by Dan Cragg
Two of the three men on the portico were startled by the voices and noises they heard in places where there was nobody to be seen. The man in the middle ignored the voices and clangs in favor of staring at the approaching disembodied head and arms—he didn’t appear to be startled.
“Can’t quite put my finger on exactly what it is, but you don’t look like my image of a Confederation Navy commodore,” the middle man said.
“And I am not, sir,” Humphrey said, stopping a pace before the stairs leading the the portico. “I’m Lieutenant Humphrey, Confederation Marine Corps. I’m the executive officer of Company L of the infantry battalion, Thirty-fourth Fleet Initial Strike Team. And you are?”
“Why, I’m Louis Cukayla,” the man said, looking from one to another of the Dragons. He was thin-faced and wiry, except for bulging shoulders and arms; his shirt was tailored to accentuate those muscles. “Where’s Commodore Borland? Why isn’t he here yet? Or is he here in one of those invisibility suits you Marines wear?” For the first time he looked to where the shouting voices and clanging weapons had fallen silent. “And speaking of Marines, just what are you doing there?”
“Sir, Commodore Borland will be planetside once proper security is set. Which is what my Marines are doing right now.”
“Setting security?” Cukayla said incredulously. “Why, this is the most secure place on this whole damn roasting world!”
“I’m sure it is, sir,” Humphrey said drily, “but we Marines always take care of our own security.”
Lieutenant Bass, having just completed a quick survey of the defensive positions the Marines had taken, suddenly appeared at Humphrey’s side. Suddenly is the operative word—he didn’t take off his helmet until he was standing next to the company’s XO, when he whipped it off in a well-practiced motion that made his head appear to pop into existence.
“Security’s in place, sir,” he reported.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Humphrey said. He turned to Cukayla and said, “Lieutenant Bass is temporarily second in command here.”
“‘Temporarily’? What do you mean ‘temporarily’?” Cukayla demanded. But Humphrey didn’t answer; he was contacting the Grandar Bay to let them know that third platoon (reinforced) was on site and had secured the perimeter. He listened for a moment, acknowledged the message he received, and, signing off, returned his attention to Cukayla. “Did you say something, sir?” he asked.
“Yes—no, wait a minute. Did you say Fleet Initial Strike Team?”
“Yes, sir. Thirty-fourth FIST.”
Cukayla looked thoughtful for a moment, then cocked his head and said, “Seems I’ve heard of that outfit. Thirty-fourth FIST is some kind of famous, isn’t it?”
“We are well traveled, sir.”
Bass had finished removing his gloves and rolling up his sleeves. He grinned fiercely. “We’ve got a reputation, yeah. More deployments and more combat than any other unit in the Confederation military.”
Cukayla still looked thoughtful, but his excitement was building, visible in the slight twitching of his arms and legs. “Seems to me I’ve heard something else. Something about aliens.” He gave the two Marines a challenging look.
“Yes, sir, we’ve had more contact with aliens, hostile and otherwise, than any other unit.”
“Well now,” Cukayla said grinning broadly, “you’ve come to exactly the right place. ’cause we’re fighting aliens here.”
Commodore Borland, Brigadier Sturgeon, and their primary staffs, along with the rest of Company L, began boarding the Dragons on two Essays as soon as Lieutenant Humphrey notified the Grandar Bay that his party was planetside and had received a friendly greeting from Sharp Edge. They were all aboard and strapped into the webbing and the Essays were easing out of the well deck when Humphrey radioed that the perimeter at Base Camp was secure. Moments later, the two Essays began their planetward plunge. They landed in the same small lake in which the first Essay had made planetfall. The Dragons flowed off the Essays and roared ashore.
Louis Cukayla met them on the portico of his administration building. His second in command, Johnny Paska, stood on one side of the Sharp Edge boss, and Lieutenants Humphrey and Bass on his other. Cukayla and Paska were in shirtsleeves; Humphrey and Bass had their helmets tucked under their left arms. All four men’s faces and arms glistened with sweat.
“Commodore Borland, I’m sure glad to see you!” Cukayla almost shouted as he bounded down the stairs to grasp Borland’s hand and pump it with both of his. He grinned as he looked at Sturgeon, obviously wanting an introduction to the man he just as obviously thought commanded the Marines.
