Misfits (7 page)

She smiled and realized that she was smiling
so low and slow she was laughing, too.

She looked into his eyes then. Still
smiling.

"Got coffee and stringent, huh?"

He nodded, just his eyes smiling, and it
came to her, forcibly, that she didn't want to sleep all alone,
with just the weather machine to wake up to.

She stood up and stretched, as much like a
cat as she could, before reaching a hand down to him.

"Let's see who snores first."

* * *

"'Morning." Robertson's voice was softer
than usual. Brunner touched the volume control, increasing the gain
slightly. "Smokey down here," she murmured. "Been that way the last
three days; getting worse, seems like--…"

On the station, Brunner nodded, and
carefully did not sigh.

"There are large fires burning in the grain
belts on both the major continents," he told her, keeping his voice
merely informative. She had no need, after all, to carry the burden
of his anger. Idiots, fools, and--but, no. That was for later. Now,
there were other necessities to be served.

"Some of the forests also seem to have been
set on fire. I see plumes all over the planet from installations
and communities that have been--… set afire."

"Yeah, they asked us to start burning things
awhile back. Ain't in our job description. Seems they got some kind
of fetish 'bout fire cleaning things up--you know, purifying."

Robertson coughed; Brunner pushed a button
to download a satellite image to the Stubbs' screen.

"Your location is the blinking green dot,"
he said. "The other green dots are your most recent report points.
The valley directly ahead is very smoky--you can see that there are
four distinct plumes which then merge… I believe that all of the
major communities in your area have burned or are burning;
certainly the crop fields have burnt."

A pause, broken by her sigh.

"Guess we won't capture much there. We was
supposed to be moving on one of them towns to meet--… well--…"

He thumbed the plate, waited.

"Huh. What's this about winter? It got
pretty cool last night, even for a girl from Surebleak. I'd have
had damn frosty toes without help--… Hey! That looks ugly as all
get out!"

She was multi-threading, though there was
scarcely need--or maybe, he thought, there was. Who knew how long
she had until the order came to move? Threading was an efficient
way to share information.

So. "Winter does come," he said, picking up
each thread in turn. "A very strong winter on much of the planet,
according to the records. The snowcaps triple in size at the poles.
But there are still eighty to one hundred planet days until that is
a concern for you. Yes, it is ugly. Easily one hundred and fifty
major fires in both hemispheres; on the plains up north there is
effectively a single fire half the width of the continent."

A sound came out of the speaker, as if of a
boot against rock, followed by a murmured question, Redhead's soft,
"I dunno--…"

A new voice emerged from the speaker, crisp
and tight.

"Commander Lizardi here. My weather reporter
says it looks like the locals are burning themselves out of house
and home. If the Scout is available relay this to his attention.
News of the quarantine has been a catalyst for major upheaval
within power structures. Violent upheaval, even by local standards.
My ground station for our tactical satellite has been destroyed by
ground forces, and the Chilongan government that hired me has been
in transition this last five-day, leaving me with no current
contact up-line despite reports that the north is bringing a major
invasion force down on the continent. If the government that hired
me is gone, I need to withdraw. Repeat: We have no assurance of
contracted withdrawal at this point. We also have attracted a few
dozen off-world non-combatants who travel in our train. The Scout
has my contact radio frequencies and I expect them used
appropriately.

"We're moving now. Lizardi out."

* * *

"Brunner, from this point on you will have
an assistant on duty with you at all times while you are in the
meteorology lab."

Chief Thurton stood beside his own desk in
his own office, hand clenching and unclenching nervously.

"An assistant?" Brunner stared, wondering if
he looked upon madness, or only exhaustion.

"We have no such an assistant available," he
pointed out. "Shall you assign the intern's hours to mine, it might
be possible."

"The intern--… is on sick-call. She is--…
unreliable. I note that I don't have your letter on file. I need it
as soon as possible. You--through the orders of the Scout, or by
your own choice--are on the verge of violating our neutrality."

