by Chris Bunch
• • •
The Musth mining base on C-Cumbre was silent, shattered in the hot, dry sun. Wind whispered dust across the ruins.
The base had been destroyed by a ‘Raum suicide mission and abandoned within days by the aliens.
Ho Kang pushed through the broken oreship, past the desiccated corpse of a Musth, head back, fangs gleaming in a final snarl against the flames that had killed him. She refused to let the corpse, or the three others in the wreckage, bother her, other than to wonder what Musth death ceremonies were, and went into the control room she’d been able to cut her way into the previous day, just at dusk.
Ho oriented herself … control chair there … there … pilot … copilot, maybe. A bank of charred instruments … ship’s engineer?
One seat was to the side, below a ruptured screen. Behind it was a panel, unscathed by fire.
“I don’t understand what I’m looking at, but I think I understand I’m looking at what I hope I’m looking at, I think,” she muttered to herself. She used her thumb to depress and unlatch two of the convex buttons the Musth used for screws, pulled away the panel cover.
Inside was a single half cylinder. In a cabinet below were others. Ho collected them all.
“Now for wiser heads,” she muttered. “Assuming any have the proper clearance.”
• • •
“So what’s your opinion of those furry folks?” Njangu asked, as he piloted the Cooke down from the Highlands toward Leggett and the bay. It was a couple of hours past midnight.
“Interesting,” Garvin yawned. “Not the best cocktail chitchat I’ve ever had, though.”
“Kinda limited,” Njangu agreed. “If it isn’t about conquest or killing, it doesn’t seem to matter much to them.
“Although Wlencing’s kid, Alikhan, acted like he wouldn’t mind talking about other things. But I guess baby Musth don’t interrupt.”
“We ought to have sent a couple of old-timey warrants up there,” Garvin said. “The ones who never get tired of telling war stories.”
“Am I being horseshit,” Njangu wondered, “or do I detect a certain lack of humor in our invaders?”
“Couldn’t prove they’ve got any by me,” Garvin said. “Although that Alikhan might be able to develop one in half a dozen centuries or so.”
“So why’d they ask us up there? I sure don’t believe it was just because we took them out banging heads.”
“Probably,” Garvin said, “because most of them haven’t spent any time with one of us, any more than we have. I’d guess those others were Wlencing’s staff or something like that.”
“Get to know your enemy before war breaks out?”
“Something like that.”
“Which works both ways,” Njangu said. “I think I got more out of them, starting with the way they think war should be fought, than I gave back.”
“Let’s hope so,” Garvin said. “And let’s hope they weren’t playing downy naive chicks for our benefit.”
“You’re always such a cheerful son of a bitch.”
“Ain’t I, though.”
• • •
Ho Kang was more than a little disappointed. She’d expected the “greatest physicist in the Cumbre system” to be a little on the short side, a little heavy, straight hair, probably not tended as carefully as it should, dress clean if a little rumpled — in short, something like Ho Kang.
Instead, the woman, Ann Heiser, was slender, hair waved in the very trendy brushover style, vivacious, dressed as if she were a Rentier or an executive — even, Ho grudged, pretty.
At least her colleague, Danfin Froude, looked like a mathematician — hair in a stook like he’d been electro-shocked, old-fashioned coat seemingly never pressed, pants baggy, and his expression kindly and vague. He even wore archaic glasses. He was one of the few humans who had a reading knowledge of Musth.
The two had been suggested and vetted for security purposes by Hedley and their presence requested at Camp Mahan.
One of the small half cylinders Ho had taken from the wrecked transport was in front of Hedley. He introduced Ho, then explained where the cylinder had come from.
“A chart,” Heiser said.
“I thought,” Ho said, “if we could translate it, that might give us some information on the Musth worlds, so we could — ”
“Put it to the appropriate use,” Hedley interrupted. “Which doesn’t have to be your concern at this point.”
Froude picked up the cylinder. “This could be a long long investigation. And I’m hardly naïve enough to think we have much time. ‘Twould be nice if we had at least one known point to work from.”
“Maybe we do,” Ho said. “I got interested because I noticed that almost all Musth entries into this system were reported by one or another of the stations on the outer worlds. Most were reported at roughly the same coordinates.”
She handed a microfiche across.
“This is the transcription of twenty-five reports, all ships tracked to C-Cumbre. I thought most of them would be ore transports.”
“Seems within the bounds of supposition,” Heiser agreed.
“Then I wondered if I could find one of those ships, and one of their charts, if that’s what this is, that would have either as a start or end point, depending on whether they were coming into or exiting the Cumbre system, congruent with the places our sensors discovered the ships.”
Froude’s face was flushed with excitement. “One plot,” he said. “A beginning. A very definite beginning.
“We have computers, secure facilities set aside,” Hedley said. “We’d like for you to begin your investigation at once. If you need anything … assistants, apparatus, whatever, you have the highest priority, for reasons I’m sure you can figure out.
“Again, I must insist, though, that you discuss this matter with no one who hasn’t been cleared by us, for obvious reasons. I’ve detached Dec Ho Kang to work with you on this.”
Ho and Heiser got up, and Hedley summoned a guard to take them to their assigned offices. Froude lingered behind.
