My Own Kind of Freedom

Chapter 3 My Own Kind of Past

Bursa leaned forward. “You’d keep your present rank,” he said.

“That’s not that big an inducement,” said Mal.

“Ah. Then I suppose it wouldn’t help that you’d be in line for promotion.”

“No.”

“Even if you get a nice fancy office like this?”

Mal looked around at the paper-thin walls of the cubby-hole. “Huh,” he said.

The Colonel’s face was long, bony, and pale. His nose had been broken at least once, and there was a long white scar running from his right ear to just below his chin. He wore brown, with the Independents’ lieutenant colonel insignia on his shoulders—wide shoulders for his frame, giving him a sort of scarecrow appearance. His feet stuck out from under the little desk.

Mal felt himself being studied. “Okay,” said the Colonel. “Well, the point remains. The nature of the war has changed. Units like yours were useful when they were all we had. The war was sprung on us like, um, like something that springs on you. Little detachments kept them slowed down until we could—”

“I know the—”

“Don’t interrupt, Sergeant.”

Mal’s jaw clenched.

Bursa continued, “Until we could organize, recruit, and prepare. Now, every time one of your little bands is rampaging through an area the army is in, it interferes with the operations of the army. You’re doing more harm than good now, Sergeant.”

“So you say.”

“So I say.” The Colonel frowned. “What’s the problem, anyway?”

Mal stared at a spot over the Colonel’s shoulder. “If I had wanted to take orders from everyone who likes giving orders, I wouldn’t be fighting the Alliance in the first place, would I?”

Bursa let out a breath. “Okay. I can see that. I can even respect it. But the fight is on. You want to win?”

“I’d been planning on it.”

“Me, too. We want to defeat the Alliance. We need regular, organized forces. Bands like yours are harming us. Those who won’t join us will have to be suppressed.”

“Suppressed.”

“Would you prefer I used a more graphic term? You know what I mean.”

“I surely do.”

“So, tomorrow morning, you and yours swear in to the regular army.”

“What if we move to a different sector, where you people haven’t gotten to yet? We can still—”

“No, Sergeant. I’m sorry.”

Mal clenched his teeth.

“Sergeant, I think you can give good service. We can use you. Whatever you might think about the regular army, we are organized now, and we’re fighting your fight.”

“I’ll have trouble bringing some of the boys around.”

“Trouble makers?”

“A few. But mostly they’re like me. They signed up to fight against what I’m asking them to do.”

“Good to know you’ve identified the problem.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Sergeant, they’ll do it if they want to win, because that’s the only way we can win. If they don’t want the Alliance sticking their noses up the ass of anyone who wants to carve out a place for himself, then they’re going to have to come around.”

“It’s just that some of them can tear me apart.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“And they aren’t easily controlled.”

“I imagine.”

“So what do you do?”

“You mean, how do you face down someone who’s bigger and meaner than you and doesn’t want to do what you’re telling him to?”

“Yeah. Up till now, it’s been about convincing them.”

“Well, I’d like to say something glib like, don’t let them know they’re bigger and meaner than you, but, really it isn’t that simple. There isn’t any simple answer to that. You can’t back down, but you know that.”

“I surely do.”

“How you handle it depends on the individual, and the situation. But, Sergeant—”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“That’s not one of the things I’m worried about. You’ll find a way.”

“And those who won’t be convinced?”

“They can give up their weapons and go their way.”

“All right.”

“And if they act as unauthorized guerillas, they’ll be treated as common brigands, and we’ll shoot them.”

“Colonel—”

“We can’t have it, Sergeant.”

Mal sighed. “Can they at least keep their sidearms?”

“No.”

“Most of those are their own personal weapons.”

“Why are we still arguing about what’s been decided? Is there anything else?”

After a moment, Mal said, “All right… sir. I’ll have my people here in the morning.”

Bursa nodded. “And by the afternoon, you’ll be in Lieutenant Siro’s platoon, at point on the road north of Yeranton.”

