War To The Knife (17 page)

“Wasn’t that the extermination of a race during the Second Global War on Old Home Earth, the best part of a millennium ago?”

“Not quite their extermination, and it was a religious rather than a racial group, but yes, that’s it. Many of those who lived through it never spoke about it. Their memories later died with them. A few decades after the Holocaust some people tried to persuade the remaining survivors to record their memories. It developed into an international project, and its records have long been a treasure-trove for psychologists, psychiatrists, anthropologists and cultural analysts. They’re one of the few really in-depth records of genocide from its victims’ point of view, even though most were recorded decades after the event, when memories had faded and been modified by later experiences.

“That’s exactly what Bactria’s tried to do on Laredo – commit genocide, exterminate us. We’ve suffered proportionately even greater losses than the victims of the Holocaust. About eighty per cent of our original planetary population is dead, missing or enslaved, and frankly I don’t hold out much hope for the rest of us in the long term. I realized early on that we were in an almost unique historical position. I wanted to preserve as much of our collective memory of genocide as I could.”

“Why?” Dave asked bluntly. “What good will it do?”

“It won’t help us survive, either as a people or as individuals, but it’ll ensure that we’re remembered. That counts for something, I think. Even more important, it’ll help psychiatrists – don’t forget my professional interest – to understand more about what this experience does to people, and how to help the survivors of anything similar in future.”

He considered her words. “I… suppose that makes sense,” he said slowly, thoughtfully.

“I’m glad you agree. I started three years ago by sending hand-picked representatives among the survivors of battles, massacres and incidents, asking them to record their experiences. I trained them to ask leading questions, drawing out details that otherwise might have been glossed over. I tried to get them into combat units, but at first you were all too busy. Only after we switched from open conflict to guerrilla warfare did our troops pull back into rear areas and begin setting up secure bases like this one. That gave my people a chance to talk to some of you. Did you ever do so?”

“No. One of them asked me about it, but I was far too busy. Don’t forget, I was a part-time reservist Corporal when the war started. I got three promotions in six weeks: first to Sergeant, then a battlefield commission as Second Lieutenant, then three weeks later promotion to First Lieutenant and Commanding Officer of what was left of Charlie Company at the Battle of the Crossing. I had to learn all my new responsibilities ‘on the fly’, as it were. I was so busy organizing the remnants of my company and helping to establish secure bases that I didn’t have time to breathe, let alone reminisce about the fighting. By the time we’d settled down, I didn’t want to.”

“I can understand that,” she acknowledged with a sigh. “Be that as it may, we’ve accumulated upwards of ten thousand hours of vid and audio recordings of what happened to us, individually and collectively. They’re unique in that they were gathered soon after the events in question. They were fresh in the memories of those who spoke to us. We also have sensor recordings of battles, firefights, ambushes; you name it, including the deliberate destruction of Banka and everyone in it. There were numerous security cameras operating in and around the city, and we tried to retrieve as many of their recordings as possible. Some are ghastly to watch, but they’re the last monument to those who died there. That gives them a meaning far beyond mere ghoulish voyeurism, I think.

“Taken as a whole, we have an archive of atrocity and genocide and their effects on the human psyche that may rival the records of the Holocaust. Even more important, it’s contemporary, not ancient history. I desperately want to get it into the hands of those who can use it to help others like us in future. It’ll be part of the records we send off-planet with you. I need you to do your utmost to get it to my alma mater, where I qualified in psychiatry – the Faculty of Medicine at Commonwealth University on Lancaster.”

“Why them?”

“Because they helped develop the debriefing program used by the Lancastrian Commonwealth Fleet to help its combat veterans adjust to civilian life. It’s widely regarded as the best in the settled galaxy. The people at CU understand combat fatigue and related issues very well. They’re probably in a better position to understand and make the best use of these recordings from a psychiatric perspective than almost anyone else.”

