Of course there were the repairs to consider. Repairs that were absolutely necessary in order to restore God's powers and retrieve the drifter. Repairs that would have to wait until they could force the aliens off the surface of the planet.
But that in no way lessened the value of Dru-21's suggestion.
The smuggler shook his head in amazement. "That is the most absolutely brilliant damned idea that anyone around here's had in a long, long time!"
Dru-21 flushed almost scarlet with pleasure.
"It is a good idea," Della agreed. "So what should we do? Send 'em a letter?"
A newly confident Dru-21 got to his feet. "I have a better idea. I'll be right back."
The rest of them looked at each other, shrugged, and resumed their discussion. Things had not progressed much beyond the "we could use a captured comset" stage when Dru-21 ushered a construct into the room.
"If I could have your attention please? I would like to introduce Rola-4. She was recently released from Holding Area Two. Rola-4, this is Wexel-15, Pik-Lando, Della Dee, and Cy Borg."
Wexel-15 heard himself say something polite but was almost dumbfounded by the beauty of Rola-4's lavender skin, the sparkle of her eyes, and the determined thrust of her jaw. He wondered if she was taken.
Rola-4 felt awkward in such elevated company. These were the leaders of the resistance, the almost legendary beings God had chosen for his work, and they were receiving her!
Rola-4 felt pride, fear, and a sense of wonder. One of the leaders was a heavy! A big, handsome brute with massive arms and an enormous chest. She could feel his strength clear across the room.
Guilt stabbed Rola-4's heart. How could she think such thoughts? With Neder-32 only recently dead? And with Neder-33 in such terrible danger? No, she must concentrate, and find a way to save her son. The light named Dru-21 was speaking.
"Rola-4 was taken early on, marched crosscountry, and imprisoned in Holding Area Two."
The construct turned her way. "You might be interested to know that Wexel-15 and Della Dee led the attack on Holding Area Two."
"We're sorry it failed," Della said.
"Yes," Wexel-15 added awkwardly, "we wanted to free you."
Rola-4 felt her heart soar. A heavy had led the attack! A heavy who had the respect of lights and humans alike. It was more glorious than anything she had ever imagined.
Dru-21 smiled. "I would like you to know that Rola-4 is something of a heroine. Because she had a disk on her person when captured, Rola-4 was able to communicate with God. He gave her messages for the other constructs and she passed them on."
"That took guts," Lando said admiringly.
"Good going," Cy added.
"Nice job," Della agreed.
"You deserve the respect of our people," Wexel-15 rumbled. "Thank you."
Rola-4 was so overwhelmed she barely heard what Dru-21 said next.
"Yes, Rola-4 deserves our thanks, and more. Unfortunately she was betrayed and the disk was taken away from her. Then came a period of solitary confinement that ended three days ago. It was then that the Il Ronnians summoned Rola-4, gave her instructions to find God, and took her son hostage. Our scouts saw her leave the compound and brought her here."
Della frowned. "She wasn't followed, I hope."
Dru-21 spread his hands. "No, the scouts were very careful."
Wexel-15 felt his emotions plummet. A son! She was taken then, and as unapproachable as the stars in the sky.
Dru-21 let the silence build, allowing the significance of his words to sink in.
Lando shook his head in amazement. "When you're hot, you're hot! We tell Rola-4 where God is located, she tells the Il Ronnians, and they free her son!"
Dru-21 nodded happily. "That is my plan."
"Devious," Della said approvingly, "very devious."
Rola-4 felt her head swim as she did her best to follow the conversation. The part about God made no sense at all. Everyone knew that God was everywhere and nowhere at all. But so what? They had a plan to free her son! Rola-4 forced herself to concentrate. She must understand this plan and do everything she could to make it work.
There was a lot of discussion after that. Meals were sent for, eaten, and the leftovers taken away. Reports arrived, were discussed, then acted upon. Ideas were put forth, debated, and occasionally accepted.
Finally, after the sun had risen and set again, the meeting broke up. One by one resistance leaders stood, stretched, and stumbled off to bed. The planning was over. Soon, within a matter of days, they would act.
Wexel-15 took the opportunity to escort Rola-4 to her room. Both wanted to talk but were afraid to do so. She due to his almost overwhelming presence, and Wexel-15 because of the tight feeling in his chest.
Finally, when they stood outside the door to her room, the awkwardness closed in around them, and Wexel-15 cleared his throat.
"It was an honor to meet you, Rola-4. Your husband will be very proud."
Rola-4 looked up into his eyes. "The honor was mine, Wexel-15… as for my husband… he is dead. The aliens killed him."
Wexel-15 felt his heart leap with joy. He knew it was wrong, knew he should feel otherwise, but couldn't help it. She was free! And with luck, with skill, could be his! He fought to keep the emotions from showing on his face.
"I did not know. I am terribly sorry. Perhaps I could help. Could I call on you?"
Rola-4 tried to resist, tried to say no, but was swept away by contrary emotions. Never mind the fact that both of them might be killed, that she had no home to call her own, that her husband was only recently dead. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.
"That would be nice, thank you."
"I will see you later then."
Wexel-15 gave a little bow, turned, and made his way down the corridor. It was only after he heard her door close that he jumped into the air, yelled "Yes!" and landed so heavily that an avalanche of dust fell from the light fixtures above.
22
It was raining as Rola-4 trudged up the long slope toward Holding Area Two's main gate. The steady downpour had soaked her to the skin. Il Ronnian ground vehicles plus the passage of hundreds of construct feet had churned dirt into mud. It was thick glutinous stuff that formed clumps around her feet and made it hard to walk. Her sandals were long gone, pulled off by the mud, and left behind.
