Limitless: Book IV: The Settlement Chronicals Page 7

  However, Carl’s reaction was as to be expected; once the attack started many of the existing nodes were moved by their android attendants to other facilities, and new nodes were built and installed in hardened, hidden locations; often deep underground.

  For these hardened chambers deep underground drilling from the surface was often blocked by drill-proof protective barriers installed hundreds of meters above and surrounding the node chamber, and there was no option but to send in a Tracker team to make its way through the maze of booby trapped underground tunnels until close enough to install the nuclear device.

  As time passed casualties mounted as booby traps became more sophisticated, sometimes now an integral part of the corridor walls or floors. The Trackers were more like the ‘tunnel rats’ of a long forgotten war on Earth with a short life expectancy.

  Carl had learned the art of self-justification well. Long before he had justified his encouraging his human masters to enter their long sleep, concluding that since they found it pleasant it was to their benefit and therefore within his imperative to serve them. Then, as more and more nodes were destroyed, Carl concluded that as long as he raised no ‘active’ opposition to the invaders, such as sending his robots or androids against them, his imperative was met. If the invaders stumbled into booby traps in the buildings or tunnels it wasn’t due to his action; the invaders had done it to themselves, and he was not at fault.

  For years now the invading forces had been unable to subdue Carl; he was a phantom. Yes, many of his hidden locations had been destroyed, but he appeared undiminished in strength. Finally a limited scorched earth policy was employed that reduced much of the surface to a shambles; lasers targeting smaller targets, with tactical nuclear weapons used against those that were larger. Only buildings housing sleeping humans and cut off from the network were spared; they would deprive Carl of all resources of the planet’s surface.

  Now things were starting to come together and the long struggle appeared near an end. The colonial forces could concentrate all their resources on searching for Carl’s underground hiding places; a straightforward task well within the capability of their latest scanners. Still, the question remained; in which of those chambers did Carl himself reside.

  Up until Sgt Nelson broke them up with his imitation of Colonel Smith they had been watching the huge starship Bellatrix III as it moved into orbit several miles away from the fleet flagship Hudson Bay, to which they were posted. Even from that distance the enormity of the Bellatrix was apparent, dwarfing any of the ships brought from Sirius or Alpha Centauri. It looked like several of their fleet ships could be contained inside without any effort.

  They had been told before of the expected arrival of the Bellatrix and it had certainly whetted their curiosity. Few had even seen a galaxy class starship since decades often separated their construction, and once completed they were dispatched on their mission, never to return. While their own Sirius transports could hold at most a few hundred soldiers and crewman and their families, they had been told that, in addition to the crew, the Bellatrix was expected to have over 5,000 soldiers aboard; 5,000 ‘Tankers’, as they called those grown in nutrient tanks. Genetically modified ‘super solders’ grown especially for combat.

  On Sirius such genetic modification would never be allowed; genetically modifying humans for the purpose of enhancing their abilities was strictly forbidden. That didn’t say it was never done, but it was a ‘backstreet business’, and those involved could be severely punished. But the missions of the few galaxy class starships was such that what was forbidden on the Sirius worlds, and on the Alpha Centauri worlds as well, was often a necessity. The missions, once launched, had no scheduled end. The few crew periodically needed replacement as it aged, and each new planet where a colony was to be planted needed a seeding population of humans adapted to its environment and also with the initial skills required for a new civilization. Later generations could, and were expected, to go back to the old ways, but the first generation and the small starship crews were all ‘Tankers’ optimized for their roles.

  Interrupting such a long-planned mission as that of the Bellatrix, a one in a generation occurrence, after it was well underway emphasized the importance placed on eradicating Carl by the powers back on the Sirius motherworlds.

  As to Sgt Benson and his squad, none had been modified, and in fact all except Benson had been born on the ship through normal childbirth, and Benson remembered an earlier life only as childhood memories. The length of the mission, nearly twenty years to get here, then their time in orbit, and the nearly twenty years to return meant each ship was organized as a community in itself. Family groups, a school for the children, and a range of ages. Like a small town.

  Sgt. Benson noticed Lt. Bennett, their platoon leader, enter the room with a couple of other junior officers of the Trackers. Lt. Bennett appeared to scan the room looking for someone; seeing the 1st squad in the corner he separated from the others and walked over to their table, taking the chair Sgt Benson pushed out with his foot. Informality was the rule with the Trackers; they were just too closely knit to give much attention to rank. Respect came to those who had ‘paid their dues’ and proven themselves; and Lt Bennett had certainly paid his. In his late thirties he showed more than one facial scar, and the awkwardness with which he took the seat reflected the partially successful leg reattachment. He had been here from the beginning when the first ships arrived nearly a decade before and had risen from the ranks.

  Lt Bennett eyed the others sitting around the table. Clearly he had something on his mind and wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

  Sgt Benson broke the silence with, “what’s up? Another mission?” It had been nearly a month since their last ‘call out’, which happened only when new nodes of Carl were discovered.

  Lt Bennett just smiled before responding, “you wish. No, it’s an assignment I suspect from past comments none of you will enjoy; but it’s essential.”

