So be it.
I told Shrêhht what I’d seen. What I wanted done.
Long silence.
All right, my friend. Somehow soft and gentle, translated through vocoder and phone. We’ll see you tomorrow, then. Around local noon.
I sat dry-eyed under the stars until the Moon had set, then went down to sleep with Alix.
Thirteen. An Infinitely Deep Sky
All morning long, I had my little rebel band out training under an infinitely deep blue sky, a sky stained by some high, tawny haze. Though it was hot, the air was dry, the heat mediated by a strong, cool breeze from the northeast.
I made them learn how to handle the guns that morning, made the little guy charge at us repeatedly in his suit of black armor, while we fired plastic frags at him. After each charge, I’d take them aside and point out all the little white smears of each hit, tell them which ones would’ve merely made his ears ring, which ones would’ve taken off his head or shattered an arm. As the morning went on, our aggressor force of one got better and better, tucking his head down so he could take the impacts on his face, clutching his arms to his chest, not letting anyone get behind him.
You see? I’d say. The sagoths will learn too.
We could still pretend it was just that, that no armored monsters would fall on them out of the sky and put their little game to bed. A pretense within a pretense.
And just now, they sprawled together out in the field, sitting around, eating their lunches, arguing the finer points of guerrilla warfare with their attacker, who’d skinned out of his suit, face beet red, shining with sweat. I’d made a mental note to show him, after lunch, how to adjust the armor’s cooling system, had the decency to cringe internally.
Pretense almost an obsession.
Alix and I walked up across the broad, yellow-brown field of Dorvo Valley, holding hands, as we did more and more these days, carrying our lunches to a big, flat gray rock balanced on a little ridge at the edge of the forest, a rock warmed by the sun, cooled by the wind, sat up there, looking down on all our friends, eating our sandwiches of heavy-flavored liverwurst and cheese, rough, dry, homemade wheat-bread crumbly in mouths, swigging from chipped antique wine bottles, refilled with sweet, watery lemonade.
Facing one another, skins shiny with the day’s sweat, glassy in the strong sunlight, watching one another eat. Alix kept putting her hand out and touching my knee, and I was appalled at the arousal that brought. I could imagine myself tossing my sandwich aside into the grass, laying my hands on her thighs, applying all the strength of my fingers, could hear the seams of her blue jeans parting, a deep-pitched snarl of popping threads, the sudden exposure of her crotch a shocking change of aspect. I could imagine myself holding her down then, one hand on her throat, the other clutching one knee, forcing her open, forcing myself inside...
Alix laughed nervously, and said, “God, you’ve got the oddest look in your eye, Athy! Where the hell have you gone?”
A quick shake of my head and Alix was a smiling middle-aged woman sitting in front of me once again, chewing, sallowing, drinking from her bottle. “I...”
I heard the sound of our little world coming to an end.
Far away, echoing over the landscape, like the ghost of some long-forgotten war. Only me, right now. Sensitized, and ready.
Alix suddenly sat forward. “Athy? What is it?”
Just a faraway growl, slowly coming closer.
Down in the field below, I saw Stoneshadow look up from her meal, grow still, head cocked to one side, listening. For just a moment, she wouldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then... I saw her turn to Mace, saw him jerk, saw the two of them scramble to their feet, reaching to grab up their weapons, turning away toward the forest, turning to run.
God damn you, you pieces of shit! Stay with my people!
Panic in Alix’s voice, still understated, tentative. “What’s wrong, Athy?”
Rumble-whine of electric turbines suddenly climbing over the general threshold of people’s hearing, sudden onset of a deep, pulsing thud, the shockwave from a rotary-wing aircraft. Another. Another. Climbing all over each other, smothering definition.
Alix looked at me then, eyes bright with fear, whispered, “Oh, God...”
Not here for you, today, beloved Alexandra Moreno.
Down below, people were on their feet now, looking up at an empty sky, scanning the horizons, Davy shading his eyes, the little guy whose name I never learned suddenly on his knees, messing with his suit of armor, opening up the backplate. I felt myself give a little approving nod. Point of merit. Marsh was standing still, hands on his hips, watching his Saanaae friends run away.
