Relic of Empire

by W. Michael Gear

  “At the same time, we begin to find discrepancies in the data as we refine our observations. These discrepancies lead us to the quanta. Among the quanta, we find the breath of God, and it’s every bit as mysterious as the mystics would claim. We enter the realm of complex numbers. Particles become waves and waves particles depending on alternatives available. Energy states at the atomic level become discrete. Position may be determined for a given particle, but not momentum, and vice versa. Order cannot exist without chaos, or chaos without order. An event is a set of initial and final conditions. Subatomic particles spin in two directions at once. Split a particle, and interfere with one-the result will be interfering across time and space with its twin. These are the mysteries of the quanta, but perhaps the most important for us, is the following: Reality does not exist unless it is observed.

  “And with that single statement, you know how science is inextricably tied to God. In the world of the quanta, observation creates reality. In searching for God, we find Its fingerprint in the quanta, and those same quanta affect the very function of our brains. Physics demonstrates that Creation is holistic. God is the universe, and by definition, we are but a part of God. We who observe create reality, and in so doing, change the state bf nature.

  · Excerpt from Kaylla Dawn’s Itreatic broadcasts

  CHAPTER 12

  A Group-twenty men and women-proceeded at a dogtrot through a patch of timber. Moving smartly, they dodged between thick boles of trees and ducked strands of hanging moss. Boots crushed the lush grass underfoot. They advanced stealthily, scanning their surroundings as they went. Camouflaging armor blended with the gray tree trunks and green vegetation. The heavy shoulder lasers that hung on slings had been dulled to avoid reflecting the dappled light that penetrated the leafy canopy.

  Sinklar watched them through one of the monitors in the command center of his LC and listened to the chatter through their battle comms.

  The Fourth Targan Assault Division consisted of veterans of the old Third Ashtan and Fourteenth Riparian-now consolidated into a new unit after Sinklar had reformed them. After Mac’s intensive training, this would be their first field opportunity to prove their skills, and perhaps regain their status as crack troops after their defeat on Targa.

  “Coming up on the objective, people,” Corporal First Tigart growled. “Look sharp, now. They ought to have sentries just on the other side of the trees. We’ve got four minutes before D Group starts sniping along the southern perimeter. At first fire, they ought to respond with ordnance.”

  “Then we rush the knoll. Got it!” the Corporal Second answered. “I can see the knoll from here. What about that little ravine that cuts it in half?”

  “Pustulous hell, it ain’t on the map. Okay, let’s split down the middle. You take half, I take the others.

  Everybody got the plan? At least one of us has to make it up there and wipe out that observation dome.”

  “Affirmative. Good work. Sinklar leaned forward intently. Mayz, you’ve taught them well. According to the manual, they should have stopped, reported their position, and waited for confirmation of orders. Under no circumstances, should they split a Group.

  Sink shifted his gaze to the rest of the monitors filling the concave of the LC’s command center. Other elements of the Fourth Targan Assault Division were drawing their net tight about the Tarcee Estate and First Axel’s entrenched Nineteenth Division. Mayz had deployed individual snipers to draw fire from the Nineteenth’s ordnance. If Axel responded by the book, she’d pour heavy fire down all along the southern forested belt in anticipation of an assault from that direction. Meanwhile, unknown to Axel, the majority of Mayz’s Fourth Targan would attempt to carve two salients into the defenses: one on the western gardens, the other through the eastern orchards.

  Mayz overrode the communications from her LC command post. “Fourth Targan, you are ordered to attack. Let’s clean house, people.”

  “Affirmative,” repeated in a staccato as Section Firsts checked in. Then the battle began in earnest. The pride of the traditional Nineteenth Regan against the upstart trainees of the renamed Targan Fourth under Mayz. Each side had its own stubborn point to prove-and each battled for gut-felt principles.

  To his surprise, Dion Axel shifted tactics, trying desperately to recover her defensive line by freeing her Sergeant Firsts to counter the Targans as best they could. The action proved to be too little, too late, and without the familiarity of procedures.

