Son of Justice

by Steven L. Hawk

  “Drah.”

  The device relayed the single word with a clarity that belied its complexity. The ability to transmit communications in real-time, over hundreds of light-years, was beyond the Minith colonel’s technical comprehension. But the miracle of the ability was not. It took weeks for Shiale Alliance transmissions to travel between Telgora and Waa.

  “Yes, Oinoo,” the Minith replied. “I am here.”

  “It is nearly time.”

  Chapter 17

  Free squatted down in his assigned corner of the large “barracks” room and pulled the ninal skin across his shoulders. He had been issued a long, oversoft pallet the humans called a “bed” upon joining the unit three weeks earlier, but had requested it be removed after a single evening. He had encountered many strange customs and rituals since being placed among the human fighters, but the bed had been one of the most confounding. How any living being could sleep on such an uncomfortable platform of torture was well beyond his comprehension. He rolled his thin shoulders and enjoyed the welcome firmness of the brick wall on his back. This was how true comfort felt.

  He observed as the other nine humans in his “squad” went about their evening rituals. Their habits were becoming familiar now, but the memory of how strange they had seemed on that first night was still fresh. Now, he understood what many of their movements and actions meant. He understood why they cleaned their weapons and armor at every opportunity. They were warriors. The weapons they carried were the sacred tools of their profession, and he emulated the practice with his own pulse rifle. He also understood—intellectually, anyway—the drive many of them had toward activities that injected levity into their group. They pointed out and laughed at one another’s misfortunes and errors with animation, often fabricating mistakes where none existed for the purpose of amusement. The jokes they told—although he rarely understood them—and the games they played were for recreation and diversion. These things he understood. The ability to sleep on the soft beds, their apparent need for meaningless, unceasing chatter, and the obsession for brushing their small, white teeth were still a mystery.

  Despite the mysteries that surrounded him and the unusual customs of his hosts, Free still felt more comfortable in his current environment than he ever had among his own people. Among the Family, he was an outcast, a cripple—incapable of inclusion or understanding. He was “Alone.” Here he was just one of many, a single entity among a mass of similar, individual entities. All were alone.

  Free gasped as an unexpected realization swept over him. Humans talked incessantly because—like him—they were alone. Like him, their thoughts and feelings were individualized—blocked off and hidden from others. And the primary method for sharing those imprisoned thoughts and feelings was through verbalization. It was their way of seeking understanding and gaining shiale.

  The clarity of the epiphany was quickly overtaken by a second, more insightful thought. For the Family, shiale was reached when the common mind was unanimous in a decision or a belief. From what he had observed so far, humans seemed incapable of reaching true shiale. Disagreements and debates were common among his squad-mates. They seemed to argue incessantly, and over the most inane topics. What was the best way to clean a rifle? Which food tasted better, the brown paste or the green? Who was the best marksman in the squad? Sometimes, they reached shiale, but most times, they did not. For humans, true shiale seemed possible only when the answer was obvious: What planet were they on? Or, what is the color of the wall? Even then, it seemed possible only with smaller groups. The larger the group, the less likely that unanimous agreement could be reached.

  Free was certain of his thinking. The inability to reach unanimous agreement on important matters required hierarchical structures and leader-based governance models. Leaders were chosen to speak for a group because, left to their own, an ungoverned mass of humans will devolve into disparate units of like-minded individuals who have reached—and argue for—their own conclusions. It was in humanity’s best interest to have leaders capable of, and willing to make, important decisions for a group, even when some of the group did not agree with those decisions. As certain as Free was in the need for leaders, he knew many humans would debate the issue, despite the compelling evidence.

  Suddenly, he felt less comfortable in his new home. There was something to be said for the shiale that comes with a mass mind. But that world was closed to him—always had been. For him to succeed, he had to assimilate more fully with his new family. He had thoughts, ideas, and emotions. If he wanted to influence the shiale these humans achieved—despite how limited it might be—he would have to make his voice heard.

  Until now, the work and the learning had been difficult—the most difficult experience he had ever endured. It was made worse by the extended proximity and his subordination to a Minith savage, who was unforgiving in his expectations. Free fought a constant battle with his emotions over the relationship. For him to join this unit, he had to learn what they already knew. This he understood. But to have to learn it from an alien being that he had been taught to revile from infancy was almost too much. He split his time between trying to impress the Minith and struggling not to kill him.

  Yes, the struggles so far had been trying. But he now understood the real work was just beginning.

  The Telgoran squared his back against the wall, closed his eyes, and shut out the voices surrounding him. The other members of his squad had become used to his solitary inclinations, so would not bother him. He ran through his life’s memories, allowed his past to wash over and through him. He immersed himself fully into his final hours of being Telgoran.

  Tomorrow he would work to become an individual among a race of individuals.

  Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow.

  * * *

  “How’s the new addition to the unit coming along?”

  “Free is catching up quickly,” Eli replied. He had been called into Colonel Conway’s office and stood at ease in front of her desk. The holographic vid pic of the colonel with his father on the wall behind her still teased him, and his curiosity almost forced him to ask how the major knew his father. Almost. “He should be fully trained on all protocols and weapons in another couple of weeks.”

