by Allen Steele
“All stations, this is a Priority One transmission,” she said. “As commanding officer, I’m authorizing and taking charge of an attempt to rescue Survey Team One. The following orders are to take effect immediately.”
She paused, waiting for a response. “Roger that, Captain,” Jason said after a moment, speaking from the base camp. “Standing by for your orders.”
Hoping that she’d hear from Sean, Andromeda waited a few more seconds. When his voice didn’t come over the comlink, her sense of urgency increased. Taking a deep breath, she went on. “All personnel are to evacuate Nueva Italia and return at once to the Montero. Once aboard, they will disengage from the docking node and prepare for immediate departure.”
“Captain? Why are we . . .”
“Don’t question my orders, Mr. Ressler. Just follow them.” Andromeda didn’t like adopting a formal tone with her first officer, but she had no time to waste on discussion. “Once the Montero has left the docking node, I want it to assume a stationary orbit above Hex, where it will continue to monitor this frequency for further messages.”
She turned toward D’Anguilo and Zeus. They stood nearby, astonished by what she’d just said. “In the meantime, Survey Team Two will proceed by tram to Survey Team One’s last known location, which we’ve been informed is a habitat belonging to the taaraq race. Once we arrive at that habitat, we will transmit a signal on this frequency. When the Montero receives that transmission, it will lock onto its source and use it as a beacon to guide it to the nearest adjacent docking node.”
D’Anguilo seemed baffled by this, but a smile slowly spread across Zeus’s face. “Oh, I get it,” he said quietly.
Andromeda nodded. Removing her ship and crew from Nueva Italia accomplished two things. It gave her additional men and resources for the rescue mission. More importantly, though, they would also be safe if the danui objected to what she planned to do and decided to retaliate by jettisoning Nueva Italia.
“Once the Montero is docked with the taaraq habitat,” she continued, “the chief engineer will leave the ship and locate the nearest tram station. He will note its coordinates and relay them to Survey Two, which in turn will use them to return to the ship. Note that tram coordinates are always read from right to left. At that point, the chief engineer and the helmsman will join Survey Two for a sortie into the taaraq habitat.” Andromeda was reluctant about having Melpomene leave the ship during a crisis, but she’d need all the help she could get once she reached the hex.
“Affirmative, Captain.” Now that he understood what his CO intended to do, Jason’s tone was less puzzled. “Do you want any special equipment from the ship’s stores?”
“Yes. We’ll need airpacks for everyone in the party, along with . . .” She paused to make a quick mental inventory of the ship’s expedition supplies. “Rope, machetes, a first-aid kit . . .”
“Don’t we have an inflatable boat, too?” D’Anguilo asked.
Andromeda nodded. “Tom suggests that we may need the inflatable,” she added. “Bring that, too, along with its motor.” Another thought occurred to her. “And see if we’re still carrying any explosives. If so, I want ten pounds, along with detonators.”
D’Anguilo stared at her. “Captain, you can’t . . . !”
Andromeda angrily waved off his objection. A plan was beginning to come together in her mind. During a recent mission, the Montero had transported a supply of plastic explosives to an asteroid mining operation in the soranta home system. If she recalled correctly, the shipment had been larger than necessary, so not all of the material had been off-loaded at its destination. If that were so, some explosives might still remain in Montero’s cargo hold. With any luck, the airlock scanners in the taaraq docking node would not classify them as potential weapons. And they might be useful . . .
“Roger that, Captain,” Jason said. “Anything else?”
Andromeda felt a breeze coming from the tunnel. A tram was on its way. “Negative. Get everyone out of there and back aboard ship, then launch and await further orders. Anne?”
“Skipper?”
“I know you haven’t heard anything from Survey One. But are you getting any sort of signal, or is his transmitter completely dead?”
“I’m getting a carrier-wave signal . . . just no verbal modulation.”
“Good.” Andromeda sighed with relief. Sean’s transmitter was still active; for whatever reason, he was just unable to use it. “Very good. Once the Montero is in orbit, I want you to try to get a fix on his location. With any luck, it won’t be far from where I show up. That’ll help us find Sean and his people.”
