Live Echoes

by Henry V. O'Neil

  The picture widened, and Immersely gasped when she saw that the creature was headed directly for a sheer drop-off that ran for miles to either side in a crooked, broken edge.

  “It’s going to go over.”

  “We believe that was its intention all along.”

  The swarm tightened along the worm’s length, separating as the flailing tendrils sliced through them and then filling back in. The creature’s weaving became more pronounced, slowing its progress, and then it began to turn away at seemingly the last second. Dust rose like a smoke bank, continuing over the edge of the precipice even as the beast itself swung to its right. The tentacles still swatted at the sky, but they’d lost their agility and seemed exhausted.

  “They took it over,” Immersely guessed. “It meant to go off the cliff, but they forced it to come away and to stop fighting them.”

  “Almost.” The tentacles waved drunkenly as they retracted inside the segments, the irises closing as if they didn’t exist. The elongated body came to a halt, parallel to the edge, trembling along its entire length. The swarm shimmered all around it, but then the giant worm seemed to slump to the dirt in a mighty crash. Dirt erupted from both sides, and then the beast started rolling sideways.

  “See?” Merkit pointed. “It pulled in the feet as well.”

  The cloud broke free at the last instant before the enormous tube went over. It took thirty seconds to fall, slamming into the rock-covered deck below and exploding in a sickening lake of black ichor.

  “There’s been no indication that anything like that exists on that planet?”

  “None. We reviewed the round-the-clock video of Crater Ninety-Three, and established that the creature did not come out of it. The moths did, and they went straight for it even though it was miles away and there were no tracks until it reached that plain.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “My team believes that the shapeshifters have some kind of telepathic connection with the creature. That’s how they found it, and that’s how they almost turned it around.”

  “All right. But why?”

  “My analysts have conjectured that there is a missing piece to our explanation of how the aliens created the Sims. Even with the ability to assume the shapes and functions of complex organisms, the amount of labor needed to create the equipment to manipulate human DNA, and then bring millions of Sims to life, would require a gigantic workforce.”

  “You’re saying that those craters lead to caverns and tunnels that could be loaded with things like that beast?”

  “We now suspect it could be a wide range of creatures, some like that one, many of them much smaller, with appendages that would allow them to perform the tasks directed by the aliens.”

  Immersely lowered herself into a chair. “When does the Chairwoman arrive?”

  Chapter 15

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad.” Captain Pappas sat with Mortas on the wall surrounding his garden. The sun had risen an hour before, and the base below them was alive with activity. “Hot chow, cold showers, real bunks.”

  “Never-ending guard duty, VIPs refusing to show their credentials, sneak thieves slipping through the wall.”

  “Life in the big city.” Pappas sighed. “Colonel Watt fought it as hard as he could. But let’s face it; we did some good work out here at first, but then the whole sector dried up. Your convoys are rolling unmolested, and the patrols haven’t made contact in a week.”

  “So we get turned into Asterlit’s palace guard for doing our job too well?”

  “I’m not so sure of that. The Orange waited us out, just like you said they would, but we were putting a nice big dent in the Flock until Asterlit started shutting down the camps. I was there when they took the last refugees out of Resolve; half the movers they brought left empty. I swear most of that camp had already run off to the rebels.”

  “How is this word not getting out, sir?”

  “That’s easy. Asterlit gets to block satellite, orbital, and drone surveillance wherever he likes. There are giant swaths of territory that might as well be controlled by the Sims, for all anybody knows about what goes on there.”

  “But we do know. They took the refugees to the mines, and turned them into slaves. It’s like nothing’s changed.”

  “It’s worse than that. Any Force commander who questions what we’re doing here gets relieved. Command has basically handed us over to Asterlit and his CIP thugs.”

  “And now we’re gonna guard the wall around his little piece of heaven.”

  “I’m told he needs to send every green suit he can spare to control the mines. Which is funny, in a way. The refugee population in Fortuna Aeternum—outside the SOA’s wall—has grown by leaps and bounds because of the forced relocation. They realized the camps were just holding pens, and they found a way into the city.”

