“No, as a matter of fact they haven’t. Nor have the others. Nor has our hospital unit.”
“Sir?”
“Lieutenant, if we can believe the incredibly thorough going-over that they’ve gotten, then, except for the obvious stretch marks, there is no sign that any of the three were ever pregnant. Even their breasts, while large, are not engorged or overly distended as the medics say should be the case in such well advanced pregnancies.”
“What do they say, sir? Or can’t I ask?”
“You can indeed. They look rather blank, if you must know, and all our sensor readings indicate that the feeling is genuine. They simply don’t remember.”
“What happened to the children?”
“No, being pregnant. I should think that would be difficult to forget, yet it’s a hole. Our psych people say that they’ve never seen such a perfect selective mindworm.”
“A what, sir?”
“Mindworm. Psychs use it all the time. It’s quite similar to the ones used on computers and other positronic devices when they have problems. And, in our business, both for long-term psychological health and occasionally for security purposes, there are things that simply shouldn’t be recalled, even subconsciously. High pressures, bitter memories, breaking points. But using them always leaves gaps, things that you can find and pin down if you really dwell on them. Not these three. They have a perfectly consistent memory of the entire period with Murphy and with us and down there, and it simply isn’t the one we know and saw. It’s quite frightening, really.”
“Frightening?”
“Consider that whatever did that with them also was in our own main computers and memory banks and even had access to the Admiralty in a limited way. Suppose that power also rewrote or redid some things there? We would never know. Our original medical scans when they were first aboard do say that they were all three undergoing normal pregnancies, but now it’s not absolute that those scans were or remain correct.”
“Well, sir, I’m sure Maslovic and the others can tell you that they were as distended when they left the town house as they were here, so whatever happened happened in a relatively short time after that. And we were out there doing reconnaissance within hours of their arrival.”
“And that is the mystery, Commander. The physical evidence we have says that they were pregnant when they were here and when they got out there, and the stretch marks confirm it to a fair degree. Yet not just their memories but their physical state and even their hormonal balances say that they were not. And that leaves us with the big question.”
“Sir?”
“If they were not carrying children, then just what the hell were they carrying?”
* * *
“I still believe that you are acting in a most uncivilized and brutish manner not even to allow me to send for my clothing!” Georgi Macouri said almost petulantly.
Maslovic gave him a wicked smile, remembering the blood on that altar or whatever it was inside the town house.
“Well, you see, Mister Macouri, we’re military. We’re not personally or individually brutish, but we’re professionally brutish. Nothing personal, you understand.”
“Yes, but to force me into this loutish, crinkly uniform, and these ill-fitting skivvies. That, sir, is going too far!”
Maslovic leaned back and took another look at the man opposite him. Macouri wasn’t a particularly impressive figure. He wasn’t handsome or charming or debonair like the people in commercial dramas, and he had a particularly irritating way of saying everything through his nose in a relatively high-pitched tenor. He had nothing that would mark him as brilliant or dangerous, nothing charismatic that would draw any attention to him. That, of course, was the case with all the best agents and spies in history, but Georgi Macouri wasn’t particularly interested in blending in or not being noticed. He had money and he flaunted it. It was, in a sense, his only real attraction, but it was more than enough, apparently.
“Civilized simply means living in cities,” the intelligence man pointed out. “You are, right now, in a rather good-sized city in space and it functions. Hence, we are civilized. More civilized than most. We have no crime here, and nobody wants more than they have or can have. Everything is provided, including a skilled job that is perfectly suited to them. The competition they do have is friendly and meretricious. Improve your skills, do it better, advance in rank which means not only position but respect. That’s the only currency here. Respect. We save our violence for training and for the occasionally necessary missions. You can search all you wish on this vast ship, and you won’t find a single solitary altar nor sacrifices to any deity. We believe in what we see, what we know, what we can smell and touch and measure, and we don’t mind that. We don’t need any altars.”
“Bull! Everybody needs something greater than themselves!” Macouri snapped, showing Maslovic that he’d finally hit a rare nerve. “Why, I bet you have more shrines aboard this tub than they have on Vaticanus. Not to Saint this or that, but statues of past great military types, memorial plaques, honors lists of military achievers, and so on. Your own uniforms have these little marker things and I suspect that each one means something. Service someplace dangerous, perhaps, or best shot, or something for bravery and valor. They’re all shrines. And the larger and more lasting ones are almost temples. It’s simply a matter of culture in how you label or approach these things. I’ve never seen a military of any size that didn’t do it that way.”
“Point taken. But you know it’s not the same.”
“It’s precisely the same! As for blood, well, what’s the thing that all combat types like you value most and are taught to value most? Self-sacrifice. Taking the bullet for your comrade. That’s who gets the biggest shrines and is talked about in all the classes to the young to inspire them. Who shed the most blood. It must be ten, a hundred times more important in this sort of setting when most of you spend your whole lives as nothing more than glorified tax collectors.”
“And what do you believe in, Mister Macouri?”
