Lim, Gustafson, Schmidt, and I walked inside Lobo through a side hatch he'd opened. Sweat had carved small trails in the dirt on their faces. They moved stiffly, as if they were ancient. I wondered if I appeared to be in equally bad shape.
"You all look like hell," Lobo said privately, "particularly you, and you smell worse."
So much for that question. "Thanks," I subvocalized.
Small currents of air played across my neck; Lobo was dealing with the odor. "It's so much harder," he said, "being human than it is being me."
We stood in his front. I could have asked him to bring out couches, but I was afraid I might fall asleep if I relaxed.
"Five casualties for us," Lim said, "but no fatalities, and all the injured should recover fully. Not bad."
"But also not what we dreamed," Gustafson said, "though it never is."
"Half a dozen hostiles dead," Lim said, as if she hadn't heard him, "and another eleven shot, including two boys. Don't know if they'll make it."
None of us had anything to say to that. No one had wanted to shoot any of the children, but we'd all had to defend ourselves. I was glad Black squad hadn't shot any of them, but I couldn't take credit for that; we'd just been lucky.
"A Tumani unit is inbound," Lim said. "I've spoken to their commander, and they're honoring our deal: They'll make camp in the trees around the perimeter and hope the rebels come back. They'll also take away our adult prisoners. The children and the complex are ours."
"The rest of our people?" Schmidt said.
"Also inbound," Lim said. "Two more small ships have cleared the jump gates since we started, so we should get seventy-five more people. A few more may join us later, but that's basically it."
I hadn't been part of the planning for the follow-on reintegration work, because my job ended when we controlled the complex. "The kids will outnumber you four to one," I said.
Schmidt shrugged. "We're not here to fight them; we're here to help them. I know our numbers aren't ideal for reintegration, but they also aren't horrible. Besides, group counseling is common."
"More to the point," Gustafson said, "it's the best we can do."
"I understand your intentions and plans," I said, "and I obviously support them. But what do you do if the boys want to fight you?"
"What do you think?" Schmidt said, her voice strained. "We know this isn't perfect. We know we can't plan for everything. We know we probably won't save them all. But we'll do what we can. We'll do everything we can to avoid conflict, and if it comes, we'll deal with it—and try to teach them that they no longer have to fight."
I'd never found that lesson to be true, never experienced more than a year or so without a battle of some kind, but whether the violence found me or I sought it was something I've never really understood.
Before I could upset Schmidt further, Gustafson put his hand on her shoulder, stared at me, and said, "Look, Gunny, you should understand by now that we know what're doing. Teams are already locating and securing every weapon in the place. Others are clearing the felled trees and repairing the damage we did to the four entry points. We won't finish all the work tonight, but even with the assault group sleeping in shifts, we should have the place secure within a day. The kids should remain unconscious for at least another four hours. When they're all awake, we'll explain the situation to them." He patted Schmidt's shoulder lightly. "The rest will be up to the counselors."
"And when we've proven to the kids that fighting is behind them," Schmidt said, "the real work will begin."
Lim and Gustafson nodded their agreement.
"Jon," Lobo said to me privately over the machine frequency, "why are you provoking arguments? Our role in this is over. Let's go."
He was right. I'd done what I'd promised, Lobo had delivered on his end, and the operation had gone as well as anyone had a right to expect. I could fight, but I couldn't help now that the attack was over; I knew nothing about teaching children how to live after fighting. No one had ever taught me. I couldn't even really believe in a life without fighting.
I held up my hands. "I didn't mean to criticize. I'm sorry. I think it's time for me to call it a night."
"I know you're tired," Lim said. "We all are. I'd like one more thing, though."
"What?" I hoped my voice didn't sound as angry to her as it did to me.
"Would you be willing," she said, "to wait here and watch for trouble until the rest of our ships arrive? I don't expect any rebel attacks, and the window of exposure is only four hours, but I'd just as soon play it safe."
