Mech (imperium)

by V. B. Larson

  To her vague surprise, she found he was already swaggering into the chamber. His manner was that of barely concealed triumph. His stalks stood excitedly at full extension, his orbs all but popping from their cusps. “I heard you cry out, and knew I should rush to your side. Are you damaged?”

  “Yes,” she said weakly, past being offended by his obvious excitement. “You are chosen. We must meld immediately.”

  The nife’s frontal tentacles slapped together in an exaggerated and enthusiastic affirmative. He swaggered forward and began climbing the birthing throne.

  After discovering the culus, Mai Lee moved to her command bunker immediately, sealing it off except for the datastreams which came from every sector of Garm. Her ancestral computers were legendary in technical circles, and nowhere else on the planet did such a comprehensive and intelligent nerve center exist. Every city on the continent was wired in for sound, many of them providing full holo-plate feed. The computers served to perform the gargantuan job of assimilating this continuous mountain of data, finding interesting tidbits in the vast ocean of insignificant events.

  She ordered the culus dissected by her medical team, a group of seven middle-aged Manchurian women. They wore white smocks and thin paper slippers. They worked at the task efficiently, only their dark eyes visible over their masks. Every step of the operation was carefully recorded. Small hands wielded flashing scalpels; the culus was quickly dismembered.

  While she awaited their report, Mai Lee riffled through the incoming intelligence reports. She paused over a transcript from the spaceport.

  Grunstein Colony Spaceport, aboard militia command lifter: Salient. Governor Hans Zimmerman has a private discussion with General Ari Steinbach.

  Transmitting Agent: Major Drick Lee. Imperial grand nephew.

  Agent Reliability Index: 84 %.

  ZIMMERMAN: I see you have yet to rid us of this man. I fail to understand your hesitation in this matter. Note the full media team that has now arrived. KXUT will be broadcasting the whole thing live if you turn it into a bloodbath now.

  STEINBACH: We lack the firepower, sir.

  ZIMMERMAN: You have an army here!

  STEINBACH: Since the renegade Colonel Dorman brought in a squadron of Stormbringers, deluded into thinking they support the legitimate Governor, they have held the decisive edge.

  ZIMMERMAN: You should have moved immediately! If you had attacked when the tactical squad first arrived you could have wiped them out.

  STEINBACH: Your point is well taken. Please excuse me now, sir, while I return to my duties.

  ZIMMERMAN: Growing hostile. Not so fast you little weasel. This is my political life we are talking about, here. Who do you want running this colony, anyway? Are you some kind of Nexus-loyal plant? What do we pay you for, man?

  STEINBACH: Governor, with all due respect I don’t really have the time.

  ZIMMERMAN: You’ll make the time for me, General! I am a Zimmerman, if I must state the obvious.

  STEINBACH: Give my regards to your family, sir.

  A tense silence ensues.

  ZIMMERMAN: Speaking in a low voice. You don’t know who your screwing with. I know you work for that witch, but she’s not the only one with assassins in this town. Now, I’m going to lay out what’s going to happen, and you’re going to follow orders like a good little soldier. First, I’m going to go in myself and try to talk to the bastard-

  STEINBACH: You’re bravery surprises me.

  ZIMMERMAN: I’m going in with plenty of cameras. He won’t do anything. How would it look if the new Governor shot the old one coming in to welcome him? What kind of a civil war could he put together after that was splashed all over the evening news? Who would rally to the call of an exposed murderer? Second, if I can get him to come out, we will have a much better chance at him later, at a phony inauguration ceremony, for example.

  STEINBACH: Thoughtfully. Your plan has merit, but I can’t help but think that Droad would be too smart to fall for it.

  ZIMMERMAN: And if you hadn’t jumped right in with an unplanned assassination attempt and warned him off, we could be on good ground right now. You and your Manchurian cronies panicked, that’s all there is to it.

  STEINBACH: Shrugging. So, what if he doesn’t bite?