The rich man gave a self-satisfied smile. “The same thing as you do, Sergeant. Power. In my culture money can be the means to power, and I use it, but it’s not everything. But all religious beliefs come down to a worship of power, sir! Your superiors have power over you. You have power over your specialists. Your organization has a certain kind of power over the remaining world governments, until at least they collapse. The Hindus among others worship many gods because each represents a certain aspect of power. The god of Abraham, whether it be Christian or Moslem or Jew or whatever, represents the ultimate power. That’s what makes the old boy God, isn’t it? All that guff about love thy neighbor and charity and all that is mere window dressing. You accept and live by the Seven Pillars or you go to Hell. You obey the Law and the Commandments or God will strike you down. Accept Jesus as the Son of God or roast forever in the Lake of Fire. Eat a hamburger and be reincarnated as a flea. Do it the military way or you’ll wind up in the brig or worse. It’s all the same.”
“And you feed your own power god with innocent blood.”
“Nobody is innocent! And one can always look on those others as having been destined for just such a role. None that we have ever selected has ever had a higher purpose, or much of any purpose, until we gave them meaning. Poor, ignorant, backward, at best mercilessly exploited, at worst forgotten and ignored. They’re born, abandoned, manage to survive for a relatively short life doing nothing but scrounging to stay alive, and then they die in squalor and are cremated and dumped in a nameless grave kept out of sight and out of town just for that purpose. Your kind doesn’t care about them, nor does anyone else. But we care. Oh, don’t look so shocked! The military of humankind has a history as well as a present day incarnation. How many innocent civilians have died in bombings, strafings, shellings, and for just being in the way of military operations? You justify them as mistakes, or, my favorite, ‘collateral damage.’ If you get the chance, you say a little prayer for them
or apologize to the survivors but you push them out of your mind. Unavoidable. Accidental. As if guns shoot themselves. We never treat people like that. No, Sergeant, it won’t do. You’ll hang me and hold your nose and categorically refuse to accept that there’s really not a blade of grass difference between us in the end.”
“And those three young women? Were they going to be sacrifices?”
Macouri shrugged. “Possibly. Probably not. They have other potential.”
“What was in their bellies, Macouri? If not babies, then what?”
The little man gave him almost a smirk in return. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, nor would it matter very much. But it wasn’t any natural breeding project like I suspect you all believed at the start. No, no. Nothing as crass as that. We would hardly need the girls to do that now, would we?”
Maslovic decided that he’d had about enough for now. “Let’s take a break, Georgi old pal. We’ll see if the others had anything more to say.”
Macouri yawned and stretched. “Captial idea, old boy. But you’ll get nothing out of them. The girls don’t really know much, and the others would never give it voluntarily and we’ve all had our little heads wired so that you can’t dig it out. And you won’t be able to cajole them, either. You see, they are much more frightened of what happens if they tell than of anything, even death, that you might threaten them with. And we’ve already demonstrated, I believe, that we’re hardly helpless even in this monster ship of yours.”
“We’ll see. But nobody’s going to get close to those crystal devices, not this time,” the intelligence man warned him. “And thanks to that demonstration, your money’s worthless here. It’s not a game any more, ‘old boy.’ The very best you can hope for here is to live the most unremittingly boring and lonely life imaginable. Lonely, but never alone.”
Macouri laughed. “Rather melodramatic of you, I think. Would it surprise you to be told that all of us, at least all but the young guests, can get out of here any time we choose? And it’s beyond your power to stop us?”
“I know you could trigger that little bomb in your brain. It so happens I have a somewhat similar device in mine, just in case,” Maslovic responded. “But I won’t unless there is absolutely no hope, nor will you.”
“My dear boy! If I triggered it now, it would join me to the greatest power in the universe!”
“You’re no martyr. Deep down, at the very bottom core of your being, is a highly educated man who can not rid himself of that one last shred of doubt. And if I’m wrong about that, well, then, if you’re going to tell me nothing, then you are nothing but a burden and a waste. Killing yourself would be just fine with me, and would simplify the paperwork. You see, you’ve finally done it, Georgi my lad. You’ve put yourself in a place and situation by your actions where you can’t possibly win. You’re either here, like this, forever, or you cease to exist. I’ll see you in a bit. Have a bland lunch.”
And, with that, the sergeant got up and walked out of the room, making sure that the brig’s first security door closed with as much sound and finality as it could muster.
Within a few minutes his intelligence team, along with Murphy, were in fact eating a bland lunch together. Murphy wasn’t complaining about it simply because Maslovic had insured that he could still get that very, very good stout.
“Okay,” the sergeant said between bites of a large sandwich, “did anybody get anything?”
“Pretty much the same stuff, only not as good speechmaking as you report your boy had,” Chung told him. She had taken Magda. “The old girl was a lot more belligerent, a lot more threatening of dire consequences from her employer and maybe supernatural or alien sources unstated but implied, and she could drop names like mad. It is true that a lot of our own security stuff came from the firm where she’s a senior vice president. We should keep an extra close watch on her for that reason alone.”
“Done. And the two employees?”
“The cook’s nothing more than a thug with a ton of loyalty and no other morals whatsoever,” Broz reported. “I’d swear to that.”