“I do want to thank you, Haut Hedley, for letting me possibly help. But I was, well, hoping you wanted me for something else,” Froude said, a trifle wistfully.
“Such as?”
Froude looked behind him, closed the door.
“One thing your Force lacks,” he said, “is scientists.”
“We’re soldiers, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Which means you’re full of strange oaths, jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel.”
Hedley grinned. “Maybe. But I’m not bearded like a pard, whatever a flippin’ pard is. So what do you think you could help us with?”
“I’ll give you a quick example. You’re the former Commanding Officer of Intelligence and Reconnaissance. Don’t look startled, I’m a bit of a military buff, and keep up with things. You take young soldiers, give them some very intensive training in scouting and such, wash out at least half of all applicants. Is it worth the effort?”
“Hell yes,” Hedley said.
“Can you quantify that? How many missions, tasks, can one of your highly trained soldiers perform before he becomes a casualty, physical or psychological? How much more, or less, functional would an average infantryman be, given the same tasks and, possibly, accepting a casualty rate somewhat higher, compensated by the ease of replacement? And we’ll ignore the problem that an I&R soldier might remain a striker for quite a time, given the general excellence of those around him, and thus contributing less to the Force’s needs, whereas in a normal unit he’d quickly be promoted to warrant rank?”
“Allah-be-damned if I know.”
“I do,” Froude said, a bit smugly. “By my figures, he’s good for perhaps a dozen missions, whereas the average soldier, without the stiffening your rigorous selection puts him through, would probably break after four, perhaps five. As for promotion, that’s not really a factor, given I&R’s greater casualty rate, so even with restriction in
ranks, a good … and lucky … trooper will probably be promoted as rapidly as if he’d remained in a normal unit.
“That is the sort of thing I hoped you’d be interested in.”
Hedley ran a hand over his head, surreptitiously glanced at his fingers to see if any more hair was falling out.
“Dr. Froude, I’m damned if I know any of the answers, and maybe we should pay more attention to scientists. But can we bring this up later?”
“Of course. I merely wished to give you something for future consideration,” Froude said.
• • •
Garvin, immaculate in officer’s dress whites, sat at the long, curving and deserted bar of the Shelburne, looking out at the yachts moored offshore, lined by the setting sun. He sipped again at his drink, a smooth tropical concoction he knew better than to have three of, and wondered how he’d pass the evening.
Hedley’d grabbed him, asked how long it’d been since he’d taken a pass, then, when Garvin had to think for a minute, told him to get offpost and away from the flip-pin’ military before he rotted.
Njangu had agreed, told him to get gone, and, besides, Njangu might have something interesting to talk about when he got back, and so Garvin had gotten spiffed, and gone across the bay into Leggett, looking for trouble.
He remembered, a long, long time ago, when he’d just graduated from his basic training, spending an evening here, getting sleazed on by the band’s singer and landing in more trouble than he knew how to handle.
Garvin smiled, thinking of how long ago and far away that was. Not quite three years. Ancient history. He wondered what’d happened to the singer, Marya, that was her name, and hoped she still wasn’t singing here. Even as disgustingly celibate as he was, he didn’t think he’d ever be ready for someone like her again.
Someone came in the bar, sat on the other side of the waiter’s station, and ordered, in a rather nice contralto, a white cordial.
He glanced over as the bartender poured, and the quiet late afternoon shattered like broken crystal.
A moment later, Jasith Kouro recognized him as well.
“Uh … hello,” he managed.
“Hello,” she said.
The two stared at each other, the silence pyramiding.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she said. “And for rescuing me … us.”
Garvin tried to think of something clever, failed.
“It’s all right,” he managed. “You’re all right now?”
“Fine. The only reason I was in the hospital that long is I picked up some kind of infection.”
“Yeh,” Garvin said, knowing he was sounding very much a fool, wondering where his vaunted silver tongue had gone to. “Infections can be dangerous.”
“You look very good,” Jasith said, equally knock-wittedly.
“Thanks. And so do you,” Garvin said. “So what brings you out here,” he tried feebly. “Don’t you have everything delivered up on the Heights?”
Jasith looked at him, decided he wasn’t trying to be offensive.
“I’m meeting Loy here for dinner,” she said. “With some of his editors. They’re going to talk about how we should deal with the Musth. I think it’s going to be pretty dull, so I decided to show up early and fortify myself a little bit.”
“You’re probably right,” Garvin said. “In which case, you need what I’m drinking.” He nodded to the waiter, gave the order.
Jasith sipped at her drink when it arrived.
“Uhh … Garvin? You could run a speedster on this. I don’t want to be doing a strip show to keep everybody interested!”
“Why not? Or maybe, a better thing for you to do to make matters really interesting might be to ask the journohs how they think the Musth is going to deal with us.”
“What do you mean? So far there’s been no trouble.”
“As the man said as he passed the forty-fifth floor of the fifty-floor building he’d fallen off.”
Jasith looked around, saw no one, moved to the stool beside Garvin.
“Frankly, I am a little worried,” she said. “Loy tells me I’m being foolish, but the Musth were always miners, and my father always thought they wished they could control all of C-Cumbre’s mines.”
