A dweller-made water pot warmed on the hearth. She tested the temperature and, satisfied, poured water into a smaller bowl resting on the squat wooden table. She stripped off layers of fur and hide and stood near the glow of the fire, scrubbing her tough skin with a coarse cloth, noting with fascination the fine dark hair covering her body—thick and curly in places. She dried off with a clean rag. The humidity was low and her skin tightened in the dry air. Her fingers absentmindedly trailed across her cheek and too easily found the puckered line of scar tissue. She picked up a survival mirror and viewed the disfigurement. It could not be changed. Sighing, she pulled on an elkhide shift, just as a tentative knocking came at the door.
"Come in," she said, sitting on a stool and pulling on a pair of supple, pelt-lined boots that had been crafted by Tookmanian; the laconic weapons tech was teaching her how to work leather. The door opened and flickering firelight revealed Goldberg; the fur-clad female stood back from the entrance.
"Come in, Pepper. It's cold." Buccari stood. Though taller than the lieutenant, Goldberg seemed a child in Buccari's presence. "Sit next to the fire." Buccari motioned toward the fur-covered bench built into the stone hearth. Goldberg walked to the seat and sat down, eyes on the ground.
"Just washed up," Buccari said. "It's too much trouble to get warm water in the lodge, and besides, the guys all sit out by the fire and make fun… laughing and hooting."
Goldberg reluctantly smiled. "I know what you mean," she said. "You're lucky 'cause you're an officer. They actually behave around you. You should hear the crap that Nancy and I get, or Leslie even. Hell, they can be real dickheads, er.. excuse me!"
Buccari chuckled. "That's okay. Pretty close to my sentiments, too."
Goldberg drew a deep breath and made a choking sound. She put her face in her hands and began sobbing. Buccari sat and watched, perplexed.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant. I'm so sorry," Goldberg uttered at last, sniffing. "I've wanted to apologize for so long!"
"Sorry, Pepper?" Buccari asked softly; anxiety welled within her breast.
With great effort Goldberg looked Buccari in the eyes and blurted, "I told the kones about the hyperlight drives." Her crying exploded to a higher pitch, her body wracked by sobs. "I'm sorry," she choked.
Buccari sat heavily, shocked and speechless. Why? she wondered. Goldberg sat and sobbed. Buccari's emotions organized themselves and anger dominated.
"I don't understand, Pepper. What did you tell them? Why…?" she demanded, her voice raising in pitch and volume. She stood, fists clenched, and moved toward the wretched female. She wanted to strike the pitiful figure, but stopped and turned away, chewing on her knuckle. Goldberg's narrow shoulders sagged, and she bawled great tears.
"I–I wanted to hurt you," Goldberg gasped, finally. "I was jealous. You're never taken for granted or pushed around like the rest of us. You don't have to clean fish, or—or do other things. You aren't treated—"
"Enough!" Buccari said, steel in her tone. "I don't need to know. Not now. We can talk later. It's important, but later, okay? What did you tell them?"
"I was so wrong. You saved my baby's life. I'm sorry." "Enough. Pepper, what did you tell them?"
Goldberg straightened. She swallowed and glanced sideways.
"Grid generators and power ratios," Goldberg said, gaining composure. "I never understood the matrix relationships, but I explained—"
"Did you talk about hyperlight algorithms? The Perkins equations?"
"I don't understand them. They never taught us that level of math."
Buccari sighed with relief and pulled the stool closer to the fire. Relentlessly, she interrogated the technician. After an hour of punishing questions Buccari determined that Goldberg was exhausted and incapable of providing new information. Buccari moved toward the door.
"We may be okay," she said. "Power ratios and grid relationships are important, but they won't get far without the equations. Did you tell them who else knows? Did you mention Hudson or Wilson or Mendoza? To whom did you talk?"
"I told them you knew a lot more than you've been telling them."
"Who, Pepper? Who did you talk to?"
"Kateos and Dowornobb. Those other two guys, too. The new ones."
"Mirrtis and H'Aare?"
"Yeah, whatever their names are. I haven't talked to them since you rescued Honey. Honest! I've avoided them. Please forgive me? I'm sorry!"
