Blood was still oozing from the wound in the neck. Lisa’s body looked pale and shrunken. Carefully, Indira dragged her clear. Then she went back for the laser rifle. She was just about to burn the entire tree in sheer fury, but she stopped herself in time. It would be a senseless act. Kwango would doubtless want to look at it; and, anyway, her first duty was to her patient. There was plasma and an emergency medikit in the hovercar. By the look of things, Lisa Uhlmann was already desperately short of blood.
Somehow, Lieutenant Smith managed to hoist the unconscious woman over her shoulders to carry her in the fireman’s lift position. Then she stood up. Her prosthetic legs took the strain effortlessly.
Lisa’s head and limbs lolled slackly. More blood oozed from the wound in her neck. It couldn’t be helped. It was too dangerous to leave her while Indira went for the medikit.
Indira began to run. She picked up speed. The legs moved with precision and power, like the wonderful machines they really were. Indira’s greatest difficulty was not in supporting the weight but in keeping her balance. She ran faster than an Olympic athlete, leaping across low patches of scrub and landing perfectly. If anyone had witnessed the performance, they would have been dumbfounded.
Back at the hovercar, she lowered Uhlmann across the rear seat, got the medikit and set professionally to work. She cleared the neck wound, squirted it with the aerosol coagulant, then gave it a temporary coat of synthaskin. She listened to heart and breathing—weak, intermittent, critical. She gave a shot of adrenalin. Then she ripped Lisa’s clothing still further and examined the rest of her. Weals on the waist, legs and shoulders—presumably where she had been gripped and pulled by the monstrous tree— bruises on the breasts, lower belly and vaginal area.
She listened once more to the heartbeat. It was stronger, but still erratic. The adrenalin was beginning to get through.
Lieutenant Smith climbed to the driver’s seat and reached for the transceiver, broadcasting the distress call that had been recognised internationally for one and a half centuries.
“Mayday! Mayday! Hovercar to Santa Maria. Do you read me?”
“I read you.” It was Matthew’s imperturbable voice. “Also, I have your position. What do you require?”
“Hook me in to the Commander.”
“Decision noted. Execution proceeds.”
There was a brief silence. Then she heard Conrad’s voice.
“What has happened, Indira? Are you O.K.?” She was gratified by the note of concern.
“I’m all right, James. Uhlmann had an accident. Get out here fast—and bring plasma.”
“Willco. Out.”
Conrad was in the chopper with plasma less than a minute after he had spoken to Indira. As he lifted, he wondered yet again why the prehensile robots had reconstructed the machine perfectly. But then, he told himself drily, God moves in mysterious ways.
Kwango and Pushkin were less than one kilometre from the ring system. They had encountered no opposition. They had also encountered little wildlife—which was not entirely surprising, since the sound of exo-skeletons crashing through the forest must have been heard by sensitive ears over a great distance/
Kwango said: “I can’t understand it. We get so near, and nothing happens. If those clockwork monkeys are watching us—which I don’t doubt, since eight metres of metal exo is hardly inconspicuous—they must assume, at best, that we are making a reconnaissance or, at worst, that we intend to attack.”
Pushkin’s voice crackled slightly. “There is some electromagnetic disturbance. I hear you, but reception is not good… Maybe somebody called off the dogs.”
“How’s that again?”
“I said maybe somebody called off the dogs, comrade.”
“If they did, they had a reason, comrade. And it is probably one that we are not going to like. We have some good pix of the rings. Let’s get the hell out.”
“Wait!” Alexei pointed. On the denuded ground, about seventy metres ahead, there was a glint of metal. The sunlight turned it into a blinding mirror. Kwango thought it was hexagonal—like the indentations on the derelict star-ship.
“Shall we investigate, comrade?” asked Alexei. The static and the crackling was getting worse.
“No. It is all too neat. We’ll get the hell out. Dat ole Kwango sixth sense tells me dat somethin’ is brewin’. So we ain’t going to stay for de big surprise.”
But Pushkin appeared not to have heard him, or to have heard him and disobeyed, or to have heard something different.
