by Richard Fox
“Don’t care.” Bodel tried to undo his coveralls, but one hand refused to grasp the zipper properly. “Ugh, damn thing.”
“You keep skipping your physical therapy and it won’t get any better,” Kallen said.
“Thank you, Mom,” Bodel said.
Lafayette undid Bodel’s coveralls and tossed it aside, revealing the armor skinsuit he wore beneath it. Lafayette pulled the suit away to expose Bodel’s back. Plug holes started at the base of his skull and ran down his spine.
“This will be unpleasant,” Lafayette said before pressing the nerve-jack into Bodel’s plugs. The soldier moaned in pain, half his face contorting in agony. Lafayette pulled Bodel against his chest and connected the rest of the nerve-jack into Bodel’s spine, each new connection triggering a small cry from Bodel.
“Hans?” Kallen asked. Her hands remained folded across her lap, but her face was full of concern.
“It’s…all right,” Bodel said. He stumbled back from Lafayette and tried to open his left hand. “Still the same,” he slurred.
“I told you—I could fix your body or you could wear your armor again,” Lafayette said. “That’s all I can do on such short notice.”
“My armor is ready?” Bodel asked.
“Unit 02,” Lafayette raised his voice, “don armor.”
The brand-new suit of armor reached down, grabbed Bodel by the waist and lifted him in the air. The chest plate swung open, revealing the oval-shaped armored womb within. The lid of the womb slid down and the armor pressed Bodel into the padded enclosure. Bodel grabbed a pair of handles and tried to smile at Kallen as the womb closed and neural connectors reached for his skull and spine.
“Bodel?” Kallen asked as she craned her neck to try to read the status screen by his armor’s knees.
Lafayette pushed her wheelchair closer to the screen.
“I’m in,” came from the armor. “Juice is coming in. Wait until I’m fully connected before I can talk again.” Bodel’s voice was happy, almost jubilant as the womb filled with the hyper-oxygenated fluid that would replace his need for air.
Kallen watched as his system booted up.
“I turned down Elias’ audio receptors,” Lafayette said quietly, “so this is between just us. Your condition was the baseline I used while engineering a solution to Bodel’s problem.”
“Why? I synch with my armor just fine,” she said.
“Karigole habit. We try to solve a bigger problem than the one presented, makes things seem easier. The damage to your spinal column is significant, but I believe I can make a nerve-jack for you that will restore your mobility.”
Kallen looked up at Lafayette with wide eyes.
“I’ve been in a wheelchair since I was four years old,” she said. “You could help me walk? Feel?”
“You’d need a fair amount of muscular-regeneration work, but yes, it could be done,” Lafayette said.
Kallen’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “But.”
“But you would never wear armor again,” the Karigole said. “The amount of rewiring, so to speak, that you need would render you incompatible with the armor interface.”
“I could run again…” Kallen looked up at Bodel’s suit, then to Elias. “No,” she whispered.
“Odd,” Lafayette said. “I thought you would accept the offer.”
“They need me, Lafayette. I am an Iron Heart. I am armor.”
“As you like.” He tapped her on a withered shoulder. “Perhaps when the war is over.”
“That is a day that will never come,” she said. “Don’t tell Elias or Bodel, please.”
“It will stay between us.”
“I’m in!” Bodel’s mechanized voice came through his armor’s speakers. The armor’s left hand rose in front of its helm and the digits tapped against the thumb. “My synch rate…that can’t be right.”
“You’re at twelve percent,” Kallen said, “and rising…slowly.”
“You aren’t going into the field with anything less than eighty percent,” Elias said.
“The software needs time to adjust,” Lafayette said. “Give it a few more days of wear and you’ll be fully functional. I’ll monitor your progress from the Crucible.”
“You’re not coming with us to Europa?” Elias asked.
“No, I don’t trust the human engineers with my omnium reactor. They look at it wrong and they might break my new toy,” Lafayette said.
“We’ll see you on the high ground.” Elias knocked his fist against his breastplate in salute.
