Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (14 page)

“Your report is very impressive,
Under-Secretary.” Anton Samovich was Secretary of Internal Security
and generally considered the number two man on the council, after
the Secretary General. “It is not my intention to catch you
unprepared, but do you feel you can offer some insight on how
quickly the program can be rolled out to the other Portal
worlds?”

Keita suppressed a smile. He’d wondered for
some time if Samovich was a potential ally. The wily old Secretary
was unpredictable and hard to read, but he was a formidable force
to have on your side. Now he had his answer. Samovich knew very
well Keita would have the data he requested. He was providing a
chance for Keita to elaborate on his success.

“Certainly, Secretary Samovich.” Keita spoke
deliberatively, making sure to keep any trace of arrogance out of
his voice…anything that might offend anyone. Now wasn’t the time to
be careless, and he was well aware of the size and the volatile
nature of some of the egos in the room. If Samovich was in his
corner, he had a great shot at a unanimous confirmation vote. He’d
take the chair any way he could get it, but if he squeaked in, he’d
have a target on his back from day one. With all 13 votes, he’d
have a lot more freedom to pursue his agenda. “We have examined the
situation from two perspectives, depending on the aggressiveness
the Secretariat wishes to employ.” He glanced around the room,
adding the body language to back up his faked, but convincing,
respectful deference to the Secretaries.

Samovich nodded. “I believe we should examine
both options. I am certain we can consider the pros and cons for
each approach.”

Keita waited until he was sure Samovich was
done. “We can certainly implement the Supersoldier program on a
single additional world fairly quickly.” He moved his eyes up and
down the table, looking at each of the Secretaries in turn.
“Constructing a new production and implantation facility will take
a minimum of six months, including transport time through the
Portal.” Half a year was a tight schedule, but Keita was sure he
could make it work if he had to. “While construction is underway,
we can select our initial candidates from the forces currently
engaged.”

“And if we wish to extend the program
simultaneously to all currently disputed Portal worlds?” It was a
new voice. Chang Li was Secretary of Finance, and probably the
third most powerful member of the Secretariat, after Samovich and
the Secretary General. And a world-class prick, Keita thought. He
tried to maintain good relations with all the council members, but
if he had an enemy lurking out there, Keita knew it would be
Chang.

Keita paused, carefully considering his
response. “Simultaneous introduction on all disputed worlds would
be an enormous project, Secretary Chang, and the costs involved
would be astronomical. Probably exceeding any…”

“But it funding were made available, Mr.
Keita, how long would your people require to implement.” Chang
again, interrupting.

“In that case, I would estimate a minimum of
five years to reach full implementation.” Keita had no idea…he was
pulling guesses out of his ass. He’d never considered a project on
the scale Chang was suggesting. It was unfeasible at best,
impossible at worst. It would require an investment exceeding gross
world product, and there weren’t enough specialists available with
the required skills. It was a stupid hypothetical being floated by
an arrogant ass for reasons Keita couldn’t quite divine…at least
not yet. “Just training a sufficient number of personnel would be
an enormous project. And the investment required would be truly
enormous, far beyond the scope of any project yet undertaken.”

“I don’t think we need to consider such a
massive expansion anyway.” It was Samovich. He glared at Chang as
he spoke. There was something going on between the two, some kind
of dispute. That much was clear. “I believe we are in agreement
that the ongoing struggle with the Tegeri serves a valid social
purpose, one that it is in our best interests to continue for the
foreseeable future.” Samovich’s department was responsible for
maintaining order in a world that just 30 years before had been
divided into almost 200 separate, often warring nations. Much of
the propaganda continually pumped out by his ministries was based
on the alien threat. If sustaining that useful crisis cost an
annual toll of dead soldiers, so be it. “Accelerating our progress
is a useful goal, however total victory is not desirable.”

“We are not all in agreement on that.” Chang
again, challenging Samovich directly. “There are other ways to
control the masses. And the potential to exploit the full
technology of the Portal worlds unhampered is extraordinary.”