  Leaning forward and placing his folded hands on the table, “we’ll be reconstituting the squads in my platoon. Number 2 squad is down to two members, with number 3 down to four. I’ll be combining them into a single 3rd squad, and new manpower is being assigned for the 2nd squad; and also to fill out the 3rd and your own squads.”

  “Where do you get the replacements, deactivate other platoons” Benson asked?

  “Well,” Captain Bennett answered after a moment, “I’ve asked for some of the best of the new additions from the Bellatrix.” Looking around the table for a response, “and your assignment is to train both the replacements assigned to you, and also the 2nd squad, as Trackers.”

  There was silence for a moment before Sgt Ogden commented, screwing up her face in distaste, “Tankers, good God. What have we done to deserve that?”

  Captain Bennett looked at Sgt. Ogden for a moment, “what you’ve done is become one of the best Tracker Squads in the Fleet.”

  “And,” pausing, “I wouldn’t call them Tankers to their face if I were you. They just might decide to tear your head off, Ogden, which they could do without too much effort.” Adding, “just remember that although they grew up without a family or knowing their parents and without a real childhood doesn’t make them any less human than any of us.”

  “I don’t want any of you to take advantage of their lack of awareness of much of what they see, or what might appear as ‘social’ awkwardness. Most have been out of the tanks for only one or two years, and while they have undergone intense schooling and training during that time, in many ways they’re still children.”

  Lu Chin looked over a Captain Bennett, “why not transplant childhood memories? I hear that’s supposed to be feasible.”

  Bennett responded, “they could, and have tried it on an experimental basis. Actually that’s how they handle the Bellatrix crew replacements. For the Bellatrix crew there’s a one to one replacement; the new person gains all the emotions, as well as the memories, of their predecessor. It’s almost lik
e they were both the same person, only in a new body. Which is why,” he added, “once the copying is complete contact with the original is limited to the necessary steps of brain pattern and memory transference. Once that’s complete the old crewmember is retired to a separate part of the ship never to be seen again. Having more that one person with identical memories could create a problem.”

  “But,” he continued, “transplanting real memories is just too time consuming; it takes months or years for the neurons of the brain with their many connections to organize, and with large numbers simply isn’t feasible. Another problem is just transplanting memories that they know are not their own, without assuming the personality of the original, could lead to psychosis. Frankly, if they take any shortcuts they’re afraid the result would be too unsettling. So they just leave them alone as they come out of the tanks to develop new memories; except for the crew of course.”

  After a moment Bennett added, “actually its not quite that bad. Each clone is grown from a separate egg and sperm, so they actually are unique; and later they’re given information on their biological parents to at least establish some ties. And its common practice for the contributors to provide videos and pictures of themselves and any siblings.”

  “In some ways,” Bennett added wistfully, “those grown in the tanks have an advantage. The only memories of their families and siblings they are given are the good ones; many of us can’t say the same.”

  Lu Chin nodded without comment.

  Sgt Ogden softly commented, “I’d be more than willing to trade my childhood for theirs.”

  Lt. Bennett looked at Betty for a moment before getting up to return to his companions at the other table, commenting with a smile “anyway, get used to it. They should be here in about a week. Three weeks after that I want them ready to take part in a mission. Until then other Tracker platoons can handle any needed operations.”

  Then, hesitating, he sat down again and looked from one to another. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, and it’s not to be discussed with anyone, even among yourselves.”

  Pausing, “a special mission may take place which will require the entire platoon at full strength. If it occurs ours will be the assigned platoon.”

  Then, again getting up he looked directly at all of them before leaving to join the two other officers at the table nearby.

  The five at the table looked at each other questioningly without comment. Actually, missions for the Tracker Squads had grown infrequent, rarely more than one a month, and typically only one squad was dispatched; it was understood by all that this must indeed be something special.

  In the beginning they were nearly always on the go, but nowadays, with most of Carl’s nodes destroyed some of the Tracker Platoons were being deactivated. Well, if not deactivated their number decreased by combining squads to replace casualties.

  Since in the early years all the nodes near the surface had been eliminated, now locating new ones was a complex process. First using ground piercing radar to locate any underground chambers, the search for those optical fiber links between nodes that remained active or scanning the airwaves or the ground itself for Carl’s mind waves; difficult with all the background noise. Whenever Carl’s mind pattern was detected came the need to trace the signal to its source. Then came units of the regular army to secure the surface at that location, sometimes encountering opposition from local guerilla groups. Only then were the Tracker squads called in.

  However, in recent months on those occasions when a node was found its destruction had become straightforward, but still increasingly dangerous. Rarely were defensive forces encountered, and with experience and better equipment detection of booby traps in the tunnels was better; but countered by their increasing sophistication. Still, no one really knew how many nodes remained or how long it could take to locate them all.

  Even then the question remained as to whether Carl also existed as an intelligence ‘independent’ of the network. Until all that was settled the fleet would continue to maintain its blockade.

  Four weeks later . . . .

