Cain's Land

by Robert Frezza

  Vereshchagin lifted one eyebrow. “Pia?”

  “I concur. He tells me that he is a skydiver, so jumping from a shuttle should not be a problem for him,” Szuba explained.

  “The Blues don't seem to go up there, so it seems safe enough for now,” Coldewe admitted, “and it would free up DeKe and Kalle once they have Ozawa broken in.”

  The Iceman frowned “Ozawa is not trained as a soldier. His presence places the recon teams at risk. I also trust that he understands that if he goes in, there is a distinct possibility that we will not be able to get him out”

  Vereshchagin nodded “Simon?”

  “Oh, sorry. I was daydreaming.” Beetje hesitated. “I think that the lemur-apes have something important to teach us. I understand that there is a risk, but I think the risk is worth it.”

  Szuba had sense enough to keep quiet

  Coldewe spoke slowly. “I'd like to move DeKe and Kalle-our teams are stretched so damned thin--but I don't recommend sending Ozawa in alone. Maybe we could send one of Aichi's men along as a bodyguard.”

  Vereshchagin turned to The Iceman. “Piotr?”

  “I think it would be a mistake, Anton. I also think that sending down the rest of the contact team will prove to be a mistake. The Blues are not nearly as pacifistic as Dr. Seki believes.”

  Dr. Szuba started to speak. but a look from Vereshchagin silenced her. “Hans, do you agree?”

  “Oh, I agree with Piotr,” Coldewe said distantly. “I just think we need to find out as much as we can before things blow up in our faces.”

  As the meeting broke up, Coldewe looked for Simon Beetje. “What’s wrong, Simon? You seemed a little out of it in there.”

  Beetje shook his head. “I am all right. I truly hope that you are not right about the naturales.”

  “A man may choose his friends, but God chooses his enemies. Simon, let me try asking this as a friend Is the strain of working with Maria getting to you? How are you and she getting along?”

  “Everything's fine between us, Hans. We've never bad any trouble separating our professional concerns from our personal lives.”

  Coldewe raised an eyebrow.

  ”Actually, it’s awful.” Beetje ruminated about first causes. “I still can't believe how much she changed after we got married.”

  “You and a few hundred million others,” Coldewe said politely. “You notice God never got married.”

  “She became obsessed with our careers, with the house. I just didn't expect her to change like that, Hans.”

  “I've noticed that a woman marries a man expecting him to change, and he doesn't; while a man marries a woman expecting her to stay the same, and she doesn't.”

  “I should have seen it coming when I didn't even get to pick what I wore at our wedding. But it absolutely shocked me when she decided to come along. I never expected that. Not ever,” Beetje announced. “Why did Anton let her come?”

  “The same reason he let you come. He needed her enough to put up with the inconvenience.”

  “It is crazy, Hans. Now for once, I need her less than she needs me, and it is as though she's suddenly changed back to the girl I married.” Beetje shook his head. “Does this surprise you?”

  “Not a bit. Marriage is an institution for the commitment of the criminally insane.”

  “Joke about it if you want to,” Beetje said bitterly.

  “Sorry, Simon. Go on,” Coldewe coaxed. “How are you making things work?”

  “To be truthful, I am not. Maria is more interested in me than I am in her, so I play a game with Pia as my collaborator. I pretend to be interested in Pia, and Maria coos like a turtledove.” Again, he shook his head. “Is this any way to live?”

  “ 'Married life' may be an oxymoron. Simon, forgive me for asking, but if you feel like this, why did you let her move back in with you?”

  “Well, it’s not that bad, Hans.” A spasm of truthfulness tugged at Beetje. '“The sex is great. Better than it has been in ten years.”

  “There's a price you pay for that sort of thing,” Coldewe declared. “Remind me to send flowers. They always add a festive touch to funerals.”

  After Beetje wandered off, disconsolate, Coldewe explained to Intelligence Sergeant Lasse Pihkala, who was passing through, “Man's desire is for the woman, but the woman's desire is rarely for other than the desire of the man. That’s Coleridge.”

