On a large pallet lashed together with Vietnam-era cordage, he spotted a case which instantly got his attention. He felt a wide smile growing as he glanced around. He was alone, which wasn’t unusual since it was late in the day by habitat time. The small space-bound human contingent was eating and relaxing prior to the sleep cycle.
After another quick glance around the area, he dug a small knife out of his pocket and made a couple of quick cuts. Then he heard the shouts. He made the knife disappear and walked to the storage room doorway. Four people were yelling at each other while a woman held back, fear on her face. Two of the men appeared to be SpinDogs, the other two were Lost Soldiers.
What the hell?
Vat left the storage bay and slowly walked toward to the group. One of the SpinDogs was the first to spot him. The man’s eyes narrowed, and Vat put his hands up, not wanting the already hostile encounter to turn violent.
The two Lost Soldiers wore WWII-era uniforms and appeared to be fully or partly Asian. As he got closer, he recognized the Filipino being spoken by natives. The standardized version of Tagalog had a distinctive cadence he found particularly easy to pick up.
“We should kill these ancient relics!” one of the two SpinDogs said, his Ktor fast and clipped, the way they spoke when they didn’t want anyone else to understand them, especially humans. Vat understood enough Ktoran that this tactic no longer worked with him, not that he let on during his wanderings.
“There are few of them remaining,” the other said. “We could be tangling with a batang without realizing it.”
The first one scoffed.
“Are they crazy or something?” one of the Filipino men asked the other.
“Must be. We should go.” He switched to Ktor. “We go.”
“Where do you think you’re going, relic?” the first SpinDog snapped. “To find more women to harass?” He reached out and gave the soldier a shove.
Quick as a flash, both Lost Soldiers produced knives and moved far enough apart to avoid getting in each other’s way. Vat knew from his time in the Philippines that the hand-to-hand combat training they got was first rate. Not ones to be intimidated, the SpinDogs likewise produced blades. The woman shouted for both sides to stop, but if anything, that just made everyone more agitated.
Vat moved in fast, taking a desperate chance by interposing himself between the two groups. It was impossible to keep an eye on all four blades, and the intensity on their faces left little doubt that this was seconds from turning lethal. What the fuck are you doing? he wondered. His personal credo was simple: Never get between potential customers when they are about to throw down.
“Hey, easy,” he said in Filipino. “My friends.” Quickly he switched to the same form of Ktor the SpinDogs were using. “This is not the time to fight.”
“What do you want, human?” one of the SpinDogs snapped. “Are you here to help these two eye-bleeders?” The two Filipinos cocked their heads, trying to understand, but their meager Ktor wasn’t up to the task. The woman stood behind the two men, her hand on the shoulder of the older one; the fear had not left her eyes.
“I am on the side of peace,” Vat said in Ktor and bowed his head slightly. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed. The Ka-Bar he was using moments ago would not be visible unless he really needed it.
“Peace?” the second SpinDog asked, then pointed to one of the soldiers. “That one made a disgusting offer to the Primus’ daughter!”
Daughter of a Primus. Shit, Vat thought. But…a disgusting offer? “May I speak to these men for one minute?”
“So you can see if their offer is attractive to you, instead?” the SpinDog demanded.
“No, so I can understand what happened.”
“We told you what happened!” the other SpinDog yelled.
“There are multiple languages involved. You must realize many of us do not speak Ktor well.”
“You speak well,” the first one said. Despite the anger in his voice, Vat could see that though his words had not defused the situation, perhaps the men were a little calmer.
“Then let me talk to these other men,” he repeated. The SpinDog gave a single brief nod, allowing Vat to give the two humans his complete attention. “These two men are upset,” he said in Tagalog.
“We figured as much,” the older of the two said. “But we don’t know why. They went insane when we spoke to the young woman.”
“You did speak to her, then?” They both nodded. “Did you know she is the daughter of a Primus, a leader here? It is inappropriate to interact with her.”
“We did not know this,” the younger man said, appalled. “We meant no disrespect.”
“What did you say?” Vat asked.
“We said she is a lovely woman and asked her name,” the older man said. “We did not see her escorts—they were down the corridor and around the corner.”
Vat’s eyes narrowed as he considered. “You spoke in Ktor, of course?”
“Of course,” the younger man said. “We learned from the sleeping machines.”
Vat nodded. “Can you repeat exactly what you said? Exactly.”
The older man shook his head, obviously not understanding how it mattered, and yet he did just as Vat asked him. Vat instantly realized the problem.
“What you said, inadvertently of course, is this: ‘You have a pretty body. Will you take my name?’”
“My God,” the younger man gasped.
“It is not what we said!” the older man said.
Vat explained the particularities of tenses and possessives in Ktoran. “It is the kind of thing you pick up after time,” he said. “Many coming back from the surface have learned to do it naturally. You haven’t seen many locals, have you?”
“No,” the older man admitted. “We only speak Ktoran with other Lost Soldiers for ease of translation.”
“As I thought.”
“How do we fix this?” the younger man asked, glancing at the girl then looking away, his face reddening.
