Banshee Screams

by Clay Griffith

  "What? What's wrong?" he shouted over the wind.

  Debbi waved him off. "No. It's nothing. I . . . nothing." She followed and sealed the vehicle behind her.

  The Rangers pushed through the sandstorm toward the three cabins. Ross signaled to one. Debbi moved into position on the opposite side of the door from Ross. The cabins were adobe with rough wood doors and no windows. Ross slammed his fist several times against the door.

  "Open up!" he yelled. "Colonial Rangers!"

  They waited. Debbi sensed no movement, but with the wind she couldn't be sure. Ross counted down with his fingers. At zero, he kicked open the door, rifle up. She dove inside, rolled, and came up, Dragoon ready.

  The cabin was empty of humans. But it was full of sand and crates. She and Ross began a quick search. They opened case after case of standard weapons and ammunition. It was a mildly impressive stash, but then they found a small, nondescript crate at the bottom. Debbi pried it open.

  Ross reached into the crate. "Black guns. Probably fifty of 'em."

  Debbi returned to the wind hole of a door and looked out. She saw nothing and signaled it to Ross.

  He joined her and pulled his mike closer to his mouth. "Let's check the other shacks. Looks like we're all alone out here."

  The two Rangers went out. Near one of the other shacks, Debbi saw a shape moving through the sandy air. She tapped Ross on the arm and pointed at the man-sized shape. Then they saw a second. And a third. The figures strode easily through the gale and gathered in the middle of the semicircle formed by the three cabins. They faced the two Rangers. The strangers were unrecognizable except that they were humans and all the exact same size. Large humans in nondescript clothing carrying large pulse rifles.

  Debbi switched her goggles to IR. The figures didn't show heat. She turned and nodded to Ross.

  Ross was busy grabbing her arm and pulling her back. Heavy shells pounded past them as they piled behind the far corner of the first cabin. Debbi berated herself for being a step slow. Ross was already returning fire around the corner.

  Debbi looked longingly at the Prowler, only fifty yards away, with its heavy cannon. A fourth figure stepped into view in front of the vehicle. It also aimed a pulse rifle at Debbi and Ross. This time Debbi grabbed her partner and yanked him back. He followed her without question as shots gouged divots out of the adobe wall above their heads. They scrambled around the rear of the cabin.

  Ross hunkered down at one corner. He grabbed his com mike and held it close to his mouth, shouting, "I said it looks like we're all alone out here!"

  Debbi ran for the far corner of the cabin. The three strangers were walking deliberately toward the Rangers. She lobbed a grenade from her Dragoon at them. They fell back from the explosion, but ripped her position with retreating fire.

  Meanwhile, Ross took careful aim and shot the figure standing by the Prowler. Even through the sandstorm, the shell clearly hit the gunman and rocked him. The stranger kept his feet, slipped behind the cover of the Prowler, and returned fire.

  Ross ducked amidst the shrapnel and screamed into his com mike, "I guess we're all alone . . . Ah screw it! Stew, get in here! We're getting our asses shot off!"

  Debbi heard empty static through her com. She shouted over to Ross, "You think he's reading you?"

  More heavy shells tore off the corner of the cabin. "I sure hope so or those Hellstromme robots are gonna slaughter us."

  "Do you know how to stop an automaton?"

  "Yeah. Use a real big gun. Sorry, Dallas. You're hardly back at work and I get us killed."

  "This was my caper. I just hope Stew didn't lose track of us in the storm." Debbi pointed at the figure near the Prowler. "You know, if we drop that guy, at least we'd have the Prowler's cannon."

  "Savvy." Ross extended his pulse rifle to Debbi with one hand and pulled his Peacemaker. "Cover me."

  "I don't think so, old man."

  Ross eyed her. "I've got HE microloads in this thing."

  "I've got grenades. Shut up and cover me."

  Ross growled and holstered his pistol. He opened up with the Hellrazor on the automaton near the Prowler. Debbi took off in an oblique sprint towards it, while swinging her Dragoon over toward the middle of the settlement. With a quick look, she saw the other three automatons had regrouped and were advancing again. She lobbed two grenades at them. The blasts caught one of them square and blew it off its feet. The other two held their fire, perhaps because their sensors, already pressed to the maximum by the sandstorm, were scrambled temporarily by the explosions.

