“You’re lying.”
“I haven’t got time for this. We’ve got dead to bury, and clear the area before the radiation gets us. Watch her,” I said, and prepared myself for the carnage.
It was dirty work. I climbed into the Bloodhound’s smoldering husk and wrapped what I could find of Dr. Shiffrah in a duffel bag. “Not much survived forward,” I said, coughing. “Better make this quick or Pilot Loser’s Crax buddies will finish the job.”
Skids scanned the sky.
At McAllister’s insistence, Pilot Loser dug the holes in the sand.
“Shallow will do,” I said.
Our prisoner asked, “Should I dig a third?”
“Depends on how you act,” I replied.
Upset at the death of her comrades, Guerrero glared at me.
“Pilot Odthe put me in charge. It’ll be cramped, but I’ve no intention of killing Pilot Loser in cold blood. Not yet.”
“It’s what she deserves,” said Guerrero.
“What we deserve and what we get have little in common.” I set the remains of Dr. Shiffrah in one hole. “McAllister.”
She handed her carbine to Guerrero. Together we placed Pilot Odthe in the other. The Chicher clucked and chattered, and took the shovel from Pilot Loser. He dug a channel between the two graves.
I signaled, “Good,” before reattaching the cord and cuffs to Pilot Loser. “Wind getting cold?” I asked her. “At least you can feel it.” Skids and Guerrero cried as I shoveled and buried our fallen team members.
McAllister scowled, holding back. “Say something, Keesay. You’re good at it.”
“Please,” said Guerrero, holding Skids close.
“Was either religious?”
“Pilot Odthe more than Shiffrah,” said Guerrero.
My prayer for Pilot Calvo Odthe and Dr. Nikoya Shiffrah was another partially memorized verse from my youth. “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life, of whom should I be afraid? When the wicked, even my enemies and foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh, they stumbled and fell.”
I watched Guerrero’s solemn reaction, and continued. “Though a host should encamp against me, my heart shall not fear. Though war should rise against me, in this will I be confident. One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord.”
My stomached knotted and I hesitated, knowing I’d forgotten some. “And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me. Therefore will I offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy. I will sing praises unto the Lord.”
Anger rose in me and I glared at our prisoner, accomplice in the death of Pilot Odthe and Dr. Shiffrah. “Teach me thy way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain path, because of mine enemies. Deliver me not over unto the will of mine enemies. For false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty. Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart. Wait, I say, on the Lord.”
I took a breath, and gazed into the breeze and surf. Then at Skids dragging his sleeve across his nose. And to Guerrero who stifled sobs while standing behind him. McAllister was red, maybe in sadness, but probably seething anger. “Calvo Odthe and Nikoya Shiffrah, the Lord is waiting. Be with Him. We will miss you.”
“We will avenge you,” McAllister promised.
Recalling Mer and Corporal Smith, and all aboard the Kalavar, I sang all four stanzas of Battle Hymn of the Republic as I set a pile of stones over the graves. Skids accompanied through sniffles, and all but our prisoner joined in the chorus.
I was struggling to hold back my tears. “I sang that for all our friends, and fallen crewmen. Including the Kalavar. Even your associate, Captain Tilayvaux.” I collapsed the shovel and shoved it into Pilot Loser’s cuffed hands, daring her to say something. “I’m sure she’d be proud of what you’ve become. Let’s get the hell out of here.” I slung my shotgun and checked my equipment. “Let’s move. McAllister, you’re finished?”
“The internal reactor and the cascading engine are rigged.” She tapped a clamshell clip. “Twenty minutes from now.”
“Good. Guerrero, you’re driving.” I checked the trailer. Hitched and sealed. I was the last to pile in. Guerrero drove with McAllister and Skids next to her. To their back, facing rear were seats for myself and Pilot Loser, followed by tied down gear and supplies. The Chicher had formed a small area between some cases.
