The Hipno Chronicles:
Ghosts of Liandris
Chapter 1:
A New Hope
1950 HOURS, JUNE 14, 2485 (IMPERIAL CALENDAR) \
ABOARD LNC POINT VELOCITY, LOCATION CLASSIFIED
Kikoji woke up in bed, an osmotic IV in his arm, and nearby monitors displaying his vital signs, blood composition, and brain-oxygen saturation levels.
He surmised he was in a hospital, although there was no call button, and no obvious door. There was also a camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling. Kikoji felt the familiar subsonic thrum around him, and he relaxed. He was on a spaceship. Although he preferred boot-on-dirt, anywhere was better than hard vacuum.
He lowered the bed's railing, and swung his legs over the edge. Pain lanced up his side. Cracked ribs--he'd had them many times. He sat for a moment, then went and examined himself in a mirror. He was intact--but how long had he been unconscious?
The wall slid apart and a white-furred fox strode in. Curiously, he wore an Army uniform, pinned with the eagle insignia of a colonel. His dark eyes fixed upon Kikoji.
"Sir!" Kikoji started to stand and salute.
"At ease, soldier." the Colonel said.
Kikoji checked his motion. He opened his mouth to correct the Colonel's error, but fell silent. Naval NCO's were never called "soldiers," but in Kikoji's experience, officers, LEGION or otherwise, never appreciated correction unless lives were at stake.
The Colonel's continuous stare made Kikoji uneasy. In fact, several things contributed to his nervousness. He was on an LEGION ship, recieving medical care, but how had he gotten here, and why was an Army colonel interested in him?
"I am Joshua Ackerson," the Colonel said. He then did a curious thing: he held out his hand to shake.
This was a rare ocurrence. Usually no one wanted to touch a Hipno, for fear of the possible ramifications, let alone shake their hand.
Kikoji took Ackerson's hand and gingerly squeezed it. (A/N: His enhanced strength means he has to be careful doing things everyone else does normally.)
Ackerson. Kikoji knew that name. There had been conversations between Dr. Layman and SCPO. Raveist. Ackerson had come up a dozen times, and from their inflection and body language Kikoji had surmised he was not their friend.
Kikoji was aware that everyone in the LEGION and Team Hipno had the same basic goal: protecting Keidrian and Basitin from all threats. Not everyone, however, agreed on how that mandate should be executed...which led to internal conflict. He understood this the way he understood basic precepts of a Stien-Fujita Translight engine. He grasped the underlying theoretical principles, but the nuances and the actual application of that knowledge remained a mystery to him.
Most likely this colonel was on permanent loan to the LEGION as a liasion officer. They often recruited civilians, officers from other branches of the military, or anyone they needed to get their job done.
An Army colonel was approximately the same rank as a Navy captain, so while Kikoji was wary, he had to be polite, and even take orders from Ackerson as long as they did not conflict with previous orders.
"If you are well enough, get dressed." Colonel Ackerson nodded to the night table, on which were Kikoji's civilian clothes, neatly folded.
Kikoji stood, removed the osmotic IV patch, and dressed.
"HIPNO-000, what is your name?" Ackerson asked.
"Kikoji, sir."
"Yes, but Kikoji what? What is your family name?"
"Mantadurru."
"Thank you." the Colonel said. "For the time being, if asked, use the last name...Jacobson"
"Yes, sir."
Kikoji buttoned his shirt. The uniform was missing the Hipno patch of a starburst eminating from a Sol rune. It instead had the clasping-paw patch of the Kiedrian Logistical Corps. It bore the single pip of a PFC and two combat ribbions for the Chambias Conflict and Operation GUILLOTINE.
"Follow me." Ackerson moved out the open doors into a narrow corridor. He led Kikoji through three intersections.
Many Naval officers passed them, but none saluted. They kept to themselves for the most part, eyes down. And while a few nodded at Kikoji, no one so much as glanced at Ackerson. Kikoji's unease at this odd situation grew palpable.
They halted at a pressure door guarded by two Keidrian wolves, both of whom saluted. Kikoji crisply returned their salute. Ackerson gave them a casual half-salute gesture.
The colonel set his hand on a biometric reader and face, retina, and palm were simultaneously scanned.
With a hiss, the door opened.
Kikoji and Ackerson stepped into a dimly lit twenty-meter wide room filled wall to wall with monitors. Spectroscopic signatures, star charts, and hyperspace pulses strobed across the screens. There were several officers and two holographic AI's consulting with them in whispered tones.
One was a gray-robed figure without a body. A wraith.
The other was a collection of disembodied eyes, mouths, and gesturing hands--what Kikoji vaguely recalled from one of Deja's art lessons as an example of cubist art.
Ackerson whisked him across the room and to another door. A second biometric scan and they entered an elevator.
There was downward motion, then a moment of zero-gee free fall, and the sensation of gravity then returned. The doors opened to a catwalk that extended over inky darkness to a blank wall.
The Colonel approached the blank wall, a seam appeared, and then the two sections pulled apart.
"This room is called 'Thor's Eye' by the junior staff," Ackerson said. "You have been temporarily granted a code-word, top-secret clearance to enter. Whatever is said inside is similarly classified and you will reveal none of our conversation unless the proper code words are provided. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." Kikoji replied.
His instinct, however, was to not enter this room. He, in fact, wanted to be any place but in that room. But he couldn't refuse.
They entered, and the doors closed behind them; Kikoji didn't see the seam.
The room had white concave walls, and Kikoji's eyes had a hard time focusing.
