by Chris Reher
"Go on," she said softly.
"We'd been laid up by a sandstorm and when it finally cleared Dana took some of the civilians outside. Rhuwacs caught them. Dana held them off while most of the others got away. She took three Rhuwacs out, then she was cornered." His eyes focused beyond Nova and he spat out the last of his words. "The other two raped her. Right there among the dead. I found her body not long after. Or what was left of it. Took me longer to find her head."
"Gods, Tychon..." Nova whispered. She touched his arm, sickened by the images forming in her mind.
"I should not have taken her there," he said, now looking at Nova. His gaze took in all of her. "And now I have to go back and they give me another woman to take with me."
“Is that why you were against having me on board?"
He shrugged.
"I'll be careful, I promise,” she said.
"That's not always all it takes." He tapped the table surface. "Let’s get back to this. I have some background about the rebel on K'lar."
Nova waited while he consulted with the data system. "How long ago was this?" she asked.
The hands on the screen hesitated in their rapid motion. "Four years."
"Is this why you're still Vanguard?"
"And will continue to be until I drop dead or the last of the Rhuwacs beasts is decomposing somewhere."
Nova looked at the screen he showed her and listened numbly to his explanations of the displayed information. But she pondered her own life up to this point, surely as exciting and eventful as she could make it, but had any of this really touched her?
She had killed and she had been wounded in this war. Someday, she supposed, it would kill her, too. She had seen mindless destruction caused by Tharron and by her own people. Were these even her people? Trans-Targon was nothing more than a frontier in which the Centauri sought to establish civilized order as they had everywhere else they went. Their Union Commonwealth was above all a Centauri trade organization that ruled, prospered, and was welcome everywhere. Everywhere but here, in this tiny part of their galaxy.
When the Centauri had stumbled upon this concentration of inhabitable planets they had invited their Human friends along to help realize the vision of an expanded Union of planets. They had found allies among the people of Bellac Tau, Feyd and Aram and, eventually, Delphi and soon would be allied with Pelion and the fiercely contested Magra Alaric as well.
But then they had found Tharron. The small opposition he represented had turned into a rebel force and finally into a considerable enemy. The war had started when sabotage and assassinations had escalated into the destruction of Union bases and colonies. Tharron did not discriminate between army personnel and peaceful colonists.
But what did this war matter to her? It was a job, nothing more. She was a Terran who had never seen Terra, raised into the army by soldier parents and trained to hunt rebels. She did this willingly, followed orders blindly and asked no questions. She was playing warrior, never understanding the cities that burned and the worlds that were changed forever. Nothing personal ever came between her and her target.
She thought back over the past ten years of her life and saw only a blank series of days and weeks and months. Time spent in training, in police actions, in defenses and in offenses. She had never experienced civilian life and had only a rather abstract idea of what civilians did, if anything.
Through it all, Tharron remained only a vague concept to her. Tharron, the great enemy, was an objective set up in this game and she was one of the players whose aim it was to eradicate him and his rebel following. His Rhuwacs, to her, were little more than slow-moving targets. She felt no personal hatred for them, as Tychon did. Terrible things happen and people die somewhere, sometimes. It was her job to stop that, nothing more.
But now she was not so certain of that. If Tychon had more than just a scorecard to fill, did that mean that the rebel did, too? Had anyone ever really explained to her why their enemy insisted on fraying the edges of the massive Union conglomerate?
She was glad when the Eagle finally moved into a high orbit over the arid wasteland that was K'lar Four, forcing her to concentrate on less abstract matters and do what she had been trained to do.
* * *
She noted an odd mood surrounding Tychon like an aura of fever when it was time to begin their descent. She knew by now that nervousness was against his Delphian nature, yet she felt a sense of expectancy, a keen alertness as they readied their weapons and equipment.
She tried to ease what she perceived as tension when he slipped into his full-length desert robe. "You must have the dust of a dozen planets in there!" She toed the sand that had drizzled onto the floor from the folds of his garment.
"Probably do."
"We just had the place cleaned, you know," she reminded him with a cheerfulness that she did not feel. She adjusted her own, much newer, robe. "Does this thing go on my head? It looks like a shoe."
Tychon smiled and adjusted her burnoose, showing her how it closed over her face to protect her eyes and skin.
He took the helm and soon they were skimming the ship over the dusty surface of the planet, heading for the city of Gyan, its outskirts their destination.
There they walked into a tavern of sorts and Tychon spoke in low tones to the barkeep who seemed to know him. Or had expected him. Nova sat by a narrow window, waiting and listening. She heard the cold desert winds drive sand in needle sharp blows against the stone building, widening the gouges and channels that already scarred the thick walls. Darkness descended without the preamble of twilight.
Tychon slumped into a seat beside her, his hooded eyes on their fellow patrons. No one spoke; only the eerie music of the ceaseless wind outside moved through the brooding silence. A shallow pit filled with dying coals in the center of the room was the only source of light here. They were all waiting.
Three men and a woman entered, slamming the door against the driven sand. They were native desert dwellers, their eyes mere slits within flat-planed and leathery faces. The bodies under their loose robes seemed dense, powerful. They would have been tall had evolution not taught them to walk forever stooped against the winds. K'lar had not always been a desert.