I showed Pilot Loser my bayonet before resting the sawback edge on top of her shorts and drawing back. The teeth snagged, dug in and sliced. “Remember, if I use this, you killed our only doctor.” I strapped her in.
“Ready, Keesay?” asked Guerrero.
I strapped in and checked my watch. “Seventeen minutes. Best speed.”
“We’ve been recharging the batteries,” said McAllister. “Need them to remain submerged. Estimate we’ll burn all metallic hydrogen fuel in three days. Will have to use ocean water to refuel, along with solar.”
“Understood.” I was surprised McAllister hadn’t balked at my assertion of command. But then I hadn’t asked her to do anything difficult. “How fast are we clearing the area?”
“Seventy-six kilometers per hour,” said Guerrero. “Sand’s not the best medium. Especially this close so the surf will erase our tracks.”
“We’ll be clear,” said McAllister.
“I hope so,” I said, and actually did for another fourteen minutes.
“Picking up communication signals,” said McAllister. “Overhead search.”
“Let’s see how stealthy this vehicle is.”
“Don’t want to be near the ocean after detonation,” McAllister warned. “Up the rocks, find some shelter. Not too close to the cliff edge. It’s almost show time.” She craned her neck. “Your friends’ll love it.” She grinned wickedly. “I could delay and let them land.”
Thruster rockets fired as the antigravity sled kicked in.
“Negative,” I said. “They may already be there. Plus, they might pick up the signal.”
“Unlikely, Keesay, but, ten seconds.” She raised the window shielding.
A little over twelve seconds later the ground rumbled, the sky roared, and the LLTV rocked while light debris bounced off its roof. Our prisoner didn’t react.
“That should hinder their search efforts,” said McAllister.
I said, “Let’s put a few more miles behind us while they’re occupied, then shelter.”
Chapter 37
Convergent evolution appears to be rampant across the galaxy. Organisms living in similar habitats resemble each other in outward appearance, but have different evolutionary origins. An example from Earth’s history would be the Thylacine, or Tasmanian Wolf. Being a marsupial, it was not a wolf in any true sense. It adapted to a similar environment and way of life as placental wolves. The Chicher nose-tracking beast, which could be mistaken for a striped wolf with large jaws, is another example.
I sat back, leaning against one of the LLTV’s tires. “Maybe I should try cooking one of those giant slugs.”
“Nuh unh,” said Skids. “Yuck.”
“These cal-packs can’t be much better.” I tore open the finger-sized packet and squeezed the nutrient paste into my mouth. “Vanilla,” I said, after swallowing. I crumbled the packet and chewed it. “Graham cracker. At least we have variety.”
Skids said, “I got grape and buttered cheese bread.”
“So far it’s the slugs, or some of the eel worms trapped in the tidal pools.”
“Would you cook them?” asked Skids.
“Might even show you how to build a fire using friction.”
“Would it be safe?”
“From the fighters?” I asked. “Or the toxic smoke Guerrero insists would come from the wood?” I stood up. Skids followed suit. “Probably have to stick to solar pan frying.”
“I don’t want to try any of it,” Skids said.
“I don’t think so.”
“We’ll pick up a few tonight when they come out,” I said. “Maybe slice them up. Dry them into jerky.”
From atop the vehicle the Chicher chattered, pointed and signaled, “Return.”
“McAllister and Guerrero are coming back,” I said.
“When are they going to fix the Chicher’s translator?”
“McAllister said my popcorn nuke did a number on it. But that’s not the problem. Reprogramming it is.” I chuckled. “Never thought I’d hear her say that.”
“She was cussing about it last night,” said Skids.
“I know. Something about reduplication.” Skids looked at me. “Like for the word ‘fighters,’ the Chicher say ‘fighterfighter’ for plural.” Skids nodded. “It gets worse. That’s for non-living things. For living, they have singular, dual, trinal, and plural nouns.”
