Recoil

by David Sherman

  “Oh, yes, sir!” She had almost forgotten how wonderful a good cup of coffee could be. Jimmy Jasper hated drugs of all kinds. “Your body is the Lord’s temple,” he would thunder during a sermon, “and it is a sin to defile it with man’s evil concoctions!” She realized suddenly how silly that prohibition was.

  They engaged in small talk for a while after the supposed object of the meeting, the Skink abduction, had been covered. Sally noticed, idly, that neither man had bothered to take any notes of the conversation. But she liked talking about her family and friends back on Kingdom. She hadn’t thought of them in a long time. At last Dr. Jeroboam stood up. “Well, Miss Consolador, we want to thank you for coming to see us and being so cooperative.”

  “You have been a great help to us, miss,” Long said, coming around the coffee table to give her his hand. He helped her to her feet. A guard appeared silently at the door to escort her out of the building. “Please have a safe trip back to Senator Maxim’s villa, and feel free to visit us here again anytime.”

  Sally felt like yelling, No! Keep me here! Help me! I do not want to go back there! but she could not. “Thank you, sirs,” she said instead, and let herself be led out of the room.

  “Whew!” J.B. said. “That girl is desperate, AG. We should have kept her here for her own good. I shudder to think of that poor girl returning to Jasper’s clutches.”

  “Not ready to do that yet, J.B. Here are the lab analyses.

  Compare Consolador’s with Jasper’s. Oh, she has the thyroid grafts, just like he does, but look at this blood serum analysis.”

  Jeroboam glanced at the printouts briefly and whistled. “The level of that stuff in his blood is 240 milligrams per milliliter. Hers is—holy jumpin’ Jehosephat—40 milligrams! The stuff is wearing off on her!”

  “Right. Come on, J.B. We’re getting all this stuff together and we’re going to see the president. I’m going to get her to agree to get one of the justices to issue us a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Reverend Jimmy Jasper.”

  Sally Consolador wept quietly all the way back to Senator Maxim’s villa.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  SIXTEEN

  Marine House, Sky City, Haulover

  Since the dawn of professional standing armies, seasoned noncommissioned officers have found it necessary to take newly commissioned officers aside and teach them how to be good officers. That’s because, no matter how well educated or trained a new officer is, he lacks the experience to put his education or training to its best use. High among such “best uses” is the art of dealing with people, commonly called “people skills.” The Confederation Marine Corps didn’t have that problem because all of its officers were commissioned from the ranks, most new ensigns being elevated from the ranks of sergeants and staff sergeants, and already had the requisite “people skills.”

  Usually.

  But there was the occasional exception. And Sergeant Kindy and Sergeant Williams were of the opinion that Ensign Daly had become such an exception. So when they returned to their quarters in the capital to plan their next steps, the two squad leaders took Ensign Daly aside.

  “Don’t you think you’re overdoing it a bit, boss?” Kindy asked.

  “What do you mean?” Daly asked.

  “You virtually accused Miner of being responsible for the raids,” Kindy said. “That’s pretty damn harsh. Especially when we don’t have a bit of evidence.”

  “I think the son of a bitch is behind them, and that’s why he’s stonewalling us. So I’m on his case. What?” The last word was directed at Williams when the latter smiled and shook his head.

  “You do have a reputation, sir,” Williams said.

  “Reputation?” Daly demanded. “What are you talking about?”

  Kindy leaned close and stuck his face in Daly’s. “What he means is, you’ve got a rep as one arrogant SOB, that’s what.”

  “Arrogant! I’m not—”

  Kindy stepped in even closer. “I was with you for a long time when you were my squad leader, sir. Take my word for it, you are arrogant.” He pulled back slightly. “Hell’s bells, we’re all—all of us Force Recon Marines—we’re all arrogant. We damn well earn the right to our arrogance just by being what we are! But you, Mr. Daly, you have always been a little more arrogant than the rest of us. And you’ve gotten worse since you became a damn ossifer!”

