Koban: The Mark of Koban

by Stephen W Bennett

  “If the brain had been able to process the inbound information faster, we believe the fast outbound signal back to a muscle connected to the new nerves would be generated significantly sooner, thus improving on the factor of five speed increase.” However, he wasn’t finished yet.

  “As you know, the next generation Kobani will be born with this parallel nervous system in place by inheritance. In addition, those children will be able to accept a modification to the neural network tissue that can actually respond to the faster signals to and from the brain. The enhanced musculature they will inherit from the parents will respond faster, but with no more strength than we already gave to poor old slow Thad and Dillon here.”

  “Thanks. I think. I hope you meant physically slow.”

  “I did Thad,” Rafe replied, grinning. “The dual passing of ‘ghost’ signals, as we are calling the slower old nerve impulses, will be present in the SG kids, but they will be able to react faster using the superconducting nerves. Instead of a premonition, they should experience a sense of déjà vu when the slower signal arrives and they have already finished the action.”

  Aldry was swayed somewhat, but still had a question concerning mental stability for a human subject. “You don’t think that Thad or Dillon, being aware that far ahead of the action needed and unable to execute the action, won’t be driven a bit nuts? If you don’t mind a nonscientific description of a condition I have no training to analyze.”

  “That’s something we can pose to the one psychologist and two psychiatrists at Hub City,” Rafe proposed.

  “Rafe,” Aldry answered, “they went there because they are opposed to our project. Do you really think you can convince them to become part of helping us be more successful?”

  “It doesn’t matter Aldry,” Dillon interjected. “We have to try this, or else our whole survival plan for humans on Koban is out the window. Despite a wisecrack that I know Maggi would deliver in rebuttal, Thad and I are aware of what’s happening. Unlike the ignorant animals were.”

  He raised a warning eyebrow at Aldry as she appeared about to fill-in for the absent feisty Maggi Fisher. She smiled and held her tongue.

  “Thad and I survived our last hunt by dumb luck and fast thinking. We will never match a whiteraptor in strength, but greater speed and strength would allow our grandchildren to react fast enough to use the weapons and defenses we already have. If I’d had five times as much mental preparation available to consider my first shot at that beast, as it climbed the rocks, and the physical ability to hold my aim steadier, it would never have reached us.”

  “Does Noreen know you plan to do this?” Aldry asked. “Maggi informs me the two of you have discussed, as she quaintly put it, ‘tying the knot’ soon.”

  Puzzled and blank looks from Thad and Rafe made Aldry laugh. “That means the same thing as ‘signing the line’ means today, Gentle Men. Maggi likes using archaic terms when she has a chance to put those dumbfounded expressions on anyone’s face.”

  Dillon had taken the unusual and normally brazen step for a male, of offering to sign a marriage-with-children contract with Noreen. Gentle Men traditionally accepted such offers from Ladies.

  In this case, he had needed to know her personal position on the genetic modifications he was planning to accept. If she weren’t interested in a contract for children after he had ‘gone Koban,’ as it was described, then he would not volunteer for this next step. He loved her more than long-term survival meant to him.

  However, she had enthusiastically agreed, followed by another of their exhausting marathon love fests. It was Jungle boy versus Queen of the Jungle fantasy time.

  Noreen had wanted to volunteer with him, but Dillon insisted that the contract signing and her own modification had to await the results of his and Thad’s first Koban gene mods. She would return from Hub City before implementation of the new program.

  Aldry relented, since she had no more arguments to present, and there were certainly no better-informed volunteers. Thad had agreed at every step, and so they now had the first two human subjects ready to “go Koban.”

  ****

  The shuttle deposited the sling load of fresh meat near the north entrance of the Hub City dome, with a number of eager residents ready to unhook the provisions.

  Looking at the dome, it struck Mirikami by how uniform the Krall were in all of their structures. On reflection, there was sameness in Clanships, shuttlecraft, trucks, weapons, in fact everything he had seen of their artless society.

