“I told you that the Purge had politicized the Force, eroding trust where trust is of paramount importance. I also told you that we don’t play those games in this brigade. I asked if you were a politician’s kid having an adventure in the war zone, or if you were an Orphan.”
“I’m an Orphan, sir. No matter what.”
“I know that. And you have no idea how much it pains me to say this. Our policy remains the same, but that’s as far as it goes. We will not tolerate any abuse in any area we control, or any abuse that occurs in front of us, regardless of where we are. Nothing you’ve been told by Leeger violates either of those conditions.”
“Leeger also said that Asterlit was maneuvering to transfer the remaining refugees from Force control, sir.”
“Leeger is leading a rebel force that would like nothing better than to have us lock horns with the Celestian government.”
“But what if he’s right, sir?”
“I understand your concern.” Watt raised a conciliatory hand. “Unfortunately, every refugee in the camps is still a Celestian citizen, under the control of their government. They can move them around as they see fit.”
“And if they move them to the mines, sir? People we were protecting?”
“Jan!” Hatton barked, and Mortas went silent.
“It’s all right,” Watt responded. “You didn’t catch up with us until we’d been here for a month, so you don’t know what it was like. We were pulling every job except the one we were trained to do. We’re a light infantry strike force, and they had us running convoy security and guarding supply dumps. Asterlit tried to have us assigned as security for the SOA three times, and if he’d succeeded we would never have gotten back to what we do best.”
Watt looked out over the positions again, and for the first time Mortas was able to imagine him as an old man even though he wasn’t even fifty.
“And even that’s not good enough. We’ve racked up some impressive numbers, especially against the Flock and the smaller rebel outfits, but the Orange are our primary targets and we’ve lost track of them. It’s good to know that Leeger is still in the area, but it still leaves us having done little to influence his actions.”
“Sir?” Jander already knew what Watt was going to tell him, but feigned incomprehension.
“Look around you. Is this a proper spot to plunk down an Orphan company? No. We’re dangling the bait all across the brigade’s sector, in the hopes that Leeger won’t be able to hold his people back.
“We’re doing this because we’re running out of time. Asterlit is going to pull us from this mission if we don’t get better results, and this time we’re going to be manning the walls and gates around that fat-cat playland in the capital. Leeger’s waiting us out, so our only chance is to trick him into fighting us, or hope that Asterlit forgets about us.”
“Even if it means the refugees from Resolve go to the mines, sir?”
“I cannot let the soldiers of this brigade come under that man’s direct control, Lieutenant Mortas. Not if I still want to call myself their commander.”
“I want to apologize, sir.” Mortas stood with Hatton at the base of the hill, watching a flight of shuttles approach. “I was out of line.”
“Actually, you weren’t.” The major held up a hand, indicating that a message from one of First Battalion’s other elements was coming in. He listened to whoever it was, and then answered them. “No. No, we’ve discussed this before. If you go helping out with the patrols there, you might not be able to respond quickly if A Company needs help. Yes, I know the troops are sitting around doing nothing. That’s the whole idea. If the Orange make a move against this place, it’s gonna be big and fast. I want you ready to move.”
With the conversation ended, he returned to Jander. The incoming shuttles weren’t far away, and Mortas was going to leave on one of them. “God do I miss Emile.”
Mortas didn’t respond, inwardly shocked that Hatton would criticize one of his company commanders. He must have been speaking with Wyn Kitrick, who’d taken command of B Company after Dassa’s death, and clearly Kitrick’s impetuous nature was conflicting with the overall plan. B Company, including Jander’s old platoon, was on standby at a base not unlike the Mound.
“So what was I saying? Yeah. Colonel Watt’s just like the rest of us. He’s caught between a rock and a hard place, and he doesn’t like working for Asterlit any more than you do.” Hatton exhaled loudly. “I honestly wish the rebels had wiped out the Celestian government before we could get here. Would have been a whole lot cleaner.”
“Sir, Leeger told me that he got onto the Mound in the back of a truck. He said there are a lot of Force personnel who are helping the rebels.”
“Not surprising, given how many troops deserted once they got here. And they’re not the only ones who wonder if we’re killing the wrong people.”
Chapter 13
“You’re a complete bastard, Mirror.” Olech’s words were strained and choppy. “You already know what happened here. Why do I have to re-live it?”
“Knowing what happened and understanding it are two different things, in this case.” Mirror walked next to him through a broad corridor jammed with armed men in body armor and helmets. Though keyed-up and alert, the security teams didn’t notice the middle-aged twins who passed through them.
“What’s to understand?” Olech’s eyes were fastened on a sealed door at the end of the hallway. No matter how much he wanted to back away from it, he couldn’t stop moving forward. “I’d just been in the middle of a huge firefight, in the Senate chamber no less, and the only reason I lived was because Faldonado died on top of me. Half the Senate was wiped out, and the Interplanetary President was killed in what could have been called an assassination.”
“Called?” Mirror stopped in front of a young security man with dried blood on his cheek. For the first time, Olech thought he detected anger in his guide. “You know it was an assassination.”
