by Chris Bunch
"'Kay, that's out," Garvin said. "How'd you come here?"
"I brought my lifter."
"Well?"
"It's a little two-seater. We'd never be able to . . . to be comfortable."
"So let's go somewhere. I just happen to have a nice, luxurious hotel," Garvin whispered. "With a big soft bed, and nobody pays any attention to people's comings and goings."
"Comings?" she whispered.
"Anywhere you want to," he promised, and they kissed again. He brought his hand up, fondled her breasts, felt her rigid nipples.
"Hey," a voice came. "You. Shithead!"
Jasith squeaked in surprise, jumped back. Garvin turned, very quickly.
Loy Kuoro stood, face angry, fists balled. Jaansma forced his mind away from Jasith.
"That was a shitty thing you did to me," Kouro said.
"Those were some shitty things you were saying," Garvin said reasonably. "Especially in front of some people."
"People? 'Raum people?" Kouro sneered.
"Publishers? People?" Garvin echoed in an equally nasty voice. "I hear the only way you can breed is with your own sisters? Any truth to that?"
Jasith gasped, and Kouro turned white. Garvin had a moment to realize he'd touched on something explosive, and the man tried to kick him.
Garvin stepped back, and the kick barely touched Garvin's jacket.
"Don't do that," he said in a calm voice. Kouro stumbled, recovered, and Garvin realized the man was somewhat drunker than he appeared. He swung, and Garvin grabbed his hand, pulled, and Kouro stumbled forward, falling to his hands and knees.
"Go back inside and get yourself a drink," Garvin suggested. "You're pushing the framework."
Kouro came to his knees, and lurched forward, head down. He butted Garvin in the chest. Garvin almost fell, recovered.
"That's enough," he said, still in the same mild tone, and slammed two straight forefist strikes into Kouro, the first into his eye, the second into his midsection. Kouro whuffed, puked, staggered back, and teetered on the edge of the lake. Garvin reached out, pushed, and the man shouted surprise, windmilled his arms, and fell backwards into the lake, landing with a thoroughly satisfying splash.
Garvin Jaansma didn't bother seeing whether Kouro surfaced, saw Jasith was gone. Garvin swore, went after her, through the great room, along the causeway, and through the estate's entrance. He went down the steps in time to see a small, bright red lifter streak down the driveway.
"I should've killed him," Garvin said, and went back, looking for Erik.
He couldn't find him anywhere. He looked at the crowd of utter strangers. "No friends, no taxis. I think," he said to himself, "it's gonna be a long walk home."
———«»———«»———«»———
"Curious," Jo Poynton mused. "Most curious."
The voice came again: "Your instructions?"
Poynton keyed her mike: "Stand by."
She returned to her analysis: A group of soldiers stops one of our children from being beaten. Odd. They then somehow have enough money for rooms in one of Leggett's most expensive hotels and outfit themselves in luxury. Even odder. Three of them then elude one of my most experienced agents and disappear. The other two attend a very exclusive party in the Heights, at the home of one of the most anti-'Raum swine. One is identified by an agent of ours, working as a waiter, as Erik Penwyth, whose family, while not the worst of the giptel, isn't considered an especially fervent supporter of our cause. He mysteriously joined the Confederation oppressors a short time ago, for no known reason. Now his companion, name unknown, starts a fight over a minor insult made by the giptel Kouro about the 'Raum. He then leaves and is walking toward Leggett. All this is very unusual, and we do not need unusual occurrences this close to Dawning Fury.
"I don't understand," she said softly, looking around her room in the depths of the Eckmuhl. Bare except for three transceivers, it gave no answers. She thought of trying to reach Comstock Brien or, perhaps better for his fresh thinking, Jord'n Brooks. But there was no time, and certainly she might have a better understanding of the problem than they would, far distant in the hills.
She opened her mike. "Is there traffic in your area?"
"Almost none."
"Do you and Lompa think you could take him alive? There must be no misunderstanding—alive or do not make the attempt."
"Wait." Silence, then: "Affirm. Lompa has a pacifier."
"Take him then, before he leaves the Heights," Poynton ordered. "Move him to a secluded area, and I'll have a pickup craft ready to home on your signal."
