Orphan Brigade (30 page)

“They lost track of most of them, and believed that they'd been destroyed in space. So many things to run into, or that can run into you.” He flashed her a smile. “But you know all about that now, don't you?”

“Is this some kind of silly metaphor?”

“Sadly, no. You see, this heap of space junk was the only one that ever came back.”

“But they weren't designed to come back.”

“Exactly. So just imagine the shock, all those decades ago, when this thing's locator suddenly started beeping inside our solar system. Not that far from Earth. There had been some unusual readings just prior to this probe's reappearance, and for a while nobody knew what that was. So of course they went out and got it.”

Olech released the stand and walked over next to her, looking down at the machine. “Honestly, I think we would have been a lot better off if they'd just destroyed it. But there was no explanation for the thing being where it was, as if it appeared out of nowhere, and so they brought it back.

“The contents were missing, but they'd been replaced. With this.”

He pressed a button on the stand, and lights all over the cavern slowly came on. The walls turned a golden hue, then came into definition as hundreds of small panels encased in glass, rows of them reaching high on three of the four walls. Ayliss walked over silently, choosing a panel at random. It showed a heavily detailed electrical circuit, in script that appeared to be painted on a piece of parchment. The one next to it consisted of humanoid stick figures that appeared to be coiling thread onto a spool the size of a man. She reached back to her education and decided the spool was some form of electromagnet and that whoever painted that picture wasn't sure if its intended audience knew exactly how to construct such a thing.

Olech spoke while she was still looking at the panel. “The unusual readings that preceded the probe's return have since been identified as the first human observation of the Step.”

In spite of herself, Ayliss looked at her father in surprise.

“That's right. We didn't invent the Step. Or the Transgression, as it was first known. Personally I think we should have stayed with the original name. Some entity, or entities, used the Step to send us this set of illustrations showing us how to do it. They had to provide much of the instruction in the form of pictographs, but luckily there were a few electrical schematics on the body of the probe that they deciphered.”

Olech waved an arm, encompassing the entire room. “That saved them a lot of work, but as you can see it was an intricate thing, teaching the humans of that day how to reproduce the technology.

“And of course, being human, the ­people interpreting these instructions decided not to tell the world about them. I suspect they were hesitant to reveal the existence of an entity far more advanced than we are, that knows where we are, and might even have visited us. It's one thing to tell humanity we're not alone; it's quite another to tell them we're completely outclassed.

“And of course there was a lot of money to be made, so it was a lot easier to keep quiet about the contact, play around with the miracle technology, and finally announce that mankind had invented the Step. Over time I imagine it was like any other big lie; tell it enough times and you'll begin to believe it yourself.”

“Have they contacted us again?” Ayliss asked, her mind a blur.

“Not to our knowledge. Which doesn't make a lot of sense, does it? Give us the means to travel faster than light, then ignore us. Unless, of course, they're so advanced that we aren't capable of understanding why they do the things they do.”

“This sounds a lot like a different puzzle we've been wrestling with.”

“Precisely.” Olech smiled with approval. “Some of the ­people who know about this probe suspect it was sent to us by the same entity that's making the Sims. That it's all a great big gladiatorial contest, and that we were given the Step because we were taking too long to meet up with the enemy they'd designed for us.

“Others think it might be a bit more involved, that whatever gave us the Step isn't the thing that made the Sims. That they're enemies, or merely competitors playing a game. Makes you wonder about all those ancient Greek myths, doesn't it? The ones where the gods set different nations at war, as surrogates for their own little pissing contests.”

“What do
you
think?”

Olech cocked his head at her. “I don't believe I've ever heard you say those words to me before.”

“You never said them to me.”

“Well I will be saying them, and much more often. I can't go on like this, Ayliss. When I thought Jan was dead, it was like losing your mother all over again—­”

“Really? This isn't how you behaved when Mother died. You pushed me and Jan away. And if you think I bought that ridiculous lie Reena just told me, or that I don't know you put her up to it, you better think again.”

“I can't remake the past. And if I could, this is one thing I wouldn't change because it kept you and Jan safe. What Reena told you is the truth. Believe it, don't believe it, it doesn't matter to me. But I can't go on like this, knowing that you and Jan could be snatched away at any second, and I would never get the chance to tell you that I acted the way I did in order to keep you safe.”

