Lajoolie. I had not heard the tiniest whisper of her approach.
She was not quite so silent in finishing the man off — one cannot throw eight successive palm-heels into a man’s solar plexus without making noticeable thumps, not to mention the "Whuf!" sounds that emerge from a man’s mouth no matter how thoroughly you have him muffled — but the noises were scuffly and vague, rather than clear-cut evidence of a fight. If other persons were listening, I hoped they would think the man was merely struggling to drag my unconscious body out into the open… and indeed, a moment later, a woman’s voice called, "Do you need a hand with her?"
Lajoolie looked at me helplessly. The words had been spoken in my own language; Lajoolie did not know what had been said, and no doubt feared it was something like, "I know you have pummeled my partner, and now I will shoot you like dogs."
I gave Lajoolie a reassuring smile and called back in a throaty whisper, "Yes, come help." One would never pretend it sounded exactly like the man, but my performance was good enough to fool the unseen woman — her footsteps came slowly out of the airlock, moving in our direction.
As she approached, there was time to inspect the man Lajoolie and I had just bludgeoned. His hair was jet black, cut close to the skull, and he sported a fussily trimmed goatee; his skin was golden, about halfway between Aarhus’s light pinkness and Festina’s deep tan. As for his clothes, they were indeed a Technocracy admiral’s uniform — something that raised important questions, but I had no time to ponder such issues. The man’s female colleague would soon be upon us and…
And…
The man was not breathing. In fact, he had gone quite limp; I could not remember him moving so much as an eyelid since Lajoolie finished hitting him.
Oh dear, I thought, the League of Peoples is not going to like this.
I Make Second Contact With The Shaddill
The man’s female partner was almost upon us. Silently, Lajoolie slipped out of sight behind the crate of platinum. As for me, I was left as I had been while trying to choke the foe: lying on my back with the man slumped on top of me.
Knowing that any second, the Shaddill woman would come around the corner and see what had happened, I used my good hand to snatch up the ingot I had dropped earlier. When the woman appeared — a beefy red-faced human with hair of stringy white, her body clad in admiral’s gray — I hurled the chunk of metal with all my strength straight into her stomach.
The impact made a satisfying thump. Her shoulders jerked in a sharp spasm, but she did not buckle over. Instead, she reached toward her belt where a pistol hung in a holster; I recognized the gun as a hypersonic stunner, the type carried by human Explorers. Such a weapon had murdered my sister and nearly killed me as well. Therefore, I was desperately trying to roll away from the line of fire, when a slim brown hand slammed the pistol out of the woman’s fingers.
The slim brown hand was attached to Festina’s arm.
A moment later, a slim brown fist attached to Festina’s other arm caught the woman with a cracking blow to the jaw. The woman’s head snapped sideways, but she showed no sign of being hurt. In fact, it was Festina who yelled, "Fuck!" and jerked her fist away as if in great pain. Even so, my Faithful Sidekick went back on the offensive within a split-second: she slammed her forearm across the woman’s chest while simultaneously sweeping a leg behind the woman’s knees. The alien admiral woman toppled backward, striking the floor with a bang. Then Aarhus and Uclod were there, pounding and stomping and generally committing mayhem until the woman lay still.
"Damn!" Uclod panted. "That was one tough honey."
"Her partner was not tough at all," I said. "He is no longer breathing."
"Christ!" Festina cried. She raced toward me and dropped to her knees, touching her fingers to the fallen man’s throat. Her face turned even more anxious; after probing the man’s neck at several points, she said, "I can’t find a pulse. Shit!"
With desperate urgency, she dragged the man off me, flat onto the floor. Kneeling beside him, she tipped back his head, blew two breaths into his mouth, then began pushing down on his chest. Under her breath she whispered, "One and two and three and four and five and…"
"Oh, missy," Uclod said, hovering behind Festina’s shoulder, "this is not good. They only had zappers and stun-grenades. We had no justification for using deadly force…"
Lajoolie, still crouching beside the crate of platinum, let forth an anguished sob. "I just…" She buried her face in her hands.
