War Games (13 page)

“You are well, soldier,” she said. “You live to fight again. Be my hero.” She lifted my visor. Our oxygen bubbles touched, then fused. She kissed my lips. I saw the wrongness in her eyes again. “You know what to do, Berserker.” The lips smiled, Teeth shone with blue promises.

I did know what to do.

My weapon lay beside me. I picked it up and worked the action. A photonuclear case slipped easily into the chamber. It wasn’t damaged. But I was. I knew that. But it didn’t matter. Endosmin sealed torn blood vessels and stopped their bleeding. Endotalis flogged my heart. Endocholine speeded nervous transmission and strengthened muscles. Combat armor splinted broken bones; endosmin would keep their jagged ends from bleeding as they ground together when I ran. Pain was obliterated by endorphine.

I was strong. I was fast. I was brave ... so brave.

I laughed.

Then ran.

I cut through the forest, weaving back and forth among the trees, bobbing up and down. Pulsar beams followed me, hitting the ground where I had been. I was too quick for them. Craters from E/I shells formed around me, but the concussion waves couldn’t topple me. Then I was beyond their zone of fire and among the elves. Everything was in slow motion. Elves hung from trees. They were incredibly slow. Before they could point their pulsars toward me, I’d shot them out of their trees. I ran faster than the wind. I darted in and out as quick as a frightened coyote. Only I wasn’t frightened. Just brave.

I came to an elven battery, bursting into the clearing where they had their gun set up before they even knew I was approaching. I emptied a clip into it, spraying the pulsar beams into the gunners. They all lay dead, fur smoking. I jammed another clip into place. But all was quiet.

I examined the artillery piece. The controls looked easy enough. Just like the spooks had once outlined at an orientation.

I hauled the dead elf gunner out of his chair and sat in it myself. I pushed control buttons; the detonation tube swung smoothly on gimbals. Light flashed from other batteries along the same ridge where this one was placed. I didn’t need to do anything fancy. Just point the tube in the direction of the flashes and center the computer sight on the battery. Then pull the trigger. And a klick away there’d be another flash of light. Brighter. And louder. Then move the cross hairs down the ridge. The gun loaded itself. Soon the only flashes were from the shells I fired.

There was but one more duty to be discharged. (I could still smile at my pun.)

I centered the cross hairs of the gun on its own stacked crates of photonuclear cases and locked the controls in place. I dialed in a ten-second delay and pulled the trigger.

Then ran again.

I was well across the clearing before the ammo detonated. Random light flared as bright as novas. Another giant’s hand knocked me down. I couldn’t get back up. No matter. The game was almost over. Next move, please.

* * *

Hoverbus turbines whined.

A black queen haunted my dreams. I opened my eyes. A face watched mine. Prismatic card-eyes became green cat-eyes, following mine.

I hurt all over.

I didn’t think that much pain was possible.

I lay on a stretcher in the front of the hoverbus. I could hear combrids talking. They said I was a hero, sure to get a medal, maybe the Legion of Merit. That I’d saved a whole division by taking the elven batteries. Reinforcements had arrived. We’d won.

It didn’t much matter to me.

I hurt all over.

A moan pushed through my lips. I felt a claw pierce my skin. Warmth flowed up my arm. Then the pain was gone, chased away by the blue glow of endorphine.

“There, there,” the chimera said. “Does my baby hurt? I’ll make it better. Don’t cry. You know he doesn’t like to hear you cry.” There was something wrong with her eyes. I’d seen it before. “Remember when I had to hold the pillow over your face,” she crooned, “to keep you quiet? Don’t make Mama do that again.” I understood the madness behind her words. The holos hadn’t found out about the dead baby. I’d guessed that part after she’d killed Trinks with endorphine. I’d used her madness to get rid of Vichsn. I thought I could play her game. Now I wondered if I knew all the rules.

The chimera stroked my head. Sharp claws left scratches in my skin. I tried not to wince. I found I couldn’t move my arms and legs; they were held by straps.

Pain began to gnaw deep inside again, blending with an even deeper hurt.

