by Michael Ryan
“Will you please stay seated, Lieutenant Colonel? You’re like a child on Saint Vellasentia’s Day. To answer your questions, yes, an explorer vessel acquired proof, but no, not on Purvas. You’re not going to like what they discovered.”
“Was it an advanced species as I predicted? They had more than Belkinotic drive technology?”
“They don’t appear to have more advanced tech than purvasts, but their starships are proof enough that they have the potential. An information drone launched from a destroyed research base on an uninhabited Tango-class planet was picked up by a Bonosus-class cruiser on a scientific expedition.”
“And?”
The general motioned to an aide, who dimmed the lights and projected an image clip onto the wall directly across from Balestain.
A recording of a lone Tedesconian scientist began with the man in midsentence.
“…Tansoult, on planetary expedition Blasine Sector Nine-Sixteen. I may be the last member of the ground crew still alive…” A background explosion boomed over the feed, and the scientist ducked out of the frame. He continued speaking somewhere off-camera after a few moments. “I’m going to attempt to launch this message…” Another shock wave blasted through the room, and the image shook as if in an earthquake. Tansoult’s face appeared in the right lower quadrant of the screen, and after glancing to the side in alarm, said, “I’m going to the pod room now. I’ll upload whatever I can…tell my family–” The screen went black.
“That is all?” Balestain asked.
“No. He was able to upload some of the team’s logs before the emergency pod auto-launching sequence began. It appears that he was panicked, but when you see the next footage, you’ll understand why.” The general motioned the aide standing in the corner of the room. “Please proceed.”
The image was an exterior view, from a camera labeled “Exterior Port Cam-45.” A barren landscape of rocky sand appeared. An unrecognizable landing craft sat next to a crater that filled the background. Four shapes approached the camera.
“They’re the same,” Balestain said. “The same species from the wreck.”
“Yes,” the general confirmed. “They appear to be identical. Now, the tricky part is knowing if they’re the same race, or from the same country. Assuming they have countries.”
Balestain watched the remainder of the clip, which lasted twelve more seconds before the image exploded with white static and died. “If an alien observer had a video clip of an armored Ted soldier, he’d have no idea if the Teds were dominant or if other races existed on the same planet. If we can make contact with these aliens, we can control what they first learn about the Gurts. Perhaps they’ll be as naive as the Meckos, although I suppose that’s wishful thinking. They might view us all as prey, lumping Tedesconians in with Gurts and humans.”
Balestain rubbed his scar. “How do we know–”
“We don’t,” the general interrupted him with an outstretched palm. “Lights, please,” he told his aide. “And then I need you to leave the room.”
The aide obeyed. The general stood.
“We have no idea how many factions these creatures have, or if they even have factions. But we know they’re aware of Purvas, obviously. What caused them to crash-land there, nobody has been able to determine. Have they found Earth? We don’t know. But they’ve definitely found Talamz.”
“When?” Balestain asked.
“A recon unit caught a glimpse of them three days ago. They’ve since left.”
“Left the planet?”
“Left the solar system. Completely gone. What that means, we don’t know. Are they coming back? Are they ultimately hostile? What do they want?”
“Their hostility seems apparent,” the lieutenant colonel said. “I saw it with my own eyes.”
The general smiled, and Balestain’s hand instinctively moved to his cheek.
“Correction,” he said. “I saw them with my one good eye. But I saw them. They were hostile, and when faced with defeat, they self-destructed and blew up their ship.”
“As any of us might have done. That doesn’t make us entirely hostile.”
“Tell that to the Gurts.”
“You can see the issue. These creatures, or this species, are not going to be friendly toward any of us.”
Balestain nodded. He stretched his arms then set his hands on the table and intertwined his fingers. “How does any of this bring you to a preemptive strike on the Rhanskads?”
“Simple. We must force a compromise at the upper levels of power. They’ve allied with the Errusiakos. Between them and the Gurts, they could form a formidable alliance. Together they’re too financially strong for us to oppose, even with your promised Ted reinforcements and more humans. My goal in launching a preemptive strike is to force an invitation to the negotiating table. I’ll obtain equal footing for the Chemeckos in the future alliance by being the force that brings you under control.”
Awareness spread across Balestain’s face. “So you’re sending out your hound and then calling him home with a whistle after he’s bitten a few village children…”
“Exactly, Abast. Destroy some buildings, rattle some cages. And for Versus’s sake, don’t bomb any strategically important factories.”
Balestain grunted an acknowledgment. “How all-encompassing is this alliance going to be?”
“Three planets’ worth. If Tedesconians, Guritains, Errusiakos, Chemeckos, and Rhanskads don’t band together, this new species could easily take what’s ours.”
Balestain spread his hands apart. “The predator becomes the prey.”
“Not particularly eloquent, but true. Balestain, because our goal is to cooperate with the Rhans and Errus, and we need them to be fully prepared to defend themselves, our strikes against them must not destroy–”
“Yes, you made that clear. Soft political targets only.”
The general nodded. “Which is, as I recall, your specialty.”
“Return me to the field and the rank of major. No more desk work. And I want a guarantee I’ll keep my unit in the coming difficulties – whatever they may be.”
