by Rod Carstens
No, none of this seemed quite real. The feel of the armor, the weight of the rail rifle on his shoulder, all of the men and women around him didn't seem real somehow. It was as if he were in some play pretending to be a soldier. The hundreds of others in formation around him, the shouting sergeants and officers, the APCs they were about to board—it was all too much. He wasn’t ready for this, in spite of what Ura and the other drill instructors had told him, in spite of all the training Striker had put him through, the simulations—none of it had really prepared him for this reality.
Striker turned and faced the platoon.
“All right, listen up,” he said over the platoon’s private frequency. “We’re about to board the APCs. You’re as ready as you’ll ever be for what you’re about to face. I’ve been in your shoes. I know what you’re thinking. Just remember your training and listen up for orders from me and your sergeants and corporals. If you do that, then you will be fine. Now I want everyone to do one last systems check.”
Armored up with faceplates down, it was strange hearing Striker as if he were standing next to him. Fenes heard the click of the frequency being changed to the NCOs-only channel, and Striker said, “Fenes, Ardan, Minga, listen up. The rest of the platoon looks up to you. You’ve been with them since boot camp. Follow my lead and do what I say and we’ll get through this. Be prepared for anything. I don’t care what they told us in briefings. You can’t depend on any plan to last longer than first contact with the enemy. Expect everything to go to shit and you will be able to handle it. Move, communicate, and shoot. Work together and we will survive this thing. I’ve been in enough combat for three men and I’m still standing here, so let’s get this done. Now down check your squads.”
Fenes went down the line checking each man and woman in his squad. The first two’s armor was all green. They had given them the first-generation leftovers after the Confederation used them. Since Von Fleet was the manufacturer, they had refurbished the armor and given it to the penal battalions—an easy way to save money. While it worked, you constantly had to tinker with one system or the other to keep it going. He had to adjust the armor in three of his squad members before it was ready. When he finally returned to the head of his squad, he reported, “First squad, all green, Staff Sergeant.”
“Okay, that does it. Remember, your mate’s armor is as important as your own. If they go down for a technical problem, you just lost the rifle at your side. Help each other out. It’s the same as in combat.”
Striker turned and faced the waiting APC. It wouldn’t be long now, Fenes thought. The APC was a lot like their armor. It was a repurposed cargo-container hauler. It stood on four legs, high off the ground with just a cockpit for the pilots and an engine attached to the spine of the ship. Its civilian use had been to transport containers from cargo ships to the surfaces of planets. They had up-armored the spine and slipped an armored container under it, and they had themselves a troop transport. There were rail turrets at the top of each leg that the copilot could aim and fire. It looked like what it was: a bastardized, thrown-together cargo hauler, not an armored personnel carrier.
They stood nervously for some time before their platoon commander came striding up to them.
“Platoon, attention.”
Fenes and the rest of the platoon came to attention. Their platoon commander, a Lieutenant Leistra, had been largely absent the whole trip. In fact Fenes had only seen him twice, and both times he looked like he had been dipping—there had been a blue tinge around his nose. The rumor had it he had been given a choice between being kicked out of the Von Fleet military for drug abuse or taking a penal-battalion command. Looked he had chosen the penal battalion.
“At ease. I’ve just come from the last-minute battalion briefing by Colonel Coati. Looks like we’re in luck. We’ve been assigned the left flank of the Von Fleet 1st Armored—your sergeant’s old unit. That means we’ll be on the extreme left of the first wave. You should have your individual maps in your heads-up now. It is our mission to move into the dune field you see to the northwest of the crater. We will take up a position there and wait for the Marines from LZ Sol to link up with us.”
Fenes glanced at the map now displayed on his faceplate. Von Fleet’s landing zone was the farthest to the rear of the three LZ’s. To their left was Landing Zone Sol, in the center was the crater that was to become the mobile base once the area was secured, and then across an ancient, dry riverbed on their right was LZ Rift. Confederation Marines were landing in Sol and Rift, and Von Fleet was landing to their center rear. Von Fleet’s main objective was to secure the crater and pave the way for the engineers and their equipment so they could fortify and build the mobile base for the command center and the supplies that would be needed. Nothing had really changed except their position in the landing zone.
“As you can see, we have been given an important position in this invasion. I expect you all to perform to the highest standards. If you do not, you know the punishments will be severe, since they will occur in combat.” The lieutenant paused then continued, “Uh…listen to Sergeant Striker and do what he says. Uh…that will be all.”
With that he turned and walked away. Fenes didn’t like it. If he wasn’t high on dip, then he was doing a good impression of it—slurred speech, nervous movements, you name it. Some people got aggressive and others got stupid. Looked like the lieutenant got stupid. Either way he was no good and he was the officer who was supposed to lead them into combat. It looked like he was worse than useless.
“All right, listen up. Time to load up,” Striker said. “First squad, follow me.”
