Technokill

by David Sherman

  The scientists on Avionia Station had many and varied duties to perform in their study of that alien world. None of them, though, had the same interest in the minutiae of the surface that an infantryman had. So the staff hadn't developed the kinds of maps an infantryman needed to move from one place to another. Their maps of the Cheereek home range showed no details smaller than three meters in diameter. They were sufficient for a Dragon racing cross-country, or for a man who simply wanted to walk from here to there. But the maps were absolutely inadequate for an infantryman who needed to travel undetected.

  Most times that would present no particular problem for the Marines. Most places they went they either had maps with the necessary level of detail or they moved through areas sufficiently foliated that they didn't need to concern themselves with every ripple or irregularity in the ground. Or the string-of-pearls could transmit real-time maps down to the infantrymen. But they had no string-of-pearls now. The lone satellite General Cazombi had launched was a poor substitute.

  Captain Conorado studied the heads-up display map he received from the orbiting satellite. Its resolution was much finer than Avionia Station's maps—thirty centimeters. He would have preferred fifteen centimeters, but thirty was good enough so many kilometers from the Cheereek encampment. He sketched out a proposed route of march for the first five kilometers, then magnified it section by section to make sure it gave adequate concealment all the way. It seemed to. He called for a meeting of the platoon commanders and sergeants, and Lieutenant Musgrave, commander of the reinforced Dragon platoon, joined him. Gunnery Sergeant Bass brought Sergeant Bladon, whose squad would have the point on the movement. The face-to-face meeting wasn't absolutely necessary, not with the helmet radios. But no matter how sophisticated communications became, Conorado believed that nothing could ever replace looking men in the eye.

  When the platoon commanders and sergeants gathered, Conorado looked at each one, then glanced at Sergeant Bladon and back at Bass for a moment before he began by informing them that second squad, not first, was going to have the point. Schultz was in first squad. He was almost always the pointman in a company movement. In addition to having first-rate field skills and uncanny instincts, the career lance corporal didn't trust anybody else with the most dangerous job in a movement. Conorado wondered how Bass was going to handle Schultz's inevitable explosion about not having the point. Well, Bass could handle it.

  "Don't ask how, I don't know," he said, moving on, "but we've got detailed topography. Take a look." He transmitted the satellite map to the Marines. At first glance the map wasn't much, displaying a strip twenty kilometers long by little more than one wide. It became more impressive when they magnified the scale.

  Bladon whistled softly. He hadn't been a squad leader long, and this was the first time he'd ever seen a fresh satellite map on a HUD.

  Staff Sergeant Hyakowa chuckled and nudged him. "Bet you didn't know you were having your picture taken, did you?" Bladon didn't answer, he just stared at the image in the display. He was looking at the platoon's position. Not only could he see nearly every ripple in the ground and about half of the studs of vegetation, in infrared he saw each of the Marines.

  "We are going to make a reconnaissance in force," Conorado said after a moment. "This map shows the first part of our approach to the Cheereek encampment." He had no need to elaborate, they already knew what they were doing; all that they lacked was some few details, and he didn't have many to tell them. "I don't know how much of the company will get closer than five kilometers from the camp. Right now I don't even know how many men I'll send in closer once I decide where the company waits. The Avionians have extremely sharp vision, and we found out the hard way that they can see us in our chameleons. So we absolutely need to stay out of sight." Conorado looked at Bladon. "Is there anything about that route you don't understand?"

  Bladon looked the captain in the eye. "Nossir, it's clear."

  "Then let's move out. Take care of it, Charlie."

  Bass nodded with a wry grin. The others cast sympathetic glances at him. None of them would want to deal with an unhappy Hammer Schultz, and Schultz had been unhappy to begin with on this mission.

  They took their time, keeping to hollows and deeply cut channels. There was only one spot where they had to rise to level ground, and it had enough vegetation that they were able to crawl one at a time across the four-meter flat without exposing themselves. The sun was going down by the time they reached the five kilometer midpoint to the Cheereek encampment. By then the ground surveillance satellite had completed three orbits and gathered more data.