“Let me,” Vat said, and turned to the SpinDogs. “I am sorry; there was a terrible mistake. This is what these men meant to say.” He said the phrase correctly. “While it might have been improper for them to address the lady, it was not meant as an improper solicitation.”
The two SpinDogs listened, and Vat saw them visibly relax. The explanation was simple and offered earnestly. He spoke slowly so the two Filipino soldiers could follow along. Out of the corner of his eye he saw them nod when he explained their meaning and the mistake.
“This is true, then?” the older SpinDog asked. Both human soldiers nodded. “Then no harm has been done.” He looked at the two men. “I suggest you practice the language and avoid unaccompanied women.”
The Lost Soldiers nodded solemnly, and the SpinDogs left with the young woman.
“Thank you,” the older soldier said. “We didn’t want to spill their blood.”
“Not a problem,” Vat said, glancing toward the storage room. The two Lost Soldiers left, and he turned back to the storage room.
“That was interesting.”
He spun around to see Major Murphy standing a short distance away. The older man was watching him from the shadows, an appraising look on his face.
“Just a friendly disagreement,” Vat said. “No big deal.”
“I was looking for you,” Murphy said. “We need to talk.”
“Sure,” Vat said. With a last, longing look at the storage bay, he followed Murphy.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Spin One
“Have a seat,” Murphy said, and gestured to one of the two simple chairs at his desk. Several modern computer tablets sat on the desk. Vat glanced at them, then at Murphy, who’d settled into his chair and appeared to be thinking.
“What do you need?” Vat asked.
“I need you to be useful.”
“Wasn’t what I did back there useful?”
“Useful? Sure. Intentional? I doubt it.” Vat
started to speak, but Murphy cut him off. “Vat, you aren’t fooling me.”
“Sorry, fooling you?”
“I know you’ve been helping yourself to things. Oh, don’t look offended. The SpinDogs’ tech might not be impressive compared to the Dornaani, but it’s enough to have cameras everywhere.”
Shit.
“I let you play your games because I was hoping something would come out of it which I could use to put you to work.”
“You already do.”
“That’s make-work, and you know it. I can’t assign you anything that requires you to risk your precious hide because you’ll weasel out of it. And maybe leave a good soldier or two twisting in the wind when you do.”
“So this is your solution? Entrapping me?”
“Call it what you will, Vat. I have to use every tool at my disposal to do this job.” For a moment Vat thought Murphy looked far older than he was. “I kept track of everyone’s language training. All the hours logged, by every Lost Soldier. Both in the Dornaani virtuality language simulator and later refreshers. Almost from the very start, one person stood out. One Victor Allen Thomas…with a grand total of zero hours.”
Vat shrugged, and he thought he could see a vein bulging on Murphy’s forehead.
“So that’s why I was looking for you: to give you an ultimatum.”
“Then why don’t you give it to me?”
“I’ll give you an indefinite vacation in a windowless cell, if you give me any more lip,” Murphy said in a chilly voice Vat hadn’t heard before. “So, I went looking for you. I found you in the midst of your little encounter.”
“How much of it did you see?”
“I was right behind you when it started.”
“Ah.”
“You could have just walked away,” Murphy said. “Instead you walked into the middle of a potential knife fight. That alone surprised me because it didn’t fit your psychological profile.” Vat snorted. “Don’t hold much stake in those profiles?”
“No. Do you?”
Murphy laughed; another first. “Actually, I don’t either. They do, however, offer a useful snapshot of the individual, if you don’t get obsessed with the details. At least from my experience. Anyway, I was a second from stepping in when you pulled a rabbit out of your hat.” He looked Vat in the eye. “How did you learn Ktor so well?”
Vat shrugged again.
“Mister Thomas, this is your come-to-Jesus moment. I’ll lay it out as simply as possible. You can either become part of what we’re doing here and help—”
“I’ve been helping—” Vat started.
“Shut up!”
Vat closed his mouth.
“You’ve been helping yourself, is what you’ve been doing. Now: you can either help out with everything you’ve got, and I mean full commitment, or…”
“Or what? Gonna put me back in the freezer like the other PreBooms who haven’t adapted?”
Murphy’s smile looked as cold as February in Romulus, Michigan. “What makes you think any of them went back into cryostasis?”
“Then what…?” Vat trailed off, blinking. No, he couldn’t—he wouldn’t—do that.
“We’re in space, Vat. Options are limited, as are resources. As wonderful and charming as you are, I don’t have time for you if I can’t utilize your skillset.”
“I have a natural skill with language,” Vat admitted.
“Nothing in your file mentions that, not in education or military service.”
“Because I didn’t study languages. I tried, in high school.”
Murphy tapped on his pane of glass. “Yes, I see a D in French.”
“Yes, that’s it. I’ve always been good at figuring out dialects. Detroit has a lot of immigrants. I figured it would translate into book learning. I was wrong. What classwork taught me is to avoid talking about how I pick up languages.”
“Came in handy selling arms, didn’t it?” Murphy held up the tablet showing Vat’s NSA arms license under yet another name. “You were working it seven ways to Tuesday. Legal contractor under your real name, travel permits to war zones under one alias, ITAR permits under another. You were in Somalia to sell anti-aircraft missiles to the warlords.”
