by Colin Kapp
"Base 22," explained Rakel. "Mainly underground. If you follow the skyline you'll see a trace of the Benedict forcefield. It's a full ten microns thick; a crashing spacecraft couldn't dent it."
"I see it. Does it have windows?"
"Five in all, synchronized with our weaponfire. But all the gunnery positions are so well bunkered that anything penetrating a window could destroy no more than the weapons positioned directly beneath."
"Which by all normal reckoning is as impenetrable as you can get."
"So we'd hoped," said Rakel sourly.
Their landing target was a concrete pad close to a pair of massive fortified doors that opened at their approach. For the single moment in which the flier taxied through a window was created in the Benedict field to permit their passage. Instantly upon the craft having cleared the field the window was withdrawn and again the impenetrable field hugged the whole complex safely within its shell of energy.
From the vast vehicle bay they had entered, they were conducted swiftly down through many levels to a control center where ranked screens permitted comprehensive visual monitoring of both the interior and exterior of Base 22. Liam was introduced to the officer in command of the base, who had already evolved plans for Liam's escape in the event that the coming attack followed its assumed course. Against the possibility that events might take an even worse course, Liam was provided with an electron rifle and placed in the care of four junior officers similarly armed and expressly instructed to safeguard the agent regardless of the fate of the rest of the base.
There was a long time to wait. If an attack was coming, the Terrans were in no hurry to begin, and the unit monitoring the orbiting warforce reported no sign of unusual activity. Liam drank coffee and examined plans of the base and its surroundings to give himself orientation.
An hour before dawn the situation changed radically. A lone ship scarcely larger than a pinnace was observed to detach itself from the cluster of orbiting vessels and adopt a trajectory that would bring it to down in the vicinity of Base 22. At the same time a Terran cruiser carpeted the whole area with a close pattern of space-bombs, presumably to eliminate any pockets of resistance located outside the command-point itself. In the deep vaults of the base, the Benedict shield took most of the punishment, and the violence of the explosions was reduced to a dull background roar.
As the descending ship breached the stratosphere, one of Rakel's missile beds opened up with a period of rapid firing which seeded the space approach with a nest of self-targeting rockets. Such was the effectiveness of the shielding carried by the little ship that all these missiles failed. Soon the outside detectors began to pick up the thunder-song of the craft's retro engines torturing the night sky, while the flame of its burners could be seen lighting the heavy cloud layer from above.
"They aren't exactly keeping their approach a secret," commented Liam. "I think they deliberately contrive to descend like an angel of vengeance, you understand?"
The ship made planetfall a little away from one edge of Base 22, in an area where camera coverage was spoiled by the dome of the hill. They were thus unable to directly witness the emergence of the ghostly warriors from their vessel. A long period of anxious waiting followed; then an observation post at one edge of the base suddenly went out of communication. An immediate wave of activity swept through the control room, and Liam frowned as he noticed the tension rising with a rapidity apparently inappropriate to the circumstances .
Rakel was busy issuing instructions to a group of control personnel, so Liam seized a passing officer by the arm.
"What's going on?"
"They've attacked the base along a wide front, and they've already penetrated one of the storage bays."
"That's impossible, you understand? There's no way they could have crossed from the ship to the base without being seen. Nor could they have penetrated the Benedict field."
"Tell that to the ghosts," said the officer, shaking Liam's hand roughly from his shoulder. "By the time anyone saw them, they were already through."
If Liam needed confirmation, the evidence was appearing on the monitoring screens. Those showing peripheral views of the installation on the higher levels were already carrying scenes of a massacre in which a small group, in no way distinguishable from ordinary Terran commandos, except for the metallic sheen of their uniforms, were walking incredibly unharmed through a veritable storm of weaponfire, slaughtering defenders by the dozen. The impossibility of what he was seeing caught in Liam's throat. Considering the competence of the defense, not one of the attackers, no matter how perfect his body armor, had any right still to be alive.
After looking around for Rakel, who was nowhere to be seen, Liam rounded up his appointed bodyguard and indicated the battle scene.
"Take me up there. I have to see those ghosts for myself, you understand?"
Initially they were dubious, but finally decided that a safe observation point could be arranged. Liam followed them swiftly through the maze of subterranean passages, now loud with reverberating pulses of violent weaponfire and sickly-warm with acrid smoke. The invaders were penetrating even faster than his companions had estimated; the 'safe spot' to which he should have been conducted had already been overrun by the time they reached the higher levels. They halted prematurely in a long tunnel, the farther walls of which, blackened by an explosion, were crawling with fluorescent spots where some high-intensity radiation was engaged in searching out the luckless defenders in a side tunnel.
Suddenly a figure occupied the intersection directly before them. A radiation weapon flared and two of Liam's guides fell dead beside him. Liam had not seen the incident clearly because his two remaining bodyguards had dragged him into a shallow alcove out of the line of fire. Struggling to get a better view, Liam got one eye to the edge of the alcove, watched with bemused fascination as two armed apparitions stood briefly at the intersection, then turned and ran down a branch tunnel, firing as they went. Jon Rakel's description of them as ghosts was scarcely less than the truth. Human in form and movement, at first sight they could have been mistaken for Terran commandos clad in metallic foil rather than drab conventional uniforms. The crawling points of fluorescence at the end of the tunnel revealed, however, more startling truth€”they were also partially transparent.