“Done. Now, I’m going to need you to help negotiate with the Mecko leadership. They’ll be here within the hour.”
“Sir.”
The rest of Balestain’s day proceeded without surprise. The Chemecko leaders approved his planned “probative” strikes against the Rhanskad and whatever Errusiakos had allied with them. They even agreed with the reasons for them. They also committed another seven hundred thousand troops to the joint command and earmarked ungodly amounts of Mecko dollars to their defense budget. Balestain couldn’t think of a better ending to his day than a steam bath, a two-hour massage, and a Volintian prostitute who specialized in receiving pain.
So that was exactly what he did, right after eating a Rhanskad four-course meal.
RHIP, he thought.
Rank has its privileges.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
These principles form the bright constellation which has gone before us and guided our steps through an age of revolution and reformation. The wisdom of our sages and blood of our heroes have been devoted to their attainment.
~ Thomas Jefferson
We were in geosynchronous orbit over an unclaimed portion of a vast ocean for several weeks before Command announced we were leaping to Purvas. While we weren’t technically in their airspace, neither the Teds, the Meckos, nor the Errus were happy our ship was parked over the planet.
The Rhanskad seemed benevolent, though, and I sensed a probable alliance. At least they had good food, or so I’d heard through the rumor mill.
In reality, we weren’t in anyone’s airspace – being beyond the edge of the atmosphere meant there was no air, only the vacuum of space. But that didn’t mean we were allowed to let down our guards. We performed daily emergency drills, and everyone on board but me seemed deadly serious about them.
“I hate training for something that either isn’t going to be needed, or
that within seconds of needing it, I’m going to be dead,” I griped.
“We could survive after being jettisoned in an escape pod,” Callie said. “It’s possible.”
“But we’d splash into the ocean and slowly die of dehydration,” Abrel said.
“Or be eaten by sharks.” Mallsin smiled as she strapped into her assigned seat. “I think I’d rather die quickly than slowly die of thirst.”
“Neither of those things will happen,” Abrel said. “We’re going to receive permission to leave orbit and head back to Purvas. You’ll see.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or we might be sent back with a basic light-armor infantry unit and get chewed up in a firefight with a–”
“Stop being a pessimist,” Callie said.
“Okay, everything’s going to be fine. We’ll be back on Earth fighting terrorists within two weeks.”
She threw me a triumphant smile. “That’s the spirit.”
Rumors circulated that Command was secretly negotiating treaties with any number of the planet’s countries. I’d heard there were forty-seven nations recognized by the dominant one, Chemecko; there were also thousands of small quasi-states and tribes. Which countries had been conquered or had fallen under Tedesconian control and which had allied with the Errusiakos was hard to know for sure. It seemed to change daily.
Our rumored alliance with the Rhanskad seemed to be more likely as each day passed. The brewing war was beginning to sound more and more like a high school prom; everyone was negotiating to be assured they’d have a date when the bombs started falling.
You might wonder how we knew of any of these developments while awaiting orders in a starship. Soldiers are the biggest news junkies I’ve ever seen, and we monitored the planet’s news feeds with the rapt attention of rabid fans following their favorite sports team. I felt relieved when the announcement was made that we’d soon leave for Purvas, even though I limited my emotions to “cautiously optimistic.” Nothing in the military was guaranteed until after it happened. You weren’t even technically dead until the army approved the status.
While it was uncommon to transfer an SDI soldier into a light-armored ground unit, it wasn’t unheard of when platoons were continually short of men. Fortunately for us, there weren’t any major troop movements going on at the time. Eventually the ship moved away from Talamz, and after several days of uneventful travel, we were instructed to prepare for our leap to Purvas.
“Please ensure that all your personal property is stored according to regulation,” a loudspeaker blared. “Painlessly insert monitoring devices with Red’s Topical Gel,” another announcement said.
Abrel frowned. “When did the military start–”
“Don’t get Abrel started,” Mallsin said. “His political leanings are already borderline illegal.”
“Is this some kind of new joke – commercials for Red’s? I thought they gave us that stuff for free,” Callie said.
“You don’t get the proper medical treatment unless it’s deducted from your pay,” Abrel complained. “It should be criminal.”
“At least we have a lot of back pay coming,” I said, changing the subject. “Our entire time with the Tsalagians was considered hostile active duty.”
“As it should be,” Abrel said.
“Calm down, babe.” Mallsin hugged him. “I’ll help you get into your drawer.”
“I’m not upset,” he complained. “I’m just–”
“You’re just pointing out things you can’t change,” she said while helping him insert his monitoring lines. She kissed him on the cheek and entered her drawer. Her head popped up before it auto-closed, and she waggled her fingers at us. “Sweet dreams, everyone.”
“You too,” I said.
In spite of our wishes, the leap passed dreamlessly.
Once on Purvas, we dropped down a busy space elevator only to wait five days for orders that would send us back up the thread to be transferred to a space station for another two-day wait before reboarding the same ship. I found it to be a perfect example of army efficiency, but the women thought it was an ideal opportunity to go shopping at the space station mall.
