by Rob Howell
I asked the cabbie to stop, jumped into another cab, and ran every diagnostic tool at my disposal. My sweeper appeared to work fine. I got out at the next shopping center and found another cab. I kept switching cabs until I ended up at a convenience store in Fairfax.
I hacked into the security system of the aircar dealership down the street, and set it to overwrite the camera footage. I walked over and picked out a bland minivan. While they ran the paperwork, I switched the data code on it with that of a black SUV in their records. When I left, I sent the overwrite command and used my sweeper to disable the GPS and tracking features on the minivan. Then I drove into the I-64 air corridor and headed west.
I never did like my company’s severance package.
* * * * *
Part II
The Stuff Dreams Are Made Of
—The Maltese Falcon
Chapter 7 – Recruit Pvt. Rhan’Kiial’Tala
West Rocks Training Depot
Owen Sound, Ontario
The recruits ran up the Niagara Escarpment, sergeants and corporals snapping at their heels. The trail meandered through trees and large rocks. The last recruit struggled to follow. Corporal Cox jogged next to him uttering a sequence of curses.
The odd numbered recruits yelled, “You take the high road.”
The even numbered ones followed, “I’ll take the low road.”
Together they chorused, “An’ I’ll be to Scotland before you.”
Kiial did his best to keep up with the cadence, but it was difficult because of his short legs.
“Recruit Private Kiial, I’ve seen fucking catfish run faster than this! Hell, I wish you were a catfish. They’re good eatin’.”
Cox leaned down and yelled as the Cochkala ran as hard as he could. “Are you good eatin’, boy? I’m fucking tired of the MinSha crap they serve here, and I bet you’d taste damn good after a few hours over a fire. Taste better than a squirrel, that’s for sure.”
Kiial ignored the comment and focused on not tripping. Even with his prehensile tail to help with balance, running up the hill was difficult, especially since he had to go around some of the rocks Humans simply jumped over.
“What the hell kind of running is that? A goddamn porcupine on neo-acid? Thank Sedna that Sam Steele ain’t here to see what we’ve become!”
If that Human doesn’t stop badgering me, I’m going to bite his Mizar-bedamned face off. Kiial had lost count of how many times he and the platoon had made that joke since McWhorter had shoved the pun down his throat. It had never been funny, but it did distract him.
He kept his snout shut and ran.
By now, most of the other members of his platoon had stopped messing with him. Everyone was too tired, even though it had only been three days, and the badgering joke was just one of the many that had gotten old quickly. Only Recruit Johnson seemed to have enough energy to continue the hazing.
The rest of the platoon touched the decorated limestone pillar that marked the end of the running trail and started back down the escarpment. As the rest of the platoon passed, Johnson ‘accidentally’ kicked Kiial. His kick knocked the Cochkala into a big rock, slowing him even further.
Cox seemed not to notice, and continued to rant in his ear about Cochkala clumsiness. He didn’t relent, even after they touched the pillar marking the turn and started back.
Down was even worse for Kiial, and he hated it. His tail and short legs should’ve helped, but he had tumbled down the steep slope twice. Both times, the medic barely glanced at him before pronouncing him fit for all activities.
At least that damned medic never seemed to look at anyone. Nice to be despised equally.
With a grunt, he made the last hop from the steepest part of the run, zigged through the rocks at the bottom, and hustled to join the rest of his platoon. They were doing push-ups while waiting for him to finish, as they had from the start of boot camp.
The instructors had discovered almost immediately that push-ups didn’t challenge Cochkalas like they did Humans. They had debated the problem with glee. He ran to his position and started doing kick-outs, which not only trained his muscles, but seemed close to torture since the Cochkala anatomy didn’t lend itself to those motions.
“Good of you to join us, Recruit Private Kiial. I hope you enjoyed your stroll,” boomed Sergeant McWhorter.
“Yes, Sergeant!” Kiial yelled as he kicked out, landed on all four paws, and then jumped back to two.
