Bolo_The Annals of the Dinochrome Brigade

by Keith Laumer

  Retief dropped, rolled behind the shelter of the lifeboat as the whine of a power pistol echoed off metal walls. A lunge, and he was under the boat, on his feet. He jumped, caught the quick-access handle, hauled it down. The outer port cycled open.

  Feet scrambled at the bow of the boat. Retief whirled and fired. The guard rounded into sight and fell headlong. Above, an alarm bell jangled. Retief stepped on a stanchion, hauled himself into the open port. A yell rang, then the clatter of feet on the stair.

  “Don’t shoot, mister!” Chip shouted.

  “All clear, Chip,” Retief called.

  “Hang on. I’m comin’ with ya!”

  Retief reached down, lifted the chef bodily through the port, slammed the lever home. The outer door whooshed, clanged shut.

  “Take number two, tie in! I’ll blast her off,” Chip said. “Been through a hundred ’bandon-ship drills …”

  Retief watched as the chef flipped levers, pressed a fat red button. The deck trembled under the lifeboat.

  “Blew the bay doors,” Chip said, smiling happily. “That’ll cool them jaspers down.” He punched a green button.

  “Look out, Jorgensen’s!” With an ear-splitting blast, the stern rockets fired, a sustained agony of pressure …

  Abruptly, there was silence. Weightlessness. Contracting metal pinged loudly. Chip’s breathing rasped in the stillness.

  “Pulled nine G’s there for ten seconds,” he gasped. “I gave her full emergency kickoff.”

  “Any armament aboard our late host?”

  “A popgun. Time they get their wind, we’ll be clear. Now all we got to do is set tight till we pick up a R-and-D from Svea Tower. Maybe four, five hours.”

  “Chip, you’re a wonder,” Retief said. “This looks like a good time to catch that nap.”

  “Me too,” Chip said. “Mighty peaceful here, ain’t it?”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “Durn!” Chip said softly.

  Retief opened one eye. “Sorry you came, Chip?”

  “Left my best carvin’ knife jammed up ’tween Marbles’ ribs,” the chef said. “Comes o’ doin’ things in a hurry.”

  5

  The blonde girl brushed her hair from her eyes and smiled at Retief.

  “I’m the only one on duty,” she said. “I’m Anne-Marie.”

  “It’s important that I talk to someone in your government, miss,” Retief said.

  The girl looked at Retief. “The men you want to see are Tove and Bo Bergman. They will be at the lodge by nightfall.”

  “Then it looks like we go to the lodge,” Retief said. “Lead on, Anne-Marie.”

  “What about the boat?” Chip asked.

  “I’ll send someone to see to it tomorrow,” the girl said.

  “You’re some gal,” Chip said admiringly. “Dern near six feet, ain’t ye? And built, too, what I mean.”

  They stepped out of the door into a whipping wind.

  “Let’s go across to the equipment shed and get parkas for you,” Anne-Marie said. “It will be cold on the slopes.”

  “Yeah,” Chip said, shivering. “I’ve heard you folks don’t believe in ridin’ ever time you want to go a few miles uphill in a blizzard.”

  “It will make us hungry,” Anne-Marie said. “Then Chip will cook a wonderful meal for us all.”

  Chip blinked. “Been cookin’ too long,” he muttered. “Didn’t know it showed on me that way.”

  Behind the sheds across the wind-scoured ramp abrupt peaks rose, snow-blanketed. A faint trail led across white slopes, disappearing into low clouds.

  “The lodge is above the cloud layer,” Anne-Marie said. “Up there the sky is always clear.”

  It was three hours later, and the sun was burning the peaks red, when Anne-Marie stopped, pulled off her woolen cap, and waved at the vista below.

  “There you see it,” she said. “Our valley.”

  “It’s a mighty perty sight,” Chip gasped. “Anything this tough to get a look at ought to be.”

  Anne-Marie pointed. “There,” she said. “The little red house by itself. Do you see it, Retief? It is my father’s homeacre.”

  Retief looked across the valley. Gaily painted houses nestled together, a puddle of color in the bowl of the valley.

  “I think you’ve led a good life there,” he said.

