by Chris Bunch
“I shall, Mister Jaansma.”
The intercom crackled. “Driver to ECM … did those two get a mind-whop ray or something?”
“This is ECM. Definitely whopped.”
“Silence in the vehicle,” Garvin said, and there was. He took a deep breath. “Driver, twenty-five percent power.”
“Twenty-five percent, Vehicle Commander.”
“Take it off, Mister Gorecki.”
The Grierson came gently off the deck and drifted out of the hangar, a delicate dinosaur in ballet slippers. Garvin felt panic as his mind said, This is for real, this isn’t the sim anymore, and he buried the thought.
He pushed the select bar with his chin. “Control, this is Two-Alpha-Three, clearing for lift.”
“This is Control,” a voice said. “Reported traffic … two Zhukovs at east end of pad, three Cookes doing touch-and-go’s on the grassy field … clear to lift at commander’s discretion.”
“Two-Alpha-Three, lifting to one thousand, proceeding west toward Tiger Maneuver area. Be advised vehicle commander is trainee.”
“Roger that, Two-Alpha-Three. We’ll stand by with the whisk broom. Clear.”
“Take it up,” Garvin ordered. “Fifty percent power.”
“Lifting, VC,” Gorecki said, and the ground on-screen grew distant.
Jaansma touched a sensor, and a map appeared on another screen. “Do you need directions?”
“Negative,” Gorecki said. “I could do it in my sleep.”
“Negative on faking it,” Dill ordered. “Jaansma’s still learning. Fly by his instructions.”
“ ’Kay, VC … I mean, Gunner.”
“Don’t skate on me, Garvin,” Dill ordered.
“Sorry.” Jaansma studied the map. “Hold altitude, bring speed to ninety. Set course two-three-two degrees.”
“Altitude one thousand, speed accelerating to niner-zero. Now over water.”
The Grierson’s course led south-southwest, across the gulf toward the finger of land enclosing it, and the restricted training area named Tiger.
“Set it on auto,” Dill ordered. “Here’s what I want you to do when you get to Tiger. Bring this pig down to about two-hundred meters … I’ll have you on the deck next time, but I’ll give you some slop now … bring it across the beach, jump over the foothills, and straight in across the target zone. Got it?”
“I think so.”
“Not think so, dammit,” Dill said. “You have it or you don’t.”
“I have it, Skipper.”
“ ’Kay.” Dill switched channels. “Tiger Maneuver Control, Tiger Maneuver Control, this is Grierson Two-Alpha-Three, inbound your area.”
“Two-Alpha-Three,” came the response. “We have you onscreen. What’s your flavor today?”
“Set program, uh, Seven-Three-White.”
“Seven-Three-White, roger.”
“We’re making a low-level assault on a strong enemy-held base,” Dill said, switching back to the intercom, “part of a regiment-sized assault force, backed with, uh, five Zhukovs I think I remember. Enemy has strong air-to-air capability. ECM, full standby.”
Kang turned the air-conditioning up in her tiny cubicle. “ECM ready, Skipper.”
“Gunner ready,” Dill said from Garvin’s normal station. “Take it, boss.”
Again, Jaansma had a moment of fear, then a swell of confidence.
“Driver … accelerate to three-five-zero. Stand by for contact!”
Just ahead was the “enemy” coast.
Njangu Yoshitaro decided he’d had enough. Enough of every muscle screaming as it tore, enough of his lungs trying to suck wind and not having the strength, enough of Lir’s never-satisfied howls, enough of I&R, and especially enough of the frigging cliff he was only halfway up.
“I quit,” he muttered.
“No talking up there,” Lir shouted from below.
“I said I quit,” Njangu said more loudly.
“One more word, whoever’s gossiping, and he or she’s for the grease trap,” Lir shouted.
I can’t even quit this horseshit excuse for a life, Yoshitaro thought, feeling very sorry for himself.
“Hey,” Angie Rada whispered. Yoshitaro crammed the side of his hand into the spider-crack, hoped his toehold was better than it felt, chanced looking across.
“Looka me,” she whispered. Angie sat on a ledge that looked to Njangu like a parade ground, almost 10cm wide. “Don’t I look cute.” She put one hand behind her head, jutted her breasts.
