“Andy was a good kid.” Shayla said by way of a goodbye.
Tom supposed she was right. He didn’t have much memory of the kid. What he did have fit the eulogizing reverend’s description of a bright and eager kid who was a bit of a nerd. Not so bad, Tom guessed. He’d been young and annoying once himself. And when all was said and done, Andy wasn’t to be faulted for his father’s sins. Certainly not by Tom; blaming the son for the father’s failings was a position Tom couldn’t afford to buy into. If anything, there was less of Matthew Walker in Andy than there was in Tom.
Genifer didn’t say much on the ride home, but it wasn’t pique over his wanting to skip the reception. She was just being contemplative. Tom was quiet too. It seemed right. When they got back to their grandparents’ house, she announced she had a billion things to do and disappeared off to the telecom to take care of them.
With the morning’s obligation completed, Tom took advantage of the rest of the day to laze like a slug. He spent his time racked, or staring bemusedly at what the cable had to offer. He studiously avoided anything that smacked of news or commentary. Gram’s dinner was an exercise in overeating. Since she’d made most of his childhood favorites, he had to have seconds of everything. In the evening after dinner, he helped the General clean and oil his gun collection. Those venerable weapons were the first Tom had ever been allowed to touch, and cleaning them had become a ritual with him and his grandfather. They sat and worked, the smell of well-oiled steel and the faint tang of old powder filling his nose and bringing an echo of older, simpler times. The calmness that had been a part of those sessions came back to him.
When the last gun was put away, all the oils sealed in their containers, the rags disposed of, and the cabinet locked, the General said, “You know, I made a few calls for Genifer.”
“I don’t hold it against you, sir. I know how she can be.”
“That’s not what I meant, Tom.” The General’s face wore a worried frown. “When I made those calls, I got to talking with some old cronies. There was an undercurrent in much of what they said. I get the sense that there’s a lot of unrest in the officer corps. Much worse than when I retired. You’re the man in the field, as it were. You feeling any of that current?”
“I was just a shavetail when you mustered out, General, so I don’t think I can make a comparison, but I’d have to say you’re right—there are unhappy people in uniform. There are a lot of folks who don’t have much respect for our commander-in-chief.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Maybe not, but I’ve heard some people talk about not following orders if he gave them. That’s serious.”
“But are they serious enough to do something about it?”
“Hard to say, sir. I think some of them might be.”
“Anyone talk to you about it?”
“Not directly, although I’ve had a few hypotheticals tossed my way.”
“And?”
“And I hope they didn’t take my response, or rather lack of it, badly. Politics isn’t a soldier’s business, even if you do have to do a certain amount of it within the service. You taught me that, sir.”
“I don’t have a lot of students in active service.”
“So I’ve noticed, sir.”
The General leaned back in his chair and gave a weary sigh. “Seems to me that our armed services are foundering more than a bit. You don’t have to be an old warhorse like me to see. Things just haven’t been the same since the Air Force lost most of their strategic assets, and the Navy lost the Marines to the Confederated States and got itself mostly confined to one ocean and the Lakes. Our own branch has fared better, but not well. We’re an awfully long way from the superpower we were at the close of the last century. Could be that the country has taken to the closer-to-home view, maybe a bit too much. We’re still bigger and more powerful than England was when the sun never set on her empire.”
“Empire, sir? Except for commercial empires, that sort of world died a long time ago.”
“There are those who would tell you what goes around comes around.”
Was Tom talking to one of “those”? It wasn’t the sort of thing he was used to hearing from the General.
“Tom, you’re looking at me as if I’d grown a second head. Which, I suppose, gives me the answer I’ve been fishing for. My apologies if I’ve offended, but you’ve fallen in with bad company before.”
“Ancient history, sir. From the days of my headstrong youth.”
“Your bullheadedness is hardly ancient history. Just ask Genifer.”
“That’s as may be, but whatever else I am, sir, I’m loyal to my country.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Tom. Very glad. Glad to hear that you’re thinking too. That’s important.” The General paused for a moment, indicating a shift in focus. “You’re in General Osmolska’s Special Resource Command. What do you think of the cyberization strategy?”
“As you say, sir, I am in General Osmolska’s command. By request, as you know.”
“So you’re in favor of the whole thing?”
“General Osmolska considers any discussion that does not repeat the version of policy the General has espoused to be political, and I’ve already given you my opinion on political statements, sir.” The General raised his chin at that, so Tom added quickly, “With all due respect, sir.”
“You haven’t become the old Russki’s puppet, have you?”
“No, sir. But a good officer is loyal to his superior.”
“Well, near as I can tell you haven’t been loyal enough to sign up for his Augmented Soldier Program. I don’t see so much as a datajack.”
“That’s correct, sir. Non-invasive aids still enable this soldier to do his job.” Which was as close as Tom could come to saying he considered Osmolska’s Augmented Soldier Program a mistake. The psychological issues of returning a soldier to civilian life had always been a problem; adding a physical component would only make it worse. The least problem would be determining how you disarm a soldier with built-in weapons when it came time to discharge the guy-
“You ran a combat rigger platoon out in Denver, didn’t you?”
