Tale of the Spinward March: The Great Khan (Tales of the Spinward March Book 1)

by David Winnie

  Her sister visited one weekend, heavy with her third child. The sisters sat for hours, chatting and laughing while painting one another with henna. Sophia insisted Angkor drive them to the Great Temple in Belfair, near the city, where the sisters entered the temple for hours, leaving Angkor outside to fend for himself. They returned home, the women happy but tired. Sophia snuggled closely to Angkor that evening, whispering about the prayer ceremony the women held for her soon to be born niece. “Imagine, my little sister, being a mother for a third time!” Sophia said happily. Soon, her face was buried in Angkor’s chest, weeping uncontrollably.

  Tenzing had insisted both his sons learn the inner workings of the government. Hours and days and weeks of monotonous reading of reports. Angkor was determined not to bring his work to his home. But there was just so much to learn.

  Suishin seemed not to have this problem. Indeed, it was hard not to notice his brother, as often as he was on the newsfeeds, dating the daughter of this wealthy patron or vacationing with that handsome industrialist. His irrepressible grin, his exotic queue, and his striking physique shown proudly with his trademark vest and tight breeches made good vid copy. There were rumors, of course, of scandalous transgressions being hushed up, but what public figure didn’t have a skeleton or two in his closet?

  The press largely ignored Angkor, the younger brother. For that, he was extremely grateful. At the end of his work week, he and Sophia would race to their transport and make the three-hour trip home. Angkor’s air car would be waiting. There would be a quick stop at the market in their tidy town for supplies, then to their cozy home. Often, they would entertain friends is the evenings. Close friends might be invited for the weekend.

  Dawlish accepted Angkor’s winter invitation, provided he left his uniforms at home. A windstorm lashed the bungalow, the lights flickering on occasion. Angkor had built a cheery fire and the trio spent a grand evening singing, telling stories and jokes. Sophia was pleased to see Angkor so relaxed; he was working so hard lately! Half past midnight, the long day caught up with the couple. They bade Dawlish good night and went to bed.

  The Turk sat for staring at the dying fire and listening to the whistling winds. He envied his old friend, a lovely wife and a beautiful home. He had chosen his path and regretted it for not a second. But evenings like this…

  Bah! He was being too maudlin. And in the morning, he had a mission to accomplish. The bed in the guest room looked inviting.

  The bed was indeed comfortable. General Dawlish Zoltan could hardly remember such a night since he had joined the Turkman Army. A tap at the door woke him.

  “Hey, Dawlish, are you awake?” Angkor whispered.

  “I am now, my friend. What’s up?”

  “The storm has broken and blown through,” Angkor said. “I’ve made us some coffee. Come on, let’s go catch the sunrise!”

  ‘Will Sophia be joining us?”

  “She’s still asleep.”

  Dawlish pulled on his boots and robe. The cabin’s deck was screened for the winter, though there was a chill in the air. Angkor handed him a heavy mug of Arabica, the beans grown for centuries in the gardens back at his father’s Keep. He settled into a chaise and sipped the brew with a contented sigh.

  Heavy winter clouds hung in patches in the early gloom, illuminated by the still invisible sun. Fiery rays began to spike their way across the sky, seemingly igniting coals in the cloud banks racing swiftly northward. Clothed in a ruby robe, Sol finally made his majestic appearance and claimed the heavens once more.

  A gull flew along the shoreline calling cree-cree-cree as it searched for a scrap of food along the shoreline. Across the misty bay, a boat’s engine rumbled.

  “Beautiful, friend Angkor,” Dawlish sipped his cup. “I can see why you and your wife settled here.”

  “It is a blessing for the both of us,” agreed Angkor, “but that is not why you came to see me, friend Dawlish.”

  “No,” Dawlish stiffened to attention and steepled his fingers. “It seems politics has sharpened your senses. What do you know of augmentation?”

  “I have heard of it, of course,” admitted Angkor. “The use of prosthetics for injury or birth defect has been around for centuries. Augmenting soldiers through the use of combat suits is one of the business’s Xaid is involved with, yes?”

