Sonata in Orionis (Earth Song Cycle Book 2)

by Mark Wandrey

  “I said maybe that’s the point! They want their own military force.”

  “Then why not tell us, let us recruit the right kind of Chosen, and train for it? As a people, we wouldn’t have a problem with that. Remember, we were fighting a war or two when they came back. Half the Chosen are spoiling for a fight, anyway.”

  “Maybe they’re of mixed feelings on the issue. If the Tog are such pacifists, could they be afraid of us?”

  “Afraid? Of humans? We’re more of a danger to ourselves than to anyone else.”

  “Maybe before,” she said and turned to look at the beamcaster she’d used in the fight days before, still sporting the improvised stock. Minu had disarmed it and turned its power circuits over to her lab for evaluation. It rested behind glass in a case newly mounted on the wall. She’d requested it, and Bjorn had gifted it to her. The aged scientist had kept one for himself, but she suspected that one wasn’t deactivated. Bjorn was dangerous with supposedly harmless technology; she shuddered to think what he might do with the gun some night when he was bored.

  A message with instructions from Bjorn quickly followed the one from Logistics. She read it to Pip. “We’re ordered to immediately begin an evaluation program to determine the best way to utilize the weapons, including a training protocol, storage options, and a retrofitting program to make them more usable. Guess he wants something more long term than my solution,” she said and cocked a thumb toward her prize.

  “No problem,” Pip said and rubbed his hands together, “let’s get to work!”

  * * *

  December 17th, 516 AE

  Science Department, Chosen Headquarters, Steven’s Pass

  Bjorn’s orders came with a modest R&D budget that Minu managed to stretch for almost a month before it ran dry. The request for her team to develop a testing and training facility included a hypothetical construction budget. When she saw the final designs Pip and the team came up with, the budget went up like an inferno. “Are you kidding me?” she asked at the planning meeting. She’d just returned from the university after two final exams. She’d left Pip in charge of finishing the proposal. In her absence, they’d gone berserk. “Look at some of this crap,” she said and grabbed a stylus.

  She’d put her team’s other projects on the back burner, after much crying and teeth gnashing from her people. The lab looked orderly and positively austere compared to the first time she’d visited. All the tables were against one of the two long walls, so they could use the other wall as a large display. She thumbed the stylus on, pointed it at the display, and began crossing things out. Elevators went immediately, with a savage sweep of her wrist. She heard Pip moan and ignored him. Next went the lavish bathrooms, showers and, of all things, a lounge?! She pulled down menus and replaced the now empty spaces with a couple of multi-purpose rooms and a single unisex bathroom.

  “The dual facilities were for you,” Alijah mumbled.

  “I’ve been pissing with boys for more than two years; no reason to stop now.” She could almost feel the heat of Mandi’s anger, and she knew it was less to engender their boss’s approval than an attempt to impress the buxom engineer. “Is it really necessary to build it a full twenty meters below the surface? The excavation alone will run thousands.”

  “What difference does it make?” Terry asked.

  “Safety counts for a lot,” Mandi noted.

  “So do credits. If instead we only go down…” she quickly accessed the survey of the mountain where the Steven’s Pass facility sat and found the data she was looking for, “five meters and build a ceramic concrete bunker, we can do it with local labor and keep the greedy Concordian specialists out of our pocketbook.” The team members looked at each other and shrugged. “Good,” she said and quickly made the changes. “Now, no new test gear; we’ll use equipment we currently have in stock, in removable mountings.”

  “But—” Pip began.

  Minu held up a finger to silence him. “We can double the number of firing ranges with the savings and add a few extra instruments for recording accuracy. We must build this facility with long-term use in mind. Buying temporary instruments for power and effect is expensive and would only leave enough funds for four firing ranges. If we make the changes I suggested, we get ten ranges that are just as useful for testing, and more than twice as effective for training. Come on guys, think like Chosen, not scientists. We don’t have an unlimited budget.”

