The Expendable Few: A Spinward Fringe Novel

by Randolph Lalonde

  That’s where I am now, sitting on a nice, comfortable sofa with Isabel’s head in my lap. My hand gently strokes her cheek and neck while we wait for Remmy to return from the guest accommodation room. There’s a refrigeration unit there, which was emptied of fresh food long ago, a pair of materializers, emergency medical supplies and other items that guests might like. Other than the fridge, the place was well stocked. The tags say that it was done before the Sunspire turned on her crew.

  Isabel and I are weathering the boredom well. We started sharing the same quarters on the third night. My assumption is that some of the social rules don’t apply to Intelligence Operatives, or whatever they call the four of us. If I’m wrong, I’ll deal with the consequences. What can they do? Drug me? Separate us? Bust me down a rank or two? I’m past it. I watched marines die right in front of me on the last suicidal raid. Mary was almost one of them. We’re on down time with nowhere to go, not much to do, and no one from command has paid us a visit yet. Every morning for the last two weeks since we checked into the Sunspire hotel, I’ve gotten the same orders: “Beta Unit is on restricted leave. Please make use of available facilities.”

  Two weeks since we first walked into this lounge. If it weren’t for fitness meds, I would be losing shape and putting on pounds.

  “Well, nice of them to leave us in luxury,” Remmy says as he brings a bucket of Mega-Poppers from the food materializer. He drops into one of the thickly padded armchairs and turns his attention to the two metre tall holographic vista in front. The lounge’s pair of sofas and five arm chairs are arranged in a semi circle so people can watch the universe go by through the room length transparent section of hull. It’s built like the older sections of Freeground, featuring a starry view. We get to see the blue belt, a seemingly endless field of asteroids and planetoids. You’d think that would be interesting, but after two weeks, you get used to it.

  Remmy adjusts the transparency level of the hull so the view is muted. It increases the quality the holographic projection. Lately he’s been watching a 22nd century Earth drama. I don’t really get what he sees in it. The series is called Hole In The Floor, and it’s about a group of people who think they are hiding out from a long nuclear winter in a bomb shelter.

  Mary wasn’t interested either until one of the characters secretly turned to cannibalism. How someone could secretly turn to cannibalism in a sealed bomb shelter is beyond me, but I shrug and decide the show is part comedy.

  I relate to the misguided characters a little, though. I’m looking forward to running a few simulations once Remmy’s finished his so-called dinner. The sims on offer from Freeground Intelligence are unlike anything we’d ever seen. The missions are short, and take place in jungles, on uninhabitable worlds with lakes of acid and mercury. There are others, all coded so you don’t know what you’ll get until you’re inside. We know we’re being tested, but I’m so bored I don’t really care. I wouldn’t mind finding out what our score is though.

  Aside from old holographic dramas and sims, I’ve been learning Spanish from Isabel. Everyone on Freeground has some kind of comm unit that comes with a translator, but hearing her speak a few words piqued my interest. It feels like it’s going slowly, but Isabel tells me I’m picking it up quickly.

  Mary comes out of her quarters and walks over to the sofa. She lifts Isabel’s legs, sits under them and begins idly massaging her feet. “What’s James doing today?” she asks as Isabel coos. “Enjoy it now, because you’re doing mine later.”

  “‘Kay,” Isabel replies as I stroke her cheek. She’s in heaven.

  “James? He was almost caught gnawing on Veronica in cold storage,” Remmy says, not looking away from the holographic talking heads.

  “I liked Veronica, the show’s been missing something since she died,” Isabel mutters.

  I check the show’s info on my comm unit and sigh. We are up to episode one hundred and nine and there’s still no indication that one of the characters will wise up and open the hatch, just to see if the nuclear winter is real.

  “Boredom getting to you?” Mary whispers.

  “El caníbal masticar solo?” I reply, getting a snicker from Isabel then Mary, whose translator interprets my quip as; “Does the cannibal chewing alone?”

