“Pelen is where I was born,” Duna said. “I met my wife, Medu, here. We made it our home for three hundred years. She passed away years before the disaster and is buried on the property below, but my mission here is not sentimental. As one of the few of my kind to spend much time off-world, I enjoyed a quasi-ambassadorial status. My home, which I’ve not seen in fifteen years, also acted as an intelligence gathering station. The staff maintained an extensive bank of computers, recordings, books and periodicals, sending me material on all manner of current events.
“My hope is that the computers in the building survived whatever happened. They were electronically protected from snooping, and the building has its own power supply. We may find some clues within.”
“It’s beautiful,” Telisan said, looking at the huge building.
“Medu,” said Duna, “trained as an architect. She based the design, with a few Enshari refinements, on homes found on the North Atlantic coast of Earth’s North America. The building style is similar to a New England telescope house, though she added another story. Oh, how proud she was when it was finished...”
Duna’s home reminded Fenaday of his own on New Eire’s rugged seacoast. An unexpected feeling of homesickness swept through him. He turned away from the view outside the canopy for a few moments.
They flew in over the lawn, dropping in a triangular formation. Robots sprang from the shuttles, forming a perimeter. Rainhell’s and Rigg’s people fanned out, more confident now, also taking defensive positions. Fenaday held the shuttle engines at low throttle for a minute. Annihilation did not threaten. He joined the others on Pooka’s rear ramp.
Fenaday tilted his head back and let the sunshine fall on his face with its gentle warmth. The breeze from the ocean brought a fresh, clean scent to them, cooling the air and stirring the evergreen-like trees, making their white flowers bob almost cheerfully. The lush growth of the interior had thinned out in the windswept coastal area. Leaves and plants appeared darker and more subdued, less dazzling to human sensibilities. The grass they trod on looked similar to Terran fescue, though shaded a darker green and with metallic hint to it.
The spacers started up the crushed rock path toward the door. Duna, Mmok, and Telisan walked beside Fenaday. Rainhell and her trouble team guarded their right. Rigg and a fire team of ASATs paced them on the left. They walked at an easy pace, looking over the beautiful grounds.
“My home,” Duna said simply.
Magenta and Cobalt moved at a distance from them, patrolling further out on the flanks. The crab robots and the HCRs Verdigris and Vermilion circled the shuttles with their firepower.
A sudden movement from the forest’s edge caught Shasti’s eye. “Down,” she yelled. The spacers threw themselves flat. Magenta flashed into sight, firing a tri-auto. In the background came cries and yells. The shuttle’s engines coughed into restart.
Fenaday rolled upright, his laser pistol clearing the holster. No less quickly, Shasti dropped into a firing position with her tri-auto rifle. Magenta stood triumphantly over the smoking remains of the menace; a late model garden robot. It lay on its side, sparking fitfully. Its hedge trimmers and clippers seemed comical compared with the deadly efficiency of the HCR. Fenaday looked around with more attention. He was chagrined. The erratically clipped grass should have told him something. The solar-powered mechanism must have operated irregularly, soldiering on whenever the weather allowed it sufficient charge to go about its work.
“Captain,” Angelica Fury shouted into his headset, “what’s happening? Do you need support?”
“Negative,” replied Fenaday drolly, standing and holstering his laser. “Mr. Mmok just made our first bag of the voyage. A three thousand credit garden robot, by the look of it.”
Laughter barked out over the net and Fenaday saw quick, nervous grins on the faces of the spacers near him. Mmok ignored all of them, his throat moving as he subvocalized. Fenaday wondered if he was chewing Magenta out or adjusting her programming. In the background the shuttle engines wound down again.
Duna picked himself up, dusting off his ship uniform. He headed for a small tree to the right of the house as if nothing had happened. As they neared it, a small headstone became visible. Everyone held back as Duna spent a few moments at his wife’s graveside. He leaned forward to embrace the stone. Fenaday looked up at the house, fighting to keep his vision from blurring. He knew what it felt like to mourn a lost wife. Finally, Duna stood and walked, very deliberately, back to the house.
