by Chris Bunch
“We ssshall allow the moment to dictate exactly what ssshall be done,” Wlencing said. “The firssst priority will be to bring the minesss on what you named Ccc-Cumbre, which will now be known asss Mabasssi, jussst asss thisss world will be Whar, back to their full work-ability.”
“Of course.”
“We ssshall be hiring workersss here on Whar, and … other sssources of labor will be found.”
“Such as?”
Wlencing gave Kouro a look, didn’t answer.
“Of courssse, we ssshall devote every effort to hunting down thessse banditsss who were onccce sssoldiersss, to prevent the upsssetsss they will bring to you humansss.
“We ssshall continue what we termed our councccilssshipsss, but the buildingsss will be enlarged. Other Musssth will be arriving from our home worldsss to garrissson, or rather, to ssstaff them.
“We ssshall need buildersss to work on thessse enlargementsss. And there ssshall be new conssstruction around our bassse in the Highlandsss, on Sssilitric, and on Mabasssi, to replaccce the headquartersss dessstroyed by the ‘Raum. We ssshall compensssate thossse workersss, of courssse.
“Asss time fulfillsss, we ssshall probably inssstitute other waysss that will improve order, sssuch as central identity cardsss. We are consssidering hiring cccertain of your humansss to asssissst usss, probably giving each of them an area, a block, to be resssponsible for, ssso no disssidency can develop.”
“Are you willing to be quoted on that?”
“Of courssse,” Wlencing hissed exasperatedly. “I sssaid it, did I not? I would not have sssaid it if it were not the truth.”
“I’m sorry,” Kouro said. “That’s merely a formality, meaning is it all right if I mention what you told me in a story.”
“It isss all right.” Wlencing’s head snaked back, forth. “I do not sssee your mate. Where isss ssshe?”
“She, well, was feeling very sick, and sends her apology.”
“There were many of thossse,” Rahfer said. “We have noted their namesss, and will remember them.”
Kouro smiled nervously.
“Thank you for your time. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the way we’ll continue to cover the, umm, change of government.”
“I’m sssure we will,” Wlencing said. “I foresssee making no changesss in the manner of the human propaganda machine, at leassst for the presssent.”
• • •
On Mullion Island, the Force began regrouping, sending out cautious probes looking for stragglers.
Awards were made and wounds were licked. And there were promotions:
Grig Angara, as per the sealed orders given him by Rao, took command of the Force and was promoted Caud;
Jon Hedley became both his executive officer and remained head of II Section;
And, among others, Garvin Jaansma was made cent, Njangu Yoshitaro promoted alt and Erik Penwyth made cent.
• • •
The new fad in Leggett, which quickly spread to the other cities on Cumbre, was postering. Any child’s computer could produce a three-dee, high-color item, and run off a few dozen. The real game was to post them close to where the Musth would see them, but not close enough to get caught.
The only problem was, no one spoke Musth, so the posters were all in Prime. But then, a sufficient number of Musth officers could read the human tongue, and the creators put some thought into their message:
MUSTH
YOUR CUBS GO INTO HEAT
WITH EACH OTHER
AS YOU DID BEFORE
WITH YOUR DEN-MATES
Others made equally defamatory (if sometimes wildly inaccurate) claims about Musth biology and habits. But many had the desired effect: The Musth were sufficiently sensitive about their passions if left uncontrolled during the period of heat to explode in rage when they saw such a poster.
At first, they were just torn down. But that didn’t stop anything. The Musth, thinking a building’s occupants should be able to control what was pasted on its walls, started arresting anyone found inside a building so decorated.
The already-full prisons got more crowded.
The poster makers grew more clever, and the posters appeared on the rear of Musth aircraft, their “consulates,” and even, once or twice, hung on the harness of the last Musth in a patrol.
• • •
A strange aircraft was picked up by the radar watch at the Mullion Island base less than two weeks after the fall of Camp Mahan. The aircraft grounded about a kilometer beyond the base before it could be IDed.
I&R, still rebuilding itself from volunteers, went out as the reaction force.
They found a shabby agricultural lifter, anodized a dozen colors and held together with good intentions, in a clearing, with no one around it.
Lir put the patrol on line at the edge of the clearing, motioned the point woman to her.
“You, me, we’ll have a look.”
The point woman, after adjusting a sudden blockage in her throat approximately the size of a battleship, nodded, readied her blaster.
Lir slid out into the clearing, waited for movement, for fire. Nothing came. She crept forward, followed by the point woman. The patrol’s weapons were ready.
She made about five meters, when the shout came:
“Lir! First Tweg Lir!”
The voice was human, and somewhat familiar.
She went, very fast, to the lifter, used it for cover.
“Yen,” she shouted back.
“It’s me. Ben Dill.”
“You’re dead.”
“The hell!”
“ ‘Kay. You’re not dead,” Lir called. “One man … you … out. Slow and unarmed.”
Ben stepped into the clearing, very slowly, hands half-raised. He wore the ragged remains of his flight suit cut down into shorts and held up by a length of rope, homemade sandals and a billowing, multicolored top that might have been a fat woman’s skirt twenty years or so earlier.
