by R. M. Meluch
Stopped in the hatchway.
Bones and feathers braided into blond hair. Red, blue, and yellow scars on his face. Nox stood on the ramp. A rusted machete in his hand.
28
“HAMSTER.”
Glenn felt as if her mouth were full of pins. Her face drained of blood. She eyed the machete. Its cutting edge was nicked and scored from heavy use. Every blink brought back images of Poul Vrba, dying.
Nox said, “You’re the Hamster.”
Captain John Farragut had given Glenn Hamilton the nickname. Glenn wanted to lie. Knew she couldn’t pull it off.
“Small universe,” Glenn spoke without voice.
“The universe is infinitely vast, but the paths of human travel in it are as narrow as ant trails,” said Nox, sounding bizarrely cultured.
Glenn came down a degree from blind panic. Nox hadn’t overheard her reporting him to Merrimack.
Hamster. He knew she was the Hamster.
The “Hamster” name hadn’t gone away even after Admiral Farragut left Merrimack. The name was thoroughly stuck to her. She had a petite build and delicate features that made her seem smaller, a command presence to chase lions down the stairs. Even Mack’s new XO—who had assumed the position Glenn considered rightfully hers—called her “Iron Hamster.”
Nox took a step toward her. Glenn was afraid she flinched. She regarded him warily. Wished she didn’t need to look up to face him when he arrived at the top of the ramp.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” said Nox.
“Why not?” said Glenn.
He had a machete.
“That back there?” Nox said, gestured with the rusty blade toward camp. “That man? I was only as brutal as that man was stupid. You’re not stupid.”
Nox brushed past her in the hatchway to board the shipwreck. He strode to the control room console and moved away clutter to uncover the empty place where the res chamber should have been.
Glenn said, “My presence here won’t give you any influence with the Merrimack.”
“Okay, maybe you’re a little bit stupid,” said Nox. He prowled through the debris, threw sheets of metal aside.
Then he moved aft. He tossed the burned seat cushion out of his way, which revealed the res chamber. No chance he wouldn’t see it. He crouched down and pulled it out from its hiding place. He heaved it up and set it on a console. Powered it on.
After a moment he said darkly, “You deleted the harmonic.”
Maybe he had overheard her. There was nothing for it. Glenn had to tell the truth. “Yes.”
Unless she left the harmonic loaded in the chamber, the harmonic was irretrievable. Irretrievable from the machine. But not from her.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nox said.
Up flew the rusted blade. The machete came slicing down with a crash that made Glenn shrink back.
Nox cleaved the res chamber nearly in half.
He seesawed his blade free from the sheared metal. He told Glenn, “I can get the harmonic out of you if I need it.”
It was raining where Colonel Steele’s patrol was. Steele received a resonant call from Commander Ryan advising him that the pirates known as The Ninth Circle had taken the LEN camp.
“One fatality that we know of. The position of the pirates’ Xerxes is unknown but it has to be within walking distance of the LEN camp. A Xerxes has true stealth capability, which makes your mission objective a bit on the tricky side. Find the Xerxes. Do not be sighted. Lives depend on that.”
“Sir?” Steele began. “What do you mean by ‘walking distance?’”
“It means the pirates walked,” said Dingo. “At one time they were Roman legionaries, so use whatever you consider a walking distance. That’s a big area, but you’ve got to get a lot closer than you are now. Give us your best, Marine.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Rain tapped on the energy dome and came down in odd trickles, as if the raindrops hit a plastic bubble. But the expedition members couldn’t see the surface of the bubble except as defined by the flattened undersides of the raindrops.
A heat pocket collected at the top of the energy dome. A cool damp breeze came in at ground level.
Because it was unshielded around the edges, the camp would have been vulnerable to a ground siege, if not for the hostages.
Any one of the expedition members could walk out across the dirt perimeter, if he had anywhere to go.
There wasn’t anywhere to go. The pirates had set up jammers to prevent displacement. And Orissus let them know, “If one of you escapes, you had better all escape.”