Fenaday realized that the little Enshari might find the bodies of friends or family on the other side of the door. He signaled Shasti to stop Duna and waved to Telisan.
“Does he have anyone in there?” he whispered.
Telisan looked at him for a second, then smiled. “You are very considerate for a pirate.”
Fenaday wasn’t sure why the comment warmed him, but for the first time that day he managed a smile. “I don’t want the old scholar to go through any more than he has to. He may have gotten us into this mess, but I’ve grown kind of used to him.”
Telisan looked up at the big, cream-colored house. “Medu passed away long before I met him. He has many children, some survived off-world. Of the ones who died on Enshar, I do not think any lived here. They were all grown. He had many friends, but I doubt they would have been at the house while he was away.”
“Yeah. Well, I think we’ll go in first anyway,” Fenaday said.
They walked up to the door.
“Shasti, Mmok, Morgan, Li, Connery and Rigg, you’re with us. Gunnar, you stay with Duna. Send the HCRs around the back,” Fenaday ordered.
He keyed his mike. “Fury, come in.”
“Fury here.”
“Send a squad to secure the area between the shuttles and the house. We got sloppy, not noticing the mowed grass. It didn’t cost us. Let’s not get sloppy again.”
Fenaday drew his laser in a fluid move, aiming for the door lock.
Duna made an apologetic noise. Fenaday looked down. The little Enshar offered him a sonic key. Telisan and Mmok grinned. Shasti pretended to study a cloud formation. Fenaday sighed, took the sonic key, and unlocked the door. It swung open easily. He reached in, bending low, to find the light switches. About half of them came on. Some flickered. He noted panels in the ceiling. These glowed softly as he opened the door.
“Bioluminescent fungus,” Duna said, catching his glance. “We developed it to a high art. Enshari do not require darkness to sleep. There will be light in every room. The panels require no maintenance and get all they need from the air.”
“Good to know,” said Fenaday. “Less shooting at shadows.”
He stepped into the room. The ceilings were low, a little over two meters. Shasti did not actually have to stoop, but she was clearly unhappy about it. She stood at eye level with a ceiling fan.
Duna’s home ran off solar power, with a backup generator. Surprisingly, the house was in good order even the air-conditioning still worked. The spacers split into teams of four to search the house. They found water damage in the kitchen from a burst pipe; otherwise everything seemed intact and in good condition.
Li and Telisan called Fenaday and Shasti up to the study. They found the Landing Force Troops standing in front of a locked door that the sonic key would not open. Fenaday burned through the lock as the others covered him. He kicked the door open, but Shasti cut in front of him, leading with her tri-auto. The room they entered was particularly cold, and in the middle of it, lying on the floor, they found the body of an Enshari, nearly buried under a mountain of books, tapes, disks and data crystals. Fenaday and the others looked around the room. All the windows were sealed from the inside. On the far side, a connecting door led to the computer room they had come so far to investigate. Fenaday leaned in; there was no other exit from the computer room.
With reluctance Fenaday turned to Telisan. “Duna should see this body. He may have known the person.”
The Denlenn nodded. “I’ll prepare him
for it.”
Telisan returned with Duna in tow. Duna approached the body and looked at it. Fenaday held his breath. The Enshari made a few small hand gestures while speaking in a low voice. It reminded Fenaday of Father Lux saying last rites over his father.
Duna stood and turned to look at Fenaday. “I do not recognize the body, though it appears from the uniform that she was on the staff here.” He waved a hand at Telisan. “Come my friend; the data banks are back here.”
Duna and Telisan disappeared in the back room and began working on the equipment. Fenaday and the others returned to the body. Fenaday had no idea of the corpse’s age. Enshari looked much the same for most of their long lives. The corpse had been mummified by the cold, dry, air-conditioning. Shasti and Fenaday exchanged puzzled looks.
“Great,” he said, “a locked room murder mystery.”
“She came in here,” Shasti mused, “locked the door, sealed the windows from the inside and then buried herself under books and junk?”
