Counter-Measures

by W. Michael Gear

  "Good to see you, my Lord Minister."

  "You have a loose tongue, Gyper." Ily jerked her head back to where Leon and Vymar had stepped in behind Arta and dogged the hatch.

  "Do not worry. They are trusted men. I would have sent no others." Even as Rill spoke, the two security men entered the cockpit and dogged the hatch behind them.

  Rill was a thickset man, heavily muscled in the chest and shoulders. His belly had begun to expand, compliments of his lifestyle as Director of Internal Security on Terguz. Close-cropped black hair betrayed his square skull. Now, he studied Arta with unabashed black eyes.

  "You must be Arta Fera, " he greeted, reaching out with a chunky hand. At her touch, a smile of anticipation lit his face.

  "Enough, Gyper," Ily barked. "You can worship Arta later. I want a briefing.

  Now."

  Gyper sighed reluctantly and settled into one of the seats. "You might want to strap in. We're dropping for the planet immediately. "

  "Maybe." Ily settled herself across from him. "That depends on what you tell me."

  Gyper studied her carefully, lacing his thick fingers over his gut. "Then the reports are true? Rega is in the hands of the Star Butcher?" He gave a curt nod. "You have quite a price on your head. "

  "Keep talking," Ily ordered. Arta slipped into the seat behind Rill, a fact that clearly unsettled him.

  "I could retire in comfort," Rill stated matter-of-factly. "And be rid of this frozen ball of poisoned ice and rock forever . . . with Staffa's good graces thrown in."

  "And will you?" Ily raised an eyebrow. "Given the percentage you've skimmed off Terguz -in the past, retirement shouldn't be any problem for you."

  Rill gave her a crooked grin. "You're right. Unfortunately for my health and well-being, you have a habit of choosing your people well." He made an annoyed gesture. "My problem is that I've come to enjoy Terguz. I expect the future to prove even more exciting. Allay your fears, Ily. You are safe."

  "Are we?"

  Rill chuckled. "I wouldn't be here were it not for you. I rule Terguz. Not the Administrator, though he'd never admit it, even to himself."

  "Frederick Gaust is a fawning lapdog. The Emperor sent Gaust out here because he's a tight-fisted accountant, and because he kept drooling on Tybalt's slippers."

  Rill grunted. "He can't even keep his daughter under control. "

  "Of course you run Terguz, Gyper. I wouldn't have put you here if I hadn't thought you could do the job. And I'm to believe that you didn't even think twice when you received my call?"

  Rill's face s'crewed up into a distasteful scowl. "Of course I thought twice.

  Who wouldn't? But seriously, Ily, you did me a favor once. Granted, I've repaid you in excess for the privilege of this station. As you no doubt know so well, I plan for the long term."

  He leaned forward. "Let's be honest, shall we? I don't know what your situation is. I assume it isn't good. In fact, I half expected you to show up here. This is an open world. It always has been. I expect that the future will find Terguz

  playing an increasingly important role in Free Space. No matter which direction

  events unfold, Terguz will reap the benefits. If Free Space degenerates into chaos, we will maintain a free port, open to all. Pirates pay well for a safe haven. If the Star Butcher tightens his fist, Terguz will oblige him. "

  "That could be a dicey path to follow."

  "I expect nothing to be easy." Gyper gave her an oily smile. "But even the Star Butcher can benefit from the services Terguz can provide-and the information we can render. "

  "Which brings us back to us."

  Rill nodded, a serious frown lining his forehead. "I don't like to burn bridges, Ily. You and I can deal. I have a lot of respect for you, for your talents. As to the Star Butcher's good will, I can create that on my own. I'd have been a poor choice for this position if I couldn't."

  "Then what is your motive?" Arta asked.

  "My motive is this: I don't know what you will do, Ily, but it will be daring and competent. Assuming you elude the Star Butcher, you'll land on your feet.

  The future is an uncertain place. Therefore, I want all my options open.

  Helping you now costs me nothing. In the future, it could gain me a great deal." His smile widened. "There, now all the tapa cards are on the table. "

  "And I'm supposed to just trust you?"

