by Jay Allan
Cain pulled out of his introspection and turned to face Colonel Storm. “One prisoner. That is all we were able to take?” Cain spoke softly, shivering slightly in the cool evening air. His arm throbbed, despite the meds Sarah had given him. The wound wasn’t severe, but his suit had taken considerable damage. The armorer would have it repaired in a few hours, but for now Cain breathed the outside air and felt the wind blowing through his hair. It was still thick with the acrid smell of the fires, though the last of them been extinguished hours before. It is amazing, Cain thought, how the stench of destruction lingers so long. Still, he enjoyed the cool breeze and the freshness of the air. At least it doesn’t smell like recycled Erik Cain, his mind added. “Well, it would seem you are to be congratulated, colonel, since you have achieved what no one else has managed.”
Storm nodded, so slightly it was barely noticeable. He, too, wore fatigues and not a fighting suit. Though he had, somewhat miraculously, escaped any wounds during the final battle in the Sentinel, he’d been in his armor for 18 straight days. Sarah had insisted he spend at least a few hours – and preferably longer – outside his fighting suit while he had the chance. Marines tended to think of themselves as indestructible, especially in areas like psychology, but men and women started to go a little crazy after being trapped in armor for so long. Storm hadn’t argued, at least not much. He knew it would be good to feel the breeze for a while…and the armorer could give his suit a thorough refit while he was following Sarah’s instructions.
“We’re still studying their suits, sir.” Storm’s voice was deep. “They are identical to ours in most ways.” Storm turned to look into Cain’s eyes. How and why the enemy was equipped with complete copies of the Corps’ armor and weapons was one of the biggest mysteries and topics of debate in the army. “However, there appear to be a few modified systems.” Storm stopped and took a deep breath. He really didn’t want to tell Cain what Sarah had told him.
Cain stared back expectantly. “What? Spit it out,” he said after a few silent seconds.
“You know I just came from the hospital.” He’d been visiting his wounded Marines when Sarah Linden hijacked him and insisted on checking him out carefully. He almost tried to argue, but Sarah’s commission predated his, so she was his technically the superior officer. Besides, she was nearly as stubborn as Erik Cain himself and idolized by every Marine. The men and women of the Corps revered their senior medical officer, and Storm was no exception.
“Yes.” Cain’s voice was a mix of confusion and impatience. “Is there news of some kind?”
“Well, sir. It seems that the enemy’s trauma control systems have been modified.” His voice was becoming more and more uncomfortable. “They apparently…” He paused again.
“Eliot, what’s wrong with you? Just say what you want to say. Modified how?”
“The AIs apparently administer a fatal dose of barbiturates to non-ambulatory wounded, sir.” Storm’s tone was grim, his voice a mix of shock and anger…consuming hatred for any military force that would murder its own wounded to prevent them from being captured. “That is why we have been unable to take any live prisoners until now. Colonel Linden said our captive’s suit was damaged, and it failed to administer the dosage. That’s the only reason we got to him alive. A random stroke of luck.” He was staring at Cain, seeing the rage in the slowly changing facial lines of the Marine general. “It’s just a freak accident that we have him, sir.”
Cain’s expression morphed into icy death. “Is that confirmed, or is it simply conjecture?” His voice was soft, calm…that strange tone he used when his anger was barely controllable. Many who’d been castigated by his tirades were grateful they hadn’t heard the quieter, slower voice…the one that meant Erik Cain was ready to kill.
Storm shifted his feet nervously. “Colonel Linden apparently examined a number of enemy corpses and determined that all of them without immediately fatal wounds had toxic levels of depressants in their bodies.” He hesitated again, trying to force himself to return Cain’s frigid gaze. “She is continuing her investigation, sir, but it certainly appears to be the case.”
Cain didn’t say anything, but Storm never forgot the frozen look on his face.
