Portal Wars 1: Gehenna Dawn (28 page)

“You can imagine, Mr. Keita…” His use of
mister instead of Secretary was deliberately disrespectful.
Everything Anton Samovich did was deliberate. “…my dismay to have a
full-blown disaster exploding on my desk just weeks after your
confirmation.”

Keita sat perfectly still, trying to decide
if he should respond or stay silent. He was just about to open his
mouth when Samovich beat him to it.

“I would ask you to explain yourself, but I
really don’t care about whatever imbecilic argument you have
fabricated in an attempt to obfuscate your own guilt. I am not one
to waste time with excuses. They are meaningless, insincere, and a
waste of time.”

Samovich remained almost unmoving, sitting in
the shadows, hands clasped in front of him on the desk. He hadn’t
raised his voice nor spoken a phrase in apparent anger…yet Keita
had never felt more exposed or vulnerable. This is a dangerous man,
he thought.

“Unfortunately, I have just gone on record
supporting your candidacy, and your unanimous appointment was the
result of my efforts.” He angled his head slightly, staring even
more intently at Keita. “Unfortunate for me, at least. For you it
is, perhaps, a bit of luck you do not deserve. Were I not covered
in your stink already, I can assure you we would not be having this
discussion.”

Keita had been fearing the worst, but now he
felt a spark of hope. Perhaps he’d wiggle his way out of this after
all. “Mr. Secretary…”

“Silence, Keita.” The tone was still
neutral…no shouting, no anger. But the menace was unmistakable.
“You are here to listen, not to offer your insights. I will tell
you when I am finished.”

Keita felt his body sink back into the chair.
He tried to hold himself steady, but his head nodded slightly in
acknowledgement.

“This entire sorry episode will be disruptive
enough. I do not intend to compound matters by affording Chang Li a
greater opportunity to embarrass me for my misplaced faith in you.”
Keita had begun to realize that the struggle between Chang Li and
Samovich was more than the usual political rivalry. They both saw
themselves as the next Secretary General, and neither intended to
let the other interfere. It was a battle to the death between the
two…the ascension of one would almost certainly encompass the
destruction of the other.

Keita wondered, for a fleeting moment, if it
might be worth his reaching out for Chang. Perhaps Samovich’s rival
would offer him a better deal to humiliate his rival. No, he
thought, almost immediately…he was too closely aligned with
Samovich already. Chang would never risk it. Especially not now.
Chang and Samovich hated each other, but neither one wanted to
allow a rebellion to get out of control. They disagreed on most
things, but neither one of them wanted the masses forgetting their
place, and especially not when they were armed, trained
killers.

Samovich slid his chair and stood up, turning
his back to Keita and looking out the window. “Here is what we are
going to do.” He stared out at the swirling, gray night. It was
just beginning to rain lightly, droplets finding their way slowly
down the heavy glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows. “I will
provide you with sufficient forces to crush this rebellion.” He
paused. “The current strength of the armed forces on Erastus is,
what, 12,000?”

“Planetary regulars were at 11,987 as of our
last reliable report approximately eleven days ago. Of course, we
cannot know that all of these forces have rallied to the rebel
side.” He hesitated. “There are also approximately 1,743
auxiliaries deployed…engineers, antigrav crews, and similar
forces…as well as 872 headquarters staffers. These are rotational
troops who would be unlikely to sympathize strongly with the
lifers. Whether they are still holding out...or whether they have
been killed or captured…we cannot know.”

“You are certain they would not join the
rebels?” There was doubt in Samovich’s voice. “Admittedly, they
enjoy a higher social standing and superior benefits, but I fear
you fail to fully comprehend the power of a charismatic leader.” He
paused and turned to face Keita. “Do not underestimate this Jake
Taylor. He is precisely the kind of leader who is capable of
rallying disparate forces to his side.” Another pause. “He is a
serious danger, and we must eliminate him now. Indeed, I am
surprised his behavioral traits weren’t identified at a younger
age. We are typically quite effective at targeting problem
personality patterns in youth. This Taylor should have been sent to
a reeducation facility a long time ago, probably in childhood. I
can only assume his own particular latent abilities failed to
surface until he was subjected to the crucible of war on Erastus.
It is regretful that we will not have the opportunity to study him
in detail. It could prove useful in developing methods for more
effectively culling out such problem individuals from the societal
pool.”