“I don’t think you’re being foolish at all,” Garvin said. “And I wish I could give you some hints. All I know, and you did not hear this from me, when the Musth left, they promised they’d be back, and not peacefully.”
“But they didn’t attack us when they did come back.”
“They also happened to get here at just the right time, too. Ran off Redruth and crew and looked a little bit like heroes. Maybe they’re biding their time for a bit.”
“So what are they going to do, and when?”
“Again, no answers. But I’d bet they’re looking for some reason, maybe just an excuse, to have a lot more to do with the way Cumbre’s run than they do now.”
“And if they do get more power, the first thing they’ll go after is me.”
“Your properties, anyway,” Garvin agreed. “You, I don’t think so. You’re not furry enough.”
Jasith giggled, then looked hastily away and concentrated on the sunset. After a time, without looking at Garvin, she said, in a low voice, “I guess I treated you pretty badly, didn’t I?”
Garvin thought of being polite, then of being honest, decided to say nothing.
“Everything just happened too quickly,” she said. “I wanted to run away, wanted to hide, didn’t know what to do.”
“So you married Loy Kouro,” Garvin said, unable to resist the jab.
Jasith took a deep breath, then said nothing, but nodded jerkily.
“You know,” she said, “sometimes I wish — ”
“Don’t,” Garvin said, voice harsh. “It’s hard enough already.”
Jasith lifted her drink, then set it down.
“I’m sorry,” she said, hastily got up, and went out.
Garvin stared at her barely tasted drink, then swiveled on his stool and looked at the exit.
“Son of a bitch,” he said in a low voice to nobody in particular.
• • •
“I think,” Doctor Froude said deliberately, “we might allow ourselves a glass of sherry.”
“Which is what?” Ho asked.
“Some sort of ancient wine, I think, that great thinkers allowed themselves when they accomplished something.”
“I think I’m going to have a straight shot of pure quill alcohol and dance naked on a tabletop,” Heiser said. “We’re getting very close, aren’t we?”
“Three of the last four permutations gave us range-on-range to J-Cumbre, to our moon Fowey, and to C-Cumbre. I’d call that close,” Froude said.
“What about number four?” Ho asked.
“I think you’re lost as a soldier, Ho,” Heiser said. “You’ve got such a grievously suspicious mind you ought to be a scientist.”
“Didn’t have the money for an education,” Ho said, uncomfortably.
“You will when this is finished,” Heiser said.
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Shut down. It is indeed, time for a drink.”
“I still wish we had an idea where that fourth range goes to,” Ho said. “If I projected it right, like you told me, it just ends up about half a diameter beyond M-Cumbre, and you said there’s nothing out there, right?”
“Right,” Froude said. “Wrong. I’m an idiot. When you take off from Camp Mahan in your Grierson, don’t you have some common departure point if you’re flying with other aircraft?”
Ho nodded. “Of course, we always set a Rendezvous Point on any mission. Why should the Musth be different? Which gives us our fourth point of congruence, and a place to start translating the charts’ other figures from.”
Froude smiled happily. “Now do we get our drink?”
“We do,” Ho said. “And I’m buying.” She bounced up from her desk, sending a keyboard and papers flying. “We Are Almost There!
”
• • •
“Are you going to live?” Njangu asked solicitously.
“Doubtful,” Garvin moaned.
“So where’d you end up?”
“The last thing that’s clear,” Garvin said, “is being in one of those goddamned waterfront clip joints.”
“Were you with someone?”
“I don’t think so, but I sort of remember being with somebody a couple of hours earlier. I think I kept comparing them to … to somebody, and I think they got pissed and dumped me.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all,” Garvin said. “Except this.”
He dug in his fatigue pocket, took out a huge roll of bills.
“I woke up with all these goddamned credits in every pocket.”
“Only you,” Njangu admired. “Any of the rest of us get shitfaced, and we wake up jackrolled in an alley. You make a profit on the deal.”
“Yeh, but I’d sure like to know why,” Garvin said. “Just about as much as I’d like a cold beer.”
“Tut,” Njangu said. “You’re on duty, and you don’t want to give a bad example.”
“I am a bad example.”
“Well, let me make life a little worse for you,” Njangu said unsympathetically. “After you left, Hedley called, and wanted to go play in the bushes. Seems SigInt picked up transmissions from way the hell out the end of Dharma Island. Very, very tight beam, punched straight on out to the edge of the system.
“About the same time, one of the remotes off L-Cumbre picked up an incoming. It held an orbit, and did a blurt-transmission in some code we don’t have on our books toward Leggett. The blurt-transmission, in turn, was responded to from that transmitter in the tules.
“Hedley said there was no way we could scramble anything but the aksai out to L-Cumbre in time to make an interception, and we’re keeping the lid on those suckers for the moment. But we could take the alert crew and jump on top of that transmitter.
“Which we did, about midnight last night, just about the time you were shifting into full drive.
“Dunno what gave us away, but we bashed on down, and found a little temp shelter, rations stacked up for a few days, and a beeeg mother transmitter, big enough to punch way beyond this system if it wanted.
