Orphan Brigade

by Henry V. O'Neil

  “He should never have been allowed to use that room by himself. But that can wait. What is the status of the Orphans?”

  “Badly chewed up, but not wiped out. They were already at half strength when they went to Fractus, so when they started taking major casualties, it looked like they’d been destroyed.”

  “Do we know if Jan is alive?” Reena asked, afraid of the answer.

  “Not yet, but I personally wrote the flash order telling the sector commander to find out immediately. We’ll know soon.”

  “All right.” Reena pondered something for a moment. “Olech was babbling away at me when I found him. Saying it was all for nothing, that Jan was dead and all he had left was a daughter who hates him. I’ve told him so many times that he should have taken them into his confidence long ago.”

  “So did I.”

  “Just before he drifted off he told me to find Ayliss and bring her here. Maybe he’s going to finally listen to us. Do we know where she is?”

  “Yes.” Leeger looked even more uncomfortable. “Actually, that was why I was so busy. Selkirk contacted me with a minor problem Ayliss encountered out near Broda, but it’s been handled and they’re both on their way back here.”

  “A minor problem?”

  “I wasn’t going to mention it until we got a definite status on Jan.”

  “It’s been handled?”

  “Yes. A little messy, but nothing to compare with the day we’ve had here.”

  “All right. Get an answer on Jan, then get back to me.”

  “Yes, Minister.”

  Leeger was almost out the door when Reena spoke again.

  “Hugh.”

  “Yes, Minister?”

  “Did you say the Orphans were at half strength when they went into this thing?”

  Back aboard ship, Jander Mortas walked as if in a dream. The huge receiving bay rang with the calls of the different medical personnel and the moans of the wounded. They seemed to be everywhere, but this last load consisted of the nonpriority cases, the ones who weren’t likely to die waiting for treatment. Bloody bandages underfoot, used tubing and injectors strewn about, and everywhere the filthy figures from the battle for the passes.

  After what was left of Dak’s squad found him, Mortas had taken charge and moved them to link up with the remainder of the platoon. Berland and Testo were both dead, and he’d quickly realized he didn’t have enough healthy bodies to move the wounded, much less the deceased. Struggling to come up with an answer, he’d been saved by the arrival of Emile Dassa and Sergeant Major Zacker, leading an entire company of volunteers from the armored division that was now stuck on the western side of the passes. Both sides had fired new obstacles into the lanes, rendering the entire contest moot.

  The tremendous barrage had blown the dust cloud away just far enough for the shuttles to get in, so they’d been evacuated after the wounded and the dead. Counting Mortas himself, First Platoon now consisted of fifteen relatively healthy bodies.

  The battalion had taken a ferocious beating, losing Colonel Alden and the operations officer as well as the commanders of both A and B Companies. Captain Noonan and his tiny command group had been found dead inside a natural trench from which they’d ambushed one of the Sim columns as it rushed southward. Enemy bodies were strewn all around the position, and Noonan’s party had used all its grenades and much of its ammunition before being overwhelmed. All three of the Orphan Brigade’s battalions had been designated combat ineffective because of their losses, and would not be recommitted to the fight.

  Mortas stared about him mutely, not recognizing the men on the stretchers. All of them were covered with many days’ worth of dirt and dust, so it was impossible to tell if they wore the gray camouflage or the tiger stripes of B Company. Though mixed in with the wounded from other specialties, the infantrymen were easily identifiable by the ruts across their noses and under their eyes where the frames for the goggles had dug in from prolonged wear.

  On the shuttle ride up from the surface, Mortas had tried to get comfortable by leaning back against a bulkhead, but kept tilting from left to right until Dak had told him to lean forward. He’d obeyed, uncomprehending, while the NCO tried unsuccessfully to adjust something on the back half of his torso armor. He’d finally asked for Cranther’s knife, and dug away for more than a minute. When he was finally done, Dak had presented him with a handful of antipersonnel darts that had been buried in his armor.

  A face appeared in front of him, clean, earnest. The man was wearing the full-­body flight suit of the ship’s crew, and for some reason Mortas felt he should know who he was.

  “Sir? I’m one of the triage techs.”

  “I’m fine.” His throat was clogged with the ash from the planet, and Mortas had to clear it loudly. “Go help somebody else.”

  “No, I mean I’m one of the triage techs from the night before your brigade went down there.” The face was doubtful, and a cold anger rose up within Mortas’s chest. He slowly reached out, taking a handful of the tan fabric in a hand that was black with dirt and cross-­hatched with thin red lines.

  “You didn’t do what we said?”

  “No, no!” The earnest expression returned, and the man made no effort to free himself. “Every casualty went right to surgery. Even the ones that . . . every one of them went to surgery.”

  Mortas let go, his mind too fogged to go further.

  “We were following the battle from up here, especially the Orphans.”

  “You liked the show?”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I know you need new men.” The tech looked around him, as if fearing he’d be overheard, but then the man straightened up and looked right into Mortas’s eyes. “You’re the only Orphan officer I’ve seen, so I figured you’re the man to talk to.”