  L-Day plus 51 [1-zephyr Rain 13]

  ALTHOUGH DE KANTZOW IDENTIFIED EACH LEMP BY NUMBER IN FIELD REPORTS, he, of course, christened each of them, naming males after Imperial admirals the 1/35th had served under and choosing flower names for the females. Kekkonen knew he hadn't liked any of the admirals and had his suspicions about the origin of the flower names.

  Resting on his belly with the video camera poised on his shoulder, he nudged de Kantzow. “Look at Buttercup there.”

  The troop's lowest-ranking female, habitually nervous, was down to one infant, which she clutched possessively throughout the day. As Kekkonen and de Kantzow watched, three older juvenile females marched up to her.

  “Isn't that cute? They want to hold the baby,” Kekkonen observed.

  De Kantzow grunted, “Bossy little bitches.”

  The three were all obviously daughters of the alpha female, and they clearly weren't about to accept a rejection from Buttercup.

  “This must be how they learn to care for their own infants,” Kekkonen commented as Jasmine, the eldest of the three, cuddled the infant and brushed aside Buttercup's ineffectual effort to reclaim it.

  “They frosting need to,” was de Kantzow's rejoinder.

  “I met Ozawa aboard ship. He's maybe twenty-nine or thirty. A nice kid. You'll like him,” Kekkonen predicted confidently.

  “I hope somebody told this nice kid what happens if he's frosting dumb enough to get himself spotted,” The Deacon growled.

  As they watched, Jasmine's sibling, Daisy, snatched the infant away by the neck and scrambled off with the body dangling.

  De Kantzow commented a few minutes later, “We'll grab the corpse when the frosters move on. Make the frosting eggheads happy.” He added cheerfully, “This frosting planet is a great place for a nice kid.”

  Kekkonen grimly recorded the sequence on camera For half a day, Buttercup carried her dead infant. When she finally laid it down, Horii, the lowest-ranking male, picked it up and carried it into the bushes.

  This time, Kekkonen refrained from surmises. As de Kantzow observed indignantly when they finally found the tiny carcass, “The bastard bugger ate the best parts.”

  L-Day plus 58 [8-zephyr Rain 13]

  SEATED AT THE RICKETY UTILITY TABLE IN THE KITCHEN TENT, CONNIE MARAIS SIGHED, “Beer! That’s what we need. You can't run a scientific inquiry without beer.”

  “Kirin beer,” Keiji Katakura specified. “On ice.”

  Marais, dressed in lemon-yellow shorts and sandals, slapped at the blond fur covering his chest. “On ice.” he agreed. “Where is Isaac?”

  Tomomi Motofugi said sharply, “He is outside with Dr. Ando, I would imagine. How long until siesta time is over?”

  “A few moments more, perhaps,” Katakura said, making a show of examining his watch.

  “I will go to the latrine, then.” Motofugi rose to his feet.

  As soon as he left, Marais and Katakura exploded into laughter.

  “I wonder what Dr. Seki will make of his complaint,” Katakura said as soon as he recovered.

  “A longing for beer is obviously evidence of a frivolous and unscientific attitude.” The Afrikaner philologist locked his hands over his head and stretched. “He probably thinks that if he complains about us enough, Seki will ask Vereshchagin to send a shuttle to pick us up.”

  “Would the commissioner do this?”

  “I asked Isaac Wanjau what he thought, and he said that in his 'professionally scientific opinion,' first, pigs would fly, and the salamander on the battalion crest would
eat its tail. Isaac also

  mentioned that there is money in it for us if we can tell the odds-makers aboard ship how the Blues accomplish sex.”

  “I do wish we could persuade the naturales to spend less time learning English and more time teaching us their language,” Katakura said wistfully.

  Marais shook his head. “It wouldn't help. They don't talk--they sing. My ears can't pick up the differences in tone, and the computer isn't helping. Half the time we can't make sense out of what we're saying and signing to each other. It’s very frustrating.”

  “These things take time, Connie, as you keep saying.”

  As Katakura spoke, they heard a single pistol shot. “Oh, my God!” Marais exclaimed. He grabbed Katakura by the arm, and they raced outside and looked around.

  Motofugi was lying on the ground, trembling, with his head over his arms.

  Another three shots rang out.

  “This way!” Katakura said.