“Doesn’t make any damn sense,” he replied.
This time Fenaday leaned over the body and searched it. He pressed his lips firmly together and tried not to think. He found a wallet in the overalls. He pulled it out, breathing hard and did not protest when Shasti took it from his hand to briskly empty the contents. She pulled out a hand comp from her harness-pack, running it over the cards she extracted from the wallet. It interrogated the chips in the cards and yielded the details of an ordinary life—as collected by bureaucrats galaxy-wide. The little speaker on the hand comp converted the Enshari language into toneless Terran.
“Barsta Ucout, 169-3 Beltway Street, in Hardin Town, Deieppen Province. A married female; age, one hundred and twenty-seven Terran standard years, two children, employed as a domestic.” It added phone numbers and other such details, a pitiful summation of a life.
“Apparently, she was the housekeeper,” said Shasti. She turned to Gunnar, “Show this to Duna. He may have known her.”
The big man nodded and disappeared into the other room.
“Fenaday to Fury.”
“Fury here.”
“Send Dr. Mourner’s team up under escort. Tell her we found a body in a sealed, air-conditioned room. It’s in good condition. I want her to check it out.”
“We copy, sir. They’re on their way.”
Johan Gunnar returned. “He said it was a cleaning service, no one he knows.”
Doctor Mourner arrived with N’deba and the rest of her team. Fenaday sent most of the trouble team outside to keep the perimeter. Mourner and her techs set up a bewildering array of instruments delivered by one of the crab utility robots. The small cargo carrier looked a lot like its namesake. Fenaday, who did not like bugs or shellfish, ordered it out of the room after it unloaded. It lumbered out on its six sturdy legs, unoffended, followed by Gunnar.
Mourner set about her medical butchery with an unsettling clinical efficiency. Shasti watched with her usual detachment, doubtless memorizing how Enshari came apart in case she ever needed to kill one. Fenaday looked out the window at the ocean.
Telisan appeared from the other room. “The equipment looks intact,” he said excitedly. “It was all off-line at the time of the disaster, for some reason. It may be that when the main power failed, no one reinitialized the system. I need a power generator from the shuttle. The house system is not generating enough reliable power.”
“Order it,” said Fenaday.
This time, it was Fenaday’s tech people who showed up with the crab robot and a small portable generator. They dropped it off in the study and headed back to the shuttles.
Dr. Mourner came over to Fenaday, snapping off her gloves. Her team packed up and moved downstairs. There were more bodies to check in the outbuildings.
“I figured you would like a preliminary report,” she said.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“The subject is a young Enshar female, overall premorbid health appeared good, prima gravida two—”
“Please, Doctor,” said Fenaday, exasperated.
Mourner smiled. “Sorry. The short version is death by multiple, severe, blunt trauma. I believe the trauma was inflicted by the objects covering the body. I base that on the force with which blood and hair is driven into the material of the books, tapes and disks used.”
“Beaten to death with books,” Fenaday said in disbelief. “They can’t be that heavy.”
“No, they aren’t,” Mourner agreed. “I found a lot of fractures, indicating heavy blows. I doubt an Enshari could inflict them using such an implement. It would take someone quite powerful.”
“Or mad, crazed on some drug or something?” he asked.
The doctor shook her head. “Enshari physiology doesn’t work like human. There is no adrenaline, no hysterical strength mechanism. They evolved with a low rate of predation, so they’re long-lived and with slow reproduction. Enshari maintain the same level of vitality for most of their lives.”
“This makes less sense the more we work on it,” Shasti complained.
Telisan leaned out of the computer room, ducking because of the low opening. His face lit with excitement. “Everyone come in. We have the computer up and have found something.”
Mourner quickly followed Shasti and Fenaday into the computer room. The screen cast an eerie glow in the room, turning Duna’s face into an animal-like mask. He stared, unblinking, at the monitor’s flat screen. Fenaday edged behind Duna to get a better look.
On the screen he saw the image of a male Enshari. The small, alien face filled the screen; it seemed to speak urgently. Smoke drifted in the background. Flickering flames lit the area erratically. Duna slumped in his chair, speaking a few soft words in a low tone to himself.
