Technokill

by David Sherman

  Ratliff ducked and weaved and bobbed as half a dozen Cheereek milled about him, getting in the way of each other's jabs and thrusts. He swung his zapper at one eeookk that danced out of the way, but his swing was hard enough to throw him off balance and he tumbled into the legs of another who didn't dance away quickly enough. It fell, both legs broken, and pinned its rider. Another eeookk pranced over Ratliff, who jammed his zapper upward into its abdomen, rupturing something just as the rider jabbed his spear into Ratliff's thigh. The injured eeookk shrilled and bolted, its rider unable to control it. Ratliff pulled the spear from his thigh and dropped his zapper in favor of his new weapon. He thrust the spear at a Cheereek who came in too close. The warrior jerked back and avoided the point, but his eeookk didn't manage to avoid the backswing and the spearpoint sliced through its neck. Out of the corner of his eye Ratliff saw another spear flashing toward him. He slapped it out of the way but it sliced a long gouge from his hand to his elbow. He slammed the point of his spear into the side of the Cheereek and looked around for the others. They were prancing back out of range.

  Hayes ran and jumped, kept moving so he wouldn't be a stationary target. He fired his zapper time and again, doing his best to hit a Cheereek two or three times before he had to pay attention to another attacker. Sometimes he missed the rider and hit the mount instead. The eeookks staggered more than their riders did. When Hayes realized that the eeookks were more susceptible to the zapper than the Cheereek, he aimed at them. The animals he hit stumbled and responded sluggishly to the commands of their riders; two of them fell, and one of those didn't get back up. In moments Hayes was faced by only four dismounted warriors. He managed to hit one of them three times and knock it out of the fight before the other three closed to spear range. He parried one jab, but a second coming at almost the same instant hit him in the side. It glanced off his ribs but cut deeply enough to send a cascade of blood flowing down his side. That Cheereek darted in to finish him off with a bite, but Hayes broke its neck with the zapper before its hard mouth could reach him. The remaining warrior, realizing he was facing his demon alone, ran. Hayes calmly raised his zapper and shot him three times.

  The fight was over. A few dozen warriors were in full, screeching flight, mounted or on foot. The survivors, dazed from zapper hits, were beginning to stir. Many of the Marines methodically began to kill them.

  "Belay that!" Charlie Bass roared into his all-hands circuit. "Remember the ROE!" He looked around the battleground through his infras and saw his men backing away from the Cheereek survivors. Despite the distance, he even saw first squad's outpost 150 meters away from his position. No one there was moving away from the alien red splotches. Either those aliens were all dead, or those three Marines had already finished killing them. "Squad leaders report." Without paying much attention to what he was doing, he slapped a field bandage high on his left chest and pressed it into place to stop the bleeding. He ignored the lesser cuts on his hands and arms.

  The reports came in. Everyone except the corpsman and PFC Kindrachuck in the gun squad had suffered at least one wound. The gun squad's Lance Corporal, Neru, was dead. So were PFCs Hruska and Rowe from the second squad. There were no fatalities in the first squad.

  Bass called for the Dragons to come up. "I don't give a good goddamn if the locals can see them," he snapped when the Dragon squad leader reminded him they weren't supposed to get close to the Cheereek encampment. "I've got too many people who can't walk. Get to my location as fast as you can. "

  Then he called Captain Conorado, on the Khe Sanh. At the end of his report he requested to be relieved of command "Sir, it's my fault they got so close before we realized there was anyone around. I failed miserably in my responsibility as platoon commander. I should have made sure someone was watching the sensors."

  "Not a chance, Charlie," Conorado replied. "You're the man on the scene. You have an unfinished job. I'm not relieving you until that job is done."

  "Staff Sergeant Hyakowa can finish the job, sir."

  "Not as well as you can. The smugglers still have two ships down there. It's your job to secure them until someone arrives to relieve you. Now do it."

  "But—?"

  "I said do it, Gunnery Sergeant."

  "Aye aye, sir."

  Bass looked around at his men. Those with lesser wounds were bandaging each other. The corpsman was tending to the more seriously wounded. He looked north and saw the dust clouds raised by the rapidly approaching Dragons.

  "Platoon Sergeant, get the platoon ready to mount up," he said into his radio's command circuit.

