Soldiers

by John Dalmas

  She laughed. "It was. Although I confess to being mystified by lunch. I'm unfamiliar with African cuisines."

  He took her bag; emergency items in case of delay. She expected to be on her way back to Kunming before evening. Away from the gate area, they followed the flow toward the rotunda. "I was impressed by the flight," she said. "I'd never seen Central Africa before. Even from five thousand feet, your rainforest looks impressive. I grew up in Brazil you know."

  "Seen from within the forest, it is even more remarkable. An invertebrate zoologist like yourself would find your interest quite stimulated, as mine was by your call-more by what you didn't say than by what you did."

  Her eyes met his, and she laughed. "Perhaps we can discuss it in your car. Depending on your driver."

  "You can trust his prudence absolutely. I drive myself."

  Actually, she'd assumed that. Universities which originated as agricultural colleges were seldom pretentious, even after centuries of distinction. From the rotunda, they took a trackway to the four-story parking tower, then a lift tube to the third level, and walked to the coupe floater he'd driven, with the Bangui University logo on its door. Libengi held her door for her, a provincialism she found attractive. Then he stepped around to the other side, got in, and let the cybervalet move them to the floater exit, from which Libengi gently launched the vehicle into the midday air.

  "So," he said, "what possible interest can Kunming have in a geneticist specializing in Central African species of Apoidea?"

  She detected neither diffidence nor false modesty in the question. He simply wanted to know. "Because that is precisely what we need," she said, "a geneticist specializing in Central African species of Apoidea." She laughed without humor. "Particularly one who knows more about the genome of Apis mellifera scutella than anyone else. Which narrows it down to you."

  ***

  Four hours later, Issa Libengi returned his guest to the aerospaceport. By then he knew Kunming's proposal in detail. The confidentiality was not from any fear that the enemy might have spies on Terra. Rather, it was to avoid stirring up the Peace Front, which would be upset by it.

  Like a swarm of Apis mellifera var. scutella stirred with a stick, Libengi told himself, savoring the metaphor. The project was abundantly challenging, which was why he was so pleased with it. And the potential professional and public recognition were pleasant to contemplate. Even allowing for the multi-project nature of the program, its success could eventually mean prestige, salary increases, grants… And meanwhile, ah the challenges! Dr. Coonoor was well aware of them; her professional bona fides were substantial. "Take it as far as you can," she'd answered. "Interaction among projects should help."

  What she hadn't said, and in fact didn't know, was that this was a contingency backup project. The equally vital other half of the program was quite uncertain.

  Chapter 22

  Close Encounter

  The debris zone outside Henry Morgan's bolt hole changed from one trip to the next, and the change had become conspicuous. Shoots had sprouted from the base of many broken tree stubs, and were growing vigorously. Some were already more than ten feet tall: the place was beginning to heal. Wait till the real rains arrive, Morgan thought. I'll need a machete.

  Actually he was carrying one on this trip, but not for clearing trail.

  He'd been coming topside every week, spending a day hiking out and another back, and from one to three days spying. Among other things, he'd seen and reported several-foals? cubs? Small playful Wyzhnyny juveniles, accompanying and occasionally nursing on adults at work in the clearing.

  The previous time up, it had occurred to him that the stream flowing through the clearing was much too small to provide water for the invaders on the site. So he'd hiked to the bluff northwest of the clearing, and out onto a point he knew. From there his binoculars verified his suspicion: the invaders had installed what had to be a desalinization plant above the beach. Not large, but presumably adequate, no doubt powered by a geogravitic power converter.

  May it be visited by a tsunami, he thought.

  But it seemed to him his observations were trivial, except for the hornets. From that had grown two specific hopes: that it would (1) contribute a weapon, and (2) result in rescue. Robert and Connie would surely not be charged with piracy, while he himself… It seemed to him a pardon might be in order.

  Terra had been in no hurry to reply to his offer. Then, at his last contact, had come the hoped-for word: "Captain Morgan, we agree on the potential of your proposal. Please capture a number of the hornets of which you spoke. Capture some from several separate nests, and if there is more than one species, some of each. Store them alive in stasis, if any of your stasis equipment has survived. Otherwise frozen, or failing that, dried thoroughly at low heat."

