Murphy's Lawless: A Terran Republic Novel

by Charles E. Gannon

  Vat rolled over and looked at Salsaliin. The sun wasn’t quite up outside, but there was just enough light coming into his tent for him to see her face. She was a lovely woman with an athletic yet feminine figure. Most of the Lost Soldiers would have been thrilled to wake up next to her. “I told you, I’m an officer. This doesn’t look right.”

  She snorted and kissed him. He almost made it look like he enjoyed it. “Many of your soldiers are lying with our women. I hear one wants to marry her.” She looked at him in the morning gloom. “Do you not find me attractive?”

  “You are a lovely woman,” he said. She snuggled up against him. Her body was warm and curvy. He sighed. Shortly, she fell back asleep. He didn’t. This was a problem he had to deal with, and sooner rather than later. The second time with her had been easier, and the third easier still. Easier to lie, he thought. Just close your eyes and think of…Even though he’d made a living from deceit, this fake relationship with this clueless but kind woman made him feel dirtier than anything he’d ever done. She doesn’t deserve this.

  While she slept, he slipped out and visited the communal showers. The sign hanging outside said “Men,” so he was okay to go in. Later it would change to “Women.” Even though more stalls had been added, there weren’t enough for separate showers, so they alternated. Since it was early, it was crowded with naked men, some just back from patrol, and others who just wanted a clean start to the day. It might have been an enjoyable tableau if his mind wasn’t aflame with a thousand other issues…

  As he dried himself from the lukewarm shower, he noticed a pair of men he’d not seen before. He thought the older of two was staring at him as he dressed. Outside, he was talking to another Lost Soldier when he saw the pair again. They were not Lost Soldiers; their dress was R’Bakuun. At the chuckwagon, he asked a group of Lost Soldiers about the newcomers.

  “They’re from a tribe far to the east,” a scout told him in Russian.

  Vat wondered if Artyom knew the man. To his knowledge, many of the Russians had been picked up at the same time as his man, at Kursk.

  “Why are they here?”

  “Word has spread of our success against the satrap, and they want to know more about us.”

  Vat nodded, understanding. He verified where the newcomers were billeted and looked them up. They had a tent close to the whinnies’ corral. The musky, alien smell of the lizards and their droppings permeated the camp, though it was much stronger at their tent.

  “The one from the shower,” the older of the two said, the one Vat had caught watching him.

  “That’s me. Lieutenant Thomas, but call me Vat.”

  “What does Vat mean?” he asked.

  Vat explained, and the man shook his head.

  “Your people are as strange as we were told you were. My name is Illapt. This is my younger cousin Tevweret. My father is hetman of our village. He might want to help you against the satrap, especially if you can stop the Sky People before they invade.”

  I don’t think we can stop the invasion any more than we can stop the Searing. “Glad to meet you.” He talked with them for a time. Both spoke about their concerns for their village.

  “You don’t seem very worried,” Tevweret complained.

  “Now, cousin,” Illapt said, “our every concern cannot be theirs. We met one of our family here also. Another cousin, Salsaliin.”

  “Small world,” Vat said. “She came in some time back to trade whinnies.” The man gave him a strange look.

  Vat knew the Lost Soldiers were stretched thin. They couldn’t spend a lot of resources defending villages while scooping up all the caches of equipment and looking for hideouts to make it through the Searing, and these two might have information he could use.

  Then he had an idea.

  “Have either of you heard of Daaj?”

  Tevweret looked at him blankly, but Illapt showed a small but clear reaction. “Why do you ask?” Illapt asked.

  “Just a word I heard,” Vat said, carefully concealing a smile. “Let’s talk about your village.”

  * * *

  “Vat, I can’t authorize a mission so far afield.”

  “Major, this is what you ordered me to do.” Vat bristled at the thought of Murphy up in space, so far away from the action, yet pulling his strings. “These villagers are risking their lives for us. The satellite images shows—”

  “I know what the imagery shows, Lieutenant; it goes through me first. We don’t know if those satrap groups are heading for the village you are interested in.”

