Ep.#8 - Sanctuary (The Frontiers Saga - Part 2: Rogue Castes) Page 2

  “No, that time passed two days ago, but I do like the way you are thinking.”

  Nathan stared at the Ghatazhak general. The man was only a decade older than Nathan’s true age, yet he had the wisdom of one three times his age. “How do you do it?” he asked. “How do you choose not to feel?”

  “I feel,” General Telles replied. “The same as any man. I simply choose how my feelings will affect my performance.”

  “How do you do that?” Nathan wondered.

  “By being aware of my feelings and the effect they have on me, both positive and negative.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nathan admitted.

  General Telles thought for a moment. “Emotions are a powerful force,” he explained. “They can give us incredible strength, and they can have a powerful effect on those around us. They can even be as infectious as the most virulent pathogen. In short, emotions can be as dangerous as any weapon. It’s all in how one chooses to use them.”

  “You still haven’t told me how,” Nathan pointed out.

  “I wish I could give you an easy explanation, Nathan,” the general replied. “The truth is, it takes considerable study and practice to do so. It is a never-ending process. It is like putting on additional clothing when you are cold or taking them off when you are warm. It is a constant adjustment.”

  “How do I get to your level of control?” Nathan begged.

  “Proper analysis and application of emotional control and channeling cannot be achieved without the full understanding of, at the very least, the fields of psychology and its underlying physiologies, as well as the neurosciences. One must understand the processes occurring within one’s own body and mind before one can begin to control one’s reaction to such things.”

  Nathan shook his head. “Do you always talk that way?”

  “To what way are you referring?”

  “So proper.”

  “I am merely attempting to communicate my thoughts to you in the most accurate fashion.”

  “Maybe you should study the art of conversation,” Nathan suggested.

  “I have,” the general assured him. “I am able to converse with you in a more informal manner if you desire.”

  “It’s fine,” Nathan said with a wave of his hand. “I’m probably just deflecting.”

  “I see,” the general replied. “I can recommend a course of study if you’d like. With your newly acquired mental capabilities, you may be able to considerably reduce the time required to master the necessary skills.”

  “How long did it take you?” Nathan wondered.

  “As I said, it is a never-ending process.”

  “And you’ve been at it for, what, twenty years?”

  “Thirty-two of your years, to be exact.”

  “You don’t look that old.”

  “Ghatazhak begin their training just before puberty,” the general explained.

  “So, you’ve been working on this emotional control thing since you were a teenager?”

  “It is one of the first things the Ghatazhak training addresses, at a time in a young man’s life when his emotions are the most unpredictable.”

  “Seems like a rough way to start out,” Nathan decided.

  “Perhaps that was the intent,” General Telles replied. “Control of one’s emotions is the basis of a Ghatazhak’s abilities. The didactic and physical training would not be possible without it.”

  After thinking a moment, Nathan asked, “Why did you decide to become a Ghatazhak?”

  “Because it was the greatest contribution a man could make to humanity.”

  Nathan looked puzzled. “No offense, General, but you guys were Caius’s goon squad. Your job was to create complete obedience through fear and intimidation.”

  “That metamorphosis occurred long after my training was completed and was mostly due to the Ybaran Legions,” General Telles explained.

  “Just how old are you?” Nathan wondered.

  “When Caius assumed the throne, his first act was to put the Ghatazhak into stasis until he could be certain of our loyalty. In our absence, he used Ghatazhak masters to train the Ybaran Legions. However, for expediency’s sake, he chose to eschew the emotional and didactic components of our training. Combined with the naturally aggressive nature of Ybaran society, the results were legions of fearsome, brutish soldiers as deadly as any traditionally trained Ghatazhak, but without the discipline and intelligence required to use that lethality properly.”

  “Is that why they started programming them to be loyal?” Nathan wondered.

  “Correct,” the general confirmed. “The empire quickly realized they were creating a force which could easily turn against them. The Ybarans, after all, had been marginalized and exploited by Takaran society for centuries. With the addition of the loyalty imprinting—what you call programming—he had the perfect shock troops. Brutal, deadly, and efficient warriors who actually enjoyed killing.”

  “So, how long were you in stasis?”

  “Seventy-four Takaran years,” the general replied. “Being far less mentally disciplined, the Ybarans were much more receptive to the loyalty imprinting. Eventually, the technology became advanced enough to overcome a true Ghatazhak’s training and mental conditioning, at which point Caius began using us, as well.”

  “Then, you served Caius for a while,” Nathan surmised.

  “I did,” the general admitted. “It is not something I am proud of, but I take solace in the fact that I had no free will of my own at the time.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply anything,” Nathan apologized.

  “As I said, I am at peace with it.”

  “Is that why your programming had to be refreshed periodically?” Nathan wondered.

  “Yes, despite the improvements in the imprinting technology, it was never able to fully overcome the Ghatazhak mental conditioning.”

  Nathan sat quietly for a moment. “What are you going to do?”