“Officially we were a combat unit, but we did border patrol and smuggling suppression. Nothing I’d call combat.”
“And all your troops had datajacks. Officers, too?”
“Datajacks are pretty common, sir.” Most people thought no more about getting one than they did of getting their eyesight corrected. Tom had taken a lot of ribbing from his non-coms over the fact that he wasn’t able to jack in the way they could.
“A jack’s the first foot in the door.” the General said. “I know I sound like a fossil, but a man is what he is. You know, the tele-operation revolution was already underway in my time, creeping into just about every support branch you can name. Let me tell you, it’s not the answer. All that rigger stuff is worse than ICBMs, in its own way. Dehumanizing, that’s what it is. What’s war without the human element? This augmentation stuff is worse still It makes the dehumanization personal. I can’t see why it’s being pushed.”
“President Steele backs it.”
“Steele the Technocrat.” The General shook his head sadly. “He wants smaller, more efficient forces and sees high-tech, low-body-count forces as the solution. He’s forgetting the people again. Typical Technocrat. At least President Adams, Democrat though he was, understood that we need men and women in the services. Thank God Steele has been too indecisive to cancel Adams’s recruitment policies and reduce the manpower establishment. I suppose he thinks keeping the slots open makes him look like a humanitarian.” Tom had heard that manpower cuts were coming, but with the General getting up a head of steam, this wasn’t the time to mention it. “General, you’ve got more experience than I do with how an autocratic army lives in a democratic state. Do you think people would be taking matters any better if Steele had been elected directly?”
President Steele had come to office when President Adams di
ed of a stroke the day after his second inauguration. There had been whispers of foul play, as might as expected, but nothing had stuck.
The General thought about it only briefly. “Maybe, but I doubt it. A Technocrat is a Technocrat. And he could have made a better move than appointing Booth as his vice president. Booth’s another Technocrat, for God’s sake. Steele got his vice presidency running on a coalition ticket. Adams knew what he was doing, marrying the Democrats with the Technocrats. You’d think Steele would have noticed, having served a full term with him. I’d have thought Steele had enough sense to realize he still needs that coalition, but I guess he’s got the standard Technocrat blind spot about people’s needs. Must be why he’s let this Comp Army thing rot on his doorstep.”
Their talk shifted away from the real Army and on to the so-called Compensation Army. The rag-tag horde of beggars infesting the Federal District was not Army business, and was therefore something about which Tom could freely express his opinions. He did, and so did his grandfather. Tom was surprised to find his own attitude more harsh than the General’s with regard to the former servicemen involved in the protest. The general had some sympathy for them because of shared service in the Dissolution Campaigns, as the General referred to the military and paramilitary operations surrounding the break-up of the old United States. Tom still didn’t think the service of such veterans was a reason to dismiss their civil disobedience. The talk, drifting only occasionally into argument, went late into the night and on into the morning. They’d been apart so long that neither man seemed willing to pass up the chance to catch up. Tom had just noticed that they’d been hearing birdsong for some time, when the telecom’s beep joined the morning chorus.
The general furrowed his brow. “That’s not our line’s normal beep. Who the hell would be decking into our line this time of day?”
“No one.” Tom said, getting up to answer. “That’s my contact tone.”
Tom logged on and took receipt of the on-line orders. Reading them as they came out of encryption, he cursed. So much for his leave.
“What’s the trouble?” the General asked, looking over Tom’s shoulder.
Technically Tom’s orders were for his eyes only, but the General had held clearances Tom wouldn’t see for another decade. He was no security risk. Still, Tom blanked the screen before turning away from it. “No details. It’s a general issue call-up. All on-leave personnel are being recalled to duty stations. My personal tag says I have to report to Fort Meade and await first available transport back to my unit.”
“This is a war-footing call. The women aren’t going to like this.”
“Who is? If I pack out now, I can be gone before they wake up.”
“If this really is trouble, they definitely won’t like you sneaking out. The call gave you till noon.” the General pointed out.
So he had seen the screen. “I don’t want to be late.”
“What you don’t want to do is face Genifer and your grandmother and tell them you’re going off into danger.”
The accusation stung all the more for being true. “All right, so I don’t want to deal with it.”
“Don’t feel bad, Tom.” The General’s tone was sympathetic now that Tom had owned up. “I wouldn’t want to either. But if you’re planning on coming home again, I’d advise you to try. I’ve been there, and it’s better if they get to see you off.”
Tom knew the General was right, but he went to do his packing. The chore was short, but he dallied over it long enough for him to know that he ought to delay a little longer—at least until the women were awake. Though he’d decided to say a proper goodbye, he found himself curiously reluctant to open the conversation once he’d sat down to breakfast with Gram and Genifer.
Breakfast was quiet, and from the way Gram kept asking if there was anything Tom wanted, Tom guessed the General had told her. But she was a trooper; she wasn’t going to say anything until Tom brought it up. He asked her to sit down along with the rest of them, and repeated what he’d told the General of his orders. Genifer was the first to speak.
“So you have no idea what these orders are all about?”
