by J. S. Morin
The chittering grew as other creatures joined the assault, and Kubu whirled this way and that in an effort to confront them head on; but the insects came from all directions. Mriy slashed one with Carl’s sword and slipped a claw between the head and thorax of another, spewing ichor over her hand. A third wolf beetle was already in the air when she spotted it; Mriy cringed, ducking her head in anticipation of the impact.
# # #
At ground level, the chasm compound of the marooned Earth Navy personnel was impressive. A river ran through the center, crisscrossed by bridges hewn from tree-grass. Unlike the rickety assembly at the wreck of the Odysseus, these were proper structures, with struts, sway bracing, and tension cables. The residents had constructed houses with sides like palisade fencing and interlocking clay tile roofs. What had appeared to be bonfires when viewed from above turned out to be communal fire pits, where dinner was being prepared.
While most of the residents wore naval uniforms, there were others who mixed in leather and cloth garments that looked homemade—at least if the stranded crew had taken to considering Ithaca home. Few carried weapons, and those who did were armed with spears and metal clubs. Ensign Niang’s claim that there were nearly three hundred humans living there seemed plausible. A few even carried infants, or had squealing toddlers scurrying around underfoot. None of the children appeared any older than five years.
News of the arrival of newcomers spread ahead of them, and before long, a throng had gathered to greet them. Former navy crewmen shouted questions, vying to be heard over the others.
“Where’s your ship?”
“Does the navy know we’re here?”
“Is there a rescue coming?”
“Does my family know I’m still alive?”
Ensign Niang clapped his hands overhead. “Cool it, folks,” he shouted. “They need to be debriefed. They crashed here, just like us. I saw them meteor in. They’re lucky to be alive, and they’ve had a rough day. Let ‘em breathe and get a bite. Show ‘em some hospitality before you talk their ears bloody. But first, the Lieutenant’s gonna want to see ‘em.”
The crowd didn’t disperse, but the questions died down. Tanny had dealt with the navy on enough occasions that the sight of people obeying orders from an ensign struck her as funny.
Charlie was close enough that she heard Tanny’s amused snort. “I know what ya mean,” she whispered, leaning close. “Ensigns were invented to get bullied. Just keep in mind how long they’ve been here. If they were in contact with High Command, Niang might’ve made first lieutenant by now.”
“What kind of rank situation have we got here?” Tanny whispered back. With the buzz of hundreds of voices, it was as close to privacy as they’d come since Niang’s patrol had discovered them. “You’re the same rank as their leader, right?”
“She’s got seniority,” Charlie replied. “Plus, I’m retired. Well, not that any of them are active duty, officially.”
“Use that, if you need to,” Tanny said. “We can tell them that—” she stopped. Who was she, Carl all of a sudden?
Charlie snorted. “I’m a lousy liar. We just play them straight.”
It was such a refreshing perspective. Trust the professionalism of Earth Navy training. Be upfront. Tell them the truth. See what the situation gave them. There weren’t even going to be the obligatory precautions against Esper’s conscience mucking up the plan.
And it wasn’t just the lack of a scheme or an angle that felt good. The chasm was bracketed by waterfalls, upstream and down. A fine mist carried on the wind, cooling the refugee city, leeching away the heat from the jungle. It was almost enough to put the hollow ache of Recitol withdrawal from her mind. Almost.
“What do you call this place?” Esper asked. “It’s peaceful.”
“Troy,” Niang answered. Failing to elaborate and explain the familiar name that Tanny couldn’t place, he continued onward leading them through the crowd.
They found Lieutenant Kwon taking her dinner under an awning by the chasm wall. The plates, trays, and flatware were all standard military issue. The chairs were rec room salvage, well-worn but designed for ease and comfort. If Tanny had still been wondering where everything from the Odysseus had gone, she had her answer. The lieutenant who had taken charge of the crash survivors was lean, with taut muscles outlined against her skin. Her physique wasn’t typical of the soft, sedentary lifestyle of a navy scientist, at least the few Tanny had known. With a cut-sleeve tunic and sweat-cloths tied around her forehead and wrists, she looked more like a laborer. Kwon’s jet-black hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. By firelight, her eyes gleamed, following the four newcomers as they approached.
