Markov's Prize

by Mark Barber

  Owenne turned to the assembled troopers who had been silently witnessing the exchange with interest and concern.

  “Squad Wen, you’re dismissed,” Owenne said. “Go get some sleep. Except for you, Rhona, you can come with us.”

  Tahl watched as the remaining troopers walked away. One of the young soldiers, Sessetti, stopped and then walked back. He opened his mouth to speak, but Tahl held up a hand to stop him.

  “I appreciate the gesture, Lian, but the answer is no. Go get some sleep, like the mandarin says. I need you in top shape.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sessetti replied quietly before leaving again.

  “Sir?”

  Tahl turned to look at Rhona.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I know this isn’t a great time, sir, but I really need to talk to you about an issue with one of the troopers in my squad. It really can’t wait. I need to get this cleared up before we go out on this patrol.”

  Tahl turned to Owenne.

  “Make it quick,” the mandarin said.

  Tahl walked in an uneasy silence with Rhona, back to the crop field he had just returned from. He worried with every step, knowing his mind was not on the job. He was about to go out on patrol with a NuHu he did not fully trust, an old friend who was coming apart at the seams, and a subordinate he had inappropriate feelings for which he could not shake, no matter how hard he tried.

  “What is it?” He asked Rhona as soon as the two were out of view of everybody else. “Which one of your people has got the problem?”

  “Me,” she said softly, “I’m the one with the issue.”

  “You’re off to intelligence after this?” Tahl tried to keep his tone from sounding hurt. She did not owe him any explanation.

  “No, I’m not,” Rhona shook her head, keeping her dark eyes locked on his. “He offered me the job, and I said no. He wouldn’t accept my answer, told me I had to think about it. The answer is still no.”

  “You should take the job,” Tahl said. “You’d be safe. You’d be away from all this. You could do your time and then go home.”

  “Go home where?” Rhona exclaimed. “What home? I’m not like the others, I’ve got nothing waiting for me if I ever leave this. I don’t want some dumb job looking at surveillance footage and collating information which will send some poor dudes off to their deaths. I want to stay here. I want to be a soldier in your company. That’s why I needed to talk to you before we go hit the city tonight. I… whatever is going on between us, it’s incomplete. Don’t go getting shot tonight. Or ever. Don’t leave this incomplete.”

  Tahl took a step closer, close enough to be in her personal space.

  “So what completes it?”

  Rhona slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him for what seemed like an age, a long perfect moment which took all of his problems away. She then rested her forehead against his, her eyes still closed as she clung to him with the last rays of the system’s second sun shining through the small space between them.

  “I don’t know what completes it,” she whispered, “I just need you to know that I’m not screwing around with you. I know we’re from different places and I know what people from your part of the universe think of people from my part. I’m not here to mess around with your feelings. I’m really confused about what the hell is happening between us, what happens next, how we hide it from everybody; hell, I’m confused about everything. But right now, it’s the best thing in my life and it’s all that’s keeping me going and giving me the strength to pretend to my guys that all is cool and I’m okay.”

  Tahl held her, truly at a loss for words. He finally spoke, more out of necessity to tell her something after she had been so honest, rather than because he had thought his reply through.

  “This isn’t right,” he whispered. “I’ve forced this on you, you told me what you thought of me and I can’t…”

  She kissed him again.

  “Seriously, sir, shut up with that,” she laughed. “Don’t hit me with the chivalry so late in the evening. I’m not sixteen, I know what I’m doing, so give me some credit. Just tell me you feel the same way and stop leaving me hanging here and making me feel like an idiot.”

  “I feel the same way,” Tahl said truthfully.

  “Good,” Rhona took a step back and unslung her carbine from her shoulder, “then don’t get shot. Don’t leave this incomplete. Let’s go, Boss. I’ve got your back.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pariton City Center

  Capital City

  Markov’s Prize

  L-Day plus 62

  Every footstep which crunched down on the rubble seemed as loud as bombs to Rhona as she crept forward through the skeletal remains of the blackened buildings. Days of bitter fighting had taken their toll on the planet’s capital; the once beautiful business and administrative center of the city was now reduced to smouldering grey, with the stars scattered across the indigo blue night sky above clearly visible through the holes in walls and missing roofs.