“Woe betide anyone you leave behind,” said Nox, his gaze fixed on Glenn Hamilton.
Nox reported back to Caesar. Advised him that his non-Roman Roman eyes were on the ground and inside the LEN camp. Nox told him of the presence of Merrimack in the Zoen star system, though Caesar already knew that before he sent The Ninth Circle here.
“Is the DNA a hoax?” Caesar asked.
“If it is a hoax, people down here think it’s our hoax,” said Nox, then corrected himself, “Rome’s hoax, I mean.” Nox kept forgetting that Rome did not consider him Roman. “But there’s a lot of evidence to say it’s real.”
“Send all data contained in all the scientists’ information banks to Us. Send all the raw data from the scientific equipment. Send everything on the extraplanetary beings they are calling ‘clokes.’ Is that truly short for cloaca?”
“Yes, Domni. The U.S. Marines came up with that name for them.”
“Are there Marines on world?”
“There were. The LEN ordered them off. I don’t see any. Bagheera hasn’t detected any displacements or landings since we got here. There are two officers on leave from Merrimack down here in camp as part of the scientific expedition. One is a civilian in uniform. A xenolinguist. The other is a line officer. She’s just here because she’s married to the xenolinguist. So I’m told.”
“Rank?”
“Lieutenant.”
“Glenn Hamilton.”
Nox’s voice hitched. “Yes, Caesar.”
Was there anything Numa Pompeii didn’t know?
“Send Us complete personnel files on the xenos. Include their medical records. Send every record they have, all correspondence, notes, diaries, games, family pictures, porn. Collect everything. Omit nothing. We will sift out the useful from the chaff. After any transmission to us, erase this harmonic behind you. Kill anyone who suspects that we are in contact.”
Knowledge was power. Caesar wanted all of it.
Nox got his brothers to work immediately. Galeo questioned, “Caesar specifically asked for personal records?”
Nox nodded. “He was adamant about that.”
“Why is Caesar doing background checks on the xenos?” asked Faunus.
Nox shrugged. “Looking for a DNA hoax? I don’t know.”
“No. Not in their personal records,” said Nicanor. “He’s looking for something other than that.”
“He must be looking for someone who is not what he seems to be,” said Orissus. “Hopefully not another Farragut.”
“Leave it,” said Pallas.
“Does Numa know who you are?” Faunus asked.
“You’re dumber than a dead xeno if you think he doesn’t, O Best Beloved,” Nox told Faunus.
“This is almost like a mole search,” said Leo.
Rome was known for creating and inserting moles inside other societies. Rome was not known for having moles inside itself.
Pallas inhaled a small gasp. Realized, “He’s looking for Romulii.”
The others froze for an instant, then turned to stare at Pallas.
The Romulii were subversive supporters of former Caesar Romulus. Romulus was now comatose and completely crackers. His diehard followers were rabid. And clever.
“Do you really think so?” said Nox.
“You have a better idea?” said Pallas.
“No,” said Nox. “But I don’t like that one.”
�
��I liked Romulus,” said Leo. Sounded wistful.
“You did?” said Nox. “He was a patricide.”
“No,” said Galeo. “He wasn’t. That was Claudia.”
“Or Empress Calli,” said Leo.
“I enlisted under Romulus,” said Nicanor.
“We all did,” said Pallas.
“I enlisted under Numa,” said Nox. “But I fell in love with Rome under Romulus.” He remembered the fighters passing over the house, rattling all the windows.
“The man did things,” Faunus said, nodding. “Would’ve done more except for the traitor Augustus. It was a hell of a ride.”
The brothers couldn’t help but look at some of the data they collected. Leo questioned the references to “orbs” around the planet. What orbs are they talking about? Did they mean the U.S. Marine Swifts? Swifts were definitely not orb-shaped, but they were the only things up there in orbit other than Merrimack.
Pallas asked the xenos around the fire pit, but most of the xenos were too afraid to talk at all.
