Theodore Cogswell - The Spectre General

SERGEANT DIXON!

Kurt stiffened. He knew that voice. Dropping the handles of the wooden plow, he gave a quick rest to the private and a polite by your leave, sir to the lieutenant who were yoked together in double harness. They both sank gratefully to the ground as Kurt advanced to meet the approaching officer.

Marcus Harris, the commander of the 427th Light Maintenance Battalion of the Imperial Space Marines, was an imposing figure. The three silver eagle feathers of a full colonel rose proudly from his war bonnet and the bright red of the flaming comet insignia of the Space Marines that was painted on his chest stood out sharply against his sun-blackened, leathery skin. As Kurt snapped to attention before him and saluted, the colonel surveyed the fresh-turned earth with an experienced eye.

You plow a straight furrow, soldier! His voice was hard and metallic, but it seemed to Kurt that there was a concealed glimmer of approval in his flinty eyes. Dixon flushed with pleasure and drew back his broad shoulders a little further.

The commanders eyes flicked down to the battle-ax that rested snugly in its leather holster at Kurts side. You keep a clean side-arm, too.

Kurt uttered a silent prayer of thanksgiving that he had worked over his weapon before reveille that morning until there was a satin gloss to its redwood handle and the sheen of black glass to its obsidian head.

In fact, said Colonel Harris, youd be officer material if His voice trailed off.

If what? asked Kurt eagerly.

If, said the colonel with a note of paternal fondness in his voice that sent cold chills dancing down Kurts spine, you werent the most completely unmanageable, undisciplined, overmuscled and under-brained knucklehead Ive ever had the misfortune to have in my command. This last little unauthorized jaunt of yours indicates to me that you have as much right to sergeants stripes as I have to have kittens. Report to me at ten tomorrow! I personally guarantee that when Im through with youif you live that longyoull have a bare forehead!

Colonel Harris spun on one heel and stalked back across the dusty plateau toward the walled garrison that stood at one end. Kurt stared after him for a moment and then turned and let his eyes slip across the wide belt of lush green jungle that surrounded the high plateau. To the north rose a great range of snow-capped mountains and his heart filled with longing as he thought of the strange and beautiful thing he had found behind them. Finally he plodded slowly back to the plow, his shoulders stooped and his head sagging. With an effort he recalled himself to the business at hand.

Up on your aching feet, soldier! he barked to the reclining private. If you please, sir! he said to the lieutenant. His calloused hands grasped the worn plow handles.

Giddiup! The two men strained against their collars and with a creak of harness the wooden plow started to move slowly across the arid plateau.

Conrad Krogson, Supreme Commander of War Base Three of Sector Seven of the Galactic Protectorate, stood at quaking attention before the visiscreen of his space communicator. It was an unusual position for the commander. He was accustomed to having people quake while he talked.

The Lord Protectors got another hot tip that General Carr is still alive! said the sector commander. Hes yelling for blood, and if its a choice between yours and mine, you know who will do the donating!

But, sir, quavered Krogson to the figure on the screen, I cant do anything more than I am doing. Ive had double security checks running since the last time there was an alert, and they havent turned up a thing. And Im so shorthanded now that if I pull another random purge, I wont have enough techs left to work the base.

Thats your problem, not mine, said the sector commander coldly. All I know is that rumors have got to the Protector that an organized underground is being built up and that Carr is behind it. The Protector wants action now. If he doesnt get it, heads are going to roll!

Ill do what I can, sir, promised Krogson.

Im sure you will, said the sector commander viciously, because Im giving you exactly ten days to produce something that is big enough to take the heat off me. If you dont, Ill break you, Krogson. If Im sent to the mines, youll be sweating right alongside me. Thats a promise!

Krogsons face blanched.

Any questions? snapped the sector commander.

Yes, said Krogson.

Well, dont bother me with them. Ive got troubles of my own! The screen went dark.

Krogson slumped into his chair and sat staring dully at the blank screen. Finally he roused himself with an effort and let out a bellow that rattled the windows of his dusty office.

Schninkle! Get in here!

A gnomelike little figure scuttled in through the door and bobbed obsequiously before him.

Yes, commander?

Switch on your think tank, said Krogson. The Lord Protector has the shakes again and the heats on!

What is it this time? asked Schninkle.

General Carr! said the commander gloomily, the ex-Number Two.

I thought hed been liquidated.

So did I, said Krogson, but he must have slipped out some way. The Protector thinks hes started up an underground.

Hed be a fool if he didnt, said the little man. The Lord Protector isnt as young as he once was and his grip is getting a little shaky.

Maybe so, but hes still strong enough to get us before General Carr gets him. The Sector Commander just passed the buck down to me. We produce or else!

We? said Schninkle unhappily.

Of course, snapped Krogson, were in this together. Now lets get to work! If you were Carr, where would be the logical place for you to hide out?

Well, said Schninkle thoughtfully, if I were as smart as Carr is supposed to be, Id find myself a hideout right on Prime Base. Everythings so fouled up there that theyd never find me.

Thats out for us, said Krogson. We cant go rooting around in the Lord Protectors own back yard. What would Carrs next best bet be?

Schninkle thought for a moment. He might go out to one of the deserted systems, he said slowly. There must be half a hundred stars in our own base area that havent been visited since the old empire broke up. Our ships dont get around the way they used to and the chances are mighty slim that anybody would stumble on to him accidentally.

Its a possibility, said the commander thoughtfully, a bare possibility. His right fist slapped into his left palm in a gesture of sudden resolution. But by the Planets! at least its something! Alert all section heads for a staff meeting in half an hour. I want every scout out on a quick check of every system in our area!

Beg pardon, commander, said Schninkle, but half our light ships are red-lined for essential maintenance and the other half should be. Anyway it would take months to check every possible hideout in this area even if we used the whole fleet.

I know, said Krogson, but well have to do what we can with what we have. At least Ill be able to report to sector that were doing something! Tell Astrogation to set up a series of search patterns. We wont have to check every planet. A single quick sweep through each system will do the trick. Even Carr cant run a base without power. Where theres power, theres radiation, and radiation can be detected a long way off. Put all electronic techs on double shifts and have all detection gear double-checked.

Cant do that either, said Schninkle. There arent more than a dozen electronic techs left. Most of them were transferred to Prime Base last week.

Commander Krogson blew up. How in the name of the Bloody Blue Pleiades am I supposed to keep a war base going without technicians? You tell me, Schninkle, you always seem to know all the answers.