Drifter's War

by William C. Dietz

  Qeeb had combat experience, and could have saved the landing party's lives, but was unable to see what they were doing from the other side of the hill. His ground vehicle had just jerked into motion when the troopers approached the hatch, pried it upward and looked inside. They disappeared in a flash of light.

  The sound of the explosion was much more cogent than the almost hysterical sit rep provided by the driver of air car number two.

  Qeeb swore up a storm as the command car rounded the hill and approached the circle of still smoldering grass. Blackened bodies had been hurled in every direction.

  Qeeb wanted to descend into the tunnel, find the sniper, and break him in half with his own bare hands. But he knew better than to do so. There could be anything from booby traps to a full-scale ambush waiting down there. No, the sensible thing to do was recover the bodies, radio for reinforcements, and wait for some new instructions. He gave the appropriate orders.

  It took a while for the importance of what had happened to sink in. The females stared at Teep's body, watched stoically as the Il Ronnians searched for the sniper, and looked at each other in wonderment.

  Then it began to dawn. This was the sign that God had promised! Someone was fighting back! The aliens could be defeated!

  Some of the females approached Rola-4 and tried to speak with her. Others shooed them away. There were fierce whispers of "Go back! Don't attract attention! Speak with her later!"

  The others obeyed and Rola-4 was left to her thoughts. The aliens could be defeated. God had proved that. But what would happen next? What would he say the next time she placed the disk on her forehead? There was no way to tell. She shifted Neder-33 from one shoulder to the other and reconciled herself to wait.

  Behind Rola-4, back toward the rear of the crowd, Tusy-35 came to the same conclusion. She had seen Rola-4's prophecy come true, had seen the way that the other females gravitated toward her, and knew what that meant. Less power for her.

  Tusy-35 shifted her considerable weight from one foot to the other as a series of thoughts rolled through her mind. Time, that was the key. Rola-4 might be on top of the heap right now, but time brings opportunity, and she could afford to wait.

  Tusy-35 smiled, crossed her arms, and inhaled the morning air. It smelled very, very good.

  14

  Lando followed Dru-2l out onto the catwalk that ran the circumference of the cavern wall. The gratings shook under their combined weight. It was a long drop to the floor below. The railing had been designed to protect the shorter, stockier heavies, and hit both of them toward the top of the thighs. The smuggler felt a wave of vertigo and backed away.

  Dru-2l was completely unaffected. True to the genetic programming given his caste thousands of years before, the construct had no difficulty dealing with heights, enclosed spaces, or any other situation that might interfere with his work. The cavern was noisy and Dru-2l was forced to shout. Like Lando he wore a captured translator around his neck.

  "This is the factory I told you about! We took captured Il Ronnian weapons, redesigned them, and retooled this facility to produce them."

  Lando nodded. "Are there two weapons designs? One for lights, and one for heavies? Or just one?"

  Dru-21 allowed himself a smile. "You raise an excellent point. Our physiologies are sufficiently different to require variations in design. Take assault weapons for example. Heavies have four fingers while we have six. That led to shorter grips for the heavies and longer grips for us.

  "So the answer to the question you asked is 'Yes, there will be two types of weapons, one for heavies, and one for lights,' and the answer to the question that you didn't ask is 'Yes, the lights will fight alongside the heavies.'"

  If Dru-21 expected Lando to show some signs of embarrassment, he was sadly disappointed. The smuggler nodded, got a good grip on a vertical support, and peeked over the rail.

  A grid stretched the width of the cavern. It supported hundreds of floodlights all directed toward the activity below. The floor was packed with machine tools and the handful of personnel that it took to run them. Heavies mostly, with a scattering of lights.

  The equipment was foreign but the functions were not. Lando saw computer-controlled lathes, drill presses, stamping machines, arc welders, and more. Whirring, banging, hammering, screeching, and buzzing, they made a cacophony of sound.

  Even more impressive however was the efficient way in which each machine interfaced with all the others. Raw materials flowed smoothly, one process led to the next, and everything ran in concert.

