Soldiers

by John Dalmas

  Perhaps I can imagine, Soong thought. Surely to some degree. He took a tiny three-cornered sandwich and tasted it. Goose liver paste, he decided, its seasonings close to perfect. No doubt the makings came from the command officers' mess. "Was that why you wanted me to come into the kitchen?" he asked. "To give me that insight into Charley?"

  She shook her head. "No," she said. "You need to know something he has done. He mentioned it just yesterday. You may not approve."

  He frowned. "Yes?"

  "He hasn't been listening to music as much as I'd thought. Playing it, yes, but quietly, as background. He'd… broken into the battlecomp system; he said it wasn't difficult. For weeks he's listened to your battle exercises. He told me it was the most interesting thing he'd ever done; much more interesting than battle dramas." She shrugged. "He's always liked battle dramas and histories, and war games when I smuggled them to him at the Institute. Patients were not supposed to have them, nor staff as far as that's concerned."

  She paused, calmly accepting the admiral's eye contact.

  Soong nodded slowly. "I see. Thank you for being forthright."

  They returned to the living room, Charley's room, Soong carrying another sandwich and a glass of fruit punch. "Ophelia is quite skilled in the kitchen," he said, using the name Charley used for her.

  "I'm sure she is," Charley answered. "Before you leave, I'd like you to have a cube. Of the early, magazine version of `Flowers for Algernon,' translated from the original Anglic. It is the story of the original, fictional Charley Gordon. My dear Ophelia read it onto the cube for me. It is sad, but it is also beautiful. It is rich in love."

  When Soong left the small apartment, it was soberly. It was not surprising that in Charley Gordon's mind, love was associated with sadness. Meanwhile he needed to have the battlecomp checked for anything Charley might have done to it.

  ***

  That evening, a careful rundown by Lieutenant Commander Bedi Chen, the flagship's senior computer specialist, found nothing out of order in the battlecomp. Chen was curious as to why the admiral had asked for the check; the system monitored itself constantly, and at frequent, random intervals ran all-inclusive scans. But he didn't ask, and Soong volunteered nothing.

  The admiral was glad, in fact, that Charley had done what he'd done. What he needed to do now, he told himself, was find ways to (1) check his operating assumption, and (2) find a way to make use of it. While not allowing himself expectations. Hopes, yes, but not expectations.

  Before he went to bed that night, Soong read "Flowers for Algernon." It was sad, and it was beautiful. Normally the admiral was not fond of sad, but in this case he made an exception. Perhaps because it seemed to him that Male Infant Doe, aka Charley Gordon, himself showed considerable love. And in the physical universe-the world Alvaro Soong knew-there could never be too much love.

  Chapter 37

  On a Different Flagship

  Tension had worn on Grand Admiral Quanshuk, tension born of incongruities and enigmas-of a situation and life-form beyond comprehension.

  Only a very potent life-form, powerful, vigorous, and technologically advanced, could have spawned so many colonies so far. A life-form strong enough, confident enough, smart and ruthless enough to have overcome and destroyed its sapient rivals on its world of origin. And on any other attractive world it found.

  He didn't actually think the concept of ruthlessness. In the Wyzhnyny world view, ruthlessness toward rival life-forms required no conceptualization. It was an underlying truth.

  So far, his armada had penetrated only the outer zone of the human empire. That was obvious, despite the distance of that penetration. Somewhere ahead he would encounter the old, long-settled body of the Commonwealth, and there, if not sooner, meet resistance. The prisoners had admitted it.

  He'd considered coercing more information from them, but Qonits had recommended against it, reminding his admiral that the two humans were simply marine scientists. Obviously most humans were not fighters. Their warrior gender, called "soldiers," seemed missing from their colonies. And clearly their other genders were untrained-probably unsuited-for war.

