Counter-Measures

by W. Michael Gear

  Myles rubbed at his chin, conscious of the feel of his jaw. How long had it been since he'd felt his bones this way?

  "Not nearly as well as I'd wish. Be that as it may, I am surprised at the progress we've made. What do you hear about the political situation? "

  "Not good. We've placed Cobra on emergency resupply and refueling. I'll be ready to space in another eighty hours. "

  Myles lowered his voice. "We'll make it, Delshay. Even if Staffa can't use this Seddi computer, we'll patch it up and hold it together someway, somehow.

  "You seem so sure, Myles."

  He shrugged. "What choice do we have, Commander? We all must do our best-and then a little bit better. And if we keep our people alive, it will be well worth the struggle. Years from now, you and I will look at each other and nod, knowing our actions were worth something. That's not such a bad way to live the rest of your life, knowing that you've made a difference."

  "You know, you're all right, Myles. I think in the days to come, I'll remember what you just said. " The lift doors opened to a busy landing. "It's been a pleasure having you aboard. I just wish we could have had more time to talk."

  "I enjoyed my passage aboard Cobra. When this is finished, Delshay, come and visit Hyros and me. It will be our turn to provide the hospitality. And perhaps, we'll be able to raise a glass and toast our success."

  She gave him a salute before turning off to one side to deal with a group of techs who stood waiting with portable comms tucked under their arms.

  Myles searched for Magister Dawn, seeing no tall, brownhaired woman with tan eyes. He shrugged when he met Hyros' questioning look. "Perhaps the Magister was detained? Or we've arrived earlier-"

  "Legate?" a tall black man asked, stepping out from the crowd.

  I'Yes? The man bowed. "I am Master Wilm, Magister Dawn's administrative assistant. I'm afraid the Magister has been absorbed by political events.

  She's on the subspace to Dion Axel. More trouble in Phillipia. Violence in the streets. It appears that Ayms is going to have to land hot and secure the planet. The next couple of hours will be critical."

  Myles smiled ruefully, noting the ragged look in the man's bloodshot eyes, the haggard set of his mouth. "It's not going well, is it?

  "No, it's not. I'm worried sick about Magister Dawn. She's lost ten kilos since this has started. She fell asleep in the women's room yesterday. Now that you're here, she can stop worrying about the Farhome project though."

  "And how is that coming along?"

  "Just like everything else, Legate. Too little, too late."

  Anticipation and worry sent jitters through Staffa as he started down the winding stairway that led into the bowels of Makarta Mountain. This tunnel twisted and dipped as it descended. The steps carved into the stone had been worn hollow by countless feet. White bulbs cast their soft light over the uneven walls. Behind him, the rasping of booted feet, the clanking of equipment, and the scuffing of clothing filled the confined space.

  "How much farther?" Sinklar asked from behind him. "Just about there." And then what am I going to do? The problem of the machine continued to perplex him. His scalp prickled, as if the machine's lingering touch pervaded the air.

  You don't have any choice, Staffa. Your ships are arriving over troubled worlds. You must have a way of administering Free Space. Maybe the Mag Comm can do it.

  Staffa's jitters heightened. And what if Bruen is right? What if it uses our dependence to enslave us?

  Staffa could see the worn stone floor now. He stepped out into the room, the sensation the same as the first time he'd entered here with Bruen.

  The cavern measured ten meters in diameter, the ceiling highly arched and filled with light globes. The walls had been polished from centuries of robed bodies leaning against them. At different times, shelves had been cut into the stone, and marks on the floor indicated where cabinets had stood.

  Gasps came from behind Staffa as his party trooped in. Sinklar stopped in mid-step, bicolored eyes wide.

  The Mag Comm filled an entire wall to the right of the entrance. Bank upon bank of multicolored lights flickered and gleamed, no rhyme or sense to their organization or

  size as they shot patterns of light across the room. The mainframe consoles had been molded, the proportions oddly wrong, the manufacture inhuman. The material might have been brushed metal, or silver ceramic of some sort. A single reclining chair sat before the main board, and behind it, glittering in the wealth of sparkling lights, a holder supported a thin helmet of delicate golden wire mesh.