  Debbi ran toward the Prowler, unafraid that one of Ross's well-placed shots would hit her. He was too good for that. Besides, she was making this up on the fly.

  As Debbi battled through the sandstorm over a hundred yards of open ground toward a heavily armed automaton, there no longer appeared to be a workable plan. She had hoped to whipsaw the unsuspecting automatons with Stew's Stallion, but it was nowhere to be seen. While the foul weather might serve to debilitate the automatons' sensors, the magnitude of the storm could have driven Stew off course or perhaps even out of the sky. Or maybe Miller had double-crossed them again.

  Now it was Debbi and Ross against four Hellstromme automatons. Not good.

  Debbi raised her Dragoon and fired at the android as she ran. With the storm and her running, she wasn't striking the target well enough. The automaton drew a bead with its pulse rifle.

  Debbi felt a flush race through her body. She thought at first she'd been shot. She kept running and became extraordinarily conscious of each step hitting the ground. She felt her feet touching the surface of the planet one after the other. The automaton suddenly fell to one side and fired into the air as it went down. She wondered if Ross had hit it, but she felt something oddly and deeply satisfying surge through her and knew that she had done it. Somehow.

  She was on the back of the prone automaton. The android tried to stand. It was immensely strong, like trying to press an enraged barka against the ground.

  Debbi pressed the muzzle of her Dragoon against the automaton's head and pulled the trigger. The backlash of the blast tore the weapon from her hand. Half of its head was missing, but it was still moving.

  Dammit! Its power core wasn't in the head. What was she thinking? That's the kind of stupid mistake that gets you killed. Again.

  Debbi wrestled with the thrashing machine while searching for her gun that was lost in the sand. The automaton flipped onto its back under her. Its arms flailed, searching for a target without functioning opticals. She ducked several swipes, but then a steel-hard arm slammed against her temple. The goggles flew off her head and she blanked out briefly with a surge of pain and nausea.

  Debbi blindly grabbed one of the automaton's wrists with both of her hands. She pushed it to the ground with all her strength. Then she felt cold fingers seize her throat.

  This is it, she thought. These things can crush granite in their hands. One good squeeze and I'm dead.

  The metal fingers stiffened, but didn't contract around her neck. Debbi felt that the automaton was no longer thrashing. She released the android's wrist and reached up to her throat to pull its hand away. The thing's arm dropped lifelessly to the dirt.

  The Ranger opened her eyes, squinting through the blowing sand. The automaton's right arm, shoulder, and much of its ribcage was buried in the ground. Under drifting sand, solid tannis trapped the android's metallic flesh in its crushing embrace. The automaton was "dead," its circuitry smashed by the rock that contained it.

  Somehow, Debbi had pushed the automaton halfway into solid rock.

  Then Debbi felt a presence behind her. Her first thought was Ross so she slowly turned, covering her eyes with her hand. Through the parted fingers she saw a tall figure in nondescript clothing. It aimed a pulse rifle down at her.

  Another automaton.

  Before she could react, a purple glare filled the air. Sparks flew behind it. The automaton stood still for a long second before the top of its
torso dropped off the lower and the legs continued to stand by themselves.

  Debbi felt a strong hand on her arm. Fareel stood above her with his glowing atax. Her first addled thought was disappointment that he'd been responsible for the automaton sinking into the tannis. After the anouk warrior grinned at the bisected automaton, he saw the one that was locked into rock. With furrowed brow, he looked at Debbi, actually impressed. Then he drew a war ax, powered it, and moved off into the storm, to hunt more of the enemy.

  Through the blinding sand, Debbi saw the faint shape of a Stallion pass above her. The cavalry was finally here. Yes, it was satisfying when a plan came together as expected.

  Debbi couldn't help but turn her attention to the lifeless android sticking halfway into the ground under her. Even she was impressed.

  Chapter 12

  The door to the Colonial Ranger office opened and Lithia appeared out of the early morning cold accompanied by a blast of frigid wind. Her long coat, high heeled boots, and fur hat set off a typically stylish wintertime ensemble. However, her face was an uncharacteristic mask of anger. She stared fiercely at Miller who sat at one of the squad room desks. He quickly looked down.

