Wakinyan then snapped his fingers as a signal to a pretty black woman standing some distance away. She broke out of her stance and jogged up to the trio.
“Commander Trager, this is Captain Vanessa Parks,” Wakinyan introduced. “Besides being one royal pain-in-the-ass, she is one of the most capable officers in the fleet.”
Vanessa giggled lightly at the remark.
Trager took a moment to study the athletic woman, whose features seemed artistically carved. Her full lips beckoned him with a bright smile, while her dark eyes sparkled in mischief and a love of life.
“She’ll do just find, Commander,” Trager heartily accepted the woman.
“Good! Then I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Richard said as he started to break away. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks and turned back to the Earthman. “You know, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Wakinyan pried. “Why did you desert?”
Trager drew a deep breath and reached into his top left-hand pocket. He pulled out a small rectangular metal case and handed to Wakinyan. “Go ahead. Open it up,” Trager insisted.
It was a little hard, but Wakinyan broke the case open. The man suddenly felt a brief gust of air rush passed his hands as the case yielded a “pop” from its broken vacuum seal. The Martian officer then peered inside the container. A small strip with a multitude of tiny and long flexible fingers lay in a transparent blue gel, which bore a faint musky scent. It appeared to be part metal, part plastic—but chiefly made of biomaterial. Richard knew that the Earth sciences created many wonders in technology, but this device was an advance design. The biomimetic and nanoscience apparatus was complex, and yet, ever so tiny. However, something seemed out of place with it; it held a darkness that made the Lakota uncomfortable. And the more he studied it, the more certain he was of its sinister nature.
“What is it?” Wakinyan questioned uneasily.
“A Watcher,” Trager explained. “It’s an implant to be mounted onto the cerebral cortex of a person’s brain. Supposedly, it’s been designed to monitor body functions to ensure that their health is kept at optimum levels and to generate a distress signal should a person implanted with it become either sick or injured.”
Richard studied the object closely. “I assume it does more than that.”
“Oh, much more!” Trager edified. “It contains approximately 50,000 omega processing chips made from Quantum Dots and Wires, giving it a rudimentary intelligence. And all those thin fiber-like members are its carbon nanotubes interfaces coated with a thin layer of nerve protein so it’s not rejected by the host’s body.”
“What about power and memory?” Wakinyan questioned further as he traced the device with his eyes. “It would seem that the processors would take up most of the device and leave very little for anything else.”
Trager smirked. “That’s because it has the most novel power and memory system ever devised —the human brain! It derives its energy from chemical reactions, but its power consumption is low. Yet, it can transmit a data signal at a frequency of 70 Kilo Hertz at 10 dB using the body as its antenna.”
“That’s incredible!” Winslow interjected.
Trager’s smirk transformed into a sly grin. “Its memory storage is even more incredible. The Watcher can store data, programs, and anything else it wants—in the unused portion of the mind without the wearer’s consent or conscious knowledge of them.”
Wakinyan’s frown deepened and became troubled. “That seems to be a bit of over-kill for just a monitor. So what is it real purpose, then?”
A strange glow came to Trager’s eyes along with a caustic tone to his words. “It’s a combination surveillance and remote control system—for human beings!”
The Martian officers’ expressions transposed to outright shock.
“Imagine if you will, some computer being able to not only monitor everything you see and hear, but feel and think as well—and all of it uploaded to a central database. But that’s only part of its capabilities. It can modify its user’s behavior and personality as well—to create a model citizen. It does this through pain, or by controlling the brain’s nerve impulses in producing different types of feelings or by substituting its own false memories!” Trager boasted. “Truly an extraordinary tool for the ultimate police state, don’t you think?”
Wakinyan was dumfounded for a moment, as he stood carefully digesting Trager’s words. “That’s a bit frightening! How did you come by this?”
Trager smiled. “It was part of a lot that was shipped to the Quinton for implantation into the human members of its crew. Recently, Earth Fleet Command is requiring first-line crews to either get the implant, become a cyborg—or resign from the service,” Trager’s voice became mono-toned. “However, the shipment sent to the Quinton was accidentally exposed to radiation. Our ship’s surgeon turned all of them over to Abner. He wanted to make sure they weren’t contaminated. Well, Abner being the curious type, decide to do a little tinkering.”
“I think it would take a little more than speculation to risk a death sentence,” Winslow interrupted.
Trager gave Winslow a harsh stare. “Abner is more than an engineer; he’s a scientist! And he doesn’t speculate!” Trager’s tone momentarily grew angry.
“Sorry,” Winslow apologized.
Trager went on. “There were other issues as well; crewmen being routinely executed for the most trivial of infractions, human beings slowly replaced in the military and government by machines, a whole world’s population hooked on drugs, and virtual brain stimulation while being fed a constant barrage of propaganda. What’s more—there are rumors!”
“Rumors of what?” Vanessa joined in.
“A secret government, black projects, experiments on innocent people: all the things that nightmares are made from. I’m sure that the colonists from Cramer’s World can attest to that!” Trager concluded.
“You paint a very bleak picture, Mr. Trager,” Richard noted.
