Blood Contact

by David Sherman

  Cameron was surprised by the question, but on reflection it made sense. If those things were native to Society 437, surely they would have made their presence known sooner than they had. But if they weren't... Just then he didn't want to think about what that implied. "I don't know."

  "Are you sure they're still here? When was the last time you saw any?"

  Cameron looked at Rhys and Lowboy. "How long's it been, a few months, right?"

  Rhys grimaced. "That's too recent. Better if we never saw them."

  "Okay," Bass said after a pause. "Go back and have our medical people check you out, then we'll talk about what we're going to do with you."

  After they were gone, Bass and Hyakowa stayed in the shadow of the rock for a while. "I have the strangest feeling, boss, that I know that Cameron guy from somewhere."

  Bass nodded. "But right now, Wang, you get a couple of men together and start gathering personal details on these pirates. I need to talk to Captain Tuit "

  "And then what, Charlie?"

  Bass clapped his platoon sergeant firmly on the shoulder. "And then we get out of here, Wang. We get out of here."

  Staff Sergeant Hyakowa picked Corporal Pasquin and Lance Corporal Dean to assist him in interviewing the pirate survivors. Most of them gave their real names, but the Marines recorded whatever names and personal histories the pirates offered. When Hyakowa told them cooperation would hasten their departure from Society 437, they were more than forthcoming. Everyone but Cameron.

  "George Cameron is my real name, Sergeant." He rolled down his right sleeve as he spoke. One of the corpsmen had just given him a badly needed shot of vitamins.

  "Mr. Cameron, I know you from somewhere," Hyakowa said.

  Cameron looked away abruptly. "No, I don't think so, Sergeant. We've never met before."

  "But you were a Marine, weren't you?"

  "N-No. Of course not."

  Dean and Pasquin looked on as the two talked. Cameron did seem familiar to Dean, but he couldn't place him. Maybe if he could see the man's face without the beard he could remember where he'd met him. The voice was naggingly familiar.

  " ‘Cameron’? ‘Cameron’?" Dean mused. "What nationality is that?" Cameron, caught unawares, did not answer. "You know, in college I read a book called The Decameron, by a fourteenth century Italian, Giovanni Boccacio. It reminds me a little of you guys here. It's about a bunch of people who flee the plague—"

  "Who did you say wrote that book?" Hyakowa asked sharply.

  Dean was startled by the platoon sergeant's tone. Cameron went white. "Uh, that was Giovanni Boccacio, Staff Sergeant."

  With a wild shout Hyakowa jumped on Cameron and threw him to the ground, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He began strangling the pirate with both hands. Pasquin and Dean were so startled by the attack that for a few seconds they could only gape in astonishment at their platoon sergeant. Minerva acted first, leaping onto Hyakowa's back and trying to pull his head off. She screamed furiously; Hyakowa shouted curses; and Cameron gasped and gagged as his face began to turn blue.

  Pasquin stepped forward and grabbed Hyakowa's right arm, levering it back with all his strength. "No! No, Staff Sergeant!" he shouted. "Stop! Let him up, for chrissakes." Dean shook off his surprise and stepped up to wrench Minerva off Hyakowa's back. Everyone else stopped what they were doing and stared at the group. Dean grabbed the platoon sergeant's other arm and, together with Pasquin, pulled him off the gasping pirate and dragged him backward.

  "What the hell's going on here!" Bass asked as he ran up to the trio.

  "That sonofabitch is Baccacio! Ensign Baccacio!" Hyakowa gasped, spittle flying from his lips, his face purple with the intense hatred that possessed him. He sucked air into his lungs. "He's back, Charlie, a goddamn criminal now, and I'm going to break his neck!" He tried to break the hold Pasquin and Dean had on him but they held fast.

  "He's right, he's right, Gunny!" Dean said. "I recognize his voice now! It's Baccacio! It really is!"

  Bass knelt beside the prostrate man. "Are you really my former platoon commander?"

  "Yes, yes, Gunny, it's me," Baccacio gasped.

