Crimson Worlds: 07 - The Shadow Legions

by Jay Allan

  “I am General Cain.” He sat down, pulling the chair under him as he did. “You can call me Erik.”

  “You are a primary target.” Anderson-45 spoke directly, without emotion. “Cain, Erik Daniel, General.” There was no hostility in his voice.

  “Do you wish to kill me?” Cain’s voice didn’t show any anger or concern, just curiosity. The prisoner hadn’t made any aggressive moves…and Cain doubted whether he could have even raised his head.

  “Wish?” The prisoner’s voice changed slightly, the deadpan tone becoming quizzical, questioning. “No, I do not think I wish any harm to come to you. I am a prisoner, and I have not been mistreated. My code of honor requires that I respond to your respectful treatment in kind.”

  “Is that part of your training?” Cain looked questioningly at the wounded soldier. He was certain that no soldiers trained by Gavin Stark would pay any attention to something so quaint as a code of honor.

  Anderson-45 sat quietly, not responding at first. Finally he turned his head slowly and looked at Cain. “No, it is not from my training. I am not permitted to discuss any specifics of my training. That is classified information.” He paused. “It is from…elsewhere.”

  “Elsewhere?”

  “Yes. It is from the other thoughts.”

  Cain glanced toward Sarah then back to the wounded enemy soldier. “Other thoughts?”

  “Yes, the background thoughts. Those separate from my training.” He turned his head back from Cain, lying still, staring at the ceiling. “The background thoughts are intermittent. They are sporadic, difficult to understand at times. They are often cloudy, hard to retrieve. They are part of the others.”

  “The others?”

  “Yes, the things I remember, but only sometimes. Memories of places I have never been. I have been told they are waking dreams, that they have no significance. But I do not believe this is the case. I can tell…I can feel it. They are somehow real, though I cannot explain further.”

  “Erik, I think it would be best if Anderson-45 rested for a while. His wounds were quite serious.”

  Cain nodded. “I think Dr. Linden is correct. You sleep, and we will talk more later.”

  “Thank you, general.” The captured clone closed his eyes and exhaled strongly. “I am quite fatigued.”

  Cain turned toward Sarah, and the two walked wordlessly through the door and out into the bright afternoon sunshine.

  “Let’s walk a little.” Cain motioned away from the portable structure that housed their only captive. When they had moved fifty or sixty meters he turned back toward Sarah. “OK…we should have some privacy here. What the hell was all that?”

  “I suspect it is a side effect of the knowledge transfer process. When they attempted to isolate the memories that contained the combat experience of the subjects, they were probably unable to completely exclude other thoughts and experiences.” Sarah’s voice had an odd tone. She was horrified at what had been done, how these soldiers had been created and used so callously. But she was fascinated at the science behind it and anxious to learn more. “Think about what makes a veteran soldier. It’s an incredibly complex combination of training, modified by experiences, memories, interactions.” She put her hand on Cain’s arm. “Think about yourself. Can you segregate the knowledge that drives your command ability from personal beliefs and memories of interactions with other people?”

  Cain shook his head. “I doubt it.” He forced a brief smile for her. “But my mind is a cluttered mess, so I’d look for a better example.”

  She returned the smile, though only for an instant. “I’m serious, Erik. This may be very important in learning how to deal with these soldiers. Think about our guest.” She deliberately avoided a term like prisoner. “He is strictly abiding by the obvious requirements of his duty. He won’t discuss enemy dispositions, plans, strengths, or anything else of direct military significance. Nothing. But on any other subject you could be having lunch with him. He seems to bear us no ill will.”

  “It does seem odd.” Cain’s expression turned thoughtful. “What do you think it means?”

  “Well, for one he seems to be extraordinarily underdeveloped in many emotional areas. Anderson-45 is perfectly pleasant in a conversation. I get no feeling of any anger, frustration, resentment. We’ve killed how many of his comrades? He’s a prisoner of war, probably the first ever taken from his army. Yet he doesn’t seem to care very much.” She rubbed her forehead, pulling back a wispy strand of reddish blonde hair. “I’d wager he would fight to the death to protect a comrade but have no significant reaction or emotional response if the soldier was killed. He’d just move on, follow his training logically.”

  “So you are saying these clones have an almost verbatim copy of the objective aspects of military training and tactics? You fight to save a comrade not for any emotional reason but simply because that’s what training and doctrine dictate?” Cain was beginning to get an idea what she was trying to explain. “But the experience of a veteran isn’t segregated as easily from other thoughts…even emotions? If you want a raw recruit, you can make him almost emotionless, but if you are trying to copy a veteran, some other aspects come along with the package.”

  She nodded. “Essentially, that is what I am saying.” She glanced back toward the modular structure. “We have no idea how much emotional…” – she hesitated, trying to think of the right word – “…baggage comes along with the essential knowledge. I suppose that would depend on how advanced the process is, how able it is to dig deeply and finely segregate thoughts and memories. But if I was forced to guess, I’d say considerable unintended information comes along. It is probably deeply suppressed, but it is there nevertheless.

  Cain stood quietly, listening to everything she was saying, and he couldn’t help but be impressed. He loved Sarah Linden, but that had nothing to do with this. She was a brilliant scientist, the youngest senior medical officer in Corps history. He needed the best from everyone he had, and she was no exception. Right now he wasn’t looking at her as a lover or a friend. She was one of his smartest and most capable subordinates, and he needed the best she had to offer.

