Murphy's Lawless: A Terran Republic Novel

by Charles E. Gannon

  “The Sarmatchani are tribal and don’t recognize a formal central authority,” Volo replied. “They agree on little but their enmity for the satraps of Kulsis. They are good fighters, and the local Sarmatchani know every track around every hill in their territory. They may be watching already.”

  “If they see us, why don’t they come meet us?” Harry asked, tilting his canteen up and swigging some warm water.

  “It’s their way,” Volo answered calmly, folding the map closed. “We can’t precisely schedule our visits, but we do land at regular intervals, when it’s safe to trade. They watch for the J’Stull and guard their territory fiercely against competing clans. They will see us.”

  The SpinDogs land at regular intervals?

  “Wait a minute,” Harry said, fighting the instant and familiar surge of anger. “Your people routinely land on the surface? Why the hell did we do that crazy insertion then?”

  With every word, Harry felt the heat of his rage begin to fill the channels and runnels lying under his otherwise calm exterior. Like a pusher who recognized every weakness in the addict, the rage soothed Harry’s fear of the consequences if he gave in. It reminded him of every time he’d been let down or betrayed, cut, or stung. And here was another indig, withholding information while demanding everything. Harry struggled to keep his tone even because he wouldn’t yield to the temptation. He couldn’t. Control was his friend; rage his enemy.

  “You’ve been instructed,” Volo answered, pale eyes narrowing as he omitted the obvious qualifier “you ignorant savage,” “The Second Exodate, my people, must conceal our very existence, lest we share the fate of all on R’Bak. The raiders from Kulsis have sent their advance parties, as they have done each time our stars draw close to one another, making travel possible. So extra caution would have been required, regardless. And then, uninvited, your people arrived and sent incautious signals, drawing unwanted attention at just the time when discretion was most important.”

  Harry’s rage didn’t like the youngster’s tone. The SpinDogs had briefed their network on-planet, and Harry knew they’d landed before. But routine landings had never been mentioned. What else had his so-called allies left out? He tried to think of the most constructive reply while suppressing the adrenaline which always accompanied his familiar, unbidden fury. He squeezed the wooden pistol grip of his rifle to hide his anger and stared at Volo, who insolently returned his glare. Harry noted Rodriguez’s concerned glance and flicked his offhand that way.

  Deal with this.

  “Look, Volo, we’re sorry about this whole mess, but we didn’t know you SpinDogs were in the system,” Rodriguez said placatingly. “And afterwards, we even tried to help out, save your queen—”

  “She was no queen. She was a Matriarch. And she perished!”

  “—and besides, the boss and I were still asleep when it happened,” the sergeant finished his attempt at smoothing things over. “You didn’t ask for this, and we didn’t ask for this. But it is what it is.”

  “Yes, I know about you Sleepers,” Volo replied, firmly jamming the map into a thigh pouch. Harry could tell he was only partially mollified. “We used a similar suspension technique to bridge the distance from our parent system. Though much of our history is lost, we SpinDogs remember how the other Ktor cast us out hundreds of years ago. Ktor technology is now far ahead of our own, and the Kulsians have a fleet whose size is possible because of their planetary control—which is the reason we must remain unseen. With your ship gone, we cannot directly challenge them in space.”

  Harry took a deep breath. He dismissed his anger by careful stages, which finally and sullenly retreated beyond immediate thought. He flexed one hand and nodded thanks to Rodriguez, who returned it before turning around and resuming his scan.

  “Your people and mine have agreed to work together,” Harry said, fully back in control.

  Harry had worked with indigenous personnel several times during the course of many deployments. Panama, Kuwait, Somalia; it was always the same. Each one was so sure they had all the answers. They just wanted the Americans to fix their problems, give them funding and tech, and of course do it all for free, and then go away. But he had to work with these people, so he’d swallow his anger. Like he always did.

  Almost always.

  “Out of respect for your situation, we’ve agreed to proceed carefully and prove we can accomplish what we claim,” he finished.

  “Uh, sir?” Rodriguez called from behind them.