  “There’s nothing else in the area,” Vat argued. “Several groups have already been hit in the area, including the one we fought for. We’ve put them in the crosshairs. I have two local men who just came in from the village I was trying to reach.”

  “I saw the report. They’re reaching out for us to help them, but they won’t necessarily reciprocate. They’re trying to take advantage of our superior fighting abilities. Ironic, since we couldn’t convince them when we first landed. Several other groups have done the same, and then refused to pitch in afterwards. So for now, we must remain focused on the ones closest to our AO. Overextending is dangerous.”

  “You know there’s a spy here, right?”

  “It seems likely, yes. Too many locals; I’d be surprised if at least a few aren’t on some satrap’s payroll. I have people working on it. Either way, we don’t have the resources to deploy a couple hundred kilometers away on your hunch. Find out what you can from the locals in the AO. If you can give me intel—solid intel—then I’ll support a mission to this remote village. Murphy out.” The signal faded.

  “Mother fucker.”

  Vat walked out of the comms tent with such an expression of rage, the officer in charge moved out of his way without a word. Vat’s men were lounging against a wagon on the other side of the road that ran down the center of the camp. He liked to think of it as the Parkway.

  “Well?” Artyom asked, always the most vocal of the five. He was still mystified how Miizhaam and her friend Salsaliin had simply joined the group, without request or approval. Maybe it was the brief but deadly battle they’d fought together, or possibly Salsaliin was behind it.

  “He said no,” Vat told them.

  “Ublyudok,” Artyom snarled in Russian.

  “He’s being ‘the commander.’” Vat put up fingers like quote marks as he said commander. “He said we can’t risk going so far afield with the local tribes in trouble.”

  “They came here for your help,” Miizhaam said, a look of astonishment on her face. “It is our village, too. You will not help?”

  “It’s not my decision,” Vat said.

  “Isn’t it?” Sam asked, a calculating look on his face.

  “I’ve been playing cards with the man in charge of the whinnies,” Lech said, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

  Where do they keep finding smokes?

  “I know where we can get some gear,” Artyom said.

  “You schmucks have this place wired,” Vat accused them. They grinned back at him. “I need to make some inquiries first.” Their grins grew even wider. He had to laugh at their expressions. A motley crew indeed. The women weren’t sure what was going on, but they seemed game for just about anything, especially Salsaliin.

  * * *

  Vat nodded at the map printout and rubbed his chin. He needed a shave, but the damned medieval razors they had were like using a machete. If Murphy hadn’t insisted they maintain a military bearing, he would have worn a beard like some of the local tribes, although only a short one because of the heat.

  Illapt pointed at the map. “This is Ikaan hill?” He described the hill near their village and the direction from it.

  “Yes, it must be,” Vat agreed.

  “These maps you use, they are so strange,” Tevweret said.

  Vat nodded. The topo maps had finally been upgraded to include corrections from the Dornaani microsats. He, like many others, had tried to teach the lo
cals to use the computer maps. Tried and failed. Except for firearms, a lot of these people at the edge of the Ashbands were closer to early Iron Age in their abilities. Going from the simple hand-drawn maps he’d seen to computer-generated interactive touch screens was just too much of a leap for them.

  “If this is Whinaalani Peak, as you called it, and this is the little dry riverbed, then this must be Ikaan Hill,” Vat explained.

  “I love the face you make when you’re concentrating,” Illapt said. His cousin lifted his head from studying the map and narrowed his eyes. “You screw up your nose like a man who discovers a pile of whinnie shit in his bedroll.”

  Vat opened his mouth to say something then stopped when he saw the expression on Miizhaam’s face. The boy glared at his older cousin. For Illapt’s part, he looked chastened and turned back to the map. Is he blushing?

  “Illapt, I need to know something,” Vat said.

