The Death of Wisdom

by Paul Brunette

  'That's quite a conspiracy you're suggesting."

  "Red Sun, don't you understand what I'm saying? Maybe if I hadn't let August in that night, these Hivers wouldn't be dead! Maybe he had to know we couldn't cure the disease before he could release the virus!"

  "Physic," Coeur said, grabbing the doctor by her vac suit's puffy shoulders, "get a hold of yourself. You did not kill these Hivers."

  "Good Gaia, Red Sun, do you know how many died today? 431 At this rate, they'll all be dead inside a week."

  "Is there anything you can do to help them?"

  "Maybe, but you'll have to sell the governor on it. Since the disease is probably spread by contact, it might help if we could spread the Hivers without symptoms around to other locations."

  "I suppose the governor's opposed to that," Coeur mused, letting go of Physic. "Well, he should still be in his office at this hour I'll see if I can make him change his mind."

  "Wait a minute, Red Sun."

  "Yes?"

  "Red, do you think it might be better to send Hornet back to warn the rest of the Coalition?"

  "Frankly," Coeur admitted, "I don't know. Do you think it would stop the spread of infection along the path of that Hiver freighter?"

  "I doubt it. That was a jump-4 vessel. I'm just— worried."

  "About the Hivers?"

  "Actually," Physic said, "about you. I imagine I'll lose my commission for my part in this. I just wouldn't want you to get in trouble too."

  Coeur shook her head.

  "Physic, you're not going to lose your commission, but you should get some rest. Go on, so you can get up early with the rest of us."

  "Okay," Physic said resignedly.

  Then, a positive thought brightened the expression on her face.

  "You know, skipper, there might just be a way out of this—if you can find the people who distributed the virus, they might already have an effective vaccine. I'm no Slack War historian, but I do know it was common for C8W researchers to develop vaccines to their agents—just in case they ever bombed a friendly population by accident."

  "Kind of a long shot," Coeur said, "but I'll keep it in mind. Now go on. I'll follow you after after I talk to the governor and check in with Gyro."

  "Good news," Gyro told Crowbar, as she came back into Hornefs galley from the bridge. "The skipper's talked the governor into distributing healthy Hivers around his planet's army bases."

  Crowbar looked up from the satellite images he'd been examining, projected on the screen of his personal computer, "Why is that good?"

  "Well, according to the skipper, Physic thinks it would increase the chance at least one uninfected group would survive. I suppose it would also diminish the chance anyone could destroy the nest with a nuke from orbit."

  "Somehow," Crowbar said, "with us, the EMS satellite, and Snapshot's drone in orbit, I don't think that's very likely."

  "Yeah, I suppose. Anyway, how're you making out with those scans?"

  "Gyro, have you ever tried studying every square meter of a planet before?"

  "The skipper didn't say you had to identify every anomaly, just evidence of high-technology power plants. Plus, she's narrowed down the search area: She thinks an enemy force could be above 65 north."

  "That does narrow things down," Crowbar agreed. "Have a look at this. It's an image we captured about four hours ago."

  Gyro maneuvered around the table to get a look at Crowbar's computer screen. Presently, it displayed a cloud-strewn stretch between the north coast of Seabridge Peninsula and Gypsy Island, "What's unusual there?" Gyro asked.

  "Maybe nothing," the engineer said, zooming in on a point midway across the ocean, "but check that out."

  "Looks like a boat, or a ship. They do have a lot of those down there."

  Crowbar rolled his eyes, forcing himself to remember that the XO hadn't the benefit of a prior tour.

  'That's not a boat, Gyro, that's a hovercraft. See the way the wake rides high off the water?"

  "All right," the gunner said, 'They have hovercraft on Ra, too."

  "Maybe. But look at the wave crests around the vehicle—that's a ship the size of a G-carrier trying to plow through three-meter swells and gale-force winds,"

  "I see your point. Where's it headed?"

  "It was headed toward Gypsy Island. Assuming she wasn't swamped, she might have reached it by now," "Mm.

  "it might be nothing. But then again..."

  "No' Gyro said, "you're right, it's strange. I'll check it out with Planetary Traffic Control. What's that latitude and longitude?"

  "Here, just take the computer," Crowbar said, standing. I'll go up to the bridge with you."