“Commander, I don’t paint pictures, I merely interpret them. You’ve done that yourself. That’s why you fled Mars, isn’t it? To tell you the truth though, I’m not sure why you’ve taken such a big risk in trusting us, but I like the idea of being a free man again.”
“Such things come at a very high price, Mr. Trager.”
“Perhaps,” Trager agreed, “but it’s better to die a free man than to be something else’s slave!”
“You know,” Winslow interrupted again, “you sound just like a Martian!”
Wakinyan looked over at Gris, knowing he had another crisis to face. Richard then quickly stuck out his hand to Trager. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Trager, and good luck to you!”
Richard shook his hand, along with the other two officers. He then turned and marched towards Gris and the other mutants. As he approached the group, he realized that his idea of their contribution to the operation did not sit well with them at all. Within a minute, however, he stood before them like a guilty man standing before a judge awaiting his verdict.
The face of each mutant readily showed displeasure with Wakinyan, unsure of him and his motives. Even Tara was disappointed, believing she was just fooling herself about Richard, refusing to look into his mind to see the truth. The Lakota’s expression was filled with regret over this, but was steady in courage. Richard waited for Gris to speak first, however.
“Why Wakinyan? Why did you volunteer my people in front of everyone to lay those mines?” Gris toned both angrily and with some cynicism.
Richard sighed. “I know what your people have endured—how they’ve been treated in the past by other normals. I know what it is like to be an outcast, and I didn’t want that to happen again! I didn’t want that to happen to you!” Richard confessed emotionally.
“Don’t give me that bull! You’re no better than the rest of them!” Jerome exploded. “You just want to put a few more of us out of our misery!”
“You’re wrong a
bout that!” Richard implored. “Don’t you see, this is something you have to do!”
But Gris just shot him questioning glance.
“Look, this battle will always be considered the most crucial moment for this world. And the Martians some day will ask you: why didn’t you help defend Valamars from the Earth fleet? And if you don’t have a good excuse, the next question will be: if you don’t want to defend the planet, then what the hell are you doing here?” Richard bluntly pointed out. “How will you answer them?”
Gris reflected on this, but was at a loss for words. The other mutants were just as unsettled and stared blankly at each other as none did reply.
“So I see,” Richard observed, “You can’t!”
Silence filled the air once more.
“Gris,” Wakinyan offered words from his heart, “this battle will define us as one people united! When the Martians see your crews risk their lives along side the Martian fleet, how can anyone ever speak against you then—and deny your rightful place here as citizens?”
Wakinyan continued. “Also, combat creates bonds between people. That’s why the military is always at the forefront of positive societal change. We will be working together, living together, and fighting together—while respecting and relying on each other. And because of that, we will merge as one world!”
“There is no denying the danger in all this. Particularly, the task I am asking of you. But it is of such paramount importance that the plan cannot succeed without it. And so this transfers to all of you. Your bravery becomes a major reason for our victory!”
Jerome’s expression began to change, enlightened by Richard’s views as well as intrigued by them.
“Finally, there is one other thing to consider,” Richard alluded to. “The monsters that murdered your families and mutated to you—have sent one of their fine fleets to finish the job. I can’t think of a better way to paid them back, then to make trillions of particles out of it!”
“He’s telling the truth!” Tara spoke out in defense of “her knight” as she stepped forward and in front of him.
Gris was surprised by Tara’s assertive behavior. He never saw her like this before. The woman’s face was a mirror of her passion and her steadfast belief in the Martian leader. Above all, she was not about to back down.
“How do the rest of you feel about this?” Jerome quizzed his officers.
Again the mutants glanced among each other, but it was Martin Pearl who spoke up first. Unaccustomed to being center stage of things, he naturally grabbed everyone’s attention.
“I know Wakinyan risked his life and ships for us! No one else has ever done that before!” Martin was adamant. “Besides, I lost my whole family because of the plague. I want them to feel the same agony they caused us! I say, we do it!”
The other mutants quickly agreed unanimously.
Gris slowly broke into a grin, which turned into sudden a laugh. “Wakinyan, you do have a way with words. Alright, we’re in.”
Richard stuck out his hand. “For all the people of Valamars!” he vowed sincerely.
Jerome took Richard’s hand and shook it heartily. “For all the people of Valamars!” Jerome pledged as well.
* * * * *
It had taken over an hour and a half to reprogram the cipher scout, but it had been successfully accomplished. Yet, the chancy procedure had proved to more perilous than first realized. Both Abner and Captain Benson had sweated through several heart-pounding minutes as the device for no reason armed itself and raced to detonation. Yet, through the cool headedness and technical skills of Quinton’s former chief engineer, the final sequence had just been narrowly avoided by seconds. It had been no wonder and with great relief that the pair had happily relinquished the mechanism back into depths of space after they had finished.
With their mission thus accomplished, they were picked up by the bigger Martian ship, which then headed back towards the fleet. As the vessel approached and then anchored near Valamars and the collective of Martian vessels, the shuttle was then released for its rendezvous with the Crazy Horse.
“What the….” Benson loudly vocalized his confusion as the small craft cleared the ship tender.
