by JR Handley
As he waited, he began to assume this Basil frakker must be a dunce. Lance felt his tensions mounting. He’d never been resuscitated without his friends, and their absence gnawed at him.
“You’re in Beta City. I believe they used to call it Marine Farm #1. We’re on Scrofa Island in Lake Sarpedona on the continent of Serendine. That is on Tranquility-4, in the Tranquility System, obviously. I don’t know what else to tell you.” Basil let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Okay, I get it, I get it. I’m on the drenting continent now, but do you have to be such a frakker? Why wasn’t I returned to the Island?” Lance silently counted to ten in his head to stave off the outburst that sat on the tip of his tongue.
“The Island? You mean Cardamine? There isn’t a base there, just the one in Baylshore and the other here in Serendine. Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Do I need to call a medic?” The panicked look in his eyes and the pinched look on his face told Lance that calling a medic would be seriously bad news for one of them. He shook his head, deciding not to leave that dangling over the Beta City Aux.
“Then at least stay seated for a few minutes,” insisted the tech.
But Lance was too jacked up to sit idly by. “Nothing on the Island? When did that happen?” When Basil shrugged miserably, Lance sat up jerkily and crawled out of the cryopod, a white mist of spent cryo gasses following him.
He needed answers.
— Chapter 04 —
Cryogenic Revival Chamber #10A, Level 8
Once Sergeant Scipio was up and moving, Basil escorted him to the cryogenic recovery chamber. Officially it was called the Cryogenic Revival Chamber Annex, but nobody except the Jotuns and bureaucrats of their ilk called it that. Once he unlocked the room, he handed Scipio a uniform and waited patiently while he got dressed, trying not to think about the other stowaway Basil had glimpsed when Scipio came out of the cryo pod. The object had been at the back of the pod and half-shrouded by cryo gasses, but it had looked like a ceremonial sword, with a dark blade like nothing he had ever seen or heard of.
Maybe it was that sword, or perhaps it was simply Basil’s Aux status, but once Sergeant Scipio emerged, dressed in a proper uniform, he was somehow more intimidating. Basil wondered how civilians back on Earth must have viewed their military in the time before the White Knights became humanity’s overlords. Were they held in as much awe, or am I just affected because it drives home how far I’ve fallen?
Okay, calm down and let’s just get this over with, thought Basil as he grabbed the insulated food tray the mess stewards had left while Scipio changed. He continued pacing until, after clearing his throat, he gathered up his courage to address the thawed Marine. “Right, Sergeant, um, now that you’re dressed, ah, you should eat, and then I can hand you your orders.” Basil suddenly noticed how hot the room was, and knew that if he kept sweating, Ledatic would make him take another detox shower.
When the sergeant replied, Basil flinched, immediately hating himself for reacting that way. The years under the yoke of Hardit tyranny had ground him down into something he barely recognized, yet there was no hope of a better future for him.
“Calm down, Basil, you’re gonna make me nervous with all that pacing. Why don’t you just spill? Ask me whatever has you so worked up about.”
Basil began mentally bracing himself, trying to regain the confident boy he’d been before he was kicked out of the training regime. When he’d been in the 6907th TAC he had felt like he could rule the galaxy, but in the end he was kicked out of the Marine Corps for lacking a ‘killer instinct’. Now he groveled and scampered around like something less than human, and he didn’t know how to turn the ship around.
He asked with a wavering voice, “When I opened the storage compartment I found more than one AI. Why do you have so many? I’m supposed to report any anomalies like this to my supervisor.”
Watching Sergeant Scipio digest this bit of news, Basil was convinced that this was as much a surprise to the Marine as it was to him.
“To be blunt,” said Sergeant Scipio, “you seem nervous, so let me assure you that I order you to withhold that information. It is classified, as far as you are concerned, so I will take the UV rays on this one. I suspect that those are the AIs of my fallen brothers and sisters. They died heroically fighting, such is the life of a Marine, no?”
