Cluster Command: Crisis of Empire II (13 page)

Jomu’s massive fist crashed down so hard the computer console jumped. “He’s still alive! Alert all units. I want this human
found,
and I want him found
now.”

###

The rain had stopped, and from the level of ambient light Merikur guessed that the sun was at zenith. But he had a problem. The river was full and fast, running up to the edge of its banks where it lapped at his boots. Wavelets splashed his toes occasionally as if inviting him to jump in so that it could sweep him away. Since he had to get across, that left the log.

Months before, a raging storm had caused the river to flood, undermining a huge tree and causing it to keel over. The trunk now formed an impromptu bridge across the river. The only such bridge he’d been able to find in a five-mile section of riverbank. It stretched before him like a shining path to hell.

Spray leaped up to make its smooth surface even slicker and the log dipped a little ways out, allowing the river to roll over the top. But it was either the log or what might turn out to be a long, long detour.

First, however, he took the spear apart and restored the combat knife to its sheath. Otherwise, he’d lose it if he fell in. He checked to make sure the survival kit was securely fastened to his back. For a moment, he debated whether to walk or crawl. Both had advantages. In the end, he decided to walk and drop to his knees if it became necessary. Using the roots as a staircase, he made his way up and onto the log.

Gingerly, Merikur moved out onto its smooth surface. He slid his left foot forward, then his right. So far so good. The river leaped, jumped and chuckled at his feet, daring him to move forward, laughing at his caution. Using his staff as a counterbalance, Merikur ignored the river’s insinuating laughter and concentrated on the stretch ahead.

It was the bad section, where the tree trunk swooped down towards the river and water rolled over the top. Bit by bit, Merikur eased down the incline. The water had little force where it sloshed across the top, so the main danger lay in slipping.

Edging his way through the water, Merikur started up the opposite slope. By climbing sideways and using the non-skid surface of his combat boots, he made his way up the slope; first a third of the way, then halfway, then almost there.

That’s when the two-person hovercraft roared around the bend and came straight at him.

It had not occurred to Merikur, until he flipped over backwards and was immediately sucked under the water, that his entry into the river would be a voluntary act.

The first sensation was shock as the cold water closed around him. Then he felt fear as the river dragged him down, bouncing him along the bottom. What saved him was training. Suddenly, he was a cadet standing at the edge of the computer-controlled river which flowed through the Academy’s huge campus, shivering in the morning chill. In front of him, the river was smooth and calm, but just a few hundred yards downstream, white water gleamed and churned its way through artificial rapids, smoothing out again further on down. Each cadet would have to jump in and make it through those rapids.

He remembered Nidifer’s sadistic grin. Nidifer was more machine than man, one of the few survivors of the famous Ferro Drop. Five thousand marines had fallen through Ferro’s noxious atmosphere to fight in the crystalline forests below. Less than a hundred survived. Those who did were the toughest, meanest, and luckiest people alive. A fact Nidifer never let them forget. As if his face wasn’t reminder enough. The single glaring eye, the gouged-out cheeks, the rasping voice, all were constant reminders that this man had been through hell and fought his way out.

So when Nidifer spoke, it was with the voice of authority. “You cretins will be glad to hear that this course has only killed five cadets so far.”

He held up a gleaming pincer to still any objection. “Yes, I realize this course it too easy, but so far Academy Command has ignored my requests to make it more challenging.” His expression brightened.

“You
could
kill yourself by forgetting these simple rules however: One. Do not fight the river. Two. Hit the boulders with your feet instead of your head. Three. Work your way to the side where the current is weaker. Four. Don’t panic. Think instead. Questions, ladies and gentlemen?”

Nidifer’s single eye swept their naked ranks like a laser. “No? Then how about you, Cadet Merikur? Since shit floats, you shouldn’t have any trouble at all.”

The river pushed Merikur up, gave him one quick gulp of air, and then jerked him back down. Twisting and turning, he managed to bring his feet around and point them downriver.

