by Mike Moscoe
Mary had a rough position for the capsule, and the frequency it should be squawking on. No surprise; it was silent. “Lek, a little rocket ship landed on our front door a few minutes ago. Did our sensors pick up anything?”
“Have them aimed down, looking for man-sized movement, and not finding a hell of a lot. You want me to reprogram them and go over their records? I'll need a good half hour.”
“Better do it, Lek. May be a friendly out there trying to breathe vacuum.”
“I'm on it. Just a second, Mary. I've got movement six klicks from the pass, forty degrees left.”
“Unknown or colonial?”
“One ... no, three colonials, coming from different directions, closing on something in a deep crater, if I can trust my map.”
“Dumont, swing us left.”
“Heard, already doing. I'm point. Kip, you keep right. Dag and Zori, swing to my left. Start zigzagging.” Dumont's timing couldn't have been better. A rocket lofted from behind a rock, hung in space for a moment, then arrowed straight at the rightmost rig. Kip popped chaff, then ducked right. Chaff went up again; then the rig came to a bouncing halt behind a boulder.
The rocket ignored the first chaff cloud but dove straight for the second, dispensing bomblets as it crashed into its center. A moment later, Kip's rig was at full speed, heading in the general direction the rocket had come from. The rigs dodged two more small rockets, each one from a different location. They ended up with two captives. The third took too long deciding between POW and fighter. She died.
Dumont raced past the crater Lek thought might hold their wayward Navy type. “Something's down there, and it didn't shoot at me. Might be what you're looking for, Mary. Squad, spread out, keep moving, don't make a good target, and don't draw attention to that crater. It's all yours, Mary.”
Mary told the driver to slow as they passed the crater. She grabbed two different emergency kits. She'd made lots of rescues in the mines; this was just a different twist on a familiar job. Of course, Dumont could have missed something, and the crater's contents might be unfriendly. Rifle ready, emergency kits dangling from both elbows, she stepped from the rig and slid down the crater's crumbling walls. A standard, man-rated canister rested on the opposite side of the crater, nose down.
It had the green and blue Society of Humanity emblem. She tried opening the red emergency exit hatch; it didn't budge. Mary tossed her rifle aside and unzipped the first of her kits. Powered rescue gear gleamed. She only got to use three of her new toys before she was in the canister and staring at the cheapest excuse for a space suit she'd ever seen. The helmet was fogged; it didn't take an engineer to know that the two and a half hours of air hadn't been up to specs.
She dragged her second kit over and unzipped it. The oxygen bottle had several attachments. She grabbed the sharp one and slipped it through the soft material at the neck joint of the suit, slapped goo around it and opened the bottle a crack while she twisted the manual override on the suit's vent. Through her gloves, she could feel stale air hissing out, replaced by the good oxygen. Damn suit had no monitors; she guessed at how much, watching the plastic faceplate as it slowly unfogged. The Navy officer's lips were blue, but he was breathing.
“Du, get my rig back here. You got a lifesaver in your squad?”
“Kip's gunner is.”
“I'll gun for Kip. Get both rigs back here.”
“How's the Navy doing?”
“Not breathing too well. They make a man a captain, then give him a suit I wouldn't wear to a Sunday school picnic.”
“Never went to one, myself. No beer. Okay, Kit, you head kind of sly but quick for the crater. Rest, keep your heads up. If anyone's left, they want our hide.”
Careful of the oxygen bottle, Mary dragged the unconscious man up the rim of the crater. She left him lying there as she dropped back to collect her rifle and emergency kits. She also checked in the capsule. The guy had a briefcase and clothes bag. She added them to her load and made it easily out again just as two rigs came to a quick stop beside the officer.
The oxygen must have been helping, because he pulled himself up on his elbows. Mary patted her mouth and ears through her helmet, then made a quick slit across her throat. You’re not sending or receiving, Joe . He seemed to nod; then the others were on him, lifting him into the command car, slamming its door shut with the captain and the lifesaver inside. The driver secured his hatch, and Mary spotted dust blowing every which way as pressure built up. Good.