****
Yarrow sat on an ammo crate, his head hanging between his shoulders, staring at his empty hands. A slightly open door let in a fan of light, casting a dim glow through the cargo container he’d taken refuge in.
The sound of footfalls approached. Yarrow sniffed, uncaring.
The door opened with a creak and light spilled over Yarrow.
“There he is,” Standish said. Yarrow glanced up and saw Standish, Orozco and Bailey standing in the doorway. “New guy, where you been? Hale calls you and Gunney off the range and then Gunney gives us this ‘Don’t ask where he is’ routine when he comes back without you.”
Yarrow kept his gaze on his hands as the three Marines came toward him.
“Hey,” Bailey said, putting a fingertip on Yarrow’s chin and lifting it up, “I know Standish can be a bit of a prick with the ‘new guy’ routine, but we’re all squaddies. What’s eating you?”
Yarrow took a deep breath.
“I’m not real,” the medic said.
The three Marines traded quizzical glances.
Standish poked Yarrow on the shoulder. “Seem pretty real to me.”
“Hale called me into his office,” Yarrow said, shifting on his seat, “told me I’m ‘procedurally generated.’ Ibarra grew my body in a tube. My mind is the result of a computer simulation. All my memories from…before I got on the Breit are all fake. All part of Ibarra’s plan to crew a larger fleet when the Xaros come back. Just…shake and bake a bunch of fake people.”
“Are you a clone of some Yarrow that died on Earth?” Orozco asked.
“No. I’m brand new. A test-tube baby on steroids with a head full of lies.” A sob went through Yarrow as he spoke. “My mom’s not real. My dad’s not real. Neither’s my sister. I used to just think that they’re dead, killed by the Xaros. Now…they-they never were.” Yarrow sobbed and pressed his head into his hands.
“Hey, c’mere.” Bailey wrapped an arm over his shoulder. “Just let it out.”
Yarrow shrugged her arm away.
“I don’t even know what I am anymore,” he said.
“You’re a Marine,” Orozco said. “Remember when you saved the life of that sailor who’d had her arm ripped off by that banshee?”
“Or when you dragged my dying ass to the last Mule off Takeni?” Bailey touched her side where an explosion-propelled hunk of rock had ripped through her side. “You patched up Hale and me while you were bleeding all over the place.”
“You passed out soon as we landed on the Breit,” Standish said. “I carried you to sick bay. Oro and I both gave you a pint of blood to keep you going. Doc Accorso said you’re lucky your blood is AB positive.”
“I know what I did…just don’t know what I am,” Yarrow said.
Standish pressed a finger against the name tape on Yarrow’s uniform, then touched the globe and anchor crest on his chest.
“You’re telling us who and what you are,” Standish said. “We’ve seen who you are. So what if you came out of a tube with an installed personality? Sure, that’s a bit weird, but—” Bailey jammed an elbow against Standish’s ribs. “I don’t care. You’re a great medic. Brave Marine. Even if you are the frigging new guy.”
“We’ve all had to give up what we had before the war,” Bailey said. “It’s gone—our homes and families, but we’ve got each other and we’ve got this fight. I don’t want any other medic but you with us.”
Yarrow sniffed a last time a
nd nodded quickly.
“Hale say if anyone else was a…like you?” Orozco asked.
“There are a couple others but he didn’t say who. That team of Rangers we picked up before Anthalas were all proccies,” Yarrow said. “We’re all made after the invasion.”
Standish fiddled with his hands as he thought hard. “I’ve been with Gunney and Hale since before we were assigned to this ship. No way I’m a proccie.”
Bailey went pale. Her eyes darted from side to side before widening.
“Melbourne!” she pointed at Orozco. “Before the war, we were there on an exercise. Went drinking together with a bunch of my mates. Remember?”
“I got a tattoo that night,” Orozco said. “And I had my sardinas. Got them awhile back in San Sabastian and kept them with me until Takeni. I’m not a proccie.”
“Everybody on the ship’s going to have an existential crisis when this breaks out,” Standish said. “No wonder we were on a commo blackout when we got back to Earth. Wait…so Yarrow’s a virgin?”