He hit the first boulder. His boots felt as if they weighed a ton apiece, but they helped absorb the shock. Flexing his knees with each impact, he bounced off two more rocks before the current brought him back to the surface. Gulping air, he saw the hovercraft waiting down river.

This time he ducked under the surface on purpose.

The rapids were past now, but the river narrowed slightly as it entered a huge rock formation and this made the water move even faster. Feeling the main current to his left, Merikur slid into it and was pulled quickly downstream.

His lungs began to burn, demanding that he open his mouth and take the river in. To hell with the hovercraft. He had to breathe. Fighting his way to the surface, Merikur took a deep, gasping breath.

The river tired of its human toy and tossed him aside. The current disappeared and he was swimming in a side eddy. Something bumped him from behind. Turning, he saw he’d been pushed into an alcove of rock carved by a million years of running water.

There was a roar over and above the roar of the river. Kicking, he pushed himself back into the alcove just as the hovercraft slid into view.

It held two Cernians. Both were scanning the surface of the river looking for him. Keeping low, Merikur ducked behind a spur of rock. They searched the area for ten minutes, coming within twenty feet of him on one occasion, before finally giving up and heading downriver.

Heaving a sigh of relief, Merikur swam along the rock face until it gave way to a small gravelly beach. Gratefully, he crawled out and lay shivering on the warm rocks.

“Well, it was probably the longest river crossing in the history of the corps, but you finally made it. Congratulations.”

Merikur would have pulled the AID off his belt and smashed it with a rock, but he didn’t have the strength. He ignored the device and crawled into the jungle for a rest.

###

It took him three days to cover the thirty miles from the crash site to the dirt road. It wasn’t much fun. Once in a while, he found a game trail going vaguely north and could follow it for a while, but most of the time, he wasn’t that lucky and had to make his own way through the jungle maze.

There were countless streams and rivers to cross, torrential storms to wait out, and swamps to circumnavigate. He had close calls with specimens of a hundred nasty life forms, some native to Teller, and some brought in by the Haiken Maru to make the jungle even more unpleasant. The latter were an unnecessary expenditure of effort in Merikur’s opinion.

The least difficult to deal with were the broad-leafed Cernian Nakada plants. Though not fatal to humans, contact with the plants could produce some very unpleasant symptoms and Merikur had enough problems already.

Of more concern were the Terran fer-de-lance, the Noolu night cat, and the Corvall death disk.

The latter had an uncanny ability to masquerade as a giant leaf. From its perch twenty or thirty feet up, the death disk would watch a path below, waiting for something to pass by. Spotting a target, the disk would spin down from above to slap itself across nose and mouth, a thousand little suckers holding it firmly in place. As its prey slowly suffocated, the creature would start to feed, sucking its victim’s bodily fluids until it transformed itself into a green ball. Sated, it would release its grip and roll away from the now desiccated corpse to digest its meal. Three months later, it would shrink to a disk once more and begin the long torturous journey back up into the trees.

The first attack had come with mind-numbing swiftness. Only the disk’s poor luck saved Merikur. The creature slapped itself across his nose and eyes, missing his mouth. Merikur gripped an edge and ripped the death disk off before it could lock itself in place. Throwing it down, he impaled it with his spear.

After that, Merikur constructed a wickerwork mask that fit over his head. Without knowing it, he had reinvented the masks worn by Corvall’s primitive bipeds. It was damned uncomfortable but worth it.

With the mask on, the death disks became more annoyance than danger. They’d spin down and slap themselves across the wickerwork, then he’d peel them off and spear them. After a while, it became fairly routine. Nonetheless, it felt damned good to see the road and take off the mask.

The road wasn’t much to look at. An unpaved two-lane affair, it was rough and followed the meandering path of a large river through the jungle. The shoulder was scorched where a flame thrower had been used to clear the vegetation.

The jungle wanted the road back. In the fullness of time, the jungle would get it.

Merikur had a sudden appreciation of what the Haiken Maru security forces were up against when they tried to move convoys down roads like this. Every curve could conceal an ambush. Every square foot of road could hide a mine.

He made a mental note. Treeling had been after him to provide his convoys with marine escorts. No damned way.

