by C H Gideon
The lid of her grav-couch popped open with a muted hiss, and she quickly doffed the couch helmet before pulling herself free.
Thanks to the lack of artificial gravity, she was spared a date with the deck as another wave of vertigo cascaded into her. When she could once again see, she found everyone else in the compartment as disoriented as she was.
“Emergency stations,” she barked, gripping a nearby rail and waving Lieutenant Ford over. “Get to the drop-deck on the double. Move! Move! Move!”
Slowly but surely, the lounge’s occupants clambered out of their grav-couches and moved down the corridor that led to the drop-deck. When the last of the sixty-three people had disembarked the lounge, Xi allowed herself to check the ship’s onboard status report.
Despite having expected it, and despite having gone over the science so many times she felt cross-eyed just thinking about FTL flight, Xi still felt her heart skip a beat when she saw the readout for the Bonhoeffer’s current location.
Sol, Earth-Luna Bi-planetary System.
They’d made it.
6
Lunar Approach
Colonel Jenkins’ grav couch was in the Bonhoeffer’s CAC, which made his vantage point one of the best aboard the TAC warship as the first sensor feedback hit the readouts.
And there it was: Earth. The cradle of humanity. A blue-green marble with lush vegetation covering the vast majority of its land mass and pristine blue waters stretching to the horizon from every shore. Centuries of climate-control systems had rendered inclement weather a thing of the past, and now a precisely-curated band of wispy white clouds maintained the planet’s ecosphere under direct human guidance.
Ninety-one percent of Sol’s hundred billion humans lived beneath those clouds. For a moment Jenkins had the discomforting thought that this was the best, and last, view he would ever get of humanity’s birthplace with his naked eyes.
“We’re fifteen thousand kilometers off-target,” Colonel Li declared after running a series of numbers, confirming that the Zeen “gravity cannon” had essentially threaded the needle and dropped them almost where they needed to be. Podsy had previously brought Jem to the main comm station, where he awaited the all-important order. Li raised his voice. “I’m reading four void interceptors on patrol forty thousand kilometers out.”
“Nothing closer?” Jenkins asked.
“No.” Li shook his head firmly before adding, “At least nothing that shows up on our systems.”
“That’s one stroke of luck in our favor,” Jenkins muttered, drawing an approving nod from Li. “Lieutenant.” Jenkins turned to Podsy. “Is Jem able to initiate the sensor takeover from here?”
“I am,” Jem replied before Podsy got the chance to do so. “However, it would be optimal to avoid doing so until they detect us. It is possible, albeit unlikely, that the material the Zeen applied to this ship’s hull will mask our approach long enough to deliver the insertion team to the Lunar surface.”
Jenkins and Li shared mutual looks of concern before Jenkins nodded. “Fine, we wait until they detect us. You understand the operational risks here as well as any of us. Probably better.”
“An accurate observation,” Jem replied matter of factly.
As the CAC’s watch standers went through the tasks of re-starting the ship’s computer systems, the engineers deep in the heart of the assault carrier rekindled the mighty fusion reactors that powered the Terran warship. One by one, the reactors sprang to life.
And not a moment too soon.
“Colonel,” Styles called from a nearby Sensor station, “that squadron of interceptors is altering course.”
Li’s eyes snapped to the CAC’s central tactical plotter. “They see us.” Li grimaced.
Jenkins eyed Jem’s crystalline rod. “Send your first takeover, Jem.”
“Transmitting,” Jem replied, and the data slate connected to Jem’s ruby-red surface sprang to life. Data streamed down the display faster than a human could process and corresponding icons flickered into and out of being at the sensor station where Podsy was seated.
The CAC’s occupants collectively held their breath as Jem sent the all-important transmission. The Solar interceptors were less than a quarter of a light-second away, so the feedback should have been nearly instantaneous.
But seconds ticked by one by one until nearly a minute had elapsed since the Solarian interceptors had altered course.
“Podsy,” Jenkins said urgently as active scanning sweeps pinged the Bonhoeffer. “Podsy!” he snapped.