I stared at her. She couldn't be concerned about the rebels; they had no ships that could pose any problems for her team. She had to be worried about the government double-crossing her.
"You need to sleep," Lobo said privately, "but I've got nothing better to do. It's not like I can rest"
"Sure," I said to Lim, "I'd be happy to do it."
"I wouldn't go that far," Lobo said.
Lim nodded and headed out of Lobo. Gustafson and Schmidt followed her. I trailed them. At the hatch, Lim paused and turned to face me.
"This is where you always make your exit, Jon," she said, "and I understand that. It's what people like us do. It's what I usually do. Don't you ever wonder, though, what happens to the messes we leave behind?"
Anger flushed my face. I'd done what I'd said I'd do. I'd kept up my end of the deal. "What right—"
"I'm sorry," she said, interrupting me. She rubbed her eyes. "That was uncalled for. I appreciate your help. We couldn't have done it without you." She stepped out of Lobo, turned, and vanished.
Gustafson glanced back at me and nodded. "Gunny."
"Top," I said.
Without looking at me, Schmidt said, "Thanks."
I nodded in acknowledgment even though she couldn't see me.
The two of them left.
Lobo sealed the hatch behind them.
I stared at the blank wall and thought about what Lim had said. When the fighting was over and the mission was complete, I did leave, but it was always what everyone wanted me to do. People needed me—needed us, Lobo and me and others like us—to fix their problems, to do the dirty work they wouldn't do, but when we were done, they wanted us to go somewhere else. Our skills, our abilities, even our willingness to do those jobs made us unwelcome when the fighting was over.
I turned and headed for my quarters. "Thank you for agreeing to watch the skies," I said aloud to Lobo. "I'm going to sleep."
Chapter 26
Dump Island, planet Pinkelponker - 139 years earlier
Light was fleeing the purpling sky and still Benny would not let us rest. The heat of the day hung on as if fighting to survive. The air squatted on us, wet and thick and so heavy that every movement was a struggle. Sand coated my shirtless body and ran in sweat streams down my chest and back and arms. My right hand and wrist and forearm ached from gripping the knife and practicing with dummies stuffed with dirt and grass and the thick branches that Bob wielded like clubs.
"They'll have rifles," Benny said, his voice hoarse, "and we'll have only knives. We've got to be good with what we have."
I circled Bob, looking for an in, watching the branch. If I could stab the grass-filled sack he was wearing like a shirt, I would win that round. I jabbed, but he danced back and avoided any contact. He swatted with the branch a second later, but I had already slipped out of range; he was definitely slowing.
I advanced, tempting him to close the distance.
Something slammed into my forearm.
I yelped with pain and dropped the knife. I glanced in the direction of the blow and saw Alex preparing to hit me again with a branch thicker than my forearm.
Something smashed into my left shoulder.
I stumbled. I'd forgotten Bob!
"What?" I yelled. "It wasn't supposed—"
A weight landed on my back.
I fell forward onto my hands and knees. I turned in time to see Bob and Alex diving for my arms.
S
caly arms wrapped around my throat and started choking me.
Something pulled on my legs.
I hit the ground face-first. I turned my head in time to avoid hurting my nose, but I breathed in dirt and couldn't see clearly. I pushed off hard with my left hand and managed to roll onto my back. I pushed down with my body and tried to lift my head to butt it backward into Han's nose. Bob and Alex leapt on me and locked down my arms and grabbed my head so I couldn't hurt Han.
I screamed and thrashed in rage, but they all held on, Han slowing my air supply even though I tucked my chin as Benny had taught us.
I heard the sound of Benny's cart rolling in the sand. He came into view over my left shoulder.
His right arm flipper gripped my knife. He brought it down on my face and eased it between Han's arm and the underside of my chin.
I felt the sharp blade and stopped moving; I'd seen how easily it could cut.
"You screwed up," Benny said, "several times. First, you didn't watch for other threats. When they came, you forgot how to handle them. Finally, you lost your temper." He shook his head. "You know better. I've taught you better."