“You've lied to me my whole life. Why would I believe you now?”

“Why would I be lying? Why would I pretend to care after all this time?”

“I'm sure there's something in it for you.”

“There is. Jan's just a lieutenant, turned me down when I tried to make him something with power, real authority—­”

“And you want to make me the ambassador to the Holy Whisper?”

“Of course not. You have no connection to them, and I've already filled the position. But I do have a job for you, a big one, and if you still want to dig up dirt on your old man you'll get tons of it. Without falling into any more traps.”

“I'm finding out everything I need to know, just from the Auxiliary's files. Why would I want a job you're so eager to push on me?”

“Because it's Veterans Auxiliary, for one. I just took several colonies of supposedly quarantined veterans and put them under the Auxiliary's control. I need someone to run that for me, someone who's sharp enough not to let the rest of the coalition turn those colonies—­all of which are on resource-­rich planets—­into their own private mining concerns.”

“Why should I help you?”

“It's simple. A moment ago you asked for my opinion about what sent us this probe. What gave us the Step. I have no idea, but I do know one thing: twelve years ago, somebody sent out a fresh wave of very special probes, containing a message meant for whoever gave us the Step. He didn't ask anybody's permission, and that got him murdered.”

“Larkin? President Larkin did that?”

“Yes. You see, he understood that whatever is making the Sims is so far ahead of us that even if we win the war, we're still doomed. So he just decided on his own that whatever sent us the Step is separate from whatever is making the Sims. He sent out a new wave of probes containing messages for those entities—­a lot like the images on these walls—­saying that we're losing a war of survival. He announced it on the floor of the Interplanetary Senate, and when he told us that he'd already launched them the place went crazy.

“It was pandemonium, senators rushing the podium, everybody yelling, Senate staffers trying to shove back the crowd, and finally the fists started flying. I didn't know the president well, but I liked him and was trying to reach the dais to protect him when it got out of hand.

“Different security details pushed their way into the chamber, and before you knew it they were fighting each other. Then the shooting started, bodies falling everywhere, and I was only saved because Faldonado stopped a bullet throwing himself on top of me.”

The name stirred up distant memories of a beefy man even taller than her father. Stern, distant, always
Mister
Faldonado when Ayliss addressed him. She'd learned of Larkin's assassination at boarding school and hadn't seen her father until more than a year later, after the Purge had run its course. Hugh Leeger, who had been Jan's bodyguard, was the head of Olech's security detail by then. Ayliss's rejection of her father had almost kept her from asking about the change in personnel, and the only answer she'd received was that Faldonado had died.

“That's really how it happened? The assassination?”

“I've always had a hard time calling it that. There were ­people in that chamber who already wanted Larkin dead, and many of them were furious that he'd launched those probes without consulting them, but as I said it was chaos. Larkin was killed in the cross fire, along with many others, and when it was over the only way to explain what had happened was a complete takeover. All the lies about Larkin's plan to radiate a hundred Habs to head off the Sims, the purging of the officer corps, the creation of the Emergency Senate, all of it was set in motion by Larkin's decision to try to find humanity an ally as powerful as our enemy.”

“That's insane. From what you're telling me, it's just as likely that whatever gave us the Step is making the Sims.”

“That's what I thought, until Jan's little adventure on Roanum.”

“You mean the rumors are true?”

“Yes. He encountered something we've never seen before, a shape-­shifting entity that imitated a human being. We know almost nothing about it, so we're left with some very basic suppositions. Either it was one of the things that are making the Sims, or it wasn't. If it was, then it's a creature of amazing capabilities that is already our enemy. If it wasn't, then it's a creature of amazing capabilities allied with our opponents. We only saw the one, and we still don't know what it was trying to do. But it is conclusive proof that there are entities more powerful than we are.”

He turned and looked at the probe. “Larkin's message in a bottle was sent out using the Step twelve years ago. There is something out there, and I can no longer assume that Larkin's message won't ever receive a response. That's why I need as much help as I can get from everyone around me, including you. We have to make this coalition start functioning again, so we can stop holding the Sims off and start actually defeating them.”

