Robert Frezza - [Colonial War 01]

by A Small Colonial War (epub)

  There was no evidence, nothing to put a pin to. There was still the feeling that instead of chopping the heart out of the Bond, his covert war had only served to clear away brush so that something unhallowed could blossom.

  " Raul, we’ve done two hundred interrogations, ” he said aloud to give himself time.

  “Alitur vitium vivitque tegendo. Seriously, Rhett, for the last few weeks, when I listen to you I tell myself it’s just Lying Louis muddling the waters, but it doesn’t feel right.”

  “Vice is nurtured by secrecy. Virgilius, I think. And you’re correct, it doesn’t feel right.” Rettaglia pushed aside the board. “Raul, come back on Friday?”

  “What?”

  “Call it a whim. I want you back to talk with after I get a feel for this delegation. ”

  “You’re getting almost as strange as Hans. Friday, then.” He clapped Rettaglia on the shoulder and made his way out, leaving Rettaglia nestled amidst the tatamis and the empty glasses, lost in meditation.

  Thursday(12)

  “BUT CONSIDER,” COLDEWE SAID, OBVIOUSLY ENJOYING HIS role as advocate of the devil, “a handful of flak launchers—”

  “Aren’t worth spit if the pilot’s good. As for guns, you show me the gunner who can hit without radar. You turn the radar on”—Beregov made a chopping motion with his left hand. "But you string satellite strong points all over, you got to keep paths open between them. ”

  Coldewe held court in the estaminet of the Fortunate Rabbit, as he had renamed the mess, and Beregov made a good foil. Beregov was fitting well into his role as platoon sergeant of No. 9, vice Bardiyev.

  A company cannot occupy enough ground for a secure airhead. The choice between evils was to pack the platoons in tightly as Sanmartin had done, or to scatter them so that they could only support each other by fire. The point was never resolved as Bruwer diverted Coldewe’s attention.

  “I’ll be back,” Beregov said, relinquishing his seat quickly.

  Coldewe nodded and turned. “Hello Hanna, where is Raul hiding?”

  “He will come. I asked Isaac, and he said he would. Is this bean curd? I can never tell,” Bruwer replied in an offhand fashion.

  “In one of its many permutations,” Coldewe replied, looking at her intently. Most people stopped growing mentally at twenty years standard, and the rest stopped growing emotionally at twelve years standard, but the Ice Maiden had surely given them a few surprises.

  Actually, he grumbled silently to himself, so had Raul, which left the question of Hans Coldewe.

  “Why do you ask? Is everything all right?” she questioned.

  Coldewe altered his face slightly. “Mere envy, I suppose. Your fine friend is bouncing about with springs in his legs. There’s something the cowboys call a supplejack which is a real and alive seed fern, whatever that might be.”

  “Yes, he mentioned it to me. He was very excited.”

  Coldewe made an untranslatable noise in his throat. “This planet isn’t alien enough.”

  “Yes, you also have noticed the convergent evolution.”

  Coldewe gave her a mystified look.

  “The convergent evolution,” she repeated. She absorbed his blank expression. “It is when creatures of different heritages develop in similar ways to meet environmental challenges. Deep infaunal bivalves on Earth, Mactridae, Solecurtidae, and Solen-idae, all show the same progression of characteristics from rounded, ribbed shallow burrowers to sleek, knifelike deep burrowers with a pronounced gap between the two shells. And world continent felids developed the same saber-teeth displayed by the South American marsupial borhyaenids ...”

  Coldewe found himself lost in the technical discussion that followed as she trotted out further examples, but he did gather that while Equidae—horses—had developed toward placing all their weight on a single toe, South American Proterotheriidae— one family oflitoptems, whatever litoptems were—had done the same and progressed even farther before dying out.

  “While natural development always proceeds within the limitations imposed by ancestral structure, it is remarkable how living things on this world have developed so similarly, however incompletely, to those on Earth,” Bruwer concluded.

  “Is that unadulterated Raul?” Coldewe asked.

  “We have libraries,” she responded coldly.

  “Hanna, repeat what you said, about the litopterns or whatever they are.”

