"Very well, Staff Sergeant." Wolff motioned toward the airlock. "Shall we go, daughter dear?"
Interlude:
Time to Dance
Personal Diary of Ariela Rivers Wolff, Volume 60
9 September 2047
Aboard the RV Frumious Bandersnatch in the WASP-110 system
Here we go!
Ohmigod I am so nervous!
Let's see. Briefcase, with credentials, check. Holster, left hip rig, M1911 loaded and in Condition One, check. Medals, left breast, check. Brain, charged up and working, check. I think. Therefore, it must be.
There's the jolt that means Dad has disconnected us from Berth One. We're flying free in formation with Constellation.
Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod.
Take a deep breath, Ariela. Now take another one. No, dumbass, let the first one out, first. Better.
Here comes Dad up the aisle, from aft. He's getting into the pilot's chair. Uncle Chris is checking the course. No rotation this time . . . just a regular trip at sublight down to the meeting place. With promises we won't be fired on this time. Dad got the dents in the keel plating fixed (good thing, because that's where the drive module is, and though it didn't take any internal damage, Dad said it was a close-run thing) but told BaeNorGrumLockMart not to buff out the plasma burn to starboard. Supposed to be a reminder of just who took damage from whom, when we allegedly "violated" Shizzle space.
Dad and Uncle Chris exchange a few words, then Dad starts flipping switches on the control panel . . . and we start to move. Down and forward. Constellation recedes in the big viewports, and the view changes to Shizzle's surface as the Bandersnatch rolls 180 degrees to get into approach mode.
Dad applies power, and Shizzle appears to rotate under us. Of course, it's us moving, not the planet. Uncle Chris tells him we've got clearance for our glide path, not that we'll be gliding, we'll be under power the whole time, but it's an old term, Arthur C. Clarke invented it I think no he just wrote that novel and SHIT!
Ariela Rivers Wolff, you're babbling inside your brain. Idiot. Some Lion of God you are.
Holy shit, is this being recorded into my diary? Oh hell. Forgot to turn the holotab's recorder off, throat mic is live . . . fuck.
Well, I'll have something to laugh about, some day. Assuming we live through this.
What am I going to say? What pithy greeting can I come up with? How do I start this negotiation without getting us all killed?
Ohmigod ohmigod.
Help me . . .
Maybe I should have worn the damn armor, after all.
Chapter 16
Meet, Greet, and Overheat
"We are here first," noted Wolff, unnecessarily, but absently, as he looked around the clearing on top of the mountain. On the east end, right before a sheer cliff falling off into a deep river valley, was the ancient stone shrine, situated on an outcropping of granite. The narrow meadow clearing fell off westward, to lower elevations and an ancient road network that facilitated troop movements to the shrine.
Mountains rose up on either side of the meadow, hemming it in. He estimated humans could probably put a couple of dismounted companies in the meadow, so probably about the same for the Xzl5!vt. Looks something like the view west from Cemetery Ridge at Gettysburg, he thought, but narrower, and longer; it's only about a hundred, hundred and fifty yards wide at the top, and at least five klicks down to the road. Wonder if it's ever seen a version of Pickett's Charge? He chuckled, wryly. Probably; there are active/stupid commanders in every war. And luckless strategists above them, like Lee, of whom it was said even the stars in their courses fought against him at Gettysburg.
"No shit, Dad," retorted Ariela, interrupting his reverie. She'd been on edge ever since the ship landed and the group exited.
Fire Team Bravo were setting up the props they'd brought, including the cocktail table and the silver tray and crystal glasses from Wolff's living room. Brown was carrying, gingerly, several bottles of decent to expensive single-malt Scotch whisky over to the table; there were several boxes of more pedestrian, but still drinkable, brands nearby, just in case a party broke out.
Ariela shivered. There was a cold breeze blowing up the field, funneled by the mountains on either side. It caught her long, blonde hair and, for a moment, she looked like a fashion model, standing there in her black pantsuit, stranded somewhere in the wilderness waiting for photographers to arrive, light, and shoot her for the next cover of whatever fashion magazines women still read; she was sure she didn't know. "Damn it to hell," she muttered, through gritted teeth, "I should have worn the goddamn armor."