  "What happened?" Lithia whispered harshly. "It's been more than a day and I haven't heard—" She grew silent when she heard a shuffling from the interior office. She assumed a typically bland demeanor as Debbi emerged from Ross's private office.

  Debbi smiled politely and leaned against the wall near the door to lockup. "Good morning. Can I help you?"

  Lithia seemed admirably businesslike, but studied Debbi's face for some sort of information as to the state of the Rangers. She certainly didn't see grief, which worried her. And Miller wasn't looking very happy. "I am looking for . . . Captain Ross."

  "He's not here," Debbi answered. "What can I do for you?"

  Lithia's eyes flicked to Miller then back to Debbi. "Who are you, may I ask?"

  "Dallas. You're Lithia, the HI liaison, right?"

  "Yes." Lithia looked confused. "Dallas? I was told you were dead?"

  "I was. Thanks for asking."

  Lithia laid her hand on the doorknob behind her. She didn't linger where she wasn't in control. "I'll come back later to see if Captain Ross has returned." She opened the door and turned to leave, but her path was suddenly blocked by a large figure.

  Lithia backed up as Ross stepped inside. The tall Ranger locked onto her surprised gaze and held it as he calmly shut the door behind him. Lithia stared up at him with barely concealed shock. The frontier was slowly but surely stripping her of her well-honed emotionless demeanor.

  "Lithia," Ross greeted her in a quiet voice as he swept his hat from his head. "Lose something?"

  "Captain Ross? I . . . no. I was here to enquire about the paperwork on the reactor."

  A bitter smile played over Ross's lips as he methodically stripped off his gloves. He looked over her head. "Miller? You got anything for Lithia?"

  "No. It's . . . uh . . . no," Miller stammered into his collarbone.

  Ross slowly tilted his gaze back down to Lithia. "Sorry. Got nothing for you. Anything else?"

  "No," Lithia replied frostily. "I'm pleased to see you well."

  "Couldn't be better." He tossed the gloves into his upturned hat.

  "You Colonial Rangers are so admirably healthy. Must be the fresh air."

  Ross was already sick of playing word games with Lithia. He wasn't designed for such things. He stepped away from the door without another word, a clear invitation for Lithia to get out.

  Debbi pushed herself off the wall, ready to intervene. She could tell that if Lithia attempted any further clever repartee, Ross would probably just toss her in the lockup for conspiracy to murder and for annoying him. He wouldn't pause to think about the firestorm it would create with Hellstromme Industries.

  Luckily, Lithia stepped past Ross with no further comment, but Debbi couldn't resist a last quip of her own. "Lithia, be careful out there. I don't see your bodyguards with you today."

  Lithia glanced over her shoulder at Debbi with an enigmatic purse of her lips. "Yes, I seemed to have misplaced them. But I can handle myself, thank you. Oh, and welcome back from the grave, Ranger Dallas. The pallor is hardly noticeable from this distance."

  Debbi regarded the dark-haired woman grimly as she closed the door quietly and disappeared across the street. She crossed to the front window, muttering to herself, "The pallor is hardly noticeable from this distance. She's got nerve. I'd like to kick her pale, bony ass to—"

  Ross said, "Don't toy with her, Dallas. We were damn lucky to get out of her trap with our skins."

  Debbi dismissed him. "And what were you doing there?" She mimicked Ross, "Lose something?"

  Ross walked to his office without sparing a word or glance at the frozen Miller. "Call Stew and let's get this thing going if we're going." Dallas watched him slam his door.

  Miller rubbed his face vigorously. "Oh man. Just let me get out of here. I don't like this job anyway."

  Debbi said forcefully, "Wait it out, Miller. The fact is you played straight with us when push came to shove. Your intel on the automatons' capabilities was helpful. And you were the one who convinced Lithia to put the real black guns out there."

  Miller had been on the verge of a boozy nervous breakdown when he grabbed Debbi before she went out with Ross and confessed that he was in Lithia's pocket. There had been no message from Sharif. Yes, there was a prospectors' settlement and there were a few black guns there, but there would also be a squad of automatons waiting to kill Ross, and any other Colonial Ranger with him.