Borland extracted his hand from Cukayla’s and introduced Sturgeon.
“Fleet Initial Strike Team, hot damn!” Cukayla crowed. “Thirty-fourth you say? Ain’t that outfit some kind of famous?”
“We’ve had our share of deployments into harm’s way,” Sturgeon said modestly.
“Gentlemen, it’s hot out here,” Cukayla said, just as loudly as he’d greeted Borland. Sweat was running down his face and had darkened his shirt. “Let’s get inside before we roast out here.” He led the way up to the portico and inside.
“If you think this is bad,” Cukayla said once the door was closed behind them, “wait till you go south. For Ishtar, this is a pretty temperate climate, bordering on cool.”
The clerks’ desks had been pushed to the walls, and chairs set about so everybody could have a seat. The clerks themselves were pressed into waiter duty and busied themselves serving cold drinks to the visitors. Plates of cookies were set in easy reach of everyone.
“I’m sure glad to see you gents,” Cukayla said when everybody had found a place to sit. “My operations have been going to hell in recent months.”
“Just what are your operations here, sir?” Borland asked.
“Mining!” Cukayla beamed. “Ishtar has some of the best rubies and sapphires ever found in Human Space, not to mention the best diamonds. So many diamonds that, if they weren’t such high quality, they would drop the bottom right out of the market. We’ve got almost sixty mines in operation.” His smile abruptly turned into a frown. “Or we did, until our workers began stampeding. I’ve had to shut down a quarter of the mines because the animals were killing the guards and overseers.”
“Mr. Cukayla, I’ll admit, we don’t have full mapping of Ishtar yet, but so far we haven’t found any mining pits. Where are your mines?”
Cukayla grinned at Borland. “Course you didn’t see any pits, Commodore. The mines are mostly underground.”
Borland looked reflective as he said, “Underground? I thought gems were mostly found in alluvial deposits, or volcanic pipes that lead from deep in the magma.”
“They are, they are. But the geology of Ishtar is so active that alluvial deposits don’t last long before they get covered by volcanic ash or pyroclastic flows.” He grinned again. “I like to think of our mines as being dug in fossil alluvial deposits.”
Borland nodded, accepting the explanation for the moment.
“Sir,” Sturgeon said, “you said your workers have begun stampeding and animals are killing your people. I don’t understand workers stampeding, and how is it that animals are attacking your people? Where do the animals come from?”
“Ah, yes, that’s right, you don’t know,” Cukayla said, looking like he was about to tell a great secret. “The workers and the animals are the same. You see, the initial investigations of Ishtar didn’t discover the Fuzzies—that’s what we call these animals. They live in burrows, like rabbits or something, so nobody saw them I guess. They’re pretty smart, like chimpanzees or something. They can be taught some basic jobs, like how to bash a rock into the sediment, and pick the gems out of it and put them into a collection bin.” He shrugged. “At first it seemed a lot easier and cheaper than using human miners. Hey, no labor unions, no wage problems, we don’t have to search the Fuzzies to keep them from stealing, and they can’t talk, so no complaints.”
Stu
rgeon felt disgusted, both by Cukayla’s attitude toward his “workers” and about the situation.
“Marines aren’t animal control, we’re warriors,” he said.
Cukayla looked at him levelly. “You may change your mind about ‘animal control’ when you learn more about the situation here. Anyways, aren’t Marines supposed to protect humans?”
“Tell me about the ‘stampedes,’” Sturgeon said, pushing Cukayla’s question aside.
Cukayla shrugged and adopted a serious mien. “One night some of them got out of their cages at one of the mines and attacked the crew. Killed all of ’em.”
“You keep them in cages?” Borland asked.
“Overnight? Course we do! We have three, four hundred of ’em at most of the mines, and only thirty or so of my people on staff.” He snorted. “That’s not enough to keep them from wandering off at night, not unless we restrain them somehow. Cages turned out to be the easiest way.”
“Mr. Cukayla, you’ve raised so many questions in my mind,” Borland said. “I’ve read the reports from the Bureau of Human Habitability Exploration and Investigation, and Opal’s reports on their explorations of Ishtar. There is no mention of gemstones anywhere in those documents. How does it happen that you found these places and set up mines?”