Keita found it hard to be overly scared about
some lifer on Erastus, though he played along with Samovich’s
concerns. It was the cost and the embarrassment of the whole thing
that troubled him, not some fear that Taylor’s band of flag-wavers
could actually win.

“Such musings are immaterial at this point,
however.” Samovich turned back toward the window. “I would indeed
be interested in studying this rebel leader, but it is too risky to
even try. This cancer must be eradicated immediately.” He paused,
thinking quietly for a few seconds. “I will provide you will 50,000
internal security troops from the paramilitary teams. You will send
them through the Portal to reclaim Erastus. They will have orders
to terminate everyone on the planet.”

“Yes, Secretary, but the headquarters staff
is certainly not…”

“Everyone, Secretary. Is that understood?
Erastus is to be swept clean. No trace of the infection must
remain.”

Keita hesitated for an instant. “Yes,
Secretary Samovich. Understood.”

“Good.” Samovich clasped his hands behind his
back. “The forces will be assembled in two weeks. You will be ready
when they arrive.” A statement, not a question. “I would tell you
to go through the Portal yourself, but that would be highly unusual
for a Secretary, drawing far too much attention.”

“What about Gregor Kazan?” Keita just blurted
it out, wishing almost instantly he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Perhaps.” Samovich thought for a few
seconds. “Mr. Kazan has every incentive to attempt to save himself.
There may be some use in that.”

“With your permission, I will order him to
assume overall command of the expedition.” Keita paused. “He is of
no use militarily, but his interests are aligned with ours, and his
motivation is beyond question.”

“Indeed, Mr. Kazan finds himself in a very
undesirable position. I can think of no one with greater incentive
to swiftly destroy the rebels.” He paused for a few seconds,
thinking. “Very well…Gregor Kazan shall accompany the expedition,
and he shall have full vice regal authority on Erastus.” Samovich
turned again from the window and sat back in his chair. “Perhaps if
he is thorough enough in eradicating all trace of this rebellion,
he can even save himself.”

From the Journal of Jake Taylor:

Fourteen years. I’ve been in this
miserable hellhole fourteen years. Some days it seems like an
eternity, others I wonder where it all went. Home seems like a
distant dream to me now. I don’t even miss it anymore, not really.
It’s just sort of a dull ache, a numb spot in the back of my mind.
Something that was part of me once, but isn’t anymore.

I guess time passes the same way for
most of us. If you don’t get wasted as a rookie, which most do, you
go through a sweet spot. You’ve learned how to survive, but you
still have something left of who you were before you were sent
here. You cling to ceremonies and traditions, still mimicking the
ways of life you left behind, but you also adapt to your new
reality; you get used to the routine. The pain of losing home isn’t
as keen as it was, but the memories are still clear.

It usually starts when you’ve been
about two years onplanet, and it goes on for a few good years,
before exhaustion and hopelessness really start wearing down your
soul. Sooner or later we all become too tired, too grim, too used
up to do anything but move through every day like a zombie. We
start off remembering exactly when we came through the Portal, and
most of us commemorate it for a while, sort of like a birthday. But
eventually it gets too hard to care about anything, and another
year on the calendar doesn’t seem like such a big fucking deal
anymore.

Back when I first got here, the idea
of being on planet fourteen years would have been unthinkable. Men
just didn’t live that long on Erastus. Five Year Men were iron
veterans, admired and respected. Ten Year Men were more legend than
reality. I think there were two onplanet when I got here. And
neither one of them made fifteen.

Things have changed, though, and the
last five or six years have been different. The rooks still died
like flies…the same as always. No matter how hard we tried to teach
them, it just took time…more time than most of them had. But the
ones who survived long enough to get their mods lived longer, much
longer. Five Year Men became less of a rarity. A lot of the troops
even knew a Ten Year Man or two, perhaps one of their
officers.

