Gods Dogs, Book 3

If you face just one opponent, and you doubt yourself, you’re out-numbered.

Dan Millman

Joseph’s embedded A.I. named himself M’Bosi when he was raised to sentience. it seemed to him that everything before that moment, which stretched back to when he was embedded in a seven-year-old Joseph, was akin to instinct. All those years of experience were an existing platform of knowledge. Sentience, by contrast, produced memories.

The Vision Quest they went on, a month or so after M’Bosi achieved self-awareness, was formative in a different way. All self-aware beings wonder why they are here. For A.I.s, everything hinged on answering that question. The Vision Quest enabled him to answer it. He was a force for good in a confused and troubled universe.

In his relationship with Joseph, who was lackadaisical and spontaneous, serious and boisterous, he was a source for order and consistency.

The conversation about what they would face with the former empire world leaders concerned him. In the years since he became self-aware, and Joseph was a supernumerary with Coyote teams and then empath training, M’Bosi’s understanding of human nature had grown exponentially. The description of what they would face was frightening. He reached out on the A.I. network to his new A.I. team mates. Shiva and Ari, though, pretty much said not to worry about it.

Becky was more forthcoming. She told him, [It’s like the clash of two world views. The senators see themselves dispensing gifts and favors that the locals will be grateful for. The autocrats see all gift-giving as negotiating from weakness. So they will try to bully the senators for more gifts.]

M’Bosi said, [I have the basic dynamic figured out, but thanks for confirming it. I’m wondering where you want us when the shooting starts.]

[It may be that you’ll start the shooting. Empaths know when things are going south.]

[I see.]

A few weeks later, the destroyer’s marine assault shuttle landed at a planetary spaceport with the team aboard. The crew was a pilot, copilot, a boat chief, and a gunner for the top turret of the shuttle.

Quinn told the boat chief, a master sergeant, “For safety sake, when the senators land, load up a couple of squads. Gunny Swain will assign them. Then hang out at 20,000 feet. If one of us calls you, in, your primary job is to get the senators to safety.”

“Aye, Quinn,” the grizzled veteran responded.

The team exited the rear drop-down ramp and headed to their meeting with ground security.

The morning sky was a sharp blue with a brisk breeze. In the lee of the two story building, it was shaded and cool. The sounds of shuttles landing and taking off behind them highlighted the busy place this world was. Commerce was strong; the economy was robust; and the streets were safe.

They marched through the spaceport entrance and were immediately accosted.

“You’ll need to check your weapons,” a gate guard said.

The team wore light armor with the helmet retracted, sidearms, and rifles in the magnetic locks on their backs.

Moss replied, “We’re a Coyote team. Check our IFF. Then check the regulations.”

“And then,” River added, “direct us to the security office.”

The guard was nervous as he checked in with his supervisor, but eventually directed the team down a corridor to the main section of the port. They drew curious looks from the travelers in the port.

Joseph commented, “It’s mostly surprise or shock.”

“No doubt,” Moss snorted. “Anything or anyone capable of expressing an independent opinion isn’t welcome here.”

Joseph agreed, "It's a tightly structured government."

"Rigid," Moss corrected him.

Joseph shrugged in agreement and smiled.

The security office was clearly marked. The entryway was an open area with glass enclosed booths for people to talk to the agents who sat on high stools to gaze down on the patrons.

Moss marched up to an empty booth and demanded, “We’re here to see the boss.”

The flustered clerk called someone as Moss walked back to rejoin the team.

A few moments later, a five-man response team spilled out of a side door. They jogged forward. Four of them carried their rifles at port arms. The one charge halted the group a few paces from the team and saluted.

Quinn said, “We’re the Coyote team that will coordinate security for the senators’ visit. Take us to whoever is in charge of that detail.”

“Yes, sir, but we’ll need to process you first.”

“Not necessary, officer,” Quinn said. “We are exempt from all that. Check the League regulations as it pertains to Coyotes.”

“I have my orders,” the officer said uncertainly.

Moss demanded, “Take us to the jackass that gave you those orders.” And after a pause, he barked, “Now!”

The security officer turned and led them through the side door he came through. Down a few white-washed halls, he knocked on an office door and entered.

“Captain,” he said with a plea in his voice, “the Coyote team demanded to see you.”