“That’d be easy for translating to us,” said Skids. “But our words to him wouldn’t work.”
“That’s only one of the problems. McAllister solved it, I think.” I watched the Chicher scamper off the LLTV. “Gives her a hobby.”
Skids followed the Chicher into the woods. I walked next to the tree where I’d cuffed the prisoner. “McAllister will be back in a minute. She’ll escort you to the stream.”
“I don’t trust McAllister,” said the pilot, stiff from sitting with her arms around a tree. “You shouldn’t either. Let Guerrero take me.”
“I doubt if Guerrero would hesitate to shoot you. But I know McAllister won’t. I prefer it that way.”
She climbed to her feet. “You take me, then.”
“Your buddies are still out there searching. You haven’t provided any information. No favors for you, Pilot Loser.” I pointed my shotgun at her and tossed the key. “I won’t lie. You’re proving to be excess baggage. Securing you is my responsibility and I’m tiring of it, real fast.”
“Thank you for returning my flight suit.”
“McAllister checked it out. It’s getting colder. May give you your boots back. Your feet are toughening up anyway.”
“What do you think I’d do if I got away?”
“Same thing I’d do. Disable the vehicle, put distance between us, then signal my buddies.” I looked her up and down. “Your training, you’d probably do a better job.”
“Escort me. You won’t regret it.”
“McAllister,” I called. “Give me your carbine. I’ll monitor Pilot Loser this morning.”
McAllister smiled and handed me the laser carbine. “Been that long, Keesay?”
“I’m not about to propose.” That raised an eyebrow. I tossed her my shotgun. “Can you figure the mechanical workings, Genius?”
“Is this the safety or the trigger?”
“Ask the Chicher,” I said. “Oh, that’s right you’re stumped on that project. Come on, Loser.” I pointed with the carbine. “This’ll burn through your coveralls.” She led the way toward the stream. “Unlike McAllister, I can figure out her weapon.”
Both Pilot Loser and I avoided brushing against certain branches as she led the way through a break in the thicket. The more red-tinting in the predominately green leaves, the more irritating the resulting rash.
“The ones with the orange stripes are best,” she said.
“What?” I asked, watching for any false moves.
“Slugs. The ones over ten centimeters. The green florescent ones are okay.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Yes. As far as I know, of the eel-worms, only the yellow are edible.” She stopped at the stream where it elbowed with some depth. “There used to be vertebrate life on this planet.” She removed her coveralls.
“Cuff your ankle to that sapling,” I said. “I’ll give you one minute. Keep talking. If you shut up, no questions. You’ll be dead. Now toss me the key.”
“Do you trust anybody?”
“Depends on what I’m counting on them for.”
“That boy, Skids. He thinks a lot of you.”
“So I’ve been told. Most recently by someone you killed.”
“Back to that?” she asked.
“What else is there? It’s the essence of our relationship.”
“What about my friends you killed?”
“That Crax,” I said. “What about it?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’re anything but that.”
“Is this conversation going somewhere?”
“You said to talk.”
“Sing then.” I checked my watch. “Thirty seconds.”
“I’d rather talk. Skids told me about what happened on the Kalavar. Said you killed at least twenty Stegmar, four Gar-Crax. Helped your security chief kill two elite Crax, and teamed with the Chicher to get another.”
“So?”
“He also said you get beat up sometimes, but never quit.” She paused before saying, “I’m finished.”
I stepped toward her, keeping eight feet between us. “Show me your hands.” I tossed the key. “Leave the cuffs there. Enter the water if you like. Keep your back to me. I don’t want you to see where I am.”
She began to remove her undergarments. “You mean you don’t want to see me.”
“Either way,” I said. “Two minutes.”
She waded out. “It’s cold.”
“By the way, my duty revolver will find you if you dive.”
“Guerrero, she’s a follower. The Chicher considers you a pack member.” She splashed in the waist-deep water. “McAllister. Don’t know why she follows you. Clearly thinks she’s superior.”
