Nubieber

 by James (Ben) Mielke

Jason was the forward gunner, with a seat in front of the motor compartment. The chamfered armored sides of the tractor gave no headroom over the catwalk and he crawled to take the position. Chattagong was supposed to ride at the turret gun but when Nubieber got tired of standing and fighting the lurches he commandeered the seat. Chattagong stood behind his commander's shoulder with his head rising from the open top hatch. Ricardo operated the machine.

The tractor rolled in a halo of artificial brilliance from lights mounted around the exterior. Over the flat terrain of the farm the glow broadcast for miles in every direction. Ruts and dips formed wavering pools of shadow as the light source bounced across the landscape. There was five miles of perimeter fence they patrolled. The view never changed, monotony was the worst hazard of midnight rounds.

Two miles out and they approached the northwest corner, the site of the old equipment yard and locus of the hostile forces. The tractor crew edged up to a sharper alertness. But the long wet winter was quiet; the farm was virtually an island for three months. There was no Actionist movement the entire time and vigilance dulled.

One of the shadows directly ahead of the tractor concealed a foxhole. Three figures emerged and stood in front of the machine.

Nubieber was nodding sleepily before he saw them, jolting awake when Ricardo applied the brakes. The commander recognized Bobol and Hildy; the third man was a colonist and unknown. But runaways were designated targets. Nubieber's hands went to the gun and swiveled it to cover the trio, then he squeezed the trigger. The gun fired a two-second long burst before Chattagong put his hands around Nubieber's neck and started to throttle the manager.

Seized from behind and restrained by the safety belt, Nubieber was helpless. Chattagong bore down on his collar and clutched his throat tighter and tighter. There was no choice but to die.

Ricardo twisted around and looked up at the strangler. "What'd you do that for?"

"You wanted him to shoot Bobol and Hildy?"

"No. But now we can't go back."

"Now we're free."

Ricardo went silent and Jason crawled out of the passage to the front. "What's going on?" When he stood up behind Ricardo his eyes were level with Chattagong's belt.

"I killed Nubieber. We're going to use this machine and break out everybody."


"Are we?" Jason went to the ladder into the turret, climbed up to Chattagong's side and put his head up through the hatch.

"My Karin died." Chattagong said. "Yesterday. Somebody was playing too roughlyÖ One of her cribmates told me she turned into that purple dust and disappeared. This fucking planet's too weird for me."

"Too bad, she was a good lay." Jason paid little attention, was watching the landscape outside.

He saw Bobol, crouching over a prone figure-it looked like the colonist Marcus-administering first aid. Hildy was in the foxhole and pointing a crossbow at the tractor, blinded by the lights.

"It's okay," Jason shouted. "We killed him."

"Killed who?" Hildy called back.

"Nubieber-he was supervising the patrol. Corman's getting wise to us."

Bobol lifted his eyes to the machine. "Marcus has a bullet in his shoulder, he's bleeding badly. I need to get him into camp."

"You take him," Chattagong shouted. "We're going to liberate the women."

"You can't attack the spaceport," Hildy said. "Corman will torch the barracks. You'll start a massacre."

"Karin's dead," Chattagong shouted. "I'm getting the rest of them out of there. They can either die tonight in a sudden massacre or keep dying from a slow one. Anybody that dies will be better off anyway, you know that."

"We've been on half rations all winter," Jason added. "Now we killed Nubieber, can't go back. We got to make this move, prove we still got balls."

"You got balls, Hildy? Or have you given them to colonist babes?"

"You look kind of fat," Jason chided.

The barbs were effective, triggering self-conscious guilt. Abandoning his loyalties to Glatz meant turning his back on a barracks full of comrades. But Hildy's new life was sweet and precious, connecting in love with Jody polished everyday experience, it shined brilliantly for him. Ashamed for leaving his old friends, though, the shine was tarnishing already.

Hildy unarmed his crossbow and slung it over his back. He climbed from the foxhole and went to Bobol and Marcus. "All right," he shouted at the tractor. "We got a small army out here. Not a lotta guns but plenty of crossbows-remember Merlo? They work. Let me help Bobol with Marcus and then I'll bring the troops. Give me three or four hours and we'll rendezvous at the entrance to the farm."

"That's a long time waiting," Chattagong yelled.

"You won't take the spaceport with just that tractor. I'll bring the troops. We can do it. Only a few hours to rally them all."

"Okay," Jason said. "Three hours. Get your people, we'll be ready."

Chattagong took the headset radio from Nubieber's ear. He put it on. "Hello? Anybody there?"

Corman's voice came through, "Yeah. Who is this?"

"Chattagong. Did you hear Nubieber die?"

"Yeah."

"You're next." He took off the radio and threw it out of the hatch.


Cardomonas is an aerobic organism. In the parasitic phase of its life cycle it obtains oxygen from its host. If the host should expire from anoxia, as in drowning, or strangulation, the resident portion of the fungus dies as well-there is no eruption of purple disks, other decay processes take over. Luenda was clever about inventing strangulation traps for her fur harvesting, making crafty nooses from leather and gut. Poor strangled Nubieber's body remained for his killers to deal with.