“How long have you known?”
“I knew you were one step ahead of arrest before you were thawed out. The Dornaani computers are very efficient.”
Vat shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why bother letting me fuck around up here for weeks if you knew what I did and who I was?”
“Because our mission on this planet requires all sorts of talents, all sorts of people.” He gave Vat a wintry half grin. “Even your sort.” He looked at his computer then back up at Vat. “We’re making inroads on R’Bak, but not as quickly as we’d hoped. The main problem is that we haven’t found all the weapons and equipment caches we know are there. And shortly after the satraps figured out that we’re here and we’re dangerous, they got busy activating them. So we’re falling behind achieving force parity at the same time that they’re stepping us the speed with which they’re completing their transmitter.”
Vat stared. “And I figure into all this…how?”
“You have a way with people. Sure, both good and bad, but you knew how to use your special skills to cut deals, make alliances, and get what you want. Most people in your old profession don’t fare well.”
“Neither did I, in the end.”
“You know, I’m not so sure you wouldn’t have come out of that as well.” Murphy shut off the clipboard-sized computer. “Go down to the surface of R’Bak, sniff around, see what you can find out from—and about—the R’Bakuu that we’ve missed.”
“That’s about as nebulous of a mission as you could give me.”
“It’s what I have. Will you do it, or not?” Murphy asked.
“Do I have a choice?”
“You always have choices.”
Yeah, Vat thought, bad and worse. “Sure, I’ll go on your scavenger hunt. I have to do it by myself?”
“No, take your four poker pals with you.” Murphy reached into his desk, put a box on it, and slid it toward Vat.
Vat picked it up and opened it. Two silver bars were inside.
“You’ll need those. I’m reinstating you as a first lieutenant.”
“You have the authority to do that?” Murphy shrugged, and Vat laughed. “Why trust me with a commission?”
“Captain Lee talked to me. She seems to think you deserve a chance. So you get one.” His face became as emotionless as a manikin’s. “Just one.”
* * *
The interface craft came to a stop. As soon as the engines cut out, the crew came forward to open hatches and prepare it for another flight. The air base was small but bustling, and Vat took a moment to take it all in.
The first thing he noticed was the heat; it was damn hot. Not humid hot like Georgia or Louisiana, but Phoenix hot. He looked up and shielded his eyes from the two stars blazing in the sky. One was similar in size to the star he grew up with, Sol, only orange. The other was much smaller and yellow-white. In the coming months, the small one would get closer and closer until it burned nearly every living thing off the planet’s equatorial belt. I’m on an alien planet, he thought. A little smile crossed his face. This is kinda cool.
The patchy ground cover near the field was a strange shade of green, and the sky was not quite blue. By the sad look of the not-quite grass, it was already feeling the effects of the approaching Searing. A small flying insect went by, and he swatted at it, hoping R’Bak didn’t have mosquitoes.
“Do you need a ride, Lieutenant?”
The man had to say it twice before Vat realized he was the lieutenant in question. He glanced at the bar sewn into the epaulets on the worn Vietnam-era camouflage duty uniform he was wearing. The only thing new was the nametape: Vat. He’d insisted on it instead of Thomas. He looked at the speaker, a kid no more than 25, with a decidedly Middle Eastern appearance—though no accent—who was driving some sort
of box truck.
“Sure,” he said. “Where’s the FOB?”
“It’s just past that point of land sticking out from the mountain,” the kid said, pointing.
Vat got into the truck for the short drive. “You can just drop me off at the edge of camp,” he said. “I’d like to get a feel for it.”
“Sure,” the kid said, and he drove to the base, humming the whole time.
The truck stopped at the first tent. “Anything else?” the kid asked.
“I’m fine, Corporal,” he said. “Can you aim me at the recon tent?”
“Yes, sir. Go around the chuckwagon, and it’s just past the showers.”
“Thanks,” he said. The corporal gave him a salute, which he returned, then the kid drove off.
The activity at the camp varied, depending on where you were.
The motor pool was nonstop busy. Vat didn’t recognize any of the vehicles and guessed they were all local, taken from the satraps by Lost Soldiers. Mechanics and drivers were working and examining what looked like APC-Mad Max hybrids. Others were inventorying parts and stacking the strangely designed local fuel cans; they reminded him of hexagonal insect cells.
The field hospital was quiet. A few people were being treated for non-life-threatening conditions. One of the native healer women sat with a man, held his hand, and talked quietly. He’d love to have listened in to try and pick up the dialect; instead, he moved on.
At the far side of the camp were the helipads. A single helicopter that was vaguely reminiscent of a Blackhawk squatted on an expanded metal pad. Seeing the bird brought back memories and reminded him he was trillions of miles and over a hundred years from what he’d called home. The pilot was in the cockpit, and he wondered if was Mara before remembering she was flying Hueys. And he was pretty sure the pilot was a man.
He found the chuckwagon, a big truck which opened up into cooking and prep facilities for food. It was mid-afternoon, and it smelled like the crew was working on dinner. A big haunch of meat was hanging, and a local woman was filleting pieces from it. The section of animal had a tail as thick as a Burmese python.
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