Prelude - Iceberg
Mohr
was trying to sleep in the transport but the turbulence kept waking him. He
would just be drifting off when the jet would lurch and jounce as if they had
hit a pothole. Nearly 150 years since man had first acquired wings, he thought,
and the sky was still a bumpy road.
The
transport's hold was filled with the other men of his platoon. None had said a
word since lifting off, as they were all dampened by the surprise news of
defeat. Colonel Kurkland had delivered the news that morning at reveille: the
Home Guard War was over. Officially the settlement with the Norwegians was
being branded as a 'ceasefire,' but the terms had more the ring of a
'humiliating surrender.' Mohr's men were also bearing the brunt of the shock,
as they were being flown back to Oslo only an hour after roll call. They had
awoken that morning thinking of themselves as soldiers still engaged in a
desperate struggle, and now it was not even lunch and they were being carted
off as post-war surplus.
While
Mohr was depressed like everyone else, he was also partly relieved. After the
war's rocky start, he had been anxiously awaiting news of their first big
victory. But this had never come. The reports had stayed an endless stream of
convoys being blown up, bases being harassed, and engagements being denied. And
yet the brass had let it drag out, first for one month, then two, and then even
for a few weeks more. At last it was over.
Mohr
glanced over at Janus sitting next to him. He texted-to not have to shout over
the jet noise-, ">Think this is the end of the army?"
Janus
looked back. ">Has to be," came his swift reply. ">What do
you think this war cost? / One billion? / Two?"
">If that ... " Mohr shook his head.
">And
now they're still just throwing in the towel."
">Yep
... / Even if the whole company's not going under because of it, / I can't
imagine the army has much chance of being profitable after this. / Probably
nothing left to do but split us up and sell us off."
">That
must be why we're all collecting back in Oslo / the fire sale," said
Janus.
">Ah,
right. / Our transport sets down on an auction block / and the bidding starts
before a panel of security contractors."
">And
world dictators."
">Heh,
yeah."
They
had posited that as a joke, but, as Mohr considered it, the more likely it
seemed. His grin faded.
">If
it came to that, what would your choice for next gig be? / Africa? / South
America? / Asia?" Mohr was trying to salvage the joke.
">Well,
definitely not South America, all those jungles ... /
And definitely not Africa, there they got jungles and deserts. / Though southeast Asia has jungles, too, I guess ...
/ Fuck, I don't care where, just no jungles-that's my only rule."
Mohr
chuckled.
In
the hold there arose some excited chattering from the men. Mohr and Janus
looked around but saw nothing to explain it. When they checked the transport's
forward cams, however, they understood: they were at
last approaching the city.
For
many of the men, this would be their first sight of Oslo. They were slobbering
over every angle coming from the transport's external cams, and some were even
looking out of the windows-to behold the original photons. Mohr thought this
irreverent, but he could not blame them. There were several modern ruins, but
none with the combined mystery of Oslo.
The
low-rise sprawl of the city's outskirts lay ahead, painted a pallid mien by the
sullen and overcast day. This sight alone would not have been exceptional had
it belonged to any other city, but the mere knowledge that this was Oslo made
it fantastic and eldritch. Coming closer, all the city's conspicuous absences
came into focus: no cars, no lights, no movement. Trees and greenery were
everywhere growing wild, terrorizing the streets. And the buildings were all
dilapidated and speckled with broken windows.
Approaching
the city center, the heights of the buildings climbed
through low-rise, mid-rise, and incipient high-rise levels. But where the city
should have had its crowning island of arcologies, in Oslo there was a strange
void. The buildings were absent from so large a space as to suggest an impact
crater. Inside it, every lot was piled high with debris, yet the streets had
been cleared for the corporate army's vehicles. It was a strangely manicured
city of rubble.
They
soon neared the location of the corporate army's base in the old St. Hanshaugen Park. The last time Mohr had seen Alpha Base-as
it had been called back in the early days-it had been just a cluster of
buildings with a heavily defended perimeter. Over the years he had heard of it
being turned into a hardened installation and renamed 'The Bunker,' but that
was all. He was curious what had become of it, as this was his first time back
to Oslo in four years.
At
first sight of the base, Mohr was stupefied. The Bunker was a squat nanometal
dome dominating the center of the park. Its
featurelessness at first yielded no sense of scale, but, comparing it to the
few surrounding buildings and control towers, Mohr gauged that its footprint
was larger than ten square blocks. Its ground level was ringed with eight,
massive, twenty-meter-wide hangar doors, all of which were open and ferrying in
great tides of men, vehicles, and supplies as if into eight sacrificial mouths.