  Sink watched as Mayz adjusted her attack and played Axel like a siff jackal would a mouse. Veteran of more than one battle, Axel fought according to the instincts that had always kept her and her people alive. She might be willing to allow her Sections more freedom, but they still replied to the attack as they’d been taught since academy. Heavy ordnance-in this case, computer simulated-blocked out entire kilometers of ground along the southern perimeter. Affected invaders were tagged by computer as dead and ordered through their battle comms to retreat to the rear.

  Sink chewed his lip, gaze riveted to the monitors. The critical A Group overpowered the sentries before them as both teams attacked the commanding rise. Defensive fire from the top began to take its toll, but A Group spread out, crawling relentlessly forward while ordnance wasted the now empty woods behind them where-according to the manual-supporting Groups should have been waiting.

  “And there’s their mistake.” Sinklar shook a fist in approbation.

  “Corporal Tigart just bought it!” one of the privates in A Group yelled. “Villa, you and Gnat enfilade that guy that’s shooting at us.”

  “Firmative ... be just a minute.”

  Sinklar studied another monitor where an.entire Section had broken through to create the eastern salient and now fought a running battle through the hedgerows of the garden. Axel tried to counter, moving her groups in rank and file drill-only to have them decimated by the greater mobility of their opponents. Chess pieces struggled against a fluid dynamic of warfare they’d never encountered before.

  A single soldier would pin down one of Axel’s Groups, charring the armor on five or six opponents before the Group’s combined fire removed the irritating shooter. In that time, another Targan had found position and killed another five or six as the beleaguered Group struggled to rise and carry out their Section First’s frantically shouted orders. The result proved to be mayhem as more Targan Sections poured through the salient and overran entire Groups.

  To Sinklar’s surprise, Axel continued to try and innovate, each time running afoul of inadequate training which hindered her troops’ ability to implement her orders. Good for you, Axel. You’ve got the rudiments, now, if you’re just dogged enough to stick out the process.

  In the meantime, A Group had unlocked the key to the knoll. The defenders, in compliance to doctrine, had reacted to the first prodding fire-since no one split a Group-and concentrated their guns on doomed Corporal Tigart’s side of the ravine ... which left the other side undefended as the Corporal Second’s team achieved the crest and shot down the defenders. Within moments, the remnant of the Group had the knoll and the observation dome.

  One third of Axel’s battlefield “eyes” went dead, the computers immediately figuring in the command control factor. Sinklar sat back and stuck his stassa cup into the dispenser. Normally, the manual said, a war game like this one would be expected to drag out over two days while both Divisions ground each other down by attrition-with the decision generally going to the defender.

  As Sinklar watched, the second salient breached the Nineteenth’s lines and poured into the orchard. Meanwhile, elements of the first advance had reached the estate buildings and were taking up positions.

  On the knoll, A Group had called for command control access. Private Acre called, “We could use a four-man blaster up here. If someone can deliver one, we’ll raise bloody hell down there.”

  “Affirmative,” Mayz answered. “We’ll have someone on it immediately.”

  Sinklar chuckled to himself, im
agining Axel’s face when she heard a private requesting a piece of ordnance-and then having it delivered. According to the book, such pieces were reserved to the Ordnance Section. A private shouldn’t even know how to work the gun.

  Sinklar watched a corkscrewing LC careen across the battlefield, hover for a moment over the knoll, and dart off to safety. A rugged four-man gun rested next to the comm domes where it had been kicked off the LC’s assault ramp. Private Acre’s voice began calling in shots to the master computer while Mayz transferred Section Firsts who faced resistance to Acre’s comm for fire control.

  Sinklar whooped and cheered as the defenses wavered and collapsed as units suffering from A Group’s fire were ordered dead in the field by the master computer.

  Meanwhile, advance Groups of the Fourth Targan captured building after building in the center of the estate. Held by nothing more than a security guard, the central compound proved easy pickings. Nearly one third of the Nineteenth hadn’t fired a shot yet, remaining in their original positions along the southern and northern perimeters.

