Soldiers Out of Time

by Steve White

  “Back here—!” Jason took a deep breath, leaned forward, and spoke earnestly. “Mario, please listen to me. You’re a good sort, as raving lunatics go, and I’m going to give you some sound advice. Go back to Earth, grow a new arm . . . and stay there. Enjoy your ill-gotten gains. You were lucky this time. But if you keep on pressing your luck, you’re going to end up—”

  “—In Shandu, accepting the emperor’s appointment as commander in chief of his armies! I tell you, Jason, the other mercenary companies are coming around to my idea of a kind of cartel, under exclusive contract to the empire. The promise of financing from the merchant houses works wonders. When I come back here I’ll put together something that will sweep the Dazh’Pinkh out of existence, and then there’s nothing I won’t be able to do here!” McGillicuddy’s black eyes gleamed with a light Jason had seen too often for him to entertain any further hopes of talking sense to the man. But then the mercenary abruptly took on a shrewd look, and his tone shifted.

  “By the way, Jason, speaking of returns to this planet, I can tell you that Captain Chang was very relieved to see Major Rojas again. He was wondering what had become of her, since you and she had been away for so long. In fact, he was afraid he’d seen the last of you.”

  “Well,” Jason temporized, “we were sort of drawn away, following a lead.”

  “But now you’re back.” McGillicuddy paused and gave Jason a quizzical glance. “I can’t help being curious about what you and Rojas have been doing all this time—and what you’re doing here now. I’ve heard rumors . . .”

  Jason maintained a poker face but swore inwardly. Aloud: “What kind of rumors?”

  “Oh, nothing definite. Just an increase in off-world traffic—and still more buying up of food and other basics. And then you arrive. People can’t help wondering.”

  Uh-huh! thought Jason dourly.

  So far, everything had gone according to plan. An advance party of negotiators had gingerly approached the imperial bureaucracy, working up through well-known channels as high as necessary—but no higher, for the functionaries were firm believers in not bothering their superiors with things they didn’t need to know. So, without disturbing the blissful oblivion of the imperial court, they had leased a stretch of land in the barren Xinkhan Desert, halfway around the planet and uninhabited even by the scruffiest of nomads, but sitting atop an underground aquifer, accessible to modern drilling equipment though unreachable and in fact unknown to the locals. They had also bought secrecy, which the officials involved had been only too willing to sell as long as it had been clearly understood that it worked in both directions. Then, working through layers of small private shipping lines following indirect routes, the initial personnel and components had been inconspicuously brought to Zirankhu and transported to the site. After the installation had acquired a certain minimum of accommodations, ships began to drop unobtrusively down from orbit directly to it, safe from detection because the only traffic control for the planet was handled by the legation in Khankhazh.

  It must, Jason thought, have been in the early stages that they had, despite all precautions, begun to attract notice.

  He himself had only just arrived, in the same Comet class as before, and once again in the company of Rojas, Mondrago and Chantal. They had landed with no attempt at dissimulation. But in orbit, the De Ruyter, the small Hawke class IDRF warship that had accompanied them remained in cloak, awaiting the signal to descend to the Xinkhan Desert and be hurled five centuries into the past.

  He became aware that McGillicuddy had been giving him an inquiring look. “I don’t suppose,” said the mercenary with elaborate casualness, “that you’d care to—?”

  “Sorry, Mario. I can’t tell you anything about what we found, or what we’re doing now. You haven’t got a need to know.”

  “I figured that,” sighed McGillicuddy.

  “But I’ll tell you what. As soon as I’m able to give you any information, you’ll get it—if you’ll tell me something I’m particularly interested in knowing.”

  “Which is . . . ?”

  “These rumors you’ve been hearing—have the Transhumanists been taking any interest in them?”

  “I wish I could help, Commander, but I won’t lie to you. I don’t even know if there are any Transhumanists currently in Khankhazh.” McGillicuddy paused. “Of course, if there’s anyone who does know, it would be . . .”