“But
will
they make the best use of it? Why should they? What’s their motivation, apart from publishing a few papers to score academic points off other universities?”

She laughed shakily. “You don’t have a very high opinion of academics, do you?”

“Saving your presence, no – but then you’re more practical than you are academic.”

“Thanks for saying that. No, the right people will understand how vital these recordings are to genuine psychiatric research, not to mention a host of other disciplines. I might add that by getting them to CU, you’ll also help yourself and your soldiers.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“All of you will have to work through the years of warfare and tension. Remember I said that survival would be a burden? I wasn’t joking. The burden will be readjusting to normal life after all you’ve been through. Throughout history, veterans with the amount of combat experience that you’ve all accumulated have found it difficult. You’ll find it even more so, because everything you knew before the war – and almost everyone – won’t be there anymore. You’ll have to start afresh in completely new and unfamiliar surroundings.”

“I… I guess that makes sense,” he said slowly, thoughtfully.

“It does. Something like the Commonwealth Fleet’s program for combat veterans will be exactly what you all need. You’re not members of the Fleet, so you won’t be eligible to participate in it: but the program was developed at CU, so they know it well. I’ll ask the Vice-President to make funds available to hire professionals to help you, and the people at CU can put you in touch with the very best. The material we send with you, and your own needs, will effectively form two halves of the same coin. You’ll be a treasure trove to CU’s psychiatrists. They won’t only be able to help you; they’ll take what they learn from you, link it to our material, and use it to help others in future.

“There’s one last thing. I hope you and your soldiers will add your own memories to our archive; then I want you to use it, and your own experiences, and funds that I’ll ask the Vice-President to provide, to tell Laredo’s story to a general audience, not just to diplomats and politicians and mental health specialists. I think a very powerful documentary can be produced from the recordings, and probably a book as well – perhaps more than one of each. They’ll ensure that we’ll be remembered as human beings, not just as abstract academic subjects. You’ll be the only people who can give that gift to the rest of us. Too much history is never recorded, and if it is it’s never disseminated. I don’t want us, or this planet, to be forgotten like that.”

He said reluctantly, “I don’t want to be a guinea-pig for academics, but you make a strong case. I can’t promise anything unless and until we get away from Laredo. If we do, and if the Vice-President agrees to use your material in that way, and if she gives us permission to do as you’ve asked, and if she makes funds available for it, I’ll ask my people to do all they can to help.”

She grimaced. “That’s an awful lot of conditions. Still, I suppose that’s all I can rightfully ask or expect of you right now. Just do your best… please? It’s really,
really
important to me. In a way I suppose it’s a personal legacy from me to my profession – perhaps the last contribution I’ll ever be able to make to it. If I’m going to die soon, I’d like something I’ve done to outlive me. My children won’t, after all. They’re already dead.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Did your husband know what you were going to ask me to do?”

“Yes. I didn’t think it would be fair to place this additional burden on your shoulders without his approval. He said I could ask you to help, but not order you.”

“That sounds like something he’d say,” Dave agreed as he stood up. “All right, Gloria. It
is
a burden, but I guess it’s also a privilege to be asked to do something like this. If I’m spared I’ll do my best for you, and I’ll ask my people to do the same. You’ve got my word on it.”

~ ~ ~

As the other members of the orbital team followed General Allred out of the side cavern, Tamsin held back, motioning to Dave to do the same. She looked stunned, confused and conflicted.

“What is it, love?” he asked.

She shook her head mutely and came into his arms, holding him tightly. He could feel her body trembling against his. At last she murmured, “I… I just can’t make myself believe this. To be told we might have a chance at life after all, when we’d already made up our minds to die together… it’s just too much!”

He heaved a long, low sigh. “It shook me pretty badly, too, darling. It was the last thing I expected to hear.”

“But can it be real? I just… I don’t know how to see light at the end of the tunnel any more. I daren’t allow myself to hope! We’ve known for more than three years that we had no chance of building a life together. That’s why we decided not to get married – it would have seemed too much like living a lie. All those others who rushed into marriage when the war began… remember how many of them ended up as widows or widowers?”

