As the sun rose, the Humans drank their fill before retreating to some thick underbrush to rest and come up with a plan. The problem was simple. Although Avery and his companions had a source of water, odds were that they would be discovered if they stayed in the oasis for very long, yet they couldn’t travel without canteens. So what to do? Take the canteens from the locals . . . Some of whom were likely to arrive at any time. Problem solved. Assuming they could overwhelm some Paguumis.
Avery shared the plan with Daska. And, since the concept was consistent with the robot’s programming, it had no objection. The wait began. The shade protected them from the worst of the heat—and furtive trips to the well served to slake their thirst.
But by the time the sun made its daily trip across the sky and set in the west, there had been no sign of the indigs Avery had been hoping for. He did see one thing, however . . . Something that was sufficient to produce a combination of hope and fear. That was the appearance of three white claw marks on the azure sky. They were contrails. But whose? Humans, come to rescue the empress? Or Hudathans bent on conquest? Both were possible.
As darkness fell, and Daska stood watch, the Humans made a meal of emergency rations. The dry fiber bars made MREs look good. But there was plenty of water to wash them down with—and Avery took the opportunity to teach Nicolai some basic camping skills. The princeling had never spent any time in the outdoors, and the chance to carve shavings off a dry stick and to light a carefully shielded fire kept his mind occupied for a while.
The process caused Avery to think about children. Would McKee want any? Some of their time together had been spent having sex—but there hadn’t been much conversation about the future. Just a vague plan to leave the Legion and settle on a rim world. And that made sense since there was no way to be sure that either one of them would survive their current enlistments.
Avery pushed such thoughts aside and prepared a depression for Nicolai to sleep in. Then he covered the boy with an emergency blanket and waited for him to fall asleep. At some point, Avery drifted off as well. He remained asleep until a touch caused him to sit upright and reach for the AXE. The air was cool, the sun was starting to rise, and he could hear voices. “Quiet,” Daska cautioned from inches away. “There are fourteen of them. Too many for us to kill. We must wait.”
Avery’s first thought was for Nicolai. Though normally clean, he was grubby now and looked like a street urchin rather than a prince. The boy was sitting on his haunches chewing a ration bar, and Avery knew he’d be thirsty as a result. And, with the natives gathered around the well, Nicolai wouldn’t be able to drink. It was the sort of thing a robot wouldn’t think of.
However, there was nothing they could do except hide and hope the digs would leave soon. A fire had been lit, and Avery could smell what he assumed was food, so he hoped they would eat and leave soon thereafter.
Once the meal was over, the locals posted a couple of sentries, spread mats out under the trees, and went to sleep. Travel at night and rest during the day. It made sense. Could they sneak up on the guards, kill them silently, and open fire on the others while they slept? They could try . . . But Avery didn’t like the odds.
Fortunately, neither one of the sentries felt the need to explore the oasis and were satisfied to groom their mounts, clean their weapons, and chat with each other. Not long thereafter, Nicolai began to complain of being thirsty, demanded to see his mother, and started to sulk. Avery gave him a pebble to suck on—knowing it would moisten his mouth. That was all he could do.
The sentries were relieved during the middle of the day, and as they lay down, one of the newly awoken warriors walked toward their hiding place. Avery was preparing to shoot him, and kill as many of the sleepers as he could, when the dig stopped to urinate. Once that was accomplished, he returned to the well. Avery gave a sigh of relief and thumbed the safety on. It was a reprieve. How many would they get?
But with the exception of the close encounter, the rest of the day was uneventful. Finally, as the sun began to set, the sleeping warriors got up and went about making another meal. The process seemed to take forever. Eventually, after a good deal of messing about, the Paguumis rode away.
Nicolai wanted to run straight to the well, but Avery made the boy wait for a full five minutes to make sure that none of the riders returned. They didn’t.
“Come on!” Avery shouted. “I’ll race you to the well!” Nicolai took off running—and Avery grinned as he followed along behind.
After drinking their fill, eating ration bars, and drinking more water, the Humans prepared for bed. If a patch of bare ground could be dignified as a “bed.” And as Avery lay there, he went over the day in his mind. What was to prevent the same thing from happening again? Nothing. But what could he do? Silly though it seemed, they were wedded to the well until a smaller group of travelers arrived.
Knowing that Daska would keep watch and couldn’t fall asleep, Avery allowed himself to drift off. He awoke several times during the night. Once to take a pee—and once because he heard voices. Or thought he did.
But the night passed uneventfully, and when morning came, there were no visitors. It was frustrating, and rather than wait any longer, Avery decided to leave once the sun went down. According to Daska, there was another oasis about fifteen miles to the west. It would be a long hike, but maybe they could make it.
Rather than run the risk of being caught out in the open, the threesome retreated to their hiding place as the sun rose higher in the sky. Avery and Nicolai made armies out of stones and passed the time attacking each other. Games that were made more interesting when General Crowley chose to participate. And that’s what they were doing when four warriors galloped into the oasis, skidded to a stop, and jumped to the ground. There was a good deal of grunting and belching as the animals drank from the well.