  “Yes. I know who you mean.” Jason stood up. “And I know the way, now. You just get some rest.”

  “Yes,” said Lizh’Ku in his odd but intelligible Standard International English. “My informants have recognized certain Transhumanists among the fahnku currently in the city. Among the humans, I meant to say,” he added smoothly.

  “Of course,” said Jason, with a smile at Lizh’Ku’s lapse. He didn’t know the literal meaning of the Zirankh’shi street term for the human species, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “How could they be sure? I imagine it’s not always easy to tell individual humans apart.”

  “I assure you, only the ignorant are of the opinion that all humans look alike. My sources are familiar with Transhumanists who have already been here, and have identified several.”

  “But are these Transhumanists merely buying more food, or have they taken an interest in our activities?”

  “Who can say?” Lizh’Ku paused and spoke briefly in the Zirankh’shi language to his assistant Luzho’Yuzho, who had been crouching in a corner of the shack. Then he turned back to Jason. “I almost forgot. One member of the Transhumanist party is new to us. Evidently he has a rather distinctive appearance.”

  “Hmm . . .” This was bad. If they had found it necessary to bring in someone new, he might be an intelligence specialist. “What do you mean about a ‘distinctive appearance’?”

  “Well . . . you must understand that to us, your skin seems quite . . . well, smooth.”

  “Right,” said Jason. “No fur.” Naked apes, he did not add.

  “But this one was . . . shiny, over certain areas. Slick. My vocabulary fails.”

  “I see.” Jason really did see, or was fairly sure he did. What Lizh’Ku seemed to be trying to describe reflected one of the limitations of regen technology. Really serious burn tissue was very resistant to the more cosmetic aspects. It could be regrown . . . but there was no mistaking what it was. This individual must be important, he thought, or they wouldn’t have risked bringing in anyone with such a readily identifiable peculiarity.

  “I’d like to get a look at him,” he said.

  “That can be arranged . . . as long as there is no IDRF involvement. Or at least, none that can be traced to me.”

  “That goes without saying.” Jason paused, curiosity overcoming caution. “I’m grateful for all the help you’ve been willing to extend to me. Grateful . . . and a little surprised.”

  A moment passed before the aged Zirankh’shi replied. “All things considered, I take a favorable view of the human presence here. Before you arrived, we were getting . . . stale. That’s not a fashionable view, you understand. Most of our educated class like to bemoan the way you’re corrupting and mongrelizing our ordained, immemorial social order.” Lizh’Ku spat a two-syllable sound in his own language. Jason suspected it was so obscene as to defy translation. “The truth is, what was once a great civilization had settled into dry rot. We needed something to jolt us out of our smug complacency.”

  “Aren’t the Dazh’Pinkh rebels trying to do that?”

  Lizh’Ku expelled a non-verbal sound of scorn. “Lunatics like that only strengthen the reactionaries by seeming to confirm their argument that social stasis is the only alternative to chaos. No, the needed stimulus could only come from the outside. You humans were a breath of fresh air. Of course, a breath of fresh air can be chilling, and blow things over. But . . .” He lapsed into silence until Jason wondered if he had dozed off. But then his huge eyes twinkled. “At any rate, I have a clear conscience in helping the Temporal Regulatory Authority. You
have no interest in our past, even though I gather you will soon have the capability to journey back into it.”

  “That’s true. However, my particular branch of the Authority does have an interest in safeguarding the future.”

  “Yes. From what I know of the Transhumanists, I think that may include everyone’s future—including that of Zirankhu. I wish you well.”

  “Rojas won’t like this,” Mondrago predicted dourly.

  “She’ll get over it,” Jason assured him, projecting more confidence than he felt.

  They moved as inconspicuously as possible through Khankhazh’s central market commodities exchange, a vast, noisy outdoor expanse cluttered with stalls and teeming with Zirankh’shi and a smattering of humans. Moving parallel to them, without emphasizing the connection, were Luzho’Yuzho and Lizh’Ku, the latter in his usual traveling position on the former’s back. In response to subtle signals from Lizh’Ku, they worked their way toward one of the exchange buildings. As they neared it, three humans emerged, bending over to exit the door. This gave Jason and Mondrago the chance to duck behind a stall where they could watch unobserved.

