The Descent

Helena  was  growing  up.  Fast.  Like  scores  of  other  settlements  around  the  world,  it was  evident  not  just  in  the  explosion  of  new  quadrants  and  settlers  from  the  World. You  could  see  it  in  the  building  materials.  Concrete  told  the  tale.  Wood  was  a  luxury down  here,  and  sheet-metal  production  took  time  to  develop  and  needed  the  right ores  in  close  proximity  to  be  cost-effective.  Concrete,  on  the  other  hand,  had  only  to be  teased  up  from  the  ground  and  out  from  the  walls.  Cheap,  quick  to  set,  durable, concrete meant populism. It  fed the frontier spirit.

Ike  entered  a  quadrant  that,  two  months  ago,  had  been  home  to  the  local  company of Rangers. But the obstacle course,  rappeling  tower,  firing  range,  and  primitive  track had  been  usurped.  A  horde  of  squatters  had  invaded.  Every  manner  of  tent,  lean-to, and gypsy  shelter  sprawled here. The  din of voices, commerce, and dog-eat-dog  music tracks  hit him like a foul smell.

All  that  remained  of  unit  headquarters  were  two  office  cubes  taped  together  with duct tape. They  had a ceiling made of cardboard. Ike  parked  his rucksack  by  the outer wall,  then  looked  twice  at  the  roughnecks  and  desperadoes  wandering  about,  and brought it inside the doorway. A little foolishly, he knocked on the cardboard wall.

'Enter,' a voice barked.

Branch  was  talking  to  a  portable  computer  balanced  on  boxes  of  MREs,  his  helmet on one side, rifle on the other. 'Elias,' Ike  greeted  him.

Branch was not  pleased  to  see  him.  His  mask  of  scar  tissue  and  cysts  twisted  into  a snarl. 'Ah, our prodigal son,' he said, 'we were  just chatting about you.'

He  turned  the  laptop  so  that  Ike  could  see  the  face  on  the  little  flat  screen,  and  so the  computer  camera  could  see  Ike.  They  were  video-linked  with  Jump  Lincoln,  one of  Branch's  old  Airborne  buddies  and  presently  the  commanding  officer  in  charge  of Lieutenant Meadows.

'Have you lost your  fucking mind?' Jump's image said to Ike.  'I just got  a  field  report slapped  in  front   of  me.  It   says   you   disobeyed   a   direct   order.   In   front   of   my lieutenant's  entire  patrol.  And  that  you  drifted  a  weapon  in  his  general  direction  in  a threatening manner. Do you have  anything at all to say,  Crockett?'

Ike  didn't  play  dumb,  but  he  wasn't  about  to  bend  over,  either.  'The  lieutenant writes  a fast report,' he commented. 'We only pulled in twenty  minutes ago.'

'You threatened  an officer?' Jump's bark  was tinny over  the computer speaker.

'Contradicted.'

'In the field, in front of his men?'

Branch sat shaking his head in brotherly  disgust.

'The  man  doesn't  belong  out  there,'  Ike  said.  'He  got  one  boy  mangled  on  a  wrong call.  I  saw  no  reason  to  keep  feeding  the  lieutenant's  version  of  reality.  I  finally  got him to see reason.'

Jump fumed as frames dropped on the computer. He  finally  said,  'I  thought  it  was  a cleared  region.  This  was  supposed  to  be  a  shakedown  cruise  for  Meadows.  You're telling me you ran into hadals?'

'Booby traps,' Ike  said. 'Old. Centuries old. I doubt there's  been traffic  through  there

since  the  Ice  Age.'  He  didn't  bother  addressing  the  issue  of  being  sent  to  baby-sit  a shake-and-bake  ROTC  student.

The  computer  image  turned  to  a  wall  map.  'Where  have  they  all  gone?'  Jump wondered. 'We haven't made physical contact with the enemy  in months.'

'Don't worry,'  Ike  said. 'They're  down there  somewhere.'

'I'm  not  so  sure.  Some  days  I  mink  they  really  are  on  the  run.  Or  they've  died  off from disease or something.'

Branch  grabbed  at  the  interlude.  'It  looks  like  a  stalemate  to  me,'  he  said  to  Jump.

'My  clown  cancels  out  yours.  I  think  we're  agreed.'  The  two  majors  knew  Meadows was a disaster. And it was certain they'd  never  send him  out  with  Ike  again.  That  was good enough for Ike.

'Fuck it, then,' Jump said. 'I'm going to bury  the report. This time.'

Branch  went  on  glaring  at  Ike.  'I  don't  know,  Jump,'  he  said.  'Maybe  we  ought  to quit coddling him.'

'Elias,  I  know  he's  a  special  project  of  yours,'  Jump  said.  'But  I've  told  you  before, don't  get  attached.  There's  a  reason  we  treat  the  Dixie  cups  with  such  caution.  I'm telling ya,  they're  heartbreakers.'

'Thanks  for  the  burial.  I  owe  you.'  Branch  punched  the  computer's  off  button  and turned to Ike.  'Nice work,' he said. 'Tell me, are you trying  to hang yourself?'

If  it  was  contrition  he  wanted,  Ike  offered  none.  Ike  helped  himself  to  some  boxes and made a seat. 'Dixie cups,' he said. 'That's a new one. More Army  slang?'