The Terran Mandate Read online

  The Terran Mandate

  by

  Michael J Lawrence

  Copyright © 2016 by Michael J Lawrence

  All Rights Reserved

  For DasAlteSoldat and the Blue Lions

  Phear the Poodle.

  Forbidden

  Shoahn'Fal watched the man crawl in a circle and claw at the cold desert sands under the Shoahn'Tu night sky, blinded to everything but the terror ripping his mind apart. Shoahn'Fal felt his antennae rippling along the top of his head like two snakes writhing in the ecstasy that spewed out from his own mind. He glared with bulbous eyes set in a harsh leather face that protruded into a short snout and let out a low growl. The man crawling on the ground made a sound as if he had been shot and then rolled over on his back. His eyes twitched so violently, they seemed ready to burst from their sockets.

  Shoahn'Fal had been a priest once. He had also been a father and a husband. Did the man kicking away from him know that? He called up the memory, formed it into a crystal-clear vision and thrust it into his victim's mind. The man gasped and sat very still for just a second. Then he let out a wail that reached into Shoahn'Fal's very soul.

  "Yes," he said. "That's what it's like. Feel that? Share that with me."

  He pushed his hand into the air and the man screamed again. Together, they reveled in the terror that had been the night Shoahn'Fal watched his wife and daughter howl in agony as bullets ripped through their chests and pitched them to the ground. He wrapped himself and his victim in the agony of watching his people starve and the despair of losing an entire world to invaders who fought each other over something that did not belong to them. Shoahn'Fal embraced it all with every fiber of his being, feeling the anguish flowing between them, through each other's minds and then back again.

  "You didn't know, did you?" he asked the man.

  The man kicked ferociously with boots made form a synthetic fabric the same color as the sand. Shoahn'Fal studied the block lettering over the pockets on either side of the soldier's field utility blouse. He couldn't read the name stenciled over one of them, but he recognized the emblem and lettering over the other that said TERRAN GUARD. An ornate patch with more cryptic scribbling he didn't recognize was sewn into the cloth over the man's shoulder. He did, however, recognize the motto that adorned everything these humans seemed insistent on smearing with their language: 'That they shall survive'.

  Shoahn'Fal knelt down, folding his tall thin frame into itself so he could tap the shoulder patch. "Do you know who that's for?" he asked.

  The man was still gasping for air uncontrollably. Shoahn'Fal closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating to control something that he was still just discovering. The man's breathing eased and Shoahn'Fal opened his eyes. The man croaked, as if somebody choking him had let go of his throat just in time to let him live a moment more.

  "It's for you," he said.

  "That's right. But have you ever seen anybody like me?"

  "No." The man was still pushing at the ground with his boots, but his flailing was becoming less frantic now.

  "No, you haven't." Shoahn'Fal stood back up and looked at the man. Sadness filled his eyes now as he remembered what it was to be a priest. Whether it was weakness or mercy, he did not know, but it had been enough, at least for now. Shoahn'Fal flicked his hand and the man started to crawl away. He watched the man crawl away until he could barely see the man's form dusted by icy starlight and could barely hear his whimpering.

  Shoahn'Fal turned away from the man and leaned on a long stick made from the intertwined strands of the tough sinewy wood of a cord tree. His shoulders rolled forward and he took a deep breath through his snout. His antennae lay down on top of his head, as if going to sleep. He stepped out into the night, heading for another encounter with the forbidden.

  As he walked away, he said, "That's because you failed."

  Fallen

  He had lived a life of being nowhere. He needed little to survive - stealing some of it from the Terran Guard in small ways that they would never notice. A half-filled bottle of water here or a morsel of food there would find its way to their compost. He lived on discarded things - that and the occasional root plant he could find and tuck away in a bag he wore over his shoulder. Attached to a frayed rope made from strips of wood from a cord tree, the bag looked like it had been made from rags, just like the robe he wore.