“Trying to get us killed right away, sir?”

“Nope. I don’t need you killed, I need to keep the Alliance out of Yeranton, so they don’t swallow up the one munitions plant we can count on in this gorram world. I need them kept out of there, Sergeant.”

“All right. We’ll do our part.”

“I know. Pick up a coat and a rifle on your way out.”

“I have a rifle.”

“Pick up a new one.”

“Yes, sir.”

The silky voice said, “Let’s try it again, Miss Tam.”

The silky voice always called her ‘Miss Tam.’ The sweet voice and the monotonous voice called her “River.” The silky voice was the worst.

As it spoke, her skin tingled and colors danced in little spots before her eyes—colors that sounded deep and threatening and tasted of salt and gun metal.

“Now, Miss Tam, bring the lines together.”

Only there weren’t any lines, there were only dots.

“Focus on the lines, Miss Tam.”

Something twisted inside of her head, and the dots became gray, their sizes pulsated, and she was falling, falling, falling into them.

She tried to scream, but there was something in her mouth.

She fell through one of the dots, which splintered and became infinite.

She wished she could scream.

He hated this.

No, he really, really hated this.

The flying part was fine. He had no trouble with the flying part. He liked the flying part.

It was the part where people kept shooting at him that he had a problem with.

And then there was the ship. He wasn’t fond of the ship. In general, the Vortec LC 9 “Gopher” was a fine mid- to low-level interceptor: fast and maneuverable in lower atmo once you learned her tricks, decently armed, and with truly astonishing vertical acceleration. But he just couldn’t be happy flying a ship with a third of a wing and both rudders shot off by a SAM that had also taken out half her thrust.

“Pioneer Blue six. Mayday, mayday. Have taken hit from surface to air missile, am going down. Stand-by for location. Transmitting…now.”

His weapons man’s voice came into his left ear. “Hey, Chill, did I just hear you say something about us going down?”

“Well, Archie, the ship is going down. If you can think of a way to stay up here without it, I’ll be okay with that.”

“We’re over Alliance territory. We’ll be captured for sure.”

“Okay, Arch. You’re right. I changed my mind. We’ll just keep flying with no thrust and no control.”

“Don’t be mean, Chill.”

“Sorry.”

He slid in and out of a glide, managing to lose speed and altitude without quite stalling. Or, at any rate, only stalling intermittently.

“Okay, we’re below mach one. Ready to go for a ride?”

“Not really. You sure we have to do this?”

There was a lurch that re-arranged Wash’s backbone as the gravboot tried to suck up more than it could handle, gave out, and came in again as best it could.

“I’m sure. Eject! Eject! Eject!”

A moment later he said, “Arch?”

“Sorry, Chilly-boy. Something else is busted too.”

“Can’t eject?”

“Nope. How ’bout yours?”

“I don’t know. Well, partner, this is going to be fun.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Land.”

“Chilly, you should bail.”

“A little silence, please. The doctor is at work.”

He fought with and against the ship, with and against gravity. The ground was coming up fast. “Like a leaf on the wind,” he murmured.

She found him on a makeshift road, just inside one of the guard posts. He seemed lost in thought, but greeted her with a nod.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, Sergeant.”

“No, it wasn’t. I could get used to seeing the Alliance run. The Colonel knows his business.”

“Why, Sergeant, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say a kind word about an officer.”

“Probably the last, too.”

“We held the town, anyway.”

The sergeant glanced at her. “Okay, Zoë. What is it?”

“Well, we’ve survived a battle. I mean, not a hit-and-run grab at supplies, but a real battle.”

“Right.”

“And we even won.”

“I believe we did, yes.”

“And most of the men performed well.”

“I noticed that same thing.”

“A couple of minor wounds, and, compared to what we had before, pretty good medical care. The men are pleased about that, Sergeant.”

“I hear a ‘but’ on the way, Zoë.”

