Cain's Land

by Robert Frezza

  fusion drive and they do not. The second is that because humans are frequently a violent species, the naturales are morally superior to us. Some men are good and wise, but many are not, and I suspect in my heart that the naturales may be much like us in this regard.”

  “I think that you are on to something there,” Hiltunen said slowly.

  “Why do men become soldiers'!' Pia Szuba asked, taking her cue from Beetje.

  “Brit, how about you?” Hiltunen asked.

  Smits shook his head. “No story here, sir.”

  Hiltunen was silent for a moment. Finally, when no one else spoke, he said, “Funny, everybody knows how much I hate talking, and I'm doing most of it. I knew one boy in Helsinki, a friend, with the usual things-a fiancée, a university degree, a job. He didn't get along with his family, but people don't. He met the wife of one of his firm's partners, a young wife, and somehow--it doesn't matter how--he ended up being her lover. Not her first, but he didn't know.”

  Szuba nodded, watching the movement of Hiltunen's hands. Although far more cosmopolitan than most Finns, Hiltunen was not one to “laugh, cry, or kiss,” as the Finns say. Nevertheless, the emotion there was easy to read.

  “Something went wrong. She got pregnant, which was awkward because her husband's tubes were tied. He found out, fired the boy publicly, and went home to confront her. He collected antique guns. Nobody knows who said what, but he shot her and shot himself. Finland isn't a very big or violent country, so it was a nine-week sensation, and when it was over, the boy emigrated to a world called Esdraelon.”

  Kekkonen and Uborevich, who both knew the story, kept quiet

  “New colonial worlds take building up, and there are worse things than soldiering. Our battalion had ties there, and when some people he knew joined, the boy did, too. Time dilation being what it is, when you join the colonial infantry, there's no point in going back, so he stayed. Now, I don't know two such stories, but I do know one.”

  “Two lives taken,” Pia Szuba said, “and the baby's as well.”

  Hiltunen's face never changed. “It came out at the inquest that the boy wasn't the baby's father, but as I said, he was just a boy. We mostly came along to do recon work--finding out facts for you scientists without anyone knowing we're there. If we can accomplish our mission without killing anybody, so much the better.” He allowed himself a small joke. “It isn't as though we're paid at piecework rates.”

  Transit (3), HIMS Zuiho

  AN UNFAMILIAR MAN OPENED VERESHCHAGIN'S DOOR WHEN NICOLA BOSENAC knocked. “Father Bosenac, please enter. Anton should return shortly. We have not met. I am Piotr Kolomeitsev.”

  Although The Iceman was deft in his movements, Bosenac registered the gun he had held in his hand and was disturbed by it.

  Music was playing inside the room. Kolomeitsev shook Bosenac's hand with unexpected strength in his long fingers and waved him to a seat.

  When the piece ended, Bosenac acknowledged it. “Very nice.”

  “Tchaikovsky. It lacks strength. For that one needs the German, Beethoven. I like it, nonetheless. Anton appears to be delayed. May I assist you?”

  “Perhaps you can. The ship's calendar says that it is Saturday. I would like io hold services tomorrow.”

  “Of course. Hans or Jan should have gotten with you, but we are all pressed for time. Can you be ready at seven?”

  Bosenac nodded. “Bread and wine?”

  “We have both available, although a great deal less of the latter than the former. You know our esteemed chief cook, Kasha Vladimirovna? Speak to her.”

  “Thank you. Where is Gu these days?”

  “We have him on the night shift. That is his chair you are sitting in. I will be sure to mention your service to him.”

  The Franciscan studied The Iceman. “Perhaps you would care to attend.”

  “I am no longer a Christian.”

  Bosenac looked dismayed, and The Iceman chuckled. “Forgive me, Father Bosenac. I am not an atheist. Atheists, I have found, have a touching devotion to their own creed” He leisurely studied Bosenac's face. “I am not hostile to the idea of God, merely indifferent. To become a believer, I would have to repent of killing a considerable number of people, and at this stage of my life, I find the idea risible.”

  Recovering slightly, Bosenac sensed Kolomeitsev's desire to fence. He responded carefully, “I have learned that what may seem folly to man is not necessarily folly to God.”

