The Forever Hero (17 page)

As he circled, while the devilkid Lerwin looked from screen to ruins to screen, Gerswin scanned from board to horizon to screen to Lerwin to board, trying to gauge the impact on Lerwin.

Lerwin said nothing.

Finally, Gerswin broke off the circle and headed for the religious shrine on the top of one of the higher hills.

There, again, he repeated the process, and through the screen shots and the comparisons, Lerwin said nothing.

“Prime Outrider, this is Opswatch. Recommend departure no later than point two. No later than point two.”

“Opswatch, this is Prime Outrider. Understand departure in point two. Interrogative met status.”

“That's affirmative. Landspout line developing to the northeast.”

“Interrogative closure.”

“Projected at one five zero kays. One five zero.”

“Stet, Opswatch. Will notify of departure.”

Gerswin scanned his own small weather screen, saw nothing, and switched his attention back to Lerwin.

“Time for one more, Lerwin, before we sprint back home.”

The flitter eased out of the bank and toward the scrubby hills to the southeast of the pile of darkened stones that the map had indicated was once a cathedral.

“Another shrine.”

Gerswin jabbed the screen tapes control to bring up the second shrine. While it had not been so impressive to begin with, the destruction was more clear-cut. The landspouts had scoured everything clean except the foundation outlines and dumped the stone and iron into a twisted heap at the eastern end of the unnaturally flattened hilltop.

Lerwin shook his head through the entire three circuits by the flitter.

“Could show you more, but most places are gone, covered with swamp. Some I couldn't identify. Sides, don't want to end up scrapped by the landspouts,” observed the pilot as he began the rotor retraction sequence.

“Opswatch, this is Prime Outrider. Departing target this time. Course two seven five. Two seven five.”

“Prime Outrider, understand two seven five.”

“That's affirmative.”

The moments in the cockpit dragged on as the whine of the thrusters built along with the airspeed.

Gerswin wondered why he was depressed. He had apparently succeeded in getting his point across to Lerwin. He had been able to get some solid shots of the ruins, which would please Matsuko.

“Prime Outrider, this is Opswatch. Suggest two eight five. Suggest two eight five.”

“Two eight five. Coming to two eight five. Steady on two eight five.”

The flitter rocked, and Gerswin checked the thrusters. Steady and in the green. Course two eight five and five standard hours to go before touchdown.

Another standard hour passed before Lerwin spoke.

“Why?”

Gerswin didn't answer immediately. What could he say?

How could a people reach the stars, how could they build systems
that could still map continents, shelter them under a mountain, and have them operate fifteen to twenty centuries later? How could they build materials that Imperial technology could not understand or duplicate and not stop the devastation of their own planet? How could they forge materials impervious to hellburners and indecipherable to Imperial engineers and have been so unable to stop the collapse?

“Why?” asked Lerwin again.

“Don't know.” What else could he say? What could anyone have said?

Kiedra studied her reflection in the mirror one last time before glancing down at the single packed kit bag by the bunk. She still wasn't used to a bunk. Even with the hard panel of composite she'd found to put under the mattress, the Imperial bedding felt too soft.

The plain gray tunic was adequate, certainly better than patched leathers stolen from shambletowners, and although the cloth was soft, it resisted everything but the rain. Nothing resisted the rain. Best were the boots, supple enough to run, but hard enough to shield feet from the shards…

She frowned. Hard to forget that there wouldn't be any shards where she was headed. No shards, no landpoisons, no king rats or she-coyotes—just machines and people.

Gerswin had emphasized the people, and the piling of scent upon scent, all muted, as if the people were locked behind windows.

She looked back into the mirror, green cat-eyes facing green cat-eyes, tight-curled black hair facing tight-curled black hair. Gerswin had told her, when she had asked, that she was attractive. But he'd never raised a hand to her, and the other devilkids—the males—were more interested in the Imperial women. The Imperial men…the techs eyed her appreciatively, that she could tell from their breathing and the conversations they thought she had not overheard, but they shied away from her.

