by Jay Allan
“You mean you picked me because you knew how I would react? That I would try to destroy UNGov?”
T’arza gazed intently at Taylor. “You were chosen very carefully, General Taylor. Very carefully indeed. We selected you as our point of contact for many reasons, but it would be a breach of honesty to suggest that your hostility toward your own government was not one of these. Your relationship with your superiors was troubled even before we made contact with you.”
“If your people wanted UNGov destroyed, why didn’t you take steps to win the war rather than holding back your true capabilities?” Taylor’s eyes met his visitor’s. “We both know your race has greater technology than you’ve deployed on any of the contested Portal worlds. You could have swept our forces away at will any time you chose.” He paused. “Isn’t that true?”
T’arza gestured with open arms and nodded slowly. “Indeed, General Taylor, I can see that our choice was indeed wise. If any of your race can succeed in this difficult quest, it is you.” The Tegeri paused and held his palms out, signifying truth. “Yes, General. My people possess sufficiently advanced technology to defeat your armies. We have not done so for several reasons.”
Taylor watched and listened intently to his guest’s words. He wanted to learn more, to know and understand the whole truth, and the history of human and Tegeri contact.
“Your people are a brother race to mine. We do not know the precise history of this relationship, for its roots lie in the distant past, long before my people attained civilization. Surely you have noticed the similarity between our peoples. There is great diversity in the life forms we have encountered on the Portal worlds, but our people are so alike, in genetic terms we are nearly identical.”
Taylor nodded but remained silent. There were differences in appearance between humans and Tegeri, certainly, but they were all superficial, almost meaningless in a universe of infinite diversity. He stared at his guest. He wanted to hear what T’arza had to say. All of it.
“Your people know little of how the Portals came to be, of the race we call the Ancients. They were gone before your people became civilized, but my ancestors knew of them. As gods they walked among us, teaching us, bidding us to grow, to step through the Portals they had created and explore the universe. They told also of our brothers on another world, and they charged us to shepherd your people, to lead them to the stars as they did us.”
T’arza’s words were slow, his voice almost lyrical. The knowledge of which he spoke was the most sacred lore of the Tegeri race, and he passed it to Taylor with the greatest reverence.
“Of how our races, so similar, came to develop on two different worlds, I know not. If the Ancients shared this knowledge with my forefathers, it has been lost through the ages. Yet we know they bade us watch over humans, and so, for many millennia, we did just that. We saw your people come together in small groups, to learn to grow food, to create bricks from mud and build walls to defend their first, tiny settlements. Then we came to your planet, to guide, to aid your development. It was on your world that we came to realize just how genetically similar our races were, yet how vast were the differences in our psyches.”
T’arza’s voice changed slightly, as though he were attempting to hide disapproval. “Your people warred with each other constantly…for land and food, yes, but also for the vanity of your leaders. The vast majority of your people stood ready to follow kings and emperors, to bend their knee in servitude. Thousands died so one king could wrest control of a valley or stretch of forest from a rival. They warred with each other at the behest of their masters, existing in squalor and deprivation while those who ruled them built palaces and lived in opulence.
“This willingness to blindly follow leaders, with scant regard to their fitness to command, was alien to us. For centuries we did not understand; we did not realize we were contributing to this behavior. Apollo, Ares, Zeus, Odin, Thor, Anubis, Anu, Marduk, Quetzalcoatl…all were names your people gave to us. They began to worship my people, to sacrifice animals – and even other men – to us, begging for our favor, for us to smite their enemies and grant them dominion over their neighbors.”
T’arza paused. His voice had become softer. Taylor found Tegeri expressions difficult to read, but he knew T’arza was uncomfortable with what he was revealing.
“My people were horrified when we realized what was happening. We had come as teachers, not masters, and the thought of humans invoking our aid to destroy other humans was incomprehensible to us.” T’arza closed his eyes for a few seconds. “We saw that we could only worsen your tendency for blind obedience. We abandoned the task the Ancients had set for us and fled your world, leaving you to develop on your own, hoping you would mature and that your people would discover their individuality.” T’arza gazed directly at Taylor. “We rejoiced when you stepped through the first Portal, and we planned the day we would renew contact and teach you all we knew of the legacy of the Ancients.”
His eyes dropped. “Alas, your people hadn’t changed. In thrall again to an unworthy leadership, you began a war with us. Humans came, arrayed for battle, and they killed your own colonists, massacring even the youngest. They slew also our emissaries, members of our greatest houses, for the honor of meeting the first humans to leave Earth was supreme, and only our most worthy were allowed to go. Many of those you later came to call Machines were also killed, as they had accompanied our greeting parties. Our people had no weapons – we had come as friends and ambassadors, not invaders. Yet all who could not flee were slain.”
“T’arza…” Taylor spoke his visitor’s name, but his voice faltered. The words didn’t come.
T’arza held up a single hand. “I say this not to insult you, General, nor to disparage your people as a race. It appears they cannot easily control this behavior. You have followed inferior men as long as your race has existed. You have grown, learned much, become educated, developed advanced technology, reached out to explore the vastness of the universe. Yet still you rush to heed the commands of those not fit to lead, those who promise you security, who offer you baseless platitudes in exchange for your self-determination.” T’arza paused for a few seconds. When he continued, his tone was serious, grave. “This must end, General. It must end now. With you. You must lead your people to greater wisdom, whatever the cost.”