  Anne-Marie smiled brilliantly. “And this day, too, is good.”

  Retief smiled back. “Yes,” he said. “This day is good.”

  “It’ll be a durn sight better when I got my feet up to that big fire you was talking about, Annie,” Chip said.

  They climbed on, crossed a shoulder of broken rock, reached the final slope. Above, the lodge sprawled, a long low structure of heavy logs, outlined against the deep-blue twilight sky. Smoke billowed from stone chimneys at either end, and yellow light gleamed from the narrow windows, reflected on the snow. Men and women stood in groups of three or four, skis over their shoulders. Their voices and laughter rang in the icy air.

  Anne-Marie whistled shrilly. Someone waved.

  “Come,” she said. “Meet all my friends.”

  A man separated himself from the group, walked down the slope to meet them.

  “Anne-Marie,” he called. “Welcome. It was a long day without you.” He came up to them, hugged Anne-Marie, smiled at Retief.

  “Welcome,” he said. “Come inside and be warm.”

  They crossed the trampled snow to the lodge and pushed through a heavy door into a vast low-beamed hall, crowded with people, talking, singing, some sitting at long plank tables, others ringed around an eight-foot fireplace at the far side of the room. Anne-Marie led the way to a bench near the fire. She made introductions and found a stool to prop Chip’s feet near the blaze.

  Chip looked around.

  “I never seen so many perty gals before,” he said delightedly.

  “Poor Chip,” one girl said. “His feet are cold.” She knelt to pull off his boots. “Let me rub them,” she said.

  A brunette with blue eyes raked a chestnut from the fire, cracked it, and offered it to Retief. A tall man with arms like oak roots passed heavy beer tankards to the two guests.

  “Tell us about the places you’ve seen,” someone called. Chip emerged from a long pull at the mug, heaving a sigh.

  “Well,” he said. “I tell you I been in some places …”

  Music started up, rising above the clamor.

  “Come, Retief,” Anne-Marie said. “Dance with me.

  Retief looked at her. “My thought exactly,” he said.

  Chip put down his mug and sighed. “Derned if I ever felt right at home so quick before,” he said. “Just seems like these folks know all about me.” He scratched behind his right ear. “Annie must o’ called ’em up and told ’em our names an’ all.” He lowered his voice.

  “They’s some kind o’ trouble in the air, though. Some o’ the remarks they passed sounds like they’re lookin’ to have some trouble with the Sweaties. Don’t seen to worry ’em none, though.”

  “Chip,” Retief said, “how much do these people know about the Soetti?”

  “Dunno,” Chip said. “We useta touch down here, regler. But I always jist set in my galley and worked on ship models or somethin’. I hear the Sweaties been nosin’ around here some, though.”

  Two girls came up to Chip. “Hey, I gotta go now, mister,” he said. “These gals got a idea I oughta take a hand in the kitchen.”

  “Smart girls,” Retief said. He turned as Anne-Marie came up.

  “Bo Bergman and Tove are not back yet,” she said. “They stayed to ski after moonrise.”

  “That moon is something,” Retief said. “Almost like daylight.”

  “They will come soon, now. Shall we go out to see the moonlight on the snow?”

  Outside, long black shadows fell like ink on silver. The top of the cloud layer below glared white under the immense moon.

  “Our sister world, Gota,” Anne-Marie said. “Nearly as b
ig as Svea. I would like to visit it someday, although they say it’s all stone and ice.”

  “Anne-Marie,” Retief said, “how many people live on Jorgensen’s Worlds?”

  “About fifteen million, most of us here on Svea. There are mining camps and ice-fisheries on Gota. No one lives on Vasa and Skone, but there are always a few hunters there.”

  “Have you ever fought a war?”

  Anne-Marie turned to look at Retief.

  “You are afraid for us, Retief,” she said. “The Soetti will attack our worlds, and we will fight them. We have fought before. These planets were not friendly ones.”

  “I thought the Soetti attack would be a surprise to you,” Retief said. “Have you made any preparation for it?”

  “We have ten thousand merchant ships. When the enemy comes, we will meet them.”

  Retief frowned. “Are there any guns on this planet? Any missiles?”