Then, after the third inbound sensor ping sounded from the Bonhoeffer’s Sensor section, the Solar interceptors adjusted course back to their original bearings.
“Takeover successful,” Jem declared neutrally. “Hostile interceptors have resumed their previous course.”
“That’s it?” Li blurted. “They’re just going to turn around and ignore us now?”
“Centralized decision-making offers many advantages, Colonel Li,” Jem explained, his tone falling just short of that of a patronizing lecturer, “but it also features many disadvantages. The One Mind system, which is a direct result of Jemmin manipulation, potentially permits all of Solar humanity to focus on any given event or decision simultaneously. As a practical matter, this rarely occurs, but the confidence in such a system’s product has radical and difficult-to-predict effects. One such effect is that if a sufficient number of a phenomenon’s first inspectors dismiss that phenomenon for consistent reasons, that phenomenon is removed from consideration. It is considered ‘solved’ for a significant interval.”
Styles nodded in comprehension. “You tricked the first responders with your method, infecting them with false input. And after a sufficient number of them concurred that there was nothing worthy of investigation out here, the whole system dismissed the matter.”
“How is it possible,” Colonel Moon growled in astonished indignation, “for the Solarians to put so much faith in their precious One Mind system? A little sensor trick and they’ll let an assault carrier right through the front door?”
“My available evidence is limited, Colonel Moon,” Jem said pointedly, “but in every recorded instance of Jemmin manipulation similar to what your species has undergone, no species has successfully extricated itself from this particular trap. Jemmin developed this method after centuries of refinement and testing. Put simply, humanity had no real chance to avoid its current situation.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” Moon scowled.
“As if it should?” Trapper smirked.
“Also,” Jem continued, “there is nothing ‘little’ about the sensor trick I employed. The runtimes required to create my takeover system were far in excess of anything the Terran Republic could manage in under a century, even with full commitment to the project.”
“If Sol is so vulnerable,” Jenkins asked, “why hasn’t Jemmin come in and wiped them out already?”
“Sol’s status is likely in flux. As a compliant species, Jemmin might prefer to employ Solar assets in direct support of its future pacification efforts against the Vorr. Now, the Vorr, Zeen, Terran, and Finjou elements have drastically changed posture from Jemmin’s previous assumptions, and that change has introduced what is likely an unprecedented degree of uncertainty in Jemmin’s calculations,” Jem explained. “As a result, Jemmin will certainly move to control those new variables prior to proceeding with its plan. However, once Jemmin realizes the magnitude of these new variables, its first move will be to eliminate potential future threats in whatever order is most efficient. Sol represents precisely such a threat.”
“How long do you think that will take?” Li pressed.
“No more than three Earth days,” Jem replied with chilling indifference. “Possibly as few as thirty of your standard hours.”
Those who heard the declaration had no answer to humanity’s frailty. The mission’s importance was never clearer than at that moment.
“Helm,” Li called without missing a beat, “put us on
a hot-drop trajectory. All hands, prepare for maneuvering acceleration in thirty seconds.”
The Bonhoeffer’s engines flared in short, controlled bursts, generating between three and five gees with each multi-second burn. Before the first burn, all of the crew had strapped into flight seats where they rode out the experience. After fifteen minutes of carefully-executed engine burns, the Bonhoeffer was on approach to the drop-zone.
As soon as the Bonhoeffer’s maneuvering bursts were complete, Xi jumped out of her flight seat on the drop-deck and worked to coordinate the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd Company final pre-launch efforts.
“Drop the protein bars, Fatso.” Xi groaned as Cave Troll’s Jock lumbered toward his mech’s can bearing an over-full crate of food. “Or are you really that hard-up for a twenty-centimeter hunk of meat to choke on?”
“Gotta watch my blood sugar, Captain,” Lieutenant Yuan, callsign “Fatso,” retorted unabashedly. “My reflexes fall off by at least six percent if I don’t keep at a rocksteady one-one-zero on the needle.”
