Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  "Now, the problem is to get them into rock. If you hit them as hard as you would a piton on Earth, you'll relearn Newton's action and reaction. One good belt of the hammer, and you'll be flying off the face of the wall. What we shall give you is this equivalent of a nail gun to push the pitons into the ice. However, you must still be careful to anchor yourselves before using it. Now, if someone comes away from a cliff, it is equally important that they are pulled in gently; once their motion is directed towards the cliff, let them drift in. If you smash them against a cliff, they won't thank you for it. Remember, the gravity's weak, the rock is hard. If a pressure suit ruptures or tears on a rock, that is instant death. As an aside, in parties of ten, one man can easily hold the other nine.

  "Having said that, one man can hold the weight of the other nine, if they fall vertically. However, if they use their legs to thrust themselves off a wall, their momentum will be the same as on Earth because the leg muscles develop the same thrust. Accordingly, the force needed to stop them will be same as on Earth. On a wall, be very careful not to push yourself off.

  "The training you are about to undertake involves learning how to move about as quickly as possible under low gravity. When you get to Hyperion or Phoebe, where you'll practice on ice or rock respectively, remember this. Those places are quite smooth compared with Miranda; nothing can get you totally prepared for that place. On top of that, the M'starn have been there for nearly a year now. When you go into their lair, they will have a total recall of the geography of their maze, for they tend to live in mazes, and they'll be used to the gravity. They're very efficient fighters, and this is one battle they cannot afford to lose. Your main chance of survival is to do everything properly. Your only advantage will be an element of surprise, both in when the attack comes, and in your tactics, which they won't have seen before. But this surprise element will be short-lived, and they will have set defences of which we are totally unaware. You have to do the unexpected, and to do that, you have to be able to move under all types of situations.

  "Do not leap into the unknown. When you jump, aim at something you can see, and land on it. That is your objective in training. If you break a leg by falling down some canyon, you will be left. We shall not have the resources to find you. Anyone who thinks this training is a joke had better have their wills sorted out; they won't be coming home. But if you can move quickly and efficiently hold a position while you fight, I can almost guarantee partial success, and with any luck, we take out the war. Thank you."

  There was a stunned look on the faces as Gaius left the podium. However, the speech had achieved its purpose. From that point the discontent evaporated away. Instead a quiet determination was generated. At last, something was being planned which would give them a chance to win. They could give instead of take.

  Chapter 19

  Harry Lansfeld walked into the near empty cafeteria, ordered a cup of coffee, then turned to see where he should sit. In the far corner Marisa was sitting with a young officer in the uniform of some special support unit. The two were discussing something with great agitation, and were drawing on a large sheet of paper. They seemed to have settled something, for the officer leaned over the table and hugged Marisa enthusiastically.

  "I suppose I'm interrupting something," Harry said, in an attempt at banter, but the taint of jealousy made the banter harsh.

  Marisa started, and reached over and grasped the paper to cover it up. "Yes, you are," she replied with pronounced embarrassment.

  "May I sit down here?"

  "I'd rather you didn't," Marisa started. "You see . . ."

  "OK in that case I'll leave," Harry said sullenly, and turned away.

  Marisa was about to call him back to point out that the documents were top secret, but she hesitated, then became annoyed at his approach. That sullen tone implied she was at fault! Even if Sergei had got a little overenthusiastic, so what? He had worked so hard doing what she had requested, and he had been so pleased when she had commended his work. And it was commendable. It wasn't as if Harry owned her! She let him go, and then immediately regretted it.

  * * *

  Later that evening she telephoned him, to apologize and explain, but there was no answer. She was tired; the design work for her special project was over, and the fine-tuning could commence. Construction had started weeks ago, as much of the work simply required heavy engineering. It was to be the most complex weapons system ever built by Terrans, and although all the pieces were quite straightforward, their assembly and integration was tremendously demanding. Marisa had been completely overwhelmed to be part of such an important task.

