So Margaret accepted the glasses and eyed what remained of the family retreat. There had been a caretaker, of course, but there was no sign of him, which was certainly understandable given the circumstances. From what she could see it appeared that some of the children had made themselves at home in the guest cottage, with the rest living in the stable. The oldest looked like she was fi?fteen or sixteen and the youngest about four or fi?ve. “Come on,” Margaret said, as she backed away. “We need to get down there. . . . Those children need our help.”
“I was afraid you were going to say something like that,”
Benson grumbled. But he came nevertheless—and was right beside her when Margaret made her way up a dirt road and onto her property. A ragged-looking teenage girl was positioned on the cottage’s front porch. The youngster pointed a
.22 rifl?e at Margaret as she and her companions made their way up a gentle slope. The teenager was fl?anked by twin boys and a blond girl with a runny nose. “We don’t have anything worth stealing,” the girl said tightly. “So go away.”
“My husband and I own this ranch,” Margaret said calmly.
“Not that such things mean much anymore. . . . But you need to know that my friends and I plan to stay. And we’d be happy to have you and the other children stay, too. This was a self-supporting ranch at one time, and if we work hard enough, it can be again.”
The teenager was silent for a moment before lowering the rifl?e. Margaret could see what might have been relief in the girl’s eyes. “I’m sorry about your house, ma’am. . . . It was already burned when we got here. My parents are dead, at least I think they are, and that’s the same for all the rest. I started out with the two I was babysitting—and the rest kind of glommed onto us. I couldn’t tell them no.”
“No, of course not,” Margaret said understandingly. “My name is Margaret Vanderveen, the young lady is Lisa Qwan, the man with the scruffy beard is Thomas Benson, and the android is named John.”
“My name is Christine,” the girl said. “But the kids call me Chris.”
Margaret felt a lump form in the back of her throat but managed to swallow it. “That’s a very pretty name. Well, Christine, there’s a lot of work to do, so we might as well get started.”
As night fell two days later Margaret took a fl?ashlight and made her way up an overgrown trail to the hilltop where she and her husband liked to sip hot chocolate and watch shooting stars fl?ash across the sky. And now, even though she knew that a lot of what orbited the planet was evil, she chose to look beyond that and talk to her husband.
“We’ve got a lot to do,” Margaret said, as she stared up into the night sky. “The ranch will continue to attract trouble so long as it looks habitable. So we’re moving everything of value into the old mine shaft. Benson says all of the supports are in good shape, and I trust him. Once that work is complete we’ll burn the guest cottage and the stable. We’ll keep everything hidden after that.
“The children are going to need help, Charles. . . . Lots of help—and lots of food. So that will be the next thing to worry about. But right now I’m just thinking of you. . . . On cold, cold, Algeron, worrying about me. Well, I’m fi? ne, Charles, just fi?ne. And someday, when you can come home again, I’ll be here waiting.”
There was no reply of course, there couldn’t be, but what might have been a shooting star chose that exact moment to streak across the sky, and Margaret took it as an omen. Darkness would hold sway for a while—but a new dawn would surely come.
Given that most of our forces are not equipped for arctic conditions, and the fact that there is every reason to believe that the enemy is drawing us into a trap, I recommend that we suspend the push into the mountains until we can equip all of our troops with appropriate clothing and winter conditions abate. It is my considered opinion that the existing strategy will lead to a significant and unnecessary loss of allied forces.
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY
Colonel Six, the surviving members of his company, two hostages taken from Marine Firebase 356, and roughly fi?fty heavily laden Ortovs had been hiking all day. And everyone was tired. But, before the clones could eat and crawl into their sleeping bags, Dr. Kira Kelly insisted on screening them. Her offi?ce consisted of an open space next to a roaring fire. It warmed her right side but did nothing for her left, as the snow continued to fall. The big fl?uffy fl?akes hissed as the fi?re consumed them. “Next!” Kelly said, and a brawny Ortov made way for a teenage boy. “How do you feel?” the doctor inquired, as the youngster took his place on her guest rock.
“Fine,” the clone replied fl?atly. His features were impassive, which was typical of the Ortov line, but the doctor could see the curiosity in his eyes. Chances were that she was the fi?rst off-world free breeder he had ever been allowed to talk to. There was something innocent about the clones—a quality that Kelly found refreshing.
“So why are you limping?” the doctor wanted to know.
“I wasn’t,” the teenager countered evasively. Kelly sighed. The Ortovs were tough, and took pride in that, sometimes to their own detriment. “Remove your left boot.”
The boy did as he was told.
“Now the sock.” Kelly noticed the careful manner in which the sock was removed and soon saw why. The teenager’s toes were black and swollen. It was a sure sign of gangrene stemming from frostbite. But which kind? The dry type, which she and Hospital Corpsman Sumi might be able to treat without having to amputate, or the wet kind? Also known as gas gangrene, which is caused by a dangerous bacteria, and can follow dry gangrene if left untreated. Kelly cupped the boy’s heel, brought the dirty foot up within inches of her nose, and immediately caught a whiff of the foul-smelling gas associated with wet gangrene. She lowered the foot, got out a roll of gauze, and began to apply it.
“I’m sorry I have to tell you this,” she said kindly. “But your toes are badly infected—and at least some of them will have to be removed. We’ll take care of that as soon as we arrive wherever it is we’re going.”
Now there was fear in the boy’s eyes. His voice quavered when he spoke. “Will I be able to walk afterwards?”
“Yes, you will,” Kelly said gently. “But it will be diffi?cult at fi?rst—and it’s going to hurt.”
