by Joel Babbitt
* * *
Jim Ryker knew that Colonel Alexander was upset with him. And so he was sure he’d provoke his uncle Marik’s chief guard dog with his controversial report, but some things just couldn’t be helped.
He’d thought that Alexander and the rest of Marik’s Marauders were over the mountains, but as the yazri warriors of the Mon-Jikkik came streaming down the eastern slopes on their megavores he felt pretty certain that Colonel Alexander had to be somewhere close. It was obvious through the events of the coup at the Mon-Jikkik that Alexander had quite the attachment to the primitive monkeys.
Then, down near the coast just west of North Principay, the rather distinctive sound of a frag round echoing through the valley broke the relative peace Ryker had found for the women and children in one of the deserted plasticrete houses in East Principay. Grabbing the kit vest that he had acquired from Principay Security, Ryker stood up to leave.
“I’m going with you, Jim,” Rianna’s voice stopped her brother in his tracks. She had recovered to the point where she was sitting up on her own, but not much more than that. She had tried to walk on her own unsteady legs and had ended up leaning on him for support.
“No!” Ryker said reflexively. “Rianna…”
“Don’t argue with me, Jim,” Rianna stood up on her own, waiting for a couple of seconds to ensure she was steady enough to walk.
“Rianna…” Ryker began to object again.
“I’m going, and that’s final,” Rianna held up her hand to cut Ryker off. “I understand Titus Brutian better than you do, and certainly better than Colonel Alexander and his crew of gunslingers.”
“But…”
Rianna held a finger up to Ryker’s face. “I said I’m going, got it?!”
Ryker said nothing more as Rianna walked unsteadily out the door and sat down in the passenger seat of the cart. Looking at Ryker standing in the doorway, she pointed at the driver’s seat. “Are you gonna drive this thing, or do I have to?”
Shaking his head, Jim Ryker left Alyssa and her three daughters behind in the safe house, got in the driver’s seat, and started driving the mining cart toward North Principay’s port operations. Within minutes he saw a quadcopter taking off from next to the coast. Even from this distance Ryker could see that Colonel Alexander was flying the machine.
Ryker tapped his linker to warn Alexander about Titus Brutian’s secret war bunker and the possible fusion bomb, but a sudden shadow across the morning sun caused him to abandon any thought of anything but the sudden, overriding urge to survive.
Chapter Twenty Three
The Rae Liam Dominion was, like the rest of the galaxy, ruled by the technologically and genetically superior Solkin Overlords, and had been for at least several millennia, though the Solkin preferred the term ‘eons’. However long they had ruled this collection of star systems that circled the Greater Rae Liam Nebula with its cluster of super-giant stars in its dark heart wasn’t terribly relevant, but what was relevant was why and how they ruled.
The solkin had been human once; this was simply a matter of historical fact that even the solkin themselves grudgingly acknowledged. If one were to read the histories, something few humans had more than disparate pieces of, one would discover that back in the early days of the Master Race’s rise to dominance they had found a particularly pliant race called humans on a relatively large and fertile planet in a far arm of their galaxy. The Master Race had instantly taken a liking to them, as these humans were close to the same size and shape as the Master Race. So, contrary to the commands of the Creator, whom they chose to serve in their own fashion, the Master Race took humans as slaves and pets.
As the millennia passed, the quickly-reproducing population of humans among the Master Race showed themselves to be particularly intelligent and adept at management. It was because of this that as the Master Race’s empire grew far beyond their naturally slow-growing population’s ability to control, the most loyal, most capable humans among their pets and slaves were chosen to form something of a middle-layer of management for their empire.
Genetic manipulation had long been practiced by the Master Race; they bred and then strained out certain genetic traits from their many kept races, humans being the foremost among them due to how quickly humans breed and how easy their genetic structure is to manipulate. Applying their techniques to do more than just change hair colors, number of arms, and the like, the Master Race standardized and produced a servant race on the basic platform of humans which they called Solkin, because though they were now a separate race and now incapable of breeding with humans, they were still kin of the human race whose home was the Sol star system.