  Yet now she felt depressed. It had been imperative that nobody see those papers, not even Harry. Yet she should not have opened them there. It was hardly Harry's fault that he wanted to use the cafeteria, and it was only now becoming apparent to Marisa that she really had wanted him to make an approach. She had to try to make amends.

  Marisa rushed to the recreation room, the obvious place to look for Harry. As she entered the room, she became aware of a lot of laughter from the far corner. There was alpha squad, dressed in brightly coloured party clothes and immediately Marisa remembered the invitation on her desk; the squad had decided to have a graduation celebration. She had looked at the invitation, but through the pressure of her project she had put it to one side and forgotten about it. She was still wearing her uniform overalls, and she began to realize how drab and unattractive she looked. Suddenly there was another shriek of laughter; there was some sort of contest being held, and a small heap of currency went flying in the air. Barbara Henley leaped gleefully upwards in triumph, then planted a huge kiss on Harry's face. They hugged, and danced around in a circle, to the cheers of the rest. Marisa noted in disgust that they both paused to wipe traces of blancmange from each other's faces, then they laughed again, and danced around again. As Harry noticed Marisa for the first time, she turned away. He called her name, and the rest of the squad waved her to come over, but she felt ashamed of her dress, and was jealously angry with Harry.

  She left the complex, and began walking down the footpath. She had no particular objective in mind; all she wanted was the cold night air to clear her mind. She ambled across the first intersection, and continued along the path. There was a small park ahead, and she decided to go there to sit and think. Just as she reached the corner opposite the park, she felt a bump. A young pilot dressed in a dinner suit had come around the corner, dodged to almost avoid hitting her, and had slipped over.

  "Oh! I'm so sorry," the young pilot said, as he regained his feet and brushed his hands. "I didn't know you were there." This was an outright lie; the young man had seen her turn down the path, and had run furiously along a back street, hoping to intercept her, and he now stared into her eyes, trying to detect a sign that his lie had been recognized.

  "No, it's my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going," Marisa said.

  "No, it really was my fault. Say, aren't you one of alpha squad?"

  "That's right," Marisa said gloomily.

  "I thought you lot were having a party tonight. The rec room's been booked up."

  "They don't need me," Marisa sighed.

  "They should. You're very pretty."

  "Thank you."

  "Say, would you like to come and have a drink or so with me. My name's Troy. Troy Munro. You're . . ?" He watched carefully, but in Marisa's despondency, the significance of the name appeared to be lost.

  "Marisa. Marisa Robeiro. I'm from Brazil."

  "Say, you're the real hot-shot navigator, aren't you?"

  "I suppose so," Marisa replied.

  "Gee! I can't see why they'd want to turn you away. Brilliant navigator, beautiful woman, charming . . ."

  "Hey, cut it out." Marisa said, a smile peeking through.

  "No, I mean it. You shouldn't be sad. Let me take you somewhere to cheer up."

  Marisa accepted. She was escorted to an extremely expensive car, and they drove across town to the most e
xpensive nightclub. Troy ushered her to a table, and ordered drinks. Suddenly one of the management came across.

  "I'm sorry, Miss, but the rules require a proper standard of dress . . ."

  "I'm sorry, I'll leave," Marisa started.

  "Please don't," Troy said. "You can find her an acceptable dress, can't you?"

  "Well, yes, but they cost money. Much more than pilots . . ."

  "Get one," Troy said. "Here's three thousand fecus. There's another hundred for you if you can avoid any more embarrassment."

  Twenty minutes later, Marisa re-emerged in one of the most beautiful gowns she had ever seen.

  "How would you like to try your hand at gambling?" Troy asked, with a smile on his face.

  "I don't think I could afford . . ."

  "You would like to, wouldn't you?" Troy said, taking her hand. "Let's try some blackjack."

  She sat down at a small table opposite a glamorous young man, who was shuffling a double deck of cards. He offered them to her to cut.

  "Isn't any one else playing?" Marisa asked.

  "I've arranged a private table," Troy smiled, and motioned to have his drink refilled. "Your pile of chips. You have to place at least one chip prior to each bet, and you can play several hands at the same time. I'd say, play five. You know the rules?"

