by Ehsan Ahmad
As one of the troopers used another piece of equipment to check his vital signs, Vellerik stood up and keyed his com-cell. “Vellerik to Galtaryax, requesting immediate medical evacuation.”
The reply came within five seconds. “Captain Vellerik, this is Kerreslaa. We have a shuttle at Mine Five. They can be with you in fifteen minutes. Passing on your position now.”
“Tell them to hurry. Vellerik out.” He turned back to the others. “Well?”
“Looks fairly stable, sir. Sealer will be ready soon.”
“Keep him warm.”
Vellerik called over to his squad. “Perttiel, shuttle’s on its way. Zarrinda, help him over here. The rest of you follow me.”
Vellerik strode forward with his gun up, the men falling in behind him as he entered the pass. He turned left and right every few paces, examining every fissure and boulder, aware there might still be more of them alive. In the distance, he could see the pack animals; they appeared to have broken their tethers and fled.
Suddenly, a single warrior sprinted out of a gully and away along the pass.
“Leave him for me.”
Vellerik raised the gun and fired.
The shells ripped into the earth behind the Kinassan, and he stopped.
As Vellerik walked toward him, the warrior slowly turned. He appeared to have no weapons, and his hood had fallen down. He was young, his hair a matted mess and only a few wisps upon his chin. Like all Kinassans, he was brown-skinned with black hair and pale green eyes. Brow furrowed, he glared up at his enemy.
Vellerik reached for his translator, then remembered there was no program for Kinassan. He pointed south. “Go back. Do not come here again. Go.”
Suddenly, the Kinassan lunged at him.
Vellerik stuck out a hand and clamped it around his neck. He could easily have lifted the youth or crushed the life out of him. But he just held him there.
“Go. Do not come back.”
He threw the Kinassan the way he wanted him to go. The youth landed heavily, then dragged himself up and kept walking.
Vellerik cursed to himself, then ambled back to the squad. “Take a few of the intact bodies and string them up where anyone approaching from the south will see them. Dekkiran, bring me the proximity mines.”
13
Cerrin was starting to wish she were back working in the cavern. Half of the lightflies and one of the two illari birds had perished before they’d even left, and now the creatures were locked away in the hold of the shuttle. And if they were finding the journey as unpleasant as she was, she wasn’t sure how many would still be alive when they arrived. What would the Count do then?
She currently had more pressing matters to attend to: trying not to vomit as the shuttle lurched and shuddered and shook. Kezzelet had been assigned to escort her to the Galtaryax. He was strapped into a seat at one end of a row; she was at the other. The guard had soon given up trying to secure her there—the straps were too wide and too loose—but as soon as the ship began to move about, she’d found a way of wedging herself in place.
“How much longer?” she asked between waves of nausea.
“Don’t know,” said the Vitaari. “Relax, girl. It’s normal.”
Cerrin couldn’t think of anything less normal. She didn’t under-stand why anyone would want to fly up into the sky and keep going. Looking out the nearest window, all she could see was a red glare.
After some time, the sickness abated, replaced by a numbing chill. She remembered asking her father what lay beyond the clouds. He’d answered no one really knew, but some thought there was nothing but endless darkness, a place where only the gods could go.
She did not belong here. Cerrin clasped her hands together and bowed her head. Ancients, please protect me. Please protect me.
She closed her eyes, trying to imagine she was somewhere beautiful, somewhere safe.
“Settling down,” said Kezzelet. “Not far now.”
Cerrin felt a wave of cool air come from somewhere and a rumbling beneath her feet. Outside the window, red had become black.
He could not turn back now. Though it had taken him far too long to clamber across the treacherous pile of scrap, Sonus was within two feet of the housing. Smothering a cry as he scraped himself on something sharp yet again, he put the flashlight in his mouth and heaved a thick cable out of the way. Once over an angular, greasy chunk of machinery, he could finally get his hands on the housing. He grabbed it with both hands, turned, and threw it up into the tunnel.
