Insanity's Children

by Rolf Nelson

  “It is my place, you know,” he countered, ingratiating smile back on his face now that his demise was a bit less imminent. “Found out the landing area you wanted.”

  “Near the coast on Gamma, across from some islands?” Sharon answered with the first smile her face had worn in days.

  A temporarily confused look passed Skelton’s countenance briefly. “How did you…? Yes, that’s right. Sources came through. Scheduled for about four days from now. Supposed to be four ship loads of conscripts, about three hundred men, joining another hundred already on the ground.”

  “Transportation?”

  “Still nothing. A frenzy of things coming this way, but nothing going. It’s a mess. I’d picked up a bunch of tickets to scalp for a concert at the coliseum there, but now they are worthless.”

  “Wait a sec. Concert? When?” Allonia asked, a thought tickling the back of her memory.

  “This weekend.”

  “So… four days from now?”

  “Yeah. Bad timing, eh?”

  “No… Perfect timing. Got a radio?

  “Radio? What kind?” Skelton waved to the screens on the desk and wall. “Can’t you get enough data there?”

  “No,” Allonia replied, annoyed. “A radio transmitter. Preferably with a ten-meter antenna, shouldn’t need more than a hundred watts, maybe under five if you can get a really good antenna setup. If you have something that can go above 150 MHz we could send something to Helton, but he’s likely not listening, in fact he’s likely little more than a passenger if what Dorek said about the conscript scows is right…. Anyway, we can broadcast a short-repeated message with latitude, longitude, and pickup time. Chirp it out in simple Morse code every 1.618 seconds on a couple of appropriate bands, likely around a two millisecond burst each time, moving between something like two and twenty megahertz in 50 kilohertz steps, let the ionospheres bounce it around the globe. The Morse should get around any atmospherics or sunspots causing problems. Taj listens to everything, no way she’d miss it, so-” Allonia broke off, noticing the other two are looking at her skeptically, as though she was speaking an entirely foreign language. “What?”

  “And you know this… how? You a com-tech, now?” Skelton asked.

  “Taj.”

  “You keep referring to her, or it, but I’m confused,” Sharon added.

  “Tajemnica is the ship. Taj is the onboard AI. It’s complicated, but she has lots of teaching software. Anything you do she tries to teach you more about. When I was in the garden, we had endless discussions of photosynthesis, plant genetics, germination, stoma and CO2 levels, soil chemistry and N-P-K balance, all the rest. When Helton got her flying, I started spending a lot of time on the bridge, usually at com or sensors, so I started getting a full course of applied exterior RF. That included frequency dynamics, why certain bands are used for different things, what the normal hailing freqs are, background radiation, normal coding methods, analog systems versus digital, everything you could imagine. Even drilled me in Morse code, complete with history. It used to bug me, but after a while I just got used to it. Now I know why. She always said she couldn’t predict the future, didn’t know what I’d need or where I’d be, so I had to learn it all.” She grinned. “Not sure if I know it all, yet, and no idea how we’ll find Dorek and Helton, but this one I’m pretty sure of. So…. Got a radio?”

  Training II

  Helton walked into the cargo bay where the men were doing calisthenics lead by Kaminski and Harbin. Even in his still-recovering state it was clear very few of the men were in condition to keep pace with the First Sergeant, as they were all exhausted and ragged looking. Harbin called a break, letting the men collapse and rest or go get a drink of water as they felt the need. Most of the men are present, only a few of Nesbit’s and Moffett’s squads missing.

  “Think I know where we’re going,” Helton offered while the other two observed who went where, and what condition they were in. “Coastal city. Looks like there’s a mine nearby we could crash at.” Harbin gave him a dry look before returning his eyes to evaluating the draftees. “Sanjay says the news is reporting movement restrictions in the region, it’s been fought over before… and it’s just down the coast from our pickup point. Looks like it might be hot when we arrive.”

