In the instant she stepped outside the car she caught, in the corner of her eye, movement in the bushes along the stream bank. She drew her weapon and fired. There was a scream. She went to one knee and began firing methodically at multiple targets emerging from along the stream bank. She fired her magazine empty and reloaded without even realizing she was doing it. She heard a horrible scream from somewhere and the reports of other weapons being fired. She could clearly hear liquid splashing across the hood of the car, hear the metal sizzling and smell the acrid odor of burning paint. Someone belly-flopped onto the pavement beside her. It was Colonel Raggel. “Holy shit!” he said, firing at targets advancing at them from the opposite side of the bridge. “They’re everywhere!”
Puella saw her first Skink close up, its convex face and small size. It was coming straight at her out of the bushes along the water’s edge, something like a fire hose clutched in its hands. Maybe all she really saw was a gray shape; maybe the clear images were just what she remembered from training classes and she only thought she could see the thing’s face clearly in the darkness, but she was sure it was a Skink. She continued firing methodically but she knew that if the reaction force didn’t get there soon…
Starbell’s Coffee Shop, although it was right across the street from the Shamhat Building, had somehow escaped significant damage during the air raid. The front window had been smashed by a fragment of concrete from the exploding penthouse, but that was all, and it had been replaced by a piece of plywood until a glazier could be found to make the necessary repairs. Needless to say, glaziers, masons, all kinds of craftsmen were overworked just then at Sky City.
The few times Puella and Billy Oakley had found time to visit, the house coffee and the pastries were excellent. The latter were baked fresh each morning in the back of the shop. But they had not found much time to relax since the Seventh MPs had established themselves in Sky City, especially since Puella had spent some time in the hospital recovering from the wounds she’d sustained in the ambush at Townsend Bridge.
“Well, look at it this way, kid,” Oakley was saying, regarding Puella over the rim of a steaming coffee cup. “You’ve got a wound badge to add to your collection of gongs. That’ll give you five points on the civil service examination if you should ever decide to become a civil serpent. Bet yer growing hash marks, like an old soldier.”
“Yeah.” She flexed her right arm. It was almost back to normal where several drops of Skink acid had burned through the flesh. Colonel Raggel, who had come out of the fight unscathed, had dug them out with a knife before they burned all the way through her arm, and had done it under fire. But poor Lieutenant Bell, she’d caught a stream of acid right in her face and would need extensive surgery to repair what had been burned away. One good thing, if there was any, was that evidently the acids used by the Skink infiltrators had not been as potent as that fired from their aircraft. Puella had missed the air raid since she’d been reposing peacefully in a stasis unit in orbit when that occurred.
“And I wouldn’t doubt you’ll get an oak-leaf cluster to that Bronze Star medal of yours for what you did on Townsend Bridge that night. Guess my marksmanship training came in handy.” He grinned.
“I hardly remember any of it, Billy. I just kept shooting at the targets, you know? Then that gun car from the reaction force showed up.” She shrugged and sipped her coffee. “And that’s the last I remember. Oh, I remember Colonel Raggers digging that shit out of my arm all right.” Her face reddened. “But I switched hands and fired left-handed I was so intent on gettin’ more Skinks before they got me. I was sure we were being overrun. But I don’t even want to remember that much.”
Oakley reached across the table and took her hand in his. “You did good, Annie. You’ve turned into one damned fine soldier.”
Puella smiled. “Well, you know, I guess I found a home in the service, now, the colonel, Top, you…” Her face reddened again. Oakley squeezed her hand; he was slightly amused at how readily she showed her emotions. “My folks sorta threw me out when I said I was gonna join the army, you know? They wanted me to marry some asshole, have a batch of grandkids, the whole nine yards. I thought I was pretty hot shit when I got assigned to the Seventh MPs with their badass reputation. Then when the Marines captured me, I saw what a real army was like.”
“How well I remember! I also remember that bet with the slimies, you and that fucking first sergeant of yours. Colonel Raggel canned his ass mighty quick.”
