Winds of Vengeance (15 page)

Cameron tended to stay out of the political struggles between the Tanks and the NBs. It all seemed foolish to him, and he’d never felt any discrimination in the Corps, at least not until he’d gotten his lieutenancy. Ironically, his own advancement had led him to realize just how few Tanks had reached commissioned rank. He wouldn’t say he’d been transformed into a revolutionary, but he was more aware of it than he had been.

He’d come to the hospital as soon as he’d heard. He didn’t seek out his crèche-mates, nor did he have any real desire to associate with them. The NBs would never understand how strange it felt to look at another human being…one who in so many ways is you. There were the occasional twin births among the NBs, but a Tank knew there had been a hundred more just like him. It was a thought that could become profoundly disturbing, even lead to psychological disorders. But in spite of his general disinterest, he’d instructed his AI to monitor the information nets…and report any significant news about his crèche-mates. And this morning he’d gotten the news. The Fortis line had suffered its second case of the Plague.

He looked down at the body, the skin red and mottled, the bed underneath damp and matted. The eyes were closed, but Cameron knew they would be entirely black, along with the tongue and the mucous membranes. The Plague was a horrifying disease, enough to scare anyone sane. And it struck utterly without warning. It was the curse of the Tanks, some kind of celestial payback for their general immunity to most illnesses.

Cameron didn’t know why he had come. The Plague was one hundred percent fatal…and whatever could be done for Fortis-Samuels had been done, long before he’d arrived. If there had been anyone in Samuel’s life, friends, a wife, they would have already been there. It seemed pointless to request leave, to travel back into the city to stare at a dead man. But Cameron couldn’t do anything else, he couldn’t pull his eyes away.

The Tanks were envied because of their resistance to disease. It was one of the things that drove a wedge between the NBs and their quickened cousins. But Cameron thought about the illnesses that affected normally conceived and born humans. Disease had once been a scourge, killing millions, but that was in the distant past. Afflictions like cancers had long been treatable, with only a tiny percentage of exotic cases being truly life-threatening. The greatest risk most humans faced was a breakdown in the endless cycle of antibiotic and antiviral research versus pathogen mutation and resistance. It had come close a few times to breaking down, opening the way for massive pandemics…but that hadn’t actually happened. Not yet. Whatever had to be done was done, with massive resources plowed into R&D.

But not the Plague…at least not with the same urgency…

He knew there had been attempts to find the causes of the deadly disease and eradicate them, efforts made mostly by the Mules. There had been a wave of hysteria when the disease had first appeared, but when it became clear that NBs were not susceptible, the panic died down.

And the drive to find a cure died down as well…

Cameron still resisted political thoughts, but now his mind was unsettled. He didn’t know this man lying in the bed…and yet he did. A stranger had died here…and a brother.

He felt a wave of anger. The NBs weren’t all like the firebrands from the Human Society, he knew that. He had comrades in the Corps, men and women he trusted with his life. But it was too easy for most NBs to consider their own lives more valuable than a Tank’s, to imagine, even in vague terms, that a Tank could simply be replaced by quickening another version. He didn’t know if it was the way in which the Tanks were ‘born,’ or if it was the fact that so many of them existed who seemed to those outside to be little more than copies of each other.

He looked down at the body again. “I am sorry, brother. Sorry that you were so unfortunate. Sorry that in the twenty-five years of your life no one cared enough to stop this disease. I didn’t know you, but I know you were an individual, that you lived differently than I, made your own choices, lived and loved the way you wanted.”

He took a deep breath, staring down for a moment before he turned to leave. But then his com unit buzzed. It was base command.

“Cameron here.”

“Lieutenant Cameron, you are ordered to report back to base immediately.”

“But I’m on leave.”

“All leaves are canceled, effective immediately.”

Cameron felt his stomach tense. Something was up…something bad.”

“Understood…I’m on my way.”

He flipped off the com. It was time to go. He was angry, and confused. He had a lot to think about. But he was sure of one thing. He was still a Marine…and whatever was going on, his men and women needed him. Now.