  As they climbed a small rise, they spotted Isaac Wanjau and Kobus Nicodemus next to a dozen Blues. Wanjau had a 9mm pistol in his hand and was demonstrating the trigger action. A

  piece of broken plastic was sitting on a rock as a target. “Hello, Dr. Marais, Dr. Katakura, I was showing my friend Kikhinipallin how to fire a pistol. He is a soldier, too, you know,” Wanjau said matter-of-factly, speaking slowly with discrete intervals between words.

  Katakura and Marais exchanged glances. “You can talk to him?” Marais questioned.

  “One manages these things. As I was saying, the Nakamura pistol fires an 8mm-by-18mm round at an initial velocity of 350 meters per second” He held up a round and then extended his fingers precisely a meter apart “This is a meter.” He then pantomimed the flight of the bullet and used his watch and a pocket abacus to elucidate, although with little apparent success.

  Dr. Seki appeared a moment later.

  Kikhinipallin chirped something and made arm motions downrange. Isaac took the pistol from him, pulled the empty magazine, and demonstrated how the spring worked by feeding in fresh rounds, naming the parts as he did so.

  “How did you know he was a soldier?” Katakura asked, looking to Dr. Seki for encouragement.

  “One knows these things. There are a few dozen of them camped out in the forest there,” Wanjau said in the same disinterested tone as he reloaded the pistol.

  Kikhinipallin reached for the pistol again, and Wanjau shook his head, grinning. Tucking it into his holster, he pantomimed shooting downrange and pointed toward the forest emphatically. Kikhinipallin turned toward an older individual and chirped something. The other Blue made a movement with his head, and Kikhinipallin scampered off at a run toward the forest, returning minutes later with something that looked like a stockless air rifle, which Wanjau immediately recognized as an advanced bullpup design.

  Dr. Seki's eyes widened considerably.

  Wanjau, who had learned a disconcerting amount about what it meant to be Japanese during his stint in a Japanese jail, paid no attention to the three scientists. He took the weapon, which was obviously meant to be fired resting gainst the hip, and waited for his friend to demonstrate how the safety worked.

  Within ten minutes, Wanjau had learned the words for recoil, gas operation, and the weapon's various parts. He also cleared up an outstanding problem concerning the conversion of numbers when he discovered that the magazine held thirty-six rounds, which is the number forty in base nine, and learned the word for “pretty toy,” which tickled him to no end, dovetailing as it did with his own notion on the value of a pistol as a weapon.

  It wasn't so hard to communicate, Wanjau explained later; while there may be any number of languages, there are only four ways to supply the working force to an automatic rifle.

  Marais and Katakura returned to find a jug on the table with their names scrawled on the side.

  Marais picked it up and sniffed at its contents. “It’s beer.”

  Katakura glanced toward the kitchen where Superior Private Brit Smits was working. “I think this place is haunted.”

  L-Day plus 59 [9-zephyr Rain 13]

  ILLUMINATED BY STARLIGHT, DE KANTZOW SAID, “OKAY, YOU SAY OZAWA'S GOING TO FALL in the frosting forest, and I say he frosting lands in the ravine.”

  “Loser has to fish him out.” Kekkonen looked up. “Looks like more rain tomorrow. There's a chute now.”

  “He's about five hundred meters too high,” de Kantzow growled.

  Kekkonen grinned. “What do you expect from a civ?” A second chute opened a few seconds later.

  Both jumpers steered into the middle of the small clearing.

  “He missed the forest and he missed the frosting ravine,” de Kantzow sighed. “I guess that means Dolly wins.”

  Dolly barked appreciatively.

  'We did have a second bet on,” Kekkonen observed.

  Closely followed by his bodyguard, Dr. Kantaro Ozawa clumsily gathered up his chute and began walking toward them with a beatific smile on his face. “Not a scratch,” Kekkonen observed.

  “Little froster bounced once, that ought to count for something,” The Deacon grumbled.

  At daybreak, when they went to introduce Ozawa to the lemps, Ozawa finally interrupted Kekkonen's well-meaning flow of dialogue. “Goodness, I did not realize that you were so interested in primate research!”

  “He's just frosting happy he's got somebody else to talk to,” The Deacon commented from the shelter of a tree as the morning rains pelted them. The fourth member of their party, a corporal from Major Aichi's company, hung back, still a little uncertain of his bearings in a strange land.