  As the trio came closer, a cluster of flashing blue dots appeared at the lower left of Jason’s field of vision. He didn’t even need his implant’s notification of nearby bionics to know that these were Transhumanists. The two he could clearly see had the look of the middling varieties, higher than the goon-caste types and a good deal cleverer, if one knew the signs to look for. The third was behind them and could not be clearly seen.

  They came abreast of the stall, and Jason and Mondrago flattened themselves to stay out of sight. Then, as they walked past, the third member of the trio paused, turned, and looked around with a sharp, suspicious expression. Then he shook his head, annoyed, and continued on after only a second or two.

  But he had been in plain sight long enough.

  The left side of his neck and head did indeed bear the look of regenerated burn tissue, and no hair grew on that side. His mouth was somewhat twisted, and his nose slightly crooked. But his features, at least on the right side, were still recognizable.

  Jason and Mondrago stared at each other.

  “Stoneman!” they breathed in unison.

  “Who?” demanded Rojas.

  “Of course that’s not his real name,” said Jason. “He naturally has one of those Transhumanist designations. But it was the name he used when I knew him, in Virginia, North America, in the winter and spring of 1865. It was the name of a certain Union cavalry officer. Coincidentally, as I’ve subsequently learned, it was the name of a character in an early twentieth-century silent motion picture. For whatever reason, it tickled him.” He took another gulp of much-needed Scotch.

  Rojas leaned forward and stared across the desk, clearly perplexed. “I remember now. I’ve read a précis of your report on that expedition. But I thought he was killed.”

  “So did I. I’d shot him in the chest, and was certain he was dead—as certain as I’ve ever been of anything. But he must have had one of those bionic automatic-release implants that can keep a barely alive body going with massive injections and electrical jolts. Because after we left him, he followed us.” Jason paused for a more cautious sip, and let his memories take him back to the pandemonium of a burning city. He spoke as much to himself as to Rojas. “We were in Richmond when the Confederates were evacuating it. We got across Mayo’s Bridge just before it was due to be blown up . . . and he was staggering along right behind us like some kind of undead zombie out of nightmare, just ahead of the explosions of the tar barrels they were using as fire bombs. But they caught up to him and he was enveloped in flame. Then the bridge collapsed under him and he fell into the river. We never saw him come up.”

  “Then how can he be alive now? How can you be sure this was him? You admit that the man you saw had disfiguring injuries.”

  “Like those you’d expect Stoneman to have. Anyway, it was him. Believe me, I’d know him anywhere. He held me and all but one of my party as prisoners for months.”

  “But how do you account for his survival?”

  “I can only suppose that he also had some kind of Transhumanist artificial gill implant that automatically kicked in when he went underwater. And of course the water would have put out the flames. And his TRD must have been set to activate very shortly after that—come to think of it, he’d mentioned that he didn’t expect to be in the nineteenth century much longer. So he was retrieved in time for them to save his life.” Jason laughed humorlessly. “Knowing them, I’m surprised they didn’t kill him themselves, after learning he had lost that data chip.”

  “It would seem they didn’t, inasmuch as he’s here now, disfigurement and all.” Rojas scowled. “But judging from your assessment of him in your report, he’s not an individual they’d employ as some kind of purchasing agent! The question is, why is he here?”

  “I can’t even guess.”

  “I can.” Rojas’ eyes grew hard. “They didn’t fall for that ploy of yours with the body on Planet A. They may not definitely know we were up to anything there, but they have to consider the possibility that we were—and that therefore we know the location of Planet A, and maybe of Planet B as well. So now this Stoneman—or whatever he’s called—is here to investigate, since their food-buying coupled with our presence on this planet provide the only possible link.”

  “Well, Major, there’s an old saying: you’ve got to take the bad with the good. If we hadn’t made the incursion that resulted in that body, we wouldn’t have any idea of the location of Planet B, and our options would be very limited.”