He nodded grimly. “Yes – and even worse, those who became mothers and found themselves having to raise a kid who was as likely as not to be killed in an enemy raid. Even those who weren’t killed still face the likelihood of being imprisoned in a Bactrian slave camp. That’s the best most of them can hope for. I could never understand why anyone would bring kids into a mess like this. I don’t see how they could grow up doing anything other than curse their parents for giving them such a sorry excuse for life.”

“I saw it the same way. I really wanted to bear your children, but not like that! I gave up hope; but now, to be told that we may have a chance at life after all – and not just at life but at life
together
… it’s… I’m sorry, darling. I guess I’m not making very much sense.”

“I don’t know that I’m doing any better. How about this, love? Let’s go on living one day at a time, just as we’ve done since the invasion. We might still get hurt or killed in operations planetside, and we’ll have to fight our way past Bactrian warships to reach safety. One or both of us might not make it. Let’s wait until we’re sure we’re out of their reach before we try to make any plans.

“There’s another thing, too.” He told her what Gloria had said about needing professional help to work through the years of stress. “If we both need that much help – and I can see her point – we may not be in a fit state to make a long-term commitment until we’ve worked through everything.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Dr. Allred’s right that we’ll need help, I can see that: but I made my commitment to you long ago. It’s not going to change. As far as I’m concerned, we could get married the day after we leave orbit and it would suit me fine!”

He grinned at her. “And there was I trying to be considerate!”

She slowly began to smile. “Hey, you – how long is it since we last made love? I mean,
really
made love – not just a quickie in the corner because we couldn’t find time or privacy for anything more.”

“It’s probably months.”

“It sure is – I’ve been counting! Tell you what. As soon as we reach safety on another planet, I’m going to keep you in bed for a whole day. At the end of that time you’ll be so exhausted you won’t be able to resist when I drag you off to whatever they use for a marriage officer!”

He laughed. “It’s a deal!”

March 13th 2850 GSC

LAGUNA PENINSULA

Dave leaned back and rubbed his dry itching eyes. He peered at the display once more, then suddenly shook his head in frustration and thrust back his chair.

“Taking a break?” Lieutenant Kubicka asked from the terminal next to his.

“Yeah. My eyes are so tired I can’t see straight any more. I’m going to check on the shuttle preparations.”

The two shuttles obtained during the first days of conflict, and the new one captured by Dave and his team in the Matopo Hills, were parked in a side cavern. It took Dave ten minutes to reach it, stumbling over the uneven cave floor that no-one had bothered to smooth. He found a crew of technicians hard at work. When the two older shuttles had run out of fuel and supplies the previous year, they’d been flown here and mothballed – powered down, drained of all fluids, sealed against wind and weather. Now they were being restored to flying condition. Two techs were being assisted by half a dozen willing helpers as they pumped reaction mass into a shuttle’s tanks from the bladders brought from Caristo. Another two-man team was loading a fuel cartridge into its underfloor fusion micro-reactor. The other shuttle had already been powered up, and a pilot was sitting at its control console running status checks.

As he approached the rear ramp of the all-black Security Service shuttle, Dave recognized Tamsin’s close-cropped russet hair, wisps curling over her ears as she bent over the console. Beside her an older man with a mostly bald head and wisps of gray hair over his ears was pointing out something.

She turned to look at Dave as he walked up the ramp, face breaking into a tired smile. “Hey, lover! Come to take me away from all this?”

“I wish I could,” he said fervently. “I just couldn’t stare at a display any more – my eyes were starting to feel like they’d been bathed in sand.” He glanced at the other man. “Hi, Mac. How’s it going?”

“Too much work for an old man like me. And you?”

“Too much work for a young man like me!”

Tamsin said, peering at his face. “Your eyes are pretty red. Let me put some drops in them for you.”