  “Yes,” Dawlish acknowledged. “There is a new line of research. It involves grafting these components directly to a human body and adding a computer processor hard wired into the brain. It is thought augmenting a soldier or a worker to operate at a level far beyond human capacity is the next step in human evolution.

  “Horrifying!” exclaimed Angkor, “Turning man into machine! Does my father know of this?”

  “I do not believe so,” Dawlish replied, “though I think your brother is involved. Further, the project has gone into the prototype phase.”

  “No! On human subjects?” pressed Angkor.

  Dawlish stood. “I need you to join me on Luna station this week,” he said. “I will arrange discrete transportation for you. After the trip, you and I can discuss our next step.”

  Crime had exploded in the twenty second century. Prisons were filled beyond capacity, resulting in riots, which added to the carnage. In Occident, one such riot broke free of the walls and resulted in a small town being destroyed, women and children violated, the men tortured horribly to death. The local militia was overrun by the former prisoners. Finally, the governor sent armed jets to bomb the rioters into submission. Capital punishment was ineffective. So many convicts ended up on death row, executions resembled assembly line slaughter.

  The introduction of electromagnetic drive and rail accelerators made lifting of cargo and humans into earth orbit efficient and profitable. Convicts would be loaded into shuttle hulks and lifted into orbit. When they rioted, the airlocks were opened and the all the convicts in the hulk would be executed through spacing. Later, penal facilities were introduced on many asteroids as a cheap work force for mining.

  Luna was chosen to house a research facility that offered long term inmates an option. Their sentences would be reduced if they consented to experimentation. Most of these experiments involved radiation treatment and vaccines to counter any number of viruses and diseases they encountered on extosystems.

  Few of the diseases were benign. Most of the subject’s bodies were ultimately sealed in cargo pods and launched into the sun.

  Angkor and General Dawlish met Doctor Jhon Weir, Director of the Luna Research Facility. Hairless save for a small grey soul patch, his eyes were eager and his smile easy. “I’m so pleased to see the government take such an interest in my research,” he bubbled. “Once this technology becomes proven, we will be able to take hardened, career criminals and make them useful tools for society. Not only can we send them into environments that would kill humans, we can replace human soldiers with my augmented men and they will succeed brilliantly! Imagine, using a battalion of my super soldiers to replace an ordinary human division. Imagine the ease with which we will move across the universe. And at a fraction of the cost!”

  “Show us your…augmented men,” ordered Dawlish.

  The room was white, with all smooth edges and shiny plastic. Moments after they arrived, the far wall slid into the ceiling, exposing a nude man secured to an angled table. Plates and flat boxes were affixed across his body and extremities, joined by tubes and wire bundles. A hexagonal fixture dominated the top third of his head. With a start, Angkor saw his eyes had been replaced with a camera and sensor cluster. He looked closer. The thing’s chest wasn’t moving. Instead, Angkor heard the whisper of an air pump.

  “The unit has electronic and hydraulic servos assisting its legs and arms,” explained Doctor Weir. “Most of its internal organs have been replaced with mechanical components which are more hearty and durable than organic.

  “The brain is our proudest accomplishment. We repurposed much of the tissue, as the human brain has an astounding number of neural connec
tions. The attachment is a prototype microprocessor, using the human tissue as a storage medium. It can access information at a much greater rate. Since it receives more and higher quality information faster than a silly old brain, it can analyze much faster and react far quicker than any ordinary human. Further, the microprocessor also maintains a record of the activity so we can review the actions and some of the thought processes the augment uses to arrive at it decisions and actions.”

  “You can read its mind?” Dawlish gripped his fists tight.

  “Yes. It is a critical element of the augment control. Without it, we would be reduced to guesswork for any adjustments needed to the neural net,” explained Doctor Weir.

  “Show me the brain schematics,” ordered Angkor. A panel slid open, revealing a view screen. He studied it for several minutes, his hand on his chin, hmmming and making comments to himself. “I see you have removed portions of the cerebrum,” he commented.

