Old Man's War Read online

  “Really,” Viveros said. “This I have to hear.”

  “It’s simple, really,” Bender said, and shifted into a position that I immediately recognized from pictures of him back on Earth—hands out and slightly curved inward, as if to grasp the concept he was illuminating, in order to give it to others. Now that I was on the receiving end of the movement, I realized how condescending it was. “There’s no doubt the Colonial Defense Forces are an extremely capable fighting force. But in a very real sense, that’s not the issue. The issue is—what are we doing to avoid its use? Are there times when the CDF has been deployed where intensive diplomatic efforts might not have yielded better results?”

  “You must have missed the speech I got,” I said. “You know, the one about it not being a perfect universe and competition for real estate in the universe being fast and furious.”

  “Oh, I heard it,” Bender said. “I just don’t know that I believe it. There are how many stars in this galaxy? A hundred billion or so? Most of which have a system of planets of some sort. The real estate is functionally infinite. No, I think the real issue here may be that the reason we use force when we deal with other intelligent alien species is that force is the easiest thing to use. It’s fast, it’s straightforward, and compared to the complexities of diplomacy, it’s simple. You either hold a piece of land or you don’t. As opposed to diplomacy, which is intellectually a much more difficult enterprise.”

  Viveros glanced over to me, and then back to Bender. “You think what we’re doing is simple?”

  “No, no.” Bender smiled and held up a hand placatingly. “I said simple relative to diplomacy. If I give you a gun and tell you to take a hill from its inhabitants, the situation is relatively simple. But if I tell you to go to the inhabitants and negotiate a settlement that allows you to acquire that hill, there’s a lot going on—what do you do with the current inhabitants, how are they compensated, what rights do they continue to have regarding the hill, and so on.”

  “Assuming the hill people don’t just shoot you as you drop by, diplomatic pouch in hand,” I said.

  Bender smiled at me and pointed vigorously. “See, that’s exactly it. We assume that our opposite numbers have the same warlike perspective as we do. But what if—what if—the door was opened to diplomacy, even just a crack? Would not any intelligent, sentient species choose to walk through that door? Let’s take, for example, the Whaid people. We’re about to war on them, aren’t we?”

  Indeed we were. The Whaidians and humans had been circling each other for more than a decade, fighting over the Earnhardt system, which featured three planets habitable to both our people. Systems with multiple inhabitable planets were fairly rare. The Whaidians were tenacious but also relatively weak; their network of planets was small and most of their industry was still concentrated on their home world. Since the Whaid would not take the hint and stay out of the Earnhardt system, the plan was to skip to Whaid space, smash their spaceport and major industrial zones, and set their expansionary capabilities back a couple of decades or so. The 233rd would be part of the task force that was set to land in their capital city and tear the place up a bit; we were to avoid killing civilians when we could, but otherwise knock a few holes in their parliament houses and religious gathering centers and so on. There was no industrial advantage to doing this, but it sends the message that we can mess with them anytime, just because we feel like it. It shakes them up.

  “What about them?” Viveros asked.

  “Well, I’ve done a little research into these people,” Bender said. “They’ve got a remarkable culture, you know. Their highest art form is a form of mass chant that’s like a Gregorian round—they’ll get an entire city full of Whaidians and start chanting. It’s said you can hear the chant for dozens of klicks, and the chants can go on for hours.”

  “So?”

  “So, this is a culture we should be celebrating and exploring, not bottling up on its planet simply because they’re in our way. Have the Colonials even attempted to reach a peace with these people? I see no record of an attempt. I think we should make an attempt. Maybe an attempt could be made by us.”

  Viveros snorted. “Negotiating a treaty is a little beyond our orders, Bender.”

  “In my first term as senator, I went to Northern Ireland as part of a trade junket and ended up extracting a peace treaty from the Catholics and the Protestants. I didn’t have the authority to make an agreement, and it caused a huge controversy back in the States. But when an opportunity for peace arises, we must take it,” Bender said.

