Son of Justice Read online

  After more than ten years by his side, Sha’n had become one of the most important and trusted individuals in Grant’s life. She wasn’t just an aide or an advisor; she was one of a small handful of his true friends.

  Good morning, Sha’n, he greeted his aide.

  Good morning, Commander Justice.

  While the Waa could speak normally, mind-speak was infinitely easier, and the advantages over verbal communication were significant. Mind-speak was like communicating in 3-D. It permitted the full use all of one’s senses. Complete thoughts, feelings, smells, and sights—among other things—could all be relayed during a conversation. For example, Grant’s simple greeting to Sha’n had informed her of his mood and relayed his pleasure at seeing her enter his office. It was a far superior method of communication to simple verbal-speak, which was limited by each individual’s vocabulary and ability to express themselves through words and body language. Grant often wished he could use mind-speak with other humans. It would make things so much easier. But humans, while capable of interacting with the Waa on a mental plane, weren’t built for communicating with one another on that basis.

  Of course, it was possible for the Waa to act as “mental interpreters” between humans, which could enormously improve human interactions, but there were two problems with that scenario. The first was simple logistics and availability. The Waa were the premier builders and thinkers of the Alliance. Their skills would be poorly spent acting as simple interpreters between humans.

  The second problem was the more important, however. Their ability was one of the most closely held secrets of the Shiale Alliance. Other than Grant, only two other humans and the Telgorans knew what the “little green men” could do. The Telgorans kept to themselves, they detested the Minith and rarely interacted with humans. Even if Grant hadn’t received their agreement to keep the information secret, he had little fear they would ever disclose it. It didn’t serve the Alliance for the knowledge to become more wide-spread. The Waa were incapable of reading the minds of the Minith, the most aggressive, warlike contingent of the alliance. Grant trusted his large, green allies—somewhat—but he didn’t feel a responsibility to disclose information the Minith could potentially use against them. Also, and more importantly, if the Zrthns learned of the Waa’s ability, the not-so-small advantage the Alliance held in their fight to keep the foreigners at bay might disappear.

  You are concerned about the upcoming negotiations. And about things on Telgora.

  Grant mentally kicked himself. He hadn’t meant for either piece of information to slip out. Sha’n had been working with him on methods for preventing the Waa to peek into his mind. He was getting very adept at cloaking his inner thoughts, but he had to concentrate in order for it to be effective. He had nothing to hide from Sha’n, but immediately began the cloaking techniques she had taught him. He felt confident that with more practice he could train himself to shield all of his waking thoughts without significant effort.

  He pushed the Zrthn threat to the back of his mind and focused on the situation on Telgora.

  Yes. Any word from our sources there? Grant asked.

  We received the weekly update. Eli is doing well in his training.

  Excellent. His identity?

  Still hidden from all parties. No one knows he’s your son.

  Grant nodded and turned back to the window. He heard the door close behind him, signaling Sha’n’s departure. She came and went as the need, or his mood, dictated.

  Despite the attempt to hide his feelings, he knew she had picked up on his worry. It hadn’t been his choice to send his only son into the hell of Telgora. It certainly hadn’t been his idea to send the boy—even as an eighteen year old, Grant still considered him his boy—into military training as an ordinary foot soldier. Eli had grown up in an environment that groomed him to be a soldier. He could have easily qualified as an officer based on the standard qualification tests had he wanted. He was proficient in virtually every aspect of military life, Grant had personally overseen his training since he was seven. But Eli was his own man, and had refused what he considered “the easy way.” He wanted to enter the military the way a common soldier did.

  Despite his worry as a father, he was proud of his son for his choices. Few of the most important things in life were ever gained by taking the easy path. Hard work, commitment, and sacrifice led to success.

  Yes, Grant was very proud indeed, and how could he not be? After all, it’s what he would have done.

  Chapter 2

  With a groan of effort, Eli slipped the overstuffed pack from his shoulders and dropped it to the barracks floor. The nondescript, cement block building where they were housed wasn’t home, but it was the only place where he and his fellow recruits could unwind out of sight and mind of their Minith task masters. As such, it was a welcome sight whenever they came in from a long day of training. The room where he bunked was painted a light green and housed twenty soldiers—men and women mixed. Each trooper was assigned a standard bunk and a storage closet for their equipment. A large, communal latrine was just down the hall, and served five of these twenty-person rooms.

  He stared at the name “Jayson” stenciled on the top of the pack for just a moment. It felt strange to use a last name that wasn’t his own . . . but also good in a way. All of his life, he’d been known and treated as the son of the most important—and most famous—human in the entire Shiale Alliance. Here, he was his own person, and the anonymity the alias provided was as frightening as it was liberating. He was intensely proud of his father and of the family name, but for the first time in his eighteen years, he would succeed or fail on his own merit, without the influence, prejudice, or stigma that came with the name “Justice.”

  He carefully leaned his weapon against the pack, then executed a flawless, rolling flop onto his bunk. The relief of being off his feet for the first time in over twenty-four hours swallowed him whole.