As the command rig took off zigzagging for the pass, Mary swung herself up into the gunner's slot on Kip's rolligon. “Okay, everybody, we've done this the easy way. Let's back up careful like and keep this a cakewalk.”
“This is fan, old lady,” Dumont chortled. “We got to go out like this more often.”
At her feet, a POW was taped like a mummy. Mary doubted he—no, she—considered today fun. Well, one person's fun was someone else's bad day. At least you 're out of the shooting, hon. Then Mary snorted. Once, a long time ago, all she'd really wanted was to surrender. Who was the winner here?
* * * *
Rita drove next morning as they headed into the countryside. There was a thirty-minute wait at a checkpoint. Though they were waved through with only a glance at their ID cards, the wait left them plenty of time to contemplate the three bodies twisting on red flag waving gallows. “Earthie Traitors” the sign read.
“Already,” Rita whispered as she pulled away.
The hanging bodies stayed with Ray. He was sworn to defend these people. Now his uniform was being used as an excuse to kill young men. This was not what he and his father and grandfather had bled for. The hangmen, and the President signing their orders, had to be stopped.
Rita found the dirt road that led into the abandoned quarry. They went well past a swimming hole on a rarely driven path. In a blighted opening among the trees, the spy master waited, a briefcase in hand. The fat man showed Ray how to open the case. “We've included a computer with your slide show on it and extra batteries for the computer and your power walker.”
“So, I am to bludgeon the President to death with batteries?” Ray observed dryly.
The other closed the briefcase. “Now put in five-nine-three for the combination.”
Ray did, and did not open the briefcase. He felt a very -light hum, then nothing.
“It is armed now. Open it, and there will be a very big hole in the ground, and very little of us for forensics to find.”
“Let's see its effect.”
“We only have three.”
“A soldier practices with his weapon. Until you have fired the weapon, you are just reading a book.”
“Not an unexpected attitude, Major.” The spy master ducked into his car, returning with a strange gizmo. Briefcase under his arm, and whistling a happy aria, he plodded away. At three hundred paces, he stopped, did something, and hastened back to them. He offered Ray a small box. “Would you do the honors?”
The box was a cliché: one red button. Ray pushed it. Across the distance, he could hear the click as the briefcase fasteners were pushed open, a snap as the lid popped up. The explosion was not much louder than the noise the lid made. A small puff of smoke rose from the case.
“I've seen more dangerous firecrackers on Landing Day,” Rita snapped.
The spy stared at the quickly dissipating cloud for a moment, then nervously licked his lips. “I would appreciate it if you two left. I have some bomb disposal work to do. I will get in touch with you in a day or two.”
They left.
Rita turned on the radio; all stations were blaring marches or patriotic songs. She called up music of her own choosing from the car's memory and headed away from town. “There's a lake I used to love when I was a little girl” was all she said.
Ray leaned back in his seat, took a deep breath of the spring air, and concentrated on Rita beside him. Tomorrow could wait. Rita talked about yesterdays, sharing what it had been like growing up the treasured only chil
d of a father rapidly building an empire and a mother both beautiful and vain. Ray imagined somewhere in there were the roots of the woman he loved. A woman who would insist on piloting her own starship and now very much wanted a child of her own. His child would probably grow up like Rita. Assuming he or she did grow up. Assuming the bomb killed the President and brought down the government. If Ray failed, everyone who ever knew him would be denounced, tortured, and murdered. I will not fail.
They left the main road, meandered through trees and dales until Rita took off down a dirt road. A lovely lake came in view, but the trees hid it more often than not. Its waters reflected back the blue of the sky. Its surface was ruffled by the wind, but Ray saw no boats. Then Rita turned down a path that was more a hint than a road. For a few minutes the car fended off tree limbs and brush; then they came to a halt in a grassy area that gently rolled down to the water.