Not daring to check the time, he started back, forcing himself on as he climbed and stretched and slid. He was ten feet from the wall of the pit when something smashed into the refuse behind him. He looked up and saw a light far above.
“Oh no.”
A second impact sent a chunk of metal flying past him. He had already freed the troublesome rope from around his waist, but the bit he needed was still hanging from the lip, with knots tied to help him climb.
The third impact was the heaviest, sending tremors through the entire pit. Whatever Sonus was standing on shifted, and his foot slid down into a hole. As he struggled to free himself, a barrel landed just a couple of feet away, spilling over his arm. For a moment he feared acid, but he caught enough on his hands to see it was nothing more than blue-tinged coolant.
Trying to stay calm, he pushed his toe down and managed to pull his leg free. He gripped a pole sticking up ahead of him and used it to haul himself onward. Then came a useful length of paneling, which he crawled along, gaining vital feet. More junk crashed into the pit behind him as he finally reached the rope. Knowing he was safer this close to the edge, he threw the flashlight up first, then climbed steadily, feet and hands gripping the knots. Once he could get his arms over the lip, he pulled himself up.
Though he knew time was desperately short, Sonus had to lay on his back for some time, sucking in air. He struggled to his knees, then to his feet. Once the rope was untied from the lamp, he threw it into the pit. Nothing else fell from above.
Sonus put the housing inside his overalls, where he had sewn in some webbing to make sure his secret cargo wouldn’t be visible; it would have to stay there until he got home that night. With a brief look along the tunnel—he saw only lights, no one on the move—he ran back to the ladder and clambered down.
Only when he reached the bottom did he check the time: five minutes left for an eight-minute journey. Holding the base of the housing through his overalls, he set off at a loping run; he simply didn’t have the energy to sprint.
Before long, he was struck by another coughing fit. Halting in the near-dark between two lamps, he forced the breaths out to get it over with. No spittle came this time, but the pain in his throat was so acute he had to hold onto the wall for a moment. When it had passed, he drank some water and set off again. By the time he felt able to move quickly, the five minutes had elapsed.
Sonus looked ahead. He had several hundred yards to go, but the Vitaari guard might appear at any time. He could not arrive there looking like he was about collapse. Trying to maintain a swift walking pace while regulating his breathing, he pressed on. His arms and legs were leaden, and sweat was pooling under his arms.
Passing the passageway that led to the elevator, he looked inside. There no was no sign of the guard, and the door was closed.
As he entered the cavern where his crew were currently drilling, Sonus began to relax. He saw his three compatriots all at work, chipping chunks of stone from a high expanse of wall. Then he glimpsed something to his right, and the guard materialized out of the shadows. The Vitaari towered over him, hand already on his jolt-rod.
“Where have you been?”
“Sorry, I had to… I’m not feeling very…”
Before Sonus could say any more, he felt a convulsion in his stomach and knew instantly he was about to be sick. He bent over and coughed up a thick, dark fluid, splattering the earth between his feet.
The Vitaari ma
de a noise that sounded like disgust, then stepped backwards.
Sonus dropped to his knees and reached for his water bottle. He drank, then looked up at the Vitaari. “Sorry, sir.”
“Perhaps you should go to the infirmary.”
“No, no. I’m fine.” Sonus forced himself back to his feet.
“Then get to work.” Without another word, the Vitaari stalked out of the cavern.
The medical bay contained four beds, each surrounded by banks of equipment. Perttiel seemed to be sleeping. Triantaa was in the bed next to him, but Vellerik couldn’t see him; the surgeon was blocking his view.
He backed away from the window and sat down. Noting the dusty earth on his boots and fatigues, he leant back and crossed his arms. He supposed he should have been relieved: both men were stable and the surgeon had assured him they would recover, though he seemed concerned about the location of Triantaa’s wound.
