7
Tapping his fingers on the desktop (pressed fiberboard, of course—not real wood, not out here in this godforsaken asteroid belt), Commissioner Sobel pondered the news.
Very serious. An embarrassment. Incomprehensible.
One of his Deathguard had turned sour, abandoning his duty, killing two recon scouts—in the presence of an alien. Had the Deathguard been brainwashed somehow? The Jaxxans did have strange mental powers.
Or had the Deathguard suffered some kind of psychological breakdown? Sometimes, the cyborgs were so damaged mentally and physically that they were unstable, hence the impetus for turning them loose on the battlefield. Over the course of the war, four other Deathguards had failed spectacularly, and three had gone catatonic out on the front lines, where they were quickly killed.
But not a single one had ever cooperated with the enemy before! Sobel was infuriated. They had saved the life of this—he shuffled his papers, searching for a name—this Robert Rader. Earth League cyborg engineers had taken the burned, blasted remnants of a man, patched him up enough to keep going for a final stint on the battlefield. Wasn’t that what soldiers wanted?
He reviewed the records. Rader had suffered extensive damage, but he had agreed to the cyborg conversion; nothing exceptional had showed up on his psychological tests. Given a Deathguard’s typically short service life, it wasn’t cost-effective to waste months on extensive evaluations. The Deathguards were activated, pointed in the right direction, and turned loose on the battlefield.
As soon as the high command learned about a traitor among the lone-wolf cyborgs, however, they would crucify Sobel. The Commissioner didn’t understand it. What would make the man turn against his own kind and consort with the enemy?
Sobel punched a rarely used sequence on his communications console. The viewscreen shimmered before him, as if reluctant to reveal the image of his Jaxxan counterpart.
The desiccated-looking alien’s black eyes stared impatiently at him, trying to fathom the human’s expression. All the roaches looked the same to Sobel but, judging by the ornamentation on the rigid hide, he ventured a guess. “Warlord Kiltik?”
When the alien tried to answer, he broke into a coughing fit before he could speak. “Commissioner Sobel? Yes, it is you.”
At least the alien recognized him. “Warlord, you know I wouldn’t call you if the matter wasn’t urgent.”
Sobel looked past the alien, gleaning details from the background of the enemy headquarters. The walls were odd planes, tilted at random in the spirit of insane Jaxxan architecture, but his eyes were drawn to a spiny mass of crystals that hung in the air behind the warlord, like a thousand fragments of glass bound up with threads of light. Some kind of three-dimensional military diagram?
He cleared his throat. “Yesterday I received some very grave news: one of my Deathguards has apparently joined with one of your soldiers. If you have subverted him somehow, hijacked his programming, the Earth League will protest strenuously. Such mental attacks are specifically prohibited in the terms of our interim treaty.”
Kiltik stiffened, though Sobel couldn’t read any subtle change of expression on the alien face. “We have not broken the treaty terms. I myself received reports that one of our soldiers has deserted, possibly kidnapped by a Deathguard in clear violation of our no-prisoners protocol. Summon your cyborg back to base and release our captive soldier to us so that we can address the charges of desertion.”
“I can’t control or recall the Deathguard, Warlord.” Could it be that this wasn’t a Jaxxan plan? “It seems we both have a potentially embarrassing problem. For the past few months, my record here has been impeccable, thanks in large part to the Deathguard program. I can’t have one of them shooting his own comrades and fraternizing with the enemy.”
Kiltik’s staccato coughs interrupted his train of thought. The Warlord composed himself with an effort, then added, “Jaxxans do not break ranks. Jaxxan soldiers are tightly trained. But this deserter was not a member of the soldier caste. He was a holystal imaginer who was improperly reassigned.”
Sobel didn’t understand half of what the Warlord had just said, but he seized on one detail. “So, you’re saying you could be in trouble for this, too.”
“I have been assigned to the Fixion Belt since the beginning of the war. Although I will not lose my position here, I would prefer to avoid an ‘embarrassing problem,’ as you so delicately put it. My superiors will never send me back to Jaxx.” He broke off for a quick burst of coughing. “However, this war was getting tedious. What do you propose we do?”
The Commissioner hid his sigh of relief. “When I received the report, I immediately sent five special commandos to terminate the defective Deathguard. I assumed your deserter would be collateral damage.”
Kiltik did not sound unhappy. “Then the problem is taken care of.”
“Unfortunately, the Deathguard killed the entire team, with possible assistance from his Jaxxan ally. This morning I dispatched another seven on the same mission, but they are going to have a tough time behind your lines. If you send your own hunters, one of the groups should succeed.
The Warlord stiffened. “That is nonsense, Commissioner. A ruse on your part.”
Sobel hurriedly continued, “This matter concerns both of us, Warlord, and it may require all our resources to put an end to it.”
The Warlord coughed once before he spoke again. “The morale of our soldier caste will suffer when they learn of this, and henceforth they will doubt the veracity of our holystal projections that guide this war. I must ponder this further and consult my holystal, Commissioner. I will contact you shortly. Your line will be open?”
“Of course.” Sobel used his sweetest-sounding voice, but as soon as Kiltik’s image faded, he slammed his fist on the desktop.