  Not for breeding then, he thought. With disappointment but also relief. He had no idea how to recognize breeding pairs, if there were such things.

  There'd been more to the instructions than that, and questions as well, but the best part they'd saved till last. "Last week we sent a long-range courier to pick you up, along with your brother and his attendant. And of course the hornets. We'll be in touch with the craft from time to time. At some point it will get in touch with you, via your savant, to discuss how and where to meet you. They cannot arrive for forty-nine Standard weeks. We wish, perhaps more than you, that it could be sooner."

  Morgan seriously doubted the "more than you" part.

  That had been three days past. On the first of them he'd returned to the hangar, where various useful material remained, along with tools. Using fiberglass mesh and aluminum, he built a hornet trap he thought would work. The next day he made three of them, modified to serve as cages for transportation, as well.

  His limited experience with hornets had been in or near glades-small forest openings created when a large tree had fallen. A base keeper, Pat Kajimoto, had once said they came out of holes in the ground. With the increased light, the undergrowth thickened, and apparently the hornets preferred to dig their nests in the thickets. In a few months the debris zone might serve, but so far he hadn't seen any hornets there. Probably the shock of heavy blaster pulses had destroyed any preexisting nests.

  So he headed for the clearing. Its south side was near the old resort, and hadn't been extended much. The plateau shelved off there, forming forested slump benches before dropping to sea level. Wisely the invaders hadn't built there. The forest fringe and the slump benches were thick with undergrowth.

  Hopefully he wouldn't need to go that far. If he kept his eyes open, it seemed to him he'd encounter hornets along the way, and discover where they emerged from the ground. Then he'd hang around till they holed up for the night, swamp any vegetation out of the way with his machete, set the trap over the entrance/exit, and see how things looked in the morning. And if that strategy failed, there was no hurry. He had most of a year to develop a good capture system.

  He hoped, though, that it wouldn't involve getting stung a lot. Tagus hornets packed a wallop.

  It was afternoon before he even saw one. Then it was gone, to where, Morgan didn't know. He began to circle, spiraling outward, hoping to find the nest, checking a few thickets as he went. But found no more hornets.

  Dusk was just beginning when he arrived at the foot of the knob. After hanging his net hammock between two slender, light-starved trees, he once more took his scope from beneath its log and lugged it up the knob. There was still enough light to scan the clearing by. The invaders' crop of whatever it was looked about three feet high, and was fenced. He recognized the fence generators.

  The breeze was pleasant on the knob's exposed top. He took time to sit down and eat his supper-an airtight container of fruit-sweetened tapioca in rich cream, accompanied by hardtack with peanut butter. Connie had shuddered at the combination, but Morgan liked it, and it was quick, simple, and nourishing.

  As he ate, he wondered if panthers had discovered the fence. The "panthers" of Tagus were black
, lightly dappled with tan-yellow. They were also smart and wary, and had learned quickly that humans, with their beamguns, should be avoided. It was as if they shared knowledge with one another over a distance. But there was always the risk that some hungry yearling, driven from its mother's range, might make bold. It occurred to Morgan that in none of his spy missions had he heard a panther's moaning, far-carrying cry, and he wondered if the aliens hunted them. There was a lot of jungle. They could easily have hunters out patrolling without his knowing it. He hoped not.

  He stayed on the knob till the stars were out, then moved the scope into the open and aimed it at the sky. In its narrow field of view, the stars stared coldly, unseeingly back at him. Coldly, he thought. A strange word to apply to stars. Coldly in the sense of no emotions. He wondered what emotions the invaders felt, looking at the sky, and what star or stars they'd come from. It didn't occur to him they might have come from another galaxy.

  He covered the tube of his scope, shouldered it, and picked his way down the knob. Beneath the forest's dense roof, the darkness was utter, impenetrable. Shielded by jungle and the knob, he used his belt torch to find his hammock. Once in it, he activated the repellent on his belt. Its power output was low enough, it seemed highly unlikely to be noticed.

