That much, at least, he knew about himself.
XIV
The three Humans sprawled languidly around the crescent-shaped table, shuttling down drinks as they watched the projections which cavorted amid the storm of colored lights that filled the relaxation center. Music caressed respective tympana as near-naked men and women flitted erotically through fragments of light sharp and distinct as metal shavings. They and their immediate surroundings danced submerged in the mists of a perfumed artificial twilight.
The Center was extensive and they were not alone. Representatives of other Weave species sought similar solace in the febrile evening. Massood and Wais, S’van and Hivistahm and more eagerly availed themselves of the soothing surroundings. For each, different images dwelt in the deliberately coy shapes which darted through the high-tech fog.
Not surprisingly, the perceptions of the Massood differed little from those of the Humans, though the figures that twisted and pirouetted for them in the suggestive light were taller, slimmer, and completely covered in fine gray fur. The Wais saw elegant movement devoid of heavy sexual overtones, while the contemplative Hivistahm willingly allowed themselves to be blinded by deceptive iridescence. Whatever the S’van observed amused them greatly, but then there was very little which did not. Being bright and intelligent but woefully deficient in imagination, the O’o’yan saw not much of anything. Within the confines of the Center, not merely beauty but virtually everything was in the eye of the beholder.
Most of the time the three visiting Humans preferred to eye the projections instead of each other. Though Sergeant Selinsing was moderately attractive, her fellow noncoms Carson and Moreno wouldn’t have dreamed of undressing her with their active imaginations the way they did the figures in the projections. She was, after all, very much one of the group. Besides which she outranked them.
Carson manipulated a switch on the table. Instantly the projection he’d selected was sitting there beside him, inviting him with her eyes and more. He knew he could reach out and touch it, experiencing a tactile fabrication guaranteed to please. Like all such liaisons, however, it would prove as transitory as the contents of his credit line, and about as satisfying. With a sigh he nudged a control and watched as the apparition, like so many previous loves, returned to the wizard regions which had spawned it.
Moreno was next to rejoin reality. To the silent amusement of her companions, Selinsing lingered longest among the projections. She blinked as the last one vanished.
“That one was new to the files.” She was mildly apologetic. “Mutant slavo-equine. Very interesting.”
“Spare me.” Moreno slugged down recombinant liquor. Smallest of the three, spare of word and feature, he had the doe sadness of a saint and the moves of a pit viper. His tiny black eyes scanned the rolling, uneven levels of the Center.
“I’m sick of this. Look at that odious pair over there.” His head bobbed.
Like a bear emerging from hibernation, Carson swiveled in his seat. Selinsing tilted her head to one side.
The two Wais were deep in conversation, the hypnotic movement of arms, fingers, head, and neck supplementing verbal communication. In attire they were impeccable, in gesture flawless. Moreno wanted to puke.
“They squat on their feathery butts and never get within a hundred kilometers of any actual fighting, but if we happened to ask about joining the Weave they would immediately vote against us.”
Carson belched, a rolling benthonic exhalation. “Who gives a shit about their stupid Weave, anyway?” He sucked at his tankard. “Screw ’em.”
“We do all the fighting and they won’t even let us vote in their organization,” Moreno muttered bitterly.
“I don’t mind that.” Selinsing was incongruously petite. “What I don’t like is sitting here while their stupid Military Council decides strategy. They’ve always been overcautious.”
“Just so.” Moreno straightened in his chair. “The only way we’re ever going to get off this stinking, sweaty dung-ball of a world is to kick the living mierda out of the enemy, and we can’t do that while we’re getting blitzed in here.”
“Can’t do it out there, either,” Carson reminded him. “Orders. You know what the Council says. Patience.”
“Yeah, patience,” said Moreno morosely. “And the Massood go along with ’em. Damn shrew-faces.”
“They’ve always gone along with the Council.” Selinsing drew imaginary lines on the tabletop. “That’s why this war’s been going on for so long. Not that they’re cowards. Just overcareful. They’ve been listening to the S’van and Wais for too long. Not to mention the Turlog.”
