The Human Division

  “I suppose it would be,” Schmidt said.

  Abumwe was silent at this for a moment. “I don’t think you should risk being caught doing something like that,” she said, eventually.

  “I understand you entirely, ma’am,” Schmidt said. He turned to go.

  “Schmidt,” Abumwe said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Schmidt said.

  “You understand that earlier I was implying that they left you with me because you were largely useless,” Abumwe said.

  “I got that, yes,” Schmidt said, after a second.

  “I’m sure you did,” Abumwe said. “Now. Prove me wrong.” She returned her gaze to the Clarke.

  Oh boy, Harry, Schmidt thought as he walked away. I hope you’re having an easier time of things than I am right now.

  * * *

  The shuttle from the Tubingen hit the atmosphere of the planet like a rock punching into an earthen dam, throwing off heat and rattling the platoon of Colonial Defense Forces soldiers inside as if they were plastic balls in a child’s popper.

  “This is nice,” Lieutenant Harry Wilson said, to no one in particular, then directed his attention to his fellow lieutenant Heather Lee, the platoon commander. “It’s funny how something like air can feel so bumpy.”

  Lee shrugged. “We have restraints,” she said. “And this isn’t a social call.”

  “I know,” Wilson said. The shuttle rattled again. “But this has always been my least favorite part of a mission. Aside from, you know. The shooting and killing and being shot and possibly eaten by aliens.”

  Lee did not look impressed with Wilson. “Been a while since you’ve dropped, Lieutenant?”

  Wilson nodded. “Did my combat time and then transferred into research and technical advising for the diplomatic corps. Don’t have to do many drops for that. And the ones I do come down nice and easy.”

  “Consider this a refresher course,” Lee said. The shuttle rattled again. Something creaked worryingly.

  “Space,” Wilson said, and sank back into his restraints. “It’s fantastic.”

  “It is fantastic, sir,” said the soldier next to Lee. Wilson automatically had his BrainPal query the man’s identity; instantly, text floated over the soldier’s head to let Wilson know he was speaking to Private Albert Jefferson. Wilson glanced over to Lee, the platoon leader, who caught the glance and gave another, most infinitesimal of shrugs, as if to say, He’s new.

  “I was attempting sarcasm, Private,” Wilson said.

  “I know that, sir,” Jefferson said. “But I’m being serious. Space is fantastic. All of this. It is awesome.”

  “Well, except for the cold and vacuum and the unbearable silent death of it,” Wilson said.

  “Death?” Jefferson said, and smiled. “Begging the lieutenant’s pardon, but death was back home on Earth. Do you know what I was doing three months ago, sir?”

  “I’m guessing being old,” Wilson said.

  “I was hooked up to a dialysis machine, praying I would make it to my seventy-fifth birthday,” Jefferson said. “I’d already gotten one transplant, and they didn’t want to give me another because they knew I was going to leave anyway. Cheaper to hook me up. I barely made it. But I got to seventy-five, signed up and a week later, boom. New body, new life, new career. Space is awesome.”

  The shuttle hit an air pocket of some sort, tumbling the transport before the pilot could right the ship again. “There’s the minor problem that you might have to kill things,” Wilson said, to Jefferson. “Or get killed. Or fall out of the sky. You’re a soldier now. These are the occupational hazards.”

  “Fair trade,” Jefferson said.

  “Is it,” Wilson said. “First mission?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jefferson said.

  “I’ll be interested to know if your answer to that is the same a year from now,” Wilson said.

  Jefferson grinned. “You strike me as a ‘glass half-empty’ kind of guy, sir,” he said.

  “I’m a ‘the glass is half-empty and filled with poison’ kind of guy, actually,” Wilson said.

  “Yes, sir,” Jefferson said.

  Lee nodded suddenly, not at Wilson or Jefferson, but at the message she was getting from her BrainPal. “Drop-off in two,” she said. “Fire teams.” The soldiers formed up into groups of four. “Wilson. You’re with me.” Wilson nodded.

  “You know, I was one of the last people off, sir,” Jefferson said to Wilson a minute later, as the shuttle zeroed in on its landing site.

