When Duty Calls lotd-8

by William C. Dietz

  In fact, the entire operation might have gone off without a hitch had it not been for the fact that Private Harley Haskins had a bad case of the runs. The problem forced the jarhead to exit his sleeping bag in a hurry, grab his weapon, and dash out into the night. The partially screened fourholer was located about twenty-fi?ve feet away, and it seemed like a mile. Having dropped trou, Haskins was forced to plant his formerly warm ass on slushy plywood as a regiment of snowfl?akes parachuted out of the sky. And that’s where he was, shitting his guts out, when a group of clones paused just beyond the privacy screen. Then, as one of the Seebo sergeants paused to remind his brothers “To use knives rather than guns,” Haskins hurried to wipe himself. Having hoisted his pants, and grabbed his weapon, the marine did what any good leatherneck would do: He followed the clones to the front gate, saw them take a sentry down, and opened fi?re. And, because Haskins was a good shot, all six of the clone bastards fell.

  But the sound of gunfi?re set off what could only be described as fi?ve minutes of hell, as Haskins tried to warn his buddies over the companywide push, and those marines who hadn’t already been taken prisoner opened fi?re on anything that moved. That resulted in two deaths from friendly fi?re—

  and triggered the predictable response from the Seebos. Having lost six brothers to the free breeders, the clones went on a killing rampage, even going so far as to kill a marine who was already bound hand and foot. Lieutenant-44 ran from position to position ordering his men to stop, but that took time and a number of people were killed in the interim. In the meantime the sound of gunfi?re caused Kelly to sit up and start to push the sleeping bag down off her legs when a fi?gure loomed over her. A single light had been left on inside the surgery, and because the man was backlit, it was impossible to see who the visitor was. “Chief?” Kelly inquired. “Is that you?”

  “No,” Colonel Six replied fl?atly. “The chief never made it out of his sleeping bag. My men roped him to his cot.”

  As Kelly continued to work herself free, she heard a half dozen shots followed by a profound silence. “What’s going on?” the doctor demanded angrily. “We’re supposed to be allies!”

  “Not in my book,” Six responded darkly, as the woman’s feet hit the rubber mat. “Once we push the Ramanthians back into space, it will be your turn. In the meantime, we need supplies, and that’s why we’re here. Gather your things. You’re coming with us.”

  Kelly had her boots on by then and she stood. Her eyes fl?ashed and Six felt her presence so strongly he wanted to push the free breeder down on the cot and rape her. But that would be wrong, very wrong, so the offi?cer held himself in check. “I’m staying here,” Kelly said tightly. “Now get the hell out of the way. People could be dying out there.”

  “People have died out there,” Six replied grimly. “And how many more of them die will depend on you. Choose one medic. Anyone other than the chief. Pack enough supplies to support an infantry company for a month. Don’t worry about weight. You won’t have to carry it.”

  Kelly folded her arms and looked up into his heavily shadowed face. “No,” she said defi?antly. “I won’t do it.”

  The clone stared down into her eyes. “Sergeant . . .”

  “Sir!” a noncom said, as he stepped out into the half-light.

  “Go get one of the marines. Any marine. Bring him here.”

  “Sir, yes sir,” the Seebo said obediently, and disappeared.

  “Will one be enough?” Six inquired. “Or will it be necessary to shoot more?”

  Kelly stared into the clone’s hard, implacable eyes.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “No,” Six replied calmly. “I’m a soldier engaged in a war against a ruthless enemy that will do anything to win. In order to beat them, we will have to be equally ruthless. Our survival depends on it.”

  As luck would have it the person the clones dragged into the surgery was Hospital Corpsman Third Class Sumi. A small man, with black hair, who was clearly pissed off.

  “What’s going on, ma’am?” the medic wanted to know. “The clone bastards shot a whole lot of our guys—and they won’t let me help them!”

  “Here’s the deal,” Kelly said grimly, as she stood with hands on hips. “You let Sumi and I treat all of the wounded, yours included, and we’ll go with you. Otherwise, you can go ahead and start shooting. And you’d better start with me!”

