I, Synthorg: Synthorg Marines book 1, page 11
He chuckled at his own joke.
“Pleased to meet you, Private Milton,” I said tentatively. “Jake, I have a lot to learn about your culture. What is a Christmas tree? My databases do not contain any entry describing this species of plant.”
Jake giggled again. “You never had Christmas presents? Oh, sorry, I forgot. It’s a tradition of the Ancients: a holiday where people give presents to one another. My species still celebrates that, or at least some folks do. We don’t have real trees for Christmas, of course. Not that many trees left on Vega. Climate change, pollution, you know. The climate is getting dry. But we use synthetic trees. We decorate them every year and put presents under them.”
I couldn’t even picture what the kid was describing. We clearly belonged to different worlds. Synthorgs never had any holidays, and the very idea of giving presents was alien to us. How can you make gifts when you don’t possess anything?
Jake felt my hesitation as he added, “I’ll make you a gift for Christmas, Reggs. You’ll see, it’s pretty cool.”
It wasn’t the idea of gift giving that I found the most unsettling. It was the idea that a human could treat me as a sentient being—not as a tool, a machine only good at waging war.
“Thank you,” I replied, “but that will not be necessary. I am a synthorg. I do not need any personal possessions.”
Jake’s face turned serious, and his lips curled down slightly. “Oh, I know. It’s not that I forgot, it’s just… You know… You’re like an andro, but more…human-like. Andros just received citizenship on Vega. On some other worlds, too.”
I froze. That was quite a revelation. I had no idea that synthetics could receive citizenship on human worlds. The implications of that were mind-blowing.
I was not the only one who reacted this way to this news. Kodiak—who was engaged in a conversation with his human partner—stopped in mid-sentence and turned his hulky face to me. His partner was a young female belonging to the Sajit species, probably from the Tianese Republic, judging by her features and her accent.
“That’s Mae Lin,” Jake introduced her to me. “Her father is a career officer in the Coalition army. She followed in his footsteps. I’m sure she’ll make a great officer one day. She’s so smart and disciplined!”
Private Lin gave me a shy smile. “Jake’s too kind. I haven’t been in combat yet.”
“We have separate barracks for males and females,” Jake whispered to me, as if this begged clarification. “You know. So we can sleep without…uh…distractions.”
Comsynts didn’t have that problem. Synthorgs of both sexes always shared the same quarters without any issue. We also showered together with no problem once or ever. I decided not to discuss this with my new partner, knowing that some subjects were taboo for human beings.
Vlasto called me on my private channel. I excused myself and strode out of the mess hall.
“Why do you think the Abigor blew up the raider?” he asked.
“To prevent us from rescuing the hostage, I suppose.”
“I talked to him. He overhead some interesting conversations the raiders had among themselves. They operated like pirates, but in fact they belonged to a paramilitary organization.”
“That’s what I thought. This whole thing was a terror campaign designed to disrupt trade between the Forbund and the Coalition.”
Vlasto clicked his tongue. “You’re a quick study, Reggs. Keep up the good work and I’ll make you centurion…if I don’t chop your head off for insubordination first. We’ll see. Back to the business at hand. We analyzed the wreckage of the hostile ships and interrogated the prisoners. What we learned is disturbing. Those ships belonged to the Forbund Space Forces.”
“Milord means the regular armed forces, not a paramilitary organization?”
“The government of the Forbund is losing control of its own fleets, Reggs. The situation is more worrisome than the Emperor anticipated. You understand now why it’s so important to eliminate that rebel cell on Freya. We cannot lose the support of the Forbund. We must protect its current government at all costs.”
“I understand, my legate.”
While talking to Vlasto, an idea struck me. What if this trap was set up to eliminate me?
Was my master’s paranoia contagious, or was there a grain of truth in my apparently insane supposition? If so, who would go to such length to eliminate a synthorg?