He had a few ideas, but it wasn’t his place to bring them up. The training he’d been doing was top secret, need-to-know. As far as he could reasonably assume, none of his family needed to know. Besides, he wasn’t sure, and if he told them how dangerous he thought the duty was going to be, they’d be even more worried. They were already worried enough.
“Is there time for you to go to church with us?” Gram asked.
“If we go to the mid-morning service.” he replied. He’d have to leave from the church.
Genifer, looking past Tom and out the window, stiffened a little. “There’s an Army mupper coming up the drive.” Everyone turned to look as the military-issue GMC Multi-Purpose Utility Vehicle rolled to a stop. Rita Furlann was behind the wheel. As she got out, Tom saw that she wore civilian clothes under her black, armored Thaumaturgic Command duster. The coat’s long tails mostly covered the holster she wore in violation of peacetime uniform regs. The General went out to greet her.
“I’m here for Major Rocquette.” she said, looking past him to smile at Tom where he stood in the doorway. “Morning, Major.”
“What are you doing here, Furlann?” Tom asked.
“Picking you up.”
He assumed that. “I meant that I hadn’t expected to see you until I got back to Schwartzkopf.”
“Surprise. Even Ice Hearts have families and friends to visit on leave.” She tossed her head to settle her long hair back from her shoulders. “When the balloon went up, I got word that you were in the area and was told to pick you up. You ready to roll?”
“Just need to grab my bag.”
And make the last goodbyes. Gram promised prayers, Genifer demanded e-mail as soon as he could find a station, and the General shook his hand silently. Furlann watched it all with her usual detachment. She slipped into the mupper while he was tossing his duffel into the back, then had the vehicle rolling even before he had the door closed. When they hit the street, he asked, “You know what’s going on?”
“Here or in Chicago?”
“Chicago?"
“Haven’t seen the news, eh?”
“No.” Tom admitted.
“Really ought to stay up on things, even on leave. You’ll get a briefing. Right now, all you get to know is that for the moment we’re on the same course. Things are getting choppy downtown, and we’ve got an Osprey III vectoring on us even as we speak. We meet the bird soon as we can and take to the air. It’ll be a whole lot faster than slugging along the road.”
“I don’t rate that sort of transport.”
“No, but I do. You just happen to have the combined advantages of a fortuitous location and being headed for the same landing zone.”
>LIVE FEED COVERAGE
-[05:34:51/8-23-55]
REPORTER: SUZIE CHIANG [CHIA-704]
UPLINK SITE: ELGIN, IL
Chiang: “This is Suzie Chiang of WCHI coming to you courtesy of WLGN because I cannot get to my studio. I cannot even contact my studio. Powerful jamming signals emanating from somewhere near O’Hare Airport are blanketing the broadcast frequencies and all standard communications satellites links to the city are offline. We are still searching for alternate data routes.
“What is clear is that something terrible has happened in Chicago. Federal and National Guard troops are mobilized and are cordoning off the city, stopping everyone headed in or out. Those attempting to flee the city are being detained or turned back. Private security troops belonging to the Ares Macrotechnology subsidiary, Knight Errant Security, are everywhere, working hand in glove with the military.
“The authorities are silent. The Governor’s office has no comment at this time. What is going on? The troops aren’t talking. Rumors of an outbreak of VITAS plague are rampant. One city escapee told me of a new gobiinization taking place in the heart of Chicago. Whatever is going on in the W
indy City, we are not meant to know. Link by link, the city is being isolated.
“The public has a right to know. That is why my team and I are going in. We believe we have a way to break the illegal communications blackout, so we’re going to get past the armored vehicles and soldiers in order to bring you the story. The next time you hear from me, I will be ’casting direct from Chicago, bringing you the truth.”<<<<<
13
Andy hit the wall with his shoulder first but not exclusively. Blood oozed as his cheek slammed against the rough concrete. The impact sloshed his brain in his skull.
Something brushed his hip. Dazed, he turned to see one of the ork kids holding his Narcoject replica. Three more orks lurked behind the first, and two others stood sentry at the mouth of the alley. They were all teen-aged, but even adolescent orks were bigger and beefier than most fully grown norms. Several wore face paint or tattoos in geometric shapes—some sort of gang affiliation mark? Andy was afraid so. There were parts of DeeCee where gangs ran wild. He hadn’t realized this area of Arlington was one of them. His mistake. His very bad mistake.
“Ooh, ooh. He’s seen us. Whaddever will we do?” The ork pointed the pistol at Andy and smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile, and the dark line of decay separating the ork’s yellowing tusks from his bright pink gum line only made it worse.
“Johnson says, ‘Don’t get caught,’ ” said the one with an oversized left eye. The ork had a burgundy star painted atop the orbit, as if to emphasize his asymmetry.
“But we already gots caught. Whuddever shall we do?” asked Bad Teeth in mock distress.
“Johnson says, ‘Clean up any messes you make,’ ” responded Star Eye.
“I like makin’ messes.” said the lone female. Her hair was cut as buzz-short as the others and her face was as harsh and hard, but her mammalian heritage showed her sex. She pumped her fists up and down in Andy’s face, letting him see the words “Pucker up” tattooed on each. “Kiss de boyz and make dem cry.”
Just Compensation Page 13