The Nebulous Cairns of Bega

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

My combat instructor says different. She says that, as their face shield shatters and their last breath explodes from their lungs, the moisture freezes into a cloud of pink ice droplets and it spatters across you, pattering on your suit with a sound like rain on a window. Their last scream.

And the Fomori always attack the face for some reason. She says they instinctively know that the face shield is the weakest point in the battle suit. Or maybe that’s the only part that shows flesh so they target that, or possibly the eyes. Or maybe they’re smarter than we think and can figure stuff out and tell each other. They certainly act more like coordinated and cooperative forces than mindless animals – pests, we were told, that would come in numbers but act only as individuals.

My combat instructor recounted the story of being ambushed by them in an asteroid field, where she lost her leg. The Fomori lured her platoon in, an “injured” gargantuan used as bait, then a swarm hit them from the side. The Fomori are brutal, ruthless, and don’t leave victims alive. She only survived by hiding in the dismembered corpse of the one she killed. She said the Fomori were recovering their own dead though, and even somehow supporting their wounded. She escaped when an asteroid briefly obscured her from the battle ground, then she limped back to her ship using suit power alone. It took her three days.

My name is Alyx. And I think I’m in love with my combat instructor. To us recruits her name is Sergeant Cortez, but I found out her name is Sacha. I want to stroke my finger down the scar that runs from her eyebrow to her chin, just passing her right eye. I want to trace the contours of her tough, lithe body, feel her taut muscular strength beneath my hands. I want to know what it’s like to hold her tight against me, smell her crushed to my face, taste her mouth. I bet she tastes like honey and acid.

But there’s no time. We must learn to fight, and fight well. We are the leading edge of humanity’s push into space: the Great Expansion. We will define the future of all human kind; to grow and become greater, the greatest, or to pause, then stop, stagnate, and eventually wither away. I know this to be true. I know it with all my being for President Grace has told us so, and she is wise.

I was born on a frontier world, Bega, raised in the shadow of the threat of the unknown. My parents are both colonists - true colonists, as in those who colonise, not just some people who rocked up after the hard work was done. They’ve taught me hard from day one, like all colonist kids, I was taught to be ready for anything. I know how to fight, I know how to survive. Colonists’ kids are strong and hardy. We are the leading edge of the Great Expansion. We hold a special place in Grace’s heart, she has told us so, and she is truthful.

I started my International Service training over nine months ago, as soon as I had my eighteenth birthday, then I was straight into it; there’s a major training base right on Bega’s moon, so I didn’t have to hang around on some holding planet either. I asked my parents if I could fake my birthday and get in sooner, but they said that even out here The Diaspora keeps pretty good track of its citizens and they’d know I was under age. Seriously though, what’s a few months matter. Dammit, we’re beating the Fomori, but only just, and we need every able body to fight. I know some people put off service until they absolutely have to do it, and some scum bags try and dodge it altogether. I don’t understand, you’re gonna get caught, you’ve got to do your service, and anyway, who wouldn’t want to be part of the Great Expansion?

My day started with the usual reveille. Chris, two beds down, muttered her ritual greeting to the new dawn, “Ah fuck it!” and her pair, Jessie, barked a laugh in response, as she always does. My own pair, Kai, and I quickly got to work helping each other complete the simple morning routine tasks in preparation for inspection. The fifth member of our dorm, Rene, was her usual dark-eyed and quiet self, working swiftly and effectively, faster than anyone else. Her silent efficiency is a trifle unnerving in fact, but Tamra is used to it and pairs with her well, often lightening the mood when Rene gets too intense.

Six soldiers to a dorm, that’s the standard squad. It sets you up for three dimensional combat: each pair covers off one axis in space. Chris and Jesse are Zs, the top and bottom of the formation. Rene and Tamra are Ys – front and back, and Kai and I are Xs, which is each side. In space of course there isn’t really an up and down, it’s just a way for us to work together, make a perimeter, and keep track of each other.

Fifteen minutes after reveille all six of us were dressed and standing by our neatly made beds, ready for morning inspection. Each morning, one of the corporals stalks through each dorm, checking for cleanliness and neatness; this morning it was Corporal Scott in our dorm. She’s large and intimidating, terrifying for new recruits and her missing right arm only makes her more fearsome, but I know at least she’s fair-minded, in contrast to some. She spotted some marks made by my bed feet that I’d need to polish out, and commented on Tamra’s boots looking scuffed, then made a joke about Kai’s buttons – done them up skewed again. Then she stalked on out with appropriate gravitas, leaving us to rectify each of our personal blemishes or infractions before we scurried off to breakfast.

