Footsteps in the Sky (24 page)

Hoku watched the ridge, now obscured by drifting smoke, blinking furiously at the afterimage of the detonation.

For a few moments, nothing, and then a sharp report, as of someone clapping boards together, right by his ear. He jumped, startled. There was a pockmark on the windshield, right in front of his face. It would have gone right between his eyes, had the shield been anything less than chainglass.

What was this creature?

And where was Homikniwa?

Frustrated, targetless, Hoku waited with his thumb on the laser contact.

Chapter Thirty

Teng squeezed off two more shots at the man in the flyer before she gave up. She hadn't been certain that the colonials would use chainglass for everything, but it appeared that they did. Still, whoever was there was rattled; the missile had come nowhere near her, and the jabs from the laser were sufficiently uninformed that they posed no threat either. Not so the little man on the ground, whose aim had been uncannily accurate. Teng wondered if he were another of these “Kachina”. If so, he would be a problem, but not one she couldn't handle. The last time she had been too concerned about Alvar to concentrate. This time, there would be no such distraction. Wherever Alvar was, he was no longer any concern of hers.

Bullshit, said an irritating little voice. At least she hadn't spoken out loud this time.

Where was he? Teng wished for a pair of broad-spectrum goggles. Her own “natural” sight had some enhancements—she could see a bit further down the red end of the spectrum than the unenhanced, could see more detail at greater distances. But she couldn't see the heat tail her foe was leaving—if he was moving at all.

She glimpsed him an instant later, darting from the shelter of a rock, traversing an open slope with improbable speed. She squeezed off two of the explosive rounds, almost instantly regretted it as the eruptions clouded the area with dense grey dust. She had assumed that the storm wet things down, but she didn't know this area. Or this planet, for that matter.

Well, he would be closer, soon. Teng searched about for a defensible position, found it in a ledge of stone a few meters away.

While she waited, Teng thought through her long-term plans. If the peacekeeper flyer had made it through the colonials' defensive perimeter—and Teng had few doubts about that—the reinforcements would be here soon. What then? Retrieve the alien, she supposed, and Jimmie if possible. But then again, what did Teng want with the alien? She found it unlikely in the extreme that the alien would be of any use to the Vilmir Foundation. The real challenge was the alien ships themselves. The Vilmir Foundation wanted them of course, for the technology they might contain. Yet the possibility that they could learn something from the ships paled before the dangers they represented. The ships had made one attempt to contact the colonials, by sending down this bizarre clone. Why couldn't they do it again, after Teng left, with or without the alien woman? Teng had no idea how long it would be before a real pacification force managed to get here, but she supposed it would be some time; Vilmir resources were spread thin, and despite the importance of the alien ships, it would take many years for a real expedition to get funded, built, and sent, especially after the recent revolt on Serengeti.

The other great risk was that Jimmie was right, that the ships posed a danger to the colonists themselves. If the Fifth World were destroyed, the long-term investment of the Foundation would be in shambles. Teng had already fought in one stock-market war, and had no particular wish to fight in another.

Yes, counting on the alien woman was a risk the Fifth Worlders had to take because it was their only choice. Teng, however, was rapidly coming to see another. She was a warrior, and she wanted to fight. It was the only thing she was good at, that much was clear to her now.

A rock clattered down-slope. A ruse or an actual stumble on her opponent's part? It didn't matter. She was death, and the man was coming to meet her. Teng took several deep breaths, preparing. She checked her weapon. Thirteen rounds left, and it only took one.

Fuck Alvar, anyway. Sure, he had been plagued; that meant only that he had done what he really wanted. Maybe he really had loved her, when she was the only woman available, but now … she would have had to leave him anyway. What was the point? He was right and she was wrong. His life was here, now, and it was best that the break be clean. Very clean.

She caught the motion in her peripheral vision and dove without hesitation. Green light licked at her ear, and the wet stone behind her hissed and spit. She rolled, firing twice, using explosive rounds—and that was the end of those. She flicked the magazine to armor-piercing as she came to her feet, running straight into the new cloud. Her wounds hurt mightily, but they would not bleed; a day or so was all her system needed to throw up dikes around such surface cuts. She could wish for a little less stiffness, but everything had a price.

