Or not.
There, in a bit of a clearing, stood Gunny Brown with a short fellow holding an obsidian blade at his throat just as black as Gunny’s own skin. His pearly white teeth now showed in a wide, embarrassed grin.
“Sorry, General. Admiral. I don’t know how these little . . . ah . . . people got the drop on us, but General, if you’d let me recruit a few of them, I’d be mighty glad to add them to our roster. I think they could teach those Alwans in the deep woods a trick or two.”
“I suspect so,” Jack admitted. “Where are the scientists?”
“Up ahead, sir, ma’am. We didn’t make it to them before we kind of got, I don’t know, caught?”
“Someone set a very good trap,” Kris said. “I wonder what they want. I’m sure a few words with me can’t count for all that much in this place.”
Their guide led them deeper into the woods. The fellow with the blade at Gunny’s neck seemed satisfied and stepped aside. Gunny trailed along behind them with two more Marines, one of them a medic.
The mobile research center had been driving down a wide, mostly dry, streambed. A recently fallen tree had gotten wedged between two of its four wheels on the left side. The six scientists now stood around, looking just as embarrassed as the Marines.
Except for one.
A tall beanpole of a man with bright red hair stood with a stone knife pressed up beside his Adam’s apple.
The man holding it was taller than most of those around him but still shorter than most of the Marines. His gray beard was long and divided in two with leather ties. His hair was in two tightly wound pigtails that hung nearly to his waist. Other than hair and blue paint or tattoos, he wore nothing but a necklace of wicked-looking claws.
In the hand not holding a chipped flint knife on the scientist was an evil-looking war club that was just the thing to bash a man’s brains out with one swipe.
Without removing the knife from the scientist’s throat, he spoke.
“Are you the Chief of the Sky Gods?” Nelly translated for Kris.
Kris didn’t know much of the local language, but yes was among her meager supply. ~Yes.~
“Why have you not fired lightning from the sky to burn the earth?” Nelly said.
YOU WANT HELP? Jacques offered on Nelly Net.
LET ME TRY THIS, Kris said. ~I am that Sky God. Not.~
~Not. Yes. Not,~ the native said. ~That one not. And that one not.~ He pointed at Gunny, then again at one of the scientists who had come aboard at Musashi.
HAVE WE IDENTIFIED ANY PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT RACES AMONG THE LOCALS? Kris asked.
NOW THAT YOU MENTION IT, NO, Jacques replied.
THAT’S A STRONG ARGUMENT THAT SOMEONE DID GENETIC MANIPULATION ON THESE PEOPLE A WHILE BACK, Kris thought.
THERE’S ENOUGH SEASONAL VARIATION ON THIS PLANET, THERE SHOULD HAVE BEEN DIFFERENT ADJUSTMENTS TO THE AMOUNT OF SUN THEY GOT, Jacques answered.
WE CAN DRAW NO CONCLUSIONS FROM THE ONE FAMILY IN THE PYRAMID, Nelly said, BUT THEY MIGHT HAVE ELIMINATED ALL THE GENETIC DIVERSITY ON THEIR OWN PLANET BEFORE THEY ARRIVED HERE.
The local was waiting for a reply, and while the knife was no longer at the scientist’s throat, it wasn’t far from it, and the poor guy looked like he was desperately trying to grow another foot to get some distance between him and that stone blade.
~Yes,~ Kris said. ~I not that Sky God. I can shoot lightning. I not shoot lightning.~
~I told you they were false Sky Gods,~ came from a woman who now hopped from the stream bank to stomp through the water waving her stick. It had no spear points at either end but did have stone flakes edged into it around the top.
Jack would not want me to get beaned with that. Not at all.
The woman was quite a sight. Old and bald, she wore a necklace of wicked-looking teeth and a brown fur.
Before Kris could think much about it, Jacques was talking. ~Not false,~ he got in quickly. ~Good, like water. Food. Not bad like trees on fire.~
~Good?~ the gray-haired man asked.
~Good,~ Kris repeated.
~Come,~ he said, and slipping the knife into a belt, the only thing he wore, he set off up the stream.
“Let’s go,” Kris said.
