And who is the pilot? Holly asked.
The authorized person seated where you are now, is the pilot. The pilot's name at the moment is Generation 7 Leader Holly Jurjevics and the copilot, Admiral Jaddig Qarte. Doctor Suzi Yu and Bowman Graham Whitmore seated in the rear most seats of this cockpit are the navigator and communications officers while Sergeant George Bereano, not present on this aircraft, still has to have his hand print analyzed for authorization.
So if we wanted to leave, how is it done? Holly continued.
Go into lift off mode and open the hanger doors.
How? Holly persisted.
I do it on your command, Holly.
I see, she replied. How do I turn you off and on.
Call out Plato, my name, when you're in the cockpit or you can operate the remote. I recognize all authorized personnel. I shut down to the Dunk One command.
The remote?
There are two attached to the control panel. They are black cubes, twenty-seven cubic centimeters in volume. I advise the admiral and yourself to keep one on your persons or in a secure place.
Holly gazed around and found the objects in question. They looked like a smooth black marble cube. She reached over, handed one to Jaddig and placed the other in a zipped pocket of her jacket.
Dunk One. she finally said and received an ovation from her friends as the green monitors went blank and the FanWarrior became silent.
Up on the ledge, George Bereano was fascinated with their new weapon. He set the controls to five and programmed in a section of forest with devastating results. Not only were the trees vaporized but the rocks and soil disappeared as well, to form a massive crater twenty meters deep.
So that's the maximum, he snorted to himself, adjusted the control to one and aimed it at a line of clickers who insisted on marching directly into the force field. Every time they were greeted with a flash of electrical energy and slumped, unconscious to the ground, only to be walked over by another wave of marching comrades. The minimum setting blasted the incoming clickers but appeared to merely stun rather that pulverize them. The result was, in reality, similar to the power of the force field.
Interesting, George muttered and aimed the weapon at three incoming flying clickers carrying bombs in their arms just like Jaddig in the original attack on New Seattle. Even though on the minimum setting, the result was spectacular. The ray exploded the bombs and the winged females disappeared in a mass of flaming debris.
George hesitated and regretted his last action. They could have been young females just like Jaddig or that Bikut Kegning who had helped them on the highway. Three more flying females approached but this time, George only watched as they flapped in high above the cliff. Three cylinders tumbled slowly down and exploded in a sheet of orange a hundred meters above the sergeant. Debris appeared to slide off an invisible wall and land on the ground below to add to the scene of devastation.
George grunted when he saw the winged females circle away, unhurt. I guess that's something, he muttered, again to himself but smiled as Graham appeared.
I'm to relieve you. Holly needs you downstairs Graham said then noticed the changed scene below. God, Sergeant. What have you been doing?
Just trying out the ray gun, George grinned. I got a bit carried away. I was quite intrigued with the settings. The lowest is really just a stun mode. It could be handy.
Holly will be mad, Graham grumbled.
George stared at him. You like her a lot, don't you, Lad, he remarked.
Me? flushed the younger man. Of course, we all do.
But it's more than that, isn't it? I've seen you watching her. Now, if I was twenty years younger I'd be dragging her between the sheets. She's one curvy redhead.
George, Graham stuttered. Shut up. This is not the time...
Why? The old sergeant grinned. Personally, I reckon this is as good a time as any. She's a lonely young woman, you know.
Oh hell, George, what would she see in me? There must be a score of males back home of more interest to her.
Possibly, the old sergeant muttered and slapped his companion on the shoulders. But you're here, Lad, and so is she.
Just behind the opened door but out of sight, Holly had hesitated when she heard the men's voices. It was unintentional but everything had been heard. She reddened at George's colorful comments but smiled to herself at Graham's reply. Once again her stomach gave a flutter as she retreated downstairs without making her presence known.
That evening the five had an intense discussion about their next move. They now had fast safe transport but were no closer to providing the humans on the planet with a safe place to live.
We have no idea what has happened at home, Holly continued, or, in fact where the settlers are.
The FanWarrior can trace them, Jaddig added.
How do you know? Suzi interrupted.
I asked Plato, Jaddig said. There are tracking devices on board that are sensitive to warm blooded creatures.
But what if they're still underground in the cave complex? Suzi added.
I don't know, Jaddig admitted.
Well, I reckon we should cram the Fan Warrior with as much of the emergency food and medical supplies we can and go looking for the settlers, George added. Once they are found, we can then discuss our next move. Rushing off to this island could be a waste of time.
Perhaps the island will be a safe area to evacuate the settlers to, Graham added.
I doubt it, Suzi answered. Otherwise, why did the our ancestors leave it in the first place?
Holly nodded. I take it, therefore, we all agree we should find where the settlers are. If they're still under New Seattle in the caves they could be in danger from the invading clickers. Clay may never have got back to warn them and they may have decided to stay put.
I think we should find them, George replied and the other s nodded, and we should take as many supplies as we can.
That's a good idea, George. The food supplies at home must be getting low by now and with the farms gone even with spring approaching, there is little hope of growing more. We could load Charlie up and drive it aboard. I'm sure the Plato will tell us when we become overloaded.
