by Chris Bunch
She went to full power, and drove at the two men.
They gawked, realized Riss was fully prepared to run them down, and went flat. Riss missed them by about a meter.
One man rolled on his back, and snapped a round up toward the bottom of the lifter, which missed.
Abihu shouted “Whee!” and Hash laughed.
“I don’t like what you just did,” Cahamla said. “We’re law-abiding.”
“We are,” Bracken agreed. “Perhaps we should — ”
“Anybody can get a badge from somewhere … if that’s what the man was waving,” Riss interrupted. “We’ll settle things out back at our headquarters.”
“Well,” Cahamla said doubtfully. “If you think that’s what we should do …”
“I don’t know if it’s what we should do,” M’chel said. “I know it looks to be the only option. Look.”
She pointed to the left, as half a dozen lifters took off from a small industrial site.
“I don’t understand,” M’chel said to Grok.
“I can offer a theory,” the alien said. “Perhaps these people … whoever they are … were under orders to keep the Sufyerds under observation, and take action only if we … or any others … approached them, and it appeared they were going to flee.”
“We set off the trap?”
“Possibly,” Grok said.
“Since you’re being so bright, whyn’t you turn on the emergency band … maybe somebody’ll get the talksies and enlighten us,” Riss said. “And along with it, boy genius, who are these sorts who find us so fascinating?”
“Possibly the normal police force, although I doubt it. Possibly L’Pellerin’s DIB,” Grok said. “That’s the most benevolent guess I can make. From there … the Masked Ones. Cerberus possibly.”
“Simply wonderful,” Riss said. “I’m running out of fingers and toes to count the bad guys.”
“This is exciting!” Abihu announced.
“It is?” Hash asked.
“It is,” she said with certainty.
“Oh,” Hash said. “Then I won’t be scared.”
“So let’s smoke back to the mansion,” Riss said, just as the emergency frequency blurted:
“Unknown lifter, unknown lifter, this is the Tuletian authorities. Land at once. I say again, land at once.”
Riss made a rude noise and Abihu laughed again.
• • •
“Sir,” one of the men on com watch told von Baldur, “we’ve got something on the aviation emergency frequency.”
Von Baldur frowned, hurried into the com room as the speaker crackled:
“Unknown lifter, this is Tuletian Control. I say again … we have your ID numbers, NY3478 … ground at once or fly on at your own peril.”
“That’s the lifter Riss took out this morning,” the watch officer said.
“Can you scramble and contact her?”
“We’ve been trying, sir,” the man said. “So far without result.”
A pair of speakers blared static.
“And now they’re jamming.”
“Get everybody on their feet and ready to react,” von Baldur ordered. “And keep trying to reach M’chel.”
• • •
Interference blared out of the lifter’s speaker. Grok shook his head, replaced his mike.
“Nothing,” he told Riss. “And now we know they’re not official.”
“Why so?” Riss asked.
“The police … even L’Pellerin’s people … wouldn’t need to jam,” he said. “They’d just stay on us.”
“Which they’re doing a pretty good job of,” Riss said, pointing to her right, where another four lifters had appeared.
• • •
Star Risk men and women boiled out of the mansion toward lifters being warmed up as von Baldur, Goodnight, and King, all wearing combat harnesses, waited on the steps.
“I guess the best bet will be to get airborne,” von Baldur said, “and maybe we can get a location on this jamming. Our M’chel should be somewhere under that.”
“Not good,” Goodnight said. “But better than nothing.”
Turbine-whine echoed down the street, and half a dozen commercial lifters grounded outside the mansion’s high fencing.
Two of them had closed beds. The sides fell away, revealing heavy crew-served blasters, with men at their controls. Men ran out of the other lifters, and took up firing positions across the street.
Then everyone froze.
“Nobody’s giving us orders on what we should be doing,” Goodnight said. “I don’t like that.”
“No,” von Baldur said. He trotted toward the gate.
A blaster clanged, and a bolt smashed into the ground two meters away from von Baldur’s feet. He skidded to a halt, held up his hands in peace, went forward again.
Another bolt slammed into the paving near him, and gravel and sharded concrete sprayed von Baldur’s legs.
Von Baldur went back to the mansion steps.
“They don’t want to talk,” Goodnight said.
“What do they … oh,” King said. “They don’t want any rescuers.”
“I guess not,” von Baldur said. “I shall check the back tunnel, although what good that being clear might do us, I haven’t an idea.” He ran back into the mansion.
“Plainclothes,” Goodnight mused, then shouted, “All of you … get down and stand by for orders.”
“If they’re not wearing uniforms,” King said, “they’re either Cerberus … or the Masked Ones. Or maybe the DIB.”
Von Baldur ran back out.
“I can hear lifters on the back street, so they must have us surrounded. I tried to use a com to call the police, and all power has been cut off. It’ll take a minute for our backup generator to cut in.”
“Son of a bitch,” Goodnight said. “If they come in — ”
“They’re not moving,” King said. “I think they’re just intending to keep us right here.”
“Nice to see a world where the laws work,” von Baldur said calmly. Only his tight-pressed lips showed his rage. “We cannot even notify the parking patrol about these traffic-blockers.”