  “Off of what?” Wilson said. He was distracted; he was going over the mission specs on his BrainPal.

  “Off of Earth,” Jefferson said. “The day I went up the Nairobi beanstalk, that guy brought that alien fleet into Earth orbit. Scared the hell out of all of us. We thought we were under attack. Then the fleet started transmitting all sorts of things about the Colonial Union.”

  “You mean, like the fact it had been socially engineering the Earth for centuries to keep it a farm for colonists and soldiers,” Wilson said.

  Jefferson snorted quietly. “That’s a little paranoid, don’t you think, sir? I think this fellow—”

  “John Perry,” Wilson said.

  “—has some explaining to do about how he managed to head up an alien fleet in the first place. Anyway, my transport ship was one of the last out of Earth dock. There were one or two more, but after that I’m told the Earth stopped sending us soldiers and colonists. They want to renegotiate their relationship to the Colonial Union, is how I’ve heard it.”

  “Doesn’t seem unreasonable, all things considered,” said Wilson.

  The shuttle landed with a muted thump and settled into the earth.

  “All I know, sir, is I’m glad this Perry guy waited until I was gone,” Jefferson said. “Otherwise I’d still be old and missing my kidneys and probably near death. Whatever’s out here is better than what I had there.”

  The shuttle door cracked open and the outside air rushed in, hot and sticky and rich with the scent of death and decomposition. From the platoon came a few audible groans and the sound of at least one person gagging. Then the platoon began its disembarkment by fire teams.

  Wilson looked over at Jefferson, whose face had registered the full effect of the smell coming off the planet. “I hope you’re right,” Wilson said. “But from the smell of it, we’re probably near death here, too.”

  They stepped out of the shuttle and onto a new world.

  * * *

  The Bula sub-ambassador looked not unlike a lemur, as all Bula did, and carried the jeweled amulet that signified her station in the diplomatic corps. She had an unpronounceable name, which all things considered was not unusual, but insisted that Abumwe and her staff call her “Sub-Ambassador Ting.” “It is close enough for government work,” she said, through a translator device on her lanyard as she shook Abumwe’s hand.

  “Then welcome, Sub-Ambassador Ting,” Abumwe said.

  “Thank you, Ambassador Abumwe,” Ting said, and motioned for her, Drolet and Schmidt to sit across from her and her two staff at the conference room table. “We are delighted that someone such as yourself was available for these negotiations on such short notice. It is a shame about Katerina Zala. Please send her my regards.”

  “I shall,” Abumwe said. She sat.

  “What is this ‘appendix’ she ruptured?” Ting asked, sitting herself.

  “It’s a vestigial organ attached to the larger digestive system,” Abumwe said. “Sometimes it gets inflamed. A rupture can cause sepsis and death if not treated.”

  “It sounds horrible,” Ting said.

  “It was caught early enough that Deputy Ambassador Zala was in no real danger,” Abumwe said. “She will be fine in a few days.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Ting said. “Interesting how such a small part can threaten the health of an entire system.”

  “I suppose it is,” Abumwe said.

  Ting sat there for a moment, companionably silent, and then with a start grabbed th
e PDA her assistant had laid before her. “Well, let us begin, shall we. We don’t want our diplomatic system grinding to a halt because of us.”

  * * *

  The hand-tooled sign at the edge of the colony read, “New Seattle.” As far as Wilson could see, it was the only thing in the colony that hadn’t burned.

  “Teams, report in,” Lee said. There were no teams other than her own near her; her voice was being carried by BrainPal. Wilson opened up the general channel in his own head.

  “Team one here,” said Blaine Givens, the team leader. “I’ve got nothing but burned huts and dead bodies.”

  “Team two here,” said Muhamad Ahmed. “I’ve got the same.”

  “Team three,” said Janet Mulray. “More of the same. Whatever happened here isn’t happening now.” The three other teams reported the same.

  “Anybody finding survivors?” Lee asked. Responses came in: None so far. “Keep looking,” she said.

  “I need to get to the colony HQ,” Wilson said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Lee nodded and moved her team forward.

