Hex

by Allen Steele

“It might work.” It’d better, he silently added. No doubt the lander’s com system was down for the count, so the portable long-range radio that was part of the expedition equipment was their only hope of getting a message to the Montero. “Soon as Sandy finds it, I’ll set it up and try to . . .”

  Suddenly, they heard a muffled shout. Sean looked around, saw Cayce urgently waving to them. The lieutenant looked absurd in his skinsuit and helmet, but Sean bit his lip against the remark he was tempted to make.

  “Lieutenant?” he asked, once he, Kyra, and Sandy hurried over to him. “What did you . . . ?”

  “Something’s coming.” Cayce pointed to the west. “Look.”

  At first, Sean couldn’t see what the team leader was talking about. Then he made out a small plume of icy fog moving toward them at ground level, a small black dot at its base. A vehicle of some sort, he guessed. The lack of a perceptible horizon hindered his estimation of how far it was from them; it could have been a mile away, or five, or even ten.

  Regardless of the distance, though, he knew that Cayce was right. Someone had seen their craft come down, and arsashi were on the way to investigate.

  “Anyone know arsashi?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  “This isn’t funny, Corporal.” Cayce glared at him from behind his helmet faceplate. “We’re trespassers . . . and they’re going to blame us for what’s happened to the pod’s ceiling.”

  Sean had to admit that Cayce had a point, but before he could say so, Sandy spoke up first. “Funny you should mention that . . .”

  He looked around to see her staring up at the sky. Sean followed her gaze, and was immediately bewildered by what he saw. The upside-down funnel cloud caused by the escaping atmosphere was still there, yet in only the last few minutes it had diminished to a fraction of its former size. Even as he watched, its mouth was closing, the longer finger of its spout collapsing in upon itself. As if . . .

  “I’ll be damned,” he murmured. “I think the hole is disappearing.” He looked down at Cayce. “You were watching when we hit. You tell me . . . how big a hole did the lander make when we went through?”

  Cayce paid no attention to either him or the dying tornado. “We may need to defend ourselves. Corporal LaPointe, have you found our weapons yet?” Sandy didn’t say anything but only pointed to one of the open equipment boxes. “Good. Everyone, take out a fléchette pistol and load it. I want the arsashi to know we’re prepared to defend ourselves.”

  Not waiting for a response, he jogged over to the box. No one followed him. “Lieutenant,” Kyra asked, “do you think it’s a good idea to be arming ourselves? As you said, we’re the trespassers here, not . . .”

  “Shut up and grab a gun. That’s an order.” Kneeling beside the box, Cayce reached in and pulled out a fléchette pistol. As he slapped a clip into its grip, he seemed to take notice of himself. “Carson! Don’t just stand there . . . Find another winter outfit and help me get out of this skinsuit!”

  “Oh, allow me, sir,” Sandy said. “I’ve already put one aside for you.”

  Sean looked back at the distant plume. It didn’t seem to have grown much larger in the last minute or so; he figured that it was probably several miles away. “She’ll help you, sir. I’m going to see if I can find the wireless.”

  “Yes. I mean, no . . . That is, I . . .” Quickly rising to his feet, Cayce teetered back and forth, as if uncertain what to do next. “All right,” he said at last, still flustered. “Do it. But make sure you’re armed.” He paused. “Those are arsashi. They’re reputed to be warriors.”

  He turned to follow Sandy to the other side of the lander. Sean and Kyra looked at each other, and Kyra shook her head. “Don’t listen to him,” she said softly. “The arsashi have a violent history, but their wars were only among their own kind, and that stopped when they adopted Sa’Tong. There’s never been an instance of their attacking another race.”

  Sean hoped she was right. But when he glanced again at the approaching vehicle, he couldn’t help but notice that it was approaching very quickly.

  The fléchette pistols were in the same box as the portable wireless. The transceiver was a small case with a shoulder strap, a miniature dish antenna folded against its side. Pulling it out of the box and placing it on the ground, he pushed the power button. A red light came on, showing that its battery was fully charged.

  “I’m going to try reaching the Montero,” he said. “If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll be able to get in touch with them before the arsashi get here.” He paused. “Not sure how much good that’ll do, but . . .”