  Ross hadn't seemed surprised. He claimed he hadn't believed Miller's ridiculous story about Sharif and black guns. He was only going along to see where it went. Ross actually laughed that the only one of his Colonial Rangers Lithia could turn was an incompetent like Miller. Ross had wanted to strip Miller's badge and go grab up Lithia.

  Debbi had other ideas. This was a good opportunity to get more black guns, which would be needed for the assault on Quantrill. She convinced a wary Ross to call in a few others and hatch a plot. She argued to include Miller in the mix because she sensed that he had hit rock bottom and she could bring him back up right.

  Sitting at his desk, staring up at Debbi's stern face, Miller thought about her supportive words. "Well, I just told Lithia that if Ross didn't see the goods, he'd get itchy and bolt before her robots could draw a bead. She bought it hook, line, and sinker." He grinned halfheartedly. "You know, I was kinda planning to trick her the whole time."

  Debbi stared straight into him. "Uh uh. You'll do better sticking to the truth. No matter how bad it is."

  "I don't know. The truth ain't real good. The truth is I'm a drunk and now Ross and Lithia both want me dead."

  Debbi sat on the edge of his desk. "Yeah, you're right. But you've come this far. You might as well go farther. Believe it or not, Ross will come around with time. He doesn't hold mistakes against people, as long as you fix them."

  "Easy for you to say. He hates me. He loves you."

  Debbi felt a shock at the words. She'd never heard them said so plainly, or at all. She sat perplexed for a long minute until Ross's door opened and he filled the doorway.

  Ross snapped, "So? Is Stew on the way?"

  "No, I'll get him." Debbi looked at Ross in what must have been a peculiar way because he squinted back at her in confusion.

  "What's with you?" he asked. "You feel all right?"

  "Yeah." She slipped her com unit off her belt and clicked Stew's frequency. "Stew, Dallas."

  "Go ahead."

  "Can you get to HQ?"

  "On my way."

  Debbi hung her com on her belt again, brushed her hands with a flamboyant "job's done" motion, and smiled at Ross. He rolled his eyes and returned to his desk.

  She followed him. "How about calling Martool and Fareel."

  Ross swiveled in his chair, pushed up the window, and leaned out into the cold. In the middle of the equipment
yard, amidst the Stallions and Prowlers, was a small campfire. Two anouks huddled around its pale, cold flame. Their breath misted out into the morning air. A massive chanouk rested on the ground behind them, fur coat ruffling in the wind, forming a barrier against the wind.

  Ross put two fingers to his lips and gave a shrill whistle. Fareel looked up from the spit where he was cooking something small over the fire. Ross crooked his finger at the anouks and slammed the frosted window shut. He didn't want to know what they were eating out there.

  Debbi was studying a freehand drawing Ross had been making of the interior of the Lupinz Sanitarium. The schematic wasn't very complete. He'd been to the Sanitarium on a few occasions other than the time he was captured by Quantrill, to deliver prisoners into the hands of Lupinz. But most of that time was spent in the entry foyer or in the Doctor's private office. Ross felt a chill watching Debbi and thinking of her inside that gray monument to horror.

  He said, "Be a good idea if we waited till we have a better idea of the layout."

  Debbi continued to study the plan. "We don't have time. And there's no way to get that information unless we put somebody inside."

  "Send Miller."

  Debbi laughed.

  "Oh hell," Ross exclaimed, scrubbing hard at his head with both hands, "maybe Quantrill's really not in there. Nobody else thinks he is. I could be wrong. I was drinking a lot. And there are reports of Legionnaires all over the damn planet."

  Debbi crossed her arms. "This is no time to start second guessing yourself. If you think he's in the Sanitarium, I'm betting that he is. But let's wait to hear what Martool has to say about it."

  Ross stared at Debbi and bit his lip. He'd never felt such anxiety during the run-up to a mission before. Any sort of operation naturally brought concern over success or failure, but he had never worried much about living or dying. It had always given him an edge, made him just a little harder than the other guy.

  Now, however, he was experiencing a peculiar feeling something like fear. All he could think about was the near disaster of recovering the black guns. He and Debbi almost died in a routine mission. If they could barely survive that caper, what chance did they have against Quantrill? They should postpone until Debbi was back in prime and until the Rangers were comfortable with her resurrection.