  “I am told I have my own god to worship, and I understand he is a vengeful god, ever vigilant and filled with wrath.” Kolomeitsev appeared to be watching to see Bosenac's reaction.

  “One of the minor poets?”

  “Very minor. Hans Coldewe does not drink, but when he does, his muse slips forth, although equally befuddled.”

  “I see.”

  “Perhaps you do,” The Iceman conceded. “I met your bishop once. We had very little to say to one another.”

  “My bishop is very sure in his faith. He fits people into categories. Some keep Christ’s law and await salvation, others do not” Bosenac did not know why he was explaining this to a man he hardly knew. “I am not nearly as certain of what God wants.”

  Kolomeitsev smiled. “My profession rarely lends itself to certainties. Although Anton admires your bishop, he would not have welcomed him. Anton needs a conscience, you see.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The Iceman chuckled. “Anton can weigh military and political considerations to an uncanny degree, but now he feels that the rules he has learned may not apply. It is, of course, very unsettling to have to learn new things at our age.”

  “I will help as well as I can, as well as God can guide me,” Bosenac said, his mind racing. He noticed that Kolomeitsev's face was scarred. 'There is a God. I believe, with all my heart and soul. And his mercy is infinite.”

  “Perhaps there is,” The Iceman said indifferently, “but very far away. On this planet. I think that we will find that the Devil is much closer.”

  Before Bosenac could fill the silence, Vereshchagin opened the door and walked inside. “Father Nicola How good to see you.”

  The Iceman raised one eyebrow. “I have been keeping him amused for you.” He stood. “Father Nicola, it has been a pleasure.”

  Kolomeitsev left, and Vereshchagin found himself a seat. “I trust that Piotr was polite to you.”

  “I have no complaint,” Bosenac replied.

  “I am encouraged. Piotr is an excellent actor, and he enjoys playing to the image people have formed of him. There is more to him than is apparent.”

  “I'm certain of that.” Bosenac replied dryly. “We discussed scheduling services at seven tomorrow. I hope you can come.”

  “I will attend.” Vereshchagin smiled. “We may have the makings of a choir. I trust the singing of our reconnaissance platoon did not offend you.”

  “No, I rather like 'Jesus Was a Recon Trooper.' But you're quite right, there is something else I'd like to discuss with you. I've been doing some reading, of history mostly, and listening to my parishioners.” Bosenac drew in his breath. “I noticed a pattern to the European voyages of discovery. The ships would kidnap a few natives, to Christianize and train as interpreters.”

  “Please continue.”

  “Few of them returned home. Some forgave their captors and taught them much, but most died of disease and homesickness. I know how important it is for us to know how the naturales see, how they hear, what they think, but as ignorant as we are of their physiology and psychology, taking a few of them prisoner would be little short of murder.”

  Vereshchagin smiled very, very stiffly. “I assure you, Father, this is not a flying saucer and I am not a little green person from Mars. We will do no extraneous kidnapping. At most, a little grave robbing.”

  Bosenac bowed his head. “'Thank you, Commissioner.” He hesitated and spoke again, “When I came to the door, it troubled me that Heer Kolomeitsev answered it
with a gun in his hand.”

  “This is not something I would prefer to discuss, Father,” Vereshchagin said quietly. “Nevertheless, it is not always necessary to travel to a faraway star to find enemies.”

  Transit (4), HIMS Zuiho

  “HOW VERY NICE FOR YOU TO SHOW ME AROUND, COLONEL COLDEWE.” Deltje Brink, the younger of the two sign-language interpreters, had a mischievous light in her eyes. “Can you spare the time?”

  “If I didn't, my officers would schedule me for a physical, so it saves me time in the long run.” Coldewe hesitated. “You wouldn't have a relative--”

  “My cousin Anneke. She mentioned you. You never asked her out.” Deltje winked. “It shows good taste on your part. Your soldiers won't mind me?”

  “You haven't been around soldiers very much. have you?” Coldewe knocked on the door to the compartment where the intelligence detachment and the soldiers designated for the contact team were billeted. “Anybody home?”