  Staffa's people had packed the rear of the room, barely audible whispers passing back and forth among his techs.

  6What now?" Sinklar asked, stepping forward, fascination evident in his expression.

  Staffa approached the golden helmet cautiously, mindful of the stories Bruen had told. Once, he would have rushed to place the helmet on his head, remembering the warm tingle of its attempt to establish contact. That euphoria had passed. Staffa examined the golden web through narrowed eyes. What are you?

  Sinklar stopped before the huge machine, staring up at it. "The only communication is through the headset?"

  "Data can be input through a keyboard. The helmet link, however, is supposed to be the most efficient. What's your guess, Sinklar? Do you think people made this?"

  Fist shook his head, hands clasped behind his back. "No. It looks . . .

  wrong."

  Staffa gave him a crooked smile. "Meet your grandfather. "

  Sinklar shot him an uneasy glance. "Anatolia would have loved . . . "

  "Yes. she would have." Staffa stepped over, reached out to pluck the deceptively light helmet from the holder. "Come here."

  Sinklar took a step, jaw muscles bunched. Tingles, electric and beckoning, played along Staffa's hands and arms as he lifted the helmet. "Lean close, Sinklar, feel that?"

  Sinklar inched his head to within twenty centimeters of the helmet and started, ducking back, surprise in his eyes. "Seductive, isn't it?"

  "I almost put it on once. Kaylla practically pulled muscles racing over to jerk it away." At a sudden flash of red light, Staffa said, "Look. See that large red light that's begun to blink? That's the beacon. With that, the machine called Bruen to communicate.-

  Sinklar's expression soured. "If that was on Bruen's head, I don't want to get close to it. Some of the contamination might'rub off."

  We have a way around that. I hope." Staffa beckoned. Ryman? "

  Ark stepped forward with the case he'd carried under his arm, dropping to one knee as he unclipped the fasteners on the sialon box. Opening the boy. exposed a woM-capDf the sort used on ships' bridges. Within the cap lay a head-sized transparent ceramic oblong shot through with coils of wire. The "head" and the worry-cap in turn were connected by two meters of bundled cable with a black plastic box located midway between them.

  "Explain this, Ryman.

  Ark looked up at the Mag Comm, then at Staffa. "What we've put together, Lord Commander, is a basic worry-cap wired to reproduce a similar chemo-electric response within the transmitter, the ceramic head. We've linked them with standard nanofiberoptic cable, but with a metering interferometer." He tapped the black plastic box with a finger. "This acts as a one-way diode. You can think anything you want, and it will be re-created in the transmitter."

  "But the Mag Comm can't send anything back, can't manipulate the wearer's brdin!"

  "That's correct, sir. Quite honestly, we didn't know what we'd be dealing with. Before we can go two-way, we'll need to get an idea of what that golden helmet does, how it works. After that, we can start designing a gate that will allow you two-way communication." Ark spread his hands. " Assuming this first version even works. You understand, sir, we were shooting in the dark designing this thing. "

  Staffa nodded, slapping his old friend on the shoulder. "I understand, Ryman."

  Staffa paused, hating the fluttery anticipation in his gut. "Ready to try it?"

  Ark nodded, reaching
up to remove his combat helmet. "No, Ryman. Are you ready for me to try it?"

  "Excuse me, sir. But as head of your security-" Ark jerked a nod at the Mag Comm--and given the unknown capabilities of this machine, I think-"

  "I know, Ryman. It's all right. I understand. Hand me the worry-cap.

  Ark bit his lip and, against his better judgment, handed Staffa the worry-cap. The metal felt warm in Staffa's hand as he lowered it over his head, gazing thoughtfully at the Mag Comm from under the low rim of the helmet.

  "We're preparing to place the machine's receiver on our transmitter," Ark informed. "Are you ready, sir?"

  "I'm ready. I'll tell the machine to cancel the red summons light."

  "Affirmative. Here we go. We're lowering the golden helmet now, sir. "

  Staffa felt nothing except the typical sensation of the worry-cap, as if his thoughts were running out through his skull instead of being bounded by the perceptual universe.

