For those who are curious or are just trying to keep track, that places this story solidly during the events of “Theirs Not to Reason Why”, early on in the timeline for Damnation, the fifth and final book of that series. Also, please note that all views being expressed on who or what qualifies as a barbarian are Mitch’s and not mine. Mitch makes no apologies if someone else thinks he got it wrong; barbarians don’t apologize for the opinions of civilized people on how barbarians “should” exist or behave.
—Jean
HOW TO BE A BARBARIAN IN THE LATE 25TH CENTURY
JEAN JOHNSON
PROLOGUE
Barbarian – / ˌbärˈberēən /
1. In ancient times, a member of a community or tribe not belonging to one of the great civilizations: Greek, Roman, Chinese, Indian, Egyptian, et cetera, though the Greeks considered the Egyptians barbarians at times, too.
2. Of or relating to ancient barbarians; a person perceived to be uncivilized or primitive compared to current or local standards.
3. PFC Mitch “the Turk” Turman, TUPSF-SF 9th Cordon, 1st Division, 1st Battalion, 1st Brigade, “Ia’s Damned” A Company, 2nd Platoon, E Squadron Beta.
* * *
SEPTEMBER 18, 2498
SIC TRANSIT, TUPSF DAMNATION
Glaring at the form waiting for him on his workstation screen, Mitch Turman contemplated mutiny for the one thousandth or so time. The damned cursor blinked at him in silent accusation, demanding the most repugnant of efforts. But when he lifted his hand to give the appropriate crude gesture of defiance—based on the two-fingered salute of the ancient barbaric Britons versus their more civilized French counterparts during the Hundred Years’ War, mocking the defeated archers who had lost those fingers—his ribs twinged with more than enough pain to make him grunt.
That caught the attention of the wench tidying their quarters. “I hear grunting.”
“Barbarians are supposed to grunt, woman!” Mitch retorted. “And I am in pain. I have every reason to grunt.”
“Yes, but I don’t hear any typing.” She shut a cabinet with the double-click that said the safety latches had taken hold, and came over to him while he grumbled wordlessly under his breath. Leaning carefully over the back of his chair, she kissed his head. “You know the rule, first the After Action Report, then the ‘real’ account of what happened.”
“It’s a stupid rule,” he muttered. “Why did I make it up?”
“Aw, is my barbarian pouting?” she sympathized, caressing his light-brown arm with her pale-cream hand. She would have caressed his head, but though his braids had cushioned most of the blow and modern medicine had done much to ease the pain, he still had bruises and cuts from combat at the back of his scalp.
His muscles tightened under her touch, showing off the well-defined biceps he knew she loved. Especially when she traced over the curves and indents he made. “Barbarians do not pout, wench. We brood.”
“Yes, I know, dear. Put all that mighty brooding power to good use and kill the After Action Report with ruthless efficiency, then you can have fun,” Lilith told him.
“I can’t have fun,” he muttered. “Mishka said no lovemaking until my ribs are healed.”
“She said don’t move around a lot,” his wife reminded him. “Which includes more than just lovemaking.”
Mitch perked up at that. “So I can put off writing my—”
Lilith pointed at the workstation console. “No! Write! Your Warlady has commanded it must be done before you retire for the night.”
Sighing roughly—his Warlady was his Warlady, whom he had sworn to follow into and out of battle—Mitch put his callused fingers on the keys, and started typing. Under SOLDIERS PRESENT, he typed in all ten names from the 2nd Platoon, E Squadron. Corporal Jin Bottomley, Private First Class, Kzin Kozak of E Squad Alpha, then himself and Lilith for E Squad Beta. Gamma was PFC Leonne Prudhomme and PSC Merry Rudolph. It was only September, but Merry had already gone around to the crew on her monthly chore, threatening them with various inventive forms of bodily harm if they even just thought about humming Christmas tunes in her direction before December 1st. Not that she’d know, since she wasn’t a telepath like him, but Mitch admired the creativity of her threats.
