Earth Song: Etude to War

by Mark Wandrey

  “Noted,” he replied to his assistant. “Move up Beta, D company to stand by to reinforce the left flank. Bump Kappa BatCom, tell him to get the crews to their lancers.”

  The man nodded and began keying in the orders to his tablet. Gregg gritted his teeth at the thought of committing the Lancers again. He’d lost one three days ago, bringing them down to only eight left. But they were the only effective counter for the cursed Mok-Tok heavy tanks. Even concentrated shock rifle fire was ineffectual.

  Energy weapon artillery tore at the building a few hundred meters from his command post. The building, once a warehouse, was obliterated and scattered for hundreds of meters in every direction. Gregg cursed and watched as two squads of Rangers flashed off his virtual battlefield. “Have the scouts found those damned artillery yet?”

  “They keep moving them, sir,” the assistant replied.

  Gregg knew the shambling mounds only possessed three of them. They’d started with six, but the Rangers had taken out three in a lighting raid that had cost him an entire company. He wanted to believe it was worth the sacrifice.

  Only problem was the enemy controlled the portal, and thus access to reinforcements. Gregg could neither reinforce, retreat, nor reequip. His troops were running low on everything. Especially time.

  He still had an ace in the hole. What he was saving it for, he didn’t know. He lacked the support he’d need to begin a proper assault against the portal spire. The Leesa and their surprise allies the Mok-Tok were heavily fortified there with tanks and heavy beamcasters far up the spire. He was sure they could force entry, and possibly then evacuate. He was also sure he’d lose a battalion or more in the attempt. He’d already lost half a battalion. His options were quickly diminishing.

  “Have Alpha C fall back to location Tango-Delta two. They need a few hours of downtime. Have recon verify all LOS from damned portal spire so we can avoid direct fire and clear those lines.”

  Another acknowledgement came and he turned back to his tablet. How long could he continue to hold out? Two hours? Two days? Two weeks? He didn’t know, only that he would as long as he could. Something would turn up. A chance, an error by the enemy he could exploit. He still had over two thousand well trained soldiers at his command.

  Another building exploded a kilometer away and more icons winked out on his virtual battlefield.

  Chapter 38

  May 8th, 534 AE

  Planet K, Contested Territory, Galactic Frontier

  Gregg watched the technician work frantically trying to bring the heavily damaged craft back to life. The Lancer had been raked by beamcaster fire, shorting out a dozen key systems as the shields imploded. Somehow, the pilot had managed to limp the craft back and save the two squads of Rangers he’d flown in to rescue. Now down to only five of the versatile fighter/transports, the cost had been dizzying.

  “Any chance?” he asked the tech, a young woman from the Summit tribe.

  Her emerald-green eyes regarded him and squinted as she thought. “I can get you fighter or transport,” she told him. “No way both. And only two of the four shields will ever work again.”

  “Fighter then,” he said without hesitation.

  Two hours ago the scouts had located another set of portals. They were in an industrial complex five kilometers distant, and the leader was certain they were active. Two problems.

  One; he didn’t know where they went. They were under observation, but light observation. Should he eliminate the outpost, the shambling mounds would know what the Rangers were up to.

  Two; he would have to disengage and move his surviving forces five kilometers to evacuate offworld. During a normal orderly deployment, he could move his division through a single portal in three hours. In this situation, it would take twice that. Unless they dropped everything and ran.

  Gregg scowled at the virtual battlefield one more time and tried to consider another option. There simply weren’t any. “Inform all battalion commanders,” he told his assistant, “to begin preparing plans for a final offensive. In one day, we're getting out of here.”

  * * *

  Pip sat up with a jerk, shaking his head and trying to force his consciousness up through a thick layer of mental flotsam. It was the first time in years that he'd had a full-out mental crash because of overloaded implants. In the early days after being returned to wakefulness, it had happened often, though admittedly only for moments. None of his friends had even noticed. This incident was embarrassing to him.

  He felt his head where it was sore on one side. Had he actually collapsed in the tactical drive bay? So much for that effort to cultivate an image of infallibility. He didn't think it was working anyway.

  His implants finished initializing and he checked for elapsed time. Seven hours, the longest he'd ever been out against his will. And then he saw what had changed on the ship.

  “Lilith,” he called out, knowing she would hear him in his stateroom.

  “Yes Pip, I'm glad you are awake.”

  “We've made a tactical jump,” he stated.

  “Two,” she confirmed. “Mother wants you to join us in the CIC.”

  Pip changed his uniform and quickly made his way to the small secondary CIC. When he arrived the door opened for him and he floated out. He was both surprised and unsurprised at the image of what space lay beyond the hull of the Kaatan.

  Minu, Pip, Aaron and, Cherise and Kal'at all waited for him. Lilith was in presence as her remote self. “I have to tell you something important I figured out.”

  “It can wait,” Minu said and gestured to the wall.

  Pip looked for a second to realize what he was looking at. “What are we doing back here?”

  “Gregg is trapped on Planet K and under siege,” Minu began and quickly brought him up to speed.

  “You already have a plan,” he said, “don't you?”