Buccari grew implacably somber, pacing the confined floor. She turned on Goldberg abruptly. "I deeply wish that you hadn't done it, Pepper. It's serious, Pepper. I don't know if I can explain to you how serious it is. It's deathly serious. What you did is justifiably punishable by death—disobeying a direct order and providing classified information to a potential enemy. No, to a known enemy! Men—men and women—have died, have been executed for much, much less."
Goldberg whimpered miserably and dropped her head. Buccari collected her thoughts. She weighed the obligations and responsibilities of her rank and position and looked down at the dejected female.
"What's done is done, Pepper. It can't be reversed. You did the right thing to tell me, and I'll not punish you. Under the circumstances that wouldn't make sense. We have other problems to deal with, and your help is needed if we're to survive. I need your help, Pepper. I desperately need your help. Do you understand me?"
Goldberg nodded.
"Good night, Pepper," Buccari said.
Goldberg stood. "What next?" she asked. "With the kones, I mean."
"Let me think about it," Buccari replied. "There's no hurry, is there? Winter's almost here. We won't see a kone for five months, maybe longer. For now, just forget about it. It'll be our secret." She forced a smile and opened the door. Goldberg quickly exited, head down.
Buccari shut the door and slumped next to the fire, staring into the flames, a burgeoning sense of depression and helplessness displacing her former contentment. Her deep thoughts masked the passage of time. As the fire mellowed to a soft glow, the temperature dropped. Buccari felt the coolness and stirred to throw a log on the fire. She pulled a silky rockdog fur over her shoulders and yawned. A soft knocking brought her reluctantly alert.
She moved to the door and opened it. MacArthur, his skin burnished, hair and beard streaked by the sun, stood at her threshold, smiling shyly. His gray eyes, made all the brighter by his tan, reflected the amber glow of her hearth. His smile dissolved. The handsome Marine peered intently into her eyes. She saw her own concern mirrored in his sharp features.
"Missed you at evening meal, Lieutenant," MacArthur said tentatively. An aroma of cooked meat drifted in. "Gunner thought you might want a piece of mountain goat. Told me to bring it over."
She tried to respond, but her voice failed. She dropped her eyes.
"Wait until you see the rack from this monster," MacArthur continued, nervously. "Horns as thick as my thigh. We found a big herd up at the head of the valley. There's a glacier and a lake, higher up. Tatum and me found a cave, too. Big cave. It'll make a good hunting camp. We can store meat there, with ice, during the summer."
Her stomach grumbled, and she looked up, embarrassed. They laughed.
"Come on in, Mac," she said, standing away from the door. "Glad you guys are back. Tell me about the scouting mission. Mountain goats, eh?"
"Yes, sir, and we saw what looked like a big cat, too. We got us a big, wild valley. Goes way up…way up…" MacArthur said, staring too long into her eyes. She looked away. "Everything okay, Lieutenant?"
"Checking good, Corporal," she said, forcing a smile but avoiding his eyes. "I'm starved. What's it taste like—the meat?"
"Won't lie to you, sir," MacArthur deadpanned. "Like what you think Fenstermacher might taste like, only tougher. Tookmanian wants to use it for shoe leather." He moved past her and set the burden down, pulling back its cloth covering with a small flourish and a bow.
She picked up a chunk with her fingers and took a bite of the tough, grainy meat. It was delicious and still wa
rm. Her stomach churned with a welling appetite. She looked up and smiled, but as she put her finger in her mouth to lick off the grease she started to cry, deep, shoulder-heaving sobs. She could not help herself; the tears came. Ashamed of her weakness, she turned her head to hide behind a fall of her hair.
Minutes went by, the quiet of the hut marked only by the crackling fire and her wracking sobs. MacArthur moved closer. His hands gently pushed her hair aside. His callused fingers trailed delicately along her neck. She tried to turn farther away, but the Marine cupped the side of her face. She closed her eyes and hot tears ran down her cheeks, growing cold.
"Lieutenant, what's wrong?" MacArthur whispered.