  “Please?”

  “It’s a mnemonic trick. I keep forgetting that you’re smarter than I am.”

  Sanmartin spared him further embarrassment by making an appearance holding a stiff envelope of paper. “Oh, there you are.”

  “What about me?” Coldewe queried.

  “Morning, Hans.”

  “What news? Good or bad.”

  “Both in measure. Ssu the censor has finished sparring with Dagbreek. He told the admiral to either let him shut it down or send him home, and the admiral agreed. The new ownership put out their first issue this morning.” He pulled a copy out of one of his side pockets. “They sold out twice.”

  “You would have thought the former ownership would have muted the toxin they were peddling after Ssu had Die Afrikaner clean off fourteen staffers,” Coldewe observed.

  “What did they say?” Bruwer asked.

  “You tell me. I can’t read it. All I know is that it’s the first good press Albert’s gotten since the ‘responsible citizens’ took a hand,” Sanmartin, replied handing it to her.

  “The lead editorial is by Prinsloo Adriaan Smith. I know of him slightly,” she said, scanning the thin sheets. “It is entitled, ‘Yes or No, Johannesburg?’ There is a very nice paragraph describing how Heer Beyers helped us when the children were rescued.” She gave Sanmartin a sharp look which he evaded. “I suppose the Brothers are annoyed?” Coldewe said.

  “Half the brothers are hopping up and down on one foot, and Gamliel has a stone in his belly.”

  Coldewe digressed. “Why only half?”

  “Some of the Brothers are quietly supporting Heer Beyers, although to the people, it is Heer Beyers against the Bond,” Bruwer injected unequivocally.

  “We need it. A couple of responsible citizens laid an action in the landrost’s court claiming Beyers was improperly admitted to office, and Andrassy is giving Albert fits.”

  “It’s a shame the admiral needed a crumb to toss Thge in exchange for the metal taxes,” Coldewe commented. “The cowboys wanted him gone, and Tuge probably didn’t think the Boers deserved any better. But even if Andrassy is silly enough to throw sand in Beyers’s teeth, the admiral will stomp the thing flat. The admiral will, won’t he?”

  “I wish I knew. If Andrassy decides against him and Beyers has to step down pending action by the admiral, 1ige can step in and persuade the admiral that he’s damaged goods.”

  “But what’s the point?” Coldewe continued, monopolizing the conversation. “Albert’s a cracking good mayor, and he’s not even making money at it.”

  “Too many persons have reasons not to have an honest mayor,” Bruwer said.

  “Rhett didn’t say much, but he seemed willing to bet that

  Gamliel was somewhere in back of this. Our reach with the admiral is very, very short.”

  Coldewe gave vent to a thoroughly German exclamation of distain. “Dear Lying Louis, he is useless on top of the ground; he ought to be under it, inspiring the cabbages.”

  Bruwer eyed Coldewe speculatively. “Is Hans bored?”

  “Your jumping frog man,” Sanmartin said with marked distaste.

  “Please?” Bruwer inteijected.

  “Mark TWain,” Coldewe said firmly.

  She shook her head.

  “Samuel Langhorne Clemens? Tom Sawyer? Huckleberry Finn? ‘The Man that Corrupted Hadleysburg’ and The Gilded Age?”

  She shook her head.

  “Is anyone in here aware of Mark Twain?!” he shouted aloud.

  From long experience, No. 10 platoon ignored him. Sanmartin examined the walls, and
Kasha purposefully turned her back.

  “Am I in Lehi or the temple?” Coldewe demanded of his audience.

  " Please? ’ ’ Bruwer questioned.

  "Judges 15 or Judges 16. If I’m in the temple, you’re Delilah, I need a haircut, and I go for the middle columns, one in each hand. If this is Lehi, the ropes about my arms have become as flax, and Raul there is about to lose his jawbone in a valiant endeavor.”

  “Samson, now. All this furor over a jumping frog,” Sanmartin observed sagely.

  Bruwer finally gave in. She collapsed into little giggles over the table. She paused to look at Hans, and broke down again.

  “I am refreshed and my spirit has revived,” Coldewe observed.