Delta Team on E Squad, 2nd Platoon, consisted of PFC Franklin Jacoe and Private Second Grade Willow Thompson, stolen from the TUPSF-Navy to serve on General Ia’s crew back when it first formed. Epsilon had PFG Derek Schwadel, and the “new guy”, PSG Maximus Nesbit, who had replaced Finnimore Hollick when Finn died a heroic death a few years back, rescuing civilians on Mars from a breached transport tunnel during the war. Maximus had an awesome name, and a great sense of humor, but if he had been born into a barbarian tribe, he’d have been a skald or a bard at most, and not a stalwart warrior. Famed for his storytelling abilities, but only modestly for his fighting abilities.
No one else’s name was needed, so he tabbed through some of the drop-down menus, and got down to the first entry box for what happened. Calling up the recordings from his headset camera, he matched the date—yesterday, the 17th—and the time—13:35 Terran Standard—to the action.
* * *
13:25 TS, The operation began with our planetary insertion on the Solarican colonyworld of Au’Aurrran. Touchdown of our transport took place at a landing port, Kokitllum, a settlement in the northern hemisphere. The shuttle was piloted by Chief Yeoman Maeve O’Keefe, 2nd A Alpha. Upon disembarkation, 2nd E Squad was met by an escort of Solarican forces of the local 115th Wing, who subsequently led E Squad into the subterranean passages of the region.
* * *
Boring boring boring boring boring… “Lilith?”
“Yes, love?” his wife asked.
“I require that brown foreigner drink you know how to make.”
“Caf’ or cocoa?” she asked.
“Cocoa. And put the corpse of a mallow plant in the boiling brew.”
“One big one, or several little ones?” she asked. Seeing him perk up, his beautiful, clever, sable-haired wife grinned at him. When she did that, and what she said next, melted his heart yet again toward her despite the way she insisted he fill out the deadly dull report; while she was no muscle-thewed warrioress, Lilith Turman was a crafty sneak with a heart of precious gold. “I stole a bag of mini marshmallows from the aft galley.”
“Strew the battlefield with the corpses of our miniscule enemies!” he decided. She laughed and headed for the mini-galley in their quarters, which mostly contained a small fridge, a sink, and the drinks dispenser. The cocoa came from packets, the same as the hybrid Terran/V’Dan coffee did, but he just liked the way it tasted when she pushed the buttons.
“…I’m not hearing any typing!” she called over her shoulder.
“Slave driver,” he muttered, but returned his fingers to the keyboard, ignoring the twinge in his ribs. Whatever modern medical miracle drug had been injected into the sites of each break would repair them swiftly under the bandaging holding them in the proper shape, and would have it repaired within two full days at most, but it still hurt in the meantime.
* * *
We traveled by hexawalker and by foot for over two hours. During that time, we saw predominantly Solarican soldiers and various colonial militia members of the different races. They guarded our passage, as per General Ia’s precognitively pre-arranged orders. Attached is a log of the spatial coordinates and a compressed vidfile of this timeframe, but otherwise nothing of note or interest happened.
* * *
Sneaking a glance over his shoulder, he checked to make sure Lilith was still busy waiting for the machine to do its business, and opened his private writing file. Slapping a quick working title onto the first line, Mitch the Mighty Turk versus the Kraken Warriors of the Catmen Catacombs, he started writing.
* * *
Upon command of our Great Warlady, whose name resounds like a red hawk’s cry and whose dark Shamanic visions had bespoke of foul danger amongst our distant allies, I journeyed with
my stalwart companions to the cavernous realms of the Au’Aurrran kingdom at the far-flung reaches of the land. There, the Feline Ones greeted us with ceremonial chest thumpings and the displaying of mighty claws and teeth. I flexed my thews and exchanged tales of prowess as we moved, but while they are an admirably fierce yet hospitable race, we did not linger to rest, let alone feast upon the tasty flesh of the local beasts, for we had far to go.
As we hiked, the Catmen passed some of us rations of jerked meat from some sort of dragonish beast, long and lizard-like with an unholy preference for the near-boiling waters of the subterranean caverns that grace their otherwise glacially plagued home. The others did not care for the strong gamey flavor, but I found it stimulating, and soon amassed a decent ration for fueling myself later in our quest. My companions, foolish, did not even request in exchange for it any of the blander fare which we had been given to put in our packs before departing for this land.
