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CHANGES FOUR: THE SECOND STAR

The lieutenant had been itching to get right to work as soon as he had arrived. Some good work had been done, but now it was time to take full stock of the situation. Most of the women and all of the children had been airlifted out in the Pelican that had brought the lieutenant with his reinforcements. It was time to meet the head of the scientists and see how much more time they would need to finish their experiments or store their equipment in boxes or whatever the heck they were doing. The lieutenant therefore confirmed the location of the scientists' headquarters and began to walk slowly in that direction. On this journey two incidents of note took place.

The lieutenant was already engaged in a particularly intense battle defending the town. The first incident began when, hobbling around with a wooden cane because of his wounded leg, he rounded a corner and immediately began another battle: with himself and with his own demons. It was as if he were drawn back again to the cruel hills of sand and saw once more, in the midst of utter darkness, a single star shining brightly with hope. What he saw was something of which he had seen few or none in a long, long time, or if he had seen one, had at least not noticed it in its fullness for a long time.

It was the essence of loveliness, the very form of beauty, the epitome of graceful magnificence. It was an angel descended on a cloud from heaven to bless the hearts of men, the incarnate expression of wonderful transcendent things, and mysteries too high for the mind of man to comprehend. It was walking reminder that life is beautiful. In short, it was a woman, a fair flower of a maiden. As she went about her work—she was carrying a water jar towards the town's walls—she exuded a glorious beauty strong and beyond apprehension. It was a radiant loveliness that came from inside—one could tell by looking at her—but was physically visible to the Human eye.

Deep inside the battle-hardened warrior, a heart of stone felt life in it again and began to feebly beat once more.

All the while as he was speaking to the scientists whom he had been sent to protect, in the back of his head a terrifying thought assailed his self-confidence. For months he had focused all his energies on one single end: to destroy the Covenant and preserve Humanity, all for the sake of duty. Now he briefly recalled the humanoid figures that had rescued him from the nightmare of the sandy ravines, and what from what they had at first rescued him.

He remembered madness and insanity. It occurred to him that perhaps it was still with him, only in another form. Deeper.

The scientists needed twenty-four hours more at least, and possibly forty-eight, before they were finished. Their eyes were bloodshot and they looked to be long past the point of exhaustion from their arduous work. The lieutenant left them in peace and walked back towards the town walls. Now the second incident took place. The lieutenant suddenly paused to watch three Marines—two of whom had not been among the group who came with the lieutenant—who were discussing some recent news from the war: Planet Reach had fallen.

"What were they called again?"

" 'Spartans'."

"And they're all dead?"

"As far as I know."

The lieutenant interrupted and said, "How long does it take to cook that with that thing?"One of the Marines pointed to that around which they were gathered: a concave mirror propped up towards the afternoon sun. "A piece of meat this size hardly takes two minutes on this planet, Sir. We're two hundred . . ."

". . . miles closer to Lambda Seven's sun than most planets inhabited by Humans, yes I know..." interrupted the lieutenant. He thought for a moment and asked, "Who made this thing?"
The Marines answered that since the war had destroyed all power in the town, the townspeople had manufactured many such solar cookers. The lieutenant summoned a local man who was hovering nearby, apparently without anything much to do. "Do you know how to make one of these?"

"Yes, it's a pretty simple technique using some of the alloys found in the soil here."

"Can you make me a big one? With a diameter as long as I am tall?"

"I suppose it's possible."

"I want three by morning. I want the light more concentrated than in this one. Maximum possible concentration. Something that will set fire to wood."

The Humans labored throughout the night to construct three of the lasers. Their enemies were busy, as well: from 23:00 hours till first light Covenant dropships continuously flew over the town and briefly dipped beneath the ridge before flying off again the way they had come. Over and over again the flying monster-carriers came and went, incessantly and unstoppably. Frustrated Marines fired defiant assault rifle blasts at the dropships, but were helpless to do any damage. The dropships' plasma weapons continually-but, blessedly, randomly-bombarded the town for hours unceasing. The soldiers on guard hunkered down beneath boxes or camouflage, and any Human caught in the open was roasted alive.

The Covenant attacked at dawn.

The coming of the goldfired morning's first rays found the lieutenant scrutinizing one of the two lasers that had just been finished. They had given up on the third laser about an hour and half before dawn. The lieutenant fingered the smooth surface, muttering to himself: "In what distant deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes . . . on what wings dare he aspire . . . what the hand dare seize the fire?"