The digs were in a hurry, judging from their decision to travel during the heat of the day and the fact that they weren’t setting up camp. A rest stop then . . . Before continuing on their way. “These are the ones,” Avery whispered to Daska. “They will leave soon, so we must act quickly. Don’t kill the animals if you can avoid it. They could come in handy.”
Avery turned to Nicolai. “Stay here, son . . . Don’t move. Either Daska or I will come for you.” Nicolai knew enough to be scared. His eyes were big as he gave a short, jerky nod.
The boy would be helpless if both he and Daska were killed. Avery knew that. But it was a chance he’d have to take.
Avery turned back to Daska and motioned the synth forward. There was nothing especially subtle about the attack. Avery was counting on the element of surprise, and it worked. The warriors turned to stare as two strange-looking apparitions broke cover and ran straight at them. They were still trying to process the situation when Avery shot one of them in the head.
As the body fell, the others began to move, and one reacted quickly enough to fire a shot. Avery felt the slug tug at his left sleeve as Daska opened fire. In order to use the machine pistol effectively, the robot had to get in close. But once in position, the synth was deadly. Short bursts took two warriors down.
Meanwhile, Avery had a problem on his hands. Having been startled by the first shots, a big quadruped had interposed itself between Avery and warrior four. A nimble fellow who took the opportunity to grab onto the saddle-horn-like prominence located to the rear of the beast’s neck and pull himself up off the ground. Then, with a series of yips, he urged the animal into motion. The dig was about to escape, and if he did, would soon return with some of his friends.
Avery swore and did the only thing he could. He led the mount slightly, pulled back on the trigger, and fired half of the assault weapon’s fifty-round magazine. The bullets stitched a bloody line along the animal’s flank until they found a vital organ. The warrior managed to jump free as the beast fell. He was busy trying to bring his long-barreled rifle to bear when Avery shot him in the
chest. He backpedaled and fell. Avery sensed motion and turned to discover that Daska was standing next to him. “You aren’t supposed to shoot the animals,” the robot said critically.
“And you aren’t supposed to be a pain in the ass,” Avery replied. “But you are.”
The sun beat down on his shoulders as he walked over to where the dead beast lay. What looked like a wineskin hung from the largely decorative saddle. He cut the object loose. It was still wet after being immersed in the well and clearly filled with water. Mission accomplished.
Further investigation produced a purse full of what appeared to be uncut gemstones—although Avery knew next to nothing about such things. It turned out that the other warriors were carrying similar pouches. Were such stones common on Savas? Or had the warriors stolen them from somebody? Either was a possibility. Avery poured all of the stones into a single pouch and buttoned it into a pocket.
The next twenty minutes were spent gathering everything that might come in handy, including three additional water bags, a couple of curved knives, and one of the single-shot rifles. The theory was that, primitive though the firing mechanism was, a long-range weapon could come in handy.
The original plan had been to ride the captured animals. But one lay dead, one had been wounded, and the others were anything but cooperative. Any attempt to climb aboard was met with loud grunts, shrill screams, and an effort to buck him off.
The reason for that soon became apparent as Avery studied one of the creatures. The blanket on its back was just that—a blanket. The real saddle consisted of the concave mass of bone and cartilage that lay underneath. It was equipped with what appeared to be a socket. And if Avery’s guess was correct, it was evolved to receive the short, tail-like tentacles that each warrior had. A symbiotic relationship? Yes, he thought so. And that being the case, the chances of successfully riding one of the animals was zero.
Fortunately, the beasts were equipped with small panniers that could be used to haul their belongings. Because even if the animals couldn’t be ridden, they could be led. So Avery turned the wounded mount loose, loaded the other two with supplies, and waited for darkness to fall. And that was when Nicolai began to cry. It seemed natural to hold the boy, to let him sob, and to give him assurances that everything would be okay. Even if that was very unlikely indeed.
—
When McKee came to, she was lying on her back looking up through a screen of foliage to the patches of blue sky beyond. And she was moving. Not gliding, because the movement was too jerky for that, but traveling at what seemed to be a pretty good clip. How could that be? McKee attempted to sit up, felt an explosion of pain in her head, and fell back. Darkness reached up to pull her down.
Eventually after what might have been a day, week, or month McKee awoke once again. As before, she was lying on her back. But the surface underneath her was steady this time. And instead of foliage, she was looking up into an alien countenance. She would have been frightened if it hadn’t been for the fact that she recognized the creature as one of the Jithi they had rescued from the Paguumis. A translator dangled from his neck.
“Greetings, Lieutenant. You were bitten by a claw wing. The poison it injected into your bloodstream is very toxic. But you are better now. It seems the extract made from Ibumi tree bark works on Humans as well as Jithi. Praise be to the great one.”
McKee tried to speak, but her mouth was too dry. She croaked “Water,” and felt grateful when the Jithi helped her to sit up. The water he offered her was cool and felt heavenly as it trickled down her throat. “What’s your name?” McKee inquired.
“They call me Kambi.”
“Thank you, Kambi. How long has it been since the wing bit me?”
“Four days.”
“Where are we?”
“We are ninety passems, or about sixty of your miles northeast of the point where my companions and I were ambushed. Major Remo wanted to place you in one of the RAV machines, but Sergeant Jolo said that the members of your platoon preferred to carry you, which they did.”
