She was going to have to do this very carefully.
* * * * *
Cycle 597,844.0, Northeast of Holdfast 32-1
Qetjnegartis carefully led the way through the mountain pass. The footing for the fighting machines was difficult and treacherous. Loose rocks, hidden under quels of frozen water, might shift or slide when stepped upon. One of the newcomers, still not fully accustomed to the heavier gravity of the target world, had fallen earlier that day and so badly damaged its machine that it could no longer operate. Qetjnegartis had been forced to have one of the others carry it back to the holdfast. Fortunately, along with the design for the smaller, faster fighting machines, the newcomers had also brought plans for a collapsible transport pod which could be attached to the rear of them. It was far better and safer than trying to carry someone with the manipulating tendrils.
But the incident left Qetjnegartis with only thirteen fighting machines for this important mission. They had left the holdfast the previous day and moved north and east through regions unfrequented by the prey-creatures and then up into the mountains to the north of the enemy’s main defenses. They had initially been divided into five groups of three. Each group had one of the first wave in it to lend experience. In addition to Qetjnegartis, there was Ixmaderna, Namatchgar, Utnaferdus, and Davnitargus. The bud, now nearly an adult, seemed excited to be included.
Their goal was to penetrate beyond the enemy defenses and destroy as much as possible in their rear areas. It had become clear that the prey-creature armies were dependent upon a continuous influx of supplies and reinforcements to remain effective. Those supplies were moved by the transport vehicles which in turn were dependent upon the metal rails they ran upon. If those could be destroyed, the enemy armies might be seriously affected. At least that was the hope. There was still so much about the prey-creatures that was not known.
Qetjnegartis passed around a large outcrop of rock and saw a vast sweeping vista stretching away to the east. The horizon on this large planet seemed an immense distance away, and yet the sight reminded it of the Hadjnapnar Mountains near the clan’s main holdfast on the Homeworld. The colors were all wrong, of course, and the frozen water rarely ever fell there anymore, but there was still a similarity.
And I shall never see it again.
Those coming to the target world realized that it was almost certainly a one-way journey. There would be no reason to ever return. That thought had not disturbed it in the slightest when it had been selected to lead the first wave of the Clan’s expedition. It had been a great honor and a great opportunity. But lately… lately it had begun to have strange thoughts.
Is it simply because I am no longer in command?
Now that was a disturbing thought! That it would begin to doubt the mission simply because of its… its… It had to dredge up an archaic word from the depths of its memory to even put a name to it: its vanity. Unacceptable! Was there something wrong with it?
No, this was foolishness! It was still serving the clan and the Race and no one could ask for more. And Valprandar still trusted it enough to give it an important task. It had the authority to terminate Qetjnegartis if it thought necessary and it had not done so. For sometimes it was necessary. An individual with a record of failure and poor decision-making could not be left in a command position. But due to the instinctive chains of command and obedience, such an individual could not simply be pushed aside either. It had to be removed. And on rare occasions, an individual of extreme age might become erratic or even insane. The scientists believed that repeated buddings over many cycles could introduce errors in the genome. When that happened, the individual had to be terminated for the good of the Clan.
But I shall not be removed!
The way ahead was now downhill. The enemy was there and they would soon feel the might of Clan Bajantus! “Forward!” it commanded. “We shall crush the prey-creatures!”
* * * * *
January, 1910, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory
“It will be all right, Sam,” said Rebecca Harding. “Nothing bad is going to happen. He just wants to talk to you.” Sam was sitting on a stool in a curtained-off area of one of the wards. He’d insisted that Rebecca wrap his head with bandages so only his eyes and mouth showed.
“He tries to take me, I’ll fight,” said Sam.
“He won’t try to take you! I have his promise and he won’t break it. Now you stay here and I’ll go get him.”
Two days ago she’d sent a message to Major Comstock where he’d been staying and yesterday they’d met in town to work out the details. Now he was waiting at the hospital administration building for Rebecca to take him to Sam. She made her way along the paths tramped down in the snow and found the major where she was expecting. “He’s ready, sir,” she said.
“And he’s willing to talk?”
“I don’t know how willing. He’s willing to meet with you. I guess he’ll say something. This way, sir.”
“Please call me Andrew, Miss Harding.”
“All right. And it might reassure Sam if you don’t come across as an officer… Andrew.”
They retraced her path and entered the ward. Becca had halfway expected to come back to find Sam gone, but he was still there, sitting on the stool. Comstock waited at the door until she waved him over. “Sam, this is Andrew, he’d like to talk to you.” Sam’s eyes glinted through the gaps in his bandages.
“All right. Have him sit there.” He pointed at another stool. Comstock sat down. He had a pencil and a thick pad of paper.
“Maybe I should leave you two alone?” ventured Becca.
“No!” cried Sam. “You stay!”
“All right, all right, I’ll stay. Let me get another stool.” She pulled one over and sat down a little behind Comstock, pulling the curtain nearly closed behind her.