“I didn’t find them,” Cukayla said with a shake of his head. “I’m not a prospector. Someone else did and contracted Sharp Edge to oversee the operations here.”
“Who is that someone else?”
Cukayla shook his head. “I’m sorry, Commodore. I’m not at liberty to tell you. And even if I was, all I could tell you is the name of the intermediary who came to me.”
Sturgeon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You don’t know who you’re working for?”
Another head shake. “All I can tell you is their creds are good. I’m making enough on this operation to keep Sharp Edge going for a lot of years, and for me to retire early.” His eyes gleamed.
Borland and Sturgeon exchanged looks, neither quite sure how much of what Cukayla said to believe—except that neither believed he had been totally truthful in what he’d said so far. Borland gave Sturgeon an almost imperceptible nod, and the Marine took over.
“These ‘Fuzzies,’ as you call them,” Sturgeon said. “Do they have claws or fangs? Are they particularly big? How did they kill your staff, and exactly what do you mean when you say they stampeded?”
“Nah, they aren’t particularly big. Not much more than a meter and a half tall on their hind feet. They’ve got claws, but more like what a dog has than cat’s claws. They eat bugs and tubers, shit like that that they dig out of the ground. That’s what their claws are for, and they don’t need big fangs for that. Here, I’ll show you what they look like. Johnny, if you will, please.”
Johnny Paska drew a remote from his shirt pocket and aimed it at a vid screen hanging on the wall. A 2-D slide show began.
The first image was of a roughly man-shaped being thinly covered with reddish fur. There was nothing in the image to indicate his size, but he looked small, like a fifteen-year-old human. The creature was aggressively male, if the bulge on his lower abdomen was the penis sheath it appeared to be. His arms hung forward from sloping shoulders, and his legs were bowed. Both hands and feet ended in short but strong-looking claws. He had large eyes, a black button nose, and a weak chin. A tail hung down behind. The reason for the weak chin was apparent in the next image, a profile view; the lower part of the creature’s face protruded in a short snout. In this view, the tail was angled back and looked to be longer than the torso. He was also shown in profile on all fours. His fingers were curled to make a platform that turned his arms into front legs. His tail stuck almost straight up.
“They drop onto all fours if they’re in a real hurry to get someplace,” Paska explained.
The images of the evident male were followed by two of what looked like a female. At least, this one lacked the penis sheath and had two pairs of prominent, breastlike bulges on her abdomen. A fifth showed the two side by side from the front, and the female before the male in profile. The male was a couple of centimeters taller than the female.
A last image showed the two standing to either side of Paska. They reached his shoulders. Neither creature wore any clothes but both were adorned with an array of straps and pouches of what looked like some kind of leather.
“Did they give you any problem about wearing the straps and pouches?” Sturgeon asked when the slides had run their course.
Cukayla barked out a short, high-pitched laugh. “We didn’t do that. The Fuzzies come with that stuff on them.”
Sturgeon and Borland looked at him.
“They make belts and pouches out of, of—what is that, leather?” Borland asked.
Cukayla smirked. “I told you they were smart animals. Yeah, they make that stuff. It’s from the hide of this giant snakelike thing that grows in the tropics here.”
“They make things,” Sturgeon said slowly. “And you call them animals?”
“Sure. They run around naked and live in holes in the ground. They come out during the day and grub around in the dirt for insectoids and roots that they eat raw. And we caught them just like you catch herd animals; we put up large fences like corrals and chased them into them. That ain’t too bright of them.”
“How do they kill people?” Sturgeon asked. “The Fuzzies you’ve showed us are small and unarmed, except for the stones they use to pound on the sediment in the mines. Your people are armed.”
Cukayla made a face. “When they attack, they’re armed,” he said hesitantly.
Sturgeon raised an eyebrow. “Armed? How?”
“Some kind of projectile thrower,” Cukayla reluctantly said.
“Bows?”
“Nah. Shit, I hate to say this, but they came up with some kind of single-shot rifles. Damned if I know where they got them, or how they learned to use ’em.” He looked from Sturgeon to Borland and back. “Like I said, they’re smart animals.”