  "Aye aye, boss," came Hyakowa's reply.

  Bass raised his shields as his men approached. Sergeant Ratliff's disembodied head was bobbing irregularly, blood staining his invisible trouser leg. Hayes's face was rigid; he seemed to be in pain from the wound in his side, which was visible only as a red blot in the air a foot and a half below his face.

  Then Bass blinked in surprise. Beyond the three Marines he saw Cheereek struggling to their feet—Ratliff must have managed to keep Schultz from killing the wounded. He looked at Schultz's face to gauge his state of mind.

  Schultz saw where Bass had looked and knew what he saw.

  He spat to the side and said in passing, "They're weak. Fragile. No threat to us."

  Scout Captain Kkaacgh looked at his Clumsy Ones' weapon with hatred. The Cheereek had just lost a mighty battle because of it, and many warriors lay dead, killed by the Clumsy Ones' demons. The weapons so effective against his kind had been almost worthless against the foreign demons. Except to make them angry. Gods! The demons had fought like furies. He'd seen them kill warriors with one blow of their bare hands.

  If only the Clumsy Ones had never come! Their demons wouldn't have followed them, and all those warriors who died that day would still be alive, still be able to fight for the glory of the Cheereek.

  Now he had to go back to the rookery and face High Chief Graakaak. If he was lucky, the High Chief would have him killed. Otherwise he'd be made a slave. As soon as...

  Wait. Lead Warrior Ctweeleer went down, slit open by a blade wielded by one of the demons. He thought furiously. Who else knew that finding the Clumsy Ones' demons was his idea? His scouts knew, those who were with the war party. Could he talk to them, convince them they should not tell Graakaak what really happened, tell the High Chief the attack on the demons was Ctweeleer's idea? He thought. Three of the four scouts were dead, he'd seen them killed. Where was the fourth? He had to find him before he returned to the rookery. Was there anyone else, any of the warriors?

  Yes, there were three. Two of them he knew had died. One with Lead Warrior Ctweeleer, the other alone. Who was the third? Yes, he knew who that was. He remembered seeing that warrior running at the end of the battle. Where was he?

  "My captain."

  Kkaacgh spun toward the voice, pointing his Clumsy Ones' weapon. He saw who it was and lowered the weapon. Of course, it was his remaining scout. No one else could have slipped up on him unnoticed like that.

  "Yes, Cheererere."

  "It was a bad loss."

  Kkaacgh barely acknowledged the obvious statement.

  "When the High Chief learns this attack was our idea, it will be death or slavery for us."

  Our? It was interesting that the scout seemed ready to share the blame. Kkaacgh bobbed his head at the sky. "There are few who know."

  Again Kkaacgh bobbed agreement.

  "You and I and one warrior are the only ones to survive the battle who knew."

  "Yes, and I know who that one warrior is."

  "Is this him?" Cheererere reached behind himself and brought forth a head.

  "That is him, Lead Scout Cheererere. The High Chief will know that the attack was Ctweeleer's idea."

  Cheererere preened. He'd never before heard of a battlefield promotion among the Scouts.

  Chapter 25

  The trek back to the Marquis de Rien naked, on foot, proved to be a terrible ordeal for the three men
. They stood on the edge of the dry lake bed, considering their chances. The relatively short walk from the pits to the arroyo where the hulk of the landcar still smoldered had just about worn them out, especially Herbloc, who was far older than the other two and in much worse physical shape.

  "Leave me," Herbloc panted, "I cannot walk another meter." He collapsed to the ground in a heap.

  "He's right, leave the worthless old shit;" Jum Bolion said, falling to the ground himself. He inspected his feet and groaned. They were cut to ribbons already. Gunsel hobbled to some nearby bushes and began gathering leaves. "Guns, are you crazy?" Jum Bolion shouted weakly from where he lay.

  "We're not leaving Herbloc," Gunsel said as he plucked the leaves.

  "Oh, yeah, you're asshole buddies. I forgot;" Bolion replied sarcastically.

  Gunsel turned and stared at Bolion silently for a few seconds and then went back to plucking fronds. "You didn't send a message to Henderson when the Cheereek ambushed us, did you?" he said conversationally.

  "There was no time! They were on us too quick."

