The Expendable Few: A Spinward Fringe Novel

by Randolph Lalonde

  The smell was overpowering. Samuel had to turn on his cybernetic air scrubber so he could breathe normally. It was the only thing he had left of his life before - a little backup breathing device that was implanted for a mission to the wrecked world of All-Con Prime. He thought he had seen the worst air of his life there: sulphur dust, toxic compounds they hadn’t named yet, and the rot of an entire army. The issyrian stronghold, really a collection of utility tunnels and dug out rooms, was so much worse.

  “You’re Isabel, aren’t you?” Jack Kipley asked the pilot, who remained in her flight suit - helmet and all. It looked like a crude version of their vacsuits.

  Other than the fact that she was female and roughly the same shape as Isabel Fonte, there was no certainty that Kipley was right. He could be discovering a whole new way to insult an issyrian, for all he knew.

  “I watched the whole neural transcription of you, more than once,” Kipley said enthusiastically. “I’m a huge fan.”

  The helmeted pilot turned to him and stopped. “You don’t belong here. None of you do.”

  “Hey, I’m just a tourist, sister,” Kipley replied defensively.

  “No such thing. You have fewer rights than the dead, watch your step,” she told him.

  “Okay, sorry,” he muttered.

  Her words made up for what she lacked in physical presence. It was difficult for Samuel to suppress the notion that the half light seemed darker, and the walls felt closer.

  Davi decided it was time to begin digging for a little more information. “I’m still wondering; how did you alter the report without fragmenting the neural record? I’ve never heard of anyone succeeding before.”

  “Who says the record was tampered with? Doesn’t this look familiar?” Remmy asked.

  It was true; the caves they were passing through did match what Patterson experienced. Everyone’s perception was different, so there was some room for his experience to differ, but what Davi was seeing passed. It still didn’t explain the changes that took place since Patterson’s death. In the space of three weeks, the three people left in his team managed to integrate into the issyrian underground, and Davi couldn’t say why, but he’d find it intriguing if he weren’t stuck right in the middle of the situation. “I’m surprised you weren’t locked in a room for a month for debriefing.”

  “What they want Marcelles for is too important,” Remmy explained. “Or maybe they’re just sore about losing him in the first place, I don’t know. The more time I spend here, the less I care about what Intelligence wants and why. I think losing Clark has a lot to do with it. Whether it was the way they rewired his head or just the way he was, he kept on mission. I couldn’t help but admire that.”

  “So, even though you’ve been here for weeks, you’re still on mission?” Davi asked as quietly as he could.

  “No, I’m telling you I found a mission here, and what I couldn’t say on the Sunspire is that I’m going to see it through,” Remmy replied.

  “What’s the mission?”

  “You’ll see,” Remmy said.

  “I was sorry to hear about Patterson, he was a good man,” Davi said, setting his other questions aside for a moment.

  “We miss him,” Remmy replied.

  “So if the record was right, why do these issyrians seem…” Davi considered his next word carefully, afraid to insult anyone who might overhear, “different?”

  Remmy dropped back so he could walk beside Davi. “Most issyrians don’t like to fight. They don’t even get angry really, especially since disputes are handled quickly when they’re in the pond.”

  “But this is different,” Davi said, urging him to continue.

  “Yeah, they look pissed,” Kipley added.

  “No filter between your brain and mouth, is there?” Remmy asked Kipley. “Not much of a brain, either.”

  “I run and gun just fine,” Kipley growled in return. “That’s what matters.”

  “Shut it down, Kipley,” Davi said. He turned back to Remmy. “You were saying?”

  “About?” Remmy asked, then remembered what they were talking about before his exchange with Kipley. “Right, angry issyrians. They get vengeance, and loss, especially here, but it takes a long time to develop into something they feel like acting on. They usually run from problems. Issyrians are pros at founding colonies, they can do it just about anywhere. They can’t escape this though, the Order is keeping them here so they can be exterminated.”

