Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty (47 page)

Read Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty Online

Authors: Jean Johnson

BOOK: Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty
12.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Lurching backwards across the face of the flood wave, Ia finally landed on her target: a chunk of corrugated metal, formerly part of a shed roof. A twist of her hips, a digging of her heels, and the front end lifted up out of the muck before it could complete its tumble. It was broad, and it was awkward, but it was long. Long enough to form a makeshift surfboard that could ride the front crest of that churning brown wave.
She knew seconds before something heavy
slammed
into the roof. Knew in time to leap high, and to press down and around with her mind, spinning the section of roof so that it landed just flat enough to accept her falling weight again. A twist of her hips, a thrust of her legs, arms spread for counterbalance, and the roof slashed sideways across the muddy, foaming waters. That forced her to squeeze her eyes tight against the murk, but she swiped at her face and opened them again on the far side of the broken crest.
Here was a moment of relative calm, in this stretch of the front wave.
Relative
meaning she had fewer tree chunks to dodge. Enough time to spare to flip open her wrist unit and punch the emergency transponder, activating her pickup signal. She had just enough time to grab her laser pistol and yank out the e-clip, letting her damp hand press into the contact sockets and suck out the precious juice inside.
She was cold, wet, exhausted, and in dire need of more energy for the next phase of her rescue from death. Her headset sputtered briefly with static, then cleared.
“Sir!”
she heard Soyuez shouting on her headset, broadcasting on the platoon frequency.
“I’m getting a signal! It’s Corporal Ia—her transponder went off! Requesting permission to deviate and search!”
“That dam water is racing down the valley, Private,”
Lt. D’kora argued back.
“Estes reported she had to abandon the corporal to the flood.”
“Sir, we have a light load, we can stay above the floodwaters—at least we can track where her body goes, sir!”
As much as she wanted to tell them that she was still alive, Ia didn’t have the time. She was about to lose her surfboard to—the flood, as it crashed into a series of buildings and houses. The small town had already been evacuated, long since submerged to those upper windows by the initial flooding that had diverted not only the
Liu Ji
as the nearest source of manpower, but Battle Platform
Hum-Vee
as well, following in their wake as fast as its mass could move, bringing the sentientarian supplies it carried on board.
Sprinting forward, scrambling over the rooftops before they could be crushed by the waves, she leaped from building to building until she was several seconds ahead of the incoming fury. Panting, Ia positioned herself by a plexcrete chimney and slapped her comm link on.
“Souyez, get your asteroid out here!”
she shouted into her headset.
“
Ia?
Gods alive! You’re actually—”
She didn’t hear the rest of the lieutenant’s exclamation. The crackling crashing smashing wall of mud and debris had caught up with her. Once again, she leaped high and hard, and scrambled from wall to window, carnivore to chair, table to tree.
“. . . her transponder, sir! Speeding to her location!”
The flood reached the floating logs that had once been a paper mill farm of transplanted Terran trees. Now it was as much a matter of luck and telekinesis that kept her leaping from branch to trunk, rather than slipping and falling, perhaps impaling herself, perhaps simply drowning and being crushed under the flood.
“Holy
shakk
! She’s . . . I’ve never seen anything so . . . !”
“Get over here!”
Ia yelled, activating her comm link with her mind, since her hands were too busy flinging this way and that, correcting her balance and providing extra momentum for each dodging leap. She slipped as one of the logs underneath her feet lurched upward unexpectedly, and was forced to thrust with her tired mind, “climbing” with faked steps that finally made actual contact.
“On our way!”
she heard Souyez promise, and aimed for that intersection point in his space and her time. She thrust off the end of that sapling, only to leap from pole to lurching, tumbling pole. Squinting against the sting of the rain, she finally spotted the dark shape of the borrowed hovervan swooping up from her right. She could also see Estradille in his Marine Browns gesturing out the open back doors . . . but he wasn’t her goal.
There was too high a chance the recoil of her falling weight would knock
both
of them out of the van. Dodging left, leaping right, Ia scrambled up one of the larger chunks of tree farm debris and jumped high and hard. Her feet skidded on the very back edge of the van, catching purchase just long enough to propel the rest of her body forward. She slammed into the roof, palms slipping uselessly on the rain-slick surface, and felt something
crack
inside her chest. Pain stabbed through her nerves, already stretched tight by her harrowing need to survive.
Stunned, breathless, she lay sprawled on the roof, muscles hunching protectively. That made the pain even worse.
Oh . . . God . . . I think I broke a rib.
Aching, struggling for air, Ia twisted awkwardly onto her side. Away from the hard metal ridge housing the van’s traffic transceiver.
“She’s still moving!”
Estradille shouted, both in her headset and aloud.
“I think she survived!”
“Well,
we
won’t if I don’t get us out of here, pronto! Time to bounce, meioas! Hang on!”
Curling her hand over the same ridge that had injured her, Ia clung to the top of the van as it swayed and picked up speed, angling away from the valley and its flooded, churning debris. If she’d had the energy to spare, if she’d gotten Estes’ spare e-clip, she would have healed her broken rib. Instead, she would have to wait for the medics back at their makeshift base camp to get around to fixing the bone later tonight.
It would be painful, but she would endure. Ia focused on clinging and breathing, letting go of the cold, cold waters of her own timestream. She had survived. This time.
That was all that mattered.
 
