Son of Justice (24 page)

“Looked like one too,” the lieutenant offered with a smile.

“Yeah, let’s see how well you do against him, shall we?”

“Hey, he’s an ally,” Benson argued, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Besides, if he’s going to be one of my subordinates, I’d just as soon enter into the arrangement with my ego intact.”

“Good call.” Eli grinned. It was good to know he and Benson could still joke, despite being placed onto separate rungs in the chain of command. Eli never wanted to lose that.

“So, where do we go from here?”

“I’m going to ask First Sergeant Twigg to set up a schedule so we can bring him up to speed with team maneuvers and protocols,” Eli answered. “I want you involved, so make some time. Ideally, we have him integrated fully in a few weeks.”

“That’s a bit optimistic, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure how much time we have. The colonel hinted we might be up for a deployment soon. Plus, we don’t have to train him on armor, so that will shorten our timeline. We also don’t need him to know everything that we learned during training—just the basics. Everything else he can pick up along the way.”

“I’d like to set up some tests to see just how quick and strong he is.”

“Good idea. Let me know when those are scheduled. I’d like to observe, if I can.”

“Will do,
Captain Justice
,” Benson chimed with a halfhearted salute and a wide grin. His emphasis on “Captain Justice” was not meant to go unnoticed. Eli understood, with a clarity that he’d never experienced, why his dad was always rolling his eyes at his own name. Having Justice as a last name was tough, but having a full name like “Grant Justice” had to be doubly bothersome and hokey. Thankfully, his father had studiously avoided any first name that was similar to his own when christening his firstborn.

“You get a kick out of saying that, don’t you?” Eli asked.

“I’m not sure what you mean,
Captain Justice
.”

* * *

Colonel Drah paced around the path in his too-small office and considered the device in his hands and wondered how such a thing was possible. Even the Waa, with their technological advances couldn’t match this marvel. He had been given the device, and the instructions for its use, three years earlier by the Zrthn Trade Minister, who was posted to Waa.

Drah, a major at the time, had been in charge of the Shiale Delegate’s Guard. The Guard’s purpose was to ensure the visitors’ security and to serve as local guides. That was the story offered to the Zrthns anyway. The truth was something completely different and was recognized by all parties. The real purpose of the guard was to watch over their visitors, report on their activities, and prevent them from wandering into areas where they weren’t welcome.

Drah had unfettered access to the minister, and had used it to his advantage. The long, three year wait since that final meeting seemed to be reaching a tipping point—a point Drah had worked for tirelessly since agreeing to the minister’s plan. He had lobbied for, and received, a promotion and a posting to Telgora. That posting was leveraged at every possible turn to set the stage for a change in control. Humans were a weak scourge that had somehow managed to destroy his home planet and despoil his races’ legacy. As a result, the Minith colonel was committed to their downfall with every muscle, tendon, and drop of purple blood in his body.

“Drah.”

The device relayed the single word with a clarity that belied its complexity. The ability to transmit communications in real-time, over hundreds of light-years, was beyond the Minith colonel’s technical comprehension. But the miracle of the ability was not. It took weeks for Shiale Alliance transmissions to travel between Telgora and Waa.

“Yes, Oinoo,” the Minith replied. “I am here.”

“It is nearly time.”

Free squatted down in his assigned corner of the large “barracks” room and pulled the
ninal
skin across his shoulders. He had been issued a long, oversoft pallet the humans called a “bed” upon joining the unit three weeks earlier, but had requested it be removed after a single evening. He had encountered many strange customs and rituals since being placed among the human fighters, but the bed had been one of the most confounding. How any living being could sleep on such an uncomfortable platform of torture was well beyond his comprehension. He rolled his thin shoulders and enjoyed the welcome firmness of the brick wall on his back.
This
was how true comfort felt.

