One day it won’t be robots, I thought. One day it will be real.
Δ
Planet Hell used to be the place where the Legion toughened graduates of Basic, throwing them into situations designed to build exceptional physical and mental endurance. Things have changed though. Basic has changed, too. By the time we got to Planet Hell, we were already tough as nails. Doggie explained that Planet Hell was now focused on advanced combat exercises and advanced weaponry – so we would be ready for anything, leaving Planet Hell with plenty of live experience in Legion tactics and operations and weaponry. Well, we got that.
One miserable rainy night we were encamped in a sea of mud out in the middle of nowhere, inside a swamp, facing a mangrove forest on one side and an inky river on the other. We were in comtops and camfaxed A-vests. I was on sentry duty. The exercise was that the enemy – probably robots – was going to sneak up on us, knife us all to death with edged weapons that would leave indelible scarlet stains to show they had been there, and then steal the safe with the plans for the offensive. We didn't know when it was going to happen – maybe not for days, maybe never. The safe was a big stupid looking heavy office safe that was slowly sinking into the mud in the center of our camp. Of course, we're not slow. Scout had experience getting into things so he managed to open the safe without setting off the explosive dye, and removed the battle plans. It was just a single plastic sheet labeled DELTA – PLANS FOR OFFENSIVE. COSMIC SECRET TRAINING. Doggie kept them safe in his A-vest, so even if they managed to knife some of us they were not going to get the plans. Scout had filled the safe with very heavy stones before reclosing it so the robots were not going to have an easy time carrying off the safe, even if they killed us all.
Doggie and I were facing the mangroves and Smiley was on the other side of our position watching the river. The rain was slow and miserable, just kind of leaking, icy cold drops that were demoralizing at best. The rest of the squad was asleep. It had been two days with very little sleep and they deserved it. I was scoping the surroundings constantly with the E's zoom scope, night vision, IR, thermal and movement alerts. I didn't see how anyone was going to get past us.
"So tell me about that white dog in the picture on your desk at Basic," I said.
"How the hell did you know about that?" he growled.
"Come on, Doggie, where do you think you got your squad name? You know you can't keep secrets in a Legion squad."
"I suppose not. Well…I was with the K9 unit as my first assignment after Basic. I've always liked dogs and it was there that I met Flash. He was assigned to me. That's a very special bond, both for man and dog. We became inseparable. We trained together and we worked together. We knew we could depend on each other, always. He was a born attack dog, but our training made him even better. He was capable of total love for his handler, and total savagery for the enemy. It's hard to describe to someone who doesn't know about dogs, but I loved him, and he loved me.
"We were assigned to Galgos, to guard the ConFree trading zone there. It wasn't a ConFree planet so there was a lot of criminality – petty theft and so forth. We'd regularly chase thieves out of the base and track them down and turn them over to the locals. It was kind of routine work but Flash loved it and I loved it. It sure kept us busy.
"One night things got bad. It was just Flash and me, off the base, going after a single intruder who had stolen some prescription drugs. It was so stupid, some of the things they would steal. We tracked him down, I lit him up with the spotlight and Flash was straining at the leash to get at him. I was ordering him to the ground when he fired at me. These folks did not usually carry firearms so it was a big surprise. It hit me in the A-vest and knocked me down and I released the leash and Flash was on him instantly, tearing at his throat. Then there was another shot and by the time I got up I saw Flash had been hit. I sent a flurry of shots after the bastard but he got away. I called for backup and a medic and held Flash in my arms as he died, looking right into my eyes. The A-vest saved me, but Flash didn't have an A-vest.
"When backup arrived, I made sure Flash's body was taken care of, then we went after the intruder. We caught up to him. He dropped his gun and surrendered. He was bleeding from the throat. The other guys took a break as I accompanied the bastard into the forest. It took a long time for him to die. I made sure of that. And that's it. That's the answer to your question."