“Bring me the head of the rebel leader on a platter, and I’ll make you centurion on the spot. But if you fail, don’t bother coming back. Hoc est bellum, Reggs. The war has already started.”
Part Four: Icy wonders
19. A world beneath the ice
From space, Freya looked like a snowball. A white, featureless sphere. It was difficult to imagine that this seemingly unremarkable planet could be the capital of a powerful interstellar union.
A military omni belonging to the Forbund army, Drekar class, transported our company to the surface. Now it was a company, not a centuria, because half of it was composed of humans—it was under the command of a comsynt centurion, though.
The Drekar was essentially a heavily armed and armored troop transport designed to carry up to 200 personnel. I found it inelegant by Venatici standards, a cylindrical heap of alloy bristling with guns, docking arms, and all kind of instruments. It was very resilient though, and that was reassuring, given the atmospheric conditions on Freya.
The dull, distant sun disappeared under a thick layer of clouds as our Drekar descended toward the planet. Atmospheric turbulence made it a bumpy ride. Under the clouds lay a world dark and gloomy. The entire planet was blanketed in a thick mantle of ice. Not a single sign of life or civilization was to be seen on its surface.
The Drekar fell into a half-klick wide crevasse. The fog obscured the view, and I couldn’t see anything via the external cams of the craft. I had nothing else to do other than sit tight and listen to the tireless chatter of my human partner.
“I’ve never been to Freya,” Jake was chirping with excitement. “For real, I mean. I’ve seen it in a virtual, though—you know, a sim. It’s amazing what they have under this icy crust. You’ll see!”
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Yeah, totally go for it, man!” Jake grinned at me, probably flattered by my interest.
“Vega Tres is not a Coalition world. Why are you in the GCC military?”
“Neat question, Reggs! I wanted to join the military, fight for galactic peace and all that, but there’s no army on Vega. We don’t even have a government. In the Badlands, we have elected sheriffs who maintain order, that’s all. And I didn’t want to be a sheriff’s deputy. I wanted to travel, see the galaxy. So, first, I had to get GCC citizenship. My father emigrated from a Coalition world, and he kept his citizenship, so I could apply too. Three months, it took. Then I applied for the military academy on Alderamin Prime. I was a tad too short for infantry, so I had to get imps installed to extend my legs a bit.”
“You must be very motivated, Jake.”
“Oh yeah, you have no idea. Can’t wait for real action!” He pointed two fingers at an imaginary foe. “Pew pew pew!”
I sighed. The kid was obviously not ready for the realities of combat. He was just too young. All he knew about war came from holo-vids, videogames, and virtual sims. He was at high risk for psychological breakdown. I had to keep an eye on him.
Babysitting duty. Just great. Exactly what we needed on a high-profile op.
Suddenly, the fog cleared, and the world hidden beneath the mantle of ice revealed itself to my eyes.
An active volcanic rift blazed a curtain of fire a hundred meters into the air. Despite the violence of this continuous eruption, the scenery around it appeared serene. I saw forests of evergreens, rivers, lakes, cottages nesting on the sides of hills. Shiny maglev lines crisscrossed this bucolic landscape.
The city loomed on the horizon. Our Drakar glided toward it. The architecture presented an intriguing compromise between tradition and modernity. Gothic arches coexisted harmoniously with blocks of self-repairing concrete and transparent aluminum. The presidential building dominated the skyline, light and stately at the same time, with its conical towers and large arched windows.
“I told ya!” Jake jabbed his elbow in my ribs. “Look at that! There’re miles of ice above our heads, and those people there—look, right below us—are taking a swim! The water’s bubbling, must be pleasantly hot. Oh my, I wish I could join them!”
“I’ve been on Freya for a couple of ops,” Kodiak said.
I turned my head as he was sitting in the row behind me. He gave me a quick nod to signify that he wasn’t going to reveal any classified info. “There’re things to see, if you have free time,” he told Jake and Mae, who were all ears. “The capital, Midgard, has the largest Gothic cathedral in the galaxy.”