“They’re clones, Erik.” Sarah Linden was a beautiful women, almost unchanged in the more than 20 years Cain had known her. But now she looked haggard, exhausted. He couldn’t even guess how long it had been since she’d slept, but it was obvious she was strung out on stims.
“Clones?” Cloning was illegal, proscribed by the terms of the Treaty of Paris, the peace that had ended the Unification Wars more than a century before. Earth’s nations had all experimented with creating clone soldiers, but the process had proven to be far more difficult than scientists had expected. The clones that had been created suffered from a wide range of problems…new diseases, deformities, major neurological problems. Even before the formal prohibition was enacted, most of the projects had been abandoned. “I thought cloning was proscribed.”
“It was…is. Whoever we are dealing with is apparently unconcerned with treaty provisions banning the process.” She wiped her hand across her forehead, forcing back a yawn. It was time for another stim, but she wasn’t going to take it in front of Erik. She knew he was already worried about her, and she didn’t want to argue about something stupid. Especially since she was going to take the damned stim whether he liked it or not. Why have a pointless fight?
Cain stood silently for a few seconds. “But these soldiers are in their 20s, Sarah. That means this has been going on for what…25 years? How is that possible?”
She was shaking her head. “No, that’s the part I’m still trying to fully understand. I have been able to establish an approximate age of our specimen, however.”
“25?”
“Try six years.” Sarah was staring right at Cain, her reddish blonde hair a riotous mess around her face. “Maybe six and a half.”
“How is that possible?” Cain’s voice was questioning, skeptical. His mind wanted to discount what he was being told. But he knew just how intelligent Sarah was…and how methodical. Sarah Linden was not one to jump to unfounded conclusions.
“I can’t give you a detailed answer yet, Erik.” She ran her hand through her tangled mass of hair. “But I believe that whoever created these clones has discovered some way to accelerate their growth, producing adult specimens in 4-5 years.”
“My God.” Cain stood frozen in place. “But even that doesn’t explain everything. These soldiers are as trained as my Marines…and you know how long that takes. Even if they could grow an adult in a few years, they’d still need to train them.”
Sarah turned toward a counter and grabbed two mugs. “I can give you an answer on that.” She put the mugs in the wall dispenser. “At least a partial one.” She pulled away the two cups of hot coffee, holding one out to Erik. Coffee was no substitute for the enhanced stim formula she’d been taking. But it would be better than nothing, and she’d take what she could get.
“I found an irregularity in the upper spinal column, some type of biomechanical port providing access directly to the brain.” Her voice changed slightly. However horrified she was at what she had uncovered, she couldn’t restrain her scientific amazement. She was describing a process well beyond existing science, and she found it fascinating. “I can’t even begin to explain the specifics of the process, but I can be fairly certain that this is how the training was implanted into the subject’s mind. They weren’t trained in a conventional sense…they had the memories and reflexes implanted directly into their brains.”
Cain took a sip of the steaming hot coffee and set the mug on the counter. “Like copying a program into a computer?”
“Far more complicated a process, but yes, it appears to be something like that. A raw, uneducated clone undergoes this neural download procedure and walks out with all the knowledge of a fully-trained Marine.”
“You realize what this means? There is no way we can recruit an
d train Marines faster than…” His voice trailed off as his mind raced. He still had no idea who was behind this. Another power?
“Yes,” Sarah interjected. “Certainly this process would allow the…” – she paused, struggling for the right term – “…production of trained soldiers at a pace we could never match.” She paused, not wanting to go on. But she had more to tell him, so she cleared her throat and continued. “It’s actually even worse, Erik. Our captive seems to be a regimental commander. The neural download process we are hypothesizing appears to be capable of far more than simply replicating a training regimen. Consider the campaign. Do you feel like you’ve been fighting against a group of trained but raw soldiers?” She didn’t wait for the answer. “These troopers fight like veterans, not new recruits. The enemy, whoever they are, can produce not just trained soldiers, but combat veterans who aren’t really veterans at all.”
