Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 18

  According to the unit profile, the local Spacy forces were remnants of the 323rd Regiment, most of which had been wiped out by the Messenger pandemic. Still, even with only a weakened battalion worth of survivors, their assistance would greatly expand Amos' operational capabilities.

  “Good news, Colonel?” Celeste asked.

  “Excellent news.” Amos returned the clipboard. “We've secured the cooperation of the Spacy occupation force.”

  Celeste did not look pleased. “Of course you realize that you can't trust them.”

  “I understand that you had traumatizing experiences during your time with Spacy,” Amos said. “Hell, they were our deadliest enemies for years, before the Concord took over. But they're just human beings. As long as it's in their own interest, they'll cooperate with us.”

  “Is it worth making a deal with the devil just to cover for your own manpower shortages?” Celeste asked in a subdued tone that contrasted with her biting words.

  “It's the politicians and financiers on Thera who are the real devils,” Amos said. “The military are just their pawns. For the sake of saving Chalice from a colonial dark age, it's worth dealing with them. Especially since they've agreed to our protocols to keep them reined in.”

  Celeste tightened her grip on her clipboard. “I have grave doubts about the effectiveness of these protocols to keep them restrained. You're greatly underestimating Spacy if you think you can control them.”

  “Let's all hope you're wrong,” Amos said. “As long as they don't stab us in the back, this will expedite our efforts to prepare the Artair County evacuation shelters. But first, there's something else I want to take care of. Please summon Astral and Dr. Klein for me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Celeste inclined her head and limped her way out of the slanted conference room.

  *

  Soon, Celeste returned with the others in tow. Although they were not related, at a glance Esther Klein and Astral could have been mistaken for mother and daughter. Both shared a thin build and pale skin and hair; though Esther, being of average height, was the much taller of the two. Esther's glasses and lab coat conveyed the stereotypical but accurate impression of a scientific scholar, while her prematurely graying hair but otherwise well preserved features created a strange contrast of age and youth.

  Despite her diminutive stature, Astral stood out more than her counterpart due to the pair of scarlet eyes providing the only splash of bloody color to her sheet white skin and hair. Although she was not an official member of SLIC, she wore the drab brown uniform as part of her cover identity. She also wore her pale bangs long to conceal the third eye in her forehead that identified her as a Syneger—a Synthetic Messenger, a life form engineered by Theran scientists to utilize the paranormal mental powers provided by Messenger syndrome without suffering the fatal breakdown in D.N.A. and propagation of repil radiation that afflicted untreated Messengers.

  Amos rose from his seat. “Astral, Dr. Klein, thank you for coming.”

  At Amos' invitation, the ladies took their seats. Once they were seated, Amos resumed his own chair. Celeste stood off to the side and watched the proceedings with her clipboard clasped in her good hand.

  “Providence's negotiation with the Spacy forces was successful,” Amos said. “They demanded some concessions, of course, but they seem to be playing ball. I've had a local unit placed at my disposal, the 3rd Battalion of the 323rd Regiment. They were hit hard by the Messenger outbreak, but they've still got enough left to be useful.”

  “I'm glad to hear that, Colonel,” Esther replied. “If you can provide me with a list of the Spacy unit's personnel and equipment, I can reassign tasks and update the timetables.”

  Due to her expertise in engineering and mathematics, Esther had proven an invaluable asset in planning the evacuation and logistics for Operation Reanimation. Astral, whose artificial genetic profile made her a fast learner and a savant-like genius with numbers, had also provided valuable contributions to the operation.

  Despite the ladies' willingness to help, Amos detected a coldness in their demeanors. Normally they were perfectly pleasant, but over the past several weeks all of them, Celeste included, had grown increasingly distant. The cause of their frigidity was no mystery to Amos, and he was confident that the news he was about to deliver would melt some of their frostiness.

  “The 3rd Battalion's assistance will expedite our contribution to Reanimation, of course,” he said. “But that's not the main reason I summoned you. With this additional support, we now have enough manpower to address another matter that's been on all our minds.”