Vellerik thumped a hand down onto his leg. He could not believe his troop had sustained casualties fighting these bloody primitives. His mistake had been not moving the men further back from the towers. Twenty meters? Should have been fifty. And now Triantaa might suffer because of his stupidity. If things went badly, he might not be able to return to duty.
He wondered: was it the narcotics? His age? The posting? Probably a combination of all three. So much for his attempt to reinforce the value of “real soldiering” to his men. And so much for his attempt to reassure the Count he could do the job. No Vitaari had been seriously injured by a native in years. This was nothing less than an embarrassment.
Had he not been so anxious to hear an update from the surgeon, Vellerik would have retreated to his quarters. He pressed a hand against his brow.
“Captain!”
Count Talazeer was marching along the corridor, the ever-present Marl two paces behind. Vellerik knew the debrief was inevitable; he’d just hoped to be able to delay it.
Talazeer walked up to the window and looked into the medical bay. “How are they? Two injured, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Two.”
Talazeer studied the patients intently for a moment, then caught sight of his reflection and began rearranging his hair. Vellerik locked eyes with Marl and saw what might have been a smile.
“Well,” said the Count. “What happened?”
Vellerik gave his report, even though he’d had imagers running throughout the engagement as instructed. Talazeer seemed interest-ed in the Kinassans, particularly details like the bloody triangles and the head, even asking if Vellerik had recovered it (he had not—it had been buried along with the rest of the bodies). Talazeer remarked that he was looking forward to watching the battle in his room later.
When it came to discussing the casualties, Vellerik felt it best to admit his mistake. To his surprise, Talazeer seemed unconcerned.
“Nonsense, Captain. We hope for their recovery, of course, but surely we must expect our men to be able to avoid such a basic weapon. Let us consider it a lesson learned. Now, what of enemy casualties?”
“One hundred eleven, sir. We displayed some of the bodies upon the rocks as a warning to others. I planted three lines of mines across the pass. The Kinassans won’t be passing that way again.”
“Excellent. And all achieved without the combat shells. This was a victory for the honorable traditions of our infantry forces. I congratulate you, Captain. I was glad to hear of you taking such a proactive approach to this problem.”
Vellerik nodded stiffly.
“It makes me wish I could have been down there with you. Perhaps next time.”
“Sir, I don’t think—”
“We will have to talk about decorations,” added the Count. “Aside from yourself, did anyone else distinguish themselves?”
Vellerik wouldn’t have dreamed of recommending any of his troop for such a short, one-sided engagement, and he certainly wouldn’t accept one for himself. While he was trying to think of a diplomatic answer, Talazeer’s com-cell buzzed with a three-tone signal. A broad grin spread across the nobleman’s face.
“I must go, Vellerik—the animals for my menagerie have arrived. We can talk again later.”
Talazeer turned and hurried away and did not seem concerned that his bodyguard had not followed.
“This head,” said Marl. “Where did it come from?”
Vellerik had little interest in conversing with the Drellen but found himself replying. “They must have had it a long time. There were some fairly major engagements a few years ago. They had to bring in a battalion of Imperial Legion to suppress them.”
“Maybe these natives aren’t so weak, after all.”
The bright lights in the corridor illuminated the Drellen’s scaly skin. Vellerik observed that it was made up of thousands of overlapping hexagons of various shades of green.
“They are weak in body, not in mind.” Vellerik looked into the medical bay. The surgeon had now moved, and he could see the unconscious Triantaa.
“You seem upset, Captain.”
Despite the words, Vellerik sensed that Marl was not seeking to provoke him.
“I do not like to see my people hurt.”
“Then it is fortunate that you are Vitaari.”
Sonus was struggling. Though he knew the guard would check his work before the crew was dismissed, at one point he just dropped his drill and sat down. Out of water, he begged the others for some, but they said they needed it for themselves. With their transactions complete (and his supply of tablets finished), they had reverted to ignoring him. Hardly caring if he was discovered away from his drill, Sonus walked some way to find a water barrel and replenish his supply.