  “Try it anyway.” Kyra was watching the alien vehicle. “If we can get through to them, they might be able to relay a message to the inhabitants, let them know that we’re not hostile.” She glanced down at the pistols still in the box. “I’d rather do that than greet them with a loaded gun.”

  Sean nodded as he raised the antenna. He had no idea which way to point it, so he oriented it upward and to the east, the direction from which they’d come. He switched the frequency-finder to the VHF channel reserved for emergency transmissions, then unclipped the mike and held it to his airmask mouthpiece. “CFS Reese to CFSS Montero. Repeat, this is CFS Reese to CFSS Montero . Do you copy? Please respond. Over.”

  Only static from the speaker. He reiterated the message two more times, then switched to the Ku band used for ground-to-space transmissions and tried again. Again, no response.

  “They’re getting closer,” Kyra murmured. “I don’t think . . .”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Sean looked up from the transceiver to see Cayce emerge from behind the lander. He was wearing winter gear, the parka hood pulled up over his head. The lieutenant’s expression was hidden by his mask and goggles, but his voice betrayed irritation as he stalked toward them.

  “We found the wireless,” Kyra said. “Sean’s trying to raise the Montero, see if they can . . .”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” Before Sean could object, Cayce snatched the mike from his hands. “You’re wasting time! The arsashi will be here any second now, and we’ve got to be ready for them!” Dropping the mike, he bent down to the box and pulled out two holstered pistols. “Here . . . take these and put ’em on! Make sure your parka doesn’t cover them!”

  Sean noticed then that Cayce’s own parka wasn’t zipped shut but was open to reveal the gun holster clipped to his trouser belt. The team leader insistently shoved another gun at him, a silent demand that he take it without question.

  A sidelong glance at Kyra, then Sean shook his head, refusing to take the fléchette pistol. “Sir, that may be a bad idea. There’s no reason to believe that the arsashi mean us any harm. If we act as if we’re . . .”

  “I didn’t ask what you think! I gave you an order!” Cayce looked at Kyra. “You too. Take the gun and . . .”

  “No, sir, I won’t.” Kyra’s voice remained calm even as she stared at him in defiance. “Sean’s right. If this is their territory, then we’re visitors. It won’t do us any good to be looking for trouble.”

  Behind his goggles, Cayce’s eyes widened in anger. “If you don’t . . .”

  He fell silent as a mechanical growl reached their ears. By then, Sandy had walked up from behind him. “Hate to interrupt, folks,” she said, “but we’re about to have company.”

  She pointed behind Sean, and he turned to see that she was right. All but unnoticed during the argument, the arsashi vehicle had covered the remaining distance to the crash site. Twelve feet tall and nearly twenty feet in length, at first glance it appeared to be a boat mounted atop a broad caterpillar tread, until Sean realized that the V-shaped blade at its front was a plowhead. White vapor rose from a stack behind its forward cabin, and he guessed that the vehicle had a steam engine. Indeed, in many ways it resembled one of the sledges used in Coyote’s mountain regions during wintertime.

  “Steady, people,” Cayce said quietly as the sledge rumbled to a halt, forgetting the
quarrel he’d just been having with his teammates. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “We’re not afraid,” Sandy murmured. “You are.”

  Yet Sean had to admit to himself that he was more than a little nervous. And when the sledge’s cabin doors opened, and its passengers climbed out, he wondered if it might not have been such a bad idea to arm themselves.

  It was one thing to see a 3-D image of an arsashi and be reminded of imaginary depictions of the legendary Tibetan yeti; it was quite another to see one of the creatures striding toward him. Bipedal and almost eight feet tall, with thick brown fur covering heavily muscled bodies, their eyes intense yellow orbs with rectangular pupils that looked very much like those of a goat. The arsashi wore knee-length kilts, short-sleeve tunics, and ankle boots made of some leathery material, and the manelike fur of their heads was braided with multicolored beads. It was hard to ignore the sharp fangs protruding from the corners of their lipless mouths.