“How is that even possible?” Cain’s expression morphed, the realization that Sarah had to be correct taking hold. He’d fought a battle to the death with the enemy, and one thing was certain. They fought like veterans, not raw cherries.
“I don’t know yet, but the lack of an alternative explanation suggest it must be.” She was a scientist, and she preferred to deal in evidence, not wild hunches. But now wasn’t the time for holding back. “My best guess is that whoever is behind this has developed a way to extract information from at least part of the memory center of the brain and to download the data into the mind of a clone.”
“Can that be done?” Cain’s mind raced at the implications of such a capability.
There is nothing I know of that makes it impossible. While I don’t have any idea of the specific process, I believe it is plausible…and also the only realistic explanation for what we have clearly seen. The only alternative is one of mind-boggling complexity. It is almost inconceivable that someone has developed the capability to…” – she paused, struggling for the right wording again – “…program a human mind from scratch.” She looked up, meeting Cain’s shocked stare. “I think we can eliminate that as a possibility. As far as we can tell, that is beyond even First Imperium technology.
“But…” – Cain had a horrified expression on his face – “…that would mean…” He stopped, unable to put together the words he wanted.
“It would mean that these clones are copies of actual Marines.” Sarah finished Erik’s thought. “Yes, I suspect that is the case.” She paused, looking back at Cain’s stunned stare. “They have also apparently developed a way to parse the information that is transferred, picking and choosing what knowledge and memories are transferred and what is not. For example, the specimens ‘remember’ their training, but not the other aspects of their lives.” Another hesitation. “At least, that’s what I’ve been able to piece together from our prisoner. He has not been enormously cooperative, but neither has he been overtly hostile. I am almost certain he has no meaningful recollections of life as a Marine outside of training or battle…though the specimen from which his experience was derived clearly would have such memories.”
“So, they would have needed actual Marines to create these…soldiers.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes.” She turned slightly, looking down at the table and picking up a small ’pad. “And that explains other factors we have observed. You have been advised, no doubt, that the enemy soldiers bear a strong resemblance to each other…indeed, many of them are identical.”
“Well, if they are clones…”
“Yes,” Sarah interrupted, “but they are not all the same. We have identified eleven different – models, for lack of a better word – each apparently derived from a unique original specimen.”
“So they cloned more than one original Marine.” Cain’s face was twisted in a thoughtful expression. “Why use more than one?”
“Because they are of different ranks and specialties.” Sarah handed the ’pad to Cain. “Our captive is a colonel, and he calls himself Anderson. Anderson-45, to be exact. There is no way of knowing whether that is the actual name of the original specimen, or simply a designation assigned to a command class of clones. But we have found a number of matches among the dead…six colonels and two generals.”
“So the Anderson clones were produced from genetic material of a Marine officer of high rank?” It was half a question, half a statement.
“That is my best guess.” She nodded slowly as she answered. “That ’pad has the eleven known classes listed, along with our best analysis of the primary purpose of each.” She lifted the coffee mug from the table and took another sip. “There are two classes that seem to be essentially privates, two of corporals and sergeants, and several that are clearly officers at various levels. There are several we are still uncertain about.”
Cain stood quietly, his mind in a state of utter chaos. He’d wondered, of course, about this new enemy, and why they so resembled his own people in tactics, equipment, and skill. But he’d never come close to guessing the shocking truth. “This has to be an Alliance operation.” His voice was soft, more shock than anger in his tone.” He looked back up, his eyes locking on Sarah’s. “Think about it. Perhaps anyone could enlist – or kidnap – eleven ex-Marines, but this army has the same equipment we do. Our armor, weapons…the Gordon landers.” His face was twisted in confusion, an elemental rage rising within, barley contained.
“But why?” Sarah’s voice was calmer…she’d always controlled her anger better than Erik. “Why would Alliance Gov do something like this now?” She didn’t trust the politicians that ran the Alliance any more than Erik did, though she tended to be less paranoid about it. “Even if they wanted to re-impose pre-rebellion control levels over the colonies, would they do it now? With Augustus still in command of the fleet? They can’t think he would go along with anything like that…he certainly didn’t during the rebellions.”