Comstock stared at the man for a few seconds and then rocked back on his stool, looking casual and relaxed. “Hello, Sam,” he began. “I understand you spent some time with the Martians?”
Sam was utterly still and didn’t say a word.
“Well, I almost had the same pleasure myself,” continued Comstock. “I was with Sumner’s army too, you know. I’d been sent there to observe the Martians and try and get hold of any wrecked machines. If you were there, you must have seen how the artillery knocked out one of the tripods down on the left. Did you see that?”
Sam nodded his head a tiny bit.
“Yes, and when it went down, me and my men—there were twenty of us—dashed over there, thinking to grab it. But then it all went to hell. Nearly got killed right there when the bastards came charging back over the ridge. Would have died except we hid behind the wreck. I guess you were caught out in the open, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It was a hell of a mess. But the Martians went right on past us. I guess they were after you fellows. I probably wouldn’t even be here except for that. I owe you my thanks.”
“They were killing everyone,” said Sam.
“Yeah, it sure looked that way from where we were. But we didn’t stick around to watch. We skedaddled up into the hills to find cover. You poor sods had nowhere to go, did you?”
“Everything was burnin’. Ran an’ ran until I couldn’t run no more.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Then I guess the Martians rounded you up like a bunch of sheep, right? There were a few hundred of you, I’ll bet?”
Sam nodded. “Me an’ a few buddies were still alive from my company, but then all these other guys got herded in with us. Hundreds.”
“We saw them driving you along the next day from up in the hills. We followed along and…”
“Why?” Sam leaned forward on his stool.
“I guess it does seem like a damn fool thing to do, doesn’t it?” replied Comstock. “Not sure why. I had orders to learn as much as I could and I guess I wanted to know why they hadn’t killed you. What they wanted with all of you. So we followed.”
“Never saw anyone. We were all alone
.”
“We were staying well hidden. And we’d found some horses, so we could take roundabout routes. We saw… what they did to those of you who couldn’t keep up.” Sam’s face scrunched up beneath the bandages.
“I… they kept forcing us to… they burned anyone who fell. My buddy… I tried to help him but… he fell and they…” Suddenly Sam was sobbing. He put his face in his hands and wept. “I tried, but I was so tired! I couldn’t!”
She and Comstock sat in silence, neither one of them saying anything or making any move. Becca had learned this from dealing with scores of hurt or terrified soldiers. Let them cry it out. It was what they needed and you had to let them do it. She didn’t know where Comstock had learned it, but she was glad he had. He was handling Sam just right. Finally, Sam stopped crying and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. The bandages under his eyes were wet.
“It’s hard,” said Comstock. “Six of my men got burned up when the Martians counterattacked. You can’t help but wonder why them but not you? It’s hard.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered Sam.
“We ran out of cover after the second day,” continued the major as if nothing had happened, “and we had to ride on ahead and hope to pick you up again later. But we weren’t able to. That night we ran into Miss Harding and her friends and we got a trifle distracted. Has she told you about that?”
Sam nodded. “She said you rescued her.”
“Well, me and all my men. We’d found some dynamite and made some bombs. We got lucky—real lucky—and destroyed the Martian machine that had captured Miss Harding’s party. Did she tell you that she killed the Martian driving it with her rifle?”
Sam looked at her in surprise. “No. She never said.”
“Well she did. Emptied all sixteen rounds from her Henry into it. Made a helluva mess.” He smiled at her.
“I was so mad at it. They killed my ma and my pa and my grandma. Couldn’t help myself.”
“My boss yelled at me for letting you do it. He wanted a live Martian—as if we’d have had any way of getting the damn thing back with us!”
“Oh dear! I’m sorry!”
Comstock laughed. “Don’t worry! He couldn’t have been too mad: he let me marry his daughter!”
Becca giggled but then covered her mouth and looked at Sam. What was he thinking of all this? But Comstock went on.
“So we lost track of you and the others, Sam. I rode up to the walls of their fortress and peeked over, but I couldn’t see much. I guess you got a closer look, eh?”
Sam was silent for at least a minute, but then he nodded. “Yeah… I did.”
“Can you describe what you saw?” Comstock took up his paper and pencil. “I’d really like to know.”
Sam sat and wrung his hands and was silent for a long time, but at last he spoke. “They drove us up the big wall. A few of the guys were so scared at the sight of it… they tried to run… but they didn’t get twenty yards. The rest of us they forced to climb over… guess there wasn’t any gate. They didn’t need a gate with those tripod things they drive; they just climbed right up like it was nothing. Some of the others couldn’t make the climb, but instead of burnin’ ‘em the Martians picked ‘em up and carried them over. Guess they figured we were so close to the end it would be a waste to burn’ em now.” Sam shook his head. “The ones they burned were the lucky ones.”
“And once you were inside? From where I looked in, it didn’t seem like there was much inside the walls.”
“No, there wasn’t much. Some machines standing around, but not much else. It was all underground. They marched us to a big ramp leading down. It was pretty steep and a lot of the guys fell.”
“How wide was the ramp? How tall? How deep do you think it went?”
