The Intervention Read online

He surrounded the streak with a glowing orange rectangle. A Type Three Query produced a window in the upper right corner of the screen, containing the message, Three contacts: Model 1AS 4-ton supply vehicles.

  "Apparently," said Dvenitch, "conditions make it likely that air-kip lorries will scrape the building at that point three times by day thirty."

  Eskry breathed a soft, astounded obscenity, so clinical that even Seela jumped and stared at him for a moment.

  Laggney shook his head. "When I think of the number of scholarships that could be funded instead of this crap."

  "The degree of detail is purposely beyond what's required," said Dvenitch. "That's the way the Forces assure what's called event resolution. Otherwise, there could be . . ."

  "I know about event resolution," said Laggney with contempt. "Probably a lot more than you do, as a matter of fact. Let's try some contingencies."

  "Sure," said Dvenitch. "Let's try a . . ."

  "Oh, no you don't," said Laggney. "No precooked frauds." He grinned. "Say we have to supply every soldier with one lollipop a day. What effect would there be?" There were appreciative giggles.

  Dvenitch considered. "Lollipops aren't T.O. & E.," he said. "Not allowed for in the Tables, so I'll have to enter 'em as a special item." He considered further. "Let's say a private firm gets the contract, they can supply the Division out of stock - no special manufacturing runs - and the lollipops weigh in at, what? Let's say fifteen grams each, and let's say each is a one-inch sphere with a three-inch stick. One per man per day." He had entered characteristics as he spoke. He now pressed EXECUTE.

  "We'll display a difference-table to see what changes occur." Dvenitch did a D-Query, and two lists leapt up on the screen. He centered on a blinking number in the vehicle lists. "One more supply vehicle is required for the operation." He looked elsewhere. "No more buildings or semi-fixed assets are required." Another set of numbers. "No more personnel, except a driver for the vehicle, and he can be assigned with other duties. Apparently, the software figured out an economical way to get the lollipops distributed."

  "So where are they?" said Laggney. "All I've heard is a lot of crap talk. I want to see some lollipops."

  "We could ask directly," said Dvenitch, "but let's try looking for them. We'll go obvious and try Rations first." He reactivated Random Terrain Sampling and reentered the supply building in Valley 5A. Panning left, he found cartons of filled plastic bags next to the ration boxes. Each carton was labeled, "Lollipops, 12 x 12; Bloo Cluster Ground Forces." A cutaway query showed 12 bags per carton, 12 lollipops per bag.

  "They're riding the ration system's coattails; the ration-boxes don't have to be opened, and there was enough slack so it doesn't interfere with stacking space. The numbers allow distribution of approximately one carton per day per company-sized unit, with . . ." he consulted another table. ". . . one extra pack per battalion." He spread his hands. "Everybody gets his lollipop."

  Laggney showed no sign of being impressed. "All right, I want to know what would happen if you had to do reconnaissance with Steppni Speeders. That's a little tougher than some crap lollipops."

  "Fixed-wing aircraft?" asked Dvenitch. "Biplanes?"

  "Fixed-wing: one-seaters, prop-driven, low velocity, sitting ducks." He grinned. "Punch it in, sir!"

  Dvenitch had to think for a moment. Using estimates where the real characteristics weren't known, and the real thing where it could be looked up, he punched in Steppni Speeders as reconnaissance aircraft. The software objected, reproposing satellite recon - the original assumption. Dvenitch overrode the objection, and they found that using prop-driven biplanes for reconnaissance tripled the estimated time of the operation, raised casualties to nightmare levels, and, with landing strips to be guarded, greatly increased the vulnerability of the storage depots.

  The aircraft themselves experienced high losses; they were apparently easy targets for gunners at the expected Bernheimer skill level, and even when they escaped being shot down, they had to land in cross-winds, at night, among mountain peaks, using close-in ground-based guidance radar.

  Especially amusing was Laggney's notion of searching the apron of one of the landing strips on day fifty of the operation. There, stacked up awaiting dismantling, were eight stylized wrecked aircraft. Inquiry showed all to have crashed on landing at night, with five deaths among the pilots.

  "And how many posthumous medals did the brave pilots award each other?" asked Laggney.

  "Not a queriable feature," said Dvenitch.

  "Cheez. I thought that would be number one on the list."

  Dvenitch did not answer. In raising the viewpoint, he had noticed a symbol in another part of the terrain. He zoomed in for a closer look, but it wasn't his: concentric circles with a diagonal line through them, surrounded by the triangle indicating a detected enemy installation.