He strode forward.
Kwango saw flashes in the sunlight.
“Down!” he shouted, flinging his own exo flat.
Pushkin either didn’t hear or didn’t care. The missile hit his exo-skeleton dead centre. It exploded, flew apart. Fragments of the exo-skeleton and bloody fragments of Pushkin come down like surrealist rain. Kwanga was up and running before the pieces stopped falling. He ducked another missile and leaped high over a third. Then he went into overdrive, taking the exo back to the Santa Maria at seventy k.p.h.
Phase Five CONRAD STIRS IT UP
Conrad’s face was grim. He gazed sombrely at the four other Expendables sitting round the saloon table.
“How Is the patient?” he asked Lieutenant Smith.
“Sedated. Apart from the neck, I can find no other wound. Heartbeat still rather weak, breathing somewhat shallow. I’ve given antibiotics though there is as yet no trace of infection. Too early. I’ll know more about that probably by the end of tomorrow… Uhlmann was in good physical condition. Unless we are very unlucky, she should be fit for light duty in about three days.”
“We are already very unlucky,” retorted Conrad, “if you want to call it that… Well, let us consider the state of play. We have lost a good engineer and an exo-skeleton, our chemist is out of action, and friend Khelad has lost six of his mines. All this in one day.” He glanced fiercely at Ahmed Khelad. “The ship has been searched, the compound has been searched. Those damned robots have even gone through my personal locker. Not a trace… if I ever find you were playing funny games, Khelad, I personally will disassemble you. Are you sure six are lost?”
Ahmed sounded pained. “I am sure, Commander. I have no means of proving what I say, but I am sure.”
“And you still think the culprit is Zonis?”
The Arab shrugged. “It gives me no pleasure to say yes.”
“Commander,” said Ruth, “does it not occur to you that Khelad’s attitude has a historical precedent? For a long time it has been traditional for the Arabs to blame their own failures and short-comings on the Israelis.”
Conrad sighed. “Propaganda is not relevant, Zonis. Facts are. Do you have any facts?”
She remained silent.
“Then listen to me, both of you,” went on Conrad. “And listen good. Because of the new situation, we are going to have to crash the crash programme. How many mines have you got now, Khelad?”
“Three hundred and twenty.”
“That is going to have to be enough—for the time being. Tomorrow, you and Zonis will start laying a random minefield round the defence perimeter. You will record their positions carefully and accurately. You will concentrate two thirds of your mines round the southern perimeter and one third round the northern.”
“Boss,” said Kwango, “the ring system is to the- north.”
“I know. You are supposed to be the resident genius. You work it out.”
Lieutenant Smith said: “You think we will be attacked?”
“I know we will be attacked. The only question is when. Those monkey robots have proved that we are vulnerable. They took out Pushkin and his exo with the greatest of ease. Their intention to escalate is obvious. First they hit us with grenades, then they bring in powered missiles. Their programme suggests one overriding command: exterminate intruders regardless of cost… Well, if they can’t achieve this in the next forty-eight hours, we will take the initiative. As for this so-called tree that trapped Uhlmann and drank
her blood while putting her into happyland, we will make a study of its incidence and characteristics when we have dealt with the robots and the rings. The fact that it is not very prolific would indicate that it is not much of a problem… All right, let’s break it up and get some sleep. Matthew is on the nav deck, supervising the defence system. Three armed robots are patrolling the perimeter, two are on board to take care of the fifth column. Kwango, see me in my cabin in five minutes.”
Kwango took the drink that Conrad offered him. It was genuine Southern Comfort. He sipped it and savoured it with respect.
“Not from general stores,” said Conrad. “That was shipped on my personal weight allowance.” He poured himself a drink and gave a grim laugh. “Emergency rocket fuel. By the Lord Harry, I need it.”
“Commander, you look dead tired.”
“I am dead tired. I’m not as tough as I thought.”
“How’s the arm?”
“To hell with the arm, Kurt. I’m thinking of pulling out. And how do you like that?”