  Rill waved with his hand. "I could have let you step aboard and gassed you to unconsciousness. I can think of one hundred ways to have captured you had I intended to turn you over for a reward. Not only do I suffer from a sense of loyalty, but I think we can be of mutual benefit in the future. "

  Ily laughed despite herself. "Good. I like a pragmatic man. If you'd protested idealism, I'd have shot you down in an instant."

  "Idealism? Me? What do you think I am? Seddi?" "Their broadcasts have reached here?"

  "Especially here. The miners are writing slogans on the walls. "

  "It must keep your interrogation rooms full. " Ily narrowed her eyes. "Kaylla Dawn's broadcasts are worse than a plague."

  Rill pursed his lips. "Actually, I don't do much about it. Let the miners and slaves have their optimism. The disease has spread. Using one of your old axioms, we let them enjoy themselves. The people are animated for the first time. They see hope for the future. Production in the mines is up by five percent."

  "But talk of this new epistemology, that strikes at the root of everything you've gained."

  Rill shook his head. "I told you, the future is an uncertain place. I can't stamp it out. Oh, I could torture, arrest, execute-and end up with a full-scale revolt." He paused, gauging her response. "Instead, I've begun instituting reforms.

  Ily caught herself as her mouth dropped open. "In the name of the Rotted Gods, why?"

  Rill gave her a sober stare. "Because, like I've told you, I'm a survivor. To facilitate the process, I let the miners meet in the Directorate itself."

  :,you . . . "

  'Of course. I monitor the meetings, anticipate the trends. Despite the Imperial threats and edicts the Administrator posts on comm, I'm one step ahead of the people. " He frowned. "I read in one of your memos once that the people are like a sleeping dragon. The dragon has come awake. As the dragon moves, I want to be a rider, not a meal for the beast. "

  "Yet, you will help us."

  Rill gave her that calculating smile. "I meant it when I said that I like to keep all of my options open."

  Ily considered for a moment. "And if you help us, what do you want from us?"

  Rill gestured at the seat behind him where Arta waited, poised like a hunting cat. "Is she as good as they say?" Ily nodded uneasily. "She is. "

  "Would Arta be willing to . . . shall we say .

  Ily laughed. "You wouldn't want to, Gyper. I'll provide you with all the sex you need."

  "Indeed?" "As you noted when she came in, Arta is a sexual magnet. She might even be better than me when it comes to sex. The problem is, she kills the men she sleeps with. Don't

  even think it. " She smiled wickedly. "Unless, that is, you're really not a survivor after all.

  MacRuder watched the monitor. He stood beside Rysta's command chair, uneasily fingering one of the consoles that rose from the chair's arm. The image had come in through the subspace net, collected by the dish as Gyton shot through vacuum. When the communication had been collected, the bridge monitor ran it in its entirety.

  Mac bit his lip, aware of the sudden silence among the bridge crew.

  The monitor displayed scenes of devastation. Buildings lay crushed, walls spilled, wreckage strewn on the streets. Amidst the ruins, hollow-eyed people poked among the

  rubble, some laboring to exhume crushed bodies. Others scavenged for food, often fighting with their neighbors. The scene changed to that of a large camp. Slate-gray skies poured a bitter rain onto slanting tents and plastic shelters. People huddled next to dwindling fires or around smudge pots. Some wore ragged clothing.

 
The droning voice informed, "This camp has been established among the ruins just south of the Sassan Capitol. Here, at least, armed guards ensure that theft and violence are kept to a minimum. Food details scour the city, using mechanized equipment to uncoverfood warehouses. Despite these efforts, disease and starvation have taken their toll. Companions maintain constant surveillance and patrols, nevertheless, the influx of people consumes food and medical supplies faster than they' can be uncovered. Mortality rates are climbing. The day this was shot, five hundred and sixty corpses were removed from the camp. Burials are in mass graves in the Imperial Gardens. "

  The holo centered on three children, two little girls and boy. They stared at the camera, expressions haunted by a nightmare that had never ended.

  "These children were orphaned during the quake that leveled Sassa. Unlike so many other unfortunates, rescuers excavated them from their home. One little girl was found still clutching her dead mother's hand. Only a stroke offate dropped the ceiling beam on the mother, sparing the girl by mere millimeters.