The greatest enhancement the Master Race added to the Solkin came from the fact that the Master Race communicated telepathically, having no sound-producing organs. As such, they gave the solkin the ability to communicate telepathically with them, which also gave them the ability to read or even control the energies or moods put out by the lesser races, or to be similarly psychically attuned to detect the mental-emotional disconnects that untruths create. Some solkin, however, eventually developed the ability to actually read the passing surface thoughts of others. This was an unintended but not unwelcome growth capability the Master Race did not breed out of them.
The standardization process meant that all solkin males were exactly the same height, and all solkin females were similarly standardized to a slightly shorter height. All solkin appeared to be young, never showing signs of aging beyond what humans would consider early middle-age, though their lifespans were standardized to a thousand standard years. Like all the kept races, the solkin suffered from no genetic diseases, and their immune systems were such that it was an exceptionally rare event for an illness to take hold with a solkin. Perhaps of greatest envy to the human population, the solkin all looked universally athletic, as though they exercised vigorously each day, though in truth it was completely genetics as very few solkin actually bothered with such time-consuming activities. As a final distinction, the Master Race pointed the ears of the solkin as a mark of their superior genetic breeding. The only variations between individual solkin were hair, eye, and skin color, as well as facial features. Genetically speaking, excluding gender differences, all solkin were approximately ninety-nine percent identical.
The personality differences between solkin, and the differences in experience and therefore growth patterns, however, were quite a bit more varied. Because of this, the Master Race had established something of an elaborate social structure for their chosen mid-level management race, complete with uniforms, special identifiers, and even ear lengths and eye and hair colors. So it was that, when the Solkin Dominion’s forces began descending from space in their anti-grav corsairs, the platinum hair and eyes, plus the exceptionally tall, pointed ears of the solkin whose face appeared on every linker that was still functional on the eastern continent, clearly showed that the three EMP blasts had indeed been seen by the Solkin Authorities, and had, in fact, brought the actual Solkin Overlords to their little backwater area of Camallay.
All who saw that face recognized it immediately; it was the face of Tor Chu-Ral, High Justicar of the Rae Liam Dominion, the solkin whose merciless reputation and horrific actions in resolving previous ‘problems’ had made him the equivalent of the ‘boogie man’ that mothers used to scare their children into obeying.
As solkin corsairs began landing in the central clearings at Far Point, Principay, and Terra Alta, every human that could began to run. Every human, that is, except Colonel Marshal Alexander.
* * *
The message that High Justicar Tor Chu-Ral put out over every linker, every set of situence glasses, every command screen, every entertainment screen, even every dimmer, was a directive to ‘cease all activity and submit to the solkin inquest on the question of illegal war technology.’ He gave no indication at which of the three colonies his cruiser had landed, nor did he give any indication of how the inquest would ensue.
Colonel Alexander knew both things, however. He immediately recognized the cruiser that was landing at Principay as the High Justicar’s personal yacht, and he had experience with solkin inquests, though always before on the solkin side.
Alexander landed his quadcopter a respectful distance from the large, shimmering silver ship as multiple dual-incinerator beam batteries first trained on the quadcopter, then on him as he walked forward and knelt a hundred meters from the ship. As if on cue, the yawning mouth of the landing ramp opened, disgorging wave after wave of sleek, transparent anti-grav sleds ridden by paradroid jockeys. The outlines of bristling lasers, incinerators, and even rail-rifles could be seen on the translucent vehicles as they flew past Alexander in rapid succession, none of them bothering to stop to investigate why this human was here.
Finally, as the last wave of gun-sleds sped past, a trio of powered armor troopers, almost certainly solkin that were being groomed for high military command, came down the ramp, their ceramisteel plates shimmering in the morning sun as they disengaged stealth screens to overawe any who might be watching. They were an honor guard, and if the thousand or so kilograms of powered ceramisteel combat suits weren’t enough to intimidate, they each carried atomic disruptors; weapons that would disintegrate a target by causing all bonds between its molecules to dissolve—slowly so that a person screamed in absolute agony as they dissolved.
