by Shuvom Ghose
Samson and Hector looked at each other. As much as they hated us, they were on the edge of believing. We did lead them in skulls five to zero.
I took up the story. "Their webs are north of the mountain where you patrolled with Ridley. That's what he went out to see before you got ambushed. No matter where Oakley wants us to patrol, we've been going to the north side of the mountain and picking off sleeping spiders for our skulls," I stated with absolute certainty.
"The tree webs are hard to see in the day," Butcher added. "They're really high up, and you have to look hard. If you want, I can show some satellite pics. When the spy sat comes back in range in about thirty minutes." God did I love her quick thinking sometimes.
Hector was still sneering at me, and shook his head. "We can't wait thirty minutes. Fine. North of the mountain. Tree webs. We'll drop of at G23 and head north. We'll kill some spiders and help you get back to your stupid homes faster."
They stormed off to the hangar and I finally exhaled, leaning against a wall for strength.
Butcher smiled, watching them go. "Now we just have to explain to Three-Spot where G23 is."
That was actually easier than I thought. Three-Spot was feeling better, and there were many landmarks along the flight plan that both humans and spiders recognized. Ann-Marie hung out in Flight Control, watching the auto-pilots dutifully report their exact position while appearing to chatter away on her cellphone to a girlfriend. On the other end of the phone, I unjumbled the code and pictured the landmarks in my head, so Three-Spot could tell Red-Stripe where the helicopters were in real time.
By the time Hector and his men had un-assed on the north side of the Night Hunting Grounds, Red-Stripe had hurried all the hunting parties home or into deep caves the Immortals wouldn't think to go exploring down. The idea of the Immortals walking around the jungle squinting up at trees for the next three hours made me smile.
Three-Spot thanked us for the information, but requested that they be given just a little more warning for the next patrol.
Which was a problem I was about to solve for good. While Steve hopped around on his mostly healed leg and showed the privates how to give someone stitches in the field, I wrote up my report for the valley mission.
A report which concluded that we had killed off all of the Hell-Spiders around that drop off point, and near the caves, and basically all through the valley itself. I didn't state the last point outright, but it was implied. Strongly implied. And then I delivered the report to TacOps personally.
Every Tactical Operations staff seems to be in the map-making business. Maps of the terrain. Of the upcoming weather. Of our forces. Their forces. Of past operations, planned future operations and even unplanned future ones, just in case. And this one was no different.
Digital screens lined the wall, showing weather or old operations. Future ops were on the analyst's screens at the desks. But the one I really cared about, the 'Master Map' of our forces versus theirs, was in the center of the room, on a low glowing table perfect for leaning over. The base and the farmland in its lee were blue, friendly. The entire rest of the planet was red. Red-Stripe's valley was the brightest red of all.
I went over to the desk of a slightly balding man in paunchy fatigues and glasses
"Forrest!" he said, dusting croissant crumbs off his belly and swiveling in his chair to offer his hand. "Don't see you in here much!"
I smiled and shook his hand. "Well Jonesy, that's because your maps never have those little clouds blowing wind or topless mermaids on rocks to make them more interesting for me."
"Wish we could Forrest, wish we could," Jonesy laughed. "What's up?"
I handed him my report and let him skim it while I talked. "Just did a drop in the valley yesterday. Killed a lot of spiders. A lot. We even hung around afterwards, but no more showed up. I'm pretty sure that valley's cleared."
Jonesy was the most affable analyst- that's why I picked him. He was so affable he couldn't directly disagree with me even though most of his data did. "Well... Forrest, you know... I'll let my supervisor know and we'll see..."
"It's blue, Jonesy. We cleared it. You gotta change it on the map or else Oakley's going to come storming in here yelling about why his patrols are going out to bright red areas and finding spit all to shoot at."
He drew his arms in and looked down, not wanting to challenge me, which is why he was an analyst and not a combat soldier. God, is this what the Immortal guys thought of me?
"Well," he hemmed, "it was cloudy last night, but the sats still picked up a lot of heat signatures in that valley..."