  Snapshot, who was manning the conn while Deep Six slept in his stateroom tank, noted Crowbar's appearance with surprise, "Well, Crowbar. What pries you away from the engines?"

  "Jealousy," the engineer said, admiring the panoramic view of Ra 27,000 kilometers below. "I don't have any windows where I work,"

  "Actually," Gyro said, "I've had him going over our sensor logs. That's why we're here; I want to check out a strange hovercraft."

  Crowbar smiled at the quaint description of his discovery, and sat in the chair at the rear of the bridge. Gyro meanwhile took the chair ordinarily pushed aside to make room for the rollerchair of Deep Six and slid it up to the navigator's station. She then sat down and activated their communications link to the capital of Ra.

  "Port Adrian Control, this is Hornet. Are you receiving?"

  "Roger, Hornet. Go ahead."

  "Control, we'd like a make on a light hovercraft we spotted this afternoon, sailing in the Seabridge Strait around 1600 hours at 66.46 degrees north by 47.53 degrees west."

  "Take a few minutes. Can you stand by?"

  "Affirmative."

  After a few moments, Gyro turned and saw that Crowbar had found work to keep himself busy, tinkering with the circuit panels of the jump computer.

  Always busy. The best way for an engineer to be.

  "Hornet? Are you receiving?"

  "Right here, Control."

  "Hornet, we've done a check on global vehicle registry in that area. The nearest hovercraft operator is here in Port Adrian,"

  "So it's not a private or government ship?"

  "Affirmative, Hornet. Anyway, only a lunatic would sail a small hovercraft in the weather up there,"

  "Understood, Control, thank you. Hornet out,"

  After shutting off the communications link, Gyro could feel the staring eyes of Snapshot and Crowbar upon her. The other Arses, however, did not make any comment, and Gyro decided for herself to make another radio contact.

  "Gypsy Island Station, this is RCS Hornet. Do you copy?"

  Static.

  "Gypsy Island Station, this is RCS Hornet. Do you copy? Over."

  More static answered, and Gyro gave up trying after a fruitless minute.

  "Gaia almighty," Snapshot said softly. "Maybe you better call the skipper."

  "It is late," Crowbar said, "after midnight. Maybe nobody's at the radio."

  Gyro weighed these comments, then tried one last time to hail the island.

  "Nothing," she said finally. "Dead air. Snapshot's right, I'm calling the skipper."

  Beneath a Coalition-issue blanket, Coeur had just fallen asleep when the attention signal of her personal communicator awakened her. Sitting beside Coeur's head on her pillow, its chiming woke not only her, but Drop Kick and Physic as well in the nearest bunks.

  "Red Sun," Coeur said into the communicator. "Go ahead."

  "Skipper, this is Gyro. Sorry to wake you, but we've got a problem. We're unable to raise Gypsy Island."

  Stifling a yawn, Coeur glanced at her watch.

  "It must be past midnight there, Gyro. Maybe the/re asleep."

  "We thought about that, skipper, but Port Adrian Control confirms that a radio operator is supposed to be on duty there 26 hours a day."

  Elsewhere in the dark and windowless modular shelter, Coeur heard the subtle
sound of air mattress cells compressing—the Marines waking up.

  "And there's more, skipper, just a little while ago, Crowbar spotted an unregistered hovercraft headed for the island. It could have reached the island by now."

  "Understood. Are there any local military forces in the area?"

  "Arabella's the closest. They've got a patrol boat squadron about 5000 kilometers away."

  Coeur shook her head sadly.

  "Looks like it's our ball game, then. Is Snapshot's drone still functional?"

  "Affirmative. In geosynchronous orbit opposite the Hiver satellite."

  "Good. Then position yourself over the island, and scan every square centimeter with passive sensors. We'll get to the island in the tank as soon as we can."

  "Roger, Red Sun."

  "That is all. Update us on what you see. Seabridge out."

  "I hate to bring this up again," Drop Kick said, "but it's not a tank."

  "If I say it's a tank, it's a tank," Coeur said, throwing her blanket off and throwing her feet over the edge of her cot. "You, Whiz Bang, and Bonzo—get up. We're launching in I 0 minutes."

