Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (40 page)

Trager squared his jaw and
began. He was remarkably calm, as he was candid.

The officer repeated the
orders given to him by Admiral Darius along with the details of the
massacre of Mars. The entire assemblage of Martian officers
listened aghast, but intently as the deserter regaled the forum in
hard and frightening facts. Trager was then very descriptive and
very blunt about what was going to happen next.

After the deserter
finished, Wakinyan stepped forward once more.

“I know that each one of
you is scared,” Wakinyan challenged them with the truth. More than
a few heads dropped momentarily low.

“So am I,” he admitted.
“But I be damned if I let those murdering butchers just sail right
in here and massacre the lot of us without firing a
shot!”

Wakinyan then became
outraged. “THIS FLEET IS NOT GOING TO ROLL OVER AND DIE! WE ARE
MARTIANS!” he reminded them all, stoking the fire of pride within
each heart. “AND THEY FEAR US! THAT’S WHY THEY’RE COMING HERE! THEY
KNOW IT WAS US WHO HAD BEATEN THE ARRIS, NOT THEM! IT WAS US WHO
HAD BEATENED THE CHA’LAS, NOT THEM! AND THEY’RE AFRAID THAT ONE DAY
WE ARE GOING SAIL BACK TO EARTH—AND TAKE OUR REVENGE!
AND—THEY—ARE—RIGHT!”

Wakinyan drew more air into
his lungs.

“WE—ARE—THE MARTIANS! AND WE HAVE THE FINEST FLEET
IN THE GALAXY! THERE IS NONE THAT CAN COMPARE TO IT! AND I DON’T
CARE WHAT KIND OF TECHNOLOGY THEY HAVE; NOT ONE OF THEIR STINKING
SHIPS IS GOING TO SURVIVE US—OR TOMORROW! THAT I PROMISE!” Wakinyan
trumpeted wild eye and at the top of his lungs.

Randall
smiled broadly as he watched his friend do a modern-day rendition
of a
War Dance
to
inspire the fleet. Randall knew, however, it wasn’t an act, but
rather the spirit of a man who never accepted
defeat.

As
Richard paused, unexpectedly Randall’s hands began to clap, slowly
at first. Other officers turned and looked at the new captain of
the
Crazy Horse
as
he
broke the silence of the bay. It was
then that Randall began to clap harder and faster. Suddenly, other
hands joined in, a few at first, and then the clapping grew louder.
It seemed to be contagious, as it passed from person-to-person.
Within a minute, it became a thunderous applaud and was joined by
buoyant smiles and whistling.

“WAKINYAN! WAKINYAN! WAKINYAN!” the Martian officers
began to chant, bedazzled by the commander’s prophecy of
victory.

Richard allowed the
starfaring Martian warriors to remember their self-respect for over
a minute. He then released Tara from his grip and held up both
hands over his head to silence them.

“Should any of you have any
doubts, I think it’s fair to say that we’re not going to negotiate
a peaceful settlement with these murdering cutthroats!” Wakinyan
joked.

Many officers laughed at
the remark.

Wakinyan became a little
more at ease. “My plan is simple,” he confided. “We’re going to
give these Earthers what they want—but not the way they want it!
They will bleed every step of the way, until they finally run into
a Martian wall of steel! And then that wall is going to fall right
on top of them! And the only thing that’s going to be left of them
is elbows and toe nails!”

More cheering came as
spirits rose and hope was renewed.

Wakinyan quieted the crowd
once more and drifted back into seriousness. “There is much work to
be done and little time to do it in. So let’s gets
started!”

Each ear then turned and
listened as the Martian fleet Commander revealed his
strategy.

* * * * *

Chapter 22:
Countdown

The staff meeting had
progressed well in the forty minutes that it lasted, and Wakinyan’s
unveiled strategy was more than well received. It was a fire that
consumed the pall of hopelessness and brought forth a gleaming
light of optimism. It was a simple plan that relied on deception
and surprise; there was little to go wrong. In every mind that
heard it, it conjured up untold devastation for the Earth forces.
Only a few minor improvements were needed to the planned military
operation, as the gathering transformed into a brainstorming
secession.

Finally, it was over, but
the Martian military officers left the hanger bay with renewed
confidence and the absolute belief that they could win. Still,
there were a few matters that were unclear, and several people
lingered about for their own needed audience with
Wakinyan.

Jerome Gris was one of
these. He stood next to Tara and the other mutant officers
patiently as Wakinyan held an impromptu conference with Trager and
Winslow. As Gris gave a scorching look at the man, his anger was
noticeably clear. The Martian officer provoked hostility within him
for not only volunteering them to take part in the coming battle,
but for the role they were expected to play in the conflict. It was
an exceedingly dangerous one, if not suicidal. The mutant leader
was not going to allow the slaughter of his people. Yet, Gris still
held true respect for Wakinyan by the rescue of the last of his
ships. For this act of mercy, his tongue was presently
stilled.

“Well, that’s it,” Richard
summed up his thoughts. “Any final comments?”

Winslow rubbed his chin,
uncertain of a few trivialities. “I think using the re-programmed
cipher scout to lure them in is a good idea, but what if they don’t
go for it?”

Trager flashed a quick
smile. “Selena is nobody’s fool, but she’s an arrogant ass. She
believes that her state-of-the-art technology and overwhelming
firepower is more than enough to give her a victory. Beside
that—she hates Martians most of all! She’ll take the bait
alright—but what she does afterwards is anybody’s guess,” Trager
pointed out.

“Arrogance knows no
bounds,” Wakinyan interjected, “and breeds stupidity! That will be
her undoing!”

“I hope so,” Trager voiced
concerned, “but you’ll be the ones facing her—not me.”

Wakinyan grimaced. “Tell
me, if you had a ship, would you fight against her?”

Trager became totally
serious. “I’d give my life for the chance!” the Earth officer’s
anger boiled over at the thought of the “thing” that he loathed the
most.

“Now,
isn’t that a strange coincidence,” Richard feinted ignorance, “I
been replacing officers on the ships held formerly by Earth
loyalists—and I’ve seemed to come up one officer shy,” Wakinyan
informed the other two men. “How would you feel about commanding a
Martian battle cruiser: the
Mir
?”

Trager broke into a
chuckle. “When can I take command of her?”

“Immediately!” Richard
became no-nonsense again. “I’ll even give you a good first
officer.”

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.”