Authors: Tanya Huff
“Very true, sir,” she admitted so seriously he jerked around to face her. “But I don’t think
you
should worry about them either.”
“And why not, Staff?”
She smiled broadly at him. “Because
they’re
not here.”
Two paces later, he returned the smile. “And you are?”
“I certainly seem to be, sir.”
* * *
“Why us? That’s what I fukking want to know.”
“Why not us?” Hollice shrugged. “Ours is not to question why.”
Juan turned to stare at him, lip curled. “Why the fuk not?” He turned a little farther, just far enough to watch the Dornagain lumbering slowly toward them, and sighed. “How’s this for an idea—you bet your next pay packet that I can run around them three times before they make it to this spot.”
“How’s this for a better idea—you stay here and I’ll move on to the next corner.”
“Fukking corporals,” Juan muttered as Hollice moved away. He shoved his helmet to the back of his head and scratched at the damp line of exposed hair. “Rest of the platoon’s probably nearly to the buildings by now.” Squinting along the line of crushed vegetation they were following, he raised his voice as he added, “Probably sitting in the fukking shade.”
Although he heard, Hollice didn’t bother responding to the heavy gunner’s observation. He didn’t see the point; it wouldn’t get them moving any faster and it would only encourage more complaints. Given the difficulty of maintaining the same pace as the Dornagain, he kept his team rotating around the four corners of the march. After twenty paces, number one corner moved up to number two, two moved to three, three to four, four to one, and twenty paces later they did it all again. It not only gave them a chance to stretch their legs, but it helped stop terminal boredom from setting in.
“Binti.”
She covered a yawn with the back of her fist as he fell into step beside her. “Is it that time again?”
“It is.”
“You know Ressk’s got his boots off.”
Hollice flipped down his helmet scanner and glanced back at the Krai’s position. “Can’t hurt.”
Binti snorted, turned around, and began walking backward. “The Dornagain aren’t talking much today.”
They both glanced over at their four charges, sunlit highlights rippling from shoulder to haunch as the huge bodies moved slowly forward.
“Maybe they’re saving their breath to maintain this speed.”
White teeth flashed in a sarcastic smile. “Oh, yeah, baby,
this
is speed.”
* * *
“Staff Sergeant Kerr, we were wondering if we might ask you a question.”
Torin thanked the training that had kept her from shrieking at the sudden, totally silent appearance of the Mictok and turned a polite smile toward the closest eyestalk. “Of course, Ambassador.”
“We were wondering about the stretchers.”
“The stretchers?”
“Yes. We cannot help but notice that they seem to be nothing more than a pair of lightweight poles with a piece of fabric stretched between.”
“Essentially, ma’am, although there are legs snapped down against the underside of the poles and a certain amount of monitoring equipment built into both poles and fabric.” More familiar than she wanted to be with the Corps stretchers, she glanced over at the four carried in the center of the column. Although she hadn’t done it deliberately—or at least, consciously—she’d been flanking Haysole for most of the march. They had his environmental controls up as high as possible, but he still looked hot and uncomfortable. Shadows encircled his closed eyes, and his lips were so dark they were almost purple. If the ends of his hair hadn’t been moving slowly, Torin would have feared the worst.
“We were wondering why.”
A little confused, Torin brought her attention back to the ambassador. “Why what, ma’am.”
“Why use such simple equipment? Hospitals throughout the Confederation use stretchers that operate by pushing against the planetary gravity. Granted, the Ghazix Generators making that possible would have to be calibrated for each planet you land on, but we’re certain you would find them much more efficient than this.” One foreleg gestured disdainfully toward the equipment under discussion. Had Mictok the features for it, Torin was certain the ambassador would have been frowning. “A modern stretcher would put none of your people at risk. Once up and running, it could be tethered, leaving all hands free.”
“Unfortunately, ma’am, unless they’re very large—VTA large—Ghazix Generators can be easily knocked out with a simple electromagnetic pulse, leaving us with an extremely heavy and completely useless piece of scrap.”
“The Others would attack the wounded?” Her mandibles snapped together so hard heads up and down the line turned at the sound.
