“Adolescent?” he roared. “Adolescent!”
“Juvenile. Revenge always is.”
And that’s when I hit him.
Fight or Flight
It was a simple punch, straight to the jaw—a sucker punch, and I had no qualms about using it. Now that I knew Jelca’s plan, I was dangerous to him; he may already have decided I would have an “accident” and topple off the mountain. One shot of his stunner would take me out, so I couldn’t give him a chance to draw.
The punch should have fazed him long enough to let me close for a few more strikes; but maybe I didn’t put all my strength into it. Maybe some subconscious softness balked at knocking out Jelca’s teeth…. I don’t know. I just know the impact didn’t completely rattle him. Before I could follow up, his emergency programming kicked in: he dove, tucked, and rolled, exactly the way I did when taken by surprise.
Pity he couldn’t have been trained with one of the other responses—freezing or backing off passively.
Before he stopped rolling, I was diving too: diving for the cover of the trees. I had no chance of crossing the ground between me and Jelca before he could draw his gun. My only chance was to get out of range, preferably with sturdy pine trunks at my back. Standard-issue stunners are only effective at close quarters, but with an amplified weapon like Jelca’s, I wanted all the insurance I could get.
I reached the woods a split-second before he fired. My whole head buzzed for a second as if it were clamped in a vibrating vice; but momentum carried me forward, and I stayed on my feet for a few stumbling steps till the trees walled off the sound. Thank heaven they were pines—their needles rustled fiercely under the hypersonic barrage, absorbing the sound and muffling it. With each step my vision cleared, until I allowed myself to accelerate into a full run along the uneven trail.
“Festina!” Jelca yelled. “Come back. Let’s talk.”
What kind of idiot did he think I was? I didn’t waste my breath answering. The trail had bends in it, but not many; there were long stretches where he would have a clear shot at me if I didn’t stay far enough ahead. Silently, I cursed my lack of foresight for not bringing my own stunner…but I had never expected to need it. At worst, I thought Jelca might deny killing Eel; the idea that he might have a greater lunacy planned never crossed my mind.
You’re too civilized, Ramos, I told myself. All that Explorer training, and you still aren’t prepared to deal with non-sentients.
No. I just hadn’t been prepared to accept that Jelca was non-sentient. He was: a dangerous non-sentient, and now he was after me. His footsteps pounded the trail some distance behind. I didn’t look over my shoulder—it would only slow me down, and Jelca’s legs were longer than mine.
Could I hide? Take cover behind a tree and ambush him as he came by? Too risky: the tree trunks were no more than a hand wide, and here in the depths of the wood, their branches didn’t reach low enough to offer concealment. The best tactic was to leave the trail, leave it now before Jelca came into sight. I might not have brought my stunner, but I sure as hell had my compass—I wouldn’t get lost in the woods.
Jelca would get back to the elevator ahead of me, but that didn’t matter. If he decided to wait there, blocking my way back to the city, I had more time than he did. When I didn’t return, Ullis would organize a search party—after all, I had left her that note:
I think Jelca killed Eel. I’m going to talk to him about it. You keep an eye on Oar, and don’t tell her a thing.
Ullis would come, I knew she would…and given the circumstances, she and the other Explorers would come armed.
I veered off on the first side trail I came to: a narrow track used by deer and bear. As soon as I was out of sight of the main trail, I stopped and crouched, keeping quiet. Jelca was a city boy—he wouldn’t notice my tracks had turned. In a few seconds he thudded by, running hard and muttering inaudible words under his breath; I hoped they were curses. Then he was gone.
The sounds of the forest filled the silence: pine needles brushing each other, squirrels squawking as they foraged for winter supplies. When I felt the coast was clear, I moved forward, paralleling the trail but keeping a good distance off in case Jelca backtracked.
In time, the open area around the elevator entrance came into sight. I stopped at the edge of the woods, keeping low to stay hidden. Jelca could be lying in ambush, inside the entrance itself or behind the nearby rocks. Carefully I scanned each possible hiding place—no sign of him, but that only meant he’d concealed himself well. I found some cover of my own and settled down to wait. A search party would come.
