How Dark the World Becomes

by Frank Chadwick

  That didn’t leave us a whole lot to do but worry about how the war was going, wonder how long we’d be welcome here, and try to figure out just what the hell was really going on. That was Marfoglia and my department.

  After another day of fruitless speculation, it finally occurred to me that maybe we were letting this Shadow Brotherhood thing mess with our brains too much. After all, if every brotherhood was that secret, then its influence on events had, by necessity, to be very subtle. You couldn’t act overtly without exposing the organization. So most of what happened had to happen for what we’d call rational reasons—if there’s ever anything rational about politics and war.

  Okay, so pretend the whole End of Empty Dreams thing didn’t exist—which everyone else in the compound seemed pathologically intent on doing. Why was Katchaan even here in the first place? That was no secret; the commander had told us right at the start—he was their technical advisor. I figured out pretty quick what that meant—factory sales and service. He came along to make sure all the weapons worked, the comm gear was on line, spare parts and ammo were in the pipeline—in short, all the things that I’d figured an uBakai government liaison guy would handle, but he wasn’t from the uBakai government.

  He was from AZ Crescent.

  “Okay, consigliere, explain how this makes any sense at all,” I asked Marfoglia the second day after Katchaan’s disappearance. Mostly I really wanted to know, but partly it was to give Marfoglia’s brain something to chew on instead of itself. She’d been jumpy, looked frayed around the edges, except when she had something to concentrate on.

  We sat at a table in their mess hall, but we’d run late for the midday meal and so had it almost to ourselves. Of course, even though they had a complete mess facility, most of their food was inedible to us, so we were still eating self-heated Marine ration packs—but at least we had plates and silverware.

  She sat looking at a poster on the wall, elbow on table and chin in hand, for all the world like August Rodin’s Thinker, but better looking. A lot better looking, despite the lines in her face that hadn’t been there—when had I first met her? Was it really only about a month ago?

  As I looked at her, I remembered somebody telling me once that sex with someone you don’t like can sometimes be as good or better than sex with someone you do like. Interesting notion. I didn’t have any first-hand experience to go on. It’s not that every time I’d ever had sex it had been a deeply meaningful emotional and spiritual experience. I’d had my share of one-night stands—someone I met casually, ended up in bed with, and said good-bye to the next morning. But regardless of how little I’d known about them, what I had known, I’d liked. It just never occurred to me to sleep with someone I didn’t like. Until right then.

  Interesting notion.

  I watched her think while I picked at my zucchini etouffee. It was okay, but I’d had a lot better.

  After a couple minutes she stirred and frowned. Well, her frown deepened. She frowned all the time these days.

  “What?” I asked.

  “How long has AZ Simki-Trak Trans-Stellar had the Needle concession on Peezgtaan?”

  I thought for a minute. Before this trip I hadn’t been up the Needle since getting back from Nishtaaka, but I remembered some news stories.

  “Since Independence, I think. About four or five years. Why?”

  She nodded thoughtfully.

  “That’s interesting, because AZ Kagataan has the concession here. Remember the big welcome banner at Needledown?”

  I remembered, along with all the AZK logos on the ground staff’s uniforms. I looked at her and shrugged. So what?

  She still had a thoughtful, faraway look as she took a bite of the zucchini, and then looked down at it and made a face.

  “Yeah,” I said, “it needs a little something . . . I think saffron.”

  She poked at it with her fork, as if to see if it was really dead, and then nodded her agreement, but her mind was still a dozen light-years away. Then, as if a puzzle piece fell into place, her head came up suddenly and the lights came on behind her eyes.

  “Premier e-Tuvaanku keeps an excellent table,” she said, nodding to herself, “spices as well as fresh ingredients imported from all over, some all the way from Earth. It would be considered an extravagance, but the taxpayers don’t foot the bill—it’s all compliments of AZ Kagataan.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. “Who’s Premier e-Tuvaanku?”

  “The premier of the Republic of uZ’mataan, and also its ex officio wattak—from back on Hazz’Akatu.”

  “Okay,” I agreed amiably, “he eats better than this, thanks to being in bed with an interstellar shipping line. You’re saying that’s what got AZ Kagataan the concession here?”

  “No,” she answered, “I doubt that it’s that simple, but I’m thinking that the Republic of uZ’mataan and AZ Kagataan are . . . intertwined. I’ve heard the uZmataanki elections are particularly expensive, very media-heavy.”

  “Yeah, well, whose aren’t? But sure, I get it. The government’s bought and paid for by AZK, just like the wataak from back home . . .” but then I stopped, because it wasn’t just like it, was it? My guy’s election was financed by AZ Simki-Traak. It was my turn to frown in thought.

  “Now, wait a minute,” I started. “How does that work? Peezgtaan is an uZmataanki colony.”

  “Was an uZmataanki colony,” Marfoglia corrected me. “Now it’s independent.”

  And that’s when the little lightbulb above my own head finally came on.

  “Yeah. And you remember what Ping called AZ Simki-Traak Trans-Stellar?” I asked.

  She nodded. uBakaa Incorporated. But he had it backwards, didn’t he?