“Well, he wasn’t that bad, Billy, and we was both pretty drunk that night.”
“But now you’ve found a home in the army.”
“Well, not right away, not until after I come to Arsenault with the battalion, got to work for the colonel, met General Aguinaldo, uh, met you.” She shrugged again.
“And now you’re gonna leave us?”
“I been thinkin’ ’bout that.”
“I’ll tell you what, Annie. I’m gonna miss ya, miss you a lot.” He said that with feeling and now it was his face that flushed. “Yeah, I always thought you were a, well, a jerk, an airhead out of her depth, the kind of person the old Seventh MPs attracted like shit attracts flies, the kind of soldier who came to the Seventh because nobody else would take them. The only person I ever respected was Steiner, and I had my training schedules to keep me from thinkin’ too much why they’d sent me to the Seventh MPs. But damn, when you sobered up and I got to know you better”—he gestured helplessly with one hand—“you sorta grew on me, know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah.”
“And I’ll miss you when all this is over.”
“Yeah.” She stuffed the remains of a doughnut into her mouth and said around it, “Let’s go see the colonel.”
“Yeah. Let’s.” They got up from the table.
“I want to see the general,” Smelt Miner demanded.
“Well, it might be a long wait, sir,” Ensign Jak Daly replied. He’d answered for the receptionist, a young corporal who obviously did not know how to handle the obstreperous Miner. Daly had just come out of the general’s office after making a report on the attempted in-filtration of Sky City by a Skink reconnaissance force and had been chatting up the pretty corporal when Miner barged into the anteroom.
“Ah, yes, Ensign Daly, isn’t it?” Miner asked. Somehow he didn’t look quite like the blustering executive Daly had come to know since his arrival on Haulover. He seemed more restrained. “Uh, I’ll wait.” Well, Daly thought, that’s different!
“May we tell him what this is about, Mr. Miner?” Daly asked.
“Yes, I wish a few moments of his time. I, uh, want to discuss something with him in private, Ensign.” Miner appeared embarrassed as he spoke.
There was something in Miner’s attitude that registered with Daly. The Miner he’d come to know would’ve been demanding, pounding on the desk, to get into Carano’s presence. But this version just sat quietly and said he’d wait?
“What, Mr. Miner? What do you wish to talk to him about? I can’t get you in there, as busy as he is right now, without telling him what it is you want.”
Miner cleared his throat. “Well, I want to—I—I want to offer him my—my cooperation.” The embarrassment in Miner’s voice was evident.
Daly thought for a moment and then said, “Come on, Mr. Miner, let’s go see the general.”
“Mr. Miner, I’m very busy,” General Carano said, lowering his feet to the floor, taking the cigar out of his mouth, and looking daggers at Daly for having interrupted him, especially by bringing the feather merchant unannounced into his sanctum. Daly only nodded, indicating the general should let Miner speak. “Well, what is it, goddammit?”
“General, I apologize to you, Ensign Daly, everyone, for being an asshole.”
Carano’s mouth fell open with surprise. From where he was standing Daly winked and let one side of his mouth curl in a smile. He knew there was something odd about the old boy this morning.
“You what?”
“Apologi
ze, General. I apologize and promise to cooperate fully with your officers from now on.”
General Carano stood up. “Well. Miner, you were injured in the air raid, weren’t you?”
“Not seriously, a few bumps and scratches, but my wife was killed. So was my secretary, poor kid. She was engaged to be married.” He paused to catch his breath. “So, I know this is all for real now. Your measures were necessary. We have to fight these bastards and I want to do everything I can to help you. And that was brilliant of you, sir, to build those revetments for the Marines.” He shook his head in admiration. “Saved the day after the navy screwed up like that, leaving all their planes out in the open.”
Now it was Carano whose face flushed slightly, but without missing a beat, he came barreling around his desk and stuck out a hand. “I am deeply sorry for your loss, sir. Apology accepted. Forget everything after ‘hello.’ We start a new slate as of right now.”
Miner turned to Daly and held out his hand. “Same here,” Daly replied, shaking the hand.