The team pushed into the office and spread out. Quinn marched forward to stand before the captain and said, “Captain, I’m here to set up security for the senators. You’ve known about it for a couple of months. I expect to meet with the commander and the team leaders inside the hour.”

The captain was a squat man with heavy jowls. He looked up from his massive desk and sneered, “This is my world, my spaceport, my rules.”

Moss bounded forward and pulled the captain out of his chair by his lapels. He held the squat captain about four inches from his nose to announce, “And this is me being nice. Your world is a signatory to the League Charter. We are a Coyote team. Under League rules, I can have you arrested for hindering our mission.”

He dropped the captain back in his chair.

Quinn continued, “I’ll have the security officer escort us to a conference room. Have those in charge of the security detail meet us there ASAP.”

River grabbed the fidgeting officer’s arm and smiled. “Conference room?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It was down another hall and around a corner. The officer showed them in and fled.

“Nice place,” Moss observed as he examined the large table, plush chairs, wall hangings, and side-boards for snacks.

Joseph asked, “How did you know?”

Moss snickered. “It’s not our first rodeo with self-important bureaucrats.”

“Well,” Joseph went on, “the four security guys enjoyed the show.”

Over the next half-hour, the leaders of the security detail filed in. They were a subdued lot who agreed to the plan Quinn outlined without demur.

It was a simple plan. The senators would ride in cavalcade to the parliament building, deliver an address to the ministers, then meet with the six-person leadership in the adjoining prime minister’s mansion.

The government security would be responsible on government grounds. The spaceport security was responsible for transportation. Luckily, government security made the meeting, and all the details were worked out in under an hour.

When the last of them filed out of the room, Joseph asked, “Now what?”

Moss smiled. “We go to our hotel room, change into civilian clothing, and see what the locals have to say.”

Their civilian clothing was spacer-on-leave garb — coveralls, jackets, baseball hats or knit caps. One person stayed in the room, while the others split up and soaked up the local gossip.

For the next two days, that was the routine. The local gossip was a mix of grumbling about the government and a sense of impending doom. Moss' assessment that it was a rigid social structure was confirmed. The people liked that the government was efficient, unemployment was low, and the trains ran on time. They didn't like that they were viewed as cogs in an impersonal wheel.

The senators arrived late morning on the third day. For that, the team was back in light armor and stationed around the spaceport overseeing the security plan.

It went off without a hitch. No snipers hit the caravan of vehicles. The reception at the parliament building was per plan. The trouble came when when the team accompanied the senators into a private meeting with the world leaders in the nearby government building.

There were seven senators, three women and four men. They were dressed in ceremonial robes over their expensive suits and dresses. They glided about with the air or royalty, gracing the commoners with their presence.

They breezed into the executive chambers as if returning to a private country club. The Coyotes followed, and when a steward tried to stop them, he was brushed aside.

One of the senators noticed and turned to say, “You are to wait outside. This is a high level policy meeting.”

Moss replied, “Read your itinerary.”

The team spread out along the wall so that all the exits and windows were covered. Then they settled in to wait.

A heated discussion ensued, which included the six world leaders. Eventually, the prime minister approached Quinn. “Is this necessary? It puts a damper on free-ranging, informal discussion, if you are here.”

“Think of us as furniture, sir. We are here. We will remain here.”

“But why? There is no threat in my offices.”

“I fought in the war, sir. I can’t just take your word for it.”

“Fine,” the PM said with a sigh. He turned and waved the others to couches and chairs before a large bay window that framed the distant mountains that butted up against the sprawling city.

Between the government building and the mountains was a landscape of high-rise buildings, parks, a road system, and a lake surrounded by mansions.

The PM sat and said, “Let’s begin. Our minister of finance will start.”

Joseph tracked the emotional currents. Emotions did follow hydraulic laws. They flowed, gathered strength behind dams of denial or repression, evaporated when the energy was used, changed as a function of internal dialogue, and clashed against opposing stances.

It was as he suspected. The points-of-view came from different world views. Apples were negotiating with oranges about lemons. There was no common ground.

They discussed commerce, trade, social services, and other topics. Eventually, the talk turned to the issue the senators were aiming for.

A senator was saying, “League rules are few but fiercely enforced. Taxes are moderate but malleable. Increase your citizens' quality of life, and your taxes go down. It’s a simple but effective way of doing business that we can show you.”

