Drifter's War Page 12

  The villagers should have run, should have hid, should have done anything but stand there. Unless they'd been told to stand there for a reason! Unless the villagers were bait!

  Reeg opened his mouth to say something, realized that it was too late, and hit the harness release instead. He spoke to the pilot via the team freq on his way toward the rear of the aircraft.

  "Keep your eyes open and be ready to lift. I have a bad feeling about this one."

  The pilot gave a short jerky nod, used his tail to flip a switch, and scanned the LZ. Ground pounders. They were all alike. Worried about nothing. The geeks wouldn't stand a chance against his guns.

  Lando could hear his pulse pound in his ears as the Il Ronnians jumped out of the helicopter. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Wait a minute, here came one more, an officer or a noncom from the look of him. That made sixteen altogether. All heavily armed. They were huge, foreboding, and their tails made them look like the devils of human mythology, only worse.

  Lando licked dry lips. There might as well have been a hundred Il Ronnians for all the chance they had of taking them. There were twenty-four heavies hidden in and around the rubble, or had been prior to the cannon fire, and they didn't stand a chance. Had there been some way to cancel the ambush he would have done so. But there wasn't so he couldn't.

  Besides, Della had overall command, and wasn't so easily discouraged. She looked at Lando, nodded, and put the toy whistle to her lips. The noise was loud and shrill. A lot of things happened all at once.

  Heavies erupted out of holes dug in the square. Some were within inches of Il Ronnian troopers. They grabbed ankles and pulled the soldiers down.

  Others had hidden in caves or holes in the rubble. Some were dead, victims of the ground fire, but most were still alive. They came forward like zombies, coated with a layer of white dust, hands reaching for Il Ronnian throats.

  Those troopers not already engaged in hand-to-hand combat fired their automatic weapons. The heavies charged anyway. Some staggered and fell but the rest kept on coming, and some of them made it. Work-hardened hands closed around Il Ronnian throats and held on even in death.

  Della stood in a marksman's stance, feet spread wide apart, weapon held in both hands. She was terribly exposed but felt that she couldn't take cover unless the heavies could do likewise.

  Della selected a soldier at random. The Sand Sept troopers wore armor but their visors were relatively weak. She did it the way the marine combat instructors had trained her to do it. One shot to break the visor and one to kill. One-two, one-two, one-two.

  The helicopter pilot activated his weapons systems but found that he couldn't fire. Not with his own troops in the way.

  Reeg's blood ran ice-cold. His worst fears had been realized. There was no question as to the proper course of action. Save as many of the team as he could, get the hell out of there, and return in force. The geeks would be punished, oh, how they would be punished, but that was then. This was now.

  "Break contact! Break contact! Form on me!"

  The Sand Sept troopers were well disciplined and did their best to obey. A handful, five or six, backed toward the chopper firing from the hip.

  One of them staggered when a bullet went through his face shield, then staggered again as a second shot passed through his skull.

  "A projectile weapon! Where the hell did the indigs get projectile weapons?"

  Then Reeg saw her, a human female, aiming a handgun his way. He'd heard that human females could fight but had never seen one before. He turned in her direction but a retreating trooper blocked his lane of fire. There were two shots. The trooper staggered and fell, blood gushing from the hole where his face had been. Reeg looked for a shot but the human had changed position. Damn! Damn! Damn!

  "Get on the chopper, and get on now!"

  A couple of troopers made it and Reeg hurried to follow their example. That's when he saw a human male roll under the helicopter. He had some sort of cable. The geeks purpose was clear enough: to connect the cable to the aircraft's undercarriage and prevent it from taking off! By the holy fluid itself they had nerve!

  Reeg directed a hail of slugs in the human's direction and saw him roll away.

  Reeg ground his teeth in frustration as he climbed aboard the ship and made his way toward the front. Thirteen troopers! The geeks had scrubbed thirteen of his best troopers and done it with little more than their bare hands! Teex would be furious, but worse than that, disappointed.

  Reeg felt a terrible shame come over him. It started somewhere deep in his solar plexus and radiated out through his entire body.