  “I thought we weren’t colonizing anymore,” Jefferson said to Wilson as they moved into the colony. “The aliens told us they’d vaporize any planet we colonized.”

  “Not ‘the aliens,’” Wilson said. “The Conclave. There’s a difference.”

  “What’s the difference?” Jefferson asked.

  “There are about six hundred different alien races we deal with,” Wilson said. “Maybe two-thirds of them are in the Conclave. The rest of them are like us, unaffiliated.” He routed around a dead colonist who lay, charred, in the path.

  “And what does that mean, sir?” Jefferson asked, routing around the same body but letting his eyes linger on it.

  “It means they’re like us,” Wilson said. “If they colonize, the Conclave will blast the crap out of them, too.”

  “But this is a colony,” Jefferson said, turning his eyes back to Wilson. “Our colony.”

  “It’s a wildcat colony,” Wilson said. “It’s not sanctioned by the Colonial Union. And this is someone else’s planet anyway.”

  “The Conclave’s?” Jefferson asked.

  Wilson shook his head. “No, the Bula. Another group of aliens entirely.” He motioned at the burned-out huts and sheds around them. “When these guys headed here, they were on their own. No support from the CU. And no defense, either.”

  “So not our colony,” Jefferson said.

  “No,” Wilson said.

  “Will the aliens see it that way, sir?” Jefferson asked. “Either group, I mean.”

  “Since we’d be screwed either way if they didn’t, let’s hope so,” Wilson said. He looked up and saw that he and Jefferson had gotten off the pace of Lee. “Come on, Jefferson.” He jogged to catch up with the platoon leader.

  Two minutes later, Wilson and Lee’s squad were in front of a partially collapsed Quonset hut. “I think this is it,” Lee said, to Wilson. “The HQ, I mean.”

  “How do you figure?” Wilson said.

  “Largest building inside the colony proper,” Lee said. “Have to have some place for town meetings.”

  “I can’t argue with that logic,” Wilson said, and looked at the hut, concerned about its stability. He looked over at Lee and her squad.

  “After you, Lieutenant,” Lee said. Wilson sighed and pried open the door to the hut.

  Inside the hut were two bodies and a whole lot of mess.

  “Looks like something’s been at them,” Lee said, tapping one with a foot. Wilson saw Jefferson, looking at the body, turn a sicklier shade of green than he already was.

  “How long have they been dead, do you think?” Wilson asked.

  Lee shrugged. “Between the time they sent the distress call and we got here? Couldn’t be less than a week.”

  “Since when do wildcat colonies report back?” Wilson asked.

  “I just go where they tell me, Lieutenant,” Lee said. She motioned to Jefferson and pointed at one of the bodies. “Check that body for an ID chip. Colonists sometimes put them in so they can keep track of each other.”

  “You want me to go through the body?” Jefferson asked, clearly horrified.

  “Ping it,” Lee said, impatiently. “Use your BrainPal. If there’s a chip, it’ll respond.”

  Wilson turned away from Lee and Jefferson’s truly compelling discussion and headed farther into the hut. The bodies had been in an open area that he suspected, true to Lee’s hunch, was used for colony gatherings. Farther in were a set of what used to be cubicles and a small enclosed room.

  The cubicles were a shattered mess; the room, from the outside, at least, looked intact. Wilson was hoping the colony’s computing and communications hardware were in there.

  The room door was locked. Wilson jiggled the door handle a couple of times to be sure, then looked at the other side of the door. He pulled out his multipurpose tool, formed it into a crowbar and pulled the pins out of the door hinges. He set the door aside and looked into the room.

  Every piece of equipment had been hammered into oblivion.

  “Crap,” Wilson said to himself. He went into the room anyway to see if anything was salvageable.

  “Find anything?” Lee asked a few minutes later, appearing by the door.

  “If someone likes puzzles, they could have fun with this,” Wilson said. He stood up and gestured to the remains of the equipment.

  “So nothing you can use,” Lee said.

  “No,” Wilson said. He bent down and grabbed a piece of debris and held it out for Lee to take. “That’s supposed to be the memory core. It’s been hammered out of usability. I’ll take it back and try to get something out of it anyway, but I wouldn’t be holding out hope.”

