by David Drake
With the mask on, the death disks became more annoyance than danger. They’d spin down and slap themselves across the wickerwork, then he’d peel them off and spear them. After a while, it became fairly routine. Nonetheless, it felt damned good to see the road and take off the mask.
The road wasn’t much to look at. An unpaved two-lane affair, it was rough and followed the meandering path of a large river through the jungle. The shoulder was scorched where a flame thrower had been used to clear the vegetation.
The jungle wanted the road back. In the fullness of time, the jungle would get it.
Merikur had a sudden appreciation of what the Haiken Maru security forces were up against when they tried to move convoys down roads like this. Every curve could conceal an ambush. Every square foot of road could hide a mine.
He made a mental note. Treeling had been after him to provide his convoys with marine escorts. No damned way.
Merikur carved out a place for himself just inside the edge of the jungle and sat down to think. His problems were far from over. According to his AID, both the Haiken Maru and rebels used the road. The Haiken Maru during the day, when they stood a better chance against attack, and the rebels at night, when they were less likely to be detected.
The rebels were clearly his enemies, but since the Haiken Maru could have sabotaged his aircar, he couldn’t assume they were friends. That ruled out anything like stepping out onto the road and flagging down the next vehicle. “I say, old chap, how ’bout a lift to town?”
Merikur smiled at the thought. No, it would have to be something unexpected, something sneaky. The only problem was he couldn’t think of anything unexpected or sneaky.
Morning slipped into afternoon as he waited and tried to come up with a plan. As the hours passed, he thought up all sorts of possibilities. He could use a power cutter to fall a huge tree across the road. Then when a vehicle was forced to stop, he could use a repulsor rifle to pick off the machine’s occupants as they stepped out to investigate.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have a power cutter or a repulsor; and even if he did, the tree would stop only wheeled traffic. Ground-effect vehicles would go up and over.
Of course, he could use his AID to contact base, but the reasons to avoid that were as good as they had been when his car went down. He was still sitting, munching on a ration bar, when the first vehicle went by.
It was headed east, the opposite direction from where he wanted to go, and was buttoned up tight. Thick armor protected both sides, a wire cutter was welded to the front bumper, and the vehicle bristled with auto repulsors.
There was a trailer hooked on behind which was loaded with boxes of something and covered with a tarp. Both vehicles were of Pact manufacture but there was no way to tell who was at the wheel. The rebels had captured plenty of Haiken Maru equipment. Not an easy nut to crack even with a squad of marines.
“Give up?” It was his AID.
“Yeah,” Merikur replied sourly. “I give up. So smart ass, what’s the answer?”
“I wondered if you’d ever ask,” the AID replied smugly. “The answer is to wait for a west-bound vehicle, find a place where it has to slow down, and climb aboard. As you do, I’ll transmit something unintelligible to their comset, and divert their attention.”
Merikur considered his AID’s proposal as he chewed the last mouthful of ration bar. It sure beat the hell out of sitting on his ass in the jungle. Merikur tucked the ration bar wrapper into his pack, squirmed into the shoulder straps, and stood. “Looks like you’re finally earning your keep,” he said looking up and down the road. “I’ll head west looking for a good spot while you make sure no one catches me in the open.”
“Yes, Sir, Your generalship, Sir. Don’t worry about a thing.”
There was a spring in Merikur’s step as he set out. He imagined himself finding the perfect spot just around the next bend. Hours later, he’d gone around lots of bends without finding the right spot.
Someone had done a nice job of laying the road out. Still, there were bound to be a few bad spots and he’d find them. In the meantime, it was getting dark and he was tired.
Retreating into the jungle, he found a protected hollow, pulled the tab on the last of his dinners, and waited for it to heat up. Stew again. Not as good as the ration bars, but a lot better than nothing.
He had just finished when the AID spoke in his ear. “Something coming . . . a lot of something . . . a convoy, from the sound of it.”
A few seconds later and Merikur, too, could hear the rumble of powerful engines and the squeal of metal on ungreased metal. Tracks then, a heavy crawler pulling ore cars towards Port City. They sure had guts running a convoy at night. They’d be damned lucky if the rebels didn’t cut them up.
Merikur squirmed his way forward into a place where he could watch. The last of the light was fading fast, but he could still see the big square-nosed tractor as it rounded the bend. There was a train of open ore cars behind. In spite of the heat, all the hatches were closed.
He could hear loud music with a pounding beat coming from inside the tractor. After all, noise had kept the boogey man away for thousands of years, maybe it would work one more time. Indicator lights glowed their various colors and the air smelled of stale sweat. The crew weren’t friends, so there wasn’t much conversation.
Their sensors probed the darkness while their repulsors swung back and forth in sweaty hands. If they made it, each would collect a fat night-run bonus. If they didn’t, Treeling would shake his head sadly and delete the shipment from his desk comp.
Outside, Merikur froze and prayed his infrared signature would pass as a warm rock. The sound of the tractor’s engine and the squeal of its tracks became a roar as the train passed by him. Damn. An opportunity missed. Well, at least the road was well-traveled. Tomorrow he’d find the perfect spot.
