against the alien’s reddish brown chitin. And that was when Margaret noticed something she thought was strange. Although she could have been wrong—
since she knew so little about bug physiology. But based on her efforts to move the Ramanthian, it seemed as though his chitin, and therefore his exoskeleton, was very thin. If true, that might have had something to do with the extent of his injuries. The problem was that Margaret had no way to know how thick normal chitin was. Still, if the aviator’s shell-like covering was especially fragile, the question was why?
The issue was academic, of course, but continued to linger in the back of Margaret’s mind, until the Ramanthian died six hours later. Benson was there, as was Lisa, when the socialite made her announcement. “We have some work to do before we can bury him,” Margaret said. “I want to take samples of his exoskeleton and major organs.”
Both of her companions were amazed. “Whatever for?”
Lisa wanted to know.
“I think the aviator was sick before the crash,” Margaret answered fi?rmly. “That’s why his exoskeleton was so fragile.”
“So what?” Benson inquired cynically. “Humans get sick; Ramanthians get sick. That’s how it is.”
“You’re probably right,” Margaret admitted. “But what if other Ramanthians are suffering from the same disease?
And what if a lot of Ramanthians were suffering from the disease? Wouldn’t our intelligence people want to know that?”
“They might,” Lisa conceded. “But how would you get in touch with them? Algeron is a long ways off.”
“I don’t know,” Margaret replied. “But we’ve got to try.”
“I think the whole discussion is a waste of time,” Benson said dismissively. “We don’t have the means to preserve tissue samples once you take them.”
“Oh, but we do!” Margaret proclaimed, with a wicked smile. “You went to some lengths to bring liquor along, as I recall—claiming that we might need it for ‘medicinal purposes.’ Well, it looks like you were correct!”
“No,” Benson said, as he looked at her aghast. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, but I would,” Margaret assured him. “Lisa, please fi?nd some containers. Plastic would be best. Thomas, please fetch a saw. We have work to do.”
14
Swift, blazing fl?ag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing And a fi?eld where a thousand corpses lie.
War Is Kind
PLANET GAMMA-014, THE CLONE HEGEMONY
Having successfully led his troops and their stolen vehicles up over Tow-Tok Pass, and down onto the plain beyond, Colonel Six stood on top of a three-tiered main battle tank, and surveyed the battlefi?eld ahead. Various types of data scrolled down the right side of the viewfi?nder, including the range of each object that fell under the crosshairs, the prevalent wind direction, and the temperature—a skin-numbing twenty-six degrees.
But Six barely noticed the discomfort. His mind was on carnage spread out in front of him. Knowing that the allies would have to come down out of Tow-Tok Pass, General Oro Akoto had chosen to dig hundreds of north– south trenches intended to block access to the city of Yal-Am beyond. And, thanks to the canyon that bordered the battlefi?eld to the north, and a densely packed minefi?eld to the south, the Ramanthian had been able to keep his enemies right where he wanted them, which was bogged down a good ten miles short of their goal.
Deep ditches were connected by communication trenches that ran east and west. Carefully sited bunkers, pillboxes, and machine-gun nests were positioned to put the allies in a lethal cross fi?re whenever they attempted to advance. All of that would have been worthless in the spring, summer, or fall, when allied aircraft would have pulverized the Ramanthian army. But thanks to very bad weather, and thickets of surface-to-air missile launchers, Akoto had been able to neutralize what should have been an overwhelming advantage. Rather than wait for better weather—it appeared that General-453 was pushing ahead, relying on superior numbers to overwhelm the bugs and force entry into Yal-Am. And, judging from what Six could make out, the results had been nothing short of disastrous. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but fi?re-blackened craters, wrecked hover tanks, and thousands of unrecovered allied and Ramanthian bodies.
As the offi?cer continued to scan the war-torn landscape ahead, another chapter in the bloody confl?ict began to unfold. Thunder rolled as the artillery pieces that had been dug in along the west side of the city began to speak. That sound was followed by a freight-train rumble as the big shells passed through the atmosphere. Then came a series of concussive booms as the high-explosive rounds landed among the allied troops and threw columns of earth, snow, and raw meat high into the air.
Even as the bloody confetti fell, Six saw thousands of white-clad Ramanthians boil up out of distant trenches and surge forward. Not to be outdone, the allies fi?red their howitzers and multiple-rocket launchers. And with devastating effects, too. . . . Dozens of red-orange explosions rippled along the Ramanthian trenches, and hundreds of bugs fell, as they battled to retake the north–south trench they had been forced to vacate the previous day.
Then the allied artillery barrage stopped as thousands of Seebos, marines, and legionnaires swarmed up out of