  Anne-Marie shook her head. “Bo Bergman and Tove have a plan of deployment—”

  “Deployment, hell! Against a modern assault force you need modern armament.”

  “Look!” Anne-Marie touched Retief’s arm. “They’re coming now.”

  Two tall grizzled men came up the slope, skis over their shoulders. Anne-Marie went forward to meet them, Retief at her side.

  The two came up, embraced the girl, shook hands with Retief, put down their skis.

  “Welcome to Svea,” Tove said. “Let’s find a warm corner where we can talk.”

  Retief shook his head, smiling, as a tall girl with coppery hair offered a vast slab of venison.

  “I’ve caught up,” he said, “for every hungry day I ever lived.”

  Bo Bergman poured Retief’s beer mug full.

  “Our captains are the best in space,” he said. “Our population is concentrated in half a hundred small cities all across the planet. We know where the Soetti must strike us. We will ram their major vessels with unmanned ships. On the ground, we will hunt them down with small-arms.”

  “An assembly line turning out penetration missiles would have been more to the point.”

  “Yes,” Bo Bergman said. “If we had known.”

  “How long have you known the Soetti were planning to hit you?”

  Tove raised his eyebrows.

  “Since this afternoon,” he said.

  “How did you find out about it? That information is supposed in some quarters to be a well-guarded secret.”

  “Secret?” Tove said.

  Chip pulled at Retief’s arm.

  “Mister,” he said in Retief’s ear. “Come here a minute.”

  Retief looked at Anne-Marie, across at Tove and Bo Bergman. He rubbed the side of his face with his hand.

  “Excuse me,” he said. He followed Chip to one side of the room.

  “Listen!” Chip said. “Maybe I’m goin’ bats, but I’ll swear there’s somethin’ funny here. I’m back there mixin’ a sauce knowed only to me and the devil and I be dog if them gals don’t pass me ever dang spice I need, without me sayin’ a word. Come to put my soufflé in the oven—she’s already set, right on the button at 350. An’ just now I’m settin’ lookin’ at one of ’em bendin’ over a tub o’ apples—snazzy little brunette name of Leila—derned if she don’t turn around and say—” Chip gulped. “Never mind. Point is …” His voice nearly faltered. “It’s almost like these folks was readin’ my mind!”

  Retief patted Chip on the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about your sanity, old timer,” he said. “That’s exactly what they’re doing.”

  6

  “We’ve never tried to make a secret of it,” Tove said. “But we haven’t advertised it, either.”

  “It really isn’t much,” Bo Bergman said. “Not a mutant ability, our scholars say. Rather, it’s a skill we’ve stumbled on, a closer empathy. We are few, and far from the old home world. We’ve had to learn to break down the walls we had built around our minds.”

  “Can you read the Soetti?” Retief asked.

  Tove shook his head. “They’re very different from us. It’s painful to touch their minds. We can only sense the subvocalized thoughts of a human mind.”

  “We’ve seen very few of the Soetti,” Bo Bergman said. “Their ships have landed and taken on stores. They say little to us, but we’ve felt their contempt. They envy us our worlds. They come from a cold land.”

  “Anne-Marie says you have a plan of defense,” Retief said. “A sort of suicide squadron idea, followed by guerilla warfare.”

  “It’s the best we can devise, Retief. If there aren’t too many of them, it might work.”

  Retief shook his head. “It might delay matters—but not much.”

  “Perhaps. But our remote control equipment is excellent. And we have plenty of ships, albeit unarmed. And our people know how to live on the slopes—and how to shoot.”

  “There are too many of them, Tove,” Retief said. “They breed like flies and, according to some sources, they mature in a matter of months. They’ve been feeling their way into the sector for years now. Set up outposts on a thousand or so minor planets—cold ones, the kind they like. They want your worlds because they need living space.”

  “At least, your warning makes it possible for us to muster some show of force, Retief,” Bo Bergman said. “That is better than death by ambush.”

  “Retief must not be trapped here,” Anne-Marie said. “His small boat is useless now. He must have a ship.”

  “Of course,” Tove said. “And—”

  “My mission here—” Retief said.

  “Retief,” a voice called. “A message for you. The operator has phoned up a gram.”