  It was a good suggestion. Six knew that. But even though it made sense, he couldn’t bring himself to shoot the doctor and thereby deny her services to his men. That’s what he told himself anyway as the offi?cer took a full step backwards.

  “Okay, Doctor, have it your way. But hurry. I’ll give you one hour to treat the wounded and pack. Then we’re leaving. And we’ll be watching you. Step out of line, and the chief dies.”

  The next hour was a living nightmare as Kelly and one of her medics sought to save as many lives as they could while Sumi packed their gear. Which, thanks to the fact that all their equipment was designed to be portable, was fairly easy to do.

  The total number of casualties was shocking, and as a badly wounded marine died in Kelly’s arms, more than fi?fty sturdy civilians plodded up the hill. All of them wore homemade pack boards. One by one the Ortovs stepped up to the mountain of supplies that had been assembled for them, accepted their eighty-to one-hundred-pound loads, and made their way back down the hill. Even children could be seen through the drifting snow, bent nearly double under twenty-fi?ve-pound packs, as they followed the adults into the darkness.

  Finally, at exactly 0300, Kelly was forced to break her efforts off as the last loads of medical supplies were carried away. “It’s okay,” Lance Corporal Danny Tovo said, as the doctor stood. “My leg feels pretty good all things considered. Don’t worry, ma’am, we’ll come looking, and once we fi?nd these bastards, all of them are going to die.”

  Kelly wanted to say that there had already been enough dying, but knew Tovo wouldn’t understand, and nodded.

  “Tell the chief I said to change that dressing every eight hours. Do you read me?”

  The marine grinned. His teeth looked unnaturally white in the glare produced by one of the pole-mounted lamps. “I read you fi?ve-by-fi?ve, ma’am.”

  Kelly wanted to cry but didn’t as Sumi helped her into her jacket, and the two of them marched downhill. The battle for Firebase 356 was over.

  PLANET ALPHA-001, THE CLONE HEGEMONY

  Christine Vanderveen was standing. She couldn’t see anything through the blindfold, but she felt the truck start to slow, and knew it was about to stop. Fisk-3 and Fisk-5 held the diplomat upright as the truck jerked to a halt. “Remember,” the clone called Alan said, as a side door slammed open. “Tell Nankool that the revolution is coming. Tell him that if the Senate will recognize the new government quickly, we’ll join the Confederacy.”

  Vanderveen had heard the argument at least a dozen times by then, and wasn’t likely to forget, but she nodded.

  “And,” Alan added softly, “please take care of yourself.”

  Before the diplomat could make any sort of response, she was literally lifted out of the truck, and placed on the sidewalk. The blindfold came off as the truck roared away. The bright sunlight caused her to blink. It was well into the workday by that time, so very few clones were out on the street, but those who were eyed the female as she hurried away. The orderly grid-style streets made it easy to navigate. So it was only a matter of minutes before Vanderveen located the hotel to which Nankool and his delegation had been assigned. As Vanderveen entered the lobby, she was planning to contact Nankool’s secretary and request an appointment. But that wasn’t to be as someone recognized the FSO-2, shouted her name, and triggered all sorts of attention. Within moments Vanderveen was hustled away and sequestered in a conference room, where she was questioned by a succession of security teams. Starting with the beings assigned to protect Nankool, who were followed by three sternlooking clones, including two Romos and a hard-eyed Nerov. The latter were the
genetic line which, if Alan and Mary had told her the truth, hunted free breeders as if they were animals. So Vanderveen was careful to be as vague as possible regarding her abductors, what their motives were, and where she had been held. All of which frustrated the policemen, who were used to browbeating the citizenry into submission but couldn’t use such tactics on a foreign diplomat. That was when a second team of Confederacy security people arrived. They escorted the recently freed diplomat to one of the “clean rooms” that had been established a few fl?oors above, where they intended to interrogate her all over again. Partially to clarify what had occurred, but mostly in an attempt to protect senior offi?cials from a similar fate, especially the president himself. So they were far from happy when a mere FSO-2 refused to answer their questions until she could sit down with Nankool and give the chief executive a fi?rsthand report on what she had learned. An assistant secretary of state tried to talk Vanderveen out of her plan, but she was insistent, and due to the nature of her relationship with Nankool the offi?cial thought it best to back off rather than risk the president’s ire. That was why three hours after her unexpected return, Vanderveen fi?nally found herself standing outside the conference room that the president was using as his offi?ce, waiting for the undersecretary of defense to leave. And eventually she did. Vanderveen noticed that the retired colonel, whom some people referred to as “the Iron Lady,” closed the door gently, as if letting herself out of a hospital room. The two of them made eye contact, and Undersecretary Zimmer forced a smile. “Hello, Christine. . . . It’s good to have you back safe and sound. You should have seen the president’s face light up when the news came in. He actually smiled!”