  “I do,” she admitted and pointed at something that floated in the foreground of the display.

  “And how are we going to manage that?”

  “Not us…” Minu said.

  “You,” Lilith spoke up.

  Pip snorted and gave a deep laugh. “You honestly think I can do that?”

  “Lilith does,” Minu said. “We all agree it's the most logical approach.”

  “Everyone except me.”

  “So you won't do it?” Aaron accused.

  Pip narrowed his eyes and almost said no.

  “Gregg is your friend too.”

  “You don't know what you are asking me to do,” Pip said, looking at Minu and ignoring her husband.

  “I know perfectly well what I'm asking. I'm asking you to put the life of your friend, and thousands of Rangers above your personal comfort zone.”

  Against his will, Pip felt his face getting hot. She'd hit on that one.

  “It's within my authority to make it an order,” Minu stated.

  “But you won't,” Pip chided, “you're all about personal choice and greater sacrifice.” He'd been trying to hurt her back with that one. It didn't quite work as he'd planned.

  “I've given plenty of flesh and bone,” she reminded him with a hard edge to her voice.

  She didn't have to hold up the cybernetic arm, or show off the lines of deep scars on her legs, or remind him of the circumstances behind Lilith's birth. If there was any Chosen who came close to the level of sacrifice she'd given, it was him.

  But maybe that was his problem with the situation. Didn't many consider what she'd given up to be greater that what he'd offered to the service? After all, what did he do except take a nap for years? Pip clenched his teeth at that thought. No-one, especially Minu, would ever say something like that. I really am a selfish asshole. And it was that selfish part that decided to keep a secret for a while longer.

  “I don't know if it's even possible,” he finally said.

  “Lilith says it is.”

  “Okay. Then I'll try.”

  Chapter 39

  May 8th, 534 AE

  T'C
hillen Command Ship, Deep Space, Galactic Frontier

  Singh-Apal Katoosh waited patiently in the meeting room for his guests, tail swishing slowly from side to side. Two females were coiled by a side entrance, heads held low, watching the Grand Admiral with concern.

  They lived in fear of the males of their species at all times, and of the high ranking males they had only terror and dread. A low ranking male would not kill a useful female for no reason, especially one who carried out important technical or scientific duties.

  A high ranking male, especially one above all but the great head of the T’Chillen itself? Well, they could do anything they wanted. And Singh-Apal Katoosh was known for his extraordinarily short temper.

  “Where is there damned shuttle?” he hissed and spun to the pair of females.

  They practically threw themselves flat on the floor, quivering in fear. Singh-Apal spat in frustration and gestured with a serpentine arm for them to rise enough to respond.

  “Great Grand Admiral,” the senior of the two spoke, her hissing so quiet it was almost indiscernible over the sound of the ships atmosphere recycling system. “They docked a minute ago and should be here shortly.”

  He didn't acknowledge but just turned to stare at one of the space’s holographic displays. He'd never been good at waiting. Climbing higher in the ranks had not helped. Luckily for his underlings, a chime announced the guests’ arrival. “Show them in,” he hissed.

  The females left through the main exit and a moment later the door reopened. Of course, Singh-Apal's sensitive nose picked up the beings before he could actually see them.

  As per the agreement there were three, which was fitting. Each of the giant furry beasts had three massive limbs and moved like a shellfish. Though unlike a crab, the legs each ended in massive claws and Singh-Apal knew they could render even a powerful T'Chillen warrior to pieces.

  Even more disturbing was that these massively powerful things were not the Mok-Tok, themselves, but only part of them. Little was known except they were symbiotic. The brains of the pair lived inside, or on the thing he was looking at. It was a disconcerting combination of brain and brawn, because the Mok-Tok were among the most ingenious of the higher order species within the Concordia.

  “We have come as requested,” a voice spoke from Singh-Apal's translator.

  The T'Chillen Grand Admiral counted on the defensive measures in place and approached the massive Mok-Tok, proscribing a careful bow of his hooded head, eyestalks carefully watching them for any sign of treachery.

  He knew that was unlikely. The Mok-Tok rarely endangered themselves personally. They preferred to let lesser species or bots do their fighting for them. “The T'Chillen acknowledge you. May we know to whom we speak?”

  “It matters little, but I am squadron commander Ok-al-na.”

  “And I am Grand Admiral Singh-Apal Katoosh, high leader of the T'Chillen.”

  “Very well, proceed with the purpose of this meeting.”

  Singh-Apal nodded to the female technician and one wall of the meeting room became transparent to show space outside. Even from hundreds of kilometers the shattered hulks of spaceships were discernible. Some even still shows plumes of outgassing or flashes of explosion. “We've defeated you again.”

  “You have a point to make?” Such bluntness was common of the Mok-Tok. “There will be more battles, and you will not win them all.” As was arrogance.

  “You surely know you are now facing new ships.” The Mok-Tok's physiology made it impossible to see their reactions. His own species had very few facial reactions, evolving from serpentine reptiles as they had. However the silence that met his comments spoke volumes.

  “Yes. Now though, we also know you are using new ships as well.”