  “Well, your Spanish is getting better,” Mary says. “How about you, Izzy?”

  “It would be, if it weren’t for the company,” she says with closed eyes. “Would like to see more of the ship though.”

  “I guess this has got to be loads better than where you spent the last year,” Mary says.

  “Yup,” Isabel agrees. “I think I saw six or seven people the whole time I was in prison. Whatever they put in the crappy food kept me from wanting to kill myself or just going crazy, but it all blurs together. Day ten was exactly the same as day two hundred ten. But here? Right now? This is like vacation. There are a couple other places I’d like to be, but I’ll take this for a while.” She kisses one of my fingers as it comes close to her mouth.

  “Can’t say I disagree,” Remmy adds despite the mouthful of crunchy snacks.

  “That’s life in Fleet: long stretches of boredom mixed with moments of brisk activity punctuated by instants of sheer terror,” I say. “Only, you get regular duty shifts and watches when you’re aboard - usually.”

  “That’s about it,” Mary nods. “It sounds like you’re finally getting back to your old self.”

  I haven’t thought about that in days. It’s as though something is forcing me to forget what the empty, dull feeling was like when I was released from grief therapy. Thinking further back is hard, like trying to remember being numb. Numbness is difficult to recall, because it feels like grasping at nothing and expecting a handful of substance. My sister is gone, my parents are gone, but I don’t feel abandoned or as if any of it was much of an event at all. In the present, as I look at Mary who is earnestly interested in my well being, I’m suddenly aware of what is going on. “I feel like I’m putting myself back together using available materials.”

  “Using Spanish and ancient reality television?” Isabel laughs. “We’ve got to find better building materials.”

  “That won’t be a problem,” Doctor Anderson says as he enters. “I hope you’ve enjoyed this impromptu vacation.” With a gesture he shuts the arguing holographic heads down. “As of this moment, the entertainment database is off limits,” he announces. “Even your private stash, Remmy.”

  “Damn. There goes my late night viewing.”

  “Instead, you’re going on a strict diet of First Light crew logs, action reports, and technical specifications. ITD, the Intelligence Training Database will also be available, and I suggest you start with a good look at Uumen. That’s where you’re going to be on your next mission. You’ll be off ship in five days if everything goes as planned.”

  “That’s a Regent Galactic world,” Isabel says as she sits up.

  “Technically it’s become an Order of Eden world, and the Issyrians aren’t happy about it. The solar system was originally theirs, and they lost it during corporate encroachment before they fully understood how our corporate system worked. Long story short, all the land is now owned by the Order and our target is hiding there, exactly where no one would expect him.”

  “Who is our target?” I ask.

  “Doctor William Marcelles, one of the lead developers of the framework technology,” Doctor Anderson answers.

  “I heard about that, it was in a communications watch brief a few years ago,” Remmy says. All evidence of the sour expression he had at the news of his beloved drama program being yanked away is gone. “Framework tech was to manpower as the atom bomb was to firepower. We were to immediately forward communications with any mention of it up to Intelligence. Nothing ever comes my way, though.”

  “That changes today,” Doctor Anderson says, bringing up a full height hologram of Jacob Valance. He’s wearing a dark long coat with flexible metal bands running across it. Their overlapping pattern hides sh
ield and cloaking emitters that, according to the contraband I reviewed, he developed himself in the field. His heavily armoured vacsuit looks similar to the hardiest Freeground combat armour, sporting the same type of shield emitter bands across its entire surface up to the headpiece. His headpiece is a thickened hood with a blackened transparent faceplate. “Vindyne had Doctor Marcelles develop an advanced version of Jonas Valent while they were both in captivity,” Doctor Anderson explained. “We suspect Marcelles programmed something into the copy, but have no way of discovering what that might be. Freeground tried to buy the research and the Valent copy from Vindyne when their corporation began to collapse, but it was too late. Alice, his former artificial intelligence, liberated the Valent copy thinking it was the real Jonas Valent and left him on a ship disguised as a derelict called the Samson.”