When Basil looked into the sergeant’s face, so earnest in his uniform and looking more like a Cadet than a veteran sergeant, he couldn’t help but be swayed. Heck, this Marine was being nice to him. Since when did that happen? In that instant, as Basil wavered, Sergeant Scipio again addressed him like he was a person. More than an Aux, but as a human being with inherent worth.
Sergeant Scipio began, with that charismatic enthusiasm he had that made you feel compelled to obey. “Look, what you’re holding there is more than I can eat and there’s no sense in it going to waste, or worse, to the Hardits. Why don’t you join me for lunch and then you can give me those orders you mentioned?”
When Sergeant Scipio offered his food, he didn’t realize that he had done more than offer a starving man sustenance; he had also given Basil back a taste of self-worth he’d lost somewhere along the way. When did I surrender my humanity? Was it during one of the many beatings and degradations since I left the 6907th? Basil realized it no longer mattered, because now that it had been brought back into the forefront of his psyche he couldn’t go backwards again. At that moment, Basil knew he’d take the sergeant’s secret with him to the grave.
“You had me at food, I won’t say a word about any of it,” Basil told Scipio, to the sergeant’s visible relief. “Besides, who’d believe a lowly Auxie anyway, right?”
Between bites of food Sergeant Scipio agreed, before launching into questions about the status quo and everything that had been happening in the Marine Corps in his absence. He begged to know how long he had been iced, but his entire record was classified tiers above anything Basil had access to. When Sergeant Scipio asked him about Captain Grimgerde, some Jotun officer he knew, Basil gave him the only thing he could. “Sergeant, unless otherwise specified, the protocol would be for the captain to be returned to her base of origin. I don’t know why we have no knowledge of your base, but if the Island’s icers were left behind she would likely be there. Your body was transferred because you were specifically requested. I don’t know where you were transferred from. I’m very sorry, Sergeant, but I don’t know anything. You’ll have to look elsewhere for your answers.”
——
Realizing that he would get nothing useful from Basil, at least not about his own situation, Lance moved the conversation on to what was happening in the world. After desperately remembering his lessons from his prisoner interrogation classes, Lance led with open-ended questions about events on Tranquility. His training paid off, and Basil began to spout off with all the local scuttlebutt about current events. This was as close to journalism as you got among a White Knight client species cut off from the larger universe. He was shocked to hear the horror stories about the side effects of the newest version of the Marine Combat Drugs. He was always suspicious of anyone needing to rely on pharmacology to overcome a lack of training, but these side effects firmly set his mind on the subject. When he asked why they had abandoned the promising nanites technology, as it had just gone into human trials when he’d shipped off to the QEP system, he received a look that convinced him to move on. The research into viable permanent, self-replicating nanites had clearly been abandoned long before this Aux had come into the universe.
Such a waste, losing the ability to give Marines permanent self-replicating nanites. When he’d been in training, the technology had required daily injections of nanites which made them of limited value in the field. He couldn’t help but wonder how differently the debacle at QEP 16 would’ve gone if they’d had access to their nanites. Would they have run, leading to so many executions? It seemed criminal to let such technology languish and go to waste. Shaking his head, Lance returned to th
e confusing world he’d awakened into and got back to questioning this technician, milking him for all the details he could.
——
While it was clear that Sergeant Scipio didn’t like Basil’s description of life in the 6907th, he seemed to accept it and mentally file it away. Watching the Marine think was like watching one of the many robot droids process information, but to the best of his knowledge no humans had ever been merged with machinery, and so Basil shook off his silly notion and handed the sergeant his orders. “I believe that you will be assigned as the veteran sergeant for one of the G-2 freshmen Cadet squads in the 6907th TAC Regiment. For what it’s worth, they are a good unit. They are strict, but fair… or they were when I was assigned there.” Basil looked down, again ashamed at having failed out of the Marine Corps and failing his brothers and sisters. He knew he couldn’t do it. He didn’t have it in him to kill, but still he grieved. If only he could’ve been a Space Rat, filled some cushy technician billet so he could do what he loved doing, thinking and imagining. Finding new solutions to old problems, regardless of whether they had been solved or not.