“What?” Yarrow snapped to his feet. “No, I had a girlfriend in high school and we…but that didn’t happen.” He looked at Bailey in confusion.
“Don’t you fucking look at me like that,” Bailey said. “We’re in the same squad. Never.”
“No, no I…” Yarrow turned his attention to Orozco.
“Hell no,” Orozco said with a definitive shake of his head.
“That’s not what I’m—”
Standish broke into a chuckle, followed by Orozco and Bailey.
“Bunch of dicks,” Yarrow said indignantly.
“Come on, new guy,” Standish said. “Gunney wants our void armor inspected and serviced by showtime or there’ll be hell to pay.”
****
Steuben tapped his knuckles against a bulkhead as he entered Lafayette’s workshop. He’d given up on successfully sneaking up on his fellow Karigole; Lafayette’s cybernetic implants made the game unwinnable for Steuben.
Empty space had replaced the massive omnium reactor that Lafayette had spent months studying and experimenting with. What had been a seemingly disorganized mess of tools and incomplete projects had been packed into crates, ready for transport.
Steuben stepped around a stack of boxes and found the remnants of his entire species—Lafayette, Kosciusko and Rochambeau—talking to each other.
“Brother,” Kosciusko said to him, “you know they are here? The Toth?”
“I do,” Steuben said. He touched knuckles to Kosciusko’s and Rochambeau’s temples, a Karigole gesture of fidelity and affection. “I shed their blood on Anthalas.”
“Now we’ve the chance to hurt them,” Rochambeau said.
“After we learned what the Toth did to our home, to our people,” Kosciusko said, “we all swore the oath. Ghul’thul’ghul. I will not be the last. Our centurion made that vow so that we could reach this day, so that we could stay alive until we had our chance to strike the Toth. It is time.”
“What is our purpose?” Steuben said.
Kosciusko dipped his head slightly. “The human shade, Ibarra, summoned us once he learned of the Toth threat. We’ve created a plan with him. One that will allow us to strike at the Toth overlords, one in particular.”
“No, it can’t be,” Steuben said.
“Stix is with the Toth fleet. The Toth that came to our people with promises to aid us, the Toth that earned our trust. He betrayed us. Our race was doomed to extinction on his order. He must die by our hands,” Rochambeau said.
The four Karigole slapped their forearms together, each agreeing to the objective.
“You will stay with the Breitenfeld,” Kosciusko said to Steuben. “Guide the humans. Don’t let them fall for Toth lies. Wait for the right chance to strike.”
“We aren’t going to attack?” Steuben asked. “The humans have a fleet. The Dotok will lend what support they can.”
“We do not have the strength of a broadsword in morning’s light,” Rochambeau said. “We must be a dagger in the dark. We will be the instrument that defeats the Toth—that is assured.”
“What of the humans? Do you really trust Ibarra?” Steuben asked.
“You and Lafayette witnessed them deal with the Toth without Ibarra’s influence,” Kosciusko said. “What are their true motives?”
“The Marines are warriors,” Steuben said. “Inexpert, but they fight with passion. They will die so that others may live. If they’d been part of the Alliance before the Toth’s betrayal…more of us might have survived the fall.”
“Not all of them are Marines,” Lafayette said, his voice tinny as it came through his augmented throat. “Some are craven, like the Toth. I find it difficult to believe Ibarra when he says he means to aid us.”
“I’ve worked with Garret and Makarov.” Kosciusko brushed his hands together, an old gesture to ward off evil spirits. “They are honorable.”
“The humans, we must turn them against the Toth,” Rochambeau said. “Make them enemies. They may build the strength to defeat the Toth, and the Xaros.”
“The humans have a clan, Americans,” Kosciusko said, “known for destroying foes that strike without honor. The Toth will make that mistake. It is their nature. Lafayette will go to the Crucible with the omnium reactor. Use it to aid the humans’ technology.”
“What?” Lafayette asked. “You want me to sit out the last battle of our people?”