“I heard that two of the crabs were on Eirrosad, dictating tactics.” Moreno glowered at a distant pair of necking S’van. Their eruptive beards intertwined indistinguishably.
“It would not surprise me,” said Selinsing. “Orders are that no unit can advance more than two kilometers for fear of being flanked.”
“Flanked mierda.” Moreno’s disgusted gaze abandoned the S’van. “War’s been going on here long enough for everybody to know everyone else’s position. We know pretty well where the enemy headquarters for this region is situated. We ought to smash right in there, take it out, verdad?, and not stop until we reach their planetary HQ. That’d put fin to the Purpose on this piece of dirt. Then maybe they’d post us somewhere decent.”
“I agree,” said Selinsing, “but Command doesn’t.”
Carson leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you two quit yer bitching? We’re stuck here and there ain’t a damn thing we can do about it because our own officers spend all their time diplomatically disagreeing with Massood and S’van tactical drivel. They’ve got less guts than the squids.”
“As a matter of fact,” Selinsing murmured softly, “it is said that the Amplitur actually have two sets of guts.”
“Then they’re probably real happy with the current state of affairs.” Carson sought wisdom in the depths of his impressive tankard. “Me, I personally don’t think they want to beat us. Just keep things stalemated until they can outlive us.”
Moreno rested his forearms on the table. The music of many-species music ricocheted off surrounding walls. “I say somebody’s got to do something to change the present state of affairs. Somebody’s got to do it now.”
“What did you have in mind?” Eyes half-closed, the relaxed Selinsing contemplated invisible amours.
“Our position is pretty isolated, the farthest advanced of any firebase. The ideal place from which to strike. An end could be put to the business of Eirrosad … if somebody had the guts to do it.” Eyes narrowed, he appraised his colleagues. “Preferably several somebodies.”
“You mean hit ’em with just our own squads?” Carson shifted in his seat. “Wouldn’t be enough firepower to be sure of success. Anyway we’d be ordered back too soon for it to do any good.”
“Not if we started out with incontrovertible orders in the first place,” Moreno ventured conspiratorially.
Carson blinked at him. “Must be too many lights in here. I ain’t followin’ you.”
Moreno put a hand on his friend’s arm. “What if the word came down from Command level to carry out just such an attack?”
Selinsing uttered something unmistakably derisive in the language of her ancestors. “At least you have chosen the proper venue for wishful thinking.”
“Yeah, dream on,” Carson grunted.
“You know Colonel Chin?” Moreno inquired of his companions.
When they drew close together Carson’s thick eyebrows resembled a pair of caterpillars engaged in unspeakable activities. “Sure. Everybody knows Chin. But Chin ain’t in command of our position. Wang-lee is.”
“That’s so. But right now Wang-lee is busy conferencing with the major minds back at Katulla Nexus, hashing strategy with the crabs and the S’van. That leaves Chin in charge until she gets back.” He leaned forward eagerly. “I happen to know Chin’s as tired of waiting on the Council as the rest of us.”
“I have never heard him say anything along those lines.” Selinsing was being cautious.
“You wouldn’t expect him to blurt it out in public, now would you?” Moreno smiled like a man in possession of a considerable secret.
Carson’s eyes widened. “You’ve talked to him! About this?” He whistled softly. “One wrong word scrapes the wrong nerve and you’ll find yourself back at Supply Central, busted in rank and cataloging foodstuffs for the duration.”
“Anything would be better than squatting in the middle of this jungle, waiting to go mad.”
“You are joking,” said Selinsing slowly. “Though if someone like Chin were to give the orders …”
“Give orders, hell.” Carson turned to stare intently at Moreno. “If Chin feels the same way about these delays as the rest of us, could be he might consider doing more than just issuing orders. Like maybe leading an assault himself.”