  Vanderveen searched the older woman’s face. It was common knowledge that Nankool had been depressed ever since the attack on Earth. But the last comment seemed to hint at something more profound. “It’s that bad?”

  Zimmer was silent for a moment. Then, having come to some sort of conclusion, she gave a single nod. “Yes, I’m afraid it is. . . . Take it easy on him.” And with that she left. Nankool had always been a tower of strength, but never more than during the months the two of them had been held in the Ramanthian POW camp, and to see someone like Zimmer so obviously concerned about Nankool’s emotional wellbeing came as a shock. Vanderveen knocked on the door, heard a nearly inaudible “Come in,” and palmed the access plate. The barrier whispered softly as it slid out of the way.

  As Vanderveen entered Nankool sat with his back to the semidarkened room. He was staring out the only window at the angular cityscape beyond. “The bugs destroyed most of Chicago,” Nankool said fl?atly. “And all of Paris, Rio, and Sydney. All because of my stupidity. Gamma-014 was the bait, Christine. And I took it. Hook, line, and sinker. Now we’re bogged down in the Clone Hegemony, fi?ghting on some slush ball, while the bugs rape Earth. People are fi?ghting back though, killing as many chits as they can, waiting for a fl?eet that doesn’t exist. That can’t exist, unless I break my word, and pull our forces out of clone-held space. And that’s what Zimmer thinks I should do. Hell, that’s what most of my staff thinks I should do. What about you Christine? What do you think?”

  Vanderveen thought about her mother, and wanted to ask about San Francisco, but held the question back as Nankool turned to face her. Vanderveen was shocked by what she saw. Though once overweight, Nankool had shed at least thirty pounds during the months spent in captivity. But the slimmed-down version was nothing compared with the way he looked now. The president’s eyes stared out at Vanderveen from blue-black caverns. His nose was like a blade that divided his gaunt face into halves as a clawlike hand came up to rub a furrowed brow. “I think you made the right decision,” Vanderveen said, desperately hoping that she was right. “And based on what I learned over the last few days, there’s a very real chance that you could cement something better than an alliance with the Hegemony. Because if certain things play out the way I expect them to, and if we take appropriate steps, it might be possible to incorporate the Hegemony into the Confederacy. Which would result in full rather than qualifi?ed military cooperation. And that could turn things around! Or at least level the playing fi?eld.”

  Nankool’s cadaverous face seemed to brighten slightly.

  “Really?” he inquired hopefully. “I could use some good news. . . . Tell me more.”

  So Vanderveen told Nankool about Alan, Mary, and the free breeders who lived under the city. Then she told him about the revolution, what it could mean, and how the Confederacy could take advantage of it. But as she spoke, the diplomat saw the hope disappear from Nankool’s eyes and a frown appear. So as her presentation came to its conclusion, Vanderveen already knew what the president’s decision would be, even if she didn’t know why.