  Around him, the sounds of platoon-mates collapsing into their own bunks filtered through his fatigue. The wrinkles and lumps caused by his flop would need straightening soon—everyone’s bunk would need to be perfect for evening inspection—but for now, he soaked in the pleasure of the not-so-soft mattress. Although there were only humans assigned to his training unit, the bunk was oversized, built to accommodate any recruit—human, Minith, or Telgoran. Eli’s slender frame fit easily into the bed, with plenty of room to spare.

  “Ah, crud,” he heard Private Gale Benson mutter as he approached. His feet scuffed across the floor in that exhausted, shuffle-walk manner that had become so familiar. It also meant they would need to buff out the minute scratches that Benson was leaving in his wake. Another wonderful chore. “How the flock am I gonna make it up there?”

  Eli buried his smile in his pillow and grunted a noncommittal response. On the first day of training, Benson had demanded that they switch bunks. Ignoring the hint of violence that had accompanied the demand, Eli had agreed at once. Giving up the top bunk he had been assigned for the bottom bunk Benson had been issued was a no-brainer. Not only were the bunks larger in order to accommodate the size of the average Minith soldier, the top bunk was also considerably higher than a standard human bunk for the same reason. Unfortunately for Benson, he hadn’t had the foresight to consider the energy needed to climb to the top every night.

  Exhaustion threatened to drag Eli into sleep, but he fought the temptation. He waited until Benson finally reached the summit, then turned over and stared at the bottom of the other man’s bed. He went through a five-minute routine of horizontal stretching exercises, then slowly coaxed his aching body into a seated position and lowered his still-booted feet to the floor.

  “What’re you doing?” The question drifted down from the top bunk. Benson sounded completely spent from the recent march.

  “Gotta get these boots off, man,” Eli replied.

  “Ah, hell. Should I even ask why? We gotta be outside again in an hour anyway.”

  “That’s
the reason. Do you want to head out on another march without taking care of your feet?”

  “Crud, EJ! You waited until I got up here to tell me that, didn’t you?”

  Eli grinned and began unlacing the orange-tinted boots. Benson had taken to calling him by his initials weeks ago, and to Eli’s surprise, he kind of enjoyed it. He had never had a nickname, and EJ was as good as any. He sighed when he kicked off his first boot, groaned in pleasure when the second one came off. The relief was immediate, but temporary. Both boots would be put back on shortly.

  “Nah. Too tired to think of it before now. That’s all.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Save it for the Minith. You just like to see me suffer, admit it.”

  “S’what you get for talking me out of the top bunk on day one,” Eli chided.

  “Yeah, and you refused to trade back on day two. But the offer still stands.”

  “I’m good, but thanks. Still . . . you need to wash your feet and put on fresh socks before evening formation.”

  “Crud.”

  Despite their early, rocky start, the two men had come to like each other. Eli enjoyed the other man’s humor and his ability to do whatever was needed to survive the torture their Minith trainers put them through. He also knew the other man had come to rely on his experience and guidance. As their training progressed, more and more of the individuals in their unit dropped out, casualties of the stress and conditions to which they were subjected. Interestingly, whatever they were required to do, Eli always seemed to come out near the front of the pack. He wasn’t always the best, but he was never far behind the leader. Benson had quickly taken note.

  Others had taken note as well.

  As Eli limped across the barracks floor to the latrine, he saw several heads turn in his direction and take note of his actions. As he was leaving the washroom, his feet now clean, most of his unit—Benson included—passed him going in the opposite direction.

  * * *

  An hour later, the fifty-four men and women that remained in their training platoon stood silently in rank and file. The hot, Telgoran wind whipped viciously through their battered ranks, causing several of the soldiers to sway or stagger against the invisible assault. The hard-packed ground they occupied was kept clean by the wind, but rogue grains of sand and grit were regularly found by the invisible cyclone and cast angrily against an unprotected hand or face. Random yelps or flinches from his peers punctuated each occurrence, and gave notice that it was just a matter of time before another of the tiny missiles found a target. The anxious wait for the next surprising sting was worse than the sting itself, Eli thought, and he took a deep breath of hot air and forced his tense muscles to relax as best they could. This experience was temporary and wouldn’t last forever, he reminded himself. A sudden bite of pain to his left cheek reminded him that the experience, though temporary, had to be endured just the same.

  The two sister platoons in their training company stood to the left and right of Eli’s platoon. Neither of the other platoons held more than fifty recruits each, Eli noticed. The forced march that weeded out five of his platoon-mates had taken a much heavier toll on the other two units. A quick peek showed the boots of all but a few in the other platoons were still covered in dust and sand. Few of them had bothered to treat their feet during their short break. A whisper of concern tickled the back of Eli’s neck at the oversight. It also resurrected the still-lingering question of why the Minith sergeants didn’t look out for them? Weren’t they invested in the health and well-being of their charges? Along those same lines, he wondered what had kept him from looking after his peers. It wasn’t his job to look after everyone, but if he could help, why not? He had been training to be a soldier for years, he knew things that those around him obviously didn’t. It made no sense to keep that knowledge to himself. With an internal nod, he made a decision to step up and fill in the gaps where he could. Maybe their instructors couldn’t be bothered, but he had no such qualms.