He observed as the other nine humans in his “squad” went about their evening rituals. Their habits were becoming familiar now, but the memory of how strange they had seemed on that first night was still fresh. Now, he understood what many of their movements and actions meant. He understood why they cleaned their weapons and armor at every opportunity. They were warriors. The weapons they carried were the sacred tools of their profession, and he emulated the practice with his own pulse rifle. He also understood—intellectually, anyway—the drive many of them had toward activities that injected levity into their group. They pointed out and laughed at one another’s misfortunes and errors with animation, often fabricating mistakes where none existed for the purpose of amusement. The jokes they told—although he rarely understood them—and the games they played were for recreation and diversion. These things he understood. The ability to sleep on the soft beds, their apparent need for meaningless, unceasing chatter, and the obsession for brushing their small, white teeth were still a mystery.

Despite the mysteries that surrounded him and the unusual customs of his hosts, Free still felt more comfortable in his current environment than he ever had among his own people. Among the Family, he was an outcast, a cripple—incapable of inclusion or understanding. He was “Alone.” Here he was just one of many, a single entity among a mass of similar, individual entities. All were alone.

Free gasped as an unexpected realization swept over him. Humans talked incessantly because—like him—they were alone. Like him, their thoughts and feelings were individualized—blocked off and hidden from others. And the primary method for sharing those imprisoned thoughts and feelings was through verbalization. It was their way of seeking understanding and gaining
shiale.

The clarity of the epiphany was quickly overtaken by a second, more insightful thought. For the Family,
shiale
was reached when the common mind was unanimous in a decision or a belief. From what he had observed so far, humans seemed incapable of reaching true
shiale.
Disagreements and debates were common among his squad-mates. They seemed to argue incessantly, and over the most inane topics. What was the best way to clean a rifle? Which food tasted better, the brown paste or the green? Who was the best marksman in the squad? Sometimes, they reached
shiale
, but most times, they did not. For humans, true
shiale
seemed possible only when the answer was obvious: What planet were they on? Or, what is the color of the wall? Even then, it seemed possible only with smaller groups. The larger the group, the less likely that unanimous agreement could be reached.

Free was certain of his thinking. The inability to reach unanimous agreement on important matters required hierarchical structures and leader-based governance models. Leaders were chosen to speak for a group because, left to their own, an ungoverned mass of humans will devolve into disparate units of like-minded individuals who have reached—and argue for—their own conclusions. It was in humanity’s best interest to have leaders capable of, and willing to make, important decisions for a group, even when some of the group did not agree with those decisions. As certain as Free was in the need for leaders, he knew many humans would debate the issue, despite the compelling evidence.

Suddenly, he felt less comfortable in his new home. There was something to be said for the
shiale
that comes with a mass mind. But that world was closed to him—always had been. For him to succeed, he had to assimilate more fully with his new family. He had thoughts, ideas, and emotions. If he wanted to influence the
shiale
these humans achieved—despite how limited it might be—he would have to make his voice heard.

Until now, the work and the learning had been difficult—the most difficult experience he had ever endured. It was made worse by the extended proximity and his subordination to a Minith savage, who was unforgiving in his expectations. Free fought a constant battle with his emotions over the relationship. For him to join this unit, he had to learn what they already knew. This he understood. But to have to learn it from an alien being that he had been taught to revile from infancy was almost too much. He split his time between trying to impress the Minith and struggling not to kill him.

Yes, the struggles so far had been trying. But he now understood the real work was just beginning.

The Telgoran squared his back against the wall, closed his eyes, and shut out the voices surrounding him. The other members of his squad had become used to his solitary inclinations, so would not bother him. He ran through his life’s memories, allowed his past to wash over and through him. He immersed himself fully into his final hours of being Telgoran.

Tomorrow he would work to become an individual among a race of individuals.

Tomorrow
, he thought.
Tomorrow
.

* * *

“How’s the new addition to the unit coming along?”

“Free is catching up quickly,” Eli replied. He had been called into Colonel Conway’s office and stood at ease in front of her desk. The holographic vid pic of the colonel with his father on the wall behind her still teased him, and his curiosity almost forced him to ask how the major knew his father. Almost. “He should be fully trained on all protocols and weapons in another couple of weeks.”