“Enough.” The Secretary General’s voice was
deep and commanding. He was getting older, and perhaps it was a
little weaker, hoarser than it had once been. But one word was
enough to silence the room. Raul Esteban was the most powerful man
in the world, Secretary General of the UN, chief executive of UN
Central. His demeanor was always flawlessly measured and
professional, but his ruthlessness and brutality were well known,
at least among the inner circle.

“We are not going to have that debate at this
time. Mr. Keita is here to brief us on the status of the
Supersoldier program, a project he appears to have handled quite
well.”

Keita had been listening respectfully, but he
had to catch himself when Esteban mentioned him. I have the
Secretary General, he thought excitedly. Esteban’s support made his
elevation to Secretary a dead certainty.

“I suggest we focus on the matter of
reasonable expansion for now.” When Raul Esteban used the word
‘suggest,’ everyone present took it as a command. “We should not
take any more of Mr. Keita’s time than we require. I am sure he has
much to do, since he will likely be assuming the Military Affairs
portfolio formally in the near future.”

The room was silent for a few seconds. “Thank
you, Your Excellency.” Keita managed to speak in a calm and relaxed
tone, though every bit of it was false. The Secretary General had
as much as promised him the elevation. He was about to become a
member of the Secretariat. Get control of yourself, Keita, he
thought nervously…don’t screw up now.

“Your Excellency, esteemed Secretaries…if you
will indulge me, I will try to provide some meaningful insight into
the details of expanding the program at various rates.” He glanced
at Esteban, who nodded ever so slightly. “If you gentlemen will
refer to page 11 in the reports I have provided, we can begin.”

From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

I had friends back home. Not a lot
of them, but a few good ones. My enlistment turned them into one
more group of people sharing a tearful goodbye. I still think of
those guys from time to time, remembering things we did
together…how close we were. In my mind, they’re still my friends,
though I know that’s just something I tell myself. Is an old buddy
still a friend when you haven’t seen or talked to him for years? Or
even exchanged a letter? Would I really know any of them if I saw
them again? Would they know me?

I want to think it wouldn’t matter,
that we’d all go back to where we left off…but I know that’s a
fool’s dream. I’m dead to them…I died a long time ago. The Jake
Taylor who remains - jaded soldier and half machine – would be a
stranger. Oh, they would embrace me and act as if nothing had
happened. But the closeness, the brotherhood we used to share? I
know that is gone forever. Better that they never see me. Let them
remember me as I was…as one of them.

I have new friends now. They’re all
soldiers…condemned men like me. We share a fate, and we stand
together in battle. As tight as I was with my friends back home,
I’ve never experienced anything like the closeness I feel toward
these men. I can’t imagine how I would survive the blood and pain
and death without them.

They all look at me like a rock,
some kind of invincible robot…the man who’d survived Erastus for a
decade. But I’m not any of that; I’m just a man…and a worn out,
sad, exhausted one at that. Sometimes I wish I could tell them how
much I hurt inside, how bone tired and soul sick I really am. I
wish I could make sure they understand how important their support
and companionship is for me, how it is the only thing that keeps me
going. But I can’t. They need me as that invincible monolith; I
have to stay strong…to perpetuate the stupid legend, the Ten Year
Man. I have to do it for them…and for the rest of the troops. They
draw their strength from me, and I have to maintain the illusion. I
have no real strength left to give them.

The burden of command is like
nothing I’ve ever experienced. Back home, the closest I came to
being responsible for anyone else was watching my little brother.
Now, my decisions determine whether men live or die. Sometimes they
die no matter what I do…though I never know for sure. Would they
have survived if I’d made a different choice, if I’d read the
situation better?

My closest friends here…they’re an
odd group. Me, the New England farmboy. Blackie, the inner city
gang banger. Bear Samuels, the gentle giant from Alabama. Karl
Young, Hank Daniels…every one of these guys is closer than a
brother to me, yet beyond the endless war we fight, we have little
in common with each other.

