Beyond the Gates of Antares, page 2
“As soon as those launchers are neutralized, be ready to move,” Tahl instructed his command squad as the incessant drizzle intensified into rain.
* * *
Trooper Jordan Reece had not volunteered for the militia to fight. Years of threats about the PanHuman Concord coming to absorb his world along with the rest of the Prostock Alliance had seemed far-fetched, something for another generation to worry about, and so signing on for two years military service had seemed a safe bet and an easy way to impress a certain girl. Reece hunched up his shoulders as a drop of rain fell through the damaged neck seal of his body armor and rolled down his back. She moved to a different continent a week later anyway, leaving Reece in basic training with no girl to impress. He allowed himself a brief chuckle at the thought.
“Movement!” Squad Leader Vorten announced as he peered through his viewscope from his vantage point at the crest of the icy plateau, his green armored bulk hidden amidst the waist-high razor grass. “Looks like they’re moving in on the launchers!”
Reece waited impatiently, but seeing no update through his eyepiece, he quickly keyed refresh on his forearm console. The map display which was projected in a ghostly blue at the bottom of his field of vision briefly froze in place, crackled, and then updated to show six red squares moving from the southern suburbs toward the launcher battery below them. Clearly they had not been quick enough in shooting the enemy spotter drone out of the sky.
“Ready!” Vorten hissed.
The ten militia men took up firing positions along the plateau and hugged their mag guns to their shoulders. Reece’s eyepiece immediately married up with his weapon’s scope and he scanned from left to right amongst the outskirts of the town as he waited for his first ever glimpse of an enemy soldier.
“What’s going on?” asked Gander, the only militiaman in the squad who was even younger than Reece. “I can’t see them! The map says they’re right there but I can’t see them!”
Reece’s mouth was dry and somehow, even though lying immobile, he had a stitch in his side. He had seen the propaganda posters put out by the Concord, the invitations to join the paternal care of their all-consuming empire with the unsaid threat of what would happen if they refused, but he had never really believed the hype of their invincible Strike Troopers and drone tanks. Not until this exact moment when he lay atop a hill defending his home planet against a superior enemy which suddenly seemed to have the ability to turn invisible.
“Use iron sights!” Vorten suddenly shouted, “look over your scopes!”
Reece yanked his eyepiece from his head and used his naked eye to look down the sights of his weapon, blinking and struggling to focus through the grimy rain. There – rapidly approaching the ridge above the launcher battery’s ravine – six bulky shapes moved rapidly in pairs across the open ground, their armored suits perfectly color matched with their surroundings even as the backdrop changed behind them from ruined city to icy hills.
Vorten swore as the six enemy soldiers disappeared from view.
“Unor Battery, this is Guardian,” he called to the battery’s shard network. “You’ve got six Concord troopers right on top of you! They’ve got some sort of camouflage against our scopes and…”
A pair of Concord troopers appeared to the left of the ridgeline, a second pair to the right, and the final two were just visible at the top of the ridge. With coordination and accuracy which Reece thought to be impossible, the six Concord troopers opened fire with their plasma carbines, sending streams of blue lines stitching through the battery crewmen and dropping them where they stood before a single retaliatory shot could be fired.
“Open fire!” Vorten yelled.
Reece pulled the trigger of his mag gun. The weapon jolted back into his shoulder as the magnetic coils accelerated a projectile out of the barrel with fantastic speed, the weapon heating up and glowing softly against his cheek. Reece fired again and again. The faceless, armored enemy soldiers ahead of him were out of focus as his attention was drawn to the bucking barrel of his weapon, completely unable to tell whether his shots were anywhere near his barely registered target. An opaque purple square appeared momentarily over the shoulder of one of the enemy troopers as a shot was deflected by the Concord soldier’s hyperlight armor.
There was a scream somewhere to the right and Reece realized that the heat he could sense was not solely emanating from his mag gun; pulses of blue plasma fire were piercing the air just above his head.
Reece froze. He stopped firing. At that precise moment, he realized for the first time that enemy soldiers were trying to kill him.
Next to him, Gander tensed up suddenly and rolled over without a sound, the left half of his head completely absent, and what was left of his skull now cauterized into a smoking mess of black. A hand grabbed Reece by the scruff of his neck and he was yanked from his firing position and down the far side of the plateau, stumbling until he found his feet to join his surviving comrades in fleeing.
* * *
The rain finally eased off shortly after sunset, and Tahl found himself caught out by the beauty of the night sky and the familiar stellar constellations as he gazed toward home, light years away. He thought of his mother, still as worried about him now after ten years of soldiering as she was on the day he left to become a recruit. The IMTel – the Integrated Machine Intelligence which amalgamated the shards of every aspect of PanHuman society into one pool of thought for the greater cause – was a constant source of comfort for every human being who basked under its paternal blanket of care. Still, even knowing that her son had been specially selected to be in the right place at the right time for his particular skill set, there was only so much of human nature which could be overridden with technology, and Tahl knew his mother would always worry.
“Commander?”