  The closest he had encountered to literature for the Krall were histories of their conquests, instruction and operating manuals, and inventories of equipment and supplies. The histories themselves might contain a bit of art, since he’d observed a tendency to interlace facts with exaggerated details to enhance a warrior’s accomplishments, or a clan’s greatness.

  Krall technology all seemed manufactured from standard designs, apparently produced by slave labor unless there was a class of Krall humans had not seen.

  These unfeeling creatures didn’t name the places they lived or their ships, since they were merely objects to use. Similarly, a human had no personalized name for a hairbrush, shoe, or a Tri-Vid hologram system. The Krall used words that described these things, that told where they were located, or which clan used them, but didn’t assign names to them. Conversely, the Krall did use the human names for things and places when they spoke Standard.

  The dome for Hub City was simply a scaled up version of the one at Prime City. It had the same fusion plants and furnishings (few of the latter), wheeled and tracked ground transports, and a ringed outer wall and electric fence. The outer compound here extended out to a roughly forty-two mile radius, except for a cut-out where it met the sea. This provided almost three times the original walled area that Prime City had.

  The Krall had not blasted their gates open here when they left, or destroyed their fusion plants as they had at the human compound. To make the dome habitable, they had needed only one of the human fusion bottles to provide the startup current to reinitiate fusion reactions in the three Krall power systems.

  Clearly, the Krall never expected humans to make it away from the opened up and exposed compound where they left them to die. In their version of efficiency, they saw no reason to destroy another compound that might be useful to them at some unspecified future date.

  “Tet, look at her,” Noreen indicated through the cockpit windscreen as Jorl’sn set them down on the tarmac. “Cahill is waiting at that tiny grandstand for you, wearing blue robes, of all things. You should have worn your Smart Fabric formal uniform.”

  Before Mirikami could respond, Maggi shot that notion down. “No, your casual civilian attire is fine, Tet. She has dressed herself almost exactly like a Presidential appointed Governor of a New Colony world. That little dais deliberately has room only for her and the three cronies with her. They are people she appointed to ceremonial positions, present just to kiss her ass and make her look important. Expect a handpicked spontaneous crowd to be ready to trot out to listen to her. ” Maggi snorted her distain.

  “Tetsuo Mirikami,” she spoke to him firmly, “you will for once, accept my political advice. I strongly urge you to wave politely to her as you walk directly past her and into the dome. March straight to their Great Auditorium, climb up on one of the tables that you shipped here, and address the people that you came to feed. You are not her uniformed delivery boy answering her summons, to stand obediently at her feet.”

  Now Mirikami knew why the shrewd little woman had talked him out of wearing a utility uniform today when he insisted on making the trip.

  “I assure you, for our future good relations with these people, you must make them identify you, and Prime City, as their actual benefactors, and not Cahill the politician. She’ll look ridiculous as she gathers her flowing robes and scurries down to hurry after you with her groupies in trail. When she arrives, you’ll be standing on a table already speaking to the people, and looking down at h
er. The three of us will be standing on the bench seats, and slightly lower. Cahill will not be able to clamber up to try to dominate the moment. Your casual informality will be warmly received, more so than her puffed up obvious display of self-importance. Don’t you dare call her Governor?” She looked him right in the eyes, to see if he had received her message.

  “OK, Maggi.” Tet agreed with a nod. “I’ll follow your suggestion, because it’s good advice. Besides, I forgot to borrow a cup from Dillon and I don’t want to get whacked in the groin.”

  The three Ladies laughed delightedly at the remark. Maggi was known for her physical retaliations on her younger scientific protégé. The two frequently sparred verbally, but the diminutive little old woman often resorted to thumping Dillon on his prominently and fashionably displayed groin. Dillon had taken to wearing an athletic cup.