"What's that, Ari?" said Wolff, startled. He'd returned to his contemplation of the field after her first comment.
"Never mind."
Fox walked over, just then, with a lined jacket, the type Space Force wore aboard ship when things got chilly. (There was never really enough heat in a frigate, regardless how much the frigate radiated away. Typically the environmental engineers preferred to err on the side of "too cold" rather than "too hot".) "Here, hon. I mean, ma'am." He grinned.
"Thank you," said Ariela, gratefully. She let him drape the jacket around her shoulders and immediately felt warmer.
"Fred, you guys got everything you need?" asked Wolff.
"Oorah, Colonel. We're shipshape and ready for a fighting retreat. If it comes to that."
"Who's the best heavy gunner you've got? I could ask the Staff Sergeant but I want to hear it from you."
Fox considered for a moment. "Probably O'Rourke," he said. "You want him in the Bandersnatch's turret while Major von Barronov is in the air?"
"Yes. I'll talk to Adkins about it." Wolff looked at him. "If things go pear-shaped, your number-one job is to protect Ariela. Not a burden, I would imagine."
"No, sir."
"The rest of us will cover the two of you while von Barronov brings the ship around. Harris is sending two dropships down with Third Platoon, and they'll cover the rest of the area." He looked up, suddenly, and smiled. "There they are."
Drop Five and Drop Six touched down gently in the middle of the field. They then erupted with Third Platoon's Space Force Marines and their gear. As soon as all the Marines were on the ground, the platoon leader gave the pilots the go sign, and the dropships lifted off again, meaning to orbit the mountain until they were needed.
The platoon leader trotted up to Wolff as his Marines sorted their gear. He saluted; Wolff saluted in return. "Good morning, Colonel Wolff. 1st Lieutenant Morrison reporting with Third Herd."
"Good morning, Lieutenant. Of course, it's always a beautiful morning in the Corps, isn't it?" grinned Wolff. Morrison grinned back.
"It is that, Colonel. Wouldn't want it any other way. Where would you like us to deploy?"
"Well, Lieutenant, eventually there are going to be at least a platoon of big, green lizards with sharp claws and big, nasty teeth sharing this little meadow with us. As I understand it, they have some very big, nasty weaponry, too. Their carbine equivalent fires something like a .50 calibre bullet. Their handguns are pretty much the same. They probably carry big knives, possibly something like the kukri-equivalents the diplomats wear. Still with me?"
Morrison nodded. "Still a beautiful morning in the Corps, sir. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. And we do have a few heavy weapons with us. We saw the videos."
"Outstanding. So, the plan is for us to deploy on one side of the field; they'll deploy on the other. Might have to flip a coin or some shit to decide which side." Wolff shrugged. "If you want me to make a random choice, take the north side of the field. Just don't allow them to cut you off from the shrine."
"Aye, aye, sir. They'll clear a path for us, one way or another."
"Good enough. I'll leave you to it, Lieutenant. And we're in enemy territory, so further saluting is neither required or desired – and that includes from your men to you, so be sure to remind them."
"Aye, aye, sir." Morrison nodded, then grinned and walked back to his men.<
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"Is there enough testosterone boiling off on this mountaintop for you, Dad?" asked Ariela, testily.
"Ari, what's wrong?" asked Wolff, gently. "You've been upset ever since we unassed the ship."
"I don't know what the fuck to say!"
"Oh."
"I could fuck this up right from the start if I don't come up with something appropriately Lion of God-ish."
"Do you want me to leave you alone?"
Ariela shook her head. "No! I need your help. Well." She reconsidered. "I need you to be strong for me and tell me I can do this."
Wolff looked at her. "Hon, you're here because we all know you can do this."
"How do you know?"
"Well," Wolff considered, "after all, you did it before."
Ariela looked unconvinced. "Well. Whatever. It was also the script talking."
"I've told you before I don't think that was the case."
"Arghh. Something pithy. Something non-threatening. Something—"
"Biblical," suggested Wolff. "You said it up on the Constellation. Biblical."
"Like what?"