  “Now, you see here,” Daly roared, red-faced, leaning into Kindy so his nose nearly touched the sergeant’s, “I am not arrogant!” He poked a stiff finger into Kindy’s chest. “You seem to forget that when I was your squad leader, I taught you everything you know about being Force Recon!”

  “That’s right,” Kindy roared back, nearly as red-faced as Daly, slapping Daly’s finger away from his chest. “And you seem to have forgotten some of the things you taught me! One of them that you forgot”—he edged closer to Daly—“is don’t lean too hard on civilians. Civilians don’t cooperate when you lean on them.”

  “Well, Miner’s not going to cooperate with us, not if he’s behind the raids—and I believe he is!”

  “Well, I think he is too. And your arrogance is putting him on guard. So he’s going to be more careful to see that nothing slips that’ll prove he is!”

  “Kindy’s right, sir,” Williams interjected while trying to insinuate himself between them. “I think you’ve alerted Miner to watch himself.”

  Daly stepped back and turned away. After a moment, Daly turned back, his color almost back to normal.

  “You know, you’re right. I have been pretty insufferable.” Daly gave his head a sharp shake. “It’s one thing to act superior to a field grade doggie, but it’s a mistake to act that way to one of the leading citizens of a world.”

  “Even if he is guilty,” Kindy said, nodding vigorously.

  “Until we have the proof,” Williams said with a relieved grin.

  “But,” Daly said thoughtfully, “I can’t take back the way I’ve already acted. What I can do, though”—a grin spread across his face—“is push the arrogance all the way to buffoonery. Make him believe I’m an incompetent fool.”

  “And then maybe he’ll let his guard slip.”

  “And then we’ll get the proof we need to nail him.”

  Daly put a call in to the office of the planetary administrator, requesting an appointment for first thing the next morning.

  Kindy listened to the bug he’d planted in Spilk Mullilee’s office, and laughed when the planetary administrator placed a panicky call to Smelt Miner, telling the chairman of the board about the early meeting.

  Office of the Planetary Administrator, Sky City

  “You want what?” Planetary Administrator Mullilee croaked. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the Marine officer standing on the other side of his desk.

  “I want satellite, radar, and any other surveillance data you have for the area of the Johnson homestead,” Ensign Daly repeated his request. His expression was blank, impassive. He was in garrison utilities.

  Smelt Miner, sitting on a settee along the side wall of the office, where he thought Daly couldn’t see him, shook his head when Mullilee darted a glance in his direction. But Daly had better peripheral vision than Miner realized.

  “W-We don’t have mu . . .” Mullilee started to say, but let his voice trail off when Daly turned away from him.

  “Mr. Miner,” Daly said, facing Haulover’s chairman of the board, “is there a particular reason you don’t want the Confederation military to have access to intelligence that could lead us to whoever it is that is conducting raids on remote homesteads? I’d think you’d be eager to give us all the help you can to stop the abductions or murders of the people on your world.”

  Miner replied calmly. “Mr. Daly, if you had let Spilk finish speaking, you would have heard him say that we don’t have the kind of data you are asking for. What we have in orbit are weather satellites, and a communications satellite in geosync. And we don’t have radar installations
anywhere near the Johnson homestead.

  Daly momentarily showed confusion on his face before he resumed his impassive mask. “But radar doesn’t have to be in the vicinity of the Johnson homestead to show the tracks of aircraft heading in its direction. And, if you only have weather and communications satellites in orbit . . . I could have sworn the Confederation Aviation Orbital Administration gave Haulover five Global Trekker satellites some years ago,” he added, uncertainty in his voice.

  A glint of superiority and victory flashed in Miner’s eyes. He said, “That’s right, the Aviation Orbital Administration did give us the Global Trekker satellites. But, several members of the board were concerned that using the Global Trekkers would be a violation of the Intra-Confederation Arms Control Act of 2368. So after careful consideration, we decided not to launch them.” He shook his head. “You see, Ensign, we don’t have the satellite data you are asking for.”

