The Death of Wisdom

by Paul Brunette

  "Can you project a topographic map of his radio location?"

  "Yes."

  The map that Dina brought up was in high resolution, a satellite zoom of 100 square kilometers in the rugged heart of the larva range, overlaid with isometric altitude lines. To Drop Kick's eye it meant one thing; inaccessibility to local ground vehicles.

  "No jeep's going in there," he said.

  "Not if it doesn't want a busted suspension anyway," Coeur agreed. "Drop Kick, I think we've found a job for your sled."

  "I don't like it," V-Max said. "We can't hide here forever."

  "We don't have to hide forever," Zorn said. "Just until the SDBs withdraw from Ra."

  "And then what?"

  "And then we pick up our ground team and scoot,"

  "Amen to that. I've already had more of Ra than I can take."

  Zorn didn't comment on that. Reclining in the pilot's couch beside her navigator, she beheld a vista at once both comforting and constricting. The north pole of the gas giant Guldan IV, 10,000 kilometers below, glowed like a turquoise gem—concealing Vi Et Armis in its powerful magnetic field, but also a virtual prison while Ra's two SDBs were powering past toward their home base one orbit away.

  That uncongenial thought was foremost in Zorn's mind when a red light blinked on V-Max's comma panel.

  "Incoming communication," V-Max reported. "Sensor Drone I has a new contact 100 diameters from Ra."

  "A starship?"

  "Affirmative. She's sending transmissions on coded Coalition frequencies, but her transponder code is not in our fleet library."

  "Fikken," Zorn swore, pulling the data up on her own control panels. "What's the transmission delay on this data?"

  "Six hours."

  That, Zorn knew, was an inescapable effect of the drone's mission. Standing in close to Ra, the modified missile had to wait until the Hiver EMS satellite orbited to the planet's nightside before firing a burst transmission to distant Culdan IV.

  "Now this is damn strange," Zorn said, scrolling through the drone report. "According to this, it Was a far trader that jumped in, but there are no far traders left in the Coalition fleet."

  "Could be a regular freighter."

  "Using Coalition fleet codes? I don't think so."

  "What do you think?"

  "I think it's a Coalition Intelligence mission. That's consistent with our supply ship failing to arrive."

  "You know, skipper, our resupply might just've had an accident, or went yellow,"

  "I don't see it. Not when the alternative's a Guild extermination contract."

  "I see your point," V-Max said, "but there's still another problem we have to worry about. As long as this new ship and the SDBs are at Ra, we can't pull our people off that rock."

  "I'm aware of that,"

  "So what are we going to do? We don't have enough consumables to stay here more than a week."

  "If we're lucky," Zorn said, "things will still work out. The SDBs will go back to their far orbit stations, and that freighter will jump out quickly to spread the word about the virus. Then we just run in, grab our people at the rendezvous, and scoot."

  V-Max answered that wishful thinking with an incredulous glance.

  "Right," Zorn said. "We should be so lucky."

  "What will we do, then, if we can't get to the planet undetected? We sure can't let our ground team fall into Coalition hands, Even if they're not part of our regular crew, they could be captured and compelled to talk,"

  "V-Max, we'll do the same as we always do. Whatever it takes to get the job done."

  * * *

  Asp Alpha and Asp Beta reached Ra just four hours after Hornet, taking up defensive positions on either side of the planet. By that lime, Drop Kick's support sled had been unloaded from Hornet, and Coeur had devised an operational plan that she shared with Deadeye, master of Asp Alpha, orbiting above the western hemisphere.

  "What I'd like to do, Deadeye, is put Hornet on orbit watch here, so your two SDBs can return to the deep system patrol."

  "Do you think you'll be safe?" Deadeye asked. "If enemy agents are at large, they might have deployed from a warship in one of Ra's oceans, maybe in the eastern hemisphere."

  "That's a possibility," Coeur agreed, watching the burial party visible through Hornet's bridge window, "but we're not exactly unarmed. Besides, we're out on the frontier here, and it wouldn't do for an enemy force to slip into one of the far orbit gas giants while you were tied up here."

  "Roger that," Deadeye said, "though we will approach Ra periodically."

  "Deadeye," Coeur said, "take my word for it: if we spot anything hostile, you'll be the first to know."

