Infernal Sky (22 page)

We'd faced the worst demons together. We'd sprayed death and destruction among the uglies from the deep beyond. But the gulf between us was deeper and darker and scarier than a steam demon's rear end.

This time we were rescued by Sarge—good old Flynn Taggart. He was back from his latest S&R session.

He was cheerful, at least. “If this keeps up, I'm trying out for a new career as translator to the stars. Captain Hidalgo will be with us in time for dinner. Sears and Roebuck have laid out the plan to me.”

“Shouldn't they have waited until dinnertime for our briefing?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not these guys, Albert. They figure what they say to one of us goes for all. I don't believe there are any ranks among the Klave.”

We waited for Arlene to say something. We'd gotten in the habit. I must have upset her more than I realized. She didn't contribute. So I asked, “Do you think the captain will want us to be good marines when he's restored to us?”

I didn't mean to sound sarcastic. I had nothing against the captain. Arlene could vouch for that . . . when she wasn't pissed with me. But Fly took it as sarcasm.

“His call, mister! The captain is in command.”

“Yes,” Arlene finally spoke up. “Hidalgo is responsible for accomplishing the mission. We must do our best to support him.”

Fly and she exchanged looks. There was a bond between them that nothing could ever weaken, including marriage.

“What did you learn from Sears and Roebuck?” she asked.

Fly told us.

We would accompany S&R on a little junket to the Fred base. The mission objective was some kind of super science weapon capable of initiating a resonant feedback that would wipe out all the computer systems of the bad guys.

Sounded good to me, but there was a hitch. The enemy base was twenty light-years away, and it had been hammered into all of us that
Star Trek
was wishful thinking. There were only slow boats to China.

The journey would take twenty years! Then it would take another twenty years for the feedback
virus to be transmitted to all the Fred computers. The virus could only be installed on the system at the base. I wished we had Jill with us.

I had earned passing grades in school. I'd made change when I worked a cash register for my first real job. I could add numbers.
Forty years!

“We'll spend the rest of our lives on this mission,” I blurted out.

“No,” said Fly cheerfully. “That's what I thought, too. It's not going to be that bad. We may not have FTL, but we do have access to ships that travel fast enough for our purposes. The trip will only be a few weeks of subjective time, even though it will count as forty Earth-years.”

“What will Jill look like by the time we get back?” wondered Arlene.

We took a moment to mull that one over. Then Fly resumed his presentation on how to save the universe in one simple lesson. The plan sounded a lot more feasible than some of the other things we'd done.

We would leave the ship in orbit around a moon outside the Fred detection zone. On that moon was an experimental teleportation device based on Gate technology. We could use the experimental teleporter—theoretically, and by the grace of God—to reach the Fred base without the need of a receiver pad on the other end. As we'd discovered on Phobos, teleporters let you keep your gear. The plan ought to work.

As it turned out, the message aliens, the hyperrealists, had first discovered the Gates some three hundred thousand years ago and had been doing improvements ever since. Yes, discovered. No one knew who originally invented the Gates. The estimates for the oldest ones were the kind of numbers that give me a
headache. There was an astronomer on TV who used to talk about “billions and billions” of years.

So what if this mode of travel had a few bugs in it? So did the American transportation system—the best the Earth had ever known.

I threw out a question: “Did you find out how the Freds took our guys by surprise? That's been troubling me ever since Sears and Roebuck started giving out with the history lessons.”

Fly picked up a red ball from his unfinished meal off the floating table. I couldn't stand the taste of those things and hoped they'd come up with something better real soon now.

All of a sudden he had a devilish expression. “I wonder if I could throw this all the way up to the zero-g zone you used to coast in, Albert.”

“Probably, but it wouldn't be polite.”

Arlene agreed with me. “Don't do that, Fly.”

“Well, they must have a remarkable garbage-disposal system,” he said, “but I haven't see it work yet.”

“Let's not find out it consists of enslaved marines,” Arlene suggested wisely. I was glad to see her sense of humor returning.

