Battleground

by Terry A. Adams

  And Bassanio was afraid, screwing the tension tighter—not afraid of being found by Commander Kakrekt, who seemed to have misplaced them, but of the creatures she called facilitators. Hong couldn’t imagine why. Images Bassanio transmitted from the breeding ground had moved the crew to incredulous laughter. Hong’s own first reaction had been to suppress a chuckle and shake his head; surely this wasn’t the first time Fleet had needed to retrieve crew from brothels, though presumably the brothels had not been alien. The situation was too ridiculous to seem dangerous, or even lewd. He controlled himself, though, because he was in Command with the captain, and the captain didn’t allow laughter on duty. And Bassanio, no novice to dangerous situations, was unquestionably scared. He could hear that in her voice.

  He kept giving directions. Left. Right. Ahead. Back. Back again . . .

  After a while she said, “These things are getting interested in us.”

  “Interested how?” Metra said.

  “Starting toward us when we cross a room. There aren’t as many people here. The farther we get from the entrance the fewer there are. Some of the rooms are empty. Except for the, um, these things. There aren’t as many but there’s always some crawling around and every time we go into a room they crawl toward us. They can move pretty fast when the floor’s clear. It’s getting obvious—doors left and right. Wait, I can tell you now, the way left is a dead end. So is—oh, damn it, so is the way right! We’ve got to backtrack again. Can’t you get us out of here?”

  She sounded on the edge of tears. Hong heard Guyup’s voice under hers, a soothing murmur.

  “We’ve almost got a program done to calculate relative density of the walls. That should tell us which walls have openings. Give us a real map. It’ll be ready to run in a few minutes. Why don’t you take a rest?”

  “No, no rests, if we stop I don’t think we can get up again and these things are coming at us—”

  “You don’t have the receptor sites the aliens do. What can they do to you?”

  “They have teeth!”

  • • •

  The commissioners awarded themselves a break from wrangling. Jameson’s strategy to keep them focused on Colony One had succeeded, though events had overtaken his motives; they had spent hours arguing what to do about the incipient rebellion and what to do with, or to, its ringleaders—pitching data at each other, consulting experts, proposing options and shooting them down. He had seen too many of these sessions to find them entertaining, and if the others’ attention was fixed on something besides Battleground—leaving that to Metra and Evanomen until something happened—his own mind wandered. The map of the breeding warren still hung in the air where he could see it and he had positioned it so he could follow the red pinpoint without being observed, except by Andrella Murphy, who had joined him and watched it too. A transcript of the transmissions between Hanna and Endeavor scrolled through the air beside it in real time.

  He got up, after voting a hearty assent to the recess, and Murphy said, “Where are you going?”

  “To see Mickey.” He ordered map and transcript directed to a portable reader.

  She said thoughtfully, “You do that every day, don’t you?”

  “When he’s on the grounds, yes.”

  Mickey was enrolled in the play group nearest Jameson’s private suite, housed in an interior space full of color and things that moved and things that grew; it flowed into a large courtyard park, roofed in winter but open in this season. Thera sometimes stayed with Mickey, sometimes not. Today she was not there. She was engaged on other business with Zanté and, by remote, Lady Koroth, to whom Jameson had loaned both of them. To his regret. He had not imagined the pursuit of housing for Hanna would occupy so much time. All three women were enjoying themselves far too much.

  They went down a long spiral stair into the park. The sky was gray and the air hot and humid, but the roof was open. Most of the children had elected to stay indoors where it was cool; only three, one of them Mickey, were outside, clambering noisily through a tangle of tubes and tunnels, with one sharp-eyed caretaker moving around to keep them all in sight. He was fully qualified as a child companion and he was also fully qualified in security. He nodded to Jameson and Murphy as if he thought they might be abductors in disguise and he the children’s last defense.

  Jameson stole a look at the reader while they waited for Mickey to emerge from the maze. The red dot was not as motionless as it looked. And a jagged green line had begun to extend from it: the modified mapping program was online.