The first of these powered armor warriors approached Colonel Alexander as his companions swept the area with combination millimeter wave-hyperspectral scanners. Alexander had already thrown his weapons down in front of himself, his hands were behind his bowed head.
“I am here to serve,” Alexander said.
The powered armor trooper considered the human for a few moments, undoubtedly consulting the hyper-sentient artificial intelligence inside the ship. In a few moments, the powered armor trooper’s visor lifted, revealing the face of a male solkin, one that clearly was surprised to see Colonel Alexander.
“Colonel Marshal Alexander, late of the Dominion Military,” the solkin stated matter-of-factly.
“Yes, commander,” Alexander bowed his head.
“Come to help us track down and dispose of the people responsible for this event, I see.”
“Yes, commander,” Alexander said humbly. He wasn’t sure whether the solkin was reading his thoughts or guessing accurately, but he didn’t think about it just in case.
“Your memory has been wiped in the past,” the solkin said accusingly.
“Yes, commander. I was involved in… a project.”
“What sort of project?” the solkin asked. “I have no record of that.”
“I don’t remember,” Alexander said as humbly as he could.
“I see,” the solkin replied, not amused. “Apparently the memory wipe was authorized. So, what information would you… aha, I see. You believe you can prove that Titus Brutian, commander of this backwater outpost, is the cause of this incident,” the solkin said, obviously reading Alexander’s surface thoughts. “Very well, you’ll have your opportunity to explain that to the High Justicar.”
At that moment, High Justicar Tor Chu-Ral himself came down the ramp. His personal sled, decorated in gold, platinum, and precious jewels, projected a protective shield thick enough to deflect a heavy penetration laser, while after him came a small entourage of semi-visible solkin in sleek, body-glove armor. These last solkin carried kiz’zit slicers, hand atomic disrupters, heavy grenades, and every piece of detection, stealth and mobility equipment available to the solkin. These were Tor Chu-Ral’s personal contingent of solkin assassins; striking out of nowhere, they would ultimately administer whatever sentence he assigned them.
Alexander waited with head bowed. He knew the racket; keep your head down, keep your thoughts blank, and keep your nerve. Easier said than done, but he had a lifetime of doing just that. Very soon, High Justicar Tor Chu-Ral’s sled came up to stop just in front of Alexander.
“Colonel Marshal Alexander,” the High Justicar’s cruel voice chewed the words before spitting them out. Suddenly, with no further preamble, Alexander could feel his brain being searched, the High Justicar violating every portion of his private thoughts, every secret desire, and every deep secret he might ever have hidden; the deeper the secret the more it drew the High Justicar’s attention. He could feel entire events being lifted from his mind and examined; the evidence of the attack on the MCS Venture, the attack on Taysom Island, the attack on the Glenda, the insidious combine of the Mon-Jonesik and Titus Brutian, and finally the key piece of intel; the possible link between Stellar Corp, Principay Colony, and the EMP bombs.
Behind the Solkin Overlord’s enormous telepathic capacity was a venal intelligence, an insidious presence that seemed to delight in every bit of information gleaned, but that sentience was not his own; no, even High Justicar Tor Chu-Ral employed a genius neural matrix on his behalf, something that could process the huge amounts of memories contained in a human brain. Finally, as the presence in his mind withdrew, Alexander looked up at the High Justicar in absolute innocence.
“You are a simple enough instrument,” the High Justicar said. “You will serve my purposes well. Go,” he commanded. “Go and bring back this Titus Brutian. I judge him and his supporters as responsible for this… disaster.”
“Yes, High Justicar. And what of Josh Langdon?” Alexander asked.
“He shall be dealt with, and if there is any confirmed link to Stellar Corp in this petty dispute that has diverted me from my travels, then I shall deal with that issue as well.”