The officers were another matter. All were taller than she was, but while they were polite and would help her learn anything, not one ventured even a casual touch.

“Devil-woman…” Kiedra had heard that enough.

She bit her lip. Just because she had objected to being pawed that one time.

Gerswin had not been exactly kind to her when he had arrived on the scene after that incident, although he had certainly been cool enough to Lieutenant Kardias and not at all sympathetic about his broken arm. But then Gerswin had glared at her when no one was looking.

She shivered. There was the real devilkid, with the cold fire in his soul and the weight of the night on his heart.

She sighed, squared her shoulders, and left the kit bag by the bunk. She had more than a standard hour before she had to be at the hangar-bunker for the shuttle to the
Churchill
.

As she marched toward the captain's quarters, her quick strides made up for any shortness of leg she might have had.

While the faint trace in the fainter dust outside his portal indicated he was gone, she buzzed anyway. Waited. Buzzed again. And again.

Then she checked the time. Still enough for her to look outside and make it to the shuttle.

Her steps took her to the south lock portals, and she went through the inner and outer ports as quickly as she could. The whistling wind flapped the lower edges of her tunic and tugged at the flat waistband, but the absence of machine oil and musty human stink was a relief. She took a deep breath of the ice cold air, exhaled slowly, and turned her head to search the ridgeline and hillside, while her ears strained.

Crack!

The sound of a slingstone hitting something came from the left, and Kiedra hurried toward the sound, unconsciously adopting the quick sliding run of a devilkid on the hunt, hugging the side of the earth-covered administration building until she crossed the highest point of the ridge.

On the other side, as she had hoped, was Gerswin, practicing with a shambletown sling.

She stopped and watched as he effortlessly fired off three stones in a row.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The last split a head-sized rock, placed above the man-shaped target, in two.

Gerswin walked over to the target, reclaimed the stones, replaced the “head” with another rock, and stalked back to another position, with a different angle and distance.

Thwick!

Kiedra blinked. She had not seen the blade, but there it was, buried so deep in the target that only a sliver of metal showed.

Gerswin turned and started to walk farther from the target, then turned and dropped, letting go with a single sling cast, all in one fluid motion.

Crack!

The stone bounced off the “chest” of the battered plastic target.

The captain looked uphill, and even at that distance, she felt the yellow of his eyes chilling her. He motioned her toward him with a single curt gesture.

Within moments, it seemed, she had covered the distance between them.

“Should be on your way to the shuttle.”

“Should. Will be. Came…to say good-bye.”

“You'll be back. Not too long.”

“Too long.” She shook her head, violently. “Why aren't you there to see us go?”

“Don't like good-byes.”

“We do?”

He looked at the clay.

Slowly, as if she were moving it a great distance against heavy grav, she extended her left hand until her fingers wrapped around his. She squeezed gently.

“Kiedra. You'll be fine. Learn everything you can.”

She said nothing. Their eyes met, hers drinking in the cold, brown-flecked yellow of his, and the darkness behind the yellow and the chill they radiated.

“Late for the shuttle,” he reminded her.

“I'll make it.” She did not let go of his hand, squeezed his fingers more tightly.

Finally, he smiled faintly, and leaned forward to brush her cheek with his lips.

A fatherly kiss, she felt, though she had never known one.

“Do what you want and what you must, but come back, Kiedra. We need you. All of us.”

She withdrew her hand and stepped back, wanting to dash away, to run for cover, any cover. Instead, she inclined her head.

“I will be back, Captain. We all will.”

She sensed Gerswin did not move as she turned and marched back toward the portal, back toward her single kit bag and the shuttle to the Empire, and the training that awaited her and seven others.

She let the single tear on her cheek dry untouched as she hurried through the portals toward her bag and the shuttle.

“At ease, Captain.”

