Tuning William - Fuzzy Bones

"Get me Sergeant Chin," Helton said into his commo. "Have him meet me at the tunnel. Right now."

Sergeant John Chirgantha Chin was a cocky little three-striper with a body like a coiled spring. He always looked as though he were about to burst out laughing about something.

"Is there anyone in your company who's tougher and more reliable than you are?" Helton asked him.

"Of course not," he replied. "Nobody in the whole Corps-except maybe you, Gunnie." He grinned.

"Okay," Helton said. "I'm flattered already. I need you and five men for a little chore, here. Who do you recommend?"

Chin ticked off on his fingers as he named them. "Hen-shaw, Cooper, Bradley, McDermott, and Holden."

Helton squinted at him. "Aren't all those men in your squad?"

"Of course," Chin said, ' "That's why they 're so tough "Are they all available?" Helton asked. "Sure, Gunnie. We're off duty today." "Okay," Helton said. "Have them draw body armor and assault rifles. Three sleep-gas grenades per man. Breathing gear. Draw a set for me, and draw six Pattycake mines.

We're going in through the headwall of that tunnel, but I don't know what's on the other side. There's something there, but I don't know what it is."

"Sounds like fun," Chin said. "When do we jump off?" "Sixty minutes after the Old Man lifts off with the patrols," Helton said.

"Okay," Chin said with a jaunty wave of his hand. "I'll be back with the bodies and the stuff in a little while."

By the time Sergeant Chin had left to gather his men, Gerd and Jack had walked over to the tunnel site. Helton sat down on a rock and lighted a cigarette.

"What in blazes is going on?" Gerd asked. Helton told them about the patrol cordon while he was making up his mind whether to tell them the rest.

"Aren't you afraid whoever they 're after will get away?" Gerd asked.

Holloway nudged him in the ribs. "They won't get away from these guys," he said.

"For that vote of confidence," Helton said, "we will not charge you the customary admission fee to watch Marines doing what they're supposed to do when it comes to the bottom line."

After a few more expressions of astonishment and a flock of questions from Gerd, Sergeant Chin arrived, with Helton's gear slung over one arm and his men in a neat file close behind him.

"Now, what's this bunch outfitted for?" Gerd asked.

Holloway laughed. "You tell him, Phil. I've already figured it out."

Helton spoke as Chin helped him into the body armor. "There's something or other inside the cavern, using vibrohammers. After O'Bannon gets the perimeter pulled in nice and tight, we're going in."

"Then what's with the crew-served weapons out here?"

Gerd asked. Helton smiled. "Oh, those. Well, those are in case we don't come back out first."

"Great Ghu 's calluses!" Gerd said. "Just like that! Aren't you scared?"

"Are you scared when you examine an alien organism for the first time and don't know whether it may give you some unknown, some fatal disease?"

"Well, of course I am," Gerd said. "But we take precautions. Sterile procedures; that sort of thing."

Helton pulled the magazine from the assault rifle, inspected it, inspected the weapon, then slammed the magazine home and chambered a round. "We take precautions, too, but they don't have to be sterile. We wear 'em, carry 'em, and fly in 'em." He leaned close to Gerd and Jack. "Confidentially, I 'm scared to death. In my trade-as, I imagine, in yours-it has a good effect on my ability to survive."

Chin and the other Marines had already lain down on the ground to rest, arranged in a circle, so that each man's stomach made a pillow for the next man's head.

"Look at that," Gerd said.' "They 're getting ready to blow the headwall and go up against an unknown quantity and they're taking a nap."

Helton sat back down on his rock and lighted another cigarette.

Forty minutes later, he got up and went over to the other Marines. He lightly kicked the sole of Sergeant Chin's boot. "Time to go," he said simply, Helton walked back to Gerd and Jack and shook hands with them in turn. He stared off into the middle distance for a few seconds. "Reminds me of a verse," he said.

"The Milky Way is tracks in time where we have danced, Unwitting that the deadly tide of life on us advanced, To dissolve us into formal counterparts

And make us slaves and patrons of the arts."

"Who wrote that?" Jack asked.

"Can't remember the name," Helton said. "Have other things on my mind at the moment-such as my own mortality. But, he was a First Century novelist who was also given to writing sentimental poetry."

Helton turned back to the other Marines. "Okay, you guys; mask up. Let's go."

With that he pulled on his own breathing gear, cleared it, and led the other men toward the mouth of the tunnel.

Chapter 29

Christiana squinted at the man across the table from her. "Just who is your employer?" she asked.

The man, who had never introduced himself, had a pale complexion. His eyes were colorless, hypnotic; he wore an old-fashioned hat.

"That, dear lady," he said, "I am not at liberty to reveal. As stated, though, he is willing to be quite generous with you in exchange for anything of interest regarding the plans of the CZC. Inside information, one might call it, if one cared to use a slangy phrase. This-ah-generosity will not take so much the form of financial reward, although that is a consideration, as the continued opportunity for you to pursue your quite promising future-unencumbered by a past that might prove less than palatable to Mr.

Victor Grego."

They were sitting at a back table in La Rondo, a bistro and sandwich shop that was neither in Junktown or in the new city, but in the fringe area between them.

Christiana's mind was racing. How could they know of her affection for Grego?

No, no. That didn't have to be it. They just knew she had a good, honest job-one that was close to the pivots of power in the CZC. That's what they were blackmailing her about. She didn't dare let them know how she felt about Grego; then they'd have a real stranglehold on her.

"I'll have to think about this," she said. It was all happening too fast. Only a few hours from the time she found a note shoved under her door until this-this, from this ever-so-polite gangster, bag-man-whatever he was.

The man in the hat leaned back in his chair. "Take all the time you like, dear lady," he said.' "The entire balance of my day is at your disposal."

"I-I mean I need a few days to think it over," she said.

"Regrettably, time is a luxury we cannot afford in the matter," he said. "You must make up your mind now." Christiana chewed at her lower lip. She certainly didn't want Grego to know about her short, disastrous career on ' Zarathustra as a prostitute, and she could tell by this man's eyes that he would really spill it if she didn 't co-operate. The only thing to do was agree to the proposition and try to find a way out later. Possibly through the man in the hat she could get at who he was working for and find some way to shut him up for good. She was astonished to find herself thinking like that, but Victor Grego had become worth that much to her. He was beginning to become everything to her.

She took a deep breath, put her elbow on the table, and hoped she had a convincingly tough look on her face. "Okay," she said, "you got a deal. How do we pass the information?"

"Right here," the man in the hat said. "Tuesdays and Fridays at 1600.1 will meet you at this table and we will have a pleasant chat about matters of interest to my employer." "What if I get tied up, or something," she said,

"and can't make it?"

The man in the hat made a non-commital motion of his hand. "You have only to screen this establishment and explain matters to the proprietor, who is an aquaintance of mine. Your story will be checked by one of our-urn-observers.