All right, Marsh. Now you know.
He turned suddenly and looked up at me. Eyes twin bright dots, too far away to make out in detail. I raised one hand, pointed to the guns piled near him on the ground.
Another moment of stillness, while the sound of the choppers grew louder and louder, then he raised his hand to me in a classic mid-digital salute. Flash of white teeth. Nos morituri te salutamus. OK, Marsh. Now you know it all.
He shouted something, turned and broke for the gray ammunition box standing in the shadows not far from his tent. A single canister of X-cracker charges, brought down from the mountain. I wondered if he’d get it open in time. Wondered if his first target would be me.
I grabbed Alix by the arm and pulled her back, pulled her over the rear edge of our picnic rock, so we could crouch down in the shadows and watch.
Six big single-engine Saanaae-made assault fliers came snapping over the rim of the forest, from six directions, barely clearing the trees, already diving on the ground, guns twinkling, dust spurting all around the lunchtime crowd. Solid shot, trying to make them give up without a fight. Arrests. Suspects to question. A rebellion to be unmasked and taken apart.
They had their combat doors open already, troopers massed inside, armored sagoths and white-uniformed Saanaae. Ready, willing and able.
I could see Marsh crouching by the open box, pulling out a single clip, snapping it into his Ranger’s rifle, turning, firing from the hip, not even bothering to take aim. One of the helicopters flared, blinding blue-violet, and came apart, fire going every which way, went bowling back into the forest, trees crackling as they shattered, smoke-tailed fragments spraying out across the skying, ringing off our little rock, starting fires in the grass.
Beside me, Alix was cowering down, hands over her ears, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open. There would, somewhere, be the sound of her screaming, but I couldn’t hear it.
The other five machines slammed to the ground, bounced on their landing gear, turbines suddenly freewheeling, throttles chopped, half-trained policemen spilling onto the field, fanning out from their ships.
Marsh fired again, from a kneeling position, exploding one armored sagoth, his black helmet, head still inside, spinning up and up, end over end, mist of body fluids and hydraulics spraying. Sagoths throwing themselves to the ground, shooting back, splendid targets of white and green bounding high, squalling as my little guerrilla band hit them with a volley of plastic frags. One of the choppers opened up with a pressure-fed kugelspritz, bullets sizzling through the grass, bringing my people down in an ugly, struggling mass.
I could hear individual voices now. People squealing as they felt half-molten plastic go through them, like hot electric wire.
Every scream like the scream of a child in Hell.
Marsh fired a third time, X-cracker detonating back in the trees, a brilliant white ball, a puff of smoke, bits of wood howling over our heads. Then he was down, armored men upon him, someone clubbing him over the head with the butt of a rifle, once, twice, thrice. I could see his blood, a bright smear staining that fine Lincoln green.
I could feel Alix against my side, face buried in the sturdy cloth of my shirt, shaking, breathing hard, tiny choking sounds smothered. I put my hand on her back, rubbing gently, Shh. Shh. It’ll be all right.
o0o
It seemed like an ho
ur had gone by, two, three, but the sun was still standing high overhead. Only minutes. Casualties laid out in three neat rows, Saanaae, sagoths, guerrillas. Survivors, my people, hale and wounded alike, standing in a long row, coffled at the neck, heads down, stripped naked, waiting.
Halfway between us and this little playlet, a pair of sagoths were walking around with a CO2 cartridge, blowing out the grass fires, more of them back in the woods, putting out the wrecked helicopter, checking for unlikely survivors. One or two of them might have been blown out the open door.
Some of the women below were pretty, breasts high, waists narrow, some of the men handsome and muscular, but most of them were flabby, flesh like bread dough, pampered servants with too much time on their hands. Davy kept twisting in his neck ring, looking up toward our rock.
Alix, crouching by my side, whispered, “What’s going to happen?” Voice so very low, so very shaken. Gravelly with something like fatigue. I patted her softly, said nothing. Just watch.
