The Expendable Few: A Spinward Fringe Novel

by Randolph Lalonde

  Davi sat quietly, trying not to think about Judge, the best right hand man he’d ever had, and Tamera, who he just met. She might have been a pain in the ass, but she had the kind of dedication to duty that he couldn’t help but respect. Under other circumstances they could have been close friends, but there was always a tendency to glorify the dead.

  “Fuck, I can’t believe I’m alive,” Kipley said with a chuckle. He drew several sour stares from human and issyrian alike. “I was sure that big fucker Judge would outlive me.”

  “Shut it down, Kip,” Davi growled.

  “Shut ‘er down!” Kipley shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

  Before anyone could stop him, Davi leaned back and kicked Kipley in the face as hard as he would the Order soldier who killed Judge. He sat back with his hands up, watching Kipley reel from the blow, holding the right side of his face as he leaned across Isabel’s lap.

  “Mother fucker! You trying to kill me?” Kipley said.

  There wouldn’t be any retribution from the irritating grunt, he knew better. Davi sat back and crossed his arms, breathing deeply, trying to take control of the rage he felt towards the only survivor of his unit. “This one cut deep,” Davi growled finally. “So shut your hole before I have it wired shut, hear me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Kipley barked with a salute. The whole right side of his face was red; the bruises would start coming out soon.

  Davi let his gaze drift to the transparent metal beside Kipley, and he watched as the Regent Galactic forest began to discolour, turning a sickly shade of green and brown. The heavy branches already seemed to wilt, but that could have been a trick of the eye. Doctor Marcelles entered the rear of the shuttle and sat in one of the many empty seats. “Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen,” he offered quietly. “The mission was successful, the toxins are spreading better than expected thanks to an eastern wind. The Order will not be able to prevent a full ecological shift on this planet.”

  “Thank God,” Remmy said. “There’s no way I’ll take that ride again.”

  That was met with momentary, timid chuckles and weak smiles.

  Davi let silence settle over the occupants before asking, “So that’s it, we take you back to the Sunspire. We held up our end.”

  Doctor Marcelles regarded him, obviously ill at ease and nodded after narrowing his solid yellow eyes. He was looking less human all the time.

  They crossed under some trees and into shadow, into some tunnel that led through a lake that had emptied and begun to rot. It was a former clutch, where thousands of issyrians once lived underwater. The darkness outside seemed to bring silence to the shuttle occupants, who passed bottled water around in the dim cab light.

  Davi had never participated in a mission where he didn’t know their exit details, how they were going to get off world once their work was done, and he took it as a bad sign. Being left with one squad member, Jack Kipley of all people, didn’t make anything better. At a glance he could see that Kipley had fallen asleep, and Davi envied him.

  The shuttle landed so softly he could only tell by the easing of the engines under his feet. Remmy handed him a water bottle and nodded. “We’re on our way back, Jack. We’re just transferring to another ship.”

  The hatch opened, and with no other options, Davi shook Kipley. “Switching transport. Almost home,” he said.

  Kipley roused as though from a deep sleep and repeated; “almost home.” He drew deeply from a bottle Remmy handed him on his way through the hatch and said; “Almost home, Dad.”

  The ground was soft underfoot, and the smell reminded him of the garden pods on Freeground, after the artificial rain had soaked everything in its path. The landing lights of over a dozen shuttles were the only source of illumination. He followed Remmy and Doctor Marcelles to one at the rear, and Isabel was already climbing into the cockpit. “These are loaded with issyrians,” Davi said to Remmy as he caught up.

  “Yup. Everyone who had anything to do with Trest, the whole ghetto,” Remmy replied.

  “You and I both know that’s not the deal,” Davi said.

  “C’mon, Lieutenant,” Kipley interjected, sounding sincerely desperate. “I thought about what you said, my luck’s runnin’ out. There’s just the two of us, and where we’re going after this mission is through can’t be better than where we’ve been.”

  Davi disregarded him and continued to press Remmy. “I don’t know that this will work, it’s not like we’re dealing with Freeground, it’s up to an Oversight Officer, and you know what she’s like.”

