by John Ringo
“You maxed that, too, right?” Shiva asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, maxing the course doesn’t indicate talent or experience. So review anything you need to now in case you’re needed.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Tirdal agreed.
“One other issue,” Shiva said, grimacing to himself. This wasn’t an easy one to broach. “Darhel don’t think like humans.”
“We don’t,” agreed Tirdal. “What are you referring to?”
“Humans and Darhel have coexisted for a thousand years, and in that time, we’ve learned almost nothing about you,” Shiva said, warming up. “We were damned near your slaves for a hundred years. You’re generally much more mercenary and individualistic than humans, correct? And we don’t get along well. No insult, just an observation.”
“That’s generally correct,” Tirdal agreed, his voice even flatter.
“What you have to keep in mind is that we’re running this on human terms,” Shiva said cautiously. “You have to try to operate as we would, not as a Darhel.”
“What specifically?” Tirdal asked. It sounded like he was probing.
“Ah, hell, I can’t find a diplomatic way to say this… our experience says that Darhel are more willing to draw back when things get tough.” He didn’t use the word “cowardice” but the thought hung in the air. “Darhel don’t risk themselves for the group. Darhel aren’t willing to go the last yard unless something is in it for them. For humans, when we’re in the bad and the scary, we do it for each other. So, I’ve got to ask: What are you going to cling to when the lives are flushing down the disposal chute?”
“I am here for a mission. I will do what is called for for that mission,” Tirdal said. If he was offended, he didn’t let it slip into his inflection. “It is hard to explain to a human. For Darhel, to be in a place such as this, doing this, is a philosophical choice. If I was capable of turning against that philosophy, I would not be here in the first place. I am not here for you. Nor for Gun Doll. I am solely here to perform the mission. And I will do that to my utmost.”
“Good,” Shiva said. “And it’s not just you I’ll be addressing. Everyone else has to understand that bugging out is a fast way to die. They should all know that, I’ll remind them anyway. That leads to the point.”
“Yes?” Tirdal asked. His ear flick was invisible inside the helmet.
“Who calls the ball?” Shiva asked. “For the pod to lift, it has to have the command to do so. In reality, there’s always a chance of someone wetting pants and running. If they get into the pod, that leaves the rest stranded. I don’t know about Darhel, but it is part of human nature, a bad attribute that’s too common and hard to suppress. That’s why only the commander can call the ball.”
“I understand,” Tirdal said. “Humans have two sets of attributes; those they use outwardly and display, those inside they fear and can’t control. By not discussing those negative attributes, they are subject to a loss of control and reversion to instinct. You really aren’t as developed as you’d like to think you are.” His voice wasn’t accusatory, exactly, but it hit Shiva hard. So much for diplomacy.
“That’s good enough for our discussion,” Shiva grudgingly admitted. “What that means is, the pod will not respond to anyone who’s not ranking. It will make periodic contact with our medical sensors, and will only depart if the senior member orders it. Junior troops will be ignored. And sometimes… the fact that a junior troop isn’t on board has to be ignored, too. If the mission calls for it. So anyone in charge may have a morale problem squared if things go to hell.”
“Is this a warning or an order?” Tirdal asked.
“Both,” Shiva said. His expression wasn’t visible through the helmet, either.
* * *
Tirdal was the first one Shiva spoke to. Dagger was second. Nobody liked Dagger much, either. But he was very good at his job. He was just creepy in demeanor. Nor was he enthusiastic. “The goddamned Elf is number three?”
“Enough of that, Dagger,” Shiva warned. “You know this. Deal with it. And it shouldn’t come up, anyway.”
“No,” Dagger said, “Unless things go in the toilet anyway, in which case we can just assume we’re dead.”
“Dagger, deal with it,” Shiva warned again.
“Oh, I’ll deal with it,” he promised. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the Darhel will die first.”
“Dagger!” Shiva’s voice was sharp.
“Oh, relax, Sarge. I’m not going to gap him. I’m just pondering possibles.”
“He’ll do his job. You do yours. Capiche?”
