He didn’t have to wonder long. One of the more favored recruits spoke up when DS Moore entered the tent. “Sir? What happened to Krug and Roger? Are they sick?”
Moore stopped mid-stride and rotated to examine the speaker. His lenses flashed red. “Bower, nothing in your record marks you as being particularly stupid. Nothing is your concern unless I say it is. I had believed you understood that by now.” Moore surveyed the tent. “I thought you all understood that.”
“Four laps around the field. All of you. Double time, we have a lot to do today and I won’t allow this to interfere.”
No one mentioned the disappearances again. But after the seventh morning when the unit woke and more people were missing, the fear grew to fever pitch in the unit. Everyone performed the exercises poorly that day. Moore strained his voice yelling. At dinner, everyone picked at their food, their eyes flicked from person to person. Except Rebecca. She wore a tiny smile under her unfocused eyes. Adam left her to her thoughts.
But under cover of the noise of the other recruits joking around and preparing for bed, he whispered, “What is it? You know what’s happening, don’t you?”
She glanced at him, sighed and put down her brush. “The exercises are testing how we think, our reaction times, how we react to stimuli, how clearly we analyze information when we’re fatigued. The trainers gather data on us and when they have enough to make a determination as to what position someone will best fill, they take him for further training in that position.” She braided her hair. “Nothing mysterious, nothing to worry about. Kind of neat actually, though I guess it would have been nice if they had explained what they were doing. But maybe that throws off the results or something.”
“But, I thought you said that they weren’t training us to be pilots with those games?”
She patted around herself looking for the clasp to tie back her braid.
“They’re not. I’d lay money the controls on the game have nothing to do with the instrument panel of any real ship. But I’d also bet those games track your reaction times, firing accuracy and tactical abilities.”
Finished with her hair, she rose to stand in line for the washroom. “Or I could be wrong and Moore sneaks in at night to steal us away for a midnight snack. He might enjoy it.” She flashed a grin and walked off.
The next morning Rebecca had vanished.
For the first time since he met her in the line, Adam felt truly alone. Adam remembered the mystery of Olympia Norris and Eleanor Weber and felt farther away than ever from deciphering that puzzle. He pulled the necklace out from his kit, held it at eye level. There’d be no time for researching lost memories now.
By the sixth week over half the original inhabitants of the bunkhouse had vanished. The soldiers rose in the mornings without speaking, glanced about to check for missing friends, and only then relaxed into the daily routine.
Adam became convinced those left would be assigned to ground combat, nothing more than grunts. He twisted his lips to the side and thought of his dream of being a pilot, his arrogance and how wrong he had been.
Yet another day found the soldiers divided into pairs, drilling with mortars and shells. Each of the massive charges blew a chasm in the neighboring field fifty meters wide. Adam suppressed his curiosity about who the guns would target, more concerned about his assigned partner, Doug.
The pairs processed down a trench from one gun to the next. At the whistle each team would load, fire and clean the gun in preparation for the next team. Teams were staggered so that every other gun rested to cool down for a turn. On their fourth gun, Doug and Adam had spent the exercise communicating with grunts and pointed chins.
Until the shell didn’t fire.
Doug glared at Adam, then shoved past and slammed the firing mechanism harder.
Still nothing.
Adam could guess what had happened. The previous team, in their rush to finish in time, had left a piece of cleaning cloth at the bottom of the barrel. The scrap of cloth blocked the firing pin and now the shell couldn’t fire.
Adam stood, sweating. “Doug, you’ve got to lower the barrel.” He glanced at the other boy, a man now. “Pivot it down, slowly. I’ll catch it and move it to the next mortar.”
Doug stared at him. The charge lay like a bomb at the bottom of the mortar barrel. The long metal barrel pivoted to point down for cleaning. The charge would roll straight into Adam’s hands.
For a long moment they stood there. Every passing minute raised the chance the shell would explode inside the mortar, sending shrapnel down the length of the trench, slaughtering them all.
Doug tipped the barrel and Adam hoped the sweat on his hands wouldn’t make him fumble.
The shell rolled smoothly down into Adam’s grasp and he ran to the neighboring gun, which sat empty, cooling.
Doug led the way, shouting, “Clear, clear, new round!”
Adam dropped the charge in the gun, ignoring the shocked looks from the other teams and collapsed when Doug punched the firing button. The charge shuddered in the barrel, but the force of the explosion went up and out.
Doug sank to the ground next to Adam and they stared down the trench.
Another evening of silence, dinner alone at the table.
In the morning the sight of a smooth white wall next to his bed told him he had been taken. He scrambled up, hastily pulled on his uniform and stumbled out of the tiny room.
A short man in a medic’s coat bustled down the hall towards him. “Sensors told us you were awake. You went down harder under the seds than we expected. Glad you’re up and about.”
Adam blinked at the medic.