  "Uh-huh. Yeah, yeah." Gunsel sat down next to the other two, a pile of leaves and some long, stringy rootlike fibers piled beside him. "Well, Jum, far as I'm concerned, you're chiefly responsible for us being in this shit in the first place. Sly'd have been here hours ago if you hadn't panicked. As far as assholes go, you're the only one I can see within thirty klicks of here. So shut up and let's get out of here."

  "What's all that stuff for?" Bolion asked, pointing at the vegetation Gunsel had gathered.

  "A new suit of clothes."

  Herbloc sat up. The brief rest had restored him somewhat. "Brilliant, boy-o!" he gasped. "Brilliant!"

  Jum Bolion looked at Herbloc as if the scientist had just lost his mind. Herbloc got painfully to his feet and began gathering leaves and fibers himself. "Lend a hand, boy-o! We need more of them!"

  "What the...?"'

  "Look," Gunsel said, holding up one of the leaves. "These leaves are sturdy and flexible, see? And these roots or whatever are strong. We can make shoes out of the leaves by tying them together and wrapping them around our feet, and we can protect our skin from the sun by making cloaks out of leaves and putting them over our heads and shoulders. Get to work."

  "Aw shit, Guns; can't we just wait till dark and follow our tracks back across the bed?"

  "You won't make it one klick with your feet in that condition. Besides, do you want to lay around here until the Cheereek change their minds and toss us into the pit too?"

  Jum Bolion leaped to his feet and began gathering leaves.

  "They're back!" the radar tech, a man named Flinders, shouted as he burst into Henderson's cabin.

  "Sam?" Henderson said, thinking Patch and his party had already returned from their expedition to the Cheereek encampment. He sat up in his bed and swung his feet to the deck.

  "No, Sly, the Marines are back!"

  Henderson froze. "Where? When?"

  "The sensors just showed an Essay landing about seventy-five klicks to the southwest. Same as before, Sly, a damned Marine combat landing. No mistake about it then, none now." Flinders was perspiring heavily. "Goddamn, Sly, they'll be here any minute!" Clearly, the radar tech was losing control of himself. Henderson couldn't blame him. If the Marines got them, it'd be Darkside for sure. If they weren't all killed first. They didn't have a chance on the ground, but if they could launch the Marquis de Rien first...

  "Send a message to Patch—"

  "Tried that," Flinders shouted. "Tried that! Goddamnit, I couldn't raise anybody. We gotta get outta here—now!"

  "Get Hanks and meet me on the bridge," Henderson said, pulling on a pair of coveralls. Flinders was out the door immediately. Henderson punched the ship's intercom. His voice boomed throughout the vessel. "Now hear this," he said in his most commanding voice. "All hands secure for takeoff. Get a move on!"

  In the companionway outside Henderson's compartment, Hanks, the ship's engineer, almost ran into him. "What the hell's going on?" he demanded.

  Hitching up his clothes and heading for the bridge, Henderson said, "The Marines are back. We're getting out of here. Right now"

  Hanks reached out and lay a restraining hand on his shoulder. "But what about Sam?"

  Henderson turned and faced the engineer. "How long you known me, Hanks?" he asked.

  Hanks shrugged. "Thirty years?"

  "We've done a lot of jobs together, ain't we?" Hanks nodded. "The Marines have landed, you can bet on that, and if they get us on the ground, we're all dead meat. Patch'll have to look after himself. He's got his ship parked over there, if he can get to it, but I ain't waiting around. Besides, old buddy, I don't think he's ever coming back." Hanks stared at Henderson. "Nobody screws with the birdmen, Hanks," Henderson explained, "not even Sam Patch."

  "But the stones—"

  Henderson placed his hand flat on Hanks's chest. "Hanks, give me all the power you got. Sam Patch is on his own. If we can get off this rock and to our jump point, we might live to cash in on the stones we've got. Now get a move on. We're getting out of here."

  "Gone! Gone!" Herbloc wailed. He collapsed to the ground, weeping like a motherless child.

  From several kilometers away they had seen the Marquis de Rien rise. They screamed and waved their arms even though nobody aboard her could possibly see or hear them. They gathered their last reserves of energy and ran and stumbled until they burst into the clearing where the ship had been. They told themselves the Marquis de Rien had just changed positions for some reason and a shore party would be waiting for them.

  There was no one there.