“Screw you,” he managed.
“You can if you ask nice,” she said. “But love stories later. Guess what I’m on?”
“I can see.”
“No you can’t,” she said smugly. “This ledge widens beyond me. It’s a frigging turnpike, and goes straight around the shoulder of this cliff to the road. C’mon up. This is the real way to do free-climbing.”
“What’s that going to give me?”
“All Liverlips Lir said was get to the top, right?” Rada said. “Not how, right? I&R encourages improvisation, right?”
Njangu wheezed agreement and found the strength to scrabble for a foothold to the side, and strength to lever himself up, up again, then across to Angie’s ledge.
“Follow me, like the ossifers say,” she said, and Yoshitaro obeyed, sidling along the ledge, not looking a hundred meters down to jutting crags, until it indeed became a path, winding upward.
“Aren’t you glad I think you’re sexy?” she said.
Njangu managed a nod, while panting.
“Not like Faull, old strong-and-silent low-class ’Raum,” she said. “I would’ve let him rot hanging there.” She gave him a sly look. “Or made sure Lir heard him quit.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Njangu said. “Easy way, hard way, I’m still out of this shit.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Angie said. “We’ve only got, what, another two lifetimes, then they’ll put us into a fighting team. Doncha wanna be a real soldier boy?”
“Whoopie.” Njangu bent double, sucked air. “I’m history, I’m gonna be a nice happy grass-trimmer and garbage-can-emptier ‘til my enlistment’s up.”
“And then what?”
“I’ll find a job somewhere.”
“Maybe working for my da,” she suggested.
“What’s he do? Probably, with my luck, guide mountain climbers.”
“Nope,” the woman said. “He’s got six department stores, so you’d best be nice to me.”
“If he’s so rich, what’re you doing in the service?”
“I thought it’d be a hoot,” she said, defiance coming into her voice, then she looked away. “And me and Da weren’t … getting along.”
“Foolish girl,” Njangu said.
“Shut up,” Rada hissed. “We’ve got to get up to the crest and look proper exhausted for Monkeytits Monique.”
“No you don’t,” a voice came. “You can stay just like you are.”
The two trainees froze, turned slowly. Just ahead of them on the path stood Dec Monique Lir.
“How’d you — ” Angie managed.
“Beat you? Because I’m strong, clean-living and your friggin’ god,” Lir growled. “Now, double-time right on up to the top.”
Before they reached the crest all the aches came back in waves to Njangu. The other three recruits were waiting, grateful for any respite from Lir’s sadism.
“You were correct, Recruit Rada,” said Lir, who didn’t appear to even be slightly out of breath. “I didn’t say how you were to get to the top of this, and I&R does encourage creative thought. I’m actually proud of you two.”
“Uh-oh,” Yoshitaro said under his breath.
“So proud, I’m going to let you be an example to the rest of us. I want you to go back down the cliff, while the rest of us stroll leisurely to the bottom and take a long break. Go back down … straight back down. Is it clear?”
“Yes, Dec,” the two chorused.
“Bad harmony,” Lir said. “Drop d
own and do me some press-ups. Maybe twenty-five or so.”
She waited until they finished.
“Now, let’s see some nice technique in descending,” she ordered. “No slips, deaths, or even screams. You first, Rada.”
Angie gave Lir a hate-filled look, slid cautiously backward over the edge. Lir peered over.
“Do try not to fall,” she advised. “Now you, Yoshitaro.”
Njangu obeyed.
“Oh, by the way,” the dec asked. “Did I understand you have something you want to tell me?”
Njangu was about to bellow his resignation, and then suddenly everything was funny. He’d broken through some kind of inner barrier, and from now on, it might not be easy, but he’d do it. Hell, he felt good. He could duckwalk down the cliff if Lir wanted him to. Yoshitaro laughed.
Lir looked at him closely.
“That’s all?”
Njangu nodded.
“Then get your ass down this cliff. It’s a long run home, and I want to be back before retreat.”
• • •
The Grierson grounded at the same instant as the other Aerial Combat Vehicle and the two Zhukovs to make the points of a perfect square.
