Cain's Land

by Robert Frezza

  “Hai, Kolomeitsev-sama,” Aichi said.

  Transit (6), HIMS Aoba

  “DOOR’S OPEN,” DETLEF JANKOWSKIE SAID, WITHOUT LOOKING UP FROM HIS COMPUTER, “not that there's a lock on it” He looked up. “Captain Kobayashi.”

  “Jankowskie-san.” Kobayashi shut the door and flourished a bottle of whiskey. “May I interrupt?”

  Jankowskie shut down his terminal. “If you can't, the bottle in your hand can. Sumitomo?”

  Kobayashi nodded.

  Jankowskie looked around the cabin. “Nicolas is familiarizing himself with your night shift, so he won't be back for hours yet. I have some dirty glasses here somewhere. Pumping me for infonnation?”

  Kobayashi nodded “It would seem indicated. It would also be better if we understood each other more.”

  “Suits me well,” Jankowskie said, reaching for a pair of glasses. “On a long voyage, one has to get along.”

  Several hours later, Kobayashi lifted the bottle and stared critically at what was left of its contents. “I have another bottle in my cabin.” His speech was slightly slurred.

  Jankowskie waved his hand. “I wouldn't want to drink up your last bottle. Besides, we've got at least a year ahead of us, and all I brought was a bottle of brandy.”

  Kobayashi considered this. “The supply ship might bring more.”

  “We're also running out of lies to tell each other.” Kobayashi considered this. “True.”

  “Anyway, where were we?”

  “You were telling me to tell Commander Nitobe that he is completely wrong.”

  “Right” Jankowskie used his hands to demonstrate. “Two corvettes against a frigate is not a fair fight if they separate for an anvil attack. I'm going to wreck whichever one is closest and then go after the other one at my leisure.”

  Kobayashi grinned and poured himself another finger of whiskey. “Nitobe insists he could withstand your fire long enough for the other corvette to engage.”

  “What’s he base that on, computerized damage projections?” Jankowskie shook his head. “Computer’s only as good as whoever programmed it. I've seen a corvette go up.“

  “So you have reminded me,” Kobayashi replied dryly. “Commander Nitobe is an exceptionally brave man.”

  “That’s something you never know about until people start shooting.” Jankowskie shut his eyes to clear his vision and then focused them. “It’s funny the things you remember. First rebellion, there was a lieutenant-colonel named Higuchi, a nervous little guy-passed over for promotion. You wouldn't think much to look at him.” Jankowskie shook his head. “When the spaceport was about to get nuked, he stayed to get the aircraft off. He did, too. The Variag wanted to name the new spaceport after him

  and got talked into calling it something else, which is something he regrets.”

  Kobayashi took a gulp from his glass. “I find the first rebellion interesting.”

  “We had a terrible time getting Admiral Lee and his people to believe that the pot was boiling.”

  “I hope we will not encounter similar difficulties on Neighbor.”

  “If anyone can sniff out trouble, it’s the Variag,” Jankowskie averred. He laughed as Kobayashi reached awkwardly for the bottle. “Here we are, with absolutely nothing in common.”

  “Except age, temperament, and a love of ships.” Kobayashi shook his head. “We have much in common.” He checked the level of the bottle. “Although not as much liquor as before.”

  “There's no trusting coincidences around the Variag, but I don't see how he could have planned this.” Jankowskie stretched his legs across the floor and leaned back against the bulkhead.

  “You know, Nicolas and I were the last members of the ship's original crew. Excuse me, the ship's original Suid-Afrikan crew. My officers probably thought they'd retire before I did”

  “A ship command is all I ever wanted. And yet were it not for this expedition, I would be on my way to Earth to retire.”

  “What did you plan on doing?” Jankowskie asked with renewed interest.

  “Marry. Look for a salaryman's position. Were you ever married?” Kobayashi tried to splash some more whiskey into Jankowskie's glass.

  ”I considered it once. Her name was Suzanne. Here, give me ome more of that.” Jankowskie took a sip from his glass. “In the colonial infantry, you only marry if your spouse can find a place. Suzanne didn't, and I'm not sure she wanted to. I asked Colonel Hans for permission anyway, and he said no. I said a few things to him.”