  The helicopter rocked from side to side as it left the ground. Reeg fell against the edge of the hatch, recovered, and leaned toward the pilot. His voice was a growl.

  "Kill them! Kill everything that moves!"

  The pilot paused, knowing there could be Il Ronnian wounded out there, but decided the file leader was correct. He signaled assent with his tail and squeezed the trigger.

  Fountains of rubble and dust shot upward as heavy-caliber slugs churned their way through the ruins.

  That accomplished, he switched to rockets. The pilot fired them in pairs, marching them across the hilltop, turning the entire area into a hell of flying rock and metal.

  Lando dived into a shallow depression and did his best to dig down toward the center of the planet. Cannon fire rippled across in front of him and angled away. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the cannon fire was over.

  Lando was already pushing himself up and away from the ground when the first pair of rockets hit. The sound was deafening. The smuggler dropped back into the hole and covered his ears. Tiny bits of red-hot rock and metal rained down across his neck and back. He was glad that Melissa, Cap, and Cy were safe, and was worried about Della.

  Then, when it seemed as if the strafing would never end, it suddenly did. The helicopter lifted, slid down across the hillside, and roared toward home.

  The survivors were almost entirely silent as they emerged from hiding.

  Lando stood and looked around for Della.

  Della braced herself and pushed. The Sand Sept trooper's armor made a scraping noise as he rolled onto the pavement. He had grabbed her at the exact moment when her pistol had clicked empty. They had fallen to the ground with him on top. And then, before the Il Ronnian could follow up, the helicopter pilot had unknowingly shot him in the back. Not once but numerous times. And at least one of the heavy-caliber slugs had penetrated the trooper's armor.

  Lando helped the bounty hunter to her feet.

  The heavies appeared one at a time crawling out of caves and rising from piles of rubble. Some were bleeding, some supported each other, and all were dazed.

  A light, the same female they had met earlier, appeared and moved among the wounded. A remote part of Lando's mind took note of the sophisticated medical instruments that she used. The village doctor perhaps? Something to look into later. Any sort of protracted war requires lots of medical personnel. Speaking of which, how many lives had been lost already?

  Lando counted heads. There were damned few. Six, seven, eight. Eight out of twenty-four. A third of the heavies were dead.

  It was bad, but not all that bad when you considered that only three of the sixteen Il Ronnian Sand Sept troopers had escaped. Or so it seemed to Lando.

  But what did the heavies think? Outside of Wexel-15, and a few other veterans of the temple massacre, the constructs had never fought before, never taken casualties, and never seen the horror of war.

  Now they had and there was the very real possibility that they would change their minds, give up the fight, and capitulate. Or so it seemed until Wexel-15 lurched into view. The heavy had numerous cuts, a coating of dust, and a huge grin. Lando staggered under the weight of a friendly pat.

  "Greetings, friend! It was a victory, was it not? We have weapons now and the Il Ronnians will die in large numbers."

  Lando looked at Della. Both of them smiled. "Spoken like a true general
, Wexel-15. Spoken like a true general."

  12

  Quarter Sand Sept Commander Teex checked to make sure that all the fasteners on his class-one uniform were closed and that his cape hung straight. Then it was time to assume his best "I'm in command" facial expression and move his tail into the attentive-subordinate position.

  Aggressive but obedient. Those were the traits of the ideal officer. A rather contradictory mix of qualities it seemed to him.

  Air pressures equalized and the hatch whirred open. Teex stepped out of the shuttle and onto the cruiser. The entry port was intended for the exclusive use of high-ranking officers, and given the politics involved, the Sand Sept officer had opted to use it rather than the more utilitarian launch bay.

  The reception area was equipped with a Class B sensurround that, while not quite as detailed as a Class A, still managed to be very realistic.

  It looked, felt, and even smelled like the surface of Imantha. Desert stretched off in every direction, real sand shifted under his platelike hooves, and a wave of heat wrapped him in a warm embrace.

