Void Contract

by Scott Rhine

  Sasha entered the mainframe cautiously, extending tendrils of inquiry but not activating any systems. She knew Omar would not be pleased if she started firing thrusters while they remained docked to the Sikorsky. Instead she merely asked questions of the rigid and unthinking machine. She began to learn much more about the history of the Moving Finger, its crew and the mysterious Fleet which they traveled with.

  Sasha was aware of the passage of time as a periodic ticking of numbers in her mind but she became so wrapped up in reading the data in the mainframe that she stopped caring. The press of a hand on her shoulder woke her from her reverie. Zane stood by her bedside looking concerned. Sasha smiled warmly at him, started to tell him it was ok and then darkness crowded in from the corners of her vision. Her last conscious thought was wondering why Zane sounded distraught as he called out for help. It wasn’t like she was dying or anything.

  Part II

  Chapter 5

  The soldier stepped, naked and dripping a transparent gel, out of his crèche. He stretched his arms and tested his motor functions. It was an instinctive behavior, much like an infant finding a nipple or a chick fleeing a hawk’s shadow. Finding nothing out of order, he examined his surroundings warily. The room in which he stood was small and featureless save only for himself, the open hatch of his crèche and a single blinking button on the far wall just beyond his arm’s length. He reached out and pressed the button. The door to his crèche slid shut and receded into the wall as the ceiling rotated clockwise slightly and a series of holes opened releasing a quick shower of water. The soldier used the falling liquid to rinse the remaining gel from his body and the following gust of warm air dried him. A shelf opened on the wall. The soldier reached in and withdrew a uniform. Dressing himself he stopped for a moment as a thought flashed through his mind. Who am I?

  “Zeta class soldier, designation 1145.” The unbidden voice seemed to come from nowhere. “At a time of your choosing you may supplant this designation with one of your own choosing. The central authority believes the development of the individual spirit is essential to a successful career for a soldier.

  “You will find your mind contains information vital to your future career including martial practice as well as language and cultural context iconography relevant to your class. In the next room is a terminal which will test that this information was successfully implanted. Beyond that room is a field testing ground designed to test your reflexive memory and operational perception. Should you succeed in these tests you will receive your posting. Good luck, Soldier Z1145.” The voice cut out.

  The soldier proceeded to the testing chambers and found the tests intuitive. His mind leapt to answer each question as it was posed. He processed the information as he spoke it, his mind connecting the information into an expanding awareness of his purpose, providing context for his existence. By the end of the tests he understood that he was a designed human, grown to full size and given memories so that he could help defeat the outer colonies. This was a noble undertaking as the rebellion endangered the lives of everyone on the homeworld. When the revolt was over he would be free to seek out whatever life he chose.

  The soldier felt pride in being a part of something great. Once his testing was complete, he joined thousands of his peers in a processing area where he was grouped with others like himself into squads. The soldier did not speak with his peers nor did he consider doing so. They were transported to battlefields and given mission objectives. The soldier dove into his new duties with gusto matched only by his many siblings. His first missions were dangerous. He witnessed thousands of soldiers like himself die to complete the objectives of the mission. He felt nothing for those soldiers, knowing that their death was a result of their own failings. Nor did he feel for those whom he faced in battle, other soldiers with faces unlike his own but identical to each other. They were the soldiers of the enemy, to be defeated.

  His imprinting served him well on the battlefield. He did not count the number of enemies he killed in his duties. There was no need to boast. He did feel pride when the mission was successful, knowing he was contributing to the great cause. His only vanity was a deep scar which ran from his right eye to the back of his skull. He had gained it taking a bunker and had kept it despite the medic’s objections. He didn’t know exactly why he had wanted the scar to remain, only that it made him feel stronger to know he had a mark of distinction amongst his identical peers.

  The soldier was silently awaiting his next mission when a voice informed him that he was being promoted. His survival had exceeded simple statistics. He had proven his superiority to those that died fighting alongside him. The soldier found himself transferred to a specialist unit, one where he was expected to work with a small team. The soldier accepted this promotion with silence. His superiors had a new use for him and that he would still be contributing to the great cause.

  The soldier reported to a retraining facility and lay down in a crèche much like the one in which he was born. He slept for a time and upon awakening he felt new information in his memory. The soldier again dressed, though his uniform differed from the one he had worn before. As a door opened opposite him, the soldier did feel some unease entering the new barracks. The thought of meeting someone with a face unlike his own that was not an enemy left him somewhat confused.

  The room where he would be stationed was very small, holding only six bunks instead of dozens. The soldier stood in the doorway and scrutinized those already in the barracks warily. His first thought was how utterly unlike himself they were. The second was information previously unknown to him which came unbidden from his subconscious.

  The first male was small and thin, his form unsuited to the large head which sat atop it. His long fingers flitted rapidly across some exposed piece of machinery while his eyes remained fixed on the soldier, their gaze intent. The second man was much larger, his frame encased in a metal exoskeleton which ran down both arms and into his chest. The new memories told him these were specialist genomes, one made for intelligence work and the other used in large scale conflict.