  Retief unfolded the slip of paper. It was short, in verbal code, and signed by Magnan.

  “You are recalled herewith,” he read. “Assignment canceled. Agreement concluded with Soetti relinquishing all claims so-called Jorgensen system. Utmost importance that under no repeat no circumstances classified intelligence regarding Soetti be divulged to locals. Advise you depart instanter. Soetti occupation imminent.”

  Retief looked thoughtfully at the scrap of paper, then crumpled it and dropped it on the floor. He turned to Bo Bergman, took a tiny reel of tape from his pocket.

  “This contains information,” he said. “The Soetti attack plan, a defensive plan, instructions for the conversion of a standard antiacceleration unit into a potent weapon. If you have a screen handy, we’d better get started. We have about seventy-two hours.”

  In the Briefing Room at Svea Tower, Tove snapped off the projector.

  “Our plan would have been worthless against that,” he said. “We assumed they’d make their strike from a standard in-line formation. This scheme of hitting all our settlements simultaneously, in a random order from all points—we’d have been helpless.”

  “It’s perfect for this defensive plan,” Bo Bergman said. “Assuming this antiac trick works.”

  “It works,” Retief said. “I hope you’ve got plenty of heavy power lead available.”

  “We export copper,” Tove said.

  “We’ll assign about two hundred vessels to each settlement. Linked up, they should throw up quite a field.”

  “It ought to be effective up to about fifteen miles, I’d estimate,” Tove said. “If it works as it’s supposed to.”

  A red light flashed on the communications panel. Tove went to it, flipped a key.

  “Tower, Tove here,” he said.

  “I’ve got a ship on the scope, Tove,” a voice said. “There’s nothing scheduled. ACI 228 bypassed at 1600 …”

  “Just one?”

  “A lone ship, coming in on a bearing of 291/456/653. On manual, I’d say.”

  “How does this track key in with the idea of ACI 228 making a manual correction for a missed automatic approach?” Retief asked.

  Tove talked to the tower, got a reply.

  “That’s it,” he said.

  “How long before he touches down?”

  Tove glance
d at the lighted chart. “Perhaps eight minutes.

  “Any guns here?”

  Tove shook his head.

  “If that’s old two-twenty-eight, she ain’t got but the one fifty-mm rifle,” Chip said. “She cain’t figure on jumpin’ the whole planet.”

  “Hard to say what she figures on,” Retief said. “Mr. Tony will be in a mood for drastic measures.”

  “I wonder what kind o’ deal the skunks got with the Sweaties.” Chip said. “Prob’ly he gits to scavenge, after the Sweaties kill off the Jorgensens.”

  “He’s upset about our leaving him without saying good-bye, Chip,” Retief said. “And you left the door hanging open, too.”

  Chip cackled. “Old Mr. Tony didn’t look so good to the Sweaties now, hey, mister?”

  Retief turned to Bo Bergman.

  “Chip’s right,” he said. “A Soetti died on the ship, and a tourist got through the cordon. Tony’s out to redeem himself.”

  “He’s on final now,” the tower operator said. “Still no contact.”

  “We’ll know soon enough what he has in mind,” Tove said.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  Outside, the four men watched the point of fire grow, evolve into a ship ponderously settling to rest. The drive faded and cut; silence fell.

  Inside the Briefing Room, the speaker called out. Bo Bergman went inside, talked to the tower, motioned to the others.

  “—over to you,” the speaker was saying. There was a crackling moment of silence; then another voice.

  “—illegal entry. Send the two of them out. I’ll see to it they’re dealt with.”

  Tove flipped a key. “Switch me direct to the ship,” he said.

  “Right.”

  “You on ACI two-twenty-eight,” Tove said. “Who are you?”

  “What’s that to you?”

  “You weren’t cleared to berth here. Do you have an emergency aboard?”

  “Never mind that, you,” the speaker rumbled. “I tracked the bird in. I got the lifeboat on the screen now. They haven’t gone far in nine hours. Let’s have ’em.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Tove said.

  There was a momentary silence.

  “You think so, hah?” the speaker blared. “I’ll put it to you straight. I see two guys on their way out in one minute, or I open up.”