Gerswin relaxed slightly, but his position scarcely changed, not that it had been Marine-straight to begin with.

“Sit down. I know it's not in your nature, Greg, but sit down anyway.” The major gestured to the chair across the blank table from him. Matsuko was one of the few officers on Old Earth Base who ignored consoles and the access to the central data banks they represented.

Gerswin sat.

“I have orders, orders to New Augusta.”

Gerswin did not look directly at the olive dark face of the Operations officer, nor down at the shining surface of the table from behind which Matsuko presided. Rather, his glance appeared disinterested. If he looked too intently at anyone, the automatic intensity of his gaze made the subject of his observation uncomfortable.

“Congratulations, Major. Know it's what you wanted. Hope the duty assignment is also what you requested.”

“I'm being assigned to the War Plan Staff—Admiral Ligerto—after three months home leave.

“That's not why I asked you here, however.” Matsuko held up a set of six fax flimsies. “I recommended you as my successor and your promotion to major, since Captain J'rome has also been transferred, as you know.”

Gerswin did not breathe a sigh of relief at Captain J'rome's transfer, but most of the techs would.

Matsuko laughed, but the sound was forced. “I suppose one and two halves out of four isn't bad.”

Gerswin frowned. “One and two halves.”

“You know the one. The remaining two halves out of three? You get a temporary promotion to major, contingent on continued performance, and permanent no later than five years if not remanded or made permanent before, and you are assigned as Deputy Operations officer.”

“That's what I've been doing, in fact.”

“But not in name, and this makes it official.”

“The new Operations officer?”

Matsuko nodded. “Reiner D'Gere Vlerio.”

Gerswin raised his eyebrows. The impressive-sounding name meant exactly nothing to him.

“You might be one of the few who doesn't know him, or his family, I should say. He's the youngest son of one of the more powerful Barons of Commerce in the Empire, Baron Fredrich Reiner Vlerio. His house controls the databloc licenses.”

Gerswin nodded in response. He could understand the money and power involved there.

“You don't seemed impressed, Major.”

Gerswin appreciated the immediate promotion, but shrugged. What could he say?

“Some skepticism might be healthy. Major Vlerio was the lead scout pilot on the Analex Reconnaissance, and he was the only pilot from his section to return. We'll leave it at that. That's what is in the official records. Since then he has been attached to assignments at headquarters.”

Gerswin was seeing a picture he didn't appreciate.

Matsuko laughed the short laugh that was not a laugh.

“He brought his orders with him, as well as yours and mine. Your promotion is effective today, but you do not take over as Deputy Ops boss until tomorrow, when Reiner takes charge.”

Gerswin understood. How he understood. Major Reiner Vlerio needed a good fleet or out-systems tour, and the fleet wouldn't have him after the Analex screwup. No one trusted him not to foul up. Gerswin was appointed official custodian. If one Major Gerswin failed, there was no great loss to the Service, and if he succeeded, his status and promotion were assured, although only a few would know the special circumstances.

“I see.”

“I think you do. I think you do, but not as much as you need.”

“Would you care to explain, ser?”

“Major Vlerio is wasting no time. He has already requested a flitter to survey a landspout and tasked Lieutenant Deran as his copilot. While I could overrule him, since he doesn't take over until tomorrow, I won't.”

“I understand, Major.” And he did. Vlerio had had assignments at headquarters and certainly had friends left. Or acquaintances who would bow to the family's power.

“I'll take care of it. When does he lift off?”

“One stan.”

“Then you'll excuse me.”

“Good luck, Greg.”

Gerswin merely nodded. He left the office and headed for Jeri Deran's quarters, hoping she was still there.

She was.

Petite, black-haired, black-eyed, dark-skinned, and with a hard and brassy voice that had more than once stunned male officers expecting a soft-spoken lady.

“To what do I owe this visit, Captain?” Jeri Deran had not stood up, but had remained seated on the edge of her bunk, pulling on her second flight boot.

“Your health, Lieutenant.”

