In Evil Times

by Melinda Snodgrass

  “I think we can manage to miss a meal or two, hombre,” Tracy snapped back.

  Sergeant Greene came to his side and went to a private channel. “Sir, what if we get the same order as the governor’s guards? Gonna make it harder for us if we’ve… if we see them as…” He gave a vague arm wave at the children.

  “Human?” Tracy looked down at the child gnawing at the dense bar. She still had one arm wrapped around his leg. “I don’t think killing children is what the League stands for, Sergeant. It’s certainly not what I stand for, and I won’t allow it.”

  “It might not be up to you, sir.”

  “What happens in this building is up to me.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll make that clear to the men.” He moved away.

  By breaking the bars into pieces they managed to get food into all the children. There was a working bathroom in the warehouse so water wasn’t a problem. He stood and watched the handful of humans interacting with the children, leading them in games, dispensing hugs. The Cara’ot half-breeds seemed just like normal children.

  Except they’re abominations.

  Who didn’t ask to be born. They’re victims of their creators’ hubris. Their punishment shouldn’t be death. A final look at the half-breed and Tracy keyed his radio for a Foldstream transmission and radioed Sukarno aboard the Triunfo.

  “Belmont. How’s life among the hombres?”

  “Right now not so great. I’ve got a problem and—”

  “In the best military tradition you’re kicking it upstairs.”

  “That’s exactly right, sir.”

  “So why me and not your captain?”

  “I tried that and I think he’s relying on another fine old tradition—stall until the problem solves itself. Only in this case it’s going to be dead kids.”

  There was silence for a long moment. “Okay. Talk,” Sukarno ordered so Tracy did.

  “I’ll send word to the capital, and talk to my captain. Assuming he and headquarters agree we can’t reach you for at least three days.”

  “Understood. Your new captain. He’s highborn, right? Has he got enough status to lean on this governor?”

  “Maybe. Problem is this is a clear violation of our laws and the treaty. The fucking Cara’ot should have known better.”

  “It wasn’t like they kidnapped and forcibly impregnated these humans. They were willing participants.”

  “So some folks are going to jail… or worse,” Sukarno concluded glumly and ended the communication.

  23

  PLEASE THINK WE’RE NICE

  Hours passed without word from the Preble, then Tracy’s motion sensor lit up. A group of about twenty was approaching, presumably local government troops. “Get the civilians in cover,” he ordered his sergeant.

  Tracy moved to the hole in the wall, slipped outside, and ran down the length of the building until he reached the front. He took up a position blocking the main doors. Tracy noted the way the approaching men’s hands nervously clenched and released on the stocks of their rifles, the set of their shoulders. These were men hyped up on adrenalin and fear.

  The man in command swaggered forward. Tracy held up a hand when he was still ten feet away. “That’s close enough. State your intention.”

  “Just a little soldier boy, aren’t you?” the officer in charge scoffed. “Our intention is to kill those monsters in there. We got intel on where they were hiding so don’t try and snow me and say they’re not there.”

  Tracy went for a sense of camaraderie. “Look, these are decisions that should be made way above our pay grade. How about we wait for instructions from Ouranos?”

  “Come on. You can’t be that raw. Forgiveness rather than permission, hombre.”

  “You’re not killing these kids… hombre.”

  “They’re not kids. They’re fucking horrors. Now get the fuck out of the way.” Tracy raised his rifle and allowed the laser sight to caress the man’s exposed face. “Fuck!” The man’s visor snapped down.

  “I will shoot the first man who takes one step closer.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Try me.”