We queued, holding our heavy metal multi-purpose bowls, waiting for the heavy breakfast porridge and bread served by the hard-faced chefs. The line zig-zagged and doubled back on itself around guide markers, a coiling snake of hungry soldiers. We’d be five or ten minutes in the queue until we got our share of the sumptuous food stuffs on offer. The murmur and rumble of voices like a restless sea, echoed and droned through the long dining hall.

“What do we got first up?” Jesse drawled.

Naturally it was Rene who answered, she always memorized the entire timetable for the coming month, “We have Combat Tactics Theory first, then prac.”

Kai groaned, “Not another lecture on pin and flank tactics, god I could recite it backwards in my sleep,” her voice changed to a sing-song recital, “first pin the enemy with sustained fire from a dominant weapon, second break off the bulk of the force and swing into an enfilade position, third engage the enemy with massed fire and fight through…gah, my brain’s melting!”

Chris replied with a completely dead-pan face, “You forgot four and five, establish a perimeter and report your condition.”

Kai glared at her, “May a thousand dogs piss in your coffee.”

Chris shrugged and lifted her hands in a, “what can you do?” gesture then paused and said, “Well at least there’s prac in the NG Dome. F’kin awesome.”

We all nodded a silent assent, some more eagerly than others. The Nil Gravity Dome, creatively nicknamed the NG Dome, is the closest thing we have to deep space combat conditions. I’ve no idea how they did it, but the boffins came up with a way to shield an area off and massively reduce gravity within the enclosed space. I assume it’s something to do with the enormous machine that sits on top of the dome, humming like a fridge on steroids. Come to think of it, it looks like a giant fridge as well. It must be hellishly expensive and power hungry; there’s only one dedicated facility and it’s not big.

The lecture was precisely as painful as Kai predicted, I thought I could hear Tamra snoring softly just in front of me. We were seated in our squads in pattern formation to reflect our combat positions; elevated chairs are accessed by ladders to generate the correct positions. The idea is to help us develop three-dimensional thinking, we’re told, to habituate our minds to it. It takes up a great deal of room so despite the size of the auditorium, there were only sixty recruits present.

After an hour we were all pretty glassy-eyed, and I could hear Chris’s snores in delightful counterpoint to Tamra’s. Then right at the end of the morning’s lecture, just as we were all settling into the comfortable coma of the terminally bored, a bulletin flash came on. There was a brassy, triumphal fanfare that jolted us awake, and the instructor ceded their place to the recorded message now playing on the display. It was President Grace, flanked by not one, but two full generals, with so much braid on their shoulders and pockets it looked like golden cauliflower had sprouted from their epaulettes and someone had dropped pizza down their chests.

“Citizens of The Diaspora,” Grace’s golden oratory rolled over us, “I stand before you today to announce a great victory. After months of planning and careful strategy, we have taken star KD139! Here now to explain the details is General Enrique.”

The stern, jowly woman on Grace’s right nodded curtly and stepped forward to the podium.

“Thankyou Madam President. Star KD139 is in part of zone seven which holds a cluster of stars at distances of less than three light years apart. The interstellar topography was difficult, but our forces made a highly successful coordinated mass assault on the Fomori in the area, seizing the critical space around KD139,” she passed for emphasis, “this star, KD139, is known to produce stable and harvestable quantities of Dendrobium, possibly as much as 17 grams a day.”

Dendrobium! No wonder they were all so pleased. Element 92 on the inverted periodic table, Dendrobium is a critical power source for our dark matter engines. Just a few grams could power our largest vessel, the Triumph, for a year. One of the greatest constraints to our expansion has been energy, another has been distance. The dark matter elements have been the biggest single discovery in history because they address both these problems. Without them, there would be no expansion.

At the completion of the announcement we were dismissed from the auditorium and hurried outside to form up in our squads.

“Well that explains where Lindsay has been these last few weeks,” said Tamra. “I was talking with her just before she left, she said they were getting pulled from planetary defence for some big show. That’s what it would be.”

“D’ya reckon they’ll really get 17 gees a day from that star?” Jesse asked.

