GAC 4367-III WAS AN UGLY WORLD. FROM POLAR orbit in the Cruiser, Gloria and her Bugs watched the pea-green landscape slide by beneath them and she felt no desire to descend into that miasma. Here and there, a crenellated range of stunted mountains provided literal relief from the featureless continental masses, and ocean currents had cleared narrow, open arcs of the biological infestation, but all else was algae.

The terraformers of the old Terrestrial Union had believed that with the proper encouragement, a scumworld such as this might be turned into a garden. A billion years’ worth of decayed algae would provide organic nourishment for muscular, better-evolved terrestrial plants, which would simply take over the planet. Sow some wheat, then step back and watch it grow, free of pests and competition. It had actually worked that way on a few worlds, but more often, the unexpected complications of alien ecosystems frustrated the hopes of the terraformers. GAC 4367-III occupied the attention of Earthbuilders for half a century, until better and easier worlds became available, and the experiment was abandoned. The triumphant algae reclaimed their world from the alien invaders.

“There’s the terraforming station,” said Volkonski as he and Gloria examined a display screen in the cockpit of the Cruiser. He fiddled with some controls and magnified the image until the sloping rooftop of what seemed to be an immense warehouse stood out against the background slime. The structure seemed to be covered with the algae mats, and only the long shadows of early morning defined its shape and size.

“I don’t see any sign of people,” Gloria said.

“I don’t know,” said Volkonski. “We’re getting a faint infrared signature. That building is leaking some heat.”

“Could it be from an old reactor?” Gloria wondered.

“Possible. They used uranium reactors in those days. It might still be generating a little heat. We should check for radiation before we enter that building.”

“That looks like a dock on the shore of the bay.”

“Right.” Volkonski turned to the pilot, a sandy-haired young man named Erskine. “What do you think?”

Erskine shrugged inconclusively. “Spirit knows how deep that water is. There’s no channel marked out that I can see. We’d have to land well offshore and hope for the best.”

“And if anyone is down there,” Volkonski said, “they’d have plenty of time to see us coming. I’d prefer to wait and make a night landing, but it’s early morning at this location. Planetary rotation period is twenty-eight hours, so we’d have to wait fourteen or fifteen hours before we tried it.”

Gloria shook her head. “We can’t do that. We’d be half a day late getting back to New Cambridge. They might get worried and send another ship. Anyway, our main priority is to find out if the weapons are there and, if they are, to see if any of the big plasma bombs are missing. If they’ve taken one of them to New Cambridge, they could use it as soon as the Emperor arrives, tomorrow night. We have to get down there now, Arkady.”

“Agreed. You heard the lady, Erskine. Set us down.”

“Yessir,” said Erskine. “But before I do, there’s one more thing you should be aware of. According to these readings, the atmospheric oxygen content is 29 percent.”

“Spirit!” Volkonski exclaimed.

“What’s the problem?” Gloria asked. “We can breathe that, can’t we?”

“We’ll probably get drunk on it,” said Volkonski, “but yes, we can breathe it. That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” said Erskine, “but with 29 percent oxygen in the air, that planet is a fucking tinderbox.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, ma’am. See these brown, splotchy areas scattered around? I think those are burned-out areas, probably from lightning strikes. Any sort of flame would immediately set off a conflagration. Anything that could burn—like the algae mats—would burn, until rains put it out.”

“What does that mean for us?” Gloria asked.

“For one thing,” said Volkonski, “it means this entire planet is most definitely a no-smoking area.”

“Yessir,” said Erskine. “And it also means that our exhaust could start a fire.”

“But other ships have obviously landed without burning down the planet,” Gloria pointed out.

“Yes, ma’am. I think we’ll be okay if we come down in the water just offshore. You can see that the wave action has pretty well broken up the algae mats. I don’t think we’d touch off any big conflagration. We’ll use thermoelectric propulsion once we’re in the water, so that should be okay. But we need to be aware that there’s a potential problem.”

“Thank you for mentioning it, Erskine,” Gloria said. “Anything else we should be worried about?”

“Rocks just under the water, ma’am. Once we’re down, we’ll be able to spot them with our sonar. But the actual touchdown will be a crapshoot. Come down in the wrong place and we could rip the bottom out of our hull.”

Gloria sighed in frustration. “If only they’d given us a LASS. It never occurred to me that there could be so many complications in just landing on the damned planet.”

“That’s the problem with ordering these romantic little excursions,” Volkonski said. “They’re never quite as easy as they sound when you’re giving the orders.”

“ ‘Ready, fire, aim,’ huh? Sorry, Arkady, I guess I should have thought this through a little better.”

“If you had,” he said, “we’d be here anyway, doing exactly the same thing. You were right, Gloria. This is a job that has to be done.”