  The troops behind their commander shifted nervously. The platoon leader seemed to realize he was on the verge of losing authority. He raised his rifle and advanced. Tracy fired a shot just over the platoon leader’s head, close enough to scrape the top of the helmet. The man’s head jerked back and he went staggering.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Tracy threw himself to the side, running for the corner of the building. Gunfire sprayed the doors where he’d been standing. A couple of rounds hit Tracy’s shoulder, staggering him, but were sucked up by the armor. It still hurt and he knew he’d have a bruise. Then gunfire chattered from overhead right at the feet of the security forces. Bullets sent chips of pavement ricocheting against the security team’s armor. They fell back, firing wildly at the sky. Tracy had a feeling some of those rounds were going to come back down on the men who’d fired them. He glanced up to see an armored figure on the roof that gave him a clenched fist gesture. Tracy responded with a salute and ran back to the burned hole in the building.

  He took cover and waited. It took a few minutes, but the leader of the governor’s forces managed to get his troops reassembled and they headed down the side of the building. Tracy evaluated their armor. It was standard planet issue, not as hardened or as tough as what space-based troops wore. He also knew from lectures by his firearms instructor that the design had weaknesses at certain joints—the upper thigh, beneath the arm. The downside of both was that there was a real risk he’d kill any man he shot, but clearly he was going to have to make the point.

  He sucked in a deep breath, held it, then swung back around the wall and targeted the commander. Sniping had always been his specialty and this shot went true. It took the man in the joint where the thigh piece tied into the body of the suit. Screaming the man went down. A few of his men again fired wildly at the building, but the bullets missed him by a mile. From the roof gunfire again rained down. That broke the will of the governor’s troops. They grabbed their groaning leader and pulled back in confusion. Whoever was on the roof, Tracy wanted to kiss him.

  He moved deeper into the building and was intercepted by his sergeant. “Sir, some of us don’t want any part of this.”

  “You gonna shoot those kids?” Tracy growled.

  “No, sir, but we don’t want to shoot fellow soldiers. We want to just leave.”

  “How many of you?”

  “Six of us.”

  “Okay. Go. Send me the three who are sticking.”

  “Yes, sir.” Greene stepped back and snapped off a perfect salute. “I don’t agree with your actions, sir, but you’re a real ballsy bastard. Can’t help admiring you… but only a little bit.”

  A few minutes later the three remaining fusileros joined him. The medic was among them. When Tracy looked surprised he gave a rueful smile. “I just finished treating those little guys. Not real keen on having all my work undone with bullets.”

  The other two consisted of a short, slim man who was younger than Tracy and a hard-bitten trooper whose face was a net of wrinkles.

  “It’ll take them a few minutes to radio back to the residence for instructions,” Tracy said. “Then they’ll dither. Maybe try to encircle us.”

  “I’ll get back on the roof,” the young soldier said.

  “So you were my guardian angel.”

  The young man shrugged. “It was easy to get up there, and I figure we might want a vantage point.” He patted his grenade launcher. “I can drop a few stun grenades in the middle of them if you want, sir.”

  “Go,” Tracy ordered.

  The older man shifted a wad of gum to the other side of his jaw and blew a large bubble. “Once el chico drops his surprise I’ll pop out the front and shoot ’em up.”

  “Let’s try not to kill anybody,” Tracy said.

  “Nah, just shake ’em up, scare ’em, keep ’em off bal
ance.”

  Tracy caught the man by the arm as he turned away. “Thanks.” He was embarrassed to realize he didn’t know the man’s name. Worse was the knowledge that he had been treating them like disposable cogs. Carson’s sloppy leadership was apparently catching. He tried to excuse himself with the dodge that he never knew which men he might lead and he wasn’t meant to be a fusilero commander. He checked the man’s dog tag. Mogdahtar Bahir A. “Thanks for this, Mogdahtar.”

  “I know I oughta hate ’em, but the little critters are kinda cute. Remind me of kittens.”

  So the Cara’ot weren’t completely off base, Tracy thought and had a momentary flare of admiration for the aliens. Maybe it hadn’t worked on everyone, but it had worked on a grizzled vet.

  Tracy radioed up to the youngster on the roof. “Let me know when you’re in position and if anyone is pulling security.”

  “I doubt it with these clowns,” the hombre responded.

  “If you’re right I’m going to add to the general excitement.”