  “Great,” Kaminski replied drolly. “Landing in a hot LZ. Conscription, the gift that keeps on giving. These guys are beat even doing basic exercises. They could barely walk after yesterday. The meds help, but still…”

  “We might have to hustle a way down the coast. Have you marched them around much?”

  “You kidding? The only guys here that don’t have two left feet have three.”

  “You could try it. A little bit of cardio, build esprit de corps a bit with a colorful cadence or two. See if anyone has a standout voice.”

  “Have to teach flank and counter-march first thing,” Harbin observes, giving the cargo bay a mental size estimate. “Not a lot of room for big flashy stuff, but we could work some close-order drill.”

  Kaminski nodded agreement. “We can’t practice rifle-work until we can get at them, may as well march a few klicks, even if we have to march in place. I remember some teaching cadences. They might remember things better that way, too.” He turned to the two companies of men sprawled about on the deck. “May as well get started. FALL IN! Time to see who can keep a beat.”

  The conscripts were in a properly spaced formation, marching in place, with Kaminski’s amplified voice calling cadence, and at regular intervals the troops replied with surprising vigor and consistency.

  Your left, your left, your left-right-left

  Your mother was home when you left

  You’re right!

  Your father was home when you left

  You’re right!

  Your children were home when you left

  You’re right!

  Your girl was home when you left

  You’re right!

  They took you away in the dead

  Of night!

  They gave you a mighty big scare

  You’re right!

  You met a man and trained

  To fight!

  You picked up a rifle and saw

  The Light!

  Fighting all day and into

  The Night!

  We’re the roughest and toughest we’ll give ‘em

  A Fright!

  At the rear of the formation a tired Helton stood next to the rapidly healing First Sergeant, approving of the visible progress. “May not be soldiers yet, but at least they are starting to sound like they believe they are.”

  “I don’t train many conscripts. But we always have to start with baby steps. Given a few months, we might be ready to do something. As it is...” his voice trailed off.

  The marching ended with the command of “Company, HALT!” and the crash of boots on the deck. They stood in silence a moment. “Front row, kneeling firing position… MOVE!” Awkwardly, not having heard the command and only having recently been taught the position, they started get into position. “Wait, wait, wait. As you were!” Everyone recovered uncertainly to their feet, eyes on Kaminski. “Like this.” He demonstrated the move properly, taking a step forward with the left foot, and swinging a pretend gun up into a firing position, then he recovered. “All together, now… Front row, kneeling firing position… MOVE!” This time there was a much more even, positive step and position. “Good, good! Second rank, standing firing position…” He gave them time to think, and raised his hand. When he dropped it swiftly, bellowing out MOVE!” they moved more or less in synchrony.

  “Excellent, gentleman! Excellent! Mass movement in coordination, and on command, freaks out undisciplined troops. It makes them think they are up against professionals. Amateurs don’t like facing professionals.” The modest praise made several of the new recruits smile.

  Harbin joined his junior NCO at the front of the formation. “Pretty good. A bit of practice, you’ll start to look like professionals. I
f you look professional, you’ll start to think and act professionally. That means we might just have a chance after all.”

  From the back rank a voice called out somewhat sarcastically “You think we can win by marching?”

  “I think we can win by you following orders, doing as best you can, with confidence that it needs to be done. We don’t know who we’re facing, where we’ll be, what weapons we’ll have. We don’t have a lot of time to train, so the most important thing you can bring to the fight is attitude. Make them scared because you are so confident about what you are doing that it makes them second guess themselves and their own leadership. If they ambush our movement, you react instantly to attack them. Get shot at, shoot back. We tell you to climb a wall, then you climb a wall like your life depends on it.”

  “But we don’t have guns yet!” another voice called out.

  “We will. Either we break in soon, or they pop them open remotely just before we hit. You’ve already seen the training vids on basic operations and aiming. But to be honest, we’re hoping we can land a bit off target and come at them from an unexpected angle to lock ‘em down, then beat feet and slip quietly down the coast to a starship we hope to be there.”