  Quanshuk and Qonits had reviewed the situation repeatedly, particularly since the passage of time made it both clearer and more enigmatic. The landing forces had met essentially no resistance, and had already captured twenty-one planets. The human empire was truly vast. Humans must be bound together by unbreakable loyalty for such an empire to exist, a loyalty deep within the genes. The enormous volume of space involved, the time requirements even for hyperspace pod communication, the difficulty of effective policing-all made space empires impractical without such inborn loyalty.

  But loyalty extended in both directions, from the ruled upward to the rulers, and from the rulers downward to the ruled. Quanshuk believed that implicitly. It was logical, and it was true to the experience of his species.

  Over their long history, the Wyzhnyny had known and destroyed a half-dozen, space-faring species. Two of which had created large empires, though neither with a radius that approached the distance he'd already traveled in this one. And both had responded to invasion with a united ferocity that could only grow out of such loyalty.

  Yet the humans had not. Why had that loyalty not manifested? Or perhaps manifested so strangely?

  From the very first human world his armada had reached-clearly a picket world-three, perhaps four craft had escaped. And beyond doubt had homed inward to warn their empire. They would have come out of hyperspace a day or so inbound, and launched message pods to the nearer inhabited worlds. Which in turn would have spread the message: invasion!

  Pods were intrinsically faster, because they carried no life-forms. Nor did they need to detour and emerge, to examine systems for habitable planets. Nor cover an invasion flotilla when such a planet was found. So surely the human core worlds knew by now. Should have known months ago.

  Unless their empire was vast beyond imagination! The possibility gnawed on Quanshuk. What sort of empire had he invaded? With how many core worlds? How many fleets?

  Yet he'd encountered no enemy force at all. None! And clearly the humans had hyperdrive. Without it they could not have begun to colonize so far.

  This lack of resistance had to be a strategy. But what strategy? Was a vast human warfleet being gathered, while his armada was being sucked in as if by some enormous singularity?

  The thought squeezed his heart like a giant fist.

  And on the other warships, his officers had surely hatched and brooded those same fears.

  The responsibility was his though, and it was taking its toll. He was on medication now for arthritic hips and tarsal joints. The ship's chief physician had advised him to stay off his feet as much as possible, so he'd reduced his time on the bridge, and worked more from his stateroom. Which, after all, had full access to shipsmind, which meant to everything on board.

  A time or two he'd wondered if his anxiety was worsened by the presence of humans on board. He'd even thought of jettisoning them from an airlock, but his troubles and fears would not die with them. And as Qonits had pointed out, "We have learned much from the prisoners; to kill them would be to throw away a resource. Soon we will meet the humans in battle. It is unavoidable. Then further questions will occur to us, and without our captives, we would have no one to ask. They can make the difference between success and failure."

  And to that, Quanshuk reminded himself, I had no conclusive reply. Not then, not now. Shipsmind has found no substantial inconsistencies in what they have told us. I can only await what happens, and when the time comes, fight skillfully and very hard.

  ***

  Fortunately the admiral's mood was not always so dark. But never was it bright. It hadn't been since they'd somehow been cast across intergalactic space, into this galaxy so impossibly far from home. That such a thing could happen… His view of the universe, and his confidence in himself, his fleet, his science-his reality!-could never be the same.

  ***


  Qonits quickstepped down the corridor, his bodyguards close behind. The chief scholar shared Quanshuk's concerns, but not his responsibilities. And in temperament he was a scholar, not a master, driven by an urge to know, not to rule.

  Arriving at the prisoners' door, his senior guard knocked, and Qonits identified himself.

  "Come in," David answered. Qonits opened the door and entered, his guards stopping just inside.

  "My friends," said Qonits in Terran, "we will do something different today."

  David's eyebrows rose. "Different? In what way?" Both he and Yukiko had adjusted to the monotony, but Qonits' visibly good spirits suggested that the change would be pleasant. Or at least well intended.

  "I shall take you to see more of the flagship. You shall see the place of command and control, and the place where the, um, the ship's workings are accomplished."

  "Ah! The bridge and the engine room."

  Qonits peered carefully at the human male. "Perhaps. Where we go, I will show you things, and you will tell me their names."