Another laser burst scored across her shoulder, and the concealment web sputtered, most likely broken now. She would have to end this fast, then: now the man in the flyer would be able to see her. In fact, the one glance she spared to the plain showed her the flyer slowly lifting. She needed the laser, now.

She spun down behind a rock as the barrel of her enemy's rifle appeared again, and she squeezed off two more rounds; they struck bright sparks on stone, both of them. If she gave the man time, he would pin her down. He was only six or seven meters away. It was now or never.

Teng leaped up like a panther, the rifle pumping steadily in her hand. She covered the distance in no time at all, following her bullets. She suppressed an urge to howl, and a fierce joy bubbled in her blood as adrenaline that was better than adrenaline lit her up.

When she came over the ridge, he was moving, and her first two shots missed. The third caught him clean in the belly, and the fight should have been over. Instead, he launched himself at her, leg stabbing out a sidekick. She fired once more before the blow hit her, reasonably assuming any physical attack he landed was less dangerous than the laser. Blood spurted in the center of his chest.

The kick punched into her like a steel piston. She felt her hardened ribs break, and one tore into her lung. The impact lifted her up and back, and the rifle spun from her hands as she twisted to break her fall against the rocks. The little man followed her; his face was a mask, set and certain. He still had the laser, but he did not point the barrel at her, instead swung it down on her like a club. She deflected it with a rising block and countered with her own kick, striking him a glancing blow. He fell back, landed roughly against the stone. They watched each other then, both lying there. Teng noticed that he wasn't bleeding very much.

“Who are you?” she gasped painfully. Her punctured lung felt as if it had collapsed, and breathing was painful.

The little man rose shakily to his feet.

“Leave these people alone. Just get the fuck out of here and leave them alone.” He spoke in English, not the local language.

“Who are you?” she repeated, rising to her feet also, watching him for any move. She still had the pain pistol, but he had a sidearm as well. Who would be quicker? And if what she suspected was true, the pain pistol might not hurt him at all.

“Escobar Jemez, of the colonial Peacekeepers, at your service,” he said, mockingly.

A wave of nausea swept through Teng, but she kept her focus. She would have to move soon.

“Bullshit,” she said. “How can that be?”

“You think the Foundation just sent one traitor here? You know better than that.”

“You sent that message. Not Jimmie: you.”

“I shouldn't have done it. I knew that even then. This place isn't for the Reed. They have no claim on this place.”

“Fuck you,” Teng gasped. “They bought and paid for this planet. You too.”

“That's the way you see things,” Jemez said. “I don't see them that way. I've been here twenty-five years.”

He didn't look that old. Had he been rejuvenated once, already? Paid in advance?

“You went native,” Teng observed. “How touching.”

He went for his pistol, and Teng jumped. They came together in a flurry of blows. Fists like rocks slammed into Teng, but she felt her own punches land, too. She got a fistful of hair and yanked his head back, felt the knife-edge of her hand deflected from his throat. Something clattered near their feet, and she twisted, managed to throw him a meter or so. Her hand found the gun without the assistance of her eyes, and she brought it up into his belly as he closed again. Fired, once, twice, three times.

These bullets were not armor piercing: they did not slide cleanly through his body, but mushroomed, kicking him backwards. He hit the rocks, curled around his belly, so that she could see the caverns that had been torn from his back. Teng scrambled away; he might still get up. She pointed the pistol at his head and carefully pulled the trigger.

The hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

No matter. Jemez looked up at her with glazed eyes, but the light in them was fading. Or was that the light she saw growing dimmer? It was very hard to breathe, now. She cast about, looking for her rifle.

Green light stabbed within a meter of her. She had forgotten the fucking flyer. If he had another missile … But she couldn't even run from the laser.

The flyer puffed then, and the trail of a missile screamed out of it. Teng watched it, ready to meet death, but the trail sang over her head. She threw herself down, and even to her protected ears, the detonation was deafening. Above her, lasers flickered.

She turned her head, and there, coming over the ridge, was a peacekeeper flyer, listing. A dark smudge showed where it had taken a direct hit.

The colonial flyer dropped out of the air, however, underjets flaming. It limped away, back down toward the plain.

“Shu!” said the voice in her ear. Who was that? Vraslav?