  "What's that?" asked Eskry.

  "Some emplacement of the enemy's. I don't know what."

  "Can we examine it?"

  "No," said Dvenitch, checking tables. "It was projected as being spotted by a recon patrol. No further information will be available until the simulation indicates it has been dealt with."

  "In other words, until the model sends troops in there."

  "So to speak," said Dvenitch.

  "Could we . . ."

  Kleo Desh interrupted. "Could we try some more contingencies?"

  "Sure." Dvenitch backed off from the installation. In the next half hour they rearmed the troops with water pistols (the software balked, terminally, and had to be bludgeoned into cooperation); they deleted helmets, boots, canteens, then self-inflating shelters from the Supply Tables; caused it to snow throughout the operation (though it was timed for late spring); killed off all officers above the rank of lieutenant; and let loose an epidemic of diarrhea among the line units. The results were enough to 1) turn the hair white on any six general officers, and 2) convulse the eight students thoroughly.

  "Hey," said Laggney between gasps. "Let's see if the lollipops are still there."

  He punched the proper buttons for Random Terrain Sampling himself, and Dvenitch guided the view-point into a supply building in the alluvial plains (a much swollen supply building, with air-support and a full company for security). Sure enough, the lollipop cartons were there.

  "Cheez, I love it," said Laggney. "Let's save it for posterity."

  Suddenly, Dufresne moved to cut Dvenitch off from the input surface, and Laggney had time to enter the five-button code for permanent storage: original and all back-ups, and confirm. Dvenitch's painstaking original plan, already submitted and approved, was now replaced in all electronic copies by a monstrosity. Dufresne moved away, and Dvenitch stared in astonishment.

  "Oh, Cheez, I'm sorry," said Laggney. "Didn't you have an independent back-up, sir? Oh, I forgot; that's against regs. Gosh, that's terrible, sir!"

  There were giggles. Laggney stood before Dvenitch in sudden silence, narrow-eyed and deadly, one hand making a fist and relaxing. The challenge could almost be smelled.

  Dvenitch grinned at him. "No harm done. I believe our time's about up."

  Laggney moved closer. "What do you mean no harm done? All you've got is a hard copy. It'll take days to key it in again. Are you going to back down and crawl?"

  "Hey, come on," said Eskry behind him. "You know he's not allowed to . . ."

  "You shut up," snarled Laggney without looking back. To Dvenitch: "You want to do something about your crapped-up plan, you crawler?"

  Dvenitch looked past him. "So that's Ground Contingency Planning. We have some old plans here, as well as the ones we're working on now. Planners can compare ones that have been used in combat with what actually happened. I have found them very useful in my own planning assignments. Any questions?"

  "We don't have any crap questions," said Laggney.

  Sergeant Arkeno rapped at the open doorway and stepped in. "About through, sir?"

  "Yes, we're finished, Sergeant." He nodded to the gro
up. "Thanks for coming by. Sergeant Arkeno will take you to Level Eighteen for your next discussion."

  Laggney snorted. The group drifted toward the door. Eskry, in the rear, hesitated and turned back. "Thanks, uh, Lieutenant."

  "You're welcome."

  "I'd kind of like to see some of the old plans you've got. Do you think I could . . ."

  "Come on," snapped Laggney.

  "I'm coming. I just wanted to . . ."

  "I said come on!"

  Eskry glanced at Dvenitch, who maintained a bland expression. Eskry's eyes slid away, and he turned and left the laboratory.

  When they were gone, Dvenitch, interested in the unfamiliar symbol that had appeared, stored a copy of the freak plan for later study. He then got out his Personal Filer with its illegal copy of the un-crapped-up plan and replaced the freak with it in its three affected locations. He checked the copies, then erased the one from his Filer for good, replacing the storage bytes with random text. Satisfied, he began his afternoon's work.

  Policies and a Summons

  Late in the day, General Methlyn Kabrell, somewhere far upstairs on the Chief of Staff's staff, stopped by Dvenitch's laboratory. "Afternoon, Lieutenant."

  Dvenitch, who now had the freak plan under study, hauled himself back into the present and the real. He rose to his feet. "Afternoon, sir."

  "You enjoying staff work?"

  The truth and nothing but. "No, sir."

  "Your software enhancements came up at Oversight Staff today. You've got the ordnance boys very enthusiastic."

  "Glad to help out, sir.