“Cold enough for you?” Wolfe asked the ensign, who was wearing his usual string vest and a pair of shorts. Daivid was freezing, even in the sensor blanket, whose fibers read the body temperature underneath and thickened or thinned accordingly.
“A bit chilly. Not as cold as my homeworld.” The slender ensign smiled brilliantly up at Wolfe, who had settled himself to listen intently. “I think what you’re doing with the others is smart. I have no problem telling you about my life, so ask any time. We live right on the tundra. That kind of wilderness you can’t keep flesh-and-blood pets, so I got to like machines. They like me, too. I have parents and one sister. We’re happy.”
“I’ve got three sisters,” Wolfe said. He glanced out into the darkened street beyond the yellow square of the recycling center. “It’s so quiet here. You would never think that we’re in the middle of a resort town. In season there would be a million people or more having a good time.”
Too quiet, he realized, standing up. At least half a dozen of the troopers snored, as he knew from sessions in the day room. Troopers who weren’t playing cards or watching vids or pursuing other hobbies usually slept, and a few of them rocked the room with their somnolent vocalizations. He tiptoed over to one of the tents, peered in through the flap. The tent was empty.
Well, Daivid reasoned, the trooper had probably gone to use the disposer in the shuttle, or just couldn’t sleep and wanted to watch a video. He checked another tent. Then another. They were all empty. It was then he observed the footprints in the gradually accumulating snow around the dark gray shelters. The prints didn’t lead toward the ship; they led away, towards town.
Suddenly, he remembered earlier in the day that Jones had mentioned a bar a few blocks away. Damn them, he gave an order to stay by the shuttle! Or, he mused, stalking back towards his own tent, whipping his blanket around him more tightly against the wind, he didn’t give an order, he had just made a statement without giving it the force of an official order. With the Cockroaches that omission gave them all the leeway they wanted to bend a rule. They’d waited until he fell asleep, then went off to the bar. It was clear the tender speech Boland had made had been meant to soften him up. Well, it didn’t work. Wait until he got his hands on them! He knew he was letting them get too familiar with him. The instructors at OTS had been absolutely right. That was going to stop at once.
Loud humming approached from over a building. A brilliant light glared down at him, spotlighting him like a lounge headliner. Heedless of the snow, Daivid dropped and rolled out of the beam, belly crawling toward his tent. He was just reaching for his sidearm when the craft dropped, and a peeved male voice called out to him.
“Are these yours?”
Daivid stood up, skin, underwear and boots crusted in snow, his blanket hanging over one shoulder. The craft touched down beside him, and a large man in a dark blue uniform jumped out, holding Streb by the elbow. “You Sergeant Wolfe?”
“Lieutenant Wolfe. Lt. Daivid Wolfe, X-Ray Platoon.”
“Yes, that’s what this boy said,” the large man said, shoving the trooper towards him. The newcomer had thick black eyebrows turning gray, hooding deepset dark eyes, a large nose, and fleshy red lips. “Sorry to disturb you, Lieutenant. I’m Sergeant Perkin Rivera of the Welcome PD. I got called out to the riot. Come on out, all of you.”
Looking abashed, the remainder of the missing Cockroaches emerged from the hovercraft. None of them could look Daivid straight in the eye. Their fatigues were wet, torn or both.
“They were busting up the bar on Bizarro Street. Kind of unexpected to see anybody from the Space Service, since this is off-season. A little surprised no one notified us you were on leave here.”
Daivid shook his head. “We didn’t mean to cause a disturbance, Sergeant. We were supposed to be in and out on a three-day mission, but it looks as though we’ve got a delay. My troopers,” he glared at them, “were anticipating the long wait by scoping out the local entertainment.”
“A long delay?” Rivera asked pointedly.
“Well … it could be three weeks, or possibly longer,” Daivid admitted. “Our ship is on … an irregular schedule.”
“I see. Well, I was a trooper once. I’d like to help you out, but it looks as though some of your people don’t play well with others. The bar owner was plenty pissed when this boy here put one of his best customers through the mirror on the back wall. The guy was only bruised, luckily.”