  "Affirmative, Hornet. Asp Alpha, out."

  Gyro, Snapshot, Deep Six, and Crowbar, behind and next to Coeur, reserved comment until their captain removed her headset.

  "Do you think you'll be safe," Gyro asked, "here on the planet?"

  "I don't know," Coeur said, turning around in her pilot's chair. "Drop Kick says the front armor on his sled is six times thicker than the armor on Hornet."

  "What about the top, bottom, and sides?" Crowbar asked.

  "We'll make sure nobody shoots at us from those sides," Coeur said, eliciting a nervous chuckle from her mates.

  "Actually, the main reason I want the sled is because it's faster than an air raft and has much better sensors. So, is unloading of our cargo complete?"

  "Affirmative," Crowbar said. "We've put out the sled, two grav belts, a broomstick, a modular shelter with an air lock, and the five Hiver cargo modules. I'd have offloaded the air raft too, but you insisted that it stay on board."

  "As a lifeboat," Coeur reminded the engineer. "It wouldn't look too good if I turned the ship over to four rookie Arses and didn't give them a way to escape in an accident."

  "That's what I like about the skipper," Snapshot said. "Always positive."

  "Fear not," Deep Six said, "we shall look to the safety of the vessel."

  "Right," Gyro agreed. "And we'll keep our ears open in case you need us."

  Coeur nodded, rising to stand.

  "I'm sure you'll do fine, just as soon as you top off the fuel tanks at the starport, take up a position in low orbit and keep your eyes open for trouble."

  "Yes, sir ' the four Arses answered.

  And Coeur decided not to add, if scenario 61C comes up, try not to blow up the ship, "Good luck, people. The ship is yours."

  Not five minutes after Hornet roared back into the afternoon sky, Drop Kick found his AFV driver and took her aside for a sergeant major-to-corporal talk.

  "Mercy, you're gonna have to stay behind."

  "Yes, sir. May I ask why, sir?"

  "Red Sun's taking over as driver, corporal. As the senior Arse on site, that is her prerogative."

  "Is it also because she's a better driver, sir?"

  "Negative. We need Whiz Bang because he's our gunner, and Bonzo because he's our sensor tech, and there's no fifth couch."

  "Understood, sir."

  "What I do need," Drop Kick said, "is for you to glue yourself to the doctor and Scissor and keep them covered at all times. I don't need to remind you that you'll be the only Coalition Marine at this station and are personally responsible for the protection of our personnel here."

  "Sir, will I answer to Captain Pratt, sir?"

  "Only if his orders do not contradict the captain's or mine. Otherwise, you can direct him to the nearest flagpole and tell him where he can stick it."

  "Yes, sir. May I assume that applies to the relief column when it arrives as well, sir?"

  "You may, indeed, corporal. Carry on."

  Since Hornets ground crew could hardly spend days on end in bulky TL-12 vac suits, a six-ton modular shelter with an air lock was essential for their stay at Seabridge Nest. However, it gave no one a sense of security to leave it out on the tarmac with the rest of Hornets cargo modules, so Drop Kick suggested towing it behind the support sled to the MP building in the middle of the nest a kilome
ter away.

  This accepted suggestion gave Coeur her first practical experience driving the sled. Having flown many much more complex craft with HEPIaR thrust, Coeur was a quick study, but it still helped to have Mercy in the sensor tech's chair beside her—pointing out the fiddly handling qualities of the vehicle.

  "Watch the tail," Mercy cautioned, as they approached the MP hut after a 10-minute trek from the tarmac. "It'll want to fly up when you detach the tow cable."

  "All that weight in the front?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Is our stern clear?"

  "Oh yeah," Mercy reported, looking through passive EMS at the throng of security personnel following at a respectful distance. "I don't think they've ever seen anything like this."

  "Good. Cable away."

  Just as Mercy predicted, the lightly armored tail of the AFV swung up as the tow cable released, but it was nothing that Coeur and the two flight computers couldn't compensate for. A moment later the vehicle had safely landed on the ground, and MPs began to congregate around the modular shelter to assist Drop Kick and the other Marines in an inspection for exterior damage.

  Since her battle dress was a bit bulkier than Coeur's vac suit, Mercy let the captain climb out the top hull hatch first. Coeur then reached down to pull up the armored Marine, and they both jumped off the sloping bow together.

