When Duty Calls

by William C. Dietz

  “My husband and I own this ranch,” Margaret said calmly. “Not that such things mean much anymore. . . . But you need to know that my friends and I plan to stay. And we’d be happy to have you and the other children stay, too. This was a self-supporting ranch at one time, and if we work hard enough, it can be again.”

  The teenager was silent for a moment before lowering the rifle. Margaret could see what might have been relief in the girl’s eyes. “I’m sorry about your house, ma’am. . . . It was already burned when we got here. My parents are dead, at least I think they are, and that’s the same for all the rest. I started out with the two I was babysitting—and the rest kind of glommed onto us. I couldn’t tell them no.”

  “No, of course not,” Margaret said understandingly. “My name is Margaret Vanderveen, the young lady is Lisa Qwan, the man with the scruffy beard is Thomas Benson, and the android is named John.”

  “My name is Christine,” the girl said. “But the kids call me Chris.”

  Margaret felt a lump form in the back of her throat but managed to swallow it. “That’s a very pretty name. Well, Christine, there’s a lot of work to do, so we might as well get started.”

  As night fell two days later Margaret took a flashlight and made her way up an overgrown trail to the hilltop where she and her husband liked to sip hot chocolate and watch shooting stars flash across the sky. And now, even though she knew that a lot of what orbited the planet was evil, she chose to look beyond that and talk to her husband. “We’ve got a lot to do,” Margaret said, as she stared up into the night sky. “The ranch will continue to attract trouble so long as it looks habitable. So we’re moving everything of value into the old mine shaft. Benson says all of the supports are in good shape, and I trust him. Once that work is complete we’ll burn the guest cottage and the stable. We’ll keep everything hidden after that.

  “The children are going to need help, Charles. . . . Lots of help—and lots of food. So that will be the next thing to worry about. But right now I’m just thinking of you. . . . On cold, cold, Algeron, worrying about me. Well, I’m fine, Charles, just fine. And someday, when you can come home again, I’ll be here waiting.”

  There was no reply of course, there couldn’t be, but what might have been a shooting star chose that exact moment to streak across the sky, and Margaret took it as an omen. Darkness would hold sway for a while—but a new dawn would surely come.

  11

  Given that most of our forces are not equipped for arctic conditions, and the fact that there is every reason to believe that the enemy is drawing us into a trap, I recommend that we suspend the push into the mountains until we can equip all of our troops with appropriate clothing and winter conditions abate. It is my considered opinion that the existing strategy will lead to a significant and unnecessary loss of allied forces.

  —An extract from COMFORCES Command Memo

  2842.417 from General Mortimer Kobbi to

  General Jonathan Alan Seebo-785,453

  Standard year 2842

  PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY

  Colonel Six, the surviving members of his company, two hostages taken from Marine Firebase 356, and roughly fifty heavily laden Ortovs had been hiking all day. And everyone was tired. But, before the clones could eat and crawl into their sleeping bags, Dr. Kira Kelly insisted on screening them. Her office consisted of an open space next to a roaring fire. It warmed her right side but did nothing for her left, as the snow continued to fall. The big fluffy flakes hissed as the fire consumed them. “Next!” Kelly said, and a brawny Ortov made way for a teenage boy. “How do you feel?” the doctor inquired, as the youngster took his place on her guest rock.

  “Fine,” the clone replied flatly. His features were impassive, which was typical of the Ortov line, but the doctor could see the curiosity in his eyes. Chances were that she was the first off-world free breeder he had ever been allowed to talk to. There was something innocent about the clones—a quality that Kelly found refreshing.

  “So why are you limping?” the doctor wanted to know.

  “I wasn’t,” the teenager countered evasively.

  Kelly sighed. The Ortovs were tough, and took pride in that, sometimes to their own detriment. “Remove your left boot.”

  The boy did as he was told.

  “Now the sock.” Kelly noticed the careful manner in which the sock was removed and soon saw why. The teenager’s toes were black and swollen. It was a sure sign of gangrene stemming from frostbite. But which kind? The dry type, which she and Hospital Corpsman Sumi might be able to treat without having to amputate, or the wet kind? Also known as gas gangrene, which is caused by a dangerous bacteria, and can follow dry gangrene if left untreated.