  “So talk.”

  “I didn’t ask for this shitty job, sir. I hate it. I fucking hate it. I hate my supervisors, I hate this ship, and I hate”—­he came up with a handheld that Mortas didn’t recognize—­“I hate this goddamned machine, telling me who gets to the docs and who doesn’t.”

  The tech flung the device away from the wounded, against a dark bulkhead where it made a loud crack before falling to the deck.

  “I been out here a year, and I’ve never seen any of my bosses stand up for anybody. And when your colonel came in with you and the others, threatening us, telling us not to send anybody to the Waiting Room, Orphan or not . . . I only wish I’d had the guts to say what I’m going to say now.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Take me with you.”

  “I thought you’d look a little different.” Reena Corlipso greeted Ayliss in an empty hallway at Unity. Olech’s daughter had been escorted to one of the lowermost floors, which meant they were far below the surface of the Earth.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?’

  “I dunno. Me, when I make a whopper of a mistake, it shows. But you don’t think you make mistakes, do you, Ayliss?”

  “I was about to say the same thing to you.”

  “Walk with me.” Reena didn’t wait to see if her command was being obeyed. The walls of this particular corridor were a mottled gray, a composite material loaded with sensors that reported the slightest movement, vibration, or change in the electrical field.

  “So what’s that you’re wearing? Is this the official ‘reprimand’ outfit?” Ayliss asked as she came up beside her.

  Reena smiled tolerantly, glancing down at the severe black suit. “As a matter of fact it is. But you’re not the recipient of today’s reprimand. Not from me, anyway.”

  “So you’re taking me to Father.”

  “I am. But I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “Not surprising. We’ve always been so close.”

  Reena stopped short. “How about thinking about somebody other t
han yourself for a few minutes? When the fight went against us on Fractus, Olech thought Jan’s unit had been wiped out. He thought Jan had been killed.”

  “But he wasn’t. And he’s still out there in the zone, so forgive me if I don’t believe Father was all that broken up about it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That Father doesn’t care about Jan or me. If he was so worried about Jan getting killed out there, he’d have brought him back here, not me. He never cared about us, or Mother.” The blue eyes took on an appraising glint. “I would have expected you to have figured that out by now. Unless, of course, you’re not willing to consider what that might mean about you and him.”

  “You really are amazing. You’re so much like him—­”

  “Don’t ever say that again.”

  “You’re so much like him, and yet you can’t see that it’s all an act. An act he’s kept up for seventeen years.”

  “Tough role, especially the part where he had to screw all those young women.”

  “No wonder you got fooled so easily out there. You’ve got his mind for strategy, but you don’t use it. You don’t ask any of the right questions. You let your anger propel you through life, and you were surprised when somebody used that against you.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? And they’re all . . . found out, aren’t they? Not sure I fell for anything.”

  “Lie to yourself all you want, but Hugh already debriefed your idiot boyfriend. You got lucky, both of you.”

  “So what were those questions I was supposed to ask, Reena? Those ‘right’ questions?”

  “You could start by wondering if you’re simply wrong. If your assumptions aren’t as good as you think they are.”

  “And what assumptions were those?”

  “That your mother died of natural causes.”

  Ayliss stepped in close, anger twisting her features, raising lines that Reena had never seen on her face before.

  “Bullshit. You weren’t there.”

  “You were six years old, so you weren’t there either. It was poison, slow-­acting and painful, and not hard to identify.”

  “You’re making this up.”

  “Why would I? Why would I bother even talking to you? You have no idea how many times I’ve told Olech to take away your credentials, put you someplace where you can’t hurt him, and forget all about you.”

  “He already did that last part.”

  “Here it is: your father was rising quickly in the Interplanetary Senate back then. One of the Unwavering, smart, loaded with charisma, but hard to control. So somebody murdered his wife to let him know that he was going to get in line or suffer more of the same. Get it?”

  “Is that what he told you? He’s a born liar. He’s lied to me so many times I lost count.”

  “I doubt that. Keeping score is one of the few things you do well. But you don’t have to believe me. When Hugh’s done chewing out your boyfriend, he’ll be happy to confirm this. Your father distanced himself from you and Jan to save your lives. The only way to protect you was to act like he didn’t care about what happened to you . . . or what happened to your mother.”

  “So who’s supposed to have committed this murder? I bet there’s a great big nasty part of this story where a whole bunch of bad guys got chopped into little pieces. Oh wait, I got confused. That was the Purge. And it had nothing to do with my mother.”

  “To this day Olech hasn’t learned who murdered Lydia, and you’d be surprised by how little he had to do with the Purge.”

  “That’s not what Python said. According to him, that whole setup on Echo was arranged by ­people seeking revenge for what Father did to their relatives. You know, the way a normal person would react if somebody murdered someone they loved.”

  “You poisonous little bitch. I’m done talking with you.” Reena pointed to the end of the dark corridor. “Your father’s waiting in there. Maybe he can convince you there’s something bigger than your hate.”

