"Excellent Colonel," Et Silmarn said, his emotions held in check with obvious effort. "I remind you that those two scientists have the most experience in dealing with the aliens. You have need of their services."
"You are too modest, Et Silmarn," Longo replied. "I have her translation computer. I have you. You are obviously intelligent enough to understand the consequences, whereas your impetuous comrades do not. And you forget—the alien! The alien speaks our tongue extremely well. So you see, I have absolutely no need for those ill-mannered intellectuals. I may suggest…Your Excellency, if you wish them to remain—shall we say—in good health, it would be prudent for you to cooperate with official policies. Do you understand, Your Excellency? Now take them away."
The soldiers moved. Dowornobb was shoved to the floor and kicked.
"Thugs! Unspeakable savages!" Kateos screamed, and she rushed toward her mate. A soldier pushed her roughly to the ground.
"No, Kateos! Nooo!" Dowornobb bellowed, twisting to help his mate, but the appalling crunch of a thudding truncheon obliterated his consciousness.
* * *
"Exalted One, Colonel Longo reports the presence of unidentified spacecraft in orbit around Genellan," announced one of Gorruk' s subalterns.
"What?" Emperor-General Gorruk snapped, looking up from his meal.
"Colonel Longo reports with certainty that the aliens have returned." The underling kneeled and dropped his forehead to the floor.
Gorruk jumped erect. "The alien fleet has returned! How many ships?"
"Colonel Longo confirms three ships in the vicinity of Genellan, Exalted One. He categorizes the ships as escort vehicles and not interstellars. He has not located the enemy fleet yet, but he has provided us with likely sector information. Colonel Longo has launched two probes and expects to provide final vectors for planetary defense interceptors within the next moon cycle. He recommends the first interceptor wave be launched towards Genellan immediately."
The alien invasion fleet had returned! Gorruk had no choice but to convene the global defense organization. The defense of the planet was governed by treaty, although, as leader of the largest konish military power and as a general officer in the Planetary Defense Command, he could initiate defensive activity. Sustaining the attacks would require the authorization of the Planetary Defense Senior Command—a neutral staff appointed and approved by all governments of the planet. The thought of having to deal with the international body gave him indigestion, but they were unlikely to obstruct his efforts. The racial memories of the first invasion weighed heavily on all kones.
"Alert Planetary Defense!" Gorruk ordered. "Longo's recommendations are sound. Launch the first wave, on my authority. Direct Longo to attack the orbiting ships."
"Colonel Longo has a recommendation, Exalted One."
"Now what?" asked Gorruk, displaying impatient fury. "What?"
"Colonel Longo states that it will take two moon cycles before our interceptors close within combat range. He proposes a coordinated attack on the orbiting ships at that time. To attack sooner would alert their fleet to our intentions."
Gorruk pondered the suggestion and acknowledged its merits. "Send my concurrence to Colonel Longo."
* * *
"Peregrine has located the likely site of Harrier's crew," the corvette group leader reported. "Commander Quinn has good photo on what appears to be a man-made site, although clouds and snow cover make it difficult to resolve. We're queuing up radar-imaging now."
As the group leader spoke, the image on the screen changed to reveal an optical close-up of the planet's surface. The wide expanse of a snow-covered lake was stitched by linear trails, apparently footprints. The trails converged at the gate of a stockade. The stockade presented itself as an attention magnet, straight lines forming an irregular pentagon. The dark rectangles of structures, with IR chimney signatures, testified that it was an inhabited encampment.
"What makes us positive those are our people?" Runacres asked.
"We're not, Admiral," a staff intelligence officer answered. "Maximum magnification reveals bipedal creatures, but they're wearing bulky clothes—furs. Our assessment is based primarily on the settlement's proximity to the position given in Ensign Hudson's message. And, uh…we have found no other candidates, Admiral."
"How close to the domed station is it?" Commodore Wells asked.
"Not even the same continent, sir, although there is a preliminary report of a smaller, fixed-base facility on the same continent as our people," the group leader answered. "Let me put the situation plot back up."
The projected image changed to an abstract holographic depiction of the planet. The image was rotated, revealing the sites under discussion.