  Captain Conorado studied a new map, one displaying twenty kilometers by nearly three. He saw that a platoon could get close enough to the camp to hear the voices in it—and avoid the sentries the map showed. It showed him the same for the opposite side of the encampment. But the map wasn't sufficiently wide to show enough of the landscape to its flanks. Two more passes would do that. He checked the time data on the map. Another pass was due in forty-two minutes. Then a ninety-six minute wait for the next one. Nearly an hour and three-quarters before he had a map that would show all the approaches. He wanted, needed, his men to be in positions where they could observe the entire encampment.

  He toggled on his helmet radio's command circuit and said, "Hold positions. All platoons, put out observation posts. Chow down."

  It was full dark by the time Conorado had enough data from the satellite to make his night plans. He moved the whole company forward to within two kilometers of the encampment. First platoon sent one squad forward to a spiderweb of runoff channels half a kilometer closer. Second platoon sent a squad more than halfway around the camp to the right. Third platoon sent one squad more than halfway around to the left. The nocturnal habits of the Cheereek helped greatly—most of their sentries were called in; the few still left on watch were withdrawn to within a hundred meters of the encampment's boundaries. He had people in position to observe the entire encampment when the sun rose.

  When day dawned, the Marines quickly learned there was no central storage, that the Cheereek took their rifles home with them at night. The Marines waited until after sunset to withdraw. They returned to Avionia Station.

  "They're gone," Dr. Hoxey said. "Your mission is over. How soon can you leave?"

  General Cazombi shook his head. He had a feeling the smugglers, whoever they were, weren't finished yet. "If we leave, there's nothing to keep them from coming back. Our mission isn't over until we know they're through here." He looked at Special Agent Nast.

  Nast nodded. "The mission isn't over until we've found and arrested them."

  Dr. Abraham spread his hands. "How can you catch them if they're gone and you're here?"

  "By being here when they return," Cazombi said.

  "And being ready for them," Captain Conorado added.

  "But the Avionians," Abraham objected. "The Marines on the surface, surely they'll be seen. Think of how that will disrupt Avionian development!"

  Cazombi shook his head. "Don't worry, Doctor, the Marines won't disrupt the Avionian development."

  Hoxey was angry. "How can they not?" she shrilled. "We know they can see your Marines in their—what do you call them—chameleons."

  "I'm keeping the Marines in orbit until the smugglers return."

  "You can't! Why—Why there isn't space for them on the station. We won't be able to get any work done."

  "Don't worry, they won't be underfoot. I'm going to return them to the Khe Sanh. It has the training and recreation facilities they need that Avionia Station doesn't."

  "You mean that—that warship is going to remain here?"

  "Yes, ma'am. For as long as I believe the Marines might be needed:"

  Hoxey glared at the general and the Marine captain. She'd see about that. As soon as the meeting was over, she'd have Markoney prepare another drone. It would demand the recall of the Marines. It didn't matter to her that the drone would take months to make the round trip to Ear
th and the Marines would probably be gone by the time it returned; they might not be gone by then, and she had to get them out of her way so she could continue her essential research without fear of outside interruption or meddling.

  Chapter 22

  The Lady Tee, Patch's private ship, made a perfect landing less than a kilometer from where the Marquis de Rien had touched down.

  Henderson and his men waited nervously for Patch to join them at their new planetfall, about five kilometers from where the Marquis de Rien had first come down. Most of the men stood about nervously outside the ship, waiting for the boss to arrive. Herbloc, dreading every contact with Patch, had retreated inside, where he lay in his bunk, his flask within easy reach. He knew Patch would want him to go to the Cheereek encampment, and he needed to prepare himself for that. After a few moments he dozed off.

  "Heeer-bloc!" a voice roared over the ship's intercom. "Get your fat ass out here on the double!"

  Herbloc started awake. "His master's voice," he whispered, swinging his legs out of his bed. He took a long nip from his flask and sighed.

  Emerging from the ship's passenger elevator into the steamy Avionian sunlight, Herbloc froze. That woman! She was the one he'd encountered on Luna Station before they left to come to Avionia the first time. What...?