Daivid sighed. “We’ll pay for damages, of course, Sergeant. How much?”
“Not too much. Tennie will only ask you for the wholesale value, seeing as you’re service personnel. The tourists have to pay retail. May I ask the nature of your mission?”
“I’m sorry, that’s classified.”
Rivera shrugged. “Had to ask. Listen, we welcome military, really, but under the circumstances, Tennie’s not going to let your people back in the bar.…”
“Awwww!” issued from every Cockroach throat at once.
“… Unless you or one of your officers is there with them. And maximum ten at a time. You’re personally liable for any damage, but my officers and I will return your troopers to you for discipline if there’s a complaint but they don’t actually kill anyone.”
“Come on, sir, what do you say?” Boland wheedled.
Daivid was in no mood to negotiate with the sinners. “I’ll think about it. Please give me your contact information, Sergeant,” Wolfe said pleasantly. “And the name and number of the bar proprietor.”
Rivera gave him a couple of codes, which he entered into his infopad. The big police craft lifted off into the night. Daivid turned to his platoon.
“Drop and give me fifty,” he said.
“What?” Boland asked.
“Insubordination,” Wolfe said simply. “You can do a hundred. Now. Hit the pavement.”
“But there’s six inches of snow, sir,” Aaooorru said.
“There won’t be by the time you finish. Hit it. I won’t say it again.”
Lin cleared her throat meaningfully. She dropped to the ground and started pumping up and down. Very reluctantly, the Cockroaches got down on hands and toes, or claws or whatever served them as upper and lower digits, and began counting off. Wolfe gradually let go of his anger, and felt a little smug. They thought they’d gotten the better of him, but he had taken control at last.
A cold breeze went up his back. Wolfe suddenly remembered he was standing in an alley in the middle of a winter night in his shorts and a blanket.
***
Chapter 15
“Remember,” Wolfe cautioned the first group of Cockroaches, as they approached Tennie’s Place. The bar, a double storefront in the middle of a trendy-looking block of cheerful-looking shops, all with signs reading “closed for the season,” had a façade of Bavarian blue matte enamel highly decorated and gilded, and the name etched on the flexglass window in gold. “You’re ambassadors of the Space Service. If you can’t hold it together, stand up and head out to the shuttle. Under no circumstances are you to throw a punch, a glass, a bottle, a piece of furniture or a fellow guest of this establishment. If we all get tossed out of here you will have queered it with me for yourself and all your fellow Cockroaches, and I, personally, will whale the tar out of you in the cargo hold, and you will spend the rest of the time we are on this planet in the shuttle. Is that understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the ten troopers behind him agreed. They were all wearing their impact suits instead of armor or fatigues. A few complained about putting on the microplate light armor, but Wolfe was adamant.
“We are still on duty,” he had pointed out. “I know this is not hostile territory, but we are on a mission, and as long as we are, we take precautions. And maybe having your uniform on will remind you of whom you’re supposed to be. I’m still not sure I should be doing this, after you sneaked out behind my back, but I can’t lock you all up for a month, and I don’t really want to. See if you can earn my trust again.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” they had responded glumly, but donned the dark blue outfits as ordered.
The Cockroaches were surprised that he had even allowed them to return to town. Once they had completed their punishment pushups, Wolfe had taken Boland aside.
“What in hell were you thinking?” he had asked the chief. Boland had looked sheepish.
“Well, sir, we coulda put up with three days of being sequestered, but with three weeks or more just stretching out endlessly in front of us, well, we just couldn’t stand it.”
“Don’t snow me,” Wolfe had said, all the more apropos because he was standing ankle deep in some. “You couldn’t even wait those three days!”
“I guess it was the anticipation,” Boland had offered hopefully. “I mean, the genie’s out of the bottle now, huh? You just can’t keep us from going out.”
Wolfe couldn’t stand it any longer. He invited Boland to step into the hold with him for a little humility lesson, long overdue, in his mind. He had to make an example of someone, and he suspected Boland, more than Lin, had taken the lead on disobeying his ‘suggestion.’ He threw his blanket aside.