  Lando looked around. Other than the fact that the factory was underground he wasn't sure where it was. Should that bother him? He didn't know.

  Dru-21 made his way along the catwalk and Lando followed. They had traveled fifty yards or so when a tunnel opened up on the left and the construct stepped inside. It was identical to the tunnel that had carried them out onto the catwalk.

  The corridor had smooth machine-cut walls, and felt damp, like a place long closed. The light had a greenish quality and emanated from the walls themselves.

  There were side passageways too, narrow things that cut across the main thoroughfare, and ran laser-straight in both directions.

  Dru-21 led Lando down some of these, cutting right and left, until they arrived in a small chamber. The walls had been decorated with intricate tile work and had a three-dimensional quality. Lando tried to decipher the picture but found that it made him dizzy. He focused on Dru-21 instead.

  The construct bowed formally and motioned toward the doorway on his right.

  "After you."

  Lando nodded and stepped through the door. The room was oval in shape. The table had been sculpted from native rock. It seemed to grow up out of the floor like something organic.

  The longer walls boasted inserts, which, though bare, screamed for something to frame. The same substance that illuminated the corridors had been sprayed on the ceiling. Though hard on Lando's eyes it felt right in this particular room.

  There were three lights seated around the table. All of them rose. Lando saw that two of the constructs were female and one was male. Dru-21 made the introductions.

  "Pik-Lando, I would like to present Dos-4, Zera-12, and Pak-7. Taken together they speak for all our kind."

  Each of the constructs gave a formal bow that Lando returned in kind. With that ritual completed Dru-21 turned to his peers. "Pik-Lando speaks for the humans."

  Lando thought about Della, and how she might react to the notion that someone else "spoke" for her, and smiled. All four of the constructs smiled back.

  Dru-21 gestured toward the table. "Please be seated."

  Lando lowered himself into a chair and felt it squeeze his sides. Just one more reminder that the buildings, the constructs, and everything else had been built to suit the Lords.

  Dru-21 looked around the table. "Pik-Lando and his companions come to us as valued allies. God knew of them, knew of their martial prowess, and brought them here in an ancient spaceship. Since that time the humans have proved their courage in battle, provided valuable advice, and slowed the rape of our planet. We owe them a great deal."

  Lando listened with interest. Ever since their unexpected landing, the humans had assumed that God controlled the ancient spacecraft, and now it was confirmed.

  Had the drifter survived the Il Ronnian attack? And did God continue to control it? If so, there might be a way to get back home, a way to come out of the whole thing one step ahead.

  The lights wanted something from him, but what? And could he trade it for the drifter? Lando resolved to pay close attention to what the construct said.

  Dru-21 paused, let the silence build for a moment, then broke it. "But what about the future? It lies just over the horizon and must be dealt with. That is why this meeting was convened. To discuss the way things are today and make plans for tomorrow."

  The other three constructs nodded sagely, The female named Zera-12 was the first to speak. She had a pinched face, a zippe
r-straight mouth, and a long, slender neck. "Dru-21 is correct. We owe much to you and your companions. And the debt concerns us. What can we do to repay it?"

  Nicely put, Lando thought to himself. But what she really means is what will your help cost us? And is it a price that we can afford?

  The easy answer would be "a ride home," but could they provide it? Did they speak for God or the other way around? And what about the heavies? Where were they in all this? It was time to stall. Lando plastered a smile across his face.

  "Your concern does you credit… but there are no debts between friends. We fight the Il Ronn because they are evil."

  Pak-7 cleared his throat noisily. He had wide-set eyes, broad cheekbones, and a squared-off jaw. "Yes, of course. But there are certain realities to consider. Either the Il Ronn win or we do. We know what they want. Everything. The planet, God, his knowledge, and anything else that is not nailed down. But you are an enigma. What do you want?"

  Lando smiled. So much for the stall. Pak-7 had seen right through it. Okay, he'd try something else. A more statesmanlike approach. And one that took the heavies into consideration.