“You’d think somebody would arrange this stuff with a more economical mindset,” Abrel said. “Then they wouldn’t have to charge us for a topical analgesic.”
“You’re still on that kick?” Callie asked.
“He’s relentless,” Mallsin answered. “I swear…”
“Come on, let’s get a milkshake in the mess hall and then shop for shoes.”
“They’ll probably charge you for real strawberries but give you fake ones,” Abrel teased.
“Capitalist swine and warmongering whores!”
“Avery, Jesus,” Mallsin said. “Are you trying to get arrested?”
Callie tactfully changed the subject to a more neutral topic. “If they have real strawberries, I’ll gladly pay for them. I don’t think I’ve had a real…” She checked herself before she mentioned the last day we’d spent with our children.
“Come on, Abrel,” I said. “Let’s grab a beer and let the ladies gossip about us.”
We found a bar with a light crowd and took a couple of seats in a booth.
“Hello,” said a perky blonde with a low-cut top. “Welcome to Ground Zone, where all servicemen on active duty get ten percent off their order. Can I get you boys drinks?” She put her hands on the table and leaned toward Abrel.
“I don’t care,” he said.
“Well, how about a dark microbrew?” I asked.
“I meant about boobs,” he answered. He looked at the blonde and then to me. “After spending all that time among half-naked natives, you know?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I still appreciate fine art when I see it.”
“So, gentlemen, shall I make it two Deep Oil drafts, then?” she asked. Her eyes wandered to me. “That’s our dark microbrew special today.”
“Is it any good?” Abrel asked. “Or are you putting it on special just to get rid of bad inventory that isn’t moving?”
“I’m starting to miss being in a hot LZ,” I said. “Jesus, Abrel. Just decide. You want a pale ale instead?”
“Do I look like a teenage girl?”
“Okay, two Deep Oil drafts,” I said to the server, smiling an apology for Abrel’s truculence. “And some nuts or pretzels, please.”
“Petite, medio, large, or grandios?” she asked.
“I’ll take the large,” I said. “Abrel?”
“Don’t order the large,” he said. “It’s a corporate price discrimination technique and the worst value. Get the biggest one.”
“Two grandios,” I said. The waitress departed with a confused expression, and I glared at Abrel. “Happy now?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll eat a shitload of pretzels and stick it to these–”
“You two headed back to Earth?” an out-of-uniform officer at the nearest table asked.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. I can spot an officer from a block away, even in civvies.
“I heard a group came in from Talamz,” he said. “You two were on the Taihō-Sazanami?”
I nodded. “Sir, that was us.”
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the bench seat.
I slid over. “Of course.” We introduced ourselves, and the officer, who was a logistical-unit captain, ordered a glass of wine.
“What was it like on Talamz?” he asked.
“We were part of the assault on the Michishio factory,” I said. “But out here in public–”
He held up his hand, stopping me in midsentence. “Don’t have to explain,” he said. “I know you can’t discuss details. I was more interested in your thoughts on whether you think we’re going to be moving more troops there. I only mean as if you were a civilian looking at the situation. Did you hear the news today about Major Butcher?”
“Major who?” Abrel asked.
“Major Butcher. He’s the guy who was wiping out cities on Earth a few years
back before the Teds surrendered. Entire populations dead. He’s doing the same thing on Talamz, to cities populated with Errusiakos and Rhanskads, assuming the reports are accurate.”
“I never believe anything those media cartels say,” Abrel said. “Avery here is more of a conspiracy-theory follower. He still believes a secret cabal of bankers is running the universe.”
“It certainly would explain a lot,” I said. “But, back to Major…what’s his real name?”
“Major Abast Balestain,” the captain said. “After the war ended, the Teds promoted him to lieutenant colonel, and any suggestions of war crimes were hushed up behind closed doors. I’ve heard from reliable sources he’s part human; his mother was a rape victim during an old campaign. He’s been getting revenge ever since.”
“Bastards,” Abrel said, slamming his hand on the table. “You can’t trust any of them.”
“Wait a minute,” I said to Abrel, who had clearly drunk too much. “You don’t believe he’s a genocidal maniac, because you claim that’s just gossip…but then you hear he’s not punished, and that gets you pissed?”
“I’m sure he did something wrong,” he answered. “I just don’t believe the stories that he killed every human in whole cities. That seems like outlandish media propaganda designed by press-mongers to sell commercials.”
I shook my head in exasperation. “You’re impossible.”
The major raised his wineglass. “A toast to life. To change the subject.”
We touched glasses and drank in silence.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of me, and I eyed the captain. “You really think Balestain is on Talamz committing genocide?”
The captain nodded. “Yes. The Ted government, which are the purvasts who actually hold power, never fully surrendered. They’ve joined forces with the political party in Chemecko who control the seats of power, including the military. They’re trying to pressure the Errus into a treaty, so they’re attacking them and the Rhans, who are one of the Errus’ allies on Talamz. The Rhanskads are in a truce with the Chemeckos. Tedesconian engineers are building Belkinotic drives with the Meckos in exchange for advanced weapons tech. Meanwhile, Rhanskad is negotiating with our people; they want the Belkinotic drive as well. Badly, now, because they’re already a year behind the Meckos.”