  Tracy slipped back out through the hole in the wall, and took a fast look. There was no one in evidence along the side of the building. He pressed his back to the wall and slid toward the front of the building.

  The radio in his helmet came to life. “They’re all gathered in a circle arguing about what to do. That guy you shot is lying in the middle and bleeding all over the pavement.”

  “They don’t have a medic?” Tracy asked.

  “Guess not. And nobody’s keeping watch.”

  “I’ll radio you when I’m at the corner of the building.”

  “Roger that.”

  Tracy covered the final thirty feet. “I’m in position.”

  “Ready at the front,” Mogdahtar responded.

  The sensors in his helmet allowed him to hear the whump as the launcher fired, then immediately dampened the sound as the stun grenade detonated. Tracy swung around the corner. The main door raised four feet, Mogdahtar rolled under and came up firing. Tracy fired at the men left standing. This time he aimed for heavily armored areas. He’d hoped they’d retreat and his hope was realized when almost half the men took off running, leaving the wounded man and the stunned lying on the ground.

  Tracy slung his rifle and ran to the wounded man. He heaved him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Mogdahtar rolled back under the door and raised it high enough for Tracy, bearing his load, to run in. The man was big and when the armor was added it was a significant load. Tracy staggered toward the box fort that defended the children. Behind him he heard the door whine down, and the barricade boxes being pushed back into place.

  The medic looked up from the wounded human. “Just curious but how many more are you planning on delivering to me?”

  “With luck this is it.” Tracy turned to leave then looked back. “Keep him alive.”

  The medic nodded and cracked the suit. “He’s lost a lot of blood, Lieutenant. He needs to be in a hospital. Like my other patient.”

  “Do what you can. This can’t go on too much longer.” Tracy turned away and added under his breath, “I hope.”

  Eighty pairs of eyes tracked him. The man who’d waved a gun at Tracy came cringing up to him. “We heard a lot of shooting,” he said. He had to force the words past chattering teeth.

  Tracy felt the weight of children’s gazes as he weighed his words. “Mostly for show. Just buying us time.”

  A woman joined them. “Can you get us to your shuttles? Get us off planet?”

  “I can’t effectively guard this many people in open ground with only four of us. I think we’re better off staying here.”

  “What if they send in shuttles? Bomb us?”

  “That would be bad,” Tracy agreed. “But I don’t think they’ll go that far. Not with O-Trell soldiers inside the kill zone.”

  Realizing his capacity for happy talk had reached its limit, Tracy went to join his corporal on the roof. Some of the stunned government troops were starting to stir. The soldier had one foot on the parapet and was staring down at them through his rifle sights.

  “What’s your name, soldier?”

  “Brinkerhoff, sir. Hans.”

  “Drop a few puke grenades on them,” Tracy ordered. Unlike the space armor, the helmets of the security forces weren’t hermetically sealed, and O-Trell had developed a substance that played hell on the vagus nerve and caused uncontrollable vomiting. It was an effective and non-lethal form of crowd control.

  The younger man laughed. “Man, these guys are having a really shitty day.”

  “I’d say we are too,” Tracy replied as the young soldier fired two grenades.

  His radio sprang to life with a call from the Preble and the helmet quickly adjusted for volume since the captain was bellowing. “Belmanor, what the fuck is going on down there?! We’re there to assist the civilian authorities in restoring order and instead I’ve got the governor crawling up my ass. He says my troops are firing on his men. Then Hu reports that half your squad has turned up and they say you’ve lost your fucking mind.”

  “I would dispute that characterization, sir. As for the governor’s forces—they’re operating under an illegal order. It was my duty to resist that order.”

  “Don’t play armchair lawyer with me, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m playing a sworn officer in His Majesty’s armed forces. Which means I don’t kill children.”

  “Fuck you, Belmanor! You self-righteous prick.”

  The connection was broken and Tracy realized he was the one who had done it. Probably not the best career move he’d ever made. He paced the roof weaving between skylights and vents. The corporal watched him. From below the sounds of retching, then retreating footsteps, were picked up by his sensors.