“That’s good, Captain Zero,” the major said. “It will take your company about three weeks to reach your destination.”

“Our destination, ma’am?”

“Rhino-3, Captain. It’s a comm station on the border of the Alliance territory.” The lieutenant colonel went on to describe the loss of communications with the outer Rhino stations, and the need for boots on the ground.

“Excuse me for asking, Colonel. But there’s an Alliance mother ship in the region. Couldn’t they investigate?”

“They could, Justice. In fact, they did,” she answered. The slight smile of knowing condescension that seemed painted on her face morphed into a scowl as she relayed the events to Eli. It indicated just how serious his superior felt about the situation. “They dropped a carrier of soldiers onto Rhino-3, just like they did on Rhinos -1 and -2. All three of those went silent and haven’t been heard from since. And the last two were armed and ready for contact.”

The information hit Eli like a slap. The shout had apparently hit the air. And his company was being sent to investigate.

“You’ll be joined by B Company,” Conway continued. “Captain Zin and his company are experienced fighters, but your unit will be the initial landing force. We don’t know what to expect when you land, so it makes sense to put those armored suits of yours to work.”

That announcement was another surprise. Company B was an all-Minith unit. Led by Captain (13) Zin, it also happened to be the most respected company-size fighting unit in the Alliance Defense Force. The company was made up of highly experienced Minith warriors, most of whom had been together since before the start of the Peace Wars. He couldn’t help but wonder if Drah’s influence extended into their ranks, then realized with a mental shrug that he didn’t really care. He had lived around the Minith for as far back as he could remember. If they wanted to cause problems, he would address them as they arose. With the PEACE armor in play, he’d put his unit up against any Minith force—even B Company.

As far as Eli was concerned, A Company was potentially the most deadly unit in the Alliance. All he had to do was turn that potential into reality, and their first test was less than three weeks away.

The standard class daughter-ship dropped out of FLT drive and entered the solar system. Song, the solitary planet in the system, showed up at once on the ship’s cameras and scanners. From this distance—still a full day’s journey out—little seemed amiss, expect for the silence. Rhino-3 should have been broadcasting, but it remained quiet. Had been quiet for nearly two months now.

At a fourth the size of an Alliance mothership, the daughter-ship was filled to near capacity. The two ranger companies were accompanied by a squadron of jet carrier pilots, a company of artillery, and all of the standard support personnel required for any military mission. In total, five hundred fighters and support personnel, along with their assorted equipment, sped toward the silent planet.

The mothership assigned to the Rhino sector remained outside the solar system. Its five thousand troops remained in reserve, less than forty-eight hours away, should they be needed. Eli hoped they wouldn’t be, because he and his soldiers would be in a world of hurt should that possibility become reality.

He pushed the thought of what
might
happen to the back of his mind and focused on the things he could control: his unit and their preparations. They were ready to go, he knew. But his lieutenants were showing signs of anxiety. If he was being honest, he had some of those feelings as well, but he stayed busy as much as he could to keep them at bay. Activity helped, so he made sure everyone stayed busy. Armor was checked and rechecked, as were the carriers the unit would use to reach planet-side. The jets that would accompany the carriers were also given repeated inspections that were jokingly referred to as “once-overs.” All in all, it was busy work, but it was important on several levels.

The activity levels were maintained around the clock, with regular periods allowed for sleep and rest. Finally, when they reached a point that placed the ship within an hour’s approach to an orbit around Song, A Company of the Shiale Rangers donned their armor and entered the thirteen personnel carriers that would deliver them to the surface. Twelve of the vehicles carried the company’s three platoons and their leaders. The thirteenth carried Eli, Twigg, Tenney, and Free. The personnel carriers had no offensive capabilities—they existed for the sole purpose of moving soldiers from one place to another—so they were escorted by a half-dozen jet carriers. If they ran into trouble on the surface, the jets would provide air support. Numbering just under 120, it was a small but lethal force.