The chimera kissed my cheek. “Is my baby warm enough? What can Mama do for baby? Only please don’t cry. Don’t make me get the pillow out.” I knew what game she played in her twisted mind. I had helped to get it to surface. I thought I was going to be able to run away after I had played with her. But there was no escape. Only endless games.

Pain washed over me in waves. I bit my lip hard to keep from crying. I tasted the salty taste of blood. I had to keep from crying. Base couldn’t be that much farther. I could make it. Only one more game. I could bluff my way out of this mess. After aII, I had an empire to build.

Tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I blinked, squeezing them down my cheeks. I screamed inside, but no sound escaped my lips.

“There, there,” the chimera crooned, her mind lost to warped fantasy. “Let Mama kiss the hurt away.”

I WAITED
for
morning to chase away the elf-fire that danced across the sky.

White flashes winked stroboscopically across the zenith, as though all the stars were dying in one night. Between bursts, images flashed in my mind: Ghost Cavalry jumping from hoverbuses, then drifting to ground balanced all twin cones of pseudograv; pulsar quanta ricocheting from the facets of crystal trees; elves falling with fur smoking; retinal reflections wired with lust afterward. Peppardine’s face stared into mine; the chimera’s cat-eyes shone with their own warped fantasy. Her claws reached for me, hooked into my skin, slipped easily into my veins. I would never forget the fire her neuropeptides sent singing into my blood. My own hormones couldn’t compete with her synthetic ones. Sex, blood lust, and death wish all paled next to the rush of chimeric peptides. Life wasn’t worth living without them. I might have gone back to her if I could have; but I could not.

Besides, she had served her purpose; she had made her moves in the game. Her turn was over. Now it was time for other players to take their turns at the game. I had already picked out my next partner. I hoped she would be easier to play with than Sergeant Pepper had been. Peppardine had almost killed me. And an hour of endophetamine catabolizes a lot of meat. It was six months before I could stand without leg braces. Thankfully, I didn’t remember very much of that half-year. Now I was almost well. Almost. If not for the images, the remembrance of my own frozen face still to come. And a hurting deep inside. And the grim suspicion that I had not escaped from Sergeant Pepper: somewhere bared claws tipped with blue corposant reached for me; somewhere cat-eyes watched me from darkness. But I was through with her for now. I had won our game. She had only consumed my flesh; my spirit was unbroken. I was still the same Detrs, with the same quest. It would take a better player than the chimera to stop me from that.

There was still elf-fire every night.

Even with my eyes closed, I could see flashes of pulsar quanta imploding against Chronus’s force-field, as elf gunners probed for weak points. Detonations beat like palpitations of night.

As a child, I remembered morning sunshine melting both my dark dreams and the glowing mists that played among the ancient redwood groves of our estate on Earth. But I was still a long way from both my childhood and Earth. On Titan the sun provided only light, not warmth. Elf-fire would vanish because elven artillery crews would stop their bombardment with the coming of dawn, retreating once more to their caves in the mountains surrounding Chronus. With daylight, hoverbuses could fly missions; combrids could search and destroy. Ghost Cavalry would ride. Pulsar batteries could be tracked during the day when their beams disturbed the solar field and our targeting computers could triangulate a fix.

It was an unusual feeling, being a soldier and knowing there was still a war but that you didn’t have to go to it anymore.

And with dawn, sleep would finally come.

Endorphine burned pleasantly in my blood, pushing pain away. But too many memories tried to surface. I couldn’t keep them all contained if I slept. So I stared upward through a persplex dome at a sky afire.

Jain Maure stirred beside me, rolling over to lie on her back. Hair as black as spun carbon fanned out on satin wombskin. Oiled skin shone amber with elf-fire; darker bruises had already faded. A ruby pendant hung from a gold chain around her neck. She was my doctor. And other things, too.

Her eyes opened. Copper irises appraised me. “Still awake?” she asked. “I know something that will help you sleep.” She rose and kneeled over me, brushing her breasts against my chest. Her lips kissed mine; her tongue probed my mouth. I smiled inside. But I lay passive, eyes staring straight ahead. She began to work her way down my body with her lips, circling each nipple, tonguing my navel, licking my limp member. It remained so, unstirring. Images of smoking corpses danced through my mind. Ebony dolls jerked to the pull of invisible wires. They all had the same face—mine—both corpses and dolls. You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out the symbolism. I knew what they meant. And I knew what else was suppressing my libido: all the
corpses
had interesting wounds—or wounds in interesting places, anyway.