Jose Maria answered for them. “The orbs were cloke spacecraft. You would not have seen them when you came in. They attacked Spring Beauty and Mercedes. Then they attacked Merrimack.”
“They attacked the Mack?” said Nox.
That explained why there were no more orbs.
“Why didn’t the orbs attack the ships that came before Spring Beauty and Mercedes,” Nicanor demanded.
“We do not know,” said Jose Maria.
“The orbs were asleep,” Nox said, an epiphany. “They were the Little People. Just a lot slower to wake up.”
Glenn hesitated, afraid for her life. But she had orders: Get close to John John. The next thing she said would either get Nox’s attention or get her dead quickly. “The buck lived.”
Nox’s blue eyes got very wide, amazed. He spoke the next line in The Jungle Book: “Because he came first, running for his life, leaping ere the Little People were aware.”
In this case, the first several LEN ships to approach the planet survived—getting down to the planet before the Little People—the clokes—were aware. Once aware that ships were coming to their planet, the Little People had swarmed around the next intruders to come and tried to kill them.
“Just so,” said Glenn.
At nightfall Nox took Glenn Hamilton for a walk out from under the dome.
This close to the galactic Rim, space was true black at this hour. Later, the Milky Way would rise, but for now, the sky was black.
And those widely spaced, fuzzy points of light up there weren’t stars. They were galaxies unimaginably distant in the incomprehensible abyss.
“What are the constellations called here?” Nox asked.
“No one has named them,” said Glenn.
“Really?” He looked up. No stars yet. They wouldn’t rise for hours yet. “Someone should.”
“You think in symbols, don’t you,” Glenn said. Not a question.
Nox seemed startled. Glenn didn’t want to startle him. She thought he knew that about himself.
“I guess I do.” He hadn’t known.
“Not everyone does,” said Glenn. “Think in symbols.”
It seemed to explain something to him.
“Ever kill anyone, Lieutenant Glenn Hamilton?” Nox asked. “I mean hand to hand.”
Her turn to be startled. “Only monsters,” she said.
“And what am I?”
“I don’t think you’re a monster.”
“What am I then?”
Any answer could be fatal. She said, “A runaway Star Sparrow without a target.”
He thought about that. She didn’t want him to think too long. She said, “We should come out here later when the stars are out.”
He nodded as if that were a fine idea. He walked her back to her tent.
She turned at the entrance. She didn’t know if Patrick was inside or not. She did not want Nox in there. She said to Nox, “Thank you for the walk.”
He stood over her, like a first date on the doorstep. His eyes shifted, his gaze moving across her face. “The Second Coming ever hit on you?” Nox asked.
Glenn hesitated. Nox meant his older brother. Admiral Farragut. Glenn couldn’t muster up a convincing lie. Said, “Yes.”
“What’d you do?”
She gave a brief chagrined smile. “Same thing I’m doing right now.”
She was twisting her wedding ring.
Nox touched her cheek. “Good night, Mrs. Hamilton.”
The Marines advanced toward the expedition camp. This leg of the trek was all uphill.
The foxes kept up. Sometimes they ran ahead, which was good. It motivated the squad to keep up the pace. But this was a long march, and sooner or later the foxes had to turn around and go home. But then again, what else had a fox to do?
The gray-brown she-fox whom Rhino dubbed Fur For Brains pawed at Rhino’s navel as if her belly button could open up.
Rhino yelled to no one in particular, “What the fecund is this furball doing?”
Kerry Blue cackled. Carly Delgado and Twitch Fuentes snorted. Asante said, “She’s trying to look in your pouch to see if you’re carrying a baby.”
Rhino gave the fox’s face an annoyed shove away from her. “Sister, you have the wrong address.”
“Merrimack,” said Leo, like a man suddenly making a mental connection.
“What of her?” said Nox.
It was after dinner. Most of the xenos had abandoned their usual seats around the fire pit. That left only the brothers, Jose Maria, Aaron Rose, and Glenn and Patrick.