  Murphy said, “What do you suppose Kakrekt’s up to?”

  “She left them there on purpose, obviously. Left guards where they came in, probably, thinking they’ll be hopelessly lost and she can retrieve them when she’s ready. She has all the personnel she wants at her disposal. A thousand Soldiers would track them down quickly, even in that labyrinth.”

  “We should pull out of there altogether, you know.”

  Jameson nodded. The telepaths had reported casually that Hanna was now certain, confirmed in a conversation with Kakrekt, that no power on Battleground could travel between stars in this era, and perhaps none would ever achieve starflight again. The civilization fell outside Contact’s mandate. But the mandate wasn’t going to hold up.

  “Information is starting to leak. Karin’s doing, and she’s going to push the longevity issue as long as she’s still around,” he said. “We’re not going to get out of this without results. Research volunteers would be enough. Or—”

  Or unwilling captives. He wasn’t going to say it out loud even to Murphy.

  She glanced sideways at his face. Andrella Murphy, still in love with her husband after seventy years, was convinced against all evidence that Hanna ril-Koroth was exactly the right companion for Jameson. “Suppose we need a long-term contact on site?” she said. “Hanna would be the obvious candidate. What then?”

  Mickey popped out of an opening a few meters away, saw Jameson, and ran to him laughing, face flushed, eyes shining. Jameson picked him up and kissed his cheek. He said, “She hates Battleground. She would hate me.”

  Murphy waited until he had put the child down and they had turned back before she said, “That wasn’t an answer.”

  “I don’t have one,” he said.

  • • •

  They moved faster, now that Talley Hong could weed out dead ends before they ran into them. They could almost have run, Hanna thought, if each separate step didn’t require a separate act of will. If she didn’t keep getting the directions mixed up in her fuzzy brain, turning right when Hong said left and vice versa. If it wasn’t so unutterably confusing when a wall had two openings and it wasn’t clear which was the right one so that she had to actually form words and convey them to Hong.

  I’m slowing Gabriel down, she thought illogically. He could be out of here by now—

  She looked around to tell him so and he wasn’t there.

  The communicator made noises she didn’t listen to. She wanted to run back the way she had come screaming Gabriel’s name and knew that she physically, absolutely, could not. Even breathing was an effort, her body telling her she had finally used it up. She managed to say to Hong, “I’ve lost Gabriel.” Think, she told herself, but she couldn’t.

  Her hand thought for her, fumbling in a pocket. It brought out a stimulant vial. If she were to find Gabriel, if they were to get out of this place, she was down to her last recourse.

  She knew that after she used it telepathy would be lost to her, and she was afraid. But fear for Gabriel was sharper.

  She stood with the capsule in her hand and looked around, trying to find a reason not to use it. There were no mating Soldiers in this room. But there were half a dozen facilitators on the floor and as many again clinging to the walls, and they began to crawl slowly to the floor, head-down, and those on the floor began to ooze toward her. There was no question t
he humans were becoming targets.

  She did not know why. It didn’t matter. But if Gabriel had fallen they might already be on him.

  She snapped the vial and inhaled the gas. Thrum, said her nervous system. But faintly. It really did not want to keep going.

  For a few seconds nothing happened and then energy began to flow into her muscles and her mind. The drug would not affect telepathy immediately and she dropped the block she had been holding—cautiously, but now that she was not in the middle of a mob of Soldiers and Warriors, she found she could shut out the roar. And when she reached for Gabriel, she sensed him, but he did not respond to her.

  She took a step, testing herself, and had to stop, for a moment wildly dizzy. But her voice was stronger when she said, “Guide me back, the exact way we came.”

  Metra’s voice said, “How long’s it been since he was with you?”

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

  There was a silence that stretched too far. Hanna moved to the door she had come in by and looked through it; that room was empty of Soldiers, too. She could not remember which of the three entries into it she had used—but she saw facilitators, only four or five left here, all slowly moving toward one opening.

