Human Empire

by Tim C. Taylor

  “How can you say that on White Scar’s behalf? You are nothing but a translator system.”

  “How? Because her personality is encoded within me. I am more than that. I called myself a plenipotentiary and I wasn’t joking. I’m not just authorized to speak for her, I am her. She placed her sentience in me. That hairy body you see there is just the animal husk.

  “And what assurance can you give me that your people will follow your lead?”

  “That won’t be a problem. She is the high leader. I guess the equivalent of your General McEwan.”

  That name again.

  Springer could feel her eyelids heating up. She knew for certain that coming to this planet and discovering the gremlins hadn’t been a coincidence. The Hummers had wanted them to come here because these strange little creatures were an asset to help carve out an empire. The gremlins had hidden away for tens of thousands of years, fooling every colony expedition who had come here. That was impressive. More than impressive – she couldn’t begin to imagine how they had achieved this, but she was certain that these gremlins were destined to join the Legion.

  “Springer!” urged Umarov.

  “I believe her,” Springer said. “White Scar. She has no more choice than any of us.”

  “Springer, your eyes!”

  “What’s going on?” said the AI-sentience. “What’s happening?”

  “Springer’s eyes,” said Umarov in wonder. “They’re blazing beacons of violet. Can’t you see?”

  “I’m a beaker of water. No, I cannot see your friend. I can hear a little, though. Well enough to hear that your new and suspicious friend, Corporal Massi, is on his way to check up on you. ETA four seconds.”

  Panic transfixed Springer, like a spike of ice pinning her to the spot.

  Umarov knew just what to do, though.

  The rear doors of the truck flew open and Corporal Massi burst inside with weapon raised. “What the frakk are you two up to…? Oh.”

  The corporal discovered Umarov and Springer in a tight embrace, with their lips pressed together and Springer’s hand reaching down to grab a handful of Umarov’s butt. Springer suddenly realized just how short the older model of Marine was.

  “Animals!” thundered the corporal. “Rutting like novices when you’re supposed to be on duty. You two are in deep, deep drent. Get your lips off each other and finish your duties, keeping to separate vehicles at all times. Report to me when you’re done.”

  As Massi stormed out the truck, Springer overheard him mumble: “And I was so sure the Sarge was joking about that sex maniac thing.”

  — Chapter 22 —

  “Accessing imperial comms satellite now,” said Furn. “Standby.”

  Springer didn’t have much choice. She scanned the surrounding area, which after all was the task Corporal Massi had assigned her.

  “Infiltrating…” said the Navy freak.

  The night before they had returned to White Scar’s truck. After making the animal drink the water that the AI insisted contained her sentience, the creature had revealed teasing details of the death awaiting the 1st Flotilla and then disappeared into the woods.

  “I’m through… establishing uplink to the Legion comm drone…”

  Last night, Corporal Massi spent an hour tearing strips off Umarov and Springer, while simultaneously trying to uncover inconsistencies in their background story. When he finished, he was satisfied the two newcomers had been chastised into quivering wrecks – which wasn’t too far from the truth – and also somewhat reassured that they were genuine. Losers, but genuine losers. Massi assigned them to permanent flank duties – they had to keep a minimum of two hundred meters out from either side of the main column as it brought its cargo back to base, only being allowed to rejoin the main group at night. With Umarov and Springer assigned separate flanks, the corporal sneered, maybe they could last a few hours without copulating.

  There were no threats on this planet. It was not a combat zone, and the squad had already posted a perimeter of scouts closer in to the convoy. This flank duty was a punishment pure and simple.

  But it gave Springer the freedom to push deeper into the woods the column was passing through and link up with Furn.

  “Nearly there,” said Furn.

  With a last look to assure herself that no one was nearby, Springer gave her attention to the Navy freak, glad that his eyes were closed. What inhuman processes were going on behind those eyes?

  “Remember,” he said, “comms delay to the flotilla is 48.2 minutes each way, and the longer you speak, the more likely…”

  “What? More likely what? Furn?”