Taylor’s stomach heaved. He could feel the gravity in T’arza’s voice. There was something else, something menacing there. “What are you not telling me, T’arza?”
The Tegeri paused. “I have told you of the Ancients, General, those who built the Portals. Have you never wondered where they are?”
Taylor stared back quietly. Finally, he nodded. “I guess I assumed they left, that they lived far away.”
“No, General. The Ancients did not leave.” T’arza’s spoke slowly, his voice grim. “They were destroyed.”
Taylor stood silently, a look of shock on his face. He looked like he might speak, but he said nothing.
“The Ancients had an enemy. We call them the Darkness, though we know little of them. They waged war until the Ancients were destroyed then they departed. The Tegeri and the humans were too primitive to draw the attention of the enemy, and the Ancients, with their last strength, hid our existence, and thus saved us. Where the Darkness went, we know not.
“The Ancients left us clues, scraps of information hidden in our oldest lore, for they knew that one day the Darkness would return…and that we would have to face it. My race and yours. It was for this purpose the Ancients nurtured us, guided our races. We are destined to fight the Darkness together, your people and mine. Thus is the legacy of the Ancients.”
Taylor was stunned. He stood rigid, still, his silvery eyes boring into T’arza’s.
“You understand now, why my people did not destroy yours, why we have allowed the beings you call Machines to fight a losing war against your armies while thousands died on both sides. You are our brothers, born to stand with us, to fight side by side against t
he evil that destroyed the Ancients.” T’arza spread his arms wide as he spoke. “The Portal network is vaster than your people imagine. There are many sentient races on the distant worlds to which it leads, young peoples, primitive beings tentatively striving toward civilization. We must protect them as the ancients protected us. That responsibility has now fallen to us.”
T’arza stepped toward Taylor. “If we fail,” he continued, “all shall be destroyed. The Ancients sacrificed themselves to protect our races, and that duty is now ours, General. It is our sacred obligation. And the time is almost upon us. For the Darkness is returning.”
Taylor stood still and silent, feeling the weight of the universe pressing down on him. One thought kept going through his head, again and again…T’arza’s words. “The Darkness is returning.”
Chapter 16
Transmitted Under Secretariat Seal
From Anton Samovich to Anan Keita
I repeat my congratulations on your handling of the Vanderberg-Ralfieri Affair. Your prompt intervention prevented potentially enormous problems and did much to preserve our position. I must now urge you to more actively utilize your overall command authority to force the matter to a hasty conclusion.
Matters in Geneva are progressing more quickly than I had hoped or expected, and it is essential that we complete our expected victory on Juno in the shortest time possible. I have received numerous communiqués from General Ralfieri advocating a defensive campaign to maximize our supply and reinforcement advantages over Taylor and his army.
As you are aware, such a strategy is politically impossible at this time. I suggest you assume more direct command of the field forces, deferring, of course, to General Ralfieri’s tactical decisions (to the extent they support our political objectives and requirements).
It is of crucial importance that the battle on Juno be completed, and Taylor’s forces destroyed, in no more than one month. If the campaign lasts any longer than that, our plans will be placed at grave risk.
I trust you understand the importance of this communication.
“This is the third operative to disappear, Alexi.” Samovich sat behind his desk, his face twisted into a frustrated grimace. His plush office offered sweeping views of the Swiss countryside in three directions, but he wasn’t noticing any of it. All he could see was trouble brewing everywhere. The final dance for the Secretary-General’s Seat had begun, and he knew he had to be at his best. Every second. It was the highest stakes game imaginable. The prize was the ultimate power over all mankind. The alternative to victory was almost certainly death.
“Is it possible they are being bribed rather than killed?” Alexi Drogov sat opposite Samovich, his hand wrapped around a heavy crystal glass. The drink was seltzer water with a large slice of lemon. Drogov was a world class drinker, capable of downing enough vodka to kill most men, but he realized as well as Samovich that he and his old friend were in the opening stages of a deadly battle. One that required him to be at his sober best.
Drogov didn’t seek political power. His wants and needs were far baser and simpler. When he wasn’t killing someone, he preferred to spend his time bedding Swiss girls, preferably blonde and, when possible, 2 or 3 at a time. He didn’t want the political position Samovich craved, but he knew his life of comfort and decadence was guaranteed only as long as his close associate was on the Secretariat. Without Samovich’s power, Drogov would have a much harder time living his chosen lifestyle. He’d have to waste time seducing his women, rather than simply picking them out and dispatching security forces to deliver them to him, pliant and willing under pain of their families being sent to reeducation camps. And he’d have to find a way to pay for the priceless truckloads of the very best vodka and brandy that pulled up to his compound on a frighteningly regular basis.
If Samovich’s rival prevailed, Drogov knew it could quickly get worse than losing his supply of expensive liquor and captive women. He might find himself on the run, fighting to survive in a world turned suddenly hostile rather than drinking and fucking the days away in his lakeside villa.