“Point made,” he said, popping the sphere into his mouth, and making a face before he swallowed. “I should've pitched it. Let me answer Albert. These aliens have a very interesting idea of a surprise attack. I wouldn't want to hire any of them as taxi drivers. Takes too long to get a cab now. They take forever to change anything! Once they achieved civilization it took millions of years for them to make the same amount of progress we did in—I don't know—say, ten thousand years?”

Arlene whistled. “Slow learners.”

“Yeah,” Fly continued. “Which is one reason the Fred attack took them by surprise. Sears and Roebuck say the attack came a lot sooner than expected—only thirty thousand years after the good guys established their observation base.”

“Just like yesterday,” I threw in. “So tell me, Fly, do you know what sort of opposition we may expect on our new mission?”

“Yes, Albert. After describing to Sears and Roebuck some of our adventures, like how we took down the spider-mind on the train, they said one thing.”

“We're all ears,” hinted Arlene, doing herself an injustice.

“They said, ‘You ain't seen nothing yet!' ”

I
opened my eyes to a terrifying sight. A pulsing pole loomed over me, its mad eye blinking. There was a whirring sound, and I tasted copper in my mouth. And then something darted on the edge of my peripheral vision. It seemed to be circling, waiting to pounce.

Then the pole-thing moved out of the way so the flying thing could attack! I tried to move, but my limbs were immobile. I tried to shout for help but my
throat was frozen. Right before the airborne object smashed into my face, I saw . . . a face on a blue ball.

A friendly face. A blue sphere. It was another of the blue spheres that had saved my life before. Now it was happening again. If this kept up, I'd think about taking some vitamins. I wasn't used to being an invalid.

The blue engulfed me, and I felt like a million bucks again. Then I could move all I wanted. I sat up and saw Corporal Arlene Sanders.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“Do you mind if I put on some clothes?”

“No, sir,” she said. Was that a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth? I was definitely alive.

The team looked one hundred percent. Whatever Taggart, Sanders, and Gallatin had been doing while I was laid up must have been good for them. They had so many things to tell me that formality would simply have gotten in the way. We were so far outside normal mission parameters that I realized the old adage of Gordon Dickson fully applied: “Adapt or die.” The challenge was simply to keep Fly, Arlene, and Albert from interrupting each other as they took turns filling me in on the state of the mission as we ate our chow.

Mother of Mary! What had we gotten ourselves into? I wondered how many incredible things I was supposed to swallow along with the red things that tasted like very old tomatoes preserved in vinegar. Fly assured me they'd promised new and improved food soon. Arlene and Albert seconded the motion. If a sergeant and two corporals believed that strongly in something, I was going to eat all the little red things I could right now.

Seriously, I was pleased and impressed by what they had done while I was subject to the tender
ministrations of what Arlene called the medical robot. Waking up to see something like that was not an experience to recommend.

No sooner had I gotten used to the medbot than along came Sears and Roebuck. I was glad they were on our side. I wouldn't want to blow away anything that looked the way they did.

“We are glad your unit is complete,” they told us. I'd never had more unusual dinner companions. They ate little pyramids made out of some gelatinous substance. The pyramids were the exact same color blue as the spheres that kept saving my life.

Arlene warned me not to eat any food that wasn't human-approved. She needn't have worried. Being fire team leader didn't mean I had to commit suicide. I wanted to hang around for the mission with our new alien allies.

The medbot wouldn't leave my side until it was convinced my recovery was complete. While we munched, it volunteered some information. “For samples of Homo sapiens, all of you are recommended for upcoming missions of a military nature.”

“We should hope so,” I said.

“You are dopamine types.”

“Huh?”

“It is a neurotransmitter strongly linked to seeking out adventure. You have many exon repetitions of the dopamine receptor gene. The genetic link to the D4 receptor. . . .”

“Wait a minute,” interjected Albert. “Are you saying we are chemically programmed to want to kick demonic butt?”

“Yes,” said the medbot.

