Duty, Honor or Death the Corps Sticks

by Ronald Wintrick

What he knew of the Dunaj Chieftain shed no light on the man's superstitious beliefs. That information had not previously been important, so he had not sought it. Now he wished he knew. The depths of this Dunaj leaders superstitions would probably be the deciding factor whether or not he would be competing with Jarlaxle for possession of the ship. The Dunaj were that much closer to where it had crashed.

  Jarlaxle had to have that ship!

  Neither was Jarlaxle a fool. The ship would be damaged, maybe even entirely destroyed, its uncontrolled entry into the atmosphere had made that clear enough, but it would still provide much of value. Possession of that ship could advance their technological level a thousandfold, when every advance they made now involved intense research and experimentation and many failures.

  The Federation did not make it easy for it's Prison Colonies. They were given no help. The drawing board had been wiped clean and they'd had to begin from the beginning. Everything was from scratch.

  As far as they had come, they had really gotten nowhere.

  This ship could change all that. Imagine a functioning molecular fabrication machine shop! The weapons that must be aboard her! The databanks with all of mankind's knowledge!

  Even if the ship could fly, the Defensive System surrounding Bali would not let her leave. More than likely that was what had brought her down in the first place. It stood to reason, anyway.

  Who had been fool enough to fly within its reach?

  No, the ship itself would not take Jarlaxle off Bali, but with it, or with its AGP Drive reinstalled in another ship, one they would build with the raw materials this one provided, he would quickly bring Bali to heel! Once brought to heel, Democracy and Reunification.

  Possession of that ship would make escape from Bali suddenly a realizable lifetime goal. When he had begun to doubt its feasibility, in his lifetime, at least. This could change everything. What would he not do for that?

  Nothing. There was nothing he would not do.

  With the technology that ship brought, the Tarovan Kingdom would be ready. Unlike his predecessor, Jarlaxle had integrated the women into their fighting forces. It doubled their fighting force, in fact nearly tripled it, and added a ferocity hitherto unknown on Bali. With their women fighting next to them, the men fought like animals. It was something the Federation understood clearly, and its lesson had not been lost on Jarlaxle.

  The Tarovan Kingdom numbered one hundred and forty-two separate villages and cities and boasted over nine hundred thousand fighters. There was no force on this planet, Jarlaxle was sure, who could stand before them. None had yet. Their guns insured it. Their ferocity brought all to heel, and once absorbed, few had any desire to revolt. Life became much easier.

  The fighting force with him now, numbering just over six hundred, represented every able-bodied fighter in the small village closest to the crash site, where Jarlaxle had recently made his headquarters in preparation of the assault on the Dunaj.

  Runners had been dispatched to fetch more forces, radio communication unfortunately one of the things yet unreinvented, but there was no time to wait. They had departed immediately.

  The cause of his alert soon became apparent. Approaching from ahead, noisily, someone moved through the forest towards them. The snap of a branch, from a careless step, came clearly to the waiting forces. Whoever came was no native to Bali. No native would be so irresponsible. Such carelessness meant death here.

  Jarlaxle's heart quickened. His blood throbbed in his veins. They stood stock still, waiting. Silent.

  Chapter 24

  Carter was beginning to wonder if he could make a Team of these idiots or not, as he sat watching their nonstop antics in the overly large barracks they had been assigned as their quarters. These men were not team players. Loners each and every one. He had a sudden appreciation for what certain Officers must go through in dealing with them. As if he had ever been any better, but now it was different. His only remaining family member's life depended on them. It cast an entirely different light on the situation.

  These men were loners. Playing by the rules in the Space Corps Infantry got a soldier dead. They were survivors, accomplished fighters and extremely competent soldiers, but they were not team players. They had learned to survive by doing things their own way, but now Lan needed them to function as a cohesive group. Would they be able to? Lan did not know the answer to that question. When so much was riding on their ability to do so.

