"Comrade Doctor Kamanov." Empleado folded his arms. "The Earth is hungry. We must have what we came for, whatever the cost."
Kamanov shook his head. "This must be a very popular view, Comrade Thought Policeman, among your colleagues back on Earth who are at no personal risk of any kind."
"He's right," Lee Marna muttered, almost to herself. "What chance do we have? They're millions of years ahead of us."
Reille y Sanchez snorted. "It'll be more even than that, Lieutenant. Sure they've got a head start. If you believe this Thoggosh, of a few hundred million years." She slapped the scabbard on her hip. "But a man with a rifle can be killed with a knife, so I figure a thing with a deathray can be killed with a rifle. We aren't savages to be cowed by technology, no matter how much it looks like magic. From what the general says, I've got an idea they take a long view and their progress is slow. Soviet humanity's way behind, but we're capable of catching up!"
"Spoken as a true daughter of the Lone Star People's Republic." Kamanov grinned. "And valid, provided we can steal enough of their magical technology, soon enough. For what it is worth, however, both sides always believe a fight will be more even than first appears to be the case."
"There's something in what she says." Gutierrez wrinkled his brow, suspended between a tactical need for truth and a political necessity to weigh his words. "I gathered that most of the Elders, including Mister Thoggosh and, no doubt, his fastidious assistant, have little stomach for war. In fact, they seem to abhor the prospect."
"War is bad for nautiloids," Kamanov misquoted a saying from the previous century, "and other living things."
"That seems to be the attitude. Also, it's bad for business."
"One would expect such a craven attitude," Empleado sneered, "from a—"
"Warmongering capitalist?" Kamanov supplied with his sweetest smile. Empleado glared back and clenched his fists. In the shadows, his men tensed.
Gutierrez ignored them both. "Worst of all, from their point of view, it may interfere with the all-important—"
Kamanov interrupted once again, "—albeit unstated—"
By now, Gutierrez was used to interruptions, "—necessity which brought Mister Thoggosh and his people here in the first place."
"I shall be in the minority, so let me be first," offered Kamanov, "to echo the opinion of Mister Thoggosh. Do you not realize, in its current pitiable condition, that the United World Soviet must learn to tolerate the Elders, if only for the sake of regaining what it lost by conquering the world?"
Around the fire there were actual gasps. "I warn you," Empleado snarled as his corporals took a step forward, "I tire of your sarcastic revisionism. You Russians are all alike, making a world united under scientific socialism sound like the worst thing that could have happened—what's that?"
They all heard it that time, dry leaves blown in a breeze. Yet there wasn't any breeze. The principal result, quite agreeable to Kamanov, was that the women on either side of him moved closer.
He went on. "It is certainly the worst thing that ever happened to scientific socialism. Deny, Arthur, that no Marxist nation ever managed to survive without—let us be kind and say `inputs'—from non-Marxists. Always they import innovations they cannot generate for themselves. Endless supplies of foodstuffs. Most important, price information essential to planning. Was this not why the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was compelled so long to suffer—with a smile—the independent existence of the United non-Soviet States of America?"
"I'm KGB, you fool!" All four corporals were a step closer to the fire. Empleado was furious. "Stop this slanderous sedition, now!"
"On the contrary, Comrade Inquisitor, if it be sedition, let me make the most of it. We Russians are all alike? Yes: horrified at the way Americans became what they are, with scarcely a shot fired! `Scientific socialism,' like Negro slavery before the cotton gin, was used up by expansionism, discredited by universal failure, convicted of a hundred million murders! Even Europe, with its penchant for preserving and parading every mistake ever made by the human race, had finally given up on this one! Those suffering its tender ministrations looked forward eagerly to its imminent demise!"
Dark-faced, Empleado opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it again. His hands appeared restless, as if he didn't know what to do with them. Suddenly, he exploded, leaping atop Kamanov, fingers around the older man's throat. With one arm restrained, the geologist seemed helpless. Before Gutierrez or any of the other men could move, the women acted, prying Empleado off and throwing him half across the fire, half into it. Amidst a shower of sparks he scrambled backward, clothes smoldering, and lay red-faced and panting, eyes filled with murderous hatred.