  Kelly cupped the boy’s heel, brought the dirty foot up within inches of her nose, and immediately caught a whiff of the foul-smelling gas associated with wet gangrene. She lowered the foot, got out a roll of gauze, and began to apply it. “I’m sorry I have to tell you this,” she said kindly. “But your toes are badly infected—and at least some of them will have to be removed. We’ll take care of that as soon as we arrive wherever it is we’re going.”

  Now there was fear in the boy’s eyes. His voice quavered when he spoke. “Will I be able to walk afterwards?”

  “Yes, you will,” Kelly said gently. “But it will be difficult at first—and it’s going to hurt.”

  Two adults were summoned to help the boy—and Kelly told them that a stretcher would be required to transport him. Then, just as they were about to carry the teenager away, he cleared his throat. “Doctor?”

  Kelly looked up. “Yes?”

  “Thank you.”

  Kelly said, “You’re welcome,” and watched the other Ortovs carry the lad away. It must be strange to live with people so similar to yourself yet not have parents, Kelly thought to herself. But with more potential patients waiting to be seen, there was no opportunity to consider the complexities of clone society.

  Kelly was still screening the Ortovs when a visibly angry Colonel Six appeared fifteen minutes later. Snow went crunch under his combat boots, and his breath jabbed the air in front of him. “There you are!” Six said accusingly, as if Kelly had been trying to hide from him. “What’s this I hear about a stretcher? The Ortovs can’t carry each other around on stretchers. Who will haul the supplies?”

  Kelly was disinfecting a cut and didn’t bother to look up. The truth was that Six frightened her—but she was determined not to show it. “Beats me. It looks like you have me confused with someone who gives a shit.”

  Blood rose to suffuse the clone’s face. “I rate a sir!”

  “Not in my book you don’t,” Kelly replied matter-of-factly, as she secured a dressing over the small laceration. “You’re the one who wanted a doctor, and here I am. Please feel free to turn us loose anytime you want to.”

  What Colonel Six really wanted had nothing to do with Kelly’s status as a doctor, but the Seebo couldn’t say that, so there was very little for him to do but turn and stomp away.

  Kelly watched him go out of the corner of her eye, let her breath out, and was surprised to learn that she’d been holding it. She was afraid of the clone, and appalled by his ruthlessness, yet strangely fascinated by the man as well. That frightened her all the more.

  Even with some two dozen fires, tarps to keep the worst of the snow off, and some high-quality clone-issue mummy bags, it was a long, cold night. When morning finally came, each member of the party was given a large portion of mush, along with a mug of unsweetened tea. Once breakfast was over, it was time to reshoulder the heavy packs and follow the soldiers into the silent, snow-shrouded forest. Kelly made a point of checking to ensure that the boy with the gangrenous toes was being transported on a stretcher and was pleased to discover that he was. Could that be interpreted as a peace offering from Six? And if so, why did she care? It wasn’t a subject Kelly wanted to think about, so she pushed it away.

  The trail wound between stands of three-hund
red-year-old trees, and crossed a dozen icy creeks and streams, before eventually coming to an end at the foot of a flat-topped butte. That seemed strange since all the other hills and mountains in the area had rounded if not jagged tops. The mystery deepened as Colonel Six led the column up a slanted walkway that ran along the west face of the butte. A uniform walkway that was far too wide, and far too well engineered, to have been created recently. What might have been round windows appeared at regular intervals. Many were open, but some had been sealed, using a variety of materials. So there was no telling what the structure was.

  Kelly had some friends by that time—one of whom was the Ortov female who had been assigned to carry about a third of the doctor’s medical equipment. The clone explained that the complex was believed to be contemporaneous with similar ruins found on about 10 percent of the planets that had been surveyed so far, which suggested it was the work of the mysterious civilization generally referred to as “the Forerunners.”

