Morton drove through the dark, murky fog for a couple of hours. He had to move slowly; visibility was down to thirty meters at best, and that was using the passive sensors on full resolution. All he saw was kilometer after kilometer of the same slippery, muddy shingle crunching below the translucent track. No other features emerged out of the fog. The angle of the slope changed, but that was it for variety.
They were traveling in a very loose convoy, with Cat out in front. At least he assumed she was still in front; he hadn’t spotted her beacon for over an hour and a half. She’d gone off at a speed he wasn’t going to try to match. Behind him, Doc Roberts was keeping a sensible kilometer separation distance. His beacon moved in and out of acquisition depending on the shape of the terrain.
Morton rounded a sharp vertical ridge of rock, and the Cat’s beacon was shining three hundred meters ahead.
“Where’ve you been, boys?”
“Taking care,” Morton said. “We’re not proving anything to each other here.”
“Touchy!”
He accelerated down the shallow incline to her bubble. She had stopped at the low point of a shallow saddle between a couple of peaks on the edge of the Regents range, about fifteen kilometers from where the navy detector station had been built. It was walled in on both sides by cliffs of sheer rock rising to vanish into the turbid clouds that occluded the peaks. The ground between them was a stratum of crumbling stones, scattered with fresh unsteady piles that had fallen from on high when the mountains were shaken by the nuclear blast.
Morton drove his bubble on a slow circuit of the area, matching up what they’d reviewed on the satellite imagery from CST’s original survey. It was a good location to adopt as a base camp. The cliffs were riddled with slim zigzag fissures and deeper crevices. He identified at least three where they could store the bubbles and equipment.
“This should do,” he announced as the Doc’s bubble came slithering down the incline.
“Well, as long as you think so, Morty darling,” Cat said.
Once everyone had arrived, they got out of the bubbles and started unpacking their equipment. Morton and Rob took a fast walk over to the edge of the saddle. Past the cliffs, the ground curved down sharply, though visibility was still only a few tens of meters. The clouds were moving faster here, scurrying along the southern edge of the Regents. Without them, Morton and the Doc would have had a clear view straight down to the Trine’ba two kilometers below. Randtown itself was away to the west.
“There’s a lot of activity down there,” the Doc said. He was using his suit’s electromagnetic spectrum sensors to scan the shoreline of the vast lake.
Morton switched on his own sensors. The clouds filled with a bright gold radiance, as if a small, intense star was rising from the Trine’ba. When he added analysis programs, the coronal hue changed to a serpentine mass of entwined emissions, bundled sinewaves thrashing in discord. As well as the strange Prime communications, there was the bolder background turquoise of powerful magnetic fields flexing in a slow cadence. Lavender sparks swarmed around the empire of light, flyers trailing their own wake of cadmium signals, their membranous force fields flickering like wasp wings. “What kind of important installation would you build in Randtown?” he asked out loud. “I don’t get it. There’s nothing here. Send your invasion force halfway across the galaxy so they can build a five-star ski resort? That’s crazy.”
“This whole invasion makes no sense,” the Doc said. “There must be something down there more valuable than we realized. They are alien, remember. Different values.”
“We understand their technology,” Morton countered. “They base everything on the same fundamental principles we do, they ain’t that different.”
“When you apply technology to a requirement it nearly always shakes down to a one-solution machine in the end: cars to travel over land, rockets to fly into space. But motivation, that’s a species variable, always has been.”
“Whatever,” Morton said. As well as his dodgy medical qualifications, the Doc had some obscure English degree dating back over a century; all that education made him want to overanalyze everything. “We’re not here to admire their psychology, we’re here to blow the shit out of them.”
“Eloquently put,” the Doc said.
Morton took out a type three sensor, a transparent disk five centimeters across, and stuck it on the side of a boulder where it could scan across the Trine’ba. “That’ll spot anything approaching us.”
“Unless they come from the other side.”
“We’ll place sensors all the way around our base camp. Obviously. It’s not like we’ve got a shortage of them.” Part of their mission procedure had them building up a comprehensive network of the optronic devices, allowing them to monitor all the alien activity in and around Randtown.
“Roger that,” the Doc said; he sounded amused.
They spent the next forty minutes scrambling over rocks and unstable shingle falls, planting the little sensors to provide early warning of any approaching flyers. Not once did they see sunlight; the cloud swirled and eddied as they clambered about, but it remained unbroken.
“Well done, boys,” Cat said as they arrived back at the base of the saddle.
“Great views you’ve given us; lots of rock and a big wet sky.”
“Let’s just hope it stays that interesting,” Rob said.
“That kind of depends on us,” Morton said. “We’re here to cause as much disruption as we can. I guess we’d better start by scouting out the neighborhood. We need two teams, and someone to stay up here to safeguard the equipment.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie, I must have missed that,” Cat said. “When did they pin a general’s star on you?”
“You don’t need to be a general to point out the bleeding obvious,” Parker said. “We know what’s on the mission plan. Establish a knowledge of the enemy and use it to hit them hard.”