McKee remembered looking up into the branches as she was carried along. Carried by a couple of T-1s? She thought so. And the fact that her platoon would do that for her caused a lump to form in the back of her throat. “What about you?” she inquired, eager to change the subject. “Tell me about the ambush.”
Kambi produced something very similar to a Human shrug. “There were five of us. We came north to sell jewelry to the Paguumis. Their females are hungry for such baubles. And a certain amount of gifting is required prior to the wife-taking ceremony. So the males want to buy.
“But we were waylaid by a party of warriors who planned to take what they wanted. Rimbee was killed. So was Koshi. So we ran. That’s when we saw your cyborgs and you called us forward. Later, after the wing bit you, Major Remy hired us to act as guides.”
Guides would come in handy . . . There was no doubt about that. “Help me get up,” McKee demanded.
“Take it slowly,” Kambi advised. “You’ll need time to get your full strength back.”
It didn’t take long to realize that the native was correct. Getting up and leaving the Jithi-style lean-to took a lot of effort. McKee’s legs felt wobbly as she made her way out into the main encampment. The nearest legionnaires turned to look at her—and their applause was both unexpected and gratifying. Having heard the ruckus, Remy came forward to greet her. “Lieutenant McKee! It’s good to see you up and around.”
McKee mumbled something she hoped was appropriate before allowing Kambi to lead her back to the shelter. Then it was time to take a pee on her own and eat a few bites of food before going back to sleep.
The next time McKee awoke was just before 0500 as the company began to stir. That was her cue to extricate herself from the sleep sack, take a couple of pain tabs, and totter off to a female latrine. All of the people she ran into both going and returning were clearly glad to see her—and that served to lift McKee’s spirits as she packed her gear. It turned out to be an unexpectedly difficult task, and she was only half-done when Sergeant Jolo appeared with a steaming-hot mug of tea and a lukewarm MRE. “Good morning, ma’am. I heard you were up and around. Here’s a bite to eat.”
McKee thanked him and was surprised to discover how hungry she was. Jolo was packing her gear by that time and replied to her questions with short, efficient answers. It seemed that the T-1s were starting to experience all of the maintenance issues that one would expect after a prolonged period in the field. But nothing critical as yet. That was a relief, and as McKee put the MRE down, she felt better. Good enough to mount up? Yes, she thought so, even if Jolo disagreed.
Twenty minutes later, McKee was up on Bartov’s back as the company got under way. But rather than take the point, McKee chose to ride with the reserve squad. She wasn’t ready to take the lead and knew it.
The jungle was beginning to thin out as the company neared the point where it would be forced to leave the protection of the forest and cross what Kambi called “the grass path.” Or, the planet-girding swath of grass the Paguumis’ katha fed on. The desert lay beyond that.
McKee knew there were two ways to proceed. Remy could continue to travel during the day on the theory that while his unit would be easier to see, the heat stored in the sand, dirt, and rocks would help conceal the team’s infrared signature. And according to what their Jithi guides had heard, the huge aliens were definitely on the ground.
On the other hand, if the legionnaires traveled at night, they would be less visible to the Hudathans and indigs alike. The problem was that their heat signatures would be clear to see from orbit. Still, it was more comfortable to travel during the hours of darkness, so that was a factor, too.
So Remy ordered a halt at the point where the jungle gave way to desert. The plan was to rest until evening and march all night. McKee was tired by then and grateful for the break. But she was also determined to
resume her duties. With that in mind, she went to see Remy.
The major was seated under a tree. He was speaking into his hand comp. Keeping a record of their progress? Probably. And for good reason. If the mission failed, he could be blamed, court-martialed even, and would have to defend himself. But if they were able to locate Ophelia? And bring her out alive? Then Remy would receive a promotion, a really important medal, and be free to write a book about his exploits. So long as it cast the empress in a good light, that is. Remy saw McKee and waved her over. The comp went into his pack. “Just the person I wanted to see! Please, have a seat.”
The only seat available was a box labeled AMMUNITION, .50 CAL. So she sat on it.
“Damn,” Remy said. “We were very worried about you. Nice job with the Paguumis by the way. Had one of them managed to return home, we would have been ass deep in digs shortly thereafter. As things stand, we made it this far without having to fight a major action. Although that may change once we track the signal to its source.”
McKee frowned. “Signal, sir? Meaning Ophelia’s signal?”
Remy smiled. “Sorry, McKee . . . I forgot that you’ve been out of the loop for a while. No, not Ophelia’s beacon . . . This is something different. Two days ago we began to pick up a standard distress signal. You know, the kind you’d expect from a downed shuttle or something similar.
“It’s about twelve miles north of our present position. We know the Hudathans are here, and it sounds like they plan to stay, but one of our weather sats survived an attack by the ridgeheads. In any case, a tech managed to hack into it so we had a chance to eyeball the area using infrared sensors. There are no obvious signs of a trap.”
“So we’re going in tonight?”
Remy nodded. “Damned right we are.”
Andromeda's War (Legion of the Damned Book 3) Page 20