“Come on, chief,” he said, gesturing to Boland with both hands. “You’ve had this coming for a while.” Boland shrugged, then without telegraphing the move, charged at him. Wolfe was just quick enough to jump aside and grab a passing arm.
He was in pretty good condition, had gotten high marks in five different martial arts, but after twenty minutes of throwing one another into the walls, he had hardly made a dent in either the big man’s psyche or body. It wasn’t until he managed to take Boland down with a leg hook and trapped him with the heel of his hand to the chief’s throat that Boland had signalled surrender. Panting, he backed off, and wiped his face with the edge of his blanket. Boland had sprung up and retrieved his fatigue cap. To Wolfe’s annoyance he wasn’t sweating or breathing hard.
“I’m the one you had to make an example of to get respect. I can take that.” Wolfe felt chagrined, but the chief patted him on the back. “You tried. That’s all we’re looking for. If you’re too delicate to give us both barrels sometimes, then you’ll never last in the Cockroaches. I’ll tell ’em you whomped me. That’ll help you keep order in the future. Night, lieutenant.”
In fact, Boland had been at his side to enforce the microplate armor order, and had a few choice words of his own.
“Your best behavior isn’t good enough,” he warned. “If you don’t act like perfect little ladies and gentlemen, I’ll give you some of what the lieutenant gave me.”
There were a few wolf whistles from the back of the troop, and when Wolfe looked for the culprit they all pointed to one another.
“On your best behavior, then, forward!” Wolfe stepped on the threshold of Tennie’s Place and paused. A slight hum rose as the security system scanned them. Finding no weapons and detecting personal identification that said they were all old enough to enter an establishment that served adult refreshments, the double doors slid open. Twenty-seven heads turned to look at them. To Daivid’s surprise, the scopes in his clear helmet detected that some of them had body temperatures the same as the ambient room, showing no red signature. More puppets, he thought. Well, why not. It’s their vacation, too. He unclipped his helmet and approached the bartender with a pleasant smile.
“Evening, sir. What kinds of beer do you have?”
O O O
Tennie’s establishment served a pretty decent menu as well as having a truly impressive wine cellar and liquor collection. The luck of the draw on the MERDs had given them another serving of chop suey. Daivid could still taste the garlic and soy on his breath as he glanced over the bill of fare. A pity he wasn’t hungry. Some of his favorite foods were in Tennie’s food comp’s repertory: sag gosht, protein (choice of four! the menu bragged) piccata, manicotti, and matzoh ball soup.
The bar was much larger inside than it had looked. Daivid noticed a corridor that ran off both ways from the main room. An open door along the left revealed a large party room. Several similar doors could be seen down the hallway. An electronic bandstand stood at one side of the room. There was a dais for live acts, but at the moment it featured a three-dimensional crystal amphitheater performance by Lindy Aud, a pretty, twenty-something crooner currently in the pop charts. Daivid sat down at a long table near the bar, where he could keep an eye on his troopers. Somulska and Software took over one of the electronic games. Three of the others offered to play the locals at one of the five pool tables on a platform at one side of the room set apart from the table-seating area by a wooden rail. The other five picked up drinks from the bar, and went over to dance to the music with the handful of customers already on the floor.
An attractive woman, whom he had noticed sitting with a group near the bandstand, came over and slid into one of the chairs at his table.
“Hi, there,” she said. She had medium red-brown hair and blue eyes under very straight brows in a heart-shaped face. “Want some company?”
“I’m not looking for a date, thanks,” Daivid said sharply.
“Ooh, tough guy,” she teased. “I didn’t offer you a date. I said company.”
Daivid was ashamed of himself, for his tone and his assumption. “I am very sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. My mind was elsewhere, and that’s inexcusable. May I buy you a drink in apology?”
“No, thank you,” the blue eyes twinkled. “But you can buy me a drink out of courtesy. I’d like that.”