“Then let’s do it,” she said. “Erskine, let’s shoot some craps.”

 

ERSKINE BROUGHT THE CRUISER IN FOR A feather-soft touchdown a mile offshore. As he carefully puttered the craft in toward the dock, Volkonski focused the image-intensifiers on the area and warily scanned the screen.

“Someone has cleaned off that dock and the area around it,” he said. “People have definitely been here, and more recently than eight centuries ago.”

“If anyone’s here now, they would have seen or heard us coming in,” said Gloria. “But I don’t see anyone near the dock.”

“They could be hiding behind those rocks, or farther inland. If I had my druthers, I’d send in a boat with a few men to cover our landing.”

“Why don’t you?”

“We don’t have enough men to divide our force that way.”

“So I should have sent a bigger team?”

Volkonski shook his head. “I should have. Tactical considerations are my job, not yours. Speaking of which, I should go aft and get the squad ready. Keep a watch and sing out if you see anything.”

Gloria stared intently at the image screen but saw no movement of any kind. There were no birds or insects, no creepers or crawlers. It was a one-celled world.

“How are we doing, Erskine?”

“So far, so good, ma’am. Water depth is okay, and the bottom is sandy with a gentle slope. Those Terrestrial Union guys probably surveyed the area and built their dock in a good spot. We should be fine.”

They were. Erskine expertly guided the vessel toward shore and brought it in snug against the dock. Gloria patted him on the shoulder, then went aft to join Volkonski and his Bugs.

The five IntSec men and Volkonski wore their standard gray uniforms, pantlegs tucked into black boots, with bulky, glossy helmets packed with electronic gear. Each of them hefted a Mark VI plasma rifle, except for Volkonski, who carried a holstered plasma pistol.

“Minimum beam setting on all weapons,” Volkonski instructed. “No one fires at anything, for any reason, without my specific order. And if you do have to use your weapons, try to hit the person you’re aiming at and nothing else. And under no circumstances does anyone fire in the direction of that building. Is that clearly understood? We don’t know what’s in there, but if you put a hole in the containment of a plasma bomb, your mothers, wives, and/or sweethearts would be very upset. Any questions?”

“Where do you want me?” Gloria asked. “Right behind you?”

“I want you exactly where you are now. In the ship, buttoned up.”

Gloria started to protest, but one look from Volkonski closed her mouth. “I’m sorry, Arkady,” she said. “You’re in charge. I’ll do as you say. But I want you to keep an open comm link at all times.”

“Will do. And Gloria? If things go wrong out there, you and Erskine get the hell out of here immediately, understand? Someone can come back for us later, but the vital thing is to get word back to New Cambridge.”

Gloria nodded. Volkonski gave her a stern look, as if to reinforce the message, then, without another word, turned and hit the control that opened the sliding hatch panel. An airlock was not necessary, since a mass-repulsion field kept the interior and exterior atmospheres separate—at least in theory. But somehow, a pungent waft of the scumworld managed to penetrate into the Cruiser.

“Phew!” Gloria cried.

“Hydrogen sulfide from rotting algae,” Volkonski said. “Okay, take a deep breath and let’s go!”

The Bugs charged out onto the dock, each of them running to a specific spot, as if the whole operation had been choreographed in advance. They knelt and scanned the horizon as Volkonski went out at a dogtrot to the landward end of the dock. Then the first men out ran past Volkonski and stationed themselves in the jumble of rocks onshore. One of them immediately slipped on the slimy algae mats and took a header. He picked himself up, looking chagrined, and Volkonski called out, “Watch where you step!” He looked back at the Cruiser and motioned for Gloria to close the hatch. She watched the Bugs advance for another moment, then reluctantly hit the control to seal up the ship.

Gloria went forward, where Erskine had already established the comm link with Volkonski. The image on the screen bobbed up and down and from side to side as Volkonski’s helmet moved, and she could hear his heavy breathing. The land sloped upward from the water, and the big building, less than half a mile away, could not be seen from Volkonski’s current location. The Bugs fanned out, slipping and sliding on the algae as they moved. It was not a graceful-looking operation, but the team made steady progress inland.

“Iglesias! Reynolds!” Volkonski shouted, and the screen showed his arm extended, pointing to locations on either side of what seemed to be a pathway leading upward. The two men hustled to the spots at the top of the rise and threw themselves onto their bellies. Erskine hit a control button, and suddenly Gloria was looking at the scene from Reynolds’s viewpoint. Ahead, the massive structure built by the terraformers of long ago loomed on the horizon. It seemed to have been constructed from sheets of corrugated metal, and there was a large central doorway, currently closed. The entire building was coated with the omnipresent gray-green slime.

“I got movement!” shouted Iglesias. Erskine switched to his camera, but Gloria saw nothing amiss.