  "We want to defeat the Il Ronnians, see some sort of equitable social arrangement put into place, and go home. How's that?"

  "It's very explicit," Dos-4 answered thoughtfully. "Thank you."

  Dos-4 was short compared to the other lights and rather attractive in a hollow-eyed sort of way. "What sort of 'equitable social arrangement' did you have in mind?"

  Lando did his best to look innocent. He shrugged his shoulders. "It would be presumptuous to tell you how to structure your society."

  Pak-7 gave an amused snort. "Oh, really? I thought you just did."

  Dru-21 held up a hand. "Please remember that Pik Lando is an honored guest. It has been my observation that what we sometimes interpret as evasiveness humans view as tact."

  Lando bowed in Dru-21's direction. "There is truth to what Dru-21 says… but we can be evasive as well. Maybe that's why we came up with the saying 'An honest question deserves an honest answer.'

  "While we understand the historical and even genetic reasons for the way that your society is structured, we are concerned about the future. If the Il Ronnians lose, a mighty big 'if' by the way, then how will the heavies fare?"

  Zera-12 squirmed in her chair. "No differently than they do now."

  "Really?" Lando asked, looking around the room. Gradually, and without meaning to do so, he had grown more and more militant. And now that he was into it found that he had no desire to turn back.

  "Let's face it. You're smarter than they are. That's why you invited me here. The creation of a secret alliance would never even occur to them. What's to keep you from replacing the Lords? From enslaving them as you were enslaved?"

  "God would not allow it," Pak-7 said uncertainly, his eyes on the tabletop.

  "An interesting point," Lando said, leaning forward in his chair. "Let's talk about God. Can he hear us right now?"

  Dru-21 felt very uncomfortable. God could not hear them. He and his fellow constructs had made certain of that. The meeting was a mistake. The human had taken control. He realized that now but it was too late.

  Lando nodded knowingly. "He can't, can he? And you arranged that. So save the 'God would not allow it' stuff for someone else. If you can block God out of this room, then you have the ability to enslave the heavies."

  The smuggler got to his feet. He was angry and decided to let it show. "You don't get it, do you? The Lords enslaved your genes, your memories, and your minds. Then, when they didn't need you anymore, they sent other slaves to kill you. Each and every one of you was born remembering that night.

  "Then the machine that you call 'God' took over. For thousands of years he told you what to do and when to do it. And for what? For you? Or for those who created you, and programmed him? In case they come back and decide to move in.

  "Then the Il Ronnians arrive. They enslave everyone. You try to get along with them, find it doesn't work, and decide to fight back. Or, to be more accurate, the heavies fight back, and you're stuck with the results.

  "And now, before the present war has even been fought much less won, you're conspiring to enslave the heavies."

  Pak-7 rose to his feet as well. He was angry and it showed. "What is this talk of enslavement? The heavies are less intelligent than we are. You said so yourself! They are like children who look to us for guidance and leadership. We plan the harvests so they never go hungry, we make sure that they have clothes, and we take care of them when they are sick. Is that the way that a master treats a slave?"

  Lando put his hands on the table and leaned forward. "Yes, it is! The prudent farmer takes good care of his livestock!"

  Dos-4 spread her hands in front of her. "So what would you have us do?"

  Lando straightened up. What the hell was he doing anyway? One of his father's many sayings came to mind.

  "Smuggling is dangerous enough, son, so stay away from the really suicidal stuff like politics."

  It was good advice. Lando mustered a smile and looked Dos-4 directly in the eye.

  "I honestly don't know. This is a difficult situation. But one thing is for sure. The entire situation is bound to change. You, the heavies, and God have lived in harmony for thousands of years now. The Il Ronnians are looking for God. What if they find him? Tear him apart? Take him away? Or what if they don't? What if they leave? Will you go back to life as it was? Can you? I think not."

  There was a long silence. The constructs looked at one another. Dru-21 was the first to speak. His voice was solemn. "This meeting did not go as expected. You have given us much to think about, Pik-Lando. We will do so."

