Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall

by Charles Ingrid

  "They came back, didn't they?" he said to Drakkar.

  "My father believes that one, at least, did. The dean went to meet it. And he believes that its technology and machinery and weaponry are now at the dean's disposal."

  "Anybody who can go to space and return can't be that stupid," Gray said. "How can they take sides so easily?"

  Drakkar's face whipped around toward him. "When's the last time you fought a lizard man and thought you were facing anything human?" he said bitterly, "I have half brothers and sisters who resemble an eel-snake more than they resemble me or my father."

  Thomas paused, then said, "Faced with that—Stefan may well have attacked the dean and his party. He always was a hothead. He never felt we should have let the dean go after what happened at the Vaults. If he'd ran across them or surprised them. ..."

  "We can't know that."

  "No. Is that all, Drakkar?"

  "Yes," the young man said, but his eyes flickered and Thomas knew he was lying. He also knew that the young man had no intention of saying anything further.

  He looked to Gray. "What do you want me to do?"

  "I don't know," answered the DWP wearily. "I was hoping you'd have an idea."

  "Good, because I do. I'd intended to go out and parlay with the nesters. I still do. I may have to wade through some bodies first." Blade gave a grim smile. "Drakkar, you're coming with me."

  "Me? Why?"

  "Because I don't have time to go on horseback. If I know Denethan, he's got a catapult base in operation close to here. We'll need wind raiders and we'll need them tonight while we still have a strong inshore flow. The thermals should be enough to carry us over the basin and the Angeles Crest. If the dean is getting ready to face the Mojavans, I have a pretty good idea where he's based. The only way we can get there in decent time is by flying in. Well?"

  Drakkar had gone pale. He looked from face to face, then, finally shrugged. "All right," he said. "But it may be too late already. My father's last message indicated that rebel forces had broken through and attacked the longship party in force. If they're human, old-time human, it may be too late to convince them there's humanity in us."

  Goldstone was whistling as he worked in the lab. Dusty gagged as she entered and made an effort to breathe through her mouth so the odor of the rapidly decaying body didn't affect her.

  "Incredible," he said as he opened up the chest cavity.

  "You're sure it's human?"

  "Fairly sure. There's a pile of them out back of the shuttle if you want to take a look for yourself." He pointed with the cutting drill, its head spinning red drops about the dissecting table. His wife looked up and her eyes met Dusty's. Colby cleared her throat. He looked up. "Sorry," he said. "I get carried away."

  "From the looks of this, it's a wonder you weren't carried off." Dusty forced herself to look at the corpse. The shuttle had survived a savage attack by these lizardlike beasts while the hover was out making its recon flight.

  "Easy as pie. All we had to do was shut our doors and toss some sonic bombs out the window every once in a

  while."

  She shook her head. The scaled hands were talon-tipped and, unless she missed her guess, the pouches in the wattled throat were poison for the too sharp incisors the dead lips had curled back to expose. "Are they ail like this?"

  "Yes and no. It's my guess the reptilian engineering was for the Mars colonization efforts. Big lung capacity, hibernation capabilities, thicker skin—who knows." Goldstone stopped. He sighed. "I don't even know if it thought it was human," he admitted.

  Dusty shuddered. It was cold in the lab. She looked about. "I'll bet you wish you were in Noah's Ark."

  "Don't I though. The work I could do in there!" Goldstone put his hand drill back into place, slicing with all the delicacy of a neurosurgeon. Noah's Ark was the self-contained main lab of the Challenger. Not only was it completely outfitted, but all the seeds of life they could bring from the earth were frozen and stored in it, saved for the day when it would be launched as the core of a new colony.

  It had everything needed to bring a world to life. It might even have everything needed to bring this world back to life.

  Dusty rubbed her forearms as a sudden chill swept her. She waved a little good-bye to Colby standing quietly by her husband and assisting with the procedures.

  She was tired. Sitting in the observation lounge sounded like a good idea.

  Willem Marshall was already sitting there, looking out the window. She pulled up his arm and snuggled under the crook of it, feet tucked under her. They had been lovers once. Now she sat as though a child of his. He'd left a wife and child aboard the Challenger to come on the Away Team.

