by Mark Wandrey
He’d found work helping move things in the docking area.
“If I’d wanted to get filled with bullets, I would have told commissars to fuck off at Stalingrad,” Artyom said as he raised his hand. They’d found little bottles and filled them with Chaat when the meager supply of cigarettes disappeared. Most of the Lost Soldiers decided they didn’t want to part with the few they’d brought through time. Vat had managed to win quite a few of them before that, though. There was plenty of interesting stuff from the stasis devices Murphy called symbiopods. However, like the smokes, there was not a lot of it.
“My office was in Nagasaki, where we researched submarine technology,” Taiki said. He looked at Vat. “If I had made it back to Japan, you Americans would have blown me up with your bomb!” Taiki Komatsu was a former private of the Imperial Japanese Military Kenpeitai, the secret police. He’d been on a submarine returning with German technology in a late war exchange. They never made it. Last he remembered, his boat was being bracketed by depth charges soon after leaving Vichy France. Then he woke up here, like Vat.
Taiki wasn’t much of a patriot; he’d become a technician at a shipyard, like his father. Then, because he knew German, he was recruited for the Kenpeitai because his father insisted. He hated boats and had admitted to Vat he couldn’t even swim. He’d joined Vat’s group shortly after Vat met Mara.
“Japs had it comin’ after Pearl, you ask me,” Sam Potts said. A fellow American, Potts had been a corporal with the 101st Airborne defending Bastogne during the Battle of the Bulge. He’d ended up in a freezer after meeting another mysterious man in sunglasses.
Vat was still trying to make sense of Pott’s accent. It sounded like classic Georgia from the 1940s, but it had a strange pacing and inflection. He figured it was some older family member, probably recently immigrated to the US, which had influenced young Sam Potts as a kid. It wasn’t uncommon.
“I told you,” Vat said, “no hacking on each other’s country. They’re all gone now anyway.”
Potts snorted and examined his cards.
“You Americans, always setting the terms.”
“I said be nice, Lech, or you can find someone else to play with.”
Private Lech Kowak was the last to find his way into Vat’s orbit. He’d been aboard the storied Polish submarine Orzel, which had escaped to Britain but was later sunk by a British plane by accident. The Ktor had taken the crew before the ship went down.
“Poland didn’t bluster,” Lech said and waved a hand at Potts.
“No, Poland surrendered,” Artyom said.
Everyone laughed, except Lech, who gave a grunt and took a drink of Chaat.
Vat liked the group, and they’d quickly become loyal to him. The four had taken the bare minimum sleep learning to become passingly familiar with what the SpinDogs called ‘first’ or ‘old’ Ktor. The problem was that passingly familiar wasn’t enough for most things. There were ten or more languages between the Lost Soldiers, and quite a few regional dialects.
When they got together, Vat quickly and fluidly switched between Yiddish, Russian, Japanese, English, and Ktor without missing a beat. He didn’t think about it, and his ability in each language steadily improved. Lech, who’d been the equivalent of a junior professor before the war, labeled Vat a “Linguistic Metamorph.” Vat figured it was pseudo-intellectual gobbledygook. Still, they’d all become better at Ktor, thanks to him.
His problem was simple; he wasn’t doing anything anymore. All the hard cases had either gone to work or disappeared. Vat suspected they’d been frozen again. The only ones left on the habitat were either working there by design, recovering from injuries after battles on R’Bak, or part of his motley crew. All of them were doing some small job or another. He kept his head down, but sooner or later, Murphy would catch up with him.
“What do you think Murphy will do with us?” Taiki asked, seemingly reading Vat’s mind as Vat shuffled the deck between hands. “He seemed anxious last time I see him.” Taiki had spoken in Japanese, like he usually did when he wasn’t thinking about it, so Vat repeated the question in slow, clearly pronounced Ktor for the others’ benefit.
“You have these atomic bombs, no?” Komatsu asked. Vat nodded. “Use them on this planet and be done with it.”
