by Ben Bova
Another voice chimed in, “Hey, don’t you mutts know that these here rations have been prepared by the army’s best scientists to provide all the nutrition a soldier needs in his daily requirements? It says so right on the label.”
“He likes the Mark 3 better,” Klon growled disgustedly.
“He likes this crap?”
“Yeah, I like it. So what’s it to ya?”
“I dunno, Klon. What do you think?”
“You know what they say, pal—”
And a whole chorus of voices chimed in, “You’ve got to be born to it!”
They all laughed, and I wondered what made the punch line so funny to them.
After eating, I scouted around the area, glad to be on my feet again after a day of gliding in the flight pack. The guards were reasonably alert, and the forest seemed to offer a decent stock of small game. Even without the sensors in my visor I spotted several rabbitlike animals and a few smaller things nibbling on the foliage between the trees. There must be plenty of game here, even if those poor things running from the forest fire did not make it across the river. We would not starve.
Usually I need very little sleep. But the past night’s battle and the strain of this day were catching up with me. Satisfied that the camp was secure, I turned over command to Lieutenant Quint and looked for a spot to lie down.
And almost tripped over Lieutenant Frede’s encased legs.
Dropping to my knees beside her, I whispered, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
“Only a little,” she whispered back.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired, mostly. There’s no pain from the legs, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s good.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be much good as a sex partner for a while.”
“That’s all right.” I felt almost embarrassed, for some reason.
“You could ask for a volunteer, you know. We have four unpaired women in the troop, because of the casualties.”
“I don’t need one.”
“It’s within regulations to ask for a male volunteer, even if they’re already paired with a female.”
“I know the regulations,” I said. But that was only partly true; I had not bothered to review all the army’s rules, especially those regarding sexual practices.
“You’re a celibate?” Frede asked.
I wished she would get off the subject. I temporized, “For the time being.”
“Ohhh,” she said. “You’ve got somebody waiting for you.”
“Yes,” I said, thinking of Anya.
But Frede had other ideas. “You know, of course, that the regulations on sexual assignments are equally binding on both members of the assigned pair.”
“Yes, I know.”
“That means that whatever your preferences, you are paired with me for the duration of this mission.”
“I told you that I know that.”
“You can call for volunteers while I’m on the sick list, but once I’m back to full duty, you are restricted to me.”
“Right.”
“Even if you have somebody waiting for you, back wherever it is that you come from.”
I finally realized what she was driving at. “Oh! I see.”
Frede laughed at my sudden discomfort, there in the darkness of the forested night. “Don’t fret, Captain. I’ll be good to you.”
She was teasing me!
I reached out and clamped the nape of her neck, gently. “I’m looking forward to it,” I whispered back to her.
Then I left her sitting there with her legs spraddled and a surprised expression on her face.
But the humor of the situation quickly faded from my mind as I stretched out on the mossy ground and closed my eyes. Anya. Where in all the space-times of the continuum was she? Why couldn’t I be with her? Why must I be here with the troop of cloned soldiers, stranded, abandoned on some godforsaken world?
Godforsaken indeed. Forsaken by the would-be god Aten. Abandoned by the Creators, all of them. Had Anya abandoned me, too? Or had the others forced her to stay far from me?
I could not sleep. I wanted to. I closed my eyes and willed my body to relax. But I could not force my mind to stop thinking. I saw past lives, past missions on which the Golden One had sent me. I was Osiris in Egypt long before the first pyramid was built. I was Prometheus in the cold and snow of the Ice Age. I crumbled the wall of Jericho and helped to remove the Neanderthals from this timestream of the continuum.
All at the service of Aten, the Golden One. And always with the help of Anya, the goddess whom I loved. The Golden One hated me for that. Aten hated me because Anya loved me. Time and again she took human form to be with me. Time and again he tried to keep us apart. I had crossed eons and light-years to be with her. But always he schemed to keep me from her.
I am Orion the Hunter, created by Aten to do his bidding, hopelessly in love with one of Aten’s fellow Creators. And here I was, stranded on some insignificant planet in the middle of an interstellar war, lost and abandoned with a troop of soldiers who were just as much slaves of their creators as I was of mine.
Why? Why had the Golden One placed me here and then abandoned me? To keep me away from Anya? Or for some other purpose, some part of one of his impetuous schemes for shaping the continuum to his own suiting? He had gone mad once, I knew. Perhaps he had become deranged again.
But no, I thought, what he’s done now has all the earmarks of a calculated, deliberate plan. He put me on this planet Lunga for a reason. He simply has not deigned to reveal his plan to me.
The first rays of sunlight began to filter through the trees. I pulled myself up to a sitting position and gave up all pretense of sleep.
All right, I said to myself. If the Golden One won’t tell me why he’s put me here, I’ll have to find out for myself.
Chapter 6
We resumed our trek across the world of Lunga, heading for the base that the Skorpis were building on the other side of the planet. I sent a few scouts ahead and out along our flanks, but none of them saw any sign of the enemy.