  "You sonofabitch," Bass sighed. Baccacio was the man who'd abandoned him in the Martac Waste on Elneal and left a man behind after the Siad warriors attacked the platoon at the village of Turlak Yar, the most disgraceful conduct on the part of a Marine officer Charlie Bass had ever heard of. And there he was, leading a band of pirates on this godforsaken world. Bass stroked the butt of his hand-blaster speculatively. No, no time for revenge now. "You weren't worth a shit as an officer and now look at what you've become." He turned to Hyakowa. "Let him loose." They stepped back, ready to grab him again if he sprang back to the attack. But Hyakowa just stood still, breathing heavily. "Wang, this man is our prisoner. Don't touch him again," Bass said.

  Minerva helped Baccacio to his feet. Tentatively, he massaged his throat where red welts were beginning to appear. "I guess I should've picked an alias like ‘Smith,’ huh?" he said, a wry smile on his face. Only Pasquin thought the remark worth a laugh. "Yeah, Gunny, it's me all right," he continued in a rasping voice. "I screwed up back on Elneal and I screwed up even worse when I became a pirate. I don't blame Hyakowa for trying to kill me. I've had that coming for a long time now. And I'm your prisoner, no argument about that. The only thing I want to ask you—not for me, but for my friends here—is to get us the hell off this place. What happens to me after that I deserve, several times over."

  Bass spoke into the platoon net and called up his squad leaders. Dr. Bynum and Lieutenant Snodgrass, attracted by the commotion, also joined the small command group.

  "Okay," Bass informed everyone, "nobody's going anywhere for a while." That elicited a shout of angry dismay from all the pirates except Baccacio, who just stood silently in front of Bass. "I've talked this over with Captain Tuit and he agrees. Our mission now is to find out what happened here, and to do that we've got to find those ‘things.’ " He turned to address Baccacio directly. "You people have seen them and you know what they're capable of. I can't send you back to the Fairfax County until we've eliminated them, and I'll need you for that. Your women can go up as soon as we can get them to a landing zone for an Essay to come in, but you men will stay with me."

  "I ain't staying here!" Lowboy shouted. "I ain't staying!" Several other pirates muttered their agreement.

  "Let me tell you men something. Listen carefully." Bass looked in turn at each of the bedraggled pirates now gathered around in a loose semicircle. "You will do what I tell you to do or I will shoot you all. You men are going with me and no more discussion."

  "Gunny, how about some weapons, then?" Baccacio asked.

  Bass stared at the former ensign in astonishment. "Really, Mr. Baccacio, what kind of fool are you anyway?" He turned to his squad leaders. "Saddle the men up. We're—"

  "Sergeant," Lieutenant Snodgrass interrupted, "I think you should send these pirates back to the Fairfax County. They're unreliable criminals—"

  "Yeah," Rhys interjected, " ‘unreliable,’ that's us. And we're dangerous too!"

  "—untrustworthy men, and you can't count on them not to betray you. I think you'd be far better off going without them. I'll escort them back to the ship, if you'd like."

  "No, Lieutenant," Bass replied.

  Snodgrass's face reddened. "Sergeant, I am the ranking line officer in this party," he replied, emphasizing "line officer," which clearly excluded Lieutenant Commander Bynum, who outranked him, but as a medical officer could exercise no command authority in an operational situation. "I think I should talk to Captain Tuit myself and transmit my observations before you do anything further."

  "Lieutenant, the line to the bridge is open," Bass replied calmly, folding his arms.

  Snodgrass hesitated briefly, surprised that Bass had acquiesced so easily. Then he asked the watch officer on the bridge to patch him through to Captain Tuit. "Put Gunnery Sergeant Bass on with you, Lieutenant," Captain Tait ordered as soon
as he came into the net. "Now, Lieutenant, what do you want to tell me?" he asked as soon as Bass acknowledged he was on. Snodgrass explained the situation.

  "And what do you recommend, Lieutenant?" the captain asked, his voice deceptively mild.

  "Send the prisoners back right now, sir, and put me in command of the rest of this operation. Sergeant Bass can take care of tactical matters, but I should be the one to make the strategic decisions."

  " ‘Strategic decisions’?" Tuit mused. "Gunnery Sergeant Bass?"