  His life droned on this way, from one day of wandering in one direction to the next day of turning back and doing it all over again, never venturing more than a day's walk from the Terran Guard who had not only failed to protect his people, but didn't even know of his existence.

  Something burned inside that kept him alive, something he did not understand and knew to keep buried deep. It was forbidden and echoed from another time when such things rampaged through his world.

  But then he had let it loose. The Forbidden had come pouring out of him, bursting through the sentries of his mind who had tired over the years and finally succumbed to the power of that which all Shoahn' were forbidden to see: themselves.

  And now he had tortured a man with it. His only regret was that he had not done so before - and often. There was justice in it. But there wasn't enough. He had prayed long and hard, trembling in the dark, terrified by what he had found inside his own soul. The prayers didn't last long. The trembling subsided.

  He realized it was a beginning.

  The Pyramid, the last of its kind, had been his temple. There, he had practiced his rituals and prayed for enlightenment, even though there were no Shoahn' left to guide through the spiritual necessity of The Way. There was the girl and her mother, who carried on even after he had left countless moons ago, but they were the last and he had left them there to pray to each other and wind out the days that led to extinction. The Pyramid had also been a museum of sorts, guardian of reminders from the past that The Way was the only path to salvation for all.

  But it held secrets. The vast expanse of the Pyramid's interior was a place no Shoahn' eyes had ever seen. The myth spoke of Old Scrolls that revealed those secrets and he had pocketed on odd thing called a Revealer before he had left. Perhaps it was lies, nothing more than tales to compel the masses to relinquish their souls to the teachings of the priests. But he had dared ask: what if there was more? It had been his first brush with the Forbidden and he smiled now as he thought of how childish it was compared to the things he had done since then.

  There was one last step that had carried him through the gates of the Forbidden and past the point of no return. He had ventured into the Fallen - that great expanse of desert that was prohibited for any to enter. He had studied the myth, had burned every line of its ancient verse into his mind. It began with a walk under the stars as they turned a certain way. It began with a walk that took him into the depths of the Fallen.

  Shoahn'Fal felt the sands of the Fallen grind against the thick hide of his bare feet. Most of Shoahn'Tu was desolate. In most places, scrub clung to the dry clay of ancient seabeds and the wind chiseled deep grooves in the sandstone rises, but none of it compared to the sweeping desolation of the Fallen. As far as he could see, Shoahn'Fal saw nothing but sand. Gusts of wind swept over the ground, brushing lone patches of sand that rippled like water on a vast ocean and whirled up into the night.

  It was clear that nobody could survive more than a day in this never ending wasteland, so Shoahn'Fal didn't understand why it had been drilled into the mind of every Shoahn' for generations that transgressing the Fallen was akin to genocide. As a child, he was taught that entering the Fallen would awaken a great beast that would consume the world and wash them all away in a river of fire. As a priest, he made sure that same lesson was repeated to every Shoahn' from the moment they came
into the world. He thought of all this and waited for the world to end with each step he took.

  The end never came. He hunched his shoulders against the cooling night and pulled the collar of his robe tighter around his neck. He had decided that once he had crossed the threshold, he would just keep walking. Soon enough, he would run out of strength and collapse to the ground. He would start to hallucinate and his throat would dry up and choke itself closed. He would lose consciousness and then the wind would cover him over with sand. He accepted all of that because he had been promised the world would be swept away in fire. If the Shoahn' were to become a whisper in the night that nobody would ever hear again, then let the same happen to the humans. Let the fire bear down and burn Shoahn'Tu bare.

  The fire never came. Shoahn'Fal crested a low rise to find himself looking out over another sweeping plain of sand that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The first of three moons peeked over the horizon and washed the land with a thin yellow haze. He studied the stars and waited for them to turn. He stood there, not even counting time so that it just stopped except for the turning of the sky. He crouched down and peered into the vastness above him, holding the picture he had formed from the myth in his mind, not even knowing if the stars would align themselves that way. He would wait and the stars would either reveal their secret or he would fall over and be covered up by the wind and sand. The universe would be just. Or it would not.