  "Well, well," Katrina Switch said, smiling viciously, "who do we have here? Why, it's Dr. Fatass. We meet again." She swaggered over to Herbloc, who stood rooted with embarrassment, and rubbed her riding crop gently between his legs. Herbloc's face turned a deep red.

  "Madam..."

  She grabbed Herbloc's ear—hard—and dragged him to where Patch was standing. As he stumbled along, she swung her crop hard against his copious posterior. The men gathered around roared with laughter. "The boss wants you, needle dick." Kat laughed and pushed him forward. Herbloc lost his balance and fell to his knees in front of Patch. He was overcome by a feeling of terrible desperation: he had been coerced into a dangerously illegal operation that could get him a life sentence with no chance of commutation; none of these professional criminals cared for him; and now this bitch had made his humiliation total.

  "Sam—" Gunsel protested. Kat flashed him an evil look and he let his protest die. Nobody dared cross Kat in front of Sam Patch.

  "On your feet, gutsack." Patch hoisted Herbloc to a standing position. "Okay, Jum, you drive. Art, get your tool kit and any remaining rifles. Don't worry about the trinkets, we won't need them. Doctor, you've been talking the talk, so I hear. Well, now you're going to walk the walk. Get in the landcar." He turned to Henderson. "Sly, you and the rest of the boys secure the area while we're away."

  "Sam, what are you going to do?" Henderson asked. He felt he knew and he didn't like it.

  "I'm going to kick some birdbrain asses, Sly. We're going to that camp and get all the goddamned stones the birdies can shit in a day. Then we'll blow this hole."

  "Sam, be careful. These Cheereek can be dangerous. You should take more men and better weapons than your sidearms. The Cheereek have Art's guns and know how to use them."

  Patch snorted. "Goddamned popguns, Sly! I planned it that way." He patted his holstered hand-blaster. "This is all the persuasion I'll need. I'm taking personal charge of this operation now and I don't take no crap off nobody, especially a bunch of goddamned birds. Just leave this to me." He turned to Kat. "Katrina, come along with me and bring your toy collection. If things slow down, you can practice on the good doctor here." He roared with laughter and climbed into the landcar.

  Cheerpt, Captain of Guards, was enjoying a warrior's trail meal, a living gwak. The small ground-burrower, held firmly in Cheerpt's powerful hands but not yet quite dead, protested loudly, appendages flailing feebly as Cheerpt's powerful mouth tore into its innards. Gwaks were delicious. Cheerpt looked up suddenly. A messenger stood before his perch and held his head high, face pointed at the sky. Annoyed by the interruption, Cheerpt expressed a long white stream of goop from his cloaca. This was not only a sign of his displeasure but also an affectation of his position; only someone of his perching could get away with excreting within the confines of the rookery. A stone squished to the ground in the midst of the goop. He gave the unremarkable stone a quick glance. Every time he saw one of the things now he was reminded of the Clumsy Ones. Cheerpt shifted angrily on his perch.

  "Yes? Be quick!"

  "The Clumsy Ones, Captain. They come again."

  Cheerpt stiffened. Lifeless, the gwak fell from his hands. "Which ones? How far away are they? How many? Look at me so I know you speak the truth."

  "One swift-mover, Captain, the kind Heerk-kloock uses, not the kind the demons use. When I saw it, it was too far away to tell how many Clumsy Ones are in it. They will be here by the time the sun touches the top of the High Tree."

  Cheerpt calculated. It was mid-morning, he had plenty of time. "Did anyone see you come to me?"

  "No, Captain. I entered the rookery quietly and told those who greeted me that I was returning from the training roost." Cheerpt had posted guards on the far edge of the dry lake bed to warn of the approach of the Clumsy Ones. True, they had not been seen since the arrival of the others, the ones some thought were demons, but Cheerpt knew the Clumsy Ones would be back. He was patient. He needed them to put his plan into operation.