  “So they’re cornered and getting, well, pissed,” Davi concluded for him.

  “That’s true, but it’s not how they found their anger. Someone had to show them how to be angry, what it’s like to want real revenge. When Doctor Marcelles joined the purified clutches down here he shared his emotions. No issiryan has felt human anger, or our brand of - what did he call it?” Remmy asked no one in particular.

  “Indignation,” answered the pilot who led the way.

  “Right, indignation is the word Marcelles used,” Remmy continued. “From that point on, things changed. If we weren’t here, these guardians would have torn you to pieces by now. Ever see an issyrian grow claws?”

  As he rejoined the pilot in leading the way, Davi caught a glimpse of an issyrian grinning in the shadows, holding his hands up so the steely, nine centimetre long claws glinted briefly. They were listening, they were watching, and any misstep would lead to a sudden end, no matter how well prepared they were.

  “No way we’re making this work with plan B,” whispered Jed Rembrant. Everyone called him Judge, a nickname that came straight out of boot camp. “The report was off, or things have changed, big time.”

  “They can hear you,” Samuel Davi said in the lowest whisper he could manage. Broad blue, green, yellow, and red eyes turned towards them as they came to the central chamber. It was as shown in the report, the only difference was the light level. There was only just enough illumination coming from the corners so they didn’t trip over each other. The sounds of rushing water underfoot drew the eye to the dark roiling pool beneath the open grates. “We have to assume we’re being overheard.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Judge said. “The Intelligence bitch walked us into a shit storm that’s just over the horizon. We put our cards down or have ‘em pulled for us. We’ve got nothing that can surprise these people.”

  “By surprises, you mean the two cloaked soldiers with you?” Remmy said as he turned around. “Freeground hasn’t invented the cloaksuit that can fool a few thousand issyrians.”

  Samuel Davi didn’t know whether to take Remmy’s smile as good humour or a sign that things were about to turn bad.

  “And there it is,” Judge whispered with finality. “Our hand on the table.”

  “No malice intended,” Davi said. “Also not my idea, but I’ll be accountable for it. It’s my job to take the fall.”

  Two Freeground marines appeared bearing rifles to match their cloaksuits.

  “You’re going to clear your suits’ personalization settings and security codes, then strip,” Remmy told them. “I always wanted a high grade cloaksuit.”

  Isabel removed her helmet and shook her head. “Estúpidos soldados,” she muttered, walking off towards one of the many adjacent halls.

  “The one named Samuel Davi will come with me,” said an issyrian Davi immediately recognized as Emiss, the guide who brought Patterson and everyone else in the first group to Trest, the city of the Issyrian Underground.

  “Coming with you, boss,” Judge said, handing his weapons off to Kipley.

  “Wait, me too,” Kipley replied, trying to pass Judge’s sidearm off to one of the officers who were removing their cloaksuits.

  “No, you’re not,” Davi said firmly. “You’re going to go wherever they tell you, keep the commentary to yourself, and do exactly what they tell you to do.”

  “Aw, hell no!” Kipley said, anger mixed with panic. “This mission is blown already and you knew it would go sideways from the start. So you forget to warn me then leave me al
one?”

  Judge fixed him with a look that could stop a tsunami and grabbed the neck of his cheap, fluorescent blue shirt. “Stop, listen, learn. You got me?”

  Kipley swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah.”

  Judge let him go and rejoined Davi.

  Emiss was different from the report. Her skin was so dark blue it reminded Davi of the flesh of a black olive. She walked ahead with little concern for the pair following her. The air cleared as they passed through an elbow in the hall that created a barrier with forced air that nearly blew them off their feet. They passed many rooms with humans. They were as well armed as the issyrians, and visibly destitute.

  “Nothing in the report about this,” Judge said.

  “Nope. Shannon was right.”

  Emiss twitched at the name, hundreds of fine celia momentarily appearing then standing up on the back of her neck and head.