  "You're a good pilot," Mercy admitted. "I think you'll do fine."

  "Thank you, corporal."

  "Nice flying, Red Sun," Drop Kick said, coming over from the shelter with Bonzo and Whiz Bang. "Mercy, take your position in the hospital and keep a channel open for our report. We'll launch momentarily."

  "Sir," Mercy snapped, saluting and turning to march off to the hospital 100 meters away.

  "All right people," Coeur said to the other Marines. "Let's do it."

  With the benefit of TL-13 imaging software, both the turret and bow stations of the Phyrrus saw a high- resolution view of the forest canopy throughout the flight, not just the sensor operator. Thus, Coeur and Bonzo in the bow, and Drop Kick and Whiz Bang behind them in the turret, shared a common view of Black Water Slough, the brackish waterway at the southern limit of the Federal Larva Sanctuary, A kilometer away and 100 meters down, it looked like nothing so much as a winding, backed-up storm drain.

  "Steer port 325," Drop Kick said, "along the river,"

  "Roger that," Coeur said, following the order and executing the turn. Although Coeur was still in command of the overall mission, Drop Kick was certainly her most experienced ground tactics specialist and she resolved to let him command the AFV during routine maneuvers and combat.

  "And go NOE too. No need for anyone out there to see us before they have to,"

  Without the benefit of inertial compensation, Coeur and the tankers leaned hard to their right as she took them down at a sharp angle, throttling down to 170 kph to hurtle safely through the ravine at a height of 10 meters.

  "Range is 58 klicks," Drop Kick reported.

  "Hey, look," Bonzo said, placing a target designator box over a cluster of tiny starfish forms a kilometer ahead at a bend in the river, "Larvae," Coeur said, watching the young Hivers scatter at the roar of her thrusters. 'That kind of muck's their preferred environment."

  "You mean Scissor grew up in a place like this?" Bonzo asked.

  "If he was lucky, yeah. Hivers are scavengers, mostly."

  "Explains the lack of hunting instinct," Whiz Bang offered from the turret, where he scanned ahead through the gunsight of his 12-megajoule plasma gun.

  "Cut the chatter, people," Drop Kick said. "We may be in hostile country."

  That sullen estimation quelled further comment until the sled was a scant five minutes from George's camp. It was at that point, turning through another bend in the river, that the passive EMS caught a glimpse of something huge, black, and Hiveroid, dashing out of the river.

  "What the hell was that?" Whiz Bang exclaimed.

  "Razorclaw," Coeur said, sparing a glance at the blurry image captured by Bonzo. 'Two hundred-kilogram predator native to Guaran. Hivers like to seed their colonies with native forms like that."

  "jeez," Bonzo said, "isn't that kinda dangerous?"

  "From what I've read," Coeur said, "they prefer larvae."

  "Although I'm sure they'd make an exception in your case," Whiz Bang told Bonzo.

  "Target in two," Drop Kick announced. "Red Sun, bring us to two-zero kph while I zero the satellite fix,"

  Coeur complied, coincidentally letting the sled slip closer to the rotting detritus below.

  "Got it. Steer right 093."

  "Roger that."

  Executing the course required Coeur to climb back above the trees, a maneuver that revealed their position in the midst of a trackless wilderness. Taking her cue from Bonzo, Coeur switched her passive EMS viewscreen to a 360-degree projection and noted that Seabridge Nest had long since passed beneath the horizon to the south.

  Since a radio link remained in place between the Hiver satellite and George's camp, it was a simple matter for the sled to steer toward the latter point automatically, climbing a low hill at treetop height and minimal speed. Coeur only took back active control for the last 500 meters, when It became clear that the camp must be down at the bottom of a cleft in the west face of the hill.

  "No human contacts," Bonzo reported, "no heat, no electromagnetic. Just the beacon."

  "All right," Drop Kick said. 'Take us in nice and easy."

  The camp, after so much tension on approach, was anticlimax. Just a portable shelter, scattered supplies, and a satellite uplink dish. The heat signature of a Hiver— either alive or decomposing—was entirely absent.

  "See a safe spot to land?" Drop Kick asked.

  "Not in the cleft, no. How about lower down?"