“Affirmative. Is that all?”
“For now, yes. Survey Two, over and out.” Andromeda switched off the headset but left it in place and didn’t switch off the transceiver. Her timing was excellent, for it was at that moment that a tram hurtled into the station. As it came to a halt at the platform, she bent down to pick up her pack. “The clock’s running, gentlemen. Let’s get out of here.”
Without question, Zeus moved to follow her. Yet D’Anguilo was hesitant. “Captain, this is . . .”
“Tom . . .” Stopping at the tram’s open door, Andromeda glanced over her shoulder at him. “I know you’re reluctant about this, and I respect the reasons why. But, I swear to God, if you don’t get on this thing right now, I’m going to leave you here.”
That put an end to any further argument. One look at her face, and D’Anguilo knew that Andromeda wasn’t kidding. Once he’d followed her and Zeus onto the tram, Andromeda pulled out the danui scroll.
She walked down the center aisle to the control panel, where she carefully entered the coordinates just as she’d erroneously given them to Sean. The tram doors silently closed, and with only the mildest vibration, it began to move. Saying nothing to the others, Andromeda took a seat on the nearest bench.
Hang tight, son, she thought. I’m coming for you.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE NIGHTMARE BEGAN AS SOON AS THEY WENT ASHORE.
Sean had no choice. The boats that emerged from the brush moved to either side of the one he, Kyra, and Sandy were in, and the sharp-tipped javelins of the creatures in them left little doubt as to what they wanted the intruders to do. By the time he and Sandy had paddled their boat to the narrow beach, it seemed as if the domes had emptied themselves of their denizens. They swarmed the beach as a solid mass of six-limbed bodies, their twitching antennae resembling a vast field of tall grass.
Kyra had identified them as taaraq, but she didn’t get a chance to say anything about them before Sean beached the boat. The moment its keel ground against the rough sand, the creatures rushed toward them. Sandy squawked and raised her paddle above her head; she swung it back and forth, trying to ward off the inhabitants.
“Get outta here!” she yelled. “Go away! Scram!”
“Sandy, no!” Kyra started to rise from her seat. “They don’t . . . !”
The nearest taaraq was knocked off its hind legs by Sandy’s paddle. It sprawled across the beach, multiple-jointed limbs thrashing at the air. Chittering angrily, it hopped back up with astonishing agility and hurled itself at Sandy, this time joined by two of its companions. Sandy screamed and lashed out at them again, but the creatures were ready for her. Dodging the paddle, all three of them grabbed Sandy before she could strike again. The paddle was yanked from her hands, then they dragged her from the boat. Sandy was screaming incoherently as she tried to fight them off, but more taaraq were on her in seconds.
“Stop it!” Sean jumped out of the stern, boots splashing down in calf-deep water. Paddle gripped tight in both hands, he charged the beach. “She didn’t mean to . . . !”
Something jabbed the left side of his ribs, causing him to yell and look around to see what it was: the javelin wielded by one of the taaraq who’d met them on the river. Their boat had come ashore, and its three passengers stood beside him in the shallows. The taaraq were his own height, perhaps an inch or two taller; in the f
our black compound eyes of the one who’d jabbed him, he saw his own reflection, multiplied dozens of times. Their javelins—tipped, he now saw, with serrated barbs that appeared to be carved bones—were only inches from his chest, and the pain he felt at his side told him that one had already drawn blood.
Sean dropped his paddle, raised his hands. Hearing a scream, he looked around to see three more taaraq hauling Kyra from the boat. He started to move toward her, but an outthrust javelin barred his way. Another sharp jab, this time in the butt, and Sean got the message. Hands still raised, he sloshed through the lukewarm water, doing his best to keep away from the spears.
Taaraq surrounded them as soon as they were together on the beach. Indeed, it seemed as if each and every one of the creatures wanted nothing more than to lay its claws upon them. Reddish brown exoskeletons pressed in upon Sean, Kyra, and Sandy from all sides; elongated heads, mandibles in constant motion, craned forward on thin necks as multifaceted eyes peered at them without any visible emotion. Their claws—two long pinchers, with a smaller third one acting as an opposable thumb—continually darted toward them, stroking, pinching, grabbing, retreating for a moment when they were batted away only to come at them again. Their voices were a cacophony of chitters, clicks, squeaks, and snaps, so loud that it was almost deafening.