By the end of his shift, he was as exhausted as he’d ever been. In a way, he was glad; the weariness took the edge off his fear as he endured the end-of-shift check and then the tense walk out of the mine to the walkway. Once past the last guard, he made his way downward in the middle of the crowd.
Back at his dwelling, he slumped down on his bed and lay there. Only when satisfied all his neighbors were preoccupied did he open his overalls and pull out the housing. He already had a suitable hiding place with a reasonable chance of surviving an inspection—a container of spare parts he maintained to effect repairs. When he had first began collecting the components, the guards had reported the matter to the governor, who had permitted him to continue as long as he obtained permission from an administrator or an engineer. Also secreted at the bottom of the container were the other parts and tools he would use to start constructing the weapon.
He had no idea if it would work. The design was simple, but it was connecting the components that might cause him the most problems.
That could wait; he was too tired to begin work tonight. Hiding the housing beneath a blanket, he poured himself more water. If he’d had any of the tablets left, he would have taken one—his stomach was churning with bitter bile and his throat felt raw.
He was about to move the housing into the container when he heard a familiar friendly voice in the passageway. Evening meals were distributed by four women who did so in exchange for the occasional extra portion.
Sonus knew Orani well; she had been bringing him his food for years. A stout woman of about sixty, she placed the plastic box on the barrels that formed the front of Sonus’s dwelling.
“Evening.”
“Evening.” For once, he was actually looking forward to eating; apart from sustenance, the food would ease the pain in his throat.
“It’s the light brown stuff, I’m afraid,” said Orani. The general consensus was that the light brown stuff was even more bland than the dark brown stuff.
As Sonus smiled and picked up the box, he could feel Orani examining his face. On previous nights since his return, she had simply asked him how he was. But now she reached out and touched his arm.
“You couldn’t have done anything, you know.”
Sonus looked at her kindly face and felt tears form i
n his eyes.
“They are in a better place now,” she added.
“I hope so,” he said, largely for her benefit.
“I better hand the rest of these out.” Orani squeezed his arm and continued on to the next cavern.
Before Sonus had a chance to sit down, another visitor arrived. Litas wasn’t really a friend, but he seemed impressed by Sonus’s attempt to help Qari and had offered to find the informer. Concern-ed about anything that might affect his own plans, Sonus had tried to put him off, but Litas was insistent. Though not known to have ever organized anything that could be considered resistance, he had been a friend of Tanus and previously attacked those suspected of collaboration.
He was around Sonus’s age but looked older due to a hunched back that worsened every year. His hair was long, lank, and gray.
“Still nothing. Sorry.”
Sonus wiped his eyes. “Litas, there’s nothing we can do. We’ll probably never know.”
“How can you give in just like that? One of those bitches gave Qari up. Might as well have killed her and Karas herself. I’ll get the name one way or another.”
“It won’t change anything.”
“We look out for own. We lose that, we have nothing.”
“You’ll just cause more trouble for yourself. Me too.”
“I’m not stupid, Sonus. I can wait, take my time. But when I get that name…”
“Whoever did it, it’s not really their fault. It’s the Vitaari.”
Litas gave a grim smile. “A shame it took this for you to see the light, Sonus. You back on our side for good now, then?”
“I was never anywhere else.”
If he had been more intelligent, Litas might have made a good ally. But he was too impetuous, too narrow-minded. “I don’t suppose you… have something in mind?”
“No,” said Sonus. “I do not.”
14
Cerrin watched Count Talazeer prowl up and down. He had his hands clasped behind his back and would stop occasionally to peer down at the animals. She, Marl, and Kezzelet were standing at the other end of the storeroom, close to the door. Physically, Cerrin was feeling better, but what she had seen beyond the great ship’s viewports had shocked her as much as the flight. That endless black seemed to her a dark sea that might wash them all away at any moment.