Endgame (16 page)

It took longer than I thought. I grabbed Tokughavita in a wrestling hold from behind, but the slippery little devil pulled some move I recognized as traditional judo and slipped my hold. I managed to tag him in the knee with the heel of my palm, though, and he went down hard, starting to yell and scream in terror that he didn't want to die. He sounded like a sinner who suddenly realizes that death means hell for him!

Arlene grabbed him from behind, pressing her forearm against his windpipe and shutting off the scream before it leaked out. But the bastard fell backward on her, taking her down and lying on top of her, then he lashed out with his feet and caught me right in the jewels.

The pain was excruciating; it was almost worse than when I was getting shot up down on the planet surface! But when you're in-country, the first thing you learn is to suck it up and not let the pain stop you. It's better to be hurting than dying. I clenched my
teeth and somehow forced out of my head the ability to comprehend agony.

How the hell is this guy fighting so effectively while in such terror?
He seemed supernaturally strong and fast. They must feel this kind of terror so often, anytime something threatens their life, that they just learn to live with it.

I hooked one leg of his with my arm, but I missed the other. It didn't miss me; Tokughavita kicked his knee up and around, catching me just below the left eye. I swear to God, I actually saw fireflies orbiting my head. I thought the move was pure kickboxing—this guy was the Bomb!

But he was starting to weaken from lack of oxygen. I had kept him so busy—kicking his foot with my groin, beating on his knee with my face—that he didn't have time or muscle to break Arlene's chokehold. Now, turning blue, he had both hands under her wrist and was trying to wrench it free, but she caught her fist in her other hand and pulled as tight as she could. While they danced their little pavane, I caught his other leg and rolled on top of him. Both of us were atop Arlene, and under other circumstances, she would have loved being naked underneath two big beefy guys. Once I had the overcaptain pinned, I grabbed his hands and yanked them off Arlene's arm, and the fight was over. A minute and a half later, A.S. figured he was definitely out, not just faking, and she let him go.

I checked him carefully. He was breathing again, and his color was coming back. . . . I'd been worried, because sometimes a chokehold can actually crush a man's windpipe, killing him. No wonder he was frightened! We set him upright and I tied his hands and feet with my bootlaces; we thought about gagging him, but if his screams of mortal terror didn't attract anyone, his buddies were all deaf—or they didn't care. Then we waited for him to come around. It was
time to grab the bull by the tail and look the facts square in the face: time to see how much he really knew about the aliens he had been pursuing and had now “caught”—the way you'd catch a flu virus.

“N
inepin, what sensory apparatus do you have? Can you do a microscopic examination of Overcaptain Tokughavita?” I asked.

“Cannot,” said the green-glowing sphere.

“Crap,” muttered Arlene, speaking for both of us. “All right, you useless bowling ball, where is the nearest lab on the ship with a microscope?”

A 3-D diagram appeared floating in the air between us; a cabin flashed red, and a labeled arrow pointing at it read
Are Here.
A couple of hundred meters for'ard and a deck down, another cabin flashed, green this time. The best route between the two locations was marked in yellow brick; evidently, Ninepin had a sense of history and a sense of humor.

Arlene tried to pick him up but had no better luck than I. Tokughavita started moaning, still not fully conscious, just as I crept forward and tried the door. It opened! The idiot must have assumed he could handle us; maybe he was so fixated on individuality that it never occurred to him that Arlene and I might cooperate and deck him, when either one of us alone would have had his or her butt kicked.

Shutting the door, I returned and searched Tokughavita. I found a device in a boot-draw that looked
suspiciously like a weapon. Ninepin told me how to set it to deliver electricity in high enough amperage to incapacitate a normal human for a few minutes. “Arlene,” I explained, “I just can't bring myself to start blowing away humans, not now, not when I know what we're really up against in the War of Galactic Schools of Criticism.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, Sarge.” She brushed a wet streak of hair from her face; her hair turned rust colored when it was soaked. “I wish we had phasers or something. I'm really starting to get homesick. I want—I want to see . . .”

“You want to see where Albert lived and what happened to him?” She smiled and nodded. “I have a thought, kiddo.” Turning to the ball, I asked, “Do you have any records on the life of Albert Gallatin?”