Torin decided not to get into that. Had the elder races been able to understand war, they wouldn’t have needed the Humans, the di’Taykan, and the Krai. And now the Silsviss. “They disable our equipment, ma’am. Just like we disable theirs. The more damage we can do from a distance, the less risk when we get up close and personal.”
“So our forces also attack the wounded?”
Not for the first time, Torin realized she probably had more in common with the people she was fighting than the people she was fighting for. Dissembling seemed the order of the day. “The Others use something similar to a Ghazix Generator, ma’am, similar enough that they know how to disable one. We know they know that, so we use stretchers they can’t affect because Marines don’t leave Marines behind. We use primitive projectile weapons that have to be physically smashed to stop working for the same reason. So do they. Our helmets may contain complicated communication and surveillance equipment, but they’re still fully functional as helmets should either or both be knocked out.”
“We noticed that you did not answer our question, Staff Sergeant Kerr.” She raised a foreleg to prevent an answer. “But we suspect we would be happier not knowing. We are diplomats and we spend much time dealing with the results of the war, but we have never spent so much time speaking to one actually within it.” She paused. “Usually, we speak with officers.”
“Lieutenant Jarret...”
“Is not near the rank we usually associate with.”
Under those circumstances, Torin granted her the point.
“We must consider this conversation, but we would like to speak with you again, Staff Sergeant Kerr.”
As the Mictok ambassador scuttled back to her companions, Mike moved up into the place she’d vacated, muttering, “Get it off me.” And then a little louder. “What were you two talking about?”
Torin snorted. “Reality.”
“Yours or hers?”
“Bit of both. Looks like we’ve arrived safely.”
He squinted along the line of her finger and shook his head. “I can barely see a roof. We’ve still got lots of time to be descended on and slaughtered.”
“If you know something I don’t, now would be the time to tell me.”
“I don’t like this shoot us down and ignore us crap. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
* * *
“Did you hear something?”
“No, sir.”
The Dornagain’s ears swiveled, moving in progressively smaller arcs and, after a moment, he pointed almost due north. That way. I suggest you use your scanner, Corporal.”
Hollice screwed the cap on his water bottle, sighed, and crammed his helmet back on. Intellectually, he knew that the environmental controls would keep his head a lot cooler than any breeze, but emotionally, if he was wearing a hat, he felt hot. Flicking down the scanner, he swung around toward the north and froze. “Shit on a stick.”
“May I assume from your colloquial expression that there is something there?”
“Something?” He thumbed the controls, trying to bring in a more precise reading. “I bloody well wish it was just something! Unfriendlies! Thirty of them!”
“How far?” Ressk demanded, as the unwelcome information prodded the Marines up onto their feet.
“Between one and one and a half kilometers. Make that point eight and one point three of a kilometer.”
Shoving one of the exoskeleton’s pins in deeper, Juan muttered, “Fuk, they’re fast.”
“And we aren’t.” Raising his scanner, Hollice swept a practiced gaze over their surroundings. “There! Those rocks!” The planet’s bones jutted up dark purple to pink out of the green, offering the only protection in the immediate area. Swinging his pack up on his back, he turned to the Dornagain ambassador. “Sir, can your people run?”
“For short distances only.”
“To those rocks?”
“I am not certain...”
“Well,
I’m
certain we can’t protect you against thirty unfriendlies on open ground.”
“You make a convincing argument, Corporal. We will run.”
To the Marine’s surprise, he flung himself forward, body stretching in the air, long, muscular arms extending, knuckles hitting the ground, claws curled under. Then, with a shimmer of golden fur, his body seemed to fold in on itself until his feet dug in just behind his knuckles and he leaped forward again, heavy pack swinging and banging but somehow staying on.
“This is going to destroy my manicure,” Thinks Deeply sighed as she followed the ambassador.
“They’re not exactly running.”
“Fuk it,” Juan advised, swinging his weapon from side to side as he worked the kinks out of his shoulders. “It’s getting the job done.”
Hollice dragged his fascinated gaze off the Dornagain. “Binti, get to the rocks! Take the high ground!”
“On my way.” The sharpshooter sped forward, her long legs making short work of the ground the Dornagain had already covered.
