CHOP Line

by Henry V. O'Neil

  “Gerar had more to say, you know. About that tiny, super-powerful Threshold that took my husband’s capsule. So it really doesn’t matter if I stay in power, although it would be easier if I did. You can help me do that, by influencing your new friends. You’re a slippery little thing, so it’ll be easy for you.”

  Reena’s words got softer as she walked away.

  “But I don’t really care what you do. You see, the love of my life is alive. Out there. Somewhere.” Shuddering in the darkness, Kumar heard the door open far below. “And I’m going to find him.”

  Chapter 18

  Jander’s leg throbbed lightly when he awoke, alone in Varick’s quarters. The door was open, and he could see her at the console in the main room. Despite the mild aching of his wound, every one of his muscles was completely relaxed. He made no effort to rise, enjoying her scent on the bedclothes and watching her type.

  Remembering the unsent report brought the unpleasant reality that their time was drawing to a close. Prodded by that, he slowly sat up and carefully swung his legs to the floor. The muscles in his left thigh protested when he put weight on them, and he stopped in the doorway to let the sinews stretch out.

  “I don’t care how much you tempt me, I’m not going back in there until the report’s done.” Varick kept typing. Her hair was mussed and she’d donned the same T-shirt from the night before, but the console hid the rest of her.

  “I’m not posing; it’s my leg. You’ve set my recovery back a week.”

  “More like a month, hero.” Erica looked across at him, tilting her head. “Another night like that, and you’ll never walk again.”

  “I’m going to take that as a dare.”

  “More like a promise.” Varick kissed the air in his direction, and went back to the keyboard. “Put your brace on. We’ve been invited to a service at Gorman Station.”

  “That was fast. How did they find out?”

  Varick frowned, and then gave him a dubious look. “You really are a self-centered idiot, you know that?”

  “Here I thought the Whisper was into free expression of affection, and it turns out they’re prudes. We’ll go along with the ceremony, and of course the honeymoon, but it shouldn’t be too hard to get it nullified.”

  Erica threw a pen at him, careful not to come close. “It’s a thanksgiving service, to commemorate the first conversation with the Sims. The alien’s invited, too.”

  Jander limped into his room and pulled on a set of running shorts. He strapped on the stiffer of the two braces, and hobbled to the console. When he rested his hands on Erica’s shoulders, she pulled them down so he was holding her.

  “I’ve added my observations to the report,” she murmured. “It’s ready to go.”

  “Let’s negotiate a deal of our own.” He nuzzled her scalp. “Tell them they can have the report and the tapes, and take over the talks, if they just leave us here.”

  A contented moan was her only answer, and the two of them hung there for some time.

  “You know, with my leg the way it is I won’t be rejoining the Orphans for a while. I’ll probably be heading back to Earth to brief my stepmother in person.”

  “No.” The hands held onto his arms, but the word was firm. “I cut my own deal, coming out here, and I’m headed back where I belong. With the Banshees.”

  “It was just a thought.” He kissed her. “And who knows? Maybe I’m wrong about the alien, and the war might actually be about to end.”

  “I don’t think you’re wrong. I want to believe otherwise, but I just can’t shake the feeling that we’re missing something here.” She gave off a slight shiver. “That’s why I need to go back with the troops.”

  “I know how excited everyone is feeling. I share your hope that a day might be approaching, possibly in the near future, when this horrendous bloodletting will cease.” Elder Paul was concluding the service. Though invited to the front of the congregation, Jander and Erica were seated almost outside. The venue was the same hall where the reception had taken place, and the back wall had been raised again. The alien had joined them at the last minute, sitting quietly through the brief ceremony.

  “The sad truth of human history is that peace overtures sometimes do not lead to peace. I urge you all to hope, and to pray, and to believe, but also to prepare yourselves for possible disappointment. The meeting I witnessed was an extraordinary event, one I’ll never forget, and our dear friends Amelia, Erica, and Jander performed as true diplomats, as genuine peacemakers.”