Tahl was brought back to the present, back to the company’s base camp in the ruined town where his troopers held a solid defensive position alongside Drop Commander Keenen’s Company. Stood in front of him, his hyperlight armor now pitch black to blend into the night, Strike Leader Van Noor nodded respectfully. The stocky man had rolled back his helmet’s faceplate, no doubt enjoying the relatively rare combination of a breathable atmosphere and a location secure enough to let his guard down momentarily. A single red vertical line in the center of Van Noor’s chest plate was his only badge of rank, and even that was calibrated so as to be invisible to any eyes other than those patched in to the C3 military shard. Van Noor was the company’s senior strike leader and as such would normally accompany Tahl. But given the shortages of experienced leaders, Van Noor was now utilized as a squad leader once more.
“You wanted to see me?” the blonde squad leader said.
“Yes,” Tahl replied quietly, “yes, I did.”
He glanced around at his soldiers as they sat in groups within the shelter of the roofless houses. By and large they had formed up into squads, even in their down time, whilst they ran diagnostic checks on their weapons and armor in the light of the triple moons, their hushed conversations occasionally eliciting a bawdy laugh or terse insult.
“Good job today,” Tahl said, “you and your guys. I know you’ve taken a few hits since we took the lead on this offensive, but your squad is the most experienced in the company and I honestly think we’re nearly done here.”
Van Noor nodded slowly, his dark eyes glistening.
“Forty-five days now, Boss,” he finally said. “The IMTel reckoned we’d have these guys finished in less than half of that. And the IMTel doesn’t make mistakes.”
“Keep your voice down, Leader,” Tahl said, glancing around cautiously before continuing, “I know you’re frustrated, Bry, I can understand that. But don’t go questioning our leadership in front of the troopers, it can’t bring anything good. You’ve got any problems at all, you bring them to me and I’ll take them forward on your behalf. I’ll listen, and I’ll take you seriously.”
“I know, sir, I know,” the veteran soldier replied sincerely, “but these men and women are living off combat stimulants and good will, and we’re running out of both. We were promised some time away from the front line after Naubek and it didn’t happen. The same again at Tarantell V. Now we’re here and this one is dragging out; these bastards don’t know they’re beaten and now they’re sending militia kids up against us. The guys and girls are tired, demoralized from our losses, and now that we’re massacring half trained kids it’s getting even worse.”
“And this is cause to shake your faith in our system?”
The new voice made both men turn to face the figure which had appeared by their side. Standing a full head taller than both men, the thin, pale, wraith-like form of Mandarin Leeoras stared at the two soldiers with cold, impassive eyes.
“Strike Leader Van Noor is merely voicing his concern over the state of the men and women under his command, ma’am,” Tahl said calmly, “he meant nothing by it.”
“Yet you both seem nervous,” the tall, pale woman observed, her head cocked slightly sideways as she waited for his response. Tahl had not even been aware of the emotion now registering in his brain. As a NuHu, Leeoras was in many ways an evolutionary step ahead of a regular human being. With a hyper developed mental ability which facilitated a seamless link with nano-technology and shards at every level, a NuHu was able to control any machine with only a mere thought; able to read the minds of any human connected to IMTel without that person even being aware that their deepest secrets were already known.
“Carry on about your business, Strike Leader,” Leeoras said passively, allowing Van Noor to dismiss himself before turning back to Tahl. “Walk with me, Commander.”
Dressed in white and green robes which covered her armor, the NuHu’s blossom pink hair complimented her complexion which almost gave a warmth to her appearance. Tahl noticed that the tall, thin woman walked as any human would, rather than manipulating her surrounding nanosphere to simply levitate, as he had seen other NuHu do with contemptuous ease.
“Many humans find it off putting,” Leeoras replied to his unvocalised question, “but that is not what I wanted to talk to you about. Our enemy is beginning to wise up to our technology. As your company found today, we are encountering less and less of their professional soldiers and more of their militia. Their technology is similar to that which we were using over a century ago, which is why we are able to shield ourselves from their sensors.”
“It is certainly easier facing these pockets of resistance than their front line troops in the first days of the campaign,” Tahl agreed.
“But they are not stupid,” Leeoras held up a long, graceful finger. “They are abandoning their guerrilla tactics and relying more on massing their offensive capabilities in centralized locations. Statistically, this is their most likely way of inflicting casualties upon our forces.”
“They are proving far more difficult to defeat than anticipated,” Tahl agreed. “Yet another in a long line of opponents who view us as a threat to their way of life, rather than a way to improve it.”
Leeoras turned her gray eyes to the south and raised a finger to her thin lips. A ripple of laughter from one of Tahl’s squads who were servicing their plasma weapons seemed to suddenly break the Mandarin’s concentration, causing her to frown momentarily before turning back to Tahl.
“We are a threat to their way of life,” she said, her tone almost stern, “but their way of life is outdated and favors an elite minority rather than providing care in equality to all. Regardless, there is a major concentration of Prostock Alliance forces in a settlement which is 8,450 yan from here on a heading of 193. More specifically, an old fortification which they have fitted with defensive weaponry and shielding. It will take time we cannot afford to spare to bombard them out, so we need to close with the enemy. Your company is to neutralize this threat at 1000 tomorrow.”