“I mean back then, when it happened. Nothing was clear. I didn’t even know who was alive and who was dead, when this meeting took place. It was chaos.”
“That is why it is so important to review this episode.” Instead of leaving him, Mirror stepped up to the door. He turned with an expectant look. “Are you coming?”
In a departure from previous experiences, the two identical men walked straight through the barrier like ghosts. Olech cringed as the lights of the big room showed him the survivors of the massacre, minus the ones who’d been badly wounded. The room itself was used for classified briefings under normal circumstances, and resembled a smaller version of the Senate chamber. Terraced rows of curved tables rose up from a low stage, and the seats were occupied by a ragged assortment of men and women. Some were slumped on the desktops while others were gathered in tiny, whispering groups, but most of them bore rusty discolorations on their suits and uniforms.
Olech stepped away from Mirror, surprised to be allowed to move freely. Now that he was in the room, the old composure returned. Knowing there was no way to avoid the memory, he walked down the side aisle and stopped next to a man roughly fifteen years his junior. Slumped in the immovable chair, his neck and hands caked with another man’s blood, Senator Olech Mortas stared out into the air.
“It’s all right.” He spoke to the younger version of himself, but there was no response. “Do what you have to do.”
“But that’s not what you did, is it?” Mirror spoke to him from up close, and Olech was shocked to find they were now standing in the back, looking down on the battered group.
“Shut up, Mirror. You know what’s about to happen.”
The door opened, and Horace Corlipso rushed through. Dressed in a dark suit with a high collar, he moved with strength and decision. The low conversations ended as he went down the aisle, and even the most benumbed senators raised their heads. Horace reached the stage, and held his palms out.
“Everything is back under control.” He spoke as if addressing a skittish animal. “We’ve suff
ered through a terrible tragedy today, but I want you to know that you’re all safe. Loyal troops have secured the building, and we must remember that we are all that is left of humanity’s government.”
“He practiced those lines for hours,” Mirror commented. “Especially that part about loyal HDF personnel.”
“I know.”
Horace took a step closer. “President Larkin is dead, and the news of this tragedy cannot be kept secret for long. We are a race at war with a powerful enemy bent on our destruction. We cannot allow this situation to spin out of control.”
Olech watched his own rust-colored back straighten several rows down, and he raised a hand as if to push something away.
“What happened today was just a terrible series of misunderstandings, but no one will believe that, given the bloodshed. Given the death of the president.”
Mirror and Olech watched as faces turned left and right, the awful realization dawning.
“We are now the leaders of our entire race. With the president dead, we command our armed forces. We can decide, right here, right now, to take charge of this awful situation. Or we can let this devolve into accusations of plots that will lead to factionalism and possibly civil war.”
“No.” A senator Olech didn’t know uttered the syllable involuntarily, through a dry throat that he then cleared. “No!”
“That’s it.” Horace pointed at the man, nodding vigorously. “Don’t just sit there. We can’t just sit here. We have to act.”
Other voices sputtered their assent, but the younger Olech didn’t join them. From the back of the room, Olech watched himself turn, face confused, as if not recognizing the people around him.
“We have to move now,” Horace shouted. “We have to safeguard the highest command positions in the Force, inside and outside the war zone. The top leadership positions must be occupied by reliable officers.”
“Amazing, the power of those words,” Mirror whispered. “Safeguard. Reliable.”
“Stop it, Mirror.”
“It would be easy to be swayed by his argument—most of them were.”
“So was I.”
“Really?”
The young Olech appeared to have recovered his senses. His hands clutched the edge of the desk, and his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing.
“We cannot take the chance that some general out there will decide he’s a modern Julius Caesar, lead his troops across the CHOP Line, and plunge us into civil war,” Horace continued. “The authority to choose commanders rests with the Senate. Even without this tragedy, what we do tonight is within our purview. We are going to purge the top ranks of anyone whose loyalty is in doubt.”
“But, how can we know who’s loyal?” shouted a white-haired senator, his voice cracking. “Who’s to decide that?”
“We will. And the only way we can know for certain, is if the men and women in this room provide the names of officers for whom they can vouch personally.”
“Stand up,” Olech whispered, pained eyes on himself. “You know what he really means.”
“Our troops are locked in combat with the Sims this very moment,” Horace shouted. “They cannot be put in a position of doubt. They cannot be told one moment that they serve this commander, and a moment later told that it’s someone else. The replacement of the doubtful officers will have to be instant, with no warning and no discussion. As if they died in combat, and they were replaced by the next officer in the chain of command.”
“What are you sitting there for?” Olech yelled. He tried to move, but found his feet nailed to the floor. “You know what’s about to happen! You were out there!”
“What about President Larkin?” called a voice from the back. “How do we explain his absence? How do we explain any of this?”
A hush fell over the throng, and Horace nodded again. “You know that today’s events were triggered by Larkin’s foolishness. Springing his nonsense plan on us, and not expecting a violent response. I’m sorry to speak ill of a dead man, but Larkin bears the responsibility for everyone who died today.