“We need the planet,” Vat explained again. “As well as some of the assets stashed there. It’s a fall back and resupply location while the attack is going on elsewhere in the galaxy.” It was three-quarters bullshit, but it sure sounded cool.
“Better someone else dying than us,” Lech said in Ktor. This time they all nodded.
The game broke up when most of the Chaat had been won or drunk. Vat left and wandered the corridors carved from space rock. His mind worked furiously. Every day that went by came closer to forcing his hand. Vat had gotten away with his trade for as long as he had without letting his hand get forced. Always have options, were his watchwords.
Not paying attention to where he was going, Vat ended up in one of the busy operational areas where they were staging ships deploying to R’Bak’s surface. A dozen large storage rooms were being used to store the Lost Soldiers’ equipment. He’d spent a fair amount of time there, talking with other Lost Soldiers, and “finding” certain things. He hadn’t intended to end up there, but he decided to take a look around. Just on general principles.
On a large pallet lashed together with Vietnam-era cordage, he spotted a case which instantly got his attention. He felt a wide smile growing as he glanced around. He was alone, which wasn’t unusual since it was late in the day by habitat time. The small space-bound human contingent was eating and relaxing prior to the sleep cycle.
After another quick glance around the area, he dug a small knife out of his pocket and made a couple of quick cuts. Then he heard the shouts. He made the knife disappear and walked to the storage room doorway. Four people were yelling at each other while a woman held back, fear on her face. Two of the men appeared to be SpinDogs, the other two were Lost Soldiers.
What the hell?
Vat left the storage bay and slowly walked toward to the group. One of the SpinDogs was the first to spot him. The man’s eyes narrowed, and Vat put his hands up, not wanting the already hostile encounter to turn violent.
The two Lost Soldiers wore WWII-era uniforms and had an Asian cast to their appearance. As he got closer, he recognized the Filipino being spoken by natives. The standardized version of Tagalog had a distinctive cadence he found particularly easy to pick up.
“We should kill these ancient relics!” one of the two SpinDogs said, his Ktor fast and clipped, the way they spoke when they didn’t want anyone else to understand them, especially humans. Vat understood enough Ktoran that this tactic no longer worked with him, not that he let on during his wanderings.
“There are few of them remaining,” the other said. “We could be tangling with a batang without realizing it.”
The first one scoffed.
“Are they crazy or something?” one of the Filipino men asked the other.
“Must be. We should go.” He switched to Ktor. “We go.”
“Where do you think you’re going, relic?” the first SpinDog snapped. “To find more women to harass?” He reached out and gave the soldier a shove.
Quick as a flash, both Lost Soldiers produced knives and moved far enough apart to avoid getting in each other’s way. Vat knew from his time in the Philippines that the hand-to-hand combat training they got was first rate. Not ones to be intimidated, the SpinDogs likewise produced blades. The woman screamed, and Vat moved in fast.
He took a desperate chance and interposed himself between the two groups. It was impossible to keep an eye on all four blades, and the intensity on their faces left little doubt that this was seconds from turning lethal. What the fuck are you doing? he wondered. His personal credo was simple: Never get between potential customers when they are about to throw down.
“Hey, easy,” he said in Filipino. “My friends.” Quickly he s
witched to the same form of Ktor the SpinDogs were using. “This is not the time to fight.”
“What do you want, human?” one of the SpinDogs snapped. “Are you here to help these two eye-bleeders?” The two Filipinos cocked their heads, trying to understand, but their meager Ktor wasn’t up to the task. The woman stood behind the two men, her hand on the shoulder of the older one; the fear had not left her eyes.
“I am on the side of peace,” Vat said in Ktor and bowed his head slightly. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed. The Ka-Bar he was using moments ago would not be visible unless he really needed it.
“Peace?” the second SpinDog asked, then pointed to one of the soldiers. “That one made a disgusting offer to the Primus’ daughter!”