Uclod rushed to her side, calling out to the whole room, "It’s not her fault. She didn’t know her own strength."
"I do," she moaned, "I do know my own strength. Over and over again, they told me never to hit people or else… or else my brother…" She sobbed and crumpled.
"I’ve got bad news," Sergeant Aarhus called from a few paces away. "This woman isn’t breathing either."
He was squatting beside the red-faced admiral; he had placed his hand on her throat in the same manner as Festina had touched the man. "No pulse," he said.
"Both of them?" Festina broke off pumping the man’s chest and sat back on her heels. "Shit — the League is going to love this."
"Yes," agreed Aarhus. "To lose one opponent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness."
Festina stared at the man she had just been attempting to revive. "How the hell could we kill them both?"
"Perhaps these Shaddill are shamefully weak and fragile," I suggested.
"These people aren’t Shaddill," she told me. "This man is Jhimal Rhee, Admiral of the Brown. The woman is Gunsa Macleod, Admiral of the Orange. They’re members of the navy’s High Council; I’ve met them a few times."
"Oh goody," Aarhus said, "I just helped snuff a high admiral. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ll bet that’s a court-martial offense."
"Rhee and Macleod?" Uclod asked. "Killing them isn’t an offense, it’s a humanitarian service. We should all get a bounty."
The little man was holding Lajoolie, stroking her shoulders… and for once, she was no taller than he, for she had sunk to her knees and was hunched over almost to the floor. She wept piteously — the sort of weeping when the weeper seems terrified to make the tiniest sound, so it is all choked whimpers and sniffles. Uclod squeezed her and spoke gently. "It’s all right, sweetheart, you don’t have to worry. You’ve read the files on these bastards. Rhee and Macleod were two of the worst on the council. Rhee arranged for that colony to starve to death, remember? He tampered with the food shipment schedules. When the colonists were dead, he sent in settlers of his own and claimed the whole planet for himself. As for Macleod, she killed her first three husbands for their money. The files absolutely proved it. Remember that, honey? Rhee and Macleod were both dangerous non-sentients, and the League doesn’t give a self-righteous crap what you do to them."
"I do not understand," I whispered to Festina. "If these humans were dangerous non-sentients, how could they journey through space? Would the League not prevent them from doing so?"
"Damn right it would."
She stared at the man, Admiral Rhee, lying motionless before her. Suddenly, she reached for his jacket, ripped up the slap-tab, and tore open his shirt. In the pit of his stomach, where Lajoolie had struck him so many times, his skin had burst under the force of the blows. Beneath lay a crushed mass of wires and electronic circuitry.
"Okay," she said to everyone in the room, "I have good news and bad news…"
The Shaddill And The Admiralty
It did not take long to ascertain that the red-faced woman was also a person of mechanical construction — Aarhus rubbed her arm hard against the sharp edge of a sheet metal container and the woman’s skin split open, revealing a collection of shiny steel armatures.
"You see, honey?" Uclod murmured to Lajoolie. "They were just robots. You didn’t do anything wrong. Doesn’t that make you feel better?"
Lajoolie made an indeterminate noise.
"Makes me feel better," Festina sai
d. "I thought I was losing my edge when I socked that bitch in the jaw and damned near broke my fist."
"Of course," Aarhus said, "you have to wonder why the Shaddill have perfect copies of two
Technocracy admirals." He touched his fingertips to the robot woman’s cheek. "The skin feels amazingly authentic — best meat-puppet I’ve ever seen. Bet she even had a neck-pulse before we bashed the crap out of her."
"What I’d like to know," Festina said, "is whether the real Rhee and Macleod are still back on New Earth… or if they’ve actually been missing for years."
Uclod blinked. "You think these robots had replaced the real admirals? Like… the originals had been bumped off and these robots were the ones sitting on the High Council?"
"It’s possible," Festina said. "Your files claim the original Rhee and Macleod were both murderers. Okay: that means they weren’t sentient. The Shaddill could cold-bloodedly kill the two of them without upsetting the League. Once the real Rhee and Macleod were gone, android duplicates could quietly step in."