  “This would have been after your battalion had settled on Suid-Afrika.”

  Jankowskie stared down at his hands. “I'm not sure I ever expected us to deploy, but someone did, and Hans didn't think I'd be available tied to Suzanne. He was really quite nice about it, he arranged for me to take command of one of the reserve companies and lined up a job for me. But when the time came, I couldn't go through with it” He looked up at Kobayashi. “You understand, don't you?”

  “Yes. I understand completely.”

  “She married an engineer. She sent me a picture when her first kid arrived. And you?”

  “My own circumstances were distressingly similar.” Kobayashi examined his glass. “I find it painful to discuss. Did the same happen to Sery-san?”

  Jankowskie laughed. “Not Nicolas. Nicolas married the Hendrik Pienaar and scrapes the other girls off like dirt on his shoe if they get clingy.”

  A thought occurred to Kobayashi. He leaned forward. “Could you take this ship? The way you took the General Hendrik Pienaar?”

  “Not until I sober up.” Jankowskie tried to make a joke out of it. “Excuse me, not unless I sober up.”

  “We found your submachine gun.”

  “Gods.” Jankowskie tried to clear his head. “Karaev, our intendance officer, is old school. No nonsense. We were lieutenants together. I hope you didn't steal the firing pin. He'd take it out of my pay.”

  “We did not.” Kobayashi flashed a smile. “As you say, on a long voyage, one needs to get along.”

  Transit (7), HIMS Zuiho

  COLDEWE SPOTIED DR. SEKI EATING ALONE WITH A READER PROPPED UP IN FRONT OF HIS NOSE. He picked up his tray and walked over. He cleared his throat. “Is this seat taken?”

  Seki looked up, momentarily bemused. “Oh, Colonel Coldewe. I did not see you. Please join me.” He turned off the reader. “I apologize for my lack of sociability, but one sometimes falls into bad habits. I was reading Frequency of Paedomorphosis in the Origin of Higher Taxa. I sometimes enjoy things from outside my field.”

  “I do, too,” Coldewe confessed, who was rereading Old Surehand for the eleventh time.

  “Are we eating Finnish or Russian, today?” Seki inquired.

  “This is Russian,” Coldewe explained, digging into his buckwheat porridge.

  In a Solomonic decision, Vereshchagin had directed Kasha Vladimirovna to serve Japanese food three days a week, and Russian, Finnish, and Suid-Afrikan meals the remaining four. After most of the military contingent went into the icebox, the ratio would change.

  Bemused, Seki pressed down much too hard on his plastic fork and broke a tine.

  “Must have had a bubble,” Coldewe said, passing his across. Because power tapped from the fusion drive was the one thing that a transport never ran short of, after food scraps went to the fish and plants in the hydroponic section, dishes and tableware were melted and remolded, rather than washed

  “I often dine alone,” Seki said.

  “I do, too. Too often.” Looking around to make sure Kasha the cook wasn't watching, Coldewe pulled a tube of hot sauce out of his pocket and squirted it onto his piroshkis. “Pardon my manners; would you like to try some?”

  Seki put a few drops on his plate. Coldewe noticed that he didn't ask for more.

  “So, Colonel Coldewe,” Seki said, “I presume that you wish to discuss artificial hibernation.”

  “'The first group goes under four days from now, and M
eri Reinikka tells me we'll be ready to till the second bay a week later. Anton is going with the second group, which leaves me with only a handful of cells to fill--- eleven to be exact. The question is who we put in.”

  “All of the scientific groups are working diligently. We have barely scratched the surface of the probe data. Is it possible to leave the final eleven cells untilled?”

  “Possible, yes. Practicable, no.” Coldewe smiled “As Karaev, my intendance officer, reminds me on a constant basis, for planning purposes, every day, a man or woman requires 3.08 kilograms of food, 0.12 kilograms of medical supplies, 0.76 kilograms of personal-demand items like toothpaste, 3.47 kilograms of assorted ammunition—I forget the rest, but you get the general idea. Plus an additional 4.6 percent for packaging.”

