Joe Haldeman - You Can Never Go Back

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2024-12-01 0 0 501.98KB 51 页 5.9玖币

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YOU CAN NEVER GO BACK

I was scared enough.

Sub-major Stott was pacing back and forth behind the small podium in the assembly

room/chop hall/gymnasium of the Anniversary. We had just made our final collapsar jump,

from Tet-38 to Yod-4. We were decelerating at 1 1/2 gravities and our velocity relative to

that collapsar was a respectable .90c. We were being chased.

"I wish you people would relax for a while and just trust the ship's computer. The Tauran

vessel at any rate will not be within strike range for another two weeks. Mandella!"

He was always very careful to call me "Sergeant" Mandella in front of the company. But

everybody at this particular briefing was either a sergeant or a corporal: squad leaders. "Yes,

sir."

"You're responsible for the psychological as well as the physical well-being of the men

and women in your squad. Assuming that you are aware that there is a morale problem

aboard this vessel, what have you done about it?"

"As far as my squad is concerned, sir?"

"Of course."

"We talk it out, sir.""And have you arrived at any cogent conclusion?"

"Meaning no disrespect, sir, I think the major problem is obvious. My people have been

cooped up in this ship for fourteen—"

"Ridiculous! Every one of us has been adequately conditioned against the pressures of

living in close quarters and the enlisted people have the privilege of confraternity." That

was a delicate way of putting it. "Officers must remain celibate, and yet we have no morale

problem."

If he thought his officers were celibate, he should sit down and have a long talk with

Lieutenant Harmony. Maybe he just meant line officers, though. That would be just him and

Cortez. Probably 50 percent right. Cortez was awfully friendly with Corporal Kamehameha.

"Sir, perhaps it was the detoxification back at Stargate; maybe—"

"No. The therapists only worked to erase the hate conditioning—everybody knows how I

feel about that—and they may be misguided but they are skilled.

"Corporal Potter." He always called her by her rank to remind her why she hadn't been

promoted as high as the rest of us. Too soft. "Have you `talked it out' with your people,

too?"

"We've discussed it, sir."

The sub-major could "glare mildly" at people. He glared mildly at Marygay until she

elaborated.

"I don't believe it's the fault of the conditioning. My people are impatient, just tired of

doing the same thing day after day."

"They're anxious for combat, then?" No sarcasm in his voice.

"They want to get off the ship, sir."

"They will get off the ship," he said, allowing himself a microscopic smile. "And then

they'll probably be just as impatient to get back on."

It went back and forth like that for a long while. Nobody wanted to come right out and

say that their squad was scared: scared of the Tauran cruiser closing on us, scared of the

landing on the portal planet. Sub-major Stott had a bad record of dealing with people who

admitted fear.

I fingered the fresh T/O they had given us. It looked like this:

I knew most of the people from the raid on Aleph, the first face-to-face contact between

humans and Taurans. The only new people in my platoon were Luthuli and Heyrovsky. In

the company as a whole (excuse me, the "strike force"), we had twenty replacements for the

nineteen people we lost from the Aleph raid: one amputation, four deaders, fourteen

psychotics.

I couldn't get over the "20 Mar 2007" at the bottom of the T/O. I'd been in the army ten

years, though it felt like less than two. Time dilation, of course; even with the collapsar

jumps, traveling from star to star eats up the calendar.

After this raid, I would probably be eligible for retirement, with full pay. If I lived

through the raid, and if they didn't change the rules on us. Me a twenty-year man, and only

twenty-five years old.

Stott was summing up when there was a knock on the door, a single loud rap. "Enter," he

said.

An ensign I knew vaguely walked in casually and handed Stott a slip of paper, without

saying a word. He stood there while Stott read it, slumping with just the right degree of

insolence. Technically, Stott was out of his chain of command; everybody in the navy

disliked him anyhow.

Stott handed the paper back to the ensign and looked through him.

"You will alert your squads that preliminary evasive maneuvers will commence at 2010,

fifty-eight minutes from now." He hadn't looked at his watch. "All personnel will be in

acceleration shells by 2000. Tench ... hut!"

We rose and, without enthusiasm, chorused, "Fuck you, sir." Idiotic custom.