  Esther arched her eyebrows. “Do you mean...?”

  “You're finally going to look for Vic and the others?” Astral said hopefully.

  Smiling, Amos replied, “I'm sorry it's taken so long. You must know, it's been eating at me as much as you. It's just that, with the Spacy attack and now this Messenger pandemic, we haven't had any men to spare. It's been all I could do just to keep Contact Point November monitored.”

  Esther adjusted her glasses, which had slid down her nose from her sudden reaction. “I understand your difficulties, Colonel Lane. And I know, given the circumstances, we shouldn't get our hopes up too high. After being out of contact for so long, they could be anywhere.”

  Amos shook his head. “If they've got freedom of movement, then they're heading for the contact point. That's the procedure, and they know better than to deviate from it.”

  Celeste broke in, “The danger isn't that they're lost, it's that they've been killed. Between the ISEC raid on the data facility, the Spacy invasion, the Messenger outbreak—it's become an extremely dangerous world out there.”

  “Vic is still alive,” Astral insisted, her scarlet eyes shining. “I know he is.”

  From anyone else, Amos would have written off this assertion as a naïve hope. Coming from Astral, though, it was a different story.

  “I've looked over the unit roster, and the 3rd Battalion has some aerial assets,” he said. “I intend to request that they patrol in concentric arcs centered around November to search for our missing personnel. It will be a blessing having them working for us instead of against us. Before, if I'd put our birds in the air on search and rescue duty, I'm afraid they'd have been shot out of the sky.”

  Although Celeste still looked worried that the missing personnel had perished in the chaos engulfing Chalice, Esther's and Astral's faces glowed with relief.

  “Thank you, Colonel,” Astral said. “I knew you wouldn't give up on them.”

  Amos got to his feet. “Sergeant Celeste, come with me. We'll prepare orders for the Spacy Marines' 3rd Battalion immediately.”

  Fifteenth Escalation

  A devil walking by my side

  The Digressive precious metals mine of Artair County was a sandy open pit mine excavated within a landscape of dust and scrub. After wiping out the bulk of the 323rd Regiment by order of Colonel Hoang, Omega and Alpha had charted a southern course to join up with 3rd Battalion, the unit assigned to protect the mine. After a couple days of regen treatment, they had recovered from their injuries, then the battalion commander, Major Clyde Higgs, had reassigned them to the No. 19 Exosuit Squadron.

  The new posting was proving eventful as the chaos caused by the Messenger pandemic soon brought a halt to the mine's supply shipments. Although 3rd Battalion had sufficient stores to last them for a while, having to supply the mining operation as well increased their rate of depletion, and they knew they would have to secure a new inflow to ensure their long-term survival. This had required a roving show of force to coerce all the nearby agricultural and industrial warehouses into sending regular deliveries to the mine.

  Unfortunately, this had vastly expanded the amount of territory that 3rd Battalion had to keep secure. Their forces were fully committed guarding the scattered warehouses, roads, and the mine itself. Taking advantage of their thin deployment, saboteurs constantly laid traps and set ambushes on the roads while guerrillas probed t
he perimeter of the mine's defenses. Hardly a day went by without a convoy running afoul of improvised mines or a firefight breaking out somewhere, with Omega and Alpha often caught right in the middle of it. Their exosuits provided such an advantage in mobility and firepower that they were personally in no real danger from the attacks, but all the guerrilla activity threatened to wear down 3rd Battalion through attrition.

  There was never any rest. Even when not busy with patrol, guard duty, or engaging the enemy, there were endless other tasks requiring attention. At present, Omega was busy helping the mechanics of 19 Squadron maintain the exosuits. The dusty local climate was causing a buildup of particulates in the Tsubasa's exhaust vents, necessitating that they be flushed and partially disassembled for cleaning. Omega knew that some exosuit pilots assumed a supervisory role when it came to maintaining their machines, making the mechanics do most of the real work; but he had developed a possessiveness over his high performance experimental suit and insisted on a hands on role in its maintenance.