Striker turned and trotted toward the rear ramp of the APC. Fenes fell in behind him. The rest of the platoon followed by squad. There were three sets of seats, one on each bulkhead and one down the middle. They filled in and found seats according to squads. Fenes sat next to Striker. The lieutenant sat in front them. When the platoon was in, seated, and buckled down, the rear ramp closed. Fenes’s shaking got worse as the engines ignited and the ship slowly eased its way out of the hangar and into space. Fenes felt the pilot bank the ship. Then it went nose down for entry. Here we go, Fenes thought.
Sol System
Earth
City State of New York
Secretary General’s Mansion
Secretary’s Office
Secretary General Andean Monnetal came around from the back of his desk to greet Admiral Raurk and Istas as they walked into his office. Since the assassination attempt, security had been tightened to the point that even the admiral had to pass through retina security. Istas was there on a special pass the secretary general had authorized for her—otherwise she would not have been allowed to accompany Usiche despite the fact they were there to discuss her surveillance of Senator Carroll’s wife.
“Well, I finally get to meet the famous Istas.”
He held out his hand to Istas. She took it and was pleasantly surprised that he did not gently shake her hand but gripped it the way he would have had he met a man. Istas enjoyed it when outsiders knew the small things that Anjins liked.
As they shook hands, Istas sized the secretary general up. Usiche had been nervous that Istas was meeting a head of state, but she did not know just how many heads of state Istas had worked missions for, or just how intimate some of those missions had been. When you are an Anjin, you take the missions the Mother chooses for you, and you never know what they are until you're briefed. So as she shook the secretary general’s hand, she watched him carefully. He was not a tall man. Instead he was broad shouldered, and if one didn’t observe him carefully they would have taken him for being overweight. Instead Istas caught the signs of a truly physically powerful man whose strength was not apparent to the casual observer.
When she met his eyes, she could see him doing the same to her as she was doing to him, sizing her up before their talk. Usiche had told her he was a very shrewd and tough politician whom she respected. Usiche was not impressed by many people, so that
compliment from her was high praise indeed. But Istas always reserved her opinions of others until she had a chance to meet them in person. Her life had depended on that many times over the years. So far she did like this man. He did seem strong and shrewd. The next few minutes would tell.
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. The pleasure is all mine. I have heard so much about you,” Istas said.
“I do hope the admiral was kind in her description of me.”
“Well, sir, her description led me to believe that you were the right man in the right place at the right time,” Istas said.
Andean looked pleased at what she had said, which surprised Istas. He must hear much of the same from people every day. But the pleasure seemed to come from the fact that Usiche had said it.
“The admiral is too kind. After all, I am her boss,” Monnetal said with a smile.
“I must tell you, Mr. Secretary, that I too have come to that conclusion. Your handling of the assassination attempt and it's political aftermath demanded strength without becoming dictatorial. A less capable person or someone reaching for more power would have taken advantage of those times. ”
Andean stared at her for a long moment as if seeing her for the first time.
“My dear, coming from an Anjin who is not on a mission that is a great compliment. I have heard about your clan’s famous frankness when not on duty, so I consider it real praise.”
Again Monnetal surprised her. He had done his homework on Anjins. Most people just believed the myths about the assassin house.
“Please do sit down.”
Usiche and Istas sat in chairs across from the secretary general. He walked around the desk and sat too.
“Now, the admiral tells me that you have some suspicions about someone and that it is important to hear from you directly.”
Istas glanced over at Usiche before she began. “Mr. Secretary, it is my opinion that Senator Carroll’s wife is an embedded hybrid and that she also other hybrids highly placed within the Von Fleet Corporation’s operations.”
The secretary general’s face remained calm. “Suspicions are not admissible in a court of law. How did you come to this conclusion?”
“I met her face-to-face for the first time at Kat Von Fleet’s party a few weeks ago. She reacted to me in a way I have never had someone react to me before. She is not human. I used certain techniques that always work and she reacted differently than anyone I've ever encountered.”
The secretary general leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, his face intense. “Did you use your pheromones?”
For the first time in many years, Istas was surprised. Few people outside the clan knew about the pheromones, unless they had used Anjins in the past for missions.
“Yes, yes I did. She reacted as if she were about to attack me. It was very surprising, as is your knowledge of our techniques, Mr. Secretary.”
He smiled and said, “One never knows about someone else completely, do they? Say hello to Mother for me. She has been very helpful to me over the years.”
Again Istas was taken back. She looked over at Usiche, and the admiral’s mouth was actually open in astonishment at the secretary general’s statement.
“That is enough for me. Please tell me what it is you need, and you will have it.”
Before Istas could answer, a display popped up on the secretary general’s desk. It flashed red.
“What is it?”
“There has been an attempt on General Sand’s life on Rift, Mr. Secretary.”
“Is he all right?”
“Yes, sir, he survived without any injuries, but there is something you must see, sir. It's urgent.”
“Very well, go ahead.”
“But, your guests.”