Arlene clapped her hands. “This isn't one of those
pussy robots that says things like ‘It does not compute.' This one's got English down.”

“And without even going to college,” sneered Fly.

“That's a cheap shot,” Arlene threw back.

“Why do you do that?” asked the medbot.

“Do what?” asked Arlene.

“Call me a robot. I'm not a toaster. I'm not a VCR. I'm not a ship's guidance computer.”

Arlene raised an eyebrow and asked, “What are you, then?”

“Organic tissues. Carbon-based life, the same as you.”

“What's your name?” I asked the barber pole. Its answer did not translate into English. I tried my hand at diplomacy. “Would you mind if we continued calling you, uh, medbot?”

“No. That's a fine name. Please don't call me a robot.”

Sears and Roebuck got us back on track. “Your unit and our unit are ready soon go to war.” Their English might need work, but the meaning was clear. We shouldn't quarrel among ourselves, even if we were the type to seek out thrills and variety.

Sears and Roebuck looked at each other. They sure as hell appeared to be one character looking himself over in the mirror. They reached some kind of a decision and left the table, saying, “We are going to elsewhere. We are returning to here.”

While they were absent, an alien who could have passed for a dolphin on roller skates with one arm snaking out of its head scooted over with another course of the dinner. This stuff looked almost like Earth food. It could have been enchiladas.

“Who is going to try this first?” I asked.

“Rank has its privileges,” said Fly, the wise guy.

A Mexican standoff. Arlene played hero and took the first bite. I wish we'd had a camera to take her picture. “That's horrible,” she said, doing things with her face that could have made her pass for one of the aliens.

“I'll try it,” said Albert, proving there really was love between these two. It's not like they could keep it a secret. He proved himself a credit to his faith. His face didn't change at all, but the words sounded as if they were being pushed through a very fine strainer: “That is awful, but familiar somehow.”

“Yes,” Arlene agreed. “I can almost place it.”

“This is not what I had in mind,” Fly complained before he even tried it. “The mess was supposed to improve.”

“It is a mess,” agreed Arlene.

While Fly worked up his nerve, I tried the food. It sure as hell didn't taste like an enchilada, but I recognized the flavor right away.
“Caramba!
No wonder you recognize the flavor. It's choline chloride.” The worst-tasting stuff this side of hell.

“Oh, no,” said Fly, who had passed up eating the red balls while he waited for the “good stuff.”

We'd all had to take choline chloride as a nutritional supplement. It was part of light drop training. The others remembered it from then. I was still using it, or had been right up to departure. The stuff was used by bodybuilders; it was as good for muscle tone as it was bad for the taste buds.

“I wonder what's for dessert,” Fly said hopefully. Sears and Roebuck returned with the final course. But it wasn't something to eat.

“We have bringing you space suits for your unit,” they said.

“Why have you brought us suits?” I asked, unable to recognize anything like space gear. They were carrying one thin box that would've been perfect for delivering a king-size pizza with everything on it.

“So you are going to your new spaceship,” they announced. I wondered what I'd think of an alien craft. I already missed that old tub, the
Bova.

“Where are the suits?” asked Arlene.

One of them opened the box. The other pulled out what appeared to be large sheets of Saran Wrap. And all I could think was: I should've stayed in bed.

*   *   *

I never thought I'd say this about an officer, but I was glad Hidalgo was with us again. He'd started out a typical martinet butthead. Now he insisted on being a human being. I guess if you drop an officer into a world of aliens and weird creatures, he has no choice but to turn human. The base must have been affecting me as well: Fly Taggart, the officer's pal!

Ever since we'd traveled over the rainbow I'd stopped worrying about Arlene's attitude toward Hidalgo. I'd worried what I would do if the guy turned out to be another Weems. Despite my complaining, I didn't think I could just stand by and let Arlene space a fellow marine. Didn't seem right somehow, even to an officer. I wasn't sure the end of civilization as we knew it meant open season on fragging officers. Anyway, it was ancient history now. We were a team in every sense of the word.