  Standing atop a stepladder so that he could access his suit's back, Omega accepted a hose from the nearest mechanic and fed it into the port vent, then gave the thumbs up sign. A moment later, the hose spasmed from an abrupt surge of fluid, accompanied by the sound of rushing liquid and a pungent chemical odor that blended unpleasantly with the dusty air.

  “Looking pretty wilted up there, Omega,” called a familiar voice.

  Omega looked down and saw Alpha coming from the direction of the base camp. He made sure the hose was secure, then leapt off the stepladder, landed lightly on his feet, and walked up to meet Alpha as she approached.

  “What's up?” he asked, wiping the sweat off his brow.

  “I just finished helping supervise the offloading of the latest supply convoy,” Alpha replied. “I actually have a little free time for a change, so I thought I would stop by and see what you were doing.”

  Omega gestured behind him to the squadron of parked exosuits. “Just cleaning the dust out of my vents. I noticed on the last sortie I was having some heat buildup problems. The Tsubasa is a hell of a suit, but it takes a lot of maintenance to keep it in top form.”

  “You treat that thing better than some men treat their wives,” Alpha said with a smirk.

  “I wouldn't know.”

  “I was trying to make a joke,” Alpha sighed. “Do you have a minute to talk?”

  Omega looked at her quizzically, then turned to the mechanics and called, “Give me five. If the port vent finishes before I get back, start flushing the starboard.”

  *

  Alpha led Omega some distance from the parked exosuits, to a steep drop overlooking the giant, stepped pit that comprised the heart of the Digressive Mine. Below, a handful of workers toiled with their machines at the arduous task of extracting metal ores from the earth. No doubt they chafed at having to continue the work when their world was in the throes of an existential crisis, but the presence of Spacy troops and their arsenal of weapons didn't leave them much choice in the matter.

  The augments stared in silence at the dust clouds kicked up by churning machinery for several moments, then Alpha turned to her counterpart and said, “How are you holding up, Omega? I can't help but notice that, ever since we joined 3rd Battalion, you've seemed... what is the phrase? 'Out of it.'”

  Omega kept staring into the pit. “I hadn't noticed.”

  “No, just like that,” Alpha insisted. “Are you troubled over the destruction of the 323rd? That wasn't your fault, you know. Colonel Hoang issued you a direct order. Our programming forces us to obey.”

  “I just carry out the missions I'm given,” Omega said. “I don't have time to agonize over the consequences.”

  Alpha pulled her gaze away from her partner and stared at the clouds floating lazily over the horizon. “I've been thinking about what you told me back in Artair,” she said. “About revenge. I forced my way into SAL and traveled all the way out here to Chalice to avenge my sister. I've killed many rebel fighters, but all that's come of it is that the entire world is being swallowed in death, and my sister is still gone. Lately I've found myself wishing that I had just stayed home instead of bloodying my hands in this dirty war.”

  Omega said nothing.

  “My real name is Feng,” Alpha said. “Feng Song.”

  This elicited a reaction. Omega looked at her in surprise and said, “Song? Now that you mention it, you do resemble...”

  “The late governor, Liumei Song?” Alpha finished for him. “That's because I am her younger sister.”

  Slowly, the surprise faded from Omega's face and he closed up again. “And you threw all that away to turn yourself into an expendable pawn,” he said. “That really was foolish.”

  Alpha felt a momentary flash of anger, but it passed just as quickly. “I'm starting to realize that you're right,” she admitted. “But there might still be hope for a return to normalcy, if only we can endure the Concord's death throes and bring peace back to Chalice.” She kicked a rock and watched it tumble down the side of the pit. “What about you? If you're so repelled by the horrors of war, then what brings you out here into the center of the maelstrom?”

  Omega gave her a look of disbelief. “You think I'm here by choice? Just what do you think augments are?”

  Alpha met his pique with bewilderment. “What do you—”

  “Lieutenant Omega!”