  Bruwer wrapped her arms over her head.

  “Hans, don’t you hear a phone ringing?” Sanmartin asked, opening the envelope. “I have this from Albert, by the way. The Johannesburg chamber music society is having a recital, and he sent over two entrance cards. He insisted that you come, Hanna.”

  She looked up at him sharply. “And you?”

  Sanmartin’s smile vanished entirely. He shook his head impatiently. “I can’t. Pretoria, then a night exercise.”

  She stood up and quietly walked away.

  “I wonder what I did now,” he muttered.

  Coldewe didn’t answer. Instead he asked, "Who did you leave in charge?”

  “I let Edmund have a crack. You know, between the two of us, we ought to be able to make him an admiral some day.” “You know, Rudi says the same about you.”

  “Even Rudi makes mistakes.” Sanmartin settled into the chair and looked down at the table. “Hans, why did you leave Earth, anyway? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”

  “Writers want to make statements about the universe in general and mankind in capital letters. Well, the universe is big and doesn’t much care, and mankind in capital letters didn’t leave an address. Literature these degenerate days is half smut, half academics chasing each other’s tails, and the smut is better written. I didn’t want people to come after me and say, ‘Poor, little rat, he fell into a crack between the leaves and the good, clean earth.’ ”

  Sanmartin put his elbows up and rested his chin. “Hans, have you ever thought you’d like to wipe the slate clean on a world. Just erase it and let it start fresh?”

  “Surely. Why do you think I ended up here with you and the rest of God’s forsaken? ’ ’

  “No, I mean really wipe a world clean and let it grow.” “You, my friend, have been out with the slugs' and bugs too long.”

  “Maybe I have, Hans. Maybe I have. What would all your bright, literary friends say about this?” Sanmartin extended his hand in panoramic sweep.

  “I think the interdepartmental knife-fights would titillate them. They don’t have much to say about slugs and bugs, but our profession they adore. War is futility, occasionally garnished with abject stupidity, or didn’t you know?”

  “That’s what people always want to remember, especially the ones who never want to fight in one. The Charge of the Light Brigade.”

  “Scarlett’s Heavy Brigade had their poem twenty years late and poorly written. Who remembers them?” Coldewe toyed with his breakfast kasha. “They see us as automatons to their Napoleon or Caesar. They can’t see themselves working the business end of a spear.”

  Beregov came up. “Scarlett’s men were competent. People don’t like to remember that. It frightens them. It’s something they can’t control,” he added unexpectedly, holding out an extra cup to Sanmartin.

  “Just so,” Sanmartin responded slowly, staring at the tea in it.

  “Berry, what do you think a good book should be like?” Coldewe asked him.

  Beregov thought for a moment. "Keep it simple, ’ ’ he decided finally. “The good guys win, the bad guys get stepped, and the girl gets the hero.”

  “Be nice if life were like that, wouldn’t it?” Sanmartin responded.

  STRIJDOM SPOKE RAPIDLY AND FORCEFULLY AT CELL MEETINGS. “We must be be as ruthless as the Imperials. We must destroy them before their preparations to destroy us are complete. We must destroy the uitlanders, these cowboys who collaborate with the Imperials in our subjugation. We must strike them and heavily, with the hand of God. And so, I say to you, we shall strike and must strike if the Volk is to survive!”

  He was conscious both of his standing in the Order and support from his listeners. On this occasion, that support seemed lukewarm. Van Eeden rose to his feet and was recognized. “But what if the initial attack fails?”

  “The forces of the Volk will be mobilized behind us. So long as traitors are not permitted to strike down the armed might of the Volk from behind we shall not fail!” Strijdom said.

  Van Eeden shuffled his feet nervously, clearly unprepared to take such a momentous statement on mere faith, however strong. He was the delegate of the Johannesburg cell. Of all the men present he was the weakest link. Strijdom resolved to watch him closely.

  “The Volk must be purified. A farm that supplies food to the Imperials will be burned. A home that houses a traitor to the Volk will be burned, and traitors who collaborate with the invaders will be slain out of hand. The last days are at hand, and the elect must cast aside the weak in order to triumph.” Although every man present expected the pronouncement and most welcomed it, there was still a slight buzzing in the room. The chairman, Koos Gideon Scheepers, motioned for silence and gestured once more to Strijdom.