Sam went silent and Becca was afraid that Comstock’s questions had shut off the sudden flow of information. But he was just thinking, she guessed, because after a moment he answered. “Maybe forty or fifty feet wide… I guess it was maybe fifty feet high once you got down in it—higher than the tripods, anyway. It went down, I don’t know a hundred feet, maybe more.”
“And at the bottom?”
“There was a real big open space down there. Hundreds of yards in each direction. There were some things way off in the distance, but I couldn’t tell what they were.”
“Where was the light coming from?”
“There were round balls up on the ceiling. They glowed like Edison bulbs. They were kind of dim, though, not like those arc lights they have in the cities.”
“Where did you go from there?”
Step by step, Comstock guided Sam through his journey, getting descriptions of the Martian fort. How high? How wide? What were the walls and floors made of? He wrote it all down and a few times even paused to make a sketch based on Sam’s description. He’d show it to Sam and make corrections if something was wrong.
But then Sam stopped talking. She was surprised to see that he was staring at her.
“Then where did you go?” asked Comstock. Sam didn’t answer. “Sam?”
“I don’t want her to hear the next part,” said Sam.
“Oh, well, I guess…”
“Not proper for a woman to hear. Go away, Becca.”
She looked from Comstock to Sam and back again. “Should I…?”
“It might be better,” said Comstock. “Why don’t you sit over there where you can still see?”
Becca stood up, part of her indignant. Did they think she wasn’t tough enough to hear Sam’s story? She had no doubt it was a horrible story, but it couldn’t be any more horrible than seeing a man with his face burned off by the black dust! Could it? But if Sam was more comfortable talking just with another man… well, she could hardly argue. “All right.” She took her stool and went to the other side of the room, leaving the curtain open. Sam and Comstock continued talking.
They talked for the better part of an hour. Sam seemed to be folding up inside himself and Comstock kept moving his stool closer so he could hear him. Eventually their heads were almost touching. Comstock scribbled furiously on his papers. Part of Becca wanted to know what Sam was saying—and part of her did not. She kept seeing him on that stretcher, bearded, long haired, wild eyed…They eat us! No… no, maybe she didn’t want to know.
“Rebecca! What’s going on here?”
She nearly jumped off her stool. Miss Chumley had come up behind her noiselessly. “Oh! Uh… you see, ma’am…”
“Who is that officer and who is the man in all those bandages? We don’t have any patients here with those sort of injuries!” She started to step toward the pair.
“Miss Chumley!” hissed Becca, grabbing her arm. “Please! Don’t interfere!” Becca was half a head taller than her boss and she firmly pulled her around.
Chumley pursed her lips, arched an eyebrow, and looked at Becca and then down at where her hand was clutching her sleeve. Becca sheepishly let go. “Please, ma’am! That’s Sam with all the bandages on!”
“Sam Jones? What’s the matter with him?”
“Nothing! Well, maybe something. But he… he knows some things the generals ought to know. I convinced him to talk to an officer I met. But he doesn’t want the major to know who he is. He’s scared!”
“Anyone looking at him knows that! The man’s afraid of his own shadow! What could he possibly know?”
Should she tell her? She thought she could trust Chumley, but she’d promised Sam not to tell anyone. What should she…? But then she saw that Comstock had stood up. He was shaking Sam’s hand! Then he walked right over to her.
“Thank you, Miss Harding. I think I have everything I need.” Comstock’s expression was very stern and his face quite pale. “The army is grateful for your help.” He nodded to her and then to Chumley and made his way out. She looked after him and when she looked back, Sam was gone.
Chumley stood there frowning. “Miss Harding, someday I expect you to tell me what this was all about!”
* * * * *
January, 1910, Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory
Major Andrew Comstock made his way back to the tiny boarding house where he had a room. The streets were crowded, but he didn’t see the people. Men saluted him, but he didn’t return them. He bumped into things and murmured apologies. He staggered up the narrow steps to his room and threw open the door. McGill and Kennedy where there; rooms were so scarce the three of them had to share one.
“Ah, there you are, sir!” cried McGill. “Was startin’ t’think you got yerself lost! Did you get what you were after?”
He didn’t answer but he took out the sheaf of papers and carefully packed them in his valise.
“You all right, sir?” asked McGill, squinting.
Andrew looked at the pair and said: “Get your coats. I need a drink.”
* * * * *
Cycle 597, 844.0, East of Holdfast 32-1
“All units prepare to attack!” commanded Qetjnegartis.
The force had made it through the mountains with no further casualties and descended onto the plain that lay beyond. Qetjnegartis knew precisely where they were located on the surface of the planet, but it had no idea what, if any, significance the settlement they were about to destroy might have. The one thing the expedition was lacking was truly accurate maps. Observations from the Homeworld had produced maps which could identify oceans and mountains and the larger rivers of the target world. Even some of the cities could be seen. But things as small as the prey-creatures’ transportation system or small settlements could not be seen at such distances. The only way to map the surface was to go there.
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