  "Oh, man," Bonzo said, peering through his scopes at a violet sea and sky, on the edge of dawn. "We are way the hell in the middle of nowhere."

  'That's a good point," Coeur said, keeping her own eyes on the AFV's avionics sensor display. "How close Is the nearest settlement?"

  "Let's see," the sensor tech said, pulling up a computer map of the surrounding area. "Probably Angel Creek, back on the peninsula. About 2000 kilometers."

  "That's officially way the hell in the middle of nowhere," Whiz Bang concurred, from the turret.

  "Stay sharp people," Drop Kick advised, "we're passing 8lack Rock island. That's the last land mass before Gypsy."

  "ETA," Coeur asked.

  "Forty-six minutes," Bonzo said, "at best speed."

  No, Coeur thought, I'm not going to roar into Gypsy Bay at 700 kph. We'll slow down before they can spot us on passive EMS.

  For her own sake, because she'd gotten an hour of sleep in the last 26 hours, Coeur went over the facts in her mind to keep them straight. Hornet's concentrated EMS had found both Gypsy Station—a burning constellation of three prefabricated structures five kilometers south of a well-sheltered bay a kilometer wide and 10 kilometers from north to south—and evidence of an off world base. Blinded by the fire, perhaps, Hornet's EMS had caught no sign of the Gypsy Station research vessel or Crowbar's hovercraft, but the flaring emissions of an air raft thruster were clear enough in the rocky hills north of the bay.

  "I recommend we swing around from the east," Drop Kick suggested. "That way we can use the mountains for cover when we approach the science station."

  "Roger," Coeur said, decreasing her speed and dropping close to the wave tops. At the slower NOE speed, the gusting winds above the arctic sea were more pronounced, buffeting the vehicle while sea spray dusted her hull. "We'll go in slow and quiet. If there are still any hostiles at the station, we don't want to spook 'em."

  "No problem," Whiz Bang said. "My guns are locked on safe."

  At last, as the deeper purple of night gave way to the blue of dawn, Gypsy Island hove into view—a daunting fortress of rock whose south face was indeed forbidding. While sea-birds and hardy vegetation clung to the long island—220 kilometers overall—humans had no easy way onto the rock, and consequently it showed no immediate evidence of human visitation.

  "Keep your eyes open," Coeur advised Bonzo, lifting them off the water and over the southern cliffs at a ginger 30 kph.

  "No signals," Bonzo returned, "although there is a lot of radio interference,"

  "Yeah," Coeur agreed, noting the frosty streaks of static beginning to appear in her terrain-following radar. "Drop Kick, pop your hatch and scan visually."

  "Yes, sir," Drop Kick said, releasing the latch over his head and popping his head out into the crisp morning air. Coeur, now out of her vac suit and back to her body sleeve alone, found the chill air refreshing after six hours in the tank.

  Up above, Drop Kick extended a fiber-optic cable from the abdomen of his suit and plugged it into a jack in the turret hatch so he could speak to the crew without using his helmet radio.

  "Don't see much," he reported, probing their surroundings with the enhanced vision systems of his battle dress, "Just a lot of pissed-off birds."

  "Affirmative," Coeur said, switching to conventional video, "Bonzo, will that cleft at 35S take us where we want to go?"

  "Roger, skipper. That'll widen out to level terrain a few klicks east of the science post."

  "Outstanding. Then that's where we're going. You okay up there, Drop Kick?"

  "Yeah. Except a bird just took a dump on me."

  "Refrain from returning fire," Coeur suggested. "I'm going to ease us up into the gorge ahead."

  "Affirmative," Drop Kick said, wiping the bird droppings off his visor, "Path looks clear."

  Took a dump on him, Coeur thought. I hope that's not the kind of day we're going to have.

  * *

  'The air raft has not altered its position," Deep Six said.

  "Since we have not detected any new emissions, it must be maintaining a position above the south side of the bay."

  Gyro nodded from the pilot's seat. "Can you see Red Sun and the sled?"

  "Affirmative. They are entering a deep valley 50 kilometers south of the bay,"

  "All right. Maintain radio silence until they call on us."

  "Understood."

  Damn, Gyro thought, I wish we could see what exactly was with that air raft, so we could give Red a better Idea what to expect. Oh well, a few more minutes, and they'll be able to see it for themselves.