  ZIMMERMAN: Then I call him a criminal and order you to retake the spaceport. Now I know you have instructions from ‘Her Excellency’, but don’t worry about her. Whatever she’s paying you we’ll cover it, and she won’t dare bitch about it because the whole Senate’s howling for her blood right now. The Zimmermans are taking their rightful place as the leaders of this colony, Steinbach. It’s time you put yourself on the winning side.

  STEINBACH: Both men stand up. Your logic is unassailable, Governor.

  ZIMMERMAN: I thought you might see it that way.

  Lucas Droad was reviewing Manstein’s defense plans with Jarmo when Governor Zimmerman came calling. Tapping timidly on the front glass of the terminal building with a three-man media crew in tow, Zimmerman was allowed in by several astonished security people.

  “He has more balls than I figured,” said Manstein, watching him as he was escorted across the terminal by two suspicious giants. “He’s been putting on a little weight since the last fixed election, too.”

  “Indeed,” agreed Governor Droad.

  Zimmerman was patted down along with the media crew, and then they were all led into the security center. He joked with the giants and with the media people, insisting on a publicity-shot of he and Jarmo standing close together to allow size-comparison. Jarmo refused to smile for the cameras, but rather maintained a stony, unpleasant expression throughout the affair.

  Lucas met them in the conference room. “This visit is an unexpected pleasure, Governor.”

  “Mr. Droad, I’m afraid things have gotten out of control, and I apologize,” said Zimmerman, shaking Lucas’ hand warmly. Lucas rubbed his hand on his pants afterward.

  “I’m glad you came here in such a timely fashion. It’s critical that I am instated as the Nexus-appointed Colonial Governor of Garm immediately. I am here to replace the last Governor, whom I understand is now deceased.”

  Zimmerman looked pained. He glanced sidelong at the humming holo-cameras, and then his eyes slid back to Lucas. “Now Droad, you must understand how things are here. I’m the rightful Governor of this Colony, by senatorial appointment. Your claim hasn’t been validated as yet, but let me assure you that if you are who you say you are, you will of course become the head of state here, after your official inauguration.”

  “The protocol you suggest would be adequate under normal circumstances. However, your appointment is not valid since only the Nexus can appoint a colonial governor, therefore it is not in your power to require such a protocol, nor do you have the authority to inaugurate me in any case. As an additional factor to my judgment, there has been an attempt on my life by assassins, at least one of whom was a member of the militia. Given the near-anarchy I’ve witnessed here, I am unwilling to allow such a gross delay.”

  Zimmerman was clearly unhappy. He made an irritated gesture. “Look, you can’t just come out here, hop off a three-year sleeper ship from the cluster and expect us to all hail you as Governor without even checking it out. Listen, I’m offering you the benefit of the doubt to prove yourself. You’ve committed numerous criminal acts, but in deference to the Nexus we are willing to consider the possibility your claim is legitimate. What more can you ask for?”

  “Immediate compliance with Nexus Cluster Law.”

  “The Colonial Senate will never accept it.”

  “Nevertheless, this is my position. Nexus Law supersedes local authority. I hereby order you to accept me as the rightful Colonial Governor of Garm.”

  “That’s the best you can do?” asked Zimmerman, obviously surprised.

  “I am inflexible in this regard.”

  On the way back out of the terminal building the Governor was far less outgoing with the media people. His joking, sm
iling politician’s mantle had been discarded. Instead he sulked, answering their questions only with monosyllabic grunts. This made for bad video, but the media people only voiced their complaints in low mutterings.

  When Zimmerman returned to the militia lines stretched across the tarmac, he was livid with fury. Gray-coated militiamen hustled away the protesting KXUT news team and Zimmerman confronted Ari Steinbach in his command lifter for a second time. Outside, Major Drick Lee carefully focused his handheld laser-snooper on the lifter’s side windows. He adjusted the gain until he had a good clear signal-feed into the speakers implanted in his ear canals.

  Back in the command bunker beneath Mai Lee’s palace the transmission was received and the AI software began printing a hardcopy of the transcript even as the words were spoken.

  ZIMMERMAN: Okay, you’re going in now, and I don’t want to hear any more excuses. I want you to wipe them out, I want you to kill them, you understand me?