"Like what you told the Admiral and his people. Something that affirms life, but makes it clear there are consequences for pissing us off. Something like . . . hmm . . . Deuteronomy 30. 'I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before thee life and death, the blessing and the curse; therefore choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed.'" Wolff thought about it, and nodded. "Moses had a lot of good things to say, right before he went up the mountain for the last time."
"How does that work in this context?"
Wolff smiled. "Think about it. It is nearly perfect, it just needs your touch to bring it into focus."
"I don't know." She looked despondent.
"I do. You can do this. You're my daughter. More to the point, you're Sarah's daughter." Wolff gestured toward the shrine. "Walk up there like you own it. Fight for every inch and for every word you say. Don't let this situation get the best of you, because you're better than that. And no matter how badass these fucking lizards are, we're humans, we're Americans, and we're even more badass. We don't need no fuckin' big claws or big teeth or natural armor plate, because we can make them to order even better than Mother fucking Nature ever thought about. Like P.J. said, 'We walk taller, talk louder, spit further, fuck longer and buy more things than you know the names of.' Among other things in the same spirit and tone."
Despite herself, Ariela started laughing. "Okay, Dad," she managed, around the giggles, "thanks for the pep talk."
Wolff looked modest. "Weren't nothing, really."
"Oh. You and your damn redneck talk." Ariela sighed. "You and Real Dad are both the same, you know. You both fall into that faux-backwoods patois when anyone else would just say, oh, I don't know, 'you're welcome, Ari.' Ain't neither of you that stupid, Dad."
"Heh. Cheered you up, though."
"I guess. Okay, now go away and leave me alone while I cogitate. We've probably got less than an hour before they get here." Ariela shooed him away, but they were both smiling.
Wolff walked over to where Adkins was supervising the setup of the drinks table. "Staff Sergeant, I'd like to send Sergeant O'Rourke up with Major von Barronov, to man the turret just in case we need the extra gun."
Adkins nodded. "Sounds good. Fox told you he's our best heavy gunner?"
"Yep."
"He's not wrong. Besides, I saw O'Rourke checking out your turret gun before we left, and drooling a bit over it. So, sure, I'd throw him that bone."
"Okay. If you'll pass that along to him, I'll alert the Major."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Wolff pulled out his comm as Adkins turned away to go find O'Rourke. "Chris? John. Sergeant O'Rourke is going to join you and work the turret at need. Sound good? Great. Okay, we should be done here in few minutes and he'll be along. Wolff out."
"Sir," warned Kaczorowski, pointing down the slope. Wolff looked, and saw two big transports settling to the ground, about two kilometers away. He triggered his tactical net headset.
"Wolff to all participants," he said, "the Shizzle have arrived. Remember, keep cool, stay professional, have a plan to kill everyone you meet. And stay on this net, but keep the chatter down. Check in, starting with the Ambassador, then Bravo, then Third Platoon check in with Lieutenant Morrison."
"Lion is here and acknowledges," came Ariela's voice.
"Adkins acknowledges."
"Fox acknowledges."
"Kaczorowski acknowledges."
And so it went, down the line; Morrison reported back that Third had all gotten the message. By then, the Xzl5!vt were unassing their transport and forming up for their march uphill.
"Holy shit, sir," murmured Kaczorowski. "Is that pipes I hear?"
"Colonel Wolff, Morrison here," came across the tac net.
"Go for Wolff."
"Sir, they have a line of six . . . men out front, playing bagpipes, over."
Wolff snickered a bit. "Copy that. Six pipers piping. Not eleven, over?"
He heard a snort. "Ah, no sir, we count six only, sir. Over."
"Ah, copy. Major Von Barronov, Wolff." The Bandersnatch was already in the air, so the obvious thing to do was, well, obvious.
"Go for von Barronov."
"Chris, when that crowd of Shizzle get about half a klick away, I want you to overfly us, hover, turn the external speakers up to 11, and play 'The Campbells Are Coming', over."
"Loud pipe and drum music at half a klick, rattle their cages, copy. I guess that's fair, since you can claim fairly authoritatively to be a Campbell of Argyll on your Dad's side, over."
"Yep, what I was thinking. Over."