"I'm sorry, Doggie."
"It's all right. People are shit. I hate people. But dogs – I love dogs. They're faithful, and loving, and trusting. If people were more like dogs, it would be a better world."
"Doggie, look at that clump of wild weeds along that mangrove root. See it?" I highlighted it on the tacmap.
"Yeah, what about it?"
"I'd swear it wasn't there before."
"Did you get a movement alert? Do you get any heat?"
"No. But it wasn't there before."
"If it doesn't move, and it’s not emitting any heat, I doubt it's going to attack us."
"You know, training robots can move very, very slowly. And our movement sensors are set so that normal, natural movements, such as grass of bushes swaying slightly in the breeze, do not trigger an alert."
All right, but training robots emit heat, 'cause they're powered and are built to mimic the human signature."
"Right," I said, looking through the zoom sights of my E. The E was resting on a slight dirt rise, the stock against my shoulder. Silty mud was splattered all over the E.
"If we had a dog," Doggie said, "we wouldn't need all this crap hardware. Dogs are better than tech stuff. They'll alert instantly to the danger, long before anyone gets close enough to inflict any damage."
"Doggie, look at this mud." It was smeared all over my armored hand. Silty, gritty, chock full of who knows what.
"Maybe you could wash your hands?"
"Look at this stuff! It's got so much crap in it. What if you smeared this all over yourself? You'd reflect just like the mud. It might even cover your heat signature."
"Well, there's one way to find out. Recon by fire. Give it a shot."
I fired xmax and the blast blew away something that sent a blinding trajectory of glowing tracers and miscellaneous metallic junk into the night. What was left behind had a pretty good heat signature. The rest of the squad was awake instantly, ready for an assault. It did not come.
"Good work, Prophet," Doggie said.
"Prophet. I might have known," Arie said. "Can I go back to sleep now?"
"Good morning, Nitro," Doggie said. "I'm afraid there'll be no more sleep tonight. There may be more of them. They're covered in swamp mud and the mud hides their heat signature. So heads up, gang."
Δ
I staggered out of the holo chamber, exhausted but elated, and pulled off my comtop. What a great exercise! We had infilled in as close as we dared to the slaver complex on a moonless night, busted into their foul fortress, slaughtered every slaver we saw, and liberated twenty-some female slaves. Then we had hot-footed it back to the rendezvous, pausing on the way to successfully ambush the fools who were pursuing us, loaded the liberated slaves and our weapons on to the Phantom, watched them depart, and then called for return. It wasn't really return, but that's what we called it. At the click of a switch our surroundings flashed from a tangled jungle to the smooth white walls of our holo chambers, where we had actually been all the time, and we walked out into the training center.
"Delta rules!" Ice shouted, smacking me on an arm. She was sweaty and flushed but looked very happy.
"That's a ten," I replied. We were acing holos. We were at the top of our game.
"Aw right, take a break, we deserve it," Doggie said, removing his comtop. That's about as close to praise as he ever gave. We crashed in a nearby lounge, falling into airchairs and ordering drinks from a snackmod. We had been in A-vests and comtops for this mission. The comtop helmet had all you needed for commo, tracking and tacmaps. We often went into holo in full armor. That was not necessary for def
ense but it made the enemy believe they were facing a squad in armor, and that illusion was often a good thing. The fact that we were holos meant that we were a lot more dangerous than a squad in armor. It meant we could not be killed but the enemy could, as we would be using real non-holo weaponry that had been dropped from a Phantom or cached earlier. Our latest exercise had been created in-house and had not involved a live mission in the real world, but from our viewpoint from the holo chamber there was no difference. In real life, we would be in holo chambers on a starship platform that would focus our vac-active holo images downside. We had done many missions like that these last few months, against both robots and other holos. The images were so realistic – both for us and for any enemies who might see us – that it was exactly like being there. The only difference was that we could not be wounded or killed. If anybody shot us, our image would vanish and it would be a few moments before the operator would reform our images and we could pick up our weapons from the dirt and resume firing. It was easy to understand why everybody loved holo ops – except our enemies.