  “Wait, an AI did that alone?” asks Isabel. “She must have had help.”

  “Alice had somehow downloaded herself into a human host years before. Vindyne programmed the Jonas Valent copy just in case he got loose. When he woke up he thought his name was Jacob Valance, had social, combat, medical, and basic general information to draw on, and no idea who or what he was. Again, that was years ago, and now we know that copy as Jacob Valance, the bounty hunter and mercenary.”

  “Okay, so how is that info important to our next mission?” Remmy asks. “And will our chances of survival be better than last time?”

  Doctor Anderson laughs softly and nods. “Chances of survival will be better. Your field team will be retrieving Doctor Marcelles.”

  “What will the other teams be up to?”

  “They’re on other missions,” Doctor Anderson replies. “They won’t be in range to offer assistance if you find yourselves in trouble.”

  “What are we facing?” I ask. The idea of going down to an Order of Eden world, where any artificial intelligence could identify us as being non-members is daunting, to say the least.

  “The region Doctor Marcelles is hiding in has a low police presence, and light surveillance. He chose his hideouts fairly well, and has made friends out of the issyrian resistance there. Other than that, we don’t know anything about what you’ll be facing.”

  “What about the Order? They must be watching the area for people who haven’t paid for membership,” Mary asks.

  “They are, and we’ve managed to match each of you with identities in their databases. A lot of workers from the nearby Regent Galactic mining outfit travel there during their time off. A contact of mine provided me with the schedule and other details, including the transponder codes of the shuttle one of the miners uses on regular trips.”

  “That’s one hell of a contact,” Remmy said. “I want to be just like you when I grow up, Doctor Anderson.”

  “I’m assuming it’s too late to request a new comms officer?” Isabel asks. “I think ours is a little over contaminated by old dramas.”

  “Hey, that’s my cultural education you’re criticizing there,” Remmy retorted.

  “Okay, let’s take this a little more seriously, please,” Mary says. “So we’ll assume their identities and take their ship to the planet.”

  “Exactly.”

  As much as I’m getting comfortable despite my boredom, I’m glad it’s time to get back down to business. A quick glance at the directory representing years worth of information we’ve been given tells me there’s something bigger going on. The mission details are something we’ll have days to go over, but getting extra questions answered after Doctor Anderson leaves is another story. He is already turning to go, with one of those mild smiles on his face. “Why are you giving us all the information you have on Jacob Valance, Ayan Rice, the Samson crew, and even Colonel McPatrick’s nephew?”

  “I was wondering if you’d get to that,” he says, stopping and turning back towards me. “Your obsession with the crew of the First Light, and Jacob Valance makes you perfectly suited to study their activities away from Freeground.”

  “But why are we studying them?” I press. “Are we going to have direct contact?”

  Doctor Anderson thinks before answering, his gaze flicking between the four of us. “I can’t answer that right now, it’s too early. What I can tell you is that you’ll be encountering a few things they left behind. Doctor Marcelles is the first loose end we have to address. Having access to him will be a major boon for everyone, especially the four of you. Intelligence suspects that the framework technology has already been mass produced, meaning that the Order of Eden has an army of regenerating troops at the ready. They can be packed into bulk containers, transported as framework skeletons, then programmed with specific training and directives. There is an excellent chance that each different type of framework will have personalities that suit their tasks. When they’re needed the framework constructs can be dropped on site, subjected to incredible stresses along the way, surviving what no human in any suit could. On the ground they would materialize flesh, becoming regenerating human soldiers. A ship normally capable of carrying only a thousand troops could have ten times as many framework skeletons aboard.”

  “What happens when the job’s done and they don’t need them?” I ask, even though I suspect I already know the answer. I just need to hear it aloud.

  “There is a dematerialization sequence, where the framework skeleton stores the evolved personality of the individual, then hides and de-fleshes if it can’t march back aboard its transport.”