Half an hour later, the hum of the elevator reached my ears. I smiled…and my smile grew wider at the thought of Jelca gritting his teeth in consternation. While I’d been waiting, I had silently collected a pile of stones suitable for throwing if Jelca showed his head. That would keep him busy while the search party got out of the elevator; after that, it would be over for him.
The elevator stopped. The door opened. Only one person emerged: Oar, carrying her silver axe.
“Laminir Jelca!” she shouted to the mountains. “Come out and let us see the color of your juices!”
“Okay,” I sighed. “This would be the rescue party I didn’t want to see.”
Battle
Somehow Oar had learned what I wrote in my note. I had hoped she couldn’t read English; but maybe she could. It didn’t matter. Oar was here now with hate in her eyes…and that made her a prime target for Jelca if he was nearby.
He was. A trigger clicked; then came the soft whirr a stunner makes to tell you it’s fired. The sonics made no sound themselves—they were too tightly focused on Oar to spill in my direction. Oar staggered and looked around wildly, unable to understand what had happened to her.
“Festina!” Jelca shouted. “Now would be a good time for you to surrender.”
The way Jelca’s voice echoed off the mountain made it hard to pinpoint his position, but I could narrow it down. He had to be hiding behind one of three rocks on the far side of the elevator entrance. Hugging half a dozen throwing stones to my chest, I worked my way through the forest, circling toward him.
Oar shook her head to clear it and raised her axe. “Where are you, fucking Explorer?”
The trigger clicked, the gun whirred. Oar shuddered but held her ground.
“Festina,” Jelca called, “you know I can kill her. If you don’t come out, her death is on your head.”
I didn’t answer. The fool was living some dream now—picturing himself as a desperado who could beat the world through sheer ruthlessness. What had happened to his Explorer training? I felt ashamed any ECM could blind himself with such romantic notions.
Oar jumped from where she was, hit the ground, and rolled up against a rock: an imitation of my own defensive move. The maneuver took her out of the immediate line of fire; I heard a clatter of scree as Jelca moved over the mountainside to draw another bead on her. This time I glimpsed his head for a split-second—not long enough to nail him with a stone, but now I knew where he was.
“This is ludicrous, Festina!” he shouted. “Are you going to let her die to save your own skin? Not very sentient of you.” More rocks clattered under his feet. “You know,” he continued, “she’s the closest thing you’ve got to a partner now. You want to lose another partner, Festina?”
You are such a bastard, I thought. But I was an Explorer; he couldn’t goad me into doing something rash. Anger is unprofessional.
The stunner whirred again. Oar groaned, then called, “It only tickles, fucking Explorer! You are stupid and boring and your gun is weak!”
Her voice sounded raspy. I pictured crystal fragments lying ragged in her throat as bits of broken glass splintered off her tissues. Other attacks might bounce off her hide, but the sonics were killing her. Was she dying already? I pressed forward as fast as I could; Jelca would soon be in my sights.
He was moving again—moving for a better shot at Oar, but also moving into clear view
. It was a gamble on his part…but he must have thought I was still on the other side of the forest, back where the trail came out of the trees. The rocks gave him adequate cover in that direction; he might think he was safe.
I’d teach him otherwise.
Slowly I cocked my arm back, ready to hurl a stone into the side of his head. His concentration was centered on Oar; he wouldn’t see it coming. But before I could throw, Oar surged to her feet yelling hoarsely and brandishing the axe. Jelca shied away, and lifted his stunner. I could imagine his finger tightening on the trigger…so I heaved the stone with all my strength, a shot aimed at his body rather than his head, because I couldn’t afford to miss. Maybe Oar could withstand another blast and maybe she couldn’t.
