The Spirit Of Men

As the door to his quarter-pod slipped open, the General heard commotion on the grounds outside and frowned.

“LONG LIVE KETHEL RAE!

LONG LIVE THE SPIRIT OF MAN!

WE REMEMBER BROX, WE RE-“

And then the door shut. His scout, Feldrey, was staring at him now. Feldrey knew his General’s face, and quickly tried to reorganize his report into something more agreeable to his superior’s mood. General Rae had not the time to spare.

“Your report, Fel. Stop staring at me and speak, you dumb bastard.”

Feldrey started, “Uh-of course sir.” The General’s frown sunk deeper. “In-in, in in…”

“Unless my armies are stationed in these pretty green eyes,” the General said slowly, blinking “I suggest you gather yourself. You are easily replaced, Fel.”

“In the North, sir. The Ignite Falls are under Human control. Even with the high-ground, Nim’roh defensive capabilities are overstated. Your plan was a success, and your K/D ratios were within an incredible margin, sir. General, we’ve pushed them back to the cave beyond the rear lines. They have only the webbing of the Under-Roads and a fractured city presence remaining in this sector. And Lancer teams from the West report more retreats from the enemy. There are rumors that they are surrendering the campaign, sir.” Feldrey breathed, waited.

“If I wanted rumors, Fel, I would leave my fucking door open and have no need of you.” Finally, General Rae began to regain his composure. “Look here with your dumb eyes and learn something.”

The General marched over to his Holomap, enormous under the humming Earth-light. Feldrey followed, momentarily overwhelmed by this impromptu lesson. He was listening intently. General Rae stood tall and shifted his sight into emptiness beyond. The vacuum was opened and a gust of hot wind blasted them both. Feldrey covered his face; his General did not.

“Finnis IV, or Nim in native tongue. We hunted the Hiveminders to this red rock. See?” The General, shifting his gaze to the impressed scout at his side, was satisfied and continued. “Sixty sectors mapped in standard A.R.T.H. Sixty thousand men for every sector: Lancers, Engineers, Infants, Squalls, Shifters, Readers, and even those pill-popping Marines. In orbit, dozens of Star-Galleons, beams pointed with astonishing accuracy at every enemy post. If it weren’t for this shit terrain and the unfiltered atmosphere, we would have simply burned the beasts to a cinder cycles ago. And now, after seasons and seasons of surviving our sieges and disrupting our Starports, they suddenly retreat? Look.”

The General forced his hand into the heart of the planet and flicked his wrist. A sequence of exploding light illuminated the entire war. Feldrey watched, searching for an answer that would surprise his General, but none came.

“The retreats happen so quickly, sir. It began at sectors twelve and thirty four, but the pattern appears random. One would assume they are simply reacting to individual defeats. You think otherwise, sir?”

General Rae smiled, and Feldrey nearly burst with pride. “This sequence is accurate, Fel, as is your first impression. But this map is incomplete.”

“Of course, General.” Feldrey said, “There exist no maps of the Under-Roads. There cannot, as our treaty with the Nim’roh forbid it…even in times of war.”

He stared at his General. Kethel Rae knew that the boy wanted to be taught. “Your mind is lazy, but not without hope. The Under-Roads are an unbelievable maze of trade routes, safe havens, and fucking fortresses for all we know. It is surely one of the first things the Hiveminders coveted. And I have no doubt they won their prize from these barbarians. Their alliance is our greatest weakness. We see no Hiveminders on the surface. When our plasma shields bloom and break like tiny red hearts, we fall to Nim’roh; not Hiveminders. They hide in the depths.”

“But we guard the entrances, General!” Feldrey interrupted.

“No, fool. We are simply stomping at moles...nevermind, it's an Earth-term. We are being led to believe that they are pinned, hopeless. But we are the ones who are trapped here. This surface world is unbearable to Humans, and with every cycle we weaken, no matter how many sectors we take. Beneath us lies the battlefield, Fel. In all the histories of all the species circling every star I’ve had to misfortune of destroying, no resistance surrenders. To them this is a revolution of body and spirit. And as long as they hold in their burrows, their dream lives; grows, even.”

Feldrey delved into his own mind for understanding and reply. Again, General Rae could not spare the time. As he was about to send the boy off on another errand, the General’s V-Comm flickered and squeaked.

“Kethel, we have to talk.” The face hesitated, noticing the young scout at the old General’s side. When the image settled and came into view, General Rae frowned.

“Dorn, a moment.” Before he could lift an eyebrow, Feldrey was gone, his leave marked by another wash of cheers from outside. “We’re alone, what is it?”

“It’s Commander Ricker, Kethel. How long will it take you to understa-“

“If you called to waste my fucking time, Dorn, I’ll just mute the damn thing and have a good laugh at your flapping mouth.” The General knew that his outburst was probably unwise. In fact, he didn’t care. Dorn was just a Reader. A worm.

“Hm! I’d say you have the wrong attitude about me, Kethel! Regardless, it’s about these numbers of yours…”

“I’m a strategist, not a goddamn mathematician. Dorn. Get on with it.”

“Too high, old man. Send them back out. Somewhere we can lose a few squadrons. The transports have been landing like clockwork since you got the natives retreating, and we don’t have the supplies for every man. This is fringe space, and it’s getting too costly for you to keep winning.”

How the hell did wriggling, dishonorable scum like Dorn Ricker get command of this war? General Rae thought. Blackmail, intelligence, something like that. Readers are always using bullshit to get ahead. But command!? Of an entire world!

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Excellent. Oh, by the way, I have a representative from Earth coming to keep an eye on you. Old friend of mine, treat her well. Name’s Kiela. And before you ask: yes." Dorn smiled and gave a flamboyant salute. "I’ll be seeing you, Kethel Rae…long live us both!”

And with a quick chuckle the screen dimmed to its desolate green matte. General Rae had a great deal on his mind. Dorn was sending spies, now. Earth Readers, extremely well-trained. Having them in the shadows was bad enough, but trying to keep one ignorant while she stands at his side would be impossible. In an instant, he decided to tell her everything. At this point, it didn’t matter. He walked back toward the Holomap and extended his arm again. The stance reminded him of the order Dorn had given. Kethel Rae, completely out of character, felt gloomy.

All at once the cacophony began again, and in the doorway of his small pod, consumed in the red light of Nim, world of flame, stood a lovely woman.

“WE REMEMBER BROX,

WE REMEMBER EARTH!

LONG LIVE DORN RICKER,

THE MIND-SLAYER!

LONG LIVE KETHEL RAE!

LONG LIVE THE SPIRIT OF MAN!”