  Sinklar switched monitors in time to hear, “This is Corporal Nix of E Group, Fifth Section. We’ve just captured First Axel and her command center. Request instructions as to their disposition. “

  Mayz answered, “Ask the First for surrender of her Division. “

  “Affirmative. But she don’t look any too happy about it. “

  In the long pause that followed, entire portions of the estate darkened by a shade to indicate loss of command control. The Nineteenth fought on without direction-or waited in their positions for someone to tell them what to do.

  “Corporal Nix here, ma’am. First Axel says she’ll surrender. She’s broadcasting to her troops now.”

  “ The war’s over, people,” Mayz called through the net. “My compliments to all of you. I think Sinklar’s going to be very proud of you all. “

  Got that right. Sinklar crossed his arms as he stared at the statistics table. The Fourth Targan had taken ninety-six casualties. The Nineteenth Regan Assault Division had taken three hundred and sixty seven. Instead of days, Tarcee Estate had fallen in less than three hours.

  Sinklar accessed the system. “Nice work, Mayz. My compliments to the Fourth Targan. First Axel, are you in the net?”

  “I’m here.” She didn’t sound very happy.

  “I would like you to review the tapes. Mayz, help her. I want you and your officers to explain exactly what we did and why. We’ll replay this exercise tomorrow, so let your troops know they’ve got a chance to even the score.”

  “We’ll be looking forward to it,” Axel replied grimly.

  And if you can’t learn, Axel, there’s someone in your command who can.

  “Everything is set,” Gysell told Ily Takka as she sat at her desk. Her Deputy’s

  square face filled the comm monitor. “I’ve made the final check and our people are ready. “

  “Thank you, Gysell. You’ve done splendidly as always. “

  She cleared the channel and noted that Sinklar’s LC had settled on the roof. As she watched, the ramp dropped and Sinklar trotted out for the lift tube.

  Ily glanced at the chronometer: 19:28. “Cutting it a little close, Lord Fist. “

  She flipped another comm access channel. “Arta? Status?”

  The auburn-ha’ired woman’s face filled the screen. “We’ve secured the ship. I’m speaking from the bridge. The pilot is here ... and he’s a little upset. He’s had a taste of my persuasion and I think he will do as ordered.”

  Fist was walking toward her security doors.

  “Very good. You’re on your own now. I’ll be waiting for your signal from Ryklos. Fist is here. Good luck. “

  The connection went dead as the doors opened and Sinklar hurried in, a pensive look on his young face. His hair stood up at odd angles, as if he’d absently run his fingers through his black thatch.

  Ily met him halfway across the room, taking his hands and giving him her best smile. “It’s good to see you. I thought for a moment you’d been held up.

  “No. I wanted to see the end of the exercises. “ “Everything is set on the orbital terminal.” Ily routed the signal through the main monitor that dominated one wall. The Regan orbital terminal, the port which handled most of the passenger traffic entering and leaving Rega, appeared. A long curving section of docking berths on the outer rim of the station could be seen. Lumpy-looking forklifts, baggage dollies, and stacks of freight pallets lined the outer wall. Here and there men and women in brightly colored suits stood about or walked, each locked in their own thoughts and oblivious to the drama about to be played out around them.

  Ily opened a window in one corner which displayed the outside of the station where a sleek Marta class cruiser rested in the grapples. Thick umbilicals ran from the station gantries to the vessel’s side. She looked peaceful, clearance lights burning amber against the star-frosted background of space.

  “That’s it?” Sinklar asked as he propped his butt against her desk.

  “That’s it. She’s registered as the Vega. She’s fast, has deep space capability, limited shielding, and, best of all, mounts two guns. She used to belong to a merchant family from Vermilion before they were brought into the Emperor’s peace. “

  Before Gysell’s call, Ily had watched Tyklat’s arrival. He had walked like a man in a dream, eyes straight ahead, his movements uncertain and docile. How else would a man walk who was told that his fate was to be shot as an escaping prisoner. When the time came, Tyklat would play his part-and do it well. Two of Ily’s agents had steered Tyklat to a door marked, “NO ADMITTANCE. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.”