A moment later a courier boat settled in the middle of the formation. Its nose was the dark blue/white of the Confederation, with a ring of stars behind it. Below the pilot’s cabin window on either side was the green/white/brown flag of Cumbre.
The Combat Vehicle’s ramps dropped, and their crews formed up in front of their craft. All wore dress uniforms.
The lock of the courier ship opened, a gangway slid down, and Governor General Wilth Haemer strode out, flanked by Caud Williams and a polish of aides.
“Couldn’t you have left a big booger on the pointy end, dammit?” Garvin whispered out of the side of his mouth. “We didn’t have to look this sharp.”
“Quiet, Gunner,” Dill said. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“Easy for you to say,” Jaansma said. “You weren’t the one who got told by His Holiness if he saw me ever ever again I was for the high jump.”
“Don’t worry,” Kang said. “He isn’t interested in reviewing us. Too windy, too cold.”
It was that on Dharma’s high plateau, wet mist blowing past the ghostly trees. Haemer and the others walked quickly, trying not to look like they were hurrying, to the formation of Musth waiting outside their headquarters, a series of high-ceilinged, polygonal buildings seemingly made of clear glass broken with onyx paneling.
The Musth were in a formation humans found strange. A dozen, probably underlings, formed a wide, shallow vee, and two others stood in the mouth of the vee, one behind the other. One Garvin guessed was the Musth’s commander in the Cumbre system, Aesc.
Jaansma shut the governor general out of his mind and stared at the Musth. He’d only seen the aliens in holos, and found them mildly awesome. They were big, almost three meters, with long, sinuous necks. They were fur-covered, their only clothing a wide belt with crisscrossed straps to a neck-ring and a pouch in front like an oversize Scottish sporran. On either side were sheathed weapons. Garvin craned for a look, but all he could determine was that one was an incredibly long-barreled pistol-looking object, the other was an unprepossessing box with a strap on it.
Their fur was color-banded, coarse, light to reddish brown, going to black on their paws and tail; with a solid patch from throat to stomach that was anything from yellowish orange to rich orange.
Their lower legs were big, almost like a kangaroo’s, but intended for upright walking; their front arms were smaller, ending in double-thumbed paws with retracted claws that would work well in a knife fight. They had short tails for balance.
The Musth ceremonials evidently didn’t require rigidity like Man’s, Garvin noted, seeing their heads dart about, peering here and there.
Dill’s Grierson had been chosen with three other combat vehicles as honor guard for the governor general’s monthly visit to the Musth base on Dharma’s Highlands.
Haemer bowed to the forward Musth, half whistled, half hissed something in the alien’s language.
“And I greet you, Governor General,” the alien replied. “It isss well to face you once more.”
He turned.
“I would like to ssshare with you the knowing of my sssoldier-leader, Wlencing.”
The Musth behind Aesc bobbed his head. “It isss interesssting to sssee your face,” he said.
“Ssshall we go into the building?” Aesc said. “I sssee you mussst be chill.”
“If you have no objectionsss,” Wlencing said, “perhapsss I might view your sssoldiery, for I have encountered Man but ssseldom, and am poor at diplomacccy.”
“Of course not,” Caud Williams said. “I’ll be happy to come with you.”
“There isss no need,” Wlencing said. “You have busssiness with Aesssc, I am sssure, and I am content to find my own obssservations.”
Williams frowned, then nodded reluctantly. “Very well. I’m sure you’ll be impressed.”
“I’m sssure,” Wlencing said, and came toward Dill’s Grierson.
“Do I salute him?” Dill whispered in panic.
“You better,” Gorecki said. “We ain’t fightin’ them yet.”
Ben smashed his hand against his forehead, held it there. Wlencing’s neck extended sharply another 30cm in surprise, darted back and forth like a snake’s. “That isss a sssign of recognition?” he asked.
“No, sir,” Dill said. “It’s honor to a superior.”
“I sssee,” and Wlencing brought his forearm up, lowering his head, and stood motionless. “I asssume it is to be anssswered in same, like thisss.”
Both creatures dropped their arms.
“You have large beingsss in thisss crew,” Wlencing said.
Dill wasn’t sure what to reply, so just said, “Yes, sir. Pure chance, sir.”