  Socially, men had become somewhat peacock-like in society, a custom deriving from a male population more-than-decimated by the Gene War, which nearly ended the human race less than three generations ago. Fashion trends had led to many men wearing flamboyantly colored clothing, which displayed their physiques if they were well proportioned, and placed brightly colored accent patches over their manhood. This advertised their reproductive value to the Ladies in the social market place.

  Dillon possessed brilliant scientific credentials, which unfortunately qualified him as a geek in any age. Therefore, the young full professor had overcompensated by wearing the fashionable clothing of an available stud advertising his “wares.” A former Ladies man, he was now a one-Lady-man with Noreen Renaldo, the First Officer on the Flight of Fancy.

  However, absent a clothing store or tailor on Koban, his larger than average frame was stuck with the wardrobe he’d brought with him when the Krall captured the Flight of Fancy. Maggi treated Dillon’s accent patches as her bull’s eye, for rebuttals that abruptly ended discussions.

  No sooner than the shuttle hatch raised and its four occupants stepped onto the pavement, fifteen or twenty people exited from under the overhang of the dome entrance, right on cue.

  “She isn’t as popular as she pretends,” Maggi said in an aside to the others. “With nearly fifteen thousand claimed supporters, this is all she could call on to listen to her little welcoming speech?” The gloating chuckle sounded all too much like Maggi was going to enjoy the day.

  The four, with Tet a step ahead, started for the dome, their path naturally passing well in front of the small dais, actually beyond the small cluster of congregants watching them with suspicion.

  Mirikami noticed with alarm that although his armed group carried Krall made pistols and human made neural Jazzers, he couldn’t see a single weapon on any of Cahill’s people. They were outside with no protection. Were they crazy? His own group was looking up and around, whereas these people were only watching him.

  He glanced up and saw that as usual, when they saw activity at a human habitat, two squadrons of wolfbats were circling overhead. Not flying as high as the fliers did at Prime City, where residents there often took shots at them. Former captives there always watched for these bat-like dog-sized intelligent hellions, having lost too many people to their attacks.

  Winter cold wasn’t the only reason that Skeeters were less prevalent closer to the coast. The potentially killer pests apparently preferred a jungle as a breeding ground, such as Prime City had nearby. Nevertheless, the milder climate of Hub City, provided by the warm ocean currents, allowed more cold weather active time for the stinging eighteen-inch wide bloodsuckers. It was shirtsleeve weather here today, and sunny. What were these fools going to do if either of those threats appeared, swat them with their bare hands?

  The small crowd divided as the four approached, clearly forming a lane for them to walk up to the dais, to “report” to their self-described Governor. This would put the militia-like leader of the lawless Prime City element in front of the representative of Hub law on Koban, surrounded by her supporters. Only it didn’t happen that way.

  Glancing down the human aisle at Cahill, Mirikami nodded and waved cheerfully, as he continued towards the dome entrance.

  Maggi also beamed her sweetest smile, like an arrow to the heart of her bitter rival from the original Board of Directors of the University consortium. Maggi had wrested the Chairfemship of that Board from Cahill.

  The same Board that had organized the charter of the Flight of Fancy, for its uncompleted scientific trek to Midwife, a now destroyed remote biological research station found by the Krall. To Cahill’s mind, Maggi was the reason she found herself stranded on Koban. The Chairfem’s rival now knew research at the remote station was actually to hide outlawed genetic research for human colonization efforts.

  Flabbergasted, Cahill watched her adversaries simply pass by her carefully arranged ambush. “Stop,” she shouted, sounding desperate. “We are meeting out here, in the…, uh, beautiful sun light.” She considered trying to order him back, but knew that wouldn’t work and would only serve to show how little power she had.

  She pulled up her blue robe’s trailing hem, and called for the three ministers on the platform to help her down in this damned dangerous gravity. She had ordered the platform’s height built to place her feet at Mirikami’s eye level, forcing him to have to look up sharply at his superior. Now she also had to call on those below to support her, with hands gracelessly placed on her backside, to help lower her awkwardly to the tarmac.