  She turned and took a position next to Sinklar. This evening, she’d chosen a perfume rich in pheromones which mingled well with the delicate musk. She no-

  ticed that he didn’t inch away, but watched the monitor in a preoccupied fashion.

  “How did the war go today?” she asked casually. “Mayz took Axel in a little more than three hours. I’m sure that Axel and her friends are frantically poring over the tapes as we speak to see what went wrong. I’d be more than a little surprised if any of them get sleep tonight. I’ve given orders that Kap’s Third Targan take the combined Ninth Vermilion and Second Ashtan at Tarcee tomorrow. After that, it’s one exercise after another until no one doubts the superiority of our training.”

  “Have you found quarters yet?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re not going to sleep in that Rotted LC again, are you?”

  “Probably. I haven’t had time to find a-“

  “We’ll discuss it later. It’s time for Tyklat’s escape.” Sinklar absently chewed on his thumb as he watched, fines forming on his forehead. “Tyklat’s ship will take a hit from orbital. I’ve got Shik in the Orbital Defense platform, allegedly doing a check on the targeting system. He’ll be in just the right place at the right time and will deal Vega a glancing blow.”

  “He’s that good? Can you trust him?”

  “After Targa? You bet—on both counts.” Sinklar shook his head. “I don’t know. This just doesn’t seem right. “

  “The plan? What could go wrong? We send Tyklat out and the Seddi answer his distress call. He’s escaping my pursuing agents and running for cover. If you had an agent in his predicament, you’d take him in, wouldn’t you? And even if they don’t buy it, what are we out except for one outdated cruiser?”

  “That’s not what I mean. It’s. . - .”

  “Engaging in deceit and trickery to obtain your ends instead of wading in with crackling blasters and pulse guns. Isn’t that really it? You rebel against deception and intrigue when out-and-out destruction, blood, guts, and mayhem would be the honorable way.” “Where’s Arta Fera?”

  Ily met his hostile gaze and crossed her arms. “In a safe place where I can monitor her. She isn’t the sort of person you just let walk the streets, you know.”

  “You’re using her as a tool. I objected to that among the Seddi
. I don’t like it now.”

  She lifted a hand to stop his tirade. “Show time. We’ll discuss Arta later.”

  “Indeed we will.”

  Ily riveted her attention to the screen. My dear Sinklar, you’ll simply have to learn that some things need not concern you. And if he doesn’t? Then I’ll have to replace him sooner than I expected. Still, he hasn’t pulled back from me tonight. He’s close enough to get a full whiff of the pheromones. They’ll be stimulating the hypothalamus by now.

  The “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” door slammed open and Tyklat, clutching a pulse pistol in his hand, ran desperately for the access hatch that led to Vega.

  “Stop him!” the cry rang out, and Ily’s two agents charged out into the bay, pulse pistols in hand. Shots hummed, paint puffing into haze on the bulkheads.

  Tyklat leapt for the hatch, slapping the controls as he passed. The heavy pressure doors slid closed, blocking the two frantic agents in pursuit. One pounded on the hatch override while his partner pulled a comm from his pocket and began shouting orders.

  Well done, Tyklat. You had just the right amount of panic in your run.

  For long moments, nothing seemed to happen as security people arrived from different directions to mill about and shout questions at each other.

  “ There,” Ily pointed to the Vega. “You can see her start to power up.”

  The station people stopped short at the rising whine. A voice called, “Rotted Gods! The maniac is going to yank half the terminal apart! Cast him off? Now! Damn it!”

  “But the regulations-“

  “Pus Rot the regulations!”

  A mad scramble took place as the implications sank in. A frantic engineer arrived from somewhere, checking the hatch to make sure it had sealed. Another of the dock technicians shouted on a comm to the Port Authority to release the grapples.