When the Covenant attacked, the lieutenant heard the alert and promptly grabbed the edge of the large rim—the laser was six feet and two point five inches in diameter—while barking out orders that the lasers be moved immediately to their destinations: one to each corner of the walls. In less than forty seconds the lasers were mounted on their wooden bases. All the Marines who could fit had already taken their defensive positions on the wall. The snipers were hard at work, and a few scattered plasma bolts were already flying towards the town. It would take several minutes before the wounded who were capable of holding a weapon were placed just inside the gates: either to the side so they could fire diagonally at the intruders, or behind boxes for protection. They would be an important line of defense if the gate were breached. Till then, they were ordered to hold their weapons at the ready and say their prayers.

The lieutenant surveyed the scene: Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of Grunts, hundreds of Jackals, scores of Elites, and even a few Hunters. There would be no point in using the laser on the Hunters or the Elites; shields would get in the way. It could be useful for pinning down the Jackals, but the lasers would best be focused on the innumerable Grunts. Luckily the morning sun, two hundred miles closer, was directly behind the Covenant, a perfect position for the laser, as flat mirrors to redirect the sun's energy in case of an afternoon attack had not yet been readied. The lieutenant gripped the wooden control rod and swung his laser into position. The sun's light struck it and, as fast as light travels, bounced back the way it had come. The drifting motes of dust in the air reflected the light in all directions and made it evident that the sun's energy was concentrated a hundredfold inside the thin beam.

"What the hand . . ." whispered the lieutenant as he adjusted the beam and watched distant trees burst into flame. He aimed downwards and pointed the beam into the oncoming army's teeming masses. He heard Grunts screaming as he did so.

". . . dare seize . . ."

The aliens were now less than a hundred yards away, and a shower of lead was raining down on them. A much thicker shower of plasma, intermingled with a few scattered purple needles, was flying in the other direction. The laser, however, was the all-important trump card. Grunts screamed beneath its fierce beam and withered and died, died by the dozens.

"Concentrate on the Elites " some officer shouted at the men.

"THE FIRE "

Jackals were shrunk behind their shields. Elites were being cut down by assault rifle bullets ripping through their energy shields and into their flesh from various angles. The Grunts were either fleeing or being cooked. The morning air was utterly devoid of any breath of wind, and the stench of burning flesh was sickening and overwhelming. Some Marines were dying, but few enough that, at this rate, the enemy stood a high chance of being driven off of the field. Then the lieutenant spotted a Hunter's weapon warming up. Time slowed to a snail's crawl. The huge bolt of superheated plasma was in the air before he was able to react. There was barely enough time, though it seemed like a very long time indeed, to react before the bolt hit the laser. The lieutenant threw himself backwards, off the wall and towards the ground.

The ground was ten feet down. The bolt hit the laser when there were five feet left. The heat was less than searing, but the blast stunned him, jarring his every bone. Then he struck the ground and went out like a light.

Behind him on the ground some people saw him fall and rushed to help him. Above him on the walls a few good men took out the Hunter, one providing the others with covering fire from an assault rifle, one distracting the Hunter with a pistol, and one loading a rocket launcher and blowing the devilish beast to kingdom come. The embattled sergeant who had first greeted the lieutenant when his dropship had arrived was the one with the pistol. He yelled at the man with the rocket launcher to follow him. They dropped down to the ground level, casting hardly a glance at the fallen lieutenant, and ran to the far corner of the walls. The embattled sergeant ascended the steps and found a sniper already trying to pick off another Hunter. Without hesitating, the man with the rocket launcher aimed and fired. The rocket hit the ground at the Hunter's feet, and a sniper rifle's bullet punched a knockout hole through its head.

So far so good on this side: the second laser was intact and its man was picking off the few Grunts who were left on the field. Across the wall, the Marines were more than holding their own against the Elites. Rockets and grenades, along with some sniper rifle action, would dispose of the Jackals. The embattled sergeant would see to that in a moment. For now, he had to find another Hunter and take it out before it had a chance to damage the laser: those things always worked in pairs, and the other one had to be nearby. He scanned the area where the latest one had been killed, found the other one, the large blue horror, and fired his pistol at it to alert the rocket launcher man to its position: much easier than talking to him through all this racket. The Hunter's dead body soon flopped back onto the ground, having been blasted into the air by the explosion of the rocket. Beautiful.

The embattled sergeant checked his belt and found he still had two grenades. It was time to take out some Jackals.

"The Grunts have fled in terror, Sir" said an enlisted man just a few minutes later to the lieutenant, who was now resting in some shade with a canteen in his hands. "That is, the ones who didn't get toasted."

"And the rest?" queried the lieutenant.

"We can handle 'em" said someone.