“Very smart animals,” Sturgeon said. He thought for a moment. During his career he’d encountered a few species of exceptionally intelligent animals, including a couple of species that could be trained to use simple firearms. He remembered that those species had trouble aiming and reloading, so they weren’t very effective with the weapons. He asked, “How good is their aim with those rifles?”
“’Bout as good as you or me.”
Sturgeon looked at Borland, who asked, “Mr. Cukayla, has it occurred to you that the Fuzzies might actually be sentient, and not just ‘smart animals’?”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous! They live in holes in the ground and grub in the dirt for food.”
“Have you or any of your people gone into their burrows?” Sturgeon asked.
“Of course not! What do you think we are, moles?”
“Then how do you know that their burrows are just ‘holes in the ground’?”
“What else would they be?” Cukayla asked incredulously.
Sturgeon chuckled. “You might be surprised, sir. My Marines and I have chased many foes into ‘holes in the ground’ that turned out to be very elaborate tunnel systems with living and storage caverns.”
Cukayla snorted. “All you have to do is look at how the Fuzzies act when they’re out in the open to know that they’re just animals.”
“Animals who make leather belts and straps and pouches, and can accurately aim rifles,” Borland said. “Tell me,” he said briskly, “do you pay your workers wages? What about medical services? Do you give them days off? What about home leave?”
“Wages for animals? Days off? Home leave? Commodore, were you in the heat too long before we came inside? Now you’re talking like a dumb animal.”
Borland looked at Sturgeon, who nodded and turned back to Cukayla.
“Sir,” Sturgeon said, “Thirty-fourth FIST is the Confederation’s designated military first alien contact force. Everything you have told and shown me about the Fuzzies leads me to suspec
t that they are sentient. We must make a determination of that before we can proceed.”
“Mr. Cukayla, as the senior Confederation official on or around Ishtar, I hereby instruct you to immediately cease all mining operations and let loose every Fuzzy under your control until this matter is decided one way or the other.”
“You can’t do that!” Cukayla exploded.
“Oh, but I most certainly can, Mr. Cukayla. And there is an entire Marine FIST aboard my starship to enforce my instructions, should you fail to abide by them.”
“And I’ve got two thousand seasoned fighters on Ishtar, and more on their way if you want to try and stop me,” Cukayla snarled.
“That would not be advisable, Mr. Cukayla,” Sturgeon said softly. “Not only would you be throwing away the lives of your people, but you’d be in violation of Confederation law and make yourself subject to severe legal penalties.”
“I’m no spacelanes lawyer, but I don’t think you have the authority to shut down my operations here.”
“But we do.” Borland slipped his right hand into a pocket and brought out his personal comp. He tapped out a quick command. “Will this do?” he asked, showing the display to Cukayla.
OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT
THE CONFEDERATION OF HUMAN WORLDS
FARGO, EARTH
PRESIDENTIAL DIRECTIVE:
TO: WHOMEVER THIS DOCUMENT IS PRESENTED
GREETINGS:
THE BEARER OF THIS DOCUMENT, COMMODORE ROGER BORLAND,
COMMANDING OFFICER OF THE CNSS GRANDAR BAY,
CONFEDERATION NAVY, IS ACTING UNDER THE DIRECT ORDERS OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE CONFEDERATION OF HUMAN WORLDS IN OPERATIONS AGAINST HOSTILE ALIENS. IN SAID CAPACITY, HE IS AUTHORIZED TO DEMAND ANY INFORMATION AND/OR ASSISTANCE THAT HE DEEMS PERTINENT TO HIS OPERATIONS FROM ANY INDIVIDUAL HE BELIEVES HAS ANY SUCH INFORMATION OR CAN PROVIDE SUCH ASSISTANCE. FAILURE OF ANY INDIVIDUAL TO COMPLY WITH THE DEMANDS FOR INFORMATION BY THE BEARER SHALL BE CONSIDERED TO BE AN ACT OF TREASON AGAINST HUMANITY, AND WILL BE MET WITH THE MOST SEVERE PENALTIES ALLOWABLE BY LAW.
