by C H Gideon
Xi gripped Lu’s one good hand and made firm eye contact with him as she said something she had felt since the very moment she saw Lu’s burned body in Elvira’s rear compartment. “I failed you, Lu. I’m sorry.”
Lu’s brow creased in confusion, along with everyone else’s, as he said, “What?”
“I failed you,” she repeated firmly, remembering all the times she had longed for Podsy’s presence during her deployment on Shiva’s Wrath. “As commander, it was my job to deploy my people to the best of their abilities. I didn’t do that…I tried to hold you up to some kind of arbitrary standard. I acted like there was only one way to be my Wrench, but that’s not right,” she continued with feeling. A pair of tears ran down her cheeks as she continued to hold his good hand tightly in both of her own. “You deserved better than what I gave you. I know that now. And when you’re well enough to ride, I hope you’ll give me a second chance. I’d be proud to have you as my Wrench.”
Lu returned her grip with a weak squeeze of his own before surprising everyone with his reply. “You were right, Captain. I needed a boot up the ass.”
The quartet at Lu’s bedside erupted in laughter, and Xi wiped the tears from her cheeks as she patted his hand. “Maybe you did,” she agreed as Winters clasped her approvingly on the shoulder.
“I’ll ride with you any day,” Lu assured her, “but right now…could you people please clear a path for the busty nurse brigade?”
Laughter filled the room before Xi gestured to the door. “You heard the man. Roll out!”
“General, you asked to see me?” Jenkins greeted after rejoining the Dietrich Bonhoeffer in orbit of Terra Americana, his homeworld.
General Akinouye was standing beside a viewing portal on the observation deck, his hands clasped behind his back. “Colonel,” he greeted without turning, “take in the view with me.”
Jenkins approached, unable to avoid looking down on the rocky, frozen world below. In the midst of a thirty-thousand-year ice age, New America was still in the relatively early stages of terraforming. The coastlines were lush and green, and just this year, a thin band of green stretched across the equator for the first time since humans had arrived in the system.
That band would grow at a painfully slow rate over the coming decades before the planet’s climate was Gaian-class like Earth, but the heavy lifting of that project had already been done as orbiting reflectors redirected the system primary’s radiation back down to the world’s surface, slowly but surely melting the ice until the planet’s natural climate systems began to augment the jumpstarted process a full ten thousand years before it would have naturally occurred.
Looking down on the rocky, water-rich world, Jenkins could not help but feel pride at his forebears’ accomplishments in transforming the previously uninhabitable planet into the second-most prosperous in the Terran Republic. Home to nearly a hundred million hard-working, ruggedly independent colonists, the surface of New America was home to the second-most-populous human society in the Republic, behind only the world of Terra Han.
The coastlines below the Dietrich Bonhoeffer were dotted with tidal settlements, half-submerged and half-exposed as fusion reactor waste heat cleared the shoreline of ice. Those settlements cultivated tremendous amounts of food from New America’s five major oceans, and nearly a third of the planet’s population lived in underwater habitat modules that oversaw the expansion of the bio-rich coastal shelves.
Standing there at General Akinouye’s side, Jenkins saw his birthplace, New Boston, nestled on the northern edge of a massive tributary unimaginatively named Three Rivers Delta.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Akinouye asked reverently.
“It is, indeed, General,” Jenkins agreed.
“You did good with Admiral Zhao,” the general congratulated, though his tone was far from jubilant.
“I hope I didn’t cause you any undue duress, sir,” Jenkins said, knowing that several of his maneuvers had been purposefully kept from the general so that they would have the maximum desired effect.
“You played your hand perfectly, Colonel,” Akinouye chuckled. “The look on that bastard Zhao’s face was the most satisfying thing I’ve seen in a long time. Except, of course,” he added pointedly, “the fast-approaching surface of Shiva’s Wrath as the Zero dropped to the deck.” He sighed. “I hadn’t thought I’d ride the old girl into battle again.”
“Havoc made his presence known on the field, sir,” Jenkins said with feeling, knowing that everyone in the battalion felt likewise.