The lieutenant took one last gulp from the canteen and forced himself to his feet. His whole body ached. In the exhausted condition of his battered body, it was all a man could to do to stand up straight and hold his head up with the pride of being free, unconquered, and alive. He leaned on his cane and looked around. Things were going well. This could well be the very first time that Marines unaided had driven the Covenant back with such losses. Splendid. Any other time such a thing had happened, as far as the lieutenant knew at least, it had taken help from the humanoid people who had rescued the lieutenant from the madness of the barren gullies where he had first fought Covenant. What had that madness been back in the sandy gullies? Had it not been an obsession coupled with . . . reality? Was that any different from the lieutenant's current way of life?

His train of thought was interrupted when then things began to go wrong. First someone on the wall called down, "The Grunts are coming back, Sir " Then the gate exploded inward in myriad flaming bits of wood. Then, to top it all off, the second laser's wooden base fell, and it quickly fell—burning—with the laser and a dead Marine—over the edge of the wall in molten ruin.
The lieutenant's mind raced and in brief seconds pondered what to do and his own course of action: three things had gone wrong at once. The Grunts were up to the men on the wall now, and the loss of the second laser presented the same difficulty to the same men. Those on the ground now, and inside, had to take action concerning the breach in the gate.

Every step was torment, but the lieutenant had realized that the battle was come to a point right now, and whether it was in line with the odds or not, fate had dictated his position for the necessary defense of the town. A drumbeat as of war played in the lieutenant's blood and echoed through his ears as he stood in the center of the gate, leaning on a cane in his left hand. The sounds of battle faded to a distant, muffled roar. An entire battle had come to a single point here at this one bit of dust and this one moment of time. The lieutenant was ready to meet his fate, whatever it might be. The world faded, leaving nothing but the gate, the lieutenant, the aliens close before him, and the lead flying through the air.

He ordered the other men back, on their knees inside the safety of the walls. He would ask no one else to join him in this suicidal folly. Yet he stood there in the opened gate and waited. An Elite was coming for him, an Elite and three Grunts. One Grunt was shot dead, then another. Then a bullet hit the Elite's hand and it dropped its plasma rifle. Excellent. The Elite stood at thirty yards. It came on without its weapon, the Grunt behind it.

"And battle and war " cried the lieutenant, "Death rides a wild wind Just a warrior and his sword, truth wins in the end."

The sword was the standard-issue Marine-core assault rifle, the little green numbers telling the lieutenant that sixty bullets were ready to be emptied into his foe. The final Grunt collapsed, and the Elite's shields glittered as random bullets struck it from various angles. The lieutenant raised the rifle in his right hand, his left hand still leaning on the cane.

"You don't understand," he whispered as if his enemy could hear him, "you don't stand a chance. I am swifter than light as it shines off of glass."

He squeezed the trigger. A random plasma shot unexpectedly struck the assault rifle, and the heat instantaneously scorched his hand up to the wrist. Through the heat he felt the gun firing as a faint sensation of vibrating metal, but could not control his fingers. The Elite came on at about ten yards. The heat vanished, and the lieutenant, remembering for a moment how much he abhorred the never-ending and excruciating pain of this relentless war, nevertheless steeled his mind for the last stand.

"Here I stand" he cried decisively, "and here I will dance" as he took a step forward, "and here I shall fight, and you shall not pass "

If the aliens had understood Humans, or if the Elite had been able to read the fire of the lieutenant's resolve burning in his eyes, perhaps it would have quailed. But that was not to be, and the assault rifle was thrust up against its mouth. Five bullets ripped into its shields, and four bullets lodged in its ugly brain. One bullet exited the back of its head, and the lieutenant watched as it bounced off a grey shield.

Hunter

It was right up against him and its shield was about to come down and crush his skull and break his neck. The lieutenant aimed at its groin and pulled the trigger for the last time. The rifle kicked up, the lieutenant's hands no longer possessing enough strength to control it, and the final bullet hit the Hunter's orange soft spot in the neck. The beast lurched forward and crashed down on the lieutenant, stone dead.

And like a stone the lieutenant lay still. He flitted back and forth between consciousness and unconsciousness. The sounds of the battle were far away. The lieutenant wondered for the first time since he had first incorporated the term "categorical imperative" into his thought processes just why he had done so. Why was it his duty to protect Humanity?

The answer came fuzzily as if in a dream, and the warrior viewed with his mind's eye the supreme motivation and goal of any warrior—a woman—and for the first time he began to understand. He remembered the beautiful girl inside the town. The warrior realized that Humanity was, also a thing of beauty, worth protecting. Worth fighting for. Humanity, like a beautiful woman, was worth dying for.

He realized that the sounds of battle had all but disappeared. Voices were nearby him, and then he heard someone say, "Hey, Sarge Is that the Lieutenant's foot?" And then the blackness was chased away by blinding sunlight, and cool air breathed on the lieutenant from a sudden wind upon his skin, and he knew that he would live to fight another day.

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