"The newly discovered site is located here, near the ocean outlet of the same large river that flows next to the suspected Harrier site. We're bringing up photos, although they are quite oblique." The images changed, revealing a long-distance and coarse-grained depiction. "Strangely, IR gives us no imaging. We think the facility may be cold iron. Peregrine has scheduled an overflight within the hour."
"Go back to the Harrier site," Runacres ordered.
The reconnaissance image reappeared, and the group leader clicked in to maximum magnification. He positioned the laser pointer on the screen.
"Horses," he said. "Or something that looks like a horse."
"Horses!" Runacres exclaimed. "Domesticated animals would indicate an indigenous species, don't you think? Has there been time to domesticate wild animals?"
"I can't answer that, Admiral," the intelligence officer replied. "No one around here knows much about horses, although if there were an indigenous, village-building population on the planet, statistically, we should have discovered them much sooner. There would likely be many more sites, and those would likely be nearer the equator."
"Any more news on the satellites?" Sarah Merriwether asked.
"Sensors have detected seven satellites, Captain," the intelligence officer said. "Five appear to be downward-looking birds. The other two have intermittently tracked our units with surveillance radars, and one of them has been actively communicating. We estimate it to be a manned, er…so to speak—an alien ship with a crew onboard."
"It would appear our arrival is no longer a secret," Merriwether said. A funereal silence settled over the briefing room.
"Commander Quinn has requested permission to drop in," the group leader broke the spell. "She wants to put a lander on site. The area across the river has been terrain-mapped and qualified. The weather isn't cooperating, however. A heavy cloud layer has moved in, and surface winds are gale force and higher."
"Denied," Runacres replied. "I want more information and better conditions."
Commodore Well's communicator sounded an override alert. "Admiral, we have detected multiple up-Doppler radars in search mode," he announced. "Something's headed our way, and fast."
Runacres snapped to his feet. "Set General Quarters, battle-stations. Direct Tasmania to go active," Runacres ordered. "Group leader, intercept and destroy all contacts."
"Standard warning messages, Admiral?" the corvette commander asked.
"Intercept and destroy, Captain."
* * *
"Colonel Longo," the technician reported. "Telemetry has terminated. Analysis suggests our probes were destroyed. Enemy radar emissions have also terminated."
Longo cared not. He had located the enemy fleet. At least six and as many as eight large interstellars had been imaged. The position fix was firm, and PDF interceptors were already accelerating toward datum, without the need to employ search radars.
He looked at the scientists kneeling before him.
"We must terminate our interview," Longo ordered. "Your loyalty will be rewarded, and your services will be requested in the future."
Scientists Mirrtis and H'Aare bowed obsequiously and departed. Longo watched them crawl away, realizing that, despite Emperor-General Gorruk' s instructions, he would not kill all of the alie
ns. An avenue to power was opening.
Chapter 40. Spring Again
Lee's infant was named Hope, and Hope grew fat and healthy. Lee did not die. She clung to life, but a profound weakness hung over her, just as winter held sway over the valley—deep and cold. Fenstermacher doted on her, staying at her side to the exclusion of his other duties, and Buccari overlooked his dereliction in favor of his dedication, for the shy and unassuming Lee was everyone's friend; all hands anguished for her recovery. Lee's invalid condition punctuated the universal feeling of helplessness that grew with every continuing day of endless winter. Spring—would it ever return?
A tired mantle of snow layered the ground in crusty, porous drifts, and yet the harsh absolutes of winter had softened; inquisitive rodents, energetic birds, and darting insects made tentative appearances. Nothing green yet, but the nude tree limbs swelled imperceptibly, and hints of bud color shaded the extremities of branches. The warm breath of spring descended lightly upon the dirty mirror of winter.
Late on a bleak morning, the new season arrived with a discordant symphony; on the great river, great chunks of ice shattered and twisted. The irrepressible liquid force of the river crushed its own brittle armor, causing the ground to tremble and the air to vibrate. The awestruck humans assumed another that quake was rattling the land; there had been many since their arrival, but these sounds were peculiar—drawn out, animate. The earthlings stared in wonder as the moaning and crunching continued unabated.