“Enough pleasantries,” Akinouye said, pointedly turning his back on the viewing portal. “Fleet’s not going to let this thing go, and it sounds like they’ve got enough support to spur a full-on Senate investigation.”
Jenkins winced. “I’m sorry to have let you down, sir.”
“I said you played your cards perfectly,” Akinouye grunted, “and I meant it. But it seems clear to me, now more than ever, that the Zeen were right. There is a rot in the Republic, and I’d bet my fast-fleeting ability to take a satisfying morning crap that the Jemmin are behind it.”
“Yes, General,” Jenkins agreed.
“Unfortunately,” Akinouye sighed, “we might be outgunned here. I’ve stonewalled as long as I can, but the next Senate session kicks off in three days, right here in orbit of New America. If something doesn’t break our way before then, we can expect the Legion to be buried so far under paperwork and reviews that we’ll never drop another can before Armor Corps is officially reorganized under Fleet.”
Jenkins recoiled in surprise. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“Everyone knows Armor Corps has been on the ropes for decades,” General Akinouye explained. “What no one outside of the Joint Chiefs and their staffs know is that gears have been in motion for a long time which would fold the Metal Legion into the Fleet. Not only would that remove Armor Corps’ seat at the big table, but it would consolidate even more power into the Terran Fleet. Once the Legion folds, it’s only a matter of time before the Marines follow suit.”
Jenkins nodded slowly, finally taking the general’s meaning after contemplating the situation from a tactical perspective. “You think the Jemmin are behind the consolidation of the various Terran military branches.”
“I do,” Akinouye agreed. “And their efforts have intensified in the last few months, ever since word of your victory on Durgan’s Folly reached the Senate’s intelligence committee. The political machine is picking up speed, Colonel,” the general said, fixing Jenkins with a hard look, “and if something doesn’t break our way in these next three days, I’m afraid that nothing will be able to stop it. And if that happens…” He turned and cast a haunted look over the icy sphere of Terra Americana. “God help us all.”
20
The Exclusive Report
“It can’t be that bad…” Styles said in disbelief after Jenkins had brought him and Xi up to speed on the political situation. He looked back and forth between Jenkins and Xi before finishing with less than his usual confidence. “Can it?”
“The general’s convinced it is,” Jenkins replied flatly. “He’s been doing this for nearly a century, and has served with the Joint Chiefs for four decades.”
“How?” Xi demanded. “How can we be so successful, do so much good, and still end up on the chopping block?”
“The problem is a lot larger than that, Captain,” Jenkins said heavily. “Our careers, and even Armor Corps’ future, are less important than safeguarding the Terran Republic. The politicians have a different idea how to do that than we do.”
“Hear, hear,” Styles agreed with conviction, and Xi frustratedly nodded in agreement.
“But we’re out of moves,” Jenkins continued. “We’ve been cut off, our supply lines frozen, and even our communications restricted following our extraction from Shiva’s Wrath. The Bonhoeffer is under strict orders not to break orbit, so we’re stuck here until the higher-ups decide our fate.”
“The next Senate session
convenes in two days,” Styles said, rhythmically rubbing his temples with his palms. “Are we really going to sit here and do nothing?”
“What can we do?” Xi asked in bitter resignation.
“Hack New America’s data net,” Styles said fiercely. “We dump whatever information we think might help our cause straight into the feeds. Let the people decide if this Jemmin conspiracy is an actionable threat or not.”
Xi nodded approvingly, her enthusiasm growing with each word to pass Styles’ lips. “We can use the Bonhoeffer to go and physically upload files to one of the main comm satellites. From there, it would only take a few minutes to spread the files across the whole planetary network...”
“We’re not doing that,” Jenkins interrupted with finality. “Not only would it breach protocol at near-treasonous levels and land everyone aboard this ship in the brig, but frankly?” He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “I’m not sure it’s what the Terran Republic needs right now.’