We could see its golden spires rising above the cityscape.
“Interesting cultural mix,” Mae said. She was sitting next to Kodiak, behind Jake. “The name Midgard comes from Old Norse, one of the languages of the Ancients. But the Gothic architecture has nothing to do with the ancient Goths. It was popular during a period called the Middle Ages.”
“You’re into ancient history, Mae?” Jake asked, turning his head to her. “You think what happened millennia ago has any importance?”
She nodded. “Yes, I do. Some human species are very attached to the cultural heritage of their distant ancestors. Your family still celebrates Christmas, right? Do you know that, originally, this was a pagan celebration?”
Our Drakar touched down on a vast platform in the middle of a military complex.
“Cut the chatter,” Sam ordered us. “Time to disembark.”
Jake and Mae exchanged a conniving glance. I was sure they would find an occasion to hook up later and continue their conservation.
Looking at them, I suddenly realized how much I missed Tess.
We marched out of the Drakar in columns. The Coalition noobs were eager to put up a show and marched in step with the comsynts. In our gray GCC army uniforms, I think we were pretty convincing as human impersonators.
We formed three ranks and stood at attention. An officer of the Forbund army gave us a welcome speech. As I’d expected, he was a Freyr. His face and his hair were the same non-color as his native planet seen from space.
After the brief speech, we marched to the barracks. We would be sharing them with the garrison. The dorms had two sections, one for males, and another for females. There were also communal areas, of course, including the mess hall, the briefing rooms, and the shooting range.
“If you go to the range with the humans, don’t forget they can’t match your reflexes and your accuracy,” Sam instructed us via our platoon channel. “Also, don’t engage in any show of physical strength. No arm wrestling! Drink alcohol in moderation, if at all. Humans can’t hold their liquor, contrary to what they pretend.”
So no drinking contests, either.
Our first briefing was led by the same officer who had greeted us earlier that day. The entire company was assembled for this briefing. Although it was short, we had to sit down. I wasn’t used to that. Synthorgs usually don’t need to sit down, as our legs don’t get tired. Usually we sit only in dropships, boarding pods, and other vehicles to take up less space.
Most of the briefing was a waste of time, because we already knew everything we needed to know. The only new piece of information was the hypothetical location of the rebel base. The Freyan intelligence services suspected that they were hiding in an old refugee camp. Originally, it had been a factory, converted to accommodate hundreds of thousands of refugees during the Great Galactic War. Later, it had been abandoned and used mainly by squatters.
The challenge was to get there. The officer who led the briefing showed us a 3D map of the area. Life on Freya could exist only in proximity to lava flows or thermal vents, in the caves carved out in the ice by the heat generated by volcanism. The refugee camp was at the very end of such a cave, near a volcano. That meant no air support, as the ceiling of the cave was too low. Only one road led to the camp, and it was exposed to enemy fire.
“That’s a blasted tactical nightmare,” Sam mumbled into his comm.
The officer made the same assessment. According to him, the only solution was to send armored troop transports under the protection of some heavy tanks. There was no doubt that the road leading to the camp was filled with anti-tank mines and all sorts of sophisticated traps designed to slow down infantry.
I raised my hand, requesting permission to speak.
“Yes, sergeant?” the officer prompted.
“A frontal assault is not the best option, in my opinion,” I said. “If the rebels possess armor-piercing weapons, our casualty rate would be high. Moreover, they would see us coming and would have plenty of time to evacuate. There are probably secondary access corridors to this facility you are not aware of.”
Everyone in the room looked at me with interest.
“What is your suggestion, sergeant?” the officer asked.
“Your reports mention that the rebels attacked several armed convoys and stole military equipment. They also mention that the rebels use fast vehicles on wheels.”
He nodded. “That is correct.”