Suddenly aware he might have gone too far too fast, Moreno adopted a cautioning tone. “Slow down, my friends. I’ve only suspicions. I don’t know Colonel Chin’s feelings exactly. It’s only been mentioned on a couple of occasions, and casually at that. Chin never got specific. He’s a funny kind of guy, even for an officer.”
“Nothing wrong with his rep. I know he’s got what it takes upstairs.” Carson rapped his belly. “Question is, does he have it here?”
“If we hit the enemy with our full strength,” Selinsing was murmuring, “not just our three squads but everything on the base, we could roll right over them and strike for their planetary headquarters. Ja; maybe even get ourselves a couple of squids. Vacuum them right out of the forest.”
“That’s the wipe!” Carson drained his tankard, glanced hopefully at Moreno. “How about it, Juan? You think Chin might go for it?”
“Not in so many words,” the shorter man replied carefully. “Chin’s as focused on his career as any officer. He’d have to feel he was covered in case of a screwup.”
“Certain ambiguities might creep into official communications, rendering ultimate comprehension a matter of individual interpretation.” Both men looked at Selinsing, who smiled like a petite wolverine. Communications was her subspeciality.
“There is a certain officer in Base Operations,” she explained unctuously. “He is Massood. If these hypothetical orders happened to be received in Massood, difficulties in translation might have to be resolved as best as possible by whichever personnel happened to be present at the time.”
“Like you?” Carson wore a grin of a different sort.
She smiled ever so slightly. Escaping rainbows stained her jet-black crewcut. “It is not inconceivable. It would of course also be incumbent upon me to see that matters of ambivalence were conveyed personally to the acting base commandant so that he could propose a determination based on available evidence and expert opinion.”
“You again.” Carson’s admiration knew no bounds.
Having intended only to submit the first draft of a casual notion, Moreno was somewhat taken aback by the speed with which his companions had proceeded to polish it.
“Slow down. We’re all half-drunk.”
“Not me,” Carson insisted cheerfully. “I’m four-fifths, at least.”
“What if Chin doesn’t take to the idea in the spirit with which it’s offered?”
Selinsing shrugged. “Then I can be held responsible for a poor translation from the Massood, remember? I’m willing to take that much of the risk. If he so chooses, all he can fault us for personally is an excess of enthusiasm.”
Carson’s chair hummed as it retreated from the table. He rose, weaving only slightly. As he stepped out of the Human cone of influence, the shape in the shadows changed from that of a tall, voluptuous woman to a short and to the sergeant’s eyes utterly repulsive female S’van.
“Let’s do it now.” His eyes blazed. “Let’s do it quick. I’m sick of sitting on my ass blowing kisses at shadows. I want to kill something.”
That was Carson for you, his friends knew. Just a regular guy. Whispering excitedly among themselves the non-coms exited the club, oblivious as always to the expressions of disgust and relief which crossed the faces of their non-Human allies and fellow patrons as the three primates departed.
Chin’s apartment was located deep within the forward firebase’s central accommodations complex. Given the option, on Eirrosad as elsewhere, high-ranking officers usually elected to sacrifice sweeping views in favor of claustrophobic safety. As befitted the base’s second-in-command, Chin rated not one but three rooms: a sleeping cubby, private hygienic facilities, and a meeting and strategy room. Native vegetation had been planted atop the complex, which in combination with sophisticated methods of camouflage allowed the base to blend into the surrounding jungle.
It was quite late and typically dark outside when the three noncoms ventured from their quarters. Overhead, the camouflage aerogel shimmered like frozen smoke, concealing movement, mass, and heat from possible detection. Beneath its distorting imagery hundreds of soldiers and support personnel sheltered.
The stone-faced, uninhibited Chin greeted them in a pair of briefs. He disliked climate control as much as official ceremony and in the privacy of his own quarters disdained the use of both. Formally attired, his nocturnal visitors were soon sweating profusely.
Physically Chin was anything but impressive. He was shorter than any of them, Selinsing included. Like her, his features were small, verging on the delicate. The Malay returned Chin’s stare boldly. There was about as much fat on him as on an egret, which he superficially resembled. Despite that he looked older than he was.