They brought Marsh out of the forest, arms twisted behind his back, one of them obviously broken, and I could hear his sobs, his gasps of pain every time they twisted him a little harder, made the bone-ends grind, tissues tear softly. He still had his shirt on, completely soaked with blood now, and one shoe, but they’d taken away his pants.
Brought him to stand in front of a little group of men and Saanaae, held him to face them, while they said things to him, sharp, peremptory. One of the sagoths poked at his crotch with a dismounted bayonet, making him double over and squeak.
I heard the man laugh, and say, “What? Don’t like that, Marshy-boy?” Poked him again, blood spilling down his leg.
They pulled him upright, held him steady, then let him go. Silence, wind blowing through the trees behind us. Marsh staggering, looking around, at Davy, at his friends, a quick glance up at my rock.
And our head sagoth unholstered his sidearm, snapped the slide, put it to Marsh’s head. Said something. Brief tableau. Quick, nervous headshake from Marsh. No, sir...
Bang.
Just a little popping sound that echoed off the trees.
Marsh Donovan sat down suddenly, fell over on his back, looking up at the sky, arms and legs shaking, mouth open, dark blood running like water out onto the ground.
I felt Alix’s hand clutch hard at my elbow, heard her make just the slightest little cough, echoing the gunshot.
When they brought the two Saanaae out of the forest, it was anticlimactic. Other Saanaae dragging them forward, their faces and sides stained with yellow blood, struggling, still struggling. Mace was bleeding from a big wound on his lower back, one hind legging dragging a bit.
Other Saanaae, officers, gathering round. Words, hard, bubbling Saanaae words, raised voices, Stoneshadow’s angry protests, things I could make out, just a bit.
“Bitch!” she screamed. “If you were a real Saanaa, you’d’ve been out here with me...”
I tugged on Alix’s arm, backing away from the rock, whispering, “We’d better leave here now...” She followed me, fading back into the forest, unresisting, unprotesting, eyes wide with something like shock.
Behind us, we could hear a cascade of hard, rhythmic thuds, shouting, voices blending away into non-human screams, as Mace and Stoneshadow were beaten to death by their kin.
o0o
The forest was cool and quiet, tall trees rising all around us, air between them hazed by something like steam, more distant trees almost hidden, shaded in blue and gray, the soft shuffle of our footfalls almost covered by the jittery cries of birds, warning each other of our presence, the steady skirr of uncaring insects, little biological robots driven through their lives by God-programmed logic.
Kilometer after kilometer. Twenty, thirty, forty minutes. We stopped finally, so Alix could lean against a tree and rest, breathing through an open mouth, clothing sweat stained, lines cut deep across her brow, staring at me with hopeless eyes.
She said, “You’re not even breathing hard...” Voice flat and emotionless, a matter-of-fact comment. Distracting herself. Distancing herself emotionally as we fled deeper into the woods. Sound practice.
I could feel the sweat trickling down under my arms, cool and steady, could feel heat radiating from my skin, finely-tuned metabolic engine ready to go. I remember, in training, the first time I had to run a hundred kilometers. Though I knew it would be hard, I was surprised at how sick it made me feel.
Alix suddenly sat, just as suddenly started to cry, making no move to cover her face, tears streaming down into the sweat, gathering on her chin, splattering down into her lap, nose starting to run. Not looking at me anymore, only staring into the distance, off among the trees.
I could imagine what she was seeing. Davy in chains. Marsh on his back, shaking hard, eyes focused, fading to black, on his last blue sky. Maybe she’d been watching Sandy, coffled and helpless, Sandy watching her lover die.
What do I do now? Kneel beside her, put my arms around her, whisper, Oh, there, there? I could imagine it. And could imagine myself growing erect, responses already so thoroughly conditioned, once I had my hands on her flesh. What would she think then?
Maybe nothing. Maybe she wouldn’t care, wouldn’t even notice. Melodrama. All the bullshit melodrama of our lives.
The forest suddenly lit up white all around us, brilliant white light streaming through the trees at a low angle, trees throwing stark, linear black shadows onto each other, onto the ground around us. Birds growing silent. Insect robots grinding to a halt.