  The seated assemblage turned as one, stood, and broke into applause. Brightly colored sashes hung across their work clothes, which Dru had explained was a sign of Whisper celebration. The three honorees also stood, nodding and smiling with a fair amount of embarrassment. Jan caught Erica’s eye and winked at her, earning a cautionary glare that quickly changed to mirth. The congregation turned its attention back to the rostrum, where Elder Paul was pulling a robe over his outfit. It was blindingly white, and he raised his arms in benediction.

  “Let us all remain optimistic that the seed planted yesterday will bear the fruit of a lasting peace. Now we will process to the fields where we have sown the seeds of a different crop, to bless those seedlings and ask our creator to guide our hands and our minds as we learn how to grow sustenance on this new world.”

  The Whisperers moved outside while the trio of diplomats stood out of the way. Jan and Erica had been greeted with warm hugs when they’d arrived, the jubilant colonists having learned the details of the meeting from Elder Paul. They now received friendly waves and passing murmurs of thanks, while the nearest Whisperers embraced the Amelia-thing before joining the others. Elder Paul approached, accompanied by a small retinue carrying water buckets sprouting the wooden handles of some kind of tool. When they were close enough, Jander saw that the implements were cylindrical brushes with densely packed hairs.

  “We sprinkle ceremonial water over the fields as part of this blessing, and it’s customary to invite our guests to participate.” Elder Paul’s face shone with a serene light, and Jander found himself slightly envious. “If your leg isn’t up to it, I certainly understand.”

  The infantryman inside him almost blurted out a stubborn insistence on participating, but a more compelling thought took its place. “Thank you for noticing, Paul. The leg’s been acting up a little. Erica, would you represent us?”

  “Of course.” Varick’s eyes slid past him. “Amelia, would you like to come with me?”

  “Actually, I was hoping to have a few words with our translator.” Jan spoke to the alien, and then to Elder Paul. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind?” The holy man placed a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. “Talk is good, Jan. We’ll leave you to it.”

  The colonists had arranged themselves in a happy column, with much discussion and laughter, and Varick went to its head with the others. They moved off at a slow walk, headed for the fields behind the station, singing a hymn that Mortas didn’t recognize. Despite the heat, every one of the colonists displayed a joyous activity. Open hands reached for the sky, uplifted arms swayed back and forth, and here and there he saw individual Whisperers dancing.

  His imagination conjured up different parades, the long-denied end of the ceaseless war, the troops coming home for the last time, the races no longer striving to kill each other.

  “So what nasty accusation did you bring with you today?” The Amelia-thing interrupted his thoughts, but the peaceful imaginings remained. Was it possible? Could it end?

  “No accusations. Let’s walk, shall we? All that sitting’s made me stiff.”

  The sun was almost at its zenith, and the warmth was pleasant. The notes from the singers rode the light breeze, a soothing background as they crossed the dirt toward the water.

  “No armor today,” the alien offered, pointing a thumb at his midsection.

  “We left it in the mover, with the weapons. We didn’t think it was appropriate, given the nature of the ceremony.”
He glanced at the tail end of the column. “They’re pretty happy about all this. Hope it’s not misplaced.”

  “The Sims were pleasantly surprised yesterday. Their commander was impressed by all three of you.”

  “Despite the rocky start.”

  “I’ll give you that one. You really scared me, but you knew what you were doing.”

  Though slowed by the brace, Mortas saw that they were getting close to the river. The anti-snake fencing rose up against the sky to their left, reminding him of the waterborne predators.

  “Your people have been around the Sims for a long time. Do you think they’ll approve the cease-fire?”

  “The delegation came away believing that you, Erica, and Elder Paul are sincere. Their commander is a decorated veteran of many years’ service, and highly influential with the Sim command structure. I’m optimistic.”

  “What about the things that created them? They put in a lot of work, right at the start, to make sure the Sims can’t even speak to us. They must be monitoring the war, and how their creations are behaving. What might they do to stop this if they get wind of it, or to start the fighting up again if the cease-fire takes place?”