“Have several,” he said. “Presume want Gallatin Albert who accompanied you on expedition. Highlights follow, dates supplied upon request: Gallatin returned to Earth after wounded in assault on Fred base; remained in United States Marine Corps two years until disbanded in favor of People's Democratic Defense Forces, honorable discharge, promotion to Gunnery Sergeant; awarded Hero of United Earth People.”

“Jeez,” I mumbled. “I think I would have left, too.” Arlene grunted. She was more interested in Ninepin's information than my smartass comments.

“Freds still controlled most land masses, banned education, literacy, technological development among humans under purview. Gallatin attended hedge school, studied biophysics, specifically cryogenics and suspension techniques. Developed techniques for suspending life processes for long periods. Spent last thirty-eight years of life in Salt Lake Grad researching life stasis.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “He was trying to figure out how to wait for me!”

I got a chill thinking about it. It was creepy hearing
about the futile efforts of a man to hang on for the hundreds of years it would take his beloved to return to him—a love that would last until the stars grew cold. I
presumed
it was futile, otherwise the bowling ball would have told us he was still alive.

“Gallatin contributed work on life-stasis, published first theoretical description of hypothetical process's effect on neural tissue; award of Nobel prize transmitted on SneakerNet, clandestine encrypted network founded by Gallatin Albert and six other scientists, tracked by scientists, engineers, military and political leaders, several million others. Sidebar: Freds tried repeatedly to take down SneakerNet for seventy-four years until Freds defeated, driven from planet; never succeeded taking down entire net, eventually played role in defeat.”

“Go, Albert, go!” whispered Arlene, eyes closed, as if the resistance were still ongoing instead of a part of history. A tear rolled down her cheek. I looked away, a bit embarrassed.

“Gallatin Albert published twenty articles on SneakerNet describing still-uninvented life-stasis system, died in 132nd year of life, year 31 PGL, Salt Lake Grad. Currently interred in rebuilt Tabernacle of People's Faith of Latter-Day Saints.”

“PGL?” I inquired.

“People's Glorious Liberation,” Overcaptain Tokughavita answered. We all jumped. The human had come around while we listened to Albert's life history, and none of us had noticed. “Could have told Gallatin's bio,” continued the overcaptain. “Well-known to whole community of persons. Studied in school; Hero of People, body displayed in Hall of Heroes.”

“We heard,” I said. “He got a medal.”

“Then he's dead,” said my lance, sitting hard on the bunk. She placed her hands on her knees and bowed her head. I did the same, keeping an eye on Tokughavita. After one full minute—another skill we learn
in Parris Island, keeping an accurate internal clock—she rose, hard and determined. She looked sad, but relieved. Finding out Albert really and truly was dead was a killing blow . . . but at least
now she knew.
No more guessing!

“Gallatin Albert dead,” Ninepin agreed. “Death announced by Lovelace Jill in year 31 PGL.”

“And life-stasis?” she asked.

“Prototype on 37 PGL; full implementation 50 PGL.”

Arlene stared at me, a hopeless, frustrated mask of anger on her face. Six years! Six years, and he could have preserved himself at least for the thirteen it took before the full implementation was developed.

I didn't know what to say, so I said something anyway. “Jesus, what a dirty trick.”

They must have been good words. Arlene relaxed, allowing every emotion she had felt for Albert to wash across her face: intrigue, exasperation, sexual thrill, love, concern, irritation, and love again—the emotion that stuck when the others trickled away. She rose, light on her feet. “I want to get back there,” she said. “Put a flower or something on his grave. That's what you do, isn't it? Fly, can you get a priest or something to bless Albert's soul, so he won't end up in spiritual Okinawa?”

Okinawa is what we call “Marine Corps hell.” I smiled, but it wasn't a friendly grin, more like baring my teeth. “You put your foot in the middle of my own fear, A.S. If there is no more faith back on Earth, are there any more priests? How am I going to confess ever again?” I shut up, quick; I didn't want to spell out the full, awful truth I had just realized:
I was going to die unshriven!
If anyone were going to hell, it would be I, a Catholic who dies with unconfessed sins on his soul.