"Your classification code word is 'Falcon Forty,' " Ackerson said. "Now, speak freely in here. I certainly will." He gestured to a black circular table in the center of the room and they both sat.
Kikoji cut straight to the point. "Sir, where am I? Why am I here?"
His words seemed to evaporate as he spoke them, deadened by the too-still air in this strange room.
"Of course," Ackerson murmured. "Your recovery is not complete. I had been warned of that." He sighed. "We have gone to considerable trouble to extract you from your mercernary role in NavySpecWep operations...from your recon mission to Station Delphi."
Kikoji remembered the explosion on his T-PACK; he blinked and saw, for a split second, the dizzying blur of stars. "My team," he said. "Are they--"
"Fine," Ackerson replied. "No injuries."
Kikoji inhaled, feeling his cracked rib. Not quite no injuries.
Something had changed in the Colonel's expression. The dark stare and hardness softened almost an imperceptible fraction.
In a lowered voice, Ackerson said, "Section 1 has issued you new orders." He pushed a reader across the table to Kikoji.
Kikoji thumbed the biometric and the screen warmed. There were codeword classified warnings and then he saw his transfer orders under Colonel Ackerson. The usual fields for assignment location, routing protocols, and record verification were redacted.
"You are now a part of a subsection of Gamma-3 Division," Ackerson said, "a top secret cell within Section-1. All the events at Station Delphi were staged to bring you here in the utmost secrecy for a new mission."
Staging the events at Delphi? Arranged by a subcell of S1? Something seemed wrong in a way Kikoji couldn't quite put his paw on.
But part of it made sense now. The partially decomissioned Stien-Fujita drive at Delphi Station was the perfect lure and the ideal excuse for a malfunctioning T-PACK. The sensor echo the Circumference had picked up on the in-system jump was another prowler, the ship that had picked up Kikoji's exhausted body--after he had been propelled in a not-so-random explosive trajectory. Though he resented the manner in which they obtained him, he had to admire the sheer genius of the extraction plan.
"You have been classified as MIA," Ackerson continued. "Presumed dead."
Something cold contracted in Kikoji's stomach as the Colonel said this. He briefly thought of Liara before he checked his emotions, though, sensing that in this instance, they might not have been able to help him.
"What is this new mission, sir?"
Ackerson stared at him for a moment before responding. "I want you to train the next generation of Hipnos."
Kikoji blinked, taking in what the Colonel had just said, not quite understaing. "Sir, I was under the impression that Chief Kuran had been reassigned years ago to carry out that mission."
"The effort to train additional Hipnos was postponed indefinitely by Dr. Liara Kalsonai," Ackerson said. "There were other candidates within the gene pool, but they were out of synch with her, and your, age restriction protocols. and with the continuing war, her program funds were...diverted."
Kikoji had always assumed that he and his fellows were the first in a long line of Hipnos. He'd never considered they might be the first, and last, of their kind.
Ackerson continued. "Kuran, of course, will be joining you."
"It would be an honor serving with Senior Chief Kuran."
One of Ackerson's brows quirked up. "Indeed."
He motioned at Kikoji's secure tablet. "Read. New training protocols have been outlined as well as an improved augumentation regime. We've learned much from the unfortunate medical processes you and Dr. Kalsonai had at your disposal."
As he read he started to grasp the opportunities and challenges of this program. The new bioaugumentations were a quantum leap ahead of those he had reluctantly administered. There were lowere projected 'wash-out' (Read: death) rates. There was, however, only a fraction of the original Hipno training time and budget. They would also be issued something called Semi-Powered Infiltration (SPI) armor systems. He sighed to himself. Why were these people determined to replicate him and Jesuit?
"With these new candidates," Kikoji said. "you're trying to do more with less."
Ackerson nodded. "They'll be sent on missions with higher strategic values but correspondingly lower survivabilities. That's where you come in, Kikoji. We need your nearly unmatched prowess, and all of your field experience passed along to these candidates. You need to make these Hipnos better and train them faster. This program may be the key to our survival of this war."
Kikoji scanned the reader again. The new genetic selection protocol expanded the pool of candidates, but there were disturbing references to behavioral problems in these less-than-ideal potential Hipnos.
But this mission was vital to the war, Kikoji sensed that. And there would be SCPO Kuran. It would be good working with him again. Could the two of them really train a new generation of Hipnos?
"In ten years," Ackerson continued. "with your guidance and a little luck, there will be a hundred new Hipnos in the war. Employing several of these new Hipnos to help train the next classes, there will be thousands within twenty years. With projected improvements in technology, perhaps a hundred thousand new Hipnos will be created in thirty years."
A hundred thousand Hipnos fighting for the Keidrain Empire? The image swam in Kikoji's mind. Was that possible?
While he didn't understand all the ramifications, he now understood the importance of the end result. His initial feeling of unease, however, remained. How many of these new Hipnos were going to die? He steeled himself. He'd do everything he could to see they had the best training, the best equipment, be the best soldiers the Keidrian Empire had ever produced. Even then, though, would it be enough?
He took a deep breath. "Where do we begin, sir?"
Ackerson smiled. "New training facilities are being constructed. You will oversee the operation, and simultaneously begin the screening of candidates. I have an ample supply of willing recruits for you." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny box, pushed it across the table to Kikoji. "One last thing."
Kikoji opened the box. Inside was the triad of stars over a single bar. the insignia of a Colonel, senior grade.
"Those are yours now." The faint crease of determination appeared on Ackerson's face. "I'm not going to have my right-hand man taking orders from NCO drill instructers. You're going to be running the the entire show, Colonel Mantadurru."