  “You know of her?” Davi asked, relieved at possibly finding an easy entry into dialog with their guide. “You’ve heard of Shannon from Freeground Intelligence?”

  “Yes, I was told about her,” Emiss admitted. They came to a broad set of double doors that were pockmarked by chemical corrosion. “Here, the purification room.”

  The doors slid open and Emiss invited them to proceed ahead of her. “Who are you taking us to see?” asked Davi.

  “Someone who is more popular than he ought to be,” Doctor Marcelles said as he made his way down a long metal stair that rattled with every footfall. It was almost exactly like the large chamber they saw earlier, only cleaner, brighter. Issyrians of every size could be seen through the grate underfoot, swimming in cleaner waters. “Samuel Davi and Jed Rembrant,” Doctor Marcelles said once he reached the bottom. The hard plates that covered him in the neural recording were gone. He still had dark, blade like protrusions that ran parallel to his leftover human skeletal structure, but they were sleek features. His face looked more issyrian than human, but it was still unmistakably Marcelles. Unlike most of the issyrians they’d seen since arriving on the planet, the Doctor seemed at peace, even cordial.

  Davi struggled through his surprise and shook the doctor’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. Ready to come home?” Davi asked with a smile.

  “To Freeground? That hasn’t been home for a long time,” he replied, shaking Judge’s hand. “But I will go with you conditionally.”

  “That’s more than I expected,” Davi replied. “What conditions?”

  “Not so fast, Freegrounder,” Marcelles said with a knowing smirk. “My questions come first. What is your mission here? You can’t have come just for me.”

  Davi hesitated a moment, becoming very aware of the other issyrians who were slowly gathering.

  “You’re choosing your details carefully,” Marcelles said, taking a step back. “Which only means you hold back. That’s not encouraging.”

  “Our orders are to bring you back with us, and failing that, we’re to capture any data or samples here. Leave nothing the enemy can use behind,” Davi said.

  “Go with you or die,” Marcelles translated with a nod. “Have my life’s work pillaged. The people I love assailed in their own home. How long did they give you?”

  “Three days,” Davi said.

  “Barely enough time to pack,” Marcelles said.

  “You can’t go with them,” Emiss said, her eyes narrowing at the visitors. “The truth they’re telling makes me wish they were lying.”

  “Is it?” Marcelles asked Judge specifically. “Is everything you’re saying the whole truth?”

  “We’re not here to join in on a fool’s war,” Judge said. “Intelligence doesn’t believe in your cause, only what you can teach us.”

  “A fool’s war,” Marcelles repeated. “What if I could tell you that there is a way to make this world useless to the Order of Eden? Turn the forested paradise they’re trying to create here into a hostile hell?”

  “I’d say-” Davi started.

  The doctor interrupted him, his long fingers falling on Judge’s shoulder. “I’d like to hear my answers from this one.”

  Judge seemed neither impressed nor surprised by the preference and replied; “Scorched earth. That’s the Order’s answer there. What they can’t have they’ll ruin for everyone else. Probably mine it to the core and leave the burning rock behind.”

  “See? Direct! Straight to the core of the matter,” Marcelles said to Emiss. “This man must be a recent addition to the ranks of Freeground Intelligence.”

  “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” replied Emiss. “We have the capsules, we even have people in place.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Marcelles said. “Even though Judge here may be right, something must be done. The people here have created a biological weapon that will introduce several diseases into the ecosystem. The forests the Order have been planting here would be destroyed. There is a lack of biodiversity in the plants that they use, and we will take advantage of that vulnerability. After they are destroyed, the issyrians will be left to purify the clutches.”

  “We could not have done it without you, Doctor,” Emiss reminded him.

  “They would have figured out a replication and delivery system eventually, my contribution is miniscule.”

  “How can we help?” Judge asked.

  Davi shot him a warning glance.

  “Hypothetically,” Judge corrected. “I have to consult my C.O.”