  The assembled humans immediately snapped to attention as three Minith instructors exited the building to their front. The aliens were outfitted in the same dirty-copper colored uniform as Eli and his peers, but that’s where the resemblance ended. The giant warriors had greenish skin, stood in excess of eight feet, and weighed more than three hundred pounds. Their simian appearance was offset by large, batlike ears. Those ears were the reason they didn’t wear the black beret that the humans sported. It was safe to say, the Minith were intimidating and Eli had noted early on that the instructors leveraged their physical appearance to push, taunt, and torture their human charges.

  Each was a sergeant in the Alliance Defense Force and all had several years of military experience. At least one of them had seen battle against humans on Earth, Eli had learned a week earlier. His instructor, Sergeant Twigg, had dropped that nugget of information during a class on hand-to-hand combat. The way his eyes had searched the recruits surrounding him seemed full of menace, as if he was daring one of his human charges to make a comment or offer an affront to his honor. No one had accepted the unspoken challenge. It was likely the other two sergeants had similar battle experience.

  The three huddled in front of the assembled platoons and openly ignored the humans. Although Defense Force regulations required that all military personnel speak Earth Standard language whenever a second race was present, the three Minith sergeants set that rule aside in favor of their native tongue. It was apparent the Minith did not anticipate any of the humans could speak their language.

  Interesting, Eli thought as he strained to hear what they were saying.

  “Stupid monkeys,” the soldier next to him muttered. A quick glance showed the soldier to be Private Jerrone, an orphan from Earth. “They’re supposed to speak Standard.”

  “Shhhh,” Eli whispered. “I’m trying to hear.” The comment prompted a gasp and a sideways look from the other recruit. Apparently, he hadn’t expected any of his peers to speak Minith, either.

  “. . . only five were lost?” Eli heard the Minith sergeant for First Platoon, Sergeant Brek, ask.

  “That’s unacceptable,” Sergeant Krrp, the sergeant for Third Platoon replied. “We can’t let that many of these sheep pass.”

  Sergeant Twigg’s ears twitched, and the look that crossed his face showed that he agreed with his fellow instructors. “What do you propose?”

  “Another march?”

  “Humpf! I’d agree, but what if the humans sitting in power hear of it? It could undo years of work,” Brek offered. “So what if we put an additional twenty humans in the ranks? It’s not as if they could harm us or change our plans.”

  The three looked over the assembled humans once again. Eli, who had spent most of his childhood with Minith friends, and being tutored by Minith warriors, recognized the look of contempt on the faces of the three trainers. By nature, Minith were contemptuous creatures, so seeing the expression was no surprise. However, observing a Minith openly express contempt toward a human was a new experience for Eli. He wondered what it meant.

  “Let’s put them through another ten kilometers,” Sergeant Twigg announced. He waved a large, greenish hand at the humans assembled behind him. “They look ready to drop, and that should be enough to weed most of them out.”

  “And if we get questioned by the masters?”

  “We’ll explain it away, of course. Just a standard training exercise.” It was apparent that Twigg was senior, and the other two nodded at the decision. “And stop calling them ‘masters.’ They’re sheep, just like the pitiful creatures behind us.”

  “Very well. Shall we feed them first?”

  “Yes,” Twigg replied. “They’ll be emptying their stomachs on the side of the road within the first kilometer.”

  A cloud of anger passed through Eli’s being. He didn’t know what their motivations were, but it was apparent they were no longer bound by the Minith culture principle that dictated their subservience to the humans who had defeated them. Eli wondered if all Minith felt the sa
me or if this new behavior was limited to a small group. Regardless, it was suddenly apparent why these three were blatantly ignoring their responsibilities as training sergeants. They wanted the humans who had been placed under their tutelage to fail.

  Chapter 3

  They were released with instructions to eat quickly and be back in formation in thirty minutes.

  “You’ve all put in a good day of work,” Sergeant Twigg announced before releasing Second Platoon for the evening meal. Typically, a comment of that nature could be accurately interpreted as confirmation the worn-out recruits would soon be done for the day. In this instance, though, Eli knew that wasn’t the case. The Minith sergeants were setting them up for failure.

  As the recruits fell out of formation and began moving toward the mess hall, Eli debated quickly on what action he should take. Until now, he had managed to stay under the radar of the instructors. And while his platoon-mates may have recognized some of his actions as potentially noteworthy, he had resisted taking steps that would designate him as a leader to the training cadre or the other platoons. Basically, he’d kept his head down, his mouth shut, and done his own thing.

  But now . . . now, he felt he had to take some sort of action—warn his platoon and the others of what was coming. Having made up his mind, he scanned the crowd and found the person he wanted.