  “I remember that,” I said. “That was right before the bloodiest marching season in two centuries. Not a very successful peace agreement.”

  “That wasn’t the fault of the agreement,” Bender said, somewhat defensively. “Some drugged-out Catholic kid threw a grenade into an Orangemen’s march, and it was all over after that.”

  “Damn real live people, getting in the way of your peaceful ideals,” I said.

  “Look, I already said diplomacy wasn’t easy,” Bender said. “But I think that ultimately we have more to gain by trying to work with these people than we have by trying to wipe them out. It’s an option that should at least be on the table.”

  “Thanks for the seminar, Bender,” Viveros said. “Now if you’ll yield the floor, I have two points to make here. The first is that until you fight, what you know or what you think you know out here means shit to me and to everyone else. This isn’t Northern Ireland, it’s not Washington, DC, and it’s not planet Earth. When you joined up, you joined up as a soldier, and you better remember that. Second, no matter what you think, Private, your responsibility right now isn’t to the universe or to humanity at large—it’s to me, your squadmates, your platoon and to the CDF. When you’re given an order, you’ll follow it. If you go beyond the scope of your orders, you’re going to have to answer to me. Do you get me?”

  Bender regarded Viveros somewhat coolly. “Much evil has been done under the guise of ‘just following orders,’” he said. “I hope we never have to find ourselves using the same excuse.”

  Viveros narrowed her eyes. “I’m done eating,” she said, and got up, taking her tray with her.

  Bender arched his eyebrows as she left. “I didn’t mean to offend her,” he said to me.

  I regarded Bender carefully. “Do you recognize the name ‘Viveros’ at all, Bender?” I asked.

  He frowned a bit. “It’s not familiar,” he said.

  “Think way back,” I said. “We would have been about five or six or so.”

  A light went on in his head. “There was a Peruvian president named Viveros. He was assassinated, I think.”

  “Pedro Viveros, that’s right,” I said. “And not just him—his wife, his brother, his brother’s wife and most of their families were murdered in the military coup. Only one of Pedro’s daughters survived. Her nanny stuffed her down a laundry chute while the soldiers went through the presidential palace, looking for family members. The nanny was raped before they slit her throat, incidentally.”

  Bender turned a greenish shade of gray. “She can’t be the daughter,” he said.

  “She is,” I said. “And you know what, when the coup was put down and the soldiers who killed her family were put on trial, their excuse was that they were just following orders. So regardless of whether your point there was well made or not, you made it to just about the last person in the universe to whom you ought to lecture on the banality of evil. She knows all about it. It slaughtered her family while she lay in a basement laundry cart, bleeding and trying not to cry.”

  “God, I’m sorry, of course,” Bender said. “I wouldn’t have said anything. But I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t, Bender,” I said. “And that was Viveros’ point. Out here, you don’t know. You don’t know anything.”

  “Listen up,” Viveros said on the way down to the surface. “Our job is strictly to smash and dash. We’re landing near the center of their governm
ent operations—blast buildings and structures but avoid shooting live targets unless CDF soldiers are targeted first. We’ve already kicked these people in the balls, now we’re just pissing on them while they’re down. Be fast, do damage and get back. Are we clear?”

  The operation had been a cakewalk up to that point; the Whaidians had been utterly unprepared for the sudden and instantaneous arrival of two dozen CDF battleships in their home space. The CDF had opened up a diversionary offensive in the Earnhardt system several days before to lure Whaidian ships there to support the battle, so there was almost nobody to defend the home fort, and those that were, were blasted out of the sky in short, surprised order.

  Our destroyers also made quick work of the Whaidians’ major spaceport, shattering the kilometers-long structure at critical junctures, which allowed the port’s own centripetal forces to tear it apart (no need to waste more ammo than necessary). No skip pods were detected as launched to alert Whaidian forces in the Earnhardt system to our attack, so they wouldn’t know they were duped until it was too late. If any of the Whaidian forces survived the battle there, they would return home to find nowhere to dock or repair. Our forces would be long gone when they arrived.

