CHOP Line

by Henry V. O'Neil

  “I’m feeling a little guilty.” Jander broke the stillness.

  “You’re thinking about your platoon.”

  “They’re headed to Celestia, and I’m not with them. I’m here, camping out.”

  “Your leg’s coming along, but you wouldn’t have been able to join them even if you weren’t on this mission.”

  “I suppose that’s true, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. The fighting on Celestia’s supposed to be a real goat screw. Humans fighting humans, half of the rebels are Force deserters, and half of the loyal Force units don’t like the mission. Putting down a slave revolt, and propping up a rotten government, just because we need those minerals for the war.”

  “I’ve heard the stories. The whole thing sucks. But that’s another reason for us to do this job right. If the alien really can broker a peace, or just a cease-fire, it would completely change the equation on Celestia.”

  “The alien is full of shit. This is all some kind of trick, just like last time. We have to figure out what it’s really up to, while we’re still the only ones talking to it.”

  “You know what I’d like to know?” Varick continued. “What it was up to the first time around, when it met you. All that effort, all that deceit, just to trick its way into a corps HQ? The scan said that thing was carrying a plague virus, and Command decided it was acting as some kind of vector. They concluded it was trying to expose us.

  “But what would that have accomplished? Even if it killed every human on Glory Main? This is a space war, everybody’s spread out, separated by an unlivable void. No matter how communicable that virus was, it wouldn’t have gone far. I never accepted that explanation as the whole story.”

  “Want to know the sad truth?” Jander asked. “I’ve been so busy learning how to be a good platoon leader, and going on missions, that I haven’t given it any thought. There’s been no sightings of other aliens, and the one we did see got burned up. After a while, it was like it never happened.”

  Varick stood, taking both of their mess tins and waving him back down when he attempted to help. “You’ll clean the dishes tomorrow night. Right now, you should try and remember everything the alien said or did while you were here. You spent a lot of time together, with all that walking. I’m betting there was a clue somewhere along the way.”

  She went through the hatch, leaving him to look out across the flat ground. It was so familiar, and yet so foreign. So much had happened since then, so many newer memories, some of them burned into him. Varick was right; it was important to reconnect with that experience, to recall what it felt like and how the alien had behaved.

  Mortas stood, flexing his leg inside its brace, feeling the muscles slowly coming back. They’d walked and walked, the hunger growing even as their hopes faded with each empty mile. Before learning that the Sims had established themselves nearby, they’d had no idea what predators might call the barren planet home. They’d used the ravines to hide their movement, and crawled across the surface whenever the latest canyon took a wrong turn.

  “Now there’s a thought,” he said to the night air, and slowly dropped to the ground. The sensation of the grainy soil came right back as soon as he rolled onto his stomach and extended his arms. His fingers brushed against the flat yellow creepers that blended in so well with the orange dirt, and he moved his hands across them. The memories started to emerge.

  Careful not to get too much of the orange dirt inside the brace, he started slithering across the familiar ground.

  Chapter 10

  On Larkin Station, Deek Orton approached Med Wing like a burglar. Blocker’s abrupt departure was only a few days in the past, and of course the Bounce had been trumpeting Ayliss Mortas’s selfless enlistment in the Banshees ever since. That was all well and good for the rest of the galaxy, but on Larkin just about everybody knew the real story. Ayliss and her former bodyguard, assisted by two veterans from the fight on Quad Seven, had murdered Vroma Rittle in cold blood before fleeing into the arms of the HDF recruiters.

  Although traffic in the passageway was minimal, Orton couldn’t be sure he wasn’t being followed. Zone Quest’s vindictiveness was well known, and his connection to Blocker would be revealed by just a little cross-checking of military records. There was also the more tangible problem of actual evidence linking him to the aborted plot. Orton adjusted the heavy tool bag that hung by his side, and ducked down the corridor leading to Chief Scalpo’s office.

  He exhaled loudly when the hatch closed behind him, seeing Chief seated at a terminal in the waiting room. The gray-haired PA was wrapped in a white lab coat, and was typing rapidly.

  “Hello, Chief.” Orton looked around, surprised that there were no patients. “Where’s your assistant?”

  “Sent her to help out in the lab for a few days.” The typing continued. “You never know who might come calling, in light of recent events.”

  “Probably not a bad idea.” Orton unslung the canvas bag, pleased that the topic of ZQ retribution had already been broached. “I’ve got a little problem, Chief.”

  “I’ve heard that line before.”

  Orton noticed that the hatch leading into Chief’s examination room was shut, but only because a muted thumping came from the other side.

  “You got a customer in there? Maybe two?”

  “Not for long. The auto-sterilizer’s engaged.”

  “It’s not supposed to work, when people are in there.”

  “I know. That’s why I disconnected the safeties. I figured the Guests would send some bully boys to show me the error of my ways.” He finished typing, and updated the entry. “Well that’s that. I am cleared for active duty. And Blocker has already arranged my assignment to Banshee support.”

  “You’re re-upping?”

  “After this?” Chief waved a finger at the hatch, where the thumping had finally ended. “You bet. Charon’s on the way, ready to paddle me across.”