One of the taaraq grabbed at Sean’s airmask, started to pull it from his face. He snarled and shoved the creature away, only to have the one beside it tug at his oxygen line. Hearing Sandy yell again, he saw her fighting off two more taaraq, who’d also tried to remove her mask.
Then something slid from his right shoulder, and he looked around just in time to see his transceiver vanish into the crowd.
“Back to back!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the crowd noise. “Put your backs to each other’s and watch your sides! They’re stealing everything they can get their hands on!”
“No kidding!” Sandy yelped. “They’ve already snagged my light! And my knife!”
Sean glanced down at his utility belt. His own knife had disappeared, and so had his flashlight. He’d just fought off a pair of claws that had yanked at the straps of his airpack when someone bumped into him from behind. It was Kyra, putting her back against his own.
“Think you can get through to them?” he yelled. Although he couldn’t make out her expression, the look in her eyes told him what she was thinking: are you crazy? “C’mon! You’re supposed to be the expert! How do we talk to them?”
“Do you see any translator disks?” Kyra demanded. “I don’t either . . . and without them, I’d have just as much luck trying to talk to a skeeter back home!”
Sean suddenly realized that he had seen few indications of civilization, and no signs of advanced technology. Some of the taaraq wore sashlike belts across the smooth carapaces of their chests, and a few had polished pebbles hanging from their necks by woven strands of grass, but otherwise they were naked. The only tools in sight were the javelins and an occasional scimitar-like knife. The boats were obviously handmade, and even the massive domes of their city appeared to be crudely built. This was a primitive culture, or so it seemed; the taaraq might have stolen his transceiver and flashlight, but he somehow doubted that they’d know what to do with them.
“Ow! Cut it out!” Sandy slapped away a claw that was exploring the sleeve of her unitard, then hastily backed herself up against Kyra. “Look, I don’t care if you use smoke signals, but tell these stupid things to back off!”
Kyra glared at her. “Don’t you think I would if I . . . !”
The voices suddenly increased in volume, then abruptly subsided. All at once, the crowd withdrew from around them, if only by a few feet. They were still surrounded by a ring of javelins, but at least no one was trying to rip off their airmasks.
“What’s going on?” Sean asked aloud.
As if to answer his question, the mob parted to allow an individual to pass through. The taaraq who approached them was a little smaller than the others; its carapace was faded and cracked as if with age, and it seemed to limp as it hobbled forward on its back-jointed hind limbs. A large round quartz hung from a pendant around its neck, and a braided grass tiara lay on its head.
A chieftain, perhaps, or maybe a warlord, a priest, or a witch doctor. Whatever it was, it was obviously revered as a leader. The taaraq stopped in front of the humans, head moving forward on its neck as it silently inspected them.
“Try it now,” Sean whispered to Kyra. “This may be your best chance.”
Kyra hesitated, then stepped forward, raising her hands to show that they were empty. “Hello,” she said slowly. “We are visitors.” She pointed to Sean, Kyra, and herself, then gestured in the direction from which they’d come. “We come from there,” she went on, then pointed toward the river. “In your boat,” she added, cupping her left hand and placing three fingers of her right hand in it. “Down the river. In the boat. We—”
The chieftain interrupted her with a strident chitter, its antennae twitching like a cat’s whiskers. The other taaraq responded with staccato clicks and chirps of their own. Kyra glanced at Sean. “I don’t know if I’m getting through to him,” she murmured.
“I think you are. Keep at it.”
Kyra returned to her earlier pantomime. “We came down the river, in the boat,” she reiterated, moving her hands to imitate the boat’s motion. “To this place,” she added, stopping her left hand while pointing to the nearby waterfront with her right. “We are lost, and trying to . . .”
