Orphan Brigade (17 page)

“It's up to you.” He switched off the engine and sat back. Python's hair was tied up behind his head, and he'd recently clipped his beard. His normally rough attire had been elevated a notch, but he was still Python. “We aren't going to meet anyone here, because they weren't willing to meet with you at all. To be honest, this bunch is pretty chicken. We had a long talk, and they suggested that I just take you to see the camp itself.”

“I'm not understanding this. You mean
you
know where it is?”

“Of course. I was there when they delivered the first batch.”

“And just how did that happen?”

“Have you heard the rumor about me serving in the war? It's true. I got stuck on an island on this one Hab, right in the middle of a gigantic fight. It was me, what was left of my company, and a bunch of Sims. Both sides had wounded, no way off the island, and there was only one water source. So we declared a truce using made-­up sign language. Didn't come near each other, the Sims were very clear about that, and we rotated using the water.

“After a week we realized we'd been forgotten. So we kept up the truce, spent some time waving at each other every day, then Command caught up with us. They weren't happy with what was going on, so they killed all the Sims and locked me and the other guys up. We did a ­couple of years, then they released us when our enlistments ended. All sorts of vile threats to keep our mouths shut, but who would have believed us anyway? Saying it's actually possible to coexist with the evil aggressor.

“A few months later they called me in and offered me some money if I'd talk with this Dr. Kletterman—­not a bad guy, by the way, I've gotten to know him pretty well—­and some others. They were shocked that the Sims on that island hadn't died, with so many of us humans nearby. Apparently keeping our distance was the key.

“From talking to me, Kletterman figured it was possible to transport captured Sims if they kept them isolated before, during, and after the trip. They wanted to reproduce the island on a captured Hab, but stock it only with Sims and observe their behavior.” He gave a short laugh. “They call it the Ant Farm. Long-­range surveillance, the Doc and his ­people watch everything the ants do.

“I guess whatever kills the Sims in captivity is human-­related, because these ones are thriving. Right now they're growing their own food, but at first the Doc had to drop captured rations on them every now and then. They know they're prisoners, but they've got no contact with anybody and can't even see the mainland. The Doc and his gang seem to think they're learning a lot about them.”

“You've got access to this place?”

“They call me out there every now and then, to compare notes about what happened on that other island. The Doc likes me a lot, and because this is a hush-­hush Force operation, they're not allowed normal communications with anybody. Everything goes through a series of buffers, so if I showed up there with Olech Mortas's daughter, they'd accept it without question. And it's not a long trip. They're on Echo.”

Echo was a tiny Hab close to Broda. Completely missed during the early decades of mankind's expansion across the stars, it had been declared off-­limits so that its ecology could be studied. Except for a few scientific stations, the planet was untouched by humans.

“They've got living Sims all the way back here?” Ayliss could hardly control her excitement. The only thing that truly frightened the populations of the settled worlds was the idea that the Sims would find them. The conflict could rage on for generations as long as it stayed in the war zone, but anything that might tip the enemy off—­such as bringing prisoners anywhere near the human planets—­would cause a firestorm.

“Yeah. And they don't seem to think it's a big deal, either. I guess that's what happens when you have all that power—­anything goes.”

“I know all about that.” She pursed her lips. “Why would you want to show me this? Why help me?”

“I've been watching you dig around for a long time now, Ayliss. I had to know you meant it, that you weren't a plant.” Python looked at the shuttle. “What they did to me and my buddies was wrong. What they did to those Sims on that island was wrong. And what they're doing on Echo, that's wrong too. I've had enough of what's wrong.”

He stopped talking, and didn't turn to look at her again. Ayliss regarded the waiting spacecraft, but had already made up her mind.

“Let's go.”

 

CHAPTER SIX

“C
ome on, greenies, you gotta do it better than that!” Berland called out in a weary voice, the sound echoing in the metal chamber. The platoon had been granted the use of an empty storage bay on the huge transport, and was practicing battle drills.

“Listen: the Sims we're facing have been cut off for a long time. There aren't that many of them left, but they know the terrain, and they'd just love to get a bunch of newbies to chase them straight into an ambush.

“That's why we're practicing
not
chasing them into an ambush. I've done this mission enough times to know it's not going to make any difference if we kill a few of them or never see any of them at all. We want to avoid what happened to the last Orphan company that was out there—­”

“An entire squad got blown to shit when they chased the Sammies past a hollow tree that was filled with explosives and scrap metal.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Dak. I was trying not to tell our new men that story.”

“We already know that one, Sergeant Berland.” Even with the body armor, goggles, helmet, and weapon, the new man volunteering the information looked like a child. “And the one where they poured fuel on the grass and burned up that entire platoon—­”

“Stop. Just stop.” Berland removed his helmet and goggles. “There is no way to set fire to
anything
in that jungle. Even if you poured fuel on it. And we've never lost a platoon on this mission.

“Here's how it's going to go: the Sims try to shoot down the resupply drones when they come in, which means they converge on whichever site is getting its monthly delivery. Our company will be inserted in the jungle while the drones are in the air, zipping all over the place to confuse the Sims about which ones are full and which ones are empty.