  “No, Sam,” Remmy said with a smile that was visible even in the dim light. “It’s your call. You’re the commander on the ground, you tell us if this goes. We’ll deal with the rest once we’re in the hangar.” Remmy paused a moment, watching Davi closely. “So are we on, or are you pulling the plug on us?”

  Davi looked at the silhouettes of issyrians hurrying between the shuttles. Emergency lights didn’t let him see much. The people who would be marooned, left to the mercy of the Order of Eden if they didn’t escape, looked skeletal, or as if whole pieces were missing. They were in no shape to fight a force like the Order, especially since they’d be seeking nothing more than retribution on a global scale. “We’re on.”

  Chapter 28 - Those Damned Refugees

  “The scans are in and confirmed, Sir,” reported the flight officer. “Seven hundred and eighty nine issyrians, many smaller signals who are most likely children, and nine humans.”

  Captain McPatrick tapped his finger against the bridge rail, watching the shuttles on the holoprojector with a furrowed brow. “And there’s no sign that they’re being pursued.”

  “Nothing for eight point four million kilometres. All signs say they’re clear,” the flight officer replied.

  “Should we signal them, Sir?” asked the lead comms officer. She was an impatient one at the best of times, and her tone offered more advice than Captain McPatrick was interested in hearing. It told him that they should leave the shuttles be, offer no navnet instructions, and leave the solar system, call it a lost cause. That would irritate Freeground Intelligence, which would be gratifying for a while, but he didn’t know if Anderson was ready for that kind of move.

  “Put the ship on full alert, and get a full squad to the bridge. Send four squads to the main hangar. Any other ready teams should report to adjacent compartments,” Captain McPatrick ordered calmly. Alarms went off across the ship, waking anyone at rest and prompting all hands to report to battle stations. “Now you can signal them.” He took a deep breath and shook his head before activating his comm and entering Doctor Anderson’s ident. “We’ve got returns and refugees coming in. I’ll meet you in Forward Observation.”

  “And I was just falling asleep,” Doctor Anderson replied. “See you there.”

  “Should I inform Oversight?” Captain McPatrick asked.

  “She’s Oversight, she should already know, shouldn’t she?” Anderson asked with a smirk.

  Two soldiers in full combat gear followed Captain McPatrick off the bridge. He knew that two more cloaked soldiers joined them the moment he stepped into the lift. He was never alone. Something he liked about serving on a ship like the Sunspire. What he didn’t like was the amount of pointless reporting and record keeping he had to do for Oversight.

  He was beginning to understand why his nephew defected. It took every scrap of effort Captain McPatrick had to remain in control of his own ship. If he stopped jumping through hoops that were presented as elective, he would start losing his command. It was what Freeground Intelligence Oversight wanted, to take control with a captain aboard so he could take the fall if anything went wrong.

  He accessed the latest program to hit his comm - an elective memory test. That morning the program had read several different expressions to him, and he was to recite them if prompted. “Expression,” he said.

  “A bird in the hand?” asked his comm.

  “Is worth two in the bush,” he answered. “Next.”r />
  “Friend?” it asked.

  He thought a moment, not recalling what the computer was talking about. He could guess the expression, but it was a memory test, and guessing wrong could be worse than not guessing at all.

  “Friend?” it repeated.

  Then he remembered. “One old friend is better than two new ones.” The door opened as he said it, and Wheeler stepped inside.

  “That’s good, never heard it before,” Wheeler said. “Where’s it from?”

  “These God damned tests Oversight has me taking. I don’t know the original context of the saying,” Captain McPatrick said. “Sorry.”

  “Electives,” Wheeler said. “I’ve been doing them ever since I came aboard. Trying to get that crap out of the way so they can check me back into service the moment I deliver.”

  “I don’t think you have a shot, doesn’t matter what you’re offering. Freeground won’t take you back, they’re exiling, not recruiting. But that’s just my thoughts on it.”

