Heritage of Flight by Susan Shwartz Page B

why Marshal Becker assigned me here. It wasn't just because my age and reaction time made me a bad combat risk. If it comes to that, I'm still more than a match for you. That's not the issue. This is. I don't know if all you people realize that Becker and the Alliance are counting on us to be waiting for pickup after the war
    ..."
    "Assuming they live through it..."
    Borodin let that muttered comment pass. That's close to sedition. If I notice things like that, I'll have to declare martial law. Then I can say good-bye to any hope of rapport with these people. Banking on any goodwill that they might have—Rafe or his other officers if not for him—he pressed on quickly.
    "A couple of years from now, if we're not picked up, I don't even want to hear whispers that maybe we lost. It doesn't have to mean that. Think of what else it could mean,” Borodin lowered his voice. “It could mean, for example, that there's nobody in shape to pick us up. No one with spaceflight—or even no one alive.” Darkness and cold, ice and snow covering the steppes, hiding the bodies until the spring that would come as it had come every year for the few who survived.
    "So we're going to have to get used to thinking of ourselves as the human race. For all we know, we may be what's left of it. I say we keep it going; it's worth keeping going. None of you look to me like potential suicides. So I think you'd better consider Pauli's plans for defending this place, unless you have things to add."
    "The xenobotanist rose, hostility making her thin body taut.
    "I'm coming to that. Now, Beneatha Angelou has raised a serious moral and ecological issue: destroying alien life. Rafe, would you say that killing an eater is destroying intelligent beings?"
    "God, no!” Rafe shuddered. “I'd call it pest control. Or getting an animal before it gets you."
    "Please ask the Cynthians how long these incursions last."
    Symbols formed on the screen which blanked, then lit with the answer. “Every two seasons, sir.” That answer came with commendable speed. More symbols came, and Rafe shook his head. unable to understand the jumble of light and pattern. He swayed, then caught himself.
    "Then, as far as I'm concerned, that settles it,” said Borodin. “If they come every other year, you'd be spending half your lives as refugees, or in constant fear of going out one morning and coming back like ‘Cilla. Or not coming back at all from a very unpleasant death. Which option do you choose?"
    "Your lieutenants were quick enough to adjust the comms to ‘speak’ to the Cynthians,” Beneatha lowered her head, as if planning to attack. “Why can't they adjust it to transmit offworld so we can leave here? Or"—she raised a hand for attention—"you listen to me now! I've listened to you. All right, I understand that we're supposed to be safe here. Can't we move?"
    "We haven't even got a flier,” ben Yehuda replied. “You tell me how I can build transports, and I'll start tonight."
    "You don't really want to risk the Secess’ interpreting the message and finding out our coordinates, do you?” Borodin asked. Was the xenobotanist being difficult on purpose, or were her objections based on arcane civ principles, or just wishful thinking? “Never mind my orders,” he went on, making his voice warm and persuasive. “I think we have an obligation to protect ourselves and the children. It hasn't been much of a life for them so far; one reason we brought them here was to give them a chance at a better one.
    "I hate to say it. But if we can't contain this ... infestation, well, I don't like it either, but the eaters won't be the first extinct species our race has racked up, starting on Earth and moving out into the stars."
    "Perhaps,” suggested Dr. Pryor, “your officers might ask the Cynthians if they have any ideas for helping out.” Borodin inclined his head to her with the courtesy he hadn't used since his last home leave. She was a civilian, and an