  Of Gylastak Lan had no doubts. Gylastak was the wild-card. Gylastak would make an excellent team player. Lan knew exactly where he stood with the Molog.

  They were still waiting for the others to arrive, they would meet them at Bali tomorrow, these having come from an entirely different locality. The Corps was fighting on many fronts. He should've waited until the rest arrived, but Lan had a few things to get off his chest;

  "I know it goes against the grain," he said loudly, cutting through their bantering laughter, which now died away slowly as Lan patiently waited them out, "but we are going to be functioning as a Squad. I'm Commanding. When I give orders, I'm going to expect you to jump to do them. I ain't going to be fucking around. I'll consider any such insubordination as Mutiny, and I'll blow that man's head off his fucking shoulders. No second chances. No joking. Dead. Do any of you think I'm joking!?"

  "Jesus H. Christ!" Briar Murdoch swore. "You gone soft in the head Carter! You know that shit don't fly with us! Hell you talking about!"

  "This ain't about friendship. You can forget that bullshit." Lan said. "You're out, Murdoch."

  "Out!" Murdoch screamed, leaping to his feet from the rack he was on. He looked killing mad, but he did not advance on Lan. Carter was one of the most dangerous men Murdoch had ever met, and well he knew it.

  "Murdoch was just overreacting." Mike Dobrune said coolly. "You made your point. We all know how serious this is to you. Anyway, you know we need Murdoch. There's no one moves quieter. He could sneak up on his own shadow. He's an asset, and you know it."

  "He's gonna need to learn to be a little quieter around me." Lan said very seriously. "You're all going to follow orders. Strict military discipline. Friendship ain't got shit to do with this. When we hit Bali, it's rank-and-file until I order otherwise, and then it's strictly what I order. This is all of our tickets out of the shit hole we dug ourselves into, and I ain't letting no one screw it up for me. Or for Rebecca. Or for her," Lan nodded towards Becla, who was listening impassively. "She still has a full ten piece. Do any of you not comprehend what I'm saying!" This was no question.

  Becla looked uncomfortable under their scrutiny, but concern for her welfare, an attractive woman, could be as powerful an incentive as any, and Lan needed all the help he could get with this bunch. Every bit of it. The sugar he needed to make the medicine go down.

  "You ain't really gonna put Murdoch out, are you?" Tiny asked. He had made his point with one of them, at least.

  Carter gave him an exasperated look. "No, I ain't, but I don't know that I ain't screwing up, either. It won't happen again, and once on Bali, heaven help any of you boys think I'm blowing smoke. Because I ain't."

  As Murdoch moved back to his rack, and the banter among the men picked up where it'd left off, as if it had never been interrupted, Carter's eyes strayed to Mario Lopez. Lopez had not so much as looked up during the exchange.

  Lopez sat cross-legged on his rack, his eyes hooded to mere slits, his hands resting on his knees, thumbs tucked into closed fists, completely oblivious to the rest of them, as far as Lan Carter could tell.

  He was meditating, of course. Lopez was a cool cucumber. He found his peace meditating, yet peace was subjective where Mario Lopez was concerned; he'd be completely at peace forty seconds after a murderous rampage through a reptile stronghold. Lopez was a thoroughly dangerous human, the more so because you could never tell what the hell he was thinking.

  Carter wondered if he would have a problem with him, and if he did, what he would do about it. What it would even be possible t
o do about it. Much of Lopez' dangerousness stemmed from his sheer unpredictability.

  'Don't make me regret bringing you in.' Lan told himself silently.

  As if he had spoken aloud, Lopez looked up into his eyes. Lan did not look away, but stared unflinchingly. Lopez and Carter had fought together on Sandscar against the Zeket reptiles, a race of highly intelligent lizards who had once occupied over four hundred worlds and which man had wiped completely from the Universe as a race much too dangerous to allow to survive.