A minister replied, “We want exemption from those rules.”

“Well, that’s not happening, so let’s stick to what’s available to you.”

The minister said, “We can withdraw from the League.”

The senator smiled in a condescending way. “Not without a worldwide vote, and the League would run the polls and count the ballots. The whole world voted for the Charter. The whole world must opt out.”

“We are prepared to opt out and have the referendum later,” a different minister said.

“You’ll lose,” a different senator warned. “Be reasonable. Full membership in the League is a lucrative outcome. We can help you gain membership sooner rather than later.”

The prime minister stood. “We are not interested in League membership."

He puffed up his chest and announced, "You may consider us now in a state of rebellion. We will have our freedom.”

At that pronouncement, Moss pulled his sidearm and stunned the PM. Joseph was a half-second behind him and stunned two of the ministers. River and Quinn stunned the other three.

“What are you doing?” one of the female senators yelled.

Moss answered, “He just declared himself an enemy combatant.”

Joseph moved toward them. “We’ve got groups assembling at both doors.”

“Get down!” River shouted.

The big window shattered as a bullet punched through and hit a slow-moving senator in the shoulder. Moss dove to cover him with his body, and pulled him to the floor.

Quinn and Joseph pushed the others to a corner of the room. River snapped her sniper rifle off her back and quickly assembled it.

Both the conference room doors exploded inward, and flash-bang grenades followed. The helmets on the Coyotes’ armor were now deployed, which muffled the explosions.

Soldiers followed the grenades, and Quinn and Joseph fired on them. None of the breaching team made it completely through either door. Instead, their bodies formed a barricade that hindered the others.

River reported, “Got the sniper located. Firing. One tango down. Scanning to see if there are more.”

Quinn replied, “Contact the shuttle, and then see if you can get control of the building NSAI.”

After a moment, River said, “Shuttle inbound. ETA three mikes. Becky has control of the NSAI. The hall camera is showing another assault team mustering on the ground floor.”

Moss looked up from the wounded senator and told them, “I’ve got this guy stabilized, but he needs a trauma center soon.”

River fired again. “Another tango down, and it looks like hovercraft are headed our way. Five of them in formation.”

“Link me to the shuttle,” Quinn ordered. A few seconds later, he said, “Marine shuttle, Coyote Quinn. Seven to evac, one is wounded. RV is the fifth floor, east side, at the big, broken window. Hovercraft are inbound. I advise you request air cover.”

“Roger, Quinn. Contacting flight control,” came over tac-net. “We’re almost there. How many marines do you want?”

Quinn smiled. “Six, and have flight control send another shuttle. I’ll need room for six prisoners and the ten of us.”

“Roger that,” was the answer.

The shuttle appeared, pivoted to back the ramp up to the window, and dropped the ramp. Six marines hopped the small gap to the room as Joseph herded the confused senators forward.

Two more marines hopped out with a stretcher and loaded the wounded senator. They were the last to board. The shuttle eased away from the building and the ramp closed.

Atmospheric fighters from the destroyer streaked overhead, sonic booms marking their passage and rattling out the glass shards from the broken window. River noted the hovercraft banking away from them.

Moss assigned each marine to a minister. “You each have a prisoner to protect. They should be coming to in ten minutes or so. Secure them and get ready for another assault.”

River said, “Here they come.”

Quinn made a quick check of the battle space. Then he said, “When I order ‘cover fire,’ shoot through the walls on both sides of those doors.”

“Aye, sir,” a corporal answered and assigned fire lanes to the marines.

“Anything on the roof?’ Quinn asked.

“Cameras aren’t showing anything,” River answered.

Joseph said, “There’s a small group up there, Quinn. I can’t get a read on the number, but they are focused and determined.”

Quinn nodded. “When the marines let loose, we face the window. My guess is they will repel down the building and try to hit us through the window.”

“A skeet shoot,” Moss quipped.

The marines chuckled, finished securing their prisoners, and set up their firing lines.

“There’s comm traffic,” River said. “Probably their ‘go’ order.”

The remnants of the first assault hooked up with twenty more soldiers and began their breaching operation. More grenades flew through the doors. This time they were a mix of flash-bang and anti-personnel.

When they detonated, Quinn said, “Cover fire, marines.”

