Enter the Sandmen

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Enter the Sandmen Page 34

by William Schlichter


  Blaster fire sends Reynard scampering for cover behind the skeletal remains of a Mecat. Small-arms weapons means it was from ground troops.

  Pounding reverberates in his eardrums. He glances through the menagerie of broken tanks to avoid the one nearing him when Reynard realizes his own heartbeat thumps so loud he hears nothing else. He wipes his water-soaked palm on his flight suit pant leg before gripping his magnum. No simulation prepared him. His mind races to stories his grandfather told him about soldiers during the American Civil War and their quest to see the elephant. He understands now why they didn’t want to witness the elephant a second time. The mayhem of battle, the thousand instants blurring past him, leave questions of sanity.

  He laughs. His mind transfixed elsewhere for a second. Every sequel to all his favorite ’80s action movies shouldn’t be about the same thing happening to the same guy twice, but should be about him trudging through PTSD therapy.

  Reynard snaps to. He has to. He doesn’t want to die. There’s no burying his head in the sand. He clears his thoughts. He’s had training. He can cope later with the carnage.

  He wanted to be a soldier.

  What should a soldier do?

  Keep your head down, find better cover, return fire.

  Easily made plan.

  Through the smoke of burning crops and Mecats, Reynard spots a squad of battle suited soldiers. He hooks his eyepiece over his ear and uses the ocular device to magnify his view. Seared into each shoulder plate is the UCP sigil. His allies even if they don’t know it.

  The Mokarran fire on them.

  Before they reach cover, two soldiers fall. Reynard has to assist them. He needs their help to survive. He fires blindingly around the Mecat leg where he hides. Both teams of warriors spot him. The Mokarran open fire on his position, giving the UCP soldiers reprieve, which they use to enact a preconceived plan. One soldier races toward Reynard’s position carrying a thin cable. Once he runs out, he releases the end, flinging himself at Reynard and covering his body. The heavy armor strikes him like a bat swung at full force, but before he winces in pain, the cable explodes, showering everyone in clods of dirt. The soldier drags Reynard into the freshly dug trench joined by his companions.

  This forces the Mokarran to seek better cover if they want to engage the UCP troops.

  Replacing his heartbeat, the ringing of his ears stems from the explosion. Reynard knows the soldier’s giving him orders. A constant high-pitched hum prevents him from hearing them. With the full-faced helmet, he can’t even see any lips to read. The soldier jams the rifle of one of his dead companions into Reynard’s arms.

  He understands “gun” and the capability it has to fatally wound a Mokarran over his magnum. The soldier, who has a Sergeant rank underneath his shoulder sigil, waves two fingers at Reynard before using them to point over the top of the trench.

  He needs to understand the order. It could mean his life. Reynard shakes his head. He hopes the man doesn’t think him a coward. Afraid, yes—but not a coward—Reynard points to his ear and shakes his head.

  The Sergeant gives him a thumbs-up before jumping up to fire a few quick plasma bursts at the Mokarran and ducking back down.

  Unable to hold this position forever, Reynard checks the e-clip and primes the weapon. He nods at the Sergeant. He goes where they go.

  Advanced exoskeleton tech adds to the battle suit, giving the soldiers temporary superhuman abilities. The Sergeant leaps from the trench in a manner Reynard’s physically unable to possibly follow so he lies down, covering fire in an attempt to suppress the Mokarran as the UCP troops charge.

  Plasma bolts sear the air.

  Reynard dips back into the trench running hunched over until he reaches the middle where he flings himself up firing. Plasma burns through a gap between the UCP men. The Mokarran don’t retreat to cover this time. Volley after volley of plasma sends him back down into the trench and costs him visual on the UCP soldiers.

  A UCP soldier lands in the trench tearing off his smoldering helmet. Damaged by some kind of acidic blast, the helmet melts at Reynard’s feet.

  “Smerth’n hell.”

  Reynard understands the Osirian, so he must still have some hearing. He scampers away from the helmet as it liquefies into a hissing goop.

  “Cover me?”