  “Are you saying it is possible to reach them…to negotiate, convince them we are not their enemies?” Cain’s tone was skeptical, but only moderately so.

  “I suppose…in theory. In practice, we are nowhere close to that. Realistically, we may be able to get some information, develop some tactics to exploit their weaknesses, the…mmm…the blindspots in their thought processes.”

  “Anything would help.” Cain looked down at the ground. There was something in the back of his mind, something unsettling. Were these really enemies? Or helpless slaves created to fight, without the ability to choose or make moral decisions? If they attacked his people, he would try to destroy them, of course, but the usual fury he felt toward his enemies was starting to crack. “Sarah, I need you to learn as much about these…people…as you can.” He paused. “I know how you feel about the wounded, but you have to turn control of the field hospitals over to Major Ving.” His voice was tentative. He was half-expecting a verbal tirade from her.

  “Yes, Erik.” She said softly, a touch of sadness in her voice, perhaps, but no argument. “I agree.” Her mind was already wandering, putting together theories and guesses to explore. “And Erik?”

  “Yes?”

  “It would help if we could get a few more prisoners.”

  He forced a smile, thinking, I had to kill 20,000 of them to get this one. “I’ll do my best,” is all he said.

  “Are you sure?” Cain’s expression was hard to read. There was anger there, certainly, but also confusion…and even sadness. He’d spoken extensively with Anderson-45. The prisoner was a little odd, but that was understandable considering how he had come into being and acquired his training. Overall, Cain had found the captive to be quite likeable, despite the fact that a few days before he’d been leading troops against the Marines. He certainly didn’t feel like an enemy,
though he steadfastly refused to provide any information on the invasion forces.

  Sarah had a blank expression on her face. She’d run the tests three times, wondering for an instant if her exhaustion was clouding her interpretation. No, she thought…it wasn’t. Her data was correct. “Yes.” Her voice was quiet, sad. “As sure as I can be. Anderson-45’s DNA has been modified, probably as part of the accelerated maturation process. The accelerated growth seems to have worked perfectly, though not without causing other damage.” She paused again. “The side effects of the program appear to be quite severe. Greatly accelerated aging is the most extreme. By my calculations, Anderson-45 will be too ‘old’ to serve by age 28 or 29, and he will probably die in his early 30s…at the latest.”

  “Is there any way to treat this?” Cain wasn’t sure why he was worried about prolonging the lives of his enemies. It was sympathy, perhaps pity. He was beginning to understand that these soldiers were only pawns, produced to fight as slaves and then die to be replaced by a new batch. Experience wasn’t an issue when you could simply download it directly into the mind of a fresh soldier right out of the growth tanks.

  Sarah shook her head sadly. “No, Erik. The damage is permanent. Anderson-45 and all of the other clones will have a severely reduced lifespan. With the chromosomal damage, I don’t even think rejuv treatments would have an effect. He will die before his 31st birthday…his 32nd at the latest.”

  Cain stood stone still, his mind racing. His confusion was rapidly turning to anger. He’d seen the brutality of war and fought many enemies. The wars between the Superpowers had seen their share of atrocities, but they had been political conflicts at their core. Even the First Imperium, xenocidal as it was, considered humanity to be the aggressors…and their soldiers were machines, not sentient beings created to fight as slaves. But this was different. Any enemy who would create disposable human beings to wage a war of pure conquest was indefensible. Cain knew in that instant his enemy was pure evil.

  “Erik…” - Sarah’s voice was distant at first, working its way through his thoughts – “do you think we should tell him?

  Cain looked over at her, but he didn’t reply at first. Finally, he said, “Yes. He has a right to know. Whatever his masters may think, he is a human being.” Is that why you want to tell him, he asked himself…or do you just hope the shock of it all may get him to cooperate more? Cain had no pretensions. He knew that victory came at a cost. Always. And, more often than not, that cost was to become disturbingly like your enemy. Cain knew his motives were different than his adversary’s, but he also knew he was likely to do whatever was necessary to win.

  He took a step toward Sarah and put his hand on her arm. “Let’s go see him now.”

  Sarah looked uncertain. “Erik, maybe we should wait until he is stronger.”

  “No,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended. “Let’s do it…”

  The comlink crackled to life, cutting him off. “General Cain…” – it was Claren, and his voice was clearly shaken – “…the warp gate surveillance satellite transmitted a scanning report, and then it was destroyed.” The aide’s voice was silent, but only for a few seconds. “We have an enemy fleet inbound from the gate. A big one.”

  Cain felt his chest tighten. He was far from sure he could hold out against the enemy forces already onplanet…if a fresh invasion force landed there was no chance. None at all. He felt a flush of despair then pushed it quickly into the recesses of his mind. Hopeless or not, he’d be damned if his people were going down without a fight. “Get me General Merrick. Now.” Merrick was commanding the line along the Graywater…a strong defensive position, but one the enemy could easily compromise with a new landing to the north of the great waterway.

  “Yes, sir.” There was a pause, 4 or 5 seconds. “General Merrick on your line, sir.”

  Cain took a deep breath. “Isaac…I need you to get your people buttoned up and moving north. ASAP.” He paused then added, “The shit’s about to hit the fan.”

  To be continued in:

  Crimson Worlds VIII: Even Legends Die