“My health. Healthy as a damned scampig! What's this health crap?”

“What do you know about Major Vlerio?”

“That he's Matsuko's successor. That he'll make the officer evaluations, and that he's the only ticket out of here. That's all I need to know right now.”

“Wrong, Jeri. Need to know that most officers who fly with him don't survive. Also need to know that Matsuko is still Ops boss, and that I'm now Deputy Ops boss.”

“Crap, Captain! Sheer unadulterated crap! You're trying to blow the one chance I've got to get out of here.”

She had yanked on her second boot and stood, glaring at Gerswin.

“You run around like a tin god, and all the techs bow as you pass. So do half the pilots, and damned if I can see why. So…no one else can make a flitter do what you can? So what? You can do your own repairs? So what? You've been here ever since you got out of training, what, fifteen years ago? You're still a captain—”

“Major, now,” Gerswin corrected quietly. A faint smile played around the corner of his lips.

“Pardon me, Major. So you're a major, so recently you don't even have the insignia. After fifteen years you finally made it, and you'll have to spend another five here to pay it off, until you're so specialized you'll never get off this stinking ball of poisoned mud. I beg your pardon, you are from here. I forgot. If you wanted to, you could never leave our revered ancestral home. But I want out, and not after fifteen or twenty years of ‘Yes, ser, anything you please, ser.'”

“Going through a landspout will get you out quicker, and in a sil
ver urn.” Gerswin's eyes flared, and even Jeri Deran took two steps back away from him, though he had not moved, until her back was against the bulkhead. “You want to fly with Vlerio?” he pressed. “Fine. I'll see that you do, until you're sick of it and sick of him. But not today. For other reasons, I've got to see that the…major…survives in spite of his…impetuosity.”

“You talk a good line…Major…but no orbit break.”

“Do you want the next long-distance spout study? Solo?”

Gerswin looked at the lieutenant, whose glanced dropped.

“Do you want to be permanent shuttle liaison?”

He waited.

Only the hiss of the ventilators broke the silence of the small quarters.

“What do you want, Major?”

“Call in sick in about fifteen minutes. Call me. I'll be there. That's all.”

“All right…Major. But if you—”

“Understood, Jeri, understood. I don't break any promises.” Gerswin started to leave, then turned back. “Understand this, too. You say a word, one single word, and the whole base will know how you want to use Vlerio, both on and off duty! That I can insure.”

“You are without a doubt the meanest bastard left on this mud-ball and I hope you end up the last.”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Now would you please get the Hades out of here so that I can get sick, recently promoted Major Gerswin, not that you haven't given me every possible incentive?”

Gerswin left, at a walk approaching double-time, for the Operations center to rearrange the schedule, and to insure that Markin was the tech on the flight.

He'd already made sure that the equipment crew would take as much time as possible in issuing Vlerio his gear.

He shook his head. A flight to see a landspout, for Hades' sake. There were much easier ways to commit suicide, but the last thing he needed was Vlerio's death under any circumstances, much less under those that could be construed as suspicious.

Gerswin stepped up the pace. Vlerio might not be pleased, but the major wouldn't complain publicly…not until he took over as Operations officer.

In the meantime, all Gerswin had to do was to get him through the flight in one piece, if he could.

Getting Vlerio to the flight line would be the easy part. Getting
him through the flight and getting him to accept what he needed to know would be the hard part.

Gerswin sighed as he turned into the Operations center, only half-aware of the way the other officers and techs backed away from him. He had a lot of arranging to do before he and Vlerio took off. A lot.

He gnawed at his lower lip as he dropped in front of the console. The flight time would be pressing before he knew it.

Three faxcalls and fifteen minutes later he was heading for the tunnel toward the hangar-bunker, hoping Markin had already gotten there.

He could see as he approached the flitter that Vlerio had already arrived, and that the major had brought his own gear, tailor-made from a shiny black fabric.