We came to the edge of the vast forest on the second day, and hesitated only long enough for me to consult the maps from the briefing files in my helmet computer. The display on my visor showed a broad stretch of open grasslands, then a range of rugged mountains. I did not like the idea of moving across the open grasslands; I had felt much safer beneath the screen of the forest’s trees. The enemy’s sensors could probe through the foliage, I knew, yet I felt instinctively that being out in the open was dangerous.
So we struck across the green, rolling country and headed for a fair-sized river that flowed out of those distant mountains—so distant that we could not yet see them. Trees and game lined the river’s banks, and the fresh water was a necessity, since our recycling equipment had been left behind at our camp.
I began to live up to my name, and taught the troopers how to hunt. Laser rifles are hardly sporting, but we were after food, not entertainment. We began bagging the local equivalents of rabbits, squirrels, and birds.
“Wish there was something bigger than a tree lemur on this planet,” complained one of the troopers.
“Something with more meat on it, anyways,” said his buddy.
But for day after day, week after week, we saw nothing larger than the nocturnal tree dwellers. Slowly our wounded healed, all except two of them who died on the trek. We cremated them—we were building campfires each night, since we had no sign of any enemy presence. They might have put surveillance satellites into orbit, but if they had spotted us they had no move against us. And we could not risk eating our fresh-caught meat raw: cooking not only made the chewing easier, it killed parasites and microbes.
It was more difficult to maneuver along the riverbank than it had been to get through the big forest, because the trees along the river were smaller and the underbrush much thicker. Often we simply swung ourselves on our flight packs out over the river itself and glided al
ong without obstructions.
“Here, there’s things living in the water!” a trooper shouted one morning.
I should have berated her for looking down when a soldier should be looking out for signs of danger. Instead I told her that people catch fish and eat them. It was totally new information to her and to the rest of the troop, even the officers. Again I was stung at how narrow these soldiers’ lives were. They had been given nothing except what they needed to fight with.
Soon enough, though, I made fishermen out of a few of them. Most did not have the patience. But each evening, as we made camp, my fishing brigade brought us back some wriggling protein.
At last we could see the mountain range rising up in the distance, blue and purple folds of bare rock topped with bluish white snowcaps. That evening Lieutenant Frede took the casts off her legs and gingerly tried walking around the campfire.
“Feels good,” she said. The tentative expression on her face eased into a happy smile. “Feels fine!”
She slept beside me that night, snuggling close as the fire guttered low. The next night Frede took me by the hand and led me off into the trees, away from the camp.
“It’s time, Orion,” she said, sitting with her back against a trunk. She pulled me down to sit next to her.
“Yes,” I said, glancing back toward the camp. We were well screened by bushes. “I suppose it is.”
We started slowly, but very soon Frede was giggling softly as she slithered out of her fatigues and helped me pull mine off, all at the same time. I was surprised at my own passion. I had intended to accommodate Frede, yet very quickly I was just as frenzied and heated as she. A vision of Anya stirred me, and I fantasized that is was my goddess with whom I was making love: Anya, warm, daring, loving, distant Anya, the woman whom I had sought across all of space-time, the goddess who had taken human form for love of me.
The stars were glittering through the trees as Frede and I lay side by side, sweaty and relaxed, and watched the moon rise over the sawtooth silhouette of the mountains. It was a tiny moon, far and cold and bleak, hardly throwing any light at all onto the wide, silent landscape.
“What are you thinking about?” Frede whispered to me.
I shrugged my bare shoulders. “Nothing.”
“Nothing, hell. You were thinking about her, weren’t you? The woman you’re promised to.”
There was no point in denying it. “Yes,” I breathed.
“While we were doing it, too?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said.
“Good?”
“They don’t tell you in training, Orion, but it’s not smart to make friends. Not among soldiers. Don’t get yourself emotionally tangled. Even if we live through this, they’re just going to pop us back in the freezers for retraining. When we come out we’ll be assigned to other partners.”
“Do they wipe your memories when you’re in cryosleep?”
“Sometimes,” Frede said. “Depends. Mostly they just lay new training on you, add new data on the next mission.”
Very much as Aten did to me, I thought.
“So don’t get emotional about this,” Frede said, very matter-of-factly. “It’s not smart for soldiers to make friends.”
Her tone of voice was so flatly unemotional that I wondered how certain Frede was about what she was telling me. She sounded like someone trying to convince herself.
I lay silent beside her for a long while. Then Frede slid a hand along my thigh.
“Ready for more?” she whispered.
I was, and so was she.
Afterward, I idly asked, “What happens when a soldier gets pregnant?”
She was silent for a moment, then replied softly, “That never happens, Orion. We’re all sterilized. For a soldier, sex is just a way of letting off steam. We’ll never have children.”
And for the soldiers’ masters, I knew, sex was a way of maintaining their army’s aggressive/protective instincts. I remembered the bitter words of an old man who had been a storyteller, blinded by Agamemnon after the siege of Troy: “Lower than slaves, that’s what we are, Orion. Vermin under their feet. Dogs. That’s how they treat us.”