“Come get me,” she hissed. “Ignore them. Come get me.”

Figures were scrambling out of the burning flyer, which had managed to land. Two men, a woman—one of them was Alvar.

Something broke in Teng, something besides her modified parts.

“Just come get me,” she repeated.

For the second time, Sand felt the Bluehawk jar to earth. She felt the heat seeping up through the floor and knew that the underjets were burning. Outside, she could see Kewa's body, and beyond that the shelter where Jimmie and Tuchvala lay.

The hatchway to the cockpit swung open, and a grim faced Hoku came through it. He unfastened Alvar's straps and then her own.

“Go,” he said harshly. “Get out. We're on fire.”

Sand scrambled out as best she could without using her arms, which were still cuffed and numb. Alvar followed, even more clumsily, and then Hoku, pistol in hand. The three of them rushed away from the burning Bluehawk; flames were fluttering underneath it as if it were being roasted.

“Take our cuffs off, Hoku,” she gasped. “I'll help if I can.”

He ignored her. He was stock-still looking up at the mountain. A haze of smoke drifted there, but it did not entirely obscure the unfamiliar flyer as it dipped down.

“For Masaw's children!” Sand shrieked. “Uncuff me!”

Instead, Hoku took up a marksman's stance with the pistol and waited. Sand thought about rushing him, but there was no point; she could accomplish nothing. Instead she ran over to where Tuchvala and Jimmie lay.

Tuchvala looked asleep, and there were splints on her leg. Jimmie watched her coming. He looked hurt, but Sand couldn't tell how bad.

“Sand. …” he began, but her kick in his ribs cut him short and set him to coughing.

“Uncuff me, you murdering bastard,” she screamed. Jimmie scrambled back from her, crabwise.

“Uncuff me!” she repeated.

“Wait!” Jimmie howled as she kicked him again, this time in the arm he raised to defend himself.

“Wait. I will.”

Sand stopped and stood panting as her father jerkily climbed to his feet. She kept him impaled with her stare, and it seemed to draw him to her, though the reluctance was plain in his eyes. He reached up and fingered the cuffs, and suddenly Sand could feel her arms again. She shook the cuffs of and Jimmie backed up. He walked off a few meters and sat back down. Sand watched him go, then turned to Tuchvala.

Tuchvala was breathing regularly. Sand knelt and stroked her face, very gently.

“Tuchvala?” she said. Her mother's face twitched, her eyes opened.

“Sand? Sand, what's happening?”

Sand gasped, realized that she was crying. She took Tuchvala in her arms and hugged her, pressed the bitterness of her tears against the other woman's cheek.

“It's good to see you, Tuchvala,” she said.

“Sand,” Tuchvala sighed, clinging back.

The moment seemed to last forever, but Sand knew she could afford very little time. Reluctantly, she turned back towards Hoku and the mountain.

Hoku was still standing there, waiting. The Reed flyer had risen again, hovering over the erstwhile battlefield. Sand watched it, made ready to die. They would not get Tuchvala away from her again, not while she lived.

But the flyer turned its nose away from them, and with a distant whine, disappeared west over the hills. Hoku howled and fired three shots after it, then began running over the rough ground, favoring his right leg.

Feeling weak and unsure of what was happening, Sand sat back down. Alvar was leaning against a stone, watching Hoku dwindle in the distance. Jimmie still sat where he had retreated to, his back to them.

“Are you okay, Tuchvala?” Sand asked.

“I think so, Sand,” the woman answered. “But I don't understand what's happening.”

Sand expelled a harsh little laugh. “I don't either, my friend. I only know we're together again.” She reached over and squeezed Tuchvala's hand.

“Teng, what are you doing?” she heard Alvar mutter. Wearily, Sand stood and walked over to where he was, and without a word, freed him of his cuffs. He looked at her with surprise.

“Thanks,” he said, with real gratitude. Sand nodded. The Bluehawk was burning merrily, now, thick smoke billowing out of its interior.

“We should move away from that,” Sand said.

Tuchvala was incapable of walking, but she and Alvar together managed to carry her another hundred paces from the burning craft. Jimmie did not follow, but he watched Sand with eyes she was unwilling to meet. Why? She was justified in hating him.