The next question is when we leave, Suzi added.
I thought in the morning, Holly said.
It might be better to leave in the dark, Suzi added. That could give us an advantage over the enemy.
They'd hear us, Graham added.
No, Suzi replied. The Fan Warrior has a silent motor. There's only the rush of air and something called a sonic boom if we go over a thousand kilometers and hour.
Oh, My God, snorted George. You've been talking to the damn computer, too.
Why not? Suzi retorted.
I just hate the idea of my life being controlled by a bundle of wires, George replied with a shrug, Though, I must admit, it's a pity our ancestors decided to keep all this technology from us. He turned to Holly. How about leaving in the predawn darkness?
Their leader glanced around at everyone's nods. Okay, she said, It's agreed then but let's be sure we select the very best supplies to take back with us.
Her eyes caught Graham's warm smile and her own serious expression disappeared in her warm response. Across the room, Suzi caught Jaddig's eyes and they also grinned while George stood back and shrugged.
I'll go and get a mug of coffifake for us all, he muttered and glanced around, or would you all rather have a good dram of whisky?
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twelve
Lieutenant Jay Johnston was a human female; not that this was unusual. Half the rear guard bowmen assembled on both sides of the forested valley were of her gender. She glanced up from the view of the valley below as a mud splattered bowman slid in beside her.
A vehicle is approaching, Lieutenant, he hissed. It's similar to the one Holly Jurjevics went off in but is smaller. Clickers are inside.
My God! That didn't take them long, Johnston grunted. When will they be here, D
on?
Bowman Don Torrey glanced at his watch. It took us half an hour to get back over the hill, Jay but they have to access the ridge into this valley. They're in mud and travelling pretty slowly.
How long, Bowman? Johnston glowered.
Thirty minutes at the outside.
Any other troops or vehicles?
None. Just a lone vehicle. We were on the summit and had a view right along the valley.
Right, Don. You did well. Go and have some breakfast. She turned to another bowman beside her. Get back to base and report this information to Commander Evans, Bryce. Tell him we'll send a second runner when more information comes through.
Right, Lieutenant, the man replied and disappeared through the foliage.
The officer reached for a long flagpole and assembled eight colored flags of differing shapes and raised them out from the trees. The other bowmen read the signal and, in six positions along the valley, flags rose in acknowledgment then disappeared again. To a casual observer the forest was empty but thirty powerful crossbows were armed and ready.
Johnston issued orders to six personnel around and the group made their way towards the road.
Wunep glanced at his car's fuel gauge hovering in the empty zone and grunted. If we get to the summit we can perhaps roll down the other side, Clay, he said. I guess we're damn lucky to get this far.
They'd been driving since before dawn after camping the night below the snow line. The signs of the human refugees continued but there were no actual sightings, only the footprints and tracks and one flattened area by a stream where the remains of a camp had been found.
Clay, who had been asleep in the rear after being on guard duty most of the night, gave the two girls a quick grin and slid into the front by the driver. We mustn't be far away now. That camp site would only be a day or two old and thirteen hundred people can't travel very fast. He glanced out at the crisp morning sunshine. At least the weather is fine and we're below the snow line.
Five minutes later they reached the summit and Wunep pulled off the road where they had a view up the long valley ahead. The road curved down before disappearing in a straight line through a thickly forested area.
A long way, if we have to walk, Snimel commented.
The settlers could be in there and we'd never see them, Clay added and rubbed his chin.
I'll fly ahead and look, Bikut offered.
No, snapped Clay. Your wing is still on the mend and if you are attacked up there we cannot help you. The settlers will regard you as the enemy, too. We stay together as we agreed last night.
Okay Clay, the flying female replied and gave him a smile of appreciation.
After they had found the settlers’ trail, the three Crucnon suggested Clay went ahead on his own but he had flatly refused and his gesture further enhanced the bond of friendship between them. That morning the human had also spent ages dressing and rebinding Bikut's wounds. Her arm wound where the bullet had been removed was still tender but clean while her face had come out in a massive purple bruise with one eye barely open. Her relocated arm and damaged wings had repaired themselves at a phenomenal speed and that morning she had flown in a brief circle above their camp. After she landed there was a worried expression on her face. Nothing was said but everyone realized but the short flight had exhausted her.
After they reached the summit, Wunep the car down the road to the valley below where he pulled a lever and restarted the motor. The reserve tank, he said. I reckon we have enough fuel for about twenty kilometers.
Clay nodded but said nothing. Everything looked deserted but in this dense forest an army could be hidden in the trees. It was almost too quiet. He knew the settlers would have their backs covered and was worried they could attack their vehicle without warning. Perhaps a sign was necessary. He turned to the others. Have any of you got white clothing or anything white? he asked.
My old blouse, Snimel replied. But why?
Just an idea, Clay replied. Could I borrow it, please.
A few moments later the car had a makeshift flagpole attached to the roof with the white blouse flying. The wind caught the four sleeves and it bellowed out like a balloon as they drove along at a steady thirty kilometers an hour. Clay wound down his window and turned to the others If there's a human patrol around, they'll hesitate with the white flag and my hairy face out the window, he grunted. At least, I hope they do.