  “Once your own people here trust you - Remmy, Mary, and Isabel - then I will find a place for you in our plan,” Doctor Marcelles answered.

  “What’s your timetable?” Davi asked.

  “There is no reason to wait. I’ll consult the surviving elders, but I suspect they’ll agree that we can accomplish this within your three day limit.”

  “Why Port Gibblin?”

  “If a capsule went off there, the contents would be carried across the entire hemisphere by their atmospheric terraforming towers,” Doctor Marcelles said. “It is the perfect target, and with your well made fake identification, you might have enough time to pull it off.”

  “Why not send your own humans?” Davi said. “I’m sure they’d clear security.”

  “Remmy, Mary, Isabel, and I are the only humans here.”

  Chapter 20 - Interesting Guests Need Not Appear

  Doctor Carl Anderson’s office had increasingly become the last place he wanted to be. Shannon insisted their status updates take place there. She didn’t have an office, insisting she learned more about people by visiting them instead. He had never disagreed with one person so frequently in all his life. The Intelligence Officer operated in the interest of progress regardless of the cost in manpower or moral standing.

  “So, how large does a team have to be to get Doctor Marcelles off that planet?” she asked.

  Doctor Anderson already had the emotional leverage in the conversation. He was the more experienced one in the room, and after losing so many officers, criminals or not, he had grown bold with her. One word in the wrong or right direction and the frustration she’d been controlling would come out in some indignant declaration. It was time to provoke her, set her off and see what came out. He put his feet up on his empty desk. “We could always send a platoon of cloaked marines in, maybe lend them a hand with the upcoming mission. You know that old saying; ‘if you can’t beat ‘em…’”

  “This mission is holding everything back,” Shannon said. “If we get involved with this planetary war we’ll be choosing the wrong side against the Order of Eden. We can’t afford to make any move that can be seen as a declaration of support for the issyrians. The people I represent specifically instructed me to ensure that we don’t get involved in exterior politics.”

  “A selfish clause on any mandate, not to mention short sighted,” Carl Anderson said. “We know our advanced cloaksuit teams can assist the people we have down there without being detected by Order of Eden sensor grids. We even have the ships to get them there.”

  “We don’
t know anything for certain. The testing you’ve done has been very limited,” Shannon replied.

  “Because you won’t let any of our teams get close enough to Order of Eden installations to perform real tests,” Doctor Anderson replied. Talking in circles infuriated the Oversight Officer.

  “Don’t try to lure me into an argument, it’ll get you nowhere,” Shannon said. “The Order has issyrians on their side as well. Healthy issyrians who benefit from intensive medical assistance,” Shannon retorted. “An assault would fail, evidence of our involvement would surface.”

  “So even though the nano recorders we smuggled in on Davi and his people have shown us that the strike and fade tactics they’re using down there are working, and they’re planning something big that will go down with or without us, you’re not going to give me a few men to help seal the deal? If they fail, the consequences could be worse than our direct involvement.”

  “There are over sixteen million humans down there. Many of them are soldiers, more of them are recruits, and the majority of them are hardened colonists. One platoon wouldn’t make any difference. It would make a big difference to this ship, however. We’d be down to two platoons of trusted soldiers, further unbalancing the ratio of trustworthy military to traitors and malcontents aboard. Your train of thought does not lead to a guarantee that we will come out of this endeavour with any real improvement in our abilities to fight off a framework incursion, or to bolster Freeground Nation’s defensive position in the galaxy.”

  “You and the Purity Party are paranoid,” Doctor Anderson said, not for the first time. “This framework army that’s got you so terrified doesn’t exist. No Intelligence Officer, no matter where they are stationed, has ever seen evidence of framework soldiers. The framework army Freeground Intelligence has been predicting for years hasn’t materialized. They are not willing to spend the resources when they have a ready supply of Order of Eden recruits. It’s that army you should be worrying about.”