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The Cassandrian Theory (Chapter 8)
🕑 Added 2021-03-03 01:38:15 +0000 UTCVelenia II, Cassandrian front, 611.07 A.E. (Age of Exploration)
Planet purging was always different. Sometimes the focus was a single contaminated colony, sometimes it would be a whole battlefield, sometimes the entire organic patch of a planet. I didn’t care much about purging. As long as it didn’t involve casualties, I’d just patiently record the event as an outside observer, and wait for the mission to be over so I could return to actual combat. There were times, though, I wished I didn’t witness the things I did.
“This is drop shuttle thirty-nine,” Lieutenant Caspira said through comm. “Run complete, heading back.”
“No short cuts this time, Lieutenant,” I said. While a skilled veteran, Caspira was the type of pilot who liked to squeeze five sorties into three. That was the reason she’d been reassigned from three ships in her last year along, it was also the reason Augustus had recruited her.
“Roger that, Elcy. No shortcuts. See you soon.”
That was the last scheduled troop drop, marking the start of the five-day purging initiative. Normally specialized purge troops would deal with this, but latest developments had stretched the Fleet’s resources thin in this sector of space, leaving regional commanders to do what they could with what they had. Augustus didn’t seem overly concerned, isolating himself in his quarters, leaving his second in command and Wilco to oversee the details.
“All troops have landed on Velenia two,” I announced on the bridge. “Waiting for your official approval.”
“Go ahead,” Wilco replied from the captain’s seat. It didn’t suit him at all, but given most of the command staff had podded themselves for some rest and relaxation, regulations required that he be there. “Give me live feeds. Section heads only.”
I issued the order to all ground troops and simultaneously covered all bridge walls with the video feeds of all regiment commanders.
“Also give me a sat view of the area.”
“On the captain’s screen, sir.” I’d always known him to be diligent, but this number of details was a first. “Is there anything I should be aware about?” Hidden orders, for one?
“No.” He directed his attention to the screen.
“I’ll keep monitoring for incoming Cassandrian ships. “
As I did, I also followed the progress of my troops on the ground. According to official reports, eighty-one days ago the system had been under Cassandrian control. Lacking any strategic value, it had been abandoned and reclaimed by the human Fleet. A preliminary survey of the planets was conducted, after which the order had come from HQ to purge all life on the second planet. I found the order unnecessary, but it was not my place to comment. The captain had agreed, and that was all there was to it.
Comparing my on sat scans with the report, I had determined that the organic area had grown by seventy-two percent. Despite the thin atmosphere and the total lack of oxygen, fungal elements had formed large colonies the size of small shuttles. Based on a thousand simulations, the most efficient method of extermination would have been planetary bombardment, but HQ had ordered that troops be sent down—a crude and inefficient process, not to mention quite costly. Since I wasn’t able to create the required gear in large enough quantities, additional supply ships had flown in. Now, a large part of my hull was full with flamethrowers and chemical tech, while my ground troop contingent was down on the planet.
I haven’t been so empty in years.
“Purge zone clear,” Captain Inu Zhen reported. “Moving on to next.”
“Negative on that, captain. Perform a GPR scan before proceeding.”
“Is that really necessary, Elcy? There’s nothing down here but rocks and more rocks.”
“HQ’s orders are very explicit. Eradication is to be confirmed by ground penetrating radar scans.”
“Don’t you just love pencil pushers… Stand by, setting up charges for deep scan.”
“You have my sympathies, Captain.”
More reports started coming in, all from border sectors that were virtually clean of organic life to begin with. All of them, without exception, wanted to get this done as quickly as possible, and all had to be reminded of the proper procedure. I understood the frustration, but at the same time was puzzled by their eagerness to return to battle. Even if they had been tasked with a job that could have been done by an automated drone, at least it was a safe assignment.
Info bursts poured in, forming an image of the planet’s upper crust. The data matched my simulations—other than some basic elements, there was nothing of remote interest. By my estimates, this bureaucratic requirement was going to delay the area purge by almost twenty-one hours. I had informed HQ, of course, only to be told not to interfere with mission parameters.