  Van Eeden raised his voice. “But if we scorch the earth beneath them, the people of the cities will be the first to starve. ” “Then let those sinful folk who will not join our cause perish! I expected more faith, more resolve of you, Aaron,” Strijdom said, and Van Eeden subsided. Still, taking his cue from Schee-pers, Strijdom softened his voice and became more beguiling than masterful.

  “Nevertheless, it is in our power to emerge victorious after a brief struggle, for our initial attack will be overwhelming. While the enemy is stronger, his might is concentrated away from the heartland of the Volk, and we are stronger still in the eye of the Lord. ” He placed one finger on Kimura’s headquarters at Reading.

  “God’s wrath will descend upon this nest of vipers.” He moved his hand to cover the spaceport. “And here as well, for we shall lure the forces of the ungodly to destruction and cast down the seat of their power. God’s mighty hand will sweep the ships of the invader from our skies, and we shall triumphantly free the cities of the Volk from our oppressors.”

  And although not four even of the Elect of the Order knew the details of the plan that Strijdom had outlined, they applauded. Ten minutes later, Strijdom wrapped himself in his coat to attend another meeting, that of the Executive of the Bond, wrapped in the guise of a loyal member of the Bond with his power and glory subdued.

  Friday(12)

  RETTAGLIA PACED WHEN HE WAS ANNOYED. APPRAISING THE

  damage, Sanmartin decided they’d have to replace the floor if negotiations continued for another week.

  “It’s been four days now, Raul. We talk. They jabber. We divide up into committees to work on the text. I polish commas. Ask me how you divide three delegates armed with an ultimatum into committees?” Rettaglia asked rhetorically as he reached the far end of the room and prepared to reverse himself for another pass.

  “How do you divide three delegates armed with an ultimatum into committees?” Sanmartin asked.

  “The thing that bothers me is that they don’t seem to be trying. I expected to have three drafts of puerile nonsense for the admiral to slap down by now. For puerile nonsense I have to rely on Irie and Gamiiel. The Boers are negotiating as if it doesn’t matter what goes down on parchment.”

  “Is this really negotiation? Rudi asked me that. Negotiation is dialog between equals, and if they’re equal, this is the first he’s heard of it.”

  Rettaglia stared him down. “Even the Boers know that this is the admiral telling the Bond what he expects in return for not transporting the lot of them. Still,
I wish the admiral would take this seriously. This is a smoke screen for something, but for the life of me I can’t decide what.”

  The Boers were innocent of the complicated charade of protocol that normally necessitated a week’s haggling over the size of the room and the number of chairs. In every other respect, there was stench in Rettaglia’s nostrils.

  In breaking the delegations up into negotiating teams, Rettaglia had been cleverly maneuvered away from the center of things and kept there. He and de Roux had been shunted aside with a fanatic named Olivier for a keeper. That much had obviously been arranged with Lying Louis. It was difficult to maintain the illusion he and de Roux were strangers, so well did they know each other through Shimazu and so complete was their mutual bafflement.

  Rear-Admiral Me had disappeared halfway through, driving off with his aides and bodyguards in a vehicle with springs sagging. Irie was already back up in GrafSpee with unmanifested cargo, a box three-tenths of a meter in size massing 580 kilograms according to the astonished sergeant who had weighed it for the pilot.

  Irie had obviously been tendered a bribe, likely in gold. Yet Irie counted for little and was likely to make the slow trip back to Earth in ballast on a freighter when Admiral Lee tired of his presence. It had to be obvious to the Boers that Irie’s ability to persuade Admiral Lee to undertake a course of action was sadly limited.

  It might be Admiral Lee was meant to have an accident, but if the Bond had even discussed the possibility, de Roux would have mentioned it with hypocritical horror. Even if Admiral Lee fell down a hole, Irie would be in a position to disavow any promises made, however deep his degradation.

  “You don’t like the idea of Lying Louis being given his head,” Sanmartin said.