  The room was dark, but Ayliss could tell it was large. The door slid shut behind her, as silently as it had opened. Her father stood twenty yards away, near the space’s only light source. A single spotlight shone down from the shadows far overhead, on a piece of equipment with many reflective parts.

  She walked forward slowly, not the least bit afraid. As she got closer, Ayliss saw that the piece of equipment was the size of a large desk and that it was apparently an outdated space probe. The main segment was a metallic cylinder that sprouted a ­couple of large antennae and an array of solar cells. Two small hatches stood open atop the cylinder, the doors made from the container’s curved walls. The entire rig was perched on a display stand, but there was nothing to explain its purpose or why it was kept in so secure an area.

  “You like it?” Olech wore one of his military-­style suits, the red ribbon of the Unwavering standing out against the dark fabric. Her father was standing slightly in shadow, and she noted that his hand gripped the display stand as if to steady him.

  “Looks like a heap of old space junk.”

  “It is, in a way. But it’s also an important artifact. The only fitting piece to display next to this one would probably be the first wheel.”

  “Bit of an overstatement, if you ask me.” She leaned over, peering inside the empty container. “Looks like one of those old ‘alien contact’ probes, the ones they used to send out to see if we were alone in the universe.”

  “That’s exactly what it is. Sort of a cross between a time capsule and a message in a bottle. They launched thousands of the things over the decades, hoping to make contact with other life-­forms. They loaded them with tapes and video and printed pictures because they didn’t know how a different life-­form might communicate. They even included star charts showing where Earth is—­pretty stupid, given what we know now.

  “They lost track of most of them, and believed that they’d been destroyed in space. So many things to run into, or that can run into you.” He flashed her a smile. “But you know all about that now, don’t you?”

  “Is this some kind of silly metaphor?”

  “Sadly, no. You see, this heap of space junk was the only one that ever came back.”

  “But they weren’t designed to come back.”

  “Exactly. So just imagine the shock, all those decades ago, when this thing’s locator suddenly started beeping inside our solar system. Not that far from Earth. There had been some unusual readings just prior to this probe’s reappearance, and for a while nobody knew what that was. So of course they went out and got it.”

  Olech released the stand and walked over next to her, looking down at the machine. “Honestly, I think we would have been a lot better off if they’d just destroyed it. But there was no explanation for the thing being where it was, as if it appeared out of nowhere, and so they brought it back.

  “The contents were missing, but they’d been replaced. With this.”

  He pressed a button on the stand, and lights all over the cavern slowly came on. The walls turned a golden hue, then came into definition as hundreds of small panels encased in glass, rows of them reaching high on three of the four walls. Ayliss walked over silently, choosing a panel at random. It showed a heavily detailed electrical circuit, in script that appeared to be painted on a piece of parchment. The one next to it consisted of humanoid stick figures that appeared to be coiling thread onto a spool the size of a man. She reached back to her education and decided the spool was some form of electromagnet and that whoever painted that picture wasn’t sure if its intended audience knew exactly how to construct such a thing.

  Olech spoke while she was still looking at the panel. “The unusual readings that preceded the probe’s return have since been identified as the first human observation of the Step.”

  In spite of herself, Ayliss looked at her father in surprise.

  “
That’s right. We didn’t invent the Step. Or the Transgression, as it was first known. Personally I think we should have stayed with the original name. Some entity, or entities, used the Step to send us this set of illustrations showing us how to do it. They had to provide much of the instruction in the form of pictographs, but luckily there were a few electrical schematics on the body of the probe that they deciphered.”

  Olech waved an arm, encompassing the entire room. “That saved them a lot of work, but as you can see it was an intricate thing, teaching the humans of that day how to reproduce the technology.

  “And of course, being human, the ­people interpreting these instructions decided not to tell the world about them. I suspect they were hesitant to reveal the existence of an entity far more advanced than we are, that knows where we are, and might even have visited us. It’s one thing to tell humanity we’re not alone; it’s quite another to tell them we’re completely outclassed.

  “And of course there was a lot of money to be made, so it was a lot easier to keep quiet about the contact, play around with the miracle technology, and finally announce that mankind had invented the Step. Over time I imagine it was like any other big lie; tell it enough times and you’ll begin to believe it yourself.”

  “Have they contacted us again?” Ayliss asked, her mind a blur.

  “Not to our knowledge. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? Give us the means to travel faster than light, then ignore us. Unless, of course, they’re so advanced that we aren’t capable of understanding why they do the things they do.”

  “This sounds a lot like a different puzzle we’ve been wrestling with.”

  “Precisely.” Olech smiled with approval. “Some of the ­people who know about this probe suspect it was sent to us by the same entity that’s making the Sims. That it’s all a great big gladiatorial contest, and that we were given the Step because we were taking too long to meet up with the enemy they’d designed for us.

  “Others think it might be a bit more involved, that whatever gave us the Step isn’t the thing that made the Sims. That they’re enemies, or merely competitors playing a game. Makes you wonder about all those ancient Greek myths, doesn’t it? The ones where the gods set different nations at war, as surrogates for their own little pissing contests.”