Kingdoms Fury

by David Sherman

  When the other mind withdrew from his momentarily, giving him back some control over his own thoughts, he concentrated on remembering who he was and how he'd gotten to that place. Through the haze of the pain, he vowed: You will not break me! I will defy you even if it kills me!

  If death was the only way he could get out of there, he'd gladly accept it. But goddammit, he wanted to live!

  Zechariah remained by his son's grave after he'd given the others orders to resume the march. He had even ordered Consort and Comfort away. He had to be alone for a while. He could catch up when he was ready.

  At length he got to his feet and looked about. They could find this spot again, he thought, when things got back to normal, or even if they didn't, and remove Samuel's remains to a more fitting resting place. He stood over the freshly turned earth and listened carefully. He heard no sounds at all above the furtive rustlings of forest creatures and insectlike life-forms. That was very good because it meant that the refugee column was proceeding in almost total silence. Fortunately, there were no infants among them and even the youngest of the children were cooperating in the noise discipline Zechariah had imposed on their movements.

  Nehemiah Sewall was walking point, one of the alien acid rigs strapped to his back. He held the long, flexible, hose apparatus loosely in one hand as he cautiously threaded through the undergrowth, stopping every few meters to check his direction and survey what lay ahead. Ten meters or so behind him and ten meters to the right flank of the column, Comfort Brattle provided flank security, her shot rifle at the ready. On the left flank Amen Judah did the same. Behind them, at the head of the column, two of the younger men, equipped with acid-throwers, watched for Nehemiah's signals; at the tail end two more, similarly armed, provided security and watched for Zechariah to rejoin them.

  They had tested the devils' acid-projectors before putting the rigs on. The mechanisms were easy to figure out. The rig was mounted on a packboard with shoulder straps, and consisted of two tanks—one large, painted green, and the other somewhat smaller and painted russet. The colors were muted, to blend in with the foliage native to that hemisphere. The larger of the two containers held the acid, and the smaller held the compressed-air propellant. A single hose ran from a coupling between the tanks, up under the user's arm and to a nozzle assembly that looked something like the muzzle of the shot rifle Comfort was armed with. The nozzles were about .75 caliber. By depressing a lever behind the nozzle, a thin stream of the stuff could be projected a good fifty meters. The special gloves the devils used to protect themselves against back spray would not fit human hands, but in the equipment bags they'd recovered from the dead devils there were different-size shields that could be fitted behind the nozzles to serve the same purpose. Each acid tank bore writing in characters that were indecipherable, just lines and squiggles, but the analog gauges were easy to read: they indicated all the tanks were full. The units were light, and although the straps were not designed to fit the human body, they fit it well enough even when the refugees moved through heavy undergrowth. The tanks were also durable: several had sustained hits from the shot rifles when their owners had been killed, but none of the bullets had penetrated the metal.

  The refugees had gone from being a frightened and desperate gaggle stumbling through the wilderness to an armed and alert force that had drawn blood in its first encounter with the devils and was ready for battle. Nehemiah held up his hand. Through the foliage about twenty meters ahead of where he crouched, he could see that the trees thinned out, and the forest ended in a vast, hilly plain. His heart jumped. He knew they were about maybe thirty kilometers from New Salem. He motioned the others forward, and soon everyone crouched nearby under the cover of the trees. Without being told to do so, the armed security detail had taken up positions on the group's flanks. The sun shone brightly on the plain, but they were in deep shade back under the trees.

  Zechariah came up and crouched beside Nehemiah. "Good work," he said, clapping the young man on his shoulder. He caught Comfort's eye on the far edge of the group and smiled. "Gather 'round," he told the others in a low voice. They scrunched in closer, making a rustling sound in the undergrowth. They were like so many furtive animals hiding from larger predators, but now he saw something else in their eyes: determination and alertness. "We can't cross there in the daylight," Zechariah said, nodding toward the open plain on the other side of the trees, "so I say we camp right here until nightfall and then start out." The others murmured their assent.

  "How long will it take us to get home?" Sharon Rowley asked.

  "Let's take it in easy stages. The Shelomoth River is about ten kilometers from here, if memory serves. We can make it there with plenty of darkness to spare."

  "That's right!" Joshua Flood exclaimed. "I've fished and hunted there many times. The river bottom is thick with cover. We can hide there until tomorrow night."

  "Yes," Samuel Sewall chimed in. "And no more than twelve kilometers beyond the river are the Sacar Hills. When I was a boy, we grazed sheep there. I remember some caves we can use to fort up during the day."

  "Thank the Lord for the wild cattle," Susan Maynard said.

  "Amen," someone replied. They suspected that if the devils had infrared surveillance in operation, they might not be able to distinguish between a group of slowly moving humans and the many herds of grazing cattle that inhabited the plain, the descendants of animals released many generations ago by early settlers in the region.

  "All right, then," Zechariah summarized, "tonight we head for the Shelomoth; tomorrow the Sacar Hills; and the third night should bring us home."

  The one thing on everyone's mind, which needed no discussion, was that sooner or later someone was going to miss the devil patrol they had wiped out.