“No problem.”
That was a lie, Shiva decided. Dagger was always potentially a problem. But he could do his job, and did, even if he ran command ragged in the process.
Shiva spoke to the rest of the team in turn. Gorilla didn’t seem worried. But then, he was a specialist himself, and only along for a job in his own mind. Gun Doll just said, “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. And that he’s as good as he appears to be.”
Thor and Ferret just grunted. They knew they were low men on the pole anyway. Once done, Shiva reported to Bell Toll. “Spoke to everyone, sir.”
“Yes, I listened in,” was the reply.
“Think it’s okay?”
“Yes,” Bell Toll said. “Dagger’s just nervy and trying to put a face out. The rest aren’t a problem. Tirdal sounds as ready as anyone.”
“Well, it’s the situation we have, sir. It’ll just have to do.”
“It’ll be fine,” Bell Toll assured him.
“Yeah. So why am I jittery?”
“You’re nervy, too.”
“Yeah, that must be it. Think I’ll read a bit while we travel, sir,” Shiva said. He was never jittery. He’d made his career on being calm and collected.
“Fine, Sarge. We’ll review intel again after we sleep, say from oh two hundred to oh seven hundred.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell them.”
Even Dagger was playing games now. The trip was too long to keep up his front. Thor and Ferret started a joint shooting game of some kind. That was to be encouraged, as it required coordination between the two. It wasn’t as good as a training sim, but it was still interaction. Gorilla kept his screens up, looking at anything rather than the tight quarters. Gun Doll was alternating map games with music.
Tirdal appeared to be meditating. His bio readings were at the very low end of Darhel normal. No programs were running in his helmet. Three hours into it, Gun Doll saw him through her visor while switching from her game back to music. He had a limp look that didn’t match the natural body tension of a game. But his eyes looked to be open and alert behind the dim red glow of the pod’s lighting reflected off his visor.
“Whatcha doin’, Tirdal?” she asked on the common freq, curious.
“Talking to whales,” Tirdal said, turning slightly in her direction.
“Very amusing, Tirdal,” Shiva muttered. “I didn’t know Darhel understood the human sense of humor.” He was on the public channel, too.
“Only incompletely,” Tirdal replied.
“Well, no matter. But if we’re going to work as a team, you need to work hard on fitting in with the rest of us. If it’s some private thing you’re doing, say so. If not, tell us the truth. We need a handle on you as much as you need one on us.
“So what is it you’re doing?”
“Meditating, mostly,” Tirdal said without pause. “It helps me focus on the mission. Otherwise, my… Sense… is alert for Tslek.” It was mostly a true statement.
“Hear any?” Shiva grunted.
“Not so much hear, as know. There’s no sense yet. When I get one, it will be just a general feeling. Imagine you see city lights on the horizon… it’s that kind of awareness until I get close enough for details.”
“Hell, Tirdal,” Gun Doll put in, “we can sense that much.” She sounded rather disgusted.
“Of course you can,” Tirdal replied, his voice still
deep and slow, unstressed. “When we get closer, however, the local life and environment will cloud your senses, whereas mine will get clearer. I’ll find individuals, and be able to tell their mental state, as clearly as I can feel your physiological frustration over not getting ‘laid’ the last night before we left.”
There was a moment’s pause, then an embarrassed chuckle all around that shut off quickly as they each realized how open they were to the Darhel’s powers.
Thor changed the subject quickly.
“What’s the local gravity, Sarge?”
“Er… one hundred and twelve percent of Earth normal, Thor,” Shiva replied.
“Guess that explains it. It feels about like home.”
“You’re from Ridloe? Yeah, I guess it would be.”
“Reminds me of Talin,” Gorilla commented.
“That’s where you won that pig screwing contest, right, Gorilla?” Ferret asked.
“Pig wrestling,” Gorilla corrected him.
“Sure. I know what I saw.” He made a squealing sound. There were more chuckles.
“You can try it next time, Ferret,” Gorilla said, easily. It was an old joke. “Those genetically altered razorbacks are vicious.”