“The Jemmin are undermining our entire society!” Styles cried. “How can we stand by and do nothing while an enemy who had zero compunction about opening fire on us actively manipulates the Republic for its own benefit?”
“We still don’t have all the answers, Chief,” Jenkins said emphatically. “We think we know that humanity was uplifted by some other species, and we have reason to suspect that if we’re right about that—” He held up a hand, forestalling Styles’ protest. “—it was the Jemmin who uplifted us. But if that’s true, why would they attack us?”
“They didn’t uplift us, Colonel,” Xi said pointedly. “They uplifted Sol. When the wormholes closed, cutting the colonies off from Sol for the better part of a century, humanity’s role in whatever plan the Jemmin are playing out was thrown out of alignment. The Terran Republic is clearly an obstacle to that plan, whatever its end goal might be, and they’re trying to neutralize us.”
“That’s our best current theory,” Jenkins allowed. “But we don’t have enough proof to justify throwing the entire Republic into chaos, and possibly outright war, with the entire Illumination League. We barely managed to fight off that last major Arh’Kel offensive, people,” he said, snapping his eyes back and forth between Xi and Styles. “How do you think we’d fare against the League? For that matter, how do you think the Terran Republic would handle being cut off from the Nexus and, by extension, from itself? We only think the wormhole gates are two-way and two-way only. What if the Jemmin have a back door? What if, within five minutes of declaring war against us, our wormholes go offline—again,” he said pointedly, “and the Jemmin move a fleet of two or three hundred warships into the colonies, sweeping through them one by one until there’s nothing left of the Terran Armed Forces but a few tattered flags waving beneath flaming skies? Is that what any of us wants?”
The duo was silent for several seconds before Xi leaned forward intently. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing, sir.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” Jenkins admitted. “But we’re backed into a corner here, and the last thing we should do is lash out in desperation. We still have time, and we still have allies,” he added with a knowing look that suggested confidence he in no way felt. “This isn’t over. Not yet. Right now, we need to keep our heads down and our foxholes in order so that when something breaks our way, we’re ready to take maximum advantage of it.”
Styles’ wrist-link chimed, and after checking the inbound message, a look of confusion filled his features. “What the…” he muttered before his eyes went wide and he quickly forwarded the feed to the office’s main display. “Colonel, you have to see this.”
Jenkins couldn’t tell if it was hope or fear he heard in Styles’ voice, but after the image appeared on the screen, he realized it was probably a bit of both.
Standing there, against a backdrop of frozen tundra, was the image of Sarah Samuels with Elvira at her back.
“Too often,” the reporter said, apparently in the middle of an introduction, “we, the people of the Terran Republic, take our security for granted. Out here, far from the site of humanity’s deepest roots, the people who call the seven Terran colonies home are the bravest and most self-reliant in the history of our species. That’s not false bravado or self-important jingoism, but a simple matter of fact. Never before have humans had so little, yet done so much, as what we of the Terran Republic have achieved since our forebearers reached out for the stars and grasped them with both hands, refusing to let go even when the opportunity to do so seemed like the only sane thing to do. And maybe we’re not sane. Maybe our reach has in fact exceeded our grasp. But maybe, just maybe, it’s the resolve demonstrated by men and women like those in the Terran Armor Corps that keeps us moving forward against all odds. My name is Sarah Samuels, and I’d like to introduce you to a group known to itself as the Metal Legion.”
Images of human colony ships, flanked by relatively meager escorts, flitted across the screen as music swelled and screenshots of every original colony in what eventually became the Terran Republic flitted by one after another. Eventually, armor units of every shape and size appeared, most of which were presently represented in Jenkins’ battalion. Heroic figures from the TAC’s past were shown, along with its current brass and, eventually, even members of Jenkins’ battalion appeared in the stream of images.
“This isn’t what I expected,” Xi said in surprise.
“She never said anything about this being a patriotic puff piece.” Styles nodded in agreement. “All she talked about was winning journalism prizes by hitting as hard and as fast as possible.”
“Something changed…” Styles mused.