“No, old friend,” Kosciusko said. “The three of us will fight this battle. It is up to you to win the long war.” All the Karigole but Lafayette touched their wrists together.
“If the three of you could do anything but kill things, I wouldn’t see the wisdom behind this decision.” Lafayette touched his wrists together.
“Steuben,” Kosciusko looked to the tallest of the Karigole, “your relationship with the one called Hale, is it strong?”
“We are battle brothers.”
“Good,” Rochambeau said, “because everything depends on him.”
****
Valdar pressed his knuckles against the side of his head, fighting the onset of another headache. He initialed a supply reacquisition and tossed the clipboard to the right side of his desk, where a growing pile of paperwork waited to go back to fleet headquarters.
No matter how urgent his ship’s mission to Europa, the desk jockeys beneath Camelback Mountain wanted complete reports on every quadrium round expended and death of a sailor and Marine under his command.
One hand reached into the mass of folders on the left side of his desk and grasped a tiny box. Valdar peered down at the box. A name was written across the lid, David Valdar, his oldest son, with the words “Play Me.”
Valdar took the top off, revealing a black square with a thumb-print scanner. He pressed a shaky thumb against the reader.
A hologram swirled to life over the box. Valdar set it on the desk and watched as a face coalesced, a face that wasn’t his son’s. A man with coal-black skin, a lion’s mane of white hair and strong features looked around Valdar’s office before turning his gaze to the captain.
“Are we alone?” he asked.
“Who the hell are you?” Valdar demanded.
“I am Claude Fournier, leader of the true-born movement. I must apologize for using your son’s name, but I had to get your attention,” Fournier said.
“You have my attention but you’re testing my patience,” Valdar said.
Fournier smiled. “I’ve spoken to many naval officers who know you. They tell me you’re honorable, trustworthy…and a patriot. Our race is under attack, subverted from within by Ibarra’s abominations. These proccies aren’t true humans, and they will be the end of us if we true born don’t fight back.”
Valdar and Fournier regarded each other for several seconds. Valdar shook his head.
“This is a trick,” Valdar said. “Ibarra and his probe can tap into any communication device we have. They’ve broken into our systems before. You must be some sort of loyalty test or a complet
e idiot for thinking you can talk without Ibarra listening.”
Fournier laughed. “You’re smart and security conscious. That’s why I came to you, Captain. The device you have in front of you is a tangle box. Quantum dots within that box and mine are entangled; there is no in-between the dots for Ibarra to tap into. I can’t say I understand the technology, but it works.”
“Quantum encryption was only ever a rumor,” Valdar said. “How did you get it?”
“Back during Ibarra’s rise to power, we suspected he had some way of cracking our communication systems. So we developed the tangle boxes to keep our discussions private from him—much easier than meeting in person,” Fournier said.
“‘We’?”
“The governments of the world. I was once an intelligence agent of the South African government. Myself and a few others—CIA, KGB, Chinese Ministry of State Security—infiltrated Ibarra’s colony mission. Had to keep our eyes on that old bastard and we had tangle boxes to keep in touch with each other and our handlers back on Earth. We are without masters but not without purpose. So, will you hear me out now?”
Valdar found everything Fournier said both plausible and believable. He nodded.
“The Toth are the key to our salvation,” Fournier said. “We can use them. Have them remove the cancer for us.”
“I wouldn’t put out the welcome mat for the Toth just yet,” Valdar said. “I’d just as soon blow them out of space as talk to them.”
“I know your dealings with them were difficult, but consider this. They came here to talk, to negotiate. Ibarra and his probe have been pulling our strings for decades, and they still are. The true-born resistance has kept him off balance. He can’t take us out without turning every last human against him. I’m not afraid to become a martyr, but there’s a lot of good you and I can do before that happens.”
“What do you have in mind?” Valdar asked.
“The proccies. We give them—all of them—to the Toth,” Fournier said.
“Easier said than done. The proccies I’ve encountered don’t know what they are. There’s a blood test.” Valdar shared Accorso’s method for identifying the proccies by their unnaturally long cell telomeres.