Now we share something else,
something new…one more thing that makes us a unique fraternity.
We’re all cyborgs now. They get annoyed with me when I use that
word. Men try to hold on to their humanity any way they can. But
what else can you call us? I can run as fast as a horse, jump 6
meters straight up. I can read a computer screen from 100 meters.
My hearing, my strength…everything is enhanced. There’s even a
computer in my brain, one I control with thoughts (or does it
control me?). I can’t play a sport with another human being, or a
game, not one where my opponent has any chance of winning. I
thought it was a lonely, detached feeling being sent to Erastus,
away from everything I knew. Now I even wonder if I am a man
anymore.

I can’t argue that the changes have
made it easier to survive. My friends have all made it through the
last five years since we got the mods…because we got them. All
except Tom Warner…and he took at least 50 Machines down with him
before they got him.

I miss Longbow, but I am grateful
the rest of the group managed to survive. We’ve all been
wounded…and every one of us would have been dead by now without the
mods. Our systems are different now. When we get hit, our bodies
are flooded with nanobots that immediately begin repairing the
damage. I can actually watch a small cut heal if I stare at it
carefully, seeing it close up before my eyes. And even major wounds
are mended before they can become life-threatening. If I’m not
killed outright by a wound, I will almost certainly survive
it.

It is a gift, but also a curse. I’m
not sure men were meant to live so long in a place like this. We
all have survival instincts, but I wonder if they don’t lead us
astray sometimes. Perhaps we shouldn’t try so hard to escape death.
Perhaps, for us, death is a reprieve…a gift.

“Alright, Jake. Out with it.” Taylor hadn’t
noticed Blackie walking into the room behind him. “You’ve been
moping around for weeks.” He walked over and sat next to Jake. “So
what’s getting to you, pal? ‘Cause you’re the strongest one around
here, and if you lose it, we’re all fucked.”

Jake didn’t answer right away. He just sat
quietly, not moving at all. Black knew Taylor better than anyone,
understood his body language, his subtle expressions. He didn’t
look at Jake, didn’t say anything. He just sat there for a minute
or two, waiting until Taylor was ready to talk.

“Don’t worry about me, Blackie.” Taylor’s
voice was distant, distracted. “It’s nothing, brother. Just
thinking.”

“Fuck you, my friend. Just thinking? Who the
hell do you think you’re talking to?” Black’s voice was gentle but
also firm. He wasn’t going to let Jake wiggle his way out of a long
talk, superior officer or not. “So, are you going to tell me, or
are we both going to sit here and stare at the wall?”

Taylor sighed, and then a brief smile crossed
his lips. Black was the closest friend he’d ever had. Sometimes,
he’d have sworn the little shit could read his mind. “Honestly,
Blackie. It’s nothing in particular. Just thinking. About home.
About the war.”

Black sighed. “I know, Jake. This place gets
us all down. But you have to remember the code. This is home for
us. There’s no point thinking about everything that is gone. Laying
around here, mooning about mom’s apple pie or taking Mary Jane
Funbags out into the barn for a romp isn’t gonna help. It’ll eat
away at you from the inside, Dog.” Black reached out and put his
hand on Taylor’s shoulder. “I know all that is harder on you. Home
for me was a shithole…different than this one, but no better…not
really.” Black’s normally coarse tone had become gentle,
sympathetic. “You had more to lose.”

Taylor smiled. “You’re a good friend,
Blackie. The best I ever had.” He paused for a few seconds. “But
that’s not what I’m thinking about. I said my goodbyes to home long
ago.” That wasn’t entirely true, he supposed, but close enough.
“I’m just wondering about what we’re fighting for…why we do
it.”

Black had an amused look on his face. “You
mean besides the fact that they’ll shoot us for desertion if we
don’t?”

Taylor let out a short laugh. “Do you really
care, Blackie? Do I? How long has it been since you really cared
about living? What do we live for anyway? Another day in hell?
Another battle…out on the burning sands or on some blasted
plateau?”