  In scant minutes he slept.

  He awoke to the dawn chorus of jungle birds and lemur-like "monkeys." Breakfast was like supper, except for an apple preserved "like fresh." After eating, he climbed the knob again for a brief scan of the clearing-with binoculars; they were enough for the purpose. There was little activity; too early, he supposed. Climbing back down, he shouldered his pack frame with its load of collapsible hornet traps, and set off, circling southwestward through the forest to approach the clearing's south edge.

  When he was near enough to detect it, he slowed. The south edge had not been cut back at all, and was only about a quarter mile from the invaders' main building. This was by far his nearest approach. Carefully he slipped forward to the thick undergrowth of the fringe, where he lay down and slowly crawled, making no sudden move.

  He'd almost reached the edge when he made out movement ahead: two aliens together, less than a hundred yards out in the clearing. Seen through the screening foliage, they seemed almost stationary. Briefly he heard a small tapping sound, then the two moved a short distance. He backed away till he couldn't see them at all, then angled toward a large tree at the very verge. Reaching the tree, he rose slowly upright, keeping the trunk between himself and the invaders.

  Carefully he peered around it till he could see them again. They had something on a tripod. One of them was peering through it toward the forest-right toward him!-and he realized what they must be doing: laying out some engineering project.

  He didn't notice their sidearms till one of the invaders, the one at the instrument, drew his, raising its muzzle toward him. Withdrawing his head, Morgan turned and fled into the jungle. There was no shot. How good a look had they gotten? Hardly enough to know what they'd seen, seventy or eighty yards away.

  He slowed to a strong striding walk, not routing himself by the knob, glad his spying trips had gotten him into good physical shape. He'd stay away from the clearing for a while-or for good; find hornets closer to home. It had been foolish to approach so near the clearing. Perhaps he'd stay underground for a few weeks.

  It was late afternoon when he reached the debris zone and headed for his bolt hole. When he stepped into its narrow irregular opening, the last thing he did was turn and look back. To see a floater hovering above the edge of green forest! They'd followed him! His heart nearly stopped, and slowly he backed into the tunnel, out of the light. There he activated the alarm, then the booby trap, then closed the door and ran down the long tunnel, activating the other booby traps as he came to them. They wouldn't bring the tunnel down, but they'd slow intruders and reduce their numbers.

  The survey instrument, he realized now, had been telescopic, and the instrument man had realized what he'd seen. He'd radioed his headquarters, and a scout, no doubt on standby, had been sent up. Knowing his approximate location, it had gotten an infrared fix on him through the forest roof. They could have sent a gunship then, blasted the jungle where he was and almost surely killed him. But they'd wanted to know where he'd go. Now they knew.

  Stupid! he thought as he ran. You stupid, self-destructive sonofabitch!

  In little more than a minute he reached the steel door to the living area, unlocked and spun the wheel, then entered and locked it behind him. For a moment he leaned on it. Connie had heard him, and stepped into the entryway. She started to speak, perhaps to ask him how it had gone, then saw his face and stopped, eyes widening, one hand moving to her mouth.

  "What?" she whispered.

  He didn't answer at once, just shook his head. Setting his harness and pack aside, he got his pistol from a drawer and put it in his waistband. Connie followed, watching, seeming not to breathe.

  "I was seen at the forest edge," he said quietly, "and slipped back into the jungle. I didn't think they knew what they'd seen." He put a hand on her arm. "When I got to the entrance, I turned and looked back. And saw it-a military floater hovering above the jungle's edge. They'd followed me." He stepped past her, speaking more softly now. "They'll have called for a troop carrier."

  "What will we do?"

  "Let them know on Terra."

  She stared up at him; she was barely five feet tall.

  "We don't have much time," he said. "Get Robert ready."

  She nodded soberly, and followed him into what served now as the family room. Robert was at the computer, browsing star charts, unaware that anyone had entered. "Robert," she said, "it's time for you to go to work."