“Second and Third Platoons will circle around the site on its east and west sides, and if the plan works, Sir Samuel will try to escape by going south, where we'll be waiting. The veterans have been on this mission before, so we know that's not going to work. The bush is so thick, and the Sims know the terrain so well, that there is no way they're gonna do what we want.

“So after they slip by our block position, we're gonna have to pick up all our stuff, including all the water we're gonna need because the local goop is so nasty, and we're gonna take a few long walks through the jungle. If the Sammies don't feel like playing, we're not even going to see them, but if they do feel sporty we're gonna get ambushed. So let's go back to the start line and try this again. Remember: You see something, hear something, or get shot at by something,
drop to the ground
. Then move up just enough to create a base of fire and don't go anywhere until you're told to do so.”

“Why are they making us hump all this water when they can resupply us anytime?” This came from one of the veterans, a dour man whose name Mortas had not yet mastered.

“Yeah, Sarge—­why don't they give us some of that powdered water instead?” Ladaglia managed to keep a straight face until one of the other veterans provided the punch line.

“Yeah, that's what we need, Sarge! Dehydrated aych-­two-­oh. Just add water.”

The three squads got a good laugh in as they headed back across the storage area. Berland had marked out their different start positions on the oil-­stained metal floor, and Mortas stepped away from them to consult with the senior NCO. He was tugging at his fatigue shirt under the torso armor, and Berland didn't wait for him to speak.

“Problem with the rig, sir?” Much earlier, Berland had showed Mortas how to adjust his helmet so that it no longer slid down onto his goggles whenever he hit the deck.

“Sorta.” Mortas half turned, rifle in one hand, while raising the curved plate of the armor's rear piece to show the handle of Corporal Cranther's fighting knife. “I wore this thing for days on Roanum, but that was without armor. This is the way the Spartacan Scout carried it, but it's not working for me.”

“The Spartacans don't believe in body armor, sir. Or heavy weapons, for that matter. Can I see that?”

Mortas drew the long knife from its sheath, the blackened blade long and sharp. Handing it over while remembering the two times he'd used it, the first in a frenzy and the second without conscious thought. Berland hefted the weapon as if testing its balance.

“Any idea where I should carry this?”

“Yeah. The bottom of your ruck for now, and when we get back, I'm thinking it should go in one of your desk drawers.” He handed the knife back. “Or you could hang it on the wall in your room.”

“Huh?”

“Sir, all you're gonna do with that thing is hurt yourself. Seen it before with those commando knives. Me, I try to keep the enemy as far away as possible. If I could, I'd engage them with orbital rockets every time.”

Mortas was about to object when a loud voice echoed through the bay, “Platoon, atten-­chun!”

He turned to see Captain Noonan striding toward him, accompanied by the still-­limping Lieutenant Kitrick. The company commander breezily told the men to relax as he went by, but he was followed by expressions that combined curiosity with concern.

“Lieutenant Mortas, Sergeant Berland, our mission has been scrubbed. The brigade has been ordered to ship out to Fractus, and we will be linking up with them on the way.”

“Fractus? They've been stalemated there close to
forever
, sir.” Berland's words came out slowly, and Mortas detected a hint of apprehension.

“Apparently the stalemate is over.” Noonan nodded at Mortas. “Seems the bad guys found another place to use that new ordnance you encountered on Roanum, the one that turns solid ground into mud. So far they've used it to cut off and destroy most of an armored division.

“Platoon sergeants and platoon leaders assemble in the galley in thirty minutes for a briefing.” Noonan stalked off, but Kitrick stayed behind for a moment.

“Looks like we'll be getting our boomers back.” He swatted Mortas's arm lightly before limping after the commanding officer.

“B
roadcast to begin in three, two —­” The technician mouthed the word “one,” then pointed his index finger directly at Olech. The Chairman of the Emergency Senate was seated behind an impressive wooden desk in a sound stage at Unity that was made up to look like his office. He wore a dark gray tunic with a high collar, and his award for being one of the Unwavering stood out prominently.

“Hello, and greetings from Earth. I apologize for the unscheduled nature of this address, but I have important news that I would like to share with all of you.” Olech had rehearsed the words several times, and experts on his staff had coached him on his facial expression. His graying hair complemented a businesslike demeanor that was intentionally tinged with subdued cheerfulness.

“Few experiences are happier than the moment when one of our many heroes returns from military ser­vice. With that said, it has recently come to my attention that a considerable number of enlistments are being extended in the war zone, owing to concerns about possible exposure to the vectors of dangerous illnesses. I personally assure you that the veterans in question are healthy and that they are receiving the attention of our top medical experts. With that said, I must side with the commanders in the field in their decision to err on the side of caution, and to keep those troops in the war zone until a definite conclusion can be reached regarding the potential for carrying foreign pathogens to the settled planets.

“Every day of this conflict our brave Forcemembers encounter environments that are utterly alien to human experience. Rather than risk transmitting a completely foreign virus, bug, or biological agent to the settled worlds, Force commanders have established camps on conquered habitable planets for the quarantined veterans.