“Are we going to get a real meal sometime in here, Sergeant?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess I ought to check on that.”

“They’d appreciate it.”

The Sergeant nodded, started back toward the encampment, then stopped and looked down the road again. “We should move around behind them and take a shot at their supply line. Even if they have enough ducks to chase us out, it’ll put the fear of God into them. They’ll be running all the way back to Cheska by morning.”

“Going to suggest that to the Colonel, Sergeant?”

“No need. He’ll come up with it himself. Those poor bastards.”

“Who? The enemy?”

“Yeah. They have no idea what they’re going to run into.”

“Lambs to the slaughter, Sergeant.”

“That’s the honest truth, Zoë,” he said, and led the way back.

Kaylee heard her name called and pulled herself out from under the aft inertia interlock.

“Yes, Cap’n?”

The Captain and Zoë were standing there, flanking a tall, broad-shouldered man with a wide, sensuous mouth and bright eyes. Yum, said a little voice in her head.

She gave him her warmest smile.

“Kaylee, meet Jayne, our newest crew member. Jayne, Kaylee is our mechanic.”

She stood up, wiped her hands on her coveralls, and stuck out her hand. He wrapped it in his massive paw and grinned.

“This deal keeps getting better and better,” he said looking her up and down.

Kaylee frowned, glanced at the Captain, then at Zoë. “Huh,” she said, and climbed back under the interlock unit.

“She always this friendly?” said the new guy.

“No, I think you’re special,” said Zoë.

“I’ll introduce you to the pilot,” said the Captain, and three sets of footsteps retreated.

I hate it when they open their mouths and ruin everything, thought Kaylee, and returned to her work.

He usually liked hanging out with Shorty, because it made him seem taller, more cultured, and certainly more intelligent. Usually. Just now he wasn’t enjoying it at all.

“Okay, Shorty,” he said, “what I don’t understand is why you went to so much work to make sure the alarm went off. If you’d ignored the gorram thing—”

“I was trying—”

Shorty ducked as three bullets raised a cloud of plaster dust over his head.

“Corn, I was trying to see if it had been fixed.”

“Speaking of fixed,” said Jayne, tapping his belt knife while glaring at the smaller man.

Shorty scowled and didn’t dignify the threat with an answer.

Shorty was a foot shorter than Jayne, which wasn’t really that short, but Jayne had given him that name to sort of remind him who was in charge. Shorty didn’t much care for that, but so far hadn’t objected.

“How many of them you think are out there, Corn?” asked Shorty.

“At least three.”

“Between us and the door?”

“At least two. Probably all of them.”

“And there have to be more coming.”

“Yeah. The skimmer’s running, though.”

“If we can get to it.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“Why? You planning to throw me past them?”

“Not exactly.”

Jayne reached around and grabbed Shorty by his belt with one hand and the back of his neck with the other, then lifted him.

“What the—”

“You know, Shorty, I always hated it when you called me Corn.”

He made a break for the door.

By the time he made it to the door, Shorty had been hit at least five times, and probably more. He threw the remains into two of them who were bunched together and charged the third, taking a graze above the hip. Then he was on top of the third, then he was out the door, and, yes, the skimmer was running.

Thirty seconds later he was around the corner and headed out of town.

Jayne sighed. Not the best result for that job: couldn’t get to the vault and the money in the tills wasn’t anything to retire on. And he was bleeding. And his sister was going to need a new husband. And he was going to need a new world to live on.

He didn’t waste time going home; just headed straight for the docks.

“You’re a remarkable young man,” said the woman.

“Ma’am?”

She seemed to be only a few years older than he was; too young to be calling him “young man.” But there was something about the over-lit, antiseptic office, devoid of all traces of personality, that hinted at both power and wisdom, forcing on him the feeling that she had the right to address him that way; and, he realized, causing him to address her as “ma’am” without his having made any conscious decision to do so. Interesting. Who was she, anyway?

“Do you know why you’re here, Lieutenant?”