  "Mag Comm, if you can hear me, cancel your flashing summons light.

  Sinklar cried, "The light is off!"

  Staffa nodded, "Mag Comm, turn the light on again. "Whoops," Sinklar corrected. "It's on again!"

  "I know, " Staffa said. "Ryman, your transmitter works. " "We're getting readings, Lord Commander. This helmet is generating a great deal of electromagnetic energy. If it keeps this up, it could fry the transmitter.

  "Mag Comm, you must limit your probing of our transmitter. If you burn out our system, we will be unable to communicate with you. Do you want us to continue communications with you? Flash your summons light once for no, twice for yes.

  "

  "The red light just flashed twice," Sinklar called. "Readings on the golden helmet are decreasing. " Ark sounded relieved.

  Staffa took a deep breath. "Mag Comm, we are not the Seddi. We are here as a delegation for all humans. We understand the role you have played among the Seddi. We do not wish to act as your pawns, or your agents. That time is past.

  Do you bear human beings ill will? "

  "The light flashed once," Sinklar relayed.

  Staffa wet his lips. "Here goes. Pray, people. " "Mag Comm, humanity is threatened by a collapse of our administrative systems. The Regan comm system, which directed their distribution of resources and manufacturing, was destroyed by war. The Sassan computer system, which was to take over those functions for all of Free Space, was destroyed soon thereafter by a seismic shift in the planetary

  crust. Do you have the capacity and hardware to run such an administrative program?"

  "TWo flashes!" Sinklar sang out.

  Now for the final question. Staffa's stomach knotted in anticipation. "Mag Comm, will you help us in this time of need? Will you coordinate our administration of Free Space? If you do not, a large number ofpeople will die.

  Flash once for no. Twice for yes. "

  "TWo flashes," Sinklar announced.

  Staffa lifted the worry-cap from his head, relief mixing with distrust. "It says it will help us."

  Sinklar crossed his arms, uneasily observing the machine. The summons light began to flash again, demanding, eager. "But what have we done, Lord Commander? Have we struck a bargain to save ourselves? Or are we about to snap the collar about our necks?"

  "I wish I knew."

  The long climb winded Sinklar, but despite his trembling legs, he hurried toward the wrecked upper levels of Makarta. As he left the soft white light of the lower chambers behind, his suit units kicked on, bathing the way in their harsh glare. His plan had been to rush past, to avoid as many of the broken bodies as possible. The contorted dead stared at him from shrunken visages, their dried bodies shrouded in dust and charred armor.

  This journey brought him as much pain as the first, and despite himself, Sinklar stopped periodically, reaching down to touch a hardened armor shoulder, or to stare into the face of one of the questing dead.

  "I'm sorry," he whispered over and over.

  Finally, half dazed, he climbed up the square tunnel and out into the glare of the compound lights burning brightly in the Targan night. Technicians, shouting and hammering, were in the process of setting up prefab buildings, and in the distance the dwindling roar of a shuttle faded. Gen-sets were puttering and stuttering in the background.

  Sinklar filled his lungs with the fresh air, half sick from the horror of the caverns. Squinting into the actinic light of

  the field camp, he turned, walking off to the right, passing beyond the perimeter and into the darkness.

  From the stars, he could tell that morning would come within the hour. Passing the guard, he climbed to a point overlooking the valley. He found his old spot, listening to the fallen brown pine needles crackle underfoot, and settled on a rock with his back to one of the vanilla-scented trees. Here, what seemed like a lifetime ago, he'd sat with MacRuder, trying to make sense of it all ... both lost in their grief for Gretta.

  That had been in daylight, before Makarta had looted the last of the unshaken confidence from his soul. Then, Mac had stood before him and warned Sinklar that Ily would try to seduce him.

  I didn't believe you, Mac. I didn't hear what you really said that day. He snorted at himself. And if I had taken you seriously, I wouldn't have believed it. "You're a fool, Sinklar. A silly fool."

  He leaned his head back, listening to the night sounds. The corpses rustled in the back of his memory. Images of their dried flesh burned into his mind. The musty odor of the chambers forever his.