  He winced, and reached over to press a hand against his left side. Two red spots appeared against the crisp white, and Scalpo started shrugging his way out of the lab coat. Orton lowered the bag to the floor, and reached out to help him.

  “Stupid ZQ muscle. They saw the gray hair and thought it was going to be easy.” Orton lifted Chief’s bloodstained shirt, to reveal a thin cut across his ribs. Getting a good look, Scalpo grunted. “Okay, not as bad as I thought. Spray some suturing foam on that, and then bandage it.”

  Orton found the requested items, and went to work while Chief talked. “The Guests might not know about your involvement, but when Charon gets here you should ask him to do up your paperwork. You’re already medically cleared.”

  “Not sure I want to thank you.”

  “You might not have to run off. Your part in this is still a secret, so you’re probably in the clear.”

  Finishing with the bandages, Orton stood back while Chief found a clean shirt in a drawer. “Yeah, that might not be true. That problem I mentioned? I don’t know quite what to do with this.”

  He lifted the bag onto the desk, and unzipped it far enough for Chief to get a look.

  “That’s the device?”

  “Yes, Chief. Blocker and Tin cleared out of here so fast I think they forgot I had it.”

  “It would have detonated when the shuttle reached top speed?”

  “That was the plan.” He pointed at a readout on the side of the bomb. “It also has a timer, but they thought that was too chancy.”

  Chief regarded the bomb in silence, and Orton waited as long as he could.

  “So . . . any ideas about how I could safely get rid of this thing?”

  “Safely.” Scalpo showed his teeth while shaking his head. “You kids. No imagination.”

  Reena Mortas was standing on a high pavilion looking over the Unity Plaza complex when Leeger returned. The architectural plateau fronted the plaza’s central tower as it tapered to its top, and she’d spent many hours there with Olech. Wooden latticework supported crawling vines all aro
und, and she’d been thinking of the formal receptions they’d hosted there over the years.

  “Jander and Captain Varick are in place, Madame Chairwoman. They’ll notify us as soon as the alien returns.”

  “I’m wondering why it left in the first place. You’d think a peace emissary would feel at home with the Whisperers.”

  “Jan’s very suspicious, as he should be. He believes the thing is trying to trick us, like it played him the first time.”

  “You think that’s what it is? The thing is playing with us?”

  “I don’t know,” Leeger answered. “I did impress on Jan that if there’s any way this could produce peace talks, or even a cease-fire, that he was to set aside his personal suspicions.”

  “Speaking of someone who’s tried to trick us in the past, guess who wants to see me? Dev Harlec.”

  “He wants to meet with you? He’d be crazy to leave Broda, after the stunt he pulled on Ayliss.”

  “His message said he has extremely sensitive information for me. Given our mutual animosity, that sounded important enough for a safe-conduct pass. Why not? I’m getting lots of callers these days. Just this morning I had a visit from a member of Zone Quest’s board. They’re unhappy about Rittle.”

  “They’re mining numerous captured planets in the war zone, making a fortune, only because you’re letting them.”

  “That was his point. They’re willing to support the story that Ayliss didn’t kill anyone, if I let them start mining the planets Olech gave to the veterans.”

  “That ‘story’ happens to be true. I’ve seen the surveillance tapes. And the Isles girl is going to be just fine.”

  “I always hated that family. These days I’m discovering I’ve always hated most of them—including my own.”

  “It’s all going to work out, ma’am.”

  “Is that what the Misty Man told you?”

  Leeger flinched inwardly, surprised to have been discovered. “No. He said the rebels are going to conquer Celestia.”

  “Not likely, with all the troops we’ve diverted there. And we’ll keep sending more until we snuff this out. We have to get those mines back in operation.”

  “He suggested we could do that more quickly if we recognized the slaves as the new government.”

  “You sound like you believe him.”

  “He makes a good point. The slaves worked the mines, and they currently control most of them. Much of the alliance is learning—or pretending to learn—about the labor force on Celestia, and they’re not happy about it.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Even if we crush the rebellion, we’ll probably destroy the mines in the process. Some of them are already wrecked. But if we pull the troops back, we might salvage the rest.”

  “All the reports say we’ve got the rebel areas contained. They can’t eat the rocks, so it’s a matter of time. Not surprising your turncoat would like us to back off.”

  Leeger looked out over the complex. Far below, tiny figures walked along a maze of sidewalks that crossed acres of green grass and passed under spreading trees. Olech had always liked the view from up there, but for an unexpected reason. The Chairman had taken great pride in the organization he’d assembled at Unity, and considered many of its younger personnel his surrogate children.

  “Ma’am, while I was on Celestia I saw a species of large hog-like animals. They were running around one of the contested areas, and the Misty Man said they were proliferating again because of the fighting.”

  “I know what you’re talking about. They’re not native to Celestia. They’re from Dalat, where natural predators keep them under control. We had no equivalent, so at one point they overran much of the planet. Foul creatures. Short gestation periods, with huge litters. They’re extremely destructive.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “They’re voracious, and they root up just about everything they encounter. Trees, crops, even power lines buried in the ground. Culling them was a full-time job.”