Tharron was born here, Nova reminded herself. But he walked upright, larger than any humanoid she had ever seen. Any available video about him showed a man more Terran or Feydan than these unsmiling nomads. Perhaps he had sought to escape the hardships of this wasteland and found that there was more to existence than striving for the next drink of life-giving water. She had seen how much Tychon had paid for the flask of liquid he now shared with these people.
The manner of conversation around this table fascinated Nova. Tychon, who never used two words where one sufficed, seemed almost chatty compared to these people. Long, thoughtful pauses seemed to be as much part of the conversation as slow gestures and monosyllabic answers. From what she understood, most people on K'lar had only a vague concept of what the Union Commonwealth represented. They did know, however, that whatever great unknown a future allegiance with the Commonwealth was, Tharron was by far the greater evil. Allowing a Union base in orbit seemed a small price to pay.
Tychon frowned when he heard of their plan to stage a massive assault to overrun and destroy Tharron's current installation here. Not only would this jeopardize Anders' rescue but such an uprising would surely bring Tharron's attention to K'lar while the new orbiter was still only half finished and defenseless. With difficulty, he persuaded the K'lar representatives to avoid a battle in favor of a more covert operation. He was relieved to learn that the rebel base here was staffed almost entirely by Rhuwac and that no planes were kept here. Nova suggestion that Tharron had not yet received word about the new Union station now seemed probable.
At last, two of the men left to head for the far side of town. Nova watched through the window as they mounted awkward, furry beasts of burden that moved surprisingly fast when prodded.
The remaining group fastened th
eir head coverings and prepared to leave. The other customers of this alehouse watched their exit silently, covertly. Nova was certain that she had seen approval in the weatherworn faces.
Others joined them outside and closed around Tychon and Nova on their way through town, hiding the more slender figures among their number. Moving in huddled groups through the ever-present squalls of sand seemed a sensible way to get around. Nova saw that most of the buildings were single-storied with few narrow windows shut tightly against the abrasive weather. The roofs were sloped, almost completely round, and she saw the airborne sand glance over them in angry blows. There were no basins to catch rainwater. She bent low, buffeted by the fine grit.
"So you had to pick a storm to do this?" She wiped sand from her lips, shivering. The seeping, drifting stuff had begun to filter through her clothing and file away on her skin and already taut nerves.
Tychon whispered back to her, the wind snatching away all but something about 'normal weather pattern'. He tugged a fold of her burnoose up to cover her mouth and nose. She thought she heard the word ‘greenie’ through the whistling gusts.
Their companions had disappeared into the deeper shadows. Tychon gestured toward a group of low constructions. The small compound was divided from the rest of the town by a wide, open square. Its designers had not learned from the native population - the stone buildings were flat-roofed rectangles. Deep drifts of sand embraced the walls facing the prevailing wind. A battered radio tower and sentries posted at intervals betrayed the rebels' presence.
"Gods, they're ugly," Nova observed the guards with interest. They seemed to be little affected by the cold and dust. The Rhuwacs topped well over two meters, their thick skin chitinous and red. Uneven patches of hair covered their heads and bare arms. Grotesque jaws jutted forward to show double rows of blunt teeth. Some of them carried guns, others little more than cudgels.
Tychon made a strangled sound, his hands balled into fists, when he saw the creatures. She could almost feel his need for revenge burn across the space between them. She cuffed him, deliberately aiming for the still tender wound at his side.
He shook his head as if to clear it, his eyes shut. She could hear him speak in his native language - prayer, she supposed, before he continued forward. In the gloom of the day Nova saw him point toward a sentry to her left. She moved, halting only to await his signal to strike.
"What the hell...?" she whispered to herself when she saw him creep toward another guard. Why didn't he just shoot it? She covered his progress with her pistol. Perhaps he sought to avoid detection by not using the telltale light of his laser. Nova watched anxiously, knowing the real reason for the more personal attack.
His arm clamped around the Rhuwac's thick neck. The struggle was brief, almost pointless, and the beast fell dead without having uttered a cry of warning to his mates. Nova used her pistol to dispose of the other guard, less eager to attempt physical combat with the massive creature.
She scurried to where Tychon waited by the building he had selected. They pressed tightly against the rough stone.
"How do we get in?" She peered along the windowless wall, expecting another sentry to round the far corner at any moment.
"Up," he bent his knees, cupping his hands. "Lie down up there, wait for me."
"This wall is over five meters!” Nova objected but put her foot into his hands. She felt herself catapulted into the air, almost too surprised to reach for the ledge of the roof. Seconds later Tychon had landed beside her.
She rolled over to him. "How did you do that?"
He smiled, flexing his arm.
"Still..."
"Low gravity. We're used to a higher gravitational pull–" His voice drowned in the roar of an explosion less than a kilometer away. Both instinctively covered their heads.
Nova blinked at the light of a fireball that rose up before them, turning the whipping sand into so many snowflakes. "Your diversion, right?"
They crawled along the roof until they found a metal grate. Tychon pried it open and looked inside.