Olech stared at her with an expression of fierce determination. “Because if something does answer Larkin's call, it's going to make its own decision about this conflict. If we want any chance at gaining an ally here, we better not be losing this war when it shows up.”

The two of them stood in silence for several moments, Olech half-­expecting a rejection similar to the one he'd received from Jander over the ambassadorship. For her part, Ayliss was mentally reviewing what Harlec and Python had said about linguists seeking to communicate with the Sims. The revelation about the alien Jan had encountered slipped into place like the missing piece of a puzzle she hadn't been trying to solve. Her face suddenly lost its pensive expression.

“The thing Jan encountered. It was working with the Sims?”

“Yes. Jan and the others had been captured by the Sims in transit, and the shape-­shifter was slipped in with them in the guise of a human. It was all a setup.”

“So that alien was able to communicate with humans
and
Sims?”

Olech's eyes widened, then sought the floor. When he looked up again, it was with a look of astonishment. He spoke slowly.

“No one noticed that. Not me, the Force in the war zone, or the SCOTS. No one until now.”

“The alien was destroyed?”

“Yes. And so far we haven't encountered another one.”

“Well if there is another one in existence, it could serve as something we've never had.” Father and daughter exchanged cold smiles. “An interpreter.”

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

M
ortas was sitting at his desk in the platoon's empty command post when Sergeant Major Zacker poked his head in.

“Hey there, Lieutenant. Doesn't seem to be much of First Platoon around.”

Mortas glanced at the clock on the wall, the one behind Berland's empty chair. He looked around uncertainly, realizing he'd been sitting there motionless for an entire hour.

“Yeah, yeah, Sergeant Dak and Sergeant Mecklinger are trying to round everybody up. I mean, one or two days of cutting loose is one thing, but a few of the guys disappeared when we got back.”

“You'd think the military police would have scooped 'em up by now, but around here they know better than to mess with the Orphans. Boys are just out having a little fun, deserve it after what they went through. I'm a little surprised you didn't go out yourself.”

“I'd just finished in-­processing when we were alerted for that jungle mission. I honestly don't know where the fun is around here.”

“Well you might want to find out, and reel the boys back in. Colonel Watt is going to address the brigade tonight, one battalion at a time, so we need the troops out on the athletic field at sundown.”

“All right, Sergeant Major.” He looked down at the empty desktop, his mind refusing to come up with a place to start.

Zacker watched him from the door. “Major Hatton's back.”

He remembered the bearlike battalion executive officer from his first day. “I heard he got nailed in the same barrage that hit the field command post.”

“He did, in a way. He says he was standing right next to Colonel Alden when it happened. The concussion put him in a coma for two days.” Zacker smiled, as if contemplating the antics of a wayward child. “Looks like nothing can kill that guy.”

“M
erkit. Come on in and have a seat.” Reena spoke from behind her desk without rising. She still wore the black dress from her discussion with Ayliss.

“That's ‘General' Merkit, Minister.” The heavyset man's face was already set in a scowl as he crossed the office's gold carpet. Although they were deep inside Unity's main tower, a lifelike display on one wall let in bright sunlight from fake windows. The opposite wall was decorated with a large wooden carving of the Corlipso family crest and numerous photographs of their home planet of Celestia.

“Oh, that's right,” she replied evenly, lifting a stiff sheet of paper from the desktop. “Yes, it does say you're a general here.”

She put the document down and picked up another one. The seal of the Emergency Senate had shone through both papers. “But here's another one that says you're a private. You can understand my confusion.”

“I don't find that funny, Minister.”

“You know what wasn't funny? When I found out the Orphan Brigade was at half strength when it was committed to Fractus.”

“I have nothing to do with tactical decisions in the war zone.”

“That could be truer than you think. You see, both of these sheets of paper have orders written on them, over the chairman's signature block. One says you're the general in charge of Force Personnel, and that you're headed to MC-­1932 in order to help the Orphan Brigade's commander rebuild the unit.”

“That's not my job, Minister.”

“And the other paper says you're a private, headed to MC-­1932 as the newest replacement in the rebuilding of the Orphan Brigade. So you might be right after all.”

Merkit's face lost some of its usual color. “Why?”

“You already know why. In the past months the Orphans' commander, this Colonel Watt, sent you several communiqués informing you of the brigade's status and asking why he wasn't receiving the replacements he needed.”