Demene Wise rushed forward to help his superior to his feet, brushing nervously at Empleado's jacket. A large, square-headed, broad-shouldered figure, cursed with jowls twenty years before his time, Wise's effeminate movements seemed even more grotesque in contrast to his solid stature. Growling, Empleado pushed him away. A more determined movement toward the geologist on the part of Broward Hake, a short, compact man with a round, slick head, was stopped cold by Major Reille y Sanchez, with a shake of her head and a subtle gesture of her hand toward her holster.
"Go ahead, Arthur." Kamanov levered himself up. "Take your notebook from your pocket. Get it all down. I promise not to go too fast for you. America is a tail wagging the dog. It is regarded by onlookers everywhere as typical of your character that, once you Americans adopted Communism, you strove to become the biggest and best Communists of all. This, you may be interested to know, is referred to, everywhere but in America, as `Texas Marxism.' "
"Pete—" Gutierrez began, then let it go.
Kamanov wheeled on him. "What has perhaps not occurred to Washington, Horatio, what they will not admit, will be uppermost in the minds of those in Moscow who have lived for generations with the shortcomings of an unworkable theory. Will they countenance throwing away this contact with a superior technology? And another likelihood which no one appears to have considered: people being what they are, wise and ancient to the contrary, it is inevitable that there are factions on the other side who will welcome this conflict."
"They'll see us as interlopers," Reille y Sanchez agreed, "or vermin, better off exterminated before we cause real trouble."
"More to the point," added Kamanov, "I suspect yet another motive behind Washington's sudden enthusiasm for the shedding of our blood."
"What's that?" asked Gutierrez, who'd been examining his own dark suspicions in this regard all day.
"How can your countrymen not fear that the Elders' antisocial, unconventional, but demonstrably practical social and economic ideas may contaminate an Earth just united—and still rather uncomfortably so—under a shared hegemony with mine? We all know what we are, do we not? What is our value to the United World Soviet? We are simply the most expendable individuals they could find. Would they not perhaps welcome a massacre here, whatever the outcome?"
Several of them shook their heads. Reille y Sanchez put her face in her hands. With a resigned expression, the general pointed to the EAA Witness at her waist. "How many of those damned things," he asked her, "did we bring with us?" No response. "Major, I asked you a question!"
Reille y Sanchez started violently. "Twelve, sir, `Pistol, 11.43x23mm Lenin, service, officers, for the use of'!" Now she looked up with something resembling a game grin. "Sorry, sir. Also an assortment of H&K 11mm signal flare launchers which might serve as incendiaries. Our main battery's a dozen semiauto carbines with bayonets in 7.62x39mm Russian. Commercial-issue Ruger Mini-30s, sir, old; none of that new trash from the nationalized plants. Same number of Remington twelve-gauge riot guns, also semiauto, also with bayonets, also very old. They might prove more effective in this jungle than the carbines. I wish they were Czech AKs, or at least selective fire."
"There it is again!" Empleado had calmed down enough to exchange sheepish expressions with Kamanov, who was prepared to write the whole performance off, his own as well as Empleado's, to whatever tensions had caused the earlier fights among the crew as well as Richardson's illness. But now the political officer's eyes widened. The geologist knew from previous conversations that Empleado was city born and bred, unaccustomed to normal noises in the countryside. The KGB man started to get up. "We'll get flashlights and see what the hell that is!"
"Let's finish this first, Art." Relief was audible in the general's voice that things were returning to as close to normal as they ever were. "Then you can hunt snipe to your heart's content." Gutierrez squinted at the major. "Do we need bayonets in the middle of the twenty-first century?"
"The general," she answered with diplomacy, "perhaps because he's Aerospace, sir, has less reason to be enthusiastic about bayonets than I do. I like bayonets. They're quiet and don't run out of ammo."
"Right," Sebastiano agreed, patting a pistol-shaped bulge under his suit which didn't appear on the major's list. "But I wish we had a dozen RPGs." Behind him, Ortiz was nodding agreement.