“So let that be his legacy. Once we’ve purged the command ranks, we’ll explain to the people that Larkin had unilaterally ordered those commanders to retreat from the Sims because he believed the war was lost. We’ll tell them the truth about how he died, that it was indeed an accident, but they’ll know we, their leaders, opposed his defeatist actions with strength and resolve.”
“Don’t buy it, you fool.” Olech wasn’t shouting anymore, his voice pleading even as the young Olech appeared to relax. To subside. “He’s playing you!”
“We’re going to offer a new strategy, one that honors our thousands of fallen heroes, instead of turning our backs on their sacrifice.” Horace looked at Olech. “And who better to do that than one of our own, one of our saviors, one of our sacred Unwavering?”
Olech watched his bloodstained hand reach up, touching the red ribbon that Lydia had always insisted he wear. Though she’d been gone for five years, he knew his younger self felt he’d never needed her counsel more.
“Senator Mortas?” Horace reached toward him with an open hand. “Will you take that assignment? Will you tell us how this war really should be fought?”
The forty-year-old rose to his full height, and a hush fell over the room. He squared his shoulders, and pressed his arms against his sides.
“Gladly, Senator Corlipso.”
They were back in the hall outside the briefing room, but this time it was empty. Olech sagged against the wall, and Mirror loomed over him.
“The next day Horace announced that President Larkin had told the Interplanetary Senate that he’d ordered the Human Defense Force to radiate every habitable planet outside the war zone, in an attempt to create a firebreak in space. The Force was going to abandon the planets already seized, and use the Step to leap back to the settled worlds.”
“Head in the Sand.” Olech muttered.
“That’s what you and your co-conspirators dubbed that plan—even though it was a complete fabrication.”
“I know. I made it up myself.”
“It was replaced by the ‘Head On’ plan, which committed humanity to fighting the Sims wherever they appeared.”
“Again, I was its author.”
“Horace announced the creation of the Emergency Senate, after explaining that Larkin and the others had been killed in a tragic misunderstanding. It would be some years before the office of Chairman of the Emergency Senate was created, but you won that position on the night of the murders.”
“There were more murders. Lots more. The Purge.”
“Yes. Shielded by the Head in the Sand lie, Horace and his friends set about assassinating or arresting every officer above the rank of major who wasn’t solidly behind them. In many cases they had the new appointees remove their predecessors personally. A bond of blood and guilt.”
“I didn’t know they’d do that!”
“But you did suspect.”
“The president had been killed, along with half the Senate, and nothing was going to bring them back!” Olech shouted. “Ever been in a war, Mirror? One night I left my platoon on a hill, going back with a detail for ammo, and while we were gone the Sims bombarded that place for hours. By the time I got back they were all dead. They died, and I wasn’t there with them!”
His duplicate regarded him sadly, but said nothing.
“But what did I do? I was just a private, but I reorganized the defenses. They hit us time and again, but we held them off because I didn’t sit there crying about the dead.” He pointed a shaking hand at the door leading back into the briefing room. “Just like in there. I didn’t have the luxury of standing in the back, watching! And I couldn’t bring back Larkin or the others. We were in a losing war, and we had to make the best of a bad situation!”
“Horace certainly made the best of it.”
Olech brought his index finger up in front of Mirror’s eyes. “We held the alliance together. We didn’t collaps
e into a civil war. We didn’t leave those troops with divided leadership. And how about that leadership, Mirror? Some of the generals who were removed were the same incompetents who got so many of my buddies killed. Who almost got me killed. And you know why Horace was so hot to butcher them instead of just reassigning them? Because they were just as political, just as careerist, just as corrupt as the ones who supported him—they were just supporting someone else!”
Mirror’s face swam in front of his eyes, and then Olech found himself standing inside a large bunker made of logs and sandbags. It was filled with soldiers, most of them in combat gear, but all of them bareheaded. His son Jander stood at the front, speaking to the group.
“I met Emile Dassa when he was fifteen and I was seventeen. We attended the same prep school, but Emile wasn’t there long. He told me that his father had been an aide to a general killed in the Purge, when my dad and his cronies got rid of the Force officers they considered disloyal. Emile told me that his father had recently died under mysterious circumstances, even though the Purge was seven years earlier.”
“Where is this, Mirror? Jan looks so tired.”
“He’s eulogizing his best friend from the war. This is a memory from a soldier who attended, collected when that man was evacuated for his wounds, using the Step.”
Jander looked grim, but he rested a consoling hand on a muscular man with startling green eyes who appeared ready to collapse with remorse.
“Emile said he believed my dad and his friends had murdered his father, after overlooking his connection to that general for several years. We fought that very night, and I broke his arm. He was kidnapped from the school infirmary by people trying to gain favor with my father, and shipped to the war zone. He was assigned to a brutal colonial militia outfit, but fought so well that he gained a commission in the Force and then joined the Orphan Brigade.
“Emile forgave me for what I’d done to him, and we became good friends. He taught me a lot about being an infantry officer, and he was the best commander I’ve known out here. But he wouldn’t have been out here if it hadn’t been for me and my family. And that is why I say that Captain Emile Dassa was the final victim of the Purge.”
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