“And the person staying behind ain’t going to be you, Cat,” Rob said.
“Darling! Why is that?”
“Don’t you know? I don’t trust you. None of us do. You’re a fucking psycho.”
“Ow, Bob, are you scared of little me? You’ve got your armor suit and a very big gun.”
“I’m not scared of you, I simply regard you as unprofessional. We can’t depend on you for backup and support, we don’t know if you’d provide it or not. You enjoyed playing the badass in training, screwing with our instructors. We all got a laugh out of that. Out here, nobody’s smiling, nobody thinks you’re clever. So you either take the front row all the time, or fuck off right now.”
“I’m disappointed, Bob, did the Doc fill your head with that speech?”
“Let’s just concentrate on what we’re here to achieve, shall we,” Morton said. “Cat, he’s right. You’re not dependable enough to be our cover.”
“General, and peacemaker. I like you, Morty.”
“And don’t call me that.”
“Mellanie does,” Parker said, laughing. “We all know that.”
“Morty, oh Morty, yes, yes please,” Rob warbled. “Oh, Morty, you’re the best.”
Morton knew his cheeks were red inside the helmet, despite it maintaining a perfect body-temperature environment.
The communications band was full of chuckles. Parker gave a long wolf’s moonhowl.
“Rob, you and I are one team,” Morton said, ignoring the gibes.
“That’s good for me, Morty. Real good.”
“Cat, you and the Doc can have a ball together. Parker, you keep everything secure up here.”
“Hey, fuck that,” Parker said. “I want to see some action here.”
“Then you partner Cat,” the Doc told him.
“He couldn’t handle that kind of action,” she said.
There was amusement in the voice, but it left Morton cold. Even over the communications link something in her personality that was fundamentally wrong made itself felt.
“We don’t really need
to leave anyone back here,” the Doc said. “If the Primes can hack our sensors and secure links, we’re fucked anyway. Forget the navy way. We’re the ones on the ground. We’re the best judges how to fulfill our duty.”
“Duty!” Parker grunted. “Jesus Christ, Doc, you just love all this military crap, dontcha?”
“Roger that. So you want to stay here?”
“I fucking told you, I’m staying with you guys.”
“That’s cool,” The Cat said. “You come with me and the Doc.”
“Fine,” Morton said. “Rob, come on, we’ll take the east side of town. You guys, see what they’re doing farther over around Blackwater Crag. And remember, everybody, we’re not looking to engage the enemy yet. This foray is just to build up our sensor network, okay. We don’t want to alert them to our presence before we know how to make their lives truly miserable.”
“Do you think she’s going to be trouble?” Rob asked when they were halfway down the mountain. He’d switched to a short-range secure link between the two armor suits.
“Rob, I don’t know what the hell to make of her. All I know is, she’s never going to be my backup. I don’t trust her.”
“Amen to that.”
They’d left the cloud base behind an hour earlier. Even though nightfall wasn’t due for another three hours, the light was reduced to a somber gloaming underneath the cloud. The rain was threaded with sleet and surprisingly hard pellets of hail, all of which turned to slush as they began a slow melt. It made the slope very hard going, even with the boosted limbs of the armor suits. Unrelenting rain was steadily beating away the boltgrass tufts, which never had a deep hold at this altitude anyway. The disappearing vegetation left long tracts of mud and shingle striping the slope, which threatened to slide them down hundreds of meters if they lost their footing.
An entire squadron of sneekbots was deployed around them in protective concentric circles. They skittered over the rough terrain, their antenna buds probing for any sign of movement, warm bodies, or electronic activity. So far the ground ahead was clear of any ambush, booby trap, or sensor.
Morton’s virtual vision showed him Cat, Parker, and the Doc taking a slightly different route down from the saddle, keeping to the high ground until they were a lot closer to the town. “On the good side, we can always keep track of her.”
“Unless she goes truly native and ditches the armor.”
“I doubt she’d go that far. And the sensors would pick her up if she tried to take anything from base camp.” He stuck another of the little disks on an outcrop of rock that had withstood a small mudslide. As well as observing the vast open space above the Trine’ba, it acted as a communications relay across the Regents.
“Four more just launched,” Rob said.
Morton watched the alien flyers set off across the smooth waters of the Trine’ba, flying low, and keeping parallel to the shore. They all used broad fans of sensor radiation to sweep across the shallow ripples. Morton’s armor suit stealthed down, its chromometic skin melding into the tawny beige of the landscape, while its thermal emission matched the temperature of the mud. The sneekbots folded their crablike bodies to the ground and sent their main arrays into hibernation mode. The flyers didn’t even bother probing the hillside.
“Wonder what they’re looking for?” Rob asked as his suit returned to life.
“Mellanie said a few people stayed behind. They’re probably causing some trouble for the Primes.”
“Great, that’s all we need, enthusiastic amateurs stirring things up for us.”
Morton smiled. “So you think we qualify as professionals, do you?”
“Listen, I’ve been doing this kind of work for a while now. I know what I see, and you guys took on the basics in training. In any case, we’ve got the kind of equipment that can do some serious damage. If we find these farm boys we need to get them to back off.”