The surrounding oblong expanse of the park had been thoroughly paved to create
'St. Hanshaugen Tarmac.' Everywhere were transports
and heavies landing and dusting off, and in between disgorging men and cargo
into the teeming maze of ground traffic. Mohr looked for any tents or temporary
structures set up on the tarmac, but there were none. Everything was going
inside the Bunker.
He
had not thought about it that morning, about what it would mean to have the
entire corporate army relocating to Oslo. But if at least ten thousand men and
all their attendant supplies were going to fit in there, then that structure
had to be greater than even that stupendous dome. That had to be only the
iceberg peak of a staggering underground complex. Something with the rackspace, garages, messes, food stores, heads, infirmaries,
gymnasiums, vid theaters, sim farms, and even the whorehouses and distilleries to sustain an entire division
underground for weeks.
Turning
to Janus, Mohr repeated his opening question, now rife with self-sarcasm:
"Think this is the end of the army ... "
Janus
huffed and shook his head at the astounding scene. "Now I wish it had
been. 'Cause, otherwise, this ... " he gestured
out the window. "This can only
be the beginning of something tremendously fucked."
Chapter 1 - Second
As
the Jotunheim neared the rendezvous,
her first sensor contact came in the form of one of her forward drones sighting
a drone from another ship-like two advance scouts from separate armies meeting.
The drones interrogated each other and verified that they were friendly, and so
Frisch knew that they had found the Human fleet.
After
registering with the net, sensor data from the eleven other Human ships was
streamed to the Jotunheim, and her
own vision was added back. Tacspace came alight with
the wide gathering of friendlies. Their ship took up position in the fleet's
standard three-layer formation: heavyweight carriers and battlecruisers in the center; cruiser and destroyer screens rotating around
those; and finally a much thicker valence of probes and defense
platforms extending out in all directions.
The
Jotunheim was the last ship to
arrive, so all of the captains now convened in a simspace meeting. Frisch and the other commanders appeared
with Commodore Hadamard around a circular table. National emblems hung behind
each of them, with Hadamard's Confederation seal shining subtly the
brightest-to signify his command.
"Good
to see you all in one piece again, ladies and gentlemen," said Hadamard.
"Cards on the table."
Frisch
realized this meant that they were to share the cryptographic keys to the
sections of the sensor grid they had just laid. After doing this, a holo appeared over the table showing a projection of the
unified grid. Each probe appeared as a dot on the surface of a great sphere,
with its visibility drawn around it as a breath of light. The completed net was
a lambent shell woven around the Hezokeen position.
None of the near- or mid-range probes showed any contacts, but the long-range
ones dimly revealed hundreds of Hezokeen ships
lurking at the center. Also shown were the recorded
tracks of past Hezokeen patrols, which came arcing
out of their fleet core like stellar prominences. A counter at the bottom of
the holo showed that all 2,013 probes were online.
"Excellent,"
remarked Hadamard. "So, we discussed our strategy back planet-side, but,
now that we're out in the field, let's recheck the
tactical situation. The grid's up, so now the next move is the Hezokeen's. And they have a limited number of options.
"First,
even though we've surrounded their fleet with a sensor
grid, this is still space, so they
could try to pick up and move away. But the grid's sensors are all
hyperspace-capable and could move with them, so the Hezokeen
would just end up with two thousand probes chasing them. They won't try that.
"That
leaves the other option, which is to try to destroy the grid here in a pitched
battle. If they can take out enough of the sensors to fracture the grid's
coverage, they can make an escape. That's what we can
most likely expect.
"Now,
it looks like the Hezokeen haven't spotted the grid
so far, but, once they do, we can expect-" Hadamard broke off when he was
interrupted by a sidechannel. He was looking off as
he read something. "Set condition red and prepare for immediate scramble.
Meeting adjourned."
Oh
fuck, thought Frisch. He snapped back to the Jotunheim's tacspace
context and relayed the brief orders. The bridge officers pressed around him,
eager for details.
«What
is it, Captain?»
«We've
got no contacts on the screens ... »
«Did
Hadamard say anything?»
Frisch
flashed them negative responses while he checked the sensors himself. Their
immediate vicinity was clear, and the grid showed no activity from the Hezokeen fleet ...
«Did
anything happen while I was in the meeting?» Frisch asked. «Anything at all?»