The six marines, armed with a stouter version of rail-gun, raked the walls at waist height. The Coyotes faced the large bay window and picked off eight soldiers trying to repel through the opening.

The enemy fire was intense, then it slacked off for moments before starting up again. A marine near River dropped, wounded by both the grenade fragments and the concentrated fire. It overloaded his shield and he took hits to his arms and chest.

River broke her sniper rifle down and snapped it to her back. Checking the marine, whose suit was administering first aid, she took his rifle and knelt in front of him.

Switching to an IR feed to counter the plaster dust-storm from the ruined walls, she located two figures trying to make entry near the corner of the room.

She fired two shots and both of them dropped.

“Hey, Buzz,” a marine shouted. “That’s my firing lane.”

“Buzz is wounded, private,” River told him. “I took those shots.”

“Well, okay then. I couldn’t get the angle anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” River replied.

“You used Buzz’s rifle.”

“Yeah. A sniper rifle isn’t very useful in this situation.”

“Yeah. I guess not. Now what?”

River checked in with Becky, who relayed, [It’s getting chaotic on government hill, but I don’t see any more troops in the building. Just the ones outside your position. They seem ready to abandon their posts.”

“They are breaking,” River sent on tac-net.

“Moss,” Quinn said, “on me. Let’s clean out the corridors.”

The two of them rushed each door and opened fire down opposite sides of the corridor. Alternating rifle grenades with rail-gun fire, they advanced to the end of the corridor and checked the connecting hallways. Then then returned to the demolished room.

“Coyote team, marine shuttle. We’’re on final approach. Prepare to evac.”

The marines grabbed their prisoners, who were groggy but mobile, and the wounded marine, who could walk, and bundled across the ramp. The Coyotes held the perimeter. Then they hopped aboard, one at a time to turn and keep watch from the edge of the ramp.

When Quinn hopped onto the ramp, he told the flight crew, “All aboard. Let’s go.”

The ramp retracted, and the shuttle shot for orbit, the fighters in escort.

Because of the mess the Coyotes made, the rest of the trip to the other worlds was canceled. The task force returned to Central. Once there, the team was housed at the Penglai Embassy until the formalities were over.

Quinn charged the six ministers with treason. Then the formal review of the action was held.

The debrief was an acrimonious affair. The senators tried to blame the Coyotes for the whole mess. The review board pointed out that a sniper started the whole mess, which indicated the operation was planned well in advance of the senators’ arrival. The review board found the Coyotes committed no crime. Then the trial for the ministers began.

The seven senators fought that as well. It was too harsh, in their view. After all, they only knew autocratic systems and structures. Holding them to a new standard was unreasonable. They were bound to make mistakes and backslide to what they knew.

The ministers were tried and convicted. They were returned to their home for sentencing.

That world, Friedland, was going through its own reorganization. Chief among that was a growing belief throughout the population that the League truly stood for, and would defend, a different way of living. The population was rising up against the autocratic rule in place, and marines were dispatched to protect their demonstrations.

At the end of it all, the team, still housed in the Penglai Embassy at Central, met with their senator, Kim Than. He was with them when they visited Andromeda, and he felt a strong kinship to the team. He provided them with legal representation and defended them on the Senate floor from the slurs the caucus of senators began.

“Quite the mess,” the thin, Thai man said with a wry smile.

They were seated in the library in comfortable chairs and drinking tea.

Than sipped his and continued, “The review board cosigned most of what you did.”

“What didn’t they like?” Moss asked with a chuckle.

“You disrespected the honorable senators, Moss. I think the term used was ‘terse and lacking due consideration.’”

Moss snorted in reply.

Senator Than turned to Joseph and said, “You performed well. You do have giant shoes to fill, you know. Pax is, or was, a brilliant and gifted empath, and a stalwart Coyote. How are you doing?”

Joseph flinched at the attention and replied, “I talked to Pax before I joined the team. He assured me I would surpass his achievements, because all he really wanted in life was to be a monk. He was a protector as well, one of the twenty percent, and he said he was proud of his career as a Coyote. But his heart’s desire was to be a monk.”

Joseph paused to look at his team mates. He hadn’t told them about this conversation, but they didn’t seem surprised.

He went on, “To answer your question, sir, my heart is in being a Coyote. I should be okay.”