  Her supporters, some smirking despite themselves, pulled back to permit her to lead them in the rush to catch Mirikami and his “lieutenants” before they entered the dome. The Prime City criminals were walking rapidly, clearly taking advantage of the illegal gene modifications they had used on themselves.

  Like a trail of ants following their queen, her followers fell in behind her as she made the best speed she could to catch the four about to enter her city uninvited. In an effort to delay them Cahill called out. “Show some manners and civility when visiting someone’s home.”

  Mirikami glanced back at the shout, but Maggi said in an undertone, “Don’t pause or answer her Tet.”

  She was dismayed when Tet stopped and turned to face Cahill and her minions. In fact, Noreen and Jorl’sn followed suit. Had none of them listened to her advice? She had no choice but to do the same, since she wasn’t going to enter alone.

  Cahill, seeing the idiots pause, sensed she could salvage her strategy, because only her followers had seen the indignity of the last few moments, plus a few insignificant Rimmer workers. Those five were too busy placing the fresh meat on pallets for delivery to the freezers to pay attention.

  Lumbering her way forward, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, causing several behind her to ram into her ample posterior, nearly knocking her down. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing! These horrible criminals were prepared to go farther outside the law than she had ever imagined. They had all drawn their weapons, staring intently at her and her followers from fifty feet away. Point blank range for those Krall made weapons.

  As they aimed two pistols apiece at her personally, she screeched and dropped painfully to the pavement, her gathered robes billowing over her head, blocking her view of the assassins. She screamed repeatedly at the sound of their guns firing. The screams of her followers rang in her ears, proving they were dying under the onslaught.

  She heard more firing from farther away, near where the Rim laborers had been working. They must be trying to drive her attackers away. She had misjudged the loyalty of those ignorant scoundrels. She felt around, and detected no injury greater than that to her knees and hands from her fall. Somehow, Mirikami’s group had missed her when she cleverly dove down to escape their fire.

  The shooting had ended. Other than whimpers of wounded behind her, it was quiet. She struggled to pull the fabric away from her head. The sunlight dazzled her for a second as she accidentally looked directly into the sun.

  Blinking to see clearly, she heard a male voice. “Is everyone alright? Stay away from
the two on the tarmac, they might not be dead.” Huh? That sounded like Mirikami’s voice. Had they only killed two people with all of that shooting?

  There were ragged cheers from behind her, and shouts of thanks, and affirmations that her people were not hurt. Looking over her shoulder, her eyes blinked away fear born tears that were not truly from a brief glance at the sun or from pain. She saw her followers either sitting up or climbing to their feet, looking towards the sky.

  Cahill looked in the same direction, and saw two squadrons of wolfbats flapping away frantically, with two members missing out of the two groups of five from the trailing three bats.

  One of her ministers, the one who had ran into her ass, shouted thanks to Mirikami for killing the wolfbats. That Minister of Food Distribution would be looking for a new job, Cahill decided.

  Mirikami called back to the woman, “The men recovering the meat hit one of them, Gracious Lady. It’s a very bad idea to come outside without a gun. The wolfbats can tell when you’re unarmed. They have great eyesight. You had better help your people get that meat into the freezers, it’s partly what drew the bats. That represents almost three tons of food.”

  Scrambling to her feet, hair in complete disarray, eyes tear streaked, robes off kilter and a rip under one armpit, Cahill was determined to salvage some of her image by entering the dome at Mirikami’s side, as if grateful to her subordinate. She started to hurry toward them as the four continued under the overhang of the truck parking area.

  As she closed the distance, running heavily and gasping for every breath, she heard a shouted warning from Maggi, “Skeeters! Under the overhang.”

  The tiny woman had her Jazzer in-hand. Cahill heard it buzz two times, aimed at the ceiling. The self-styled Governor screamed, and instantly reversed course back to her milling supporters. They would provide an alternative target for the nasty bloodsuckers. She could hide in the crowd, thus reducing her own risk.