  "

  The scene switched again. The shot was taken in darkness. A pile of corpses lay stacked next to a trench hacked out of the soil. Dark shapes slipped out of the night as thin figures in rags edged up to the pile of dead.

  "Starvation has run rampant across the planet. The living you see here have become so desperate they are cutting limbs from the corpses. Cannibalism has become commonplace since the corpses freeze rapidly. Moments after this was taken, armed troops dispersed those collecting here. Reports have been documented, however, where weaker victims have been killedfor theirflesh.."

  Mac dropped his eyes, unable to watch the rest of the Seddi report.

  As Mac stared at the polished deck, the uninflected voice finished. "Food transports have been reroutedfrom Riparious and Farhome at the Lord Commander's orders. To date, Ashtan, Vermilion, and Targa have not responded.

  "

  When Mac looked up again, the monitor had gone fuzzy. The Comm First killed the projection.

  Mac rubbed his hands together, shaking his head. The idea of driving the Markelos into the planet had been his. The children's faces stared back at him from his memory.

  Rysta shifted, propping herself on a bone-thin arm. "We played Rotted Hell, didn't we?"

  "Yeah," Mac whispered.

  Rysta was taking his measure. She beckoned him closer with a taloned finger.

  "Mac, you can't let it eat at you." "Oh? You saw, Rysta. We . . . I did that.

  "

  She worked her thin brown lips. "Boy, I got my bellyful in over two hundred years in the service. OT do you have a different idea about what war is? What would you have done differently? Died in a fireball when their orbital defenses kicked in?"

  Mac glared at her, hating that calm stare that held his. "Come on," Rysta muttered. "Let's go take a walk." Louder, she called, "Pilot you have the bridge."

  " 'Firmative! "

  The command consoles folded down into the chair base, freeing Rysta. The old Commander got to her feet amidst a crackling of bones and led the way to the hatch.

  Once in the corridor beyond, Rysta growled to herself and shook her head.

  "Thought you would have seen enough of that sort of thing on Targa. "

  "We fought other soldiers on Targa. Rebels, true, but they were people out trying to kill us first. By the Blessed Gods, those were just kids!" Mac spread his arms wide. "It's never going to go away, Commander. They'll live their whole lives remembering that hell. What kind of scars will that leave?"

  "Reality, boy. " Rysta shoved her hands into her belt, stalking forward, head down. "Targa was a different kind of war. You and Sinklar, you thought you could fight clean. Just kill soldiers. Sure, Mac, it's a nice thought. But now you've got to see it in the whole of war. "

  "The whole of war? Orphaned kids? People starving by the billions? You saw that that pustulous hell we unleashed. "

  Rysta stopped and turned to him. "Who provides the Iogistical support for soldiers in the field?"

  "Supply Division does."

  "Who makes the blasters, boy? Who grows the crops that get canned into rations for strapping young warriors like you to eat? Who runs the machines that weave the magical fabric for that armor suit you wear? Who digs the metals that go into LCs? Who supervises the ceramic vats? Controls the epitaxial process that builds computer chips?" Mac scowled.

  "Yeah," Rysta supplied. "The people, that's who. So when you go to war against an enemy you want to destroy, who gets pasted full in the face?"

  "It's not fair! Those are innocent people down there!" "In an Ashtan pig's eye! Each and every one of them kicked in for that pus-choked fat Emperor of theirs. "

  "Yeah, but what choice did they have? Refuse the Emperor, and you shoot right up on the candidate list for interrogation by Internal Security. "

  "You know, I get a kick out of you, boy. You and Sinklar, each looking for justice in a universe where it doesn't exist. Ah, the wondrous idealism of youth. "

  Mac followed Rysta into one of the observation ports. The stars had blurred to an eerie haze as the light cones deformed. Ahead, a wavering halo of black clouded into

  violet streaks, while smears of stars, like half bands of light, worked through the visible spectrum. Looking out the rear of the bubble, the pinpoints of light gleamed in ruddy red dots as Gyton neared light speed.

  "What about you?" Mac made his way past the spectrometer and propped himself on an interferometer. "Didn't that holo do anything to you? Are you so callous that you can't even see those suffering people?"

  Rysta stepped over to one of the telescopes and thumped the collector with a bony thumb. Her gaze settled absently on the redshifted stars beyond.

