The Forever War Series

by Joe Haldeman

  So we would go for wood stoves. There was enough wood at Lakeland to keep us warm through dozens of winters. Normally, the heat-farm trees were kept ‘topped,’ so they never grew above eye level. Eight uncontrolled seasons had turned those acres into a tall dense jungle of fuel.

  In a shed next to a chemical factory outside of Centrus, we found hundreds of steel drums, 100- and 250-liter, which made ideal stoves for heating. I used to be a welder, and in an hour I taught a couple of guys how to cut the proper holes in the drums. Alysa Bertram also knew how to weld; she and I attached the metal ducts to the stoves. Back at the dorm, and at Muses, people were improvising exhaust ducts through windows or walls.

  We diverted one farm machine and one van to a wood-gathering detail; it was going to require 850 cords of wood, to be on the safe side. They needed it to make water out of ice, as well as for keeping warm and cooking.

  Everybody breathed a little easier when the first crops started coming in. The flock of chickens had grown to laying size. The artists took two pair, which was going to make living in The Muses interesting, come winter. At the dorm, we were able to turn the downstairs cube room into a chicken coop. People who had to have a large cube or screen for their movies could share them with the chickens. There weren’t going to be regular cube broadcasts for a while, I thought. (That would prove wrong; faced with a long winter’s boredom, people would watch anything, even if it was their own neighbors being themselves in front of a camera downstairs.)

  The sunny upstairs exercise room became a greenhouse, for growing seedlings to be transplanted. We could also grow greens there during the winter, for which Anita installed three wood-stoves and supplemental lighting.

  As for the truly big winter problem – finding an alternative to running through the snow to bare your butt over a slit trench at fifty below – Sage came up with a solution more direct than elegant. Even at this latitude there was a permafrost layer. Anything below seven meters (and not so deep that the earth began to warm) would freeze and stay frozen forever. We didn’t have earthmoving tools, or power, for that matter, to actually dig a pit deep enough and large enough for a population that was ninety and growing. But there was a copper mine only ten klicks out of town, and from it she appropriated shaped charges and a mining laser that did the job.

  The folks in town would have to make do with their slit trench, but art always requires sacrifices. Going out to the frozen atrium would put them in touch with nature, and their inner selves.

  Twenty-seven

  I worked as hard on the reclamation project as I ever had on anything, outside of combat, and so did Marygay. There was a lot of desperation in the air. We didn’t talk about the Earth expedition, not until the day of the drawing.

  Everybody gathered at the dorm cafeteria at noon, where there was a glass bowl with thirty-two slips of paper in it. The youngest child who was not too young to be able, Mori Dartmouth, sat up on the table and picked out twelve names for me to announce. Sara was second, and she rewarded me with a squeal of delight. Cat was third, and hugged Sara. Marygay was eighth and she just nodded.

  After twelve, my name was still in the bowl. I didn’t want to look at Marygay. A lot of other people did. She cleared her throat, but it was Peek Maran who spoke: ‘Marygay,’ he said, ‘you’re not going without William, and I’m not going without Norm. It looks like we have a game situation.’

  ‘What do you propose?’ she said. ‘We don’t have coins.’

  ‘No,’ he said, momentarily puzzled at the word – he was third-generation and had never seen money in any non-electronic form. ‘Let’s empty out the bowl and put our names – no, William’s and Norm’s – into it. Then have Mori draw.’ Mori smiled and clapped.

  So I won, or we did, and there was a quiet pressure of jealousy in the room. A lot of people who hadn’t volunteered their names for the bowl back in the spring would be only too glad to take their chances, and a little trip, now that deep winter loomed.

  The physical preparations had been finished months before. We were taking ship Number Two, christened Mercury. All of the terraforming and recolonization tools and materials had been taken out; if Earth was deserted, we would just come back with that news, and let later generations decide about repopulating it.

  We were prepared for other contingencies, though. Each ship had a fighting suit, and we took all four. We also carried a stasis dome, but elected not to bother with a nova bomb, or any such dramatic weapon. If anything that serious happened, we’d be meat anyhow.