  “Anything.”

  “Will your people fight?”

  Illapt looked up at him and the bemusement turned to uncertainty. Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.

  “Illapt, I want to help, both because I think your people deserve our help, but also because I think there’s something you can help me with.”

  “What can we possibly do for you? You have ships which fly in space and in the air, and your weapons. Everything is so much beyond what we have.”

  “I can’t really say until we get to your village. But if we go there, I’m all in.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Vat sighed. It was difficult to word it correctly in Ktoran. “‘All in’ means I will have to do things which will get me in trouble. I am a military officer; I have responsibilities. If I help, I am going against orders.” He shrugged. “I could be shot for insubordination.” Or when I get back, Murphy could send me out an airlock.

  “I cannot promise what my father will do,” Illapt said, looking forlorn. “He sent us to meet your people and bring back help after hearing of the attacks.”

  “You expect help, but don’t offer it in return?” Vat asked.

  Illapt was clearly at a loss for words, and Vat nodded. “Right, you see my problem—we’re supposed to risk everything at the whim of your father.”

  “I understand,” Illapt said, looking dejected. “You cannot help.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Vat whispered. Illapt looked up, and Vat’s heart thundered in his chest. In that moment he knew he had to help. Stupid and foolhardy though it might be, he was going to help. He just hoped there was a way to make it work without getting himself and everyone with him killed.

  Later, as he walked down the Parkway, Artyom fell in next to him. “What is it with you?” he asked in Russian.

  “What do you mean?” Vat replied in turn.

  “You come down to do what Murphy says you must. We look for ways to make some advantage; it is your way.”

  “You think you know me so well?” Vat snapped.

  “We know you well, Lieutenant Victor Allen Thomas. You never say what you do, back where we come from, but I know it scam of some kind.”

  “I was an arms dealer, okay?” he blurted, rounding on the Russian. “I sold guns to whoever wanted them and didn’t give two fucks who got shot by them.”

  Artyom took out yet another cigarette and lit it with a vintage Zippo adorned with an airborne logo. He had scrounging skills, no doubt about it. Vat hoped he wasn’t stealing them. Artyom took a deep drag and blew out the smoke. A native passing nearby looked askance at the smoke and moved to the other side of the Parkway. Artyom took the butt out of his mouth and looked at it. “You know, I enjoy your American smokes, but they are old, they taste funny, and we run out soon.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” Vat grumbled and started walking.

  “It mean,” Artyom said, keeping pace, “even though they are stale and old, and do bad things to you, I still like them. You are good person, gooder than any of us. Maybe you not know this, yes? Maybe something bad happen and make it hard for you to be good? Maybe Salsaliin bring out good.” He took a big drag and blew the smoke out his nose. “Or maybe someone else?” He shrugged and walked off, leaving Vat completely mystified.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  R’Bak

  Twenty-four hours later, they were ready. Because Vat had to hustle to arrange for their sudden disappearance, he wasn’t able to help Sam, Artyom, and Lech get their tasks completed. He had to stretch himself to allow them to operate on their own.

  When he left his tent and walked to the corral it was still dark. A few people were out and about, mostly Lost Soldiers. The early hours of the morning were popular among the refugees from Earth because it was the coolest part of the day.

  He was a few tents away from the corral when he came across Lech. The man was supposed to be getting their whinnies ready. He looked upset, and Vat could tell there was a problem.

  “What’s wrong?” Vat asked, trying to sound casual.

  “That officer, Captain Moorefield, showed up fifteen minutes ago and took his patrol out suddenly.”

  “So?” Vat asked.

  “There aren’t enough whinnies left.” Lech gestured at the corral across the street and shrugged helplessly. “If we take the ten animals we need for riders and supplies, there won’t be enough left if anyone else needs to run a mission.” Vat cursed. “You said to make sure! If you don’t mind having fewer…”

  “No,” Vat said. “No, we’ll have to delay.”