"I wish . . ." Gutierrez shook his head, not for the first time wondering why the shuttles' meager capacity had been used sending hundreds of kilos of weapons, ammunition, and accessories to what was supposed to be an uninhabited worldlet. "I wish we'd picked another goddamned asteroid."
Around the fire, not one failed to nod, agreeing with the general. His son reached out to touch him, but was restrained by military discipline. Even Reille y Sanchez rubbed first the inner, then the outer corners of her eyes with thumb and forefinger; a seasoned Marine officer, Kamanov thought, attempting to deny the tears that many of her comrades also felt like shedding.
He climbed to his feet. "While some prepare for war, Horatio," he asked, "might not others see what can be done to salvage peace?"
The general turned to his friend. "What've you got in mind, Pete?"
"I have no orders," the geologist shook his head, "from Washington or Moscow. I will speak with Mister Thoggosh." He went to his second selling point before Gutierrez considered the first. "It could buy us time."
"We don't know these things," Reille y Sanchez asserted, nerves in her voice again. "They might take hostages!" She softened her voice, putting a hand on Kamanov's arm. "I know it sounds crazy, but listen, Piotr, please?"
"Some of us came prepared for contingencies." The Russian fumbled in his ship-suit pocket. " `Peace through superior firepower.' Or, if you prefer, chance favors the ready trigger finger."
The general's eyes widened. "What in the name of God is that?"
Holding a large-framed revolver in one hand, the geologist grinned. "Better to ask in the name of Harry Callahan, Horatio. This is a .44 magnum, certainly this world's most powerful handgun, and it could blow my hand right off—had I not practiced assiduously before we left. A Smith and Wesson model 629, stainless steel, its little barrel not quite eight centimeters—three imperialist inches—long. Highly pocketable, do you not think?"
Gutierrez scowled at what looked like a small piece of artillery to him. The short barrel was thick-walled, the weapon's front sight inset with orange plastic, the rear sight outlined in white. The handle was of wraparound neoprene, the overall finish a wirebrushed silver. Hollowpoints, also silvery and notch-toothed at their front edges, gleamed at him from the four visible cavernous chamber-mouths. Kamanov handed him the revolver. Low gravity or not, the gun's weight seemed immense.
"You'll shoot your eye out," he muttered, handing it back. "How in—Callahan's—name did you get that thing past security?"
Reille y Sanchez leaned forward, whether to hear his explanation, bearing on her efficiency, or to drool over his Smith & Wesson, the geologist couldn't tell. Her hair smelled nice, so he didn't care.
"Innocent Horatio," Kamanov smiled, "lovely Estrellita. A geologist's tools are among those items least susceptible to X-ray or metal detection. Besides, comrades, I am Russian. My people have lived with, and in spite of, `security' for a century and a half. There is an old Georgian proverb—Soviet Georgian—`Do not annoy Babushka with instructions on extracting—' Rosalind! Vivian! How good to see you!" Kamanov spread his arms in delighted invitation, "Come sit by the fire and join the conversation!"
Heads turned as two figures took substance from the shadows, becoming Rosalind Nguyen and Vivian Richardson. The physician led the taller, heavier woman by the arm, murmuring occasional assurances which were audible, but not intelligible, to the others. The colonel walked in a gingerly manner, half leaning on Dr. Nguyen as if it were her legs which had been injured, rather than her mind. From time to time she stumbled, or hesitated over apparent obstructions which wouldn't have been noticed by anybody else.
As she and her doctor drew near the fire, a dazed, exhausted look could be seen on the Aerospace Force officer's face, as if she'd just been awakened—which, in fact, she had—from a deep, drugged sleep. Looking repeatedly to Dr. Nguyen, her expression was childlike in its reliance on the smaller woman and in its fear of the surrounding night.
Beaten to the social punch again, Gutierrez nodded rather than echoing the geologist. Dr. Nguyen smiled at them both. "We're just taking a little walk. I'm not sure whether we're up to much, yet, in the way of conversation. What was that you started to say about annoying your grandmother?"
" `With instructions,' " the geologist finished, " `on extracting yolk from eggshell.' " He grinned. "I did not claim it was a sensible proverb."