"The river!" MacArthur shouted, a distant memory of Canadian springs returning. "The river! The ice is breaking up. Winter's over!"
And then it started raining.
* * *
Hudson wondered what was going on. The guards were restive. Operational activity had increased; landing modules had made numerous trips to the army transport in orbit. Something was happening.
His guards shifted nervously. Hudson turned to see Et Silmarn in the company of soldiers coming down the rows of vegetables. The noblekone carried a familiar-looking bundle. Hudson bowed. The noblekone held out Hudson's konish full-pressure suit, the suit used for the sub-orbital flight to Goldmine.
"Master Huhsawn. It-ah time to return to your people! Put-ah on your space suit-ah," Et Silmarn ordered.
Hudson could hear the kone's helmet radio transmitting. Longo must be monitoring the conversations, using Kateos's translation programs. His anxiety swelled. Were they going to let him go? Or were they using him as bait?
"It will take a few moments," he said, using the konish language.
"Colonel Longo has-ah order you to get quick ready," Et Silmarn replied, curiously sticking to Legion. "You have-ah time to dress with your warmest clothing. We leave now."
"Your command of my tongue is excellent," Hudson said in konish, talking as he put his things in order, buying time. "I am proud of your progress. Is there any reason why you are speaking my tongue? Are you testing Kateos' s translation program?"
Et Silmarn smiled uncomfortably. "Thank-ah you for compliment. You are most kind-ah, and logic is correct-ah. No more questions. Please to hurry."
* * *
"Cassy," Carmichael announced over Peregrine One's command circuit. "Fleet acknowledges your recommendations, and flag operations has cleared us for a landing. Commencing return to low orbit. We'll launch a survey team as soon as we are in position to de-orbit the lander."
"Roger, Jake," she replied. "Finally!" she added under her breath.
"Holy torpedo, look at the size of that thing!" Godonov stammered. He stared through the high-powered optics, his hands deftly working the controls.
"What is it, Nes?" Quinn asked.
"That manned alien platform we've been tracking—the big one. It must be an interplanetary ship," Godonov said. "It's maneuvering in low orbit. We'd better tell Commander Carmichael. Here—take a look! You won't believe it."
Quinn stared into the eyepiece, adjusting the instrumented reticle. Godonov' s assessment was correct; she double-checked the magnification settings. The satellite—the spaceship—was a thousand meters in length! The telescope's motion-detection indicator started flashing. Quinn increased the magnification to maximum in time to see objects separate from the larger craft. Engines bloomed in retroburn, and the two craft dropped from sight.
"Tell Commander Carmichael the alien ship just deployed and retrofired two objects, probably landing modules. Something tells me they're looking for the same thing we are."
* * *
After days of rain only a few dirty pockets of snow remained. Rivulets of silty water poured from the mountains; streams swelled with impatient force, and the great river, usually not loud enough to be heard from the settlement, thundered and crashed. Sunlight weaved through scattered clouds, highlighting the proliferating buds and blossoms. Grasses poked fine needles through the humus, metamorphosing the dull and dirty ground into glorious shades of emerald. Fragrant wildflowers bravely spread their petals in random abundance.
Lee, wrapped in furs, reclined in the intermittent sunlight, enviously watching the bustling settlement. Baby Hope slept soundly at her mother's breast. Fenstermacher stood on the threshold of the stone hut, leaning against the open door frame.
"You sure you're comfortable?" he asked. "I can get more furs—"
"I'm fine, Winnie," Lee replied, her voice regaining much of its strength. "I need to get back on my feet. There's work to be done. It's time to start planting."
"Buccari gave me orders to take care of you and to keep you on your back," Fenstermacher announced. "And I intend to follow those orders—for the rest of my life."
"What? To take care of me or keep me on my back? I don't think that's what the lieutenant had in mind."
Fenstermacher looked at his feet with a silly grin on his face.
"Oh, go fishing!" Lee suggested. "Here comes Nancy to keep me company. Get out of here. Beat it." Dawson, carrying her baby, dodged across the muddy ground.