The stone hit him on the upper arm—not his gun hand, but I prayed it was enough to foul his aim. Without waiting to see, I sprinted forward, grabbing another rock from my arsenal and hurling it in Jelca’s direction. He spun toward me, ready to fire…but the incoming stone made him duck and then Oar was screaming, racing at him with the axe. Jelca shot her again, pointblank range, then flinched as my next stone caught him on the shoulder. I had swung out wide, far enough that he would need to turn away from Oar to aim at me; and she was still standing, still holding the axe, even if the last shot had temporarily numbed her.
With a cry, Jelca fled toward the elevator. I held another rock ready in case he turned around, but he didn’t. He ran straight to the hidden entrance; a moment later, the door whisked open, then closed. Still wary, I kept my grip on the stone in my hand as I approached Oar.
“Festina,” she whispered, “I do not feel good.”
She fell into my arms.
Damage Assessment
I dragged her to cover in case Jelca was being tricky; he might be waiting to leap out of the elevator and shoot us both. The safest place I could find was just inside the edge of the woods: far enough to be out of stunner range, but with a clear view of the elevator entrance if Jelca tried to sneak out.
Once we were safe, I examined Oar. She was bad. Fluid dribbled out of her ears, thin fluid with a smell like vinegar. Her breathing crackled each time she inhaled. After her collapse, she had wet herself; I mopped up as best I could with a handful of soft-rotted pine needles.
There were no wounds on the outside of her body—no chance for me to feel useful by applying bandages. I pulled the first aid kit from my belt pouch and looked for anything else that might be useful. Nothing. Antibiotics and disinfectants intended for a human metabolism, not hers.
And the scalpel, of course.
I wished I had brought my Bumbler—at least I could have used it to scan her on various wavelengths. As it was, her body was as clear as ever, internal damage invisible.
Oh well, I thought, this time I won’t be tempted to operate.
Camping Out
Unable to help Oar, I turned to the problem of Jelca. With due caution, I approached the outcrop hiding the elevator entrance…and he was gone, back down to the city.
When I pressed my palm against the plate that opened the door, nothing happened. I tried it again. And again.
No luck.
Jelca must have shorted out the controls. He didn’t want me chasing after him. More importantly, he didn’t want Ullis or a rescue party coming up to find me and the truth.
I wasted several minutes smashing the door with rocks, then trying to pry it open with a stick. Even before I started, I knew the effort would prove futile. The door was thick metal, its frame embedded deep into the mountain itself. Nothing I could do would budge it.
Back in the woods, Oar was still unconscious, still breathing. The shadows under the trees had thickened; only the peaks of nearby mountains caught any sunlight. I would need a fire soon to drive off the chill…and perhaps firelight would be good for Oar too. The IR from the flames might be like giving her intravenous nutrients.
In case Jelca tried to bushwhack us during the night, I built the fire in front of the elevator entrance. If he tried to come out, we’d see him immediately. I had also leaned a pile of stones up against the door. If it started to move, the pile would topple down with enough noise to raise the alarm.
Once I had propped Oar in front of the fire, I warmed myself a bit, then set out for the lark-plane, only half a klick away. If it was still in one piece, I could fly Oar home—back to her own village, where I could lay her out in the Tower of Ancestors and let her absorb a full spectrum of energy. That was the only way I could think to help her; if she drank in enough strength, her body might repair itself. Even better, Oar’s mother was there in the tower…dormant yes, but she might stir herself if she saw Oar was seriously injured. For all I knew, Oar’s mother might tell me about some miraculous med-tech machine that could fix Oar in seconds.
When I got to the lark, I saw it was not going anywhere. Athelrod’s crew had ripped out circuit boards, left wires dangling, even cut away part of one wing. The plane looked like the victim of vandals; and perhaps it was. I was beginning to think that the High Council’s greatest crime was not committed against Explorers, but against the people of Melaquin. We were cultural pollutants, contaminating an otherwise pristine environment. Think of Tobit and his homebrew…think of the people who had been forced out of this city by Explorer activities…think of the glass lark in front of me, kept intact for four thousand years, but torn to useless junk as soon as it fell into Explorer hands.
And that was ignoring what Jelca intended to do.