“Come on, you ugly baboon,” I said, yanking Tokughavita to his feet. “Let's go see what germs you've picked up recently.” I opened the door and slid
out, pulling the overcaptain behind me. Arlene took the rear, holding the back of his shirt and assuring him in soft tones that she could punch him in the back of the neck and break his spine before he could get two steps away from her.

I was just starting to regret having to leave Ninepin behind, hoping he would be there when we got back, when I stopped too suddenly and felt a thump against my ankle. I looked down, and lo and behold, there was our green glowing bowling ball. He rolled along happily right underfoot, getting in the way and thumping down the ladderways like a real ball. I smiled. This was too ridiculous.

We had to traverse more than the two hundred meters of corridor because we had to track and backtrack. Whenever we got a little lost—not that Marine Corps recons ever get
really
lost—Ninepin projected a map in the air. God knows how he did it; it was two hundred years ahead of me, and I didn't even know how television worked.

We entered a passageway that was long and narrow, like the inside of a tube. Halfway down it, a crewman stepped right in front of us. I was about to bash him or zap him when I realized he wasn't even looking at us! He turned his back to us, whistling something tuneless and ghastly and hacking at some electrical circuits—the guy couldn't care less that we were escaping right behind him. Good thing. I'd never seen a bigger man, probably a seven-foot, 140-kilogram black guy with—I ain't lying—
straight blond hair
that fell to mid-back. He wore a sparkly variation on the uniform that made him look like a Mexican matador. Even his hat had those two bumps on the side. I couldn't resist saying
“ole!”
as we passed, but he didn't respond.

We scurried along the tube, then dropped down an access hatch into pitch blackness. I fell heavily, and my foot slipped out from under me on a pool of oil. I don't know where from. I limped forward. Ninepin
glowed brighter to cast some light and bounced down beside me, getting a big, juicy oil smear all over one brightly lit face, which didn't seem to bother him. I wished I still had my pack. I had a nice flash that would have brightened things up a bit more than Ninepin could. I felt my way along, avoiding overhangs that would have cracked my skull open, and I only stumbled over a seam in the metal grating once. Arlene cursed and swore behind me; she had terrible night vision. However bad it was for me, it was probably worse for my lance.

I saw a light ahead, just a dim red glow. I hunched over to avoid the overhead and scurried forward, like a locomotive for a two-car train. I saw the light came from around a corner. I slid to my right and found myself nose to nose with another crewman. Unfortunately, this one happened to be one of the two guards that Tokughavita had originally brought with him. What wonderful luck!

The overcaptain was a fast mother, fast-thinking and damn quick on his feet: he saw who it was the same time I did, but instead of gawking, he charged me, hitting me in the kidneys and body-slamming me forward.

Fortunately, the guard was a dull-witted imbecile. The Newbies weren't controlling him at that moment. He stared stupidly; give him another five seconds, and he would have snapped out of it. But I wasn't in a charitable mood.

I planted my feet, stopping my forward progress, then I leaned back and staggered into Tokughavita. Superior weight and leg power drove the overcaptain back, opening up a good ten meters between us and the guard.

Now the soldier woke up and started to respond, trying to dominate the situation, but he was too late. I raised my little zap gun, now that I had the range, and squeezed off a loud crackling shot. The guard yelled
“who!”
or something and fell to his knees, not even
halfway across the gap to me. He rolled over onto one side, body convulsing; his eyes rolled up, showing me just the whites, which were burning lava in the red light tubes. “Move out,” I snarled, stepping over his prostrate figure.

Arlene viciously shoved the panicky Tokughavita forward, rabbit-punching him in the gut a couple of times to teach him a lesson. I'd been on the receiving end of a lot of Corporal Sanders's beatings, during training and Fox Company's bimonthly boxing matches; I felt his pain.

We dropped down the last ladderway, and naturally Ninepin found it absolutely necessary to drop down the hatch directly onto my foot. I bit off a yell of pain, clenching my teeth until I could walk again. Then I waddled down the final passageway, dragging my prisoner. The lab was electronically locked, but a zap from the buzz gun took care of that problem. We entered and stared around at the maze of machinery, hoping our pet computer knew what the hell to do with it all.