“Nah,” he replied, no witty answer coming to him. It had been a mean pig, and Gorilla hadn’t even been drunk. He’d just decided to try the local entertainment and after a few muddy rolls and grapples had tossed the pig against the wall, stunning it and making people leap back, beers sloshing. Even the locals had been impressed.
Talk tapered off again. No one asked Tirdal any more questions. They were afraid of the answers.
Oh one hundred was officially lights out. Gun Doll and Gorilla stayed awake a bit longer, but the others started closing their eyes and trying to sleep right away. The process was made harder by the tight quarters that allowed no movement, the mostly upright position that was not comfortable nor natural for humans, and the lack of activity so far. Spasmic twitches betrayed bodies that were not fatigued enough. Still, rest of some kind was necessary. They’d be going for hours, perhaps days once ashore. Fitful sleep was better than no sleep, even if annoying.
There were various drugs, systems and training techniques that had been used over the years to “induce” sleep, not to mention ones that obviated the need for it, removed “boredom” reactions, removed such problems as claustrophobia and otherwise reduced the strain of DRT travel methods.
The problem with most of them, the exception being Hyberzine, was that they had long-term deleterious side effects. By and large the DRTs avoided the pharmacopia available to them and just “toughed it out.” And they only took Hyberzine during the extended travel involved in moving from star system to star system.
Maybe some of the pharmacopia would have been appropriate, but there were too many horror stories of drugged troopers losing it on missions to be willing to take the chance.
Chimed tones woke everyone at 0700. Shiva followed them with his own gravelly call.
“Rise and shine, boys and girls. It’s another spiffy, action-packed DRT day. A day without pain is a day without sunshine! First, we’ll start with a rousing breakfast of eggs Benedict and Celebes Kalosi coffee—”
“Ah, hell, Sarge, give it a break!” Thor snapped. He’d finally gotten to sleep about 0400, tossed and turned in his literal rack and was not feeling rested. He wanted more sleep and wasn’t going to get it.
“Everyone acknowledge and I’ll stop. Dagger?”
“Yo,” was the reply, sounding a bit strained.
“Gun Doll?”
“I’m here,” she said, following it with a yawn. It was almost sultry under the rasp.
“Ferret?”
“Yeah, if I have to.”
“Gorilla?”
“I hear you.”
“Tirdal?”
“I am awake,” he replied. He sounded as alert as ever.
“Okay, well, we don’t have eggs Benedict, but we do have hot chow, and we won’t be using any once on land. So dig in while you can. Only twenty more hours of plastic chow and comfortable racks.”
“ ‘Comfortable,’ the man says,” Ferret griped. “I think there’s a conspiracy between the Army and the Navy to make these damned pods as painful as possible, so we’ll be glad to get out of them even if it means dying.”
“So the secret’s out,” Shiva replied. “Guess we’ll have to kill you on this mission to keep it under wraps.”
The usual complaints continued as each pulled a “rat,” or ration pack, from his or her ruck. Once opened, the meals were self-heating, a catalyst in the pouch warming the surface. With a little stirring, the contents were piping hot. If a bitching troop is a happy troop, morale was high indeed.
“Anyone want to swap for tuna with noodles? Anything?” Gun Doll asked.
“I got chicken with rice,” Gorilla replied. “That work?”
“Please,” she said, relieved. Tuna with noodles was appropriate for interrogating prisoners. It wasn’t food for people. She could smell Gorilla’s revolting chamomile tea, too, but said nothing. If it helped him relax, that was good, and she’d tolerate it. What kind of masochist drank chamomile tea?
Tirdal had Darhel rations. The packaging was obviously different.
“Darhel can’t eat human food, Tirdal?” Bell Toll asked. He’d thought they could.
“We can,” Tirdal said. “There’s a few enzymes we have to avoid, but most of what you eat, I can.”
Thor asked, “So why the special rats?”
“It’s designed for high energy and is strictly vegetarian,” Tirdal replied. “We avoid meat.”
“Can’t? Or won’t eat it?” Dagger asked.