Jain knew what was wrong and she knew what to do about it. She picked up a crystal vial and removed its cap. Opalescent liquor swirled inside. She dipped her tongue into the vial. A drop of peptide clung to its pink tip. She lowered her protruding tongue slowly, touching it to the top of my head. Peptide was drawn into my brain through my CNS stud. Inner fire blazed with blue light, blinding me. I felt the thrill of a testosterone rush. Synthetic passion overwhelmed me. My penis pulsated with blood. We coupled. Bodies blurred with mingled sweat. Orifices touched. Secretions blended. Breasts slapped against a muscled chest. Teeth nipped earlobes, drawing blood. Fingernails scratched deep into skin. Smooth muscle spasms milked a penis from both within and without.

It was almost tender. I was glad Jain had had enough of her rougher games earlier. I was still tired from playing those.

Sometime later the frenzy of synthetic sex steroids ebbed. By then it was dawn.

Sleep finally came.

* * *

Jain Maure was gone when I awoke. I was alone in her house. She had a nice place. Cosmetic surgeons could charge fancy fees in Chronus—or at least they could before the war. Did she also exact a pound of flesh from the rest of her clients? I laughed at my little witticism.

I rolled off the wombskin and stood up, wobbling momentarily before I caught my balance. Reflex arcs were not yet completely conditioned. Proprioception always lagged a little behind. But I’d regained most of my strength, anyway. Maybe I was still a little unsteady, but six months ago I’d been too weak to do anything but lay in a Hubbard tank. My recovery hadn’t been easy. Progress meant pain. I’d forgotten how many replacement grafts had been necessary. A little bit of residual nerve damage was the least of my worries. Besides, it was going to get me my discharge from the Corps. And with full disability.

I walked across the room toward a balcony. Like I said, it was plush. The floor was a living carpet of fungoid, almost as pliant as wombskin. Olfactory sculpture wafted pleasant fragrances into the air. Mutable holograms gleamed in midair. All were signed originals by the most famous artists of the System. Bonsai lounges five centuries old stood in planters on both sides of the bed. Spider-silk tapestries hung on the walls. Jewelry worth several fortunes was strewn carelessly about her dressing table—sonic gems sang in ultrasonic harmonies amid the glint of iridium and gold.

As I passed the dressing table, I had an irresistible urge. I paused before it, then took two steps closer, activating its holomirror. An image of myself sprang into the air, facing me: stainless-steel eyes, cold and unfeeling; aquiline nose; proud cheekbones; haughty lips, thin and cruel; skin brown as old copper. I touched my hands to my face and watched my image do likewise, both amazed and pleased. Because it was my face, my old face, the one I’d had before entering the hybridization tanks and becoming a combat hybrid. On leaving the tanks, combrids were almost identical in appearance and build: two meters tall, solidly muscled, well padded with brown adipose, skulls bald and convoluted by wires beneath the surface, eyes protected with nictitating membranes, skin as black as ebony with antiradiation granules and gleaming like obsidian with protective sweat. Loving uniformity, the military made quartermasters stock only one size. They also deindividualized you, and similar facial features accomplished that. But when you mustered out, the contract said they had to give you back your face. They had. Or Jain Maure had, to be precise.

Marcus Detrs, Esquire, scion son of the late Lord and Lady Detrs, the last of his line, heir to a fortune on Earth, stood before me. Lance Corporal Detrs, of the First Ghost Cavalry, was gone. At least his face was. Hybridization and cybersurgery couldn’t be reversed. I’d always have the augmented muscles, reinforced tissues, laminated bones, and other survival adaptations of a combrid, All Jain Maure did was a little cosmetic surgery to restore my features and bring my skin back to standard Terran. Which suited me fine.

I admired my smooth musculature, four times normal in strength. My skin was still matrixed with polymer mesh.Brown adipose would still insulate and store oxygen. I lowered my gaze to my genitals. With a brief inspiration, I sucked both scrotum and penis into their pouch in my pelvis. If someone kicked me in the groin, all he’d get for his trouble would be a stubbed toe. When I kicked him back, I’d be splattered with ruptured guts. Although a civilian in appearance, I was still a combrid inside. I might need that advantage later.