“Or she was lying all along,” Xi suggested.
“Let’s see how this goes,” Jenkins urged, and the trio sat in silence while the program unfolded over the next forty-two minutes.
“We’re being tested, Ms. Samuels,” the image of Colonel Jenkins said on the special report, which Xi was shocked to find was unflinchingly supportive of the Armor Corps. She swelled with pride at hearing his words as he continued. “The universe is asking if we’re ready to stand on our own two feet and deal with whatever it can throw at us. Some might be tempted to retreat to the safety of their homes and hope that someone, somewhere, can keep them safe. But the Terran Armed Forces doesn’t run from fights. We run to them. You don’t point a gun at someone unless you’re prepared to pull the trigger. And you don’t deploy armor unless you’re ready to use it. This isn’t about minerals, Ms. Samuels. This is about standing up for what’s right, and that’s exactly what the Terran Armor Corps does damn single day.”
“Even if it gets you all killed?” Samuels challenged, though the pickup never switched from the image of Lieutenant Colonel Jenkins as his lips curled in a confident smirk.
“Especially if it gets us all killed,” he replied confidently.
Jenkins’ face was replaced with that of Sarah Samuels, this time from within the Dietrich Bonhoeffer in orbit around Shiva’s Wrath. As she spoke, she slowly walked along the drop-deck where mechs were being unloaded from drop-cans during the last stages of their withdrawal from the world. “As I spent these last few weeks with the men and women of the Terran Armor Corps, I came to understand them, not only as servicemen and women, but as Terrans. These people carry a proud tradition on their shoulders which stretches back to the first mounted cavalry charges on Old Earth, and I think it’s clear to anyone watching this program that theirs is a tradition worth preserving,” she said with such conviction and gusto that it sent chills down Xi’s spine. “The culture of camaraderie I found in the Metal Legion is stronger, and more intensely human, than anything I could have imagined. And I’m proud to say that I learned more about myself, and about them, than I ever thought possible during my time inside this very mech.” She gestured to the battered Elvira as it was unloaded from a nearby drop-can. “And as I close this program, I would like to convey just a slice of the wisdom expressed by its pilot, Xi Bao, a former criminal convicted
of data theft for which she was sentenced to thirty years in prison. She’s also the youngest woman ever to attain the rank of captain in Armor Corps history, and quite probably the wisest person of her age that any of us will ever meet.”
Xi felt herself squirm uncomfortably as an image of her shaking her head with overt disapproval filled the screen. “Do you know what Thomas Jefferson said about an informed populace?” she heard herself ask with more than a hint of contempt.
“Tell me what he said,” Samuels asked with clear professionalism.
“He said ‘a well-informed populace can be trusted with its own government,’” Xi heard herself reply, and she found herself mouthing the words as her recorded-self spoke them. “But those words weren’t what he was really saying. They were a negative image of his true message, which was this: an uninformed populace absolutely cannot be trusted with its own government. I was informing the public with my data release, whether they were going to like what I showed them or not. I’m not the enemy here. The real enemies in my criminal case are the institutions which think they get to decide what information is or isn’t fit for public consumption. I broke the law, and I knew I’d be punished for it, but I did it anyway because I thought that the information I was putting out there was important and needed to be understood.”
Xi felt her CO’s eyes swivel over to her, which only made her feel like she was about to turn to sludge and fall through the chair onto the deck beneath her in a puddle of self-conscious goo. But the recording continued on, heedless of how uncomfortable its author felt at hearing her words repeated on air.
“Not because I agreed with what it suggested or represented,” the recording continued with a surprising degree of passion that she didn’t remember feeling in that moment, “or because I thought it would lead to a particular outcome, but because I always, always, think that more information is better than less. My government threw me in jail because they disagreed, and I can’t blame them for dropping the hammer on me since I disrupted their plans.” Her image shrugged indifferently. “The real problem in my case, Ms. Samuels, is the media that failed—and continues to fail—the people who depend upon it to present all of the facts so that we, the people, can make up our minds.”