When Duty Calls lotd-8

by William C. Dietz

  “ ‘Should be,’ and ‘is,’ are two different things,” Ruha said cynically. “So it never hurts to check.” So saying, the master chief drew a pistol-shaped scanner from the holster on his right thigh and made his way past the tractor. As soon as he was level with the fi?rst cargo module, the noncom ran the scanner over the bar code plastered across the side of the box and eyeballed the tiny screen.

  Santana held his breath. Sergeant Schira swore that while it was almost impossible to remove supplies from the system without triggering lots of alarms, it was relatively easy to add items, since thieves would have no motive to do so. That was the theory anyway—but would it work? Or would the little master chief realize something was wrong and call the shore patrol? Because if that occurred, it would soon become apparent that Dietrich and he were imposters. But, based on the way Ruha was acting, it looked like Schira’s theory was correct. Because the petty offi?cer was walking along next to the train, and each time he scanned a bar code, the noncom would nod as if satisfi?ed with what he saw. Had the master chief been paying attention to anything other than the numbers on his scanner, he might have noticed that all of the cargo modules had been freshly painted and equipped with the type of Legion-style grab bars that would enable T-2s to move them around.

  Thankfully, Ruha wasn’t attuned to such matters, so once the cargo was checked in, all the imposters had to do was get a receipt, and turn some very small robots loose on their way out. Once on the surface it was a simple matter to abandon the stolen tractor, enter a waiting quad, and wait for the hatch to close before changing back into their Legion uniforms. Then, having sought fold-down seats in the otherwise empty cargo compartment, it was time to fi?sh a cold beer out of a cooler and start to worry. Phase one of the plan was complete—but what about phase two? The quad began to pitch and sway as it made its way through busy streets—and the day wore on.

  There was no light within the cargo module, but that didn’t bother Sergeant Omi Deker, thanks to the fact that the cyborg could chat with Sergeant Amy Matos, Corporal Stacy Subee, and Private Ka Nhan on a low-power squad-level push that the swabbies weren’t likely to monitor. And, even if they did, all the mop swingers would hear was some legionnaires telling war stories.

  Having been in the module for more than eight hours, it was time for Deker to activate his work light, open the specially rigged latches, and emerge from hiding, an activity that would go undetected assuming Captain Santana and Top Dietrich had successfully deployed the pinhead-sized robots. The robots were programmable machines that the Legion’s special ops people used to neutralize video surveillance during raids. A servo whined as Deker pushed the cargo module’s lid upwards and peered out through the resulting gap. The cavern was lit around the clock, but largely inactive between midnight and 0400, which was why 0130 had been chosen as the best time to strike.

  Confi?dent that it was reasonably safe to exit the cargo module, Deker gave the rest of the team permission to go before pushing the lid up out of the way and crawling out of the box. It would have been impossible, not to mention impractical, to hide T-2s in the cargo module. That was why the cyborgs had chosen to wear the small, very agile “bodies”

  known as spider forms instead. The electromechanical bodies were quick and strong, which made them ideal for the mission the cyborgs had volunteered for.

  Meanwhile, as the legionnaires spidered out onto the fl?oor, the cameras mounted on the massive support columns went off-line. That produced a low-level technical alert that went into the maintenance queue and would be dealt with later that morning.

  That left the cyborgs free to work which, thanks to an elaborate run-through two days earlier, they were able to do with a minimum of communication. Even though the big CH-60 loaders were designed for the convenience of bio bods, the spider forms were very adaptable, and it wasn’t long before Deker and Matos were busy plucking cargo modules off shelves like shoppers in a supermarket. Then, once a suffi?cient amount of space had been cleared, it was time to reverse the process by replacing the stolen containers with the units Santana and Dietrich had brought down from the surface the day before. While all of that was going on, Subee and Nhan were kept busy replacing the bar codes on newly delivered units with copies of those on the containers that they planned to steal. That strategy should keep Master Chief Ruha happy until someone opened one of the modules only to discover it was half-fi?lled with sand—the one thing that everyone on Adobe already had lots of.