  Orders

  General Lane, Shoan'Tu Marine Expeditionary Force, commanding, sat around a green plastic table with the command staff of his regiment - all that was left of the once vaunted Colonial Marines.

  All eyes were on Colonel Dekker as he scratched the green resin of the conference table top. "The Enforcer Battalion can carry the main attack," he said. Looking around the table, he didn't see many believers. Maybe he didn't believe it himself, either, but it wasn't for the same reasons they were thinking. "We'll do the right thing."

  General Lane's elbows were propped up on the table and he looked at Dekker with his chin resting on interlaced fingers. "What we need you to do," he said, "is follow orders."

  Well, there it was. Wasn't it? After all this time, the question was still out there: Could Colonel Ben Dekker follow orders? Or would he make his own mind up about what was important when the time came and leave the rest of the regiment in a bind? He knew exactly what they were all thinking. They wouldn't be launching an attack on the Highlands if he had followed orders. The colony would still be tilling its fields. You bet, and the Paladin wouldn't have any Cataphracts. Where would we be then? He stared back at them, thinking he might burn that thought into there minds if he glared hard enough.

  "It's different this time," he said.

  General Lane's eyes glazed over. "Oh?"

  "For one thing, there won't be any civilians up there."

  Colonel Mason, a warrior of African descent that Dekker respected more than the rest - except for Major Walker, of course - stared at him with half closed eyes. He put his own hands on the table and interlaced his thick fingers.

  "Yeah, we know."

  Dekker closed his eyes and let the air in his lungs out through his nose, but he couldn't help it. He stood up and brought his fist down on the table hard enough to shake it. Everyone flinched, but nobody looked away or moved back. Lane held the table down with his elbows hard enough to keep his end of it from shaking.

  "I was right, goddammit," Dekker said. He looked around the room and settled his gaze on Major Walker. The commanding officer of the Cataphract company knew what he was talking about.

  "You ran a good Foot Guard," Walker said. And that's all he said. Dekker watched the thought float around the room. There were orders, and then there was mission. Did they get that?

  "Sit down," General Lane said.

  Dekker eased back into his folding plastic chair and folded his hands on the table. Lane gave him a minute to settle down his breathing and then said, "I just want to make sure we're all on the same page here."

  Dekker fumed inside. The General had pushed a button and Dekker had barked just so he could be put in his place. Again. It wasn't enough to ascertain that he would follow orders. No, they all had to hear, one more time, how he was an inept Marine still on probation for something that happened before General Lane was even appointed the MEF commanding officer. And yet, he was the one who was going to carry the attack. It was true: there was a difference between orders and mission. It was also true that there was a difference between giving those orders and genuine leadership.

  General Lane reached for a green plastic box sitting on the table in front of him and pushed one of its buttons. A video screen hanging on the wall blinked to life to reveal a tactical chart of the Highlands.

  "The mission is a deliberate attack to take back the Highlands, 500 meters beyond the MEF perimeter here." Lane worked the cursor on the monitor and swept it across the top of the map. "Colonel Mason will take his first battalion with a platoon of armor attached and pin the left flank. Colonel Quadish will do the same on the right flank. Colonel Dekker will push right up the middle here and break the line. Once that's accomplished, the flanking forces will enfilade the enemy and push them in towards the middle. At that point, the Guard will either have to wither while we turn their flanks or they'll have to withdraw. Either way, we should hold the Highlands when it's over."

  Lt. Simmons cleared her throat.

  "Oh, right," Lane said. "Simmons will take her recce platoon and scout the right flank to screen for any Terran Guard forces we aren't already aware of."

