It was an uncharacteristically gloomy thought. Just the sort of thinking he’d challenged Faulkner over in the past. It seemed that warfare did change you, and rarely for the better.
To his credit, Nash didn’t say anything about the down draft. He was the sort who seemed to accept their fate unconditionally. Neither did he seem particularly concerned about his current predicament, which Faulkner found impressive. Nash just got on with things, seemingly unconcerned about issues surrounding his own safety. Probably just as well. If he was prepared to risk everything as human cargo aboard a communications drone, he couldn’t afford to look into things too deeply. His chances of surviving all this were slim at best, though if that were true of him, it had to be true of Webster also.
“You still here?” Webster asked, careful to keep his gun trained on the pilot.
“Right where you left me.”
Nash appeared not to have moved an inch since he last saw him. He was still wearing his rucksack. Probably a wise move. The simple act of removing it might be enough to cause his foot to slip, and that would be the end of it.
“You still looking for a ride?”
Nash used both hands to indicate his foot. “If you can get me out of this, then, yes. Any ideas?”
“Funnily enough, I do.”
Saying that, Webster went over to stand next to Nash, taking care to tread lightly. Once he was certain that the pilot was looking in his direction - which was always difficult to judge - he lifted his foot and made as if to ease Nash’s to one side.
Initially, the creature didn’t seem to understand what he was getting at but after repeated demonstrations, the message seemed to strike home. Not that the pilot showed any eagerness to comply.
“Not very cooperative, is he?” Nash said.
“It’s almost like he doesn’t want to help.”
Webster moved around in an arc, bringing his weapon up to waist height. This seemed to decide their captive, who glanced up at the sun before stepping across tentatively.
There was a moment when the pilot’s foot slid in next to Nash’s where Webster wondered if the Da’al was physically heavy enough to keep the mine’s mechanism depressed, but he needn’t have worried. Both Nash and the pilot seemed to grasp the delicate nature of what they were attempting and after a little gentle jostling, they succeeded in trading places.
Nash hopped away, holding his right leg out in front of him.
“Thought the cramp was going to get me there.”
Once he was a safe distance away, he dropped onto all fours and started massaging his hamstring. Webster waited until he was back on his feet before jabbing a thumb back towards the shuttle.
“We should get going.”
“Not so fast,” Nash was struggling to remove his back pack. “There’s something we need to do, first.”
He spent a few moments rifling through it before removing a small rectangular case. After opening it, he took out something which very much resembled a harmonica.
“You going to play us a tune?”
“Something like that.”
And so saying, he clamped the thing between his teeth and blew. Webster wasn’t sure whether it was the strange ululating noise it made, or the way that the flanges either end vibrated, which unsettled him the most. Whichever it was, Webster didn’t like it. It was chilling to see someone mimic them like that. It was bad enough when the Da’al did it.
Not content with that, Nash curled a shiny Nautilus shell around his ear.
“A translator?” Webster said. “Who’s come up with all this stuff?”
“Linguists, mostly. They’re taking it all very seriously back on Earth Prime.”
Webster’s eyes switched from the pilot to Nash and back again.
“And does it work?”
“I think we’re about to find out.”
What happened next was one of the strangest interactions Webster had ever witnessed. It had the weirdest synergy about it: a cross between jazz musicians jamming and some bizarre mating ritual. The pilot, who appeared reluctant to get involved at first, quickly became caught up in it, producing sounds which were at times light and eloquent while at others harsh and unpleasant. Everything they said accompanied by a series of intricate hand gestures. Webster couldn’t comprehend most of it but there was a lot of meaningful pointing going on.
This went on for about ten minutes but even once they’d finished, the sounds they’d made still seemed to resonate. It had been dizzying just to witness it.
“What happens now,” Webster said.
Nash grinned wolfishly and without humour. “Shoot the damn thing so we can get out of here.”
“I’m not going to shoot it.”
“Why not? It’ll be dead anyway once that mine detonates.”
“I’m not shooting it.”
“You wouldn’t care so much if you’d heard what it said.”
“What did it say?”
Nash tapped the shell at his ear. “I didn’t get it all but, basically, they’re here to destroy the gate.”
Webster angled his head slightly as if he’d misheard.
“The Henrietta Gate? Can they even do that?”
“They think they can.”
It was inconceivable. Each gate had taken upwards of thirty years to stabilise. The thought of one being destroyed deliberately was inconceivable.
“We’ll have to let Markham know.”
Nash hoisted his rucksack over his shoulder and started towards the shuttle.
“Markham’s going to have to wait.”
“What do you mean? We can’t just leave him.”
“No, but he’s not our priority right now,” he took out the little box and deposited the mouthpiece back inside. Then he held up the ear-piece. It obviously doubled as some kind of recording device. “We have to get this thing back to Lincoln.”
“What? You’re talking about sending a drone? Where you going to find one of those?”
“Camp Colditz has one.”
“Okay. But do I need to remind you that the Da’al still have their ship in orbit. What’s to stop them from shooting it down?”
Nash stopped abruptly, taking Webster by the shoulders.
“We’ll think of something.”
They held eye contact for longer than either of them was comfortable with but, by the end of it, the two men had a fresh insight into each other’s psyches.
“Alright,” Webster said. “I get it. We go back to Colditz.”
“That’s right.”
“And I’m the one flying the shuttle, I suppose?”
“For a naval officer, you catch on real quick.”
In the background, the pilot was singing what sounded like a last lament.
Author’s Note
Thanks for being here. If you enjoyed the book I would really appreciate a quick review on Amazon. Social proofing is crucial for new authors like me.
And, if you’ve read this far, I hope you will be looking forward to the next in the series coming in the early summer, DAY OF WAR. It’ll be up for pre- order soon but if you would like to know precisely when (and get some interesting freebies and insights into the series) please sign up to my mailing list through my website here. You can of course unsubscribe at any time.
https://www.rlgiddings.com/
Act of War Page 33