Gerswin refrained from shaking his head. The material would be worse than useless if Vlerio were ever forced down away from base.

“Captain! I had requested Lieutenant Deran for this flight.”

“Sorry, ser. She called in sick. Nausea. Might be toxic shock. No one else was ready, and I thought you wanted to leave on schedule.”

Vlerio looked as if he had not decided whether to frown or glare.

“All right, Captain. We'll do the best we can.”

He slapped the fusilage of the flitter next to the thruster intakes.

Thud
.

“Disgraceful, Captain. This hull is a patchwork, absolute patchwork. Hope the thrusters aren't in the same sorry condition.”

The major moved toward the inspection panel, but Gerswin was there first, easing the fitting and holding the panel open for the major's inspection.

“They've had some care, at least.” Vlerio frowned as he checked the seal dates. “Why such a short time between overhauls? So many frequent rebuildings are expensive, Captain, extremely expensive. Hard to justify on a budget these days, you know.”

“Yes, ser. Airborne debris level is much higher than standard here. Requires replating sooner.”

“Ah, yes. The Service had that problem on New Colora part of the year. Stormy seasons, you recall. But we solved that one with the installation of particle screens. You should have looked into that, Captain.”

“We did, Major. The density altitude and power requirements would have required the installation of HG 50s, and it's cheaper to replate than to re-engine and re-engine.”

“When we get back and when I'm settled in, I'd like to review that data, Captain. We might be able to find a way around that particular problem.”

“Yes, ser.” Gerswin closed the access panel and trailed the major as Vlerio checked the skids and completed the rest of the preflight with noncommittal grunts.

Vlerio took the left-hand seat, the pilot's position, as Gerswin strapped himself into the right-hand seat.

“Checklist?”

“Up and ready,” answered Gerswin.

“Aux power?”

“Green.”

Vlerio continued through the checklist and through the start-up completely enough.

“Ready to lift.”

“Opswatch, Outrider two, ready to lift, request met status and bunker clearance.

“Bunker clearance?” asked Vlerio without putting the question on the comment.

“Sometimes the wind sheers outside the hangar-bunker can hit eighty kays. Need a reading before we lift and clear the doors.”

“Eighty kays?”

Gerswin ignored the question to listen to the clearance.

“Outrider two. Met status is green. Winds less than twenty kays. Cleared to lift and depart. Interrogative fuel status.”

“Opswatch, fuel status is four point five.”

“Understand four point five.”

“Stet.”

Gerswin nodded at Vlerio, who was gripping both stick and thrusters too tightly.

He waited a moment before clearing his throat. “Major, we're cleared to lift. The wind will gust from the right as you clear the bunker.”

“Oh…Stand by, Captain.”

“Outrider two, lifting.”

“Stet, two. Have a good flight. Watch those purple beauties for us.”

“That was an unauthorized transmission, Captain.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Find out who made it.”

“Yes, ser. I'll check the log when we get back. The wind is from the starboard.”

The flitter lurched forward on ground cushion and through the hangar bay portals.

Gerswin kept his hands near the controls, afraid that Vlerio would fail to compensate for the loss of ground cushion if an unexpected gust swept the flitter, or that he wouldn't get the aircraft pointed into the wind quickly enough.

While the flitter rocked and the skids nearly scraped the tarmac outside, Vlerio slowly maneuvered it into the wind and tilted it forward into a liftoff run, quickly feeding turns to the thrusters.

Once airborne, as the major studied the heads-up display, Gerswin surreptitiously wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, then dropped the helmet's impact visor back in place. His mirthless smile, as he watched Markin do the same from the corner of his eye, was hidden behind the tinted impact visor.

“What's the vector to that storm, Captain?”

“Zero four five, Major. Approximate range is six five kays.”

“Estimated time to closure?”

“On thrusters or with blades deployed?”

“Thrusters,” answered Vlerio as he began the blade retraction sequence.

“Ten standard minutes, give or take two.”