It soon became clear that Basil was right, because once Sergeant Scipio opened his orders he read them aloud. This is for my benefit, he thought. He really is different than all of the other Marines.
After letting the sergeant process his orders, Basil gave him directions and sent him on his way.
This really was a pleasant morning after all, he prematurely thought because Ledatic then called his name.
Basil was all too aware that not responding promptly would be a painful mistake. His predecessor died when that frakking Hardit got into one of his moods, so Basil hollered out an affirmative answer and scurried into the lab office to see what Ledatic needed.
Oh well, he thought, break time’s over.
— Chapter 05 —
Scrofa Island, in Lake Sarpedona on Tranquility-4
After leaving the cryogenic level of his new home of Beta City, Lance followed the passageways up eight levels of the underground base toward the Jotun quarter on the surface. Jotun-Kijiji, Basil had called it, when he’d given directions.
By the time he reached the main helix ramp up to Level 4, Lance felt his legs begin to ache. He realized, as he took in deep breaths, that the prolonged cryogenic state had clearly caused him to lose his physical edge. When a squad of Cadets on an endurance run thundered toward him in a narrow stretch through the heavily fortified Level 2, he had to resist the temptation to step aside and take a breather while the sweating youngsters passed. If word of his fatigue reached Colonel Marchewka, the officer he was to report to, then the Jotun might make him perform a physical strength and endurance assessment when he reported in.
Lance wasn’t sure what to expect on the surface, having avoided Jotun City on the Island like it had the plague. After he left the sally port he stopped short, looking around and seeing nothing of Jotun-Kijiji, or Kijiji as the sentry by the port had told him most people called the Jotun quarter.
Lance decided to take his time. He walked around outside and enjoyed the fresh air for a few minutes before deciding that enough time had elapsed. He began looking for this city in earnest, but after finding no indication that it existed, he resorted to his digi-sheet. These things sure have changed, he thought, not like I remember them.
Once he found the mapping program it was a simple and intuitive process to start the directional mapping feature. Lance’s eyes narrowed as he followed the arrow on the digi-sheet to his real-world surroundings, but in that direction he saw only a brace of sanitation trucks and composting vats. Maybe they did things differently here in Beta City, but he didn’t imagine proud Jotuns would live in a pit of steaming drent.
He was about to return to the sally port and seek directions, when he heard the distinct shriek of a guinshrike in the distance. He looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of this glorious bird of prey that expended so much energy in its swoop that it had to make a kill every time or die. What Lance actually saw, though, was something even more magnificent.
Lance suddenly stopped walking and became motionless as his eyes involuntarily widened, and his breath caught in his throat. If only Danika could see this, she would be able to express the majesty of the design.
But Danika Stone was an absence in his life he still hadn’t processed. The last time he’d seen the girl he’d grown up with, she was floating through QEP 16 with her head cleaved in two.
You’d have loved this sight, Danika.
The Jotun city wasn’t the normal stock model. There was nothing redundant about its design, and it truly was a work of art where form trumped function. The city that had housed the Jotun officer corps on Lance’s Island home had been built on the ground, a vast complex of palaces topped with soaring spires connected with impossibly high glass walkways. It had been impressive, sure, but the sight before his eyes was more. The transparent nature of the Jotun construction materials made any location seem grand and immersive, yet still Kijiji trumped them all.
Kijiji wasn’t built on the ground, but rather was a city that seemed to be floating on the clouds. The city was still translucent, defying any Marine who walked her halls with a weak stomach or a fear of heights. Not normally a man with a poetic soul, even Lance was drawn up short and forced to take a step back as the city called out to him.
Not sure how he was supposed to get up there, Lance realized that solving this problem was an opportunity to demonstrate to his new commander how resourceful he could be.