“I don't handle assignments at that level, Minister. By regulation, the Orphans are supposed to receive the files of any volunteer who is physically fit enough to serve in that unit, and anyone they select from those files is supposed to be reassigned immediately.”

“So you are familiar with how it's supposed to work. But according to Colonel Watt's messages, going back several months, he hadn't been receiving those files. So what happened? Volunteers dried up?”

Merkit slid forward in his chair. “Minister, you might not know this, but there is a good deal of hostility toward the regulations governing this unit. Many senior commanders object to losing some of their best men to the Orphans, to the extent that some of those officers have sometimes misreported the qualifications of the volunteers.”

“That's a shame, but it's good that you were aware of it. This Colonel Watt seemed to be aware of it as well. In fact, his adjutant and his sergeant major took a little survey of nearby units and found no shortage of qualified men who claimed to have submitted their request for transfer but were told they'd been turned down.” Reena gave Merkit a bland smile. “Were you aware of that?”

“Of course not, Minister. And I promise that I'll get to the bottom of this—­”

“I know you will. And that your deputy will ably execute the duties of your office in your absence while you work diligently with Colonel Watt on MC-­1932 to bring his unit back up to full strength with soldiers he approves.”

“I really don't think it's necessary for me to actually go out there, Minister.”

Reena dropped the smile, and the paper. “I'm not concerned with what you think. You don't seem to understand that Chairman Mortas is going to sign one of these documents. You're going out there, and it's up to you to decide how you do it—­as a general or a private. Of course, the general will be coming back here once everything's fixed, while the private will be staying.”

Merkit's lips disappeared for a moment, then returned. “I'll be happy to go and supervise the rebuilding of the Independent Brigade, Minister.”

“Your offer of ser­vice is deeply appreciated, General. And when you return, I imagine you'll be much easier to work with.”

“Yes, Minister.”

“Have a safe trip, General. I'll be monitoring the situation, so please let me know if you need any help.” She reached for the next piece of paper in the stack, and her visitor rose to leave. “Oh, and General?”

“Yes, Minister?”

“You might want to tell those senior commanders out there, the ones who weren't following the regulations, to use the Orphans properly from now on. Because if that unit gets chopped up under questionable circumstances ever again, I'll reconstitute it myself, starting with the most senior ­people in the war zone.”

“H
ave a look.”

Hugh Leeger punched a button on his desk, and a display screen on the office wall came alive. Seated in front of the desk, Lee Selkirk turned to see what it was.

He quickly recognized the landing pad outside a penthouse apartment in Buenos Aires, the home of Ayliss's college classmate Marco. During his extensive debriefing, Selkirk had postulated a suspicion that Marco had been involved in the plot that had so nearly ensnared Ayliss and even the chairman.

The sky over the penthouse was a vivid blue, marred by billowing gray smoke that plumed out from an ugly tear in the transparent wall facing the landing pad. Fire was eating everything inside the penthouse, and so he stopped watching.

“I guess that glass wasn't rocket-­proof after all.”

“Oh, but it was. That was a bomb, planted by a certain redheaded woman in our employ. Poor Marco was stupid enough to let his lady friends come and go without being scanned. The cover story says the bomb was planted by someone who doesn't like fat cats.”

“He was certainly that, and annoying as hell. I never liked him.”

“Of course not. He wanted to do to Ayliss what you've been doing to Ayliss. Most normal ­people would recognize that emotion as jealousy, but not you.”

“So you're firing me.”

“I have good reason. You completely compromised yourself, and because you couldn't keep a professional distance from your charge, you let her wander off with what turned out to be a hostile party.”

“I don't need the lecture, Hugh. I know what I did wrong, and what I did right, and that we came out ahead in the end.” Selkirk tossed a finger at the screen behind him. “How much of that ring have you rolled up?”

“Quite a bit. We finally identified that Python character—­what a piece of work
he
was—­and that put us on a bunch of different trails. Mostly disaffected elements, ­people who lost someone in the Purge, nothing we haven't seen before.”

“So I suppose there are a few more bombs exploding on different planets?”

“Bombs, rockets, even a few up-­close-­and-­personals where we decided a clear message was in order.”

