Short Fiction · Frigid Fracas (10/17)

XI

Stretched out on the convalescent bed in the Category Military rest home, Joe grinned up at his visitor and said ruefully, “I’d salute, sir, but my arms seem to be out of commission. And, come to think of it, I’m out of uniform.”

Cogswell looked down at him, unamused. “You’ve heard the news?”

Joe caught the other’s tone and his face straightened. “You mean the Disarmament Commission?”

Cogswell said brittlely, “They found against the use of aircraft, other than free balloons, in any military action. They threw the book, Mauser. The court ruled that you, Robert Flaubert and James Hideka be stripped of rank and forbidden the Category Military. You have also been fined all stock shares in your possession other than those unalienably yours as a West-world citizen.”

Joe’s face went empty. It was only then that he realized that the other was attired in the uniform of a brigadier general. The direction of his eyes was obvious.

Cogswell shrugged bitterly. “My Upper caste status helped me. I could pull just enough strings that the Category Military Department, in conjunction with the rulings of the International Disarmament Commission merely reduced me in rank and belted me with a stiff fine. Your friend⁠—your former friend, I should say, Freddy Soligen, testified in my behalf. Testified that I had no knowledge of your mounting a gun.”

The former marshal cleared his throat. “His testimony was correct. I had no such knowledge and would have issued orders against it, had I known. The fact that you enabled me to rescue the situation into which I’d been sucked, helps somewhat my feelings toward you, Mauser. But only somewhat.”

Joe could imagine the other’s bitterness. He had fought his way up the hard way to that marshal’s baton. At his age, he wasn’t going to regain it.

Brigadier general Stonewall Cogswell hesitated for a moment, then said, “One other thing. United Miners has repudiated your actions even to the point of refusing the cost of your hospitalization. I told the Category Medicine authorities to put your bill on my account.”

Joe said quite stiffly, “That won’t be necessary, sir.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find it is, Mauser.” The former marshal allowed himself a grimace. “Besides, I owe you something for that spectacular scene when you came skimming over the treetops, the two enemy gliders right behind you, then stalling your craft and crashing into that tree not thirty feet from my open air headquarters. Admittedly, in forty years of fracases, I’ve never seen anything so confoundedly dramatic.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The old soldier grunted, turned and marched from the room.

XII

Freddy Soligen had been miraculously saved from the physical beating taken by Joe Mauser in the crash. The pilot, sitting so close before him, cushioned with his own body that of the Telly reporter.

For that matter, he had been saved the financial disaster as well, save for that amount he had contributed to the campaign to increase Mauser’s stature in the eyes of the buffs. His Category Communications superiors had not even charged him for the cost of the equipment he had jettisoned from the glider during the flight, nor that which had been destroyed in the crash. If anything, his reputation with his higher-ups was probably better than ever. He’d been in there pitching, as a Telly reporter, right up until the end when the situation had completely pickled.

All that he had lost was his dream. It had been so close to the grasping. He could almost have tasted the sweetness of victory. Joe Mauser, at the ultimate top of the hero-heap. Joe Mauser accepting bounces in both rank and caste. And then, Joe Mauser being properly thankful and helpful to Freddy and Sam Soligen, in their turn. So near the realization of the dream.

He entered his house wearily, finally free of all the ridiculous questioning of the commission and the courts martial of Mauser and Cogswell, and Flaubert, Hideka and their commander, General McCord. All had been found guilty, though in different degrees. Using weapons of warfare which postdated 1900. Than which there was no greater crime between nations.

He tossed the briefcase he had carried to a table, and made his way to the living room, heading for the auto-bar and some straight spirits.

A voice said, “Hi, Papa.”

He looked up, not immediately recognizing the Category Military, Rank Private, before him.

Then he said weakly, “Sam!” His legs gave way, and he sat down abruptly on the couch which faced the wall which was the Telly screen.

The boy said, awkwardly, “Surprise, Papa!”

His father said, very slowly, “What⁠ ⁠… in⁠ ⁠… Zen⁠ ⁠… are⁠ ⁠… you⁠ ⁠… doing⁠ ⁠… in⁠ ⁠… that⁠ ⁠… outfit?”