  The entry was flanked by two Sand Sept troopers, one to each side. They crashed to attention and towered over Teex as he swept by.

  The Ilwik was annoyed by the fact that no one had seen fit to receive him. Was it an oversight? Or a deliberate slight by Quarter Star Sept Commander Ceeq? The first salvo in a political war?

  If so, Half Sand Sept Commander Heek was the cause. Heek had dropped hyper without warning, asked for situation reports, and invited both officers to dinner. For what? To enjoy their wit? To tie their tails in knots? The second possibility seemed most likely.

  It was quite conceivable that Ceeq had assumed the worst, declared political war on Teex, and was already pumping lies into the old geezer's oversize ears. If so, he'd be sorry. Teex fancied himself a reasonably good politician and had the rank to prove it.

  The desert shimmered slightly and a cavelike opening appeared. It looked like the entrance to an underground tunnel but was actually a cross-ship corridor. Teex had heard that a lot of geeks, humans included, made little or no effort to enhance the interior of their ships. A rumor that reinforced the Ilwik's already low opinion of geeks everywhere.

  Teex hadn't traveled more than ten paces before a rather harassed-looking sixteenth commander popped out of a side corridor, saw him, and came to quivering attention. His tail signaled respectful-submission mixed with heartfelt apology.

  "Sir! Welcome aboard the Wrath of Imantha. Quarter Star Sept Commander Ceeq sends his compliments. This officer apologizes for the way in which you were received and will surrender himself for punishment."

  Teex fought to restrain the grin that threatened to take control of his face. It was possible that the youngster had been remiss in his duty but very unlikely. No, knowing Ceeq, the youngster had most likely been given two tasks and ordered to accomplish both of them "immediately." Besides, to punish him would be to admit that a slight had occurred, thereby ceding a point to Ceeq.

  Teex peered at the name tag on the young officer's chest. It said "Zeeg."

  "At ease, Zeeg. I see that Commander Ceeq honors me by sending one of his most promising young officers. Shall we proceed?"

  Much relieved, and somewhat surprised by his good fortune, Zeeg led the way.

  The tunnellike corridor zigzagged in typical Il Ronnian fashion, a throwback to the time when the entire race had lived in subterranean caves and been divided into warring septs. Back in those days each bend in a passageway represented a strong point where the invaders could be slowed or even stopped.

  Now they were part tradition and part practicality. In the unlikely event that the ship was boarded the passageways would function in the same way that they had thousands of years before.

  There was a steady stream of naval personnel headed in both directions and their tails snapped into the attentive-subordinate position the moment they saw Teex.

  Then Zeeg led him down a side corridor and into officer country. By now the traffic had dwindled to a few officers and ratings with specific business in that part of the ship. And since Teex outranked everyone aboard ship except for Ceeq and Heek, they signaled their respect.

  The corridor ended in front of an armored hatch. It irised open. Zeeg motioned for Teex to enter but remained outside. The older officer signaled thanks with his tail, stepped inside, and heard the hatch close behind him.

  Ceeq's quarters were large by shipboard standards. His dayroom, currently set up as a dining room, was more than twenty paces long. Three of the bulkheads modeled a cozy underground cave, complete with water shrine, and a variety of wall niches. Each niche boasted a piece of carefully selected alien art.

  Nothing from the human empire mind you, since that might be construed as a form of admiration, but the Il Ronnian-ruled client states were well represented. Though not interested in art Teex was reasonably well informed and recognized an Alhathan dance mask, a Uzzeelian egg lamp, and an Oopthant wine vessel. All were carefully placed and lit.

  The fourth bulkhead appeared to be transparent. Ceeq had positioned his command ship so that the world known to Il Ronnian computers as NBHJ-43301-G hung right in the middle of the viewscreen. It looked like an enormous gem. Teex saw an ice-covered pole, twin oceans top and bottom, and a single continent that circled the world like a belt. The south pole was invisible from that particular orbit.

  Ceeq was full of good cheer and bonhomie as he came forward to greet Teex. There was a smile on his lips and warmth in his voice. He was huge, a bit overweight some said, and towered over his guest, a fact that Teex found especially annoying.