“Fucking hell in a wastebasket!” a voice came through. “Did you see that?!”
I checked the ident of the transmission. It had all the necessary tags marking it as belonging to the Fleet—part of my own crew, to be exact—yet I was unable to identify the source or the trooper it was linked to. Voice recognition analysis brought no results either.
“Sir.” I displayed a visual representation of the message on the bridge wall. “Something for you to see.”
Wilco stood up from his seat.
“Focus on the spot. And inform HQ, priority one.”
“I’m unable to localize the transmission.” I had been through quarantined, I had to be. “I’ll need the captain’s permission to—”
“Quarantine override, Wilco seven-seven-one,” the lieutenant said.
The moment he did the surface of the planet changed. The number of fungal colonies had grown considerably, forming patches the size of forests. Even with the equipment provided, the soldiers were having difficulty burning through. In places, the fungi regenerated almost as quickly as they were being burned down. No wonder the grunt wanted to get out of here. This wasn’t some simple purging, this was fighting an infestation… a Cassandrian infestation.
“Look at the size of that thing,” another soldier said. The quarantine removed, I could see who it was, and more importantly what he was looking at. In a section of the zone, the GPR scan had revealed a cave system large enough to have me freely fly through. That wasn’t the most significant, though. The readings indicated organic life forms, and not just any life forms.
“Cassandrian presence confirmed,” I accounted on the bridge. “Going to yellow alert.” I assigned half my subroutines to weapon systems, and also messaged HQ, Command, as well as the captain. “Seems the Cassandrians have left us a gift. Shall I want for the captain?”
“Full weapon readiness. Prep for orbital bombardment. If there’s a ship down there, I don’t want it to escape. Request reinforcements.”
“Requests made. No response.” I ran a long-range scan. “No Cassandrian forces detected. Chances of this being a trap beacon are seventy-three percent. Ready to start troop evacuation on your order.”
“No evacuations,” his voice was cold, as if he no longer cared about the people down there, but was focusing on something else. “Tell all fighter pilots to get ready. Wake up the captain and all senior officers. This one might get messy.”
* * *
Wilco had turned out to be right. The mission had quickly turned from a simple sweeping mission to one of the bloodiest ground battles I had witnessed. Eighty-three percent of my ground crew had died along with several hundred thousand more in reinforcements.
At the time I thought this to be an unfortunate accident, though now I suspected it was anything but. Someone in HQ had a very specific goal in mind, and there was a ninety-five percent chance that Wilco was in on it.
You didn’t take over from the captain, did you? You were in charge of that mission from the very start.
In light of that, Doctor Sim’s little “task” became all the more dangerous. He had told me to avoid comm contact unless I come across a Cassandrian army. Knowing him, I initially thought the phrase to be hyperbole. No, I was no longer certain.
The initial stage of his plan had gone without a hitch. After touchdown I had informed mission control of my arrival, after which I had severed all communications. Just to be on the safe side, I had used some of the local equipment to cause a minor malfunction in the cargo section. An experienced Fleet engineer would be able to tell that the malfunction wasn’t accidental, but I replied that no one on the base would focus on the shuttle too much. Not when everyone was working on a tight schedule.
Reaching the spot indicated wasn’t an issue. The instructions given were remarkably precise. It took me less than a minute to locate the metal container. It was a small two-part metal tube, the size of my index finger, wrapped in a polymer bag. Since there were no markings on the metal surface, I slid the top off. A strip of steel alloy was inside with a single message written on the surface with a laser drill: PC-09, 23.319 N, 42.677 W - L. Striker, O.I. Glenn.
So far so good. I closed the container and put it in a sample case. The numbers given were in accordance with the planetary coordinate system. I had no idea what the words meant. While they resembled names, I couldn’t find any matches in my copy of the personnel database, nor were they ship or component designations.