“That hair’s not regulation, pilot,” Kwon said slowly, a corner of her mouth turned up.
Charlie flicked the mop of braids on her head and shrugged. “They don’t enforce that crap on retirees.”
Kwon shook her head. “Never thought I’d see any of you alive. For a while, I’d thought maybe we’d see a rescue party, but the Typhoon squadrons… we’d given you up for dead.”
“Didn’t take,” Charlie said. “Some of us were just too stubborn.”
“Guess I didn’t give Roquefort enough credit,” Kwon replied. “Bastard never struck me as the heroic type.”
“He wasn’t. We mutinied,” Charlie said and proceeded to give the stripped-down version of the tale Carl had recounted. Since she’d heard the story twice already, Tanny watched the survivors’ reactions instead of paying attention. A few of them teared up; most just watched stone-faced, rapt, as if Charlie were some sort of oracle or prophet.
Kwon shook her head. “Unbelievable. While we were burying our dead and trying to keep from joining them, High Command was slapping a fresh spray of paint over the project and forgetting we ever happened.”
Charlie hung her head. “I never stopped looking.”
“Well, at least HQ knows where we are now, right?” Niang said, grinning. “They’ll get someone over, maybe Convocation, to clear up this magic bullshit. Then we can go home.”
Charlie remained silent.
“Wait…” Niang said.
“You didn’t tell them,” Kwon said. It wasn’t a question. “They forbade your squad from talking about the Odysseus, and they’d never have listened. You told no one, thinking to come here and gather proof. Then you crashed here, just like us.”
“Not no one,” Charlie said quickly. “The other surviving Half-Devils all know.”
“What?” Tanny snapped.
Charlie put up her hands. “Hey, no secrets between us. If no one comes back, they’ll know where to look for us.”
Kwon put a hand up, covering her lips. She muttered to herself for a moment. “No, I can’t think of any plausible rescue scenario. If you’ve all kept this amongst yourselves, I don’t think any of the 333rd pilots are likely to pull off a rescue. Earth Navy might solve the problem of the local laws of physics breaking down, but not them. I don’t care what kind of pilots they are, none of them are qualified for this sort of mission.”
Tanny caught Rhiannon opening her mouth but shot her a glare that shut her up before she said anything. Carl’s sister was along for the ride, and had no business giving away intel before they had a grip on the tactical situation. These navy officers and enlisted personnel might have been peaches, but six years on their own might well have eroded their willingness to trust outsiders.
“Niang, get them accommodations for the night,” Kwon said. “They’re putting up a good face, but they’re dead on their feet. Any of you got skills we can use around here? We can take you in. Any other survivors from your ship? We can send out search parties come sunlight.”
“Got a Typhoon around here? I’m all yours,” Charlie said with a smirk.
“There’s enough parts on the old bird to cobble a couple together from scratch,” Niang said. “But we got nothing to do with that place since the infestation. Damn critters run it now.”
“I’m willing to wor
k,” Tanny said. “I’m not too proud to get my hands dirty.”
“You’re ex-marine?” Kwon asked. Tanny followed her eyes to the marine insignia embedded in ink form beneath her skin. There were times when she’d considered having it removed, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It would have been like turning her back on the corp. Plus, every once in a while it got her a free drink in a rough bar. Now she wished she had cleansed herself of any sign of her service.
No good lie came to mind. She’d wondered what she would say when the time came, but no concrete plan had coalesced. Instead, she tried a glut of truth. “Yeah, I gave it up when I married into the navy.”
Kwon looked from Tanny to Charlie. “You two are—”
“Not us,” Charlie said. “She married Commander Ramsey. It’s his ship that’s crashed out there in the jungle.”
“Ramsey’s here?” Kwon asked, crossing her arms. “Who else have you got on this moon?”