“And now, would you join Ensign Daly and me in a cigar?”
“Thanks, General, some other time, when we have the time. But I really have to be off. I’m addressing my employees this morning, telling them it’s necessary we get behind you 150 percent. I really don’t think that’s necessary, not after the air raid, but I want them to know where I stand. You’ll have to excuse me, sir.” Miner turned at the door and faced the two. “But first thing after I leave here is, I’m going to see your provost marshal, Colonel Raggel, and give him my apology, too.”
“Mary Baker Eddy’s dried-up old dugs,” Colonel Raggel exclaimed. “This has been a morning of surprises! Did you know old Smelt Miner was just in here, apologizing for the way he’s acted, and promising me his full support? He even showed up in General Carano’s headquarters and apologized to him! We may just win this war if this shit keeps up. And now you two—”
“I’ll be dipped in shit!” Sergeant Major Steiner exclaimed, shifting an unlit cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other.
“Well, sorry, sir, but we figured you should know.”
“Yeah. Well, Sergeant Queege, you do know that your application for transfer to the Marines will be automatically canceled.”
“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” Steiner exclaimed.
“I know, sir,” Queege replied. “I hate the thought of reneging on General Aguinaldo, but I’ve thought this over for a long time now.”
“He’ll understand.”
“I’ll be jerked off at the next battalion formation!” Sergeant Major Steiner growled.
“Top!” Colonel Raggel turned to Steiner with a freezing look on his face. “Please!” But the old sergeant major only grinned broadly, chomping vigorously on his cigar. Raggel turned back to the two standing before him. “Sergeant Oakley, what do you say?”
“Best idea I ever heard.”
“Tell me, Sergeant Queege, why now?”
“Um, well, sir…” Queege paused, so long the silence almost became embarrassing. “Well, sir, it just is, you see,” she continued at last, “I—I don’t want to be one of those ‘nymphs on the shore’ no more.”
“All right,” Colonel Raggel sighed, as he stood up and put on his cover. “Sergeant Major!”
“Yes, sir!” Steiner removed the cigar from his mouth.
“Get my shotgun! We’re going over to see the chaplain and get these two fools married.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“…and so, Madam President, in view of your blatant disregard for the Constitution of this Confederation, your running a secret war on the world known as Kingdom, expending the precious lives and treasure of our people, which was the direct result of a devastating conflict on the world called Ravenette, which you have promised to rebuild but so far have done nothing substantial toward fulfilling that promise, in view of these and your many other horrendous missteps, in view of your efforts to divert attention from your mistakes and malfeasance in office by creating a false hysteria over the so-called ‘threat’ posed by these alien entities hardly anyone but your minions have ever seen, would you please tell the people of this Confederation why, then, they should return you to the office of the presidency?”
Haggel Kutmoi had never made a finer speech. The applause echoed down the light-years, but there, in the Great Hall of the Confederation Congress, where the final presidential debate was taking place, it shook the rafters. Delegates and viewers began to chant “Haggel! Haggel! Haggel!” over and over again. It was the wrap-up of the long series of contentious debates, the concluding broadside, and it had been delivered in classical oratorical style. Kutmoi bowed toward Chang-Sturdevant, faced the audience, and raised his arms in victory. Even members of Chang-Sturdevant’s own party joined in the applause. It was a moment of pure elation for Kutmoi, who saw an electoral landslide coming his way. He’d had “the old bitch,” as he called the President in private, on the defense the whole time and now he had her on the ropes.
Chang-Sturdevant stood bracing herself against the podium, her face calm but haggard, waiting for the commotion to subside so she could speak. A strand of hair had somehow come loose from her coiffure and hung down one side of her face and a small rivulet of perspiration had started creeping down the other. It was fortunate she did not use makeup very heavily or it would have started running in the heat under the hot lights—and in the crushing verbal blows of Kutmoi’s concluding remarks. Out of the corner of her eye she glanced over at him as he stood there, face flushed with victory, arms raised over his head, a grin splitting his face almost from ear to ear, and saw her defeat writ large in the ballot boxes.