  “That’s good, Captain Zero,” the major said. “It will take your company about three weeks to reach your destination.”

  “Our destination, ma’am?”

  “Rhino-3, Captain. It’s a comm station on the border of the Alliance territory.” The lieutenant colonel went on to describe the loss of communications with the outer Rhino stations, and the need for boots on the ground.

  “Excuse me for asking, Colonel. But there’s an Alliance mother ship in the region. Couldn’t they investigate?”

  “They could, Justice. In fact, they did,” she answered. The slight smile of knowing condescension that seemed painted on her face morphed into a scowl as she relayed the events to Eli. It indicated just how serious his superior felt about the situation. “They dropped a carrier of soldiers onto Rhino-3, just like they did on Rhinos -1 and -2. All three of those went silent and haven’t been heard from since. And the last two were armed and ready for contact.”

  The information hit Eli like a slap. The shout had apparently hit the air. And his company was being sent to investigate.

  “You’ll be joined by B Company,” Conway continued. “Captain Zin and his company are experienced fighters, but your unit will be the initial landing force. We don’t know what to expect when you land, so it makes sense to put those armored suits of yours to work.”

  That announcement was another surprise. Company B was an all-Minith unit. Led by Captain (13) Zin, it also happened to be the most respected company-size fighting unit in the Alliance Defense Force. The company was made up of highly experienced Minith warriors, most of whom had been together since before the start of the Peace Wars. He couldn’t help but wonder if Drah’s influence extended into their ranks, then realized with a mental shrug that he didn’t r
eally care. He had lived around the Minith for as far back as he could remember. If they wanted to cause problems, he would address them as they arose. With the PEACE armor in play, he’d put his unit up against any Minith force—even B Company.

  As far as Eli was concerned, A Company was potentially the most deadly unit in the Alliance. All he had to do was turn that potential into reality, and their first test was less than three weeks away.

  Chapter 18

  The standard class daughter-ship dropped out of FLT drive and entered the solar system. Song, the solitary planet in the system, showed up at once on the ship’s cameras and scanners. From this distance—still a full day’s journey out—little seemed amiss, expect for the silence. Rhino-3 should have been broadcasting, but it remained quiet. Had been quiet for nearly two months now.

  At a fourth the size of an Alliance mothership, the daughter-ship was filled to near capacity. The two ranger companies were accompanied by a squadron of jet carrier pilots, a company of artillery, and all of the standard support personnel required for any military mission. In total, five hundred fighters and support personnel, along with their assorted equipment, sped toward the silent planet.

  The mothership assigned to the Rhino sector remained outside the solar system. Its five thousand troops remained in reserve, less than forty-eight hours away, should they be needed. Eli hoped they wouldn’t be, because he and his soldiers would be in a world of hurt should that possibility become reality.

  He pushed the thought of what might happen to the back of his mind and focused on the things he could control: his unit and their preparations. They were ready to go, he knew. But his lieutenants were showing signs of anxiety. If he was being honest, he had some of those feelings as well, but he stayed busy as much as he could to keep them at bay. Activity helped, so he made sure everyone stayed busy. Armor was checked and rechecked, as were the carriers the unit would use to reach planet-side. The jets that would accompany the carriers were also given repeated inspections that were jokingly referred to as “once-overs.” All in all, it was busy work, but it was important on several levels.

  The activity levels were maintained around the clock, with regular periods allowed for sleep and rest. Finally, when they reached a point that placed the ship within an hour’s approach to an orbit around Song, A Company of the Shiale Rangers donned their armor and entered the thirteen personnel carriers that would deliver them to the surface. Twelve of the vehicles carried the company’s three platoons and their leaders. The thirteenth carried Eli, Twigg, Tenney, and Free. The personnel carriers had no offensive capabilities—they existed for the sole purpose of moving soldiers from one place to another—so they were escorted by a half-dozen jet carriers. If they ran into trouble on the surface, the jets would provide air support. Numbering just under 120, it was a small but lethal force.

  Although Free had been assigned to Second Platoon, Eli had made that placement only as an interim measure. It wasn’t meant to be permanent, and the Telgoran’s lack of armor caused a problem for the company. Eli’s initial thought was to leave him on the ship, but Twigg and Benson had convinced him the tall, thin warrior was capable of holding his own, even without the armor, should they find themselves in a fight. As a compromise, Free was directed to join Eli and the rest of the command team in their vehicle. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it would have to do, at least until they settled on how he should be permanently integrated into the company structure. For now, Eli would keep an eye on the young Telgoran and see how he handled himself once they landed planet-side.

  At the ten-minute mark, Eli activated his comms and spoke to the soldiers seated in the carriers.

  “Alpha Company, this is Captain Justice,” he began. He had observed his father do this exact thing on numerous occasions and tried to channel the calm, commanding presence that seemed to come so easy to the older Justice.