  “Admitted,” said Rojas with no particularly good grace. “But considering that the displacer out in the Xinkhan Desert is nearing completion, I want a look at this man before we actually perform our displacement. And yes, I know,” she added, raising a forestalling hand, “you won’t reveal your sources of information. So I won’t ask for them. But you can lead me yourself, without compromising them.”

  “Yes, I suppose I can try,” said Jason slowly and—for reasons he couldn’t quite define—hesitantly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Are you sure he’s going to be here?” Rojas asked in an irritable undertone.

  “Of course I’m not sure,” Jason replied as quietly as he could and still make himself heard above the hubbub of the central market. “My sources say that Transhumanists came to the commodities exchange earlier today. But they couldn’t be certain Stoneman was among them.”

  Lizh’Ku had notified him via the communicator Jason had given him. But his own information had come indirectly, from a source he had indicated wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in his drawer of informants. Still, it had been worth a try, and Jason had alerted Rojas. The two of them and Mondrago had gotten into the scruffiest and most nondescript clothing available—including, at Jason’s insistence, face-concealing slouch hats, for Rojas as well as himself and Mondrago. He didn’t think she was known by sight to any of the Transhumanists, never having done any actual field work here in Khankhazh. But all his instincts were crying out for caution.

  And now it was late afternoon as they mingled with the crowds, trying not to seem to be paying undue attention to the exchange buildings as they watched everyone who emerged. A few humans had, but none of those they sought.

  “We’d better keep moving around,” Mondrago muttered.

  “Right,” agreed Jason. Humans were a familiar sight here, but extended loitering might attract notice.

  “Look!” said Mondrago suddenly.

  Jason looked in the direction of his pointing finger. The range was too great for his implant to detect the presence of functioning bionics, but he recognized the two mid-level castes he had glimpsed before. And, as before, there was another figure with them, half crouched as though sheltering from sight behind them.

  “There!” Jason hissed to Rojas. “But I can’t be sure Stoneman’s among them.”

  “Then let’s follow them until we can
be sure.” Rojas started off without waiting to see if she was being followed. Not to Jason’s surprise, she knew enough to move inconspicuously, without revealing that she was shadowing her quarry. He and Mondrago followed suit. Fortunately, humans were easy to keep in sight at a distance, over the heads of the Zirankh’shi crowd.

  The Transhumanists moved steadily toward the extensive parking field adjacent to the markets, where occasional human-built glide cars nestled among the rows of ZIrankh’shi steam cars, and headed toward one of the former. With no more crowds to blend in, Jason and his two companions waited on the outskirts of the field and watched as best they could. As the Transhumanists entered their car, the third member of their group was, for an instant, in plain sight.

  “I think that’s Stoneman,” said Jason. “It’s hard to be absolutely certain at this distance, but—”

  “Then let’s follow them,” said Rojas. Before Jason could counsel caution, she was off in the direction of their own glide car.

  Tailing the Transhumanists through the disorderly and over-crowded traffic of Khankhazh was difficult, but Rojas clearly had experience at this sort of thing. And it helped that their quarry was following the most direct route toward the spacefield that was possible in this urban labyrinth.

  “I know where they’re headed,” Jason told Rojas. “After they enter the spacefield, they’re going to go to that little out-of-the-way hangar from which their orbital shuttle operates. What, exactly, do you plan to do that won’t reveal our knowledge of what they’re up to?”

  “We’ll play it by ear,” said Rojas grimly. Then she turned and gave him what was, for her, a charming smile. “I seem to recall that that’s a favorite expression of yours.”

  Jason had no answer for that, so he shut up and let Rojas concentrate on driving. Presently, the congestion thinned out into a scattering of shanties as they neared the drainage ditch between the city and the spacefield. The season had changed, and now the ditch was filled with water. There were no formalities about access to the field, and up ahead the Transhumanists’ car was crossing one of the bridges over the ditch and turning left.