Daivid allowed her to program her choice into the table’s server, and paid with his credit chit. “May I know the name of my guest?”
“Connie,” she said, accepting a clear rose-colored liquid in a tall goblet festooned with a paper umbrella.
“I … is there a last name?”
Her eyes widened. “All I ever go by is Connie. Is that all right?”
“Sure,” Daivid said. “I only want to be polite. Are you a singer? You have a pretty voice.”
“Well, you’re making up very nicely for starting off badly,” Connie said, with a half-smile that exposed a dimple in her cheek. “I sing a little, but not professionally. I’m a greeter in Wingle World. It helps if you have a pleasant voice. What shall I call you?”
“Daivid,” he replied. “Daivid Wolfe. Some people call me Dai, but whichever you like.”
“Daivid’s nice. So what do you think of Welcome?”
“Well, most of it seems to be closed,” Daivid said, wryly. “It looks like a fine town. We’re here on official business.”
“So I’ve heard. Oh, don’t get upset,” Connie put her hand on his arm when he frowned. “It’s a small town, really. There are few real secrets. It means I don’t have to bore you with all the questions you’ve already answered. I can ask about you. How long have you been in the Space Service?”
“Three years.”
He answered absently, watching a little drama going on. Lin got up from the table and had taken a seat at the bar, away from the others. She selected a nicotine pow out of the box as the bartender brought her a scotch on the rocks. He noticed Boland glaring as an unattached man further down the bar changed seats to be beside her. She smiled at the newcomer. They started chatting.
On the dance floor, a very tall man swung Meyers into a wild dance. Her shoulder-length hair swept around in a flirty wave, and she laughed vivaciously. He pulled her back, his hand running down her ample curves. She nestled close as they twitched and bumped all around the floor. On the sidelines, Gire stood tapping his foot. Daivid hoped it was in time to the music, and not a precursor to another attack. The medic had been in good shape so far.
“No one at home waiting for you?” Connie asked. Daivid dragged his attention back to her.
“I’m a Seventh-Day Varietist,” Lin said, just loud enough for Wolfe to hear, “but I’d love to hear about your faith. I support any true believer.”
Boland’s glare increased to actinic brightness.
“… You don’t have a wife or girlfrien
d?” Connie must have asked again, because her voice was louder.
“I’m sorry,” Wolfe said. “No, no one.”
“But you had one, didn’t you?” Connie said, more a statement than a question. “I saw you flinch when I asked if you had one at home.”
“That was a long time ago,” Daivid replied sharply. “And good riddance, too.”
“So bitter still, after how long? Three years? What happened?” Her blue eyes were very sympathetic as she leaned toward him.
“I was engaged,” Daivid said, staring down into his drink. “Look, I don’t want to burden you. It’s my business, and it’s old.”
“You really ought to burden someone other than yourself,” Connie said gently. “It’s been eating away at you all this time, hasn’t it?”
“I haven’t really thought about her in three years.”
“Really?”
“No.” Daivid scowled. “No, I think about Sesi all the time. I think about what a fool I was. I was so much in love with her I couldn’t even see straight. Everyone was trying in the nicest possible way to tell me that she was … dishonest. Deceitful. Rotten.” He sighed and knocked back half of his beer.
“She was a thief? She stole from you?”
“Only my trust,” Daivid said, with a sigh. “Sesi ran every program, matched every possible interface to make sure that I fell for her. She was very beautiful.”
“Like me?” The dimple showed again.
Daivid regarded her. “Not like you, thank heavens. You’re a warm beauty. You look … welcoming. I’m sorry, I’m being obnoxious.”
“It’s really kind of poetic,” Connie corrected him. “So she was cold?”
“Inwardly, and I didn’t know that for over two years. She was dangerous. She was ambitious.”
“For what? Your family?”
Daivid groaned. “Not my family—not the part of it you’re thinking of. And why everyone always picks up on that—! No, she wanted to use me to get to my mother. Mom is famous in her own right, nothing to do with Dad or anyone else.”
Strong Arm Tactics Page 27