“Excellent, Recruit Private Kiial, that’s good to hear. We live to serve.” McWhorter turned to the platoon. “Recruit Platoon Alfa-29, ten-hut!”
The platoon snapped to attention.
“Foresters!” yelled McWhorter.
“Tenacious and versatile!”
“Tomorrow you’re going to start learning what that means. Thus far, all we’ve done is the easy stuff.”
The platoon didn’t move from attention, but every one of them thought to themselves, This was the easy part?
“Tomorrow, Recruit Platoon Alfa-29, we’ll introduce you to the natural, scenic beauty of the entire Bruce Peninsula. We’re the Foresters, ladies and gentlemen, and the Bruce Peninsula is a lovely forested area that has a few things to teach us.” He smiled evilly. “Are all of you looking forward to a nice walk in the woods?”
“Yes, Sergeant!” they responded.
“Excellent! You’ll find new equipment in your bunks.” He looked at his watch. “You have precisely twenty-seven minutes before chow call. That’ll give you time to inventory those items and download their manuals to your pads. Following chow, you’ll have two hours to read those manuals. At 2100 hours, we’ll discuss those items in detail.” He paused. “Do you understand, Recruit Platoon Alfa-29?”
“Yes, Sergeant!”
“Excellent! You’re not as stupid as the Cochkala looks. Dismissed.”
Kiial raced to the barracks. On his bunk was a backpack, sized to fit him. There was a knife, also smaller than those given to the others in the platoon. There were several small, snap-lock containers, holding a variety of items including matches, fishing hooks, nylon twine, and plain tablets. Finally, there was a child-sized camelback.
Johnson picked up the knife and laughed. “Look what we’ve got here. What the hell are you going to cut with that? Probably bigger than your dick so maybe it’ll be of some use to you.” He tossed it under Kiial’s bunk and went to do his own inventory.
Kiial said nothing, but retrieved the knife and continued going through the items. He read each tag, typed their numbers into his reader, and downloaded the manuals. He discovered that the tablets were for purifying water, which made sense.
“I wonder why Johnson hates you so much,” said Recruit Ericson as he catalogued his items on the top bunk.
“I’d’ve thought it obvious.”
Ericson chuckled and continued his inventory.
“You’d better leave it be,” warned Kiial. “Johnson’s staring at us. He’ll take his hate out on you, too.”
“I’ve been hated before. Martians, like me, are used to Earthers calling us trash.”
“No need to borrow trouble.”
“We’ll see. Anyway, we’d better go over this information packet. I doubt McWhorter’s going to make this ‘discussion’ any fun.”
“Truth, you speak.”
The discussion lasted until well past midnight. The instructors grilled the platoon about each item. While the items were mostly simple in terms of use and design, the descriptions downloaded to the readers included field expedients, methods of fabrication, and instructions on what to do if none of the basic options were available. They also spent an hour fitting the packs properly to each recruit.
At dawn, they marched northwest up the Bruce Trail. It followed along the escarpment and was so narrow that the platoon had to run single file. Several sections of the trail ran along cliff faces looking over Georgian Bay. The trail might have been beautiful if Kiial had had a moment to look.
After two days
of hard marching, McWhorter led them into some of the densest woods Kiial had ever seen. Cochkalas might have evolved in GrBatch’s forests, but his family spent most of their time in space or in cities. It didn’t help that Earth challenged Kiial with new and…‘interesting’ experiences.
Why had Humans not eradicated these damn pesky insects? And what the hell kind of word was mosquito?
He slapped a paw against his fur, but the mosquito avoided it and came in for another pass. His fur and thick skin gave him some protection from the bites, but the insects’ persistence was annoying.
I wonder how many I’ve eaten while running.
Kiial spat out the latest one while listening to McWhorter assign tasks for camp setup. Because the Cochkala anatomy made collecting large amounts of firewood difficult and exhausting, McWhorter assigned it to him.
On his third trip, he heard something. Something not Cochkala. Not animal.