  “Misty asked me to ship in some more of them. To use as a food source.”

  “So now he’s asking favors? After all he’s done?”

  “He was acting on my orders when things went wrong there.”

  “He was disobeying your orders when he ran off and joined the other side.” Reena leaned against the stone wall, the muscles in her arms tense. “But the assassination—that one’s my fault, not yours.”

  “I brought the idea to you, so the fallout is my fault. Especially the leverage that’s now being applied against you. Forgive me for saying this, Madame Chairwoman, but the rebels aren’t your true enemies.”

  “You think I don’t know that? I grew up right there on Celestia, surrounded by some of the people who are leaning on me right now. The slavery was confined to the mines during those years, but it was impossible not to know the newcomers were being exploited.” Reena leaned out, as if something on the ground had interested her. “I keep wondering if this is somehow a punishment for all that. For pretending not to notice. For tolerating it.”

  “Your husband tolerated it, in the name of winning the war. And, as much as they’re pretending otherwise, the rest of the alliance knew as well.”

  “So what are you recommending, Hugh? That I recognize a slave government on my home planet? Act like my family didn’t run the place?”

  “We could deflect that criticism by showing they’re not really your family. Have some trusted third parties release the information about your parentage, and then reveal what happened to your birth mother.”

  Reena turned exasperated eyes in his direction. “And that would justify what? That I waited fifty years, living in luxury, so I could murder my own father in the name of avenging someone I never met? And that I used a poor slave girl to do it, in the hopes of not being discovered?”

  “We would need some very good news to go along with it. Like the announcement of a cease-fire with the Sims. Arranged by the only entity in existence that can speak to both sides—an entity brought on board by your stepson.”

  “Just listen to us. Talking about ending this nightmare of a war, only in terms of how it can save my ass. Honestly, Hugh, I’m not sure we haven’t become the worst thing in this whole awful mess.”

  Chapter 11

  Mortas slept poorly. It couldn’t have been the lodgings, because the shelter was superior to every other form of military housing he’d ever inhabited. It was very well appointed, with separate cubicles for him and Varick, a small kitchen, a shower, and a communications area that also served as a sitting room. A large water tank had been buried directly beneath it, and the larder was stocked with better food than he’d enjoyed in over a year.

  Despite all that, he kept jolting into consciousness at odd intervals. This was perplexing, because he’d slept soundly during the trip to Roanum. Alternately dozing and waking, he finally decided that the presence of the alien had shifted him to a combat mode of sleeping. At nighttime with his platoon, he would have been pulling radio watch or rising several times to check security. Recognizing this, Jander pushed the covers from his bunk and carefully stood. He’d removed the brace for the evening, and the weakness in his leg was immediately apparent. Using the wall for support, he limped out into the communications area and checked the perimeter signals.

  The sensors had picked up some minor heat signatures in the distance, a species of field mouse identified by the Holy Whisperers, and a kind of dog that Mortas had briefly seen during his last sojourn here. Neither of the sightings had been cause for alarm, and so he’d returned to bed. The sliding door leading into Varick’s room had been open, and he’d stopped to regard her sleeping form for just a moment.

  The light reflected off of the scar on her cheek, but he’d become familiar with that. Her face was calm in repose, and the rest of her was covered by a light blanket. An odd thought crossed his mind, the realization that Erica was the only living human link to his travails with the alien during their quest to reach Glory Main.
A warm sense of connection was forming in his mind when she stirred.

  He almost fell over, putting too much weight on his bad leg while hastily retreating to his room.

  He was up before dawn, this time for good, strapping on the brace and donning his torso armor over the khaki fatigues. Taking a small bag and his Scorpion, Jander quietly crossed to the hatch and deactivated the alarm. Slipping outside, he stopped to inhale the night air and listen for anything unusual. With that done, he stumped a few feet away from the hatch and sat down with his back against the shelter and his rifle across his legs.

  The sky began to brighten, and he watched the scenery take on a steadily increasing resolution. Small rocks and low brush sharpened with the light, and somewhere out there a bird chirped a greeting at the new day. How many times had he witnessed that, from the shallow holes and deep ravines that had hidden the four maroons?

  Once the sun was peering over the horizon, Mortas set the rifle aside and started taking items out of the bag. First he removed a folding stove, which he popped open and set on the dirt beside him. Then he took out a metal cup, which he filled with water from his canteen. The stove and the cup were both battered from use and blackened by fire. Lighting a small cube of a smokeless and odorless solid fuel, Mortas placed it inside the stove and balanced the cup over it.

  Selecting the packets for the morning coffee, Jander found a razor and slowly dragged it over his beard. Periodically clearing it of stubble with a small brush, he was clean-shaven right about the time the water started to boil. Mixing the coffee, he raised the cup and inhaled with deep appreciation. The first sip was always the best, and he sighed happily as he drank.

  “You do understand we’ve got the real thing in here, right?” Varick stood in the open hatchway, holding a steaming mug. Her hair was mussed, and she wore a light T-shirt over athletic shorts. Mortas admired her legs while raising his cup in greeting.