  Regardless of its origins, the butte offered local civilians a place to take shelter after their town had been destroyed, which was why Six had decided to take his troops, hostages, and stolen supplies there to rest and regroup. When the people in front of her came to a sudden stop, Kelly was forced to do likewise, and took the opportunity to look around. The sky was pewter gray, and her breath fogged the air before a light breeze blew it away. Now that she was standing still, Kelly could feel her body temperature start to drop as sweat cooled her skin—a phenomenon that could lead to hypothermia unless the column began to move again.

  Kelly’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden flurry of gunshots, distant yelling, and a physical response as the entire line recoiled in response to whatever was taking place at the top of the incline. Some of the Ortovs stood on tiptoe, trying to see what was going on, but none of the clones ran. Moments later a Seebo appeared, skidded to a stop, and waved Kelly forward. “Come on! They shot Three-Three!”

  Kelly had no idea who “they” were, but followed the Seebo up past the long line of Ortovs, with Sumi bringing up the rear. Two minutes later they arrived on a landing, where a Seebo lay sprawled on the bloodstained snow. Six was there, pistol in hand, kneeling beside the fallen soldier. Other clones, weapons at the ready, were clustered in front of a metal door. “Hurry!” Six said urgently, as he waved Kelly over. “They shot Three-Three in the chest!”

  Kelly was struck by the obvious angst in the officer’s voice—and the expression of concern on his normally stern face. He was clearly upset, and even though the doctor disagreed with the Seebo’s approach to almost everything, she felt sorry for him. And a little bit pleased to discover that there was something the cold-blooded bastard cared about. Even if it was an exact replica of himself! Yet this same man was responsible for killing more than a dozen marines. . . . So liking him was wrong. Very wrong.

  “Get out of the way,” Kelly said, as both she and Sumi moved in to displace Colonel Six. “It’s a sucking chest wound,” Kelly said, as she removed a blood-soaked battle dressing and heard the characteristic hissing sound. “Where is this man’s body armor?”

  “The idiot left it unzipped,” Six replied darkly. “Can you save him?”

  “Of course I can,” Kelly answered confidently, as Sumi handed her a sterile patch. Three of the edges bore adhesive, so that when the dressing was placed over the purple-edged hole, air could escape the chest cavity. But air couldn’t enter the chest cavity when the Seebo inhaled. Which was important because the bullet had passed through the Seebo’s lung and caused it to collapse. It was a life-threatening injury if not treated immediately.

  “Okay,” Kelly said. “Let’s get him inside, where it’s warmer. We’ll put the chest tube in there.”

  “They won’t let us in,” Six responded angrily. “A group of revolutionaries took control of the complex.”

  Kelly stood. “Revolutionaries, as in people who want to overthrow the government?”

  “Yes!” Six answered emphatically. “And when I ordered them to let us in, they shot Three-Three!”

  “Did you try asking instead of telling?”

  “I don’t have to ask!” the soldier insisted loudly. “They are required to obey me!”

  “Let me give it a try,” Kelly said reasonably, as she approached the door. The metal was dimpled where bullets had struck it, but the door was otherwise intact. A small portal located about chest high was closed at the moment, but could obviously be opened. Kelly felt sure that someone was standing just beyond the door listening and perhaps peering through a crack. “This is Lieutenant Kira Kelly,” the physician said loudly. “I’m a navy doctor. . . . You don’t trust the Seebos, and I understand that. But it doesn’t alter the fact that we have a wounded man out here—and he’s going to die unless you let us in! So, here’s what I propose. . . . Colonel Six and three of his men will offer themselves up as hostages against the good behavior of everyone else. Then, when the Seebos are ready to leave, you’ll let them go.”

  “What?” Six objected. “I never agreed to that!”

  “No,” Kelly said reasonably, as she turned to look at him. “But you should. . . . Unless you want Three-Three to die.”

  “Damn you!” Six said fervently. “I should never have brought you!”

  “On that we can agree,” the doctor said sweetly. “So what’s your answer? Yes? Or no?”

  “Yes, blast you,” the Seebo said disgustedly.