  “Are you having a psychotic episode, Marine?”

  Springer’s eyes flicked open. Furn had disappeared. In his place was Sergeant Felix, and he didn’t look happy.

  “If you had comms equipment, I might be concerned.” He sounded more careworn than angry. “But you’re not exactly how I’d picture a 3rd Fleet spy. I mean, look at you – a cripple stumbling around in the woods mumbling the fantasies escaping her broken mind.”

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant.”

  Felix grimaced. It looked as if he aged a century in that moment. “No, Marine. I’m sorry. The 471st should have had the decency to deal with you instead of dumping their rejects on us. That was cruel and cowardly. You deserve better.”

  “Sergeant?”

  “You’re broken, Marine. It’s not difficult to work out that the mudsucker’s disappearance last night is connected to your scrambled brains. I’m sorry but if I don’t do this, the officers will. There is no place for the old or the damaged in the Human Marine Corps.” Felix drew his pistol. “I’ve read ancient Earth texts. They talk of veteran’s societies. Of medical care for the injured and parades for the public to show their support. I don’t believe the half of it, but it’s good to dream of better days ahead. But those days are much too far in the future for you, Tremayne.”

  Furn broke from the bushes, reached up and placed his hands on the Sergeant’s neck. “You’re a tough one, Felix, I’ll give you that.”

  The sergeant spun around, trying to fire at his attacker but Furn hung on. “You shook off my control for a moment,” said the Navy freak, “but you can’t resist this!”

  Satisfied that he had worked his magic, Furn let go of Felix. The sergeant blinked, trying to focus his eyes on Springer.

  “What the frakk?” Felix looked down and frowned at his drawn weapon.

  “It’s all right,” said Springer.

  “I don’t remember…”

  “You were looking for the corporal. Said you had a hunch something wasn’t right. Then you started acting strangely. It’s all right. This planet is screwing with everybody and everything. Sooner we’re away from here the better.”

  Felix spun around, and peered into Furn’s face. “The corporal… did I see him?”

  “I think he’s with Umarov, Sergeant.”

  Felix took a good look. He knew something wasn’t right but he couldn’t see Furn, even though the Navy freak was close enough to feel the faint breeze of his breath.

  The sergeant suddenly burst from confusion into action, launching himself at Springer to within a millimeter of her face.

  “What the frakk do you think you’re doing, Marine?”

  Springer came to attention. A shitstorm from a pissed off NCO. This she knew how to handle.

  “You are supposed to be securing our right flank. That means looking outward for threats. I don’t care whether you think those threats are made up by Corporal Massi. You treat them as if they were real. What you do not do is go all weepy-hearted if your squad leader shows any signs of being human.”

  “Sorry, Sergeant.”

  “The 471st rejected you. They didn’t think you were fit to be called a Marine. Were they right?”

  “No, Sergeant.”

  “Then prove it. I won’t give you another chance.”

  The sergeant held her gaze for a long moment of discomfort before marc
hing away.

  Furn emerged from cover. “Sorry, Springer. Ahh… I mean, Tremayne. I’ll have to reestablish the comm link from scratch.”

  She punched his shoulder good-naturedly. “You just saved my life. Again. You can call me Springer.”

  The flicker of delight on his face was cringingly pitiful.

  “Now frakk off,” she snapped. “Before someone less pliable spots you.”

  She smiled as he sped back into cover. He was a strange one, this Furn: the emotions of a child and the power of a god. He would make a good ally.

  — Chapter 23 —

  It took another five minutes before Furn reported that he’d hacked back into one of the imperial comm satellites in orbit.

  “How much longer until we can warn our ships?” Springer pressed.

  “Minutes. Probably. We won’t get another chance to warn them about the minefield, so it will just have to take as long as it takes.”

  “I know you won’t fail,” said Springer, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  She glanced up at a sudden rustling sound nearby, and saw Umarov appear a few paces away. Literally. One moment there had been just woodland brush and then… a Marine. As if he’d de-stealthed. He caught her gaze and gave a slow shake to his head. His hands… they were raised high. She thought his hands were up so as not to spook her, but they remained up.