  “Sir, are you okay?”

  “Corporal, this isn’t likely to end well for me. I can’t ask you to risk your career. You, Guth and Mogdahtar should go.”

  Brinkerhoff chuckled. “Sir, I don’t have a career. I had a way out of the swamps in the Netherlands back on Earth. A chance not to live on basic subsidy and get to see the stars. I’d rather be on your side in this.”

  “You okay with aliens then?”

  The boy shrugged. “Why not? They seem nice enough. And I suppose to them we’re aliens. I’d rather have them thinking I’m nice too.”

  Tracy clapped a hand on Brinkerhoff’s shoulder. “You just said some wise shit there, Corporal.”

  “Just wish we knew the cavalry was coming.”

  “It is, but it’s three days out. Unless…”

  “Sir?”

  “Foldstream’s faster than a ship,” Tracy muttered.

  He retreated to the far end of the roof, removed his glove and keyed his ring.

  “Tracy?” Mercedes said.

  * * *

  As his girth had increased, her father’s gait had become more rolling, but the pace he was setting had Mercedes struggling to keep up. When she had come to him with Tracy’s information he had heaved up from behind his desk with a curse and yelled to his long-suffering assistant, “Emmett! Get the Cara’ot ambassador over here now.”

  “Sir, what if he has other—”

  “Get him here!”

  “Very good, Highness.”

  Now they were on their way to a conference room deep in the official side of the palace. “Private meeting rather than in the throne room?” Mercedes asked.

  “I can’t keep the vultures in the press out of official venues. If what you’re telling me is true, that the Cara’ot have broken the genetic laws, we do not want this out in the news.”

  “What about these children? And we’ve got an officer in trouble.”

  “Put on your uniform and put the fear of God in Epps. If you hadn’t given this man private access we could have remained serenely unaware,” the Emperor added and his tone was petulant.

  Shocked, Mercedes stumbled to a halt. “Father, these are children being killed.”

  “We make tough decisions about children all th
e time. You were there for the relocation of the children from Sinope.”

  “That’s different. We weren’t killing them. We’re giving them a better life.”

  “And what kind of life are these illegal half-breeds going to have? But it’s too late now. We have to act. Go!”

  Mercedes called her maid and had her dress uniform rushed to the palace. She changed in her old bedroom and tried to remember the eighteen-year-old who had thrown a hairbrush at the dresser mirror in her fury over being required to attend the High Ground. From the vantage of almost thirty Mercedes wished she could go back and give that younger self a hard shake.

  Once dressed and with her medal conspicuously on display, she moved to the communication center and ordered them to contact Epps. The Foldstream call went through and the screen came to life.

  Epps was a portly man with thinning hair and heavy pouches beneath his eyes. Those eyes held a wild light. Mercedes had the feeling the man was on a hair trigger. She drew herself up and assumed her haughtiest expression.

  “Oh thank God,” Epps began.

  “Governor Epps, my father is currently in talks with the Cara’ot ambassador. By your actions you have threatened a two-hundred-year-old peace.” There was a short delay as her words reached him. She knew when they had because he gaped at her.

  It turned to a glare and he made a wild gesture that swept the air. “They’re the ones who risked the peace, not me!”

  “You should have informed the crown when you discovered this violation, not taken matters into your own hands. You will pull back your troops and order them to stand down. The battle cruiser Triunfo is inbound and will take control of the situation. Your presence is required on Ouranos. My father wishes to speak to you.”

  Epps visibly shrunk into his chair, outrage melting into fear and chagrin. He ran both hands through his hair, leaving wisps sticking up like feathers on a maddened hen. “I was just trying to do the right thing,” he whined. “I’d only been here a few weeks when I discovered this horror.” He raised bloodshot eyes to the camera. “They thought they could get away with it. That here on the edges of the League they could avoid notice until they were ready to unleash these monsters. I was protecting us.”