"I love it when we go comtops," Bees said. She was sitting beside me, sipping ice water. We didn’t need the armor, of course. We didn’t even need A-vests. We could have gone in pajamas if we wanted but the comtop helmet was essential for commo, coordination and seeing where everybody was.
"Bees," I finally asked. "How'd you get that name? What does it mean? Were you a beekeeper or something?"
She quieted down – evidently deciding whether or not to tell me. We were sitting alone and nobody else was listening. She told me.
"Doggie asked me if I had a nickname," she said. "He can be quite charming when he wants to be. I shouldn't have told him but I did. It was like this. I'm from Mica 3. We have a fairly large Cyrillian community there. They've been there for several generations. The original immigrants were workers. ConFree's immigration laws were looser then and nobody was expecting trouble. The first generation worked hard because they were refugees from Cyrilia, which had been pretty much destroyed by the System. To them, ConFree was a paradise. Subsequent generations stopped working. Education and hard work was for suckers. That was the attitude and it was based on traditional Cyrillian family values – no family, no values. My family was different, and I was different. The rest of the Cyrillian students refused to study. If you studied, you were a sell-out. They hated ConFree and they hated me. They mocked and humiliated and bullied me every day.
"At the end of my first year at midschool they gave out awards for good grades. Everybody who got all A's or A's and B's went up on stage before the assembled students and got their awards. But they had one further category – all B's. That was me. And only me. That first year I got all B's despite all the hatred from my colleagues. When they called out my name and I went up on stage, there was a big ruckus in the audience. Suddenly a great cheer went up. It was the Cyrillians. You see, all the A students were Outworlders or Assidics. I was the only Cyrillian on stage. The Cyrillians on the audience were going crazy, cheering, shouting, leaping up and down. I was shocked and humiliated. And suddenly I realized that the rest of the audience was joining them, clapping and cheering. Pretty soon everybody was on their feet, chanting: 'B's! B's! B's! B's!' A standing ovation, for my B's. I was so stunned and surprised that I couldn't help crying with joy. For the first time, I felt one with my Cyrillian classmates.
"Of course, nothing changed after that, except I had a new name – Bees. They still treated me like an outcast, especially when I started getting A's. But for that one moment, the world was as it should be."
For awhile I was silent. I knew there was a lot more to her story, but I decided not to press her. "Well, we appreciate you, Bees. We surely do," I said. She gave me a sad smile and touched my shoulder lightly.
Δ
"Attention!" We were in the auditorium and we all snapped to attention as the Director of ACT – Advanced Combat Training – joined the rest of the officers on stage, taking his place behind the huge podium bearing the ACT logo emblazoned on a shield. We students were all in fatigues. The entire class was there – thousands of troopers.
"At ease," he said. The seating had been removed from the deck. Hopefully that meant it would be a short session. The ACT Director was a medium-framed, wiry young man with close-cut brown hair. At least he appeared young – I had no idea what his background was, but I figured he deserved his position. He was in blacks and I could see the combat cross on his chest.
"I have an announcement," he said. "There is a priority draft for the Gulf. We need reinforcements and we need them quickly. Your training schedule has just been revised. The final problem has been cancelled. You have all been approved for graduation from ACT. You are now full-fledged ACT graduates, and qualified for unrestricted service. Congratulations and welcome to the ConFree Legion."
We gave a great cheer for this unexpected news. ACT was over! And we had all made it!
"You are all headed for the Gulf as soon as your equipment can be loaded. See your supers for details of your assignments. The people of ConFree thank you for your service. You are now going to war, and we have provided you with the best training available. Remember all you have learned here. Stay alert, look out for your comrades and never despair, never give up. The goal is victory, for the peoples of ConFree, for the next generation, for your descendants. We wish you Godspeed, and may Deadman bless you all." And he traced a Legion cross over us all.
