin claw, rather than an actual bladed weapon – while she clutched her teddy-bear, her mother – dispatched in a similar matter – killed first in the room next to her; they’d found the child’s father –a Sergeant – where he’d fallen on patrol along the northern perimeter – there was a high probability he’d been one of the first to be killed.
Even as James thought back on this, he found himself retracing his steps through the barracks, where most of the bodies remained – the refugee camp was mustering a group to come down and take care of the bodies, and perform whatever burials and funeral rites they deemed appropriate – it would be years before any of these victims were re-lifed.
“Commander?”
“Report,” James said crisply, acknowledging Lieutenant Bowers with a curt nod. The brawny man was his second-in-command on the ground, and had been leading the forensics effort at the Outpost.
“We checked the mainframe, no signs of tampering, of copying or any unauthorized access. In fact, we can’t even confirm the N’xin looked at the database.”
James pulled a face and nodded. He’d suspected as much – the way he figured it, the N’xin, most likely led by an ambitious but short-sighted fool, had been scouting the system and had chanced upon the refugee camp and its support outposts. A chance to cause as much pain and misery as possible with little loss, the result was all around for everyone to see.
“Just more proof that they don’t think like us,” James said. If he’d been in charge of such a scouting mission, his would have been one of collecting intelligence, not aiming for a high body count and other random bouts of terror. “No signs of explosives?”
Bowers shook his head. “None. They hit this place hard, then left – on foot. All ground vehicles are accounted for here.”
“Unless they bought their own transport,” James said, more to himself, though he conceded that the N’xin – who were far nimbler than the average human – wouldn’t be bothered by a trek on foot.
James waved Bowers on, continuing on his musing as he gave a final inspection of the camp. The N’xin wouldn’t be worried about trekking over a few kilometres.
“Troy?”
James had looked into one of the family quarters, and found Troy kneeling at the edge of bed, which was occupied by a ten-year-old boy, who, when alive, had gone by the name of Simon Harris. James hadn’t seen much of Troy that afternoon, glad that his brother was keeping his promise of staying out of the way.
Now he knew why.
“Troy!” James barked when his brother didn’t stir.
Troy turned to look at him, but made no effort to stand up. His eyes were red from crying, and even now a solitary tear meandered down towards his chin.
“Everything okay?” James asked, the irony of the question given the present circumstances not lost on him. Of course everything wasn’t okay. They were surrounded by death on a world that was supposed to serve as a sanctuary for life.
“This could have been Adlai,” Troy murmured, his gaze going back to the kid, his hand reaching out and wiping away the boy’s fringe from his face. The boy – whose pallid expression and lack of a discernible VA signal suggested he’d been dead for some time – was indeed his nephew’s age, James conceded.
“It could have been my girls,” James replied softly, stepping up slowly and clasping Troy on the shoulder in a poor attempt to be reassuring.
“You’ve seen this before, haven’t you?” Troy asked softly. “I heard you over the comm, giving orders as if it was just so… routine.” He breathed out the last word, and descended into a silent vigil. “Is that it? Has it become routine for you?”
James scowled and attempted to quench the rising resentment in himself. “I’ve seen this too many times to count, Troy,” James answered bluntly, his tone flat, his gaze unyielding. “And no, despite how I sound, it isn’t something you get used to.”
Because if you do, you’re just as alien as the bastards that did this. He kept that thought to himself, though – Troy didn’t need to be preached to, at the moment. He was in shock – any more surprises might tip him over the edge.
“How do you keep doing it?”
The question hung in the air like a fog, until James heaved a sigh, his mind racing as he was suddenly at a loss for words. On days like today, he wasn’t sure how he kept going. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, of course. Morale was low enough as it was among the enlisted men, without knowing that the officers were battling their own demons.
“Somebody has to do it,” James said soberly, trying to hide the bitterness he was feeling. He squatted down on his haunches and levelled a steely gaze at his twin.
“You say that so clinically,” Troy breathed softly, almost accusingly as he forced a single chuckle that sounded like a cough. “As if it’s just another job, just another day at the office.” He held up a blood-drenched hand. “What do you see in this blood, James? Glory? Promotion?” His voice was trembling as much as his hand was; James had never seen Troy like this.
“I never joined for glory, Troy.” James kept his voice low and even, despite the rising rage inside. Rage at the injustice on display here, rage at his brother’s petulance and ignorance. Rage at the whole fucking war. “How could I, there’s no glory to be found here. I fight because of what I left behind, and because of what’s in front of me. Everyone here is like that, Troy. We’re soldiers. We fight when we’re told to fight, and we die when we’re told to die, all so that this,” he gestured sweepingly at the corpse, and the barracks in general, “Can’t happen.”
He latched onto Troy’s bloody hand and held it up so they could both see it clearly in the dim light, the wet blood catching the light like glass, even as it dripped onto the floor.
“What I see here is what I see in all blood, Troy. What we should always see when we see blood. Loss.”
The quiet admission stalled Troy, his bottom lip quivering like he was on the verge of going into a rage, or breaking down into a blubbering mess of tears. Maybe he’s going to do both. The two men stared at each other for long seconds, until finally Troy broke down, collapsing into James’ embrace and sobbing like someone who had just lost a childhood pet.
And for long minutes, the twins mour
ned their shared loss of innocence.
Chapter Three
Jennifer Carmichael wasn’t fond of Elysium. The world wasn’t quite as metropolitan as her homeworld of Bastion, despite the very similar ages of both cultures – though in a few decades that would change: because of the war with the N’xin, prospective colonists vying for a new life in the Outlying Regions were choosing to settle Elysium in droves.
The population boom meant that by the turn of the century, Elysium could very well be the second-most populated human world in the galaxy, though whether its economy could ever overtake Bastion was another matter.
Jennifer’s apathy of the world stemmed more from the impressions her in-laws had given her than any actual personal experience she had here. She’d been to Elysium before, both as a child and as an adult, and James and her had even come here for a series of concerts during the early days of her marriage, but Elysium’s bureaucracy was well known, and if it was one thing the Hunter family hated, it was bureaucracy.
And taxes, she added absently, smiling wistfully – oh, how the Hunter’s hated government and taxation.
When James had told her of the stopover at Elysium to return the Commonwealth’s inspection team, Jennifer had jumped at the chance to see him, arriving on the world nearly a full day earlier. Now, Jennifer was seated in one of the visitor lounges at the primary spaceport of Elysium, a large, spacious affair that was sparsely decorated and roared with life, staring into the floor as she perused her virtual-vision, her left arm acting as a pillow for a sleeping Samantha, whose eight-year-old body was sprawled in the seat next to her. Amanda was on her right, almost asleep herself, her eyes drooping heavily. Jennifer wanted to keep them awake, but they’re body clocks were still on Bastion time and hadn’t adjusted as well as Jennifer had.
But they had adjusted to their father’s frequent absences and sparse visits far more than their mother had, a fact that Jennifer was growing increasingly resentful of. She wasn’t angry at her husband – James was, after all, a creature of duty, and there was no way he’d have been able to sit this war out, no matter how big his family was.
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