  The alien stopped, regarding him with approval. “You continue to surprise me, Jan. No matter how this works out, you should use that family name to get a better job. One where you can make a real impact. You figured it out.”

  “I haven’t figured anything out for a long time.”

  “Nonsense. You answered your own question, about what’s in it for me and my people.” The Amelia-thing started walking again, toward the riverbank fifty yards away. “I told you, we’re researchers. We have a driving need to understand the things we encounter. Do you have any idea how maddening it is to see all the evidence that a titanic force is present in the galaxy, and yet we can’t even find it?”

  “We’ve been faced with the same question for quite some time. Our answer was to ignore it.”

  “My people don’t have that ability. Everything we’ve learned about the Sims suggests they were fashioned by something else. That thing, those things, whatever they are, severed their connection with the Sims by planting the mythology in their heads that they’re a mutated form of human. We expect that a cease-fire will force the Sims’ creators to reveal themselves in some way.” The alien’s left hand came up, grasping the air in a shaky fist. “Just proving they exist will be a momentous achievement, but who knows? Perhaps this will allow us to finally study them. Maybe even contact them.”

  “They might not like that.” The singing had vanished in the distance, and Jan was sure he heard the rushing of the water. He slowed down.

  “You mean humanity might not like that.”

  “It crossed my mind. The first version of you was allied with the Sims, working against us. And these creators have a lot more to offer than the Sims.”

  “I understand your concerns. But just remember the Sims’ creators have intentionally and completely eluded us. I don’t think they’re interested in my people—or humanity—beyond keeping us away.”

  “Is that why they made the Sims? We got the Step, and then came too close?”

  “It fits.” The alien stopped, facing him. Mortas waited several seconds, but the expected question never came. He felt his heart thudding a little harder, and then went ahead.

  “One thing’s been bothering me. You keep telling us about your obsession with understanding everything you encounter. Yet you haven’t asked me a single thing about the most advanced technology mankind ever developed.”

  The blue eyes flashed, and then dimmed. “All right. Give me your extensive knowledge of the Step, Platoon Leader.”

  “Mockery’s not going to be good enough.” Mortas felt the adrenaline rising, along with the belief that he’d finally struck a nerve. The excitement came with a heavy undertone of dread. The colonists were nowhere in sight, the brace and his wound made him vulnerable, and he was alone with the thing. The slight weight of Cranther’s boot knife pressed against his calf, and he found it comforting enough to press on. “I’m the son of the highest official in our government. I would have expected a researcher entity like you to ask me about the Step before now. Even if you thought I knew nothing.”

  “You do know nothing. All of you. You’re unconscious in the Step. Passengers, the crews, even the captains of Step-capable ships don’t know how it works. They might as well be monkeys, punching buttons before climbing into the Transit Tubes.” The alien shook its head. “Your technology pales to insignificance when compared to the real prize here. We have to learn about what’s making the Sims.”

  Jander’s handheld vibrated in a fatigue pocket, an emergency sequence from the Ajax. He looked back at the settlement, disturbed to see how far away it was. No one was in sight, but he thought he heard bits of sound that might be more singing. Somewhere out there, Varick’s handheld would be receiving an identical signal.

  “I need to look at this,” Mortas said, annoyed at being forced to drop the line of questioning. He limped away a few paces, the handheld shaking with increasing urgency.

  The broken rhythm he’d taken for a hymn rose a bit, and he now recognized it as the sound of an approaching engine. Jander searched the empty sky, and then his attention was jerked back to the handheld. The warning vibration had run its course without answer, and so the machine spoke in a loud, robotic voice.

  “Emergency. Emergency. Emergency. Unidentified craft converging on your location. Air and ground vehicles. Hostile intent. Find cover. Find cover. Find cover.”