“I haven’t a clue. I was told to come in for an exit interview, but—” he made a point of looking around the large office, “—this certainly isn’t an exit interview in any normal sense.”

She nodded slowly. Her nose was sharp as a beak, which added to her effect, as did her short, regulation haircut, and the severe outfit she wore—civilian garb that nevertheless hinted at the military. And then there was the mark on the side of her forehead: unmistakable sign of near-miss by a splitter. And a laser burn on her neck.

“As I said, a remarkable young man. I refer to what you’ve picked up on.”

“Excuse me, ma’am—” why fight it? “But the office, well, it seems obvious.”

“That part, yes. I refer to everything else you’ve already put together about who I am, and who I represent. That would tell you what you’re doing here, if you let it.”

“I don’t—”

“Go on, Lieutenant Merlyn. Tell me.”

He nodded. If it was a test, well, he had always enjoyed tests. “You’ve served in the line, and been wounded at least twice.”

“Go on.”

“You were military intelligence at one time, but you’re no longer with the Alliance Forces.”

“Which tells you what?”

“Uh… some branch of the feds—that is, Alliance Security—that I’ve never heard of?”

“What sort of branch?”

“Doing what you did with military intelligence?”

“Very good. So, what are you doing here, at just the time you want to leave the army?”

He blinked. “You want to recruit me,” he stated.

“Yes.”

“I don’t… I’d have thought that, if someone thought I was qualified for that, I’d have been recruited during the war. Or at least tested.”

“What was your last mission?”

“We were assigned to track down a renegade group of… oh.”

She nodded.

“The lieutenant was one of us,” she added.

“Which is why he kept making me make all the decisions.”

“Yes.”

“And the promotion meant I passed the test.”

“Yes. And then, of course, they laid down arms.”

“And I had no intention of making a career of this, and so—”

“Which bring us to my first question: why not?”

“Why not what? Become career military? I hate the army.”

“Then why did you re-enlist?”

“The war was still on.”

“So you enlisted as an idealist.”

“Actually, I enlisted as a private.”

“Out of a sense of conviction. Because of the cause.”

“Ugh. If you want to put it that way.”

“What would you call it, Lieutenant?”

“I—all right.”

“You were born in a blackout zone in New Tuscany on Ariel. Most people from your background join the army because it’s their only way out.”

“I had an uncle—”

“We know about your uncle.”

Kit nodded.

“My point, Lieutenant, is that the war is over, and the problems are just beginning. The Independents have surrendered; that doesn’t mean there isn’t work to be done. And, on top of that, what will you do? Beyond leaving the army, how far have your plans gone?”

“Well, I was thinking about a week-long bender on one of the core worlds.”

“And after that?”

“I’m not sure. I’d been thinking about going into teaching.”

She nodded. “I’m not surprised; you’d be a good teacher. You read people extraordinarily well. But you’d also be good at what you’re already half trained for. Reading people is a big part of our work, too. And the pay is a little better.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“I know. You’d also get training I think you’d enjoy.”

“Training in—?”

“Many things. How to break electronic codes, for starters; you seem to have an aptitude.”

He shrugged. “Suppose I take you up on your offer. You say there’s work to be done. What sort of work?”

She frowned. “There are things—”

“Excuse me. I asked that because I have some ideas of the sorts of things this department does, and—”

“And you want no part of them.”

Kit nodded.

“I think we’ll be able to find you work you’ll be happy to do.”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“Not really; not until you’re sworn in.”

“By which time it’ll be too late.”

“You can always quit.”

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

Kit sighed. “You’re good at your job, ma’am.”

“Meaning?”

“In spite of all reason, something in me wants to trust you.”

“Colonel, we’re just not getting the supplies.”

“I know.”

“And, so far, we’ve had four regiments assigned to the same position, with nothing but empty space on each side.”

“I know.”

“If they do try to come through—”

“They will. They’re massing. If it isn’t the biggest and stupidest bluff of the century, they’ll be coming.”