  “Hope?”

  “That’s why Nesbit’s trying access the com system. If he can’t get in, then we’ll find another way. Got a lot of creative brainpower working around here, some other good minds on that ship. But it’s almost a certainty that we will be walking a long way, so marching is as good as anything to practice. It’ll teach you to listen carefully and respond quickly. Anyone here with a good voice, and knows some popular songs with a good beat?”

  Shuttle

  “There just isn’t anything going that way. None of my contacts are willing to fly into a hot war zone, even with a large bonus offered. Sorry.” Skelton looked genuinely apologetic as he leaned back in his chair. “Finding a programmable analogue radio was difficult enough.”

  “But if we can’t get to where they are, then telling Taj where we are doesn’t do us any good. We’ll only get one shot to get aboard and get away,” Allonia objected. “You saw what they threw at her last time. Any indication she’s still here will draw fire from everything and everyone.”

  “Any way that your ship could get word to you?” Skelton wondered aloud.

  “No, she wouldn’t risk it. We had a rally point. I didn’t pay a lot of attention to it because I didn’t think we’d get separated. I don’t remember much more than a general get there idea, didn’t consider losing normal communications, or getting separated.”

  Brother Libra, sitting quietly in a corner reading, still wearing jeans and a tee shirt that shows a tattoo saying Baby! on his left biceps, chimed in quietly. “Broadcasting openly will be a big enough risk as it is. I wouldn’t recommend it if we can think of any other way.”

  “And now we can’t even get there,” Sharon whined. “And you still won’t tell me why we can’t just go to the authorities and get this mistake straightened out.”

  “They want us dead or in prison for real. There isn’t a mistake,” Allonia patiently explained again. “You’ll get all the details once we are aboard, where you might believe them.”

  An awkward silence possessed the room, broken only by the sound of Allonia pacing and Skelton tapping at a keyboard. “Know anyone else who might want to go to Gamma?” Allonia asked.

  Skelton shrugged. “Several. But nobody with anything to take them.”

  Roy nodded. “I know one or two in the same boat. Or rather, without the same boat.”

  “Could we put together a party of, say, a half-dozen couples?” She looked at the other three hopefully, and they returned her gaze with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. “I’m pretty sure I could get there, even the two of us, but I really don’t want to go that way alone.”

  Roy and Skelton looked at each other, then the ladies, uncertainly. “I can’t find you passage even for just yourself, but you can go, but don’t want to unless you take a group?” Skelton mused. “I got nothin’, babe. Spell it out for me.”

  “I want to see what sort of couples we can get, first. It has to look natural,” she said obliquely. “Sharon, are you up for being arm-candy for a little while?”

  Sharon looked startled, and mystified, but nodded slightly. “Maybe. But how will this plan of yours get Helton’s attention?”

  “Not sure yet. We have to get there, first. Once we are in the area, we head for the loud noises and crashing ships. That’s usually where they are.”

  Brother Libra smiled wryly, Skelton appeared skeptical, and Sharon didn’t look comforted at the prognostication.

  Guns

  “OK, try it now,” Nesbit said quietly for the hundredth time in the last hour, as he moved his electrical probes one more time deep inside a panel on one end of a corridor. Moffett, sitting on the floor, fiddled with the knee-level hatch near the other end of the forward compartment hall again, also for the hundredth time. They were rewarded by a click, and the compartment door slid open.

  “Finally. I was starting to worry.” He grinned down the hall as his accomplice. “We’ll make a proper criminal out of you yet.”

  “I just want a regular job.”

  “What makes you think it isn’t?”

  Nesbit sighs tiredly and gives him a baggy-eyed look, not yet quite tired of the running joke. “I’m not liking the flexible hours you keep talking about.”

  “This isn’t the normal gig, either. Now, let’s see what we really got into.”