“Us four,” Tanny said. “Plus Carl and Mort—both humans. Then we’ve got a laaku mechanic—”
“No problem there,” Kwon said. “Never met a laaku who wasn’t a hard worker.”
“An azrin—”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, azrin are an Earth-like species related to—”
“Felis silvestris would be the nearest evolutionary neighbor from Earth,” Kwon said. “They’re barely socialized. Most of the ones who live away from their homeworld are mercenaries and criminals.”
“She’s nice,” Esper said. Only Esper could say that and mean it.
“Blackjack vouches for her,” Charlie added. “That’s enough for me.”
“Yeah,” Kwon said. “That man’s a paragon of judgment. He has a Father Flanagan complex.”
“Worked out just fine at Karthix,” Charlie replied, narrowing her eyes. “Us dregs did more than the button-polishers to win that fight.”
“Last one in the crew is a sentient canid,” Tanny said. “Looks like a dog, but he’s 300 kilos.”
“345, last time we checked,” Esper said.
“What species?” Kwon asked. “No canid from Earth ever approached that size.”
“Canis Ultra Poltidae,” Esper said. “They hadn’t been discovered six years ago.”
Kwon nodded. “Temperament and disposition?”
“He’s a big puppy,” Esper replied. “The xenobiologist Tanny took him to said he’d grow to over two tons. So imagine a huge, cuddly puppy who likes to hunt for his own food and speaks basic English.”
“And you ferry that thing around on a starship?” Kwon asked.
Esper shrugged.
Kwon closed her eyes and sighed. “Ensign Niang, find them bunks. We’ll add them to the duty roster tomorrow. As civilians, they’re at the bottom rung on the chain of command.”
“Hey, wait a minute!” Charlie snapped. “I was a lieutenant.”
“You resigned,” Kwon replied. “That makes you a civilian who used to be a lieutenant, Miss Charlton.”
It was time to play her only card. “You’re all listed as killed in action,” Tanny said. “You’re civilians, too.”
Kwon gave a mirthless snort. “Tell that to these sailors. None of us ever resigned. No one here mutinied. The difference is just paperwork. This is my command, and you’re under my jurisdiction. We’ll round up your friends. We’ll keep you safe. But you’ll follow orders or face the consequences. Now… go get some sleep.”
“But—”
“You’re here in our city,” Kwon said. “We carved out this patch of jungle from the wild beasts that roam this moon. If you don’t like it, you can sleep out there. We can use the genetic diversity around here, but I won’t tolerate insubordination. Without us, you’re food for any of a hundred predatory species out there.”
# # #
The streets of the marines’ alien city were too clean to belong in a jungle. Carl had walked the streets of cities on a hundred worlds, and even most of the ones with cleaning drones couldn’t keep as tidy. No weeds poked through the stone road. Its faded yellow surface was rough, but unblemished. There was neither graffiti nor the old-Earth tangle of climbing vines along buildings’ sides. He couldn’t even find evidence of bird shit, and there hadn’t been an open-air city built that wasn’t prone to that particular blight. If he could have packaged whatever alien trick that kept the city spotless, he’d make a fortune.
But fortune wasn’t on the minds of the marine honor guard as they escorted him to the Temple of Listening—at least the names for places were easy to remember. It didn’t seem as if the marines thought a lot, period. They gave gruff responses to his questions, or told him they didn’t know, or didn’t care, or that it was none of his business. None gave any hint that they were curious about the newcomers on their world aside from the security risk they posed and the potential use Carl could be in their feud with the navy survivors. Still, he tried to engage them.
“Bet you’re curious what’s been going on back home,” Carl said to none of them in particular. He kept his voice loud enough for all eight of his escorts to hear. “I’m guessing most of you are Sol Center party members, am I right? You’ll be happy to know that Bradshaw got re-elected Prime Citizen a couple years back.” Carl wasn’t sure on that point. He remembered there being a Bradshaw, but couldn’t remember what the guy did. He had voted in precisely one election, and it had been to impress the girl he was dating at the time. She’d been a Progressive Traditionalist, and he’d voted for every name she’d gushed about.