“Anyhow, let’s get you settled. We weren’t expecting to pull anyone else out, figured we’d weeded and sorted everyone with skills into their fields.” The man grasped Adams elbow and guided him down the hall.
“Took us a while to figure out what you’re good at. You kept your head out there. Not too smart, but you can keep yourself together and follow a plan through, even a stupid one.”
Adam stopped in the hall. “What do you mean, a stupid plan? What else was I supposed to do with that shell?”
The man chuckled and continued down the hall without waiting for Adam. “The smart thing would have been to let the other fellow catch it.”
Adam rushed to catch up. Probably. Might have solved a lot of problems. “Now what?”
The medic led him through another series of brightly lit hallways with colored bars running down the walls, each branching off down different corridors.
“Like I was saying, we had you marked for general crew and infantry, but the report from yesterday combined with some of your other scores lead us to believe you’ll be an excellent ship’s gunner.”
They stopped beside a hatch. The medic put his hand on the lock panel and the hatch slid up, revealing a room filled with recruits gathered around monitors and work stations.
“With some additional training, of course.”
The computers had selected most of the other trainees early due to their shooting records with the flight games. He thought back to his scores. Not too bad, but never terribly high. Apparently doing something in the real world had been enough to push him over the edge.
Studying ship’s weapons manuals filled the mornings, simulations the afternoons. The games back in basic seemed laughable. In the training room, each trainee’s station replicated a shipboard gunner’s station. The holoscreens flickered, the noise around them deafened the young men and women. Their trainer would shout out a name and order and the timer started right away. How fast the response came, how accurate. All of it tracked. At first Adam didn’t understand why all the trainees were in the same loud and confusing room. Then he realized the situation would be no quieter in battle and resolved to tighten his focus.
Two we
eks of drills, of cramming to catch up with the other trainees. And at the end of another day, the lights came back up to full. The Master Gunner stood at the front of the training hall. Adam braced for his critique, but with none of the fear DS Moore had inspired. Difficult to please and sharp tongued; the Master Gunner was at least fair.
But today he said nothing for a long time, just allowed his gaze to wander over the room.
The silence dragged on, until he spoke. “Not too bad, my ducklings. The chance you’ll manage to keep you and your crews alive gets greater every day.”
The room relaxed around Adam, as the Master went on. “Today we have a special treat. We’re going to learn high command’s plan.”
The Master stepped to the side as a holoscreen snapped into existence where he had stood. A line of men and women in dress uniform lined up across a stage.
In the center of the row an older man stood. Dark hair streaked with silver swept back from his forehead, framing an aquiline nose and sharp eyes. A recruitment vid of the perfect model soldier at the peak of his career. General Claudius had featured prominently in the weekly recorded newscasts.
“Recruits. You are true soldiers now. You’ve trained hard and well and Claro is proud of you. The day has come for you to take your training and use it to defend your homes, your families, your way of life.
“You all know of the attacks to the security of our home system. At great peril, our researchers have traced the source of the attacks back to an unknown alien world.”
Loud murmurs filled the hall. The audio hookups in the other training classrooms throughout the base must be activated and linked into each other. The feeling of being part of an invisible crowd was disorienting.
“Our library holds records of the few alien species humans encountered before we arrived in this system. We’ve compared our recently obtained knowledge of our enemy we have with those sources. This is a new threat. We must take action to free our trade routes and make our system safe for humans again.”
The whispers grew louder around Adam.
An image appeared before the speaker, a sickly green form, and hairless, sporting outthrust mandibles.
Adam’s stomach knotted in repulsion. Gags and whispers ran around the room.
“They may look like a nightmare, but they’re very, very real. Are you going to let some little green men destroy our way of life?”
“No, Sir!” the response echoed from around the room.
“Will you let those slaughtered merchant crews go unavenged?”
“No, Sir!” the roar was deafening.
“Now is the time we eradicate this threat forever. Your training is complete. Now is the time we act.”
Adam took a quick look around at his companions, but the holoscreen had captured all eyes.
“They are weak, they are cowards, harassing our shipping, attacking scattered craft. So we will bring the war to them.
“Our armada leaves in a week. We streak across the sky, pattern bomb their cities from orbit, then send ground crews for clean-up.
“This war will be over with our first strike. And you’re all going to help finish it.”
Chapter Eighteen
Eleanor reclined, propped up by a small mountain of pillows and sipped broth while Bunyir spoke in quiet tones. He and Mikka had brought chairs into her room and stayed through the night while she slept after she pleaded with them not to leave her alone in the dark.
“We do not know how long it will take to flush the poison from your system. We have not yet determined what Kalal used to drugged you.”
She struggled for her voice. “How long was I prisoner?”
Bunyir paused, then answered. “Almost a full turn of the moons, I’m afraid. Mikka led door-to-door searches throughout the city and all the Great Houses. She took your abduction quite personally.”
“A full turn. Someone told me it was almost a turn...” but her voice was faint. He didn’t hear her and continued speaking.
