Valentine's Rising (23 page)

“
he is shy of the hard decisions that come with a man of his position and responsibilities. at times, to keep a machine running smoothly, worn-out parts must be replaced. do you think you could do better?”

Valentine shook his head. “No. I've shot a few men in the back, but I'm not much at stabbing them there. Running a command of this size isn't in the cards; I don't have the know-how.” Valentine smiled. “At least, not now.”

“Try me,” Valentine said.

A soldier knocked and entered, bearing a tray of sandwiches and milk, carefully averting his eyes. Xray-Tango followed him in, carrying a coffeepot and a bottle filled with amber fluid.

“Sandwiches are all we keep handy here, Le Sain. I thought a toast might be in order, to welcome him to our command.”

The soldier set down the tray, almost bowling Xray-Tango out of the way in his hurry to make it out the door. He mumbled an apology under his breath and a promise to look for dessert.

“Yes, my lord?” Xray-Tango said.

Valentine rose from the seat on shaking legs.

“Come along, son,” Xray-Tango said. “Let's not keep his lordship waiting.”

They went through the headquarters, grim-faced and silent. Only when they were out in the darkness of the rubble-lined streets did they speak again.

Xray-Tango's eye twitched as quickly as an experienced operator could tap out Morse. “I didn't know that was coming, Le Sain. I figured they'd test you somehow. Had no idea that would be it.”

“I've turned people in to them before, sir. But never an infant.”

“Trust me, Le Sain. Don't think about it, just do it. Dealing with it beforehand just causes problems. Deal with it afterward.”

“Voice of experience, sir?” Valentine asked, bitterness creeping into his voice despite himself.

“Just keep walking.”

Valentine felt like sticking a knife into the general. He'd grown to respect the man; Xray-Tango was the first Quisling superior he'd ever met who inspired anything other than contempt and loathing. To see him so blasé about turning a newborn over to a Reaper . . . Perhaps he could stick him with words. “You might like to know he probed me about replacing you.”

“I know. I asked his lordship to bring the subject up. How did you respond?”

“I said I wasn't up to it. At least right now.”

“Le Sain, we're just sounding you out. There's ambition, and then there's ambition. If it drives you to be your best, that's great. If it drives you to try and undermine your superiors, well, I've still got that order in my desk.”

“Sign it. I'm not handing that child over to him.”

“Keep walking. I told you to shut up and trust me. Look, I didn't just have him ask you about that to see if you were the kind of person to supplant me, given the opportunity. I'e got my ring now. I'm thinking about getting a piece of land and leaving all this someday. Not until we're established here, and not until I think I've got someone in place who thinks like me. Just trust me.”

Valentine subsided into silence. He was sick of these conversations in the Kurian Zones, the questions and interviews with a purpose under a motive wrapped up in a trap. He missed the easier days of his service in Southern Command, surrounded by men he knew to be his friends, when every word out of his mouth didn't have to be parsed and weighed.

The Smalls had a little shell of a tent next to the hut Narcisse was turning into a larder. Mr. Smalls had been posing as a camp tinkerer, mending everything from boots to cots for the men. Valentine had thought they would escape notice, just part of the flotsam and jetsam every camp accumulated, civilians who begged a living doing odd jobs the ranks didn't wish to be troubled with. Candles burned within.

“Wait out here, please, sir,” Valentine said. Xray-Tango's eye blinked, and he turned up his collar against the chill night air. Valentine turned to the tent. “It's Colonel Le Sain. May I come in?”

“We've got a healthy baby girl in here, sir,” Narcisse called.

Valentine entered. “My respects, Mr. Smalls, Mrs. Smalls. Hank.”

“This is the thirtieth baby I've brought into this world, Colonel. But this one's the most beautiful I've ever seen. Isn't she something?” Narcisse said. “She's just perfect.”

Valentine looked at the little red thing, puffy and sqinteyed. “Mrs. Smalls is the one deserving of the applause,” he said. Mrs. Smalls, sweat-soaked and red, managed a smile.

Valentine forced the next words out. “I came myself because I was worried that if a nurse and some soldiers showed up, you'd be frightened. But every new baby needs its footprints taken, its name and place of birth recorded. It's the rules here. I thought I'd handle it myself, so I could expedite the paperwork and get your baby back to you as soon as possible.”

Judas Iscariot, meet your spiritual scion, David Stuart Valentine
, he thought to himself.

“That's nice of you, sir, but does it have to be tonight?” Mr. Smalls asked.

“Afraid so. It's to your advantage; as soon as the baby's recorded, you get the extra rations.”

“Strikey!” Hank said. A growing teen's appetite was hard to reconcile with ration coupons.

Valentine knelt at the bedside. Though perhaps “bedside” wasn't the correct word, since little Mrs. Smalls lay on the floor, atop a mixture of old rugs and blankets, reinforced with pillows and cushions.

Valentine had to find a way to avoid Narcisse's eyes. “Did you see the birth, Hank?”

“No. My dad said I'd be in the way. Ahn-Kha helped me make a crutch for Styachowski.”

“For who?” Valentine said.
Was the general listening to the conversation?

“Captain Wagner,” Hank corrected himself.

“That's more like it, Hank.”

Mrs. Smalls bit her lip as Valentine pulled the baby from her breast. Narcisse had put the newborn in a cocoon.

“I should go along,” Mr. Smalls said.

“Sorry, Mr. Smalls, it's past curfew for civilians. Don't forget, your status here is sort of informal. I don't want any more questions asked than the absolute minimum.”

“Keep her out of the wind. Let me wrap her some more,” Narcisse said, her voice quavering.