Kwango scratched his head, “Scuse me, Massa Boss. Seems like only yesterday I heard a man who looks just like you declarin’ he was going for broke.”
Conrad passed a hand wearily over his forehead. “I know… I know. Since then I have been thinking. We are expendable—but the Santa Maria isn’t. It cost half the annual budget of a country like Israel to build it and put it here. Now that we are getting guided missiles thrown at us, have I the right to risk that kind of investment?”
Kwango was silent for a moment or two. Then he said: “The fail-safe mentality has its limitations. If we skip back to Terra with—metaphorically speaking—our tail between our legs, those Third World people are going to laugh themselves sick. When they recover from that, they will have ExPEND for breakfast. The money will be rerouted to buying tractors for people who don’t know how to use them and wouldn’t want to use them if they could… Kratos justified our existence, Boss. If we get smashed on Tantalus, it doesn’t much matter. Mankind is already out of the Solar System. But if we prove Tantalus, those Third World people are going to curl up and send for the shrink. End of opposition to ExPEND—and, to put it fancifully, de laughing animal continues trekking gaily out to de stars… My, dat Southern Comfort sure is potent.”
Conrad could not suppress a yawn. “You are right, Kurt. We have to go for broke. But if the Santa Maria does not return to Terra, the Third World people will probably get the programme smashed, anyway… Now, before I fall asleep and you get hit by the booze, give me another Kwango scenario. Make it sound optimistic. I’ve had enough bad news for one day.”
Kwango grinned. “Boss, if I was to make it optimistic, you’d think it was science fiction. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll talk tomorrow?”
“Pour both of us another drink, then talk. That is an order.”
“O.K. If that’s the way you want it.” Kwango fixed the drinks. “Apart from the ring system and nasty little robots that toss bombs and guided missiles, we know the planet is O.K. for man. The tree—or whatever it is—that had it off with Lisa while drinking her blood is fairly rare. No other specimen has been found growing in the area already surveyed. It is nothing more than a very sophisticated, king-size Venus fly-trap. It’s vulnerable. Wherever we find it, we can hit it at will. All we have to do is develop a kind of selective weed-killer. But if that is not possible—which I doubt—we simply do what Lieutenant Smith did: burn it.”
Kwango took another sip of his Southern Comfort. “I. am puzzled why we ain’t seen no people. We get things thrown at us, but we don’t meet any of the people who presumably don’t want us around.”
“There’s an obvious answer to that,” said Conrad. “They let their robots do the dirty work. Less messy.”
“There’s another answer,” said Kwango, finishing his drink. “A nice simple one. There ain’t no people. Or not many… If there were, we’d have been taken out before now.”
Conrad was suddenly alert. “You could be right.”
“It is customary,” said Kwango. “And if there ain’t no people, all we have done in touching down on Tantalus is to set off the burglar alarm and disturb the electronic dogs. Trouble is, we don’t know how many dogs we have disturbed.”
“We’ll find out,” said Conrad grimly. “Incidentally, there is one thing we don’t have to worry about. I know where the missing mines are.”
Kwango gazed at him astounded. “Then why the funny act with Khelad and Zonis? Now you really have them at each other’s throats.”
“Precisely. Before, Ruth only suspected Ahmed. Now she thinks she knows for sure. Probably, Ahmed did not even seriously suspect her. But now he is convinced she is the saboteur. They watch each other like hawks. That way, they neutralise each other.”
“Where are the mines, Boss?”
“I stowed them in the emergency escape hatch after it had been searched. Now, let’s get some sleep.”
Kwango smiled. “Commander, you are a real mean bastard.”
“Meaner than you think, black man. I have Uhlmann sewn up, too.”
“Because she is sick?”
“No, because she will soon get better.”
Kwango scratched his head. “Sometimes, I think I just don’t understand you, Commander, sir.”
“That affords some small satisfaction, Kurt… Now, let’s get some sleep.”