“Anybody can be bribed, my friend.” Samovich leaned back in his chair and sighed. “But these were agents with top clearances, long-service men I hand-picked. Li might have gotten to one of them, but I find it difficult to believe he flipped all three.” His expression was hard and angry, but Drogov could see the frustration and bewilderment there too. “I am not a fool. I employ the usual guarantees of loyalty. They all have weaknesses, families. None of them could doubt how I would respond to betrayal.”
“Still, whether he killed or flipped them, his people exposed three of your top agents in short order.” Drogov’s tone was grimly serious. “Even if none of them were turned, the effectiveness of his security is worrisome.” He paused. “Perhaps it is time to eliminate Secretary Li once and for all.”
Samovich sat quietly, staring back at Drogov. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “It’s a risky move. If it gets traced back to me, I’ll lose most of my support on the Secretariat.” The one inviolable law of UNGov was the sanctity of its ruling class. Killing a member of the Secretariat would be an unprecedented move. “Worse, if we got caught in a failed attempt, it would hand the Seat to Li. And probably send both of us to an unpleasant execution.”
Drogov let out a loud exhale. “You’re gambling either way. If the fucker’s catching all your spies, it means he’s on full alert, and then some. It’s only going to get tougher to get to him.” He paused. “And what are you going to do if the battle on Juno drags on? Stalemate is almost as bad for you as defeat.”
Samovich sighed. “I don’t know.” He put his face in his hands and rubbed his temples. “It feels reckless going after him directly. If Keita and Ralfieri can get me a victory soon, I’m sure I can get a majority on the Secretariat. I can bring Li up on charges, even if they’re bullshit, and get him expelled from his Seat.” He looked up at his friend. “Then we can take him out with no real consequences.”
“It comes down to the fight on Juno.” There was heavy skepticism in Drogov’s voice. “And wars tend to drag on longer than expected, especially when the other side is a veteran force under the command of a military genius.” He stared right into Samovich’s eyes as he spoke.
No one on the Secretariat had dared to speak of Taylor’s true abilities before, for fear of sounding disloyal. But Drogov put it right out there. Jake Taylor was a natural leader, and now, courtesy of UNGov and the Supersoldier program, he was one with superhuman abilities and total recall. Samovich imagined Caesar or Alexander or Napoleon, but with iron constitutions and absolutely perfect memories. Instant recall of every soldier under his command, each scrap of ground he’d passed, the capabilities and weaknesses of every weapon system. Could he be beaten? Even by a force more than twice the size of his own?
“We need to pour everything we can into the fight on Juno. Damn the rest of the Portal worlds. I need to strip the veterans from the other planets and send them to support the Black Corps. I will bury Taylor and his people with enemies, however many it takes to destroy them, whatever the losses. All that matters is victory on Juno.”
Drogov sat impassively. Certainly, more resources sent to Juno would increase the chances of overwhelming Taylor and his people. But there would be damage too, losses on other worlds – lower order disasters than a victory by Taylor certainly, but still reverses Samovich’s enemies could use against him. Could pouring forces through the Juno Portal win the battle there before the damage elsewhere became too problematic? Drogov decided it would probably be a close race. He was just about to say so when he heard a deafening crash.
The explosion ripped through the wall, sending chunks of debris flying around the office and shattering the floor to ceiling picture windows. Drogov reacted first, diving over the desk and pushing Samovich to the floor. “Under the desk,” he shouted as he shoved his friend with one hand and pulled out a machine pistol with the other. “Stay down, Anton. Don’t move.”
; The reflexes of a career assassin took over. This was an attempt on Samovich’s life; he was sure of that. He whipped his head around to both sides, scanning the room. Fuck, he thought, the windows…they’re coming through the windows. An instant later he saw the shadows outside, descending rapidly from above.
He jumped up, grabbing the desk and pulling hard, tipping it over to shield Samovich from the approaching assassins. He jumped over the desk himself, but too late. Three cables had dropped down outside the shattered windows, and the attackers were already leaping in the room, firing as they did.
Drogov caught a round in the leg as he leapt behind the desk. He felt the adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream as he pulled himself up, ignoring the pain from his wound. He held the auto-pistol over the desk, emptying a clip to spray the area with fire. The assassins were in the open. He knew that advantage would only last a second, and he intended to make it count.
He didn’t dare raise his head to see if he’d hit anyone, but there was only one gun returning fire. I must have gotten two, he thought. His satisfaction was short-lived, though. There were shadows descending from above the window again, more assassins about to leap into the room. He slammed another clip into the auto-pistol and fired just as they came into view. He watched as all three slipped from the cables and dropped, one of them making a brief effort to grab onto the window frame before he too slipped and fell almost a kilometer to the ground below.
There’s one at least still out there, he thought, just as he saw the grenade sail through the air and land behind him. He dove to the side, shoving Samovich harder into the space under the desk as he tried to take cover himself. He heard the doors swinging open, Samovich’s security firing on full auto as they poured into the room. An instant later there was a deafening blast…then pain. He tried to raise his head, to see what was happening. But he couldn’t. Then the blackness took him.