“I don’t know.” Cain could feel the anger surging, aching to escape in a fit of rage. But he just couldn’t get it all to make sense. The attacks on colonies had started months before, when the whole fleet was still out at Sigma 4. The politicians on Earth had nearly pissed themselves with fear of the First Imperium. Would they really start something like this when they couldn’t even be sure the First Imperium forces were truly contained? No, he thought…they’re a bunch of cowards…they’d have never had the guts to pull the trigger on something like this. Not while they were still worried about the First Imperium. Who then? None of the other Powers could have copied the Alliance weapons systems so exactly. Alliance tech was the most advanced…and it wasn’t exactly standard practice to share technical specifications with the other Superpowers. No…it couldn’t be any of them.
Suddenly he knew. It just popped into his mind, and he was instantly certain who he was fighting. He couldn’t even guess at how something of this scale was even possible or how it could have been planned and executed. But he was sure of one thing…as sure as he’d ever been about anything. Gavin Stark was behind this.
Chapter 31
Martian Command Bunker
Garibaldi Base
Mars, Sol IV
Vance sat watching the transmissions. It was on every Alliance media channel, and they were all saying exactly the same thing. Of course, Vance thought…they’re all managed by the government. All the media on Earth was. His thought had started as one of derision, but he had to admit to himself the Martian authorities exerted a considerable influence over the Confederation’s own information networks. Vance believed in freedom and self-determination, at least in theory. In practice he’d found it a far more difficult analysis, and he wondered if true freedom was possible…at least for a species as flawed as man.
There wasn’t any close in video yet…the emergency services personnel had locked down the entire area. But the shots from outside the city were astonishing. The cameras gave a majestic view of the Washbalt skyline, its gleaming kilometer-high towers reflecting the reddish afternoon sun. Except in the main government district. The
re, a massive plume of smoke and debris rose kilometers into the sky, a roiling mushroom cloud right where Alliance Intelligence HQ had stood.
The reports were still sketchy, but they were saying it was a terrorist attack of some kind, a small nuclear device that had been smuggled either close to or actually inside the building before it was detonated. There were dozens of rumors flying around, and they were saying that a meeting of the Directorate had been in session…and that there were no survivors.
The nuke had been a small one, but even so, it had taken out half a dozen other buildings, mostly mundane government departments. Vance tried to imagine the chaos on the streets of Washbalt, the screeching of sirens, the traffic clogged with emergency vehicles. The coverage wasn’t showing any of that, at least not yet. When the Alliance government decided on a response the networks would be flooded with carefully selected footage intended to support that action. Until then, only the most general information would be released.
Vance sighed. He hoped it was a terrorist attack. If it was one of the other Powers, Earth was going to explode into chaos. He found it hard to believe a group of rebels or terrorists had pulled off something of this magnitude; he hadn’t gotten a whisper of it from any of his sources. Terrorism had been a serious problem in the 21st and early 22nd centuries, but surveillance technology had crippled most resistance and terrorist groups. The Superpowers were inefficient as political entities, but they were highly effective at rooting out and crushing opposition. Vance prided himself on his carefully constructed network of spies, and he couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t have warned him about something like this.
Of course, he thought grimly, Stark’s little financial charade went on for years, and he’d never gotten the slightest inkling of it. Perhaps this was another piece of crucial intel his network had missed.
Just before he got word of the attack, he’d been reviewing Li An’s proposed plan for dealing with the facility his people had scouted in South Dakota. Died to scout, he reminded himself. Not one of the commandos he’d sent had survived, but they had managed to send him a report before the last of them was killed. Vance had been worried about the missing funds and concerned about the purpose of the strange Alliance facility, but now he knew the truth…and it was worse than anything he’d imagined.