  "You're thinking," she said.

  "Right about that one. I talked to Sun early tonight. He's agreed that we have little choice but to ally ourselves with the dean, for the moment. At least they were civilized enough to talk first. But I don't like it, Dusty. These . . . people . . . literally went through hell to adapt and survive. Who are we to pass judgments on the remnants of civilization?"

  "Is that what we're doing?"

  "I think so," said Marshall heavily. "I'm afraid so." He turned toward her suddenly. "I think we've got enough fuel to get back. It'd be a one-time shot—"

  "Told anybody yet?"

  "No."

  She gave a tired smile. "It'll be one hell of a bounce if it doesn't work."

  "Ummmm. I know that."

  "Is that what you're sitting here thinking about? Getting back to the Challenger?"

  "Umm-hmm." He snugged her in under his arm again. "What are you thinking about?"

  "I don't like to give up."

  "I hear that." Marshall was staring out the observation window again. "But I don't think we're wanted here."

  A dull boom sounded. "What's that?"

  He waited a moment, before answering, "Thunder, I suppose. You tell me."

  She realized that, ship-born, he'd never heard thunder before. She sat up. The observation window reflected a stab of lightning. "Look! And listen, it'll sound again."

  Another muffled drum roll.

  "Rain?" asked the commander.

  "Yeah. And lots of it, according to the dean. It'll all wash away." Dusty walked to the window. Her heart ached for the sound of raindrops on the insulated pane. "God. I haven't heard rain in two hundred and fifty years. I don't think I want to try to leave."

  "I don't think we have much choice."

  The rain came pounding down before she could respond. She felt like a kid again as it splattered the window in front of her face. Dusty stood there and watched it for a long, long time.

  The bat-winged wind raider rode the forefront of the storm as he would bodysurf a wave. It bucked and fought the rudder under him, but Drakkar threw himself on it and kept it steady.

  Blade didn't like flying much. He'd only done it once or twice in his career as a Protector and both times in desperation. Though barely motored, once launched properly, the raider could glide over the major part of the L.A. basin.

  Drakkar took to flying as though he'd been born to it, which, Blade reflected, he had. Wind raiders were part of Denethan's arsenal and threat to the safety of the Seven Counties. He yelled to Blade in the front seat, "Keep the nose up!"

  Blade threw his weight on the stick, but there wasn't a

  lot he could do. The storm had driven him farther than he'd hoped, but it was also driving them downward. The ridge of mountains along the north side of the basin rose before them. This was where he wanted to be, the Angeles Crest forest. There was water in the ridge which ran west to east from the ocean to the Mojave. And where there was water, there would be nesters.

  The bat-wing veered off suddenly, left wingtip dragging in spite of Thomas' efforts to right it. Drakkar shouted in Blade's ear, "We're going down!"

  Blade's reply was torn out of earshot by a wind which was suddenly across and against them instead of being behind them. He could see the darkness of evergreen
blanketing brown hills below them rushing up. He threw himself on the stick full weight as the raider came crashing down.

  Drakkar sat up and peered out of the wreckage. A tree limb gave under the raider as he did. He spat out a mouthful of blood from a split lip and grinned. "Any landing you can walk away from is a good one."

  "I'll remember that while I'm picking pine needles out of my ass." Thomas threw his legs out of the fuselage of the raider and hoisted the rest of himself over gingerly. The stand of trees which had broken their fall, and done a fairly good job of demolishing the wind raider, shivered under his weight. He was still a good six to eight feet off the ground and reminded himself that now was no time to risk a broken ankle. He looped an arm about a tree limb and swung himself down.

  Drakkar threw down the packs and rifles before joining him. He shrugged on his pack. "Any idea where we are?"

  "A good idea."

  "Great." Drakkar sucked at his split lip for a second. "Then things are going according to plan."

  "Plan?" said Thomas as he shouldered his pack.

  The Mojavan looked at him. "You do have a plan?"

  "Naturally. I'm going to find a nester, kill him, take his horse and ride east. You're welcome to accompany me, but you've got to find and kill your own nester. Make sure he has a horse or mule before you do it, though. We don't have time for wasted effort.''