And if there's crucnon out there, cautioned Bikut.
I duck, grunted Clay and stood up so his head and shoulders were outside being buffeted in the wind. Just keep driving at a steady speed as if we don't have a care in the world.
If you say, Wunep answered but the apprehension on his face showed.
They're diving like hell and waving a white flag, Lieutenant, a sergeant, who could have been George's brother, reported. They'll bee here in a few minutes.
Right, Johnston replied. Bring the tree down across the road. I want only three bowmen in sight and everyone ready. Nobody is to fire unless I order.
There was the sound of chopping the groan of timbers and a large pine tree crashed across the road with a splash of mud and dust. The new roadblock was strategically placed twenty meters from a corner so the vehicle wouldn't have a warning but should have time to stop without hurting the passengers.
Here it comes, a young bowman sitting half way up a tree commented to his companion.
For the conditions, the car was speeding; mud spun out from the six tires and the front wobbled as the driver sort to keep control. It came to the corner and bore down on the tree. For the first few seconds the spectators thought the vehicle was going to hit at full speed but there was a high pitched scream of brakes and the smell of burning rubber. The rear end slid around and mud sliced through the air like rain. Metal hit dirt and the cab lifted, wobbled and crashed down before the car embedded itself into the branches and lurched to a stop with steam hissing from the crumpled front radiator.
Oh Hell, muttered the sergeant.
Lieutenant Johnston signaled for the others to maintain position and moved forward. She pulled a branch aside, reached for the driver's door and wrenched it open.
Everyone out! she commanded in Vybber. This is the New Washington DPF. Your vehicle is surrounded. Any hostile act will be stopped with force.
Wunep stared at the hostile eyes and held his four arms wide. We are refugees, he glowed in English, and if you weren't so bloody efficient, Clay would vouch for us.
Jay Johnson frowned and bent down to inspect the interior. Her eyes caught those of two terrified clickers in the back, one a winged female. She turned and suppressed a tiny gasp. An unconscious and bleeding human was slumped across the far side of the cab.
Get out! she barked and, without taking her eyes off Wunep, gave another command. Sergeant, could you lift Bowman Farrell from the vehicle. He managed to knock himself out.
Clay woke up with a throbbing head and the view of flickering green canvas above him. It was dark and a small lamp provided the only light. His eyes focused on Proctor Andrea Jurjevics slight smile then shifted to where a distressed Bikut and Snimel were sitting on canvas seats.
Your fellow passengers from the vehicle refused to leave your side, the Proctor stated in a quiet voice. Wunep is bringing Commander Evans up to date on the enemy's troop movements.
All the Crucnon with me are friends, Clay gasped. They are to be treated with respect.
We have been, Snimel leaned forward and fixed the bowman with blue eyes while Bikut gave a shy nod. You have been unconscious all day. We've been worried.
Yeah, Clay replied and broke into a smile. I guess I should have worn my seat belt.
From the reports I received, you're lucky you weren't thrown out of the vehicle and run over, Andrea chastised but her expression softened into another smile. You did well, Clay. The information your friends gave us will be of great value. The inner council met an hour ago and has granted political asylum to Snimel, Bikut and Wunep. That means they are un
der our protection. I'll leave you all to chat in peace. A meal will arrive shortly. The Proctor squeezed Clay's arm, smiled at the two clickers and departed.
Oh, Clay, Bikut bit on her lip and immediately started talking. The humans couldn't have been kinder to us but we were scared for you. There was blood all over your face and down your shirt.
Apart from a terrible headache, I'm fine, Clay smiled.
Headache? Snimel asked. What's that?
A pain in my skull, Clay replied and turned to Bikut. Your face bruise has gone down a lot. How are you?
I was terrified when we crashed but now... she smiled and continued in a whisper. I'm glad we came.
News of Clay and the Crucnon's arrival passed through the camp but, like all events, it became distorted and exaggerated as each version of their presence just added that wee slither of personal prejudice, most positive but some negative. It was early afternoon when the incident happened.
For the first time since their arrival Wunep was separated from his companions through the simple call of nature. There were ablutions block spread throughout the forest under which most of the tents were erected and the male block was a hundred meters across a small clearing from the ones the females used.
After refreshing himself and ignoring the sullen glare of the couple of men in the sacking enclosed facility, Wunep slung his towel around his shoulders and headed back across the grassed area towards a newly erected tent they had been given for their use. At first, he never noticed the half dozen youths walking slowly behind him but their attitude soon became obvious when he stopped and turned.
The youths stopped too and just glared at him with hands on their hips. Wunep gave a slight smile and continued his walk but four more human males appeared in front.
My, what do we have here, a cold-blooded bald freak with spare arms, a tall muscular youth with an attempt at a beard growing from his chin, muttered.
Wunep stared directly at the youth and swallowed. Trouble was certain but pride was at stake. Why don't you go, have a shave and be a real man like the bowmen protecting the village, he hissed in his own language.
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