“Well, we aren’t in any position to stop them.”

“You spoke with Captain Baur?”

“Yes, sir. She gave me permission to talk to you directly.”

“But couldn’t be bothered to herself?”

Mal shrugged. “She has enough on her hands. She’s trying to scavenge ammunition. And boots. And convince three other captains to take positions that weren’t assigned to them, with no orders from upstairs.”

“Okay.”

“So, what in the gorram hell is going on, Colonel?”

“They’re panicking, that’s what.”

“Who?”

“The high command.”

“Great.”

“But the good news is, they sent me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it is my intention to hold this valley.”

“I don’t—”

“Sergeant, you can tell Captain Baur, from me, that ammunition will be running by noon tomorrow. And we’ll have the line straightened out by this evening.”

“And if they attack this afternoon?”

“We’re humped. But they won’t; they always launch their attacks in the morning. You know that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and plan on retreating.”

“Sir?”

“We’re out too far, which is fine, so we drop back. Slowly.”

“Suck ’em in?”

“Whenever possible. Let them win a little, then hit them when they’re taking a breath. We’re holding the ground, not the positions. So be ready to fall back, in an orderly way. We’ll be keeping our flanks connected, and hitting them every time they think we won’t. The rest of the time, we make it hard for them to hit us.”

“Yes, sir. But if we aren’t dug in, I mean, if we retreat from our positions—”

“I came with fifteen batteries of anti-aircraft guns, and with a big bundle of SAMs. And I’ve been promised air cover.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Go do your job, and let me do mine.”

“Yes, sir. And sir…”

“Yes, sergeant?”

“It’s good to see you again.”

Supervisor White said, “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mister Merlyn. Kit. Mind if I call you Kit?”

“No problem, Supervisor.”

“Call me Jerry.”

“All right, Jerry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t think I’m right for this kind of work.”

White frowned. “What do you mean? Are you thinking of resigning?”

“Thinking about it.”

“Can you tell me what’s caused this?”

“My last mission.”

“Hmm. I’m familiar with that mission; I was just looking over the report. Seems to have been completed satisfactorily.”

“Thank you, Jerry.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“When I was recruited, I was promised that I’d be doing work I could be happy about.”

“Happy?”

“Work I could feel good about.”

The supervisor frowned, as if Kit had just started speaking a border world dialect.

“I don’t understand, Kit. What is there about that mission you don’t feel good about?”

“Jerry, what was the net result of the whole fourteen months of work?”

“An entire region was opened up for settlers. And now it’ll be irrigated, made fertile—”

“Jerry, it was irrigated before we started. And fertile. And there were settlers there. Families.”

“And, according to your own information, at least ninety percent of them were Independent sympathizers.”

“But they were—”

“That was a region that never surrendered, Kit. Until order was established, the war was ready to break out all over again. You want to fight the war all over again?”

“Not especially.”

“We could have moved in and just slaughtered everyone there. Would that have been more humane?”

“No.”

“Then exactly what should we have done?”

“Just what we did.”

“And so?”

“But I want no part of it.”

“You admit it needs to be done, but aren’t willing to do it?”

“Well put, Jerry. That’s exactly it. Like I said, I don’t think I’m right for this kind of work. I do the right thing, and I’m sick to my stomach afterwards. You want a tougher sort of guy than I am.”

“According to your record, you’re plenty tough.”

Kit just shook his head.

“Okay,” said the supervisor. “Look. I’d rather not lose you. You’re good at this work, and I respect that you have a conscience. Speaking for myself, I’d rather these operations were carried out by people with some qualms now and then, instead of the polished thugs who usually go in for it. So let me make a suggestion.”

“I’m listening.”

“What if I give you an operation you’ll like, and approve of, and be able to feel good about? You do it, and when it’s done, we’ll talk again.”

“What’s the operation?”

“It’s on Hera, collecting evidence to arrest and convict a very bad man.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”