“Yeah, I figured that.”
“So how come Mellanie knows about the locals and where they’re at?”
“This was where she was when the Primes invaded, right here in Randtown.”
“No shit. And this is where you got sent. There’s a coincidence.”
“Yeah.” Morton wanted to grin, but it was something that had bothered him, too. Still, too late to worry about it now.
He was surprised by the scale of activity where Randtown had once stood. A vast block of machinery that resembled a human chemical refinery had been assembled along the shore, extending for a couple of kilometers on either side of the old quayside, and even standing on stilts to arch over some bays and inlets. Bright lights blazed from every point of the structure, illuminating exposed equipment buttressed by thick metal girders. Behind that, on the gentle slope leading up from the back of the town, boxy buildings and large cylindrical storage tanks had been set up on the old human road grid. Spaced between them were a number of large fusion power plants. The old highway leading back through the Dau’sings had been widened. It was carrying a lot of traffic out to Blackwater Crag, big slow vehicles spitting out black exhaust smoke as they lumbered along. Rows of long buildings were just visible at the foot of Blackwater Crag, stretching back along the valley. A string of flyers patrolled above the refurbished road, dipping in and out of the smothering clouds.
Outside the original town limits, six broad terraces had been bulldozed into the bumpy foothills, with a further two under construction. They seemed to be parking, or holding areas, covered with unopened pods of equipment, vehicles, and flyers; four vast open arenas were filled with aliens.
“Well now, finally!” Morton said as they wormed their way along the ruined tree line at the top of the foothills. The hardy pines were suffering badly in the sickly winter climate. Slushy water clung to every needle, turning them a dull unhealthy sepia. Many trunks had fallen, ripping out huge circular wedges of dripping soil as long mudslides undermined their roots. It was perfect cover. The sneekbots maintained their protective perimeter, crawling their way through the fungal muddle of broken twigs and mulched needles.
He used the suit’s sensors to zoom in on the naked creatures parading across the nearest arena below. They were quad-symmetric, with four thick legs at the flared base of a sallow-colored barrel body. When they moved, it was with a rocking motion as the legs bowed and flexed along their whole length. Four arms emerged just above the legs, almost as thick as the lower limbs and moving in the same long curving motions. Morton didn’t think they had joints like elbows and knees, the whole thing was elastic. The crown sprouted a further eight appendages, four stumpy trunks with an open mouth; while between them four tall slender tendrils that ended in bulbous lumps of flesh waved about like corn in the wind.
“Solid-looking brutes,” Rob said. “There must be thousands of them down there.”
Morton gave the arenas another scan with his suit’s optical sensors. “More like tens of thousands.” He was recording the scene for the navy. The first communications wormhole was due to open in another seventeen hours; he’d be able to send them the information then. It would be interesting to see what their analysts came up with.
“They’re all fitted with a transmitter gadget, look,” Rob was saying. “I just keep getting that analogue hash coming from them.”
“Right.” Morton was watching a pair touching their long upper limbs together. An alien kiss? A fuck? “I know we’ve only just seen them, but they all look identical to me.”
Rob snorted. “Very not politically correct.”
“I was wondering if they were clones. Some kind of disposable construction crew? Just a thought. Their army might be the same. A perfect soldier replicated a hundred million times. It would explain their dire lack of tactics, all they ever do is use numbers to overrun us. They don’t mind the slaughter because they’re not losing individuals the way we are.”
“Could be. It makes as much sense as any other idea. Let’s see if we can get a closer look.”
With the sneekbots prowling ahead and behind, t
hey began to worm their way deeper through the decaying foliage of the fallen trees. Morton could see several hundred aliens working on the long refinery station by the shore. The giant machine was still being extended. Both ends were sheathed by a network of scaffolding that supported cranes and hoists. Aliens swarmed all over the new components that were being added. They must possess an excellent sense of balance, Morton thought; he couldn’t see anything equivalent to a human handrail on the narrow metal struts that they moved along.
“Ho, did you see that?” Rob asked.
“What?”
“One of those things just took a crap off the top of the refinery station.”
Morton tracked his optical sensors along the colossal structure. Now he knew what to look for, he could easily find evidence of more casual defecation. The pipes and girders were splashed with tacky brown patches. “So? They never got around to inventing a flushable pan. The Doc was saying we need to watch out for a different philosophy more than any other type of variation between us.”
“I’m not sure that’s a question of psychology or even bad plumbing. Leaving your own waste products around like that is a very counterproductive thing for a species to do. Everyone develops disposal mechanisms, both social and practical; it’s one of the first signs of civilization emerging. You don’t just wait for the rain to wash it away.”
“You have no idea what their digestive biochemistry is like,” Morton said.
“Face it, their crap could be the perfect fertilizer.”
“Then they’d collect it and transport it to a field. No, we’re missing something. You may have been on the right track with your clone army idea.” He paused, unhappy. “Though even they wouldn’t deliberately foul their own environment. Nothing would. This doesn’t make sense.”
The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle Page 150