  There were three of them, and as they came closer, Sean noticed that the largest of the trio had four large breasts bulging beneath its . . . or rather, her . . . tunic. The two males took up positions on either side of her, as if to offer protection. Remembering something he’d once read about the arsashi, he turned to Kyra. “Maybe you should do the talking,” he whispered. “Woman to woman, so to speak.”

  She nodded and started to walk forward, but Cayce raised a hand for her to stop. “That’s my job. I’m in charge, remember?”

  Kyra sighed, not bothering to hide her annoyance. “It would be better if Sandy and I did this. The arsashi are a female-dominant race, and they expect women to be the leaders in all things.” She paused, then coldly added, “Sir.”

  Cayce hesitated, then reluctantly stepped aside. Kyra motioned for Sandy to join her. “Just do as I do,” she whispered, as they slowly approached the three arsashi, who appeared to be patiently waiting for them. The two women stopped a few feet away; Kyra bowed, and Sandy did the same a moment later, but neither of them spoke before the arsashi female did.

  The first thing she said came as a surprise to Sean. Raising her left hand, she spread her palm outward. “Sa’Tong gro,” she growled.

  Despite the mispronunciation, Sean recognized what she’d said: Sa’Tong qo, a hjadd expression favored by Sa’Tong followers as a form of greeting. Kyra wasn’t a Sa’Tongian, but she imitated the gesture. “Sa’Tong qo,” she said.

  The arsashi leader’s yellow eyes slowly blinked, then her mouth opened and an obscenely long tongue lolled out from between sharp teeth. The guttural hyuck-hyuck-hyuck that followed couldn’t have been anything but a laugh, then she looked at the male to her right and, pointing at Kyra, said something in their own language. Sean couldn’t understand what she said, of course, save for one word she repeated twice: human, which she pronounced as who-mahn.

  “So far, so good,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  “Shh!” Kyra gave him an admonishing glance, then looked at the arsashi leader again. “Humans,” she said, gravely nodding as she swept her hand to encompass Sandy and the men behind her. Then she pointed to the crashed lander. “Coyote,” she added. “Humans from Coyote.”

  The arsashi leader had opened her mouth as if to say something when the male to her right spoke up. Raising a hand to point to the sky above, he said something that, judging as best as Sean could from his tone, sounded angry.

  “I was afraid of this,” Cayce said quietly, ignoring Kyra’s earlier warning. “They’re upset about the damage we’ve caused.” He paused, then looked at Sean. “Be ready, Corporal. This might get ugly.”

  Sean started to nod in agreement, but then he happened to glance up at the sky. To his surprise, the tornado had vanished. Only a small swirl of filmy white clouds remained where the breach in the biopod ceiling had once been.

  “I don’t think so, Lieutenant,” he said quietly. “Something . . .”

  “Will you two please shut up?” Kyra’s eyes blazed as she glanced over her shoulder at them. “I’m trying to work things out, and you’re not making it easy.” She stared at Sean and Cayce for another moment, then returned her attention to the arsashi.

  While that was going on, though, the leader had unbuttoned a pouch on the right side of her belt. Pulling out a disk-shaped pendant, she hung it by a slender thong around her neck; a small headset came next, with a mike wand that looped in front of her mouth and an earpiece for her right ear. When she spoke again, another voice came almost simultaneously from a small grille in the pendant’s center.

  “Heh-yo?” she said. “Can woo hear me?”

  “Hot damn!” Sandy exclaimed. “She’s got a translator!” Delighted, she started to clap her hands.

  Kyra cried out in horror. “Sandy, no . . . !”

  Too late. Seeing this, the two male arsashi immediately darted forward.

  “Down!” Cayce yelled, then he knocked Kyra aside. But he’d barely laid a hand on his fléchette pistol before both warriors reacted.

  Quicker than the eye could follow, each of them flung his right arm forward in a rapid motion that resembled a baseball pitcher throwing a fastball. One after another, Sean thought he heard thin, reedy sounds—phutt! phutt!—then Cayce suddenly staggered back, hands clutching at his right eye and neck. A quiet, agonized gasp as blood spurted from between his fingers, then his legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed upon the snowy ground.