I tried to respond, but I couldn't get enough air to speak clearly.
"Han," Benny said, "let him talk."
Han relaxed but did not release his grip on my neck.
"That's not fair," I said. My voice didn't sound right. I coughed a few times but couldn't clear my throat. "We weren't doing that sort of practice."
"Fair?" Benny said. He leaned closer to me. "Haven't you been listening? What's so hard to understand? Nothing about our situation is fair. Not this island, not my body, not the way we were born, nothing. And the soldiers who guard the shuttle definitely won't worry about being fair. We won't know for sure how they'll react, and they won't follow any plan of ours or any rules. If they have to, maybe even if they simply feel like it, they'll kill every single one of us who attacks them."
"But you don't make these attacks on any of the other people." I said. I realized I was crying.
Alex and Bob looked away, but they didn't release my arms.
"Don't you cry!" Benny said. "I've told you before: Don't you ever cry. You don't get to cry. No one else goes through these drills because no one else can. You can. You have to lead the attack. You have to be ready for anything, because you're the best we have. So, you'll keep doing the drills and doing them and doing them until I say you're ready."
"I don't want to," I said. My cheeks were wet, but I couldn't stop myself, couldn't stop the tears. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to."
Benny lifted the knife and tossed it away. He nodded, and Alex and Bob got off me.
I rolled onto my side and hugged my knees to my chest.
Han wriggled out from under me.
Benny put his flipper on my shoulder, but I wouldn't look at him. "I don't want this," I said. "I never wanted any of this. I just want to be home, with Jennie, with everything the way it was."
"You can't have that," Benny said. "I'm sorry, I really am, but you can't."
"You can at least stop doing this to me. You can leave me alone."
"Look at me," he said.
I didn't move.
"Look at me."
He wouldn't stop until I did, so I turned onto my back and stared up at him.
"I will," he said, "if you tell me that's what you really want. But before you do, think about what I said: If we're ever to get off this island, it's going to be because you led the way, because you made it possible for us to beat the guards. You. We can't do it without you. You're the only one of us with a whole body and a whole mind."
"I'm just a kid," I said. For a moment, I remembered being treated like one, an oversized, too-old one, but a kid who Jennie always played with and treated like a kid. My time with her, only a couple of months ago, now seemed so far away.
"I know," Benny said, "and we can wait for you to get older if you want, but however long we delay, it's going to come down to you. The only way any of us wins is if you lead the fight and if you can beat the guards. For you to do that, you have to become a better fighter than they are—and you have to be ready for anything that can happen. You have to be tough, tougher than they are, and they're full-grown men with a great deal of training."
My nose was clogged from crying and the sand, so I blew it on my hands and wiped them on the ground.
"I never wanted to be tough," I said. "Jennie used to tell me I had a smart heart, and part of the reason is that I was always nice. The tough people I knew were mean a lot of the time."
"You can stay soft, and you can stay nice," Benny said, "but then you'll never leave Dump, and you'll never see your sister again."
I looked at the others. None of them would face me. I knew they liked me, and I didn't think any of them enjoyed the sneak attacks Benny made them launch at me, but still they did what he said. They wanted to escape from Dump, and they were willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. Even if that meant hurting me.
"I'm sorry," Benny said, his eyes glistening in the last of the daylight, "but if you want to leave here, you don't get to be a kid any longer. You have to learn to fight, to harden that heart, and to do whatever it takes, including killing those guards if it comes to that, or we'll all stay here until we die."
"It's not right," I said. "It's wrong of you to put so much on me. There has to be another way."
He shook his head. "No, there's not, or if there is, I've missed it." He paused a few seconds. With a very low voice, barely louder than a whisper, he said, "Tell me what I've missed." I honestly believe he wanted me to show him another way.
I couldn't. I thought about the day the guards had dropped me on the island and how careful and strong they'd been. I looked at the others training with me. Benny was right: None of them could do it. None of them would even meet my gaze.