Daughter of the Primus. Shit, Vat thought. The Primus was a leader of a family or clan of the SpinDogs. A powerful man. Disgusting offer? “May I speak to these men for one minute?”
“So, you can see if their offer is attractive to you, instead?” the SpinDog demanded.
“No, so I can understand what happened.”
“We told you what happened!” the other SpinDog yelled.
“There are multiple languages involved. You must realize many of us do not speak Ktor well.”
“You speak well,” the first one said. Despite the anger in his voice, Vat could see that though his words had not defused the situation, perhaps the men were a little calmer.
“Then let me talk to these other men,” he repeated. The SpinDog gave a single brief nod, allowing Vat to give the two humans his complete attention. “These two men are upset,” he said in Tagalog.
“We figured as much,” the older of the two said. “But we don’t know why. They went insane when we spoke to the young woman.”
“You did speak to her, then?” They both nodded. “Did you know she is the daughter of a Primus, a leader here? It is inappropriate to interact with her.”
“We did not know this,” the younger man said, appalled. “We meant no disrespect.”
“What did you say?” Vat asked.
“We said she is a lovely woman and asked her name,” the older man said. “We did not see her escorts—they were down the corridor and around the corner.”
Vat’s eyes narrowed as he considered. “You spoke in Ktor, of course?”
“Of course,” the younger man said. “We learned from the sleeping machines.”
Vat nodded. “Can you repeat exactly what you said? Exactly.”
The older man shook his head, obviously not understanding how it mattered, and yet he did just as Vat asked him. Vat instantly realized the problem.
“What you said, inadvertently of course, is this: ‘You have a pretty body. Will you take my name?’”
“My God,” the younger man gasped.
“It is not what we said!” the older man said.
Vat explained the particularities of tenses and possessives in Ktoran. “It is the kind of thing you pick up after time,” he said. “Many coming back from the surface have learned to do it naturally. You haven’t seen many locals, have you?”
“No,” the older man admitted. “We only speak Ktoran with other Lost Soldiers for ease of translation.”
“As I thought.”
“How do we fix this?” the younger man asked, glancing at the girl then looking away, his face reddening.
“Let me,” Vat said, and turned to the SpinDogs. “I am sorry; there was a terrible mistake. This is what these men meant to say.” He said the phrase correctly. “While it might have been improper for them to address the lady, it was not meant as an improper solicitation.”
The two SpinDogs listened, and Vat saw them visibly relax. The explanation was simple and offered earnestly. He spoke slowly so the two Filipino soldiers could follow along. Out of the corner of his eye he saw them nod when he explained their meaning and the mistake.
“This is true, then?” the older SpinDog asked. Both human soldiers nodded. “Then no harm has been done.” He looked at the two men. “I suggest you practice the language and avoid unaccompanied women.”
The Lost Soldiers nodded solemnly, and the SpinDogs left with their charge. The only one still confused appeared to be the girl as she was taken away.
“Thank you,” the older soldier said. “We didn’t want to spill their blood.”
“Not a problem,” Vat said, glancing toward the storage room. The two Lost Soldiers left, and he turned back to the storage room.
“That was interesting.”
He spun around to see Major Murphy standing a short distance away. The older man was watching him from the shadows, an appraising look on his face.
“Just a friendly disagreement,” Vat said. “No big deal.”
“I was looking for you,” Murphy said. “We need to talk.”
“Sure,” Vat said. With a last, longing look at the storage bay, he followed Murphy.
* * * * *
Chapter Five
“Have a seat,” Murphy said, and gestured to one of the two simple chairs at his desk. Several of the Dornaani-made computer tablets sat on the desk. Vat glanced at them, then at Murphy, who’d settled into his chair and appeared to be thinking.
“What do you need?” Vat asked.
“I need you to be useful.”
“Wasn’t what I did back there useful?”
“Useful? Sure. Intentional? I doubt it.” Vat started to speak, but Murphy cut him off. “Vat, you aren’t fooling me.”
“Sorry, fooling you?”