“They are cleared. Now show me the video.”
A hologram of Sand’s tactical information center appeared above the desk. At first there was nothing out of the ordinary—technicians and military men and women preparing for some sort of exercise. Istas watched closely. She noticed a technician who seemed too interested in Sand and not interested enough in his job. It would be him, she thought to herself. Then Istas noticed Netis, the lieutenant from Rift. She too had noticed the man. What was she going to do?
“I don’t see anything,” Usiche said.
“Wait,” Istas said.
Then Istas noticed something about Netis. She wasn’t sure whether she saw what she thought she had.
“Could you stop it right there for a second?”
The holo stopped and Istas reached out and zoomed in on Netis’s hands. At the ends of her fingers, her claws were extended. She was a hybrid, Istas realized.
“Not Netis,” Usiche said with real surprise.
“Wait, please continue,” Istas said.
The man suddenly jumped from halfway across the room, tearing the guard’s throat out as he landed. Netis made her move. She too jumped and landed in front of Sand. She pushed him down and stood between him and the other hybrid. The man jumped at Netis, but she threw him into a stack of equipment. As he was untangling himself from the wires and equipment, Netis tore her uniform off. Istas smiled. Netis was willing to fight to the death and was preparing herself. Several Marines came running into the room, their weapons at the ready. They were raising them when Sand said, “Stand down.”
Good, Istas thought, Sand recognized what's happening before the others and knew her value. Sand was a good general who could still think in the middle of an assassination attempt. The man jumped and Netis met him in midair. They fell to the floor and grappled for a few seconds. It was really too quick for Istas to study their techniques, but that would come later. The man was able to stand. Netis stunned him with a head butt then killed him with a quick tearing blow to his throat. She stood and roared a scream of victory. Istas knew she expected to be killed at any moment, but she remained still. She was truly remarkable. Sand had security lead her away.
The three sat back in silence.
“Amazing,” the secretary general said in a hushed voice.
“Istas, what…?” Admiral Raurk started to say. “Netis is a fucking hybrid, but she killed another hybrid to protect Sand. What are we looking at?”
It was rare for the admiral to curse, but it did seem appropriate to Istas because she was as surprised as Raurk. Istas reached out and moved the video backward and forward several times. She was concentrating on Netis’s face, trying to read what she was thinking. Ignoring the fight and everything else, nothing she saw appeared out of the ordinary—Netis looked like any other human would in that situation. All of the small tells were there, just as if she were human.
Finally Istas said, “We know the Xotolis take human embryos then change certain things within them to create the hybrids. I think that when all is said and done, we will find out that Netis is more human than hybrid. It didn’t work on her.”
“That is an awfully big set of assumptions you just put together,” Monnetal said.
“Yes, but what else could it be?”
“She could be an embed they want to get even higher up than Sand. A trick. A ruse to put us off the track.”
“No, no. They know she will not get near anyone of importance ever again. No, I watched her closely as she fought. She was protecting Sand. She was protecting not just Sand, but other humans. Is she not involved with another officer?”
“Yes,” Usiche said. “They have been very open about the relationship. I’ve seen them together. It seemed very real.”
“Exactly. Did you feel the same about Senator Carroll and his wife?”
Usiche sat back and looked first at Istas and then at Monnetal. “No. You're right. There was nothing between them.”
“That is not enough to go on. Istas, I need you to go to Rift immediately and investigate this. If it is anything like you suspect, it could be a huge break for us,” Monnetal said.
“Yes, I agree. I need to see her face-to-face. If I'm right she could be the key to defeating the Xotolis.”
Istas stood and walked to the door. She hesitated before she left then exchanged a long look with Usiche before she departed.
Sui-Ren System
Chika
Naval Special Warfare Squadron
Mike Boat 79
Chief Petty Officer Zenes Lee reached over and flipped the last switch on the checklist.
“That’s it, Chief. We are ready to rock and roll,” Odaka, Lee’s copilot on Special Operations Craft 79 said.
“All right, let’s get the meat on board,” Lee said. “Dragon One to Flight, we’re ready for loading.”
“Roger, Dragon One. On the way.”
Odaka lowered the back hatch, and three files of Marines entered and took their seats.
“We from the SOC airlines would like to welcome you aboard this evening. We always appreciate it when you choose SOC, and your crew would like you to know that we do appreciate your business and hope that you choose SOC for your next trip into enemy territory.”
“Lee, would you shut the fuck up?” a Marine said.
“Is that you, Taro?” Lee said, laughing.
“Yeah, you got first platoon again. How about a smoother ride this time?”
“Lieutenant, it is always a pleasure to drop you and your platoon onto hostile planets. I don’t know how you can say we didn't give you a smooth ride. We have no control over a planet’s weather. If you have any complaints, please just tell our flight attendant and she will be glad to see to your needs.”
“That's gunner’s mate to you, Chief. I ain’t no flight attendant,” Petty Officer Toland said.