  The other two soldiers made him nervous for an unexpected reason. They were women. The soldier knew that the military used women soldiers as well as men but he had not been in direct contact with any before now. He had no context to know if they were objectively beautiful but both caused his body to respond in ways he was not prepared for. One had ocular implants and lacy wiring running down her arms. She sat silently cleaning a rifle designed for distance. Sniper genome, the information came to him once more. The other stared at him warily as he was looking over the others. It was her perfect stillness that made him fear her more than anyone else in the room. Close combat specialist, the answer came forth unbidden. When she spoke he nearly betrayed his training by twitching.

  “You got a name soldier?” Her voice lashed out at him like an accusation.

  The soldier was confused by the question. Had they not received the same programming he had just undergone? Was there a point to conversing other than relaying strategic information about a mission? There did not see to be but his training did not cover this situation. “Zeta 1145.” He replied.

  “That’s not a name.” She sneered. “Let me guess. You’re just in from the killing fields?”

  “I do not know what you mean. I have been in battle many times before, but only with others of my own class. I have not desired a name. It seems superfluous when my designation suffices.”

  “It would be, while you were out there fighting over a pointless stretch of rock. Not much point in telling someone your name when one or both of you would be dead before the end of the day. You’ve made it to the big leagues now though, kid. Your survival has made you an asset to the cause. They expect you to live long enough to be worth having a name now. How does Zane strike you?”

  “Zane?” The name had no meaning to him.

  “Not that many names that start with Z. You’re not required to use your soldier type for a first letter but it mak
es identification easier and that can speed up data processing. You like Zachariah or Zeke better?”

  “Zane is acceptable. I have no preference.”

  “I bet you’re the life of the party. I’m Serena. S class, infiltration. That’s Betty over there cleaning her rifle, B class, sniper. The big guy is Jeffrey, J class, heavy weapons. Shorty over there is my platonic life partner Franklin, F class, intelligence.”

  “I have no special skill set, other than combat. What is a Z class for then?”

  “Target practice, mostly.” The one named Betty said, her face impassive as she wiped her rifle stock. “Standard issue soldier, no special skills.”

  “That’s not entirely true.” The short guy, Franklin, said. His voice was high and he spoke in a rush of words. “Z class are made in bulk for standard battlefield conditions, yes, but that is because they possess superior situational awareness as well as independent decision making abilities. In the event that the CO is KIA, it is generally assumed that the Z class will take command.” The big one, Jeffrey, snorted in derision.

  “Like hell I’m going to take orders from a jarhead fresh from the fields. By the way Zeke,” The big man drawled the name slowly. “Serena here is a real ice queen so I’d keep your dangly bits close if you know what I mean.”

  “Just remember to take your own advice, Jeffrey.” Serena flashed something silver in her hand, the threat implicit.

  “So where’s the CO?” The soldier, Zane, said to change the subject. He was uncomfortable with the air of conflict without actual violence. His fellow Z class soldiers had not spoken to each other in such a familiar way. They had rarely spoken at all. He nervously reached his hand toward his rifle instinctively.

  “Lieutenant Richards. He’ll be here shortly.”

  “What class is he?”

  “Alpha, of course. It’s his kind that will end up living through the war, if anyone does.”

  “What do you mean?” Zane asked. “We will all be free to live out our lives after the war ends.” The room fell silent for a moment before the rest of the squad began to laugh. The soldier’s hand again reached for his rifle, almost bringing the weapon up. Betty raised a hand in a gesture intended to placate him.

  “Relax Zane.” Betty said, “It’s just funny to hear the fresh meat parroting the programming. This war has been going on for a long time. Nobody here knows anyone decanted before the war started and we don’t expect to see its end.”

  “Add to that the fact that none of us, not even the CO, has ever seen the people we were created to protect and I doubt we’ll be welcomed home with open arms.” Serena chimed in.

  “I’m not sure they even exist anymore.” The dwarf said. “I think the war effort has already killed off all the civilians on both sides. I have not seen any indication of their existence on any mission.”

  “That’s not possible. It would that make the whole war effort pointless.” Zane asked. Franklin snorted.

  “Just because something is pointless doesn’t mean it will end. The Alphas are programmed to win the war. We’re programmed to fight it. Without the war we would have nothing.”

  “Don’t listen to the runt.” Serena chimed in. “F class are inclined to bouts of paranoia. Their job is to connect the dots and when there are no dots they invent some. Fact is, it doesn’t matter if the civvies are real or not. We’re here to do a job.”

  “Couldn’t have said it better myself.” The voice came from behind Zane. As he turned toward it he saw Serena and Jeff straighten up and salute. The man before Zane was older, dark skinned and had an air of command which instinctively made Zane salute. He recognized the Alpha genome and felt his mind respond to it with programmed deference and respect.

  “At ease soldiers.” The man said. “I’m Lieutenant Richards, your new CO. Most of this crew are old veterans but I heard we got some new blood in from the fields. Got a name yet soldier?”

  “Zane, sir.”