  Rhona was on point, at the very front of the reconnaissance patrol. Several yan ahead of Owenne, Tahl, and Van Noor, she was only just visible to them. Her utility pouches were all but empty to stop any extra noise from their contents rattling around; all the technology in the world would not stop a Ghar hearing an unruly racket, and the four soldiers were reduced to employing the same noise cancelling methods as their forefathers from centuries before.

  Stopping at the remains of the corner of a skyscraper, Rhona sank slowly to one knee and raised her carbine to her shoulder. The wind whistled through the remnants of the tall buildings. The marker which Owenne had set for them was still a good half hour away, appearing as a steady white cross on the central display unit on her visor. To the left, lines of text scrolled periodically to inform her of her vital statistics, chemical enhancement usage, geographical position, and nearest escape routes in case of ambush.

  The route ahead seemed clear. Rhona slowly raised herself back to her feet and took another few crunching steps forward. She thought of Tahl, half a street behind her. This was not going as she had planned. Once she had forgiven him for his earlier transgressions, it was simple enough to add up her attraction to him with all evidence pointing to him being a genuinely good person, and the result was an opportunity for harmless flirting, possibly leading to a meaningless physical encounter or two with no commitments and no repercussions. Instead, she found her mind wandering to how she could prove that, even given her background, she was capable of providing something meaningful. Tahl had spent his leave travelling back to Concord space to try to help Van Noor in some way in which she was not privy to the details. Perhaps that was it. Next time she had leave, she could travel back to the Concord, find this martial arts woman who had given Tahl such a hard time in his youth, and tell the old bitch what she thought of her.

  It occurred to Rhona only a moment too late that her concentration had drifted away from her job at a critical and dangerous moment. Without warning, the ground suddenly gave way beneath her and she was falling through darkness amid rubble and stone which dropped down all around her. She let out a cry, more of surprise rather than pain, as she landed face down on a hard and uneven surface, stones and debris falling all around her.

  “Katya?” A familiar voice called across her shard connection as she struggled up to her hands and knees. “Are you okay?”

  She swore viciously, fumbling around for her carbine as her viewscreen automatically increased its output to take advantage of the little ambient light available. She checked her suit readouts – she was fine, completely unhurt, but the gauntlets, torso, and knees of her armor had been cracked by the fall. Her surrounding swarm of microscopic nanobots had already set about repairing the damage. She appeared to be inside a tunnel, manmade judging by its precise, smooth lines, with extinguished lamps lining the curved walls.

  “Katya?” Tahl called again. “Your readouts say you’re okay, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,�
� Rhona replied groggily, “yeah, I’m good, Boss. Sorry, didn’t see that coming. I’ve fallen down into what looks like an old subterranean transport hub.”

  “Can you see a way back up?” Van Noor asked as her three comrades appeared on the lip of the crater above, silhouetted against the starry night sky.

  Suddenly, to her left, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness and began sprinting down the tunnel away from her.

  “I’ve got movement!” Rhona reported, running after the figure into the near darkness.

  “Katya, wait!” Tahl ordered.

  The figure was hunched over and running almost with a limp, but the head start put Rhona at a distinct disadvantage. Sprinting around a long corner in the tunnel, Rhona continued toward a well-lit area up ahead. As she closed the distance on the figure ahead, she scanned the runner and saw that they were struggling not due to a limp, but from carrying a large, bulky package. Rhona’s first thought was that the interloper was carrying an explosive device – she carried out a quick system check on her carbine to ensure it was ready to fire.