Kiial dropped to his belly and started crawling through the underbrush. Then he heard a low voice, and another.
Slowly, he crept toward the voices.
They were by a tree. Two Humans. One was Cadre Corporal Cox. The rest of his platoon had finally explained why that name prompted the others to call him Corporal Bag O’Dicks. He didn’t recognize the other man. He wore camouflage, but not the same pattern the Foresters used, and carried a pistol at his belt.
Cox said something Kiial couldn’t quite hear. The other man gave him a small pouch. Cox unzipped it, glanced at the contents, and put it away. The two Humans nodded at each other, then they split, with Cox returning toward the platoon’s campsite.
What now? Kiial thought. If I follow the other man, I’ll be late getting firewood and that means push-ups for everyone. But Tlanit warned me someone was targeting the Foresters, and this isn’t right.
With a sigh, Kiial slid onward. After a few minutes, he realized he had no chance of catching the man, who seemed as comfortable in the woods as McWhorter.
He grabbed a bunch of wood and hustled back.
He was late anyway. He almost forgot the encounter as he did the innumerable kick-outs he was assigned for his tardiness. Almost. He thought about telling McWhorter, but didn’t know what to say. He kept his eyes open when he could, but that proved challenging as the cadre kept pounding the platoon with details pertaining to living, surviving, and fighting in forests.
The next day, he thought he saw a flash of something in the trees, but couldn’t investigate while they marched. He noticed a bootprint off to the side of the trail on the day after, but it looked just like any other Human bootprint he had seen. He never saw enough to convince himself to approach McWhorter, but he did see enough to make him wonder whether someone watched them every night.
The day after they returned to the barracks, Cox ordered Kiial and Ericson to clean the latrines next to the shooting range.
“What did you think of the hike?” muttered Kiial as they wiped the toilets.
“We don’t have many trees on Mars. Never seen anything like that forest.”
Kiial snorted. “Yeah, so you said whenever we had a break.”
“Ha! I probably did.” The Human turned around. “Can you get that spot? It’s tight for me.”
Kiial nodded and crawled between the toilet and the wall. The stink behind the toilet was worse for him because of his keen sense of smell, but his small hands could do a better job. The acrid aroma of the cleaner bothered him too, but they had used it constantly since reaching West Rocks, and he barely noticed it now.
After finishing, Ericson pulled him out. “Now for the sinks.”
“Yes.” While they cleaned, Kiial finally broached the subject. “Did you see anyone else out there?”
“What? On the Bruce?”
“Yes.”
“A’course. Whole damn platoon.” He snorted. “Toss me another rag.”
“No one else?”
Ericson looked over. “No. Did you?”
Kiial didn’t answer, instead focusing on a recalcitrant spot.
“One of the officers?” asked Ericson. “They don’t usually run with the recruit platoons, but maybe they go out there. Have to, sometimes, I suppose.”
Kiial sighed. “No, not an officer. I didn’t recognize him, and his camo pattern wasn’t ours.”
The lanky Martian stood up and stretched. “You get the bottom part of the wall, I’ll get the top.”
As they wiped it down, Kiial asked, “Who else uses the Peninsula? Local residents?”
“I suppose, but I read before I signed up that the Foresters bought this after their first big contract, and I don’t think it ever had many local residents. It used to be a Canadian national park, I think.”
“We don’t really have those.” The Cochkala scrubbed along a grout line.
“No? They used to be big on Earth.” Ericson laughed. “We don’t have many of those on Mars either. Except for Oppy’s Trail, one patch of red sand is much like another.”
“I bet.” Kiial was quiet for a while.
“This is really bothering you, ain’t it, Tailboy?”
“Yeah. The guy met with Cox, and it sure looked like he gave him money.”
Ericson stopped. “Cox? He’s an asshole, that’s for sure. But to betray the unit?”
“Has it happened?”
“Sure. Humans ain’t always been the best at that sort of thing.”
“Neither have we, when there’s a business deal on the table.” Kiial wiped his paws. “What do you think?”