Yet this was a man who had spent his entire adult life fighting in the service of the Weave. The mere fact of his continued survival was all the testimonial he needed. The numerous scars which covered his body, scars which even Hivistahm medical science had been unable to eliminate completely, underlined his accomplishments as rakishly as they clothed his muscles. Small he was, but nothing to trifle with.
In his expectant presence Carson and Selinsing wavered. In the confines of a commandant’s quarters at two o’clock in the morning, intentions nurtured by boredom and booze tended to lose immediacy. As the one who had originally conceived it, a hesitant Moreno was therefore left to give birth to the proposition.
“Colonel, sir, my colleagues and I, well … we’ve been talking.”
“So I presumed when you requested a meeting at this unconscionable hour.” Chin’s words were like the rest of him: short, clipped, to the point.
Moreno was not intimidated. Chin was widely respected as a soldier’s officer. “It’s something that’s been bothering us for a long time, something we’ve talked about a lot. It’s not anything we can take care of without help. Command-level help.”
“Your help, sir,” Selinsing chipped in. “And your discretion.”
“Really.” Eyebrows ephemeral as a late-night regret rose slightly. “It’s good to know that one’s opinion is respected by one’s troops. Excuse me a moment.” The near-naked officer rose to check the door, then his viewscreen, before resuming his smile and his seat. “Cool out tonight. Metrolg predicts rain.”
“When doesn’t it rain on this stinking planet?” Carson muttered rhetorically.
“When indeed. Tell me now: with what do you need my help?”
“Something of vital importance, sir,” Moreno told him.
“Allow me the privilege of making my own evaluation,” Chin murmured. “It may differ from yours.”
“I don’t think it will, sir.” Moreno glanced at his friends for support, then smiled tightly back at the commandant. “None of us do.”
When the word came down from Colonel Chin’s Tactics Group that something big was in the offing, the Massood were willing, if a shade puzzled. It struck several of their officers that they had not been consulted on procedure. Informed that the success of the exercise hinged upon surprise and unpredictability, they had to confess that it had indeed caught them completely unprepared
, and might logically therefore have the same effect upon the enemy. Debate, they were informed, would only slow them down. It was time to act, not discuss.
When informed of the nature of the forthcoming operation, the Human officers and noncoms expressed unqualified enthusiasm. Though most of them were as tired of sitting around as the trio which had confronted Chin, none had heretofore manifested their feelings in half so overt a fashion. One or two of the younger officers did find themselves pausing to wonder at the abruptness of it all, but their curiosity was drowned in the rush of preparations which followed the handing down of orders.
Among the support personnel, Hivistahm and O’o’yan, Wais and Yula and the rest, there were only the usual misgivings. As the representatives of the noncombat species lived in a perpetual state of apprehension anyway, it mattered little to them whether Human and Massood forces were coming or going. They performed their assigned tasks with silent efficiency while doing their best to keep their attention averted from the bloodthirsty grimaces and exclamations of those sentients who were preparing to die on their behalf.
Some who were hobbyistically inclined to philosophical consideration of matters strategic wondered why this particular moment had been chosen for a massive attack and could find no reason. It did not trouble them overly. It was in the nature of Humans to do the unpredictable. They had been doing it with regularity and to great effect ever since they had been recruited into the effort. No Hivistahm, no Lepar was about to second-guess them.
Imagine mounting an all-out assault on the enemy when there was no obvious justification for doing so! Clearly a stroke of purest brilliance. The support teams threw themselves energetically into the last-minute, frantic preparations.
F’tath was not a high-ranking officer, but he was S’van. Even as he joked and hurried to carry out his own duties, he found himself questioning the press of activity. Not the actual orders; they at least were in line with historical Human-Massood strategy. What concerned him was the narrow chain of command down which they had been passed. For example, as pertained to his own department, there hadn’t even been time beforehand to discuss projected lines of supply, an omission which to him smacked of the blatantly neglectful.
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