“And we’re going to?” Ressk asked.
“Try not to get a pointy stick in the back,” Hollice grunted as they started to jog after their charges.
“Be a lot fukking safer on the other side of the Dornagain.”
“Yeah.” Carrying his weapon one-handed, he reached up to flip down his microphone. “I’ve considered that...”
O
nly standing beside the buildings did it become obvious that they’d built in a shallow valley.
“An enemy on those hills would have the high ground,” Torin muttered. “Not good.”
“Not bad,” Cri Sawyes corrected. “From here, those hillsss are in easssy range of your weaponsss, but on the hillsss your enemy hasss no weaponsss that will reach you. Againssst greater numbersss, it isss far better to have a wall at your back.”
Torin couldn’t argue with that.
Both buildings were a single story high. Rectangular, they were set so that the end of one angled off the side of the other with fifteen meters between them on the north and thirty on the south. If there was a reason for their placement, Torin couldn’t see it. The walls were made of thick mud bricks coated in a facing layer of mud and were topped with shallow-angled thatch roofs. Inside they’d been divided into thirds, rooms closed off from each other by a surprisingly heavy wooden door. A narrow window high in each room’s outside wall let in light. One building, as reported, was empty. The other was filled with large fabric sacks of grain.
In spite of their rustic setting, the waterproof, vermin-proof sacks were clearly the product of a technological society.
“I expect the grain isss brought in for the young malesss,” Cri Sawyes explained to Torin, pouring a sample from one hand to the other. “We are, like all of you, omnivorousss.”
An eyebrow rose of its own volition. “You intended for them to kill each other, but you don’t want them to starve to death?”
“It isss more complicated than that, Ssstaff Sssergeant, but esssentially, yesss.”
“So for the packs, this is neutral ground?” When he agreed that it was, Torin sighed. “And we’ve moved in. That’s going to piss them off but good.”
Chewing the grain he’d been examining, Cri Sawyes followed her out of the building. “If I underssstand your comment correctly, it does sssum up the problem.”
“Maybe we should leave.”
“That would be wissse—were there anywhere to go. Asss there isss not...”
They joined the lieutenant at the well just as Dr. Leor finished testing the grain.
“As usual, the Krai may eat it although they will need to supplement for the amino acids it lacks.”
“And the rest of us?”
“This one thinks not. And now, this one has patients to settle. That building is empty? Then this one will use the farthest room for those already injured and the nearest room to treat those about to be injured.”
“And the middle room?” Torin wondered.
“If there is to be fighting,” the doctor pointed out disapprovingly, “the middle room will fill quickly enough.” He minced off, shouting orders to the two corpsmen as he went.
Torin peered into the well. She could see her reflection shimmering in the darkness about six meters down. “Bad news about the grain, sir.”
“We have food, Staff. The bags of grain are a lot more useful as part of our defenses.”
“We’ll use them to buy our way out of a fight?” she asked, straightening.
“Wouldn’t work,” Cri Sawyes said shortly. “They will attack regardless.”
“We use the bags to build walls between the buildings.” Jarret turned and pointed. “There and there. It’ll give us one unbroken front with the well safely inside.”
“There’s certainly enough,” Torin admitted, mentally converting the stored grain into walls. “An excellent idea, sir.”
“I’m not totally helpless without you, Staff.”
“Since you’re smiling, sir, I’ll accept that ludicrous observation in the spirit in which it was offered.”
His smile began to broaden, then cut off completely at the unmistakable alarm sounding from the helmet tucked under his arm. “Staff!”
“On my way, sir. Mysho! Conn! Get your teams and follow me!” As she ran past her pack, she grabbed her own helmet and crammed it onto her head. Without turning, she raced back along the path of trampled vegetation, eight pairs of boots pounding the dry ground behind her.
* * *
“They’re so fast!” Binti squeezed off another round prone from her vantage point on top of the largest boulder. It bit into the dirt directly behind where a Silsviss had been.
“Where are they fukking going?”
To everyone’s surprise, the Dornagain ambassador answered. “They are using the contours of the land. Every hollow, every rise.”