  “He’ll round them up next.” Mortas shook his head. “There has got to be a way to send the word out without putting Orphan commanders in hot water.”

  “The word’s not good enough. You need evidence.” Pappas tried not to smile, but failed. “Like footage from a manually controlled recon drone.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I had to. Friends of mine in one of those drone outfits redirected a couple of flights for me. It’s even worse than you think. They’ve got thousands of refugees in these stinking pens. One flight got footage of carloads of children disappearing into the mine; another showed a food riot. Outside one of the pens they’ve got this whole row of wooden frames where they hang people up in all kinds of uncomfortable ways. Troublemakers, I guess.”

  “Did you get it out? To that underground circle of yours?”

  “Of course. We’ve been slipping communications past Command for years.”

  “When that story breaks, they’re gonna figure out who did it.”

  “My drone pals are covered. Both missions crashed, reported as downed by the rebels.”

  “What about you?”

  “Can’t say I’m comfortable with the idea of being inside Asterlit’s compound. Which is why I’m gonna tag along with Colonel Watt and his staff this morning. They’re visiting the Security Ministry for the first coordination meeting.”

  “You’re not brigade staff—why are you going with them?”

  “Because when you’re really scared to do something . . . do it right away.”

  “I still don’t get it.” Mortas stood with Sergeant Leoni beside the Mound’s quiet airstrip. “Why can’t we leave the darts with you?”

  “Once the brigade goes to Fortuna Aeternum, FITCO’s not gonna have a home anymore. I have to find another outfit that needs us, and chances are they won’t be in this sector. And I can’t take two hundred darts with me.”

  “You could, if you just came with us. Wouldn’t that be simpler?”

  “Oh, much. Too much,” the NCO replied. “First, we wouldn’t have a job because the brigade’s gonna be drawing supplies from all those nice warehouses inside the SOA. Second, there’d be all sorts of headquarters types asking where I got all these vehicles. Third, those same headquarters types would start looking into the personnel records and finding out half my boys and girls aren’t where they’re supposed to be. I am never taking this company into that rat’s nest.”

  “We’re not going to have this security mission forever, you know. Wouldn’t it be better for you to just stay loose, work with some of the units here on the Mound, and then link up with us wherever we go next?”

  “It’s a bad idea to be an outfit that’s just floating free, sir. Somebody notices, and next thing you know, you’ve been given a new home—like it or not. Always best to choose your own poison.”

  “I think I resent that.”

  “Don’t. It’s been a lot of fun working with you, sir.” Leoni removed his helmet and scratched his head. “Tell you what. Leave the darts with me. I’ll have my people find a nice shady spot to hide them, behind a big stack of crates that never moves. Hopefully they’ll still
be there when you come back.”

  “How will I know where to find them?” Mortas was asking when the noise dampers in his helmet snugged down three times around his ears. That meant an important message was about to come in, and he signaled for Leoni to put his helmet back on.

  “All Orphan units. All Orphan units. Red three. Red three. I say again—red three.” Jander thought he recognized the voice as one of Major Hatton’s radiomen, but he was too busy reaching into a pouch on his armor to give it much thought. Red was the code word to switch to an Orphan emergency band, and the number indicated which encryption key to load so no one else could listen in. Finding the code device, he slid it into a port on his armor and flipped it to the third setting. All around them, members of FITCO were donning their rigs and slotting the encryption key.

  “This is Major Lucas Hatton.” Jander’s heart began to thud when he heard the measured formality. “I am the commander of First Battalion of the Orphan Brigade. I have received and confirmed a report that the brigade’s commander, Colonel Jonas Watt, has been arrested in Fortuna Aeternum by Governor Asterlit.”

  Icy rage spread out across Mortas’s body as he remembered his own meeting with Asterlit. His hands curled into fists, and he had to force them to relax.