  Their investigation revealed the armory was right where they expected it to be, rifle-racks lined with gleaming black metal and polymer. Moffett flipped up the pair of levers securing them into place and hefted one of them, shouldering it carefully. Looking through the scope, he frowned at seeing nothing but the black rear of the mechanism.

  “Careful, man,” Nesbit cautioned, looking at him uncertainly.

  “Huh. Guess we should tell the specialists their toy-box is open, see if they are as good with guns as they claim.”

  Kaminski and Helton looked the guns over while Nesbit observed in silence. “Damn,” Kaminski muttered softly. “Not a model I’m familiar with. Looks like a bolt-reciprocating induction-charge model, but an old one.” He played with the controls, cycled the charging handle back and forth rapidly several times, and shouldered it again. Nothing. He made a face and chewed his lip. Looking around the cramped armory, he spied the cleaning and maintenance tools supply in a locker labeled “multi-tool kits.” Kaminski picked up the simple Swiss-army type item and flipped it open to see what the options were.

  When Harbin walked in trailing Moffett and saw the racks of arms he snorted derisively, then without a word held out his hand to Kaminski. The sergeant handed the rifle over and offered the multi-tool, but Harbin ignored the latter for a moment. Gripping the forestock and buttstock just so, with a hard twist on them, he whacked the front of the buttstock just behind the receiver, hard, on the corner of one of the racks, sending a small hunk of plastic flying. Taking the tool from Kaminski, he pried at the new opening, pulling out a small bit of circuitry with a line of capacitors on the board. A few more well-practiced pushes, twists, and pulls later the action was open and the bolt carrier group was in his hand. He removed a bit of circuitry from behind the trigger in the trigger housing, then scraped off an electrical contact point on the bolt carrier to expose bare metal. He dropped the multi-tool down into a spot in the receiver where it fit perfectly. He returned the bolt carrier to its track, closed the action, and rapidly worked the charging handle a dozen times back and forth. Flicking the selector switch, he performed a quick function-check, peered through the now-clear scope, and then handed it Kaminski. “Bang-ready,” he said dryly. “Just add ammo.” The whole process had taken less than two minutes. “Time to beat is forty six seconds.”

  Nesbit looked a little shaken. “I’d always thought smart-guns were more secure than that.”

  Moffett, however skeptical he was
of authority figures in the best of times, was impressed. “Can you teach me how to do that?” he asked, voice tinged with awe at seeing a master at work.

  Harbin waved to the racks of rifles. “I’m not doing all these myself. You two hit the rack, get your squads in here after they wake up. I’ll walk through it in detail when you’re properly rested. Looks like you’ll get a fair bit of practice, too.” After they left, he commented to his friends “The Izlacs 2400 has been a bad joke of a rifle since its design left committee a century ago. Useless as a ship playing tag in space. Don’t see them as much these days, but I expect they’ll still be around long after I’m dead.”

  “If they are so bad why are they used at all?”

  “All Izlacs’ designs are bad derivatives, but they have low up-front costs and a very effective marketing department. Lots of very cute young ladies pushing them while making themselves available for very personal demonstrations with decision-makers in uniform and various committees.” He chuckled. “I was on a selection committee once. Hired as an outside consultant to give it a veneer of legitimacy while they were dealing with corruption scandals. After listening to five hours of testimony assuring everyone it was the most secure in state-of-the-art law-enforcement arms, it was our turn. The colonel thought the sales rep would stroke out when I demonstrated its shortcomings, worked the action, seated a full magazine, and aimed it at her…. The official transcript had only one word: click. The firing pin solenoid dropping on an empty chamber echoes in a room that has gone completely silent.”

  Chapter X

  Calling

  Allonia was dressed up again in attractive business professional attire again when she tapped the call icon on the screen. A few moments later the bank manager’s image popped up, his expression of surprise rapidly turning to concern. “Morena! What a surprise! Are you OK?”