  The Zeket were desert dwellers and could survive, thrive, under near waterless conditions. They hid in the sand and came out attacking when you passed near. The Zeket had been as nearly technologically advanced as had humanity, were physically superior in every way, yet Lopez and Carter had survived for thirteen days on Sandscar, alone after the entire attacking force had been instantly wiped out upon insertion.

  The Corps had been at that time seriously overextended. They had not been prepared for the ferocity of the Zeket. Sandscar was only the first of the Zeket worlds. Lopez and Carter were together on every one of those four hundred, had walked through unscathed while death fell on all sides around them. It had been one of mans' worst fights.

  The Zeket had finally been completely eradicated three years ago. Lopez didn't seem to have changed a bit since then. He only returned Carter's look for a moment, then returned to his meditation, unperturbed. They had bumped heads over every issue, hardly ever agreeing on anything, while they had fought together, and retrospectively, Carter had to admit, that Lopez had usually been right. Not that he had ever been willing to admit it to Lopez.

  "What I said goes for you, as well, Lopez." Carter said evenly, but if Lopez heard him, he didn't acknowledge it.

  The only person who seemed to note that Carter had spoken again was Gylastak, and the only sign that he had noticed was but slight; a slight tilt of his head to better scrutinize both of them at once. The Molog missed nothing.

  Lost in his own thoughts, Carter didn't even notice that he was being ribbed about Becla, but in all fairness, she was giving fair measure in return for both of them, smiling and laughing as she did so.

  Chapter 25

  Baldwin was so stiff and sore when he woke that he didn't think he could move at all. As he began to stretch, the muscles in his legs literally felt as if they were tearing, and he could barely force himself free of the crook of the branch where he had wedged himself. To have thought himself in good physical condition had been a very poor judgment of the reality.

  “I'm really sore." Baldwin admitted when Rebecca saw him struggling and making grimacing faces.

  "You'll loosen up when you start walking."

  "If I can start." Baldwin said, but he was already forcing himself to move down through the branches, feeling his way along in the very dim light of the breaking day. He was acutely aware that it was more than just his life on the line here. All actions have equal and opposite reactions, and those reactions would fall on Rebecca's head as well as his own.

  Rebecca watched him moving and knew he would never be able to move fast enough to stay ahead of their pursuit. Today they would be caught unless she could delay them further. It was as simple as that. She helped him down and when he finally reached the ground, jumped down beside him.

  "Follow the sun. The same way we've been going. Move as quickly as you can." Rebecca said, pointing out the direction unnecessarily. "If they're not delayed, they'll catch us today. Get moving."

  Baldwin glared at her angrily, despite his previous resolution to do as she ordered. Yet he could think of no argument to pose, and still he did not want to obey.

  "Is there something on your mind?" Rebecca demanded caustically, reading him like an open book. "We haven't time for this."

  Baldwin hated himself then. But he knew she was right and he was wrong and that it was his fault. Because he couldn't move fast enough to elude those who followed them.

  "Be careful." Baldwin said. Then without another look or word turned from her and walked away. The best thing he could do for her now was to assure her that he was going to do as she requested, that he would be out of the way, so she could do what she had to do.

  As he moved out of her sight, he started into a slow jog, and they were instantly separated.

  She was mildly surprised he had obeyed. She had expected a scene. At least a token argument. She was pleased, because there really was no time to waste. Those who followed were already on the trail, she knew, sniffing along in the near dark like bloodhounds hungry for the kill.

  They would be harder to surprise a second time. They would be watchful. They had been warned and they would now be wary. They would be ready, and they were undoubtedly killing mad. She could not now expect them to spare her for her sexual charms. That hole card would now win no hands, not after their humiliation at her hands. And what further they were about to suffer. Only the best of the best qualified to train for the position Rebecca had received, and ninety-nine percent of those who trained for that position couldn't make the cut. Rebecca was an expert at what she did and those who followed would further feel her sting before this was over.

  That it was a woman who had inflicted this humiliation upon them only exacerbated the matter. Their honor, their masculinity, was at stake. She would not be underestimated again.