Then one of them turned in their direction and Liam was forcefully dragged back into the alcove only a split second before a heat-projector melted the girderwork reinforcing the corner, and showered him with flecks of burning paint. When the blast was not repeated, Liam risked a further view. By this time the phantom warriors had already moved into the side tunnel and were passing swiftly out of sight, but not before Liam had seen, against the absolute black of the soot-coated walls, that the ghosts actually glowed with a spectral light of their own.
Liam grasped his electron rifle, intending to follow, but his bodyguards restrained him.
"Don't risk it, Liam! You can learn nothing we don't already know€”and you've a fair chance of getting killed in the attempt. Better we get you out now."
Grudgingly, Liam saw the sense of their argument. There was nothing he could now learn that the defenders of Sette had not already established; a repeat of his encounter with the ghost warriors was unlikely to add enough to his knowledge to make it commensurate with the risk. Regardless of how much he disliked the idea of leaving a fight before the finish, his own first duty was to report on what he had seen to the rest of the Hub, in order that others might devise a suitable defense.
The concussions which smote Liam and his companions as they began to run back through the tunnels were difficult to explain until Liam realized that a prime target for the ghostly commandos would have been the Benedict-field generator. Having disabled this, a further pattern of space-bombs directed from high orbit was able to pulverize the ground to such a depth that much damage resulted to the higher levels of the installation. This immediately raised concern about the safety of the flier which was Liam's route back to th
e waiting spacecraft. Liam was forced to abandon his intention of returning to the control center, and make directly for the vehicle bay instead.
The bay was in disorder, its vast roof widely cracked by the pounding of the gigantic high-penetration explosions taking place on the surface. Fortunately the flier was undamaged. Liam had a call put out for Jon Rakel to come and join him, but the message did not get through. After the destruction of the Benedict, the ghostly warriors had gone immediately down the lower levels, and were already attacking the control center itself. From the sound of explosions deep below, it was certain the arsenal was also under fire. With a heavy heart Liam realized that the burden of the decision of whether or not to surrender had already been lifted from Rakel's shoulders. Even if the commander still lived, the battle was irretrievably lost.
CHAPTER V
After seeing the Terran party clear of the ship, Dam sought out Soo Corda in her cabin. She listened sympathetically to his viewpoint, but gave him a quiet reprimand about his taking such a high-handed attitude with someone as important as the port marshal. Under the influence of her reasoned arguments, Dam began to see more clearly how his own attitude was beginning to color his judgment, leading him to defensive posture when only his pride was being threatened. He cursed his own naivete when she pointed out the certainty that all the ship's confidential records had been re-written on Castalia in anticipation of just such an examination.
Her powers of peaceful persuasion that night were greater than those exercised by Colonel Dimede on his return. When the Colonel re-opened the discussion there was a copy of a complaint from the port marshal in his hand.
"I know you felt justified, Dam. But these people have a different mentality; as much as being a fighting unit we're also or supposed to be€”ambassadors, showing the things we think best about Hub culture."
"Which includes being polite to bullying snoopers?" asked Dam. "I thought the Hub planetary states were founded in the spirit of independence. That's a part of Hub culture too, you know."
Dimede held up his hand. "All right, Dam! Don't get yourself worked up! You know I can't discuss the politics of this with you. Rightly or wrongly, our orders are to place ourselves under Terran command€”and that implies suffering gracefully all the provocation and indignities involved. It's all part of the job, and you can't kick at them without kicking me also."
"In that case," said Dam, "I apologize and accept the reprimand."
"Good. That fact will be recorded and the matter closed. But I was meaning to speak with you on another topic. Since we left Castalia you've been working too hard. You're screwing yourself up in a knot. We've some tricky missions ahead of us, and an officer already wound to breaking point is the last thing I need. We've a few days before our orders come through, so you're going to make planetfall and take some leave. Get into the bright spots and unwind."
"With your permission, sir, I'd rather stay aboard."
"A liberty pinnace will be ready within the hour. You'll be aboard it with the first landing party. That's an order, Dam."
"Understood, sir. I'll be aboard."
He found a room had already been booked for him at the Colonial Officers' Club. Most of the other residents were Hub men and like himself many of them were having their first experience of the mother planet. Yet he felt something in them he could not find in himself: an overwhelming excitement in visiting the planet where the human race began. The brochures in the hall listed extensive tours by stratojet to the 'Cradle of Civilization,' the 'Birthplace of Man,' and similar places of historic and tourist interest. Dam was more interested in what the inhabitants of Terra had evolved into than what they had evolved from. He suspected he would find it difficult to justify the term 'progress' for the long years between genesis and the present supposed maturity.
On his way from the spaceport to the Club, he had already seen the rows upon rows of tall, grey apartment blocks of startling uniformity, whilst the guide had spoken enthusiastically about the philosophical and practical advantages of collectivized living communes. Dam, for whom places with more than two dwellings in line of sight were anathema, wondered what the suicide rate must be, and how all the pent-up frustrations and tensions could be released without blowing the social structure apart. He found at least part of his answer when he learned that there was compulsory conscription for Space Service; that took control of the younger elements just as soon as the school regime had released them.