  Sean rushed to his side, but there was nothing he could do for him. The quills had gone in deep, one piercing the goggles to penetrate his brain, the other burying itself in his neck.

  Within seconds, Lieutenant Amerigo Cayce was dead.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MELPOMENE WAS STILL SHOUTING ZEUS’S NAME WHEN Anne reported another text message. It appeared on the wallscreen a few seconds later:

  Be prepared for restoration of gravity.

  It wasn’t until then that it occurred to Andromeda that the node contained some sort of gravity-nullification field. It made sense; otherwise, ships like the Montero would be unable to dock safely. She barely had time to return to her seat before weight returned to her. The ship groaned as its sixty thousand tons settled into the tentacle-like mooring lines wrapped around its hull, but the cables held the Montero as if it were in a cat’s cradle, and a few moments later, everything was quiet and still.

  Andromeda let out her breath, then pulled up the lapboard and reactivated the exterior cameras. Once again, the wallscreen revealed the node’s vast interior. No sign of the service pod, but sometime in the last minute or so, a tubular walkway had been extended from the docking bay to the ship’s starboard side, where it had attached itself to the Deck Four airlock.

  “They’re nothing if not efficient,” Jason said quietly.

  Andromeda was too worried about Zeus to be impressed. “Anne, ask them where . . .”

  “I already have, Captain.” The com officer shook her head. “No response, except that warning about gravity.”

  “And that’s truly amazing.” There was admiration in Rolf’s voice; catching the look on Andromeda’s face, he shook his head. “Sorry, skipper, but . . . look, it’s one thing to have a field generator to give a ship artificial gravity, but another entirely to be able to nullify centrifugal force at will. The danui really have some very advanced technology . . .”

  “Right now, I don’t care. I just want to find out what they’ve done with my man.” Shoving aside the lapboard, Andromeda stood up from her chair. “Jason, you’ve got the conn. Anne, I want you here with him. Everyone else, you’re with me . . . We’re suiting up and going out to find Zeus. Bring your sidearms.”

  Melpomene and Rolf nodded and rose from their stations without comment. D’Anguilo was more reluctant. “Captain, this is a delicate situation,” he said, remaining seated. “It’s not going to do any good to charge in there with guns blazing. There must be an explanation for all this . . .”

  “I agree. And you’re going to help me find it.” Andromeda glared at the Jan
us executive. “This isn’t a request. This is an order. On your feet and down the ladder . . . now.”

  For a moment or two, they stared at each other. D’Anguilo was the first to look away. A frustrated sigh, then he stood up and followed Andromeda to the access shaft.

  The starboard docking port had skinsuits in its ready-room lockers, but Andromeda decided that they would take too long to put on and were probably unnecessary anyway. When Rolf entered the airlock and checked the atmosphere gauge, he confirmed that the gangway had been pressurized with an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere and that the biosensors picked up no obvious contaminants. But merchant marine regulations specifically stated that EVA gear was to be worn whenever a landing party entered an alien environment for the first time, so the captain had everyone don pressure suits instead. The bulky garments were more cumbersome than skinsuits, but they could be worn over their clothes, and their life-support packs could supply them with purified air for six hours. Enough time to find out where they were and what had happened to Zeus, or so Andromeda hoped.

  Once everyone was suited up, Andromeda took a minute to make sure that their com systems were linked to the Montero and that Jason and Anne were in the loop. She wasn’t so successful when she checked to see that everyone was armed. Melpomene and Rolf had brought their fléchette pistols; like Andromeda, they had clipped the holsters to their utility belts. D’Anguilo had left his gun in the command center. Andromeda had accepted his argument that if he was going to negotiate with the danui, it would be best if he did so without a pistol at his side, but she was still reluctant about it. Zeus’s disappearance had done little to ease her misgivings.

  “If we get in trouble out there,” she said, “don’t count on us to defend you.”

  “Very well.” He calmly regarded her from behind his helmet faceplate. “And if you get in trouble because you decided to carry weapons, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Rolf snorted, and Melpomene peered at him. “What makes you so certain we’re not in danger?” she asked. “Have you been asleep the last few hours?”