“I can and have, but prefer not to,” Tirdal said.
“Afraid to hurt an innocent cow?” Dagger pushed, apparently wanting a reaction.
“Hand me your meat patty,” Tirdal said in response. He clearly intended to take up the gauntlet.
“Sure,” Dagger agreed, tossing it. Tirdal caught it and, after a brief meditative pause, took a bite. His face as he bit was as expressionless as they had ever seen it but his teeth were obviously designed to cut flesh; they sheared effortlessly through the unrehydrated patty, rather than ripping it like human canines. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and tossed the rest back to Dagger. “Satisfied?”
“No problem,” Dagger said. “Just wondering.” He hadn’t been the only one. One of the training segments for DRTs was a survival course where one ate bugs, snakes and anything else that happened across one’s path. If Tirdal couldn’t or wouldn’t eat meat, he’d skated the course no matter what his records showed.
But Tirdal had clearly been distressed by the act. Or at least it was clear to Dagger. He wasn’t sure who else had caught it. Useful to know. It went along with that story that Darhel couldn’t kill. That’s why they’d blackmailed humans into fighting the Posleen for them. No matter what anyone said, the Darhel was a second-rater.
“Come on, Dagger,” Gun Doll put in. “You know I can eat anything you put in front of me. I just don’t like the taste of mammals. Icky.”
“Just wondering,” Dagger said again.
No one commented on the huge volume Tirdal packed away, like a teenager with late-night munchies. Perhaps he ate fewer but larger meals, or smaller daytime meals. Perhaps he was nervous and eating to compensate. It might be that he had a higher metabolism; he had mentioned that the food was “higher energy.” Or maybe he was just a pig. It wasn’t anything important, and no one felt friendly enough to inquire, especially after Dagger’s hazing made everyone feel awkward.
The team spent the morning reviewing their data and doing isometric exercises in place. The pod was too small to allow more than two troops to move around at a time, and even then, there was too little room to do anything other than walk circles. The cramped confines were one of the things they’d trained for. That didn’t make it pleasant. They were only too glad to walk those circles, around and around in front of teammates
who either ignored them or stared through with dopey eyes, seeing but not noticing. After lunch, most of them brought up displays of open space to fight the growing claustrophobia one couldn’t avoid after hours in a closet. Gorilla had even kept his screens up while eating and sleeping.
Bell Toll said, “We’re heading north on our last leg, if anyone’s interested.” Everyone clicked over to the map to see. “The bay is a glacial formation, which is interesting as we’re at the thirty-seventh latitude. There’s some odd climatology here. It’s deep and narrow, and the river delta is fairly solid and not marshy once we get inland. It shouldn’t be hard to walk. I can’t get a good image on the shore, yet, so we’ll assume heavy growth. If it’s not, we’re lucky.”
“So with that in mind, everyone get some sleep,” Shiva said. “We’ll wake, eat and run ashore. Local dark is when, sir?”
“Actually,” Bell Toll said, “that will put us ashore right about local dark, if we get six hours rest and allow two hours for eating and prep.”
“You heard the man,” Shiva said. “Nighty-night.”
Chapter 6
The wake-up chimes were drowned out by Shiva’s strong voice singing, “OH! What a beautiful morning!” followed by even louder bitching from Dagger, Thor and Ferret.
“It’s time,” Shiva reminded them. “Grab your last, hot, home-cooked meal, kiss your screen of your mama goodbye and get ready to suck mud.”
The meal was abbreviated and interrupted by the sorting of gear. Rucks, harnesses, helmet displays and clothes were all checked, with Shiva and Bell Toll scanning a troubleshooting program to see if the troops missed any problems. Gorilla had calmed down and seemed almost cheerful. He most of all would be glad to get out of the ball and on land, even if it was hostile land. Conversely, Gun Doll and Ferret were tensing up a bit more than the others, but no more than they had on previous operations. Tirdal was still physiologically normal. His alpha history didn’t seem to match up with him getting any sleep, but the Darhel were so thoroughly nonhuman in character that it was impossible to say.