The light faded, forest suddenly seeming very dim indeed, then the ground bounced, once, hard, underfoot...
The explosion was a long, sullen boom, like distant thunder.
“That,” I said, voice without inflection, “will be the arms cache, I expect.”
Alix sat looking up at me for a minute or so. Then she sniffled, wiped her nose on one sleeve, and slowly got to her feet, followed me down a long, shadowy hill.
o0o
Sunset, on the shoulder of some remote mountain, already far from Dorvo Valley, our view more or less westward, out across rolling orange hills, straight into the setting sun. Nothing to do, no food in our pockets, no reason to make a fire, Alix sitting with her back to the warm stone of the cliff face, legs splayed flat, watching the sun slide out of the sky, lighting up the undersides of a few thin, streaky clouds.
I stood a little distance from her, on the edge of the cliff, tasting my regret, looking down onto the tops of the trees, a few hundred meters below.
So. What am I supposed to do now? Jump? Maybe Alix will push me. Image of myself falling silently, end over end, seeing sky then earth then sky then nothing, crashing down through the trees, flesh tearing on branches, smashing finally into the ground below.
Walk through the forest to the rail head, it’s not so far away, get on the train, go home. Get on another train. Go to the spaceport. Get on the starship. Go home.
Walk Alix to her hovel door. Kiss her good-bye. Go home.
Forget she ever lived. Go home.
Hope she forgets you ever lived.
Tell yourself. Tell yourself. Over and over again. It was a nice little vacation. While it lasted.
Go home.
I turned to look at her, sitting against the side of the cliff. Not looking back, just staring out at the sun.
Finished?
Maybe so.
Finally, I walked over and stood in front of her, blocking her view, looking down. For a little while, it was as if I wasn’t there, then she looked up, dry-eyed, expressionless.
I took her by the hand and helped her to her feet. Unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it off her shoulders, let it fall to the ground. Kneeled and unbuckled her belt, unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans. Felt her hands, steadying herself on my shoulders as I took off her boots, slid her jeans down around her ankles, let her step out of them.
Stood back and looked.
Alix standing in her white cotton underwear, noticeably middle-aged, a little
bit flabby, still the finest image of a woman, eyes dark and mysterious as ever, curly hair tousled and in disarray. Not smiling, not frowning. Just standing there barefoot, looking back at me.
I went around behind her, undid her bra-hook, took the thing off, tossed it over onto her clothes. Kneeled and slid her underpants down around her ankles, let her step out of them, put those aside also.
Came around front again, and looked at her naked.
Icon. Female. Breasts and pubic hair. The neotenous face of a child growing old. Arms thin and child-like, without the strength to resist me even if she could find the will to do so.
God almighty, the thoughts in my head...
She watched, silent, wordless, expressionless, as I got undressed in front of her. Eyes not even flickering at the revelation that I was already erect.
I laid her down on the leaf-littered ledge, laid her on her back, pushed her legs apart and knelt between them, leaned down, took myself in my hand, rubbing gently at her crotch, until I found the introitus in its usual place. Slid myself inside. Looked into her eyes while I went thrust, thrust, thrust, holding my weight up, effortlessly, on my hands.
Kept looking into her eyes when my orgasm came.
When it was spent, she lifted up one hand and put it on my chest, rubbing her fingers slowly back and forth in a dense fur of soft, reddish-black hair. And, finally, she closed her eyes, reached out and put her arms around me, pulled me down on top of her, held me close, breath whispering into my ear.
The sun went down and the sky grew dark and we huddled together naked watching the stars come out one at a time, in order of magnitude. Alix curled under my arm, still silent, still holding onto me, and I not knowing what to think.
You used her the way you’d use a burdar. You know that. You know this charade is at an end. And still...
The dream refuses to die. That image of laughing Alix, so happy to be with me. I ran my hand down the length of her flank, down onto her buttock, reached my fingers around the curve of her leg and let them trail across her pubic hair, which was slightly damp. What would she think if I pushed her onto her back again? I could feel myself stirring slightly, knew I’d be ready if need be.
When Heaven Fell Page 23