  “And this whole stupid war between uZ’mataan and uBakaa . . . ,” I started, but let the words trail off.

  She shook her head.

  “I don’t think it’s between uZ’mataan and uBakaa,” she said.

  No, it wasn’t, was it? Not really.

  * * *

  Two days later, the First K’Tok Campaign ended when a three-ship squadron of uBakai warships jumped in-system and began their glide toward the planet. If that seems like something of an anticlimax to you, get used to it. Life sometimes plays out that way; the real trick is living long enough to benefit from it, and we had.

  The arrival of the uBakai squadron by itself wasn’t the end of the war, not by a long shot, but it was effectively the end of the campaign. Those uBakai warships were packing canister after canister of deadfall spikes. Once they got in orbit, the Sammies were cooked, and they knew it. They could have gone guerrilla, except they were already fighting guerrillas and had done so with enough callous stupidity to thoroughly alienate the population out in the countryside, so it was pretty much throw in the towel and ask for terms, or find a hill, shoot the horses, and save the last bullet for yourself. The local Valley District commander, I learned later, was the main holdout for continuing the fight—probably because he figured that the way the colonial government could get the very best terms would be to turn his sorry ass over to the Cottohazz’s Provost Corps for court martial and summary punishment.

  Turns out, he was right.

  I saw the transcript of the closed tribunal later. He was the guy who cut the power on the train and then sent troops to kill everyone. He’d sent contractors because the colonial regulars might have gotten all touchy and legalistic about wholesale murder. Even the contractors had been less than enthusiastic until the Mike Marines had waxed a bunch of them; then it got personal. The order had been to kill all Cottohazz personnel, but that was just a cover. We Humans had been the real target all along. He was one of the handful—aside from the agtechs out in the field actually running the show—who knew the ecoform secret, and he decided he couldn’t risk letting us live for a few months over in uBakaii territory. Too much exposure.

  Justice was swift; all of us who survived the trek north from the maglev witnessed the execution, three days after the ceasefire was sign
ed and about an hour before we processed back up the Needle.

  All we had time for was a quick good-bye to TheHon. With an armistice in place and martial law reestablished in Sammie-land, he’d become the de facto governor, so he had a full plate. He made time to witness the execution, though, and he made time to see us off, especially the two kids. By now he was their boti, but not Boti-Ar, for Arigapaa—he was Boti-Hon, for TheHon. I’m not sure how crazy he was about that, but you don’t get to pick your boti name—the kids do.

  After he finished with the kids, and hugged Marfoglia awkwardly, he faced me. I held out my hand and he shook it, but with a rueful grin. I had calmed down a lot from my first peak of rage—none of this nightmare was his doing. He was just trying to find his way through the dark woods, same as me.

  “A very strange road we have traveled together, Sasha,” he said. “Stranger than ever I would have imagined.”

  “Amen, brother,” I agreed. “But we went the distance. How’s the payoff feel?”

  He looked at Tweezaa, and nodded, the smile softening on his face.

  “Better than I deserve. And for you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I haven’t gotten them home yet. I’ll let you know after I do—if we ever see each other again.”

  He turned and looked down at me, and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “I hope that we do, my friend. I sincerely do.”

  He meant it. I guess I did, too. There were a lot of things messed up about TheHon and the world he was part of, but I wasn’t in much of a position to judge, when you got right down to it. I liked him, and once you got past all the lies, he was a pretty honest guy. Does that sound like double-talk? Maybe. Here’s the thing, though—he was honest with himself about himself, and without that, nobody can be really honest about anything.

  I got a chance to say a quick good-bye to Borro as well.

  “Take care of yourself, Sasha. Perhaps we will see each other again.”

  “Maybe so. Maybe some day I’ll get you to tell me who your real boss is.”

  “That would be an interesting conversation,” he said, and smiled.

  Yeah, I bet it would be.

  But I was happy that justice was swift and the leave-taking brief, because I was ready to get the hell out of Dodge. Nothing I’d heard had convinced me that an uZmataanki squadron couldn’t show up in-system just as suddenly as the uBakai ships had and swing the balance back the other way. Was I right about that? Well, the fact that this miserable little fight, mostly out in the jungles along the colonial frontier, with fewer than a dozen combat cohorts in action per side, is called the First K’Tok Campaign might give you a clue. The fact that Humans now knew that there was something worth fighting for on this world—something really remarkable—might give you another.

  But somebody else could fight those wars. We were gonna be down the road and see you later.

  So we said our good-byes and boarded the Needle for transit to orbit, the four of us and about half the healthy Marines—the other half would come in the next capsule, and the wounded had already gone up. The capsule climbed above the city, and then everything disappeared as we hit the clouds, and when we emerged from the clouds, saw the planet spread below us like a relief map, and knew that we were no longer a part of it, something finally gave way in Marfoglia. She sort of got smaller, seemed to collapse in on herself, bent forward, covered her face with her hands, and began sobbing, her shoulders heaving with the release of all that carefully contained fear and grief and horror. Both the kids put their arms around her and laid their faces on her back. I felt like reaching out and touching her myself, but wasn’t sure if it would help or make her feel worse, so I just sat there and let her cry.