"Sir," said Adkins, "do you think that's really wise?"
"No. But it's the right thing to do."
"Oorah, sir. But I think I would have had the two dropships come in formation with the Bandersnatch, and all three of them play it in synch."
Wolff laughed. "Staff Sergeant, that's too cruel. But I like it. Chris, did you copy that?"
"Aye, aye, Colonel."
"Drop Five, Drop Six, did you copy, can you conform to Bandersnatch's movements?"
"Go for Drop Five, aye, sir, we can."
"Go for Drop Six, ditto, sir."
And as it happened, just as the Xzl5!vt pipers crested a small ridge at the half-kilometer mark, they faced the two dropships flanking the RV – all of them playing the Clan Campbell anthem at full volume plus.
The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro!
The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro!
The Campbells are coming to bonnie Lochleven
The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro!
Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay,
Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay,
I lookit down to bonnie Lochleven
And saw three perches play-hay-hay!
The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro . . .
Of course, all the Space Force Marines knew the words, and were singing at the top of their lungs.
The Great Argyll he goes before,
He makes the cannons and guns to roar,
With sound o'trumpet, pipe and drum,
The Campbells are coming, Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro!
"It's like fucking Rorke's Drift all over again," laughed Wolff.
"Auld Robbie Burns sure knew how to write 'em, sir," shouted Adkins, grinning, over the din.
"That he did, Staff Sergeant, that he did."
Finally, the music came to an end:
The Campbells they are a' in arms,
Their loyal faith and truth to show,
With banners rattling in the wind,
The Campbells are coming Ho-Ro, Ho-Ro!
The Xzl5!vt had come, finally, to a halt, about a hundred yards downslope. They seemed a bit uneasy. Wolff suddenly realized they were probably getting a literal translation of the song, and he laughed again.
"Lieutenant Morrison!" he called into the net.
&n
bsp; "Aye, Colonel!"
"Call your men to attention and break out the flag of our country!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Wolff looked at Adkins. "Staff Sergeant, to order! Atten-hut!"
Adkins looked at his men. "Space Force Marines! Atten-hut!"
All of the SF Marines came immediately to attention. A color guard in Morrison's platoon unfurled the American and Space Force Marines flags, which flapped proudly in the breeze.
"Bandersnatch, Drop Five, Drop Six," said Wolff, quietly, into the net, "you gents can peel off now. Just hang where we can call you back in a hurry if we need you."
All three pilots acknowledged, and the three ships peeled off in formation to hold position back behind the cliff.
"That was impressive," noted Ariela, who'd moved back over near the shrine, and thus, near Wolff.
"Marines, at ease," called Wolff. "Staff Sergeant, deploy into the shrine as previously agreed. Madame Ambassador, it's now your show."
"Thank you, Colonel," she said. They all mounted the steps into the shrine, and Ariela grabbed one of the bottles of whisky, then stood on the top step, bottle in her right hand, and M1911 in her left. Wolff took post behind and to her right. Sergeant Fox took a stance to her left, and behind the drinks table. The other members of the squad scattered around the small shrine, a couple of them watching warily out the back for any fuckery to occur.
There was some movement at the front of the Xzl5!vt ranks, and they parted to allow two Xzl5!vt to pass through the lines. These two were accoutered in what looked like Scottish dress, kilts and linen shirts, but Wolff and Ariela knew that was simply a parallel cultural development, likely due to the involvement of the same Programmer in the creation of both timelines.
"Besides, how would you get pants over those feet and legs?" Wolff heard Ariela murmur, and he snorted, quietly.
The two – apparently both males – halted just at the bottom of the steps.
"I am Yuz8!rfk," said the (apparently) older one. "I am the negotiator for the Xzl5!vt in this matter. I have been given all authority for this purpose; I speak with the voice of our ruling council. This young person with me is my assistant and second, Ejr3@lt, with whom you are already acquainted, by radio. The Xzl5!vt bring to you this complaint: That you willfully invaded our territorial space without warning, causing our local commander to investigate and chase you down. We lay this before both delegations as an insult to be mitigated, lest our two peoples find themselves at war. How say you?"
The Lion and the Lizard Page 21