  "Sir, if the lieutenant gets in my way again, I'll send him back on the next Essay along with the women."

  "Well, Lieutenant, I guess that's that."

  "But, sir!"

  "Lieutenant, you came along on this operation as a special communications officer. Well, to communicate effectively you have to listen. You aren't listening. Now, Lieutenant, wipe your nose, stick your hands in your pockets where they won't get you into any trouble, and stay out of Gunny Bass's way. Skyhawk out."

  Snodgrass stood with his mouth open. He had just been reprimanded by a senior officer—who knowingly did it within the hearing of enlisted men!

  "All right!" Bass turned to his squad leaders. "We move out at first light. Our objective is an island about halfway to Aquarius Station." He pointed northwest, toward where the maps showed an island, a direction far from the route they'd taken to reach the mountain. "That island can probably serve as a landing zone for an Essay. Once we've got it secured, the women go out."

  Minerva spoke up. "Sergeant, I want to stay here with Georgie."

  Bass regarded her for a moment. All the pirates knew what they were up against, they had seen the creatures and knew what they could do. Yet, unlike the men, Baccacio's woman was willing to stay on Society 437 if her man did. What the hell did she see in him? "We'll see," he replied. He turned back to his squad leaders: "Set secure night positions, one-third alert." While the Marines were organizing the night perimeter, he had Dupont notify the waiting Dragons when and where to meet them.

  After an uneventful night, they moved out at daybreak. On the way to the island, Bass got a message from the Fairfax that made him wish he'd decided to meet the Dragons somewhere on the mountain and ride them through the swamp. Those things were still around and dangerous.

  Chapter 20

  "Ralston, everything up?" Senior Chief Hayes asked his number one, Boatswain's Mate First Class Ralston.

  "Infra, motion, sounders, the works," Ralston replied. "Even got two RPVs up there quartering the area for a couple klicks in every direction."

  "Good. Let me know if anything shows up on them."

  "Aye aye, Chief."

  "I mean that. Anything on any sensor."

  Ralston looked up at the chief. He'd seen the remains in Aquarius and some of the remains the med-sci team sent up to the Fairfax from Central Station. He knew that what they might be up against was worse than anything he'd ever heard of. "I mean it too, Chief. Gonna be a snowy day on Alhambra before me or any of the boys slips up on this assignment."

  Chief Hayes looked around the room, his control room, buried as deep as it could get in the Aquarius admin center, which wasn't as deep as he would have liked. Four sailors, all armed, were at consoles, senses glued to the data coming in at them. None of them were technicians, they were all boatswain's mates and deckhands. He'd picked the toughest men in the Fairfax County's crew for this job. The men he knew were the best bar fighters, the best shots, and the coolest under physical pressure. They might not be the best and brightest among the crew, but in a fight, they were the ones he wanted covering his back. They and the four escorting the techs, who were investigating whatever it was they were investigating throughout the station. Ten men, including himself and Ralston, and a lone Dragon. That's all he had to defend the place if those things, whoever or whatever they were, came calling.

  He looked back at Ralston. "You give me warning if someone's coming, we can beat off an army."

  "You give me the army, I'll give you the warning."

  Hayes squeezed Ralston's shoulder appreciatively and left to check on the techs and their escorts. He hefted his blaster into a more comfortable position for carrying. Idly, he wondered how those Marines managed to carry the damn weapons all the time without pulling something out of joint.

  The Master sat cross-legged in the squared-off cave, a room in one of many such formations his fighters and watchers had located during the past year. Small lights set in the corners near the ceiling provided adequate illumination. The watcher who had sat so quietly for three days, watching Aquarius Station, knelt in front of him, bowed over so her forehead touched the mat-covered floor. For the occasion, since watchers were seldom called to give reports to the Master themselves, her scale-hair had been untangled and a flowing robe draped over her so she more resembled a female of the leader class. The Master found her almost presentable, almost a person. He stifled a snicker at the thought. That would be undignified. He brushed away the idea of keeping her for that night's bed almost before the thought formed.