  The answer to this mystery emerged a few paces to Umarov’s right-rear. Corporal Massi appeared from nowhere with a strange flourish of his arms. In his left hand he held a sensor scanner. The plasma pistol in his right covered all three of the Legion infiltrators.

  “It’s called a stealth cloak,” said Massi. “Guess you never used them.”

  “Guess not,” Springer answered to buy herself a moment to think. Massi had positioned himself well, but with three against one, they stood a chance if they rushed him.

  Sergeant Felix stumbled out of the woods with his hands cuffed behind him, almost frothing at the mouth in fury.

  “The sergeant has temporarily relieved himself of command,” explained Massi. “I don’t know how you traitors have been frakking with our minds – not yet – but we’re not stupid. Now, I suggest you answer all my questions without hesitation because you’ve gotten the Sarge riled and he is not a man you cross more than once.”

  Furn advanced with head bowed toward the corporal who shifted his pistol to cover the Navy rat. Furn halted and closed his eyes in concentration.

  Massi suddenly clutched at his head, dropping his pistol. The sergeant sank to his knees and then rolled, twitching, onto the ground.

  Umarov went for the pistol while Furn advanced on the NCOs, palms out and ready to hack their brains from touching distance.

  A thunderous rifle report pierced the woods. An instant later, Furn slumped to the ground and lay still.

  Springer rushed over to Furn. Umarov dove for Massi’s pistol.

  “Halt or I fire!” shouted someone from the woods.

  A volley of shots ripped into the dirt at Springer’s feet. She took the hint and froze.

  Without Furn’s freakish attack, both NCOs rapidly recovered. “I’m a Marine corporal,” sneered Massi with his pistol back in his hand, “not some idiot novice. I secured my flanks first.”

  “You killed him!” As she spoke the words, Springer realized how much faith she’d placed in the augmented spacer.

  “Not yet,” said Massi. “He took a Mudsucker stun round. He’s a Navy ship rat. He’ll live. At least until we’ve extracted what we need to know.”

  From either flank, more Marines emerged from stealth cloaks. They were holding the SA-73 rifles.

  Louis stepped forward, his face contorted with contempt. He spat at Springer who flinched with guilt.

  “Who are you really?” roared the corporal.

  When they didn’t immediately reply, Massi shot Umarov in the arm. As her comrade was staggering, clutching his arm and growling with pain, Springer leaped for the corporal’s throat.

  It was hopeless. As she gathered her muscles ready to leap, Massi shot Springer’s prosthetic leg.

  Springer fell headlong into the mud, to sprawl at Massi’s feet.

  She was winded, but only for a second. Springer rolled over and up onto her knees, though without a leg beneath the left knee, maneuver would be difficult.

  “I wouldn’t,” said Massi. His plasma pistol was pressed against Umarov’s gut. Every possible move was covered by the SA-73s of the Crimson Squad Marines. “I’ve set the plasma charge to low yield,” said the corporal. “But it’s plenty enough to give your friend a permanent case of indigestion, and I can add to your collection of scars long before you reach me. One side of your face is still pretty. Shall I burn you there?”

  Without warning, Massi rammed the barrel of his pistol into Umarov’s arm wound. The old style Marine couldn’t hold it in any longer. He screamed in agony, the shriek rising in pitch and volume as he tried to pull away, but Massi’s grip was far too strong. Then Umarov tried punching the corporal but Massi just shot Umarov’s good arm before ramming his pistol into the first wound.

  Springer couldn’t take this. They were done for. Hopeless. She edged closer, scrambling toward the corporal on her knees. This wasn’t a fight they could win, but if she could provoke the corporal into killing them, or at least rendering them unconscious, they wouldn’t be able to give away details about the flotilla’s attack.