  “The charges are insubordination and unlawful off-world communications. Colonel Watt and most of his primary staff are now prisoners at the Security Ministry. All three of the brigade’s battalion commanders have received orders to stand down and await the brigade’s new commander.”

  “No.” Mortas growled. “Not just no. Fuck no.”

  “Fuckin’ right, sir.” Leoni intoned.

  “I can only speak for myself,” Hatton continued, as if reading a statement for the permanent record. “I am going to the Seat of Authority. I am going to remove every Orphan from Asterlit’s custody. If necessary, I will employ lethal force to do so.”

  Jander’s eyes flashed around him, taking in the blue sky, the shuttles parked on the strip, the trucks and movers, and the stacks of ammunition. So much distance, and so many obstacles, between where he was and where Watt was a prisoner. Courses of action rattled through his mind, each one quickly disqualified by the defenses of Asterlit’s compound.

  “I cannot ask or order any of you to come with me. My actions will unquestionably be seen as criminal and punishable by death.”

  “Hahahaha!” Trimmer laughed aloud, causing Mortas to turn. While he and Leoni had been standing there, the drivers had already started gathering weapons and ammunition. The lanky soldier seemed thrilled. “Punishable by death? What isn’t?”

  “Any Orphan who wishes to remain in good standing with Command should obey the order to stand down. I will not think ill of you. But I am going to the city.”

  A readout in his goggles told Jander that every Orphan had successfully switched to the new frequency and loaded the encryption. Even so, broadcasting on the net was temporarily restricted to the battalion commanders and so no one else could respond. Having made his own decision, he scanned the flight line for signs of military police or anyone else who might prevent them from commandeering the shuttles.

  “This is Colonel Marcus Jolip. I am the commander of Second Battalion of the Orphan Brigade. I only speak for myself.” Jander recognized the wording Hatton had used. “I am going to the Seat of Authority, to recover the Orphans unjustly detained there. And I will kill anyone who tries to stop me.”

  The commander of Third Battalion came on, uttering similar words, while Mortas racked his brain for a solution to Fortuna Aeternum’s defenses. Rescuing Colonel Watt meant assaulting the Ministry itself, and with the city’s defenders already on alert, part of that assault would have to land directly on the building. Unfortunately, every Force shuttle and vehicle had been outfitted with tracking chips to keep the rebels from impersonating loyal troops. Even without the devices, the shuttles would be shot down long before they reached the target.

  “Can we drop the barracks lawyer bullshit?” Mortas giggled involuntarily, recognizing Sergeant Major Zacker’s voice. The radio net had been thrown open to all ranks, and a chorus of laughs joined his own from many points in the brigade sector.

  “There isn’t a man in this brigade who doesn’t owe Colonel Watt his life. So we’re all going.” The radio filled with yells of assent and fury, and Zacker waited until it ended. “But none of that means shit unless we come up with a way to get there without having our own ordnance dropped on us. And somebody needs to figure out how to capture the Ministry without giving the CIP time to murder the colonel.”

  Jander’s hands closed into fists again, his frustration rising. His head jerked from side to side, searching the airstrip for the answer, and his legs began to move him. Thoughts of forcing the air controllers to file false flight plans blazed up into glorious light before dying out in the dark recognition that any shuttles approaching the SOA would be suspect.

  His anger rose as a living thing, spurred by memories of serving Watt in the war. The brigade commander had taught every Orphan to think for himself and to improvise when needed, and here he was, failing him by not finding the answer. Jander made himself stop, turning toward Leoni and the FITCO troops. Surely these rogues were devious enough to solve the problem.

  The thought vanished when his eyes landed on the long rows of darts. Memories shot through his brain in a high-speed calculation. Corporal Cranther telling him how the darts were used to drop individual Spartacans into harm’s way. Strickland explaining that the missiles weren’t part of any recognized Force tracking system. Major Hatton ordering him to spread the darts across the brigade’s supply units. Leoni’s people stuffing individual water bags inside the rockets to protect the more fragile cargo.