The debate monitor, newscaster Dean Hollowhed, asked for order but the applause, chanting, shouting, and stomping continued for some time. Finally the hall grew quiet through sheer exhaustion. Hollowhed turned to the President and announced gravely, “Madam President, you have two minutes to respond.”
Chang-Sturdevant stood there silently for a full ten seconds before saying anything. “When I first ran for this office I thought it was the noblest thing I’d ever done,” she began. “Now I wish only to conclude the business I’ve begun and yes, leave the agony of this office behind me. Yes, I have made mistakes—”
This was met with a resounding chorus of boos from the chamber and shouts of “You bet you have!” and “Quit now, before we kick you out!”
“I have made mistakes,” she repeated. “They are on my head and mine alone! Anyone who holds this office will make them. But I tell you this now, as long as I wear the mantle of this presidency, I shall never let my personal fate obscure my duty in the face of the grave and imminent threat to our species—”
“Yeah, yeah,” people shouted, “we’ve heard all that before!”
“—that is now upon us, that is now upon us, to obscure my duty to fight this menace—”
At this point the audience went wild with shouts of derision and calls for Chang-Sturdevant to step down from the podium. The roar washed over her as she stood there and she knew that she had just lost the debate, that she had just delivered the worst speech of her career. Well, okay, she thought, if I’m going to go down, I’m going down in flames. She nodded calmly at Hollowhed, who called again for order. The clock on her two minutes had stopped so she still had time to finish what she’d now determined to say. She held out her arms and shouted, “Let me speak! Let me speak!” but this time there was no hesitation in her words, only calm resolution. Chang-Sturdevant smiled and brushed the errant strand of hair away from her face. She stood there patiently and gradually quiet was restored throughout the Great Hall.
“Anyone among you who thinks that the war now being waged on the world known as Haulover is a subterfuge I have cooked up to divert attention from my mistakes, anyone who does not think the invasion of Human Space by the aliens we call Skinks is not the gravest threat to the existence of humanity in all of its history, anyone, my friends, who is not willing to stand up and fight these thin
gs with every weapon at his disposal, that person is either a goddamned fool or a goddamned traitor!” She turned and faced Haggel Kutmoi, extending a rigid forefinger directly at him and said, in a calm, deliberate tone of voice, “And the best I can say about you, Senator, is that you are a goddamned fool.”
The Great Hall erupted into pandemonium.
Sanguinious Cheatham, Haggel Kutmoi’s campaign manager, gave the senator a hearty thump on the back. “Brilliant! You’ve got her! You destroyed her! The old hag is in your bag and so is the fucking election!” Kutmoi had never seen Cheatham so elated, probably because he realized now that his appointment to the Supreme Court, along with Chang-Sturdevant and the election, was also in the bag.
Kutmoi mopped the perspiration off his face. Well, he had delivered the coup de grâce to the old bitch, that’s for sure. “But damn, that last remark, calling me a goddamned…” He shook his head. “It was like someone walked over my grave.”
Cheatham shook his head vigorously and waved a forefinger in front of Kutmoi’s nose. “No, my dear Mr. President-elect, no, no, no! That was the worst, positively the worst thing she could have done! No politician in history who used the Lord’s name in vain in a speech has ever survived and the old broad did it three times in two sentences! Delightful!” he chortled.
“Well…” Kutmoi agreed reluctantly.
“Cheer up, old man, cheer up! Your performance out there was spectacular tonight. We’re on our way to the top!”
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing, Sanguinious, we’d better make sure our skirts are clean or—”
Cheatham waved his hand dismissively. “Posh! Don’t worry. Sure,” he said with a shrug, “we’ve all had to cut a few corners in our time, but let me tell you, old boy, after her demonstration out there tonight, even if she could prove you’d committed murder and incest, and she can’t, you’d still be untouchable after tonight.” He laughed. “The public would see that as a mere peccadillo compared to her stumbling performance.”
David Sherman & Dan Cragg - [Starfist 13] Page 25