"Understood," the voice said. "Stand by."
Poynton picked up another com. "This is Watch Control," she ordered. "Wake the alert team for action."
———«»———«»———«»———
"I forgive this barraco," Njangu said in a noble tone, trying to sound like Garvin Jaansma being pompous, "for trying to eat me, for I find the mother pretty goddamned delicious." He realized he was a little drunk, just loopy enough for almost any silliness to sound like an excellent idea. Njangu took another piece of grilled barraco from the fire-warmed stone, put it on a disk of flat, unleavened bread. He poured a dipper of fiery green sauce over it, folded the top over, and took a huge bite.
"How many of those are you planning to eat?" Angie asked him, speaking with the careful pronunciation of the quite drunk.
"What do you care? I won't let it spoil my girlish figure," Njangu said.
"I don't want you to founder and not be able to . . . take care of other things."
"The day that happens," Njangu promised, "is the day the heavens crumble."
"Yeesh," Angie said. "Ego!"
There were five of them lying on mats around the small fire—Ton Milot; his girlfriend, Lupul; Njangu; Angie, who lay curled with her head on Njangu's ankles; and a slender, large-breasted girl about sixteen named Deira, with tied-back dark red hair, a slow smile, and lips Njangu didn't want to think about kissing. She wore only a wrap, tucked in above her breasts, and insisted on showing far too much of her upper thigh to Yoshitaro.
"Men're all like that, aren't they?" Lupul said.
"'Cept for me," Ton Milot said. "I'm perfect." He belched loudly. "Wanna see?"
"It is about that time," Lupul said, getting up. She tottered a little. "Wups. Earthquake season, I guess."
Ton Milot clambered to his feet and stood, grinning foolishly. He looked down the beach, where two or three dozen fires guttered down. There were shadows around them, some sitting, talking; others dancing slowly to their own music; others on the sand, moving, twined; still others motionless, paired or alone.
"Looks like things're trickling down to the last hard cases," he said. "Guess I'll see you sometime after the sun comes up."
"Would you come on," Lupul said. "You see these guys every damned day, not me."
"Coming, dear." He followed her into darkness.
"So now it's just us," Njangu said. He bent over, and kissed Angie.
"Well," she said. "Not quite. There's Deira. She's locked, loaded, and ready."
The girl giggled.
"Ready for what?" Njangu asked.
"Show him," Angie said.
Deira stood, unfastened the tie, shook her head and let her red hair cascade down almost to her waist. She walked slowly around the fire until she bestrode Njangu, pulled the tie on her wrapper, let it drop.
Her body was shaved clean.
"Don't you like these colorful local practices?" Angie asked.
"Uhhh," Njangu managed.
"She came over," Angie said calmly, "while you were fishing, and told Lupul she thought you were very handsome, and wanted to know what our customs were, since she guessed I was already with you. She told Lupul that she thought I was handsome, too, and wondered what I thought of her. I said I thought she was pretty, and that I wouldn't mind if she wanted to kiss me. So we did. She's a very good kisser. And she does . . . other things real nice, too. We borrowed one of the hu
ts while we were waiting for you."
Njangu realized his mouth was dry.
"Well," Angie said reasonably, "she's awfully pretty, isn't she?"
"Uhh . . . yes."
"Can I kiss him?" Deira asked.
"Sure," Angie said, and laughed.
Deira knelt, and pushed Njangu gently down onto his back. She lowered her body onto his, her mouth opening. Njangu felt her breasts hard against his bare chest. An eon or so later, Deira lifted her head. "I do like him," she said dreamily.
"So do I," Angie said.
"Now I want to kiss you some more," Deira said.
"That could happen." Angie said. She unbuttoned her uniform blouse, took it off. Then she took off her shorts and briefs.
Njangu'd turned on his side, was watching. "You don't act like this is a total shock," Angie said.
Njangu smiled slightly, inclined his head, said nothing. The girls in his clique had done anything and everything they thought might shock the cits, with each other or the boys.
"You're wearing too much," she said, and Njangu obediently slid out of his shorts.
Angie tube-rolled her shorts and tunic, put them down on the mat about a meter away from her.