She blinked at the tears, tasting the salt on her lips. Again, she tried to twist away, but MacArthur refused to let go. The Marine lifted her, and she rose unsteadily to his beckoning, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She opened her eyes. MacArthur' s bright eyes were tragically saddened.
Surrendering, she stepped close, putting her head on his chest. MacArthur' s hand moved gently to the back of her head. As he lifted his other hand the ebony fur slipped from her shoulders. MacArthur deftly caught it and brought its musky silkiness around both of them. At the same time he slipped his arms beneath its warmth, around the small of her back, pulling her into a tender embrace. She shuddered and lifted her chin.
"Corporal MacArthur," she said as firmly as she could. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant," he answered huskily.
"Tonight," she whispered, "please. Don't call be lieutenant." "Aye, sir," he said, bending and kissing her gently on the lips. She responded passionately, desperately. The Marine reacted to her passion with his own, his hands moving with possessive strength, fueling her emotional spiral. Her fur slipped again, and this time it fell to the floor. She shivered but not from the cold. Tears poured down her cheeks, wetting both their faces and seasoning their kisses with salty intensity.
MacArthur slowly, reluctantly, pulled his lips from hers. "What's wrong…Sharl?" MacArthur begged, holding her at arms length.
"Nothing, Mac. Nothing. It's my problem."
"Sharl, let me help you."
"You are, Mac. More than you can ever know. Hold me. kiss me."
SECTION FOUR — DENOUEMENT
Chapter 38. Second Winter
Hudson awoke feeling rested, his sore-throat much improved; the local viruses had played havoc with his sinuses, but he seemed over the worse. He threw back his sleeping bag and rolled from his tent. A thin layer of snow covered the ground, and a gusty breeze brushed the powdery layers in short bursts. Hudson was chilly, but he was also naked. Turning his back on the transparent wall, he returned to his tent and grabbed his konish jumpsuit. Tailored to his human body, the rubbery material was thick and warm—too warm. Hudson would have preferred a pair of trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, but living in a hothouse was better than living out in the snow.
Dowornobb arrived with breakfast. Whatever it was, at least it was not fish. Hudson had finally demanded a respite from the monotonous diet, and it was humorous to the kones, because the kones thought he liked fish.
Dowornobb sat silently, a somber expression on his normally animated features.
"You worry, Master Dowornobb?" Hudson asked in functional konish, paying serious attention to his food. It was quite good.
"I wait for Mistress Kateos before telling you, Master Hudsawn," Dowornobb replied. "Ah, she arrives now." Kateos carried food for herself and Dowornobb. She sat. Neither kone touched their meal.
"What is wrong?" Hudson asked.
"A rocket from Kon reached orbit last night," Dowornobb replied. "A military rocket."
Hudson looked up, fork suspended in midflight. "They not friendly to my people? They wish us harm?" Hudson asked.
"We do not know," Dowornobb continued. "You should stay hidden until we understand their—"
"No," said Kateos in sibilant, gravelly Legion. "They know you here. They know." Kateos pointed into the sky, her expression somber. "They asked-ah to see you."
Hudson's appetite faded. His attention was captured by an escalating rumble. The ground vibrated.
"They come," Kateos said. "Their landing happens now."
Hudson looked through the dome to see a white-hot column of flame—a tongue of energy evaporating the clouds, cleaving a wide tunnel through which could be seen blue morning skies. Ground vibration increased as the black cylinder smoothly slowed its descent. It hovered over the rocket pads and settled onto its gantry dock. Firmly planted, the powerful engines shut down, leaving sudden and disconcerting silence.
"We must-ah leave you now," Kateos said.
* * *
Dowornobb and Kateos hastened through the maze of passageways linking the domes, joining Et Silmarn at the airlock. Indicator lights revealed the airlock to be in the final stages of pressurization.
"Any news?" asked Dowornobb. "Have they brought supplies?"
"It is not a freighter," Et Silmarn snapped. "It is a warship—a heavy lift interceptor. I doubt they bring anything but trouble."
The airlock hissed open. The arrivals lumbered forward. All wore military uniforms, and many were armed. One individual grew disconcertingly familiar.