  The figure and its package disappeared around another corner up ahead. Rhona followed and then came to an abrupt stop. She was at the edge of a transport network station, where crowds of perhaps a hundred disheveled and ragged refugees were sitting or lying on the platforms, huddled together for warmth. The runner who she had been following, a young woman with pale skin and red hair, gently placed down her package – a boy of five or six years of age – and protectively nurtured the child behind her, staring at Rhona defiantly. A panicked cry was emitted by a woman somewhere in the crowd on the platform, and perhaps a dozen or so of the refugees leapt to their feet and ran for another tunnel at the far end of the station. A boy, no older than ten years of age, ran out to face Rhona and threw a large stone at her. Her hyperlight shields flared purple and deflected the projectile harmlessly to one side. This resulted in more screams and cries of panic from the crowd as more men and women jumped to their feet. The boy fearlessly scrabbled on his knees for another rock until a thin man from the crowd ran forward and dragged him away.

  It occurred to her then what she must look like to the thinning crowds of people who backed away from her on the platforms, or sat still and stared at her silently with a mixture of contempt and resignation. A futuristic killer from the stars, clad in bulky armor which changed color to blend in to its surroundings. Right now her armor was as black as the shadows she stood in, the ominous glow of blue from her plasma carbine was all that lit her and silhouetted her dangerous and threatening form, her face masked behind the inhuman visor of her helmet. Rhona quickly clipped her carbine to her back and deactivated her armor’s reactive coloring to leave it in its default white and green colors. She took off her helmet and dropped down to one knee, looking at the small boy who was being dragged away from her and holding her hands out passively.

  “It’s alright,” she said softly, “I’m just lost. I’m not here to hurt anybody.”

  A few confused murmurs rippled through the remaining refugees.

  “Is she an angel?” One girl of no older than four asked.

  “No, she’s anything but that,” a parent replied angrily.

  Rhona slowly stood and took a step back.

  “I’m going,” she started, “I’ll leave…”

  Five figures suddenly ran out from the tunnel behind her to quickly form a loose semi-circle around her, aiming weapons at her head. The soldiers wore the primitive black body armor that she had encountered in opposition when she first landed on the planet, but they were armed with far more modern magnetic guns, weapons which were well capable of piercing her armor.

  “Drop your weapon you Concord bastard, or I’ll give the order to gun you down where you stand,” an authoritative voice called from beside her.

  Rhona obliged, slowly and carefully placing her carbine at her feet. Another squad of five soldiers moved past her and quickly ushered the remaining refugees along through the tunnels and out of sight. As they did, a second voice called out from an elevated platform somewhere to the right.

  “She’s a squad leader, she’s armed with a wrist-mounted x-sling. Similar to a grenade launcher. Tell her to unload it.”

  “You heard,” the first voice said, “unload that thing on your wrist.”

  Rhona held up her left wrist and cupped her right hand beneath it, jettisoning the x-sling’s magazine and then placing the small explosive projectiles at her feet.

  “Y’all gonna gun me down now, ‘cause I’m getting bored just standing here,” Rhona said, tossing her head to flick a rogue lock of hair from her face.

  Even without her suit’s readings, she could feel her racing pulse and felt a shot of stimulant enter her bloodstream to attempt to control the terror which was rising within her. She tried to activate a distress call through the company shard, but found something was blocking her. A soldier moved across and kicked her in the back of the knee, buckling her legs and forcing her down to her knees. The first speaker moved around to stand in front of her. A tall, slender man with greying hair, his aging face would have placed him at perhaps 150 years of age in the Concord; here on Markov’s Prize, he was probably barely over 40. Rhona risked a look to either side. There were perhaps fifteen soldiers she could see, but the voice from the right came from a shadowy area above one of the platforms. She felt suddenly very alone; not just physically, but emotionally. Her connection to her shard was being suppressed somehow.

  “Give me your name, rank, and unit,” the greying soldier ordered.

  She saw a badge of rank on the front of his armor and recalled it from an intelligence brief a few weeks before. The man was a captain in the Markov Alliance Army, formerly the planetary self-defense force.