“It seems a trifle improbable,” answered Rene, “the largest producing star I know of only yields 8.”

“Yeah, it’s likely a lot less than 17, Jess. I’d guess they’re bumping it up a bit for the public consumption,” chimed in Chris, “there’d be a lot of people hurting after an assault that big, they need to justify it.”

It was strange to hear people I know so well doubt the truth, especially when Grace herself presented it, “Of course it’ll make 17, just like they said, otherwise why would they have launched the attack?”

I caught a brief glance and eye-roll between Chris and Tamra, they didn’t think I noticed.

“Stand Fast!”

We all snapped to attention at the call from one of the other recruits, alerting us to the imminent arrival of an officer, always a cause for concern, although in this case it was just Captain Neams. We saluted appropriately as she drew near and she returned the salute. Captain Neams is a tall, lean woman, with iron-grey hair pulled back severely, and a face lined and seemed with age and experience. Though still fit, she walks with a limp which is rumoured to be from arthritis.

“As you were. Corporal Lee was going to march you across to the Nil Gravity Training Facility, however Lee has been called ahead to other duties. Private Swires, take charge and march the squads across.”

“Yes Ma’am.” One of the older recruits stepped forward, I didn’t know her well myself, but she was considered tough and competent. She swiftly ordered us into formation and, under Captain Neams’ oversight, marched us to the NG Dome. It was unusual to have Captain Neams with us as well, captains usually don’t involve themselves in the routine training activities of young recruits, they’re usually doing big picture officer stuff.

I wasn’t upset by Lee’s absence though. A break from Corporal Lee is always welcome; she’s a complete bitch, singles out our squad to make our lives hell. She once had us scrubbing out latrines with a toothbrush at two in the morning because someone farted during morning parade. Admittedly it was a particularly long, loud and tonal rear eructation, and right during her recital of morning tasks. And in front of the lieutenant who sniggered in an unseemly manner. But still… toothbrushes.

Unfortunately, my joy was short-lived. Lee had been called ahead to set up the NG Dome for our training, and she was running it. Shit. Sure enough, she’d laid out one of the most demanding and, frankly, cruel scenarios I’d seen. There were unusual obstacles, strobing lights – meant to replicate effects of Fomori attacks, the heavy sounds of combat to a deafening level, and to cap it all off spinning chunks of debris. If we were lucky we’d escape with cuts and bruises.

Sergeant Cortez was looking on of course, as our combat instructor. Her face seemed impassive, but I could tell she was pissed. Corporal Scott on the other hand gave me a sly grin and a wink, after glancing across at Lee to make sure she wasn’t looking. Captain Neams cleared her throat, failed to attract Lee’s attention above the noise, and so shouted to her.

“Corporal! A word please. Outside.”

They were gone for barely five minutes, while we crammed into the staging area, bombarded by the dizzying barrage of noise and light that assaulted our senses. Rene was already looking a little green. When they returned Corporal Lee looked a trifle smug. Captain Neams looked thoughtful and glanced at Lee now and then as if trying to figure something out.

Lee motioned us outside, which was a relief, both from the noise and light and from the rather cramped conditions. The Dome is designed to take maybe four squads at a time and having ten squads in the staging area was more than slightly uncomfortable.

“Right recruits,” Lee eyeballed us with her single eye, her left eye socket was a mass of puckered scar tissue, “what you see in there is a taste of full-scale battle!”

And here I’d thought it was a late luncheon for the over eighties’ knitting auxiliary.

“Due to the close nature of the course and high potential for incidents, we will be running only two squads at a time rather than the usual four! The other eight squads will wait outside and work on drills with Corporal Harrison!”

She went on to detail the aims of the course (kill the enemy), the nature of the scenario (there was an enemy we had to find and kill), and the ‘military intelligence’ that was available (somewhere in there was an enemy who we had to find and kill). We would be working in coordination with another squad, Delta squad in this case; we were Bravo.

There were many hazards we needed to be alert to, Lee noted, some that could prove potentially highly injurious or even fatal if we were not careful; her eyes briefly rested on Bravo Squad. I’m sure it was coincidence.

“Bravo, Delta; suit up!”