###
He was up early the next morning, walking west with the sun behind him. It threw a long shadow up the road. He hadn’t gone very far at all when the AID yelled in his ear. “Aircraft! Hit the deck!”
Merikur did as he was told, diving for the ditch at the side of the road. Seconds later, the aircar screamed over and buffeted him with its slipstream. He rolled over on his back as it roared away and swore. It was a marine scout car!
“It’s one of ours,” he said. “Try and reach it!”
“I’m trying,” the AID replied, “but our ships are using some sort of a computer-controlled jamming program. Designated frequencies open up on a computer-controlled rotating basis and I can’t keep up with them.”
Merikur stood and dusted himself off. “Damn.”
There was silence for a moment and then the AID said, “I’m sorry. Maybe the pilot would have seen you if only I hadn’t told you to hit the deck.” The AID actually sounded contrite.
“It’s OK,” Merikur replied. “We all make mistakes.” He stepped onto the road and headed west.
It was ten minutes before the AID spoke again. “If I feel pleasure when I’m right, then maybe I feel pain when I’m wrong.”
“Seems logical,” Merikur agreed. “How do you feel right now?”
“Pretty bad.”
“Join the club. It’s all part of being sentient.”
“Am I? Sentient, I mean?”
Merikur thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know what the scientific types would say, but it seems to me that you think, therefore, you are.”
“Descartes.”
“You’ve got it, Pal.”
There was silence for a moment and then the AID spoke once more. “Thanks, Anson.”
“No problem. Besides, maybe they’d have blown me in half before they got around to checking my ID.”
###
Half an hour later, Merikur found the perfect location. The road had started up towards the crest of a low hill. He chose that point to roll a number of largish rocks onto the road. The vehicles would simply surmount them or push them aside, but it would take a moment and
that would be his chance. The exact placement of the rocks was dictated by a fortuitous branch overhanging the road that was just wide enough for Merikur to lie on. They might spot him, but his chances were pretty good if he limited his ambition to an ore car. Passenger vehicles obviously wouldn’t work; people tend to notice when generals land in their backseats out of nowhere.
After positioning himself on his strategic branch, there was nothing to do but wait. Four hours later, his throat was parched, his muscles were stiff, and the back of his neck was sunburned. Gritting his teeth, Merikur took a break. After stretching himself, rubbing some ointment on his neck, and sipping some purified water, he felt better. He took his place once again. The sun hammered him as the minutes slipped slowly by. Eventually, he fell into an uneasy sleep counting on the AID to awaken him if something came his way.
It did. “Company’s coming, Sleepy Head.”
Merikur’s eyes snapped open. A few moments later, he heard the rumble of powerful engines and felt the branch vibrate. Still, it seemed like an eternity before the huge, blunt-nosed tractor rolled beneath him, enveloped in a great cloud of dust.
There were six ore cars. He’d try for the last of them.
Just as he’d hoped, the boulders momentarily slowed the train. He watched as the fourth car, then the fifth car, and finally the sixth rolled under his position.
Merikur took a deep breath and rolled off the branch. At that same instant, his AID flooded the crawler’s radios and intercom with high-gain electronic gabble.
Both the driver and the guards were too busy grabbing for earplugs to notice a body fall into the last ore car with a puff of dust.
The ten-foot fall knocked the wind out of Merikur’s lungs and left him gasping for breath. Then he started to sneeze. The noise concerned him at first, but after he managed to bring the sneezing under control, he realized the tractor was so loud he could sing “All Hail the Pact” without being heard. All he had to do was keep his head down and hope they didn’t conduct routine inspections of each car. Given the possibility that rebels were lurking behind every bush, he didn’t think they would.
Satisfied that he was temporarily safe, Merikur scooped out a shallow place in the loose ore, lay back and watched the sky. Clouds formed fantastic shapes as they marched across the sky. On one occasion, he saw a lazy contrail arc its way towards the east as an LCS passed high above. It served to remind him of all the things he should be doing but wasn’t.
He mentally urged the tractor to greater speed and as he did, it topped a hill and started down the long slope to Port City.
###
Major Fouts was in a bad spot. Colonel Henderson, in charge of Merikur’s marine component, had taken a sniper’s round between the eyes. That left Fouts in command, faced with an endless list of military problems.
Which were nothing, however, compared to the political problem created by Merikur’s disappearance. He’d been gone five days now and was probably dead. By all rights, she should call off the search and carry on as best she could.
But how to tell the general’s wife? Especially when she wouldn’t listen? Bethany Windsor-Merikur was sitting opposite Fouts skimming the day’s intelligence summaries for signs that her husband was still alive, just as she’d done for days. Since the day of Merikur’s disappearance, in fact.
Over everyone’s objections, the general’s wife had commandeered an LCS to conduct her own air search. Failing in that, she’d moved into HQ and transformed Fout’s life into a living hell. The continuation of the search was moving from pointless to absurd, but who was going to tell the lady to sit down and shut up?
Certainly not a major like Fouts, who had every intention of making colonel someday.
Thunder crashed outside the troop carrier. Rain began to fall, a few heavy drops followed by a roar beating the roof in a quick rhythm.