"They were passing through- going from these swamps here in the west to their sleeping webs north of the mountain."
"Even if spiders just pass through now and then, we have to leave it red..."
"Hell, Jonesy, by that logic the cafeteria should be red! We had a spider 'just pass through' there a few days ago! And he's still alive inside the base now!"
Jonesy squirmed in his seat, looking back and forth between my report and the Master Map. "You're sure it's completely clear?"
I smiled. "Completely."
"Okay," he said, then extended his wrist tattoo under the laser scanner next to the computer to prove it was him. It beeped and he typed an additional access code too quickly for me to see, hit a few toggles on some screens and the Master Map changed. Three-Spot's valley, the heart of all Hell-Spider activity near our base, was now a friendly shade of blue.
"Thanks, Jonesy. Oh, by the way, here." I pulled three stoppered test tubes of brown fluid from my pocket and handed them to him. "The Immortals have been giving out gifts from their still the last few days. We had a little left over." It was pure Kentucky bourbon from Zazlu's stash, but I wasn't going to tell him that. "Enjoy."
He unstoppered one tube and sniffed it, then his eyes lit up. "Thanks Forrest!"
"Hey, what are friends for?"
When I returned to the barracks, Steve was teaching the privates about burns and all the things you shouldn't do for them, like pull clothes off the burnt skin or pour water on it. I looked around and Ann-Marie wasn't there, hopefully out investigating satellite positions on the night of Ridley's death. Zazlu was there, however, and near the end of Steve's lesson, he indicated to me that it was time to give the squad The Talk.
We gathered all the privates around the tables, had them sit in chairs or bunks or on the floor, and then I explained to their eager young faces why we hadn't killed all those Hell-Spiders in the valley. I tried to make it very official sounding, like Zazlu and Butcher and I had been planning it on Ridley's orders for a while.
I also tried to make it convoluted, so that if any details did leak out to Oakley, they would be a confusing mish-mash of contradictions. I think the official story ended up being that I and Zazlu had worked out some sort of rudimentary sign language with the spiders, like they were smart gorillas, and that the spiders in the valley were snitching to us about where the really bad spiders lived, so that we could capture the spider leader for Oakley to kill himself. And we threw in the nonsense about the tree webs so that the Immortals could "drag" that out of some of the privates in the break room, eventually.
I hated lying to them, but I seemed to be doing a lot of that today, and I still thought it better than the alternatives. Zazlu stood next to me the entire time, my cloned second in command, agreeing to everything I said like it was gospel. When I was done, I crossed my arms, gave them a Lieutenant Look and asked, "Any questions?"
Only Juan started to raise his hand, saying, "Wait... that means when we....but then the bees..." I gave him a stronger Look and he lowered his hand.
"Good," I said.
***
Chapter Seven
We had a pretty nice day after that. Steve taught the privates enough to be EMTs in most American cities or the Dean of Medicine in any hospital in Detroit. Ann-Marie returned with information that all the reconnaissance satellites had been on the other side of the planet when Ridley was killed, so
theory number two was dead and buried.
We had a nice dinner in the cafeteria and for dessert we got to see SMaj Hughes storm in and pull every Immortal away from their meal for a nice, long, 'motivational' run. He was yelling something about 'how could you not even SEE one fucking Hell-Spider' and 'you WILL return with skulls or you will NOT return' as he ran them off towards the horizon.
Dakota even came by the barracks after dinner, causing Zazlu to break out the good beer, and we started a four-way card game, Ann-Marie and I facing each other across the table as one team, and Zazlu facing the happy couple. Juan held the cards but Dakota sat on his lap, choosing what they would play, and she laughed and bull-shitted with us until it was time for lights out. There were a few wolf-whistles when it became obvious that she was staying the night again, but I told the guys to cut it out and they did. So even though the evening ended much more pleasantly for one private than it did for his commanding officer, it was a nice enough finish to the day.
