Children of Angels (Sentenced to War Book 2)

by J. N. Chaney

  Those resources still didn’t answer why the Centaurs had invaded. There were far more remote worlds within human control, not to mention the billions of other worlds within the galaxy.

  But no one understood the motivations of the enigmatic aliens. They’d show up, make their demands, and then resort to force. No living Centaur had ever been captured, and no one even knew their language.

  The Centaurs, though, sure understood Standard and more than a dozen regional languages. There were never any attempts at diplomacy, however. They communicated with humans only to make their demands.

  The Children of Angels claimed that the Centaurs were at a higher plane than humans, and in order to understand them, humanity had to let the Centaurs guide them to that same plane, to get leveled-up. Then, and only then, the secrets of the Centaurs’ minds would open up to humanity. But right here and now, they were still a mystery.

  A single drone had entered Tenerife orbit thirteen months ago, taking over the planet’s broadcasting system, announcing the imminent arrival of the Centaur forces, and demanding complete capitulation. The planetary militia had scrambled after putting out the call to the COH and the Union. Three hours after the Centaur’s demand, their forces arrived. Within an hour, the militia had been destroyed, and Tenerife, for all intents and purposes, was in Centaur hands.

  This time, however, they did not scour the humans who had survived. The most common theory as to why was that they were using the humans as a shield, to put off a counter-attack. But as Rev watched the people enter the terraforming plant, he wasn’t so sure about that.

  “Record and file for transmission. Priority Three.”

 

  He’d recorded their interrogation of Lima to join that of the images of the mini-Centaur vehicle. This was vital data that Intel could analyze. And from how limited what he and Tomiko were seeing and recording was, the analysts needed a lot more valid information to get an idea of what was happening on the planet.

  “Any idea of what you were doing in there?” Rev asked.

  “Not really. Making a jigsaw puzzle, we call it. Moving the crystal beanies so the bots can do their thing. Putting in some of the beanies ourselves. Things like that.”

  Which meant almost nothing to Rev.

  “Can we get in there?” he asked. “It doesn’t look like there’s any screening.”

  “What about them?” Tomiko asked.

  Rev considered the two Children of Angels standing near the entrance, each alongside a mini-Centaur. Both minis had their pedestals deployed with what looked like a smaller version of a beam cannon. He didn’t know to which she was referring, but it was a valid question.

  “Is there an access list as to who can get in?” he asked.

  “Not really. The Cents told us how many had to be there. The first day when most of us were hiding out and we didn’t meet the quota . . . well, I don’t want to talk about that. Now, we make sure there’re at least three hundred for each shift.”

  Rev made a mental gulp, not wanting to think about what might have happened that first day.

  “How many need to be there?” Tomiko asked.

  “Two hundred and fifty-six.”

  “Why two hundred and fifty-six?” Rev asked.

  He wasn’t asking Punch, but his battle buddy said,

  “And that means . . . ?” he asked him.

 

  Rev appreciated how much his battle buddy made life easier, bad jokes aside, but for him to volunteer thoughts like that still made him a little uneasy.

  Whether 256 had any special meaning or not didn’t really matter. If three hundred slave-laborers were going in at a time, then that number wasn’t a limit.

  “Do those kapos recognize everyone who goes in?” he asked Lima.

  “I doubt it. Too many of us from two different cordons.”

  Rev considered it. On the negative side, if he tried to get in, he could get caught. He could give away the upcoming assault. On the positive side, there was . . . not much, to be honest.

  Screw it. I don’t care.

  “I’m going in.”

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Tomiko asked.

  “No. But I’m doing it.”

  Tomiko sighed, then said, “OK, let’s go now during the shift change.”

  “No.”

  “We’ll blend in better right now.”

  “I mean no, we’re not going. I’m going.”

  “But we’re a team.”

  “And if something happens to me, you’ve got to complete the mission.”

  “That’s bullshit, Rev. A team means we, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  Lima stood silently, but her eyes were alert as she took in the argument.

  “We can’t risk both of us.”

  “Then don’t risk either of us.”

  Tomiko was probably right, he knew. But he needed—or at least really wanted—to see what was going on in there. He doubted that he could figure things out, but there were plenty of smart people back in New Mars or Titan who might be able to understand just what the Centaurs were doing.

  During boot camp, what seemed like a hundred years ago, the recruits had been given ten classes on history. Back then, Rev had thought it was a waste of time, only good for catching a quick catnap. But over and over during his first almost four years, different things he’d been taught popped into his mind. If he was a cynical man, he might think the augments done on his brain could be the reason for that.

  If he was a cynical man.

  But right now, he was thinking of a quote by Sun Tzu:

  If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.

  That was all well and good, but if the enemy was a mystery, then “knowing” them was a pretty steep mountain to climb. Humanity was expending vast resources to this effort, both those who hoped to find a diplomatic solution to the threat and those who wanted to defeat them in battle, but with little progress so far. All Rev could hope for was that the Centaur body he and Tomiko found could help solve that puzzle. And maybe because of that contribution, he had a vague feeling that he could do more, and he thought it was vital to see what the Centaurs had the humans doing. It had to be something important.