“Harlec?”

“No, not Harlec. You're to be commended for the way you handled him. If you'd killed him it would have come back on the Chairman, and the Brodans are already trouble enough. That was well done.”

“All right. So are you firing me or not?”

“Oh, you're already fired. That's straight from the Chairman. You're no longer part of Ayliss's security detail, and because of your poor judgment I can't reassign you. Just so we're clear, if the Chairman hadn't ordered your removal, I would have done it myself.”

“So why are we talking?”

“I've known Ayliss all her life, and I've never been able to predict what she was going to do or understand very much of what she does. I don't know if she was using you, or if you were just part of her sick obsession with hurting her father. We'll find out soon enough, now that you're an outsider. But my money says she really does have feelings for you and that she'll keep you with her. At least for a while.”

“Since you're no longer my boss, I couldn't care less what you think is going to happen between me and Ayliss.”

“Oh, but you should. You see, there's an excellent chance that she's about to head out to a new job in the war zone. It's quite dangerous, and I'm not talking about the Sims. The Chairman stuck his thumb in several powerful eyes a few days ago, and this new job is part of that.”

“He really doesn't care what happens to her, does he?”

“If that were true, we wouldn't be having this discussion. He's hoping Ayliss will take you with her. You'll have no authority over her security detail, which will be completely restaffed, but he's more than happy to have you with her.”

Leeger smiled. “You see, the Chairman is quite a pragmatist. Most fathers wouldn't realize that it's not a bad thing to have a trained fighter sleeping next to their daughters. You can't be one of her bodyguards anymore, but as the boyfriend of a woman who's probably headed to a dangerous place, you've got a lot to recommend you.”

T
he sun wasn't quite down when Mortas noticed the activity outside his office window. B Company's first sergeant was directing a work party of some kind, and they were erecting tall poles at intervals along the edge of the parade field. He walked over to the window to see what they were doing, and slowly became aware of the sounds inside the barracks. The building had been practically empty for the last two days, but now it echoed with young male voices.

The work party finished setting up the poles on the barracks side of the field, then broke up into teams that moved out onto the grass. Separated by many yards, they began setting up even more of the unidentified rods, this time in large circles. Intrigued, Mortas looked around the office for his hat.

The filthy rags he and the others had been wearing when they were evacuated from Fractus had been destroyed aboard ship, and every man had been scrubbed within an inch of his life before undergoing chemical decontamination. They'd been issued the one-­piece flight suits worn by Fleet personnel over the loud objections of the surviving Orphans, and he'd made a point of getting out of the suit as soon as he'd returned to the battalion area. He now wore the woodland camouflage that had been issued to him on his first day.

Going out into the hallway, Mortas was surprised to see shadows all along the corridor from inside the soldiers' rooms. Dak and Mecklinger had been successful in rounding up the remaining members of First Platoon, it seemed.

Heading down the stairs, Mortas encountered one of the new men leaning heavily on the side rail. The soldier gingerly took a step down, then used his free hand to move what was an obviously wounded leg. Mortas remembered him as a baby-­faced blond who looked a little pudgy, but when he got alongside him the face that suddenly snapped in his direction was worn and thin. The eyes were startled and angry, but they softened immediately.

“Sorry, Lieutenant. You surprised me.”

“I know the feeling. Here.” Taking the man's arm, he looped it over his shoulder. They slowly worked their way down the steps.

“The other guys said we're gonna do some kind of memorial. That true, sir?”

“I hadn't heard that, but the sergeant major told me Colonel Watt's going to speak to us.”

“You hear the rumor, sir?”

“Which one would that be? The one where the war is over?”

“I like that one. No, I heard that we're so understrength that they're gonna bust up the outfit.”

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and Mortas managed to keep the shock off his face. He released the man's arm and opened the outside door, holding it ajar with his boot while helping him to limp forward.

“No. I hadn't heard that one. You suppose that's what Colonel Watt's gonna tell us?”

“God I hope not.” They went down the three outside steps and onto the grass. The sky was darkening, and soldiers in woodland camouflage were gathering on the field in twos and threes. “I'll tell you the truth, sir. When they told me I was going to the Orphans they said this brigade was made up of kill-­crazy suicide machines. I thought I was a goner for sure.”