  On the ancient lake bed's far side, a hundred of Cheerpt's most trustworthy warriors were at a post he called a training roost. It was a few kilometers from the encampment. Graakaak had ordered him to prepare them for a full-scale assault against the Aawk-vermin's rookery, to wipe them out entirely. Cheerpt protested that he needed time to develop new tactics necessitated by the introduction of the Clumsy Ones' weapons. Graakaak had conceded the point reluctantly. They had attacked the Aawk-vermin several times before using the weapons, the High Chief pointed out, and those raids had been great successes, so he wanted to move at once. Cheerpt had convinced him that an assault on a rookery demanded different tactics than an ambush of a hunting party. He added that the possibilities for extending the Cheereek territory—and Graakaak's grandeur—were guaranteed if he could be allowed to exploit to the maximum the use of the new weapons. And who knew what tribes lived beyond the horizon? They might not all be so despicable or as easy to defeat as the Aawk-vermin.

  Lands beyond what they knew! The idea of going so far and attacking those who lived in the far regions fascinated the High Chief. "How do you propose to march farther than any others have ever marched?" he asked.

  "I have a plan, Great One," Cheerpt answered evasively, "but I would rather you permit me to develop it fully before I announce the details to you." That was precisely why Graakaak had to be replaced as High Chief. He could not think ahead. He could not think big.

  So far Graakaak had been patient with the delay. Cheerpt was gambling the Clumsy Ones would return before he was forced to attack the Aawk-vermin roost. He needed the more powerful weapons he was convinced the Clumsy Ones kept to themselves. The wait had paid off.

  "Return to the training roost. Tell the lead guard in command to prepare the ambush. I shall be there shortly to take charge."

  "I go, Captain," the messenger said. He bounded onto his eeookk and galumphed toward the training camp.

  The route the Clumsy Ones always took to the rookery passed through a deep defile on the plain just above the shoreline of the dry lake bed. It was there Cheerpt planned to trap the Clumsy Ones and kill them all.

  Patch was in a very jovial mood as his landcar sped along at more than a hundred kilometers per hour, kicking up a vast cloud of dust as it crossed the ancient lake bed. Jum Bolion was silent, paying strict attention to his driving. Kat toyed with Herbloc, telling him in graphic detail how she would use him once they were back on board the Lady Tee. Herbloc had to admit he was a little interested at first, but after a few moments of the most vile descriptions of sexual perversions, he tried unsuccessfully to concentrate on other things. He dared not even take a nip from his flask. He watched Gunsel out of the corner of
his eye. The artificer sat morosely silent himself, looking out the nearest viewport, toying with the hilt of the knife strapped to his equipment belt. He was the only person in the world Herbloc could call a friend. A wave of self-pity welled up inside the forlorn old mountebank.

  "Lay off a bit, Kat," Patch said over his shoulder, "I think the old bastard's enjoying it too much." Kat's cynical laughter joined Patch's. Herbloc suddenly realized he would never get out of his situation alive. The two of them were going to work him over after they had gotten all the stones they wanted. He shuddered. There was no escape.

  The landcar began to slow down. "There's the old shoreline, just ahead," Jum Bolion said. "Once we're up and over that, we go into the woods, through a short defile, and then there's the hardpan of the old lake. That'll lead us straight to the camp."

  "How long is that defile, Jum?" Patch asked. "I don't like defiles."

  "A hundred meters, maybe, and two meters deep at the deepest part. It's the most direct route to the camp."

  The landcar crawled up the slope and then plunged onto the plain. A few hundred meters along it roared down into a gully that grew narrower as they proceeded. Jum Bolion abruptly slammed on the breaking lever and the vehicle skittered to a dust-billowing halt. "What the hell?" he exclaimed.

  Patch leaned forward and peered out through the windshield. A huge boulder, easily two meters in diameter, blocked their way forward. "Must've come down since we were last out here," Bolion said, putting the vehicle into reverse.

  Kat screamed from the rear of the passenger compartment, "Look out!" A tremendous crash sounded behind them and the vehicle was momentarily engulfed in dust and debris. "There's another boulder behind us!" she shouted.

  "You damned idiot," Patch screamed at Bolion. "We've been ambushed! Drive over the goddamned thing!"