"Longo!" Dowornobb blurted, much too loudly.
"Colonel Longo, if you please," the leader of the detachment said flatly. "Realize with whom you are dealing." Longo wore the dark burgundy of the security apparatus.
"You are a spy!" Kateos blurted.
Longo fixed her with a glance of steel, his diplomatic veneer all too transparent. He turned rudely away.
"I am aware of what has happened on Genellan," Longo said, addressing himself to Et Silmarn. "I am here to continue the investigation." He peered around as if looking for something in particular. "It has been reported that you are holding one of the…aliens. I wish to see it."
"They call themselves humans," Et Silmarn replied, "and one is here as our guest, most excellent Colonel." The noblekone' s distaste was thinly suppressed. "The humans have demonstrated their peaceful intent."
Longo stared sternly and smiled. "Of course—Your Excellency. But as official representative of our government I must verify that…peaceful intent. A formality, of course. Where is this pacific creature? Why is it not here?"
"It only suffers our environment, most excellent Colonel," Et Silmarn responded. "Elevated pressures cause gases to be dissolved in its bloodstream, and it takes many hours and a slow decompression to relieve. Also, the human considers the temperature in our domes unbearably warm. It possesses a strange, er…a fragile physiology—except for its tolerance to cold."
"Are you telling me that I must go outside—in the winter—to meet with this creature?" replied the astounded Longo.
"No. It is cold outside, even for the human," Et Silmarn said. "The human—he is named Huhsawn—lives in our agricultural dome."
Dowornobb detected a faint whiff of fear emanating from the colonel.
"Of course," the noblekone continued impassively. "We have extensive video and photographs documenting the aliens. If you would avoid confrontation, you could review our research materials instead, most excellent Colonel."
Longo did not react to the insult. "Your suggestions have merit, Your Excellency."
* * *
In the final analysis General Gorruk's greatest military achievement was his retreat. It was masterfully executed, but then he had no alternative. His supply lines were severed. It was but a matter of time before his armies were isolated and destroyed.
His plan centered on demonstrating a massive offensive, preparations for which enabled him to position thousands of airfreighters and rail cars. Retreat was not imagined as an option, and so the combatants prepared for the ultimate confrontation of the war—an apocalyptic battle. Millions of konish soldiers moved across the blackened battlefields, girding themselves for death. The northern soldiers had no choice; running or fighting had the same result—death. Resigned to the more merciful death of combat, th
e northern armies marched with desperate resolve.
Gorruk goaded his legions to frontally engage in another attack frenzy. While the southern defenders hunkered down and decimated the oncoming northerners, Gorruk began loading men and arms onto freighters and rail cars, using expendable infantry to defend terminals and landing strips—mostly against his own forces as they panicked and broke. Ultimately only a third of his expeditionary forces were killed or captured—less than two million kones. That he escaped at all, much less with his army intact, serves as great testimony and tribute to his military genius.
Testimony to his character was less flattering. Thwarted from victory against the southern armies, Gorruk turned to new targets— his own government. Twenty-six main attack missiles hit the Imperial Palace and the ministry buildings within seconds of each other. The structures and their vicinities were vaporized, along with Emperor-General Jook the First and the Imperial Body Guard. Gorruk arrived in the sundered capital, at the head of a column of crack troops carefully held in reserve from the ravages of war.
Not a single member of the nobility was caught in Gorruk' s blitz; all had conveniently departed the city. When informed of this, Gorruk became infuriated, ordering intelligence officers put to death. Yet despite obvious danger, noblekones returned to their duties—the exception being the militia high command and the ministry functionaries. Gorruk did not understand this happenstance, nor did he endeavor to disrupt it, for he realized no government could function without the economic underpinnings that were largely managed by the nobility. Reluctantly accepting their critical value to his short term success, Emperor-General Gorruk the First went about establishing a new government on the northern outskirts of the capital, safely behind the ramparts of his main military headquarters. Construction crews began work on a palace to rival all palaces, a bunker to rival all bunkers.
Genellan: Planetfall Page 42