"After which," Aarhus said, "the meat-puppets took their places on the council, all the while working for the Shaddill. Sending their masters Admiralty secrets, and doing their best to influence council decisions."
"Yeah," Uclod agreed. "But then the council caught wind of York’s expose. If it ever became public, every high admiral scumwad would get thrown in jail… at which point, they’d be strip-searched and put through medical exams. An X-ray was bound to show that the fake Rhee and Macleod had gears between their ears. So the Shaddill swooped the robots off New Earth, whisking away the evidence before anyone learned the Admiralty had been infiltrated."
Festina nodded. "It explains what brought the Shaddill into this whole mess — when the High Council found out about the expose, the robots did too. They immediately reported to Shaddill Central."
"Hey," Uclod said, glaring at the two machine people, "do you think these ratchet-brains killed Grandma Yulai?"
My friend shook her head. "If your Grandma Yulai was sentient, the Shaddill couldn’t kill her. More likely, the murderer was sent by real human admirals."
"Bastards," Uclod said.
"Utter ones," I agreed. I had spent much of the past few minutes massaging my numbed arm, trying to wake it up. An unpleasant pins-and-needles sensation had begun to twang through the muscles — most uncomfortable, but any feeling was better than none. Meanwhile, I told Uclod, "We shall bring your grandmama’s killer to justice, all in the fullness of time. For now, however, we must deal with the Shaddill… who are also utter bastards, and much closer to hand."
"Good point," said Festina. She got to her feet and called, "Bell! Where the fuck are you?"
Some distance away, I heard the crackly sound of gristle popping. Lady Bell had obviously folded up again, to protect herself during the fight… and she had remained in that position long after the fisticuffs ended. So much for Aarhus’s claim that Cashlings were excellent kick-fighters. It seemed they were simply cowards.
"What do you want?" Bell’s voice asked weakly.
A moment later, she came into view — hobbling most ostentatiously, as if she were desperately injured. Ihad no intention of inquiring what was wrong, but my Faithful Sidekick asked, "What happened to you?"
"The stun-grenade," Lady Bell answered, a theatrical quiver in her voice. "It caught my right foot; I’m sure it shut down at least one of my hearts and three whole lungs."
"Stunners don’t interfere with hearts and lungs," Festina said. "Otherwise, they’d be lethal weapons, wouldn’t they?"
"Are you implying—" Lady Bell began, but Festina cut her off.
"Don’t start. Just ask the ship what the conditions are like outside the airlock."
I expected the lady to whine in protest… but for once she did not argue. Instead, Bell muttered a few words in Cashlingese; a moment later, the gusty ship-soul voice answered with a rapid-fire report that would have interested me greatly if I had understood a word of it.
At last, the ship-soul stopped speaking. "Well?" Uclod asked.
"We’re inside the Shaddill vessel," Lady Bell said. "In a big hangar with lots of other captured ships. Nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere — almost the same as we’re breathing now."
"And the temperature?"
Lady Bell called to the ship-soul, got an answer, and said, "In human measurements, thirty-four degrees Celsius."
"Toasty," Aarhus grumbled. "We’ll all end up sweating like pigs."
"Speak for yourself, Viking boy," Festina said. "Where I come from, thirty-four is a nice spring day." She looked around at the rest of us. "Care for a walk outside?"
"I wish to locate the Shaddill," I said, "for I have not yet punched anyone in the nose." My right arm was clumsily able to move on its own now — the fingers felt as weak as worms, but I trusted the debility would pass. I am excellent at speedy recuperation.
Uclod said, "I wouldn’t mind kicking some butt myself." He turned to Lajoolie. "How about you, honey?"
The big woman did not answer. Her eyes and nose were still runny, and her face had a look of haunted guilt. I do not think she found any consolation in knowing the creature she destroyed was only a robot; she had thought he was a living than when she struck him, and her act of violence weighed torturously upon her mind. Perhaps she even realized one other thing — with a few blows of her hand, she had crushed a gut made of metal. How much more damage would she have done to mere flesh and blood?