Although Abner was relaxing in his seat in front of his shutdown instruments, he turned away and wondered what had so startled the otherwise collected and cool marine. Curiosity beckoned as the engineer left his post and came forward to see for himself. The answer was found shockingly through the craft’s forward windshield: the Martian fleet was teeming with active.
Beyond the normal tenders and supply ships moving about, a multitude of shuttles dangerously zigzagged at high speed in every direction. Their movements gave urgency to their flight, and everywhere, spacesuited crewmen of every warship worked feverishly on the outer hulls of the huge vessels. Particularly around the bows of the ships, the laser weapons, and engine rooms; the arcing of laser torches burned constant and brightly like a million candles flickering in the night. Even some of the civilian craft seemed immersed in this madness. It was quite a spectacle, but to Captain Benson it left no doubt, the Martian fleet was gearing-up for war.
“What the hell is going on?” Abner questioned.
“Beats the crap out of me,” Benson replied. “Hang on! This is going to be rough!” Benson then throttled-up the craft and shot into the mass insanity of careening vessels and quickly vanished within.
* * * * *
Five minutes later, the shuttle set down in Bay One of the Crazy Horse. As the two men departed the craft, they were amazed to find that the activity outside the ship was a mere prelude to the massive effort that was being performed inside.
Shuttles were being ripped apart by marines and apparently armed with missile tubes and canisters bolted to their sides and roofs along with other weaponry. Not surprisingly, the engineers who had deserted the Quinton aided the marines in this task, but they were predominately engaged in rewiring the vehicles to make the deadly weapons operational.
These projectiles were conceived for one purpose: to kill ships. Each single large tube sported an individual missile with a massive warhead, while the canisters held twenty smaller ones. Yet, both require more than a squad of marines to heave them around into position. There was much yelling, cursing, sweating, and muscular strain, but through it all, they toiled relentlessly like a colony of ants.
Both Abner and Benson were awestruck. Safety was abandoned for time while calamity waited diligently in the shadows. The missiles were precariously stacked together in numerous pyramids that were about six feet high. Even with the precaution of every missile fuse removed and stored elsewhere, it was a dangerous process—one born out of desperation.
“About time you two showed up!” the familiar voice of Major Franks boomed from behind them.
As the two new arrivals turned to face the commanding marine officer, Captain Benson noticed that the rank of “Oak Clusters” was gone from Franks’ collar, each replaced by a single star.
“Major?” Benson was surprised by the change in rank.
Franks grinned. “It’s general now, thanks to Wakinyan. Captain, was your mission successful?”
The stunned Captain Benson, however, did not utter a single word.
“It’s primed and ready,” Abner interjected.
“Excellent!” Franks was pleased. “By the way, Mr. Strephon, you’re desperately needed in the engine room. Do you think you can find your way there?”
“I’ll manage,” Abner strangely felt a part of this unusual crew and battered Martian warship. He quickly sprinted off to make himself more useful.
Franks then glanced back to the still stunned Captain Benson. A big grin broke out across Franks’ face. “You’re out of uniform, Benson!” the general critiqued the marine.
Benson looked himself over, but did not see anything wrong.
Franks held out an open hand where two small objects rested. “Here, put these on,” the comman
ding marine said.
Benson gazed down upon two subdued eagles that lay in his Franks’ palm. Slowly it dawned on him that he was being promoted to colonel.
“Why, Sir?” Benson asked confused.
“According to Wakinyan,” Franks replied, “it’s to put the Corp on par with the fleet. But personally I think that’s a lot of BS,” the older marine officer confided. “I think he’s promoting the people who he feels are leaders—in the hope that some of them will survive.”
Benson hesitantly removed his old “railroad bars” and replaced them with the eagles. He wasn’t sure what to make of this, but if it was true, it meant that there wouldn’t be much of the fleet left after tomorrow.
“By the way,” Franks continued, “don’t be surprised at some of the other promotions Wakinyan made. For example, Gunnery Sergeant Gagarin is now—Captain Gagarin!”
Benson shot Franks another look of incredulity.
“Yup! Did it right in front of me,” Franks acknowledged as he thought back, but his face became suddenly twisted in puzzlement. “You know, as Wakinyan pinned those bars on him, he made some comment about welcoming Gagarin to the—goat-screw club. I wonder what he meant by that?”
Benson shook his head. “I haven’t a clue, Sir.
Franks turned back to the sight of the shuttles being refurbished. “Well, let’s get to it. These things are not going to arm themselves.”
The two marine officers then joined in the task of transforming the shuttles into weapon platforms.
* * * * *
Captain James Randall’s eyes were transfixed upon the alien ship as it oscillated in glowing colors. The brilliance was almost that of a star, and it obscured most of its hull’s details in blinding illumination. From his vantage-point on the bridge, it seemed that the aliens had repaired the breach in the outer skin and were possibly now testing or troubleshooting their engines, but this was all speculation on his part.
Mesmerized by the exhibition, he had not noticed Squadron Leader Colette Boussard standing next to him. She had quietly slipped onto the bridge and had joined him as a spectator.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before?” she asked.