Running the coordinates, I found the location in question was a significant distance away, on the other side of the landing area. When Sims had told me to collect the sample first, he hadn’t taken that small detail into account. Unfortunately for him, I’d have to leave it for later. The slight detour had already cost me more time than I felt comfortable with. Good thing I didn’t need much sleep.
I looked up at. The sky was blocked by branches thick with leaves—a perfect spot to prevent something from being spotted by sat, which suggested that the other site wasn’t. Whoever Sim had sent before was likely smart enough to know it couldn’t be extracted, so he had marked the location and left it for the next team. Unfortunately for me, I was that next team.
Placing the gear back on my suit, I rushed back to the shuttle site. Half a minute later I reestablished communication.
“Sorry about that, mission control. Had some technical issues. Are there any updates on my status?”
“Roger that, shuttle two. A few additions to your list came through. Ready to receive a data transmission?”
“Of course.” I hadn’t received those in a while. “Cypher type?”
“No cyber. Standard analog sound transmission.”
I had to admit that I was impressed with Ondalov’s ingenuity to transfer data directly through a voice comm. On the other hand, he could have achieved the same result by simply dictating the new locations.
A sudden burst of static filled my ears, translating to thirty-seven new locations. Fortunately, they weren’t too far off from the rest. Unfortunately, the sample cases I’d come down with would no longer be enough.
“Got that, mission control. What’s the procedure for requesting additional sample cases?”
“Already ahead of you, shuttle two. A drop has been cleared for you in twelve hours. You’ll get your cases plus some extra food. Be sure not to exceed your weight limit when you return.”
If that was a joke, it was a poor one. “Understood, mission control. Starting gathering.”
Find, extract, collect, return. That was the strict procedure I had to follow. Four simple steps that I had to repeat, each time informing mission control. After the first ten samples had been gathered, I expected to be allowed to stop with the constant reporting. Unfortunately, the permission never came.
In general, sample types were divided in seven categories from minute to such that were twice my size. When I had asked whether I could leave the big ones for the end, Ondalov had joined in, shouting his head off about strict scientific procedures and methods. After a long and annoying discussion, he agreed, provided I managed to get everything back to the base in two days.
By nightfall, fifty-three of the hundred and forty-samples were collected. Mission control was impressed by the number, but my estimates I was already lagging behind. Most of these were the easy ones. From here on, each sample would be more difficult to collect, and I hadn’t even gotten to any of the large ones.
Two hours later, I was forced to stop. The lack of adequate light made the process cumbersome to the point it took me roughly half an hour to locate the designated sample. It wasn't that I couldn’t see properly in the darkness, rather the local fauna behaved completely differently the moment they stopped being exposed to the sun’s radiation. Leaves and flowers closed up on themselves, only partially reacting to my fingerlights.
“Mission control, this is Elcy.” I placed and secured the last of my carried samples in the shuttle cargo area. “Gathering’s becoming difficult. I’ll call it a night and continue in the morning.”
“Roger that, shuttle two. Make sure to sleep in the shuttle.”
“Will do. I’ll report back at sunrise. Comms off.”
I severed the connection before anyone could object. According to the data, the planet’s night lasted for five hours and seventeen minutes. Out of those I required about two for sleep. There was plenty of time to go ahead with Sim’s task until then and possibly collect the samples that weren’t in the main cluster.
Stars, plans, and darkness, I thought as I made my way through the vegetation. The only thing missing was wind—no sound, no sensation, just the restriction of the spacesuit. The close I got to the spot the coordinates told me, the more sparse the vegetation became; this wasn’t a gradual reduction, rather it was almost like entering different zones, each filled with predominantly different specimens. The sample collectors before me had been far more enthusiastic, picking up whole patches of land as it were.
Upon reaching the coordinates, I stopped. Bushes and wide-bladed grass had given way to a moss-like vegetation that covered the ground like a carpet.
It didn’t take long for the scanner to find metal underground. I had expected that much. What I hadn’t expected was for that metal to be cobalt; less than three meters underground, there was a third contact artifact.
