by Ed Greenwood
“Pretty good,” Jacobs said, “and with her hands tied behind her back. I couldn’t have recovered like that. You should take off those leg shackles. If she falls, it will only slow us down.”
“I didn’t shove her that hard, and why do you keep saying ‘her’? I thought they was all like worker ants. Andro-whatever.”
“What?” Jacobs said. “With a tyrannical hive mind and all the other propaganda? Media claptrap. Don’t you pay attention to the briefings? They are not like a hive. Each individual has an infant stage and an androgynous stage—which is what we see tapped for soldiers—and then most become reproductive females with just a few turning male. Chances are she’s a she or going to be a she real soon. This one must be older than most. Her shape’s kind of female. Maybe that gives her a low center of gravity for better balance.”
“Hey, slow down. I got a BEM to herd.” He prodded the alien with his Blaser.
Jacobs stepped to the side of the trail, took a sip of water, and waited for Sarge to catch up. “Better cut the leg shackles.”
Sarge nodded. He jerked the tether to stop the BEM a meter short of Jacobs and bent to cut the plastic while Jacobs watched.
Sarge smiled when he stood. “No hive mind, huh? Being andro must cut down on dating problems during the teen years. That ought to make them less antsy.” He chuckled at his own joke.
“Personally,” Jacobs said, “I’d rather worry about sex as a teenager than about becoming combat fodder. Watch the crumbly ledge there, it’s a good five hundred meters to the bottom…”
“I see it. Yeah, she looks more girly from the back, but she didn’t make my imagination wander when I patted her down. When I seen her face, those big blue bug-eyes destroyed the illusion. How far now?”
Jacobs shook his head and rounded the bend in the incline. “Did you never learn to use the visor maps?”
“Why bother? Once they get up some satellites, we can use GPS. Are you stopping again?”
While the AI in his visor searched to match the terrain to a contour map, Jacobs stepped from the canyon trail onto an overhang and surveyed the surrounding mountainous region. “I’m only getting the closest Base beacon, so there’s no triangulat…oh there’s the contour match. About twenty-five klicks to Base.”
Sarge shoved the prisoner against the coarse mountainside and checked the remaining charge on his Blaser. “That’s a long ways in these mountains. If she falls, maybe I should just shoot her.”
Subtle movement from the prisoner caught the corner of Jacobs’s eye, and he looked closer. Multi-faceted blue bug eyes stared back at him.
Jacobs spoke carefully. “I thought you were psyched for the live-BEM reward.”
“What? Have you lost your sense of humor? You know I wouldn’t shoot no prisoner. Besides, the reward is humongous. Maybe even a field commission. How does Master Sergeant Mason sound?”
“Yeah. Right. Is there a rumble in your visor amp? I got static in mine. Snap communication.” Jacobs sealed his visor and activated the communication console. He waited for Sarge to follow suit.
“What’s with the secrecy?” Sarge asked by communicator.
Jacobs suppressed a nod towards the prisoner. “Did you see her reaction when you threatened to shoot her? I swear she knows what you said.”
“You’re nuts. How would she learn English?”
“Our guys don’t auto-destruct when injured. The opportunity is there.”
“Hey man, if we run these respirators full-sealed and only use communicators until we reach base, we won’t have no spare Jolt packs to fight off the BEMs.”
“No need for that,” Jacobs said. “Go back to selective filter and just be careful with what you say. Tap the side of your visor three times if you want to talk privately.”
“Will do. Say, do you suppose a Bug-Eyed Monster that understands English is worth more?”
Jacobs made one last assay of prisoner security and then lay back to enjoy the expanse of stars.
“What this world needs is a couple of good moons,” Sarge said. “So’s I could see at night.”
“You can see the stars crystal clear. Moonlight would wash out all this splendor.”
“Sez you.” Sarge popped a piece of nicotine candy. “But I would like to be able to see the enemy without having to run a spotlight. In the morning, swap your suit Jolt pack with the full one in your Blaser.”
Jacobs propped his head up with left hand. “Something about this seems all wrong.”