“Mom and Dad used to camp here, long ago, before they bought the summer home where everyone had a summer home. I asked Dad not to sell this patch. He gave it to me.” She helped him from the car, settled him on a blanket that just happened to be in the trunk, then began to undress. Slowly, methodically, completely, the clothes came off. “Now, we talk. No more bullshit. No more hiding behind nice words. We talk.”
It was uncomfortable, sitting there in uniform, facing his naked wife. But Ray was not willing to so much as loosen his tie. It was not the bare skin that he feared, but the bare soul Rita demanded. That, he most certainly was not prepared for. 'Talk about what?” he dodged.
“Oh, God, Ray.” She turned away in exasperation. “Somebody jiggered the bomb. Face it, our security is hash. Two to one you're walking into a trap. Even if you get past the guards and searches, how much you want to bet the damn bomb doesn't work?”
That was one question Ray could answer. “The bomb will work. I don't leave here until I'm absolutely sure it will blow the President and everyone in the room to whatever they expect after this life.”
She turned back to him, settled to her knees across from him, swallowed hard. “And you too.”
“This bomb will kill the President. Other considerations are secondary.” There, he'd said it.
Rita shot to her feet, paced around him like a cat stalking a mouse caught in a trap. “God damn you, Ray. No, God bless you. You always were a good soldier.” She did not look at him. “And there's no bloody way I can change your mind.”
“Is the President killing millions?” he asked her.
She shivered as she had when she saw the hanging bodies. “Yes.”
'Does he have to be stopped?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know of anyone with a better chance of killing him?”
“Damn it, Ray, how should I? That spy says you're his best bet, but there're a hundred colonial worlds. How many of them have guys like our spy, all trying to kill our Unity shot'.'“
“I don't know. I just know I can do it. Rita, I've seen green soldiers freeze, and die for that lost moment. I've been a soldier all my life, and a killer for most of it. There's a lot things I can't do. This is one I can.”
“And you owe it to all those brave soldiers of the Second Guard that followed your orders and died. I watched you break down at the hospital when you faced your men. Do they mean more to you than me?” Tears streamed down Rita's face. Ray wanted to kiss them away. She kept pacing, far beyond his reach.
“Rita, I owe it to the men and women who died at my command. I owe it to your father, and the people working in his factories. Because I can do it, I owe it to every man, woman, and child on a hundred colony worlds and, yes, even Earth.” He paused, then played his last card. “And the child of ours that you want so much. You spoke of a million worlds opening to us. What will be left to us if we let this damn war burn humanity down to a husk? Someone has to stop the madness. I can. Would you really expect me not to try? Try with all I am?”
Rita was sobbing now, and tears were coming to his eyes. He let them flow. Rita ceased her pacing and settled beside him, her arms around his neck. It took his left arm to keep him balanced upright. His right arm went around her. For a long time, they cried together, holding each other as best they could.
Then Rita began to undress him. “I know I married a wonderful man. Some women look at a husband and see a man to remake. I looked at you and fell in love with what I saw. Even if I'd known then the price I'd pay for loving you, I couldn't have walked away. I loved the commander of the Second Guard. I knew when I flew you into battle that I might not bring you back. So what is so different about this mission from the others?”
Ray knew the difference. In one he took a soldier's risk.
Canes left behind, she helped him into the water. Free of his own weight, he floated. Rita let the water wash away their tears, the sun warm them. Then she brought out joy and happiness from her vast storehouse and made him laugh.
She started a water fight. In chest-deep water, he found he could stand well enough to splash back. The fight ended with them standing like lovers with four good legs, arms entwined. They explored each other. When Rita drew him into the shallows and made love to him, he had forgotten about tomorrow. She loved him. He loved her back.
Washed clean by the sun and water of both hope and fear, they lost themselves in love. For today, that was enough.
Eleven
“Lieutenant Rodrigo. How long since you've had a break?”
“I take one every day, sir.” Every few days battalion would ask that question. Each time she ended up talking to a higher-ranking officer. Mary was up to the battalion CO. Lieutenant Colonel Henderson was on the horn this time.