Which of course led to Ann-Marie shaking me awake in the middle of the night while hissing, "Omega Squad's being sent to patrol the valley!"
My head throbbed from all the sleep I wasn't getting. "Huh? Wha- how do you know?"
"Jinx just texted me. Choppers are spinning up."
I cursed and started pulling on my fatigues.
"Jonesy, what the hell?" I growled, storming into TacOps. This time he was brushing cupcake crumbs off his uniform. I glanced down at the Master Map, and sure enough, the valley was red again. The current ops map showed a helicopter drop planned right in the middle of it. Jonesy gave me a sheepish look.
"Forrest, I'm sorry, but my supervisor..."
I looked up to see a tall, muscular cloned soldier coming towards us wearing Captain's bars. The nametag on the fatigues said "Flores".
I dialed it down a little and pointed at the Master Map. "What's the meaning of this? I submitted a report this afternoon showing this valley had been cleared."
Flores pressed his lips together in a tight line. "Yes, I noticed that Specialist Jones had accepted your report during the day," he said primly. "But tonight, satellites show significant heat signatures all throughout that valley."
"Those spiders are just passing through!"
"Immortal Squad dropped north of the mountain this morning and had zero contacts. Second Squad did the same this evening and had zero contacts." Flores sniffed. "Passing through the valley is enough to warrant a patrol."
"Hell, Captain, by that logic, the base should be red! A spider 'passed through' our cafeteria a few days ago!"
Flores set his jaw. "Perhaps it should. That Hell-Spider killed ME, while you soldiers did nothing to stop him. Now I'm trapped in this body for the rest of my life!"
Oh fuck. Now I had lost him forever.
"Now, Lieutenant, unless you have another report to submit, which I doubt, please leave the Tactical Operations Center."
I leaned against the wall outside the Prisoner Holding Area and tried to act casual.
Three-spot. Hear me. It's another emergency.
Two BlackShirts were walking down the hall to me and I started picking my nose. They looked away and moved on.
Three-Spot! I need your hunting parties to clear the area between your caves and the mountain. A patrol is heading there now!
There was a pause in my head, like air leaving a room, and then I heard his gravelly voice again.
"We have made a large kill tonight. The parties will not enjoy leaving it."
Go back for it later! Just a few hours!
"Other predators will be drawn by the blood. And by mid-morning, the lightning snakes will have picked it clean."
A patrol! Metal spitters! Killers coming!
"Stop the patrol."
I can't!
Another pause. More feelings of air rushing out of my head.
"There will be repercussions."
Fine! But the patrol cannot see any of your clan or they will return again and again!
"Very well. I am talking with Red Stripe now."
I unassed from the wall and went to the Comm tower, where I watched with relief as heat signatures disappeared off the satellite screen one by one. And listening to the professional killers of Omega squad grow more and more frustrated every time they had to report 'no contact' made up for the sleep I was missing. As they were getting back on the chopper, muck-covered and exhausted, First Lieutenant Ching even dropped a "Fucking TacOps", which probably set him back 200 Buddhist points.
I smiled all the way back to barracks.
Zazlu, Butcher and I were having another coffee crisis conference. I hoped it wasn't going to become a regular thing.
"It's not enough to turn the analysts," Ann-Marie said. "Flores will just keep overruling them until he agrees."
"Flores will not accept bribes," Zazlu said, frowning. I didn't ask him how he knew.
"Blackmail won't work either," Butcher added. "He's the type to just report us all to Oakley no matter what we threaten to release about him."
I rubbed my face. "Well, what are our options then? If patrols keep going into their home valley, the cease-fire will be broken. We'll have to really fight the spiders, they'll be madder than ever, and god knows how many times we'll have to resurrect." I put my cup down and started pacing quietly, to not wake any of the privates or the reporter sleeping in our midst. "I mean, I'm a clone, and he's a clone. Couldn't I just, like, put on some fatigues that say 'Flores', walk into TacOps when he's in the shitter and change the map for good?"