«Well
... » said Kittelsen. «There was this weird signal that came from Earth.
Computers analyzed it-just a mathematical sequence.
Probably someone running a hypercomm test. It was a
little high-power for that, though.»
Frisch
first dismissed that. But then it struck him as a second thought: a
mathematical sequence ...
Hadamard
soon came on the comms, fleet-wide address:
«I'll
keep this short. Just minutes ago we intercepted another rogue hypercomm transmission. This one was cast from the Earth in
the direction of the Hezokeen fleet. All of our comm systems would have seen it and discarded it.
«I've
talked with Fleet, and they've confirmed that this had the same characteristics
as the first pirate signals some weeks ago. Only back then it was the Hezokeen fleet that spoke first, and their Earth-side
agents who replied. The signal just now was cast first from the Earth, and the Hezokeen fleet hasn't responded
yet. Since they're maintaining comm silence, HQ thinks
there's a fair chance this might have been the 'go' code for some operation.
Possibly an invasion. Our main fleet is already mobilizing for that
eventuality.
«So
let me be clear: we are on high alert, poised to oppose an all-out invasion by
the Hezokeen. Even though the MINDEFs didn't want to lower the Space DEFCON to two-just in case
this turns out to be a false alarm-the entire fleet is to act like it. All ships
in flight are scrambling to emergency battle rendezvous, and everything in port
will put to the skies within the hour.
«Our
job is to watch the sensor picket and provide any forewarning and profile of a Hezokeen move. To do that we'll be
fanning out, every ship for itself, to watch the lines. Patrol in strict
stealth and investigate any possible contacts from the grid. We'll
maintain comm silence, only breaking it in case of a confirmed Hezokeen sighting. -And that's a mass sighting. I don't want anybody
sending back 'Zulu-Echo-Zulu' for just a five-ship patrol»
Frisch
dimly recalled 'Zulu-Echo-Zulu' as the priority code for an en route invasion of the Sol system. He remembered a day in officer
candidate school where they covered 'common three-letter emergency codes for
events that will never actually happen.' But now one of those was actually being invoked ...
«If
we see nothing from the Hezokeen within twenty-four
hours,» Hadamard continued, «then we rendezvous at Point Kappa-Niner. But stay
sharp. If there really is an invasion on the way, Fleet will need as much
warning as possible so that they can start evacuating cities Earth-side. That's our job
here: sight the Hezokeen, save lives. The second we
get a confirmed sighting, we run Plan Lima back to the system and join up with
the fleet.
«If
there are any questions, we'll be out of whisper range
in a minute, so make it fast. Other than that, good luck, and good hunting»
Once
the channel closed, Kittelsen announced to the Jotunheim's bridge: «NAV: Dispatch orders received: / Patrol grid
branches Victor through Tango»
«CO:
Proceed / speed: stealth +0.5»
With
their ship on its way, Frisch could finally react to this change of stakes. But
he was still stupefied-an invasion?
They had not even seen an alien ship first-hand on this mission yet, but, if
what Hadamard had just said were true, then not five minutes from now the Hezokeen fleet would set off on a straight shot for the
Earth-and their own puny flotilla would be the first thing to be swept aside.
In
tacspace the Human ships were splitting up, and the
great mass of probes and plats was breaking back down into individual
accompaniments for each vessel. The Jotunheim's
engines were still hot from the ride in, so she was quickly making her way out
from the rendezvous, climbing back up to a lonely place along the grid.
Chapter 2 - Obsolete
Hanssen
waited till the next morning to jet back to Leknes. When he lifted out of
Bergen, the sun was hanging low but determined in the sky, the day already
hours old from its perspective.
Steffens
called once he was in flight. Hanssen had been wondering how everyone back in
Leknes would take the news of the treaty.
"Cassie?"
he answered the call.
"Haze,
good-we're glad you're coming back."
Keying
on her tone, Hanssen looked at her with concern.
"It's
the Brigadier."
***
Following
the last leg on his OHUD map, Hanssen ended up outside of the Brigadier's
hospital room. He entered softly and approached Krohg's
bed, where the man was propped up to receive visitors. Thin tubes ran between
his face and arms and some attendant machines. These were all blank of
displays-their data available only over privy hospital augspace.
Krohg turned towards him. "Hanssen
... " he said, his voice an intrenchant whisper.
"Sir."
Hanssen sat in the chair next to the bed. "How are you?"