  Corporal Kobus Nicodemus opened the door. “Come on in. sir. Company Sergeant Wanjau and Lieutenant Aksu aren't back yet, so we are swapping lies with each other.”

  Brink looked past them at the wall. “What is that? It is very pretty.”

  “It’s an icon. Kobus paints them,” Coldewe explained. “Fedya Venedikov taught him how. He's really quite good.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Nicodemus tried not to smile. “'That’s not what you usually say.”

  “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds. With consistency, a great soul simply has nothing to do. Everyone, this is Juffrou Deltje Brink, one of our sign-language interpreters. I brought her here to meet some students.” Coldewe made introductions all around. “What is that you're drinking, and are you going to offer us any?”'

  “Would you like some beer, Juffrou Brink? We made it ourselves,” Nicodemus asked politely, plinking the flask twice with his index finger.

  “You just got here,” Brink exclaimed, accepting a mug.

  “Major Reinikka set it up for us when he went aboard to work on the icebox bays,” Superior Private Brit Smits, a contact team member, assured her. “This is our test batch.”

  Coldewe sampled the brew. “I'd age it another hour if I were you. So whose war story are we interrupting?”

  The story was Intelligence Sergeant Paavo Heiskanen's, and more followed. Aksu appeared, grinned, and left again.

  After three or four more, Brink rose to her feet. “I'm not used to sitting cross-legged like this.”

  Coldewe pointed. “This batch is kind of strong. Down the corridor, first door on your left.”

  As the compartment door closed behind her, Nicodemus asked hesitantly, “Sir, is, ah, she here with you?”

  Coldewe spread his hands. “Kobus, as far as I know, the lady is unattached.”

  Nicodemus, Smits, and a third Afrikaner, an intelligence Specialist named Kelly, produced coins. “Odd man out gets to ask her out first,” Kelly suggested. Heiskanen, a phlegmatic Finn, almost choked.

  The three of them tossed. Nicodemus peered at his. “Heads.” Smits had tails, and all eyes turned to Kelly who intended to see which response suited him best

  “It has to be one or the other,” Smits said in a severe voice. He then asked Colonel Coldewe and Intelligence Specialist “Hanno Toemvaenen,” who bore a remarkable resemblance to one Hannes Van der Merwe, to please stop laughing.

  The door opened “It was occupied,” Brink explained breathlessly. Her eyes took in the tableau. “What is going on?”

  Transit (5), HIMS Zuiho

  JAN SNYMAN RHYTHMICALLY SLAPPED HIS HAND AGAINST HIS THIGH SEVERAL TIMES. “Maybe if we run through this one more time, I can pretend I understand.” Snyman was deliberately being obtuse during the first read through of the tentative operations plan The Iceman had drafted, as he usually was when he thought something was calculated to get his people killed unnecessarily.

  “Certainly, Jan,” Coldewe assured him.

  “If the naturales suspect that we have recon teams roaming around, our people may end up dead, but you want to insert them using an Imperial shuttle that is not adequately masked against detection, and you don't want to use any tricks to conceal the shuttle's departure from Zuiho. The happy natives will see the shuttle coming and going.” Snyman threw his hands up. “Why don't I like this?”

  Kolomeitsev intervened “Jan, the first task that we have assigned the teams is to set up projectors broadcasting a message of peace and goodwill. Neighbor’s inhabitants will know we have landed I want them to think that we set up the projectors and left. With Kokovtsov exercising his usual skill at low-level insertion, I do not expect them to be able to track the actual drops. If they spot Kokovtsov leaving Zuiho and returning, they will believe that they can observe our shuttle departures. This will allow us to resupply the recon teams without their presence being suspected.”

  “We need to work a mild deception here, Jan,” Coldewe explained “In the words of the prophet, you can fool some of the people all of the time, and you can fool all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time. We want to mislead the naturales into thinking they can spot all the shuttles leaving Zuiho so that they won't be tempted to improve their detection capacities to the point where they actually can spot all shuttles leaving Zuiho. This way, the only shuttles they'll see are the ones we want them to see.”

  Snyman conceded the point “All right” His company sergeant, Isaac Wanjau, smiled.