  She tapped the finalization icon and waited while the program evaluated the design. She had to add a couple of load bearing beams that cost her the middle firing range, so she incorporated extra storage space and split the facility in half. The cost of her final design was about twenty percent of the cost of her team’s proposal, but it was still twice the initial budget.

  “Get to work on the survey and excavation,” she told them and headed downstairs, a copy of the design on a computer chip in her pocket. As she passed through Bjorn’s outer office, she found his assistant missing and heard voices in the inner office. She carefully approached and peaked inside. Several civilians were facing the desk, listening to Bjorn talk. With a shrug, she stepped inside.

  “Minu!” Bjorn called out when she cleared her throat. The civilians turned, and Minu saw that they carried various kinds of image and sound recording equipment. They were reporters, and, judging by their hair and dress, they came from all different tribes. “And this is the Chosen who retrieved the fabulous goods we’ve been talking about!”

  “Minu Alma, daughter of First Alma?” asked one of the reporters in a thick Rusk accent. Suddenly they were pointing their devices at her, and Minu felt her face getting hot.

  “Yes, of course she is. Don’t you people listen?”

  “How do you feel about the Chosen declaring your father dead?” asked one man in Desert Tribe dress.

  “Do you think you will be First someday, like your father?” another man, probably from the New Jerusalem Tribe, asked.

  “Have you kept in touch with your childhood friends?” the only woman asked. Minu noted she was from Plateau, like her.

  “People, please!” Bjorn yelled. “Chosen Minu is not here to be interviewed; she’s here to assist in the demonstration.

  “Demonstration?” Minu asked, taken off guard and confused.

  “Yes, yes. Come over here, young lady, and give me a hand.” As she moved around the reporters, who were grumbling about not having access to her, she saw that his desk was unexpectedly clear of clutter. Unfortunately, one of the new beamcasters lay in the center of it. It was one she’d modified herself with a projectile weapon stock, and she could see it was armed.

  “I assumed they’d disarmed the one they gave you,” she said, trying to control her voice. She glanced around and saw the walls were all still intact. She noticed a thick dualloy steel plate mounted on a portable articulation, like what her own team used for testing various theories. This plate was almost a centimeter thick and looked new. “What are you doing, sir?”

  “Why, I’m showing these wonderful reporters what you found for us, of course.”

  “Sir, I need to tell you this is very dangerous to—”

  “Pish tosh now, we’re in a hurry here,” he said, and with one quick motion, he grabbed the weapon and aimed at the target. Minu squeaked and covered her ears, her eyes wide in disbelief. The reporters, completely unaware of what was about to happen, held out their recorders and waited. Nothing happened. “Hmmm,” Bjorn said and started flipping controls on the weapon.

  “I don’t know if that is a good idea,” Minu said, leaning close, so the reporters couldn’t hear. They, in turn, leaned closer. “Can I help, sir?”

  “Of course, of course. You are much more familiar with this device.” He handed it to her and gestured at the target. “If you would, please?”

  Minu swallowed and looked from the gun to her boss. It suddenly felt like a classic setup. “Again, sir, I don’t think it’s safe.”

  “Nonsense! I explained to the civilian
planetary council only a few days ago the necessity for constructing a specialized facility to allow us to test and develop such weapons. They told me I was insane, and the press heartily agreed. Naturally, I invited them here to show them how right they were. So, Minu, kindly demonstrate for these highly educated reporters just how safe these weapons are.”

  “Sir?”

  “Fire the weapon, Minu.”

  “But sir…”

  “Young lady,” the female reporter said, “that’s an inch of dualloy. My uncle is an engineer; he told me there’s no weapon on this world that could possibly put a hole in that metal.”

  Minu looked agog at the woman. She obviously had no idea what she was talking about. She turned and looked imploringly at Bjorn.

  “That is an order, Minu,” he said and took a step back.

  “Yes sir,” she said. She verified the settings, which were not overly complicated. There were three power settings and five beam width controls. She set it for the lowest power and the narrowest beam. Bjorn reached over with his aged, yet delicate, fingers and changed them both to maximum. “Sir!”