“She is, in most ways.”
Pilot Loser sat in the steam and continued to wash. “Then why does she follow you, an R-Tech?”
“We go way back. It’s complicated.” I thought a second. “A tolerate-hate relationship.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll tolerate each other until…” I shook my head. “Forget it, Pilot Loser. Time’s up.”
She turned and stood, hands on hips. “I’ve still got a minute.”
I stared her in the eye. “I changed my mind. This hasn’t been worth my while.”
“Is this all an act?”
I leveled the carbine at her chest. “No. Out now, Loser, or plan on feeding the eels.”
“Boyd,” she said, climbing out. “My name is Jackie Boyd.”
“Doesn’t matter to me, Pilot Loser.” She was attractive, but I hated her. The faces of Smith, Brold, Mer, Benny and Tahgs stirred me. My eye caught the tattoo high on her right breast. Three red obtuse triangles, each connected at the base forming an equilateral triangle. A Silicate War Ace, three times over. Fifteen kills.
She knew I recognized the design. “It should, if you want me to work with you.”
I stood ready as she began to dress. “You guessed right. If Guerrero can’t figure out the serum mix by tonight, I’ll bury you tomorrow morning.”
She stopped pulling on her undergarment top. “Pretty damn cold.”
“It’s war,” I said, waiting for her to continue dressing. “You’re on the other side.”
“You’ve killed, but you’re not a killer.”
“No, you’re right. I’m not a killer. It’ll haunt me. I’ll do it because it has to be done.”
She finished dressing. “McAllister’d do it.”
“She would. But I’d do it right. Now cuff yourself.”
She straightened. “Convince me we’re at war. War with the Crax and I’ll join you.”
“Why would we trust someone who’d switch sides?”
“Because until we met, I didn’t know there were sides.”
I stared out the window of the LLTV while Guerrero spoke. Outside, the Chicher held a carbine on the pilot, despite the fact that she was cuffed to a tree. Not trusting.
Sitting next to me, Guerrero said, “Pilot Boyd has indicated the broad spectrum anti-v
iral medication Dr. Shiffrah provided should protect us.”
Across from Guerrero, McAllister said, “How kind. I think that Keesay here softened up after spending a little intimate time with Pilot Loser.”
“Would you like to clarify that statement?” I asked.
“How else could you have identified the triple-ace tattoo if she didn’t give you an eyeful?”
I sat back, shaking my head. “And you believe that encouraged Pilot Loser to cooperate?”
“You authorized that exotic dancer to board the Kalavar. Look how that turned out.”
“She’s dead.”
“Right, Keesay. You killed her just a little too late.”
I couldn’t argue that. She’d had a part in the death of Mr. Habbuk and the marine. Maybe in Lowell Owen’s. She could’ve triggered the beacon that alerted the Crax fleet to the Kalavar’s presence. How many died because of that?
“Security failed aboard the Kalavar before Keesay arrived,” said Guerrero. “Blaming him for that isn’t relevant to our situation now.”
“Why isn’t it?” asked McAllister. “His track record in this area is poor.”
“And what’s your expertise?” I asked McAllister.
“Let’s keep our voices down,” said Guerrero. “Let’s look at the facts. We’re stranded here and hunted. I believe we could evade indefinitely, but they could always get lucky, especially if the Crax focus on the effort. Agreed?”
McAllister and I nodded.
“Second, even if our message rocket is received, with the war, what are the chances that an effort would be mounted to recover us?”
“With Skids,” I said, “better than you might think. But it could be a year. Two years. If we’re losing, maybe more or never.”
“And Pilot Loser has kindly offered her assistance to get into the research facilities and help us escape this planet,” said McAllister. “What convinced her to turn on her company and comrades?”
“Her observation of us,” I said. “Plus the Kalavar’s combat recordings. She flew with Captain Tilayvaux, and trusts her.”
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