“I know you’ve been helping yourself to things. Oh, don’t look offended. The SpinDogs’ tech might not be impressive compared to the Dornaani, but it’s enough to have cameras everywhere.”
Shit.
“I let you play your games because I was hoping something would come out of it which I could use to put you to work.”
“You already do.”
“That’s make-work, and you know it. I can’t assign you anything that requires you to risk your precious hide because you’ll weasel out of it. And maybe leave a good soldier or two twisting in the wind when you do.”
“So this is your solution? Entrapping me?”
“Call it what you will, Vat. I have to use every tool at my disposal to do this job.” For a moment Vat thought Murphy looked far older than he was. “I’ve been keeping track of all the training for each Lost Soldier, you included, of course. Almost since we were awakened, one person stood out. One Victor Allen Thomas with a grand total of zero hours.”
Vat shrugged, and he thought he could see a vein bulging on Murphy’s forehead.
“So I came to give you an ultimatum.”
“Then why don’t you give it to me?”
“I’ll give you an indefinite vacation in a windowless cell, if you give me any more lip,” Murphy said in a chilly voice Vat hadn’t heard before. “So, I went looking for you. I found you in the midst of your little encounter.”
“How much of it did you see?”
“I was right behind you when it started.”
“Ah.”
“You could have just walked away,” Murphy said. “Instead you walked into the middle of a potential knife fight. That alone surprised me because it didn’t fit your psychological profile.” Vat snorted. “Don’t hold much stake in those profiles?”
“No. Do you?”
Murphy laughed; another first. “Actually, I don’t either. They are, however, often not far off for a baseline. At least from my experience. Anyway, I was a second from stepping in when you pulled a rabbit out of your hat.” He looked Vat in the eye. “How did you learn Ktor so well?”
Vat shrugged again.
“Mister Thomas, this is your come to Jesus meeting. I’ll lay it out as simply as possible. You can either become part of what we’re doing here and help—”
“I’ve been helping—” Vat started.
“Shut up!”
Vat closed his mouth.
“You’ve been helping yourself, is what you’ve been d
oing. What I was saying was that you can either help out with everything you’ve got, and I mean full commitment, or…”
“Or what? Gonna put me back in the freezer like the other down timers who haven’t adapted?”
Murphy’s smile looked as cold as February in Romulus, Michigan. “What makes you think any of them went back into cryostasis?”
“Then what…?” Vat trailed off, blinking. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
“We’re in space, Vat. Options are limited, as are resources. As wonderful and charming as you are, I don’t have time for you if I can’t utilize your skillset.”
“I have a natural skill with language,” Vat admitted.
“Nothing in your file mentions this, not in education or military service.”
“Because I didn’t study languages. I tried, in high school.”
Murphy tapped on his tablet computer. “Yes, I see a D in French.”
“Yes, that’s it. I’ve always been good at figuring out dialects. Detroit has a lot of immigrants. I figured it would translate into book learning. I was wrong. What it did do is teach me to not talk about it.”
“Came in handy selling arms, didn’t it?” Murphy held up the tablet showing Vat’s NSA arms license, under yet another name. “You were working it seven ways to Tuesday. Legal contractor under your real name, travel permits to war zones under one alias, ITAR permits under another. You were in Somalia to sell anti-aircraft missiles to the warlords.”
“How long have you known?”
“I knew you were one step ahead of arrest before you were thawed out. The Dornaani computers are very efficient.”
Vat shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why bother letting me fuck around up here for weeks if you knew what I did and who I was?”
“Because this mission, this damned quest of mine, requires all sorts.” He gave Vat a wintry half grin. “Even your sort.” He looked at his computer then back up at Vat. “We’re making inroads on R’Bak. Not as many or as quickly as we’d hoped. However, we’re not as far behind schedule as I feared. We’ve got more than a year before the Searing. The problem is we haven’t found all the weapons and equipment caches we know are there. The satraps are still busy activating them, and now they know we’re here.