  "Our casualties have been enormous since Operation Rippling Lava commenced, and you want me to worry about a mere eight Fighters?" the Over Master roared. "Our forces are closing in on the enemy and you are worried about a lost patrol?"

  The Senior Master shuddered and bowed even lower before his commander. The security of the interrogation center was his responsibility, and he had sent the patrol on a reconnaissance of the area, as much to look for more prisoners as to discover any potential threats. It was his duty to inform the Over Master of the overdue patrol.

  "Send another patrol, then, to look for the first," the Over Master continued.

  "Most respectfully, Lord, I have not the resources to do that and provide security for our operations here," the Senior Master replied.

  "Then forget about the missing Fighters! Wild beasts must have gotten them."

  "Most respectfully, Lord, the local wild beasts are herbivores, herd creatures, very stupid, most unlikely to attack anyone."

  "Enough!" the Over Master bellowed as the Senior Master quivered even more, wishing desperately he could burrow into the floor. "When the eight are found, execute them! I will not have our Fighters dawdling about in the woods. Besides, our work here is almost done. The Great Master has sent word to terminate the interrogations. We are preparing for the final push. Besides, we have gotten all we are going to get out of these useless Earthmen prisoners. They have been reduced to the level of idiots anyway, if they ever had much intelligence to begin with. Revive those who have survived. They may still be useful to us as laborers. When we evacuate this site, do with them what you please. That is all."

  The Senior Master respectfully bowed his way out of the Over Master's presence, the eight missing Fighters completely forgotten. As to the remaining prisoners, they would be left behind to starve in the wilderness because the Senior Master was resolved not to waste a single drop of acid on such pond scum.

  The Brattles huddled together on the riverbank just above the turbulent waters of the Shelomoth, dozing fitfully under their blankets. The other refugees clustered nearby. They had arrived just at first light and spent the daylight hours trying to catch up on their sleep. Since their food supply was running low, several of the men and boys ha
d spent the morning catching edible animals in the river while Joshua Flood explored up the riverbank, looking for a fording spot. He returned at dusk and shook Zechariah from a doze.

  "I have found it, Mr. Brattle. It was just where I remembered. The water flows over a rock outcropping but we can make it across on foot if we're careful."

  Zechariah shook himself and awoke Comfort and Consort. They stretched and gathered up their things. The others were likewise stirring. When it got full dark, Zechariah had them all line up in a column, each person holding on to the shirt of the person in front of him, and took a head count. At his command, Joshua led the way, guided by starlight. Crossing the river was difficult but they all eventually scrambled up the opposite side over a low bank. Once everyone was up, Zechariah took another head count and then, each person still holding on to the one in front, they moved over the plain again. The going was very difficult.

  They came in view of the Sacar Hills just as the stars were dimming in the sky. Joshua, in the lead, mounted a small rise and was the first to see them. He froze and instantly ordered everyone down. Zechariah came running up, doubled over to make as small a target as he could. He did not have to ask Joshua what he'd seen once he peered over the ridge. About a kilometer away the hills rose in a low ridge about two hundred meters high.

  "Heavenly Father, it's their camp!" Zechariah gasped. At the base of the ridge a collection of what looked like temporary structures formed a compound, well-lighted from some unseen source and bustling—with the devils! Fortunately, the grass all around where they lay was about a meter high, so they had adequate cover, but it was obvious they could go no farther that night.

  Zechariah crawled down the length of the column, informing everyone that they would have to go to ground where they were and try to stay hidden until dark. "Conserve your water," he whispered. "It'll be a hot one today, and there is no more water between here and New Salem." He ordered those carrying weapons to join him with Joshua. "Spread out in the grass to the left and the right, no more than an arm's length from the person next to you. Keep a sharp lookout. We'll take turns watching while the others sleep. If God wills it, we can stay hidden here until dark. If not and they spot us, we'll take a lot of them with us. But God is with us."

  The day dragged on endlessly, and as the sun rose, the heat under the grass became stifling. Even so, following Zechariah's orders, they used their water sparingly. They had filled the bottles at the river and the water was tepid and tasted of mud, but at least it was wet.

  In mid-afternoon Joshua nudged Zechariah. "What is it?"

  "I've been watching for some time now, Mr. Brattle. There are people down there!"

  Zechariah peered through the tall grass. Yes! "Oh, dear God, they're using them as beasts of burden," he whispered. Then to the others, "Stay still. Do not move. Not a sound from anyone!" Off to his left he heard Comfort sobbing quietly. He rested his head on his arms as Joshua watched him nervously. The people were carrying various unrecognizable objects from one of the caves to what appeared to be a flying machine. Little devils were acting as guards, but it was too far away to see what condition the humans were in. The figures staggering under their loads were clearly men, and the weariness of their movements was evidence of abuse or exhaustion.

  "There is nothing we can do," Zechariah said. "We shall stay hidden here until dark and then move on. Do not mention this to the others until we're safely home."

  "It looks like they're leaving, sir," Joshua said.

  "Yes, I pray to God that they are," Zechariah answered. "Now, Josh, you get some sleep. I'll watch. Take your eyes away from that sight. Empty your mind of it. We must survive."