  “I don’t have to remind you, but over the past month we’ve drilled on this more times than any of us care to count. I’m confident that every one of you knows what to do when we land on the planet and these doors open. Follow your directives and know your role. If the shout hits the air, and things get crazy, remember this. Lean on your training. Rely on your equipment. Trust your fellow rangers. That combination will help you navigate the loudest shout storm more effectively than you can imagine.”

  Eli paused to gather his thoughts. Delivering a message to those he was about to lead into the unknown was difficult—much more difficult than it had ever seemed coming from his father. The weight of responsibility for their well-being was on his shoulders, and he was feeling it, in its entirety, for the first time. The sensation was crushing, and he wondered how his father managed. In what seemed like the longest second of his life—in all of eternity—he considered the burden his father carried. As the supreme military commander of the Alliance forces, he was responsible for the survival of several races and civilizations. In comparison, the weight he felt for a company of armor-clad troops seemed insignificant. It was a stark realization. How could the man he called “Dad” have carried such a heavy load, for such a long time? It seemed impossible. For the first time in his relatively short life, Eli could imagine how terrible and consuming his father’s existence might be.

  Control what you can control. Focus on the mission.

  “Okay. We’re under ten minutes, so do a final weapons and systems check before we depart the daughter-ship. I want all helmets on at the five-minute warning, so scratch your nose and rub your eyes while you still can. And one more thing . . .” He paused for just a moment. “Let’s show the Minnies in B Company how it’s done!”

  He heard several gleeful shouts over the comm net and looked across to see Tenney give him a thumb’s up. Twigg, seated next to the lieutenant, seemed less than pleased.

  “No offense, Twigg,” Eli offered to the Minith warrior with a shrug and a smile. “Are you ready for this?”

  The scowl was quickly replaced with the Minith version of a grin.

  “I’ve been ready for this for the past twelve years,” Twigg growled. The sudden twitch-twitch of his overlarge ears confirmed his excitement. Even with the PEACE armor as an equalizer, Eli was glad the green giant was on their side.

  * * *

  The Rhino-3 communication station was perched on the highest tip of an elongated ridge of empty, mountainous terrain, near the equator of the relatively small planet. A giant array of equipment was placed at the apex, and included an assortment of long-range radars, antenna, and deep space penetrators. A small, green building that housed a ten-person monitoring team sat just below the array. The barracks, mess hall, and other buildings that made up the remainder of the outpost spread out below the comm station, along the eastern slope of the rocky, snow- and ice-covered mountain. Small, roundish shrubs that the soldiers had christened ‘ewe-bushes’ dotted the mountainside like a well-scattered shepherd’s flock as far as the eye could see. Small, isolated and barren by any race’s standards, the facility was an important site for the Alliance.

  As important as it was, though, it was just as hated by those who were stationed there. The small, yellow star that the planet circled every thirty hours provided just enough light to make each day a dreary, seemingly overcast existence. Though not as cold as the dark side of Telgora—few habitable planets were—the temps rarely got above freezing. It wasn’t on the top destinations list for members of the Alliance Defense Forces. Instead, it was a place to be avoided, if possible. The only positive—other than the positive of serving the Shiale Alliance—was that postings to the outpost were relatively short, at just under twelve months, and were usually followed up by a posting of choice.

  Using his suit’s enhanced optics lens, Eli scanned the station from the company’s placement six kilometers away. Located farther north on same mountain ridge, the summit they occupied was a near-twin of the one where Rhino-3 sat. The spot provided an ideal location for observation and planning. Their landing had gone smoothly, with
all thirteen carriers settling onto the mountainside without issue. The company was now settled into a circular, defensive position around the carriers while deciding on their next move. A half-dozen carrier jet escorts circled far above, out of sight, but within striking range should their support be needed.

  After thirty minutes of seeing no movement in or around the comm station, Eli had seen enough.

  “I think it’s safe to say no one’s home,” he announced to Tenney and Twigg, who lay prone on either side of him. Their eyes were also trained on the distant mountain top. “Would you agree?”

  “Yes,” both agreed.

  “Okay then,” he continued, this time on the command frequency so his platoon leaders and sergeants could hear. “Lieutenant Benson, get Second Platoon ready to move out. Lieutenant Johnson, get First Platoon loaded up onto your carriers in case the shout hits the air and second needs backup. Third Platoon will remain on the defensive perimeter here, around the carriers.”

  Choruses of “yes, sir” rang through the net. Moments later, the platoons began moving into their respective positions as the orders were relayed through the company. Eli monitored the various platoon and company nets for chatter and was glad to hear it was kept to a minimum. His troops were doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing: executing their duties with no complaints, no unnecessary questions, and no grab-ass.

  “Yo, Eli,” Lieutenant Tenney called out to him on a direct frequency.

  “What’s up, Tenney?” he asked, anxious to be off now that everyone was in place.

  “I, um . . . just wanted to tell you to take care of yourself,” she muttered. Her typical confident nature was absent from her words and he immediately noticed the change. “Some of us like having you around, and would be very upset if anything happened to you.”

  Eli double checked the frequency, noted with relief that it was indeed a person-to-person connection. No one could hear them. He closed the ten meters that separated them and looked into her helmet, found her eyes. They shared a look that made his insides flutter.