Lance bit his lip. He would have to soar like a bird to get up there. How the frakk was he going to do that?
— Chapter 06 —
Beneath Jotun-kijiji on Scrofa Island
Lance squinted at the city of Kijiji as it floated above him among clouds. An idea began to tickle the back of his mind. The thought grew like a volcano seeking to break the surface until it could no longer be denied. He began to remember something that Sergeant Fontaine had said onboard the Grendel, something about the White Knight obsession with reusing the same designs ad nauseam. Then memories, like a tidal wave, came pouring into the forefront of his mind. He finally understood the tingling thought that kept tickling his subconscious; it meant that the floor plan of the underground Marine base should be the same. Sure, a room or two might be different but he knew exactly where to go.
Once Lance had the idea in his head, he became like a guinshrike with prey in sight, unstoppable. After returning to the sally port, he hit the central descending passageway towards the light engineering workshops on Level 4. He hoped that the rocketeering program hadn’t been wiped, because the Death Pack was his ticket into Kijiji, and to making a good impression with his new boss.
The Rocket Propulsion Pack RPP-1217, commonly called the Death Pack because of the number of test pilots who lost their lives perfecting it, was a backpack worn by soldiers that had a harnessing system designed to accommodate Marines in and out of combat armor. It was capable of allowing the wearer to maneuver around at high speeds, cover great distances, and reach towering heights. In order to break the long-standing issues with devices of this sort, it ran on Hewa Gas, a newly synthesized noble gas, known to be stable under extreme pressure. This property made it an ideal fuel choice for situations where temperature and pressure extremes were expected.
The pack had a fuel tank sandwiched between two rockets. Worn like a backpack, the support arms ran underneath the operator’s armpits, giving them access to control sticks, and enabling them to assume the rigid posture necessary to maneuver the rocket. The 1200 series models were all upgraded to allow for the integration of the Marine’s personal AI, thus improving the effectiveness of the device. Lance could only pray, for the millionth time, that some digi-punching bureaucrats hadn’t ended the program.
Once Lance reached the workshops he realized he would have to be inventive if he was going to retrieve the Death Pack. He briefly considered simply signing one out, should they be available, but realized it wouldn�
��t be as impressive to his new commander as ‘acquiring’ it on his own like seasoned sergeants were want to do. Like all good Marines, he knew that gear adrift was a gift, and one with which he would cement his good standing with his senior NCOs and new commander.
Very quickly Lance noticed that the engineering workshop was empty. Apparently the security SOPs had changed while he was iced because he couldn’t imagine Sergeant Fontaine letting that slide. As usual, he found that thoughts of any of his past brothers and sisters brought on waves of sadness and guilt that he lived while they died. For those who ran, he had trouble feeling anything but pity, yet he mourned the loss of the rest of his unit, the only family he could remember.
Knowing that nothing looked more suspicious than skulking around, Lance decided to brazenly walk in, acting as if he owned the place. Seeing that it was in fact empty, he jumped onto the computer terminal and tried logging in, hoping that Bardo was on his side and he’d already been given clearance. When Bardo failed to bring him the luck he sought through prayer, Lance did what all good Marines did, he made his own luck. He pulled Xena, his AI, out of the pouch on his hip and inserted her into the AI access port to let her work her magic.
Lance had grown up with an AI called Dante, only being reassigned Xena as a replacement before boarding QEP 16. He still didn’t know why Xena had been forced upon him, but she did a competent enough job of getting him into the system. Lance did a quick search for the RPP-1217 and was surprised that it had been canceled. He remembered hearing about the extreme loss of life perfecting that technology, so the idea that it would be so willfully abandoned and not replaced with a better piece of equipment baffled him. He knew that the White Knights had little use for the Marine as an individual, but this somehow seemed beyond the pale. Luckily, despite his mental ramblings, Xena was able to find what he sought. He memorized the storage locker number and logged out of the system.