  With the local space cleared of threats, the CDF leisurely targeted industrial centers, military bases, mines, refineries, desalination plants, dams, solar arrays, harbors, space launch facilities, major highways and any other target that would require the Whaidians to rebuild it before rebuilding their interstellar capabilities. After six hours of solid, unremitting pummeling, the Whaidians had been effectively pushed back to the days of internal combustion engines, and would be likely to stay there for a while.

  The CDF avoided a wide-scale random bombing of major cities, since wanton civilian death was not the goal. CDF intelligence suspected major casualties downstream of the destroyed dams, but that really couldn’t be helped. There would have been no way for the Whaidians to stop the CDF from cratering the major cities, but the thinking was the Whaidians would have enough problems with the disease, famine and the political and social unrest that inevitably comes as a result of having your industrial and technological base yanked out from under you. Therefore, actively going after the civilian population was seen as inhumane and (equally as important to the CDF brass) an inefficient use of resources. Aside from the capital city, which was targeted strictly as an exercise in psychological warfare, no ground attacks were even considered.

  Not that the Whaidians in the capital seemed to appreciate that. Projectiles and beams were bouncing off our troop transports even as we landed. It sounded like hail and frying eggs on the hull.

  “Two by two,” Viveros said, pairing up the squad. “No one goes off on their own. Refer to your maps and don’t get trapped. Perry, you got Bender watch. Try to keep him from signing any peace treaties, if you please. And as an added bonus, you two are first out the door. Get high and deal with snipers.”

  “Bender.” I motioned him over. “Set your Empee for rockets and follow me. Camo on. BrainPal chatter only.” The transport ramp went down and Bender and I sprinted out the door. Directly in front of me at forty meters was an abstract sculpture of some description; I nailed it as Bender and I ran. Never much liked abstract art.

  I was heading for a large building northwest of our landing position; behind the glass in its lobby I could see several Whaidians with long objects in their paws. I launched a couple of missiles in their direction. The missiles would impact on the glass; they probably wouldn’t kill the Whaidians inside, but they’d distract them long enough for Bender and I to disappear. I messaged Bender to blow out a window on the building’s second floor; he did, and we launched ourselves at it, landing in what looked like a suite of office cubicles. Hey, even aliens have got to work. No live Whaidians to speak of, however. I imagine most of them had stayed home from work that day. Well, who could blame them.

  Bender and I found a rampway that spiraled upward. No Whaidians followed us up from the lobby. I suspected they were so busy with other CDF soldiers that they forgot all about us. The rampway terminated at the roof; I stopped Bender just before we rose into view and crept up slowly to see three Whaidians sniping down the side of the building. I plugged two and Bender got the other one.

  What now—sent Bender.

  Come with me—I sent.

  Your average Whaidian looks rather like a cross between a black bear and a large, angry flying squirrel; the Whaidians we shot looked like large angry flying bear-squirrels with rifles and the backs of their heads blown out. We crab-walked as quickly as possible to the edge of the roof. I motioned to Bender to go to one of the dead snipers; I took the one next to him.

  Get under it—I sent.

  What?—Bender sent back.

  I motioned to other roofs. Other Whaidians on other roofs—I sent. Camouflage while I take them out—

  What do I do?—Bender sent.

  Watch the roof entrance and don’t let them do to us what we did to them—I sent.

  Bender grimaced and got under his dead Whaidian. I did the same and immediately regretted it. I don’t know what a live Whaidian smells like but a dead one smells positively fucking rank. Bender shifted and aimed at the door; I sent to Viveros, gave her an overhead view through the BrainPal, and then started doing damage to other rooftop snipers.

  I got six on four different roofs before they began to figure out what was going on. Finally I saw one train its weapon onto my roof; I gave it a love tap in the brain with my rifle and sent to Bender to ditch his corpse and clear the roof. We made it off a few seconds before the rockets hit.