  “Before conveniently departing, your ship destroyed the raiders’ craft, their satellites, and their orbital habitat,” Volo said angrily, putting both hands on his hips. “Those who were on this planet and survived your attack know something is badly wrong. They have undoubtedly already changed their operational pattern while they await more of their comrades, who may arrive at any time. Even now, they warn their loyal satraps, seeking to turn every hand against those who have struck this blow. Against this change we must still protect the secret of our race. Thus, the space drop and this, admittedly, slow route to our rendezvous.”

  He gestured ahead.

  “That is why we took the time to cover the descent pods with parachutes,” he added tartly. “That is why the LZ was so distant from our previous landing points, just in case we’d been detected before. Now, if you are sufficiently reassured, Lieutenant,” he said, turning to continue the march, “we should press on.”

  “Hey!” Rodriguez said a little more loudly. “You officers want to take a look at this and maybe argue later?”

  Harry glanced up immediately. One of the dead trees scattered about stood close to the track, extending a few meters above the waving grass. As he watched, a pair of dark eyes blinked, and the motion served to reveal a small gray form, the outline of which blended into the bark. The middle of the creature seemed to pulse, and a soft hooting sound carried around the immediate area. Small teeth projected from the seam of its jaw, no bigger than the last joint of Harry’s little finger.

  “Well, that’s hardly an emergency,” Harry said, eyeing the meter-sized creature. “We’ll just skirt around to one side.”

  But then he noticed Volo’s reaction, and stopped. A moment earlier he’d been angry and determined, but now the SpinDog had frozen.

  “Quiet!” Volo whispered. He began to slowly reach for the slung weapon with one trembling hand, before he stopped and let his arm gradually descend to his side. “It’s not alone.”

  Harry scanned both sides of the track, but the grass concealed possible dangers.

  “It’s not very large,” he said softly. “Is it venomous?”

  “No,” Volo answered. “That’s a juvenile, forced into sentry duty by the adults. They get much bi—”

  The creature hooted again, and this time, deeper calls sounded all around the three humans. Perhaps ten meters away, a much larger version of the sentry’s head, reminiscent of a Terran bat, slowly rose from the grass until it was nearly at shoulder level with Harry. Two dark eyes sparkled with intelligence above membranous slits which pulsed slowly. Furred ears projected from each side of the head, swiveling in concert to orient on the humans. Four paired tusks nearly as long as Harry’s forearm hung from the bottom of the skull. Stained the same color as the grass, the tusks moved rhythmically as the creature chewed a mouthful of foliage. The hooting calls were repeated, more strident this time, and Harry was able to see they were emitted from the nasal slits, while the jaws ceaselessly ground together.

  Harry instantly raised his rifle, flicking the safety off. His peripheral vision showed movement all around, and Harry could feel his sergeant switching his aim between targets as more of the creatures loomed into view on both sides.

  “Aw, crap,” Rodriguez said in a strained voice. “You seeing this?”

  “Don’t shoot!” Volo said, keeping his voice low and slowly stepping closer to Harry and laying a hand on top of his rifle. “They have no fear of men. There are dozens we can’t see, and they are dangerous when
roused; even larger predators leave these alone. Don’t look in their eyes; it’s a challenge. Don’t make sudden movements. No loud noises—they will attack whoever makes the loudest sound. We don’t want to provoke them.”

  “Boss?” Rodriguez said in a strained voice. “Make the call, Harry.”

  The nearest animal shuffled onto the track. It was massively built, and the nightmare head was perched above the hunched shoulders of a hyena. The gray fur was shaggy, dappled with darker spots down the flanks. The forelimbs had digits tipped with a shiny, keratinlike substance. Since Harry was looking downwards, he had a good view as the creature’s knuckles took the weight of the muscular forequarters, splaying a little and sinking into the sandy track.

  Heavy. Third of a ton, maybe more.