"I can take a hint," Fenstermacher said, grabbing his fishing gear off the wall. Fenstermacher was pleased to be at liberty. Leslie was finally well and growing stronger. He never wanted to worry that much again. He was a proud father, a happy man, and he was particularly delighted to be going fishing. Shouts grabbed his attention. A hundred paces downhill, moving away from the cove, was a huge bear, its hide moldy and ragged. It trundled along, still logy from hibernation, looking over its mane-covered shoulder. Chastain and O'Toole chased after it, jumping up and down and shouting, while Shannon stood, an assault rifle poised at his shoulder.
The bear became irritated at its human hounds. Deciding the two-legged creatures had become too brazen, the truculent ursine wheeled on its pursuers and feigned a charge. O'Toole and Chastain turned to run, collided, and fell in a tumbling heap. They struggled to regain footing on the muddy ground, their feet slipping and sliding in a panicky flurry. Shannon sprinted forward, shouting. He fired a precious round into the air and then took deadly aim. The cranky bear recoiled at the explosive report and galloped for the woods.
Fenstermacher broke the silence, hooting at the bear chasers, while Chastain and O'Toole knocked mud from their clothes. Hearing his laughter, they looked up, chagrined.
"You should've seen the looks on your faces!" Fenstermacher shouted. "You guys need new skivvies. That's why the ground got slippery. What a story for the campfire."
"Ah, come on, Winnie," Chastain pleaded.
"I don't see you chasing bears, Fenstermacher," O'Toole challenged.
"I ain't that horny," Fenstermacher retorted, "or that stupid!"
"Easy there, friend," Shannon counseled, ambling in Fenstermacher' s direction, a disarming smile on his face. "These gentlemen were only following my orders. You wouldn't want to embarrass them for that, would you?"
"Hell, yes, I would! Damn straight! What a legend this will be! You guys'll be famous by the time I'm—gerk!" Fenstermacher was throttled by Shannon's thick forearm. He felt his feet lifting off the ground. He dropped his fishing equip
ment, using both hands to combat the iron grip.
"Now run that by me again, Winnie, old friend," Shannon said calmly. "Tell me how brave you think these upstanding men are." Shannon eased the pressure.
"Brave—my ass!" gagged the incorrigible Fenstermacher. "A couple of—clowns!"
Shaking his head, Shannon handed Fenstermacher bodily to Chastain. Chastain grabbed him with meaty hands as if he were a sack of flour.
"He's yours, men," Shannon said. "Use your worst judgment."
Chastain, smiling, turned toward the lake but stopped suddenly. His grin evaporated. He glanced upward. "What's that?" His grip loosened, easing Fenstermacher to the ground.
"What's what, Jocko?" Shannon asked, slinging the assault rifle.
"That noise…" But everyone was hearing it now—feeling it. The low-pitched ambient rumbling had graduated to full-throated thunder.
"There! Over there!" Fenstermacher shouted, pointing up. Everyone turned to where he was pointing, staring into the overcast. A glowing, white-hot blade of flame stabbed through the ragged layer of clouds. The screaming exhaust smoothly descended until its source was visible—the black cylinder of an alien landing module. And then a second one! Two black cylinders on hot plumes of fire broke through the clouds. Clear of the overcast, the alien vessels slid slowly across the northern sky, descending smoothly into the valley. A bedlam of rocket exhaust, already at crescendo, increased to an exploding hell. The humans clapped hands to ears and ducked, all rational thought eclipsed by the single reflex of fright.
The alien engines of hellfire terminated lateral movement and hovered over the shore of the wooded lake. With startling abruptness they settled into the trees. Humans daring to look into hell watched the columns of flaming exhaust explode into the forest and shoot sideways, their obscene power supporting the landing modules ever lower, lower, until they were obscured by billowing smoke. The explosive chaos ceased.
The silence was worse. Nerve endings deadened by sensory onslaught triggered into paroxysmic action. Ringing ears and glare-shocked eyes sent belated pulses of energy to the brain. Muscles reacted randomly, and stomachs, bladders, and bowels rejected the tenuous control of the nervous system. Human thought groped for references, but all logic dictated panic; men and women screamed.
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