The natives had illuminated most of our way via the magical lights crafted by their sorcerers, but there came a point where the supplied illumination ended, and we were forced to spend our own magics—
* * *
“That is not the After Action Report.”
Rolling his eyes, Mitch sighed and eyed the cup of cocoa. “Fine. I’ll write more of the Report.”
Lilith held his cup aloft, high enough that when he tried to reach for it, he grunted in pain. She spoke mercilessly. “You have to write four more time-stamped entries before I will let you have a sip.”
“Wife!” Mitch complained, scowling.
“Husband!” she shot back. She lowered the cup so that he could see the marshmallows bobbing in the top. Using a food-safe pen, she had inked little scowling or terrified faces on each of the marshmallows, which explained what had taken her so long. “Write fast, or they’ll all perish before you’ll have a chance to enjoy their misfortune.”
“Augh! Fine!” Shifting to the form, Mitch wrote fast and terse entries. His wife indulged him in his barbarian imagination, and he loved her for it, but dammit, mini marshmallows melted fast!
* * *
15:44 TS, E Squad arrived at the coordinates for the insertion point for Operation Generator Shutdown 151-679, insertion point located at 49°16’16.48” N 122°45’46.75” W. at a depth from the surface of 147.65m. The access tunnel through the bedrock had suffered multiple collapses from earthquakes in the two centuries since the First Salik War, and we knew in advance we could only take light armor, so we had left our mechsuits back on board the TUSPF Damnation as per General Ia’s precognitive orders.
16:03 TS, E Squad located and entered the passageway leading to the backdoor access of the First Salik War Insurgency Camp Gwosh-Plik 3-32.
16:09 TS, E Squad encountered the first obstacle to our ingress, a section of fallen but stable rock reducing the aperture of the passageway to roughly 1.0m. All Squad members were able to transit the opening in adequate time.
16:13 TS, E Squad encountered the second obstacle to our ingress, an aperture of 0.79m with a twist. All Squad members were able to transit the opening in adequate time.
16:26 TS, E Squad encountered a divergence of three possible paths. E Squadron followed the directives of General Ia, taking the least likely-looking passage, aperture 0.67m at an elevation of 3.73m above passage floor on a rock fall slope. All Squad members were able to transit the opening in adequate time.
* * *
“There! Five entries,” he told her.
She handed over the mug, and kissed the braids covering his scalp. The front, not the back where he had hit his head a few hours before. Then frowned and rubbed her fingers over the nubbly, wiry locks near his brow. “We’ll need to redo your braiding, soon. It’s growing out again.”
“It’ll have to wait until my ribs heal,” he reminded her. “You know how much I love it when you play with my unbound hair. I don’t want to have to restrain myself.”
“Mmm, yes. Because I get tumbled into the bedfurs most vigorously when I play with your hair.” She kissed his head again, and returned to her own workstation seat. “You can have five minutes to write in your novel, and then it’s back to the Report.”
“Slave driver,” he muttered again, but smiled when he saw what she’d drawn on the treats in his cocoa. “Awww, that one has a little Senatorial laurel wreath on its head. I love the look of horror on its little face.”
“I put it in first, to represent the moral decay caused by soft, decadent, ‘civilized’ life,” Lilith said, smiling. “That’s why it’s melting faster than the rest.”
“You really do get me, woman,” Mitch muttered, sipping at the hot, sweet liquid. Clipping the mug into its holder, he quickly started typing, not wanting to waste his five minutes.
* * *
With the magical crystals given to us by our sorcerers, we crept along the tunnels leading to the stronghold where the Kraken Warriors had set up their foul war camp. The way was close and difficult. The very earth had been shaken by the Gods during the last great battle, crushing passages and crumbling safe routes. The Catmen could go no further, for by escorting us even this far, they had left some of their villages under-defended. We saluted them vigorously and parted company. Two turnings later, we came to a narrow defile in the underground labyrinth of this remote land.