"Better,
better ... It wasn't so much the aneurism as it was
the ... falling down afterwards. ... 'Falling down,'" he repeated with a
laugh-like exhalation. "No way for a professional soldier to go."
Hanssen
tried to grin but accomplished nothing. "I've ... talked to the doctors.
They said they patched you up, but that you won't let them administer a simple
OPN treatment to make the cure permanent." One of Krohg's
sons had caught Hanssen in the waiting room and explained the obstacles the man
was offering to his treatment. Hanssen had agreed to talk to him about it, if
only to find out his reasons.
Krohg chuckled to the limits of his
ability. "'OPN treatment,'" he echoed. "I don't even know what
that means."
"Sorry,
it's 'Out-patient nanome-'"
"No,
no, I know what it means ... But what
does it mean, really?" He gave a
sarcastic puff.
Hanssen
drew back. "Then is your objection some ... religious thing?"
His
eyes drifted down. "Perhaps. I suppose it's a
'religious thing' whenever we act on belief. And sometimes contrary to
reason."
"...
So you're against the level of technology or-"
"No,
no, I'm not against the technology. Far from it ... " He turned to look
out the window. He struggled to muster his ever failing voice, "It just
feels like this world ... Like this world
... isn't mine anymore." He sighed. "I mean, how could it be? With
space elevators, and alien embassies, and ... " A hoverbus
flew past. "And hover-everythings," he gestured choppily outside.
He
looked back to Hanssen. "I just feel that, wherever humanity's going ... its future ... isn't mine anymore. And
the longer I wait around the more alien I'll
become."
Hanssen
looked down into his hands. He could see why Krohg
had not wanted to explain this to his children. Maybe he was only telling
Hanssen because he was accustomed to taking what Krohg
said at face value, without arguing or reinterpreting. Yet Hanssen did feel
called to say something contrary, as if Krohg were
contemplating suicide and he had to talk him back from the ledge.
"But
of course it's your future. Everyone's ... future," Hanssen said thinly.
"And don't you want to see how we get through all this? Leknes and the
corporate army? With Norway still in pieces. And the depression? Don't you want
to see if the world ... "
Krohg raised a hand weakly, dispersing
Hanssen's words. "The human race will get through. It always does. Even if
some parts of it don't. And now I only want to see the
end of my life the way I always thought I would. Or as close to it as I can
get."
Hanssen
remained silent for a minute more. He did not know if he would pass Krohg's reasons along to the man's son, waiting outside. If
at all, he could only present it as something simple and neutered. 'He thinks
it's his time.'
"Thank
you for coming to see me, Hanssen."
"Of
course, sir. ... If there's anything I can-"
"You've
already done it. Listened."
Hanssen
stood to go. He caught the man's eyes. The glance was solaced but also held an
eager, inner spark. He covered Krohg's hand where it
rested on the bed, giving it a departing grip.
"Take
care," said Krohg, turning back towards the
window.
Out
in the hall, Krohg's son looked to Hanssen. "Did
you ... " he started.
But
Hanssen only shook his head. And the man understood. Hanssen left.
Hanssen
remembered meeting Krohg five years ago during the
Singularity's recovery efforts. At the time the Brigadier had found him as another
wreck among the ruins. He had offered to take him back to Leknes and employ him
there, to let him heal at his own rate. Yet in all the time since they had
never shared any breakthroughs, and Hanssen was afraid the man might think that
he undervalued their connection. So Krohg making this
confession to him at last felt like an affirmation of their unspoken closeness.
He knew what Hanssen could not say, and did not blame him.
But
the meeting had gone entirely differently from Krohg's
perspective. He had opened up to Hanssen only because
sometimes deeply personal facts could only be discussed comfortably with
strangers, and that was what Hanssen was to him. Krohg
had taken Hanssen back to Leknes to let him open up,
but with that never happening Hanssen had stayed a distant charity case to him.
To Krohg this meeting only reaffirmed their distance,
and at a time when it was too late to be changed.
***
Soon
afterwards Hanssen received two messages. The first was from the Brigadier to
the Mayor, CC'ed to him, announcing his resignation
for medical and personal reasons. The second was a reply from the Mayor,
appointing Hanssen as commander of Leknes's Home Guard, and promoting him to a
full Colonel accordingly. Remembering his duties, Hanssen scheduled a conference
for later that day-he still had to discuss the ceasefire with the men.
But
until then he walked around Leknes, and finally ended up in his usual booth in
Lutefisk's, overlooking the bay. By then the sun had breached the zenith, at
last tipping the day's scale over from new to old.