  The troop leader used one paw to pound the ground, accompanied by a particularly loud hoot. Harry was confident he could shoot it several times before it closed the distance, but he had no idea what passed for a nervous system on this planet, nor did he know how large the troop was. Worse, the antique he was carrying held only twenty rounds of standard ball ammo, and if there was something less attractive than trying for a magazine change while wrestling with a tusked gorilla, it wasn’t obvious at the moment. For a second, Harry thought wistfully of the CAR727 and the hundred round magazine he had carried in Somalia. It was probably somewhere on the now-departed Olsloov. The Ktor had evidently been insistent about ammunition commonality and using the largest caliber rifle they had in numbers, which was the M-14. At least he’d been able to snag two of the squad support variants—the M14E3—for himself and Rodriguez.

  On the other hand, Volo might know what he was talking about. Harry struggled for a moment and then decided. At some point, he had to trust him. Exhaling, he kept his eyes down, but maintained his weapon at the low ready.

  “Okay, now what?” he asked Volo, murmuring softly.

  “They’re migrating, with young,” Volo replied, still keeping his voice low. “It makes them aggressive. We very slowly back away from the pack leader. Stay together, move quietly, and don’t make any quick or threatening motions.”

  “What the hell is a threatening motion to an alien baboon-bat?” Harry heard Rodriguez mutter. However, the noncom also looked down and slowly backed away as all three retraced their steps.

  One animal, larger than the sentry but still much smaller than the troop master, shuffled forward, hooting and raising its upper body off the ground before slapping the turf with loud thuds. The display was probably calculated only to intimidate. However, the newcomer was stirring the passions of the increasingly loud troop and more animals knuckle-walked into direct line-of-sight, slapping the ground and hooting. The sentry began shaking the tree, and the dry limbs clattered together.

  Harry resigned himself to opening fire. He’d try for head and neck shots and hope for the best. But, before he could do so, the troop master moved forward with unexpected agility. Two quick steps brought him to his target and a blow from one massive forearm drove the smaller, louder animal into the ground. The tusks of the larger beast clacked together as it bellowed a crashing challenge or command. The rest of the pack was suddenly quiescent, scuttling back into the grass and out of view. Just as suddenly as it had attacked the upstart, the lead animal appeared to calm. The giant remained watchfully poised on one forelimb, which rested on the back of the downed smaller animal, but it used the other to rip a clump of vegetation from the ground. It stuffed the morsel into its neck-mouth and resumed the important business of eating, all the while observing the humans.

  Maintaining control, check. I hear you, big guy.

  Harry continued to step slowly away, while the pack leader remained in the center of the track, quietly watching the humans disappear back up the darkening track.

  * * *

  “Sitting around a campfire on an alien planet might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever done on an op, sir,” Rodriguez said, in English. “But it ain’t the alien planet that bugs the shit out of me, it’s the damn fire. Breaks every rule I’ve ever heard of, sir.”

  Harry raised his eyebrows. When your experienced NCO starts “sirring” you in the field, he isn’t being polite, he’s communicating something. Pointedly.

  The two men had gone for a short walk around their perimeter, getting oriented and accustomed to the differences in the appearance of nearby terrain as darkness enveloped their site. Both were professionals and knew without the need for discussion that getting a feel for their immediate surroundings at night would prevent false alarms and provide a corresponding advantage in a true crisis. The blackness wasn’t absolute. R’Bak’s tiny moons and the brilliant night constellations were still shining through the light cloud cover. Harry looked up and considered the empty sky with a pang of homesickness.

  Helluva lot darker than the high desert in California, or Saudi for that matter.

  He shrugged it off.

  Mission first. Whine later.

  Both men were trying to preserve their night vision by keeping their backs oriented towards the fire which Volo was occasionally poking with a handy stick. Rodriguez’s unspoken question deserved an answer.

  “Always show your enemies what they expect to see,” Harry explained. “Out here, anyone skipping a fire is trying to hide. Someone who’s trying to hide is someone who might be dangerous. Anyone who sees this fire will figure we’re just another party of hide-hunters and not particularly interesting.”

  Rodriguez answered with a noncommittal grunt, navigating around a cluster of thick-stemmed, thorny plants which they had learned to avoid.