“Gunny, stay with me,” Jack ordered. “Lance Corporal, get this research station mobile again and get it the hell out of here.”
Kris must really be pushing Jack; he was cussing mad.
It was nice to know how much he cared for her, considering what a pain she’d been lately.
They came to a water hole. The leader splashed through it, then turned left into a game trail and headed into the woods. Kris followed, and the parade followed her, but the woman with the wicked club was at Kris’s elbow.
~He already goes down into the earth. You cannot stop this. It is willed.~
~Willed?~ Kris said. Who willed what?
~Willed,~ the woman repeated.
JACQUES?
I THINK SOMEONE IS ABOUT TO DIE, GO DOWN INTO THE EARTH. IF I WERE A BETTING MAN, I’D SAY THIS WOMAN IS THE CLOSEST THING THEY HAVE TO A DOCTOR, AND SHE CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT. THUS, “IT IS WILLED.”
BUT BY WHOM, JACQUES?
A GOOD QUESTION, KRIS. WE’VE BEEN TRYING TO FIGURE OUT THEIR PANTHEON, BUT SO FAR WE’VE GOT THE SKY GODS THAT SPIT FIRE FOR NO GOOD REASON; AND THEN THERE IS THIS WILL THING.
~I will see with my eyes,~ was all Kris said.
That seemed to settle the woman down a little. She scampered ahead, taking two steps for every one Kris did, and caught up with the man.
WHAT’S SHE SAYING? Kris asked on net.
PRETTY MUCH WHAT I THOUGHT. OH, I THINK THE OLD MAN IS THE FATHER, OR MAYBE GRANDFATHER OF THE CHILD. A SON. YES, THERE’S A LOT GOING ON HERE, Jacques answered.
They came to a tall yellow rock. There was, however, an overhang. The only easy approach to it was up a narrow incline off to the left. The man and woman, however, scampered up the face of the rock as quickly and easily as monkeys.
Kris took the long way around.
Deep in the cave, behind the overhang, a child of eight or ten lay wrapped in furs. He looked feverish.
“Medic. Get me a medic up here fast,” Kris shouted, then changed directions. “Nelly, get me Captain Drago.
“Here.”
“I’ve got a sick kid here. Who’s the best doctor on board?”
“For humans, Doc Meade. For aliens, who knows?”
“Pass me through.
“Doc Meade,” came in a woman’s warm, professional voice.
“Doc, we’ve got a sick native. Male. Eight to ten years old. He looks feverish. But we have no instruments yet to check out any vitals.”
“What does he present with?”
“Let me see.”
Kris stepped off the distance to where the boy lay. She smiled at the worried woman, who could only be the mother. There was a man about her age, so if she had guessed right, it was the grandfather who had talked the entire tribe into going out and taking a Sky God hostage to see if they could do something besides burn things down.
You wanted someone who was open to change, didn’t you, girl?
Kris folded her hands in a sign of blessing or petition which she hoped was universal to the human form . . . and cautiously reached for the skins.
The bald woman brought her stick down, points wickedly close to Kris’s armored arm.
The gray-haired grandfather stepped forward and slipped his war club under the woman’s stick.
Wonder if they’re married. Or were married. Is this kid grandchild to both of them?
Kris lifted the blanket. The stench was bad.
“I see a raw wound crossing the lower back of the leg below the knee. There is a smell, and there are ugly red runners coming up the leg.”
“How far?”
“Past midthigh.”
“We’ve got a major problem, and we don’t even know which protocols will help and which will kill. Any chance you can just walk away?”
&n
bsp; “It would be real nice, Doc, if we won this one. We might win a lot more than just one kid’s life.”
“So I get the call. I’m headed down with a full emergency-intervention team. Give me vitals on the child and see if you can get me some vitals from any other folks standing around. It would be nice to know what normal is.”
A Marine medic was charging up the landing, a bag in his hand. Not far behind him was a Sailor from the lander running with an even larger bag over her shoulder.
Kris had no idea how many tens of billions of these people she had killed and done it with full intent and no regrets. Now she found herself in a fight to keep one little one alive.