  They weren’t great fighting suits, since they had to accommodate a range of sizes and skills, and we discussed leaving them behind, as a matter of principle. I argued that we could decide not to use them, when the time came, as a matter of principle. But meanwhile, as the poet said, do not go gentle into that bad night. Or something.

  Book Five

  The Book of Apocrypha

  Twenty-eight

  Some Indian tribe or tribes had no ritual for good-byes; the person leaving just turned his back and left. Sensible people. We spent a day making the rounds, saying good-bye to everyone because you didn’t dare leave anyone out.

  I saw half the people in the colony, anyhow, as mayor, since everybody seemed to be in charge of this or that, and had to come by and give me a report and sketch out what they’d be doing while I was gone. Sage, who would be interim mayor, sat beside me for all of the discussions.

  It was also her job, the next day, to make sure everyone was safely underground, away from the launch’s radiation, when Marygay pressed the button. Precisely at noon she radioed that everyone but her was downstairs. The button gave her a minute; the ship counted down the last twenty seconds of it.

  It was a crushing four gees at first; then two. Then we floated in free fall for half an orbit, and the ship drove toward Mizar’s collapsar at a steady one gee.

  A day and a half of constant acceleration. We made simple meals and small talk while Mizar drew closer – finally, closer than you’d like to be, to a young blue star.

  The collapsar was a black pinprick against the filtered image of the huge star, and then a dot, and then a rapidly swelling ball, and then there was the odd twisting feeling and we were suddenly in dark deep space.

  Now five months to Earth. We got into our coffins – Sara clumsily quick in her modesty about nakedness – and hooked up the orthotics and waited for sleep. I could hear the ship whispering, telling a couple of people to redo this or that attachment, and then the universe squeezed to a pinpoint and disappeared, and I was back in the cool dream of suspended animation.

  I’d talked with Diana about the emotional, or existential, discomfort I’d gone through last time, and she said that as far as she knew, there was no medical solution for it. How could there be, when you’re metabolizing slower than a sequoia? Just try to think comfortable thoughts before you go under.

  It sort of worked. Most of us could see the overhead view-screen, and I’d set up a program for it to show a sequence of soothing pictures while we waited to cool down. Expressionist paintings, quiet nature photographs. I wondered whether Earth had any nature left. Neither Man nor Tauran was sentimental about such things; they found beauty in abstractions.

  Well, we didn’t have such a great track record, either. Most of human history had been industry versus nature, with industry winning.

  So I spent the dreaming five months, which sometimes felt like five minutes, in a series of quiet pastoral environments, most of which were extrapolations of places I’d only read about or seen in pictures; even the commune where I grew up was in a suburb. I had played in neatly manicured parks and dreamed they were jungles. I came back to those dreams now.

  It was curious. My dreams didn’t take me back to Middle Finger, where Mother Nature and I had always been on intimate, battling terms. No rest in that, I guess.

  Coming out of SA was more difficult, and uncomfortable, than when I’d had Diana to help. I was confused and numb. My fingers didn’t want to wor
k, and they couldn’t tell clockwise from counterclockwise, unscrewing the bypass orthotics. When I lifted myself out I was streaked with blood from the abdomen down, though there was no injury.

  I went to help Marygay, and she was only one step behind me, trying to sort out and loosen straps. She had managed not to splash blood all over herself. We both got dressed, and she went back to check on Sara, while I looked at the others.

  Then I checked on Rii Highcloud, who was our volunteer medico. She was actually a librarian, way back in real life, but Diana had given her an intense week of training in how to use the standard medical kit aboard the ship.

  Antres 906 was alert, and nodded at me when I peered over the edge of the box. Good thing. If something went wrong, the creature would have been at the mercy of a first-aid manual that had an appendix about Taurans.

  Jacob Pierson was frozen solid, with no life signs. He had probably been dead for five months. It made me feel vaguely guilty that I didn’t like him and hadn’t looked forward to working with him.