  I heard someone sniff behind me, turned, and saw tears on Sergeant Wataski’s face.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” she growled.

  I just smiled.

  TWENTY-NINE

  I sat in Commodore Gasiri’s cramped day cabin and hurt.

  My head throbbed and still felt fuzzy, despite the anti-tox I’d taken when I got up, and I was pretty sure blue mezcal was going to be on my list of things to avoid for a long, long time. The pain in my left upper chest was sharper, better defined, under the 10 cm square bandage that covered the two puncture wounds made when a fist hammered in the brass posts of the globe-and-anchor insignia. Eighteen-year-old kids probably thought that part of the ceremony was swell; I thought it was pretty stupid. Like somebody once said about being ridden out of town on a rail: if it weren’t for the honor of the thing, he’d rather have walked.

  Gasiri came in eventually, moved quickly to her desk, and would have sat except she saw I hadn’t stood up. She frowned.

  “You’re still an activated reservist in the A.C.G. It is considered proper courtesy and discipline to stand in the presence of a superior officer until told to stand easy.”

  “I’m a disgrace to the uniform,” I answered, nodding, “or would be if I were actually wearing one. If I were you, I wouldn’t take this kind of crap. I’d fire my ass—and right now.”

  “All in good time,” she answered, and then she sat down and gave me a reproachful look. “Hurt yourself last night?”

  “Little bit.”

  “Serves you right,” she growled, her expression darkening. “They sent us here to put down an insurgency, and instead of suppressing it, all of a sudden the Cottohazz’s in bed with it, thanks to you. Some small-time hood playing at spy and diplomat—what the hell were you thinking?”

  “Hey, kiss my ass. And that goes for everybody else who was supposed to keep us alive and safe down there. They can all line up and kiss my ass. I did exactly what you needed me to do, and because it was me instead of someone in uniform, you and TheHon and the Cottohazz all got to keep your hands clean. You got to bark orders for the record, knowing I’d disobey them. But look me in the eye and tell me you’d have given the exact same orders if you thought I’d have gone along with them.”

  She sat back in her chair, the scowl still in place, but after a moment she shook her head.

  “Okay, then,” I said. “Neither one of us had a lot of great options. We did what we had to.”

  She studied me for a few seconds, and then looked at a photograph on the wall—an old-style black-and-white print of an officer in a uniform I figured was over a century old—and after a while she nodded.

  “Yes, I know,” she said with a sigh. “I think Slim was right, Mr. Naradnyo. Do you know what Field Marshal Slim said at the start of his Burma Campaign?” And she gestured to the print.

  “Never even heard of him, and never trust a guy named ‘Slim.’”

  She smiled at that.

  “This is how he said he wanted to run that campaign: no details, no paper, no regrets.”

  “Guy after my own heart,” I said, and she nodded in agreement.

  Fair enough . . . done is done, and no regrets.

  “And this ugly business with the protein chains down there . . . ,” she said, but let the words trail off and just shook her head.

  “You get the word out?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s embedded deep in a burst data dump that’s gone out with every outbound craft that’s left system since we got the word. By now it’s in a couple thousand different data cells, what with retransmissions in other systems.”

  “It’s only been a few days,” I said, but she shrugged dismissively.

  “We have some rapid departure courier drones which aren’t exactly public knowledge. We burned one to get the news of the war back to Akaampta, which is why the fleet showed up so soon. Your news about the protein chains earned another, aimed in a different direction.”

  “Well, consider warming another one up. I found out more, and it gets worse. This stuff is technically rumor, but it will be easy to confirm in a lab.”

  So I told her the news about the Peezgtaan eco-form, leaving out the part about who told me. Her expression didn’t change through a
ny of it, but when I was done she touched a soft panel on her desk and when it chimed said, “Burn previous five hundred seconds for secure comm, BUNAVINT, sprint departure. List source as X-ray two one, previous reliability one zero zero. Hold launch for my voice authorization.”

  She looked back at me.

  “In case you’ve got any more good news,” she explained.

  I shook my head. “You think the Cottohazz will try to stop it, once they figure out what’s going on?”

  “No. The Varoki are ahead of us in most scientific fields, but cryptography is as much art as science, and they aren’t very good artists. They’ve never broken any of our naval codes. Down on K’Tok they know we know, and they’ve communicated to the squadron in orbit, but it’s too late. The drone is long gone, already in another system. The word is spreading by electron transfer, and they’ll never catch up with the information wave front now. I think it surprised the new squadron commander as much as anyone . . . and left a bad taste.”

  “Not everybody with big ears is an asshole.”

  She grunted a humorless laugh. “Enough are. Now everyone’s pissed at everyone else. Allah only knows what will happen when this news gets to Earth.”

  “Not our job,” I said, and she nodded in agreement, but without any real enthusiasm.

  “If the big brass back home decides to sit on the news—you think someone’s gonna come looking to shut us up?” I asked.

  She looked up at me, and a wry look came over her face.

  “If anyone thinks they can shut you up, Mr. Naradnyo, I’d pay cash money to watch them try.”

  I think that might have been a compliment.