Battlespace

[Thought-click on highlighted links for further information.]

Visual: A succession of scenes of Marines in battle armor on the planet Ishtar—beneath a sullen, green-tinted sky and the swollen orb of the gas giant, Marduk, about which Ishtar orbits. In the distance, a stepped pyramid rises above purple and black vegetation. Other buildings, crude things of mud brick, are visible in the foreground.

Scenes of battle, the Marines firing their weapons at unseen enemies.

More scenes of battle, Marines holding off an oncoming wave of humanoid creatures waving spears and banners. Marine Wasp fighters twist through the green sky.

“Fighting on Ishtar was, reportedly, savage, and the First MIEU suffered heavy casualties. According to reports, the alien Ahannu inhabiting Ishtar were holding a number of humans as slaves, the descendents of humans taken from Earth when the Ahannu, or An, possessed a starfaring empire ten thousand years ago.

[Thought-click on highlighted links for further information.]

Visual: Images of Ahannu—primitive, carrying spears and wearing crude armor. They are humanoid, with elongated, crested heads, finely scaled green or brown skin, and enormous, golden eyes bearing horizontally slit pupils.

A scene shows several richly dressed Ahannu apparently in conversation with a number of Marines, one identified by a floating ID label as Colonel Ramsey. The Marines tower over the diminutive aliens, who appear submissive and afraid. A caption reads “Formalization of peace accord between the UFR and Ahannu leaders, June 30, 2148.”

“The Ahannu, primitives who no longer possess the advanced, starfaring technology of their ancestors, surrendered to the Marines after two days of hard fighting. The commanding officer of the First MIEU, Colonel T.J. Ramsey, reportedly established a treaty with the Ahannu guaranteeing the freedom of Ishtar’s human population.”

[Thought-click on highlighted links for further information.]

Visual: The scene shifts to Earth and an angry crowd numbering in the thousands, filling a street, shaking fists and hand-lettered signs, chanting slogans. A woman in an elegant green cloak speaks passionately into the NetCam. “The Ahannu are gods! As the An, they came to our world thousands of years ago and brought with them the seeds of civilization—agriculture, medicine, writing! The Ahannu are the An’s descendents. We should be worshipping them, not killing them!” A caption reads: “Live: Demonstration in Portland, Maine, by members of the Anist Church of the Returning Gods.”

“Reaction to the return of the Marines has been mixed. Many groups protest UFR involvement in the Lalande system, which has now fallen under joint EU–Brazilian–UFR control. Numerous religious groups here on Earth protest what many are calling heavy-handed interference in Ahannu affairs. And there are nations which disagree with UFR policies on Ishtar as well.”

[Thought-click on highlighted links for further information.]

Visual: Another mob, this one obviously Islamic, with a mosque visible in the background. An imam speaks to the NetCam in Arabic, which is translated by the broadcast’s AI. “These so-called ancient gods are demons and upset the order of God, may his name be blessed forever! It is a sin to have any traffic with them whatsoever!” A caption reads: “Imam Selim ibn Ali Zayid, speaking in Cairo, the Kingdom of Allah, earlier today.”

Visual: Another mob, many waving American flags. A prominent sign in the foreground reads humanity unite! A wild-eyed man shouts into the NetCam, “The An enslaved people! They set up a colony on our planet and took away people to be slaves on other planets! They should be nuked. What the hell are we doing signing treaties with these monsters, for God’s sake? They’re demons! Kill them! Kill them all!” A caption reads: “Fr. Ronaldo Carrera, Church of Humankind, La Paz, Baja, earlier today.”

“Meanwhile, tensions continue to mount between the UFR and the EU–Mexican–Brazilian Accord over the question of Aztlan independence. President DeChancey announced that …”

Cybernetic Hibernation Receiving Facility Star Marine Force Center Twentynine Palms, California 0920 hours, PST

Lance Corporal John Garroway, UFR/US Marine Corps, struggled upward toward light and consciousness. Tattered shreds of dreams clung to his awareness, already slipping away into emptiness. There were dreams of falling, of flame and battle and death in the night, and of an endless, empty gulf between the stars. …

He drew a breath and felt that terrifying no-air feeling you got when the wind was knocked out of you. He tried to inhale, harder, and a flash of white-hot pain stabbed at both sides of his chest.