  He finished his lunch and pushed his tray away. “Eleven spaces times 180 days adds up to a reasonably tall mountain, and we don't have anywhere near the reserve we'd like in the event that a supply ship is late. I've been on half rations, and I can truthfully say that I don't like it much. Filling those spaces might mean the difference between staying and going home just when things are getting interesting.”

  Seki smiled. “How can I possibly resist such eloquence? May I give you the names tomorrow?” “Tomorrow is fine.”

  Seki took a deep breath. “The ship will seem quite empty with nearly everyone in hibernation.”

  “Eh? Yes, it will.”

  “At such times, it often becomes difficult to recall one's purpose.” Seki removed a small wallet from his coat pocket and toyed with it

  Something struck Coldewe. “Are you married, Doctor?”

  “Oh, yes. I have three very fine children. I carry their pictures with me.” He pulled them out and passed them across. “Bringing my family with me on this expedition was considered, but ultimately it was decided that it would be best if they remained behind. As you must imagine, ensuring that children receive the proper schooling is a matter of importance.”

  He took the pictures from Seki, knowing as Seki undoubtedly did what effect separation and time dilation would have on his marriage and his children, and for the first time, he felt a degree of respect-and pity-for Dr. lnagi Seki.

  Transit (7), HIMS Zuiho

  WHEN HIS DISCUSSION GROUP ENDED, SIMON BEETJE FOUND JAN SNYMAN waiting for him in the corridor. “How did it go?”

  “It was very interesting.”

  The crease of a smile altered Snyman's face. “So have you and Dr. Motofugi sold Mika on intergalactic peace and beinghood?”

  “I doubt it”

  Snyman smiled and began singing a verse to “The Whistling Pig” in a clear tenor voice.

  Someday, there won't be fighting, they'll put the guns away,

  Men will love each other, and join their hands to pray.

  Peace will come forever, men won't get shot and die-

  And on that day, the pigs will spread their wings and learn to fly!

  Beetje winced. “I am glad that hasn't come out in our discussions.”

  “It would have been wasted. 'Blessed are the peacemakers,' “ Snyman quoted, “ 'for theirs are the labors of Sisyphus.' “

  “If that is one of Hans's better lines, please spare me his worst.” Snyman and Beetje had once been classmates in school, although Beetje now felt inexpressibly older. He gestured.

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I need you to sit down with my recon teams and tell them what kind of flora and fauna you want us to provide.”

  “Most of them know already.” Beetje stopped when he saw a note taped to his door. “Damn. That must be from Maria”

  “Waste of paper,” Snyman said sympathetically.

  Beetje took the note and thrust it carelessly in his pocket. “You know, Jan, what I'd really like right now is a cold bottle of beer.”

  Snyman gave him a strange look. “Come on.”

  He walked Beetje to the compartment he shared with Isaac Wanjau and took a vacuum flask from a storage receptacle. “Here. There's about half a liter left. It’s not bad. My sergeants make it If you want more, go down to A43, knock twice, and say that I sent you. A refill will cost you three rand or the equivalent in yen.”

  Beetje raised both eyebrows. “What if Colonel Vereshchagin finds out?”

  “Who do you think sets the price?”

  Beetje blinked hard. “But why the 'knock twice' and 'Snyman says”?”

  “Tradition, Simon, tradition.” Snyman waved his hand. “Anton is very keen on tradition. Besides, it keeps the soldiers occupied during the voyage, and it’s actually kind of fun. Oh, if they ask you for the password, say 'Elandslaagte.' “

  Beetje shook his head. “It still seems rather strange.”

  “I asked Hans about it once. The best I could get out of him was the observation that the science of economics is based on the fundamentally flawed proposition that human beings in a given situation will choose to behave in a rational manner.”

  Transit (8), HIMS Zuiho

  MAJOR AICHI TOUCHED THE INTERCOM...AICHI HERE. COLONEL COLDEWE, could you come to the ship's gymnasium? We have had an accident. I regret to say that one of my noncommissioned officers is dead.” Although outwardly calm, Aichi felt himself in a state of shock.

