Insanity's Children

by Rolf Nelson

  “Initial test screens are hard physically, but most of what we are testing is actually mental ability and attitude, which comes out well under stress. Sometimes people can’t face the reality that the special gift to mankind their parents always told them they were only existed in a delusional mind. A tragically high number of people commit suicide when they read the first honest evaluation they’ve ever had. Think recruit Darch; if Allonia hadn’t shot him I think he would likely have killed himself with a drug overdose or alcohol within a year of getting cut as unfit on psych. But most find it the best reality-check they have ever had. If we tell you that you are in the top quartile, you can be assured that you really are.”

  “Huh. Never thought of testing as major part of training.”

  “Sure it is. It also gives us a really good feel for just how good other military forces really are. When you get to intensively evaluate your opponents, the dossier you build can be impressive. It also gives us a window into how good competing training programs are.”

  “Don’t they know that?”

  “Some do, and don’t mind because we normally work with them. Some, like Emirate, have banned us because the favored sons regularly performed so poorly. A few unofficially come anyway, usually people from lower status families with few connections trying to climb or emigrate. We don’t sell the data except to the people sponsoring the people being tested, of course.”

  “And use it internally.”

  A simple nod of agreement and a faint smile tells the story.

  “MI, military intelligence, is one of the greatest force multipliers there is. Knowing your enemy, where he is, what he’s doing, how he thinks, is invaluable. The most powerful carrier task force in the universe is useless if it is deployed to the wrong system. A single bullet, properly placed, can end a dynasty, or start a world war.”

  Chapter XVII

  Lag

  “We all get older, until the day we find the final answer.” Brother Libra’s voice was placid and sympathetic as he watched Lag bench-press the 150 kg bar again. Around them were the tools of physical combat training: weapons, weights, target dummies, and an obstacle course. The Colonel had lost weight, he was leaner and more intense-looking under his three-day stubble as he focused on the mass over his bare chest, veins and cord-like muscles bulging with the strain. Down, up again, ever so slowly but with good form, getting a final straight-arm and setting the weight neatly on the support hooks of the bench. Without a word, he stood, took a quick drink, then started off on a run on the track around the obstacle course. Coming back, with barely a pause, he scooped up a shield and blunted practice sword, and viciously attacked a target dummy: hack, thrust, counter-punch with the shield, block overhead with the sword, then a step and a wrap-around rising snap to the back of the dummy’s head, before falling back into a defensive crouch. Wearing nothing but heavy calf-length breeches with built in kneepads, he’d fit right into a historical reenactment of ancient times.

  Finally relaxing, he returned to the bench where Libra stood silently, watching. Taking another drink, he toweled himself off and sat. Libra continued as if there were no pause. “You did more than anyone could expect. More than most even thought possible…. You must forgive yourself.”

  Lag finally looked at his friend, exhaling slowly. “So many. So, so, many died. Died before they really got a chance to live.”

  “They died that many more could be saved. Seems like I’ve heard about that happening somewhere before.”

  Lag smiled faintly at the small joke. “Easy to say, to know in theory. But theories don’t have faces that haunt my sleep, and have faces I knew and watched fade from this world because I was a second too slow. Faces that were there because I asked them to be there.” His shoulders slumped while he breathed deeply, recovering from another harsh workout.

  “Boys try, fail, and learn. Grown men fight. Old men… that would be you and I, in case you hadn’t noticed… lead and teach. You gave them a chance to do something important, and dangerous, but they chose that path, not you. We are given difficult duties because we are strong enough to bear them. We all do what we can, no more. They need your leadership out there, not just your sword-arm. Your mind more than your muscle. Some things you can’t run away from. Who you are, your memories, your fate.”

  Lag stood up and motioned for the monk to walk with him. They headed out of the partially covered training area, cross-country, toward the wood line three hundred meters away across a field. Half-dozen children played hide-and-seek in the tall grass as they passed them by. They walked in silence for a while, side by side, barefoot and deep in their own thoughts, but keeping keen eyes on their surroundings. Coming to a small creek, they sat on the edge and cooled their feet in the gurgling waters.