  Now she needed a place from which to lay her ambush, and she knew just such a place. She began running, easily, smoothly, her muscles flowing rhythmically under her skin, and though she ran at a near sprint, it was a pace she could maintain for days on end without sleep.

  The place she had in mind was an area of heavy thicket they had passed through late yesterday. It would provide concealment as well as nullify the native’s primitive weaponry, yet in no way interfere with her own blaster. It was ideal for her purpose.

  A blaster used in close quarters could be dangerous to its operator, if fired against a nearly immovable object within only a few meters span, a rock wall for instance, the concussion being the danger, but the underbrush would not provide such an obstacle here. It wasn't substantial enough. She would be able to fire through it at will.

  The thick growth in the area she had in mind was vines, thorny shrubbery, and tough stemmed tall grass. It would only slightly impede a blaster charge, taking very little of its energy as it burned its way through, but it would seriously hinder the native’s primitive weaponry, almost to the point of total ineffectiveness.

  She moved quickly, fearful they would arrive first, not at all sure they wouldn't. Their speed would depend on how much fear she had put in them yesterday, or how motivated they were. She suspected they were quite motivated. And angry.

  Or hungry. Hungry for the information she could provide of the outside Universe. If the roles were reversed, that would be one of her highest priorities; the technical data that could be gleaned.

  Too bad, Rebecca thought, if captured she would be able to provide very little technical data. Her education had not been of technical matters, and the education she had received in her youth on Calafga, had been no better than any here would already possess.

  Not that she would share it even if she did possess it.

  The ground flew by under her sure feet. She slipped through and around the clinging undergrowth that was even now thickening to the point of making rapid progress difficult. Finally she slowed, moving at a more cautious pace, ever so carefully and silent. A wraith moving through the shadows.

  It would not do to let the ambush be turned 'round on her, but her sixth sense told her she was alone, that she was the only predator at least, in the near vicinity. You were never completely alone in the jungle. The place was full of life, of every sort.

  Once into the heaviest growth, she paused to reconnoiter the area, looking for the ideal place from which ambush might be most successfully struck. She wanted to be near enough to the beginning of the thicket on their side that once she made her attack, she might then easily slip away and more quickly make her esc
ape.

  But escape was not entirely what she was thinking.

  She was thinking that she was tired of being chased.

  With superior firepower, on the ground of her own choosing, it might be possible to finish them here and now. The grim expression on her face very nearly marred her pretty countenance and would've given even the hardest soul pause, but there was no one there to see it. So far, she was still alone.

  She wasn't expecting them to blindly follow down Baldwin's trail and she was uncertain whether their skills were sufficient to follow her own. More than likely, one or two would track while the remainder flanked, out to either side. If she stayed by the trail herself, they would come upon her from both flanks. This she did not want.

  She wanted to be on their flank, or at least one of their flanks anyway. She could not let them encircle her. That was the one scenario that could prove to be her downfall. Humans didn't have eyes in the backs of their heads unfortunately, so she had to adapt her tactics to take that into account.

  Noiselessly she crept out and off the trail, until she had put about twenty-five meters between it and herself. Then she lay down on the ground, on her back, her blaster in her hand.

  Then she waited.

  At an early age Rebecca had learned the art of immobility. Of patience. It had not been so much an art as a survival trait. Standing, sitting, crouching or various other repose upon the ground, she could maintain total immobility for hours or even days, if necessary.

  The things which could be done to a pretty little girl were endless in their number and extreme in their horrifying variety. Boys were adopted, trained, made members, but little girls were just used, depending on the barbarity of their captors. All men were not monsters, only a very small fraction, but it seemed to be a rule, that the men who were monsters were those who attained the positions of power. That had been the rule on Calafga and it was certainly the rule in the Federation.

  She had learned that at an early age. Much too early an age for a little girl to have to suffer the things Rebecca had suffered.