Fouts cleared her throat.
Bethany looked up, still beautiful, but haggard in the glare of the lumlights, her eyes rimmed with red and her skin an unhealthy gray. She’d been sleeping less than the three or four hours a day.
She met Fouts’ gaze with an intensity that froze the marine’s words in her throat. “I know what you’re going to say, Major, but my husband is alive.”
There was a sudden gabble of voices just outside and the scrape of boots on metal steps. Fouts turned and gaped at the apparition which filled the hatch.
General Merikur.
Dirty, wet, and a few pounds lighter, but the general nonetheless.
He grinned. “Major, I’d listen to what my wife has to say if I were you. She tells me she’s always right.”
Chapter 9
Merikur looked around as people filed in and found seats. The bunker was quite posh as such things go, boasting a board floor, folding chairs, and a conference table made of ammo cases. The table was covered with maps, printouts, used meal paks, and stray pieces of clothing.
A portable com board and tac tank combination took up the far wall, while the others were of raw earth covered with plastic. Cables snaked this way and that and a haze of blue smoke misted the air. All of Merikur’s key people were present including Major Fouts, five or six other senior officers, Senda, Administrator Nugumbe, and Bethany.
Beth had steadfastly refused to return to orbit— and in all truth, he didn’t want her to go. A marine patrol had stopped the ore train about twenty miles outside Port City for a routine contraband inspection. Instead of contraband, they found one tired general.
From there, it was a short ride to the firebase and his personal troop carrier. The sound of Bethany’s voice as she told Fouts he was alive and the look on her face as he stepped through the hatch, were memories he’d always cherish. Minutes later, she’d been coldly furious in reaction to the days of fear he’d put her through . . . but even that meant she cared.
There was a great deal Merikur wanted to talk to her about, but as usual, their personal relationship was taking a backseat to military and political necessity.
Everyone was seated and looking expectantly in his direction. Merikur cleared his throat. “Welcome, everyone. I understand there’s coffee and carbos on the way. When they come, please help yourselves. First let me apologize for causing you so much trouble. I know many of you were involved in the search.” Merikur looked at Bethany as he spoke. She smiled.
There were general sounds of dissent as people said things like, “It was no trouble at all,” and “Good to have you back, Sir.”
Merikur smiled. “Thanks, but let’s cut the bull. I screwed up. I promise I won’t commit that particular screw-up again. As for other possible screw-ups, well, you’ll just have to take your chances.”
There was general laughter, with perhaps a twinge of relief in some voices.
“Now, as most of you know, I’m not the only one who’s spent the last few days in the jungle. Eitor Senda, Governor Windsor’s chief political advisor, and mine as well, has just returned from parts unknown. I think you’ll be interested in what he has to say. Eitor?”
Senda stood and made his way to the front of the room. “Thank you, General. Although it’s true that I spent a few days in the jungle . . . I suspect they were much more pleasant than yours. I would like to join the rest of your staff in welcoming you back.”
There was general applause. When it died down, Senda spoke. His face was quite serious and Merikur could see tension in the set of his shoulders. “I am sorry to say that the news I bring is . . . not good. Taking advantage of an intelligence network created by associates of mine on Cernia, I have made contact with some of the rebel leaders. What they told me was quite disturbing.
“It is important to understand that while Jomu is the overall rebel leader, there are seven Cernian subleaders, plus two human leaders as well. And while Jomu favors Cernian independence and control of Teller, some of his subleaders feel his ambitions are unrealistic. They would prefer membership in the Pact as full and equal partners.”
Senda paused and looked ar
ound the room. “Governor Windsor agrees with them, and so do I. In spite of my presence here, I, too, am a loyal Cernian. As such, I know the price of Cernian independence is war, a war Cernia could not survive. And there are other things at stake. We came here to translate the governor’s belief in sentient equality into reality. Then, with Teller as an example, perhaps even greater achievements would be possible.”
The weight of Senda’s shame dragged his eyes to his feet and his voice dropped to a monotone. “Now all of that is threatened. I thought the Haiken Maru and its policies of alien exploitation would be our biggest problem. Being as ethnocentric as any human, I assumed Cernians were operating on a higher moral plane.”
Senda paused. When he continued, there was tremendous sadness in his voice. “And then I learned the Cernian War Faction has joined forces with the Haiken Maru to take over Teller.”
There was an audible gasp as people looked at each other in stunned amazement. Merikur knew how they felt. Senda had explained it to him hours before and he still couldn’t believe it. Why would Cernia join forces with the hated Haiken Maru? And for that matter, why would the Haiken Maru cooperate with Cernia? He listened along with everyone else as the alien looked up and resumed his explanation.
“I see you are surprised. Well, so was I. But surprising though it is, this alliance makes sense when you realize that our two races have as many similarities as differences. For example, both the human and Cernian races are quite pragmatic. Bigotry is part of Haiken Maru corporate culture. But even more important is the concept of profit and when faced with continued financial loss, the company took the most profitable way out, even if that meant dealing with the trolls.”
Heads nodded around the table. That was Haiken Maru, all right.