You’re just as focused as I am, aren’t you, Doctor? I removed the gear from my belt and started digging.
After half an hour, I found that my initial assessment of the situation was wrong. The previous team hadn’t buried the sample, they had been unable to collect it for whatever reason. Lack of space was most likely the reason, although I couldn’t discount safety reasons to have been an issue as well.
The artifact was far larger than any of the containers I’d brought. Far bigger than a tree stump, it resembled a massive cluster root over a matter in diameter covered in root hairs. On the surface there was nothing to indicate that there was an artifact rod in the plant’s core. Running a low-intensity scan, though, confirmed that it was there.
So much for getting any sleep.
Taking this out would require a lot more digging than planned. There always was the option to cut off some of the major roots to speed up the process, but seeing what happened to Rolant, I chose not to risk it. Digging it was going to be.
Methodically, I increased the size of the hole. Keeping as many root caps interact as possible, I dug clockwise, until there was enough cleared to pull. This was the tricky part. Lifting the ball of roots wasn’t an issue, keeping it intact was another matter. I felt several of the smaller roots snap as I pulled the cluster out of the ground. No spore infestation followed, although there was one noticeable change. All that remained now was to take Sim’s prize back to the shuttle. Before that, though, I had to cover up the hole, reducing the chance of discovery by twelve percent.
Military psychiatrists claimed that few things were more cathartic than digging a hole. In some unclear fashion, it helped people let go of painful emotions and get fit to return to duty in record time. From what I had seen, there was no evidence of that whatsoever. The only cases of digging holes on the battlefield were for units to entrench themselves in battle. Twenty-five times from twenty-seven there weren’t survivors beyond that point.
You owe me one, Doctor. I picked up his prize and started my way back.
Five containers were of adequate size to keep hold of the specimen. I picked one with an opaque casing and sealed it inside. From here on, it wasn’t my problem.
“Mission control,” I said once I’d restored the comms. “I’m continuing with my list. What’s the drop’s ETA?”
“And a morning to you, starless.” I heard the familiar voice of ‘Bo. “Way to get the entire base on high alert. Two directors and a dozen station leads were going crazy trying to get in touch with you.”
“I can tell by your intonation that that’s not true, ma’am,” I said. Strictly speaking the probability was only ninety-eight-point-three percent.
“Got me there,” she laughed. “So, what did happen? More unexpected technical difficulties?”
“Something or the sort.”
“Mhm. We’re done with the technical difficulties, I trust?”
“I hope so, ma’am. It’s not like I’m the one responsible.”
“I’m sure.” I could hear the unspoken warning. She knew I was doing something for Sim, and she wasn’t going to let that jeopardize her own work. “You’ve gathered half of the samples, I hear?”
“Almost half,” I corrected. “And those are the easy ones.”
“How about a change of pace? Get the five big ones next and I’ll get Ondalov off your back until you return.”
“If that’s your order, ma’am.” This was going to considerably mess up my schedule. “It will take me a while to set up the extraction equipment.”
“Yeah, yeah. Better get to it, starless. I want those sample cases wrapped and ready by the time your drop shuttle lands.”
“Another team’s coming to help me?”
“Just ‘cuase the director calls you a princess, doesn’t me you are.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “You’re the lowest rank in the base. Besides, we’re low on people, high on shuttles. When your drop arrives, get the empty containers out, and the full ones in. Got that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And make sure you put all the containers in. Director’s orders.”
At this point I wondered why she still bothered with hints. It would be clear to anyone listening in that Sim was expecting something from the planet.
“I’ll do my best, ma’am. What’s the shuttle’s ETA?”
“Four hours give or take.”
“Yes, ma’am. One question if I may?”
“Sure. It’s not like I have anything else to do.” Tone analysis made it unclear whether she was serious or not. “What do you need?”
“Has anyone named Glenn served on the base?”
The three second pause told me there had. The three seconds that followed suggested that the matter was above her security level.
“Ma’am?”
“Sorry about that. Technical difficulties. What did you ask?”