“Naw, I did the arithmetic. We’re gonna need the full Jolt packs for breathing if we want to make it to Base camp, so we’ll run the Blasers on the leftovers.”
“I don’t mean the Jolt packs. Something’s wrong with this whole war. Look at her.”
“I’ve seen her up close,” Sarge said. “Not even a respectable pair of boobs.”
“She’s not human, you asshole. What makes you think they would come in pairs?”
“Are we talking about one or three? Maybe more? Interesting.”
“Come on, man,” Jacobs said. “She doesn’t need a visor or a respirator. She’s comfortable with the climate. This world suits her, suits all her kind. Now look at what we wear day and night just to stay alive. There’s lots of planets to be had out there. Why are we fighting for this cold, inhospitable rock?”
“Gonna Terra-form it. I can imagine a luxury resort hanging from the side of these mountains, lime green trees and all.”
“Good in theory, but the Terra-form technology doesn’t exist and may not for another hundred years.”
“How long have I known you, Jacobs? Six months?”
Jacobs checked his visor monitor. “Seven months, thirteen days…and I am counting.”
“You’ve been a good buddy, despite your hoity-toity language.”
“If it makes you feel superior, I dropped out of graduate school.”
“Oh yeah. I dropped out, too, but not graduate school. You ain’t much younger than me. Tell me. Why did you do it?”
“I’m ten years younger. Why did I drop out? I’d had enough. I’d had enough of the job I got after I dropped out, too. I had enough with officer candidate school after I enlisted. I bore easily.”
“Are you bored now?”
“Well, a fire-fight does wake me up.”
“Let me tell you my philosophy of war.”
Jacobs glanced at Sarge and hoped he would recognize his wry sense of humor. “I didn’t know you knew the meaning of philosophy.”
“Funny. Did I tell you I made Master Sergeant? Well, I did. Actually twice—but I always gets busted, once all the way back to Private. Despite that, this is my career—this is my home, and I love it. I not only have a philosophy, I have a plan, and I ain’t ever bored.”
Jacobs rested his head against the ground and looked up. How far from Earth did you have to be for the constellations to twist like that?
“Okay, Sarge. Lay your philosophy on me.”
“We’re fighting this war because some rich guys—white guys with lots of power—have figured a way to make money from this planet.”
“That’s not a philosophy. That’s an indictment of Earth’s democracy, that old men would sacrifice young lives for money and more power.”
“I didn’t say that was my philosophy. That’s my starting fact…What do you call it, the place you start?”
“Premise.”
“Yeah,” Sarge said. “That’s my premise about the way it’s always been—whether we got kings, presidents, or world congresses, it’s always about money and power. I can’t do nothing about how the world is run. My philosophy is about me as a soldier.”
Sarge abruptly sat up and pointed at the prisoner. “I hear you scraping that plastic tether against the rock, missy. Tougher than nails and strong as steel. You ain’t going nowhere, but scrape away if you please.”
Jacobs turned on his side. “Do you think she’s thirsty? I could drain a deciliter of water from my suit.”
“Why don’t you a
sk her? You said she understands what we say.”
“Hm. Maybe. Map says we cross by a spring and small waterfall in the morning. I guess she can wait until then. What about your philosophy?”
“Oh yeah.” Sarge lay back and folded his hands behind his head. “Those stars really are bright. Okay. My philosophy is about me. I was a kid when I signed up, and I thought everything was about standing tall and protecting the people I loved. Back then, I didn’t know shit about them wealthy bastards what’s in charge. I just wanted to fight Bug-Eyed Monsters.”
Jacobs said, “Much easier to manipulate the population when the enemy is a Bug-Eyed Monster.”
“What’s that you say? Hey, you got any nicotine candy? That was my last piece.”
“Sorry, you know I don’t chew. Just thinking out loud about BEMs. What about your philosophy?”
“Philosophy. Yeah. By myself, I can’t change who rules, but I already took an oath to obey their orders. What could I do? Just my job. So I do my job, and pretty damn well. I try to follow orders and I try to do what’s right, but I get busted back a lot.”