“Earth politics is a sewer,” Messerschmidt said. “Rats climbing over each other to get the best of the droppings from above.”
“No argument here,” Carl said, finally having touched a nerve. “Personally, I don’t even vote. Politics don’t matter out in the Black Ocean, when it’s only your ship and your guns against whatever’s coming back. Eyndar don’t vote.”
“Sure they do,” Vasquez said. Carl blinked. He hadn’t picked the burly marine for being a political scholar. “Whole damn lot of those bastards do. Old pack instincts. One makes top dog, the rest fall into line. Hell, it’s the only thing that keeps them in the war.”
“Damn right,” another of the marine’s agreed, to a general chorus of assent.
“Too organized for their own good,” Carl said. “We used that against them at Karthix. They fly by the book, and we knew their book.”
“You got intel on those dogmen?” Vasquez asked. That was it, right there: genuine human curiosity.
“Naw, nothing that formal,” Carl said. He tried to slip his hands into his jacket pockets before realizing he’d left it in his assigned quarters. The sticky jungle air was no place for outerwear. “But I’d been in enough dogfights—no pun intended—watched the sensor recordings, and replayed them in simulators, that I knew how they flew. One of their squadrons flies just like another. A lot of ours fall into that trap, too… poor bastards.”
“But not you Half-Devils?” Messerschmidt asked.
“Think what you want about my squadron,” Carl said. “But regs say five hours a week of simulator time. Half-Devils did twenty.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t arrange an ‘accident’ for you,” Messerschmidt said. “From what I hear, Lieutenant Samuelson was accused of that once.”
“Hatchet?” Carl asked. “He’d never… Well, I mean, not to me. That friendly fire incident I bailed him out of was no accident. But the Shrieking Ghosts’ loss was the Half-Devils’ gain.”
“I don’t get you, Ramsey,” Vasquez said. “You knew that Samuelson was a murderer and wanted him in your unit?”
A spire poked above the rooftops, black where the rest of the city was yellow. Azrael had pointed it out from his office, but from ground level, it had been hidden from view until just now. They were getting close to their destination. If Carl was going to make any inroads with his captors, he was going to have to make it quick. Azrael had gone ahead and was awaiting them at the temple; there would be no time for chatting on
ce they arrived.
“You ever needed a second chance, Vasquez?” Carl asked.
“Nah,” he replied. “I mean, maybe this whole place is a second chance for us. But me? I’ve never gone off book.”
“Lemme tell you,” Carl said. “A lot of folks believe in second chances. Not a lot believe in thirds. If you’re the guy handing out those second chances, you get people with a lot to lose and everything to prove. I turned those sim runs into games, into competitions. My Half-Devils didn’t balk at extra sim time because they were on their second chance—all but a couple of them. But after a while, they liked getting in there and seeing who was top killer. I get people. I treat them right. I kept as many as I could alive, and I won.”
“Whatever,” Messerschmidt grumbled. “You’re here now, and Azrael’s got use for you. Otherwise, we’d have fed you to the jungle by now.”
“Really?” Carl asked. “The guy who cleaned up your mess? Won the battle you fled? I married a marine, and I’m pretty sure that’s against the Code of Conduct.”
“Fuck the Code of—”
“Hey,” Vasquez snapped, cutting off Messerschmidt mid-curse. “Still applies.” There were mutters of agreement among the rest of the marines.
Messerschmidt seethed as she and Vasquez exchanged a glare, before she turned her attention back to Carl. “You trying to stir shit up?”
“Me?” Carl asked. “No, I’m on my way to see if your god is going to order you fuckers to dust me. I’m just making small talk. Besides, if I don’t get my entrails spilled over some alien altar, it’d be nice to get to know my new neighbors.”
“There’s no altar,” Vasquez said. “And no sacrifices.”
Carl let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“We take the heretics out to the jungle and hamstring them. Jungle takes care of the rest.”