  Jum Bolion and Gunsel gaped helplessly at the empty clearing. The ground where the Marquis had sat was still warm. They hadn't missed her takeoff by much.

  All hope completely drained away, Gunsel sank to his knees. Bolion ripped off his cloak of leaves and threw it down. "For what?" he shouted, his voice breaking. "They left us! The bastards left us! Oh, Jesus Christ!" He too sank to the earth. They were naked, abandoned on a hostile alien world, and worst of all, had missed being saved by only a few minutes. The trio lay there, panting and muttering ineffectual curses for a long time.

  "Why? Why did Sly abandon us?" Gunsel asked at last.

  "Who knows?" Jum Bolion answered. "It don't make no difference now, does it?"

  "A purely rhetorical question," Herbloc gasped. "There must've been a good reason Henderson took off, is what Guns meant"

  "‘A purely rhetorical question,’ " Bolion mimicked, "Jesus, what muck! You guys reading each other's minds now?"

  Herbloc paused to catch his breath. "Don't you see? He took off thinking Patch was still alive! There must've been a very good—"

  Bolion gave a shout and slammed the palm of, one hand into his forehead. "The Lady Tee!" he shouted. "Patch came in the Lady Tee! She's, uh, she's right—over there." He pointed off to the northeast. "I think," he added lamely.

  "Oh, my God," Gunsel exclaimed. "How could we have forgotten? Sly knew Patch had the other ship. He wasn't abandoning us after all!"

  Herbloc sat up. "But that doesn't answer the question: Why did he leave?"

  "Well, he left in a mighty big hurry," Bolion said. "It couldn't have been the scientists or any of the birdmen, so..." Bolion's face turned white and he gasped. "It has to be the Marines! They waited for us to come back."

  Gunsel was on his feet instantly, pulling Herbloc up with him. "Then we'd better find the Lady Tee and get the hell out of here in a hurry!"

  "Right!" Bolion shouted. "It was over this way."

  "No! That way!" Gunsel pointed in the opposite direction.

  "You're both wrong. Patch and Kat came out of the woods over there. I remember," Herbloc insisted.

  "You can't know that!" Bolion shouted. "You were in the ship when they came out of the woods. They came from over there!"

  The three stood there, staring at one another. "Okay," Gunsel said, taking charge. "Look for signs in the vegetation, where
they'd have come out of the woods. Split up and look around the perimeter of the landing site. Look close and careful."

  After a few minutes Herbloc saw what he took for crushed brush. "Here! They came out here!"

  "How do you know it wasn't the security party?" Bolion asked.

  The three stared at one another again. "We don't," Gunsel said at last, "but it's the only lead we got. Let's go."

  Five thousand meters through the scrub that lined the ridges flowing down from the massif, they discovered Patch's executive starship.

  "Now let's see if he locked the damn thing up on us," Bolion said. He touched a keypad mounted beside the passenger hatch. Nothing happened. "It's coded! The Enter key won't work without the damned code!" Bolion pounded his fist into the hull of the spacecraft in frustration.

  "Oh, no," Gunsel moaned. "We come this far and now we're finally screwed." He sat down in the shadow of the small craft. "May as well wait until the Marines come and find us. At least they'll give us some clothes and something to eat."

  Jum Bolion plopped down beside him. Herbloc, however, examined the pad. He pressed several keys experimentally. Nothing happened. He pressed some more with the same results. The third time the lock hissed open.

  "How the hell'd you do that?" Jum Bolion asked in an awed voice.

  Herbloc chuckled. "Obviously Mr. Patch did not bother to change the combination when Tweed handed this ship over to him. You can see where the keys are worn from constant use. I guessed the right sequence, is all."

  "Doc, I take back everything I ever said about you," Bolion said as he got lightly to his feet.

  "And I you, old chap," Herbloc answered under his breath.

  Once on the tiny bridge, Bolion easily initiated the ship's preflight sequencing. "This thing is programmed so even an idiot could fly it."

  "As we all can see," Herbloc muttered.

  "Doc," Bolion said over his shoulder, "is there any doubt why nobody likes you?" He fiddled with the instrument panel a bit longer. "It'll take a few minutes for the computer to complete the preflight sequencing. Anything to eat around here? How about something to wear?" The three began rummaging eagerly through the ship's comfortable passenger compartment.