  Dekker eyed Lt. Simmons. Her bonnet of red hair that bounced just above her shoulder - and a chest that filled out her field utility blouse in a way that no man could ignore - distracted him from the fact that she was the most capable recon leader he had ever known. But it only distracted him for a moment. He knew better. She was as deadly as she was beautiful and reminded him of what, in the simplest terms possible, they were fighting for. That didn't mean he could trust the new commander of Bravo One Nine to keep the enemy situation up to date. That had yet to be proven. He wanted to say something about it, but he had his own merits to prove. He just blinked and looked away.

  General Lane snapped off the monitor. "Any questions?"

  They had been over the plan already. They had rehearsed the plan in the tacsims. Then they had discussed the results of the plan. What nobody had done was mention how bad the plan was.

  Major Walker said, "Sir, if we could bring up the Cats and support the middle, I would feel a lot more confident about breaking that line."

  "Negative. We've been over this, Major. You will keep your Cats in reserve. I'll assess the situation as it develops and call you up if we need you. I don't want to expose your Cats to unnecessary risk. They're the only ones we have."

  A very bad plan. Dekker's neck ached as he strained to keep from shaking his head.

  General Lane stood up. Everyone around the table stood up with him. "Alright then," he said. "We're off the LD tomorrow at zero six. Dismissed."

  Everyone eyed Dekker as they filed out of the room, but the look in their eyes had changed. Looking back at Colonel Mason, Dekker could almost hear him say, "Sorry, man." It wouldn't have been an apology - more like sympathy for the man who was stuck in the middle of a plan they all knew wasn't going to work.

  Both Dekker and Major Walker remained standing where they were and sat back down after the others had left.

  "You can't let him get under your skin like that," Major Walker said.

  "I know. That guy just rubs my fur the wrong way." Dekker let his hand drop to the table with a slap. "What is it with you, anyway? You're not exactly Johnny Eagle Scout when it comes to following orders and he doesn't seem to notice that."

  Walker smiled. "It's because I have the Cats."

  "So, basically you're saying he's a chickenshit."

  "Something like that."

  Dekker drummed his fingers on the table. "Well, ours is not to question why
-"

  "Ben." Walker's voice was low as he fixed his gaze on Dekker. "Be careful out there. If you need to call me up -"

  "I know," Dekker said. "I know."

  Attack

  Colonel Ben Dekker stood next to a bunker on the MEF compound perimeter and surveyed the Highlands with his field glasses. Just 500 meters in front of him, the fertile ground covered with patches of grass and weeds that were actually green sloped up towards a small rise, behind which a full brigade of the Terran Guard was waiting for him and the rest of the MEF. He cringed as his eyes swept the last arable ground on Shoahn'Tu within reach of the MEF. He had fought here before and he had an old debt to repay.

  He lowered his field glasses and studied the bunkers where his weapons company had deployed their heavy machine guns and mortars. He tapped a small button on the headset nestled just under his helmet. "Weapons." After a soft chime sounded, he said, "Whiskey Six, Enforcer Six Actual. Are you all set up there Captain?"

  His headset crackled with a faint hiss and then a click. "Enforcer Six, we're all set except for one of the plasma guns. We're putting in another fifty instead."

  "Smoker?" Dekker Asked.

  "Yes sir. We still have powder rounds and I figured today was a good day to use them."

  "We need you to keep them pinned down as long as you can, Captain."

  "Roger that, sir. We've got our fields of fire out to 1000 meters along a 500 meter line in five sectors. We've got you covered, sir."

  "I know you do, Captain. Stand by for the signal. Enforcer Six out. Battle net." Another chime sounded. "Enforcer Six, all Enforcer stations, com check."

  "Alpha Six, five oh."

  "Bravo Six, five by five."

  "Charlie Six, reading lima charlie."

  Colonel Dekker let out a slow breath as he inspected the line one last time. His Marines were trained, prepared and motivated. All that was left was the battle. He knew that if a bullet ripped into his forehead at that moment, his battalion would carry out their mission just as well without him.