  She said, “Gabriel is not expendable,” just as Metra said, “Five minutes.”

  Hanna had no intention of giving up after five minutes, and she could move more easily now, the artificial strength in her legs growing. She would take another dose if she had to and the devil with telepathy.

  “I need directions! Hurry!” she said—she was sure she could follow the facilitators but also sure they moved toward Gabriel, and there was no time to wait and watch them, and why were so few visible here? Did they have underground routes that were more direct?—of course they did. There might be many more on the move.

  Hong began to recite directions. Hanna dodged right, left, left again, trying not to step on facilitators. She had been too tired to think of that before, had managed to keep the disgusting mess on the bottoms of her shoes away from consciousness. She thought of it now and thought she would be sick again. Is that the reason? We are trampling them, killing them, and they will not stand for that—

  There was a terrifying instant when she thought of hundreds of them turning on her with those teeth—

  And maybe worse.

  Anyone who interferes with reproduction . . .

  It would be word of mouth, spreading to the breeding grounds so that the Soldiers and Warriors and facilitators surged out of them and sought out the unbelievers, the researchers and they were—

  Torn limb from limb—

  How long before the mating Soldiers behind them connected the strange intruders with the trail of trampled facilitators? The fluids coursing through them, essential for reproduction: what else did they trigger?

  No time to think, no time—

  Less than a minute more but it seemed forever: she found Gabriel facedown, one hand beneath him. He could not have been there long and the way he had fallen gave him some protection. The fear that she would find him bleeding from a hundred wounds or already eaten alive was wide of the mark—though perhaps it would have been different if she had been longer getting to him. She dropped to the ground and tore two of the sickening things from an ear, one from his scalp, three from the exposed hand, two more from a wounded cheek. Flesh came away with them, in their teeth.

  I’m sorry, I’m so sorry— If only she had seen him go down; how could she not have noticed? Her blood mixed with his when one of the things turned in her hand and nipped her as she flung it away. He didn’t answer her call and she turned him over easily, with a strength that would have been impossible a few minutes ago, and broke a vial under his nostrils and shook him. “Breathe! Gabriel! Gabriel, inhale!”

  There were a score of the slug-things here and they were all crawling toward the humans.

  “Breathe . . . !”

  Unless he had died in the last seconds, unless he wasn’t breathing at all—but then the blood wouldn’t flow so freely and of course she would know he was gone, she had sensed the deaths of people she loved less—unless she could no longer sense anything—

  His eyes opened. He put a torn hand to the torn cheek and groaned.

  “Quick,” she said, “quick! Talley, I’ve got him, let’s go!”

  • • •

  Kakrekt plowed through the city, scattering Soldiers. She had gone straight back to the Holy Man’s quarters and found him gone. Now she was after him as fast as her vehicle could go, by herself, with no subordinate’s weight to slow her down.

  She thought—jerking the acceleration lever, clipping a corner, clipping a Soldier who did not dodge quickly enough—that she ought to have anticipated how fast he might move. Kwoort had gotten reports on where she was headed with his “guests” and had rushed out, apparently, just as she arrived at Mating Complex Four with the not-Soldiers. She wondered if she would chase him, and he chase her, around and around in circles.

  Except he was chasing the not-Soldiers instead of Kakrekt.

  She had been outside when he ordered the two aircraft destroyed; she had seen them explode (along with some nearby Soldiers) and gone to him at once.

  “Why did you do that—?”

  “They will kill the facilitators!” He had ranted some more, but Kakrekt had not stayed to listen. He might be closer to the end-change than she had thought, he saw enemies everywhere, and she was afraid for the lives of the guests. Kwoort’s wild accusation was already in her thoughts when she saw that Kwek was ready to mate, so she thought at once: where better to hide the not-Soldiers than a breeding ground?