  “About?”

  “You’ve lost more than half your forces in the last six weeks,” Nathan reminded him.

  “No, I have lost more than half of my brothers,” the general corrected. “Those men are my family. I have trained and fought alongside them my entire adult life. I would die for them, and they for me. Every one of their deaths affects me the same as the loss of your sisters and father affects you. The only difference is that I don’t hide in my quarters and avoid my responsibilities. I mourn, but in my own way, and on my own time. Granted, there is very little of it available these days. But there will come a time when their losses will be appropriately felt. They would expect nothing less of me, and I shall not fail them by brooding in the dark. I shall honor them by continuing the fight, so they will not have died in vain.”

  Nathan chuckled. “You’re telling me to cowboy up again, aren’t you?”

  “I thought I was being subtle about it,” the general replied.

  “Not so much,” Nathan said. “You still haven’t answered my question, though.”

  “If I am to keep my men alive, we will have to take fewer risks,” General Telles lamented. “However, shying away from risk purely for the sake of survival is not the Ghatazhak way, and I doubt that a single one of my men would stand for it. As their leader, I, too, cannot stand for it.”

  “You once told me that humanity needs me and people like me,” Nathan said. “The same could be said about the Ghatazhak, and more rightfully so, I might add. If the Ghatazhak were intended to be a force to ensure the peace and stability of human civilization, then your survival is paramount to that goal, just as the Aurora is; just as I am.”

  “He who takes no risk,” General Telles said.

  “There are always ways to mitigate risk,” Nathan insisted. “I failed to do so during our last eng
agement.”

  “It was a bold and far-reaching plan,” General Telles agreed. “But it was a necessary risk.”

  “No, it was not.”

  “We needed to rescue the Corinari,” General Telles insisted. “We needed to show all those who support our cause, and all those who will someday support it, that we value their lives, and that we are willing to die to protect them.”

  “But we didn’t need to try to take the Teyentah, as well,” Nathan insisted. “Sabotaging her and blowing her up in port would have been sufficient and would not have cost us a good man.”

  “We lost many good men, Nathan,” General Telles insisted.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Captain Navarro took the mission of his own accord. He would have found a way to do so with or without our help.”

  “If we had been focused on the Darvano system instead of jumping around…”

  “The Corinari would be dead,” General Telles insisted, interrupting him. “The bulk of the Dusahn forces would have jumped to Corinair.”

  “Your men should have had an out,” Nathan said.

  “In a perfect world, yes,” General Telles agreed. “We do what we can with what we have.”

  “That’s the problem,” Nathan insisted. “I should have protected your men, first.”

  “My men do not expect to be protected from danger,” General Telles told him. “My men run toward danger. It is what we train for. It is how we wish to die…protecting others. There is no higher honor befitting a Ghatazhak.”

  “But you are down to a hundred men, Lucius,” Nathan exclaimed. “The Ghatazhak are on the verge of extinction, and we have neither the time nor the resources to train replacements.”

  General Telles paused a moment, taking a breath. “There is much we can still do to avoid extinction. Better intel, better mission prep, better mission selection. To be honest, from this point forward, this war is going to be more about hit-and-run tactics, precision strikes, and covert ops. It is time for the Ghatazhak to become that which they were intended to be. Small, elite teams who move quickly, kill with great efficiency, and then disappear before the enemy can respond in force.”

  “Agreed,” Nathan replied. “Where do we start?”

  General Telles glanced around Nathan’s quarters, a look of disapproval on his face. “Perhaps you should start by cleaning this place up a bit.”

  ***

  “You’re joking, right?” Doctor Sato looked at Nathan. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  “No, I’m not,” Nathan assured her.

  “Captain, I agreed to attempt to clone you… One man. Not one hundred men.”

  “One hundred and twenty-seven, to be exact,” Nathan corrected.

  “You’re not funny,” she warned. “Do you realize the resources that would be required for such an undertaking?” she added with a laugh.

  “The Ghatazhak cannot be easily replaced,” Nathan explained. “Their training takes decades. How can I risk losing such an invaluable resource?”

  “Isn’t death the ultimate cost of war?” Doctor Sato stated. “Isn’t that what makes war something to be avoided? Besides, I don’t think you realize what you’re asking of me,” Michi told him. “I left my world—my people—because I believed that your life was worth saving. Not the lives of a hundred men whose only purpose is to take life…”

  “I know…”

  “…I’m sure the Ghatazhak are very honorable, Captain, but human cloning is not something to be taken lightly. Our people turned to cloning to survive, not to be constantly reborn so they could cheat death and fight wars.”

  “I’m not asking for that,” Nathan explained.

  “That’s exactly what you’re asking,” Doctor Sato argued. “Knowing that one will not die makes one appreciate life less.”

  “It also enables one to spend countless lifetimes in the pursuit of worthwhile goals,” Nathan pointed out. “Be they in fields of science, art, philosophy, religion…or the defense of the weak and the innocent. Your cloning technology could ensure that the Ghatazhak would survive this war and be able to someday rebuild their ranks,” Nathan explained.