  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” Remmy says.

  “So Doctor Marcelles may know of a good way to shut them down? Remove them from the battlefield?” I ask.

  “We suspect as much,” Doctor Anderson says. “You’ll have everything you need to find him, but the Sunspire will be out of range, in hiding.”

  “Right,” Isabel says. “What’s to stop us from just going off mission and running?”

  “We’ll find you,” Doctor Anderson replies. “One of the other teams would have to take care of you, and trust me, I know exactly which one could do it.”

  “Contingencies,” Remmy says, stretching out in his seat. “Contingencies for their contingencies all backed up by an oh-my-God-it’s-all-gone-to-hell backup plan.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Doctor Anderson confirms. “I’m sorry, you’ll never find out exactly how we’re tracking you, and you won’t be free until I say you’re free. That’s the deal that kept two of you from being executed, and the other two from an indefinite prison stay.”

  “What are we offering Doctor Marcelles?” I ask.

  “A chance to get within scanning distance of Jacob Valance, a safe place to work for the rest of his life, and the resources of Special Projects,” Doctor Anderson replies. “Getting him back is one of the few objectives with broad support across both major parties. Meeting with our contact on Uumen will be the easy part, convincing Doctor Marcelles to leave might be more difficult.”

  “But there’s almost nothing here about where we’re going,” Remmy says as he looks through the mission brief.

  “That’s because we only know the route you’ll be taking once you land and roughly where our contact will be. You should spend any extra time reviewing logs from the First Light and Samson crews.”

  I spend a moment skimming through the mission brief myself and, like Remmy, am surprised at how short it is. Everything we absolutely need to get started is there, but that’s all. The Doctor is still here though, so I press on to get more information on another topic. “Can you prioritize this information for us a little?”

  “Start with Pandem,” Doctor Anderson says. “That’s where the Order of Eden started their first gathering colony, committed the worst crimes, and where the most relevant former First Light crew members reunited. The logs get interesting once they’re all back on board the Triton.”

  “Tell me we can watch this holographically,” Remmy says.

  “Any way you like, just begin with the major events,” Doctor Anderson replies as he makes to leave. His stride leave
s no time for another question, and I have more than I can count.

  It’s as if we were all eager for another assignment. Within minutes we’re all neck deep in study material. I start with the journey of Ayan Rice the second and Minh-Chu Buu to Pandem right away. Isabel is right beside me, watching my half metre tall holographic projection as the pair have their first conversation at the outset of their journey on Minh-Chu’s old ship. “I can’t believe they both just left Freeground,” she says. “I mean, Minh hadn’t finished his stress therapy, Ayan could have been a star as the first perfectly fabricated human being, and they just decided to chase Valent. They couldn’t even be sure what he’d be like when they got there.”

  “Jonas Valent saved their lives, and Minh was his best friend,” I tell her. “It makes sense to me.”

  “I’m sorry, it sounds selfish to me,” Isabel says. “Minh-Chu has a big family on Freeground, and he could have gotten back into Freeground Fleet as a decorated pilot. I’d kill for that kind of career bump.”

  “If there’s one thing the First Light crew had in common, it was loyalty,” I retort.

  “To a fault,” she replies. “I mean, they threw away everything and ended up on Pandem? Everyone who was able to get even a glance at the open Stellarnet from a nearby system knows that the place was a world wide slaughter.”

  “May as well go where the action is,” Remmy chuckled. “Turned out okay though.”

  “Idiot,” Isabel sighs. “Skip to the end, bonehead. They’re stranded on Tamber, a moon without any police, where you have to scrounge for food, clean water - it’s a disaster.”

  “But they saved hundreds, maybe thousands of people along the way,” Remmy replies. I know he’s arguing with information that he gleaned at a glance, neither of them have all the facts yet. “That’s what these people do, I think. On their first mission they saved an entire colony, Concordia, wasn’t it Clark?”