  “We need an accurate demonstration, Minu!”

  She was about to try one more time, when he reached over and gently took her elbow. She felt a strange tingle, then realized he’d activated one of the personal shields. By touching her, he was extending the field to both of them. She jerked her head around to look at him, and his eyes twinkled as he winked.

  “Oh God,” she whispered and raised the weapon.

  “Aim carefully,” he said, “you don’t want to miss the target.”

  His office was only ten meters across. She couldn’t have missed the huge plate if she’d been asleep. The weapon discharged with a deafening Crrrack! The beam struck out with the speed of light. One moment the dualloy plate was there, strong and indestructible, the next it was in a million pieces. The room filled with flying fragments of dualloy plate and molten metal, and several pieces flashed brightly as they skittered off the protective shield around Bjorn, and through his touch, her. The concussion knocked the reporters from their feet and blew pictures from the walls. Minu disarmed the weapon and put it back on the desk before looking at the reporters.

  The blast trashed the office, and Minu had no doubt that had been Bjorn’s plan all along. He’d removed all the valuable experiments, tablets, and books in advance, and had sent his assistant away. The carpet was on fire in several places, as were two of the reporters. Minu called for medical assistance and went to help them. To her complete shock none were dead, or even seriously injured. Of course, they were almost deaf, and they were screaming in rage at the top of their lungs.

  “You did that on purpose!” they yelled. “How dare you endanger the press needlessly!” “What were you trying to prove?”

  “Why, gentleman, lady!” Bjorn complained indignantly, “I was simply proceeding at your insistence. That plate and the wall behind it are built exactly like the rest of this facility, with ceramic concrete and dualloy plating.” As the dust settled, a breeze blew through a half-meter-wide hole in the wall, through which sunlight was visible. “Of course, we can continue to practice and develop these weapons in our current facilities. However, I suspect you might now agree that constructing a new specialized facility would, in the long run, be considerably cheaper than continually rebuilding this one.”

  Emergency teams arrived, including a group of armed scouts responding to the unexpected weapons fire. Minu caught them at the door and sent the scouts away while admitting the medical team. As she’d thought, the injuries were minor—a few shrapnel wounds, a couple of ruptured ear drums, and numerous burns. During a lull in the yelling, Minu handed Bjorn the computer chip with the plans. He pulled a tablet from his desk and checked them over.

  “Excellent,” he said and quickly made a score of copies on new chips. “Lady and gentlemen of the press. Please help yourself to a copy of this chip. On it you will find the proposed design for our new, high-energy weapons testing and training facility, designed by Chosen Alma’s team. I believe you will find it modest, not overly expensive and, given today’s demonstration, quite necessary. Thanks for coming.”

  “That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” she said after the medics finished tending to the reporters.

  “Naturally.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me from the beginning? We could have worked together.”

  “Minu, please. You are young and honest. Enjoy it while it lasts!”

  Minu looked scandalized. “I do whatever it takes for the Chosen.”

  “Would that include lying about the price of milk to cheat a nursing mother?” Minu’s jaw dropped. “Ah, well, there you go!”

  “Why do we have to go to such extremes to get money from the civilian government? The people love us, and we’re responsible for half the world’s economy!”

  “That’s true, the people love us, but the people’s government despises us. It doesn’t matter that most of them have gotten rich from our innovations, work we hired them to do, or from the money we pay to lease their lands. Our budget comes from them, and thus, from taxes. Whenever we show up, hat in hand, it becomes more difficult for them to get re-elected and such.”

  “My dad always said he hated politicians,” she said thoughtfully, “and I always wondered why.”

  “Now you know! Oh yes, Chriso despised the elected class, especially that one bugger from the Rusk territory. What was his name?”

  “You must mean Viktor Malovich.”

  “Exactly, you’ve heard of him?”

  “His son is a Chosen now.” Bjorn nodded absently and watched a spot on his carpet slowly burning. “Why does he hate the Chosen, then send his son to join?”