“Nothing of significance, ma’am.” Message received loud and clear. “I’ll see to it that the samples are ready.”
“Good. Also, keep your calcium levels high. Doctor’s orders.”
Which doctor? “Will do, ma’am.”
Usually when someone said there were four hours to collect five samples, they considered it an easy job. In my case, I had to dig up three trees and two bushes—roots and all—and gently placed them in a container the size of my room on the station. Mission regulations strictly forbid me from scanning the samples or anything in vicinity. Even so, I took my hand scanner. If I happened to stumble on something, I preferred to have it handy.
When the first “sample” was extracted, Ondalov flooded me with a barrage of questions. Since no advanced imaging technology was sent down with me, I also had to play the role of a living camera, converting images of what I had seen to raw data and sending via the suit’s comm system. Back when I was a ship, I would have found this insulting. Now, it only annoyed me, though not enough to keep me from working.
By the time I’d collected the last tree, Ondalov had calmed down enough to lead a coherent, be it sarcastic, conversation. Unfortunately, none of what he said provided any clues regarding his research. The only things I managed to clean was that certain samples were to be kept at a distance from one another and always handle the cases with care.
When I collected the final large sample, the conversation was taken over by the standard mission control operator who gave me a time and a set of coordinates.
The shuttle came seven minutes fifty-four late, which wasn’t enough for me to drag all the large containers to the landing zone. A rover would have been nice, but of course that was too much to expect. The vehicle’s designation was shuttle eight—identical in every way to the one I’d come here, just emptier.
“Hello, eight,” I said as I entered the cargo section. “All systems operational?”
A small screen on the wall told me that everything was in order.
“That’s good to hear.” I said and started the unloading process.
Sample cases, food containers, some extra bottles of oxygen, and an extra spacesuit created to my specifications. Personally, I would have preferred a portable bed and some better food.
All in all, it took over two hours to fully load the collected samples. In-between moving, I took a short break to have my daily portion of gelatin and calcium. In regard to the strict bio-quarantine, the only way to eat was to attack one of the food capsules to the food port of my suit—an utterly unenjoyable experience considering the low-tech nature of the suit. Everything considered, it was marginally better than getting the substance injected directly in my veins.
“Any chance I could get some proper food next time, mission control?” I asked once everything was loaded.
“Not on this mission, starless. We can get you something after decon. Until day it’s mush and sugar minus the sugar.”
“You sure know how to treat a rookie.”
“Try not to get used to it,” the mission controller laughed. “There’ll be a little something for you in D and D when you get back. Think you can survive till then?”
“I hope to. Shuttle eight is loaded and prepped. Give me two minutes to clear the area and it’s all yours.”
“Roger that. Good job and—” the conversation abruptly stopped.
“Shuttle eight, are you comms down?” My first instinct was to check whether all comms were severed. They weren’t. The shuttle had reported no abnormalities.
“Sorry about that, shuttle two,” the controller said after nineteen seconds. “You’re advised to check the shuttle’s flight trajectory before liftoff. Report once done.”
“Roger, mission control.” Why so formal, suddenly?
I climbed to the cockpit and went inside. A single sheet of plastic was stuck to the central flight screen.
Hello Princess,
Do NOT collect samples eighty-three, five, a hundred-twenty-three, or ninety to a hundred. The locations have been designated off limits. Don’t worry about Ondalov, he’s onboard with this. My apologies for the sudden change. This has nothing to do with you, it’s a safety issue. I’ll explain more if I could, but for the moment keep it on the down low and don’t discuss it in any open channels.
Everything else should proceed as discussed. Good luck down there.
The sheet wasn’t signed, but I had no doubt it had come from Sim. By the looks of it, there was more than internal politics in play here. More concerning, though, was the list of samples I had to avoid. The majority were further down, so I hadn’t gotten to yet. Sample five, however, had been collected and in the shuttle’s cargo hold.
Sample five, unicellular spore, I recalled the list Ondalov had given me. Why were you on the list? And why shouldn’t I have collected you?