Lir got up, weapon not pointed much of anywhere in particular.
“ ‘Kay,” she said. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to come home,” Dill said. “I got shot down a month or so ago — ”
“I know,” Lir said. “I was waiting to go to your wake.”
“It’ll have to be postponed,” Dill said. “Got ashore, walked up the coast, got picked up by some fisherwoman, and she took me to her village. I managed to put this piece of shit back into running order, then flew on upcoast until I saw one of our ships haulin’ for home.
“I took a heading, and followed it for a while, then sat down, and waited for another boat to fly past, followed it another way. Couldn’t keep up — that frigging lifter’s got no hum to its bones and no goddamned radio, either, so I couldn’t screech for help.
“Your security blows giptels. When I got where I remembered a couple of hills, I did a popup so you people’d get me on screen, but not long enough for some beaver to pull a launch. Then I put it down and waited for company.
“Can I kiss you?”
Lir managed a quick grin.
“Officers don’t fraternize.”
“Then you kiss me. I made it. Oh yeah. There’s one other thing. I got a friend.”
“Have him come out.”
“Do me a favor. Put the blaster on safe and point it somewheres away, ‘kay?” Dill said.
Monique did as requested.
“Alikhan. Come out. Slowly.”
Monique’s finger was on the safety as the Musth came into the open. He, like Ben, held his arms spread wide, visibly empty. She tensed, then relaxed.
“Son of a bitch,” Lir swore. “You got a prisoner.”
“Uh … it’s … he’s … a little bit more than that.”
• • •
Both Alikhan, Dill, and their junk heap were swept with every known pickup before it was agreed they weren’t bugged and probably hadn’t been followed. Still, the base remained at full alert.
The two pilots were taken
to Angara and Hedley, and Dill explained what had happened.
“You speak Basic perfectly, Alikhan,” Hedley mused. “Convenient.”
“You think me to be a double agent.” It was not a question.
“That should be a possibility,” Hedley said.
“Don’t you think, sir,” Dill said, “it’s a little preposterous for the commander of the Musth to put his own kid out there? And doesn’t that mean I’d have to be a part of the plot, helping him get shot down?”
“You’re right,” Hedley admitted. “My brain’s fogging.”
“Let me try to understand,” Angara said. “You want this war to be ended.”
“Correct.”
“Why?”
“It is not showing honor to any of us.”
“None of your brothers seem to feel that way,” Angara said. “They seem to think what’s happened is some kind of fulfillment of destiny.”
“I suppose some do,” Alikhan said. “Why should they not? Have they ever been offered an alternative, another perspective? I am a rare exception, having chosen, for a time, to study the ways of the Reckoners, of Senza. But most of us accept the beliefs we are given by our elders. Almost all in this system come from warrior clans, so we think only like fighters.”
“Would you be willing to help change their minds,” Hedley asked. “Maybe by doing propaganda coms?”
“I do not think that would be effective,” Alikhan said. “Other than possibly causing my father to die of shame. I would not know what to say, in any event.”
“If you won’t do propaganda,” Angara said, “of course you wouldn’t be willing to fight on our side.”
“Or, for instance, guide a group of our warriors to a target within a compound of yours,” Hedley added.
“No to both ideas,” Alikhan said.
“He’s a warrior, sir, not a friggin’ turncoat,” Dill growled.
Angara gave him a look, was about to say something, decided not to.
“Very well,” the caud said. “I do not have any idea on how you could be of use, at least not without conditioning, and I surely don’t have any idea of how to condit a Musth, even if I thought it was ethical.”
Hedley looked at Alikhan consideringly, as if he might be willing to try programming an alien, but didn’t say anything.
“Would you … will you … attempt to escape?” Angara asked.
“Not until Ben Dill releases me from the parole I gave.”
“Very well,” Angara said. “We’ll treat you as an honored guest, although there will be restrictions. Alt Dill, I’m going to put you in charge of Alikhan. Stay with him. Some of our people are a little trigger-happy these days.
“I’m sorry I can’t put you back in a ship, Ben,” he finished. “But this is more important, I think.”
Dill came to attention, saluted, and the two pilots went out. Angara shook his head.
“This goddamned war gets screwier every minute. We’ve got a pacifist monster, the only goddamned one who’s ever been taken prisoner, and no goddamned idea on how to use him.”
“Welcome to the asylum, sir,” Hedley said.
• • •
The Highlands around the Musth base was a swarm of human-operated construction equipment. The marshland was being leveled and filled, and landing pads built at regular intervals.
Wlencing watched with some satisfaction. Daaf stood beside him.
“Are you certain we shall get the aircraft replacements to fill these slots?” he asked. “Not to mention their pilots?”
“Of course,” Wlencing said. “Why would our fellows not respond, not want to be involved in this great adventure?”
Daaf thought of the over sixty percent casualties the Musth had endured, but decided not to argue with his war leader. Besides, any objections he had would be wrong — he knew himself to be uneducated.
• • •
Jasith Mellusin stared, shocked, at the screen. On it was Hon Felps, the executive in charge of mining personnel.