  “We are listening.”

  “I and the high command are willing to wager you have obtained this ships from the same source from which we obtained ours.”

  “Our leaders consider the same possibilities.”

  “Then speak it and we will consider.”

  The reply was a single word. One Singh-Apal had never heard another species speak. “Grent.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, “the Grent.”

  “So now we both understand,” the Mok-Tok spoke. Singh-Apal made a dismissive gesture with his tail spike, forgetting the other species would not understand. “What you may not realize is that the Tanam have likewise been gifted.”

  “The cats?” he spat. “They barely have enough ships to defend their holdings. If it were not for their tenacity in ground combat they would have long ago left the platform of a higher order species.”

  “That as it may be the case, but it does not alter the facts.”

  Singh-Apal considered for a moment. “And the Tog?”

  “We have no evidence either way.”

  “We are being manipulated by the Grent.”

  “It is what they do.”

  Singh-Apal cursed. “You are so uncaring that we are at each other’s throats as the result of a legendary species many thought gone?”

  “You T'Chillen have short memories. We remember the last time the Grent were among us. They do this each time, turn species against each other for their own advantage.”

  “Then why are we doing this?”

  Two of the Mok-Tok shifted their positions but Singh-Apal did not know if it was any result of their conversation. That was when he realized there was no way of knowing which creature he was talking to. Or was it all of them? “Because if we do not accept their gifts, someone else will,” was finally their answer.

  “So what is the result of this? We battle each other until there is a clear winner?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And then what?” Silence stretched for long moments. “There could be an alternative.”

  “We are listening.”

  “The two most powerful spacefaring species are in this room. Very little stands between ourselves and control of everything. If we were to join forces...”

  “The Mok-Tok and the T'Chillen together? To what end?”

  The bitter end, Singh-Apal thought. At least until a few other problems were dealt with. “I can see only a few threats to our controlling the entire Concordia.”

  “Then what purpose the Concordia at all?”

  “Species need some sort of government, a structure to live within. Especially the lesser species. With two powerful forces, the Mok-Tok and the T'Chillen at the reins of power, order can be returned and we can begin once again working to expand our own empires. These assets the Grent are providing can be located and made available constantly, and additional ones exploited.”

  “What of the fleet of Lost ships you are hoarding?”

  “We have never been able to access them.”

  “With our help that may be possible.” Singh-Apal mused quietly. He was already going beyond his franchise as the Grand Admiral of the T'Chillen by even proposing an alliance. It was unlikely the high command would fall for such a proposal.

  Of course, he controlled all the fleets. Would it be so difficult to simply take the council over, or replace it outright? The Mok-Tok were much better scientists than his own people. Maybe they could crack the problem of accessing the frustrating firebase control programming, and thus those incredibly powerful ancient starships.

  “We would require seventy-five percent of the ships.”

  “The Mok-Tok agree to give the T'Chillen fifty-fifty.”

  Did this being even have the authority to bargain? Singh-Apal almost hissed a laugh. As if he did? “We could settle for seventy percent.”

  * * *

  The three Mok-Tok had been gone for half an hour and their smell still lingered. A rotting carpet of damp fur with a slight hint of feces. He wished he'd chosen a room farther from his office on the battlecruiser.

  Bad enough he kept staring at the communication system nervously, afraid at any moment the Grent's voice would be coming from it, aware of what Singh-Apal had done behind its back. Or th
e ship would simply explode.

  He'd heard of such things happening, in the dark recesses of history. He snorted and spat some venom on the floor. Legends told to scare hatchlings. But these legends spoke truth, sometimes.

  Chapter 40

  May 9th, 534 AE

  Planet K, Contested Territory, Galactic Frontier

  The breakout was a disaster from the opening shots. As soon as the Second Battalion spearhead slammed into the forward defensive elements of Leesa defending the portal spire a Mok-Tok company hit the Rangers in their left flank, and hit them hard.

  “Where the hell did they come from?” Gregg yelled over the thunder of his CP being pounded by heavy beamcaster fire. Shock rifles cracked in ragged order, trying to suppress the incoming fire with little success.

  The Mok-Tok took advantage of the massive brute force of their symbionts to move huge dualloy plates as shields to protect their weapons. The attack quickly stalled, and now his rear was in danger. It was looking like he wasn't going to find a way out. The small group of portals the scouts had found days ago now appeared to be the only option. They were heavily defended, but not like the portal spire.

  “Commander,” called his CP communications lead, “we have an urgent contact request.”

  What now, Gregg moaned inwardly. “Which unit?”

  “Not a unit,” he said and patched it through to Gregg.

  “…respond… I say again, Ranger First Division Actual, please respond.”

  Gregg's jaw dropped. There was no mistaking Minu's voice over the radio. And there was no way she was here. Unless... “Ranger First Division Actual here. Boss, what the fuck?!”

  “Stories later, old friend, the cavalry has arrived.”

  Gregg shook his head in amazement.

  “What are you facing down there?”

  “Mok-Tok armored elements and an assload of Leesa.”

  “Understood. Now upload the virtual battlefield, we don't have a lot of time.”