  “Yes.”

  Angkor pointed to several areas. “Memory here and here. This section, the moral seat. Nearly gone.” Angkor glared at Doctor Weir. “You have loosened the moral restrictions inherent to humans.”

  “Unit Delta Thirty-Seven, access personal memory,” the Doctor said, returning Angkor’s glare.

  “Working,” came a mechanical reply. “I am Steven Raab, from Kansas City, Missouri.”

  “Details of your convictions, please.”

  “Murder; first degree, Fahad Corbin, guilty. Murder; first degree, Bomana Zultan, guilty. Murder; first degree, Herman Bowfin, guilty. Murder…”

  “Enough, Unit Delta Thirty-Seven. Summarize, how many counts of murder were you convicted of?” asked Dawlish.

  “Murder of the first degree, eight convictions. Murder of the second degree, thirteen convictions.” the metallic voice replied.

  “Indeed,” Dawlish squinted. “You are programmed to obey all orders without question?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dawlish set a drinking glass before the augmented man. “Crush this glass with your left hand,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir.” There was a crunch and the glass fragments spilled onto the table. The augment’s hand dripped blood beside the remains of the glass.

  Dawlish unholstered his sidearm and set it on the table. “Unit Delta Thirty-Seven, pick up the weapon. Point it at Doctor Weir and kill him with it.”

  The augment stared at the gun, then looked at Dawlish. “Why?” he asked.

  Dawlish moved too swift to see. He snatched his weapon from the table and fired five rounds into the head of the augmented man. Blood and solid components erupted as the head exploded from the penetration of the heavy bolts passing through its skull, brain tissue and processor. What remained dribbled from the remnants of Thirty-Seven’s skull as his body pitched forward.

  Doctor Weir fell back against his chair. “Wha...Wha...What, why did you do this?” he demanded.

  “Two reasons,” Dawlish holstered his weapon and beckoned to Angkor. “I gave your machine an order. According to your claim, he should have taken the weapon and tried to kill you. Your morality program should have made sure of that. I have examined the records for this experiment. This is the indication that shows the programing and memories are already beginning to interact and conflict. Your own reports are disturbingly accurate in describing this process, Doctor. I believe the result is the augment becomes insane and homicidal. It would have to be destroyed, anyway.” At the door, Dawlish stopped, glared at the bleeding pile of metal and flesh. “The second reason was more personal. Bomana Zultan was my sister.”

  Plasma burned with a pink glow outside the window as the shuttle fell planetward. Angkor noted Dawlish’s quivering hands and clenched jaw.

  “There is something more, my old friend,” Angkor said, “something you haven’t told me.” The muscles at the corners of Dawlish’s eyes blanched in scowl as he struggled for control. “There is much I must tell you, friend Angkor.” He rubbed his face and breathed heavily. “I needed for you to see this…perversion. This is the nature of the enemy we face.”

  “What enemy are you talking about, Dawlish?” queried Angkor.

  “The enemy that controls your brother,” seethed the Turk. “Angkor, friend…brother. Suishin must not succeed your father. If he does, you are dead, Sophia is dead, I am dead…Millions will die. Suishin is the puppet of terrible men and women who will sell mankind to the highest bidder in the galaxy. With the Terran Union already declaring your father monarch, it is only a matter of time before they order Suishin to kill him and assume his throne.”

  “You have evidence of this?”

  “I showed you only a small piece of what we have found,” declared Dawlish. “We have much more we will show you. And we have a plan.”

  “You said ‘we,’” Angkor noted. “Who are these ‘we?’”

  Dawlish leaned forward, intense. “Those who would see you as the next leader,” he said. “Those of us who know you and know what is possible if you lead us.”

  “You seem very confident in my abilities,” Angkor snorted.

  We have every confidence in your abilities,” Dawlish settled back. “We only need you to agree.”

  “Who are these ‘we?’?” Angkor repeated.