  "Sort of. What's the numbers on these chips mean?"

  "That's their value. There's a minimum bet of five thousand fecus."

  "Five thousand! How'll I –"

  "You have two hundred thousand in front of you. At the end, you give me back two hundred thousand, or whatever's left, whichever is the smaller. Now, play, but let me advise. OK?"

  Marisa's first bet was a timid one chip in each slot. She lost three and won two. The next deal was similar. The third deal she bet two chips each, but the bank got a king and an ace, and she lost everything.

  The next deal, Troy pushed out four chips in each slot, and the bank exposed a seven. Marisa had a pair of queens and a pair of kings, and was happy to sit on them, but Troy quickly split them. The first hand sat on eighteen, with the ten exposed. Two aces came on the picture cards, another eight and a nine on the remaining honours. The bank turned over an eight, then drew a nine. Marisa was staring at a very tidy sum of money

  She played for an hour, and was eighty thousand fecus ahead when she realized this was three years salary for a top navigator. She turned to Troy, and told him she would like to stop.

  "Very wise to stop when you're ahead," Troy agreed. He arranged for the chips to be cashed, while they watched a rather risqué variety act. Finally they left. Troy invited her to his apartment for another drink or so.

  "Apartment?" Marisa asked in surprise. "Don't you live in barracks?"

  "Of course," Troy replied disdainfully, "but that doesn't mean I can't have somewhere else as well, does it?"

  "I suppose not," came the bemused reply. "What does Defence think about this?"

  "I doubt they've even worked it out," Troy scoffed.

  "Wouldn't the name attract attention?" Marisa asked. "There can't be too many Munros in Tashkent?"

  "To get diplomatic immunity, it's registered under Robeiro."

  "What?" came the angry protest.

  "Just joking," Troy grinned. "Hey, don't worry! I'm not that stupid!"

  "Sorry," Marisa replied, with a touch of embarrassment. "I guess I fell for that."

  "You bit," Troy confirmed. "No, actually it's the apartment of a greedy Defence colonel, who wants to make a bit extra on the side. Wouldn't you like to see how these fat cat officers live, off Federation taxes?"

  This opportunity was too much for Marisa, and she went, quite happily.

  "And what do you, as a Brazilian, think of the Federation?" Troy asked, as he edged up to Marisa's side. Marisa was sitting on the end of the sofa, and they were drinking whisky. Or at least Troy was. Marisa had seen a vase that was empty, and had planted it at the end of the sofa, and she was spilling whisky into it.

  "I suppose it's all right," Marisa said. "As an outsider, though, you get excluded."

  "You don't have to be an outsider," Troy said bitterly. "You either have it, or you don't. If you don't, life can be very hard."

  "You don't seem to be in difficulties," Marisa observed. "There's a big difference between here and barracks!"

  "This may not last much longer," Troy said, flatly. His hand gently caressed Marisa's leg.

  "Then you must take that money back," Marisa protested, and withdrew her leg as she started to get up to get to her purse.

  "Not at all," Troy said, and grasped her around the waist. "You don't dislike me?"

  "No," Marisa said, and let the hand run back up her thighs. The whisky-laden kiss did not turn her on, but she felt sorry for him. She kissed him lightly back, and began caressing his side.

  "They're a bunch of bastards, really," Troy said glumly, as the alcohol now began to produce quite visible mood swings.

  "Surely you can't think that?"

  "What happens to you when you're finished here?" Troy asked, with a challenge in his voice.

  "I go back to Brazil," Marisa replied, with a touch of surprise at the question.

  "Exactly. You're leaving, so you don't have to worry about what happens next. And I guess you'll be pretty poor back in Brazil?"

  "Most Brazilians are poor," Marisa replied, evading the question.

  "I could see a way to get you a much better lifestyle," Troy said, his mood now catching an upswing. "How'd you like to live like this all the time?"