  STEINBACH: Of course, sir. The operation will begin at once.

  ZIMMERMAN: Good. What will you do first?

  STEINBACH: Sounding irritated. Please Governor, let me run this affair without the burden of micro-management. Let the experts handle it.

  ZIMMERMAN: Snorting. The experts have been as shy as newborn air-swimmers so far! I want to know what your plans are!

  STEINBACH: Very well. I have men moving to encircle the terminal. Even now they are out on the tarmac runways. No large aircraft will be able to land and give them support.

  ZIMMERMAN: What about the Stormbringers you so stupidly allowed them to gather?

  STEINBACH: They have landed on the roof. The plan is to send our own aloft and force them to scramble up to the challenge.

  ZIMMERMAN: Why not just blast them? Why don’t we just forget all this pussyfooting around and blow up the whole terminal?

  STEINBACH: Speaking quickly and urgently. That really isn’t an option, sir. There may be innocent hostages involved, which would make for bad video. Besides, why waste the taxpayers money rebuilding the spaceport?

  ZIMMERMAN: Okay, okay, so you fool around and try to draw off the fighters. What about the assault?

  STEINBACH: After a period of sniper-fire to suppress the enemy while we maneuver into position, we simply send in the tactical squad, using the rest of the men for backup.

  ZIMMERMAN: All right, General. You get a few hours to pull this off, then I call up Fort Zimmerman and order them to ready the missile batteries. If you can’t take them out by then I’ll level the terminal building.

  STEINBACH: Speaking with great certainty. I assure you, sir, that will not be necessary.

  At precisely 10:00 PM the power went out at the spaceport. Emergency generators in the basement kicked in, and some of the lights flickered back into life. Outside the rain showers had abated for the moment, but the wind had freshened and the temperature had taken a sharp plunge. Shivering a bit as they squeezed off their laser rifles, the militia snipers managed to hit one of the female security personnel with the first volley. Struck in the shoulder, she spun around, gushing blood. A second burning red hole blossomed in her vest and she went down. Everyone else ducked behind their barricades and began firing blindly out into the darkened parking lot.

  “Jarmo, dial up the Gladius and transfer it to my phone,” said Lucas. He felt he had no choice but to call in his reinforcements.

  “Priority signal to the cargo deck, sir?” asked Jarmo, guessing his intentions. He was already tapping his earphone.

  “Right. It’s time to call for the Mechs.” The Governor sighed with disappointment. “I had hoped against all rationality that things would somehow turn away from bloodshed. But like so many rulers throughout the ages, I am faced with the harsh requirement of using force or losing the right to rule. I suppose the Nexus aristocracy wouldn’t have chosen me for the job if I would have made any other decision.”

  Jarmo was listening with sudden intensity to his headset. “Another attack sir, inside the building.”

  “Militia?” demanded Lucas, eyes locking on the giant’s huge face. “If they’re inside already, we’ll have to order an immediate pull back to the inner security zone, damn it.”

  “No sir-” he paused, and barked a command for clarification in Finnish. “No sir, someone has killed one of the traffic-controllers in the lavatory. He was just found, strangled to death.”

  Lucas’ eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Did they have a traitor in their midst?

  “Sir, I would like to examine the scene personally, right now.”

  “Now? We’re in the middle of a battle, here.”

  “Immediately. There are details to the report that I don’t understand or like. As for the militiamen, given the tactical situation they probably won’t undertake a serious assault until they are fully in position and have done something about our aircraft. This sniper fire is to keep us pinned down while they maneuver.”

  “What if they just rush us? I’d like to have my best field commander on the front line.”

  “Historically speaking, corrupt police forces fight little better than would hired thugs. They lack dedication, and will use extreme caution while attacking a determined adversary. What I don’t understand is why they haven’t yet bombarded the spaceport from Fort Zimmerman.”

  “Maybe Dorman and his buddies aren’t the only Nexus loyal officers on this mudball,” suggested Lucas hopefully.

  “Maybe,” agreed Jarmo without conviction.

  “Go ahead, find out who strangled the techie and get back up here.”