  The whole process took about an hour, and once the switch was complete, it was time for the cyborgs to hide in the same modules they had arrived in. Time passed slowly after that, very slowly, but uneventfully as well. So that, when Santana and Dietrich arrived at 0730, they were allowed to pull the entire trainload of cargo modules up onto Adobe’s surface, where they were soon lost in traffi?c. Later that night, in the 1st REC’s maintenance facility, the cargo modules were painted olive drab, retagged, and stored with the rest of the equipment that would soon accompany the regiment into space. When Santana was fi?nally able to return to his quarters, it was to fi?nd a sealed envelope resting on his pillow. The handwritten note inside read: “To Captain Antonio Santana. Thank you for a job well-done. Warmest regards, General Mortimer Kobbi.”

  4.

  For how can tyrants safe govern home, Unless abroad they purchase great alliance?

  —William Shakespeare

  King Henry VI, Part III

  Standard year 1591

  ABOARD THE BATTLESHIP REGULUS , OFF PLANET NOCTOR,THE RAMANTHIAN EMPIRE

  Like Jericho, Noctor was a so-called nursery planet, except in this case the maturation process was proceeding according to plan, as millions of juveniles were removed from the wilds and the process of socializing them began. So while the Queen stood with her back to a huge viewport, the cloud-wrapped planet made a fi?tting background as the royal addressed the most senior members of her staff.

  “The attack on Gamma-014 was an unqualifi?ed success, the Queen began matter-of-factly, as she surveyed the faces in front of her. “Our forces are in complete control of the planet. Meanwhile, based on intelligence provided by Thraki agents in the Clone Hegemony, it appears that an alliance has been struck. It will take the humans time to assemble a joint task force and launch a counterattack on Gamma-014. Once they do, our naval forces will fade away allowing the allies to land in force.”

  “Now,” the monarch added meaningfully, as her compound eyes swept the compartment, “iridium is important, but let’s discuss the true purpose of the attack on Gamma014, and what we stand to gain.”

  Ubatha felt a surge of satisfaction. His instincts had been correct! The attack on Gamma-014 had a greater purpose. But what was it? The answer came as a complete shock.

  “The attack on Gamma-014 is a feint,” the monarch explained, as a holographic star map blossomed behind her. It showed a class-fi?ve star orbited by eight planets and some smaller planetoids. “In fact, the entire campaign is a diversion intended to draw military assets away from the real target, which is Earth. While a number of species belong to the Confederacy, it’s the humans who hold the organization together, and therefore represent the greatest threat to our people. So by attacking their home world, we attack the heart of the Confederacy.”

  There was a long moment of silence as the compartment full of functionaries sought to absorb what they had just heard. That was followed by the staccato rattle of pincers as all but one of the government offi?cials communicated their approval. The single exception was Chancellor Ubatha, who, though ever eager to please the Queen, was unwilling to signal approval he didn’t actually feel. Her majesty noticed this immediately. “I’m glad so many of you approve,” the monarch said tactfully. “But I expect more from my advisors than applause. Chancellor Ubatha? I sense you have doubts.”

  The invitation could constitute a trap, a way to draw Ubatha out into the open, then take his head off. The functionary knew that, but had risen to high offi?ce by offering honest counsel,
and was constitutionally unable to do otherwise. “Yes, Majesty,” Ubatha replied solemnly, as he came to his feet. “While what Your Highness said regarding the humans is true—there are other factors to consider as well. Based on intelligence reports, as well as media analysis, we know only a third of Earth’s population truly supports the war. Primarily because the confl?ict is so distant and has yet to touch their daily lives. But I fear that an attack like the one you describe will shatter their sense of complacency and serve to rally both the animals who live on Earth and the hundreds of millions who dwell elsewhere. Thereby strengthening the opposition rather than weakening it.”

  Ubatha paused to look around before taking his argument to its logical conclusion. “So I oppose an attack on Earth, the functionary concluded gravely. “But if overruled on this matter, I recommend that we glass the planet, rather than simply occupy it. Because by rendering the world uninhabitable, we will strike the sort of psychological blow that you visualize, but without being required to commit any troops. Soldiers we will need when the surviving humans seek revenge. Thank you for the opportunity to speak.”