  Everyone else was at least moving. We wouldn’t know if they were well until they were up and talking. Unwellness could take odd forms, too; Charlie had come out of SA on Middle Finger unable to smell flowers, though he could smell other things. (Marygay and I used it as an excuse, a private joke, for not remembering names or numbers: ‘Must’ve lost it in SA.’)

  She said that Sara was coming along fine; she’d needed some mopping up, but didn’t want her mother to help, of all people.

  We got the screen working, and Earth looked all right, or at least as we expected. About a third of what we could see, between clouds, seemed to be city, a featureless grey, all over northern Africa and southern Europe.

  I drank some water and it stayed down, though I could imagine it floating, a cold spherical lump, in my stomach. I was concentrating on that when I realized Marygay was crying, silently, blotting floating tears with her knuckles and forearm.

  I thought it was about Pierson and started to say something comforting.

  ‘The same,’ she said tightly. ‘Nothing. Just like Middle Finger.’

  ‘Maybe they’re …’ I couldn’t think of anything. They were dead or gone. All ten billion.

  Antres 906 had climbed out of the box and was floating behind me. ‘This is not unexpected,’ it said, ‘since there was no sign of Centrus having been visited by them.’ It made a strange sound, like a hoarse dove. ‘I must go to the Whole Tree.’

  Marygay looked at it for a long moment. ‘Where is your Tree?’

  It cocked its head. ‘Everywhere, of course. Like a telephone.’

  ‘Of course.’ She unbelted and floated out of the chair. ‘Well, let’s help people get up and around. See what’s down there.’

  We ‘buried’ Jacob Pierson in space. He was sort of a Muslim, so Mohammed Ten said a few words before Marygay pressed the button that opened the outer lock and spun him gently into the void. It was deferred cremation, actually, since we were in a low enough orbit for him to eventually fall into friction fire.

  We landed at Cape Kennedy, far out on a spit, on a special pad reserved for those of us who had to come down in a shower of gamma rays. A personnel carrier, heavily armored, rolled up to wait for us.

  After thirty minutes, the radiometer let us exit. The air was sultry warm and heavy with salt fragrance. Wind rushed across mangrove swamps and ruffled our clothing as we walked unsteadily down the gangway. At the bottom, the smell was of burnt metal, and the landing pad patiently ticked as it contracted.

  ‘So quiet,’ Alysa said.

  ‘This part has always been quiet,’ Po said, ‘between launches and landings. I’m afraid the rest of the spaceport is going to be quiet, too. Like ours.’

  The metal ground still radiated heat. And maybe a few alpha particles. The air was wonderful, though; I was a little giddy from breathing deep.

  ‘Who are you?’ the personnel carrier boomed, in Standard. ‘Where are you from?’

  Marygay answered in English. ‘Speak English. We’re just a group of citizens from Middle Finger, a planet of Mizar.’

  ‘Here to trade?’

  ‘Just here. Take us to some people.’

  A double door in the thing’s side swung open. ‘I can take you to the spaceport. I’m not allowed on roads, without wheels.’

  We entered the thing and four large windows became transparent. Once we were seated, the door closed and the thing backed up, turned around, and lurched toward the other end of the long strip, moving fast. It walked on twelve articulated legs.

  ‘Why don’t you have wheels?’ I asked, my voice wavering from the carrier’s jerky progress.

  ‘I do have wheels. I haven’t put them on in a long time.’

  ‘Are there any people in the spaceport?’ Mohammed asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never been inside.’

  ‘Are there any people in the world?’ I asked.

  ‘That is not a question that I am able to answer.’ It stopped so abruptly that Matt and I, facing forward but not belted in, were almost thrown from our seats. The doors sprung open. ‘Check to make sure you have all your belongings. Be careful upon exiting. Have a pleasant day.’

  The spaceport main building was a huge structure with no straight lines; all sweeping parabolas and catenaries, with facets like beaten bright metal. The rising sun gleamed orange from a hundred shiny surfaces.