Tahl nodded. His people were showing signs of fatigue, despite the continually achieved objectives and facade of normality in between actions – sloppiness in routines, arguments breaking out of inconsequential disagreements, lapses in concentration – they needed rest. But it was the same across the rest of the regiment. Tahl had already raised his concerns to his chain of command, but had received no feedback.
“Is your company fit to carry out this task?” Leeoras asked.
“Yes, they’re fine,” Tahl replied after a pause. “I’ll take point myself with my command squad.”
“I do not think that is a good idea,” the NuHu narrowed her eyes ever so slightly, “exposing yourself to a dangerous position which could be carried out by another without any loss in operational capability. You should be directing your forces from a central position, not leading from the front.”
Tahl ran a gloved hand through his short, dark hair. He looked around at the men and women of his company. Whilst the average life expectancy of a human was two and half centuries, it was most common for the IMTel to select recruits in their late teens and early twenties for a typical military tour of five years. At 35 years of age, even though physically he looked no older than any of them, Tahl felt himself to be a generation apart from the troopers who looked to him for guidance.
“No, I’ll lead from the front,” Tahl declared as a soothing tone sounded briefly in his ear to announce a briefing package had arrived in his battlesuit’s processor; the details for tomorrow’s mission, no doubt.
“I have sent you the file,” Leeoras said. “I assume you will be sending it directly to your company now?”
“No,” Tahl disagreed again, “let them have their evening. I’ll brief them face to face in the morning.”
“Why?” Leeoras asked, her head cocked to one side again.
“Because with all of our technological advantages, if you are ordering a person potentially to their death, it does a world of good to take the time to at least look them in the eye as you do so.”
Leeoras nodded slowly.
“I am glad of our relationship, Commander,” she said with a slight smile. “We… need the human touch in our military leadership which NuHu cannot provide. And you, Ryen, what are you to do with your evening?”
“Forms,” Tahl replied. “They are the very essence of my art. Without them, the karampei practitioner grows stale. Given my somewhat high profile entry into the world of competition fighting outside of the Concord, I now take every effort to return to the proper path of the art.”
“Of course,” the NuHu said, “the wandering warrior. Do you… miss those days?”
“It was over a decade ago, this is who I am now. Goodnight, ma’am, my company won’t let you down tomorrow.”
* * *
Glad to have a few moments alone, Strike Leader Katya Rhona sank down on a rubble wall which stood at a third of her height, a couple of dozen yan away from the rest of the company. She slid a hand from her chin to the crown of her head and took in a breath of fresh air as her face mask followed her palm and retreated into the back of her helmet, before she reached back and removed the headgear entirely. Her jet black hair hung over her eyes as she leaned forward and steadied her breathing.
“Take that rag off your head!” a voice boomed from behind her. “You’re a strike leader now, you’re supposed to be setting a damn example!”
Rhona looked over her armored shoulder and met the furious gaze of Feon Rall, the soldier who up until yesterday had been her own strike leader. The tall, dark skinned man folded his arms across his broad chest and sneered down at her.
“Go screw yourself, Rall,” Rhona flashed a smile, “if I want your opinion, you’ll know ‘bout it.”
The veteran trooper swore and shook his head.
“Two days holding rank and now you know better than me? What the hell is this army coming to, putting the likes of you in command of Concord soldiers…”
“Truth be told, I don’t give a damn about you or your army right now,” Rhona shrugged, “besides, I knew better than you when I was a new recruit, let alone a strike leader. Now, I’ve come out here to be on my own, not to talk about all things military with an idiot like you. Run along, honey, you’re boring me.”
The tall trooper muttered an obscenity and turned to leave. Rhona reached up and took the ‘rag’ – her sweat soaked purple bandanna – from her head and held it in her hands, remembering her father with a brief, affectionate laugh before replacing it and carefully arranging her hair stylishly over the bandanna again. The campaign was nearly over, and maybe soon she could go home for a few days. Maybe, just maybe, the IMTel would decide that she was not meant for soldiering and discharge her from C3 altogether, to return to her previous life before military service. Still, even with the freedom of thought which a military shard allowed her, she knew that she was where she was supposed to be – the IMTel did not make mistakes.
A few minutes and she would have to return to her squad, back to the overwhelmingly negative environment where she could physically feel their resentment and dissatisfaction with her through the shard, as well as see it in their eyes. That was nothing new. She was used to resentment; it was the curse of being more beautiful than everybody else. And being promoted to strike leader less than a year into her military career – four of five years ahead of the average promotion time – certainly did not help.
None of it mattered, this was just a phase of her life and at twenty-five, she had already seen more change than the average Concord citizen would in two centuries. Better to just word a quick letter to her little brother and then get back to work, even if it would take a good two or three days for her communiqué to reach him. With security and transmission distances to overcome, it was a comparative age corresponding with family from the front line.
“Dear Micha,” she began, “hope this finds you doing good, and still trying hard at school. I guess it’s the start of batterball season now? You must have been picked for the team, Pa made a damn good striker out of you…”