Fenaday looked at Telisan impatiently. “I don’t speak Enshari.”
Without looking up, the old Enshari stirred, tapping the curiously shaped keypad. The image reset to start and began speaking. A computerized voice came out of the speakers, in the same cold uninflected Terran their own comps used. The voice overplayed the Enshari’s own.
“Duna, are you there, Duna? This is Creda. Everyone’s dead. It’s killed them all. The whole world is on fire. Everyone’s dying. What have we done?
“We unearthed ancient machinery in the Barjan Deep. We didn’t know. They were just legends, just old tales. Legends like the ones you taught. Stories to frighten children. We thought it was dead. It came back, drew on the power sources. Then came the manifestations. You kill them, but there are always more.
“We thought we could control it. We were fools.
“Duna! The power is going. Can you hear me? Duna!”
On the screen, the Enshari’s eyes turned from the monitor and beheld some horror. “No. No, go away,” came the mechanical translation. It did not convey the terror in the Enshari’s voice. The terrified squeaking of its native voice offered a chilling counterpoint. Creda fled the monitor. They heard a shriek, the dull, meaty impacts of blows, followed by the sound of objects falling to a hard floor. Then, only silence and the snapping sound of fire burning. The screen faded automatically, and the message began to cycle.
They stayed silent for a few seconds.
Duna spoke slowly. “Creda is…was a student of mine at the university. He became a full professor some time ago. We used to talk history until the early morning hours. Medu would get cross with him for keeping me up so late.”
“I am sorry, Belwin,” Telisan said.
“I think you may have a connection problem,” Shasti said. “I’m getting a burning electrical smell.”
Dr. Mourner shrieked. They whirled at the sound.
A monstrous figure filled the doorway, lurching toward them. Fenaday’s brain refused to process the image. It’s made of books, he thought, books in the shape of a man. What’s holding it together?
The thing flung itself at the knot of paralyzed explorers. Even Shasti was too stunned to get off a shot. It knocked her and Telisan flying as it charged. Mourner stood par
alyzed. Duna dove under the computer table. The thing crashed into Fenaday. Years of martial arts reflexes triggered, though his conscious brain refused to work. Heavy blows fell on him. He blocked, rolling away from the worst.
Fenaday hit back with all his strength, then grappled, trying to tie up the thing’s arms. Its substance was more than just books and tapes. It felt as if there was some thick gel around the physical material. He could see nothing other than the paper and debris making it up, but he felt a cold weight, like the body of a heavy snake. As he grappled with it, a consciousness seemed to invade him, inchoate, hungry, and angry. He felt a sense of age, desperation, a longing for past strength. More sensations ate into him, and his mind grew numb under their weight.
Fenaday’s reflexes slowed, and this saved him. The thing batted Fenaday from its path. Arms made from books, tapes and paperweights slammed into him, cutting through the tough fabric of his leather uniform jacket. Fenaday hit the wall, sliding down limply. He looked up, numb and stunned, sure the creature would finish him, unable to even attempt to draw his laser. Instead, it turned and lurched toward Duna, who stared at the oncoming nightmare with huge eyes. The sense of rage in Fenaday’s mind flamed, driving out all other thought.
Shasti and Telisan’s guns filled the room with flash and roar. Books, tapes, paperweights, the gel holding it together, flew into pieces. Abruptly, the hate in Fenaday’s mind became an image of age, feebleness and despair. The thing came apart, and the detritus of its body tumbled to the ground, inanimate.
They stood frozen, staring at the debris. Mourner’s harsh tearing sobs were the only sound. Telisan, covering the mass on the floor with his laser, reached out and shook her. Hard. Shasti rushed over to the cut and dazed Fenaday, seizing his shoulders, looking into his face.
She is beautiful, he thought, distracted and confused.
Shasti took his chin in her hand and searched his eyes for signs of concussion. Her touch seemed to break the fog clouding his brain.
Was Once a Hero Page 13