  We walked hesitantly toward the DIIJHA/ARRIVALS door, which for some reason slid open upwards. Walking through it gave me a guillotine kind of anxiety. The others hurried, too.

  It wasn’t quiet. There was a soothing sound like modulated white noise, pulsing in a rhythm slower than a heartbeat. There were chimes at the edge of perception.

  The floor was littered with clothes.

  ‘Well,’ Po said, ‘I guess we can turn around and go home.’

  Antres 906 made a hissing sound I’d never heard, and its left hand turned in a continual slow circle. ‘I appreciate your need for humor. But there is much to do, and there may be danger.’ It turned to Marygay. ‘Captain, I suggest at least one of you return to the ship for a fighting suit.’

  ‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘William? Go see if you can catch that thing.’

  I went back to the arrivals door, which wouldn’t open, of course. There was a MOSCH/TRANSPORTATION door a hundred meters away. When I went through it, the carrier minced up, clattering. ‘I forgot something,’ I said. ‘Take me back to the ship.’

  Putting on fighting suits used to be dramatic and communal. The ready room would have mounting harnesses for as many as forty people; you’d strip and back into the suit, hook up the plumbing and let it clamshell shut around you, and move out. You could have the whole company in suits and, theoretically, outside fighting in a couple of minutes.

  When there’s no harness and no hardware, and the suit isn’t customized for your body, it’s neither quick nor dramatic. You squirm this way and that and finally get everything in place, and then try to close it on your own. When it doesn’t close, you go back a few steps and start over.

  It took almost fifteen minutes. I walked down the gangway, clumsy at first. The carrier doors opened.

  ‘Thanks anyhow,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll walk.’

  ‘That is not allowed,’ it said. ‘It is dangerous.’

  ‘I’m dangerous,’ I said, and resisted the impulse to tear off a couple of its legs, to see what would happen. Instead, I started running, invoking the suit’s strength amplification to give me a broad-jump lope. It wasn’t as smooth and automatic as I remembered, but it was fast. I was at the spaceport door in less than a minute.

  The door wouldn’t open for me, sensing that I was a machine. I walked through it. The shatterproof glass turned opaque, stretched, and ripped apart like cloth.

  Marygay laughed. ‘You could have knocked.’

  ‘This is the way I knock,’ I said, amplified voice echoing in the huge hall. I turned it down to conversational volume. ‘Our odd me
n out went to find their Trees?’ The sheriff and Tauran were missing.

  She nodded. ‘Asked us to wait here. How’s the suit?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Leg amplifiers work. Okay on doors.’

  ‘Why don’t you take it outside and try out the ordnance? It’s pretty old.’

  ‘Good idea.’ I went back through the hole I’d made and looked around for targets. What would we not need? I set my sights on a fast-food stand and gave it an order of fries, with the laser finger. It burst into flame in a satisfying way. I flipped a grenade at it and the explosion sort of put out the fire by scattering the pieces.

  The personnel carrier came mincing up, accompanied by a small robot with flashing blue lights. It had PARKING POLICE stenciled on front and back.

  ‘You are under arrest,’ it said, in a huge stentorian voice. ‘Surrender control to me.’ That was followed by some almost ultrasonic warbling. ‘Surrender control to me.’

  ‘Sure.’ I chambered a rocket, which the heads-up thing called MHE. That’s not an acronym we used to have. I assumed ‘medium high explosive’ and squeezed it off. It did vaporize the parking robot and leave a crater two meters in diameter, in the process knocking the personnel carrier on its back.

  It righted itself by rocking back and forth until it tipped onto its spidery feet. ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ it said. ‘You could have explained your situation. You must have a reason for this arbitrary destruction of property.’

  ‘Target practice,’ I said. ‘This fighting suit is very old, and I had to know how well it works.’

  ‘Very well. Are you finished?’

  ‘Not really.’ I hadn’t tried the nukes. ‘But I’ll hold off with the other systems until I have more real estate to work with.’