  Sgt Warner sat next to Sgt Benson as the landing craft approached the surface. This was the first mission for the ‘Tanker’s’ and all were apprehensive. Earlier the full platoon had been present at the briefing while the mission was described in detail. The excitement of all was obvious. The scuttlebutt was that this time they might be going after Carl himself, what was thought to be the controlling intelligence for the entire network. Of course, if true there had been no confirmation.

  In the beginning, when the soldiers from the Bellatrix first joined Sgt Benson and the 1st Squad, more than one confrontation had arisen over use of the word ‘Tanker’, and some minor injuries had resulted. Eventually that had died away; there was no way to stop those in the 1st Platoon from using the term, especially Ogden, but once they accepted that it wasn’t intended as a term of derision they found themselves sometimes also sometimes using the term, before combining the name Tankers with Trackers into the single word ‘Trankers’.

  But woe to anyone outside the 1st Platoon using such a term.

  The location of the recently discovered node was far from any heavily populated area; in fact it was in the arid deserts of the smaller continent, the one that history said had originally been the United States of America. The members of the three squads had spent most of the previous day studying the area, both buildings and the underground chambers and passageways. The army units at the site had provided all the information they could gather, but it was never enough. All missions led to surprises once they started; corridors or stairways booby trapped or filled with debris.

  All agreed Carl’s methods of defending his nodes bordered on the illogical. Yes, some human guerilla units became involved occasionally, but the primary defensive measure was booby traps; often installed behind tunnel walls and detonated by sensors when they detected passage of anything lacking codes provided by Carl. While Carl had androids or robots he could call on, they were never used for defending a node. In fact, in all the years of the blockade there had never been a case of a conflict between the fleet forces and Carl’s robots or androids; only with the few humans still wandering the planet sometimes coming to Carl’s defense.

  Still, the booby trapped areas near the nodes were deadly; sometimes up to a month had been spent before they could finally complete the mission. But, as Benson said, they always either found the node and destroyed it in the end, or at least succeeded in bringing a small nuclear device close enough to ensure its destruction. They were damn good at their job.

  Sgt Warner let his memory drift back to an earlier time. He was one of the first out of the tanks, over three years; followed by the year and a half of intensive study during the day with subliminal reinforcement during his few sleeping hours. Then the year and a half of intense military training. When he had been called into the commander’s office mere weeks before and told he was to be assigned to a Tracker company he was excited at the prospect; all knew the Tracker’s were the elite of the military, and few could expect such an assignment.

  Like all the tank-born Sgt. Warner was slightly claustrophobic which required a force of will to subdue, but the same could be said of many of the true-born. Before he left he was given free-reign to select the other eight members who would make up his squad. For nearly a week he had labored over the files of candidates and finally made his selection.

  Now, here he was on his first real Tracker assignment. He was pleased both with the squad members he had selected, and also appreciated the acceptance they had been giver by Lt. Bennett, and also by Sgt Benson and his squad who had spent the last several weeks training them on the ins and outs of what was expected of them.

  Pulling himself back to the present Warner could see the surface as it loomed near; they would be landing in a matter of minutes. It was easy to see the landing pad since there were already several other landing craft parked at its edges, and in the distance was a complex of what looked l
ike had once been office buildings, but now looking long neglected, patrolled by a number of soldiers on ‘floaters’, the small air-cushioned platforms allowing fast and easy travel when outside a regular vehicle. Near the landing pad were a number of tents where he could see both soldiers, and what looked like civilians, moving about.

  Within minutes their landing craft lowered itself to the ground at the edge of the pad next to one that was parked. “Up and out,” Sgt Benson roared, “all on the ground in fifteen seconds.”

  Within the allotted time all were on the ground and in formation, weapons at the ready in their normal debarking position; a reflex trained into them since landing sites were not always secure. Often this brought laughs and ridicule from onlookers when landing at secure locations, but it was one of the differences the Trackers had adopted to set them apart; always ready for battle.

  Sgt. Benson motioned for Sgt. Warner to follow, and with Sgt. Kelly of the 3rd squad walked over to the two men standing just to the side of the landing pad, on arriving nodding to Sgt Warner and making introductions. The bulky, grizzled man in uniform, introduced as Hank Cole, boss sergeant for the 4th Tracker Company, nodded, but the other, introduced as ‘Mr. Pyle’, the logistics android for the company, immediately reached out his hand in greeting.

  Sgt. Warner looked carefully at Mr. Pyle, who smiled, saying “you look surprised sergeant. I hear you don’t have androids on your starship.”

  Warner was at a loss; he had heard all military logistics and non-combat functions were performed by androids, but there had been none on the Bellatrix, and segregated as they were on the Hudson Bay he hadn’t encountered any there either. But he had been told of Mr. Pyle, or ‘the’ Mr. Pyles. Each company had one to oversee the supply functions performed by less capable robots or machines. Further, all had the name ‘Mr. Pyle’, with their unit assignment on their left cheek. Aside from that, since all were dressed identically and had identical features, they were interchangeable; to the casual observer, except for the numbers on their cheek, appearing completely human.