  Only one pair of pincers was heard to clack. But they belonged to the Queen, who understood how diffi?cult such a speech was, especially given the political risk involved.

  “Thank you,” the monarch said sincerely, as the rest of her advisors watched the drama unfold. “You make some excellent points. But I am going to overrule you—for the following reasons. First, the same intelligence reports that you referred to make it clear that even as the more adventurous members of the human species left for the stars, there was a marked tendency for lazy, self-satisfi?ed, and privileged members of the race to remain on Earth. Which means the planet will be relatively easy to pacify.

  “Secondly, were we to glass the planet as you suggest that we should, it could cause the surviving humans to launch another attack on Hive. The last one killed 1.7 million Ramanthian citizens—so how many would the next assault kill?” she demanded rhetorically.

  “Thirdly, rather than render Earth uninhabitable, I want to use the planet as a bargaining chip. A tidbit that we can negotiate over for the next twenty years. Then, when all fi?ve billion of the great mother’s children reach adulthood, we will sweep through the Confederacy and eradicate the animals once and for all!”

  The plan was so audacious, and so farsighted, that all of Ubatha’s doubts were swept away. “Thank you, Majesty,”

  the Chancellor said humbly. “I have seen the future, and it is ours.”

  PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY

  The sky was lead gray, and the temperature hovered just above freezing, as Mama Dee led her ragged fl?ock of followers west along the two-lane highway. A bitterly cold wind pressed against their scarf-wrapped faces as a heavily loaded Ramanthian convoy passed them headed in the opposite direction. The humans could feel the wash of heat produced by the alien power plants and hear the rattle of click-speech as one of the troop transports passed them. The bugs might have stopped the band of humans had it not been for the “truce stick” clutched in their leader’s left hand. Dee was a big-boned woman who looked a lot like her broad-faced Ortov mother. Although some of her Chan-line father’s DNA could be seen in the shape of her eyes and the breadth of her nose, most of her body was concealed by an ankle-length gray cloak that was cinched around her waist with a length of rope. All manner of items dangled from the makeshift belt, and they appeared to dance as she turned to look over her shoulder. Then, having assured herself that the group was intact, Dee faced the wind.

  Like most free breeders the “Children of Nature,” as they called themselves, had been forced to eke out a living high in the mountains or risk sanctions from the “true breeders who lived on arable land at lower elevations. Founder folk, which was to say bigots, who continued to believe in the nonsense Dr. Carolyn Anne Hosokawa put forward, in spite of how absurd the theory of rational design obviously was. Such hostility made life diffi?cult, very diffi?cult, but now Dee and her fl?ock were faced with another problem. Because only three days after seizing control of the planet, a squad of heavily armed Ramanthians had appeared in their village and ordered the Children of Nature to walk all the way to the city of Ship Down, where a civilian POW camp had been established. And, to make sure the humans did as they were told, the aliens destroyed the collection of stone huts that constituted the village even as the refugees left. Of course Dee and her two dozen followers had no desire to enter a camp, especially one populated by founder folk. But they hadn’t been able to come up with a realistic alternative. The truce stick was actually a tracking device shaped like a staff, which provided the Ramanthians with real-time data regarding the family, and where it was going. In fact it could actually “see” them, and their surroundings, or so the bugs claimed. They could dump the device of course, but that would cause the chits to send a shuttle. And Dee knew what would happen next. The Ramanthian aircraft would locate her family and put all of them to death. That left Mama Dee with no alternative but to trudge toward the dimly seen afternoon sun and hope for the best.

