At the top was some dangerous wind and a car-size bundle of antennae and instrumentation. I scanned it with Asshole, who compared the visual image with its library of Rraey technology. It was all Rraey, all the time. Whatever information was being piped down from the satellites was being processed down at the command center. I hoped they managed to take the command center without accidentally blowing the stuff up.
I passed along the information to Jane. She informed me that the sooner I got down from the tower, the better chance I had of not getting crushed by debris. I didn't need further convincing. As I got down, rockets launched over my head directly into the instrument package at the top of the tower. The force of the blast caused the tower's stabilizing cables to snap with a metallic tang that promised beheading power to any who might have been in their path. The entire tower swayed. Jane ordered the tower base struck; the rockets tore into the metal beams. The tower twisted and collapsed, groaning all the way down.
From the command center area, the sounds of combat had stopped and there was sporadic cheering; whatever Rraey there were, were now gone. I had Asshole bring up my internal chronometer. It had not been quite ninety minutes since we hurled ourselves out of the Sparrowhawk.
"They had no idea we were coming," I said to Jane, and was suddenly surprised at the sound of my own voice.
Jane looked at me, nodded, and then looked over to the tower. "They didn't. That was the good news. The bad news is, now they know we're here. This was the easy part. The hard part is coming up."
She turned and started shooting commands to her platoon. We were expecting a counterattack. A big one.
"Do you want to be human again?" Jane asked me. It was the evening before our landing. We were in the mess area, picking at food.
"Again?" I said, smiling.
"You know what I mean," she said. "Back into a real human body. No artificial additives."
"Sure," I said. "I've only got eight-some-odd years left to go. Assuming I'm still alive, I'll retire and colonize."
"It means going back to being weak and slow," Jane said, with usual Special Forces tact.
"It's not that bad," I said. "And there are other compensations. Children, for example. Or the ability to meet others and not have to subsequently kill them because they are the alien enemies of the colonies."
"You'll get old again and die," Jane said.
"I suppose I will," I said. "That's what humans do. This"—I held up a green arm—"isn't the usual thing, you know. And as far as dying goes, in any given year of CDF life, I'm far more likely to die than if I were a colonist. Actuarially speaking, being an unmodified human colonist is the way to go."
"You're not dead yet," Jane said.
"People seem to be looking out for me," I said. "What about you? Any plans to retire and colonize?"
"Special Forces don't retire," Jane said.
"You mean you're not allowed?" I asked.
"No, we're allowed," Jane said. "Our term of service is ten years, just like yours, although with us there's no possibility of our term lasting any less than the full ten years. We just don't retire, is all."
"Why not?" I asked.
"We don't have any experience being anything else than what we are," Jane said. "We're born, we fight, that's what we do. We're good at what we do."
"Don't you ever want to stop fighting?" I asked.
"Why?" Jane asked.
"Well, for one thing, it dramatically cuts down your chances of violent death," I said. "For another thing, it'd give you a chance to live those lives you all dream about. You know, the pasts you make up for yourselves. Us normal CDF get to have that life before we go into the service. You could have it afterward."
"I wouldn't know what to do with myself," Jane said.
"Welcome to the human race," I said. "So you're saying no Special Forces people leave the service? Ever?"
"I've known one or two," Jane admitted. "But only a couple."
"What happened to them?" I asked. "Where did they go?"
"I'm not really sure," Jane said, vaguely. Then, "Tomorrow I want you to stick by me."
"I understand," I said.
"You're still too slow," Jane said. "I don't want you to interfere with my other people."
"Thanks," I said.
"I'm sorry," Jane said. "I realize that wasn't very tactful. But you've led soldiers. You know what my concern is. I'm willing to assume the risks involved in having you around. Others shouldn't have to."
"I know," I said. "I'm not offended. And don't worry. I'll carry my own weight. I plan to retire, you know. I have to stay alive a little bit longer to do that."
"Good that you have motivations," Jane said.
"I agree," I said. "You should think about retiring yourself. As you say, it's good to have a motivation to stay alive."
"I don't want to be dead," Jane said. "It's motivation enough."
"Well," I said, "if you ever change your mind, I'll send you a postcard from wherever I retire. Come join me. We can live on a farm. Plant some chickens. Raise some corn."
Jane snorted. "You can't be serious," she said.
"Actually, I am," I said, and I realized that I was.
Jane was silent for a moment, then said, "I don't like farming."
"How would you know?" I said. "You've never done it."
"Did Kathy like to farm?" Jane said.
"Not in the least," I said. "She barely had the tolerance to keep a garden going."