The chieftain’s mandibles made three sharp clicks, then it half turned to make a gesture with its two left claws. The taaraq behind them responded by poking the humans with their javelins. “Damn it!” Sandy yelled, turning to swat aside the nearest spear. “Will you knock it . . . ?”
The taaraq who had prodded her buried the tip of its spear in her thigh. Sandy screamed and fell to the ground, clutching her wounded leg.
“Oh, hell!” Sean hastily knelt beside her. “How bad are you . . . ?”
“Bad enough,” she hissed. Between her fingers, Sean saw a red splotch spreading across the blue fabric of her unitard. “Got me right in the muscle.”
“Guys, you better get up.” Kyra’s voice was barely distinguishable through the crowd noise. “Hate to say it, but I think I’ve made’em mad.”
Sean nodded. It seemed that Kyra’s admission that they’d stolen a boat was the only thing that the taaraq chieftain had clearly understood; apparently this was a taboo that they shouldn’t have broken. Looking up, he saw that their guards were jabbing at them again, their barbs stopping only inches from their bodies, while the chieftain continued to gesture angrily at something Sean couldn’t see.
“We gotta move,” Sean whispered as he draped his arm around Sandy’s shoulder and under her arm. She nodded and curled her arm around his waist. “On the count of three. One . . . two . . .”
“Three,” she finished, and bit off a soft cry as Sean hoisted her to her feet. Holding her so that he’d support most of her weight, the two of them lurched forward, with Kyra bringing up the rear. The taaraq chieftain led the way, the mob once again parting to make room for their leader, the guards, and their captives.
As they slowly moved through the mob, Sean saw that they were heading away from the river. At first he thought that they were being led toward the closer of the two immense domes, but after a couple of minutes it became clear that they were moving away from the dwellings as well. The river was behind them, and although they were close to the edge of the jungle, there were far too many taaraq for them to escape. Not that they could have made a break for it; Sandy could barely walk, let alone run, and the couple of miles that lay between the settlement and the tram-station escalator might just as well have been light-years.
You idiot, he thought as he struggled to keep the woman beside him on her feet. They were counting on you to get them home, and you blew it.
And then, another thought, even more unwelcome than the first:
You’ve carried a grudge against your mother for a decision she once made, but you’re not doing much better, are you?
The crowd continued to follow them as the chieftain led the way past the dwellings, but Sean had just noticed that they’d dispersed immediately ahead of the procession when the taaraq leader abruptly came to a halt. Its mandibles clicked and squeaked as it turned again toward its captives, then its right hands made a sudden gesture. The guards prodded Sean, Sandy, and Kyra forward, and as the chieftain stepped aside, Sean saw what lay before them.
A large, open pit, about thirty feet wide and about half as deep. Or so it seemed; when Sean came closer, he saw that its walls went straight down about six feet, then began to slope downward even farther, forming a funnel that ended at a floor about fifteen feet below the pit’s edge. The floor was covered with waste and debris, most of which seemed to be rotting; along the sides of the upper walls were the narrow openings of pipes through which a brown, sludgelike fluid constantly trickled.
Even though his mouth and nose were covered by the airmask, Sean could nonetheless smell the stench of excrement and decay. Either that, or he thought he could. Either way, he had little doubt as to what the place was, or why they’d been brought there.
“Oh, my God.” Sandy’s voice was a horrified whisper. “You don’t think they want to put us down there, do you?”
Kyra yelped as a javelin barb tore the upper sleeve of her unitard, scratching the tender skin beneath it. “’Fraid so,” she said, moving closer to Sandy and Sean. “Maybe they don’t have any other way of keeping prisoners, or . . .”
Her voice trailed off, but Sean knew what she was about to say: maybe this is a form of execution. If so, though, it was hardly an efficient means of death. Gross and humiliating, perhaps, but nothing down there appeared to be particularly lethal.
The chieftain gestured toward the pit, erasing any lingering doubts as to what it wanted them to do. Sean and Kyra knelt beside the pit, then he grasped her wrists and carefully lowered her over the edge. Kyra was still a long way from the bottom, though, so he had no choice but to let her go. She slid the rest of the way down the funnel, landing in the stinking waste on the floor.