  “Katya Rhona, Strike Leader, Concord Combined Command,” Rhona replied. “You ain’t getting my unit, Captain.”

  “What the hell’s a strike leader?” The officer spat. “Give me a proper rank, none of this ‘space commando’ crap.”

  “A strike leader is a junior commander in the Concord basic infantry,” the voice from the right said. “She’s the equivalent to one of your corporals.”

  The greying soldier crouched down and leaned in to look Rhona in the eyes.

  “You bastards have invaded my planet,” he began slowly, “killed our women and children, and destroyed everything dear to us. A corporal isn’t worth much to me. So I’m going to give you one more chance to prove your worth before I start cutting that pretty face of yours to pieces. Give me your unit strength and location. Now, Corporal.”

  “Go to hell, you piece of crap,” Rhona forced a dismissive smile, fond memories of time with her family and a string of regrets from her life suddenly forcing their way to the front of her mind out of nowhere as the tall captain stood, grabbed her by her hair, and unsheathed a black bladed knife from his belt.

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, old chap.”

  Owenne’s voice echoed from the shadows as the pale faced NuHu jumped down from a platform to the left, his coat billowing out around him as he slowly sank to the ground with inhumanly slow speed and control. A squad of five MAA soldiers instantly aimed their mag guns at him. Owenne issued a deep, booming laugh which succeeded in unnerving even Rhona.

  “Good gosh!” He smiled. “I thought your captain was stupid enough in threatening one of my troopers, but now you imbeciles have actually threatened me! I hate to be a cliché, but do you know who I am? What I am? What I am capable of doing?”

  “He’s a New Human Mandarin,” the voice from the shadows said. “He’s…”

  “Come out from there, Freeborn,” Owenne interrupted, “we’re not at the bloody theater, so we can all do without the amateur theatrics. You know who I am, I know who you are. So be a good fellow and come out into the light. You and your band of pirates.”

  Rhona looked up and saw six figures, wearing long cloaks and overcoats of dark brown, step out into the light above the nearest platform. They car
ried plasma carbines, signalling that they were elite Freeborn mercenaries. The leader, a dark skinned man with a short beard and shaved head, looked down at Owenne. Rhona tried to send a mental message through to Owenne, but again found her connection to the shard blocked. No doubt it was some machinery operated by the Freeborn. Freeborn mercenaries were notorious for their cutting edge technology, derived from travelling the length and breadth of known space whilst trading their martial skills for science and technology.

  “They’re Vardanari,” Rhona shouted across to Owenne, her eyes still flitting around as she looked for escape avenues for when the stand off would inevitably result in gunfire. “They’re the inner guard force for a Doma, kind of like a clan leader.”

  “Yes, thank you, Strike Leader, I’m well aware of the social make up of these reprobates,” the mandarin remarked dryly.

  “How does she know that?” The MAA captain insisted. “You said your machine would suppress their knowledge!”

  “I know because I used to be Freeborn,” Rhona said, momentarily enjoying the look of surprise which registered on the faces of all six men on the gantry above, “but I wised up and joined the A Team instead of slumming it on a filthy pirate ship floating across space.”

  “Never mind her, it’s the NuHu who’s in charge here,” the Freeborn Vardanari leader said, “and I’ve met your sort before. You’re very capable. But not really capable enough to take on twenty men single handed.”

  “True,” Owenne conceded with a smile and a wave of one hand.

  “You’ve come here to rescue your girl with just a pistol?” The MAA captain nodded to Owenne’s holster.

  “What, this?” Owenne grimaced. “Come, come! That’s my secondary back up! My primary back up is this stick. You see, my kind have a rather curious ability to manipulate nanobots to an extent which is simply impossible for any other species. This stick is my amplifier, and I can use to form a blade of nanospheres whose acceleration would create such a force that it could cut through a Ghar battlesuit like freshly fallen snow. But as I said, that’s my primary back up. I don’t really like to get my own hands dirty. That’s why I brought a Tahl.”