“We sit here all corked up while they do whatever they want to Riss and Grok,” Goodnight snarled. “Son of a bitch twice.”
• • •
“They’re trying to net us,” Riss said. “Look up.”
Very high above them were faint contrails, moving with them.
“Spaceships,” Riss said. “I could zig a zag or two, and prove they’re on our ass … but I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“At least,” Grok said, “we’ve got speed on the lifters around us.”
“Or at least they’d like us to think we do,” Riss said. “I really want to go home and have a nice, quiet drink. Grok, see if you can’t get through to the mansion on our freq.”
• • •
“This is Headquarters,” von Baldur said clearly into the microphone. “I scramble on R-four-three. I say again, I scramble on R-four-three.”
The man on the com nodded to von Baldur that the signal was being scrambled.
“M’chel,” von Baldur said. “We are surrounded by bad people. Do not, repeat, do not, attempt to return home until we have firm communications and you have been signaled that all is clear. I say again …”
• • •
The lifter was silent except for drive-whine and the blast of wind as Riss and the others listened to the repeat of von Baldur’s cast, badly broken by the interference.
Riss was scribbling numbers from memory on the back of the lifter’s handbook. She grimaced, read out her intermittent decryption.
“That does not fill me with joy,” Grok announced. “At least one thing. They will want us alive.”
“No,” Bracken said. “They want Cahamla and the children alive, I would think. I don’t think anyone cares about the rest of us.”
“I thought religion was supposed to fill you with joy and comfort,” Riss said.
Abihu started crying, and her brother followed suit.
“Wonderful,” Riss muttered.
“So where can we go?” Grok asked.
“If it was just us,” she said, “I’d suggest we head for some town and go to ground. But with all of us … that’s not a very good option.”
“You are being most polite,” Grok said. “I think that I might stand out, even if we didn’t have friends with us.”
Riss gnawed at her lower lip. “I have an idea,” she said. “We can try to reach Fra Diavolo. He’s got enough room … not to mention people … to hide us out.”
“And he is how far from here?”
“About an hour, I’d guess. Maybe two. Uh-oh.”
The lifters were closing toward them, like a gigantic noose.
“I don’t think we’re going to be given that option,” Grok said. “There are three ahead of us.”
M’chel looked down at the ground.
“And of course, there’s no nice safe town to put it down in,” she said. “Just goddamned jungle.”
“We’re not afraid of jungle,” Abihu said. “Hash and I are Pioneers.”
“That,” Elder Bracken explained, “is our church outdoor youth group.”
Riss looked at the two children, then at Cahamla, who smiled sheepishly. M’chel’s lips were moving, but fortunately, she wasn’t vocalizing.
“Awright,” she growled. “I have been pushed around enough!”
She slid into her combat harness and reflexively checked it. Blaster … spare magazines … fighting knife … six grenades, two flash-bang, two lethal, two gas. It was not quite true that Riss never went anywhere — including out for a hot romance or to the bathroom — without the harness.
She pushed the power through to emergency, and sent the lifter down in a screaming dive.
This time it was Hash’s turn to yip gleefully and shout “Roller-coastie!”
“When we land,” M’chel ordered, “I want everyone out, and following me. We’re going to run away from the ship as fast as we can, and then hide.”
“Hide and seek?” Abihu asked doubtfully.
“Hide and seek,” Riss said as the lifter smashed through branches. She flared the lifter, went to full lift, and the ship stabilized a few meters above the ground. Riss sent it darting forward, under the cover of a huge tree, then landed hard.
“I wish to hell we had this turd rigged for a booby trap,” she said as she opened all four doors and jumped out.
The other five followed her, zigging, away from the lifter into thick brush. Riss wanted to run like a track star, but remembered the children, and slowed to a trot. She heard the sound of ships coming in behind her.
• • •
Riss looked out through the bottom of a bush at the line of men and women sweeping up the bluff toward her. They weren’t wearing the uniform of Dampier’s military, but dark gray coveralls. But they moved to shouted orders and carried standard-issue blasters.
Dunno, she thought. No idea who they’re working for. She slid back to the others.
“Here’s the first thing we’ll try,” she said. “We’re all going to crawl into the heart of that thicket over there, and nobody’s allowed to make a sound, even if they get prickers in them.
“I hope that these people aren’t very good, and they’ll sweep right over us. Then we’ll run back the way we came, and toward that town that we passed over just before I landed. All right?”
Everyone nodded solemnly, and began worming their way into deep cover.
The search line got closer and closer, and M’chel, pistol ready, ducked her head into the dirt, and thought bushlike thoughts.
It almost worked.
She heard underbrush rustle, almost beside her, then bootheels moved on past. Riss gave it an eight-count, lifted her head. The sweepers were about ten meters past, almost hidden by brush.
Then Hasli got to his feet, stepped on a branch, which cracked loudly.
A man spun, saw the boy, and lifted his blaster.
Elder Bracken was up, yanking Hasli down, as the man fired.
The bolt caught Bracken in the stomach, and sent him flopping down.