“Kalal had hidden the chamber well, but in the end, Shivuk could not stomach his father’s deceit. Three days ago he came here, full of remorse at his betrayal of his own father. His fury at his father’s betrayal of the honor of their House was even stronger.”
Eleanor put the unfinished bowl of broth to the side. “Did Kalal announce he had captured me?”
“No, he told no one. Your abduction was the catalyst needed to force the coalition into action. After Shivuk gave us the information, the council called for Kalal’s removal. He refused. He had become intoxicated with his own power, believed he could do whatever he wished, with no fear of reprisal.” Bunyir sighed.
“He forgot. He was not a king. Simply our war leader, his position to do the bidding of the Council as a whole. When he failed to acknowledge that truth, he was a risk we were no longer willing to nurture at our side.”
Bunyir shook his head. “Dtrit’s interest in the makfi flower was a ploy. When I returned to where I had left you, a servant informed me that you did not feel well and wished to return home. Kalal told me he had offered to send you in his chariot, but you declined, preferring to walk. Of course, you never made it home. I blame myself that I believed his lies, however briefly. His footmen must have reported your comment about the proximity of our homes and he arranged his tale to be most believable.”
“Semtruv. She betrayed us.” She croaked the words, her throat raspy.
“No, that was another of Kalal’s tricks. When Semtruv realized that you had been lured away in her name, that insult was the final push she needed to join our side. She is most displeased that this outrage has tainted her honor.
“In fact, it was she who beheaded Kalal. She inquired if you would like the mounted head carapace as a sign of her sorrow and regret for her unwitting part in your capture.”
Eleanor sputtered on a sip of water and Bunyir chuckled.
“No, I did not think it would be to your taste. I did thank her for you.”
Eleanor wasn’t sure she could trust her voice, so she signed her thanks without looking up.
The next several weeks were spent in a series of quiet conferences. In deference to Eleanor’s health, more chairs were brought to her rooms so she could attend without strain. As a final insult of the drugs, her hair began to fall out in clumps and patches.
After a long meeting, Eleanor pulled herself out of bed and stood in front of the mirror. She found it hard to recognize herself, draped in pale blue silks trimmed with a darker metallic shade, her face almost obscured by the lines and dots of her new station, her head now bare. Not much left of the girl who ran away any more, is there? Good. And she turned away.
Shivuk was often there, talking with Bunyir, making plans with Mikka for their departure. He seldom spoke to Eleanor, though she felt his eyes upon her.
Shivuk would lead the expedition. Eleanor was relieved, for while she was willing to act as ambassador to the humans, she had feared Bunyir would try to place her in charge of the entire affair. Bunyir himself could not go. After Kalal’s madness, the council had decided that the Head and the War Leader must be separate once more to avoid such a disaster happening again. Shivuk took up his father’s hereditary duties as War Leader.
As the newly elected head of the Council, Bunyir needed to stay on Tamker and guide their people toward acceptance of a new peace. Mikka would take his place on the expedition. “It will not be too difficult to sway them. Our philosophers have been against this war since the beginning. However, we should let our people know there is still some semblance of order on our world. That does not allow me to leave, I regret to say.”
Eleanor patted his shoulder, sharp beneath his robes. “Once this is over, I’ll bring lots of people for you to meet. You won’t miss anything.”
“Thank you. That pleases me. Although we are
at this time enemies of your people, those I have met have been interesting individuals.”
Shivuk’s plan was simple. Capture human ships until they had an assortment; allow one to return to tell the government on Claro that their neighbors would like to have a conference. If the government didn’t respond, kill that entire group and start with a new one. If that failed, barricade a colony. Eventually, someone would listen and a meeting with the government on Claro could proceed.
Eleanor argued vehemently against his plan. “If you start off with more attacks, the humans are not going to want to listen. Humans and Tamkeri alike are pretty stubborn that way.”
Shivuk countered. “We have sent messages and messengers themselves. They were ignored. How else can we contact them and be sure that they are listening?”
She sank back into her pillows. “I don’t know, but it seems odd to start a discussion about peace with a threat of war.”
She flicked resignation and weariness and he left her alone.
Eleanor reclined on a bench in the garden and surveyed the light as it traveled over the beds of exotic blooms. Luscious drops of ruby mixed with palest cream, petals soft and gauzy, the flower’s name escaped her as the breeze rippled the field and swirled the tints together.
“My Lady Ambassador.” The voice was stiff, formal. Shivuk signed a formal greeting, froze as Eleanor dropped into a full bow. “Stop. What are you doing?” As of their own accord, his fingers twitched with dismay.
“I honor the Head of House Caprat, my Lord Shivuk. And I honor my rescuer.” The salute finished, she stood straight. “I know what my fate would have been if you had not intervened.”
Eleanor focused on the flowers and composed her face, quieted her hands. She had not told Mikka and Bunyir the full extent of her experience. They had respected her silence, been content to hope that as her body healed so would her mind.
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