Phase Six A BAD DAY FOR EXPENDABLES
Next day brought more trouble—some of it expected, some of it unexpected. In the morning, while Khelad and Zonis were busy laying the minefield, Kwango took the hovercar and reconnoitred to the south. He also had with him the robot, Peter, and two laser rifles. Specifically, he was looking for another of the bloodsucking trees that had almost taken care of Lisa Uhlmann.
Lieutenant Smith stayed in the Santa Maria to observe and attend to her patient. Under protest, and on Conrad’s orders, she had shot Lisa full of a special stimulant. The wound was healing well, but Indira would have preferred to continue sedating her patient and ensuring that she rested for a few more days. Lisa did not know she had been given a stimulant. The needle went in while she was sleeping profoundly. She sighed in her sleep, and uttered a vague groan of protest. But that was all. The stimulant had been specially developed for the Space Service. It was the kind of wonder juice that could make a man or woman who had lost, for example, an arm, get up from the sick-bed and operate with superhuman energy for several hours. But, naturally, there was a price to pay later. Sometimes, it was death; but usually it was a nasty little once-off heart attack. Conrad knew all about the properties of Superform. He had been shot full of it a long time ago when he was still a full captain in the U.N.S.S. He had not cared too much for the subsequent heart attack; but it had been worth the precious time needed to take his vessel out of danger. He had explained the reasons for his decisions to Lieutenant Smith. He had also told her what to do when Superform began to take effect. And he had also given her a tiny, pill-sized gadget to insert in Lisa Uhlmann’s neck dressing.
Meanwhile, Kwango found his tree. It was about thirty kilometres south-west of the Santa Maria, somewhat larger than the one described by Lieutenant Smith. But it was in much the same sort of situation—very close to a large tract of grassland where herds of herbivores roamed.
On the journey, Kwango had developed his own special investigation technique; and he had programmed the robot, Peter, with the necessary instructions.
First, an investigation was to be made of the area of ground at least fifty metres and not more than a hundred metres from the base of the tree. After that, Peter would approach the tree as closely as possible, armed with a laser rifle. Kwango would cover him from a safe distance and note the tree’s response. The third test consisted of Kwango making the approach while Peter covered him.
The entire arrangement was very rough and ready; but Kwango was mindful that information about the tree was needed very quickly.
As he had expected, a careful se
arch revealed the bones of many scattered animals. They lay in undergrowth, some covered by tall grasses and shrubs, many in various stages of decomposition.
A pattern emerged. The tree waited for its victim to approach within striking distance, then shot out its tendrils and dragged the creature in to suck from it the nutria merit needed. When it had finished, the remains—f presumably nothing but skin and bone—were tossed as far away as the tree could manage so that future visitors would not be discouraged. Someday, if he had time, Kwango intended to analyse the ecological function of the shrubs surrounding the blood-sucking trees. He had a notion that they were symbiotic, depending on the tree for the materials that would keep them alive and healthy. Certainly, they had a great capacity for removing traces of tell-tale bones.
When Peter approached close to what later came to be called the ecstasy tree, it made not the slightest response to the robot’s presence.
“Reach up and tug at one of those hanging fronds,” called Kwango. He spoke much louder than necessary, trying to ascertain if the tree would respond to noise.
“Decision noted. Execution proceeds,” returned Peter. “Query. Is it required that I detach a sample?”
“If there is no reaction to your pulling, detach three samples, each one metre long, and return them to me.”
“Decision noted.”
There was no response to the robot’s pulling. The tree appeared totally indifferent to Peter’s presence, even when the robot methodically collected the required samples.
Kwango examined one of the specimens closely. It felt very strong and rubbery. In cross-section it looked almost like a miniature honeycomb, containing a number of tiny hexagonal tubes.
Kwango put the specimen down. “I am now going in close, Peter. You will cover me with the laser rifle. No matter what happens, unless you are sure that my life is in 4anger, you will take no action for forty-five seconds. If, as I expect, the tree takes hold of me in such a way that I cannot free myself, you will systematically laser whatever holds me. If I cannot then move myself, you will come in and retrieve me. Do you understand?”
The Rings of Tantalus [Expendables 2] Page 11