“Is Merrimack still upstairs? Is Adamas aboard?” Leo had the bright-eyed look of a fan. Adamas had been mad emperor Romulus’ gladiator. Adamas had been known to serve on Merrimack. His real name was TR Steele.
Nox lifted both hands. “How would I know?”
Glenn clammed shut.
Patrick blurted the answer without thinking, “Usually.”
Glenn shot him a glare. Patrick was nominally an officer, but he was as discreet as a civilian. You never offer information to an enemy. Not even seemingly harmless stuff.
Galeo spoke up, another fan. “I would like to see Adamas.”
“You don’t,” Glenn said quietly. Adamas will take your head off. “You really don’t.”
TR Steele was a confirmed Roman hater.
Nox told his brothers, “I’ve heard Steele hates all things Roman.”
“We’re not Roman,” Orissus reminded him. “We’re pirates.”
“That’s probably worse,” said Nox. “Everyone hates pirates.”
The leader of any pack got all the finest hembras. A snow-white she-fox in the furry band of camp followers took to twitching her tail at TR Steele. The white vixen ran past him, brushing herself against him, then stopped and looked back, tilted her foxy head to say, Ain’tcha gonna chase me?
“I can translate that,” said Kerry Blue sourly and yelled to her com-padres, “Hey! Can someone tell Fluffy here the Old Man’s not interested?”
A twitch too far, and Kerry Blue was on her. Kerry dropped her field pack and lunged. Big claws and sharp teeth be damned.
Gyrene green and snowy white rolled over and over on the ground.
“Girl fight!” Dak cried.
Before Steele could bark his Marine back into line, Kerry Blue had already wrestled the she-fox over onto her back and roared into her huge rounded eyes, “Hey, perv! I AM THE ALPHA BITCH!”
Then Kerry was on her feet, collecting her field pack.
The white vixen shook herself off and gamboled away to flirt with a knot of young fox males.
“Good thing foxes are not aggressive,” Asante told Kerry. “Fluff could’ve torn your guts out.”
“Muy estupido,” Carly said. “Chica linda, you gotta know the furball wasn’t never no competition.”
Patrick Hamilton had figured out that Leo was the technically inclined one among the pirate band, but he had no idea what inclined Leo to amass all the d
ata in the expedition’s computer banks, even to Patrick’s language files.
Scarred welts that extended from Leo’s shoulders to his wrists made him look like a cutter. But then again, Patrick supposed there was no “looking like” about it.
The jovial one, Faunus, fashioned a panpipe out of cloke bones he’d collected from the forest. Faunus made Patrick help him tune it. It terrified Patrick to tell the pirate when his pitch was slightly off. But Faunus, despite his brass knuckles, was one of the better-natured ones of the Circle. Faunus didn’t seem likely to break a tool that served him.
The proud one, Nicanor, was humorless. Never laughed. Which was okay, because Nicanor didn’t get angry either.
That Orissus was nasty for the fun of it.
Galeo, with his red goatee and red 666 on his forehead and his penchant for barbaric body paint, looked worse than he was. He had a mean bark, but if you obeyed the bark, he never bit.
Pallas was the one you wanted in your pocket. Pallas looked handsome and normal except for the circled IX brand on his arm. Pallas was almost kind, and he was close to Nox. You wanted Pallas between you and Nox.
And Nox. Nox was flash-tempered and unpredictable and too interested in Patrick’s wife.
Something about my wife attracts Farraguts.
After Faunus got his panpipe tuned, he made himself a crown out of local vines and broke into Aaron Rose’s wine cellar. Faunus came out waggling four bottles. “They’re holding out on us, frateri!”
The brothers gathered where Faunus led, to a long table under a tarp where Glenn, Patrick, Jose Maria, and Aaron Rose were sitting.
Faunus thumped down the bottles and leaned in to Aaron’s face. “Aren’t you?”
Aaron Rose, the amateur vintner, warned nervously, “Uh, that batch is an experiment. I really can’t promise that’s even drinkable.”
It looked as though Dr. Rose feared the pirates would kill him if the wine was bad. It was a reasonable fear.