"What a peculiar turn of phrase." Something slithered from the shadows under the McCain, fleshy, elongated, its surface glistening in the firelight. Toya and Marna yelped rather than screamed. Danny seized a burning branch from the fire, holding it aloft in the hand that wasn't wrapped around a pistol like the major's. In that instant, three other guns snapped level in one motion—Kamanov's revolver, the major's Witness, and a Glock 9mm Sebastiano had been concealing—muzzles locked on the object like quivering compass needles on a magnet. The four KGB men assumed similar postures a heartbeat later. A voice arose from the apparition, filtered and artificial in tone. "Good evening, humans. Set your primitive weapons aside. For the moment, I intend you no harm."
"What is this," Empleado demanded from behind the line of his underlings, "an evolved snake of some kind?"
Kamanov lowered his gun, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded, as if at any moment it would smash through his rib cage. He took several deep breaths. "No, Arthur, it is one of those separable tentacles Horatio told us about. I do not believe this one belongs to Mister Thoggosh."
"How perceptive, Doctor." The tentacle moved, sidewinderlike, between shuttle and fire. As it drew closer, its filmy covering became discernable. At its base, Kamanov also saw a flat three-by-fivish object between plastic and flesh, correctly guessing it to be a thin-film audio communicator. "Permit this extension of myself to introduce me. I am Semlohcolresh."
For once, Kamanov looked to someone else to take the lead. It was his friend Horatio's place, he thought, to receive guests.
"How do you do?" Gutierrez somehow overcame the feeling of absurdity in addressing a disembodied appendage. "I gather you know Dr. Kamanov, Col. Richardson, Col. Sebastiano, Mr. Empleado, Major Ortiz, Mr. Jones, Dr. Nguyen, Major Reille y Sanchez, Lieutenant Marna, Lieutenant Gutierrez, Sergeant Pulaski, Corporals Alvarez, Roo, Betal, Hake, and Wise, and myself. How can we help you?"
The tentacle squirmed and twisted. "You'll excuse my eavesdropping. You're correct about the existence of a faction among us who hope for an excuse to employ violence against you."
Gutierrez and Kamanov glanced at one another. Almost forgotten in the midst of the alien intrusion, and unnoticed by everyone but her physician, Richardson had stiffened all over, bone-breaking tension singing through her muscles. Dr. Nguyen's shouted warning preceded the hideous noise Richardson made by only a fraction of a second.
Shaking the little Vietnamese off as if she were an unwanted, flimsy garment, the black woman shoved her aside, bowled through the line of individuals confronting Semlohcolresh, and snatched the weapon from Danny Gutierrez's hand. Sebastiano dived to tackle her at the ankles, but with the speed and agility of determined insanity, Richardson sidestepped. He crashed into Danny, knocking him onto the ground.
Richardson raised the Witness just as Gutierrez and Kamanov shouted at her. She turned for a moment, a betrayed, bewildered look on her face, unconsciously swinging the pistol's muzzle toward them. As they sprang aside, with a different sort of shout, she swung the muzzle back toward the disembodied appendage and pulled the trigger twice. The double detonation shocked and deafened the camp, dazzling vision with a yellow-orange ball of fire which blossomed at the automatic's muzzle.
In that instant, a blue sizzling bolt of energy leaped from the filmy covering of the limb, exploding halfway between the tentacle and the woman, consuming both bullets before they reached their target. Richardson's weapon bucked with recoil. Two distinct metallic clinks marked the places on the McCain's hull where her spent brass struck before it fell to the ground.
Screaming with frustrated rage, she leaped between two shuttles, pistol in hand, vanishing into the dark. Gutierrez pointed toward where his son and Sebastiano were occupied untangling themselves. "You two," he shouted, "after her! Arthur, your men, too!" All seven followed her between the craft and out into the night.
"Some among us," Semlohcolresh continued as if nothing had happened, "believe your species corrupt beyond salvage. I'd say that what we've just witnessed confirms it. I, too, regard your species' eradication as an act of mercy toward you and a positive benefit to the rest the universe.
"Thus it will be me, not my overly tolerant colleague Thoggosh, whom you'll have to convince, if there's to be peace between us."