  “Zane, good name that. I worked with a Zane a while back. Smart guy. I expect you to live up to that name. Drop the sir though, and just call me Rich. We don’t stand on formality around here, much though your programming might lead you to believe otherwise. The theory guys are always a few years behind. Now, go stow your gear soldier.” Zane moved out of Rich’s way and put his bag on the empty bunk. The CO continued.

  “A couple of you have been with me for a while, but after the last op we’ve had to consolidate. Serena and Franklin have been with me for a while, but Jeff and Betty come to me from Lieutenant Werner’s team. Damn shame that, Werner was a good man. Zane’s our fresh meat. We don’t have a lot of time and our mission is of vital importance.

  “Aren’t they all, Rich?” Franklin snapped out, his hands busy with some small piece of technology. Zane bristled at the lack of respect in the small man’s tone but Rich seemed not to mind.

  “Too true.” Rich replied. “This time though, it’s different. We have word from up on high that a fleet of advanced warships has entered the system and is engaging in negotiations with the enemy. If they join the war our strategists expect us to be overrun in short order. Our job is to infiltrate the enemy base on Halsa and steal a corvette.”

  “How is one ship going to change the balance of power in the system?” Franklin asked.

  “That’s on a need to know. Just know that the bosses have a plan. Be ready to move out tomorrow at 0300. Sorry Zane, but it looks like you’re going to have to learn the ropes by hanging from them.”

  The squad eyed each other carefully as Richards left. No one seemed inclined to say anything else and Zane retreated to his bunk to rest.

  Richards met them the next morning. Zane followed the squad to a small ship which was to bring them to the base. He was unsure of the style or capabilities of the ship; the only thing he knew for sure was that it was small and had a crew of one pilot. Apparently ship designs were not included in the information he had recently gained. After a dozen hours under several gees of thrust it felt smaller still. None of the crew seemed inclined to talk and Zane had nothing to say.

  Richards reviewed the base schematics with the squad and outlined the plan. They were coming in dark until just before landing so the enemy should have little time to mount an effective defense. Just before landing they would blow the comm. array to prevent the base from calling for help. Serena would bring Franklin to the computer core to get the access codes for the ship they were to steal while Zane and Jeff distracted the base crew with a frontal assault. Betty and Rich would stay in the rear to protect the ship until it was determined that Franklin had succeeded. Then they would scuttle their ship and join whoever needed assistance getting to the target ship.

  Zane watched, fascinated, as Jeff unloaded an arsenal that seemed better suited to be attached to a ship than a man. The moment they landed Jeff jumped from the ship and sprayed the entire landing strip with hellfire. Serena and Franklin disappeared in the ensuing chaos and Zane followed behind Jeff picking off survivors and trying to stay out of Jeff’s maelstrom. Zane could see the ship they were supposed to take on the other side of the cleared land, completely unguarded. It would be useless without the codes to unlock it though. Jeff continued to plow through any opposition, using his ammunition freely. There was no need to conserve it as their attack was not meant to succeed. Zane concentrated on watching the big guy’s back.

  Zane soon lost track of anyone but Jeff as they entered the complex. Here Jeff’s firepower was limited to more standard ammunition but he made up for it by using a lot of it. Thousands of rounds riddled walls, continuing onward to seek targets further into the base. Zane noted that Jeff only fired toward the center of the base and his left flank, not wanting to compromise the mission with an errant bullet hitting the other team as they moved to the right. Life was simple for a few minutes as the duo fought a never ending stream of soldiers. Then the call came in over Zane’s comm. to move back to the ship. He prodded Jeff as the large man likely couldn’t hear anything from the vibr
ations his body was undergoing from the constant fire.

  Jeff nodded and, pausing in his fire, pulled a small package from his pack. He started to set the explosive when his head exploded. Zane quickly found the gunman and fired. The large man’s body was still standing, his augmented muscles keeping his body up though its head was now in pieces. Zane stared for a moment before setting the explosive and fleeing as fast as he could.

  Jeff’s bullets must have found enough of their marks during their entrance because Zane encountered little resistance during his retreat. He ran over the open ground toward the captured ship fearing the bullet that at any moment might bring him down. None did, however, and he entered the ship, noting that he was the last to return. Betty was perched on the ramp and had been picking off any who had been following Zane. She gave him a questioning glance and he shook his head slightly. She nodded and turned away, her hands tight on her rifle.

  The ship rose and below them the base exploded into space. The explosive charge had been large enough to blow the base’s power supply. No one would have survived. Zane looked around at the new ship. While it was larger than their previous ship, the technology was inferior. In almost every way he could tell their pervious ship had been better. Franklin voiced his unspoken thought.

  “What a piece of junk!” There were grunts of assent. “Why in the world did we just blow up that stealth ship for this?”

  “Why did Jeff die for this?” Betty asked quietly. This was the first time Zane heard someone mourn the death of a soldier. It felt alien, the emotion in her voice. He didn’t understand why she would care about Jeff’s death. He was simply one more soldier serving the cause. Zane knew that no one would mourn his death, that his passing would make no difference in the universe. It made him feel very small somehow, that thought. He glanced at the others and saw their eyes were down, angled away from Betty.