I shook my head. Dogs are allowed to breed, at least.
I slept that night, curled up with Frede. And dreamed.
I could not tell if it was truly a dream or one of the Golden One’s communications. Often Aten or one of the other Creators would summon me out of space-time to some other place in the continuum to speak to me, to give me orders, or to berate my performance.
In this dream—if a dream it was—none of the Creators appeared. I was alone, walking on the hard-packed sand of a wide white beach, breaking surf hissing and booming as the waves ran up to lap my booted feet, a hot sun burning in a sky of molten bronze.
At the edge of the sand was a line of tangled bushes, some of them bearing flowers of red and blue. And beyond them, the stumps of buildings, looking like candles that had burned down almost to their ends, melted and blackened. Ancient buildings. Somehow I knew that they had been abandoned for untold ages. Abandoned, just as I was.
A voice called to me. I did not hear the voice, I felt it in my mind. It did not call me by name, it did not even use words. But I sensed a presence that was reaching out to me, touching me mentally, examining me. I felt an intelligence, a curiosity—and then a loathing, fear and anger and disgust all mixed together. A rejection. The presence in my mind disappeared, winked out as suddenly and completely as a dolphin diving beneath the waves.
I stood alone on that distant beach and felt a yearning, a desperate desire for understanding, a sadness about who I was and what I was, a hollowness at the core of my existence.
“Anya!” I cried out. “Anya, where are you?”
No answer. The surf rolled in. The wind blew in my face. The sun beat down on me. For all I could tell, I was alone on that dream beach, alone on that planet, alone in the universe.
I wept.
Frede shook me awake. “Orion, what is it? Wake up!”
I sat bolt upright. We were in camp, under the trees, the first streaks of dawn breaking through low gray clouds overhead. The other troopers were still sleeping, sprawled alone or coupled, except for the sentries I could see down by the river-bank.
Frede wrapped her arms around my bare shoulders. “You were moaning in your sleep.”
“I had a dream.”
“And calling to someone. Anna.”
“Anya,” I corrected.
She pulled her shirt on. “Is she the one you’re promised to?”
I almost smiled. “She’s the woman I love.”
Frede nodded matter-of-factly. “If we get out of this alive—you’ll be going back to her?”
“I don’t know. I want to, but I don’t know if I can.”
“The army won’t pop you back into a cryo freezer until the next time they need you?”
I had to shake my head and admit, “I just don’t know.”
“That’s what we’ve got to look forward to,” Frede said. “Cryosleep or battle. With some training in between. It’s a great life, Orion, being a soldier. You’ve got to be born to it.”
So that was the meaning of the tag line. You’ve got to be born to it. A bitter joke, but it was just as applicable to me as to any of these cloned involuntary soldiers. You’ve got to be born to it. Or created for it. As all of us were.
“Come on,” I said, getting to my feet. “Time to start moving.”
She got up, but locked her gaze on me and asked, “Why?”
I stared back at her. “What do you mean?”
“Why do we have to start moving?”
“You know as well as I—”
“To attack the Skorpis base? Why should we? What difference would it make? Except to get the rest of us killed.”
I knew that the troops had been conditioned to obey, to fight, to follow orders. That conditioning had weakened terribly during this mission, but it could be reinforced by a set of key w
ords that every officer above the rank of lieutenant had memorized. I supposed, now that I thought about it, that higher ranks had other sets of memorized trigger phrases to use on the ranks below them. Aten had put those key words into my memory, and they sprang to my conscious mind now, just as if he were standing at my elbow, prompting me.
You are the tip of the spear, the point of the arrow.Those few words would drown Frede’s dawning independence under a flood of mental conditioning, turn her from a frightened, doubting woman into an obedient soldier once more. A grumbling, complaining soldier, perhaps, but one who would no longer question the mission she had been assigned to, or waver at the thought of its impossibility.
I could not speak those words. Not then. Not to Frede. Condemned to a life she never had asked for, never had any choice in, she was beginning to show the first signs of independent humanity: she was afraid that she—and all of us—were not only going to die, but throw away our lives needlessly.
She misunderstood my openmouthed silence. “All right, you can break me down to private and put somebody else in my place. But I still don’t see what good we’re going to do, throwing fifty-two of us at an entrenched Skorpis base.”
“What alternatives do you see?”
She took a deep, shuddering breath, as if afraid to say what was in her thoughts. But she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, gathering her courage, and then said, “We can stay here. Live here. Forget the war, forget whatever the hell it’s all about and just live the rest of our lives right here.”
“Forget our orders?”
“They abandoned us, Orion! We didn’t leave them, they left us!”
“Do you think the enemy will leave us alone?”
“We’re no threat to them if we stay here. And they know we can maul them pretty good if they attack us. So why would they bother us as long as we can’t hurt them?”
I thought about it for a moment. She was probably right. But if we remained here I would never find Anya. And as much as I hated the Golden One and all the other Creators, except Anya, I had to admit that there must be some purpose to his sending me here, to this place and time. Some reason.