  Then Massi went weird. So did the rest of Crimson Squad, clutching heads, dropping weapons, and shouting gibberish. She looked at Furn, expecting to see him recovered. But he was still out of it. Either his nano-machines infecting the air were able to operate without his direction or… or someone else was helping them.

  The gremlins. It had to be. Had they always been able to do this or had they been learning from Furn?

  “Hurry!” Umarov urged as he reached down and took Massi’s pistol, grunting with pain at the movement.

  Hurrying was easier said than done. Furn was stunned, Umarov had taken a plasma blast in each arm, and she was down to one leg.

  None of them suggested shooting dead the Crimson Squad Marines, although Springer was certain they both thought of the idea. Instead, they grabbed stealth cloaks and put distance between them and the 599th as best they could. With a liberated SA-73 over her back, she leaned on Umarov for support, trying to ignore his grunts of pain while she dragged Furn’s unconscious body behind her. It was pitifully slow progress, but they’d been given this chance.

  She wouldn’t waste it.

  — Chapter 24 —

  “Can’t we do something?” said Umarov, trying to keep the pain from his voice but not quite succeeding. “I don’t want to cower here under this stealth cloak until we bleed to death or they discover us.”

  The two cloaks were large enough to cover all three of them but they had to push up against each other so tightly that they could each feel the raggedness of the other’s breathing. She presumed they couldn’t be seen from the outside, but Umarov still had a point.

  “No one doubts that we will be discovered,” Springer replied. “The only questions are how soon and whether we succeed in warning the flotilla about the minefield first. Furn, how much longer will the comm window remain open?”

  When the little Navy wizard didn’t immediately reply, Springer looked down in panic. She’d forgotten he’d been shot. It had only been a stun round, but the reedy ship-rat wasn’t exactly built for battlefield survivability.

  The little guy had slumped between the two Marines, half-crushed into the bushy hillside where they were hiding out. He was waving at Springer to shut up.

  “There’s no doubt,” he said after a few moments. “Something’s out there. I’m picking up… I’m not sure what I’m picking up. I’ve nano-sensors out there, and individually they don’t see anything, but the signal pattern is… wrong.”

  In an instant, their little world under the stealth cloak changed. There had been an eerie quality that plucked at the
side of the eye, a hint from human senses that they were huddled under an impossibility. That ghostliness vanished.

  They were crouched under a plain square of dumb fabric. Nothing more.

  Furn struggled upright and flicked back the outside of the cloak. As soon as Springer saw what was happening outside, she rose to stand on her remaining leg, and bunched the cloak over her shoulder.

  The ground in front of them was shimmering, as if two versions of that patch of reality were fighting it out for dominance. One version had dry bushes, their purple leaves mottled with parasites. The other had steps leading underground and a figure rushing up to meet them.

  “To answer your question,” whispered Furn. “The comm window to our flotilla closes in 25 minutes.”

  The foliage vanished, leaving only the steps. The figure was a mudsucker. The fixed lattice grin was the same as always, but this one was wearing clothing, and operating a handheld controller of some kind. The figure half-turned and beckoned for the humans to follow.

  Springer glanced at her companions. Umarov looked suspicious; Furn even more so.

  “Why do you hesitate?” she prompted.

  “Trust,” said Furn.

  “Can’t you see that’s White Scar?” asked Springer.

  “This would be the perfect time from the mudsuckers to eliminate the nosy humans who know too much,” growled Umarov. “Anyway, fuck them. We need to warn our ships that they’re about to run into a minefield.”

  White Scar, if that was truly who this was, grew frantic in her gestures. But it was more than merely hand-waving. Springer could feel words pressing against her mind. She relaxed and allowed them in.

  We will save your ships. Come with me now. Trust…

  “Are you two hearing her words?” asked Springer.

  The surprise on Furn and Umarov’s faces as they looked at each other was all the answer she needed.

  “I have no chodding idea what that alien is doing to you,” Furn told her. “But you’re compromised, Springer. None of us – least of all you – can trust anything you hear, see, or even think.”