“I'll take good care of her,” Valentine said. The bland lies were coming easier now. He took the blanket from Narcisse and together they put the infant under another layer. He got up and turned for the tent flap. The sooner he was away from Narcisse's eyes the better.

“Don't you need to know her name?” Mrs. Smalls said. Doubt crept up her face and seated itself between her eyes like a biting centipede.

Valentine felt like slapping himself. “Oh, yes, I do. I don't imagine you want to call her Jane Doe for the next sixteen years.” The newborn began to make mewing noises.

“We've settled on Caroline,” Mr. Smalls said.

“Okay, baby Caroline it is,” Valentine said. “Back as soon as I can.” He fled the tent.

General Xray-Tango had to double-time to keep up with him. “You're a helluva liar, Le Sain.”

“I come from a long line of liars. We've gotten good at it over the last two thousand years.”

The general either didn't understand the veiled New Testament reference or chose to ignore it. “Take it easy, Le Sain. It'll all be over soon. Then we'll get busy outfitting your command. Better days are ahead.”

The baby was crying now: a tiny, coughing sound. She was so light! Valentine felt like he was carrying a loaf of bread in the blankets. Chances were he'd never get to hold his own daughter—if it was a daughter—and he wondered if she'd be as active as Caroline, who at the moment seemed to be fighting some internal discomfort. An impossibly tiny hand waved at him.

“For you and me. What about Caroline here?”

“Don't think about that now. Think about that tomorrow. You're following orders, remember that.”

Following orders. The old out. But did he have a choice at this moment? He didn't so much as have his sidearm; wearing weapons was discouraged in camp for everyone not on police detail. It led to questions. He had a clasp knife in his pocket; he could kill the general and get his camp up. But how far would they get, unarmed, with a Reaper expecting him back? He sensed another one somewhere near the general's headquarters, aboveground and moving. For all he knew he was being watched at this moment. Maybe a dash west to Finner's Wolves—

No. It would be death for his command, and at the moment he was too rubber-legged with the thought of it to even run. He had to weigh his men's lives against that of the featherweight newborn. It came with the responsibility he'd first shouldered in Captain Le Havre's sitting room over a cool beer. If by some magic he were able to go back in time to that moment, he'd have turned him down and shouldered a rifle as a plain Wolf with Zulu Company. No decisions to make, just orders to follow. But wasn't that the same cop-out that had begun this line of thought? All he could manage was to plod next to Xray-Tango.

As his mind came full circle, he and Xray-Tango returned to the headquarters building.

“Steady now, Colonel. I've told you it'll be all right,” Xray-Tango said, as they stood at the stairs leading down to the lower level. Valentine distracted himself by looking at the pattern of the cinder blocks in the walls. This was pre-2022 construction, certainly. There were conduits and plumbing fixtures going deeper into the earth. The Quislings, while clearing rubble above, were making use of the infrastructure below that survived the nuclear blast.

The Reaper had not moved since they left. It might have been a wax figure, sitting with palms flat on the table and head tilted slightly back, were it not for the eyes that opened at their entrance.

“give us the child, and let us fill our need,”
Mu-Kur-Ri's avatar said. The yellow eyes locked on Valentine. He felt a weightless, falling sensation, as though the slit-pupiled eyes were turning into canyons, the veins leading to them rivers, the yellow irises burning deserts. He was falling toward them, into them. The only thing he could put between his eyes and the Reaper's was the child. He held it out, breaking whatever hypnotic conduit drew him.

The Reaper took the baby. Gravity returned to the floor; Valentine's mind was his own again.

“There, you've got your answer, my lord—” Xray-Tango began, before choking on his words when the Reaper's hinged jaw went wide, like a snake preparing to eat an egg. It ripped away the swaddling clothes with a hand, opening the tiny girl's chest. The newborn had time for one brief cry, stifled instantly as the Reaper buried its face in the baby.

Valentine heard a soft suckling sound. He held himself up with the table.

Xray-Tango went white as a sheet. “Je—” he began, before staggering back against the wall. He slid down it as though he'd been shot.

The feeding didn't take long. Valentine counted vein pulses in the Reaper's pallid hand, held against the dead baby's bottom. After seven it lowered the child and closed its blood-smeared mouth. The yellow eyes were no longer dangerous, just drunken.

“most exquisite. when fresh there is a blend, a residual of the mother's full, mature body overlain with the delicate new energy. it sparkles, it sparkles. . . .”
The Kurian lord favored Valentine with a grin.

Death discussed as one would a wine tasting left Valentine cold and nauseated. “If your lordship has no—” Valentine began.

“It wasn't supposed to be like that,” Xray-Tango said, trying to stand on his feet but failing. He sat with his back to the wall, arm around a wastebasket.

“But you agreed, this was just a test, the baby wasn't to be hurt.”

“it didn't suffer,”
the thing said, approaching Xray-Tango. It dropped the drained newborn into the wastebasket with a empty, wet
thunk
.
“if, after all this time, you haven't learned that we take what we want, when we want it, perhaps—”

The Reaper grabbed Xray-Tango by the scruff of the neck and lifted him like a kitten.

“No, I've got my ring, you can't!”

“i wasn't going to,”
it hissed.
“stop the games, general. this shell game you play with the pows, it stops from this moment. be grateful for them, otherwise we'd be more rigorous in looking for sustenance elsewhere.”

“It's for your lordship to say, of course. But in Texas and Oklahoma, you took so few. I thought that's all you required.”

“I've made everything ready here. Logistics aren't holding us up anymore; it's the wet.”

The Reaper turned to Valentine.
“le sain, we are told you hunger for combat command. distinguish yourself, bring the remainder out of the mountains, and you'll have a ring too.”