  Himself walking on the long, flat roof of the Security Ministry.

  The radio net had fallen silent, Orphans everywhere searching their minds for a solution to Zacker’s problem. Mortas tapped Leoni on the arm and pointed at the darts. The NCO seemed confused for a second, and then his mouth opened in a combination of awe and dread. Jander nodded at him gravely, and then spoke to the rest of the Orphan Brigade.

  “This is Lieutenant Jander Mortas, Supply Officer for First Battalion. I know how we can do this.”

  “Listen, I don’t know how many gantries you have, but I only have two.” The supply officer for Second Battalion spoke to Jander on a separate, secured net. The brigade’s communications staff had gone into high gear, and coordination was flying across the units. “I can only get two darts in the air at one time. We aren’t going to be able to take out the SOA surveillance node with two troops!”

  “You don’t need the gantries. If you prop a dart against something, it’ll launch just fine as long as it’s pointed at the sky. I’m using the Mound’s pig moat for mine.” Jander replied in a calm voice, seated inside the dry concrete ditch and tapping at a handheld. The fencing behind him had been removed for five hundred yards, and the moat’s outward slope was lined with darts being prepped for launch.

  “The moat. That’s brilliant. We’ll do that.”

  “You wanna hurry. I ain’t waiting for you.” Mortas studied the graphic symbols popping up all over the aerial footage on his handheld. The Orphan Brigade was so used to receiving missions on the fly that the staff work of organizing their assault was cut down to almost nothing. An entire company from Second Battalion happened to be reorganizing at their version of the Mound many miles away, and so they’d been assigned the task of dropping on and destroying the SOA’s communications center in the compound. Blinding Asterlit’s defenders would hopefully allow the other Orphan units to approach the city without being torn apart by rockets and drones.

  “Mortas, I’ve got my battalion’s entire recon platoon, as well as a rifle platoon here with me.” The now-familiar voice of Third Battalion’s supply officer came to him. “How come we’re not assigned to hit the Ministry? You’ve got no infantry with you at all.”

  “I’ve got a hundred brawlers with m
e, loaded up with breaching charges and hand grenades. We’ll tackle the Ministry just fine.”

  “We should switch. You take the western barricades and we’ll go get the colonel.”

  “The only way to take down the Ministry is to land on the roof. I’ve got that mission because my people have the most experience programming the darts. One miscalculation, and you’ll go skidding right off the edge. You’ll fall six stories, and then have to fight your way inside, except the crash will have already killed you. Still want the job?”

  “No. No, you’re right.”

  Updates were flashing across the handheld screen, and he was having trouble keeping up. One of them seemed urgent, and so Jander switched back to the brigade frequency.

  “This is Wolf, First Platoon B Company First Battalion.” Mortas spotted the encrypted marker on the map, and his eyes widened. His old platoon had been five miles from a covered irrigation ditch that would hide them the rest of the way into the city. But now they were much closer even though they were on foot. “Looks like we’ll be first in the city, too. Me and my guys are halfway across the flat, and nobody’s blasting us.”

  “They just haven’t noticed you yet,” an angry voice from brigade responded. “As soon as they do, you’re dead.”

  “Not a chance. We’re doing it like Roger. We’re spread out in packs, moving in big circles like the hogs do. There aren’t any of ’em near us, and nobody’s the wiser.”

  Mortas narrowed the focus, and almost laughed with pride. His former troops were scattered over several hundred yards of open terrain, grouped in threes and fours, and looping around in what at first appeared a completely aimless journey. They must have been suffering terribly in the heat with their full combat loads, but Wolf was right.

  “This is DeNapoli.” Mortas recognized the gruff words as coming from the commander of Third Battalion’s C Company. “I’ve commandeered a supply convoy headed for the city. My people are jammed inside the trucks, and the chips all say we’re clear to the western barricades. The rest of you better get a move on, ’cause when we reach the checkpoints the shooting’s gonna start.”