  “How’s the wife?”

  “Physically good. But a little freaked out.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Seems we have a few more kids than we thought.”

  Libra looked at Lag quizzically. “Not the sort of thing you normally lose track of.”

  “No, not normally.”

  “Oh, you mean you, ah, had met someone before you married… Awkward.”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Then, um… usually women keep pretty close track of trivialities like pregnancy and delivery, so… How many? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  With a bland tone, Lag said “More than I would have guessed.”

  After waiting through an awkward pause, Libra offers “Knowing what I know of you, this has got to be either a really good story, or a really bad one. I have to ask. But you don’t have to answer.”

  Lag’s casualness was unexpected. “Actually, it’s neither. As you may remember, I scored a perfect 130 on my Komenagen. Very rare. Like, once-a-decade or so rare. That put me WAY up on the desirable list for ladies. But, because I’d gone through Komenagen young and it was a rather unusual situation, I wasn’t exactly in the womanizing market at the time. After some training, my first real job was a very close call, and I was not quite as business savvy as I expected. A genetics bank offered me a very sizable sum for a series of deposits, which between Komenagen score, real-life success, and genetic fitness scores made those very valuable for them when dealing with infertile or genetically incompatible but otherwise healthy couples. That money helped me keep going. Didn’t think about it much when I got married a dozen years later. After the notoriety that Dustbowl brought, some braincells at the genetics company breached privacy protocols and let out word that they had those ‘deposits’. Anyway, word got around, several parents admitted they were recipients, it snowballed, and I decided to tell the company to inform all of them and allow all to contact me. Mortality had stared me in the face rather closely out there on the field that day. I wanted… something… more than the fragile contact I had with the future.”

  “So….?”

  “One hundred twenty eight.”

  Libra whistled. “And I thought my family reunions were trying…. So your kids suddenly found out they had another 128 half-siblings? A freak-out is understandable.”

  “Quite.”

  “Any, um, awkward situations among them?”

  “Only a couple. Nothing serious. Just, as you say, awkward.”

  They listened in silence to the stream gurgling and the breeze through the trees boughs for a time, both deep in thought.

  “Twenty-two grandchildren… Haven’t met them all yet,” Lag said at last.

  “You are pretty well-known. Does that intimidate them? Do you scare them?”

  “Not intentionally. I’m half myth to most of them, if they understand at all…. It’s interesting, meeting the parents, and in-laws, having been away so often. So long. Seems like I’m related to half the town. To some I’m an odd stranger, to others I’m a demigod. It’s much harder to know how to react than when dealing with ordinary people who don’t know me from Adam.”

  “But what made you famous here was what you did, are doing, out t
here. Staying here won’t help the rest of the universe.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I don’t want to watch more people being killed. The nights are crowded enough as it is. I can be a teacher anywhere I go. Or here if I stay.”

  Libra grunted concurrence and gently tossed a stone into a quiet eddy on the far side of the stream. “So why not teach out there, where you can also lead, and offer your insights on the specific problems they face? You are not the ivory tower theory type. Never have been. As Harbin said, you are one to walk the walk. You can write about it as you go.”

  “I just need quiet for a while.”

  “How long?”

  “Until the… they… fade.”

  After a long silence and two more small stones send their ripples across the stream, Libra replied. “They never will, totally. Diffuse a bit… The Order was founded for people who had seen things no one should ever have to see, done things no good man should ever have to do. You can come to terms with it, and move forward, or let the past rule your existence. You have the self-discipline already, so we can’t help you there. Busy your mind as well as your body. Find a way to make people who refuse to see the results of their choices face the consequences of their actions.”