Back at the campfire, I sat beside Oar as night drew in. My belt pouch still contained protein rations—the flavorless kind that supply your nutritional needs but give you constipation if you eat them more than two days in a row. I munched on a cube and wondered if I should try to feed Oar too…dissolve a chunk in river water, then feed it to her like gruel. Not yet; I wasn’t sure rations intended for humans would sit well with her digestion. Besides, her voice had been so raspy before she passed out. I didn’t want to make her swallow if her throat was filled with broken glass.
Hours trickled by. I kept the fire burning brightly. Once, as I gathered more wood, I came face-to-face with a deer buck displaying a majestic rack of antlers. He went on his regal way without paying me the least attention. Other animals occasionally appeared as beady eyes reflecting the firelight, but none came closer than that.
With nothing else to occupy my thoughts, I replayed my conversations with Jelca. What should I have said? What could I have done to change his mind? I had an immediate answer: I hadn’t been able to reach him because I didn’t look like myself. I didn’t look like an Explorer. If I hadn’t covered my birthmark, Jelca would have taken me more seriously. He may have softened, allowed himself to be drawn back to sanity. Instead of destroying the planet in a fit of pique, he might have considered the possibility of a future here…a future with me.
But no. I looked like an empty version of the woman he knew. Sanitized. Made cosmetically acceptable. That only added to his anger…maybe pushed him over the edge.
Listen. I knew I was being ridiculous: putting the blame on my face, as always. Ugly face, beautiful face, it was always in the wrong. Loudly and clearly, I told myself, “You’ve really got to work on self-esteem, Festina.”
I stared into the fire a long time. It felt hot on my cheeks.
A Gray Morning
I slept three or four hours over the night. Nothing happened. Nobody came…not Jelca and not a search party. That bothered me. Ullis must know I was missing. Even if Jelca had sabotaged the elevator, all those non-zoology majors should have been able to repair it by now. Where were they?
Dawn arrived diffidently, easing itself into a chilly gray. Clouds had crept in overnight—a high overcast that misted the top of the tallest mountains. It would rain before the end of the day…either that or snow. I threw more wood on the fire and huddled against Oar for comfort.
Her comfort or mine. Both.
My watch read 10:05 when I first heard the distant whine. I snatched up a handfu
l of throwing stones…but the sound did not come from the elevator. It was somewhere outside. Was the city opening its roof doors? Could the Explorers be launching the whale? I tried to imagine a way Jelca could trick the others into leaving without even looking for me. Nothing came to mind.
As I listened, I realized the sound was not coming from the mountain; it came from the sky.
“Don’t I have enough trouble?” I groaned.
I debated moving Oar to safe cover, but she’d already been moved too much for a patient with internal injuries. Anyway, if something happened to me, I wanted her in plain sight where searchers could find her.
Better to leave well enough alone.
I stood. I waited.
A glass eagle set down on the rocks in front of me. It had missiles mounted under its belly.
The cockpit slid open and a man clambered out. “Saw your fire!” he shouted.
“Happy birthday, Phylar,” I said.
Yet Another Reunion
He was no longer wearing his tightsuit. In fact, Tobit had stripped to his underwear, giving a more revealing view of his hairy torso than any woman could wish. The only piece he had retained from his uniform was the helmet, carried under his arm: his good arm. His other arm, the prosthetic one, now hung from a cord around his neck, its fingers gripping the rope like a chin-up bar. Oddly enough, the false arm’s skin was several shades darker than the rest of Tobit’s pale body. I wondered if the prosthetic surgeons had been careless in matching his complexion or if years of drunkenness had leached the color from the rest of his flesh.
“That was a shabby trick, Ramos,” he complained. “Running out on me like that.” With a look of wounded dignity, he grabbed the free end of his artificial arm and clapped it into the receptor housing that Fleet surgeons had hollowed into his shoulder. A few hearty thumps hammered the connector jacks into place. “You make me feel unloved,” he said as he flexed the prosthetic fingers experimentally. “You have something against amputees?”
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