  Dawlish smiled for the first time that day. “We are on our way to meet them,” he said.

  Chapter 10

  The great airship lifted regally into the sapphire night sky. Unlike its ancient ancestors, no crews on the ground scurried about like ants. The ship released itself from its tethers and silent fans hoisted it into the night. Angkor and Dawlish watched Jerusalem fade into a field of lights from the window at the bar. When it was but a smear, it was joined by illuminated strands to other indecipherable blobs of light as the airship climbed.

  At the top of the airship was a plain, white, and formless room, much like the laboratory on Luna. Fifteen men and women turned as Angkor and Dawlish entered. Two came forward, their arms extended.

  Angkor greeted his old friends. “Xaid, Salaam. I suppose I should have known.”

  “Sit, please,” Xaid gestured. Sixteen comfortable looking chairs rose from the floor, constructed of the same, plastic appearing material of the room. One rose higher than the others; Dawlish led Angkor to it. Angkor was visibly surprised to find the chair was as sitting on a warm, firm cushion. Several of the group suppressed giggles.

  “Very nice,” commented Angkor, his hand stroking the smooth arm on his chair. “Perhaps I missed my calling in school. I could certainly force myself to live so luxuriously.” The room now shared a laugh. “Well, on to business…” Angkor began.

  A servitor rolled in with a tray of fruit juices. Angkor took an orange colored beverage and watched with amusement as an end table silently rose from the floor to the perfect height to hold his glass.

  “I want to know what is going on,” Angkor said. “What is this meeting about, why all the secrecy and security?”

  “This place is my personal ship,” Xaid’s voice was silk. “I live here much of my days. It is also the most secure facility we have. The crew are my men. If I ordered any one of them to leap from the ship, a dozen would volunteer to do so. In this place, we are safe to discuss what needs to be done.”

  “These men and women,” Dawlish swept his arm to the assembly, “have sworn their lives to you. We are soldiers and businessmen. Government officials and private citizens. For years, we have been watching your brother and the cabal who have lured him in. The obscenity I showed you today is not the worst they have to offer.

  “Angkor, as I told you on the shuttle, your brother’s cabal doesn’t look to the future of our species; they look forward to their own accumulation of wealth and power. It is not too late. The enemy knows you. They don’t consider you a threat. You are seen as weak, ineffective.

  “They know nothing about us. This has worked to our advantage. We are poised to strike, eliminate their leaders and expose the rest. You will add the degree of legitimacy we need
and be this committee’s public face. With you, we are positioned to seize control of the Union and ensure safety and survival of our species.”

  What am I to do? Angkor asked himself.

  He felt the presence within him. Listen, it told him. What do you hear?

  The water, Master. The fountain at the glade.

  Then place your stone, young Pitth, and listen to what the fountain tells you.

  “Tell me of our enemies,” directed Angkor.

  A pedestal rose before Xaid. He touched its face and a holo formed inside the circle. “Alexis Shurkorov, Russian Federation,” he said.

  The image was of a short, corpulent man in an expensive suit. His hair was long and stringy; an uneven beard circled his chin and jowls. He was holding a glass of sparkling, a dazzling woman on his arm. He laughed at an unheard joke, his jowls flapping like a swimming jellyfish.

  “Age seventy-three. CEO and President of Shurkorov Enterprises. His company is the largest producer and exporter of energy in the entire Earth Union,” explained Xaid. “With his net wealth, he could buy each of the next five largest companies outright and still have enough to buy controlling interests in the next five. There have been rumors for years about his politics. Our research has revealed he has become very interested in your brother.”

  The next holo was a tall, severe yet handsome woman. “Ameranda Whitestone, Lakota Nation, Occident,” Xaid reported. “Age fifty-seven. Senior Vice President of the Lakota Nation and Chief Resources Officer. A lawyer who shows a great business sense combined with much guile. Under her stewardship, the Lakota have gained control of much of Occident and the Nation has holdings on thirteen worlds in the Union. She infamously has a string of men she calls upon when she desires. Your brother is one of them.”