  Coldewe looked at his other officers. “Everybody take the plan back and see if you can pick it apart. We'll take another look at it when we anive and update our data.”

  As the compartment cleared, he asked Major Aichi, “So, what did you think?”

  With the bulk of the recon platoon committed in two-man teams and Snyman's No. 9 and No. 10 platoons assigned as the reaction force, Aichi's men had been relegated to a general reserve.

  “I had hoped for a greater role for my personnel,” Aichi confessed. “If places could be found for even one or two of them, it would help in maintaining morale.”

  The Iceman nodded, and Coldewe sighed. “All right, pick out a few people who can operate independently, and we'll see what we can do.”

  Aichi smiled, like a sunburst “Apart from this, I found the concept of operations entirely fascinating. Very few of the details would have occurred to me.”

  “So little has changed over the past few decades and so much,” Kolomeitsev said, almost to himself. “Hans, may I speak with Major Aichi for a few moments?”

  “Of course.”

  The Iceman took a vacated seat and Aichi did the same, almost by reflex. “I assume you have read about us.”

  “Yes, sir. I have,” Aichi said, bowing his head slightly. “It would have been derelict for me not to do so.”

  “Once there were, what? Two hundred twenty combat battalions in the Imperial defense forces?”

  “Yes, sir, twelve years ago. Now there are far fewer.”

  The Iceman's eyes drifted and then captured Aichi's. “Of those 220 battalions, no more than eighteen were true colonial battalions--the battalions that left Earth and never returned. Ours was the last. The rest were all disbanded a generation ago. On Earth, the handful of officers who understood the colonial infantry are retired or dead. Many things occurred on the fringes of empire that Earth only dimly understood. Different rules apply.” The Iceman asked Coldewe, “Hans, is Hiltunen still out in the corridor?”

  Coldewe nodded. “It sounds like him. Want me to get him?” He smiled at Aichi. “You know you've been at this too long when you know your people by their footsteps.” He opened the door. “Mika? Can you come in here for a minute? We are discussing the colonial infantry.”

  Coldewe guided Hiltunen into the room. “Mika was a rifleman when I first came to the battalion.”

  Hiltunen bared his teeth in what passed for a smile. “We made his first two weeks miserable.”
/>
  “Mika, for Major Aichi's edification. what possessions do you own?” Kolomeitsev asked.

  Hiltunen reached into a side pocket Pulling out a leather purse, he tossed it on a chair.

  Aichi raised his eyebrows.

  “What do you spend your money on. Mika?” Coldewe asked, half humorously.

  “Good meal, sometimes. A restaurant meal is nice, sometimes. Don't tell Kasha. Sometimes on a woman.” Hiltunen looked wistful. remembering some of Suid-Afrika's matrons. “I go listen to music sometimes.”

  “Thank you, Mika.” Kolomeitsev returned Hiltunen's billfold. When Hiltunen left, he explained, “Kasha Vladimirovna has been the C Company cook for nearly thirty years and is now the expedition's chief cook. It would wound her feelings to know that Mika voluntarily dined elsewhere.”

  His eyes whalf-slitted. “Mika deposits nearly every rand of his pay in the battalion bank. He has been doing it for twenty years. He receives interest on this money, and I know that he is a fairly wealthy individual, although I would wager that he neither knows or cares how much he has. He fixes up a barracks room or a fighting position as well as any man, and when the moment arrives, he leaves it without a backward glance. In the universe, there are very few men like him. Think of a monastic order, and you perhaps will understand the colonial infantry better. For many of us, the battalion has been our home and our family. In a true sense, the men we have brought with us are the last, the very last. The battalion that we left behind is an excellent fighting force, but its home is now Suid-Afrika.”

  “We've never been very good at spray painting the brown grass green, but the best-dressed army usually loses anyway.” Coldewe grinned. “About the only bad habit we allow our people is shooting foreigners.”

  The Iceman closed his eyes. “Major Aichi. Anton and I have looked at your file and discussed you. If things go well on this expedition, you will become an admiral someday.”

  He smiled at Aichi's small gasp of astonishment and opened his eyes. '“The colonial infantry is something very special. It is something that Earth needs very much. When you become an admiral, make them understand this.”