“Wartime security measures prevent me from disclosing specific locations, but these camps are located on the most desirable of the Habs that have been won for humanity by the blood and sacrifice of your sons and daughters. That was by design, and I laud the cooperation of the planetary councils, the rest of the Emergency Senate, and the highest command levels of our Human Defense Force in providing these troops with such an excellent environment.

“Sadly, we have no idea how long it may take to clear these brave veterans to return home. Although this is highly unlikely, it is possible that they may never be able to return. And that is why it was vital to place them on resource-­rich planets that will also serve as admirable locations for the founding of new colonies. Words cannot express my humble gratitude for the selfless fashion in which our planetary governments gave up their claims to the bountiful resources of those planets, all in order to give these potential colonies every chance of long-­term success.

“As Chairman of the Emergency Senate and the commander in chief of all our forces, I feel it is my duty to assist in this noble enterprise. And so I have lifted the burden of administering these colonies from the shoulders of generals and admirals whose primary duty is fighting the continuing war.

“As most of the troops in question are either past the end of their enlistments or can be expected to be in quarantine past that date, I am placing the management of the new colonies under the Veterans Auxiliary. I promise that the veterans in the new colonies will continue to receive the highest levels of medical care. They will also receive every assistance necessary to guarantee their success should they be required—­or should they choose—­to remain as colonists and the first citizens of what will someday be brilliant, shining additions to our alliance.

“Needless to say, top priority will be given to establishing a time frame for families to join their loved ones in these new colonies. In the meantime, rest assured that I will be supervising this personally while we move forward as a ­people, as a race, as a family, toward that great day when we will have secured the safety of humanity and returned our worlds to peace. Thank you.”

“I
s this how it's supposed to go? I do all the work, and you get all the accolades?” Reena stepped up and wrapped her arms around his neck when Olech moved away from the desk. They kissed warmly, enjoying the culmination of yet another plan. The broadcast wouldn't reach the other planets for some time, but it was too important to be tampered with and so would go through unchanged. No doubt the leadership on certain planets would soon be beaming their own coded messages to the Force commanders they owned in the war zone, but the deed was done. Olech broke the kiss and spoke.

“You set 'em up, and I knock 'em down.”

“I've knocked a few of them down myself, you know.”

“I do indeed. I enjoyed the way you handled General Merkit. What do you say I send him to the war zone to get some combat experience?”

“What combat experience would an office politician like him get? You send him out there, and he'll find a way to take charge of those rich new colonies.”

“Oh, I've got someone else in mind for that.”

“You can't be serious. She's twenty-­three, and she's been with the Auxiliary less than a year.”

“Every story the Bounce has ever run on Ayliss has received high approval numbers, especially when she wears the Aux uniform. Besides, it would give her something to do other than taking shots at me.”

Reena's face clouded. “You do know that some other ­people are going to want to take a shot at you because of what we did today.”

“What can they do? They overplayed their hands by stuffing those planets with their own ­people, and they paid for it. They've got no alternatives other than to smile and go along. That's why I didn't bother consulting them.”

“That was a nice touch, giving them credit for something they didn't know about—­and wouldn't have agreed to, ever.”

“They'll be smart enough to take the credit. And maybe next time they won't try to pull a stunt like this one.”

“Probably, but there are plenty of other actors in this who don't care about public opinion, who are going to feel their good buddy Olech Mortas just did them in.”

“At first, sure. But you know, you gotta shake ­people up every now and then. Otherwise they get complacent, or they take you for granted. I'll be hearing from some unhappy pals for a bit, but then they're going to remember who controls the Auxiliary. And then they'll come to me about the contracts for building these new colonies, and the mining rights, and the shipment of the goodies off-­world, and they'll find out that we're still pals.”

Reena laid her head against his chest. “You know I already warned my brother, right?”

“You always do. And that's one reason we never have to worry about Celestia. Your ­people weren't involved in this nonsense, so it was a smart play to give them a heads-­up, to let them know we consider them grown-­ups.”

“I don't know about that.”

“You don't think your brother and his cronies are grown-­ups?”

“No. I don't know if we never have to worry about them.”

The door opened, and Hugh Leeger appeared.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Chairman, but we just received word from Command that the enemy has just used the mud-­creating munition that Jan saw on Roanum. They've just launched a fresh offensive on Fractus, and it looks rough.”

“T
his is indeed an honor, to have the daughter of Olech Mortas visit our facility!” The man was enormous, with a thick head of gray hair and looming eyebrows. Lines crossed his forehead, and his cheeks showed a day's worth of dark beard, but his lab coat was immaculate and so was the rest of the site. “Dr. Yost Kletterman. Welcome, welcome.”

Ayliss shook the proffered hand, trying to give Kletterman her full attention but too excited to keep her eyes from roving. Python had flown them to an unmanned satellite orbiting the planet, part of Command's effort to keep the site isolated. After docking, they had entered a spherical pod just large enough for the two of them. It was programmed to travel between the satellite and the research site, and that was all. It had shot toward Echo with little warning, tearing through the thick atmosphere in a ball of flame, then slowed itself to land on a flat platform that jutted out from the facility's lone structure.