  With a crisp nod of his great head, Jarmo turned and made his way back to the stairs in a running crouch. Reaching the lavatories on the lowest level of the terminal, he met with Jun, who was staring and frowning fiercely into the lavatory. He held his weapon at chest-level, the odd cone-shaped muzzle directed at the wall of stalls.

  “Where’s the body?”

  Jun just nodded toward the stalls, keeping his weapon at the ready. Drawing his own plasma handgun, Jarmo squeezed past him and into the lavatory. He noticed that the floor near the stalls was coated with an odd liquid that was both slippery and sticky at the same time. He assumed it was liquid soap. He found the body in the third stall, and immediately realized why Jun had been so cautious.

  The strangled man lay sprawled in an undignified pose with his head shoved down into the toilet. His neck had been squeezed with such great force, that it had been all but removed from his torso.

  “A giant did that,” said Jun at the door. He and Jarmo shot each other worried looks. “Had to be a giant to crush his neck like that.”

  Jarmo nodded, the killer had to have fantastic strength to squeeze the flesh off of a man’s neck, right down to separating the vertebrae. The neck looked like the remains of a ripe banana squished in a pair of vise grips. “Could have been a giant,” he agreed.

  He began a closer inspection, and discovered more of the slimy fluids that puddled the floor of the lavatory. There was an odd stink as well, that of a sewer, mixed with something else. It was an acrid, fishy smell.

  He searched the rest of the stalls, finding nothing of note. When he finally returned to the body, he was frowning intensely. He wasn’t a man who enjoyed mysteries. Reaching down into the mess in the toilet bowl, he pulled the head out by the hair as gently as possible under the circumstances. Laying the corpse face up on the floor he examined it and the bloody interior of the bowl.

  “Very interesting,” he muttered in Finnish. “Come, what do you make of this, Jun?”

  Jun moved to his side with only the slightest hint of hesitation. They were not normally squeamish men, but these were extraordinary circumstances. “What do you see?”

  Jarmo indicated a circle of puncture wounds around the base of the neck and a matching circle under the chin. He then pointed out the gouges in the toilet bowl.

  “Do you suggest that the man wore rings, or perhaps a clawed glove of some kind?”

  “Perhaps,” said Jarmo, rubbing
his chin. He wondered if perhaps a mechanical hand would have the strength to perform such a feat. A hand like that of a mech, for example. That still would not explain the slimy jelly-like liquid, but it was a start.

  Still, though, he couldn’t help but feel that there was more to this, that he was missing something. Something about the bizarre murder triggered off a tingle of danger in his mind, a primitive fear of the unknown.

  Walking over to the utility closet, he forced the lock with a twist of his huge wrist and looked inside. With the long barrel of his weapon, he poked around inside the closet.

  “What are you looking for?” asked Jun curiously. He had come forward, but wasn’t quite looking over Jarmo’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know. Something strange. Ah, more slime!” he said discovering a damaged vent and more of the glistening, jelly-like substance. “Some kind of animal has been in here, it must have gotten into the air ducts. I don’t remember reading about anything like this in the file-tapes, though.”

  “Maybe it’s some kind of snake,” said Jun, peering into the closet that was more than filled by Jarmo’s great bulk.

  Both men froze as they heard an odd splashing sound coming from the stalls. It was as if the toilets were gargling. Soon after, there was a wet, slapping sound. Jarmo put a big finger to his lips and the two of them bent down to look under the doors.

  The sounds suddenly stopped. The giants exchanged glances and leveled their weapons. Whatever it was, it had heard them.

  Baring his teeth in an unconscious snarl, Jarmo leapt forward and threw open the stall door from which the sounds had been coming. A ghastly creature sat there, half-in and half-out of the toilet, at their approached it reared its ugly head. The sucker-like mouth was bloodied. It had been feeding on the dead man’s corpse.

  Jarmo fired and the thing sprang at the same time. The plasma burst missed, but took out the rear wall of the restroom. The shrade landed on Jarmo’s chest, sticky sucker-feet gripping his clothes and the flesh of his neck. He was yanked forward into the stall as it struggled to pull the rest of its body out of the plumbing.