He dined early at the Club, then, taking directions from some of his fellow residents, he went to explore the part of the city reputed to be dedicated to relaxation and entertainment. Only here, amid the crowds and the bright lights of the cafes, theaters, and amusement halls did any of the legendary magic of the Terran night begin to penetrate his jaundiced awareness. He was forced to admit that in terms of organized entertainment and sheer, brash enterprise, there was nothing in the Hub which could compare.
For a while he teamed up with a group of colonial officers he had met at the club, had a few drinks with them and was introduced to a few girls, but declined to go dancing. When the group finally broke up he was left alone in an open-air cafe seated beneath sprays of coloured lights and listening to the music played by a wandering musician whose beautiful stringed instrument tore at Dam's homesick soul with strange and evocative outworld melodies. He found himself sitting by an attractive girl who, though dressed in Terran fashions, had a faint accent which suggested her origin was nearer the galaxy's center.
Dam was not sure how they began talking, but he soon learned her name was Tez-ann, and that she had come originally from Gannen on an artistic venture that had failed. In order to make a living and to try to earn her passage back to Gannen, she had taken a job at the Outworld Cultural Centre. Such were the economics of her situation that after five years she was little nearer being able to return to her home planet than she had been when she started.
Tez-ann was easy to listen to and easy to talk to. Dam warmed to her almost naive honesty of approach. It seemed they were kindred spirits in their mutual dislike and mistrust of Terra and things Terran, and Dam found it encouraging to find another who so closely shared his own misgivings. While they drank and talked the wandering musician, apparently mistaking them for lovers, came to their table and played and sang them a soft and haunting love song that spoke of great desires and longing in other places and other times. Dam tipped him more than generously, and he and Tez-ann laughed at the mistake and began to pretend they were lovers and held hands and gazed into each other's eyes. Finally they began to explore the illuminated walks which led over the floodlit rooftops of the older part of the city, and she led him to some of the darker places where he could see more of the Terran night sky and its unbelievable paucity of stars.
When the night was half completed, and the cafes closed and music ceased, Tez-ann began to get more serious. She confided in Dam various indiscretions with a naive trust, insisted that he spend as much of his leave with her as he was able, and finally invited him back to her room at the Outworld Cultural Centre for the remainder of the night; adding that hers was not a living commune and was therefore strictly private. Reflecting that he was under Colonel Dimede's direct orders to relax and unwind, Dam could think of no more congenial way to obey orders. They set off together, arm in arm.
Tez-ann's 'room' proved to be quite a spacious and well furnished apartment, rather surprisingly so for someone professedly trying to save the return fare to Gannen. She answered his unasked question by explaining that the apartment went with the job and could not be exchanged for extra salary. From the literature and books around the apartment, Dam began to discover her involvement with a group critical of the ruling military junta, and he read interestedly through several mildly subversive pamphlets whilst she bathed and changed.
She came back scented and soft-eyed, clad in a blue robe and bearing drinks in beautiful shallow glasses. The liqueur, she told him, was a speciality from Gannen and not generally available o
n Terra. Legend had it that love potions were once prepared from the same bled of herbs now used to enhance the flavour of the spirit. She was amusing and provocative, and they touched glasses and looked deep into each other's eyes as they sipped the drink. Dam found it unexpectedly heady, but a sudden suspicion came too late; when he stood he staggered and almost fell. Tez-ann's reaction was different: she hurled her glass away to shatter against the wall, her face a sudden mask of white anger.
"You bastards!" she snarled then crumpled unconscious to the floor.
Comprehending only that he had been drugged, Dam attempted to remain standing, but his sense of balance had been destroyed. He fell back across the couch. Then he too lost consciousness.
The next thing he knew was that he was staring into an intense light which rippled and moved strangely. At the same time he became aware that it was raining, that he was soaked to the skin, and was face-down in the open with his cheek in a puddle. His head throbbed and ached from what he found to be a heavy bruise over his right eye. The light resolved itself into a searchlight beam directed on him and reflecting from the surface of the shallow water in which he lay. The light itself was mounted on a hovertruck from which a number of uniformed men were descending.
"Don't make any sudden move, soldier! Just stand up nice and slow, with your hands on your head."
Dam did as he was told. As he stood, he stumbled on a dark mass which proved to be the body of a woman. The blue gown suggested immediately that it was Tez-ann, and he felt suddenly sick as he saw her injuries and realized her blood must have mingled freely with the water that soaked his clothing. Her head had been half shot away with a blaster.
"What . . . what happened?"
"We ask the questions, soldier. You do the answering," snarled one of his captors while another drew his arms behind his back and fastened them with a sharp wrist-noose that cut painfully into his flesh. Then he was dragged to the side of the hover-truck and made to stand there while Tez-ann's body was examined and the surrounding area carefully gone over with handlamps. Finally the body was removed to a second vehicle, and an officer approached Dam, holding out a blaster found in the water.