“Which one isss the gunner?”
“I am,” Jaansma said.
Wlencing walked to Garvin. “Are you good?”
“I’m still learning,” Garvin said.
“But they choossse you, and your crew, to guard your highessst? That is unusssual,” Wlencing said. “Let me asssk you, Gunner. When you practissse, do you ussse machines?”
“Yes, sir,” Garvin said, suddenly at ease. “We call them simulators.”
“Sssimulators,” Wlencing said, tasting the unfamiliar word. “Who are your enemiesss on these sssimulators?”
“Other machines,” Jaansma said. “Spacecraft. Armored ground vehicles. Soldiers.”
“Are the sssoldiers Musssth?”
“Nossir,” Garvin said. “Men. They wear different uniforms, depending on the problem.”
“I wasss told different,” Wlencing said.
Garvin started to argue, kept his mouth shut. The Musth eyed him. “But of courssse you would be told to lie and not embarrasss yourssselves,” he said, and went to Kang.
“Your dutiesss?”
“Electronic countermeasures, sir.”
Wlencing hissed, “Are you good?”
“I am the best,” Kang said firmly.
The Musth snorted, a noise Garvin thought might be approval, might be amusement. “That isss a warrior ssspeech,” he said. “Each of usss is the bessst, are we not?”
“But I really am,” Kang said firmly.
“It isss a pity there isss no way of tesssting your boassst,” Wlencing said. “We ssshould play gamesss of war between our two racesss. It would be good for usss, good for you.” He turned away, then his head swiveled. “It will have to passsss another time,” he said. “When the war comesss.”
Wlencing saluted again, walked toward one of the Zhukovs.
Garvin glanced sideways at Dill, found the big man looking at him.
“I hope he’s still learning Common Speech,” Jaansma said, “and didn’t mean what he said.”
“Want to bet you’re wrong?”
“Not a chance.”
• • •
“Can I ask something,” Njangu said, “without pissing you off too bad?”
“You can try,” Hank Faull said amiably. The two sat on Faull’s bedside locker, cleaning field gear.
“You’re a ’Raum, right?”
“Ex-'Raum,” Faull said wryly. “Or so my soh would tell you. He’d also call me a backslider, a traitor, an unbeliever … you know, the general sort of thing that makes up a good soldier.”
“Soh?”
“An Elder,” Faull said. “A deacon. Someone who intercedes with the One, and interprets the Task for us.”
“One is like God, right?” Njangu said. “But Task? I can hear capital letters.”
“Task is our mission … all of us and each of us … here on D-Cumbre.”
“What’s the group goal?”
“All of Cumbre,” Faull said precisely, “should belong to us. As should all of space.”
“Nice unambitious ideals,” Yoshitaro said. “What about the rest of us?”
“You can either join us, or else …” Faull drew the back of his thumb across his throat.
“How very excellent,” Njangu said. “By what right do you … sorry, the ’Raum who still believe … claim this?”
“Our sohs tell us that we are First Men, both in creation and here on Cumbre. We came here hundreds of years before the Rentiers and their cronies, even if archeology tends to suggest we showed up in steerage about a hundred years after the first non-'Raum.
“But the legend says when the men who became Rentiers arrived, they had the guns, and we were forced to do whatever they wanted. Into the mines, which is where most of us work today.”
“How’d you get here first? And from where?”
“That,” Faull said, “is one of those things we’re a little vague about. Our holy writ is called The Crossing, and it’s very mystic about that. Our homeworld is never named, just described as a paradise, of course. Some say we came here pre-stardrive.”
“What, in one of those old-timey punt-it-out-with-a-rocket-and-pray?”
“The Crossing says the Sail brought us here, on a wind given by the One.”
“A solar sail?” Njangu said.
“I don’t know,” Faull said. “Our sohs aren’t real great on us reading The Crossing for ourselves. Better we let him or her read it to us, and tell us what it means. Mostly the book is a bunch of lectures that somebody gave to a Fold, a congregation. The guy, or maybe it’s a woman, who’s preaching never gets named. That’s really when I started getting in the shit, when I got a copy of The Crossing for myself, read it and had a whole bunch of questions the soh didn’t do a real good job of answering.