  “Captain, immortality through cloning carries great responsibility,” Doctor Sato warned. “In the hands of the wrong people, there is no telling how it might be perverted.”

  “I’m not asking you to make them immortal,” Nathan argued. “I’m only asking that you collect their genetic data and keep a backup of their consciousness and memories. That way, if they do not survive this war, at least a few of them might be revived later, so they could teach others to carry on their traditions.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing, Captain,” Michi reminded him. “Nifelmian cloning technology is not designed to work on non-Nifelmians.”

  “It worked on me,” Nathan argued.

  “Only after five years of experimentation and multiple host bodies,” she replied. “The success of which is still undecided, if you get my meaning.”

  “The point is, it worked, so there is hope that you can make it work again,” Nathan argued.

  Doctor Sato sighed. “Turi warned me this would happen,” she finally said. She looked at Nathan.

  “I’m not asking you to create a clone army, Doc. In fact, I’m not even asking you to create any clones. At least not yet.”

  “That’s good because we don’t have a single cloning vat, let alone a digital transfer system.”

  “But you have the schematics for one, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Then we can build one,” Nathan pointed out.

  “A DTS? Yes, but it will take time,” Doctor Sato warned.

  “I realize that.”

  “Manufacture, assembly, testing, retesting…”

  “I understand.”

  “And without Turi, it’s going to be a lot more difficult.”

  “Can’t Deliza help?” Nathan wondered.

  “Yes, but as brilliant as she is, she does not have Turi’s experience or expertise.” Doctor Sato looked at Nathan. “Captain, for this to work properly, I would have to create generations of clones in order to complete the genetic modifications necessary to guarantee successful consciousness transfers.”

  “How many generations?” Nathan wondered.

  “If done properly, at least sixteen cloning cycles.”

  “But you did mine in five, right?”

  “Yes, but I took a lot of shortcuts,” she confessed. “Many of which would not have been considered acceptable by my people. Besides, your brain structure was unique. It was closer to that of a modern-day Nifelmian’s than most non-Nifelmians.”

  “Maybe some of the Ghatazhak are, as well,” Nathan suggested.

  “I suppose that’s possible…” Doctor Sato admitted. “But even if they are, it will take decades to get through enough cloning cycles to guarantee an acceptable success rate.”

  “But you completed all of mine in five years,” Nathan said.

  “Shortcuts, remember?” she replied. “And that was for one host, not one hundred of them.”

  Nathan sighed, thinking a moment. “How long are you able to store the consciousness and memories of a person once they are scanned?”

  “With the proper equipment, a few years. After that, there is a risk of data loss, beginning with long-term memories. That’s why we chose to store your memories in your first clone, Connor, as sort of a backup.”

  “Is there any way to extend that limitation?” Nathan wondered.

  “Doctor Megel was working on that very problem during your first cloning cycle,” Doctor Sato admitted, “just in case your first clone did not accept the transfer properly, which was the case.”

  “Did he find a solution?” Nathan wond
ered.

  “He believed he did, but we never got a chance to test it. It involved algorithms meant to continuously monitor the stored patterns for changes, and then correct those changes based on data from backup sets. The idea was that each backup would buy additional time before data decay set in.”

  “How long would it take to build a transfer and storage system similar to the one we used to bring my consciousness from Nor-Patri?”

  “That’s the easy part,” Doctor Sato admitted. “Including testing, a couple weeks I suppose, assuming you have nano-scale replication facilities.”

  “We do,” Nathan assured her.

  “You must understand, Captain, there is no guarantee that any of this will work,” Doctor Sato warned. “To be honest, I’m surprised it worked as well as it did with you.”

  “Really?” Nathan said, surprised.

  “Really,” she replied. “I was certain it was going to fail. At the very least, I expected it to take a few decades to achieve any measure of success. As I said, though, your brain structure is unique.”

  “All I’m asking for is a chance,” Nathan said. “The Ghatazhak are prepared to die for this cause. But they don’t deserve to become extinct.”

  Doctor Sato sighed, looking at Nathan. “They’re a paramilitary organization, Captain, not a species.”

  “You once told me you believed that eventually, Nifelmian cloning technology would have to be shared with the rest of humanity. You said that once Pandora’s box was opened, there was no turning back. You also said you believed the Nifelmians’ refusal to develop the technology so it could be used safely on non-Nifelmians was foolish because it could help so many people.”

  “Yes, I did,” Doctor Sato admitted. “But I can be a foolish idealist at times.”

  “Perhaps this is the beginning,” Nathan suggested.

  “The beginning of what?” she wondered. “That’s the question.”

  “I’m only asking that you give the Ghatazhak a chance,” Nathan begged. “You thought I deserved a second chance for my sacrifice. Don’t you think the Ghatazhak deserve a second chance for theirs?”