  Her voice was wooden, but Robert's response was deeply conditioned. Already in trance, he got up, walked to the divan and lay down, folding his hands on his chest while Connie moved a chair beside him and sat. After the connections were made, Morgan began to dictate.

  He'd just finished when the alarm buzzed. His final words to Terra were, "They're here." Then he stepped to the alarm and turned it off. The first booby trap was small and distant; he neither heard nor felt the explosion. "I'm done now, Connie," he said. "Waken him."

  He waited while she and Robert went through the brief withdrawal ritual. Robert sat up, saw his older brother, and grinned. "Hi, Henry," he chirped. "Did you bring me any flowers?"

  "No, no I didn't. But I brought you a new story." A scenario was forming in his mind even as he spoke, rooted in an ancient movie, one that had touched him deeply. Initially, in pretechnological times, it had been shot on film, and since then copied and recopied in other media.

  "Sit on your computer chair," he said, "and turn off the computer." He watched Robert comply. "Now look at the screen. Keep your eyes on it, and imagine you're seeing what I tell you. Seeing it like a movie."

  His order sent his brother into a near-hypnotic revery. "Do you remember where we lived in Colorado? After father died?"

  Robert nodded. "Yes," he said.

  "Remember the garden behind the house. With all the flowers, and the lilac bushes. Do you see it?"

  He'd made it all up years before, part of an imaginary past to help bury the ugly reality. Robert's head bobbed eagerly. "I see it."

  Morgan heard or felt a booby trap explode, a small, dull, distant thump. Whether the second, or the last, or one in between, he wasn't sure.

  "All right. Now see mother there. Do you see her?"

  "Uh huh."

  "Tell me what she's wearing."

  The savant didn't hesitate. As Morgan drew his pistol from his belt, Robert answered. "She's wearing her white dress with the blue and yellow flowers." He chuckled. "And she's barefoot. She used to say it let her feet be friends with the grass."

  Connie choked back a sob.

  Morgan raised the pistol and put the muzzle almost against Robert's head. It wavered, and he gripped it with both hands to steady it. "All right," he continued, "now you and Connie and
I are going there to see her. We'll be there in just a second."

  He pulled the trigger, the explosion loud in the small room. Connie screamed and lowered her head, covering it with her hands as if knowing. He'd saved Robert once before by killing their father. Now he'd saved him again. Small tight sobs, like little chuckles, burned his throat, and his free hand wiped away tears. A much more powerful explosion roared from the other side of the steel door, knocking things from shelves. Morgan held the muzzle close to Connie's head and pulled the trigger again.

  Tears blinded him. Then he heard alien voices; the safety door had been dislodged. A blaster pulse struck the family room door, sending a spray of Tuffboard fragments across the room. Morgan put the muzzle in his mouth and pulled the trigger a final time.

  Chapter 23

  Interrogation

  Qonits' ranking bodyguard rapped sharply on the door, but not with the butt of his blaster, as he had at first.

  Even that had been an improvement. In an early session, a half-hour charade with the chief scholar, David and Yukiko had managed to communicate that they didn't want guards, or even Qonits himself, walking in on them without permission. That it showed lack of respect, and they would not cooperate without respect.

  Not that privacy was the point. Video cameras monitored them endlessly. The point they hoped to make was that they had rights. Of course if their captors disagreed, pain was always available to inspire cooperation. Neither David nor Yukiko imagined they could withstand serious torture. But the Wyzhnyny didn't know that, and might prefer not to risk their deaths, or possibly inspire unbreakable resistance.

  When Qonits had left that time, they hadn't known whether he'd understood. But beginning the next day, the guard who'd brought their meals had knocked. And so had Qonits' bodyguard, all without apparent resentment.

  "Who is it?" David called.

  "It is Qonits."

  As far as it went, Qonits' Terran was quite understandable. On the other hand, the Wyzhnynyc the humans had learned was negligible. For a while the exchanges had been fairly even, but apparently the Wyzhnyny had changed their minds and decided not to teach them. At any rate the humans had no artificial intelligence to run endless cross-references, refining and expanding on meanings and nuances.