Our two squads re-entered the thundering dome under the watchful gaze of various persons of rank. We pulled the heavy training suits from the racks. They stank of stale sweat and stress and the burning smell of weapons and propulsion fuel. My helmet clicked into place and air hissed in. It rested on the shoulder harness so I could freely move my head around, the light refraction nodes enhancing my peripheral vision and providing a simple rear proximity awareness. It takes some time to get used to the 360 degree awareness that comes with the suit helmet, it can be very disorienting. It takes some people longer than others, and some simply become ill and never adjust to it.

We were barely suited up and weaponed, when a projectile came tumbling towards us. Instinctively we scattered, activating our suit propulsion, then quickly navigating into position. Comms was a bit crackly, but still clear, however we hadn’t had time to sync properly; I could here the chatter from Delta squad as they formed up. Then Tamra’s voice cut through,

“Bravo squad, sync to channel four. Form up on me.”

As the front Y member of the squad, Tamra gave us a quick bearing on which to organize. Chris took the nominal top position, Jesse the bottom, I was left flank and Kai the right. Rene was set to the back. Nine months of training were starting to show; the whole formation took less than half a minute from scattered to formed up and alert. Glancing past Kai, I saw the Delta team were likewise formed up.

Another projectile hurtled in, quickly followed by several more. With deft movements the squads evaded them, then moved into zones of apparent cover, using the various debris patches to screen themselves. Rene swiftly calculated probable direction of fire and relayed the information to Delta squad. Their lead tech responded with her own calculated vector and between them they determined a triangulated position for the enemy.

We started to advance in tandem with Delta, leapfrogging our squads through the floating and tumbling obstacles and occasional projectiles. I scanned my arc of fire, trying to blot out the hellish strobing lights, and searching for any sign of an enemy combatant. Although the suits have propulsion, the fire and movement drill is still exhausting, and the ferocious level of concentration required in that environment was mentally taxing. After just a few minutes sweat was running between my shoulder blades and the helmet’s antifog cut in to keep my vision clear.

Suddenly, through one of the peripheral enhancement nodes, I spotted a large shape charging towards us from my left. I spun towards it shouting,

“Contact left Bravo! Contact left Bravo!”

The squad turned and, as trained, the nearest two members, that being myself and Rene, engaged with full fire. The others fanned out into engagement pattern and commenced controlled fire. Through the weapons’ fire light and smoke haze and the constant strobing, I could only make out a large dark shape that kept dodging and jinking towards us.

“Pull back by sets!” Tamra ordered. As Tamra called each pair we retreated while the other four squad members provided fire. The enemy figure kept advancing, though it was slowing. Then there was a massive burst of weapons fire from our right, and forward of our position. Delta squad were opening fire from a flanking position, having moved around while we kept the target pinned. Over the head comms I heard Kai start giggling, then her sing-song voice repeating,

“First pin the enemy with sustained fire from a dominant weapon, second break off the bulk of the force and swing into an enfilade position, third engage the enemy with…”

Her voice was cut off by a massive boom and particle balls, small rubbery balls designed to simulate explosive shrapnel, sprayed across the members of the Delta squad from behind and into Kai. They didn’t usually cause injury but they hurt like hell and left impressive bruising. Corporal Lee’s harsh voice cut over the top of the comms,

“All those struck by particle balls, you are now effectively dead.”

Judging by their proximity to the blast nobody in Delta squad would be capable of carrying on anyway. I saw two of them floating limply, no doubt in shock from just the pain, a third appeared to be vomiting into her helmet – always a fun experience – and I could briefly hear Kai exercising her impressive range of swear words until her comms was cut.

“Reform! Reform!” yelled Tamra, “pivot hard right. Go go go!”

We belted a retreat to better cover among some heavier debris where we could regroup, though with only five of us left of the original twelve it wasn’t so much a regrouping as simply running away and hiding. I could hear the stress in Tamra’s voice as she tried to organize a plan of attack.

“No point,” cut in Jesse, “we were meant to engage the enemy and destroy using two squads. We now have less than one. Time to cut and run.”

“Run fucking where?” snapped Tamra, “we’re in the dome.”

“Mission conditions have changed,” replied Rene, “it is clearly now a survival exercise on escape and evasion. We run until we are caught I suspect.”