It was just this kind of fight yesterday that I lost. I will not lose this one today.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Jack asked, trying to get himself between the woman with the club and Kris.
“I wanted someone open to change,” she said. “Have you seen anyone more open to change than this old man? He damn near killed a god to get our attention.”
“But what can one guy do?”
“Jack, I don’t honestly know, but at least he’s trying. That’s a whole lot better than a whole lot of nothing.”
Jack didn’t have a comeback to that. Instead, he turned to eye the woman. For a long, silent while, they eyed each other as the child on the furs radiated fever heat and moaned.
26
When the two medics arrived and had finished laying out their kit, Kris risked putting her hand on the woman’s club and lifting it away from the child. The four of them, together, backed away from the kid to make room at his side for the medics.
The corpsman did what they could to get vitals from the child and stabilize him. For now, that consisted of getting a saline drip into a very dehydrated little boy.
The needle was almost a showstopper.
Kris took her own glove off and offered the back of her hand for the needle. The young couple still seemed worried, but the old man nodded and the needle went into the child and not Kris.
The old woman stomped around saying things that Nelly said seemed to translate into one long, “It is willed. It will be.”
When she screamed it one too many times at the old man, he pounded his fist on his chest and screamed back, ~I do not will it, woman. I do not will it.~
The green girl with the long spear came forward and encouraged the bald woman to move over to the other side of the overhang.
With many a backward glance, she went. Were some of those glances of anguish?
The Sailor went to the mother and made motions to put the blood pressure cuff around her arm. The woman allowed it, then watched inquisitively as the medic did a pressure check.
“That’s interesting, one twenty over seventy-two. Pulse, seventy-five.” The medic held a thermometer to the woman’s head. “Temp 96.9.”
“I’m getting all this,” came over the net in Doc Meade’s voice.
Now it was the father’s turn. He was a bit higher on the pressure, faster in the pulse, and lower in the temperature. The grandfather stepped forward. His vitals were closer to the man’s.
Now both the green girl and the bald woman wanted to have the magic done to them. By the time the Sailor was finished with them, a line was forming. They quickly developed a database.
The kid was sick. Blood pressure was low. Temperature was high, and the pulse was low and thready.
Then the real excitement started. Kris easily caught the sonic boom of the lander coming in. Its jets were loud enough to be heard as it made its approach. The locals seemed a bit concerned, but none flinched. Two or three made signs with their fingers, no doubt to ward off evil.
The real fun came a few minutes after the shuttle landed. A chopper with the Wasp’s markings was clearly visible as it went in to hover over the stream.
Also clearly visible was the doc being lowered on the hoist. There were four more hoist lowerings, but Doc Meade was already being led up the incline to the overhang by Gunny before the last one was done.
“This place is a septic mess,” she said as she put on gloves. “Is there any chance we can move the patient?”
“I don’t think so,” Kris said, eyeing all the sharpened stones around them.
The doc had not taken time to don any battle armor. No doubt she did not wear spider-silk underwear.
“I figured as much, but I had to ask. Let’s see that leg. Ouch,” she said as the Marine corpsman lifted the fur.
“Okay, enough of that. Where’s my first package?”
Two Marines hustled up the incline with an oversize duffel bag between them. Kris and Jack unzipped it.
It came close to having a full surgical suite inside. Even one of Abby’s magical steamer trunks never had this thorough a medical treatment center.
“Get this under the kid,” the doc said, pulling out and unfolding a backboard. Kris and Jack slipped it under the child as Jacques told the parents to remove the rest of the furs.
As they did, Kris discovered that the backboard was more like a table. As Gunny spread the table’s legs out, Kris and Jack took the opportunity to move the child forward, out of the cave and into the light.
Doc Meade got her first good look at the kid.
“That’s not good.”
“Can you help him?” Kris asked.
“I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I could. Where’s my next duffel?”
It arrived as she asked for it.
“Rig that UV field. There’s enough nasties to keep a pharmacy firm busy for a century, but this ought to kill them,” she said, as the two medics rigged what looked like nothing worse than lights at either end of the table.
“Now, everyone, stand back,” she ordered with a sweep of her gloved hand that included everyone. “You, medic, get me a gown from the first box.”