  He put his hand on Tomiko’s shoulder and said, “Miko, I’m not sure why, but I think getting inside and recording this is important. But it can’t be both of us. The mission means too much. So, I’m going in.”

  Tomiko opened her mouth to argue but closed it, argument unspoken. She took a deep breath and said, “You’re the boss. But I’m telling you this. You’d better come back to me.”

  “I’m going in with you, though. Don’t need you to make a stupid mistake,” Lima said.

  Which made sense. And she’d been working inside since just after the invasion.

  “But if we’re going to go, it needs to be now. The last shift is about to be released.”

  Before he could think of reasons to stay back, Rev told Tomiko, “Hold down the fort.” Then he stepped out from behind the building they’d been using as semi-cover and cut over to join the line of stragglers making their way to the gate.

  “For the record, in case it comes up, my name is Hansel Minik,” he told Lima.

  She looked at him, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

  “He’s a real person, a fellow citizen of yours. He’s alive and well, but just not here now.”

  “OK, Hansel it is.”

  They merged behind another man who didn’t even look up. There was no hue nor cry.

  “Keep a recording for the entire time I’m in there. Priority Three,” he subvocalized.

 

  Don’t walk like you’ve been augmented, Reverent, he told himself as he approached the gate.

  That only made things worse as he tried to alter his gait. Instead of a normal stride, he looked drunk. But neither Lima nor any of the others seemed to notice anythin
g.

  The thought of his augments almost gave him pause. With all the hardware inside of him, he was a walking alarm.

  “Is the body scanner running?” he whispered to Lima.

  “That was taken down years ago. I don’t think anyone ever thought to put in a new one.”

  Which was a relief. And it made sense. The plant had been closed for decades, so what use was a body scanner? Where just about every other building on the planet would have such a basic security measure, he’d lucked out with this location.

  “Time’s getting tight. Hurry it up,” one of the two kapos at the gate yelled.

  Rev glanced at the kapo, a young man with a scraggly blonde beard. The man’s gaze started to sweep toward him, but Rev averted his glance, right to the mini-Centaur beside the man.

  This close, it was smaller than he’d expected. No more than a meter-and-a-half long, it had only six legs instead of the eighteen-to-twenty-four the larger Centaurs sported. The chassis material had the same light-sucking, metallic appearance of the other Centaur vehicles, but the chassis was too small to house a living Centaur. The beamer deployed at the top of the pedestal, while smaller, was the real deal, however.

  “Remind me to ask Lima what firepower the mini-Centaurs put out.”

 

  “That’s not going to do me much good if we’re still inside, now, right? Remind me when we’re in a secure location.”

 

  Rev had to keep from shaking his head. For all it was possible to forget his battle buddy wasn’t a living, breathing person at times, there were cases like this where he was reminded that Punch was an AI, a product of his programming.

  The two passed the kapos and mini-Centaurs without raising an alarm. Another hundred meters and they’d enter the main power facility, a huge, enclosed building, the double stacks connected by a series of conduits.

  Rev had been inside a larger, more modern complex on Roher-104, and as a student he’d toured the Meinie-Smith Station back on New Hope, but the basics hadn’t changed much over the centuries. Early emitter stations used heated water to generate steam, and from that, electricity. For the last several centuries, however, the most common construction was to drill billets into the ground to tap the geothermal heat sources, which then powered the atmospheric generators. There was much more work to be done to terraform a world, of course, but the emitters were the major infrastructure installations.

  There wasn’t a Centaur or kapo at the entrance as he and Lima entered. A mass of workers were standing and waiting for the shift change, which gave Rev a chance to look around. Tenerife already had an O2-based atmosphere before the arrival of humanity, so this emitter station was a slimmed-down version of what he’d seen before. A single billet plunged into the cerrocrete deck. Almost all of the associated equipment had long been scrapped or repurposed.

  But what captured Rev’s attention was what was in their place. A lattice-like structure, looking like a lego-honeycomb, was being built surrounding the billet head. Around it, eight mini-Centaurs were busy—four constructing the frame of the lattice, four inserting something into the newly formed cells. Another half-dozen or so mini-Centaurs were scurrying around the vast building.

  The mini-Centaurs looked the same as the two that were guarding the entrance, but instead of an energy cannon on top of their pedestals, each had an articulated arm that it was using to add onto the framework or insert the crystal-like objects—probably the beanies Lima had mentioned.

  Most of the humans seemed to be feeding, so to speak, the mini-Centaurs, keeping them supplied with the beanies and lattice struts. Along the east wall were what had to be fifty fabricators, each manned by two people. They were spitting out the beanies, and more people were taking them to where the mini-Centaurs could pick them up and install them.

  “Are you recording this?”

 

  Rev could swear there was a tiny bit of pique in Punch’s tone, but he ignored it.

  “Is this what you thought it would be?” Lima whispered.