“Here, too!” called Reynolds. Now, Erskine called up a split-screen image, and they could see the view from the positions of both Bugs. Gloria thought she could see a flicker of motion near some rocks in the mid distance.

“I make it three…check that, four unknowns, at three hundred meters,” Reynolds reported. “They’ve got some kind of camo on, hard to see.”

“Visors,” Volkonski ordered. Immediately, the view on the screen switched to the ghostly, green glow of infrared imaging. Now Gloria could plainly make out at least three human forms crouching near some boulders scattered to the front. Volkonski advanced and took a position next to Reynolds. Gloria saw his hand at the edge of Reynolds’s screen, his index finger pointing toward a little swale ten meters ahead. As Reynolds scrambled forward, there was a muffled bang from somewhere, and the image from the Bug’s camera suddenly showed nothing but algae and mud.

“Shit! I’m hit!”

“Stay down!” Volkonski shouted. “Byerly, Mitsui, go get him! Gordon, Iglesias, covering fire! Over their heads! I don’t want to start any fires, but let’s show ’em we’ve got some teeth!”

The dazzling bursts of plasma overloaded the imagers for a moment. To the sound of grunts, heavy breathing, and a pained moan, Byerly and Mitsui dragged Reynolds back to the near side of the rise. Volkonski knelt over his man, and the screen showed Reynolds’s anguished face and then the ripped fabric of his uniform and the dark stain spreading from his right shoulder.

“Flèchettes,” Volkonski muttered. “Figures—they don’t want to start any fires, either. Relax, Reynolds, it probably hurts like a son of a bitch, but it’s not that bad. You’re going to be fine.” Volkonski looked around. “Gordon, Iglesias! What do you see?”

“Still just the four of ’em, sir! Not moving.”

“Okay, keep watching, and if they try to move, fire more warning bursts. Gloria?”

“Right here, Arkady.”

“I think we’ve got an answer to our main question.”

“I think you’re right. What do you recommend?”

“Under the circumstances, our plasma weapons are useless, but they can use their flèchettes. I think we should pull back to the Cruiser and get the hell out of here.”

“Understood,” Gloria replied. She still wanted to get into that building and see if any plasma bombs were missing, but that no longer seemed possible. Arkady was right: Their only mission now was to get back to New Cambridge and report what had happened.

Volkonski issued the necessary orders, and Byerly and Mitsui carried Reynolds back to the dock, while Gordon and Iglesias remained at the top of the rise to provide covering fire if necessary. Then he ordered Gordon and Iglesias to fall back. Gloria opened the hatch and stood to one side as Byerly and Mitsui came in with Reynolds and gently placed him on one of the bunks. The young man was alternately gritting his teeth and gasping for breath, but when he saw Gloria, he tried to smile. She returned the smile and squeezed his hand. It was covered with slime.

“Sorry ’bout that, ma’am,” he said. Gloria blinked back tears and said nothing.

A moment later, Volkonski, Gordon, and Iglesias came tumbling into the Cruiser. Volkonski smacked the hatch control with his palm and shouted to the pilot, “Get us out of here, Erskine!”

The bass rumble of the engines vibrated through the ship, and the vessel gently lurched into motion. Then Erskine cried, “We’re under fire!” Volkonski and Gloria dashed forward.

“Plasma burst into the water,” Erskine said. “Damn, another one!”

Volkonski checked the external imagers. “And one behind us, too. Hold where we are, Erskine.”

“Yessir!”

“Two of them,” said Volkonski as he examined the screen, “up there at the top of the rise.”

“What can we do?” Gloria asked.

“Not one damn thing,” Volkonski said between his clenched teeth. “They want the ship. They could put a hole through the hull anytime they want and prevent us from taking off, but they haven’t done that. They want us to stay here and they want the ship intact.”

“Can’t we fire back?”

“No external weaponry on this tub. We could open the hatch and start a fire out there with a plasma burst, but they’d still have time to burn us. What we seem to have here is an old-fashioned Mexican standoff.”

“Can we talk to them?” Gloria wondered.

“My thought exactly,” said Volkonski. “Erskine?”

“External mikes and speakers on, sir. Just use your throat mike.”

Volkonski took a couple of breaths, then said in an authoritative voice, “This is Dexta Internal Security. Cease fire at once!”

“Fuck you, Bug!” came the reply, followed by another blue-green plasma discharge into the water just ahead of the Cruiser.

“Who are you?” Volkonski demanded.

“We are the People’s Anti-Imperialist Nexus, and we’ve got you in our crosshairs, lickspittle!”

“I guess you boys don’t get many newstexts out this way,” Volkonski said in a more conversational tone. “PAIN’s leadership group has been captured, and the whole operation is disbanding. The war’s already over, and your side lost. Give it up now and you’ll get off easy.”