Chapter Twelve

Proclamation of Freedom Announcement

My name is Achilles. I am one of those beings produced by the Enhanced Hybrid Genome Project, colloquially known as the “Mules.” For many years we have worked to decipher the science of the Ancients, sharing the results of our labor with all the residents of Earth Two. We have done all we could to ensure the safety of our home world, to aid in the development of industry, of information technologies.

For all this time, we have accepted discriminatory laws and policies, mandates that have denied us our right to perpetuate our kind, to build the future that we, as citizens of the republic, deserve. We have tried again and again to bring our case before the Assembly, to resolve these issues in compliance with the process and procedures set down by the republic’s official government. Yet every effort we have made has failed.

We can wait no longer…and thus, we have taken matters into our own hands. From this point on, the Enhanced Hybrids of Earth Two will no longer consider themselves bound by the Human-Non-Human Genetic Engineering Ban of the year three, commonly known as the Prohibition. Further, we declare any laws placing restrictions on us, or any citizens of Earth Two, based upon method of conception, embryo creation, genetic selection or engineering, or combination of DNA to be invalid and unenforceable.

In accordance with this declaration, we will be creating another class of Enhanced Hybrids, with an initial quickening of one thousand individuals. We are prepared to continue our cooperation with the republic, and to remain in our role as primary researchers of the ancient technologies of the First Imperium. However, make no mistake. We have taken steps to defend ourselves and to guarantee the rights set forth previously. In that regard, I warn all…any attempt to interfere, to prevent us from exercising our basic right to introduce future generations and preserve and grow our population, will result in extreme sanctions.

The choice is yours, people of Earth Two. Continue to fear us as you have, deny us the most basic rights while greedily accepting the scientific advances we provide you…or accept us as beings with as much right to a future as any others. There are two paths forward. One leads to liberty, to fairness, to prosperity. The other to war and death and destruction. It is my fervent hope, as it is of all of my people, that you choose the former.

Marine HQ

Just Outside Victory City

Earth Two Date 11.25.30

“General Frasier, I want the entire Corps placed on alert. All leaves are canceled, all Marines are to report to barracks and be prepared for immediate action.” Max Harmon stood in front of the window, behind Connor Frasier’s desk. He was facing away from the Marine commandant, looking out the window over the training grounds beyond.

“Yes, sir. The Corps is already on alert.” Frasier’s voice was crisp, professional. If he had a personal opinion on recent events, it wasn’t evident in his tone.

“What do you think, Connor? If I order an assault on the Cutter Compound, can your people take it?”

Frasier was standing on the other side of the room, at something resembling attention. “Absolutely, sir. We are ready to put down this rebellion as soon as you give the order.”

Harmon sighed softly. Then he turned and walked around the desk, looking at Frasier. “Sit, please.” He gestured toward the chair behind the desk. “I don’t want any snap answers, Connor…and I definitely don’t need any bravado. The Mules are extremely capable. And they know the exact makeup of the Corps, right down to your arms and equipment. They wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t feel they could endure an attack…or prevent one.” He sat in one of the guest chairs in front of the desk.

“Sir, I know there has been concern about the number of Tanks in the Corps, but that is an overblown worry. Marines are Marines first. They will follow orders.”

“I am not questioning the reliability or loyalty of the Marines. But men and women are complex creatures, Connor. There is a lot of sympathy for the Mules among the Tanks. We’re not talking about attacking an external enemy…this would be a move against our own people. And if they resist, it could come to
killing
our own people.” He paused, taking a breath. “Are you sure your Marines are ready for that?” Another hesitation. “Are you ready for it?”

Frasier looked like he was going to respond, but he just turned and walked behind his desk, dropping his bulk into his chair. “I am confident in my people,” he finally said.

“And you? Are you ready to shoot the Mules? To hunt them down and kill them? Because if we move against them, it could come to that. We may speak in terms of enforcing the law or arresting them…but you know as well as I do that if they resist, your people will have to start shooting.”

“What choice is there, sir? If we do not stand up for the republic’s laws, what is to stop the next dissatisfied group from ignoring what they don’t like?”