He was drowning.

Garroway tried to breathe through the blockage and felt his body convulse in paroxysms of coughing and retching. A viscous jelly clogged his nose, mouth, and windpipe. A giant’s hand pressed down on his chest; another closed about his throat. Damn it, he couldn’t breathe. …

Then, with a final, explosive cough, the jelly was expelled from his lungs and he managed his first ragged, burning lungful of air. He managed a second breath, and a third. The pain and the strangling sensation faded.

There was something wrong with his vision, he thought. He could see … a pale, faint green glow that nonetheless hurt the eyes, but there was nothing to see, save a flat, smooth, plastic-looking surface a few centimeters above his face. For a moment claustrophobia threatened, and his breathing became harsh, rapid, and painful once more.

Something stung his arm at the angle of his elbow. A robotic injector arm pulled back, vanishing into a side compartment. “Lie still and breathe deeply,” a voice that was neither male nor female told him in his thoughts. “Do not try to leave your cell. A transition medical team will be with you momentarily.”

Memories began surfacing, as other sensations besides pain and strangulation returned to his body. He’d been through this before. He was in a cybehibe tube and he was awakening once more after years of cybernetically induced hibernation. The voice in his head was coming from his own cerebral implant, which meant they were monitoring his revival.

He was awake. He was okay. …

The gel that had moments before filled the narrow tube, providing, among other things, protection from several years’ worth of bed sores as well as a conduit for oxygen and cell-repair nano, was draining away now into the plastic padding beneath his back. Garroway concentrated on breathing, gulping down sweet air … and ignoring the stench that had collected inside the coffin-sized compartment for the past ten years or so. His empty and shrunken stomach threatened to rebel. He tried to focus on remembering.

He could remember … yeah … he could remember.

He remembered the shuttle flight up from the surface of Ishtar, and boarding a European Union transport—the Jules Verne. He remembered being told to remove all clothing and personal articles and log them with the clerk, of lying down on a metal slab barely softened by a thin plastic mattress, of a woman speaking to him in French as the first injection hit his bloodstream and turned the world fuzzy.

Ishtar. He’d been at Ishtar. And now … Now? They must be at Earth.

Earth!

The thought brought a sudden snap of energy and he thumped his head painfully against the plastic surface of the hybe tube as he tried to sit up.

Earth! …

Or … possibly one of the LaGrange stations. The pull of gravity felt about right for Earth, but that could be due to the rotation of a large habitat. He might even still be on the EU ship.

Gods and goddesses, no. He didn’t want to have to deal with them again. Let this be Earth!

The end of his hybe cell just above his head hissed open, and his pallet slid out into light. Two Marines in utility fatigues peered down at him. “What’s your name, buddy?” one asked him.

“Garroway,” he replied automatically. “John. Lance Corporal, serial number 19283-336-6959.”

“That’s a roger,” the other said, reading from a comp-board. “He’s tracking.”

“How ya feeling?”

“A bit muzzy,” he admitted. He tried to concentrate on his own body. The sensations were … odd. Unfamiliar. “Hungry, I think.”

“Not surprising after ten years with nothing but keepergel in your gut. You’ll be able to get some chow soon.”

“Ten years? What … what year is it?”

“Welcome to 2159, Marine.”

He held up both hands, turning them, looking at them a bit wonderingly. They were still wet with dissolving gel. “2159?”

“Don’t freak it, gramps,” the other Marine told him. “You’re all there. The nano even stopped your hair and nails from growing.”

“Yeah. It just feels … odd. Where are we?”

“The Marine Corps Cybernetic Hibernation Receiving Facility,” the Marine with the board said. “Twentynine Palms.”

“Then I’m home.”

The other Marine laughed. “Don’t make any quick judgments, timer. You’ll null your prog.”

“Huh?”