  “They won’t. They never will. They will deny their own life before they admit they were wrong. And even if they do, they’ll be brushed aside by the next generation of power-seekers who thinks them old and sentimental, who think only they have all the right answers. It’s like a treadmill of horrors that I can’t seem to get off.”

  “History repeats. But never exactly the same way.”

  “Sadly.”

  “So help the good ones rewrite the next cycle in a better way. Taj has old memories. She won’t let the next generation forget. She doesn’t let her crew lie to her. But she can only do that if she lives, and right now her friends are badly outnumbered. She needs help saving souls from their own flaws….”

  “Interesting advice from a heretic.”

  “We are all heretics to someone.”

  “Been called a lot of things, from war criminal to murderer, but never a heretic.”

  “Welcome to the club.” Libra smiled wryly. “We heretics are far more dangerous than the common criminal and murderer, for we threaten not individual lives, but entire world-views. We might open eyes and crush souls by revealing to people they have wasted their lives. Murder a priest or president can forgive, but not questioning his authority or correctness.”

  “Hmmm. Whose world-view do you think am I a threat to the most?”

  “All of them. The book, your methods, the ship, your friends, they are all a systemic threat to their view. The book is an unknown to all the leaders, though that will slowly change. From what Helton has told me of it, it is not a threat to any individual, but it is to every major human political structure and ruler in existence. If what he says is correct, it aligns well with most biblical doctrine, but not many Church leaders…. They are reacting badly to the unknown. Fettig, though corrupt, is a powerful voice with many friends. If you cede the field, his will be the only one being heard in his halls. Your methods scare them because it is unarguable that quality and righteousness matter more than sheer numbers, but they can count better than they can discern. Your friends and Taj are wildcards they cannot predict or control. Therefore, they are feared.”

  “Of course, It’s human nature to get defensive around the unknown.”

  “You don’t scare me, but I do not fear death.”

  “But unlike the insane you do not welcome it, either.”

  “So… They are moving, planning….”

  Lag sat silently, tossing pebbles, watching ripples, mind wandering.

  From behind them the unmistakable sound of an explosion rumbled through the woods. The two men whirled and crouched low behind the creek bank, peering over the top, listening and watching intently. Another rumble echoed through the wood. Lag was up and sprinting through the forest with Libra right behind. Lag angled away from the creek, not directly back toward the house or the sound of a third explosion coming from it. Running crouched low, almost bent double, they mounted a small rise. Lag all but dove into clump of bushes, ripping open a well concealed trap door and dropping down inside a small tunnel. Grabbing and bending a couple of glow-sticks, he trotted down the narrow passage, tossing a glowstick behind him for Brother Libra as he went. Libra scooped it up and ran after the bobbing light ahead of him, down the concrete passage, through a short series of sandbagged right angles, and into a small room. After hanging the glowing tube from a ceiling hook, Lag pulled two long heavy-duty rifle cases from a high shelf and set them on a low bench underneath. Thumbing the latches, Lag opened them to reveal a pair of suppressed high-precision rifles, each with a line of loaded magazines in the case. Picking one up, Libra recognized the rifle, a superbly crafted electronics-free high-velocity 6.5mm, high-end mil-dot tactical scope, and the range card taped to the stock. He smiled grimly; excellent tools from Kadath Heavy Industries he knew well. Precision tools for precision work. Lag flipped up and latched hatches covering small firing ports in the bunker wall, then reached through and knocked aside a small bit of grass, clearing the line of sight toward his home compound. The firing position was well back in the trees, but the evergreens were sparse and well-trimmed, limiting the view only slightly but concealing them well. Each man put their rifle through a fast function check. Both seated magazines firmly and worked the weapon’s actions. Each slid home and chambered a cartridge with a satisfyingly well-oiled and smoothly soft but metallic ka-chunk.

  Libra said “You spot first.” Lag nodded, knowing the drill and the reason. As the spotter, he directed the action; he knew the range, the house, the people, and could explain the situation and direct Libra, a highly competent trigger-man.