“Let’s set a trap for them. Let’s send a convoy with valuable materiel and capture the rebel vehicles when they attack it. Then we use their own vehicles to infiltrate their base.”
The officer pondered for a moment, then replied, “That might work. It’s worth a try, at least. If this plan fails, we can always go for a direct assault.”
Sam and the centurion who commanded our company nodded in assent.
“We shall call this Operation Mousetrap,” the officer added. “As it was your idea, Sergeant Reggs, you will be in charge of this op.”
So it was decided.
20. Operation Mousetrap
To catch mice, you need good bait. We needed something truly valuable to the rebels to lure them. I was given access to an IT terminal and provided with the list of materiel the army had in stock and the list of equipment stolen by the rebels.
Rifles? I pondered, examining the list. No, the rebels have already stolen plenty. Ammo? No. Fuel? No. What would I want above all if I were in their boots?
I examined the 3D map of the abandoned factory.
Of course! Anti-tank guns and missile launchers—to fend off any armored attack.
I made a list of all the most potent anti-tank weapons in the army arsenal and sent it to the logistics officer, asking him to arrange a convoy to one of the forward bases. Now I needed to make sure that the rebels learned about this convoy and the contents of its shipment. I wouldn’t tell anyone about this part of my plan, except my immediate superiors, in case there was a leak.
The convoys usually traveled via roads equipped with maglev rails at velocities slightly below the speed of sound. The rebels had a well-established modus operandi. They blew up the maglev rails, forcing the convoy to stop. Then they took out the escort vehicles, assaulted the trucks, eliminated the guards, loaded the materiel into their own vehicles, and vanished. They always ambushed the convoys in tunnels or narrow caves, where the army couldn’t deploy aerial vehicles such as gunships.
The attacks did not follow any detectable pattern, and I couldn’t know whether the rebels had an inside source informing them on the times and routes of the convoys. Maybe the rebels had stealthy drones that allowed them to follow the movements of Forbund troops from a distance.
At any rate, an immobilized convoy loaded with materiel they badly needed would be irresistible bait. My task was to make sure that they wouldn’t smell the trap.
We need quantum suits.
Although we had no Venatici gear, the military engineers of the Coalition had designed a limited number of quantum suits. They were top-secret and very expensive.
I requisitioned ten and ordered my squad to gear up. The squad consisted of five comsynts—including Lancer, Kodiak, a sharpshooter, a medtech, and myself—and our human partners. If it were up to me, I would have left the puppies at the base, but Vlasto’s orders were explicit in this matter. The humans would have to tag along.
I wondered why the Coalition had given us rookies instead of bionically enhanced veterans of covert ops. The reason was probably psychological; veteran commandos would be reluctant to take orders from synthetics, and our superiors knew that good teamwork was essential to the success of delicate missions. Or maybe Vlasto had some political motive. I don’t pretend I understood what was going on in his deranged mind.
Lancer, on the other hand, was an excellent addition to the team. He was younger than me, but had a flawless record. He knew how to give orders and how to follow orders, exactly what you want from a corporal. He was handsome for a comsynt, with dark hair, brown eyes, and a mustache. A lady-killer. Mae couldn’t help but give him a glance from time to time.
Once we were all geared up in quantum suits, we boarded an APC, an armored personnel carrier, and deployed from the base.
Our APC raced above maglev rails on autopilot. The convoy would travel via a road closed to civilians—official business only. It had two maglev tracks, one in each direction.
We reached our destination in about 20 minutes. I’d chosen a sparsely populated area to avoid civilian casualties.
Mae hopped out of the vehicle as soon as the rear doors opened. “This is… This is magnificent!”
Jake and I followed. Indeed, the view was worth the trip. A monumental natural arch of ice towered above the valley. A river of steaming-hot water murmured some 30 meters below us. Clouds of vapor ascended from it, ectoplasms dissolving into the cold air. There was no artificial lighting, yet the road was lit by a faint green glow.