  Rev waved her off. If there were human quislings, then he wouldn’t put it past them to plant people into the workforce.

  “Try for the fabricators,” Lima whispered again, ignoring his signal to stay quiet. “Don’t even try for the closer ones. Too easy to catch an elbow.”

  Rev took a moment to look at his shift. Most people were in small groups, chatting, joking, laughing. It could be a snapshot of any group of workers throughout human space. Rev wanted to shout at them, to remind them that they were working for the enemy. He knew they were being forced to, but the laughing didn’t seem appropriate.

  A kapo approached them, then took out a siren and held it high. Like racehorses in the gates, the people pushed forward to the red line painted on the floor. Out in the facility, the current shift started to edge toward the west side.

  He pressed the button, and the siren blared piercingly, loud enough to make Rev, with his augmented hearing, wince before the dampers kicked in. Immediately, the humans in the facility rushed to the west side and then toward the entrance.

  “No gaps, no gaps! Keep the line moving,” the kapo shouted, his voice amplified to fill the building.

  Rev joined the press as it moved forward like a vast amoeba, heading toward the fabricators. People darted to take positions. Rev tried to grab one slot, but another man slipped in just ahead of him.

  “Sorry, buddy,” the guy said.

  Rev looked for another position, but they’d all been filled.

  “Don’t stand there looking like an idiot,” an older woman said. “Start ’doring.”

  Other people who’d missed out on what was evidently the plum position were running to other jobs, but more were finding bundles dropped by the previous shift and picking them up. That must be the ’doring the woman mentioned. Rev spotted one and grabbed it.

  It was three of the beanies, hooked together with plastic rings. It was surprisingly heavy, and Rev hesitated, making sure he got a good look at it, and by that act, the recording being made got a full image.

  Someone bumped into him from behind, almost knocking the package out of his hand.

  “Don’t block the way, flimmer,” the man said, skirting past him.

  Rev didn’t know what a flimmer was, but from the man’s tone, it wasn’t anything good. Probably a local insult. But he didn’t want to stand out, so he joined the movement toward the mini-Centaurs. The others started placing the packages on the ground in a neat line just before what the previous shift left had run out, about three meters from the mini-Centaurs. Rev went to the end of the line, knelt, and placed his on the ground.

  “Remove the collar,” a flat voice said.

  Is he talking to me?

  Rev looked up at the others.

  “Remove the collar.”

  But no one was speaking to him . . . until a fiftyish, florid-faced man almost shouldered Rev aside and said, “Remove the damn collar.”

  He pushed at the end of Rev’s package, and the plastic collars expanded slightly, releasing their hold on the three beanies.

  “How long have you been doing this, buddy?” the man asked before turning away, back to the stacks of bundles.

  It was only then that Rev noticed all of the collars had released the beanies. They were still there, but not holding tight. As the mini-Centaurs spun around, the arm on top of their pedestal reached out and grabbed a beanie. They’d then spin back, take a step, and place the beanie into a cell. The collar was left on the floor.

  It clicked into place. The end of the arm was specifically designed to manipulate the multi-faceted crystal. It didn’t look like it was designed to remove the collar. Which meant the humans were being used to prep the machines.

  Because that is what they were. Machines. They were too small to house a living Centaur, and their movements were too . . . machine-like. This was an automated factory, with the huma
ns being there to prep the equipment.

  But that didn’t answer who spoke to him. Unless . . .

  “Triangulate the sound from the first time I was told to remove the collar.”

 

  A Centaur spoke to me?

  Rev was flabbergasted. He’d heard recordings of the Centaur demands, of course, but to have one address him directly? He’d never have imagined that, not in a million years. This hadn’t sounded like the recordings, but as he considered it, there was something familiar about the intonation.

  Sort of like some AI-generated voices.

  There were AIs that could faultlessly mimic human voices, but for those running more mundane tasks, the programmers purposely introduced a small degree of artificiality, as if to remind people that this was an AI.

  Did Centaurs do the same thing? Rev sure didn’t know.

  “You going to stand there gawking, or are you going to get some work done?” a young girl, barely into her teens, asked.

  “Sorry! I blanked out for a second,” Rev said, heading back for another bundle.

  Keep your head on straight, Reverent. Don’t stand out.

  He had almost twelve hours in front of him before the next shift started, and if he wanted to blend in, he’d better get to the task.

  He just didn’t know what they were building.

  4

  Rev hadn’t been exactly tired when he was finished. If he had been, he’d have requested a refund for his augments. But the task had been repetitious and mundane, and he was mentally beat. After he’d been there for twenty minutes, he’d pretty much seen what he needed to. He regretted the time he was spending there, but he didn’t think he could just pick up and leave without attracting attention. It wasn’t until their single lunch break at the five-hour mark that Lima told him he’d probably be able to leave. As long as there were the minimum 256 people there, they could slip past the kapos, and the Cents didn’t care.

  Lima left with him. They collected an anxious Tomiko and returned to their safe house. Tomiko had cabled into his jack to download the recordings. Now there were two sets to send off, military redundancy.