Steven Brust - My Own Kind of Freedom

Wonderful. “Until we leave,” he’d said. Like he had nothing to do except sit here and listen to a dead comm channel in case something came on.

Well, in fact, he didn’t have anything else to do. He could always do shadow puppets, but it wasn’t as much fun without Zoë to entertain.

“Until we leave.”

Why weren’t we leaving? What was there to stay here for? Obviously, they hadn’t managed to get the money yet. Probably gotten into trouble, gone off and rescued someone the Alliance wanted, and now they were all going to be humped. And he was stuck sitting here listening to a dead channel like a quanmian ta ma de baichi .

There came the sound of his favorite combat boots.

“Hi, honey,” she said. “How’s it going?”

“Well, other than being stuck here listening to a dead channel in case something happens, I’m just fine. What did you do down there?”

“Nothing. Well, something. But I think he wants you to listen because of Jayne. I can take it for a while, if you want.”

“Sweetie, having you here instead of me sort of defeats the purpose of—wait. What did Jayne do?”

“Nothing as far as I know. But I think the Captain is afraid Jayne is going to tell the feds about Simon and River.”

“Oh. I see. So, if we’re lucky, we’ll hear about it soon enough to get off this planet without getting paid.”

Zoë exhaled. “Wash, what do you want?”

“Well, a vacation would be nice.”

“Wash…”

“And it would be even nicer not to have this feeling that everything is about to fall apart on us.”

“Wash.”

He sighed. “All right.”

“Want something to eat?”

“That would be—Hey!”

“What?”

As the chatter came from his headphones, he adjusted the gain and dropped the filtering. With his other hand he slapped the “record” button, then switched on the intercom. “Mal, I’m getting something.”

Bursa leaned forward. “You’d keep your present rank,” he said.

“That’s not that big an inducement,” said Mal.

“Ah. Then I suppose it wouldn’t help that you’d be in line for promotion.”

“No.”

“Even if you get a nice fancy office like this?”

Mal looked around at the paper-thin walls of the cubby-hole. “Huh,” he said.

The Colonel’s face was long, bony, and pale. His nose had been broken at least once, and there was a long white scar running from his right ear to just below his chin. He wore brown, with the Independents’ lieutenant colonel insignia on his shoulders—wide shoulders for his frame, giving him a sort of scarecrow appearance. His feet stuck out from under the little desk.

Mal felt himself being studied. “Okay,” said the Colonel. “Well, the point remains. The nature of the war has changed. Units like yours were useful when they were all we had. The war was sprung on us like, um, like something that springs on you. Little detachments kept them slowed down until we could—”

“I know the—”

“Don’t interrupt, Sergeant.”

Mal’s jaw clenched.

Bursa continued, “Until we could organize, recruit, and prepare. Now, every time one of your little bands is rampaging through an area the army is in, it interferes with the operations of the army. You’re doing more harm than good now, Sergeant.”

“So you say.”

“So I say.” The Colonel frowned. “What’s the problem, anyway?”

Mal stared at a spot over the Colonel’s shoulder. “If I had wanted to take orders from everyone who likes giving orders, I wouldn’t be fighting the Alliance in the first place, would I?”

Bursa let out a breath. “Okay. I can see that. I can even respect it. But the fight is on. You want to win?”

“I’d been planning on it.”

“Me, too. We want to defeat the Alliance. We need regular, organized forces. Bands like yours are harming us. Those who won’t join us will have to be suppressed.”

“Suppressed.”

“Would you prefer I used a more graphic term? You know what I mean.”

“I surely do.”

“So, tomorrow morning, you and yours swear in to the regular army.”

“What if we move to a different sector, where you people haven’t gotten to yet? We can still—”

“No, Sergeant. I’m sorry.”

Mal clenched his teeth.

“Sergeant, I think you can give good service. We can use you. Whatever you might think about the regular army, we are organized now, and we’re fighting your fight.”

“I’ll have trouble bringing some of the boys around.”

“Trouble makers?”

“A few. But mostly they’re like me. They signed up to fight against what I’m asking them to do.”

“Good to know you’ve identified the problem.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Sergeant, they’ll do it if they want to win, because that’s the only way we can win. If they don’t want the Alliance sticking their noses up the ass of anyone who wants to carve out a place for himself, then they’re going to have to come around.”

“It’s just that some of them can tear me apart.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“And they aren’t easily controlled.”

“I imagine.”

“So what do you do?”

“You mean, how do you face down someone who’s bigger and meaner than you and doesn’t want to do what you’re telling him to?”

“Yeah. Up till now, it’s been about convincing them.”

“Well, I’d like to say something glib like, don’t let them know they’re bigger and meaner than you, but, really it isn’t that simple. There isn’t any simple answer to that. You can’t back down, but you know that.”

“I surely do.”

“How you handle it depends on the individual, and the situation. But, Sergeant—”

“Yes, Colonel?”

“That’s not one of the things I’m worried about. You’ll find a way.”

“And those who won’t be convinced?”

“They can give up their weapons and go their way.”

“All right.”

“And if they act as unauthorized guerillas, they’ll be treated as common brigands, and we’ll shoot them.”

“Colonel—”

“We can’t have it, Sergeant.”

Mal sighed. “Can they at least keep their sidearms?”

“No.”

“Most of those are their own personal weapons.”

“Why are we still arguing about what’s been decided? Is there anything else?”

After a moment, Mal said, “All right… sir. I’ll have my people here in the morning.”

Bursa nodded. “And by the afternoon, you’ll be in Lieutenant Siro’s platoon, at point on the road north of Yeranton.”

“Trying to get us killed right away, sir?”

“Nope. I don’t need you killed, I need to keep the Alliance out of Yeranton, so they don’t swallow up the one munitions plant we can count on in this gorram world. I need them kept out of there, Sergeant.”

“All right. We’ll do our part.”

“I know. Pick up a coat and a rifle on your way out.”

“I have a rifle.”

“Pick up a new one.”

“Yes, sir.”

The silky voice said, “Let’s try it again, Miss Tam.”

The silky voice always called her ‘Miss Tam.’ The sweet voice and the monotonous voice called her “River.” The silky voice was the worst.

As it spoke, her skin tingled and colors danced in little spots before her eyes—colors that sounded deep and threatening and tasted of salt and gun metal.

“Now, Miss Tam, bring the lines together.”

Only there weren’t any lines, there were only dots.