In a moment, the doc looked ready to try her hand at her profession. She rolled the child over on his stomach and set about abrading the wound. “No use trying to kill all the bad stuff if you’ve got more of it waiting in line to dive into your blood stream, now is it, young man?”
Beside Kris, the old man eyed the process. Jacques now stood beside him, trying to put into words what was happening. The bald woman stood on tiptoes behind the old man, watching over his shoulder intently.
“Sky God magic?” Nelly translated for Kris.
~Sky people’s craft. Like a hunter finds food. A maker makes a bow,~ Jacques supplied.
~Craft?~ both the old man and woman said.
~Craft,~ Kris repeated.
They all watched as dried blood and pus were washed from the wound. Kris and Jack both had hands out when the doc cut into flesh to get at more of the infection. They’d been warned when the medic, now gowned, stepped in and applied a general anesthetic to the boy. It looked like he just fell asleep to those watching with untrained eyes.
Kris knew better. And caught the parents and grandparents when they would have ruined all that work.
~Craft. You want the boy to hunt with you again?~
Both parents and grandparents nodded.
The cutting done, the blood and pus suctioned up . . . and yes, the blood was red, Kris noted . . . the doctor cleaned out the infection and started sewing up the wound.
The two local women made sewing motions with their hands and stared hard at first the doctor’s, then their own hands.
Kris nodded.
“Now comes the good part,” Dr. Meade said. “I was studying some blood samples taken yesterday. That was a tragedy, but maybe not a waste as well. Their blood is kind of like ours, only totally different. Don’t laugh. They have something like our T-cells, just different, but there was one thing that I tested on them that had a surprising effect. Something we got from an out-of-the-way place called Pandemonium.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow over a smile suddenly gone pixie. “I understand you were there once, Admiral.”
“For my many sins, yes,” Kris agreed.
“Well
, they grow something there that seems to swing both ways. The infection fighters in our bloodstream like it and, if I’m right, so will this little fellow’s. All we can do is try it and see if I’m guessing right.”
The doctor located a long needle, filled it and then started feeling around the heart. Kris and Jack got ready to stop a charge, but the natives seemed mesmerized by the doctor’s skills. They watched as she inserted it, then emptied the hypodermic needle.
Finished, the doctor turned to Kris. “Is there any chance we can remove the patient to the Wasp?”
Kris turned to Jacques. “Okay, mouthpiece for Sky Gods, work a miracle.”
“Do you mind taking all these folks up for a show-and-tell?” Jacques asked.
Kris turned to Jack.
“Only if they leave the sharp stuff behind,” he insisted.
“That’s not going to happen with the bald woman,” Jacques said. “I think that’s her totem.”
“And the guy likes his club,” Jack said with a sigh. “Okay. Invite as many as want to come with us. However, Captain Drago is going to demand a bath from all of them.”
“I think we can get them to splash around in the nearest pond,” Jacques said.
“Ah, Doc,” Kris asked. “Do you have some mild sedatives that we could inconspicuously slip them?”
“I have some patches we should be able to get them all to wear for the ride up into the sky,” she allowed.
And so it came to pass that Kris got to talk to a whole lot more of the BEMs than she’d ever expected and got a whole lot more than she’d ever bargained for.
27
“You did what?” was Captain Drago’s immediate reaction when Kris told him the Wasp now had some new passengers.
“They followed me home,” Kris said, doing her very best to look innocent.
Innocent was not something Longknifes did well. It didn’t fit the legend.
“The last time something ‘followed’ you home, I ended up with three hundred thousand tons of bug-eyed-monster warship for the Wasp’s hood ornament.”
“These are much lighter, only twenty rather underfed natives from the West Continent.”
“Are they filthy?”
“The Marines have rigged showers in the drop bay and everyone down there is going through full decontamination,” Kris said, pulling at her still-wet hair. She’d gone through decontamination in her armor, but since she hadn’t worn a helmet, her face had lost a couple of layers of skin, and her hair was extraclean, too.
Kris Longknife: Tenacious (Kris Longknife novellas Book 12) Page 17