“You must think we’re idiots!”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Who else but idiots would let themselves get stranded on this stinkhole fighting for a cause that’s already lost? How long have you guys been stuck here, anyway?”

There was no immediate response. Then a different voice called out, “None of your business, Bug!”

Volkonski put his hand over his throat mike and said to Gloria, “I thought so. They’ve been here a while. The main thing they want is to get off this planet. I don’t think they’ll do anything to damage the ship.”

The first voice from outside called, “Hey, Bug! We’ll make you a deal. Come out with your hands up, and we won’t kill you.”

“We’ll make you a deal,” Volkonski replied. “Put your weapons down and we won’t set fire to your planet. Twenty-nine percent oxygen out there—you’d go up like torches.”

“Then we’ll all burn together, Bug,” came the response.

“He means it,” Volkonski said to Gloria.

“This could go on all day,” Gloria said.

“Unless you have a better idea.”

“Just one,” she said. “I think this may be the time for a distraction.” She hit the contact switch that quickly rendered her bodysuit 90 percent transparent, then opened the pressure seam in front as low as it could go.

“Just remember the mission, Arkady. If you get a chance to get away, take it. You can always come back for me later.”

Volkonski nodded. “Good luck, Gloria.”

Gloria leaned toward Volkonski’s throat mike and announced, “This is Gloria VanDeen of Dexta. I’m coming out.”

 

WHIT BARTHOLEMEW’S LIMO RETURNED PETRA to the Imperial Cantabragian that morning, and she walked through the crowded lobby, still nearly nude in her flimsy nighttime togs. She immediately encountered Althea Dante, who gave her a friendly kiss on the cheek and gushed, “Petra, darling! We’re all so proud of you! A marvelous piece of detective work.”

“They made a public announcement?” Petra asked.

“Of course not. But Dexta people know. And don’t you look glamorous!” Althea gave her a wicked grin. “I trust you had a fulfilling evening?”

“It was interesting,” Petra said.

“I’ll just bet it was. You’re getting to be quite the Tiger, aren’t you? Maybe I could teach you a few things sometime.”

“C’mon, Althea, you know I don’t do that.”

“Variety is the spice of life,” Althea countered.

“I think I’ve got enough spice in my life for now,” Petra said. “But tell me something. What do you know about Whitney Bartholemew, Junior?”

“Not much,” Althea replied. “I get the impression that you must know a lot more than I do. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. He’s a strange man, in some ways.”

“So I gather. I never really knew him, but as it happens, we went to the same college. He was a few years ahead of me, of course. At the time, he was one of those hairy campus radicals—you know the type. Always hogging the microphone at demonstrations and droning on and on about the evil pigs and the Hagoolian dialectic.”

“Hegelian,” Petra corrected.

“Whatever. He was never exactly my type.” Althea eyed her inquisitively. “Is he yours, Petra, dear?”

“I’m not sure,” Petra answered. “Althea, what do you do when you’re attracted to a man you know is bad for you?”

“I usually give in to my own low urges and let the chips fall where they may. But that’s just me. I’m not sure it’s you, though. Petra, would you mind some gratuitous advice?”

“Please.”

“You’re a delightful and charming young woman, and very sexy when you want to be. But you have an unfortunate streak of innate goodness in you. That can be very inconvenient when it comes to sex. When you get right down to it, women like Gloria and I are—to be coarse about it—cunts. The difference between us is that Gloria wants people to think that she’s a nice cunt, and I don’t give a shit what they think. But you really are nice, in some fundamental way. Don’t lose that, Petra. Just because things didn’t work out with Peter Pan, don’t throw yourself at Captain Hook. You’re better than that. And now,” Althea said, giving Petra another peck on her cheek, “I must be off. Ciao, darling!”

Petra made her way to the elevators, deep in thought, pausing briefly to accept congratulations from two Dexta people she didn’t even know. Once in the suite, she stretched out on a sofa and contemplated her navel, which she had heard was a good way to achieve enlightenment. She thought she needed some of that.

Whit wanted her to fly away with him on Sunday. With his mother. Just what she needed, another disapproving matron to impress. She wanted to go, wanted to spend a week or so on a far-off world—with low gravity!—and just forget about everything that had happened on New Cambridge. Lose herself in the angry passion of Whit Bartholemew.

But why did it have to be Sunday? Why couldn’t he just wait a few days? What was so important about Sunday?

Abruptly, unexpectedly, Petra achieved the enlightenment she had sought. It had a physical force to it, and it almost made her ill.

She grabbed her purse and pad and all but ran out of the suite to the elevators. She had to get back to her office in Gibraltar. Enlightenment was one thing, but she needed facts.