So much for sleeping.
Gripping the side of her cot, Ia rolled herself onto her elbow, then carefully levered her body upright. Bending over to reach her footgear had her biting her lower lip in the effort to contain her grunt. It escaped as a hiss, one thankfully quiet enough to avoid waking the others sharing the tent serving as their temporary shelter. A last few drops of rain from the passing storm still pattered on the plexi roof, and the sides rustled, flapping in the night breeze. The noises covered the soft hisses she made as she tugged on socks and laced up her boots.
Ia hadn’t bothered to remove the clean, dry Browns she had donned after seeing the medical staff sent down from the orbiting
Liu Ji
. Her cracked rib had been declared a “nonemergency,” whereupon she had been wrapped with rib-tape and given an injection of bone-setting medicines right next to the break. They then told her to go sleep it off and perform light duties at best for the next two or three days until the tenderness healed.
None of that precluded the rolling waters of time, however. Nor her need to channel them. Identifying her portable writing station and her rain slicker by touch, Ia took them with her out of the dark tent, wrapping herself in the latter and protecting the former under its folds. The makeshift camp, cobbled together with equipment and food from the
Liu Ji
and goods salvaged from the colony’s flooded emergency supplies, was currently lit by two things: the chemsticks tied to the guy ropes at the corners of each tent, and the static crackle of the tall force field fence erected around the perimeter, flashing like miniature lightning whenever a particularly large raindrop skidded across the field’s otherwise unseen surface.
The members of the 3rd Platoon patrolling that perimeter in their half- and full-mech did have lights mounted on their shoulder sockets. But those were aimed mostly outward, looking for the planet’s various local predators, large, dinosaur-like beasts, which had been forced to seek out the same patch of high ground for safety. The camp itself was mostly dark and quiet, everyone hiding inside a tent, bundled up in thankfully dry blankets. Except for her, and her upcoming problem.
One of the tents along the western perimeter was little more than a makeshift awning with two tarps for sides. They blocked the prevailing wind, which wasn’t strong, but was still damp and cold all the same. Someone had taped chemsticks to the poles, and set up some folding chairs and a couple of plexi tables. The tables were littered with random items, a soggy doll, a plexi toolkit, a muddy towel, and other odds and ends salvaged from the flood, but Ia didn’t need the space. Instead, she pulled two of the chairs into facing each other, seated herself in one, and put her feet in the other, propping the writing board on her lap.
Flipping up the screen protecting the keys, she laid her fingers over the machine, but didn’t press down. After three months of practice, she was getting better at electrokinetically typing. Not that she was going to print anything right now, but she could at least store a few more prophecies for later. If she could peer through the fog cloaking most of the waters around her, that was.
She stared at the faintly glowing keys, at the document blank and ready on the screen.
Funny, how everything on the timeplains is so much clearer from a distance, yet so many parts become blurry, close up . . .
Her rare sense of humor quirked her mouth into a smile, after a moment.
Maybe Time is farsighted, and just needs an eye-correction?
Unfortunately, she didn’t know how to do that, yet. She didn’t even know if there was some sort of psychic optometrist who could make it easier for her to peer at the future. A probabilities specialist, she knew about, and could tap into. It was one of her side-lives, the ones she could’ve led in an alternate reality, the kind where she knew who her father was and had only one mother. Difficult to reach, but not impossible.
Thankfully, tonight’s mist wasn’t all-encompassing. Focusing her thoughts on her homeworld, on the futures of her people, Ia was able to submerge herself in those streams and find the key points to write about, to direct long after the point where she personally would be dead. Because of the fluid nature of time, she couldn’t write things out logically, sequentially.
Start at point A and write prophecies for B, C, D, and E, onward through Z? Not possible. Something that easy would be lovely, but time flowed like a river, one with individual streams that tangled together like the aftermath of a hundred hyperactive kittens let loose in a yarn shop. Another mental image that made her want to smile, even as it made her want to frown. Letting out a heavy sigh, Ia dipped into Sanctuary’s most probable futures, letting the words form and scroll silently up the screen.
Somewhere between the ceasing of the rain and the twists of the twenty-sixth century, Ia jerked her head up, instincts twinging with fear. Slapping her writing pad half-shut, pinching her thumb in the process, she scrambled to her feet, grunting out a rib-twinging, “Sir!”
Lieutenant Ferrar nodded at her, barely visible in the fading glow of the chemsticks taped to the awning poles. The mist obscuring the local timestreams hadn’t given her any warning. Heart thumping, she studied him, wondering what, exactly, would happen in the next half hour. She knew
something
significant would happen here and now, involving him, but not what.
“At Ease, Corporal. I came to talk to you about what the mayor’s planning for tomorrow,” he stated. “That was her younger son you saved, the one bitten by the dinoid.”
“Planned, sir?” Ia asked. She knew what would happen
if
she navigated this moment in time just right . . . but how to navigate it, she had no clue.
“An award ceremony, for you and some of the others. You were all big heroes today. Sit down,” he added, nodding at the chair behind her.
Nodding, Ia turned to reach for the armrest. She couldn’t sit quickly with her ribs still sore, and needed—Ferrar leaned over and snatched the portable workstation out from under her arm. Shocked, Ia grabbed for it, but her injury made her slow, and his grip was strong. For a moment, they tugged. The narrowing of his eyes warned her what would happen if she kept resisting. The ruination of her military career. Ia let go; she didn’t have to be a precog to see that much.

Other books

Love Nouveau by Berry, B.L.
Ride the Nightmare by Richard Matheson
My Mortal Enemy by Willa Cather
A School for Brides by Patrice Kindl
Lost in Dreams by Roger Bruner
Controversy by Adrianne Byrd