  “B-But, Mr. Miner, surely the board isn’t that naïve. The Act of 2368 prohibits the sale of military weapons to civilians. The Global Trekker is a civilian satellite designed to conduct land use surveys.”

  “Be that as it may,” Miner said through gritted teeth, “we never launched the Global Trekkers—and we don’t have any satellite data to show you.”

  Daly stood off kilter, projecting confusion and uncertainty.

  “All right,” he finally said, “I’ll settle for radar and what other surveillance data you might have.”

  Miner smiled condescendingly, and nodded at Mullilee. Then he turned back to Daly and said, “You’ll have what you need.”

  “I-I’ll have the radar data for you tomorrow,” the administrator said. “W-We don’t have o-other surveillance data.”

  “We’re going back to the Johnson homestead today, Mr. Mullilee. I really need that data before we leave.”

  Mullilee swallowed. “I-I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thank you,” Daly said, sounding positively contrite.

  Miner dismissed Daly with a flick of his fingers.

  As Daly closed the door of Mullilee’s office, he heard Miner say, “I took that pup down a peg or two.” Daly thought that the board chairman meant for him to hear it. He smiled inwardly as he left the building and headed back to Marine House.

  Office of the Director, Resources and Survey Department, Ministry of the Interior, Sky City

  While Ensign Daly was wearing garrison utilities for his visit to Planetary Administrator Mullilee, Sergeants Kindy and Williams paid a visit to the forensics department of the Haulover Ministry of the Interior. Unlike their commander, the two squad leaders wore their chameleons—the better to throw their hostess off balance.

  “Ms. Silverthorp, I’m—”

  “Mrs.,” the blond woman behind an impressive desk centered in a surprisingly opulent office said, wagging the fingers of her left hand at the two sergeants to display the rather impressive diamond-encrusted ring on its third finger. She looked at her wagging fingers, as they were far less disconcerting than having to look at the disembodied heads and hands that hovered before her.

  “Mrs. Silverthorp,” Sergeant Kindy said, correcting himself, “I am Sergeant Him Kindy, Force Recon, Confederation Marine Corps. We—that is, Sergeant Williams and I”—he gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding his helmet—“are in the team tracking down whoever is conducting the raids on remote homesteads.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that the Confederation sent military assistance.” She clasped her hands on the desktop behind the silver-plated name plaque that announced her as Phyllis Silverthorp, and kept looking at them rather than face the upsetting sight in front of her.

  “And we would like some assistance from your department,” Sergeant Williams continued.

  “Oh, but we don’t have any expertise in fighting or . . .” Her hands fluttered at the mention of assistance, and she looked up in frightened surprise, only to clutch her hands back on the desktop and fix her eyes on them again. She continued talking but in so low a voice the two Marines couldn’t make out her words.

  “No, no, Mrs. Silverthorp,” Kindy said in a soothing tone. “We don’t want people from your department. We want equipment.”

  “Oh! That’s different. Why didn’t you say so?”

  “We just did,” Williams said, but Silverthorp continued talking and she didn’t hear him.

  “I have no idea what kind of equipment my department might have that fighting men could possibly need, I mean, after all, we survey land and locate natural resources of all kinds that can be utilized to build our society here on Haulover, and we assist homesteads all around the continent in getting established, and assist homesteaders in deciding what kinds of homesteads they want to establish and surveying their holdings so correct information can be given when they apply for their land grants and determine the resources, both surface and sub-surface, not to mention water and minerals, that are available to them on their homesteads, and we also survey and map unsettled and unpopulated areas of the continent so that the information is already on hand when our population increases to the point where we need to expand, lebensraum, if you are familiar with the term—”

  Kindy leaned forward and placed a hand on Silverthorp’s clasped hands. “Yes, Mrs. Silverthorp, we know what lebensraum means.”