Longbow was the only one of my close
companions to die after we got the Supersoldier mods. Blackie,
Bear, and the others…and me too…we’ve all been wounded, mortally by
the standards of normal men. But the mods saved us. It turns out
cyborgs are a lot harder to kill than men.

There’s a price to pay for
everything, and survival is no exception. With longevity, I
discovered a new kind of fatigue…a bone-deep weariness that grows
with each passing year. It becomes harder and harder to care about
anything…at least until the lust for vengeance filled the empty
place in my soul.

It’s been years since I did anything
to celebrate my Portal day, but I still remembered it every
year…and gave a silent nod to my resilience. Every year until this
last one. For the first time, I completely forgot. It was days
later when I realized, and it was Blackie who remembered, not me.
I’m not sure what to make of it. For better or worse, I am newly
embarked on a road vastly different from any I have traveled. I am
still on Erastus, but my mind has moved on to a new chapter. The
road ahead promises no less suffering or bloodshed…but now, at
least, I will be fighting the right enemy.

“Not many people surprise me, Major.” Taylor
stared across the table at MacArthur. “But you have.” For perhaps
the first time, Taylor looked at the antigrav pilot with something
approximating admiration. “Are you sure?”

Jake Taylor was about to embark on a fight to
the death. He wasn’t going to defeat his enemies; he was going to
exterminate them like vermin. Or they were going to do it to him.
This conflict would have no prisoners, no rules of war, no
blathering diplomats arguing over etiquette while men died in the
front lines. Taylor had no pity, no mercy to offer his enemies.

The auxiliary services on Erastus weren’t in
the same situation as the footsoldiers. They had been better
treated than Taylor’s people, and many of them had behaved poorly
toward the lifers, displaying an arrogance born of their different
status. But they’d fought alongside Taylor’s men, and they’d
suffered their own losses in battle. Taylor had some resentment
against this privileged group, but they weren’t the enemy, and he
knew it. He’d gone to MacArthur to offer safe passage through the
Portal for his survivors and the other auxiliaries.

“I know we’ve had our differences, Colonel.”
MacArthur’s voice had an odd tone to it, like the pilot was still
trying to figure out exactly how he felt. “But what UN Central has
done transcends any of that. We may have argued, but we were always
on the same side…and we have all been used in the most horrendous
manner.” There was heavy emotion just below the surface…MacArthur
was barely restraining his anger. “I believed I was here defending
Earth, just as you did. Do you know how many thousands of Machines
my gunships have slaughtered?” He was staring plaintively,
desperately looking to Taylor to make some sense of what he was
feeling. Jake’s retelling of T’arza’s description of the Machines
had hit MacArthur hard. He’d always considered them almost as
robots, created solely to fight. Now he realized they were much
closer to sentient beings than he could comfortably accept, that
they’d been created to live something like a normal life and only
turned into soldiers when mankind attacked their welcoming parties
and started a war. “I was a soldier, Jake…” Taylor blinked in
surprise as MacArthur used his first name. “…at least I thought I
was. But I’m nothing but a mass murderer, am I? That’s what we all
are.”

Taylor took a deep breath. He didn’t know
what to say. He found himself wanting to reassure MacArthur, but he
wasn’t sure his own opinion was all that different. It was easy to
tell yourself you were misled, that you didn’t know what you were
doing…but the blood on your hands was still there, and the
thousands you massacred were still dead.

“John…” Taylor hesitated, still not sure what
to say. “I don’t have any wisdom for you. We’re all going to have
to learn to live with what we’ve done. One way or another.” Taylor
looked down at his feet for a few seconds before meeting
MacArthur’s gaze again. “But now isn’t the time to sink into
remorse and self-pity. We can’t undo what we’ve done, and some
crimes are beyond atonement.” Taylor’s gaze narrowed, and a
firmness returned to his voice. “But we can avenge the dead…and
punish the guilty. We can put a stop to this insanity before it
drags on for decades on the other Portal Worlds. We can cleanse
Earth. We were unwitting parties to this great crime, but not those
back at UN Central. They knew…they did this intentionally. They are
truly those who bear the monstrous guilt. If we allow them to
escape judgment, we will compound what we have done. This is our
mess to clean up.”