Why? To find the timestone, of course. Have you forgotten about it? Oh, you thought the spooks would have found it by now. You thought Grychn would have told them about it. So had I, as I languished in the hospital. I waited for Kramr to come to question me. But he never did. Then I found out that Grychn had escaped before they could interrogate her. The spooks knew nothing about Nels or the timestone. They both still waited for me.

I laughed. My scheme had taken longer than I’d planned, and almost backfired, but it was back on schedule now. And now there was no hurry. I had time to be careful and do it right. Jain Maure had to think it was her idea. I knew why she’d taken me in as her lover. Not just for live-in sex—though I served that purpose, too. She had other plans for me. I knew why she was called Dr. Pepper. But I had my own plans.

I was in Chronus. I was almost a free agent again. My body was as strong and durable as a human body could be made. I could kill a man in less than three seconds, twenty-three different ways, using either my hands, feet, or head. I was almost ready to venture into Chronus’s mindcasinos.

If only there weren’t the dreams troubling my sleep. And the pain. And Jain Maure’s night games.

Hawks shrieked outside, where they hovered in updrafts. Their voices brought me back from my reverie. They wanted breakfast.

A bowl of bloody meat sat on the table. I picked it up and walked out on the balcony. A dozen hawks wheeled in the air outside. Raspy whistles greeted me. Jain Maure’s house perched on the cliffs of Mount Erubus, the highest point in Chronus. The city sprawled across smaller hills below. The vertex of the twenty-kilometer dome of Chronus was a scant hundred meters overhead. Beyond the dome and its force-field were swirling hydrocarbon mists at seventy below. Within the dome was Earth-normal atmosphere at twenty-five above. Cypress trees grew from ledges in the cliff to rise in branching terraces past the house. Hawks made rookeries among the tangled roots on the cliff face. They rode the updrafts that rose from the city, hunting by day the rodents that had plagued Chronus since children’s pets had escaped centuries before. Owls had been introduced to hunt nocturnal vermin; hawks hunted their diurnal cousins.

I tossed chunks of meat into the air, where the birds easily snatched them with their claws. Then they landed on the rail and tore at the meat with their beaks. They had become quite tame. Sometimes they would even let me stroke their feathers. When they finished eating, they leaped back in the air and began soaring in thermal updrafts once more.

I went back inside and dressed. That was easy—I was still entitled to wear a Corps uniform. I pulled on the gray body stocking we wore as fatigues. A sergeant’s three stripes on a rocker were on the sleeves. The promotion came through while I was still hospitalized. Not very long after I had received the medal and commendations. I was a hero of sorts. I had made it big in the holos for about a week. I wouldn’t have lasted that long except for the other—you know, the part about me being heir to the Lordship, a notorious playboy/gambler, a flamboyant criminal who chose glory with the Corps rather than go to a prison farm. The folks back home loved it. Real sensational copy. For about a week. Then I was forgotten again. Which suited me fine. I didn’t want anyone recognizing me when I searched for Nels and the timestone.

I was in no particular hurry. I wanted to be completely healed from my wounds first. I’d learned my lesson in that regard. And you needed a manager if you were to become a mindrider. That’s where Dr. Pepper came in. Someone had to look after your body as you played the mindgame. I was safe. I had time to let my body heal. Nobody else was looking for Nels. Nobody but Grychn even knew who he was or where he could be found. She had escaped from Kramr. Undoubtedly she was lying low with her elf friends. I had nothing to worry about as long as she stayed free. Vichsn wasn’t doing any talking. Her ghost might torment my mind, but that was all she could do. Sergeant Pepper knew nothing important. I had time to get myself well. Which I almost was. Except for peptide—l was a peptide addict now. But that couldn’t be helped. That was part of my plan. Later, I could overcome my weakness for peptide. I had a plan for that, too. There was nothing more disgusting than a pephead, I’d hated my parents for their addiction. Pathetic creatures, all addicts. No better than vermin. And now I was one.