“Not bloody likely! I’m not giving in to that fucking bitch just because she pulled a stunt on us! We’re finding the enemy and…”

The comms went down with a squeal and a hiss. I lurched down and to my left, as if yanked violently, as did the rest of the squad and every single object I could see, and suddenly I was falling. The enormous antigravity motor on the roof of the dome ramped up and screamed into over-drive, howling and whining in protest at having to work so hard. Our fall slowed to a gentle drift, then abated entirely, and a few seconds later the motor ramped down again to normal.

“What the hell was that?” I asked. Static hiss was my only reply, but judging from the glances and gesticulations of the others they were equally confused. Was this a part of the exercise? Tamra pointed straight up and made a circle motion – the hand signal to form a perimeter, more I think from innate stubbornness and refusal to capitulate than actual belief this was an exercise. Still, it was better than doing nothing. We set our standard perimeter minus one, the three adjacent soldiers covering Kai’s arc, weapons up and scanning for enemy. Without comms we huddled closer together than usual, alerts would have to be through touch.

After a short time, Rene tapped me on the shoulder and I jerked around to see. It was no attack though, instead a figure in a bright yellow suit – one of the instructors – approached and motioned us to follow. We were quickly led back to the staging area where we found the sore and sorry members of Delta squad and Kai. Normally they would have unsuited for the debriefing, but they were just sitting around waiting. I found myself a patch of floor and parked my rear.

Corporal Lee was nearby in conversation with Captain Neams, they were speaking in low, intense voices. The yellow-suited instructor removed her helmet to reveal Sergeant Cortez’ scarred face and she immediately strode across to speak with Neams and Lee. I glanced around for Corporal Scott but couldn’t see her on the staging platform. The dome’s entrance cracked open and Scott hurried in and over to the other three officers. She muttered something briefly to them and they all stopped talking and stared at her.

“What?” asked Neams, loudly enough for everyone to hear.

“Ma’am,” said Cortez in mild admonishment, and gestured her head towards us.

Neams nodded her understanding, and the four of them resumed their talk. After several minutes, Neams held up a hand, palm out, and the other three stopped talking. She gestured to each of the non-commissioned officers in turn, obviously giving orders. Immediately afterwards Scott and Lee hurried from the Dome, Cortez walked over to us, and Neams stepped to the side in a position of observation.

Cortez stood still and silent for a moment, then, “Soldiers of the Diaspora.”

That got our attention. We’d always been called recruits. She paused and let it sink in.

“Soldiers of the Diaspora,” she repeated, “we have just been attacked. The Fomori appear to have deployed some form of gravity weapon against us.”

Rene instantly sucked her breath in and gave a brief ‘ah’ of understanding.

“Outside this dome,” Cortez continued, “there has been intense devastation. As far as we can tell, everyone in the camp is dead, crushed by the force deployed against us. We must move from this position as it is likely that follow up attacks will continue.”

There was a scream of rage and grief from one of the members of Delta squad. Technically the military prohibited the formation of personal relationships between members of a unit. Technically there were procedures and policies in place that prevented those relationships to eliminate the potential for emotional entanglement and the issues that arose. Technically.

“Shut it!” thundered Cortez, “you don’t have the luxury of time right now. You will listen and you will get your sorry little arses where I tell you to go! Bravo squad, form up! You will be going with Corporal Lee, when she returns, to the nearest practical, usable vessel. Delta squad! Get on your fucking feet right now! You will go with Corporal Scott. Get your gear together – do it. Pick it up, form up. Move it!”

Our feet shuffled us around automatically, no thought processes were involved. Our ears received the order, which then apparently bypassed the brain and got us moving. By the time the corporals returned we had pulled our gear and ourselves together into something resembling ordered squads.

“Sarge,” said Scott, “there’s two ships in hangar 3 that are in good shape, and they’re response cruisers so they should be perfect.”

The next several hours are a blur. I have vague impressions of Corporal Lee shouting us to hangar 3, I think at some stage she devolved to the absolute basics of calling our stride – left-right-left-right, just to get us moving. We must have gone via the barracks and stopped of for at least a few minutes because my full pack was with me when we boarded. There are crystalised memories, seemingly trapped in amber, disconnected from any context or further reality. I recall a few moments of strapping into a flight seat, the feeling of being jammed backwards into the padding as we took off. There are images of blue and flashes of bright sunlight flaring through the cockpit. But clearest of all, the memory of Captain Neams' voice ringing through the ship,

“Clear of atmosphere, moving into stable orbit around Bega and commencing scans… oh God. Oh God in heaven.”