  That day seemed to drag on forever.

  Exhausted and starving, but spirits high, they reached New Salem just before dawn on the third day. Zechariah had maintained strict discipline during the trek, demanding from each person the utmost in self-control, and such was the force of his personality that he had gotten it. Now they all lay flat on a slight rise above the town, waiting for the sun to come up.

  New Salem was deserted, and in the days since they had abandoned the place wild cattle had invaded it. In the dim predawn illumination they could clearly make out small groups of the animals bedded down along the streets and in the yards of the abandoned homes. But nothing else stirred down there. "If they're all we have to worry about, we have no worries," Consort Brattle whispered to her husband.

  "I can see our home!" Comfort whispered. Zechariah put his arm around her shoulders. There were tears in her eyes but she gripped her shot rifle tightly before her, ready to bring it into action. In those desperate days that lay just behind them, his daughter had become a soldier. He wondered idly what kind of man Samuel would have been had he lived, but he put that thought out of his head as soon as it came to him. No use going down that path. Samuel was with God. Comfort would be his staff now.

  The sun broke over the horizon. "It'll be a clear day," Zechariah said. The others along the ridge murmured softly among themselves as they watched the sky lighten. Gradually the rays touched the roofs of the houses, throwing the yards and streets into dark shadows, but as the sun climbed, these faded too, revealing New Salem, a bit shabbier after being abandoned, but otherwise undamaged. When the sun was full up over the horizon, Zechariah stood. He drew his hand-blaster and held it over his head. "Friends, let us go below and take back our lives!" he shouted, starting down the ridge. Despite their weariness, the others raised a loud cheer and followed him down.

  Suddenly, Zechariah felt better than he had in days. The fatigue seemed to flow out of him, to be replaced by exuberance. They were home at last! They had met the enemy and defeated it and avoided detection, and if they must make a stand, at least it would be in defense of their homes. He lifted his voice in an old, old hymn, and the others, experiencing the same rush of elation at having survived the ordeal, took it up. Their voices echoed through New Salem's empty streets. The wild cattle, alarmed at the villagers' approach, stirred and then rumbled off into the surrounding fields, leaving piles of dung steaming in the early morning sunlight.

  But in his heart Zechariah Brattle knew it would be a long, long time, if ever, before they would take back their old lives.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The pings, metallic groans, and sharp cracks that reverberated throughout the Grandar Bay almost drowned out the alarm klaxons and the huge ship shook violently. An electrician's mate in the radar department had overridden the timers on the clasps of his transition harness so they would release the instant the jump was completed. The shaking threw him from his couch into a power block. The pain in his shoulder had time only to force the beginning of a scream from his mouth before his head slammed into the same power block. His scream cut off when the concussion knocked him out. The ship's shaking tossed him about then slammed him into more hard-surfaced and sharp-edged equipment. He was the only casualty.

  Commodore Borland and the bridge officers and crew struggled to gain control of the ship and smooth its passage into Space-3 while Navigation worked feverishly to calculate a course that would use the force of the destabilizing gravity well to stabilize the ship. In the engine rooms, crews struggled valiantly to modulate the inertial power plant to counter the shakes of the ship. The chief-of-ship roared commands to the deck crews, whose men always made jumps wearing vacuum suits. Most of the deck crews shuffled unsteadily on magnetic shoes to the tween'ulls to repair patches broken loose by the violent shaking. Other deck crews answered calls to repair damage wherever the violent shaking had broken things loose.

  Elsewhere, officers and crew who weren't involved in bringing the ship under control or repairing damage stayed strapped down in their jump couches. Those who had duty stations during jumps did what they could to operate their systems while strapped in. The Marines in their compartments remained locked in their jump webbing. Here and there voices rose in prayer and supplication to whatever gods the praying crewmen and Marines thought might give a
damn about what happened to them.

  Over a period of minutes that seemed much longer to the officers and sailors working on controlling the ship, and longer yet to the crew and Marines strapped helplessly in place, the bucking starship was calmed down. The Marines were kept strapped in to keep them out of the way while the ship was hurriedly inspected and all damage categorized, repaired, patched, or ignored.

  The Radar Division aimed detectors at Society 362 and searched the electromagnetic spectrum around it. Passive instruments picked up emanations and fed them into computers for analysis. The computers spat out their results: three ships in orbit, no weapons activity discerned, no active search pings. Neither were the ships broadcasting ID signals.

  Commodore Borland ordered the course set not to Society 362, but sunward, to use stellar radiation to mask the Grandar Bay. The ships in orbit would pick up signals from the Grandar Bay's maneuver, but wouldn't be able to track it once it was in the stellar background. Or at least they shouldn't be able to; nobody knew if the Skinks had detection capabilities well beyond those of the Confederation.

  Shielded, they hoped, by local stellar radiation, the Grandar Bay approached at half speed, to have as much time as possible to gather intelligence about what awaited. They still detected only three ships in orbit. None had been found orbiting on the other side of the planet. The Lagrange points were unoccupied as well. The Grandar Bay trained its optics on the orbiting ships.