  “Did you hear that?” Kelly inquired, as she turned back toward the door. “The offer stands.”

  There was a long pause, as if some sort of debate might be taking place within. Then came a clang as the smaller portal opened, and a bland-faced Fisk appeared. “Tell the hostages to put their hands on top of their heads,” the anarchist said brusquely. “And no funny business.”

  The larger door opened moments later and was quickly slammed shut after Six and three of his Seebos went inside. A long, agonizing five minutes passed before the door swung open for a second time. A Fisk armed with a submachine gun motioned for them to enter. “There’s a room down the hall on the right. All weapons must be placed there, but two Seebos can stay to monitor them.”

  Kelly looked at Lieutenant-790,444, who nodded in agreement. “Okay,” the doctor said as she turned back toward the door. “It will be as you say.”

  “Good,” the Fisk said. “Welcome to the Sanctuary.”

  The Forerunner complex was so huge that the approximately five hundred clones who had taken refuge in it occupied less than 5 percent of the available space. But given the bitterly cold weather, there was no incentive to spread out since doing so would require more fuel for the makeshift fireplaces.

  There was no heat source in the cell-like room that Six had been placed in, however. Just a built-in bench made out of the same material as the butte itself. So the Seebo was sitting on the bench, huddled inside his sleeping bag, when he heard the sound of voices. The door rattled and opened to admit Kelly. She was holding a brown ceramic bowl, a spoon, and a tubby thermos bottle. Even though Kelly was a bit grubby, and clearly tired, she was still beautiful. That’s what Six thought anyway, as one of guards pulled the door closed, and Kelly presented him with the bowl. “Here, hold on to that while I serve you some soup. It’s actually quite good.”

  Six held the bowl with both hands while the doctor opened the thermos and poured a generous serving of chunky soup into the waiting container. It was steaming hot, and the rich odor made Six realize how hungry he really was. “Dig in,” Kelly said understandingly. “And have some of this.” So saying, Kelly removed a big chunk of crusty bread from a cargo pocket and brushed some lint off it. “Sorry,” she said. “Bon appétit!”

  Six said, “Thank you,” as he accepted the bread. “For the food and for coming. How is Three-Three?”

  “He’s going to be fine,” Kelly assured him, as she took a seat on the other end of the bench. “We reinflated his lung, closed his wounds, and gave him a broad-spectrum antibiotic. The Ortov boy is
doing well, too. . . . Although it’s going to take him some time to recover.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Six said, as he paused between spoonfuls. “So what’s going on?” he wanted to know. “Will the rebels let us leave? Or was that a lie?”

  “The sooner the better is the impression I get,” Kelly responded. “I know very little about Hegemony politics, but if I understand correctly, the revolutionaries want to overthrow the Alpha Clones in favor of a democracy. And they see the Seebo line as part of the problem.”

  “They’re wrong,” Six said sternly. “Dr. Hosokowa’s plan is perfect. All we need to do is follow it.”

  “Well, it’s good to see that you have an open mind,” Kelly replied lightly. “No wonder they want to get rid of you!”

  “They’re free breeders,” Six said accusingly. “And there’s no place for free-breeder children in the plan! So what they want won’t work.”

  “It will if you change plans,” Kelly said mildly, as she came to her feet. “And let people be whatever they want to be. Or are capable of being. My father is an accountant, my mother is a teacher, and I’m a doctor. That may not be all neat and tidy, but it works! Sorry,” she said, “but they want me to return the bowl.”

  Six gave her the bowl but kept what remained of the bread. “Tell me something. . . .”

  Kelly raised her eyebrows. “What?”

  “In your society, where people choose each other, can a soldier be with a doctor?”

  Suddenly Kelly knew something she should have understood all along. In spite of all his straightlaced posturing, the Seebo was as horny as all the other men she knew, but he felt guilty about it! The schoolboy crush might have been endearing except that she had been abducted. Yet where was her anger? And why had she come to visit him? She felt guilty, confused, and strangely compassionate all at the same time. “Yes,” she answered soberly. “A soldier can be with a doctor. But only if both people want to be together.” And with that she left.