  “Last night, we were still close to the drop capsules,” Harry said, patiently, ignoring the sudden flare of aggravation at the NCO’s non-answer. “Volo says we’re firmly in tribal territory now, and a fire makes us easier for the Sarmatchani to find, which is the entire point of the exercise.

  “You say so.”

  “Hold up, Marco,” Harry ordered, trying to draw the sergeant out. “If you’ve got a feeling, tell me. I read about your ops. Your old team was more than half South Vietnamese. You’ve worked with more indigs than I have, and more closely. Do you think we can trust these people?”

  “Yeah, I ran a bunch of ops into Indian Country in sixty-six, sixty-seven and again last year…” Rodriguez stopped suddenly, no doubt realizing that he was referring to a time more than a century past. Then he picked up the thread again. “Anyhow, they all went pretty well and SOG always composed the team with more ARVNs than Americans,” he continued, pronouncing the abbreviation for the soldiers from the Army of Republic of Vietnam as a single word: Ar-vin.

  Harry knew about the ARVNs and he knew about SOG. The work of the early special operators from the Military Assistance Command-Vietnam, Studies and Observation Group or MACV-SOG was—had been—legend inside SOCOM.

  “The brass wanted to use the lowest number of Americans they could get away with. So last op, we get inserted by an ARVN Huey, not one from AirCav. And that’s the op where ST UTAH never came back.”

  “And?” Harry prompted after a long pause. “What happened, exactly?”

  “This time, the whole Viet Cong army was waiting,” Rodriguez said, looking straight ahead. “We got rolled up even before the sound of the helo faded. We tried to di-di out of there, fought like hell, but half of us were blown away in the first two minutes. We got trapped in this little draw in the stinking jungle, not even a hundred yards from the insert LZ. Leaves, twigs, and shit raining down over our heads from all the fire going through the trees, covering the dead and wounded, sticking to the blood and the open holes showing through their gear.”

  Rodriguez paused again. Without looking directly at his teammate, Harry could sense that NCO was reliving the scene again, as fresh as the moment that it happened. He let the sergeant resume when he was ready.

  “Bao, the last ARVN, was on the radio, trying to yell for a dust-off over the noise. Behind me, Steve was screaming, trying to stuff his guts back in, knowing he wa
s gonna die lying in the dirt of the A-Shau valley. Then the shooting stops, all at once. You could hear the damn birds chirping. Some freaky dude in shades and a suit just appears, standing right there in the mud with us, offers us a way out but we had to decide right then. Next thing I know, I wake up on a goddamned spaceship, and two weeks later I’m looking at a strange sky that don’t have no real moon in it, and all my men are gone. The files I got from the English spook say the two other guys extracted from UTAH got wasted fighting for the Ktor on the planet before this one. Same logs say the intel weenies back at the puzzle palace in Da Nang figured one of the ARVN air crew shopped our team to the VC a couple days before the op. ‘Course, no way to know for sure. I’m here, now.”

  No way to know for sure: isn’t that the truth.

  Harry was looking up at the night sky. At some point during Rodriguez’s story, Harry slipped back onto the Blackhawk for the ride out of Mog. The breeze of the slipstream, still hot despite the altitude and the speed of the helo. Electronic alarms suddenly blaring, the sound of the straining engine and the shaking, bucking airframe. The white face of the crew chief. An instant to think of Sara. The kids. An explosion. Then a kaleidoscope of sea-sky-sea—blackness.

  Rodriguez turned to face Harry. The red light of the campfire several meters away danced across his face.

  “Thing is, these teams of locals, soldiers, and spooks and shit only work good so long as everyone on the op has as much on the table as everybody else,” he said before hawking and spitting downwind. “That alien dude over there, he looks like us, talks kinda like us, and maybe we can trust him. Maybe not. His ass seems to be on the line, same as ours. You and I want to go home. No way to know what he wants.”

  “I see it the same, Marco,” Harry replied, holding out his hand for the sergeant, who took it firmly. “The way I figure it, it’s you and me. The op is to get back to Earth.”

  “Roger that, El-Tee,” Rodriguez said. “Back to Earth. So, yeah, I can put up with a campfire during an op. Or anything else. But who you gonna trust?”