I shook my head slowly and sat up. I closed my eyes and thought about living here forever, about never seeing Jennie again, and the anger rushed into me. It came like a storm from the ocean bringing fresh drinking water, like hot food, giving me energy, feeding me, making me stronger.
Making me harder.
I opened my eyes and looked at Benny. I slowly nodded my head, my arms trembling as the anger kept coming, as I flashed on the guards and the ship taking away Jennie and the men who'd dumped me here. I wanted to scream, to howl at the coming night like a hurt and cornered animal, but I didn't, because I might lose the anger, and I couldn't let myself do that, not yet, not then. Without it, all I had was pain and loss. I kept it in me, let it fill me but held it, and when I spoke, my voice was calm and, despite the heat in me, colder than I'd ever heard it.
"You're right," I said. "There's no other way." I hit the ground with both fists. "I will learn, and we will get off this island."
"Okay," Benny said, nodding his head. "Okay." He raised his voice. "That's enough for today."
As he turned away from me, I'm sure I saw tears, but I didn't care. He didn't need to cry about anything. None of us did. Crying wouldn't help; I understood that now. Only the anger would save us.
Chapter 27
In the former rebel complex, planet Tumani
I awoke drenched in sweat and still wearing the mission pants and shirt, my muscles straining, not moving as my body desperately fought the urge to leap up.
"How long?" I said as I stood.
"You've been asleep three hours and thirty minutes," Lobo said.
My body was fine; the nanomachines had done their work and healed me. Physically, despite the tightness and the tension, I was ready to go. Mentally, though, I was exhausted. I didn't remember dreaming, didn't recall anything from that short rest, but I felt like my mind had been racing the entire time.
I walked out of my quarters. "Have all of Lim's ships arrived?"
"I don't know," Lobo said. "Several have, but I've heard nothing from her as to whether she's expecting more. You were sleeping, and no hostiles showed up, so I had no reason
to contact her. Do you want me to do so now?"
"No need. What's going on out there?"
In response, a display appeared on the wall in front of me. Lim was standing on top of a small, one-story, flat-roofed building that faced a large open square in the middle of the compound. A crowd of boys paced and stood in front of her. More streamed from all angles into the group. In size, some of them appeared to be on the very cusp of manhood, while others didn't look much more than eight or nine years old. Their bodies rippled with lean, corded muscle and showed no fat. Most had passed thin and were verging on malnourished; many already had distended stomachs and shrunken, hollow faces.
Their expressions showed the aging the fighting had wrought on them. None smiled. All scanned their surroundings constantly, their eyes flicking across the rifle-bearing guards who lounged against nearby buildings, trying hard to look nonchalant but not fooling anybody. The boys spoke in whispers and nods and gestures. Some stopped as if to check shoes almost none of them wore and instead palmed small stones. They thought they were clever. They thought they were fooling the guards.
They weren't.
We all knew what they were doing. They were readying themselves to fight.
I could understand that. It's what they knew, what they did, all they'd done since the rebels had pressed them into service. They almost certainly thought they were fighting for the right side. Most soldiers do, regardless of their ages. I had, at their age, during my time on Dump. I'm still sure I was on the right side of that one. Not that it made any difference, not really, not in the damage that it did to me or that I did to others.
"I'm going outside to listen," I said.
"Why?" Lobo said. "I can contact Lim and find out if she still needs us. If she does, I can handle it, and you can sleep; you clearly need more. If she doesn't, we're done, as you told them, and we can leave."
Even if I could have answered him completely honestly, even if I'd been willing to tell him about my past—and I wasn't, not yet, maybe not ever—I couldn't have explained the urge I felt. Staring at those lost boys, understanding them, having been one like them, feeling at times as if I were still one of them, I wanted to know what it was that Lim or Schmidt or Gustafson or anyone could ever say that would help, that would make one damn bit of difference to the dark dreams that would, if my experience was any guide, plague them forever. Maybe I also wanted to see that someone really was going to try to help them, because no one had even tried with me.
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