  Reynard nods. Pops up and fires.

  The soldier drags one of his fellow dead soldiers down into the trench stripping off the helmet.

  “Hell.”

  Reynard drops the dead woman’s helmet, knowing it won’t fit him.

  Other UCP soldiers dive into the trench. Explosions reverberate. Soil rains down upon all of them. Now Reynard’s sure he’ll never hear again.

  Before the dust can settle the Mokarran fire. Many of the blasts drill into the back wall of the trench.

  Reynard’s head swims from the most recent blasts. He’s sure he needs a synaptic scan. Too bad Osirians don’t take implants well, or he’d get new ears. His won’t stop ringing.

  The Sergeant takes up Reynard’s rifle in one hand and his own in another. He opens fire. The other men scamper from the trench. Reynard stays on their heels and joins them behind the cover of a Mecat.

  Plasma impacts seem to do little damage to the Mokarran. They move forward directly on the troops.

  They need something more powerful to wound the Mokarran. Reynard notes the damaged plasma gun on the ground next to the Mecat before prying open the leg panel with his katana. Calthos steel shouldn’t snap on him as the hinges do.

  “Grab the cannon,” Reynard yells at the helmetless soldier.

  He complies, digging one into the ground and twisting the end toward the marching enemy.

  Reynard twists the end of the unspent missile before dropping it into the barrel. It slides down the tube and with impact on the bottom launches.

  The blast shreds a Mokarran.

  Reynard drops in another rocket.

  This explosion gives the Sergeant momentum to join them.

  The plasma cannon barrel glows red-hot from the second mortar. It must cool before they launch again.

  Reynard’s head swoons. He falls back against the Mecat leg before he draws another missile.

  “You’re an asset, but if you don’t keep up we’re going to have to leave you,” the Sergeant barks.

  “Sir, we don’t leave a man behind,” the helmetless soldier says.

  “He’s a merc, not one of us.”

  “He came to defend this planet as we did.”

  “He came for credits; now move out, soldier.” The Sergeant drops an extra energy clip in Reynard’s lap before releasing the rifle.

  The soldiers, two at a time, leap from cover bolting toward the battle. They bob and weave, preventing any snipers from drawing a clear bead on them.

  Reynard props himself up against the damaged Mecat. From his limited medical knowledge, he guesses he has a concussion from the crash. He jams the energy clip into the rifle. Fully charged. From the thundering explosions he realizes the battle has diminished and moves further from his location.

  He taps his watch.

  Nothing.

  Communication channels remain jammed.

  Reynard’s thoughts shift to sleep. He needs to just lie down—rest. After a quick nap he will be fine. There will be plenty of time after he rests. He has to force his eyelids to remain open.

  He must close his eyes for a second.

  He has to rejoin the soldiers. The rifle sputters, releasing no plasma as he takes aim on a Mokarran charging the Sergeant. The other UCP soldiers litter the battlefield.

  A Mokarran blows through the Sergeant.

  Reynard leaps sword in hand. He won’t let the Mokarran end him easily. The blade skewers the shark-creature but hits nothing vital. Before withdrawing arms wrap around him, Reynard contorts his spine as far back as possible, bending to avoid the neurotoxin dripping from the tentacles before the Mokarran’s twin rows of teeth. Once stung, he’s not sure whether he will die f
irst from the poison or the bite.

  His gun hand won’t turn enough to hit the alien. Reynard pushes down on the hilt of his katana. Sawing the blade, he progresses through the tissue. The laceration widens, but the alien fails to react. With his last ounce of resistance, Reynard jams the magnum into the hole before firing. Three rapid shots and Reynard falls. He latches onto the hilt as he falls, yanking his sword free.

  Once Reynard is clear of the Mokarran, a blast from a Mecat incinerates the alien. Reynard corkscrews around—sword in his left hand, magnum in his right. Knowing full well his weapons won’t scratch the paint, he faces down the Mecat anyway.

  Hydraulics in the Cat’s legs release, lowering the craft toward the ground so the pilot can disembark. Reynard lowers his gun. He recognizes JC through the windshield covered in plasma scorches.