"Come here, Deira," she whispered. "Next to me. Put your hips on my pants."
The girl melted into Angie's arms. After a bit, Angie pushed on her head, and Deira kissed down Angie's neck, across her breasts and stomach. Angie lifted, parted her legs, gasped as Deira's fingers found her.
"Oh yes, oh good," she sighed. "Njangu, come here. I want you to bite me on my tits, my stomach. Then do it to Deira while she loves me. I promised her she could be first."
———«»———«»———«»———
Garvin guessed he was no more than fifteen minutes from the hotel, and making good time on the curving downhill road. He was singing quietly:
Oh don't you remember
Dumb Garvin from Altair
Who'd screw up a sure thing
No matter where.
His mouth was a terror
It never would mind
He'd say something stupid
And then get kicked blind.
He went to a soiree
Just lookin' for fun
The women were friendly,
And hot as a gun.
The prettiest was Jasith—
He broke off, looking for a rhyme for Jasith, failed to find one. "She sure was lovely," he mourned. "Nice and friendly and warm and—"
He heard the scrape, jumped sideways. The first man's sap came down, missed, and he tried to recover, staggering on a few footsteps. The second man had some kind of gun. He pointed it at Garvin, who ducked as the weapon hissed and something spat past, very close.
At the side of the road was a tall, straight-limbed bush.
Garvin tore off a branch, held it across his chest like a fighting stave.
"Oh you poor bastards," he said. "You poor sorry bastards. Did you ever pick somebody in the wrong goddamned mood."
The second man aimed his gun. Garvin darted to the side, raked the butt end of the branch across the sapman's face, who cried out and stumbled back. Without pausing, he snapped the branch's other end across the gunman's wrist, and the gun spun away, into the street. Garvin brought his knee up, smashed the branch across it. Now he held two clubs about 10cm in diameter and 50cm long.
"Let's play," he said. The second man reached in a pocket for something.
Garvin clubbed his forearm, then smashed the other club across the bridge of the man's nose. The man screamed, had both hands over his face. Garvin drove the club like a sword into his gut, kicked the man hard in the side of the head as he went down.
"Now for your young ass," he said grimly. The first man was holding up his hand, whining, pleading. Garvin smashed him on the elbow with the club in his left hand. The man howled, clutched his wrist with his other hand. Jaansma snapped the club in his right into the man's face, heard teeth crack. He kicked the man in the stomach like he was driving a ball into the score zone, and the man whip-snapped, fell backward, lay motionless. Garvin stood over the two for a short time, breathing hard, waiting for movement. There wasn't any.
"Stupid goniffs," he said. "Rob a soldier, who's never got any goddamned money anyway."
He looked up and down the road, saw no vehicles. He spotted the gun, picked it up, and examined it. Some kind of knockout weapon, he thought.
Nice and new-looking. Thieves don't normally carry trick shit like this, I wouldn't think.
He picked up one man by the hair, ignored his ruined face, sniffed his breath. No alcohol. The same was true of the other. That's also a little unique.
He went through their pockets, found two ID cards, pocketed them, continued searching. Both had some money and, interestingly, two identical expensive-looking coms fitted with scramblers.
"Hmm. Wish I were some kinda detective, so this shit'd make sense," he muttered.
He considered calling the police, found himself grinning. Njangu would beat my butt for even thinking that. Besides, they'd keep him up the rest of the night with stupid questions he had no answers for. He pocketed the coms, the money, and the ID cards, and trotted away, toward Leggett.
———«»———«»———«»———
Half an hour later, he saw the lights of the Shelburne ahead. A woman came out of the shadows.
"Morning, sister," he greeted. "Up late, aren't you?"
"Looking for a good time, I am," she said. "You interested? Half price, and you can stay 'til you wake up?"
"No thanks."
"You one of those who like boys?" the whore asked, not insultingly.
"Nope," Garvin Jaansma said, thinking of Jasith Mellusin, and her melting lips. "Just stupid."
Chapter 17
"'Kay, troops," Alt Hedley told the company. "Break ranks and gather around this tippy-top-secret map and hear the good skinny." The men and women of Intelligence and Reconnaissance Company obeyed. "First," Hedley said, "let's welcome the new fools. Monique's shattered 'em so much they actually want to flipping join us. Tsk."