“I think we better watch Corporal Bag O’Dicks.”
Kiial waved his tail in laughter. “Agreed, but I was asking about the latrine.”
“You go that way and check. I’ll go this way and check. We know they’ll find something, but best if it ain’t much.”
“I agree.”
They double-checked, and the latrine was as spotless as they could make it. Corporal Bag O’Dicks found rust in the middle of a hinge, though, and made them do PT for a half-hour.
“Aren’t traitors supposed to be unobtrusive?” hissed Kiial afterward.
“Beats me. I ain’t ever seen one I know of.”
“That’s what I mean.” Kiial glanced at Cox, who was dressing down Johnson for something at the other end of the barracks.
Ericson laughed, but he glanced at the corporal thoughtfully.
The next day, two things happened. One, a bunch of trucks arrived at the base carrying a large group of technicians. Two, the cadre seemed especially annoyed and frustrated. Not surprisingly, Cox was the worst.
“What’s going on?” Kiial hissed at Ericson when he had a chance.
“Beats the hell out of me, Tailboy.”
“How dumb are you if you don’t recognize the Binnig logo?” Johnson snickered.
“Binnig?” asked Kiial.
Johnson looked at the Cochkala incredulously. “Damn, you’re an idiot. Can’t wait until Cox gets rid of you.”
Ericson smiled. “Binnig is the company that makes CASPers.”
“Right, now I remember.”
“Now he remembers.” Johnson laughed.
Cox heard the laugh. “You find something funny, Johnson?”
“No, Corporal Cox!” Johnson stood at attention, only flicking his eyes to glare at Kiial.
“Then wipe that damn smile off your face!”
“Yes, Corporal Cox!”
Cox strode around the platoon. “Clearly, I’ve been too lazy to do my job, isn’t that right, Recruit Platoon Alfa-29?”
“Yes, Corporal Cox!” they shouted.
“In that case, I should assign myself some PT, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Corporal Cox!”
“And since we’re part of the same unit and followers of the great tradition of Sam Steele, you’ll want to join me, right?”
“Yes, Corporal Cox!”
“Then let’s go touch the pillar a few times.” He started running, and the platoon followed with the other cadre members snapping at them.
Major Dozier watched from his office window overlooking the training square as Cox led the unit off at a fast pace. “Captain Gregg?”
Gregg looked up from his desk. “Yes, sir?”
“Do me a favor. Find something for Recruit Platoon Alfa-29 to do that isn’t hard labor, but certainly isn’t fun.”
“Why?”
“I’ve watched that platoon do PT all morning, and now their cadre is leading them up to touch the pillar.”
“McWhorter did that?”
“No, I sent him off to help unpack the training modules. It’s Corporal Cox, I think.”
“I barely know him. He wasn’t here when I served at West Rocks before.”
“McWhorter hates him, but he seems to get the job done everywhere he goes.” Dozier shrugged. “And his platoons have come out sharp, even if he’s tough.”
“I guess.” Captain Gregg looked as his computer. “You know, with all the new equipment Binnig just dumped on us, we’re scrambling for warehouse space. We haven’t used the back warehouse in a couple of years and it’s got to be filthy.”
“Perfect. Catch Alfa-29 when they get back from the first pillar touch and give them some rags.”
“Yes, sir.”
* * * * *
Chapter 8 – Kal’shin Tahzhent
Zuparti Freighter Zukalakk
Karma
Tahzhent released the controls as his shuttle settled onto the Zukalukk’s deck. He had been here before, and with unerring memory, he went directly to the conference room with his pad. Kukuluki waited for him there.
“Tahnerif accepted the contract on Maquon,” growled Tahzhent without preamble.
“He added r-r-restrictions.”
“Show me,” demanded the Zuul.
Kukuluki pushed several buttons on the table, and Tahzhent’s pad pinged. Tahzhent studied the updated contract carefully.
When done, he looked up with bared fangs. “These’ll do nothing to protect him.”