  “Maybe some of the colonists’ computers and handhelds will have something,” Lee said. “I’ll have my people collect them.”

  “That would be nice,” Wilson said. “Although if everything tied through this central server, it’s possible everything got wiped before this got broken up.”

  “It wasn’t just destroyed in the fighting,” Lee said.

  Wilson shook his head and motioned to the wreckage. “Locked room. No other damage to this part of the hut. And it looked to me like the damage here was methodical. Whoever did it didn’t want what was stored on it to get captured.”

  “But you said the door was locked,” Lee said. “Whoever ran over this place didn’t stop to check the computer.”

  “Yeah,” Wilson said, and then looked over at Lee. “What about you? Get anything off the bodies?”

  “Yeah, once Jefferson figured out what he was doing,” Lee said. “Martina and Vasily Ivanovich. In the absence of any other evidence to the contrary, I’ve nominated them as the two who ran the computers here. I’m having the teams check the other bodies for ID chips, too.”

  “Anything else but their names?” Wilson asked.

  “The usual biometric data,” Lee said. “I pinged the Tub to see if there was anything in its databases, but there wasn’t anything. I wasn’t expecting there to be, unless they happened to be ex-CDF.”

  “Just two more idiots on a spectacularly ill-advised colonization attempt,” Wilson said.

  “With about a hundred and fifty other idiots,” Lee said.

  “And thus the Colonial Union is infinitesimally smarter,” Wilson said. Lee snorted.

  In the distance came the sound of someone retching. Lee craned back to look. “Oh, look, it’s Jefferson,” she said. “He’s popped.”

  Wilson got up to look. “That took a little bit longer than I expected,” he said.

  “He’s been driving us all a little crazy with the gung ho thing,” Lee said.

  “He’s new,” Wilson said.

  “Hopefully it wears off,” Lee said, “before the rest of us kill him.”

  Wilson smiled at this and then threaded back through the mess to Jefferson.

  “Sorry, sir,” he said. He was kneeling by the body of the late
Vasily Ivanovich, a puddle of sick off to his side. His other two fire team members had found some other place to be.

  “You’re hanging out near two partially decomposed, partially eaten bodies,” Wilson said. “Being sick is a perfectly rational response.”

  “If you say so,” Jefferson said.

  “I do say so,” Wilson said. “My first mission, I almost wet myself. Throwing up is fine.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Jefferson said.

  Wilson patted Jefferson on the back and glanced over at Vasily Ivanovich. The man was a mess, bloated and with a significant amount of his abdomen chewed away by scavengers. From his vantage point, Wilson could see into the gnawed-on remains of Ivanovich’s digestive system.

  Inside of which something glinted.

  Wilson frowned. “What is that?” he said.

  “What is what, sir?” Jefferson asked.

  Wilson ignored him and looked closer and then, after a minute, thrust his glove into what remained of Ivanovich’s stomach.

  Jefferson gagged but didn’t have anything else to throw up, so instead he stared openly at the small, glittery thing in Wilson’s gore-coated hand. Wilson delicately picked out the thing with his other hand and held it up in the light.

  “What is that?” Jefferson asked.

  “It’s a data card,” Wilson said.

  “What was it doing in his stomach?” Jefferson asked.

  “I have no idea,” Wilson said, and then turned his head. “Lee!” he shouted.

  “What?” Lee shouted back from the other side of the hut.

  “Have your people look for a functioning PDA and bring it to me immediately,” he said. “One that takes data cards.”

  Shortly thereafter, Wilson had jammed the data card into a handheld and connected his BrainPal to the computer.

  “Why would he swallow a data card?” Lee asked, as she watched Wilson.

  “He wanted to keep the data out of enemy hands,” Wilson said. He was simultaneously going through the file hierarchy on the data card.

  “That’s why he destroyed the computer and communications equipment,” Lee said.

  “I’d have more answers for you if you let me actually concentrate on what I’m doing,” Wilson said. Lee shut up, slightly annoyed. Wilson ignored this, closed his eyes and focused on his data.