  "Callous? Yeah, I guess I am. I've seen it all, Mac. I was younger than you when I got my first posting at Academy. Rega was a second-rate world, struggling to resist Phillipian hegemony. They were trying to swallow us up.

  My family, well, we were merchants. Made our fortune that way. My father used to space regular routes between all the worlds. Trade was our lifeblood.

  Through the generations, my family built itself. Tybalt the Second declared us nobility."

  She ran her hand along the telescope, the caress gentle as a lover's.

  "Phillipia cut us off. Killed my uncle when they took his ship. My nieces and cousin all went off to Phillipia as slaves. That would have been my lot had they caught me. -

  Mac listened as she collected her thoughts. "I went to space as an officer to keep the shipping lanes open. The first kill we made was a Phillipian privateer. I gloried in that, paying them back for my uncle."

  She craned her neck to look at him. "War was different then. We fought everyone. Phillipia, Ashtan, Maika, Vermilion, it didn't matter. The merchants couldn't just stay in port. We needed goods from other planets. Treaties were made, each offering protection for merchant shipping. But Phillipia changed all that. They wanted an empire-to control it all."

  "That doesn't make mass murder acceptable." "Doesn't it?" She shook her head, staring back at the stars. "Those were the rules Phillipia played by in those days. As things got hotter, it became apparent that it was all or nothing.

  Which way would you choose, Mac? Slip a collar around a Phillipian's neck? Or your own? Want to see your father dead, or some other fellow's?"

  "There's got to be a better way."

  "Maybe there is. I'm talking about ancient history. You can go argue it with the ghosts. Reality in those days was that you got the other guy before he got you. Even then we'd reached the end of our resources. All those bodies, those conquered worlds, bought us time. "

  Mac crossed his arms. "The price was too high to pay, Rysta. "

  "Too high, Mac? You're alive, right here, right now, to argue that. Any other way and you'd never have been." She sighed. "I don't have any teleological ethics. I struggled with that once. When it came down to time to go to war, I rode the stellar dust and hoped I didn't get bucked off."
<
br />   "That's not much of an epitaph."

  "Isn't it? Beats a lot of the others all hollow."

  "What about now? We've got a chance to change things. She nodded, squinting at the stars. "We do. I hope it all works out. Rotted pus, who knows, maybe you, Sinklar, and Staffa can pull this off. In the end, you're still stuck. The worlds will only feed so many mouths, only produce so many metals, ceramics, and textiles. Like it or not, we breed like rodents. Take Phillipia. After the conquest, we'd killed one third of the population. Now there are more Phillipians than before we made the first orbital strike. What are you going to do with them, Mac? Tell them to stop copulating? It's bred into us. "

  "Extermination in an endless cycle of war isn't the answer. It wrecks too much. Makes human life cheap." "You are a young idealist. Those kids on the holo, they're

  just the first of what's to come." She shook her head. "Innocents? Hardly.

  Just like me, those kids are condemned by the fault of having been born human."

  Mac shook his head. "You make me want to slit my wrists so I can get it over with. "

  Rysta gave him a somber stare. "You want the truth? Yeah, I ache each time I see something like that. I just don't know the way out, Mac. Staffa says it's through the Forbidden Borders. I'd like to believe that. I'd like to believe it with all my soul, but it's been tried. 'rybalt tried bombs, rams, even attempted to make time run backward in localized space."

  Mac stared out into the soot-black depths. Among the stars, he thought he saw haunted eyes staring back at him. "Ashtan hasn't responded to the Lord Commander's order. When we get there, they will. "

  ' 'And if they don't? What are you going to do, Mac? Attack? Lay more bodies on the doorstep of your aching soul? "

  MacRuder closed his eyes. What would he do? Kill others to save those he'd already murdered? He turned, headed for the hatch.

  "Mac?" Rysta called. "I understand better than you think I do. I don't like it any better than you do, but prepare yourself. If Staffa's calculations are as accurate as he thinks they are, we've got some pretty grim choices ahead of us."

  Mac stopped, nodding numbly. When the time came, just which choices was he willing to make? Terrified children stared out from his imagination as starving figures loomed over them with knives.