  "Fine, just a pick spot where the gun can cover the camp."

  That Coeur could manage, to Whiz Bang's satisfaction.

  "Now keep us covered," Drop Kick said, grabbing his gauss rifle and popping the turret hatch. "Bonzo, you're with me."

  Little more was found on foot than they could see from the air, with one exception.

  "Footprints," Bonzo announced, "all around the edge of the cleft."

  "Can you tell which ones are freshest?" Coeur sent back.

  Answering that took Drop Kick and Whiz Bang several minutes of careful scrutiny. Fortunately, it was the just the sort of work Marines were expected to be proficient at.

  'These," Drop Kick said finally, pointing out the direction with a straight-arm gesture toward the river. "East by northeast."

  "Lake Kolima's that way," Bonzo noted, "The eastern edge of the sanctuary."

  "All right guys," Coeur said, "saddle up and we'll check it out."

  The lead proved to be dead-on. Not 10 minutes later they found the desiccated corpse of a Hiver near theshore of Lake Kolima, whose western bank lay well below the horizon. This time Coeur sat her vehicle down just meters from the objective, settling a half a meter Into the peaty earth at the edge of the water.

  "Must've been dead at least a week," Bonzo reported, joining Drop Kick for a close inspection of the body, "But his gear's intact. Looks like a Hiver laser pistol, a personal computer, and some kind of sample case."

  "Uh-oh," Drop Kick suddenly announced, "What's up?" Coeur asked from inside the AFV.

  "Bootprints," Drop Kick explained. "Two pairs, fairly fresh, right around the body."

  "They headed anywhere in particular?"

  "Looks like a lot of prints, now that I look closely. The human prints head back into the trees in a different direction from the way the Hiver came."

  "Good work, Drop Kick," Coeur said, "and Bonzo. Take some shots of the body with your holovid, then put the body and gear in the cargo bay and scout around to see if you can follow those prints."

  "Roger that," Drop Kick replied. "Bonzo, you're the sensor tech, you take the pictures."

  "Yes, sir."

  Some minutes later, the body was thoroug
hly photographed in situ, then transferred to the rear of the AFV, whereupon Drop Kick and Bonzo sallied into the forest near the river's edge to make their second great discovery of the day.

  "Looks like there was a campsite out here," Drop Kick sent over his radio, "about a hundred meters from the lake. All the bootprints end up in this area."

  "Funny thing, though," Bonzo added. "Looks like all the prints just start in the middle of this clearing, then wander off toward the lake. With the soft ground around here, there should be prints showing them walking up to this place."

  "Unless they didn't walk," Coeur commented, from the AFV.

  "Well, they had to start somewhere," Whiz Bang said.

  "They did," Drop Kick said ominously. "The feet dig Into the dirt at one point like they fell from a height—like they were flying grav belts and landed suddenly."

  "Right," Bonzo said, "and their heels are strange, too, with the weight set back like they were carrying a load on their backs. I'd have to agree with the sergeant major."

  "Grav belts?" Whiz Bang asked. "Who uses grav belts around here?"

  "People who aren't local," Coeur said. "Better get some shots of those prints, too. Good work, guys."

  "A sensor drone?" Coeur asked.

  "Yes, sir," Mercy reported, as the skipper and her three tankers debarked from the grounded Phyrrus. 'The report came into Physic's lab just as you were landing. Apparently, someone parked this drone way out in an irregular orbit so no one would notice it, only Deep Six noticed it, and Gyro shot it down,"

  "Wow," Bonzo said, "and here we thought we'd found the big proof of offworld interference."

  "It's all circumstantial," Coeur said, "until Physic can tell us more about the virus. Anyway, what time is it? 1500 hours?"

  "1515 hours," Whiz Bang said, "yes, sir."

  "And the relief column'll get here around 1800. All right, here's the plan. Bonzo and Whiz Bang, see to it our cargo gets to the proper laboratories for study. Drop Kick, find us a place to have our evening briefing. Mercy, you're with me."

  Mercy's job turned out to be the easiest: returning to the lab where Physic, Scissor, Dina, and Florence were working, and putting a signal through to Hornet.

  "Manipulator Dina," Mercy explained, "programmed her satellite relay station here to give us a direct link to the ship."