"Lajoolie does not wish to kick butts," I told Uclod, "and she does not have to. The rest of us are fully capable of handling dangerous situations."
"Sure," said Festina, laying her hand on Lajoolie’s arm, "if you want to take it easy for a while—"
"What?" Lady Bell interrupted. "You’re just going to let her play coward? If you get in another fight, you’ll say, ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter if the strongest person on our side hides in a corner, we don’t care if wewin or lose so long as we don’t hurt someone’s feelings!’ "
The Cashling was only saved because Uclod and I jumped toward her at the same time. The little orange man bounced against my shoulder, knocking me aside and knocking himself the other way; before we could converge again, Festina and Aarhus had stepped in to stop us from ramming Lady Bell’s head through any orifice it would fit.
"We don’t have time for this!" Festina snapped. "You two," she said, pointing at Uclod and me, "back off. You," she said, pointing at Lady Bell, "shut the fuck up. You," she said, pointing at Lajoolie, "you I trust to do the right thing if it becomes necessary. Even if it means using your fists again. Got me?"
Lajoolie hesitated a long moment, then nodded silently. Her eyes were rimmed with red.
"Fine," Festina said, "we have an understanding. Now let’s get moving."
She headed for the airlock door, with Aarhus striding at her heels. As Festina passed the robot of Admiral Macleod, she stopped and picked up the stun-pistol that had fallen from the android’s hand. The sergeant nodded approvingly.
Lady Bell lingered sullenly behind for a count of three; then she must have realized she was standing within arm’s reach of Uclod and me without anyone near enough to intervene if hostilities broke out. She hastened most speedily after Festina and Aarhus.
Uclod took one of Lajoolie’s arms and I took the other. Together we guided her forward. When we reached the airlock, Nimbus was already there, hovering in a foggy ball above everyone’s head.
"All right," Festina said, "time to attack an entire shipload of hyper-advanced aliens on their home turf." She sighed. "Why I love being a goddamned Explorer."
"I too love being a goddamned Explorer," I said, proudly fingering my black jacket.
"Oar," Festina said, "you’re a total fucking lunatic. Fortunately, that’s exactly what we need." She waved a hand at Aarhus, who was standing by the airlock controls. "Push the button, Sergeant. Immortality awaits."
23: WHEREIN I CONFRONT UNPLEASANT TRUTHS
Lady Bell’s Personal Limitatio
ns
The door of the airlock opened — and the first thing I noticed was dirt. The smell of dirt, loamy and cloying; the sight of dirt on the ground, dark and glinting with flecks of minerals; the feel of dirt in the air, gritty and humid and hot. Festina, standing in the airlock doorway, took a moment to inhale the deep soil scent… then she threw herself outside and assumed an aggressive posture with pistol in hand, quickly scanning the area for hostile forces.
After five seconds, she gestured for the rest of us to join her. We clambered out into dank sluggish air that pressed most tepidly against one’s skin — all except Lady Bell, who remained shuddering in the airlock.
"What’s wrong?" Festina asked her.
The lady replied, "It’s horrid!"
She stared at the area surrounding us. It had the appearance of a vast tropical mud flat, simmering in twilight just after the sizzling sun has gone down. It even had some kind of foliage — not close to the ship, but off in the distance, clusters of trees and undergrowth rose high from the soil. Farther away still, dirt-covered walls towered up, up, up; in the dusky light, the top of the walls disappeared into shadow, but I assumed that far overhead there must be a roof closing us off from the vacuum outside. We were, after all, inside the stick-ship, even if this great chamber was so huge it seemed like out-of-doors.
"What is so horrid?" I asked Lady Bell. "The temperature is hotter than one enjoys, but there are no robots trying to shoot us. Also, in a spacious enclosure such as this, one can see potential enemies from quite far off, yet there is no sign of anybody. I believe for the moment we are safe."
"Knock on wood," Aarhus muttered under his breath.
"But… but…" Lady Bell said, "it’s so… raw. And open. And exposed."
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