  "There you are, Teex… I was getting ready to organize a search party! I sent Sixteenth Commander Zeeg to meet you,

  but you know how the young ones are these days, terribly unreliable."

  "Really?" Teex inquired as he surrendered his cape. "I wouldn't know. The Sand Sept goes to considerable lengths to identify slackers and weed them out."

  Ceeq frowned and Half Sand Sept Commander Heek smiled. Officers of his rank were supposed to be above such mundane matters like interservice rivalries, but he'd been a ground pounder all his adult life, and couldn't resist a jab at the navy's expense. His tail signaled mild regret.

  "You walked right into that one, Ceeq. You should have known better."

  Heek was old, old enough that his skin had faded from red to light gray, and his back was slightly stooped. But his eyes were bright as ever, and the famous oversize ears still stood straight out from the side of his head, and he had a lifetime of hard-won experience at his beck and call. He knew what was going on and was determined to keep it under control.

  "As for you, Teex, I suggest that you withhold the insults till dinner is safely out of the way. There's no telling what sort of swill we might dine on otherwise!"

  The younger officers laughed politely, signaled agreement, and resolved to continue the war later on.

  Ceeq had spared no expense for dinner. Like most senior officers he maintained a private larder paid for out of his own purse. And thanks to the miracles routinely performed by the ship's head cook, he had acquired quite a reputation as a host. But as sumptuous as the meal would be, the water prayer was carefully Spartan.

  Each officer took his place at one side of the triangular table—a table that could take the shape of a square, a pentagon, or a hexagon as the occasion demanded. If the gathering included more than six individuals, additional tables would be added as appropriate.

  At this point the table was completely bare except for two simple clay cups. One of them was filled with water and the other was empty.

  All three of the officers had worn the first Ilwik's bracelet, had passed the many tests necessary to become a warrior-priest, and were equally qualified to say the prayer. But Ceeq was the host, and by long tradition, the privilege fell to him.

  All three turned their attention inward to the place where perfect peace must dwell before true knowledge can manifest. Ceeq's voice ha
d a melodious singsong quality. He lifted the cup and poured. The water flowed slowly, reverently, from one container to the other.

  "You are all powerful. Solid rock melts before you. Mountains shrink from your touch. As you flow from one vessel to another flow also through me that I might flourish and grow."

  There was silence for a moment as all three officers added their own private thoughts to the group prayer.

  After that an immaculately clad steward appeared, removed the cups, and set the table with Ceeq's best stoneware. The reddish clay had been mixed, shaped, and fired on Imantha itself. Tiny pieces of glass had been mixed into the clay and glittered with reflected light.

  The first course consisted of flat disks of unleavened bread. Originally peasant fare, garnished with little more than animal fat, Ceeq's cook had transformed the dish into a tasty appetizer. The officers ripped their bread into chunks and dipped the pieces into a variety of sauces. Some were sweet, some were sour, and some were a combination of both. The platter emptied quickly.

  Then came a salad of fresh greens, picked on the planet below, individual Uzzeelian game hens straight from their stasis bags, and a dessert so light that it seemed to float on their tongues. All of the dishes were brought out at the same time and grouped in front of each officer.

  The conversation however was a good deal more substantial. "So," Heex said, gesturing with his knife. "You are wondering why I came."

  It was a statement rather than a question but the younger officers signaled agreement.

  "A routine inspection?" Ceeq asked hopefully.

  Heek speared a piece of meat, eyed it critically, and popped it into his mouth. The game hen was very, very good. He signaled amusement.

  "No, much as I enjoy your company, I don't go this far out on routine inspections. There are younger, less valuable officers for that sort of thing. No, much as it pains me to bring it up, certain members of the Council are unhappy with the way things have gone. They asked me to drop in and take a look."

  Teex felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. The Council of One Thousand ruled the empire! The merest frown by a council member could end an otherwise promising career. The Sand Sept officer felt his appetite melt away. He placed his knife on the table. "Unhappy? About what?"