Merikur carved out a place for himself just inside the edge of the jungle and sat down to think. His problems were far from over. According to his AID, both the Haiken Maru and rebels used the road. The Haiken Maru during the day, when they stood a better chance against attack, and the rebels at night, when they were less likely to be detected.

The rebels were clearly his enemies, but since the Haiken Maru could have sabotaged his aircar, he couldn’t assume they were friends. That ruled out anything like stepping out onto the road and flagging down the next vehicle. “I say, old chap, how ’bout a lift to town?”

Merikur smiled at the thought. No, it would have to be something unexpected, something sneaky. The only problem was he couldn’t think of anything unexpected or sneaky.

Morning slipped into afternoon as he waited and tried to come up with a plan. As the hours passed, he thought up all sorts of possibilities. He could use a power cutter to fall a huge tree across the road. Then when a vehicle was forced to stop, he could use a repulsor rifle to pick off the machine’s occupants as they stepped out to investigate.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have a power cutter or a repulsor; and even if he did, the tree would stop only wheeled traffic. Ground-effect vehicles would go up and over.

Of course, he could use his AID to contact base, but the reasons to avoid that were as good as they had been when his car went down. He was still sitting, munching on a ration bar, when the first vehicle went by.

It was headed east, the opposite direction from where he wanted to go, and was buttoned up tight. Thick armor protected both sides, a wire cutter was welded to the front bumper, and the vehicle bristled with auto repulsors.

There was a trailer hooked on behind which was loaded with boxes of something and covered with a tarp. Both vehicles were of Pact manufacture but there was no way to tell who was at the wheel. The rebels had captured plenty of Haiken Maru equipment. Not an easy nut to crack even with a squad of marines.

“Give up?” It was his AID.

“Yeah,” Merikur replied sourly. “I give up. So smart ass, what’s the answer?”

“I wondered if you’d ever ask,” the AID replied smugly. “The answer is to wait for a west-bound vehicle, find a place where it has to slow down, and climb aboard. As you do, I’ll transmit something unintelligible to their comset, and divert their attention.”

Merikur considered his AID’s proposal as he chewed the last mouthful of ration bar. It sure beat the hell out of sitting on his ass in the jungle. Merikur tucked the ration bar wrapper into his pack, squirmed into the shoulder straps, and stood. “Looks like you’re finally earning your keep,” he said looking up and down the road. “I’ll head west looking for a good spot while you make sure no one catches me in the open.”

“Yes, Sir, Your generalship, Sir. Don’t worry about a thing.”

There was a spring in Merikur’s step as he set out. He imagined himself finding the perfect spot just around the next bend. Hours later, he’d gone around lots of bends without finding the right spot.

Someone had done a nice job of laying the road out. Still, there were bound to be a few bad spots and he’d find them. In the meantime, it was getting dark and he was tired.

Retreating into the jungle, he found a protected hollow, pulled the tab on the last of his dinners, and waited for it to heat up. Stew again. Not as good as the ration bars, but a lot better than nothing.

He had just finished when the AID spoke in his ear. “Something coming . . . a lot of something . . . a convoy, from the sound of it.”

A few seconds later and Merikur, too, could hear the rumble of powerful engines and the squeal of metal on ungreased metal. Tracks then, a heavy crawler pulling ore cars towards Port City. They sure had guts running a convoy at night. They’d be damned lucky if the rebels didn’t cut them up.

Merikur squirmed his way forward into a place where he could watch. The last of the light was fading fast, but he could still see the big square-nosed tractor as it rounded the bend. There was a train of open ore cars behind. In spite of the heat, all the hatches were closed.

He could hear loud music with a pounding beat coming from inside the tractor. After all, noise had kept the boogey man away for thousands of years, maybe it would work one more time. Indicator lights glowed their various colors and the air smelled of stale sweat. The crew weren’t friends, so there wasn’t much conversation.

Their sensors probed the darkness while their repulsors swung back and forth in sweaty hands. If they made it, each would collect a fat night-run bonus. If they didn’t, Treeling would shake his head sadly and delete the shipment from his desk comp.