"Indeed," he murmured, keeping his voice
calm, his posture non-argumentative. "By your direction I follow
the Scout's necessity. And the station's--am I not to preserve the
function of the monitor?"

"Liz Lizardi is a combatant, as is the
operator of the equipment. You should not be carrying messages of a
tactical nature for the Scout from Lizardi!"

The chief spun, paced; he stared at the
monitors with their images of smoke-streaked atmosphere.

"Am I," Brunner asked carefully, "relieved
of the command to follow the Scout's orders? The equipment on-world
was supplied for our use by the Scout."

Abruptly, the chief sat behind his desk,
still if not at ease. He closed his eyes, and spoke softly,
enunciating each word with great care.

"Until such time as we are able to assign an
assistant for you, you will record any and all activity within the
laboratory, you will forward the text of any and all communications
with the ground, with the Lunatics, as soon as it is completed. I
have found a dozen or more conversations you've had with that
soldier in the files, contacts you've never mentioned.…"

Brunner bowed, keeping the wave of
frustrated confusion in check with an effort. This conversation was
far too similar to the senseless interrogations regarding melant'i,
proper conduct, and "civilized behavior" that his halfling self had
endured from delm and nadelm to be borne with true calmness.

"It is as you say, Chief. The conversations
were brief and part of the record. It seems--… profitable--… to be
in touch with the one operating the unit, and in fact to ascertain
that the operator is intact enough to operate it properly. The unit
is in a war zone, and I am told I am responsible for it!"

The chief opened his eyes.

"I see. In fact, your motives are pure and
your thought wise." He took a hard breath. "Allow me to be
specific. Do forward messages as they occur. Do not initiate any
conversation with the ground which are not in response to their
queries or actual operational necessity. Do not contact any other
ground units or respond to any outside requests for information;
all such must go through my office. Do not argue with the Scout,
but if he gives you further instructions, report them to me for
clarity before carrying them out."

Brunner bowed again and turned to--

"Brunner--" The chief called him back.
"Maybe you don't understand your situation--the precarious
situation of this station with regard to the--… situation on the
planet. As a result of the Scout's declaration of quarantine, the
so-called legitimate planetary government has vanished, giving rise
to two entities who now claim to be in control. A third has
announced its willingness--and ability--to destroy ‘all interlopers
in the system.' At one point this was a civilized world and they
had means to back that threat up. A space station, as I am sure I
don't need to tell you, is a very, very vulnerable habitat."

Brunner bowed once more, speechless. The
chief collapsed against the back of his chair, boneless with
emotion and waved an incoherent hand.

"Go!"

* * *

Redhead shut the Stubbs down and pushed up
off her knees. Skel looked 'round from where he'd been watching for
her, his face black with ash.

"Get 'im?"

"Just static. I think that roll down the
hill might've shook something loose," she said, pulling the
now-familiar burden up over her shoulders, and settling it with a
wince. Truth told, that tumble hadn't done her a lot of good,
either. Skel'd wrapped the ribs for her, but there wasn't much else
to do about the bruises and contact burns than ignore 'em.

"Best let's catch up," she said. "I'll try
again tonight."

* * *

There was activity in the Chilongan isthmus.
Heavy equipment working between the mismatched sea walls. Brunner
upped the magnification, trying to see what they were about,
conscientiously recording to the planetologist's queue.

Could they be digging? he wondered. But
what--

Alarms went off, not just in his lab but all
over the station, raucous noise bouncing against walls and ear
drums.

Brunner spun away from his screen, trying to
catalog the racket--alarms only, no instruction to abandon ship, or
report of sections sealed, only--

Jack, clanking in at a run, a device of some
sort in his hand.

"What is it," Brunner yelled, over the
unabated clamor.

"Neutrons! Look to your station screen!"

Brunner spun back, slapping the keypad as
the alarms reached a crescendo, faltered, died.

"High Energy Particle Alert" flashed across
the station information screen. "Check badges now."

"Jack here, we're fine in Science A." A
glance showed him listening intently before he said, "Then
recalibrate. It's not an error."