“Lieutenant, I don't mean the last time you caught a nap. I mean the last time you really kicked back and relaxed for a couple of days. Before they drafted you, right?”
Senior managers were usually idiots. Why did this one have to be different? “Pretty much, sir.”
“Lieutenant, you get your ass in here. If you don't report to my HQ before oh-eight hundred tomorrow, I will relieve you and put the greenest LT I can find in command of A company. You hear me?”
“Yes sir.”
“Mary, I'm not just being a stickler. Troopers who survive their first week on the line get sharp, damn sharp. But stay on the line too long and you get hollow. Start making mistakes. I don't want to lose troops to dumb. If I could, I'd give you a couple of weeks off, but I can't trust the colonials for that long. Couple of days will have to do. Come on, woman, get in here. Get drank. Get anything else you want. You'll be in a lot better shape when you go back.”
Mary gave up. “I'll be there, sir.”
“Good. See you soon. Battalion out.”
“Damn busybody,” Mary growled at the phone. “Don't you got nothing else to do?”
Mary looked up as several throats were cleared. Cassie, Lek, and Dumont filled her doorway. Cassie held a packed kit bag; they were smiling like the canary that ate the Cheshire cat.
“What are you all grinning at?” she tried to snap, but their smiles were contagious.
“At how well you obey orders. Sir.” Cassie shot back. “Your kit's all packed for three days.”
“Your coach awaits.” Dumont bowed and swept a hand outward.
“And since ain't nobody around here gots a glass slipper, we figured you might as well be on your way,” Lek finished.
“Somebody's been listening in on my mail,” Mary charged.
“A time-honored practice by worker bees who survive the confused misdirection they get from management,” Lek retorted.
Which knocked the wind out of Mary. Did they really see her as management?
“Come on, Mary.” Dumont came around the desk and, taking her hand, pulled her up. “As the colonel said, we can't have you stupid. And we sure as hell don't want to break in another officer. Two in one war ought to be a limit.” Arm gently on her elbow, he urged her toward the door. “Go on, Mary, have fun.”
The vote seemed unanimous! Mary collected h
er helmet, accepted her kit, and two minutes later was in her command rig, the driver going hell for breakfast for the center of the crater. Mary wondered if he had a three-day pass in his pocket, too.
Then she remembered. Except for a few mending in hospital, no one else in A company had R&R just now. For better or worse, she could let her hair down and not worry about someone telling tales to the troops. She wouldn't have to save anyone's bacon. Neither would she have anyone to pull her out of any brawl she started. She could never remember a time when she'd been this free of strings. More surprising, she liked the idea. Nobody to take care of; with a sigh, she spread herself out on the back seat. What do we want, girl?
A bath. A bath and a decent meal. After that...
She was asleep before she got to whatever might come after.
“We're here, Lieutenant. You can take off your helmet.”
Her driver helped her out, made sure she had her gear, then headed back just as fast as he'd come. She really was on her own. Looking ridiculous with her helmet on, she un-dogged it and gently put it in her kit bag. A corporal gave her directions to battalion HQ. She reported to a sergeant only to find the colonel had left for C company two hours ago.
“He's taking out replacements and trying to come up with some new twists on Hambone's defense,” the sergeant told her.
“Well, if the colonel asks, tell him I got my butt in here. Know any place a woman can get a nice long bath and a good meal?”
The sergeant tapped her board, then scowled. “BOQ's full, as usual. You don't want to go near the Sommersby joints. Naomi's Place is good for a bath and a bed. Make sure she knows you're renting by the day ... and want clean sheets.”
Mary wondered how noisy the traffic would be in the hall. She'd slept through worse lately. “And a drink?”
“Officers usually drink at Joe's.”
“And honest people?”
This time the sergeant laughed. “Try the Dog Palace. Honest drinks and no more than one fight a night.”
“Thanks. Where's a safe place to stow my battle gear?”