  "I'd like that," Marisa replied, wondering where events were taking her. To stop Troy groping any higher, she asked for another whisky. As he went to get it, she noticed that his walk was becoming unsteady. It was then she realized that she should try to look a little more intoxicated. He returned with two whiskeys, and as he groped for the back of her dress, she coughed, spilling some of her drink.

  "Sorry," Troy said, with a slur. "I'll refill it."

  "No, wait till you're ready," she said, trying to put a slur in her own voice. "What'd you mean?"

  "You could live with me," he said, as his hand found the fastener. The top of her dress fell loosely forward.

  "I thought you said this was going to stop for you."

  "I know how we could both be very rich," he slurred, and pulled the dress down to expose her breasts.

  "How's that?" Marisa leaned forward and kissed him, pouring more whisky into the vase with her other hand.

  "The Federation hasn't done you any favours, has it?"

  "No, it hasn't," Marisa said slowly, as she kissed him again, to ensure he could not see her eyes.

  "But they trust you?" There was a keen greedy edge to the question. He knew the answer.

  "I have access to certain things," she said cautiously.

  "If you could get any useful information," Troy started, reaching towards her breasts.

  Marisa recoiled slightly, then, realizing this was a mistake, stumbled to her feet. "Got to go to the bathroom," she said, reaching down for the vase, and bringing it up, hiding it in her efforts to hold her dress up. "Get us another drink deary, and I'll be right back. What sort of information?"

  Troy gave her a suspicious look, but went to the bar. Marisa quickly closed the door behind her, and flushed the drink down the drain. She was about to do her frock up again, then she realized that that would be too dangerous, so she took it off completely. As she re-emerged, dressed only in tights, the look of deep suspicion fled from Troy's face. He grasped her, and buried his face in her firm protruding breasts.

  "Just a minute," Marisa said, pushing his face back. She looked wickedly into his eyes. "I thought you were telling me how to make my life better."

  "I know someone who'd pay the world, almost, for really useful information."

  "About what?"

  "You're trying to trap me," Troy said, suddenly getting suspicious.

  "No, I'm not," Marisa said, pushing her breast forward towards him. "I'm very intere
sted, but not if you won't tell me any more. I hate those scumbags. They've ridiculed me and left me out of everything, then used me when they needed me. I could be on your side." She shuddered slightly as Troy's hands started pulling down her tights and panties, but she pushed her groin forward slightly towards him.

  "Could you?" Aggressive hope filled his voice, almost clearing his mind.

  "If you convince me you'll make it worth my while." Marisa withdrew, took her glass, and pushed Troy's towards his mouth. "Have a drink, relax!"

  "I am relaxed!" He took a gulp to prove it.

  "Sure," Marisa said, caressing his head, and pushing more drink from her glass into his mouth. "What would you do for me?"

  "I'd promise to marry you. You'd be . . ."

  "Yes?"

  "Worth billions," came the slurred reply, as he seemed to struggle to remember what his sentence was about.

  "But you said . . ."

  "I'll be dead unless I get something." The mood now swung to an almost cringing plea.

  "You're exaggerating!"

  "No, I'm not," he said, as his angry kisses went lower.

  "Then maybe we've got a deal," Marisa said, and poured more whisky into his glass. "Let's drink to it."

  "Shure. A Toasht to ush!"

  They drank, then Troy began taking off his own clothes. He was half dressed when he clasped forward at Marisa, and fell forward, fumbling. Marisa struck him lightly so that he fell and struck the front of his head. She sat beside him, lightly caressing his head while applying two fingers to a pressure point until the desired sleep quickly overcame him, then she finished undressing him, and tucked him into the bed. She looked around for her overalls, then remembered she had left them in Troy's car, and she did not have the combination to the garage. While she was wondering what to do next, she remembered the vase. She quickly emptied out the alcohol-rich water, and since there had been nothing in it before, she wiped it dry with a tissue. She reached for the gown, then noticed the left strap had been pulled away, and there was a stain under the right breast. She found a pin and did a rapid repair job, then phoned for a taxi.