  “Because he wanted to be one himself, of course!”

  “Yeah, Ted told me the story. My dad and he go way back.”

  “Absolutely.” The fire was creeping toward Bjorn’s desk, so he moved to stomp it out. “Naturally, when his plans failed, he turned bitter and became a lifelong opponent of the Chosen. He’s tried more than once to put us under the direct control of the civilian council. Our existence is part of the planetary constitution, ratified after the last world war more than a hundred years ago. To change it would take an amendment, just like it took to create the Chosen as an extra-governmental entity.”

  “All eight tribes would have to approve it,” Minu said, repeating her schooling word for word, “and each of those tribe’s councils would have to ratify it, as well.”

  “Exactly. And aside from the Rusk and sometimes the Peninsula Tribe, we are appreciated and honored.” The fire stubbornly resisted his stomping, so Bjorn began jumping on it with both feet. It resembled a strange cross between fire walking and a tap dance.

  “I didn’t know the Peninsula Tribe held any animosity toward the Chosen.”

  “Oh, without a doubt. When they came from Japan, they crossed over with all their ‘modern’ pacifism and none of the old samurai spirit.”

  “I’ve studied the samurai. They were badasses.”

  “Right. Anyway, their descendants here on good old Bellatrix are just the opposite. Their lands by the equatorial ocean were very safe, and the ocean supplied plenty of fish for them to live on. They never fought wars with the rest of us, and basically spent their time contemplating their navels. As you see, today very few Chosen come from there.”

  “And those that do tend to be in Science, Training, or Logistics.”

  “Good girl! You’re just as brilliant as your dad, and just as quick to grasp and dissect an issue.” The fire near his desk was finally out. Bjorn crossed his arms with a look of smug satisfaction and surveyed his office for signs of lingering fire.

  “Thank you, sir. I’d better get back to my team.”

  “Certainly, certainly. Carry on!”

  She took a step toward the door, then noticed something. “Oh, sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your shoe is on fire.”

  * *
* * *

  Chapter 16

  March 31st, 517 AE

  HERT, Chosen Headquarters, Steven’s Pass

  When Mandi showed up for the gala opening of the new high-energy weapons research and training complex, or HERT as the Chosen called it, dressed to kill in a low-cut red evening dress and high heels, it stunned Minu. The rest of her team wore the standard black dress jump suit, calf-height boots, utility belt, and slightly larger rank stars. Next to Mandi, they looked like parking attendants.

  Minu had tried not to stare and failed badly. She’d known all along that Mandi had a wonderful figure, but in that dress and those heels, with her hair let down from the conservative braid she wore in the lab, she was simply stunning. “How does she keep those massive breasts up like that?” she wondered under her breath before the reception started. Mandi showed more casual cleavage than Minu could manage with difficult preparation and technological assistance.

  “Boy, would I like to find out,” Gregg said behind her. Minu squeaked and almost jumped out of her boots. She hadn’t heard him coming up.

  “Find out what?” she demanded.

  “About her breasts…”

  “You bastard,” she hissed and tried to slap his face. He simply stepped out of reach and grinned.

  “Careful, Boss, you could put an eye out with those, and then who will demonstrate your little wonder gun?”

  “And she could put out every eye in the room with those,” Minu gestured at Mandi with her head. “For the record, I can shoot the damn thing just as well as you.” Already, a few dignitaries and press were there. They completely ignored the Chosen brass and scientists and made a beeline for Mandi Bishop and her breasts.

  “I doubt they’d hang around, if you picked one up,” Gregg said as he snagged a little sandwich off a tray circulated by a crab-bot, “especially after your last demonstration.”

  “I told you that was Bjorn’s idea, not mine.” Gregg munched the sandwich and looked innocent. Minu looked back at Mandi, this time noticing how her calves were smooth and her leg muscles undefined, unlike hers. Why would that be more appealing? “They’d carry her on their shoulders, given half a chance.”