  Kneeling slightly on a conveniently provided ledge, they both leaned forward into the two firing positions, resting the forestock on the sandbags already in place. Through the scopes they could see some of the buildings were devastated, smoking ruins. A man with a dazed look on his face carried a child. Several red splashes appeared on them. They twisted and collapsed, laying motionless. Through the smoke and dust a series of outlines approach, rifles shouldered. In the field, the children who were playing in the grass were either standing, staring dazed at the wreckage, or running towards it. One the men standing next to a ruined wall raised his rifle and fired. All the children disappeared from sight, either shot or playing hide and seek for real.

  Voice tightly controlled, Lag talked Libra onto the first target. “Preset no-wind zero is on the white pell with the galea on it. Four-fifty meters.”

  “Four-fifty meter zero. Post with helmet…. See it.”

  “Wind three meters per second, quartering from the left. Adjust half mil.”

  Libra turned the scope knob five clicks. “Half mil left adjusted on scope,” Libra confirmed the setting.

  “Target. Ten meters left of the pell, pointing with right hand, left hand holding pistol.”

  “I see it.”

  “Range 460, hold five centimeters high. Send it.” A moment later a copper jacketed messenger with I see you inscribed on it was on its way. Through his scope, Lag watched a puff of dust and a dark spot appeared just above the bulge of body armor. The target collapsed like a rag doll. “Hit low on the neck, just above the armor.”

  “As intended. Clean break.”

  “Next target. Three meters right of previous, on com.”

  “See it.”

  “Wind the same, same five centimeter hold-over. Send it.”

  Another of Ares’s heralds arced through the air, sending a supersonic crack echoing across the field. Through his scope, Lag watched the bullet pass through the com unit being held to the man’s head, then the head behind it. He joined his compatriot in assuming ambient temperature in a heap on the ground. “Next target. In the field, sweeping back and forth with a rifle. Range four-forty.”

  “See it.”

>   “Wind the same. Hold five centimeters low.”

  “Five centimeters low.”

  “Send it.”

  The man in the field hunting for whatever he was after turned to shout at the men behind him. He raised his arm to point just as Libra’s trigger squeeze broke. The bullet passed sideways through his shoulder and chest cavity, tumbling as it passed through a rib, and sideways out the far armpit, dropping him in his tracks. Amid rapidly exchanged terse directions and confirmations, round after round were visited on the intruders, the invaders’ eager aggression of the apparently successful attack giving way to confusion, then fear as more of them sprouted geysers of blood.

  “Out. I’ll spot,” Libra said as the last piece of spent brass was ejected from the chamber and the bolt locked back on an empty magazine. The remaining targets were small and prone to sudden and swift movements as the attackers started to figure out where the shots were coming from, and they gradually understood the situation they were in. Libra identified more targets, but the walls of the compound buildings were sturdy, designed to resist most casual attacks. A military man’s domicile. But is wasn’t proof against carelessness by the attackers who exposed any critical body part for long enough to be seen.

  A lull in the movement on the field lets the two gun barrels cool as they reload. Watching for action through his scope, Lag pondered the sudden drop in activity. Pulling the gun back off its rest, he slung a bandoleer over his shoulder, handed Libra a pair of earplugs, and grabbed the glowsticks. “Time to move.” Leading the monk part way back down the tunnel, Lag made a turn off through another set of sandbagged right angle turns as he trotted rapidly along two hundred meters of simple concrete passageway, with a set of four sandbagged right angle corners every hundred meters. With no warning the tunnel shook and rolled as dust sprung up or fell from every surface with the force of a blast roaring down the passage from a missile-strike at the position they had just abandoned. Pausing only briefly to keep their footing, they continued as another blast, then a third, rocked the ground beneath their feet. Another twenty seconds putting distance between themselves and any more incoming ordnance brought them to another set of blast-catching right angles, then a branch to another small firing position nearly identical to the one they had vacated just in time.