Butcher was shaking her head. "You have to scan before any map change," she said, holding up the bar-code on her wrist. "And you can't get an official tattoo unless you resurrect in the tank and give his key phrase. Which we're never going to get out of his head."
I rubbed my own wrists, remembering the pain when Doc Murphy had burned my own name and barcode onto them. Both times.
"And even then," Zazlu said, "what are you going to do? Live a secret life as Flores and change the map back before every patrol? You don't have to be a Second Lieutenant to know that plan's crazy." Then he looked thoughtful and tapped his chin. "Although... if Oakley saw the area clear on the map and was pleased... Flores might be more willing to let it stay...especially if other areas were reporting enough contacts for patrols."
I turned the plan over in my head. Yes, that might work. Flores was proud enough to want to keep Oakley's approval once he had gotten it, and if the patrols were kept busy in other areas, there wouldn't be a reason to return to the valley...
"But that still doesn't solve the problem of learning his key phrase," Butcher said. "They've told us since Boot that that's the key to our identity now. There's no way to hack that and you're NEVER going to get it out of his head."
My heart sank, but then I started laughing. A lot. "Not unless you have a friendly Hell-Spider who reads minds!"
We were still making the plan up as we went, but it was moving forward. Zazlu caught Flores as he was coming off his night shift, tired and chagrinned that Omega had come up empty on their patrol. A few test tubes of bourbon from the 'Immortal's still' had them relaxed and standing outside of Three-Spot's cell.
"So you really want to see it again?" Zazlu asked, swaying on his feet a little. He wasn't tipsy but could fake it very well. "The spider that killed you?"
Flores was a cocky, arrogant drunk. "Yeah, I do. I might even kill him myself, if Oakley hadn't ordered him kept alive!"
"Let's go then," Zazlu said, ushering Flores into the room. We had prepped Three-Spot ahead of time and he was pacing his side of the room like an animal, and he scratched and clawed at the protective glass when the two entered. Watching from Ann-Marie's hacked video feed of the room, I was impressed with his acting.
"Here the bastard is," Zazlu laughed, pounding on the glass. Three-Spot hissed back, attacking the glass again and then stalking away. "One of his friends got me too, out north of the mountain where they're the thickest." Zazlu drained his test tube and l
aughed. "And you know what my last thought was, right before the bastard speared me through the chest?"
Flores kicked the glass, sneering at Three-Spot. "What?"
"Holy shit- what happens if I can't remember my key phrase? You know?"
Flores kicked the glass again, drank from his own test tube. "Yeah."
Zaz laughed. "I mean, here I am dying, and all I'm doing is going over my key phrase over and over again in my mind, just so I would know it when I woke up." He looked at Flores. "Did you do the same?"
The Captain sniffed. "No. I know my words cold. I'll never forget them."
"Never? Not even in the heat of battle? You'd know your key phrase?"
"Yeah." Flores finished the rest of his tube. "Fuck, look how ugly this bug is. We should stamp them off this planet like cockroaches."
Zazlu nodded. "Yeah." He put an arm around the Captain's shoulder. "Come on, have you seen that blond radio operator yet? I hear she always hits the treadmill in these tiny shorts about now."
"Yeah, but she's a total cocktease-" Flores was griping, as Zazlu led him out of the Holding room.
Butcher and I slipped in a minute later. I looked at the spider expectantly. "So?"
Three-Spot had settled into his yoga pose again, calmly looking at me. "The newcomer did think about something of great importance to him during the Wrester's talk about key phrases. Although I do not care for his views on my clan. We can stamp his kind out easily, not the other way around."
"He's just ignorant. That's what I'm fighting against. But I need his key phrase to do it. What was it?"
"The meaning was lost on me," Three-Spot's gravelly voice said in our heads. "But this is what he thought." The spider lowered his head in concentration.
What I saw first like a large flapping bug, like a butterfly or a moth. Then the image of a thunder bee like those that had attacked us in the desert. I assumed that Flores had meant an Earth bee and that Three-Spot didn't have the words. And then the images went away.