Jerry Pournelle - Revolt on War World

Pits started to scowl. Then he looked round the battlefield. Estonians and Russians were embracing like brothers, strolling here and there together, gaping at the bodies of Tatars they had slain, trying to run down riderless horses and muskylopes. Had Bektashi's men not come, the only way the two sides in Tallinn Valley would have looked at each other was over open sights. And the plainsmen, though beaten now, were still out there on the steppe. Pits eyes swung north. Bektashi's men or some new clan might swoop down at any time.

"If we cannot live as neighbors, Iosef Trofimovich, we will live as slaves," Pits said. "What's the American proverb? 'We must all hang together, or assuredly, we shall all hang separately'? Something like that. So better Sergei gets his land like this than manured with Estonian blood."

"Truth," Mladenov said soberly.

Pits threw one arm around his shoulder, the other around Sergei Izvekov's. Together, the three of them started slowly back toward Tallinn Town to let their women know they had won-this time.

The slamming of the huge, heavy front door downstairs woke ten-year-old Kyle Eng from a sound sleep. The Eng family mansion was otherwise quiet, and a gentle breeze carried the salty Pacific air into his room from the lanai. The surf broke softly, rhythmically, against the shore of Kauai, one of the Hawaiian Islands.

Kyle tensed every muscle in his arms and legs, freezing himself into position. When his father slammed the front door in the middle of the night, it meant he had come home drunk and angry again. Sometimes he just staggered into his den or off to bed; other times, he raged the house, yelling at people or demons whom no one else could see. Other times, however, he stomped up the stairs after Kyle to yell and scream insults about his mother.

Now, those footsteps were pounding clumsily up the carpeted steps toward his room.

Kyle could only hope that his father was going somewhere else up here. That wasn't likely, though. His older half-brother, Tim, slept down the hall, but their father never gave him this kind of trouble.

Tim was fifteen. His mother had died of an illness when he had been a baby, and as far as their father was concerned, Tim could do nothing wrong. He was also a very sound sleeper.

Kyle knew that his own mother had made his father very angry, probably forever. Much younger than his father, she had left them all several years ago, taking a substantial amount of the family cash and negotiable assets with her. By the time his father's private detectives had tracked her down, she had spent all the money and had taken up with another wealthy man in Florida. The elder Eng had successfully prosecuted her for theft, but he had never recovered from the felling of betrayal.

With Kyle's mother first missing and then in prison, Kyle had continued to live in his father's house.

Lying rigidly, pretending to be sound asleep, Kyle heard the crash as his door was kicked in. It banged against the wall, making him jump. He jerked the covers over his head as a shaft of bright light from the hallway slanted into the room.

"I ssee you, sson of a slut," his father slobbered drunkenly. "You're awake!"

Kyle, with his eyes closed tightly, felt the covers yanked away. Instead of just yelling at him as usual, though, his father reared back and kicked him with the hard heel of one of his expensive imported boots. Kyle cried out, surprised at the pain in his shoulder.

"Ha! Talked to your mother lately, boy?"

"No-" Kyle started, then shut his mouth as a heavy fist swung down and punched him in the back.

"It's our anniversary, y'know, your mother's and mine. Shoulda been our eleventh, today, boy!"

Kyle scrambled up on the head of the bed and tried to roll off, but this time his father's fist smashed directly into his forehead. White lights twinkled in his vision, and he momentarily lost his wits as he rolled back on his bed. When the next blow pounded against the side of his head, he barely felt it.

The youngster collapsed on the bed, blinded by tears, unable to move as the beating continued. Suddenly, vaguely through his confusion, he heard his brother's voice.

"Dad! Stop it!" Tim shouted in the doorway. He ran forward and grabbed the older man's arms from behind, pinning him. At a slender, rangy fifteen years of age, he wasn't strong enough or heavy enough to wrestle their father away by brute force. Even in his drunkenness, however, their father would not hurt Tim. The two of them struggled in an awkward dance.

"It's our anniversary," the older man repeated.

"C'mon, Dad!" Tim screamed, his voice cracking.

"Son of a sslut," their father sneered again. He stumbled, but let Tim swing him around toward the door. "Tell her I ssaid sso!"

Tim shoved their father out the door and then slammed it shut after him. Then he had to switch the light on. He stood facing it for a moment, breathing hard. Their father's footsteps shuffled uncertainly at first, then thumped back down the Stairs.

Kyle was in shock, staring teary-eyed but without really crying. His head was throbbing. He watched as Tim knelt by the bed and looked at him closely.

You're gonna have a lump or two," said Tim. He hesitated. "Kyle, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"He'd never hit you, would he?" Kyle asked, in a voice on the verge of crying.

Tim's face hardened. "He's, uh, sick, Kyle. It's not you. And it's not me, either."

"He thinks you're perfect because your mother was good. And he hates me 'cause my mom is no good."

"Aw, Kyle." Tim looked flustered. He seemed like a grownup sometimes nowadays, but Kyle knew he really wasn't one. "Look. You want to go horseback riding with me tomorrow?"

Kyle nodded.

"You like horses, don't you? Like I do? When I grow up, I'm going to be a horse vet, a doctor, so I can be around them all the time."

"I want to be with you," said Kyle.

"Okay," Tim said gently. "But, look. I've got this poker game planned for tomorrow, too. So if you come, you have to keep this a secret. Okay?"

"Okay." In that moment, Kyle would have done anything for his older brother, even something far more difficult than just keeping a little secret.

"Are you going to be okay? Maybe I should wake up one of the servants to call a doctor far you."

"I'm okay," Kyle said meekly. "But what if he comes back?"

Tim paused. "You're coming to my room for the night. Tomorrow I'll move you in for good."

Kyle looked up, suddenly hopeful. "He wouldn't do that to you, would he?" he asked again.

"I'll never let him do that again, Kyle," Thu growled through his teeth. "Not if I can help it."

Suddenly Kyle threw his arms around his brother's neck. Finally feeling safe, he began to cry at last.

At age twenty-four, Kyle Eng sat stiffly in his chair in the courtroom, watching the judge. He could hardly believe that Tim was in this mess, not to mention his own mild-mannered self. Kyle, after a sterling performance at the University of Hawaii to earn a B.A. in political science and then an M.A. in public policy and urban planning, had embarked on a fast-moving career as a liaison between developers and local government. Now he and Tim were on trial here in Hilo for fomenting armed rebellion. It made no sense.

"Case 972–675," droned the uniformed bailiff. Like Kyle and Tim, she was a young Asian Hawaiian, older than Kyle but not much.

"Cute, huh?" Tim whispered, elbowing Kyle. He was slightly taller and had a bony, angular frame. "Hey, loosen up, little brother. You don't accomplish anything by sitting there stiff as a board. You gotta be like a cat, loose and flexible. That way you land on your feet." He jabbed Kyle harder and grinned.

Kyle reluctantly smiled back, rubbing the spot on his ribs. He was shorter than Tim and had a medium build, Tim even resembled a cat, but Kyle didn't.