“Can’t keep your mouth shut?”
“Maybe. Anyways, my philosophy is that my honor comes from my duty to my oath and my service to my people, but not from the schemes of the idiots in charge. That’s why I don’t worry no more about why we are in this war. I worry about my comrades and my duty and my honor. I’ll go after the idiots in charge when I’m done with soldiering. In the meantime, what can any one person do about war and peace, or about greed and hate? Just their duty. That’s my philosophy to get me through twenty years.”
“I won’t argue against your philosophy.” Jacobs closed his eyes to the starlight. “It’s a lot more than I have.”
Jacobs thumbed ‘zoom’ on his visor, and the pale foothills below expanded. A persistent beep reminded him the Jolt pack that powered his suit should be replaced soon. He blinked and panned. Although the stabilizer held the image relatively steady, the magnification left a peculiar haze to his view.
According to the map overlay, Base camp should be nestled on the far side of the foothills. Either Jacobs was looking in the wrong place or the foothills blocked his view, because he couldn’t locate the Base camp. He had expected that he would be able to visually confirm the Base camp from the height of this trail along the mountain face. He checked communications. Still an automated homing signal, but no response to any packet query.
He turned back up the trail just in time to see the BEM leap airborne with both her legs coiled for a strike at Sarge’s back. Before Jacobs could yell a warning, Sarge partially turned, extended a powerful arm to ward off the blow, and took the kick from the uncoiled legs against his ribs.
With a shout, Jacobs raced towards the action.
Sarge staggered and fought for balance at the precipice; he lost the supply duffle into the abyss, and then followed the pack over the edge of the mountain trail.
The BEM struck the ground back first, gasped for breath, and then rolled to a crouch. Jacobs arrived and kicked her in the face before she could stand. He kicked her a second time to be sure she wouldn’t move again, and dragged her toward a scraggly tree growing from the mountainside.
A loud whump accompanied an explosion of light, and a shock wave rumbled up the mountain face. Some smaller rocks broke loose above the trail and rolled past Jacobs.
Jacobs secured the BEM to the tree trunk. He slapped her twice—harder than necessary—to determine whether she was conscious. She was not.
He returned to the precipice and looked over. Below him, the jagged mountain face plunged at least five hundred meters. But only six meters below the path, Sarge sprawled awkwardly over a rugged chunk of stone projecting from a narrow ledge.
Two hundred meters below Sarge, rocks slid and dust settled from the explosion. Only one thing could have produced that much dust and debris. The extra Jolt packs in the supply duffle had shorted on impact and exploded.
Jacobs secured the line from his suit to a sturdy rock outcrop and rappelled down the mountain face. He arrived a meter to the left of the ledge and swung pendulum-like until he purchased footing. When he first knelt next to Sarge, he thought the man was dead.
He reached…
“Don’t touch me,” Sarge whispered. “My neck is broke. I should be dead.”
Jacobs leaned closer. “You’re no doctor.” He adjusted his visor’s remote biometrics to pick up Sarge’s vital signs.
“I can read my medical data as good as you, College Boy. My biometrics says I ain’t quite dead, but I am paralyzed. ‘Complete injury fractures to the fifth and sixth cervical vertebrae. Further damage to the spinal cord may result in death.’ That’s a quote direct from my screen, so don’t move me. Damn. I don’t think I lost consciousness when I hit this rock. Big FUBAR to be awake through that. Don’t hurt now.”
“I’ll double-time to the Base and bring back help…”
“Dragging the BEM?”
“I’ll tie her up and leave her here.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I could guard her—but that ain’t the problem. You know as well as I do what exploded. There ain’t near enough juice left in my Jolt pack to last me while you run for help. I doubt you got enough left in yours to finish the trip. My Blaser and its Jolt pack went over the edge. You ain’t gonna find those neither.”
“I’ve got my Blaser Jolt pack. Maybe that’s not enough, but I’ll think of something.”
“I already did, smart guy, and I’m in charge. Grace, Brother. Use my knife and take what’s left of my Jolt pack.”
“Sarge, I can’t do that. There must be another way.”