  Movement pulled his eyes toward the settlement, where he saw a lone figure sprinting around the side of the buildings. Varick was waving at him, and he was raising his hand to indicate he’d received the message when a sledgehammer blow struck the side of his face. He was hurled to the dirt, the handheld flying away, the horizon spinning as the engine noise grew.

  Hands, titanically strong, grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Still stunned, he shook like a stringless puppet when the gripping talons yanked him forward. His vision cleared, and he was looking deep into blue eyes that glowed with malice. He’d seen that look once before, when the original alien had been burning up on Glory Main.

  “Took them long enough to make a move, didn’t it?” the Amelia-thing shouted, the voice booming with fury and triumph. “So many of you greedy, grubby humans trying to get hold of one of my people, and look how long I had to wait here.

  “I was really hoping to meet your Reena, and all those other half-bright egomaniacs you let run your lives. But getting kidnapped works just as well.”

  Mortas raised a feeble hand, the muscles refusing to curl into a fist, but he swung anyway. The alien didn’t even dodge the slap, instead twisting him around so that he was looking at the colony. It hugged him tight, forcing him to watch as three black dots appeared in the sky. “Who do you think they are, Jan? Zone Quest? The Tratians? Doesn’t matter. They’ll show me what my people need to know.”

  Varick was racing toward them, still hundreds of yards away, shouting something, but the words were completely drowned out by the noise of straining machines. The three dots resolved into drone gunships, hurtling downward, but they were still too far away to be making all that racket. A sash-covered mob appeared far behind Varick, also running. At their head was a figure in white.

  “No. No. No!” He grunted, and then shrieked, his body finally responding as he clawed at the iron bands wrapped around him.

  “Look at it! Look at it, Jan!” the thing hissed in his ear. “We can always count on human brutality. I’m thinking they need a diversion for the Ajax, so they can grab me and then get away.”

  He drove his right elbow back, punching it hard into the alien’s solar plexus. Blue flashes shot across his eyes just before the pain lanced through him. It was like hitting a boulder, but forgotten as the drones came into range and he saw the gusts from the first rockets. Mortas kicked back madly, feeling like he’d fractured h
is right heel when it connected.

  “Oh, stop it. You saw me get impaled at the spacedrome, and it didn’t hurt me at all. Look! Watch!”

  The first rocket struck the back of the crowd, exploding in fire and smoke and dirt and flying bodies. Mortas was thrashing and shouting, but the thing clasped him to it as the next missile slammed into the settlement. One of the domes seemed to expand, and then collapsed in upon itself before disappearing in an ugly brown cloud. The third rocket landed just in front of the fleeing colonists, the concussion throwing the front rank back into the others before raising a wall of dust.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave you now, Jan. My kidnappers are here.” His feet were no longer on the ground, and he swung in the air like a rag doll when the thing made him look in the opposite direction. A row of bubbles seemed to be rushing toward them, just above the ground, and then he realized they were military-grade scooters. Fast, light, perfect for screening missions and prisoner snatches. The alien whipped his body around again, raising him up at arm’s length so that he was staring down at the hate-filled face.

  “It’s the Step,” he snarled. “That’s what you wanted.”

  “Congratulations, Jan! You did figure it out! You thwarted us by accident last time, hiding that you were Olech Mortas’s son, but now you know the truth. And that you lost anyway.”

  Jander bent his right knee, his hand scrabbling at his pant leg, trying to get at the knife. More explosions boomed behind him, and the hum of the scooters rose.

  “That’s why I asked for you personally.” It pulled him closer, almost nose-to-nose. “Even if the talks succeeded, even if you decided to trust me again, understand this. You were never getting off this planet alive.”

  His hand found the handle of the dagger, but the safety strap fought him. His left hand reached for the Amelia-thing’s face, trying to distract it.

  “Do you know why? Because you got my predecessor killed.”

  The safety strap let go with a pop just as the alien raised him fully over its head. One hand on his shirtfront and the other on his belt, it twisted its torso and hurled him like a javelin. Impossibly high, impossibly fast.