  “Want to put your credits where your opinion is?” Wheeler replied, smiling. It was impossible to put the smug man off. McPatrick liked him less with every passing moment. “If you bet a thousand I’ll tell you what I’m trading.”

  “Testing me,” Captain McPatrick scoffed. “Presenting me with a decision that Oversight will review - whether or not I take the opportunity to pay an informant for information.”

  “What’s the right decision according to the regulations, old horse?”

  “Commander’s choice if it doesn’t directly pertain to the mission, essential if it does,” Captain McPatrick looked Wheeler in the eye with a stare that normally made seasoned officers’ palms sweat. The aggravating traitor didn’t flinch. “I’ll take your bet. What are you trading?”

  “Information straight from Order of Eden Command,” Wheeler replied.

  “What about Regent Galactic?” asked McPatrick.

  “Regent Galactic was completely taken over by the Order a month ago, when a freak called Meunez got himself jacked into their primary network. It’s all one incestuous organization now, most call it a religion.”

  “I can’t say that was worth the bet,” Captain McPatrick said.

  “Oh, that’s not all,” Wheeler said. “As a sign that I’m really dedicated to rejoining the upper ranks of Freeground Intelligence, I’ve signed my claim on the Triton over to Fleet Command.”

  “Jacob Valent’s ship?” Captain McPatrick said, knowing that it would get a rise out of the other man. The guards behind him were loving the exchange, but kept quiet. “I heard about that. Don’t believe you’ll go through with it though.”

  “My ship,” Wheeler snapped. “Taken directly from Sol Defence about thirty years ago. They let it go then, that makes it mine.”

  “I’m sure if we had a Sol Defence officer aboard, they would have something to say about that.”

  “That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Wheeler replied. “Sol Defence has been out of the picture for centuries, keeping to their own small part of the galaxy. I’d say that makes anything taken across their boarders free and clear. When the Carthans fail to get in touch with anyone there, and realize that they have a token that will earn them an ally in Freeground thanks to yours truly.”

  “The Carthans, or you, or Valent, someone will derail that deal,” Captain McPatrick said. “It’ll never happen.”

  “Ah, it’s Valance now, Valent is dead and his replacement is rotting on a moon a couple of sectors over. You really should try to keep up, your age is showing,” Wheeler said. “Getting back to the point, it doesn’t matter if the deal doesn’t go through because it’s all Freeground Intelligence’s problem now. I’ve signed on the dotted line, as they used to say.”

  Captain McPatrick decided that the conversation had gone on long enough. If Wheeler was tethered to Freeground Intelligence, then McPatrick had to weigh everything he said around him carefully.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Wheeler pressed.

  To the Captain’s relief, the lift doors opened. “Damn thing’s running too slow,” he muttered as he exited. Observation One was only a few metres down the broad, polished silver and grey hallway. The double doors opened to the largest leisure space on the ship. He had ordered it turned into a galley. The bar had been split in half. One part was converted into a matter recycling station, the other was rebuilt as a row of ration dispensers. The attached lounges had been turned into Officer’s Mess compartments. He couldn’t abide the playground mentality of the previous design, and the new version of the observation section still pleased him to no end. It said something about the Sunspire: this is not the ship Jonas Valent abandoned. This is a ship of duty and honour. There was no more important message, as far as Captain McPatrick was concerned, especially since they were forced to ferry traitors and exiles around.

  It had been a short trip, and Captain McPatrick only had four months with the new crew of the Sunspire, but they had shown him their dedication and a high level of competence. That’s why, when a squad of soldiers escorted Omira, the thing that Doctor Marcelles had become, Remmy, Isabel, Mary, Davi, and Kipley into the main Observation Deck shortly after he arrived there, his mood soured even more.

  As Captain McPatrick wordlessly followed the large group into one of the two dimmer, more well furnished Officer’s Messes, he looked them up and down. It looked like they had just been in a fire fight. They were all battered and ragged, even Isabel, who he guessed only found herself on the front lines by bad luck or force. He tried not to stare at Doctor Marcelles; his dark amber armour and dark skin gave him a sleek appearance, but he still looked like an error in genetics to McPatrick. He was a walking mess of a hybrid, a freak with no business being alive.