  The anger was gone and Lando felt silly standing up. He took his seat and saw Pak-7 do likewise. Dos-4 broke the momentary silence.

  "Pik-Lando raises an important issue. The Il Ronnians have intensified their efforts to find God."

  "Yes," Zera-12 agreed. "They are systematically destroying entire villages in an effort to find him."

  "And herding our people out into the countryside," Pak-7 added sourly. "Many have been killed."

  Lando looked around the table. He had wanted to ask the question for some time now and this seemed as good an opportunity as any.

  "Where is God anyway? Can we move him? Or defend him?"

  The constructs looked at each other, then back to Lando. Dru-21 was the first to speak. "It is as the villagers say: 'God is everywhere and nowhere at all.' "

  Lando looked at each construct in turn to see if they were serious. They were. "You really don't know, do you?"

  Dos-4 made a gesture with her hands. "No, we don't. Many have asked over the years and always receive the same reply."

  "God is everywhere and nowhere at all."

  "That is correct."

  Lando frowned. "Well, it doesn't make sense. God is a machine. A complicated machine, a powerful machine, but a machine nonetheless. That means that he has circuitry, capacitors, resistors, amplifiers, and who knows what all. So, even allowing for the possibility of tremendous miniaturization, he still takes up some space. And that implies a location of some sort."

  Pak-7 leaned back in his chair. "It is clear that the Il Ronnians agree with you. They are tearing the planet apart in an effort to find him."

  "Yeah," Lando said thoughtfully, "they sure are. Think back. Are there any places that God forbids you to go?"

  Pak-7 looked thoughtful. "No, not that I can think of."

  "Are there places that you don't go because they are scary, bring bad luck, or are simply impossible to access?"

  It was obvious that Pak-7 had drawn a blank. "No, nothing comes to mind."

  Lando nodded. Well, so much for some of the more obvious possibilities. There was only one thing to do. The smuggler looked at Dru-21.

  "I need a favor."

  Dru-21 bowed slightly. "Anything within our power."

  Lando looked around the room. The constructs looked back. They were cur
ious and made no effort to hide it.

  "I want to speak with God."

  There was a hiss of indrawn breath as the constructs took it in. To their knowledge no one had ever initiated a conversation with God. Communication was strictly one-way. God spoke and you listened. Still, these were troubled times, and there was no specific prohibition against it either.

  Dru-21 looked around the table and received a nod from each construct in turn. He looked at Lando. "God may or may not decide to speak with you, but we will clear the way."

  15

  The sun had been up for less than an hour and it was damned cold by Il Ronnian standards. A stiff breeze blew across the top of the hill causing a tarp to flap and pop. The air smelled of fertilizer.

  Quarter Sand Sept Commander Teex shivered and pulled his battle cloak around his shoulders. There was no doubt about it. He was getting too old for this kind of crap.

  Half Sand Sept Commander Heek's lander dropped toward the pad, flared, and sprayed Teex with tiny particles of dirt. They peppered his face and uniform like shells from a microscopic artillery barrage.

  The Sand Sept officer did his best to ignore them. He had more important problems to contend with, like his failure to find the computer, and the sniper who had killed three of his officers in five days. Two of the officers had been somewhat promising. Yes, if Heek wanted to kick his butt, there was no shortage of reasons to do so.

  But maybe, just maybe, he could keep Heek so busy touring headquarters, dropping in on supposedly unsuspecting fire bases, and gabbing with the troops that he'd get bored and return to orbit. He could hope anyway.

  There was a loud pop as Heek's pilot cut the flow of fuel to the shuttle's repellors and allowed his craft to settle on its skids. A hatch whirred open. Teex moved his tail into the attentive-subordinate position and headed toward the ship. Gravel crunched under his hooves.

  Heex ignored the metal step that a trooper hurried to put in place and jumped to the ground. He looked comfortable in his battle dress. His tail signaled a cheery "hello."