  Drakkar stared at him a minute. Then those dark jewel-blue eyes blinked. "You're kidding, right?"

  "Do I look like I'm kidding? How the hell do you think we're going to get out of the woods? I have one goal and one goal only—to get to the dean as soon as possible, slit his throat, and put an end to this foolishness. I'll wade through as many nesters as I have to to do it."

  Drakkar absorbed the words. He shook his head. "I thought when you were appointed delegate. ..."

  "I don't have time and neither does Denethan. The nesters respect one thing and one thing only: strength. They won't cut slack for anybody who can't keep up. They have no respect for community welfare. They're outcasts who live the way they do because they chose to. They're not going to let me walk up to the dean and parlay just because I ask them to." Thomas adjusted the weight of his pack. "Coming with me? We need to get mounts, as soon as we can. I figure we have a day of riding ahead of us."

  "Where are we going?"

  "Just beyond the Vaults, slightly north and east. There's a plains area that sort of fades into the Mojave—"

  "I know it," Drakkar said.

  "All right. Logically, that's where the dean will pull back to establish a front line. His back is to the Vaults if he has to retreat and I'll bet the old bastard has another tunnel entrance or two we didn't find, in case he has to hide to save his ass. The nesters will bivouac at the reservoir where we camped, sweep down off the mountain, and attack.''

  Drakkar fell into step with Thomas' long-striding pace. "What makes you think my father will come that far out of the desert after him?''

  "A couple of things can happen. Either the nesters will fall back, -feinting a retreat, pulling the Mojave troops after them—or Denethan will be chasing bait.''

  "Bait?"

  Thomas nodded with satisfaction that the youth was panting a little to keep up with him. He repeated, "Bait.

  He'll have the longshippers hung out to dry." He paused, looking up. "It'll be raining tonight. It should tail off in the morning. Say your prayers, Drakkar. Your dad is probably up to his ass fighting nesters right now. They'll disengage when the rain hits. And then he'll go after the bait."

  Drakkar trotted in silence for a few minutes, then he asked, "How do you plan to get to the dean in all of this?"

  "One nester at a time, if necessary. But I'll get to him." Blade's voice was grim.

  Drakkar stopped talking, hard put to keep up with the pace. If Blade was going to run him into the ground, he began to see the logic in obtaining a mount as soon as possible.

  The dull clanging on the shuttle's hull eventually stopped. Willem Marshall left the lounge, was gone a few minutes, and then returned.

  Dusty knew it had been the dean who'd come calling. She could sense the man's presence even through the thick, space-protective skin of the vehicle.

  "What did he want?"

  "To remind us we're parked on a dry lake bed. He says this part of the desert is subject to flash flooding— that the rainstorms are fairly intense. He recommends we move the shuttle to higher ground and closer to the L. A. basin."

  Dubois had ducked into the lounge to see what was happening. His face creased into his usual sardonic mask. "And what does he think we're going to do?" he said. "Fire her up and fly over?"

  "Actually," the commander said, "we've a lot of use left in the ATVs. We could tow her."

  "In the dark? In the rain?"

  "We've got landing lights. The solars are strong enough to stay powered up. The possibility of flash floods does worry me." He faced Dusty. "Get your rain gear on. You're one of our best drivers."

  "Will do." As she turned to sprint for the cabins,

  Marshall could be heard telling Dubois to batten the hatches and alert Reynolds for driving as well.

  It was an all night, nine-hour drive. Klegg and Dubois spelled her twice, but she took the main brunt of the tow on the port side, Reynolds with Marshall and Palchek spelling her to the starboard. The shuttle rolled behind them, an immense white behemoth, cutting through wind and rain and mud with the difficulty of its size and weight. She had swallowed more than her share of the mire when the sun came out and the pounding rain began to let up. The horizon of the Angeles Crest Mountains was illumined in front of them, dark green from the fringe of pine and golden brown from the dried grasses and brush reaching up to its crown. In the brilliant morning light, the mountains did look as though they were gold, rising out of the desert.

  She braked the ATV to a halt, coordinating with Reynolds. They had climbed a small rise, a gradual grade to a butte overlooking a plain now scoured with their wheel marks. The shuttle hatch opened and Marshall climbed down. It had taken them the better part of an hour to make the mesa.