  "Snapshot," Gyro said into her headset, "is that MFD working?"

  "Yes, Cyro," Snapshot sent from the laser turret, "for the fifth time, the MFD is working."

  "Just want to make sure," Cyro said. "If we have to give the skipper orbital support, we'll need the MFD to be in good order."

  "Gyro, I know the laser isn't my regular duty station, but trust me, it's working."

  "Understood."

  A sudden frenzy of activity by Deep Six, however, diverted Gyro from further reflection on the good order of her laser, "Something up?"

  "Affirmative' the Schalli said. "Telemetry from the EMS satellite over the western hemisphere indicates a large object approaching the planet at high velocity. Approximate bearing I 70, azimuth zero,"

  Gyro pulled the same data on her own sensor panel.

  "You've got some sharp eyes," she said. 'That's over a half a million klicks away."

  "But definitely approaching Ra. I shall attempt to refine its course and speed."

  "How long until you have that?"

  "Give me 20 minutes. It might help, though, if we could orbit around to the far side of the planet. Our passive EMS has much better range than the suite on the satellite."

  "No, this is better where we are. If it's a hostile, it might be better if they don't know we're here."

  "So we can avoid a fight?"

  "No, So we can get the first swing in if there is one. Keep watching it, and flag me the minute you've got something positive."

  The outpost was a total loss—only the shells of their still-smoldering buildings and a tracked ATV remained. Drop Kick and Bonzo did ascertain at least one thing, however—the base radio had been the first thing to go.

  "Blew the hell out of it," Drop Kick said, after he and 8onzo returned to the AFV hidden in the rocks 100 meters off, "Probably with rocket grenades. Then they shot the rest of the place up and burned it with gasoline."

  "Any bodies?" Coeur asked, twisted around in her seat so she could look up at Drop Kick in the turret, "Negative. Must've buried 'em, or dumped 'em out in the bay "

  "But why did they kill them in the first place?" Whiz Bang said.

  "Probably that research vessel Bill mentioned," Coeur speculated, "Our boys in the hovercraft were probably spotted by that boat, killed her
crew, then worked over the station for good measure."

  "Whoever they are," Bonzo said, "they aren't afraid to kill. There's blood all over that station."

  Coeur grimaced.

  Even after all our centuries in space, most of us probably still think it's more of a tragedy that somebody killed six human scientists than 200 Hivers. Maybe that's what they're counting on—whoever planted this disease—that we wouldn't be shocked to lose the Hivers.

  Maybe that's the deal—maybe somebody just wants to contain the RC—keep it from growing.

  Coeur's grimace deepened into a scowl.

  Yeah, and maybe somebody needs to put those bastards in their place.

  "Unlock your guns," Coeur told Whiz Bang, turning back around to face her controls, "we're moving out. Bonzo, can you find me high ground overlooking the last known position of the air raft?"

  "Affirmative," the sensor tech said, drawing a course on his own panel and sending it over to Coeur, "Steer 045, skirt around these central hills and you'll come out on a plateau overlooking the objective."

  "Roger that," Coeur said. "Drop Kick, go back topside and scout."

  "Roger."

  "All right, guys," Coeur said, lifting the AFV back into the air and swinging it around to the right. "Here we go."

  Cruising low over the rocky inland heights, the AFV scared wildlife everywhere it went, but Coeur trusted Drop Kick's instincts to steer her away from likely places for an ambush. Without telepathy, Coeur couldn't be certain they weren't seen, but they made the edge of the objective plateau without interference, less than 10 minutes later, "How we doing, Drop Kick?" Coeur asked, setting them down.

  "All clear, skipper."

  'This plateau is about a hundred meters above sea level," Bonzo said, "and a kilometer wide. The air raft should be in a shallow cleft about three klicks due west."

  "Drop Kick, Bonzo, advance on foot and reconnoiter. And remember, hand signals only."

  "Understood," both Marines replied, taking up their gauss rifles and bailing out of the vehicle.

  Advancing slowly, covefing each other as they moved, Drop Kick and Bonzo still reached the far side of the plateau in less than five minutes, ultimately taking cover behind a rock outcropping and surveying the land below.