“They can’t do that, can they?”
“If the Musth subscribed to any sort of warfare rules such as humans try to adhere to, which they evidently don’t,” Felps said tightly, “our lawyers say they’d be in violation. You can’t make a prisoner of war work for you. But the Musth haven’t signed any of our treaties and, technically, no state of war exists between the Confederation and the Musth.”
“So I’m supposed to stand there and let them use the Force prisoners as … I guess you’d call them slave labor?”
“The Musth are willing to pay small wages,” Felps said. “Plus they’ll absorb all living expenses once they’re on C-Cumbre. Sorry, I find it very hard to think of it as Mabasi.”
“Don’t bother,” Jasith said. “It’s still C-Cumbre to anyone I take seriously. I guess, then, there’s not much we can do about it.”
She looked to either side, although there was no one in her mansion’s office. “Would you do me a large favor, and see if any of the prisoners is named Jaansma? Garvin Jaansma?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s a personal request,” she said, “and I want you to handle it yourself, and mention it to no one.”
“Certainly, Jasith.” The executive reached for the cutoff sensor, stopped himself. “Oh yes. One other thing, which I forgot. This order from the Musth has me somewhat upset.”
“As if you’re the only one.”
“The Musth also advised me we can expect them to provide other workers. Human workers. I asked from where, and they said they saw no purpose in criminals sitting in prisons if they could be doing something useful.”
Jasith Mellusin blinked at Felps.
“Crooks, too?”
“So it appears.”
“And, again, there’s nothing we can do to stop it.”
“Not if we wish to retain even partial control of Mellusin Mining.”
“Very well,” Jasith said and, without saying good-bye, cut the connection.
She got up, paced to the window, looked out at the bay, at the ruins. She considered swearing, realized that wouldn’t do any good. She went back to the com, started to call Loy, caught herself.
“And what would that get me?” she said aloud, knowing the most likely answer.
She thought about crying, but wouldn’t allow herself to, got up once again, and walked out of the office. She stopped at the black-framed portrait of her father, stared at it.
“What the hell would you do if you were me?”
No answer came from there, either.
• • •
That night, a Musth patrol challenged a young boy, twelve, putting up a poster. Instead of surrendering, he ran. Two Musth opened fire. The boy’s legs were nearly severed by the blasts. The Musth debated what they should do.
The boy bled to death before they decided to notify a human hospital.
• • •
“There is an unanswered question here,” Wlencing said in a half growl as his wynt orbited over the crowded streets of Leggett. “How did all these learn of that cub’s death so quickly? Do we not control all the holos?”
“We do, sir,” Rahfer said.
“And you reported all other cities report equal numbers of fools mewling about that young criminal?”
“That is what I’ve been told.”
“How did they learn about it so fast?”
“I don’t know.”
There was a simple answer — during the Rebellion both ‘Raum and their opponents had learned not to trust holos, and Cumbre had developed a very efficient, very rapid, if frequently inaccurate, jungle telegraph. Someone heard something, called five or more numbers, reported. Each of them called five or so coms, and so on. For better or worse, every city, village, hamlet, fishing boat, or hunter was plugged in to a systemwide rumor mill.
The parents of the boy had been original builders of that telegraph and, as always, the death of one person, one real person, meant more than the most horrifying numbers
of anonymous casualties.
Wlencing stared down once more.
“What response should we make?” Rahfer asked.
“None,” Wlencing said. “They’ll get tired of shouting at closed doors and aircraft in a few hours and things will return to normal.”
But they didn’t.
• • •
There were five Musth, keeping to the center of the street as they’d been taught, patrolling the area around the main landing field in Launceston.
They wore night snoopers and looked about constantly. They had heat sensors on their belts and were fully alert.
Neither snoopers nor sensors read through a stone wall, where ten men, nine of them ‘Raum, the other a schoolteacher’s son, crouched. One ‘Raum held a mirror on a stick just beyond the wall.
He saw the flicker of the oncoming patrol, sharply tapped his fellow. The taps went down the line, and each man counted to ten to give the Musth time to get closer. Then they jumped to their feet and ran into the open. Each carried one of the simple projectile weapons provided by Redruth of Larix/Kura and given out by Gavin and his crew.
The startled Musth were less than four meters away.
There were no commands given — each man picked a target and fired until his weapon was empty.
One Musth managed to get a shot off, and burned a ‘Raum on his side before he convulsed and died with the others.
The wounded ‘Raum crouched in silent agony while the others hastily stripped the Musth harnesses of weaponry.
Another ‘Raum knelt beside him.
“Can you run?”
“Of course. It just hurts.”
“Then come. They’ll be looking for their fellows soon.”
The wounded ‘Raum got up and, with the others, disappeared into darkness.
Other Musth were attacked, but none as successfully as in Launceston.
• • •
Wlencing ordered more hostages taken the next day. The media, particularly Matin, were ordered to play the taking big.
• • •
“I’m looking for one flipping volunteer,” Mil Hedley said.
Cent Erik Penwyth looked about the tent, saw no one but the two of them.
“I s’pose I’m the candidate?”
“You s’pose right.”