  “Won’t that put us in risk of not being able to link up afterwards?”

  “Yeah,” Vat said. “Catch Artyom and Sam, tell them what happened. The women should be there, too. Tell them to hold; I’ll see if Roberts’ patrol has come back. We might still make it out this morning.”

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Roberts and his team got shot up by one of the satrap’s balloons. They survived, but they lost almost all their whinnies.”

  “Right,” Vat said and sighed. “Tell the others. I’m going to get some breakfast and see if I can think of a way around this.”

  “Breakfast?” Lech asked incredulously behind him. “Are you crazy?”

  Vat walked down the Parkway to the chuckwagon. He followed the smell of bacon and eggs. Sure, the eggs were lizard eggs and the bacon was lizard bacon, but it tasted pretty good. Better than the stuff up on the SpinDog habitat, anyway. Some of the shit those people called food wouldn’t pass for it even if you covered your nose. The food here was always hot and usually good. Better than he’d had in the army most of the time, though that wasn’t exactly saying much.

  He loaded a plate and sat at the first table he came to and poked at his food. The sun was beginning to touch the horizon when he heard a voice. “You really shouldn’t waste food.”

  Vat looked up and saw a familiar woman in a well-worn flight suit standing next to his table holding an empty tray.

  “Hey, Bruce,” Vat said offhandedly and went back to his mostly ignored food.

  She lingered for a second then spoke again. “What’s up with you?”

  “Just issues,” he said.

  “Tell a friend?” she asked.

  “Looks like you’re heading somewhere,” he said.

  She sat down. “I have a flight in about twenty minutes. El, my crew chief, can handle preflight.”

  Vat almost voiced a complaint, then shrugged. He looked at the woman staring at him, then chuckled. “You don’t take ‘leave me alone’ very well, do you?”

  “If you had said that, maybe. But you obviously need help from a friend.”

  “I haven’t had many friends since they boot—I mean, since I left the service.” A light went on behind her eyes, and he silently cursed.

  She leaned a little closer and spoke. “Vat, I don’t care that you’re gay.”

  He jerked back like he’d been slapped, looking around quickly to make sure nobody had heard befo
re speaking. “First, there’s a lot of Vietnam-era people around here, so you know better. Second, I don’t know what the locals think of…” He shrugged.

  “Understood. But Vat, I said I don’t care. You’re my friend, period.”

  He felt unshed tears and looked down, giving her the barest of nods. In a flash, she moved from across the table to sit next to him. She put a hand on his and leaned in so he couldn’t avoid looking at her.

  “Nobody is near. Tell me what happened, why they ran you out of the service?”

  He wiped away the tears that slipped through, and he told her. How he’d been outed by a fellow officer he’d trusted. The man had caught him at a gay bar in Atlanta and turned him in. How a general he’d been good friends with saved him from any charges and got him a general discharge.

  It ruined him; wrecked his trust in the military. He’d turned to contacts he’d made in logistics to make his first illegal arms sales, and it had ballooned into selling to the worst of the worst. He’d made a small fortune.

  “Something in me was dead,” he admitted. “I was hurt, and I didn’t care who I hurt in turn.”

  “Were you doing that in Mogadishu?” she asked, her voice level.

  “I was trying,” he admitted, then shrugged. “My contacts at the CIA were working with me. They wanted to tie certain warlords to arms traffic. I’d do them a good turn; in return I’d make a good piece of change. The deal didn’t go through, at least it hadn’t before some FBI investigators broke through the shell company I was running for it.”

  “Hence the fake name,” she said.

  He nodded. “I was scum. I became pretty bad. Did some despicable things.”

  “What’s changed?”

  She reminded him of his late mother. “I got to know these people,” he said, gesturing expansively around the planet. “I lost a man under my command. I only came down here because Murphy made noises like he might blow me out into space.” She laughed. “Yeah, but it worked, I guess. Now I’m stuck.” He explained his current situation.