  Having moved into position during the hours of darkness, and having found cover on a rocky ledge, there had been little for Colonel Six and two of his Seebos to do but hunker down in their sleeping bags, and take turns trying to sleep. But it was diffi?cult due to the pervasive cold, the muted roar of the river below them, and the occasional whine of turbines as Ramanthian convoys crossed the bridge nearby. The light arrived gradually, as if hesitant to replace the darkness, and was fi?ltered by a thick layer of clouds. A fi?re was out of the question, but Six gave permission for one of the Seebos to heat some water with a carefully shielded fuel tab. Having brushed his teeth, and taken a somewhat awkward piss, the offi?cer crawled forward to the point where he could place his back against a rock and peer through a screen of lacy vegetation. The target was an arched bridge. It was about half a mile away and still shrouded in mist. The vapor began to dissipate as the air warmed and vehicles loaded with troops, heavy weapons, and supplies continued to cross it.

  All were viewed from an angle, since the clone’s vantage point was down canyon, looking toward the southeast. Meanwhile, directly below the bridge, river 78, 241.2 jumped and boiled as if eager to escape the mountains and travel to more hospitable climes below. Six heard a scraping sound and turned to fi?nd that Corporal One-O, as his comrades called him, had arrived with a mug of steaming tea. It had been necessary for the Seebo to duckwalk, and though a small amount of the precious liquid had been lost during the trip, most of it still remained.

  “Here you are, sir,” One-O said cheerfully. “Are two sugars enough?”

  “That’s plenty,” Six replied gratefully. “Thank you. Once you’ve had your tea, pack up the gear, and tell Niner to bring the launcher. We’ll wait for a heavily loaded convoy, dump the bridge into the canyon, and haul ass.”

  “That’ll show the bastards,” One-O said approvingly.

  “Don’t worry—we’ll be ready.”

  “Good,” Colonel Six responded, and allowed the lichencovered rock to accept his full weight. The mug warmed his hands, the bridge drew his eyes, and the offi?cer wondered how many bugs he would kill on that particular day.

  “Okay, squirt,” Mama Dee said, as she scooped the child up off the road. “How ’bout a ride?”

  “I’m tired,” the little girl complained. Her nose was running, and she wiped it with a sleeve.

  “I know you are,” Dee said sympathetically. “But look down there! See the bridge? Once we cross it, we’ll stop for lunch. How does that sound?”

  “Can I have a cookie?” the child wanted to know.

  “Yes, you can,” Mama Dee assured her, and started downhill. Treacherous though the truce stick might be, it made a good staff, and gave off a solid thump each time it made contact with the ground. There weren’t any vehicles on the road at the moment, which was just as well, as the civilians followed a series of steep switchbacks down to the steel bridge. That was th
e moment when Colonel Six spotted the group, made a minute adjustment to his binos, and swore as the faces rolled into focus. A couple of them looked familiar, but most were unique, and therefore suspect. Corporal One-O

  and Private-469 had come forward by then and were ready to fi?re the rocket launcher. The pincer-operated controls were a bit strange, but Nine was confi?dent that he could fi?re the weapon, and was clearly eager to do so. Having heard Colonel Six swear, One-O was curious. “What have we got, sir? the noncom inquired. “A problem?”

  “A group of mongrels,” Six replied disgustedly. “That’s what we’ve got. All headed for lower ground.”

  A high-pitched whine was heard, and Six panned the binos to the right, just in time to see a vehicle appear at the west end of the bridge. The troop carrier paused, and the shrill sound of a whistle was heard as a squad of Ramanthian troopers shuffl?ed forward to inspect the structure, a precaution Six hadn’t seen before. Did that mean other convoys had been ambushed? Yes, the offi?cer thought to himself. If the possibility of guerrilla warfare occurred to me, it would occur to my brother offi?cers as well.

  One of the Ramanthian troopers paused to dump his gear onto the bridge deck, before spreading his wings and slowly taking to the air. It was a rarely seen sight and an excellent reminder of what the bugs could do. The soldier soared out over the gorge, entered a downward spiral, and disappeared under the span—the place where demolition charges if any were most likely to be found.

  “Get ready,” Six said, without turning toward the men crouched beside him. “I don’t know what’s lined up behind that troop carrier—but I have a feeling it’s the kind of target we want. We’ll wait until the bridge deck is full before fi?ring the fi?rst rocket. Load the second one as fast as you can.”

  “Sir, yes sir,” One-O said obediently. “But what about the civilians?”