I could almost see it burning there in the air.
PART II
SOLDIERS OF THE LORD
Chapter 6
The Wasp
"Sir, it's the Legion." The voice came from a speaker on the Director's conference desk.
"Show him in," the Director-General of ConFree replied. She slowly rose from her airchair and came out from behind the desk. Her office was spacious but rather austere. One wall consisted of a massive floor-to-ceiling plex window, flooding the office with weak morning sunlight and revealing an impressive view of Quaba City with the starport on the horizon. The opposite wall was lined with d-screens and commo equipment. The room was full of conference tables and airchairs. The Director was slim and lovely, clad in Legion black, silky ruddy-brown hair touching her shoulders. She had slightly slanted Assidic eyes and golden-brown skin. She looked more like a fashion model than the legally appointed leader of the most successful stellar confederation in galactic history.
The Commanding General of the ConFree Legion entered, clad in the Legion's formal black uniform. He was an Outworlder and gave an impression of youthful strength and vigor, tall and wiry, black hair and slightly olive skin, flashing dark deep-set eyes over a firm, determined mouth and rock-hard jaw. Colorful tattoos showed on his neck and full-color death faces looked out from his knuckles.
The Director stopped before him. "Dragon," she said.
Dragon stopped, facing her, and a crooked smile lit up his face. "Come here," he said. She stepped forward and embraced him. They stood there for some time, lost in the past. Then the Director stepped back slightly.
"Where've you been?" she asked.
"In the Gulf," he said. "Quite busy. How are you?"
"I'm fine. Fine."
"You're lying."
"All right, I'm not fine. But it's good to see you again, Dragon."
"Likewise, Tara. How's your kid? Willard?"
"He's a Legion officer now. He's in the Gulf, too."
"Well, anybody who's anybody is in the Gulf, Tara. I thought you were going to ensure he never joined the Legion."
"Have a seat, Dragon. There've been some…serious developments." She showed him to a sofa by the window, next to a table with several datascreens.
"Are there any other kind of developments, besides serious? I can't recall any," Dragon declared.
Tara smiled. "You're right there. But this is more serious than most. I'm hoping we have some time to respond correctly."
"Well, go ahead."
Tara activated one of the holo d-scre
ens, and it lit up as the picture window immediately dimmed. The screen projected a holo image of a peculiar, saucer-shaped spacecraft, shimmering in faint bands of agate-like color – glowing metallic grey, black, green, blue and orange. The craft was shuddering slightly – like a leaf in the wind.
"I see," Dragon said. "And where was this seen?"
"Out in Omni vac. Way the hell out there. Hundreds of sightings. Some landings. No attacks. It seems to be recon."'
"That's how it starts."
"Right."
"In Omni vac. Aren't they…"
"In genetic hibernation. Right, the O's are minding their own business, after retreating from human sectors in a genetic migration. You remember that."
"I was there. And how did you get this pix?"
"I've got hundreds of them. The O's sent them."
"They sent them to ConFree?"
"That's right. We can communicate with them now. And they can communicate with us. It's not easy – but it can be done. Now."
"Any of these ships show up in the Inners or the Gassies or the Gulf or the Outvac?"
"Not yet."
"Well, thank God for that," Dragon said.
"We've got a big problem, Dragon."
"How long have these – things – been reconning the O's?"
"I don't know. It appears that it's been going on for a few years. The O's just informed us."
"And why did they do that?"
"I don't know."
"Bastards. What's the body count of humans killed by the O's?"
"You know that perfectly well, Dragon. Over two billion."
"And now they want our help?"
"They haven't asked. They just sent us the pix, along with some stats on the sightings."
"Damn it. All right, send me everything you've got on this."
"We're going to have to prepare for worst case."
Prophet of ConFree (The Prophet of ConFree) Page 13