  What could I have done differently?

  He heard the soft tread of booted feet in the darkness, and chuckled wearily to himself. "Adze? Is that you, or am I lucky enough to have been found by an overlooked Seddi rebel? "

  "Just me, sir. Sorry to interrupt. I'll back off a little farther.

  Sinklar chewed on his lip for a moment, then slapped his legs in defeat. "Come over and have a seat. If you're going to be my watchdog, I'd like to know something about you. "

  She stepped over, carefully studying the terrain through her electronic augmentation. Finally, satisfied, she settled herself across from him, lifting the studded visor. Overlapping plates of mirror-reflective armor speckled with the stars on the upper surfaces and molded with the night on the lower. In the dim starlight, he could barely make out her face. She had brown eyes, proud copper-toned facial features, and wide cheekbones that accented her straight nose and full mouth. He imagined thick black hair to be hidden within the helmet.

  "What would you like to know?" "Where are you from?"

  She glanced off to the south, over the tree-filled valley. "My family comes from Malbourne, but I spent half of my life in Itreata. My father fought for the Lord Commander. I have followed in his footsteps. Fortunately, I studied hard and qualified for the Special Tactics Unit."

  "Have you been with Staffa long?"

  "Four Imperial years as a Companion." She smiled, exposing strong white teeth.

  "Myklene was my first real action. I distinguished myself during the infiltration and sabotage. "

  Sinklar resettled himself, easing the spots where the rock had started to eat into his hide. "I got into war by accident. The Seddi kept me out of the Regan University system. I was drafted and dropped on Targa as a lowly private. Can you imagine? I didn't know up from down or back from forth." He shook his head. "And they thought I'd make a soldier! "

  She frowned. "I thought you were a Division First? And then weren't you in charge of the entire Regan military?" "I was." Sinklar picked up a rock and tossed it into the

  darkness. "But that was later. Here, on Targa, I was supposed to be a political sacrifice. Tybalt needed a disaster, something to lure Staffa into contracting with Rega. He played right into the Seddi's hands. The day after I set foot on Targa, we took Kaspa, the capital. The first Targan counterattack wiped out ninety percent of the First Targan Division. They sent raw recruits out of the replacement cadres, and I was promoted to Section First. We were given a mountain pass to hold. I did it by throwing out the military manua
l and trusting my people."

  Those ghosts watched and nodded in the night, reliving the desperate battle for that tortured mountain saddle. In Sinklar's memory, blasters flashed and grav shots turned reality inside out. He forced the image from his mind before it blended into his nightmare.

  -Tybalt needed a sacrifice. In defiance of custom, they promoted me again, to Division First this time. The reasons quickly became apparent. " He pointed over toward the east. "We got dropped out there. Abandoned without transport, orbital support, logistics, or intelligence. By rights the Targan rebels should have cut us apart."

  "But they didn't."

  Sinklar shook his head. "I kept my people alive. We commandeered what we needed from the countryside and went on to take the city of Vespa. After that, we destroyed the majority of the Rebel army, pacified the planet, and . . .

  and finally came here, to Makarta. To end it once and for all. "

  They sat in silence for a while, listening to the chirring of the night insects.

  "From the looks of things in there, it was a tough fight. Sinklar nodded, the tender wound in his heart aching again. "I didn't know Staffa was in the mountain. If I had, I'd never have risked all those people. You've got to under-stand, the best intelligence I had was that Makarta was filled with Seddi priests and novices. We'd broken their army by then. This should have been a simple mop-up. A neat flanking maneuver, and we'd have them all for interrogation. "

  He shook his head, eyes closed, seeing Mayz's stunned expression as another Section died inside the mountain. "Staffa changed everything. He kept them from panicking, trapped six hundred of my people. After that, I had to get them out. Otherwise, I never would have risked those lives. "

  ' 'I didn't understand that at first, " she told him. "I thought you were weak. "

  "I am," Sinklar whispered. "Weak and haunted." Adze hitched a leg up, repositioning her shoulder weapon on its sling as she stared out at the night.

  "It's none of my business, Lord Fist, but do you plan on living the rest of your life like that?"