  A marine appeared from the direction of the exosuit squadron, running toward the augments. “And Ensign Alpha, you're here too.” He stopped and saluted. “Major Higgs would like to see you at the command tent.”

  “Understood.” Omega turned to Alpha. “You go on ahead. I'll give some instructions to the maintenance team and then catch up with you.”

  “So much for having a free moment.” Alpha sighed and started toward the command tent.

  *

  Alpha was waiting for Omega when he arrived at the command tent. Inside, they found the pointy headed, thick necked Major Higgs sitting behind his command desk. To his right stood his C.S.M., the pucker lipped Sergeant Major Ralph Crease whose buzz cut exposed his trapezoidal skull in stark relief. As soon as the augments entered, Higgs tossed his digital clipboard aside and returned their salutes.

  “Well,” Higgs rasped in a gravelly smoker's voice, “some pretty fucked up orders have just come down from the top. The M.F.I.C. wants us to team up with the damn terrorists.”

  “We're forming an alliance with the rebels?” Alpha exclaimed, mirroring Omega's own surprise.

  “Some bullshit, huh?” Higgs dug out a cigar, lit it, and jammed it in his mouth. “Not those Concord wipes, Thera be praised; just the remnants of SLIC, but still. I was half tempted to tell our dear admiral to kindly go fuck himself on the basis of unlawful orders, but this directive includes a pretty convincing rationale, which I am not at liberty to share. Suffice it to say, as crazy as this sounds, there is a method to the madness.”

  “Coordinating with the rebels could help slow the spread of the Messenger pandemic,” Omega said.

  “Funny you should say that.” Higgs took out his cigar, nodded to Omega, then grabbed his clipboard and popped the cigar back in his mouth. “It seems they've got some kind of harebrained scheme to evacuate some of the population to emergency shelters, but they can't make it work without our cooperation. Not enough manpower.”

  “We're short on manpower ourselves,” Alpha said. “It's taking everything we've got just to maintain our line of supply.”

  “That's where things get interesting,” Higgs said. “The nearest SLIC cell, Aqualung, is willing to keep us supplied. They'll even provide their own escort for the convoys. That means we can put an end to babysitting the local storehouses and escorts and long range patrols. That frees up a hell of a lot of resources.

  “Of course,” Higgs blew a stream of rancid cigar smoke, “there's got to be a quid pro quo. We're supposed to use those freed up assets to help the rebels carry out their evacuation plan. But you two won't be a
part of that. At least, not at first.”

  “Why not?” Alpha asked.

  “Because they also want us to deploy our aerial assets over the southwestern sector to surveil the area for some missing personnel.” Higgs dropped the clipboard and leveled his steely gaze at the augments. “That's why I called for you two.”

  Alpha remarked, “I never thought I'd be doing search and rescue for rebel troops.”

  “You and me both, darling.”

  Higgs flicked a datacube across his desk. Omega grabbed it before it flew off the end.

  “That cube's got updated I.F.F. you can load on your suits to identify SLIC units so you don't get them confused with other terrorists who are still on our shit list. It's also got your search routes and data on the targets. The missing soldiers are three exosuit jockeys. They're just normals, of course, since those rebel wipes ain't got the tech for augmentations. I guess SLIC must be pretty hard up for pilots since they're so desperate to get them back.

  “Until further notice, your new mission is search and rescue for these lost little lambs. Frankly, I think the whole thing is a wild goose chase, but if burning a little fuel looking for some rebel M.I.A.s is the price we got to pay for a secure source of supplies, then we got off cheap. Take a transport helo along just in case, by freak luck, you actually find these wipes. You can also take up to four Shinigamis with you for the more likely event that you stumble upon some Concord guerrillas while you're poking around. You have full authorization to engage any targets of opportunity.

  “Oh, right.” Higgs snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot the most important thing. All the bullshit is giving me early onset dementia. I'd better reset your neural control networks' I.F.F. designations, or this search and rescue could turn into slaughter hour. Um, let's see.” He turned to his C.S.M. and asked, “What was the damn code phrase again?”