Brunner snatched the badge from his pocket,
confirmed that it was a perfect, unblemished white, spun back--

Jack waved him 'round again. "Take a look
realtime--someone's shooting off big stuff!"

The alarm gave tongue again; ceasing almost
at once.

"Are we attacked?" Brunner demanded, his
fingers calling up satellites and long-range scans.

"Dunno," Jack admitted, flipping through his
beltside inventory. "We're looking secure right now. Bridge didn't
mention incoming."

Jack walked around the lab, casually,
fingers still busy along his belts. "Yeah, this'll flush out what
tech's left, I'm guessing--…"

The alarms blared again; Jack flashed his
scanner, touched his collar, listened, then wandered over to stand
next to Brunner.

"Not aimed at us," he said, as the alarm
screamed into silence. "Air bursts, off on the limb. Mostly neutron
and gamma stuff but our shielding's up to it--… you'll have some
tracking to do."

"But, the radiation! They'll kill
everyone!"

Jack made a noise like a laugh without
energy, and patted the top of Brunner's monitor as if it were a pet
in need of reassurance.

"Nah, now. Only if they do it right. Likely
they don't have enough N-bombs to do everybody in that way. Gotta
hand it to 'em, though, between the gas, and the nukes and burning
everything that'll take a flame, they might've figured out how to
manage it, anyhow."

Speechless, Brunner brought the tracking
screen to full magnification, moving the satellite to cover the
area of the Stubbs' last report, while he fingered up the Stubbs'
screen. Even as the window came live, data began to flow. Brunner
closed his eyes against the wave of relief, took a breath and
touched the send button.

"Miri Robertson, please alert. Miri
Robertson--…"

The response was as instantaneous as the
minor lag allowed. "Brunner! Am I glad to hear your voice! Tried to
get you earlier, but the machine wasn't getting anything but
static! Anyhow, we're ready for a forced march outta here. Locals
are gone crazy; had a bunch attack us with sticks--… carrying
candles like they was going to light us out of the way. Another
bunch just sat down in front of us and shot their own brains
out--…"

"Galandaria, they are using nuclear weapons
on each other."

A pause; a long, long pause--…

"Say again, Brunner." Absolutely serious,
her voice, all trace of childish exuberance extinguished.

"We are recording," he said, keeping his
voice calm, so calm, for her sake. Jack shifted at his side, making
room for the Scout.

"… we are recording nuclear weapons blasts,"
Brunner said into the microphone; "high energy particle counts. I
have not had opportunity to analyze, but--…"

"Right. Hold that there. I'll see if I can
get Liz here to--… damn!" There were sounds, popping, hisses,
explosions. "Bastards coming over the hill! I'll call!" The speaker
went dead.

"Redhead!" He slapped at the switch, knowing
it futile. On the screen, the instrument reports flowing in from
the Stubbs cycled from active, to collate, to archive.

* * *

Jack was still, as it turned out, in the
weather room when Brunner returned from his nightmare-riddled
off-shift. He lounged in Brunner's chair, feet propped up on the
instrument stool. He was awake, as were the monitors, and seemed
none the less for the wear. Brunner's mood, already black,
darkened.

"Jack, I see now what makes you so valuable
to this station. You never sleep and you are always concerned of
things you have no need to know!"

Jack grinned and bowed a meaningless,
half-reclined bow.

"We're alike that way, aren't we? And
yeah--my sleep center took a hit when I was on a mission, back when
I was the age of your redhead down there. Well, pretty much all of
me took a hit, tell the truth. Got put in an autodoc for about a
week--… and came out mostly better, 'cept I can't sleep more'n
about three hours at a time."

Brunner shook his head, looking around at
the busy screens.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"Well, I survived and found a job using my
unique talents--…"

Brunner bristled, strode over to his main
screen.

"I know," Jack said, rising with a minimum
of clank and clatter. He bowed; a surprisingly apt bow of a
colleague relinquishing activity to an equal. "It ain't funny, but
it's my only defense right now."