Sam grinned ruefully, albeit proudly. “Aw, it would’ve taken a century for me to make full priest, Papa. The only way to do is like Major Mauser. You didn’t know this, but, I’ve been following the fracases all along. Especially when you were the reporter. I’ve watched every fracas you’ve covered for years. I guess you know I’m pretty proud of you.”

“Sam! What are you doing in that uniform! Answer me!”

The boy flushed. “I’m old enough, Papa. I switched categories. I’ve signed up with Chrysler-Ford in their fracas with Hovercar Sports. They’re taking me on as infantryman.”

“Infantryman?” Freddy winced, and closed his eyes. “Listen, boy, where’d you get the idea that⁠—” He started over again. “But all your life I’ve given you the inside on the Category Military, Sam. All your life. No trank in our home. No watching the Telly day in and out. You’ve gone to school. More than I ever did. You were going to be a Temple priest⁠—”

Sam sat down too, vaguely surprised at this father’s reaction. “Aw, Papa, everybody’s a fracas buff now. Everybody. You can’t get away from it. I⁠ ⁠… well, I want to be like Major Mauser. Get so all the fans know me, want my autograph, all that. And all the excitement of being in a fracas, getting in the dill, and all. I just want to be like the other fellas, Papa.”

Freddy could only stare at him.

Sam tried to explain. “Shucks, it was really you that made me want to become a mercenary. You’re the best Telly reporter of them all. When you cover a fracas, Papa, you really do it. You can see everything.” He shook his head in admiration. “Gosh, you really feel the emotion. It’s the most exciting thing in the world.”

“Yeah, son,” Freddy Soligen said emptily. “I suppose it is.”

XIII

Joe was able to get around on auto-crutches by the time she finally arrived⁠—a stereotype visitor. Done up brightly, a box of candy in one hand, flowers in the other. He could see her coming across the lawn, from the visitor’s offices. He wished that he had worn his other suit. His clothing was on the skimpy side when uniforms were subtracted.

She came up to him. “Well, Joe.”

He looked at the flowers and attempted a grin. “Lilies would have been more appropriate, considering the shape I’m in.”

Nadine said, “I’ve just been talking to the staff doctors. You’re not in as bad shape as all that. Some bone mending, is all.”

The grin turned wry. “I wasn’t just thinking of the physical shape.” He settled to the stone bench which stood to one side of the walk he had been exercising upon before her arrival. For a moment, she remained standing.

He looked up at her. “Well,” he said. “I didn’t break your condition,” he said. “Am I still receivable?”

She frowned.

Joe said, bitterly, “You told me that you were going to take the fracas in and if my actions resulted in any casualties, you never wanted to see me again.”

She took the place beside him. “I did watch. For a time, the rest of the battle going on below was ignored and you were full on lens for at least twenty minutes. I was never so frightened in my life.”

Joe said, “The first step toward becoming a buff. First you’re scared. Vicariously. But it’s fun to become scared, when nothing can really happen to you. It becomes increasingly exciting to see others threatened with death⁠—and then actually to die before you. After a while, you’re hooked.”

She looked carefully at the flowers. “That’s not exactly what I meant. I was frightened for you, Joe. Not thrilled.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Finally he breathed deeply and said, “Well, you’ll never have to go through that again. I’m no longer in the Category Military, I suppose you know.”

“It was on the news, Joe.” She laughed without amusement. “In fact, I knew even before. Balt was tried, too.”

“Balt? Your brother?”

She nodded. “You first used your glider in that fracas for father and Vacuum Tube Transport. Now that the commission has ruled against gliders, Balt, now head of the family, has been both fined and expelled from Category Military for life. It hasn’t exactly improved his liking for you.”

Joe hadn’t heard of it, however, he had little sympathy for Balt Haer, nor interest in him. He said, “Why did you take so long to come?”

“I was thinking, Joe.”

“And then you finally came.”

“Yes.”

He looked away and into unseen distances. Finally he cleared his throat and said, “Nadine, the first time I ever talked to you to any extent, I mentioned that I wanted to achieve the top in this status world of ours. I mentioned that I hadn’t built this world, and possibly didn’t even approve of it, but since I’m in it and have no other recourse, I must follow its rules.”

She nodded. “I remember. And I said, why not try and change the rules?”

Joe nodded. He moistened his lips carefully. “OK. Now I’m willing to listen. How do we go about changing the rules?”