“Try a piece of fruit, you fat bastard,” Xi barked as the thickly-built Jock hurried up the ramp into Cave Troll’s drop-can. The ultra-heavy Cave Troll had been hammered several times in the last few deployments, but like a bad case of genital warts, it just wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you picked at it.
One of Generally’s crew came running by with loose hoses and connectors tucked under her arms. As Xi turned to get out of the harried-looking woman’s way, the other woman tripped on a divot in the deck and nearly fell.
Xi opened her mouth to rebuke the woman, whose name was Quinn and who had quite the reputation among the Legionnaires for being a klutz, but Quinn managed to save herself from a date with the deck with some fancy mag-boot-enhanced footwork.
“What did I tell you about trying to make out with my deck, Quinn?” Xi asked in her most dire and ominous tone.
In reply, the other woman lifted her left hand as high as she could manage without losing the loose parts tucked under her arm, and Xi was unable to stifle a laugh at what she saw.
On Quinn’s ring finger, precisely where a wedding ring should have been, was a hexagonal steel nut that appeared to have been custom-machined to fit the diminutive woman’s hand. “We haven’t set a date yet,” Quinn said with a brief look at the deck, “but you’re definitely invited to the wedding, Captain.”
Xi shook her head and laughed, recalling the time she had told Quinn that she should produce an engagement ring the next time she tried to make out with the deck on company time.
“Get the fuck out of here, Quinn.” Xi waved her hands dismissively, equally proud and amused by the other woman’s spunk.
“Yes, ma’am,” Quinn replied, flashing a grin before heading off toward Generally’s drop-can. Her previous assignment had been to Forktail as a Monkey, but the recent roster shuffle had seen her transferred to Lieutenant Winters’ mech as a Wrench. Seeing the clumsy, surprisingly spirited woman come into her own was like a breath of fresh air. Xi hadn’t realized how badly she needed it.
At that moment, more than any other, Xi knew they were ready.
“Your people are resilient,” Deep Currents said as her egg-pod rolled toward Xi’s position. “Humanity is indeed a rare species.”
Xi turned to the Vorr and schooled her features. “We should board Elvira, Ambassador.”
“It is unfortunate,” Deep Currents said with evident disappointment, “that Jem will not accompany us. I am curious about it, although I understand this mission requires a certain division of assets.”
“You could request to transfer to Sergeant Major Trapper’s team,” Xi suggested, half-hoping that the Vorr would take her up on the offer.
“No,” Deep Currents said calmly. “My place is either at your side or with Colonel Jenkins. I understand his reluctance to permit me to accompany him aboard the command vehicle, and to be blunt, I am less interested in him than I am in you.”
“Me?” Xi quirked a brow in confusion.
“Of course.” Deep Currents’ auto-translated voice conveyed unmistakable amusement. “Your species is rare, Captain Xi Bao, but certain members of your race are even less uniform than others. You, in particular, represent an enigma that fascinates my people, who instructed me to gather as much information about you as possible during this cooperative exercise.”
“You’re interested in me?” Xi repeated disbelievingly. “Why not Colonel Jenkins or Podsy or Colonel Moon?”
Deep Currents replied, “They are uninteresting specimens of humanity. Predictable. Expected. You, however, are not. For a sexually dimorphic species to thrive, sexual specialization is essential. An essential component of optimal human male-female labor division is for males to take greater risks than females, which risks naturally include premeditated participation in combat. Men like Colonel Jenkins, Colonel Li, Colonel Moon, Sergeant Major Trapper, and Lieutenant Podsednik are typical in this regard. But you, by any objective biological metric, are prime breeding stock whose genes and lived experiences would be immensely beneficial to future generations. Your physical geometry, psychological makeup, superior reflexes, and mental acuity make you a potential high-value node in the human genealogical tree, and it goes without saying that you are an exceptionally desirable mate.”
Xi recoiled in surprise to hear the Vorr describe her as “prime breeding stock” and “an exceptionally desirable mate,” but in truth, it was a pretty tame jab considering the circles Xi ran in. Besides, coming from the asexual Vorr, she chose to take the remarks as compliments rather than insults.