Stott strode out of the room and the ensign followed, smirking.

I turned my ring to my assistant squad leader's position and talked into it: "Tate, this is

Mandella." Everyone else in the room was doing the same.

A tinny voice came out of the ring. "Tate here. What's up?" "Get ahold of the men and

tell them we have to be in the shells by 2000. Evasive maneuvers."

"Crap. They told us it would be days."

"I guess something new came up. Or maybe the Commodore has a bright idea."

"The Commodore can stuff it. You up in the lounge?"

"Yeah."

"Bring me back a cup when you come, okay? Little sugar?"

"Roger. Be down in about half an hour."

"Thanks. I'll get on it."

There was a general movement toward the coffee machine. I got in line behind Corporal

Potter.

"What do you think, Marygay?"

"Maybe the Commodore just wants us to try out the shells once more."

"Before the real thing."

"Maybe." She picked up a cup and blew into it. She looked worried. "Or maybe the

Taurans had a ship way out, waiting for us. I've wondered why they don't do it. We do, at

Stargate."

"Stargate's a different thing. It takes seven cruisers, moving all the time, to cover all the

possible exit angles. We can't afford to do it for more than one collapsar, and neither could

they."

She didn't say anything while she filled her cup. "Maybe we've stumbled on their version

of Stargate. Or maybe they have more ships than we do by now."

I filled and sugared two cups, sealed one. "No way to tell." We walked back to a table,

careful with the cups in the high gravity. "Maybe Singhe knows something," she said.

"Maybe he does. But I'd have to get him through Rogers and Cortez. Cortez would jump

down my throat if I tried to bother him now."

"Oh, I can get him directly. We . . ." She dimpled a little bit. "We've been friends."

I sipped some scalding coffee and tried to sound nonchalant. "So that's where you've been

disappearing to."

"You disapprove?" she said, looking innocent.

"Well . . . damn it, no, of course not. But—but he's an officer! A navy officer!"

"He's attached to us and that makes him part army." She twisted her ring and said,

"Directory." To me: "What about you and Little Miss Harmony?"

"That's not the same thing." She was whispering a directory code into the ring.

"Yes, it is. You just wanted to do it with an officer. Pervert." The ring bleated twice.

Busy. "How was she?"

"Adequate." I was recovering.

"Besides, Ensign Singhe is a perfect gentleman. And not the least bit jealous."

"Neither am I," I said. "If he ever hurts you, tell me and I'll break his ass."

She looked at me across her cup. "If Lieutenant Harmony ever hurts you, tell me and I'll

break her ass."

"It's a deal." We shook on it solemnly.

The acceleration shells were something new, installed while we rested and resupplied at

Stargate. They enabled us to use the ship at closer to its theoretical efficiency, the tachyon

drive boosting it to as much as 25 gravities.

Tate was waiting for me in the shell area. The rest of the squad was milling around,

talking. I gave him his coffee. "Thanks. Find out anything?"

"Afraid not. Except the swabbies don't seem to be scared, and it's their show. Probably

just another practice run."

He slurped some coffee. "What the hell. It's all the same to us, anyhow. Just sit there and

get squeezed half to death. God, I hate those things."

"Maybe they'll eventually make us obsolete, and we can go home."

"Sure thing." The medic came by and gave me my shot.

I waited until 1950 and hollered to the squad, "Let's go. Strip down and zip up."

The shell is like a flexible spacesuit; at least the fittings on the inside are pretty similar.

But instead of a life support package, there's a hose going into the top of the helmet and two

coming out of the heels, as well as two relief tubes per suit. They're crammed in shoulder-

to-shoulder on light acceleration couches; getting to your shell is like picking your way

through a giant plate of olive drab spaghetti.

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摘要：

YOUCANNEVERGOBACK1Iwasscaredenough.Sub-majorStottwaspacingbackandforthbehindthesmallpodiumintheassemblyroom/chophall/gymnasiumoftheAnniversary.Wehadjustmadeourfinalcollapsarjump,fromTet-38toYod-4.Weweredeceleratingat11/2gravitiesandourvelocityrelativetothatcollapsarwasarespectable.90c.Wewerebeingcha...

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Joe Haldeman - You Can Never Go Back

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