“But the law is unjust.”

The voice came from outside the doorway. Frasier and Harmon snapped their heads around toward the sound, just as Ana Zhukov came walking into the office.

“Ana, this is not the time for…”

“For what, Connor? To interrupt, to barge in when you and the president are talking about murdering our people?”

“Ana, I can promise you, whatever we’re discussing, it is not that.” Harmon got up and turned toward the door. “Please, join us. I would value your insights.”

“I am sorry, sir, but she…”

“No worries, Connor. I knew Ana long before she was your wife…and I have respected her opinion all that time.” Harmon turned back toward Zhukov. “Please, Ana, sit…tell me what you think I should do.”

Zhukov paused for a second. Then she walked over and sat next to Harmon.

“You can’t send the Marines to attack the Compound, Mr. President.”

“Ana, I would love nothing more than to have an alternative…but I have been unable to come up with one. And, for the love of God, it’s Max. How long have we known each other?”

“I don’t know, Max…I don’t know what you should do. But killing the Mules isn’t it.”

Harmon could see how upset she was. Zhukov had worked alongside Hieronymus Cutter in creating the Mules. Cutter was associated with the hybrids in the public eye far more than Zhukov, but Harmon knew she’d been as vital to the project as anyone else…and he suspected Cutter would be the first to agree completely.

He turned back toward Frasier. “Connor, what are the chances of carrying out a non-lethal assault?”

Frasier stared down at his desk for a few seconds, thinking. “I don’t know…I just don’t know. We could arm the assault force with stun guns and flashbangs, but if the Mules fight back it would put us at a disadvantage. Non-lethal cuts both ways, sir…if they start shooting at us with real weapons, Marines are going to die. And even if they don’t, we’ve got to force entry, break through barricades. It’s rough work, and there’s a good chance some people will get killed even if neither side is using anything stronger than a stunner.”

“What if we surround the facility…a blockade.”

“Starve them out?” The Marine looked skeptical. “I’m not sure…I’d have to really look at it. They have their own reactor, so we can’t cut the power. They have all kinds of onsite production capabilities. My gut is they could produce more than enough sustenance for their needs, even for their proposed new generation. The food might be a little less appetizing than some of what they could bring in, but I don’t see it forcing them to give up.”

“What if you repeal the Prohibition?” Zhukov glanced at Frasier then back at Harmon. “It’s the primary cause of this, isn’t it? And it’s a monstrous bit of injustice too.”

“You know I don’t like the Prohibition. I never have. But it is disingenuous to act like we can’t understand why it was enacted. It is all well and good to speak of freedom, and I sympathize with the Mules…but let’s not pretend we all can’t see the danger of allowing them unrestricted rights to increase their population.” He turned toward Zhukov. “Ana, you know as well as I do, they make little effort to hide their attitude. They feel they are superior. Perhaps they are…but have you really considered what would transpire if there were thousands of them? Tens of thousands? Can you honestly say you have no fear what would happen? In ten years? Fifty?”

Zhukov shook her head slowly. “But don’t you see? The Prohibition has only made that worse. Years of resentment are not likely to improve the Mules’ opinions of the rest of us.”

“Perhaps we are looking for a palatable solution that doesn’t exist.” Frasier’s voice was grim, sad. “I don’t say this lightly, but it is easy to speak of freedom and justice and other lofty sentiments. But I have spent my life in battle…I have seen where man’s motivations lead him. I sympathize with the Mules too, and I understand how much they have contributed to the republic’s growth despite their small numbers. But that doesn’t mean they are not a danger. I can easily imagine a future where there are thousands of them…and the rest of us are regarded as animals, even an infestation.”

“So just murder them now, because of what they might do?” Zhukov stared across the desk at her husband. “Is that what you are saying?”

“I am saying that moral stances are sometimes empty, the easy way. Doing what has to be done, even if we find it repulsive…that is difficult. Imagine our children, Ana…or the grandchildren we may have one day. What will be their world if there are thousands of Mules? Will they be slaves? Will they be hunted down and exterminated?”