"Clear," he leaned back to let her lower herself into the building. She dropped to the stone floor, at once flattening herself against the wall. Tychon also dropped, crouching, his gun ready. There was no one there. It seemed as though everyone had run to investigate the explosion.
He gestured for her to move down the hall. While he watched her progress, she peered into two of the rooms, finding them empty. They heard deep voices coming from the next. Carefully, she extended a telescoping wand from her wrist monitor and risked a quick snapshot of the room. After a glance at her screen she signaled Tychon by lifting two fingers and raising her hand high over her head. Two Rhuwacs. He nodded and drew a finger across his throat. She leaped into the doorway and fired at the two targets while he caught up and passed her along the hall, taking his turn to explore while she covered him.
"Whiteside," Tychon hissed, pointing into the next doorway.
They had found a small room furnished with outdated but doubtlessly workable communications gear. Even now incoming messages announced their presence with impatient persistence. She saw a barred door to her left and moved to throw the bolt back.
Suddenly a thin beam of light cut the stone wall near Nova's head, flinging fine splinters into her face. She whirled to see a Rhuwac, earphones clamped around the large skull and looking weirdly out of place. The beam of her own weapon dealt with his head as impersonally as it did with the machinery. Both nerve centers melted, twisted and disintegrated.
Tychon poked through the smoldering equipment. "No long range. Would not make it to the first jumpsite with this, unless they figured out how to use our relays. They must have another base here. This will only reach other areas of K'lar. Did, anyway, before you got to it."
"Let’s get moving before they come back,” Nova said. She released the latch on the locked door, finding only darkness beyond it.
“Anders,” Tychon whispered into the dark, looking for a switch or a lamp beside the door.
Nothing came back to them until he tried again. They heard a groan. “Hullo? Who’s there?”
Nova stepped into the room, already adjusting her gun to emit light. The floor she had expected to be there was nothingness beneath her feet. She stumbled down along a narrow stairway and landed painfully on her knees.
Tychon was beside her at once. "Are you hurt?"
She shook her head, looking around. "Bingo!"
"What's B..." he turned to see where her light pointed. "Never mind." He approached a short row of cells at the foot of the stairs. "Anders?" He peered into the darkness, choking on the ripe smell of decay.
A very dirty hand passed through the rough bars of one of the cages. "Ty! Am I dreaming? Get me out of here!"
Tychon melted the lock and forced the door open. A man in ragged dress uniform stumbled forward and fell into his arms like the long lost friend he was. "I can hardly stand up, man."
Nova checked the other enclosures for anyone else with the misfortune of having fallen into the Rhuwacs' hands. She found no one.
The filth-encrusted officer leaned feebly against Tychon, watching her. "I was wondering if someone'd come for me. Glad you did. It's about time someone kicked the rebels out of K'lar. Did you get them all? I heard there were more in the mountains. Did you take the city? It's pretty infested but I wouldn't want to see the natives get displaced."
Nova and Tychon exchanged a bewildered look.
"What are you talking about?" Tychon asked. "We didn't take the city. She and I are the only ones here."
Anders stared at him, wide eyed. "Just you? You snuck in here by yourselves? Holy gods, how did you manage that?"
"We walked in. I intend to leave the same way."
Anders shook his head. "You didn't by chance see the Rhuwacs here, did you? From what I've seen, there must be hundreds of them here. Thousands, maybe. Training or something. It's like he keeps his spares here but I haven't seen many high ranking rebels."
&nb
sp; "A hatchery? That's what the K'lars were talking about!" Nova said. "They could have been a little more specific about numbers. We have to get out of here before someone finds the Eagle!"
Tychon ducked reflexively when they heard the crash of heavy boots over their heads. There were shouts and curses and, suddenly, silence.
He nodded to Nova. She crept up along the staircase until she could peer under the closed door into the room above. She saw the feet of many soldiers waiting on the other side.
"No way," she returned to the others, whispering. "Ten or more up there."
"Anders, is there a way out of this cellar?"
He shook his head. "If you're a rat, maybe. For us, the only way out is that way."
Nova looked up, wondering how long it would be before the door would fly open to admit the bloodthirsty Rhuwacs.
“Nova," Tychon whispered, lowering Captain Devaughn onto the stone steps. "Remember where the door to the hall is?"
She nodded. When they had entered the control room, the door into the prison had been on her left. Hinges on the right. She retraced her steps mentally and found that, if they could throw the cellar door open, the hallway was only an arm’s length away.
Tychon went down the steps again to study the basement ceiling. Two stone pillars supported the floor above, which was made of some sort of composite. “The stairwell and the door frames will be sturdier than the walls and floor. You can jump from the top of the stairs to the hall door."
"Sure," Nova said, understanding his plan. Both of them dropped their heavy outer garments, no longer in need of disguise. "Should hold as long as we step only on the jambs. We’re probably safe on the stairs when the ceiling comes down."
"Or maybe the whole building'll come down!" Anders exclaimed. "Have you thought about that, woman?"
"Probably," Tychon said. "But she knows how to take orders. Do you have another suggestion, Captain?" When Anders did not reply, he motioned Nova to go ahead. “Percussion charge, I think. Let’s not start a fire.”