  "Give me your report," he growled. "Raise your head so I can properly hear you," he added when she began speaking into the mat at her face.

  The watcher placed her hands flat on the floor and raised her face; her eyes stayed properly down.

  "Master, the Earth barbarians came as you said they would. They were in five of their water-dancing vehicles. They stayed less than one full day, then they left in four of their water-dancers. Most of them—" She faltered. "This—This one thinks most of them—" Her face twisted with the pain she expected her next statement to bring to her. "This one could not tell for sure. Most of them were invisible."

  The Master restrained himself from lashing out at the watcher. Invisible? "If they were invisible, how do you know they were there to begin with?" he asked gruffly.

  "Master, this one could feel their presence." She twisted her arms, drawing her elbows away from her sides to indicate she felt their electric emanations through the sensors on her sides.

  The Master grunted.

  She gave the time and direction of the departure then continued, "This one watched very carefully, Master. This one came to recognize differences between the barbarians so this one could tell them apart. There are eleven who this one saw and can recognize. There might be more who this one did not see often enough to distinguish. Four that this one saw and can recognize carry instruments of some sort, but do not seem to have weapons. The others all carry the forever guns."

  "Where are their positions?"

  "This one thinks there are some that stay in the water-dancer. At least this one saw barbarians carry in things that were smaller when they came out. This one never saw any come out without first going in. The others, everyone this one knows of, stay in the building with small rooms and files. The ones with instruments are always accompanied by one with a forever gun. They go into the other buildings but always come out again."

  "Do they have a routine?"

  "No, Master. They come and go at odd hours, except for three times a day when one of them carries a package to the water-dancer."

  The Master thought for a moment before deciding the watcher had told him all she knew. He wondered why she said some of them were invisible. Was it possible? That watcher was the first who was in a position actually to see the newly arrived barbarians. No, it couldn't be, the barbarians from Earth were not sophisticated enough to even think of making themselves invisible.

  "Take her away and beat her for lying," he said to one of the leaders. Even if truthful, watchers needed to be beaten occasionally to keep them alert.

  The watcher went quiet and docile after one small cry when the leader grasped her arm.

  The half hour before dawn is one of those times when people, no matter how awake, are least alert. Alertness at that hour requires a special effort. Perhaps it is because back in the primordial murk of the ancestors of modern man, that was the hour when protopeople began to awaken for the new day, and
the night predators were returning to their lairs. Hardly anyone is alert while waking up, and when the predators are in their lairs, there is no need for alertness.

  The half hour before dawn was when a force of forty fighters closed their noose. Earlier, they had slithered out of the water onto the island and began crawling toward the admin building. They didn't come onto land in one group; except for an arc in front of the Dragon, they were scattered around the island's perimeter. Neither did they all come ashore at the same moment. Their times were staggered so they would all be at the same distance from the admin center at the half hour before dawn. They moved in short rushes, now in one direction, now in another, mimicking the movement of the local amphibians. A technician would have to have been very alert to notice the pattern reported by the motion detectors—as alert as someone would be a half hour after dawn. They were within seventy-five meters of the admin center before Seaman First Class Broward noticed the pattern.

  "They're coming!" he shrieked when he realized the random movement he was watching on the motion display wasn't random. His hand slapped the panic button, sounding an alarm throughout the admin building. The alarm was loud enough for the attackers to hear. Simultaneously, the panic button sent an alarm to the Dragon and beamed an alert to the Fairfax.

  "Up! " a leader barked. "Charge!"

  The leaders and fighters leaped to their feet and raced toward the admin building. The six nearest the Dragon ran to it. The doors to the admin building were locked, and the ground floor windows shuttered or barricaded. The Dragon was buttoned down for the night. The six reached the Dragon just as its engine roared and it lifted on its air cushion. That didn't phase the fighters; they knew what their weapons could do.

  They had never before come against a water-dancer, but they had faced ground-effect vehicles at Central Station and were confident their weapons could destroy it. They pointed their nozzles and sprayed. Patterns were etched on the armor of the Dragon's sides and small holes appeared on its thinner skirts. Air jetted out through the holes, and the Dragon sagged on its reduced cushion.