  Yukiko spoke next. "Qonits, we would like very much to do those things, but we cannot leave Annika alone. You have seen how much better she is now than when we first arrived. If we leave her, I'm afraid she will relapse-get worse again. She might even die."

  Qonits' expression changed into one they had not seen before. A Wyzhnyny grin? "I have," he told them, "foreseen the problem." Turning, he spoke in Wyzhnyny toward the open door, and in from the corridor came another guard, pushing an AG seat large enough to accommodate Annika. "You will bring her with us," he said. "On this."

  Yukiko examined it, testing its stability, poking and pushing on the cushions, inspecting the seat belt, its adjustments, and the simple fastener. "Oh, Qonits!" she said. "A stroller! It's lovely! It should do beautifully!"

  It wasn't "lovely," of course. It was strictly utilitarian. But her appreciation was genuine, and Qonits felt it. He and David waited while Yukiko took Annika to the potty stool they'd had made for her, and waited while the girl relieved her bladder. Then David buckled the savant into the stroller, and the humans left with the chief scholar.

  They hadn't been outside the cell since they'd been put in it, nearly ten Terran months earlier. They'd eaten in it, slept in it, exercised and bathed-even on occasion made love in it. Told stories to each other and to Annika, to fill the time and amuse each other. By now they felt no discomfort at being nude among these people, these aliens who themselves wore no clothing.

  First they visited the bridge, and for the first time saw a Wyzhnyny master. Three of them, in fact-the grand admiral, the ship's master, and the watch officer, though the humans didn't know those identities. Like Qonits, all three were blue and red, but their crests were considerably larger and showier than any scholar's. They guessed Quanshuk's identity from his ornate harness. The bridge watch, to the best of their ability, pretended to ignore the visitation, but all managed a look. Almost none had seen the prisoners before, even on a monitor. Only Qonits and the prisoners spoke, and only to establish the Terran terms for the bridge's equipment and furnishings.

  Next the Terrans were shown the engine department. Both thought they recognized some of what they saw, and by asking questions, were able to provide names, probably correct. Shipsmind, meanwhile, heard and saw everything, including the uncertainties. It stored, dissected, parsed, assigned tentative evaluations based on known roots and contexts, and ran correlations. Iteration was a major tool.

  Next they visited a beamgun battery, then a torpedo battery, and finally the shield generator. Little guessing was needed.

  The last technical visit was brief-the stasis section, where the equipment was even more unmistakable. Their final stop was the officers' galley, where a grinning (surely that was a Wyzhnyny grin!) chief baker gave each of the visitors what the baker regarded as a treat. It was crunchy and dense-rather like something they often received at meals. But this was also sweet, its flavor reminding them of maple sugar. His eyes watched intently, expectantly, and he spoke to them in Wyzhnynyc.

  "He asks if you like it," Qonits interpreted.

  "Oh yes," Yukiko said. "Delicious," David added. Annika gnawed silently, without cerebral response. The baker spoke again, Qonits interpreting. "He says he will send some special food to you each day."

  Then they left the galley, and the chief scholar led them back to their cell.

  ***

  Afterward Qonits went to his own quarters. Shipsmind would already have analyzed, organized, and formatted the additions, but he was in no hurry to examine them. After mid-meal would be soon enough. Meanwhile he would close his eyes and nap briefly.

  He felt good about the tour. The prisoners had benefited from the change, and the ship's human vocabulary had expanded in an important area, filling a hole. It seemed to him there couldn't be many holes left. More and more they'd worked on the nuances that separated synonyms. Important work but less vital, for now at least.

  The human language seemed more complex than Wyzhnynyc, but less so than either of the two exotic languages previously deciphered. It was basically oral, and many of the nuances were verbal, as in Wyzhnynyc. But even more than Wyzhnynyc, the human language seemed to him to have many visual nuances, including postures, arm and hand movements, head movements, facial expressions, eye movements… Qonits wasn't sure how many of those signals were deliberate and how many subliminal.