  “What happened?” Coldewe's voice was cold

  “It occurred during training. I am afraid that it was my fault entirely. We have initiated changes to ensure that such a tragedy does not recur,” Aichi replied, sidestepping the question neatly. “The man was a fifteen-year veteran. In his own mind he served his emperor well. I wish to give him full military honors.”

  “Certainly. Is everything under control there?”

  Aichi could sense the slight confusion in Coldewe's voice. Conscious of the soldiers watching him, Aichi willed himself to remain upright “Yes, Colonel. I am in complete control of the situation.”

  The Iceman turned his pistol in to the armsroom.

  Interlude

  AS ZUIHO SETILED INTO A ROUTINE, A FRIENDLY DISPUTATION DEVELOPED BETWEEN Father Nicola Bosenac, who maintained that it was inconceivable that an intelligent species could exist without a conception of God, and Ferenc Szuba and Tomomi Motofugi, who maintained with equal vigor that it was inconceivable that two intelligent species could independently dream up something that idiotic.

  Partisans of both points of view proliferated until “Snack Bar” Meier earned himself a certain grudging respect by prudently investing enough money on both sides of the proposition to guarantee a profit regardless of the outcome.

  Two months into the voyage, Maria Beetje traded cabins with Dr. Hartlieb, Simon Beetje's roommate. No one in the scientific community quite had the nerve to ask Simon what he thought of the swap, and life pretty much continued as it had before.

  Transit (171), HIMS Zuiho

  “WELL, DEKE, ANOTHER PLANET. YOU UP FOR A LANDING?” KALLE KEKKONEN STOPPED and whistled softly. “Look at those people in line.”

  DeKe de Kantzow pulled up beside him. “Frosting hell! We'll be here half an hour before we get fed”

  Men come out of extended artificial hibernation painfully thin and hungry as hamsters, and most of Major Aichi's first platoon was already lined up out in the corridor waiting to get into the ship's cafeteria.

  “They could have spaced us out of the icebox better.”

  “Frosting transport crewmen neverchange,” de Kantzow grumbled. He thought swiftly. “I got an idea.”

  Kekkonen shook his head emphatically. “Oh, no. Oh, no!”

  De Kantzow stepped to the end of the line. Suddenly, he let out a piercing whistle and followed it with a whooshing sound from deep in his lungs that seemed to emanate from the corridor walls.

  “Meteor strike! Meteor strike! Up there! Clear the compartment! Clear the compartment!” Kekkonen yelled, reluctantly acting out his role.

  The line of startled Japanese soldiers parted like the Red Sea and raced each other for the r
ear exit.

  “Not bad,” de Kantzow murmured, checking his time display. “Twenty-six seconds. Nimble little buggers, aren't they?”

  “Just how long do you think we're going to get away with this, anyway?” Kekkonen asked as they walked into the cafeteria, which was mostly filled with No. 9 platoon.

  “Long enough to eat” De Kantzow rubbed his hands together. “Smells good. Kasha frosting did herself proud. You know, some things about this frosting business never change.” He squinted. “Who's she chasing back there? It looks like Prigal. He's pretty nimble, too.”

  None of the other diners evidenced concern. Kekkonen nodded “The old lady still has good wheels.”

  As Zuiho made her final approach, Hans Coldewe converted her forward storage area into a football field, and the supply echelon and each of the five platoons set about putting together

  teams. Arguing that most of his people were scheduled to deploy with the first lift, Lieutenant Wessels, Snyman's reconnaissance platoon leader, was permitted to recruit players from the light attack personnel and other odd bodies aboard.

  The scientific community also formed a team. As the rest of the ship duly noted, they had wonderful arguments on their way to last place.

  Planetary Approach, HIMS Zuiho

  AS ZUIHO SHED SPEED TO MAKE HER FINAL APPROACH, VERESHCHAGIN QUIETLY ASKED, “Can we obtain a visual image?”

  Captain Yamawaki gestured, and Neighbor appeared as it was being seen from Aoba. The planet’s surface, bathed in water, held a shimmering, ethereal beauty.

  “Probe pictures didn't do it justice,” Coldewe commented.

  The inland sea nestled between the two halves of the planet’s great world continent was a glimmer of light blue beneath the froth of clouds.