“There’s more to this Joshua than that, but I can’t give you anything concrete,” Darch told Maslovic. “We’ve run him through all sorts of databases and tried remote colonial files using tight beam and nothing really comes up. I think he’s a good man in a fight, and had some sort of military training or background even if not in our sort of culture.”
“Colonial defense, maybe? Many of them went freelance or pirate over the years. Still do. And they shouldn’t be underestimated,” Maslovic noted.
“Could be. If so, he’s not under any of the usual colonial records. Doesn’t mean much.”
“Any luck on figuring out the girls’ role in this?” the sergeant asked them.
One by one they shook their heads. Nobody had given the slightest clue, although all but the cook who, if she knew, probably hadn’t paid attention and didn’t give a damn now, seemed to be amused by the constant questioning about that.
Finally, there was near silence as each of them thought over the reports of the others and reflected on how little it had profited them.
Finally, Captain Murphy took a last drain of stout, put down the makeshift mug, and said, “Wheelbarrows.”
All the other heads suddenly turned in his direction. “Wheelbarrows?” Maslovic repeated.
“Sure. You know what a wheelbarrow is?”
“Not exactly.”
“It’s a device for manual labor haulin’ and such. One wheel in the front, two stands and two handles in the back so one man can get behind it, lift it up on the wheel, and rush it and its contents to wherever it’s needed. There’s an ancient joke, origins unknown, about a fellow who was known to be a smuggler on some world and there was this security perimeter or somesuch which you had to pass and who was lookin’ for blokes what might try to sneak things over. And every day this laborer who worked on one side would come up to the guards with a wheelbarrow full of dirt. Now, they knew the fellow was sneakin’ somethin’ by ’em, but they didn’t know what.
“They did him a full scan, analyzed every bit of dirt, did a full inside-and-out analysis of the wheelbarrow, you name it. Never found nothin’, so they had to let him through. Did this for months, he did. Finally he quit, and was ready to make his exit with some money that was a lot more than he’d made as a laborer. Guard sees him, knows he’s leavin’, and begs the fellow to tell him what he was smugglin’. Promises no penalty. So, finally, the smuggler, he smiles and says, ‘I was smugglin’ wheelbarrows, of course.’ ”
They all looked at him blankly. Finally, Darch asked, “But why would he need to pass wheelbarrows through security?”
Murphy raised his eyes towards heaven and sighed. “It ain’t worth explainin’ a joke. The point is, you can do it with container modules on a space freighter. Fellow keeps bringin’ in empty ones, and it’s only later that they figure out he was smugglin’ in the containers themselves to folks that needed ’em but couldn’t buy ’em cheap where they was. You see? The point is, what was bein’ smuggled was in plain sight. The container was the booty!”
Maslovic thought it over. “But under that logic, the girls themselves would be the object of the exercise. But there are lots of young women down there on Barnum’s World and, in fact, the one thing we don’t have any shortages of are people. So why smuggle them in? What possible value could they have?”
“I been thinkin’ about that, and I come up with a theory. Maybe them girls got a talent. They sure ain’t got a lot of education, and I ain’t sure how much brains they’re hidin’ or if they’re hidin’ any a-tall, but you don’t need to be a mental wizard if you got a useful talent. Somethin’ you’re just better at, or somethin’ you’re born with. I been tryin’ to figure out what the hell Tara Hibernius had that would be worth this kind of trouble to smuggle someplace in that little an amount and I can’t come up with nothin’. But pregnant girls—hell, they’re the most helpless, least threatenin’ folks
you’ll ever find. Nobody’s gonna be scared of ’em but they’re gonna be a lot safer travelin’ out in the real world. It may even be just some kind of tricky gizmo or substance that made even them believe it, which would give ’em real reasons like I told you that first time to make ’em want to run like hell and get on an old tub with an old reprobate like me.”
Maslovic thought it over. “You know, Macouri said something like that. He said that the way you insure people’s absolute faithfulness is to have them be scared of something so awful that even death and torture are preferable. So if those three were really put in danger of their lives, in fear of even staying among their own people, it would make it far easier for them to turn their backs on family, friends, the only land they ever knew. Makes sense. And you said that young girls weren’t the usual travelers?”
“Nope. Mostly men. Some women, but not them type.”
“Then that has to be it. Which begs the next question: what makes those three unique enough and valuable enough to go to all that trouble and expense?”
Chung looked over at the sergeant. “You did the research on those weird alien stones?”
“Enough, after I got the captain’s lead,” Maslovic told her. “Why?”
“Any reports of people with them coming up with strange powers? Any revolutions or crimes of the century? Any major suicides or murders, for that matter, out of statistical norms?”
“No. None that I can think of. Darch, you did a lot of that. Anything?”
“Nothing.”
“We’re all ears, then, Lieutenant.”
She shifted in her seat, a loner unused to this kind of central role. “I am, as much as anything, more than just a human. I’m a human cyborg interface module. I am only truly whole and one when I’m united with a ship or other piece of piloted hardware like the van. But if we put those controls on any of you, even with extensive training, the best you’d do would be okay. You would never combine as one with the machines as I do almost as a matter of course. You would simply use the interface to give orders faster, to control the machinery. The captain, I think, knows what I mean if you all do not.”
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