  If the time comes when we must negotiate with their rulers, he thought, then the nuances will be critical.

  He hadn't voiced the thought of negotiation to Quanshuk. It would be dreadfully inappropriate; circumstances would have to do it. But with the translation program developing so nicely-surely the possibility had occurred to the admiral. We negotiate among ourselves, Qonits thought. Surely we can negotiate with others. Even if we never have before.

  ***

  On his closed command monitor, Quanshuk had watched the tour after it left the bridge, had seen Qonits say good-bye to the humans, and leave them in their prison. Shipsmind will have analyzed the whole thing by now, Quanshuk thought as he entered his quarters. As for the prisoners, none of it had surprised them-the bridge stations and their screens, the strange-space generator, the beamguns… which strongly suggested that human science and technology were much like his own. They'd hit the wall in much the same places.

  He didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

  ***

  The cube showed only the savant, Ramesh, lying in trance on his couch, with Burhan sitting attentively beside him, while words issued from the savant's lips in a variety of voices. As usual, the president and the prime minister viewed it in Peixoto's office, unedited except that the brief silences had been compressed. Now they viewed it again.

  When the cube had played out, the two men looked long at one another. It was the president who broke the silence. "The Tao has been good to us, allowing us to hear that. And today I learned more than Wyzhnyny technology. Those are people we must war against."

  Peixoto pursed his lips. "But it does not change the situation. Alive or dead, they must leave the Commonwealth. And even if they were Eve's children, they would hardly leave unforced. They have too much invested, too much at stake."

  "It seems so," Chang said. "But we agreed that if we could, we would negotiate. It was you who said it first. And the Tao is full of surprises."

  Peixoto's inner reaction was bleak. Full of surprises, yes, he told himself, but surprises fitting probability equations and natural laws. Some things simply do not happen.

  He kept the thought to himself though. There was no point in throwing negativity in anyone's face, certainly not his best friend's. And if an opportunity arose-if the Wyzhnyny were willing to negotiate-he would approach the task honestly.

  Chapter 38

  Ruckus in the Morgue

  Esau slogged forward, blaster in his hands and grenade bag over a shoulder. He hadn't slept for thirty hours-hadn't eaten for nearly twenty, except for an energy ba
r. His belly, he told himself, must think his throat had been cut. But his red-rimmed eyes moved constantly, from the forest half a mile ahead, to the farm woodlots that broke the croplands and pastures, to the Indi tanks moving ahead on their AG cushions. To both left and right stretched other 2nd Regiment companies.

  Not all of 2nd Regiment was in his line. The lead rank was 1st Battalion; 2nd and 3rd Battalions followed at thirty-yard intervals, while 4th Battalion sat in armored personnel carriers as a tactical reserve. Esau was glad he wasn't in an APC. They tended to draw heavy fire when they showed up. They weren't supposed to be committed before the tanks and "legs" had the enemy fully engaged, and even then, the enemy would give them serious attention.

  As a rule, Esau could immerse himself in these training maneuvers as if they were the real thing. As he was supposed to. He never glanced back at the umpires on their grav scooters, following the action. The sight of them, even the thought of them, weakened the illusion.

  No shots had been fired yet from the distant forest, nor from the building and woodlots nearer at hand. Which might mean no one was there, but that seemed unlikely. Surveillance buoys showed things like that. And if no one was there, 2nd Regiment would have crossed in APCs. Only if serious enemy fire was expected would they cross on foot like this.

  At that moment, firing broke out from forest, woodlots and steadings-crackling, hissing, thumping-and a voice spoke sharply in his right ear: "Bogies from the rear! Bogies from the rear!" Esau flattened himself as low as he could, then hazarded a glance back past his shoulder. A rank of killer craft swept across the field, slammers flickering. Esau felt a soft pulse strike about at his tailbone, and obediently rolled over, playing casualty. The umpires' instruments recorded all hits, along with the victims' identities, the virtual force, and points of impact.