  At Kindy’s touch, she abruptly stopped talking and stared at the disembodied hand on top of hers for a moment before yanking her hands out from under it and spinning her chair around so she was facing away from the two Marines.

  “What do you need?” she asked, her voice squeaking. “No”—she lifted a hand—“don’t tell me, I don’t need to know, m-my secretary can take care of you; I’ll instruct her to give you all the assistance you require and you can sign out any equipment my department has that you can use and I won’t even ask what you’re going to do with it. I’ll even instruct my staff to let you have whatever you want without question, and if anybody doesn’t cooperate report it to me for—no, you don’t need to report it to me, tell Miss Domiter and she can tell me so I can take the necessary disciplinary action against the miscreants, so I’ll call Miss Domiter right now and instruct her to give you all the assistance you need.” She began to grope blindly behind herself for her comm. “After all, the Department of Resources and Survey is all about assisting people, even the Confederation military, and what the Confederation military wants my department’s equipment for is none of my business nor is it the business of any of my staff—” She jumped and gave out a small shriek when Williams placed the comm in her hand. Her back still turned, she pulled herself together and babbled into the comm for a moment. When she’d finished giving her secretary instructions, she went on. “Miss Domiter is ready to assist you, gentlemen, it’s been a true pleasure meeting you but now I have important work to get to so if you’ll excuse me . . .”

  Sergeants Kindy and Williams didn’t hear the rest of what Director Phyllis Silverthorp had to say; they were on their way out of her office as soon as she said her secretary was ready to assist them.

  Barbora Domiter wasn’t as put off by the hovering heads and hands as was her boss; she seemed amused by the way her superior had reacted to the Marines.

  “She’s a political appointee,” Miss Domiter whispered to the Marines. “Almost everybody knows to see me or one of the deputy directors if they need anything done.” Then, in a normal speaking voice, she said, “What can I help you gentlemen with?”

  Kindy and Williams grinned at each other and smiled at her. Her blond hair was obviously the result of outside intervention, but her charming smile implied that she’d altered the color for fun rather than vanity. Her eyes were so dark they were almost black. Even seated behind her desk, they could tell she had a shape that would turn men’s heads when she walked past.

  They told her what they wanted. She placed the order for everything but the comm scramblers. “We don’t have scramblers in the inventory,” she explained. “Only members of the board of directors have scramblers.” She
gave them a printout, along with another slip of paper.

  “Go to this address.” She marked a box on the printout. “They’ll have everything ready for you. That’s my personal number,” she said, tapping the other piece of paper. “If you find yourselves at loose ends some evening and would like to see the sights of Sky City with a local guide, give me a call. I’ll bring a friend.”

  “Thank you, Miss Domiter, we just might do that.”

  “Please, it’s Barbora.”

  Kindy and Williams smiled broadly at her.

  “My name’s Him. He’s D’Wayne.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” She held her hand out.

  Kindy shook it, then silently cursed himself for being so restrained when Williams kissed her hand and said, “The pleasure is ours.”

  They were back at Marine House with everything Ensign Daly had asked them to locate shortly after Daly returned from the meeting with Planetary Administrator Mullilee. The Marines all had a fine laugh when they listened to the recording of Daly’s encounter with Mullilee and Miner.

  “You may have turned him, boss,” Kindy said.

  Daly nodded. “I think I managed to convince him I’m highly fallible.

  En Route to the Johnson Homestead

  Ensign Daly was disgruntled when Planetary Administrator Mullilee failed to have the requested radar data ready by the time the Marines left for the Johnson homestead, but he didn’t show it. Instead of discussing the lack of cooperation they were getting from the local government authorities, Daly encouraged his men to discuss the overall situation.

  “They’re hiding something,” Sergeant Kindy said. His squad was in the lead Land Runner with Ensign Daly. The equipment he and Sergeant Williams had collected from the Department of Resources and Survey was in the second vehicle with Williams’s squad.

  “I know that, we all know that, and you keep saying it,” Daly said.