Njangu caught Penwyth's eye, grinned. They'd managed to get into Petr Kipchak's Gamma Team, First Troop. Ton Milot was in Alpha of the First, Hank Faull went to Vie Team, Second Troop, and Angie was in Eta Team, Second. Njangu was not unhappy Rada wasn't in his team. The rest of their graduation leave had been mostly spent in Issus with Deira.
Njangu'd taken Ton Milot aside, and told him what'd happened, and asked if he was about to get in trouble with anybody in the village.
Milot laughed. "Not here, my friend. We figure what people do is what they do. Everybody knows Deira's a wild one." He looked wistful. "She and I got friendly a couple of times, back before I joined up, and I asked Lupul if she'd mind if Deira stayed with us. Lupul said she'd cut off my whacker, because if that happened, I'd never have any energy for fishing. So don't worry and have fun."
The three had . . . or so Njangu thought. He was starting to wonder if, indeed, all great things happen in a city. But at the end of the leave, Angie confronted him. "Look," she said. "When we get back . . . I sleep alone. There's nothing between us."
"I know that," Njangu said. "Screwing and work don't mix."
"Good," Angie said. She acted like she was angry. "And don't be talking about anything else."
"Like what?"
"Like what happened with Deira."
"But Ton Milot knows . . ." Njangu said, puzzled, then stopped, seeing Angie's lips compress. "'Kay. I'm not much into giving away family secrets."
"Best not," she said, and started packing. And that appeared to be that.
Njangu tried to forget about it.
"'Kay," Hedley said. "War games in four days, right? Everything's a flipping secret, right?" Somebody snickered. "Don't step on my lines," Hedley warned. "You could end up humping a sackful of rocks up and down the company area."
"Anyway, first thing is that we're going to be the aggressors, as usual. Plus they'
ve detailed off First and Second Company, Third Regiment to play bad guys with us. We'll also get a couple of Zhukovs and half a dozen Griersons. They're looking for volunteer armor crews right now."
"Needless to say, what I'm gonna give you now is flipping classified, and not to be talked about outside the company, 'cause we're not supposed to know any of this."
He pulled the cover off the map. Njangu recognized it as the mountainous center of Dharma Island, with the outskirts of Leggett at the far left-hand side. There were arrows drawn here and there. A woman wearing the slashes of a tweg groaned.
"You recognize it, eh?" Hedley asked, amused.
"Yessir," the woman said. "Same turf as . . . three years ago, isn't it?"
"Sure is," Hedley said, sounding delighted. "Same flipping scenario, too."
He touched the first arrow. "The general scheme is that the Strike Force is going to make an in-atmosphere landing here, about thirty kilometers east of Leggett, against an entrenched enemy—us. They'll drive us north, flipping killers that they are, to here, right at the foot of Mount Najim, where we'll regroup."
"Strike Force Swift Lance will then make a final assault on our positions, and we, instead of retreating farther east into the Highlands like sensible flipping folks, will let ourselves be driven up to about here, close to the crest of Najim."
"There we make a suicidal last stand, and get wiped out and-slash-or captured, then the Task Force, meaning Caud Williams and the staff, will host a luncheon for PlanGov and the Rentiers, so all the fat cats'll have a chance to praise our lethal beauty."
Monique Lir held up a hand.
"Go, Monique."
"No offense, boss, but wouldn't it make more sense for the Strike Force to be the defenders against, say, attackers from offplanet? Like, maybe, Musth? Or against those pirates who ripped off the gear we were supposed to be getting."
"You don't understand the big picture," Hedley said gently. "Attacking is a lot more romantic than sitting in a hole in the ground."
"Shit," Lir said.
Hedley shrugged. "We weren't consulted any more'n usual. The way it'll work is the two companies of line animals'll take care of the digging and follow the scenario the staff wrote up. I&R's going to play the part of rotten behind-the-lines raiders, and stir about gently trying to create a commotion. One thing that'll help us a bit . . . the met folks are predicting the flipping rainy season'll dump on in early this year. Like tomorrow or the next day, so we'll have some nice nasty weather to hide in."