M’chel blew the shooter’s chest into pulp, shot the two on either side of him, then yanked the others up, and they were running, as the beaters realized they’d almost lost their prey, and turned and came after them.
• • •
It was nearly dusk. M’chel had led the others into a shallow cave, not good enough for a hide, but good enough for a moment’s shelter, while she thought about what she’d try next.
“Is Elder Bracken dead?” Abihu whispered.
“Yes,” Riss whispered back. She saw Cahamla’s lips moving in prayer.
“He’ll be rewarded for saving Hasli, won’t he?”
“Yes,” Riss said.
“I didn’t mean to — ” the boy started.
“Hush,” M’chel whispered. “It was an accident.”
“I’ve decided,” Abihu whispered, “that when I grow up I want to be an Elder like Elder Bracken.”
“You could do a lot worse, kid,” Riss said, letting her rage build. “You could do a lot worse.”
She beckoned to Grok. “I’m getting tired of being chased.”
“I also,” the alien said. “And so much for the theory that they want us alive.”
“Unless,” M’chel said, “he was the clown — there’s one in every outfit — who never gets the word.”
“Are you prepared to gamble on that?” Grok asked.
“Hell no. Here’s what we’ll go for. We’ll get into deep cover,” Riss said, “and wait for full dark. Then we’ll see what they do next. Maybe they’ll just leave.”
“If they don’t?” Grok asked skeptically.
“Then there’s gonna be a whole bunch of gray corpses scattered around the frigging landscape,” Riss said, not knowing her teeth were bared like a feral animal.
• • •
No one heard any orders, but the gunnies surrounding Star Risk’s mansion came to their feet, loaded back into their lifters, and the aircraft took off.
“Now what brought that on?” Goodnight wondered.
King and von Baldur shook their heads.
None of them said what they feared — that whoever was after M’chel and Grok either had caught them, or had them trapped.
• • •
Campfires dotted the forest, and whoever was after Riss and the others had brought in heavy gunships. Three starships-orbited overhead. There were sentries posted.
Riss left the others with their instructions, then slid out into the night. She went through the sentries like a hot wire through butter. Not bad for an old broad, she thought. Guess all that Marine horseshit sticks with you.
Once through the loose picket line, she made for one of the gunships. Military issue, she noted, not jerry-rigged. Armored, with a chaingun on each side and a heavy blaster in the nose.
There was a sentry posted. He gurgled in complete surprise as Riss’s knife went into his stomach, driving upward into his heart, and he was dead.
Riss pushed his body under the skirt of the lifter, eased the lifter hatch open, entered.
There was a bored gunner at one of the chainguns, yawning, hungry, looking out at his teammates outside the ship, around their cookstove.
Riss pulled his head back, knifed him in the throat, yanked him to the deck, and slid behind the chaingun controls.
Not a breed of lifter she was familiar with, but a chaingun was a chaingun was a chaingun. It was on half-load. She turned the power on, full-loaded the gun, making sure the canisters for the six barrels were firmly locked in place.
Then she waited.
• • •
Contrary to what the late gunner might have thought, his teammates weren’t happy. They kept looking out into the darkness, and unconsciously pushing closer to the fire.
“This is screwed,” one woman said. “Who are these mad bastards
we’re working for, anyway?”
“Shuddup,” her team commander ordered.
“Like hell I will, L’ron. You’re two days’ senior to me, and there’s no reason you should have a stripe when I don’t.
“I think it’s shitty when we’re told off to follow some asshole who’s wearing nothing but coveralls, and not even a goddamned name tag, and go chasing some kids and some women.”
“Look, you dumb bitch,” the other woman said. “You ever hear of the Masked Ones?”
“Heard,” the first woman said. “Some kind of terrorists.”
“Don’t be calling them that,” the team commander hissed.
“Don’t get stroppy with me,” the first woman said. “I’ll call frigging civilians what I want to. And what I want to know is who gives them the authority to yank all of us out of training, and send us out here to fart around?”
“The reason I’m telling you to shut up,” the second woman said, “is because these bassids are stone killers. They’ll cut your throat for a laugh. I know. I’m from Tuletia, not some pisshead place in the outback like you are.
“I’ve seen them at work, and don’t ever want to see it again.” She shivered. “Two whole families in my block got butchered, shot down, men, women, kids, because they went and got political and tried to get the plant where three of ‘em worked unionized.
“And they’ve got pull. Pull enough to get us sent out here chasing up and down the hills. I’d guess if they’ve got that kind of weight, they could probably leave your sorry ass out here under a bush without even thinking about it, and there damned well wouldn’t be any search parties looking for your body. Now shut up, and see if the stew’s cooking.”
A wind whispered across them, and the team leader shivered and looked out into the blackness.
It was too dark.
There had to be something out there.
There was.
Something darker than the night loomed at the soldiers. One person had time for a scream, another was running, and the team leader was grabbing for her rifle.
Grok shot her in the head, gunned down the man next to her, flipped the switch to full automatic, and sprayed the rest of the group.
He roared mightily, like he imagined a horrid creature of the night should, and vaguely wished he had more of an anthropophagous bent than he had.