  “It is good to finally meet you, Captain,” Doctor Marcelles said, starting to approach from across the room.

  Captain McPatrick only held up his hand in response, and two of his soldiers stepped between him and the doctor as though they were an extension of his arm. “We’re waiting for someone.”

  “Ah,” replied Doctor Marcelles. “It’s like that, then.”

  Wheeler didn’t waste time. He walked around the soldiers and offered his hand. “Welcome, Doctor Marcelles.”

  “Thank you, mister Wheeler,” Marcelles said, shaking the man’s hand with a smile.

  Obviously surprised, Wheeler took a step back, looked Doctor Marcelles up and down, then nodded to himself and rejoined Captain McPatrick. Doctor Anderson entered and nodded at Remmy first, then took everyone else in. “Lieutenant Davi, report,” he ordered.

  Davi stepped towards Doctor Anderson and snapped to attention. “In brief, Doctor Marcelles would not return with us unless we assisted him in contaminating the planet’s atmosphere with a compound that would destroy the Order of Eden’s ecosystem transforming forests. Since our orders were to retrieve the target using any means necessary, we proceeded. After the mission was complete, the doctor would not return with us unless we brought the rest of his people with him. I was sure the Order of Eden were looking for us, and I did not have much time to debate the finer points of the target’s extraction, so I decided more was better than none at all, and have brought the issyrian refugees aboard with Doctor Marcelles.”

  Captain McPatrick watched Davi as he rendered his report and, without the assistance of a comm unit scan, decided the lieutenant was telling the truth. Davi had a habit of delivering, of completing objectives, and it was good to see he didn’t disappoint.

  “I’m not sure you’ve brought us Doctor Marcelles, Lieutenant,” Wheeler said with a grin that Captain McPatrick would love to wipe off his face. “The first time I met Doctor Marcelles, I had him practically dissected alive aboard the Triton.” He looked around the room for a moment before going on. “How did it happen, Clark? And where is the good doctor?”

  For a moment Captain McPatrick couldn’t believe what Wheeler was saying, but a glance at Remmy, who was turning deep red, and Mary, whose hand was in search of a sidearm that
was taken from her when she boarded told him that Wheeler’s judgement was spot on. While it was useful to have someone there who was so astute, it was frustrating that it was Wheeler, the ultimate traitor. “Out with it,” Captain McPatrick said. “I need to hear this.”

  “Marcelles was found dead aboard the Fallen Star,” the human-issyrian thing replied. His face slowly shifted, the features becoming that of Clark Patterson as he spoke. “When we entered the vault the ship tried to connect with the framework circuitry Intelligence put in my head, and if it weren’t for Omira, the neural circuit would have killed me. She used technology in the ship’s lab to implant the last version of the framework technology. It took days, but the upgrades stuck, and I came out feeling like myself again.”

  “But not looking like yourself,” Captain McPatrick added.

  “I looked perfectly human at first. After we returned to Trest, I swam in the spawning pool as an initiation into the issyrian House there, and the framework technology adapted so I could communicate with them.” To Captain McPatrick’s surprise, Clark Patterson seemed almost overcome with emotion, and found it difficult to continue. There was something going on that could change the course of the future forever if they let it. How things would shift would be up to whoever was allowed to leave that room alive.

  Clark finally went on. “The sadness I found there was as deep as my own for the murder of my sister. The difference between us was simply that they didn’t feel the outrage I did. That was, until they were exposed to me. I didn’t know it at first, but issyrians don’t feel what we call anger often. Persistant disruptive emotions are enough to get you exiled from your House, sent out of the clutch. So, even in the worst cases, there are normally limits to how far an issyrian will take revenge, if they bother at all. Their instincts are to rebuild, reinvent themselves. When they felt my anger towards Freeground Intelligence for killing my sister, and for what the Order of Eden were doing to their world, at how trapped I felt in our missions, they began to learn what it was to be furious.”