  On the way down we ran into the Whaidians I was expecting on our way up. The question of who was more surprised, us or them, was answered when Bender and I opened fire first and wheeled back to the closest building level. I pumped a few grenades down the ramp to give the Whaidians something to think about while Bender and I ran.

  “What the hell do we do now?” Bender yelled at me as we ran through the building level.

  BrainPal, you asshole—I sent, and turned a corner. You’ll give us away—I went to a glass wall and looked out. We were at least thirty meters up, too far to jump even with our enhanced bodies.

  Here they come—Bender sent. From behind us came the sound of what I suspected were some very angry Whaidians.

  Hide—I sent to Bender, trained my Empee at the glass wall closest to me, and fired. The glass shattered but didn’t break. I grabbed what I would guess was a Whaidian chair and threw it out the window. Then I ducked into the cubicle next to Bender.

  What the hell—Bender sent. Now they’re coming right for us—

  Wait—I sent. Stay down. Be ready to fire when I tell you. Automatic—

  Four Whaidians turned the corner and carefully made their way toward the shattered wall pane. I heard them gargling to each other; I turned on the translation circuit.

  “—went out the hole in the wall,” one was saying to another as they approached the wall.

  “Impossible,” another said. “It is too far down. They would die.”

  “I have seen them leap great distances,” the first said. “Perhaps they would survive.”

  “Even those [untranslatable] cannot fall 130 deg [unit of measurement] and live,” said the third, coming up on the first two. “Those [untranslatable] eaters of [untranslatable] are still here somewhere.”

  “Did you see [untranslatable—probability personal name] on the ramp? Those [untranslatable] tore [it] apart with their grenades,” said the fourth.

  “We came up the same ramp as you,” said the third. “Of course we saw [it]. Now quiet yourselves and search this area. If they are here, we will exact revenge on the [untranslatable] and celebrate it in service.” The fourth closed the gap between him and the third Whaidian, and reached out a great paw to it, as if in commiseration. All four were now conveniently standing in front of the gaping hole in the wall.

  Now—I sent to Bender and opened fire. The Whaidians jerked like ma
rionettes for a few seconds and then fell as the force of the bullet impacts pushed them back into the wall that wasn’t there anymore. Bender and I waited a few seconds, then snuck back to the ramp. It was unoccupied except for the remains of [untranslatable—probability personal name], which smelled even worse than his dead sniper compatriots up on the roof. So far, the entire experience of the Whaid homeworld had been a real nasal treat, I had to say. We headed back down to the second floor and headed out the same way we had come in, passing by the four Whaidians whom we had helped out the window.

  “This isn’t really what I expected,” Bender said, gawking at the remains of the Whaidians as he passed.

  “What did you expect?” I asked.

  “I don’t rightly know,” he replied.

  “Well, then, how can it not be what you expected,” I said, and switched my BrainPal to speak to Viveros. We’re down—I sent.

  Come over here—Viveros sent and sent her location information. And bring Bender. You’re not going to believe this—And as she said it, I heard it over the random fire and grenade booms: a low, guttural chant, echoing through the buildings of the government center.

  “This is what I told you about,” Bender declared, almost joyously, as we cleared the final corner and began our descent into the natural amphitheater. In it, hundreds of Whaidians had assembled, chanting and swaying and waving clubs. Around it, dozens of CDF troops had staked out positions. If they opened fire, it would be a turkey shoot. I switched on my translation circuit again but came up with nothing; either the chants meant nothing or they were using a dialect of Whaidian speech that Colonial linguists hadn’t figured out.

  I spotted Viveros and went to her. “What’s going on?” I shouted to her, over the din.

  “You tell me, Perry,” she shouted back. “I’m just a spectator here.” She nodded over to her left, where Lieutenant Keyes was conferring with other officers. “They’re trying to figure out what we should do.”