  Waving in order to hitch a ride, Reynard races to the protection of a friend.

  Before his rescue is finalized, a Sandman materializes, engulfing Reynard in its cloak before they both vanish.

  SALTĀL SLIDES A crystal into the computer port of the standalone station in his quarters. “I may have found us a communications officer. He downloaded this information off the ISN before the Mokarran had him censor it.”

  “You trust this person?”

  “Not fully. Not yet. I want to have a few more exchanges before I bring him into our circle.”

  “I have completed my translation.” Somberly, Nytalyan taps the Mokarran religious text.

  “Then you know what they are planning. We’ll have something to transmit to the UCP.”

  The monitor flashes the Interplanetary Subspace Netscape logo.

  “News reports?” Nytalyan fails to hide her confusion.

  “From the Battle of Summersun before the Mokarran spin it.”

  The news reel plays, focusing at first on an orbital view of Summersun. A news reporter speaks over the image. “Tri-Star Federation and UCP officials have been in secret talks on Summersun to re-establish the armistice between the two alliances. With a treaty in place, new trade negations will resume, allowing Tri-Star Federation products to flow into UCP controlled planets.”

  “We don’t supply the UCP with anything but refugees.”

  “It’s just one of the stories,” Saltāl assures her. “There are dozens more.”

  A new image appears on the screen of smoldering Mecats scattered like forgotten children’s toys on a field of blacken earth. The imposing commentator plays over. “Agricultural planet Summersun felt the full brunt of Mokarran oppression. Fighting outside the capital sparked a reaction from UCP flagship Captain Kantian and the intervention of Zayar VP-Admiral Maxtin.”

  Nytalyan pauses the image. “One of those two would be trustworthy.”

  “As a leader, the Admiral would have more influence.”

  “More security surrounds the UCP leaders.” Nytalyan releases the button.

  “Returning from recent negotiations to bring Zayous into the UCP, Admiral Maxtin had this to say: ‘We’ve got a long road to peace; returning to the armistice agreement will prevent needless loss of life. Peaceful solutions will prevent the devastation felt on Summersun today.’ The Admiral’s stance is in sharp contrast to Captain Kantian. Some sources report Captain Kantian acted without authorization from the UCP government. Credited with saving millions by his actions, Captain Kantian has been recalled back to Parliament.”

  “Kantian might face a court-martial for his actions.”

  “But the Admiral wants peace. He won’t do what needs to be done with this information,” Saltāl says.

  “Get your contact reviewing the vid feeds. If Kantian isn’t deposed—we approach him.”

  “The flow of information will tell us if we recruit a comm officer…”

  “And who we trust in the UCP? The way they react to our information could reveal us.”

  “We should send test information. Something not traceable back to us, but how they act on it will reveal if we transfer your translations.”

  Nytalyan offers, “The Mokarran want to drive those not of pure blood from the Tri-Star Federation. Summersun was but the first of many worlds they plan to scorch.”

  “They lose the strategic value of Summersun being a staging point to invade UCP space.”

  Nytalyan speculates from what she understands from her translation. “It was more important as an agricultural planet. The Mokarran plan to decimate dozens of agriculture-driven economies. Many of which feed surrounding solar systems.”

  “Creating mass famines? Millions will starve.” Nausea washes over Saltāl.

  “Millions will flee to the UCP where they will expect to be fed and become a drain on the UCP resources.”

  “Allowing the Mokarran to strengthen their own forces by eliminating those who can’t be productive,” Saltāl realizes.

  “Even if we send this information to the UCP, they can do little to stop the devastation of so many planets within the Tri-Star borders, not without initiating a full scale war.”

  “We’ll see if they do react.” Saltāl adds, “There’s one more newsfeed you need to witness. The one the Mokarran released to the planets they control as the actual ISN news reports.”

  He presses play.

  “Recent poisoned food production has forced the Tri-Star Federation to invalidate their status as a member system. Now with trade sanctions in place Federation citizens will be safer from poorly processed foodstuff.”