“So,” Xi mused, “you’re interested in why a woman like me would choose a risky life instead of a safer one as a kept woman with a litter of puppies?”
“That is one interest, yes,” Deep Currents agreed. “Another is your ability to flex your decision-making during the high stress of combat. There are multiple reasons why this might be, but my people operate under a principle we refer to as ‘the stream effect.’ Essentially, we do not believe it is appropriate to permit our thoughts to be governed by simple probability equations. We prefer to ride the stream of reality as far as it can safely be ridden rather than to predict where the voyage will end, and simply trust in those predictions. To deprive ourselves of the opportunity to experience is to submit to fear, and as a prey species, fear is something we constantly seek to master. It is only by navigating treacherous situations that we can learn how to better navigate them in the future. Seeking safety for safety’s sake is ultimately self-defeating and, indeed, the behavior of prey.”
“The journey is more important than the destination.” Xi nodded in agreement. “You have to learn how to be safe by putting yourself in jeopardy rather than building taller and thicker walls around yourself to create the illusion of safety. So in order to safeguard yourselves, you have to constantly expose yourselves to danger, creating an endless journey with the ultimate destination being safety which, practically speaking, is impossible to attain.” She snickered softly. “It’s a self-defeating directive that spurs your people in a certain direction, sort of like the concept of original sin.”
“Precisely,” Deep Currents replied. “In accordance with that directive, we wish to understand you specifically rather than to trust in simple logic to deduce what makes you, Captain Xi Bao, so very different from your fellow humans.”
Xi flashed a lopsided grin. “Usually a girl’s got to pull a few teeth to get someone interested in what makes her tick.”
“We Vorr have no teeth,” Deep Currents said sadly, apparently misunderstanding her meaning. “Historically we consumed bacterial colonies that broke off from underwater volcanoes. To remove the nutrient-rich bacterial paste from their hard castings, our mouths feature structures similar to a crab’s proboscis, although Vorr proboscises vibrate to loosen the bacterial paste from its castings. I can offer one of my proboscises if the gesture is of social significance?”
Xi’s grin widened as she recalled a line from an ancient two-d
imensional “movie.” “You know, I’d be the luckiest girl alive if that did it for me. But no, it’s fine.” She held up a hand haltingly as her mind’s eye was filled with the horrifying image of Deep Currents ripping its mouth apart in some sort of social gesture. “Please don’t give me your proboscis.”
“As you wish,” Deep Currents replied serenely.
Xi suddenly cocked her head in belated realization and demanded, “Wait a minute…was that a joke?”
“Possibly,” Deep Currents allowed.
Xi threw her head back and laughed.
Yeah, she thought with fiery determination, we’re ready.
7
Virgin Regolith
1st Company’s eight drop-cans drifted through the void in perfect formation en route to their Lunar landing. Consisting of the so-called brigade’s lightest mechs and led by the battlefield behemoth Roy, this first group of eight mechs bore the insertion team centered around Styles, Podsy, and Jem.
“Thirty seconds to braking thrusters,” Jenkins called over the P2P linking the eight mechs of 1st Company. Their angle of approach was gentle, and their velocity was well below standard combat-drop parameters. The Zeen worldship had dropped the Bonhoeffer into a near-perfect position for a relatively stealthy drop of the Metal Legion’s mechs that had almost eliminated the need for braking burns.
Of course, “stealthy” and “Metal Legion” were usually anything but synonymous, but given the circumstances, Jenkins knew that his people were sneaking in as quietly as a teen coming home after curfew.
“Ten seconds,” he called as his drop-can fell steadily toward the pristine Lunar surface.
After Solar humanity had consolidated under Chinese rule in the late twenty-first century, the majority of the Moon’s surface had been declared a monument of unique historical significance. Colonial expansions, helium-3 mining operations, and all other forms of human activity on the Moon had been immediately curtailed. As a result, over eighty percent of the Moon’s surface was untouched regolith, rich in helium-3 and never once violated by humanity.