“Yes, High Justicar,” Alexander said as he shuffled backwards, bowing his head in obeisance. The Solkin Overlords’ ability to not only read minds, but to seemingly absorb a person’s mind, analyze it, and almost instantly know everything of relevance was terribly unsettling, but this was not the first time he had experienced it… and he doubted it would be his last.
As he mounted his quadcopter and headed off toward the last known position of Captain Washington’s distress call, Colonel Alexander noticed that he had a chip attached to his linker. Wondering what it might contain, he noticed that his linker had a memory wiping and restoring attachment on it, a strictly forbidden tech he figured he must have left for himself as he prepared to meet with the High Justicar. He smiled, having no recollection of who had detonated the EMP devices, and thus caused the disaster here at Principay, but now he knew that after all this was done and the solkin were gone, he would clearly remember it all.
* * *
There would be chaos, death, and terror, or what the Solkin called ‘justice.’ Of that Ryker was certain. What he also knew was that he hadn’t done an unobtrusive quick-wipe of his memory which he now realized he should have, and he didn’t have the equipment to do a deep wipe and he knew he wasn’t registered with the solkin as ever having an authorized deep wipe, so the last thing he wanted was to encounter one of these solkin mind-readers. But at the same time, he couldn’t let Josh Langdon escape.
Jim Ryker was starting to panic.
“Jim, we have to go after Josh Langdon” Rianna Firstwave said; his sister who also had a number of things in her mind that could have her assassinated by the solkin hit squads.
“Yea,” Ryker mumbled as he stumbled backward, sitting heavily in the seat of the mining cart before he could finally take his eyes off of the shimmering, mercurial solkin ship a couple of kilometers away in the central clearing, and the hordes of grav-sleds that it was disgorging.
“Jim!” Rianna pled weakly, tapping his back to get his attention. She had already absorbed the four liters of hemosynth, but there were no nano-batches available in this burned out colony to mend the cellular level issues that the trauma of having been stabbed caused, and so she would have to recover slowly.
“Ah, yes! Go! Right!” Ryker said, shaking his head to clear it. If there was anything that would get the panic under control, it was action. Pulling the parking brake, Ryker checked to make sure Rianna was strapped in, then
floored it. Kicking up clouds of dust and throwing gravel behind them, the mining cart bolted forward.
It didn’t take more than a minute before their moving vehicle attracted the attention of the Paradroid Suppressors on their grav-sleds. As Ryker was preparing to turn onto the trail leading north out of the colony a bolt of blaster fire struck the road next to their cart, kicking up rocks, dirt, and debris.
“Sheesh! Hold your fire!” Ryker yelled, flat-sliding the cart to a stop on the trail and holding up his hands as four grav-sleds settled about his cart just out of sonic pistol range. Beside him, Rianna held up her hands weakly as well.
“James Ryker, Rianna Ryker Firstwave,” the lead paradroid’s authoritative voice uncannily matched the voice that popular holovids always used for the solkin’s lackeys. Ryker tried not to smile. “You are fleeing the scene of a most serious crime. Explain yourselves!”
“We’re in pursuit of the perpetrator of this crime. Josh Langdon, who is a representative of Stellar Corp to Principay Colony,” Jim said, keeping his voice and expression level.
“What proof do you…” the paradroid stopped suddenly. “Accusation confirmed, you will tell us where Josh Langdon is located.”
Ryker was a bit surprised, but didn’t miss a beat. “He fled up this trail on an all-terrain vehicle like this one. One of Titus Brutian’s wives told us that he and Brutian have a secret bunker about eight or ten kilometers north of here stocked with many illegal weapons.”
“How long ago did Josh Langdon flee?” the paradroid asked in the same authoritative voice.
“Between an hour and two hours ago,” Ryker answered. “I had to have a doctor attend to my sister. Otherwise we would have pursued him sooner,” he said apologetically.