Fallen rocks seemingly barred our way, but the fierce warrioress Merry—she of the swift blade and who earned the nickname Thumb-Breaker in battle against me when I improperly teased her about the winestain birthmark coloring her nose—discovered an opening which we could crawl through. Ever fearless, she took the lead, and proved the passage went through. Her shieldsister Leonne the Lioness followed, and our warband leader, Jin the Monk, ordered me to go through, as the largest of the warband.
It was an easy fit, even in my leather armor, decorated in the sigils of protection and blessed by blacksmiths with plates of that new, shiny metal, iron.
* * *
“Your five minutes are up. More After Action, less Barbarian Action.”
“You are only this forward and sassy because you know I cannot fling you over my shoulder and spank your rump, until after my ribs are healed,” Mitch pointed out, dragging his attention reluctantly back to the dull, boring form on the left side of his screen.
“I know. And I also know you would be bored with a mate who doesn’t stand up to you,” she told him, her tone smug. A peek showed her naturally rosy lips were curved in an equally smug smile. “Barbarians don’t like shy maidens who faint at the slightest raised voice.”
“Of course not. We respect strength. Strong barbarian women beget strong, healthy barbarian children.” Even if they couldn’t have any children while they served in the war. One day, he thought to himself. One day, we will have a lot of strong, healthy children. Then checked to make sure his psychic shields were in place. He knew the thought of being restricted from starting a family depressed her, but they both agreed the war was too important to win to bow out just yet.
Of course, Mitch wasn’t a strong telepath; he wasn’t weak enough that he needed to touch people, but he did need them to be within a few meters of him. That telepathy came with a touch of xenopathy. That, in turn, allowed him to sense alien minds before alien warriors could ambush him… but again, only if they were close.
His greatest strength as a psi lay in another ability, pyrokinesis. Specifically, micropyrokinesis. He was an expert at spot-welding circuitry, which as far as the Terran United Planets Space Force was concerned made him an outstanding maintenance engineer, enough to pay him high bonuses for signing up and serving, though the military structure was not all that compatible with his personal lifestyle preferences. But as far as his Commanding Officer was concerned, even being a barbarian at heart made him a vital part of her crew.
* * *
16:28 TS, E Squad encountered the smallest transitable aperture of 0.63m in a gypsum macrocrystal cavern, created by the collapse of bedrock around multiple gypsum shaft s. We followed
the precognitive instructions provided to us by General Ia to determine exactly which aperture was large enough for us to use. The gridwork of crystalline shafts had grown in an average diameter 1.3m and average lengths in excess of 6m, and the estimated tonnage of the shafts would have exceeded full mechsuit lifting capacities several times over.
16:30 TS, After group consultation, the Squadron determined to send the smallest and largest members through the aperture. The reasoning was that if the largest member got stuck, the remainder of the Squad could pull on that soldier’s legs while the smallest member in the vanguard position could shove on the stuck soldier’s head and shoulders to attempt to force them back through, and with only one soldier in the vanguard position, only two soldiers would be put at risk if any Salik forces registered our presence in the vicinity of their stronghold.
16:31 TS, Squad Leader Corporal Jin Bottomley, A Alpha, was determined to be the most slender member of the Squadron; our Corporal entered the aperture in vanguard position without hesitation after removing her armaments and equipment harness to ensure she fit. Immediately after she made the transit, her teammate PFC Kzin Kozak passed her harness and armaments to her so she could secure the next segment of our ingress. Corporal Bottomley as usual remained alert and attuned to her surroundings throughout her transit.
16:32 TS, As the largest member of E Squadron, 2nd Platoon, A Company, I passed my armaments through to Corporal Bottomley through the aperture, and attempted to climb through the opening. It was a tight fit, and I had to retreat and regroup. Manual assistance was needed from the rearguard to extract me. However, after removing my light armor and upper uniform, I was able to clear the aperture within 18 seconds.
* * *
“There. Four entries. I demand more dying senatorial sloths of the corrupt civilization type as sacrifices to appease my distaste for this… boring business. Please,” he added as soon as he finished crosschecking the vidstreams to make sure he had all the numbers correct. Barbarians could be polite, when the target of their request was deemed worthy.
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