  “You had some questions about the lemps' diet?” Kekkonen asked.

  “More shit to collect,” de Kantzow groaned.

  “There are certain aspects that are puzzling,” Ozawa explained, oblivious to the remark. “For example, the fecal samples contain a high percentage of indigestible vegetable matter.” As he spoke, a male lemp quit grubbing for grubs and left his position on the troop's perimeter to confront them.

  Kekkonen immediately backed off a few steps. “That’s Ishizu, Doctor. Don't get too close.”

  Ozawa held his ground. “I do not believe that I will frighten him.” He moved a step closer.

  Kekkonen shrugged. De Kantzow smiled.

  Ishizu squared his shoulders. Grasping something from the ground, he whipped his left ann forward in an underarm motion and flung a chunk of quartz that impacted on Ozawa's battledress. Stunned slightly, the biologist stepped backward and landed on his rump.

  “The frosting little son of a bitch is a demon with a rock,” de Kantzow explained.

  In Orbit, HIMS Zuiho [1-lake Rain 13]

  “ANTON, I HAVE A CONFESSION TO MAKE,” COLDEWE SAID AS HE AND VERESHCHAGIN waited for everyone else to arrive. “I'm getting awfully tired of tea. Do you think anyone would notice if I switched to cocoa?”

  Vereshchagin tried unsuccessfully to maintain his composure. “I think it might have a deleterious effect on Kasha's morale.”

  “The heavy burden of tradition.” Coldewe brightened. “Maybe I can talk Natasha into writing me a prescription. She does consider me a mental case. Are you set for your meeting with Hokiundoquen? Or is it the Hokiundoquen? Seki didn't seem too sure whether it was a personal name or a title.”

  “There is very little preparation I can make. I will see his image on a view screen and he will see mine, we will exchange a few words in mutually incomprehensible languages, and we will carefully avoid discussing issues. High-level negotiations seem to be much the same everywhere. Nonetheless, Dr. Seki believes that this is an important bridge to build, however tenuously, and I am inclined to agree.”

  Piotr Kolomeitsev appeared and squeezed between the chairs to draw himself a mug of tea. “Good morning. Hans, you are early.”

  “Before everyone else gets here, I want to talk about sneaking a team into the missile site that fired on us.”

  The Ice
man digested this information. “Whose team?”

  “Zerebtsov's, of course.”

  For a dozen years, Section Sergeant Vsevolod Zerebtsov had asked for and received the toughest missions the reconnaissance company drew.

  Coldewe continued, “I think we have enough data to have a good shot of pulling it off. There is a decent drop zone not too far away. I've checked the distance from the airhead, and if he and Kemp travel light, we can squeeze them into one Spanow to pick them up. Anton?”

  “I agree.” Vereshchagin tapped the bowl of his pipe against his thigh. “It is time.”

  AFTER ELEVEN HOURS SPENT PORING OVER THE PHOTOGRAPHS AND OTHER DATA THAT AKSU had lovingly compiled, Zerebtsov and his partner, Superior Private Coenraad Kemp, sought out Coldewe, with Jan Snyman to referee.

  Coldewe settled back and projected a map on the wall. “How do you want to go in?”

  “On foot” Zerebtsov superimposed an infrared photograph of the site. Five low buildings were grouped in an irregular penta gram and surrounded by a low wall. A building on the north side was the source of the missile launched at the task group.

  Coldewe could see no pattern to the structures. “Why not a drop on the target?”

  Zerebtsov enlarged the image of the buildings to the east and west and pointed to twin superstructures occupying the slanted roofs. “Either those things are radars, or the Blues cook with mi crowave.”

  “They're radars; they've just not been active.” Coldewe said

  “I don't want to find out how good those radars are.” Zerebtsov put the map back up. “Coen and I will drop here and cycle in. I want pickup at LZ Ehime Gifu unless we get in trouble.”

  “How much trouble do you expect?” Snyman asked. Zerebtsov reached up and patted Kemp on the shoulder affectionately. “Nothing this big bullock can't pull me out of. The only thing that bothers me about going in is that I can't spot any ground defenses. Just the wall, which isn't much of a wall.”