  She had to keep them safe. If the not-Soldiers on the spacecraft had not been hostile before, they would certainly be hostile if those two were killed, and even if they did not retaliate they would go away, they would never assist her in mastering Rowtt, never share their knowledge—and now she had to intercept Kwoort and keep matters from getting worse.

  • • •

  They could run. The strength might be artificial, but Hanna exulted in it. Pain did not slow Gabriel, and they flew though the maze as fast as Talley Hong could direct them. The population of facilitators dwindled; when Hanna said so Metra interrupted with Bring specimens, and Hanna and Gabriel glanced at each other without slowing. Pockets. Teeth. “Did you hear that?” he panted, and she said, “Hear what?” At the end of it all a final arch led into the corridor Endeavor had mapped. It led up almost immediately to the highest level of the underground maze, and from there cut away from the city, part of a complex web. Some routes connected Wektt’s major city with other population centers, Talley Hong said. Some were blocked with substantial barriers and assumed abandoned, but this one—with many intersections and complex branches; he cautioned them to follow his directions precisely—appeared to be open all the way to a dead end under the plateau. That was how Kwoort and Kakrekt had gotten to the desert meeting place, Hanna thought, through a tunnel like this one. The floor was the same concrete used throughout Wektt, old and thick with dust, cracked but intact, inviting speed. The air was close and felt unmoving, but it had to come from somewhere. And there were indeed shafts ahead, said Talley Hong; some appeared to be blocked, but others, farther off, were open to the surface.

  We’re finally getting some breaks, Hanna thought.

  Yes! said Bella, and Hanna laughed out loud, breathing easily as she ran. The way was unlit but the communicator’s light-source function was enough. And she could feel Bella’s personality as vividly as if they stood side by side; this time the stimulant had proved safe.

  We’re out of here! she thought.

  Arch said, I know how we can celebrate . . . Teasing.

  After this place?—I’ll never want to have sex again!

  She was giddy with freedom, and free of Kakrekt’s plot to kill Kwoort, too. If Hanna hadn’
t been there Kakrekt would have sent someone to That Place anyway; she had only sent Hanna because the pod was the fastest transport on Battleground. Hanna wasn’t responsible for what happened next: no gnawing conscience, no conflict, no guilt.

  Finally confident, finally free, she reached for Kakrekt. Checking. And stumbled.

  Kakrekt was coming after them and thought Kwoort was too; she touched Kwoort also, and had just time to register fury and despair before everything went black.

  She was absurdly flying, arms flailing; something came up and hit her so hard it shook her bones.

  For a second or two she did not know where she was. Then she looked up from the ground in bewilderment, slowly understanding what had happened. She had come to a dead stop and Gabriel had crashed into her so that they had both gone sprawling. The tunnel was no darker than before; the black void was in her mind. She could no longer feel Bella’s presence or anyone else’s. She could see Gabriel with her eyes, see the look of surprise on his face through a veil of dust disturbed and settling, but she could not feel it. The curtain had descended not gradually this time but all at once.

  Hanna picked herself up slowly. She made futile motions at brushing dust away. She was trembling.

  “What—?” said Gabriel, getting up too, not finishing the question, as if he expected her to know what he meant to say. But she could only guess from context, like a true-human.

  “Lost my footing—”

  He didn’t know. She hadn’t told anyone except the telepaths exactly what the stimulant had done to her before, as if it were a shameful weakness.

  “Hanna? We have to get moving. Come on.”

  She said, “Kwoort and Kakrekt are after us. They’re not together.”

  She heard Metra say, “Where are they? Do they know where you are?”

  Even Metra, perhaps without knowing it, had come to value telepathy.

  Hanna said—no choice now—“I don’t know. Listen, listen, this is important.” Her voice was unsteady again. “We had some stimulant from the pod, we used it. It knocks out telepathy. Ask Bella, she knows. That’s all I found out. I can’t see any more, I can’t tell anything else about them. I can’t know anything that’s not in front of my face.”