“You can, and you will. There ain’t no other choice for either of us. I’m done, and I don’t know any man I’d rather have help me finish up than you. Grace, Brother. Duty. Use my knife. I keep it sharp.”
Jacobs drew Simmon’s knife and leaned precariously across the rocks to see his companion’s face. “All these months, Sarge, and I don’t even know your first name.” He undid the clasps on Sarge’s body armor.
“John, but my mom calls me Johnny. What do your folks call you?”
Jacobs hesitated. “Manny, for Emanuel.” He carefully pulled back the armor to expose Sarge’s chest.
Sarge sighed. “I might have known.”
“You have something against Jews?” A steady alarm in Jacobs’s console replaced the irritating warning beep. His Jolt pack was officially dead.
“You’re Jewish? Hmm. Didn’t know. I just meant you got one of them weirdo names.”
Jacobs located the spot alongside Sarge’s sternum. “Emanuel means ‘God is with us’.”
“About damn time. Don’t take it out on our BEM, I would have done the same thing if I was her. Got careless ’cause she started looking more like a girl. You be sure to get her ass back to Base. Look, I’m just blathering now…Come on, do it. I don’t want to think about this any longer or I’ll…Please. Grace, Broth…”
Jacobs slipped the knife blade between Sarge’s ribs.
After he replaced his failing Jolt pack and inoculated Sarge with bacteria, Jacobs unclipped the backup memory module from Sarge’s helmet and stored it in his pocket. He didn’t have room on his own chip for all of the deaths Sarge had collected. Then, he cautiously used the remnants of the morning to usher the BEM to the lower end of the mountain trail. By the time they reached the foothills in the early afternoon, he had burned most of the remaining charge of his suit Jolt pack. He checked the charge on his Blaser Jolt pack. Less than four percent remained, and the Base was still 6 klicks away. With luck and no other setbacks, he might make it.
He dragged the BEM by the tether, sometimes threatening, sometimes pleading. Abstractly, he knew the stress increased his power consumption, but he couldn’t think of any way to relax. Relaxing had killed Sarge. Sometimes, with a quick glance, he caught the BEM scanning the nearby hills. Did she know where he was taking her? Did she look for escape or was there something her enormous eyes
saw that he missed?
In a fit of despair, he dragged her close until her unreadable face could not avoid his. “What are you looking for? Do you understand what I am saying? Answer me. Answer me!”
Someone, anyone, please answer me…
Suddenly, he realized that the irritating beep, which had haunted him interminably, had vanished and so had the subsequent steady emergency alarm. His suit had given up on demanding that he replace the exhausted Jolt pack. The battery was all but dead.
With blurry eyes, he checked his flickering biometrics. The oxygen level in his blood was below eighty. He flipped his visor completely open, pulled down his mask, and took a quick direct breath. His throat and nose burned from the caustic air residues, but he couldn’t afford to black out. He left the visor full open for oxygen until he had swapped the Blaser Jolt pack for his suit Jolt pack. When the system rebooted and the status icon flashed green, he partially closed the visor and took deliberate, slow breaths. His blood oxygen level crept upward, but his throat and nose continued to burn.
He ignored the percentage-left meter and keyed up the estimated battery life. Two hours. Less than three kilometers. Moderate trail. He would make it.
With ruthless determination, he dragged the prisoner ahead.
When he rounded the last hill, no sentries walked the perimeter of the Base camp. Jacobs pulled the BEM towards the entry. The perimeter fence displayed no residual charge. The Base lay unprotected, and the door into the main Quonset hut opened into blackness.
Abandoned.
They had abandoned the Base camp. He consulted his visor map. The next Base camp was seventy klicks away.
Fifty minutes remained on his last Jolt pack.
By appearance, the Base camp had been evacuated—not precipitously, but with due haste. No important equipment remained. Why hadn’t they notified the men in the field? Maybe Lieutenant Simmons got the news, but died before he relayed it. Why hadn’t they sent Big Bird out to rescue them? What else could be more important? Nothing here made sense. Not this war. Not this empty camp.