  “Thank you,” Nankool said, “for keeping your head, and continuing to do your job under what were clearly trying circumstances. But no, I don’t think we should pursue the course you recommend, and for a variety of reasons. First, because the chances of a successful revolution are slim, but the chances that the Alpha Clones would fi?nd out about our meddling are high . . . Which means we could lose whatever benefi?ts may derive from the existing relationship. And believe me—the situation is tenuous already. General Booly wants to shoot most of his clone counterparts.

  “Second, even if such a revolution were successful, a period of internal instability would almost certainly follow. And instability runs counter to our interests.

  “Third, the whole idea represents a distraction at a time when it’s very important to keep our focus. I’m sorry, Christine, I really am, but I want you to forget this particular idea.”

  The diplomat felt her spirits sink. Was Nankool correct?

  Or was he so depressed regarding the war with the Ramanthians that his judgment was impaired? And if that was the case, what if anything, should she do about it? Having never been invited to sit down, Vanderveen was still on her feet.

  “Thank you for seeing me, sir. . . . I know how busy you are.”

  Nankool nodded and watched Vanderveen leave the room. Something was missing from the transaction, something important, but he couldn’t quite put his fi?nger on it. Not until the door closed behind her and the truth dawned on him. Rather than agree to his request as Christine normally would have, she had chosen to leave. Did that mean something? Or was it her way of expressing disappointment?

  There was no way to know. Nankool allowed himself a protracted sigh, turned his back to the room, and looked out through the window. It wasn’t supposed to rain, not during the day, but hundreds of water droplets had appeared on the glass. That made it diffi?cult to see.

  The security people were waiting for Vanderveen when she left Nankool’s makeshift offi?ce. They took her to a clean room, where she was debriefed all over again. The people who were responsible for the president’s safety were primarily interested in the abduction, the people Vanderveen had interactions with, and their ostensible motives. But the intelligence types, both of whom were listed as “support personnel” on documents submitted to the Hegemony, chose to focus their questions on the underground society, the possibility of a popular revolution, and which individuals might come into power should such an event take place. Vanderveen couldn’t answer questions like that, but told the debriefers everything that she could, in hopes that Madam Xanith, who was in charge of the Confederacy’s intelligence organization, would fi?nd the information to be credible and pass it along to Nankool. Thereby putting the possibility of a revolution in front of the president again. Finally, having been squeezed dry, Vanderveen was allowed to go to her room. It was dark by then. Vanderveen took a hot shower, ordered dinner from room service, and ate it while watching a government-produced news show. Earth lay in ruins, but thanks to thousands of brave Seebos, the battle for Gamma-014 was going well. Or so the nearly identical smooth-faced coanchors claimed. Once again Vanderveen was reminded of her mother—and wondered what had become of her. Was she lying dead in the ruins of the family estate? Had she been thr
own into some sort of POW camp?

  Or been attacked by looters? There were so many horrible possibilities.

  Having eaten half her dinner, and being totally exhausted, she went to bed. The streetlights made patterns on the ceiling, but rather than fall asleep, Vanderveen found it impossible to turn her brain off. No matter how hard she tried, Vanderveen couldn’t get Alan, Mary, and the rest of them off her mind. Especially Alan—and that troubled her. Both because of promises made to Santana and the possibility that her interest in the clone had clouded her judgment. Did she really believe that a revolution was possible? Or was she trying to please Alan? And how did he feel about her? Did his parting words carry a special meaning? Or were they just a nice way to say good-bye?

  Dozens of possibilities, problems, and questions swirled through her mind, all seemingly part of a giant puzzle that she couldn’t quite make out or fully understand. Eventually, at some point, sleep took over and carried Vanderveen into a land of troubled dreams. A place where every hand was turned against her.

  But six hours later, when Vanderveen’s alarm began to chirp, and her eyes popped open, Vanderveen awoke to a sense of clarity. It was as if her subconscious had sorted through the problems and come to some conclusions. If not about her relationship with Alan, then about the political situation and the action she should take. Which, if things went wrong, would not only end her diplomatic career, but result in charges of treason. The possibility of that caused a knot to form in her stomach, but in no way sapped her resolve, as Vanderveen went to the table where the comset was waiting.