  Marshall scratched his head. "I didn't think we were going to make this last haul."

  She shrugged, easing the tension from her shoulders. "We could have left her down below if we couldn't have. Nice view."

  He looked about. "At least we're going to see all comers," he admitted. Dark clouds were sweeping away from the fringe and the air felt fresh and clean.

  Mud caked her silver enviro suit and rain gear from head to toe. He put out a finger and wiped it across her face. "That stuff is going to dry on."

  "Got enough water for a bath?"

  He shook his head. She knew ship stores had been tailing. Dusty pushed back her poncho hood. Her hair was sodden and limp upon her shoulders.

  The dean rode up and dismounted. Pleasure split his face from ear to ear. "Excellent," he said. "You have a good eye for strategic placement." He eyed her. "Dirty work, however."

  Reynolds joined them. Her muscular form conveyed an aura of sexuality, even slathered with the mud. She shivered as she looked out over the expanse, however. Dusty realized she had not yet conquered her fear of wide-open spaces.

  The dean said suddenly, "There is a reservoir not far from here. Ketchum could chaperone you for bathing and cleanup. You could test the water if you need to lay in supplies."

  Even under the mud, Reynolds paled. She shook her head. Dusty said, "I'm in."

  Palchek and Dubois nodded enthusiastically. Ketchum dismounted his horse. Dubois jumped into the driver's seat of the ATV and the rest of them climbed in. A look passed between the nester and the dean that Dusty caught as the nester occupied the rear seats with her. She wondered what could have happened to cause it.

  She shrugged it off as the ATV jolted into motion. "You're going to love the woods," she shouted forward into Dubois' ear.

  "Good. Then we'll take the scenic route!"

  Marshall sat in the captain's chair, go
ing over the computer set being read out to him. He checked and re-checked it, and then mulled it over. The numbers didn't lie. He had just enough fuel to make the thrust necessary to get the shuttle off the ground and into an orbit. From there, he would have very little maneuverability to actually dock with the Challenger. Sun would have to do all the fancy work to pick them. But it could be done. Maybe. If the thrusters were burning cleanly enough and if there was absolutely no waste of fuel so they could burn long enough to get the payload up.

  He was running the numbers through again when Reynolds ducked her head in. She was toweling her long brunette hair off. "The ATV's back. There's been a problem."

  There'd been more than a problem. The front grill was bent and one of the fender shields had been peeled back like a fruit rind. Palchek was in tears and Dubois looked uncharacteristically repentent. The nester Ketchum moved back as Marshall caught up with them.

  "What the hell happened? And where's Dusty?"

  Palchek blew his nose lustily as Dubois lifted a stricken face.

  "We lost her, Commander," Dubois got out.

  "Lost her? What the hell are you talking about? You left her in the mountains?"

  Palchek dissolved into rasping sobs. Dubois gave him an annoyed look and climbed slowly out of the ATV. "Willem, she's gone."

  Reynolds had followed Marshall out of the ATV. Gold-stone and Colby flanked her. "You mean she's dead?" the mechanic asked.

  Dubois nodded. He leaned against the battered ATV as if it were his anchor.

  "God." Colby's voice was barely audible.

  "Where's the body?" her husband said.

  "We couldn't retrieve it," Palchek finally got out. His face and nose were swollen red and contorted. Marshall finally noticed that not all of it was from crying—he'd been horribly braised about the left side of his lanky face and Dubois was favoring his left wrist and ankle.

  "What happened?" the commander repeated.

  "We went to the reservoir. The water tests good, by the way. We washed off, kicked back, then Dusty wanted to go exploring. So we drove upriver, one of the tributaries to the reservoir. She said—" Dubois' voice caught. He swallowed and went on. "She said we'd love it, seeing a real river, in a real forest, after a real storm. The ATV was handling well. We cut across country once we got into some rough ground. The ATV hit a boulder and bounced to a halt in a riverbed. We all got out, got some deadwood for leverage—there wasn't any problem. The river was fairly deep and swept downstream. Dusty said it was beautiful. She could hear a waterfall below us, around the bend. Anyway, we all put our backs to getting the ATV out. That's when it happened."