  “Now more people will starve. Summersun was a breadbasket for Federation worlds,” Saltāl muses.

  “They won’t believe the Mokarran would just give up an entire star system.”

  “It’s on the ISN, people believe what they see on the news. How many of these stories did we see before we questioned our leadership?”

  Nytalyan admits, “I’ve had my suspicions for a while. The systematic displacement of workers and reassignments of all key personnel to those strictly Mokarran scared me.”

  “What the Mokarran are doing should scare us all.”

  “I HAVE DISPATCHED one of my sergeants on an undercover mission under the guise of being dishonorably discharged. I have dispatched him to the GoBartha system, a small desert world where the Mokarran mine durasteel ore. With enough disruption on the planet, the Mokarran could abandon it.”

  “Interesting strategy, Captain. You do have a nose for political insight.” Admiral Easter peers at the hologram of Kantian before her wheelchair.

  “There were too many consigned mercs on Summersun to be coincidence. Someone deliberately moved against the Mokarran, forcing the new treaty. Was it part of your plan, Admiral?”

  “There will be no court-martial, Kantian. I had nothing to do with the abundance of mercenaries on Summersun. Since we have annexed the system, the UCP will have to bail out the Summersun government.”

  “We saved all those people.”

  “We saved the destitute and the Tri-Star Federation. With the planetwide damage to crop production, it will take more resources to restore the planet to an agrarian culture. The loss of the planet will save the Tri-Star Federation trillions.”

  “Saving those people means so little to us?”

  “Bringing us the Mokarran burdens will break us faster than a war fleet.”

  “With respect, Admiral Easter, this was your command decision.”

  “It was. We needed the armistice, and we need Tri-Star Federation planets to rise up against the Mokarran, but understand, Kantian, there are two sides to every power play. Those citizens you saved won’t contribute to the war effort. They will waste resources. Resources we need to defeat the Mokarran.”

  Despite his convictions, Kantian comprehends. “You wanted a sound bite on the ISN. The liberation of the planet was propaganda. My crew, and the near destruction of the Deliverance, was for a press release.”

  “A Mokarran defeat will have no easy choices. Once you have secured the Deliverance in dry dock for repairs, report to my offices. I’m promoting you to Assis
tant Outer Dimensional Coordinator.”

  “Your personal assistant, Admiral?”

  “I want you to replace me, Captain. I have not changed my mind.” Easter flips off her holotransmitter, ending her discussion with Kantian.

  She wheels herself further into the biotical garden. “The air mixture here helps with my breathing. Most of these plants aren’t even from the same planets, but together they give off oxygen mixtures to make my lungs stronger. It’s something natural unlike this damn machine.”

  “Then I would spend most of my time among this beauty.” Maxtin brushes past leafy palms to stand next to Easter.

  “Thirty years. We met after the Coalition fleet was destroyed. You and I and two hundred survivors out of the thousands destroyed in battle. We founded this Confederation without the help of your people. They wanted nothing to do with us.”

  “Is my bringing them into the alliance stealing the thunder of your prodigy?”

  “Kantian has to stand on his own. Had I known your plan included bringing a Zayar delegation, I would not have complied with your operation. I did want him in the spotlight, more so than you.”

  “He wants war too badly.”

  “The Mokarran have to be stopped.”

  “We’re not ready for war,” Maxtin says.

  “A Zayar ship in Mokarran space translates otherwise.”

  “The UCP and Tri-Star Federation have signed a new armistice treaty because of the appearance of a Zayar battle cruiser. The UCP will offer no assistance to any rebel forces within the federation territories. Any planet who frees itself of Mokarran oppression on its own volition has the option to join the Confederation without fear of reprisals.”

  “The Mokarran use of mass drivers against the designation of the previous armistice defeated our flagship, and the weakest Zayar battle cruiser terrified the Mokarran into compliance. I find no historical reference to why so many species fear Zayars. This colony you are chartering is the first known expansion of the Zayar beyond their home planet.”

 

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