The fence was off to her right, a heavy-duty affair made of heavy mesh, and patched where Wexel-15's attack had breached it.
Rola-4 felt a secret warmth seep into her heart at the thought of Wexel-15. He had been extremely worried about her safety and had wanted to come along. But while sympathetic, the other resistance leaders had reminded Wexel-15 of other even more pressing duties, and he had stayed behind.
Rola-4 was not without an escort however. Eyes watched even now, peering down from the surrounding hills, ready to intervene should something go wrong. It was a comfort, but a small one, since Rola-4 knew that whatever protection they could offer would end when she reached the gate. Once inside she would be on her own.
The road moved closer to the fence and Rola-4 peered through the mesh. There was the chance that she would see someone she knew, or better yet catch a glimpse of Tusy-35 and Neder-33. That was the hope anyway, but all she saw were dark ghostlike forms, shuffling through the rain, too discouraged to even look her way.
Though never especially good, the conditions inside Holding Area Two had grown even worse during her absence. All the more reason to deliver the photos, free Neder-33, and wait for the resistance to rescue them.
Rola-4 clutched the waterproof case to her breast and approached the checkpoint. It was a flimsy affair made from cast-off lumber, ragged tarps, and empty cargo modules.
There was nothing flimsy about the weapons emplacement however. It consisted of an armored personnel enclosure reinforced with sandbags. The only opening was a long narrow slit through which a bell-shaped muzzle protruded.
Rola-4 saw the gun barrel drift her way as a Sand
Sept trooper stepped out into the rain. She had noticed that in spite of the Il Ronnian reverence for water they hated rain. This soldier was no exception. Had her errand been any less important his scowl would have sent her packing. He wore a rain poncho and kept his weapon pointed in her general direction.
"Say your piece, geek, and make it good."
"I am Rola-4. I have some information for your commanding officer."
The Il Ronnian saw the case and held out his hand. "Fine. Give it to me. I will see that he gets it."
Rola-4 took a step backward. "No! I mean thank you, but no. I have strict instructions to deliver the information into his hands."
This was not strictly true, but Rola-4 was determined to get inside, and doubted that anyone would question it.
The soldier made a jerky motion with his tail. "Stay where you are. I will check."
The Il Ronnian stepped into the shack.
So Rola-4 stood there, rain pouring down around her, feeling the mud ooze up through her toes. It felt comforting, like harvest time, when the crops came in and winter began.
The trooper emerged. His boots made sucking noises in the mud. He motioned her forward. "Stand in front of me."
Rola-4 did as she was told.
"Spread your legs and hold your arms straight out."
Rola-4 gritted her teeth as the alien touched her. Neder-33. She must remember Neder-33 and suffer through anything that would return him to her arms.
Satisfied that she was not armed, or loaded with explosives, the sentry gave a grunt of approval. He pointed toward the gate.
"You may enter. Go straight to the command post. Sixteenth Sept Commander Beed will see you there."
Rola-4 nodded her understanding and walked up the slight incline toward the main gate. Sixteenth Sept Commander Beed. So that was his name. He had never said and she had never thought to ask. Why? It was so stupid. What if she had needed to know? A human would have asked. A light would have asked. The Lords had given them a tremendous advantage. It wasn't fair.
Two soldiers guarded the main gate. They swung it open at her approach. Rola-4 waited for them to stop her but nothing happened. She walked on through.
Now she could see the prisoners more clearly. A vast mob of shuffling constructs, heads hung low, waiting for whatever fate held in store for them. Rola-4 thought of the resistance fighters and smiled grimly.
Just a little bit longer, she thought to herself. Things are about to change.
The brave thought melted away as she approached the command post. The resistance would win in the long run. She felt sure of that. But this was now and Sixteenth Sept Commander Beed held the power of life and death over Rola-4 and her son.
The sentry was expecting her and gestured toward the door. Rola-4 pulled it open and stepped inside.
The command post was just as before. A muddy floor but otherwise clean. Beed sat behind his makeshift desk. He was talking on a comset. Another alien was present as well. He was seated in one of the two guest chairs and was inspecting his right hoof. He barely looked up as Rola-4 entered.
The second guest chair was barely visible under a pile of body armor, helmets, and other military gear. Rola-4 was tired but knew better than to move the equipment and sit down.
Beed continued to ignore her as he finished his conversation, tapped something into a portable computer, and arranged the things on his desk. Finally, when everything was just so, he looked up.
"So, you came back."
"I have the information you requested."
Beed looked skeptical. "That is excellent if true. So where is the machine called 'God'?"
Rola-4 offered him the plastic envelope. Water dripped onto the surface of his desk.
Beed accepted the package but made no attempt to open it. "What is this? And where did you get it?"
Rola-4 had been expecting the questions and had rehearsed her answers. "They were waiting for me when I left here."
"For you?" Beed interrupted.
"For anyone who could provide them with information about the conditions here."
"Go on."
"So I told them what it was like and asked if I could help with the resistance."
"And?"
"And they took me to some sort of headquarters. They blindfolded me for the last part of the trip but the location was underground."
Beed made a steeple with his fingers. "Why do you say that?"
Rola-4 shrugged. "Because there were no windows and people talked about conditions on the surface."
The Il Ronnian made a gesture with his tail. "Continue."
"They put me to work cleaning offices and corridors. That is where I got the photographs."
"You stole them?"
"Yes, but they were copies, and will not be missed."
"Let us see what you have."
Beed lifted the envelope, found the seal, and pried it open. The photos made a swishing sound as they left the package. The Il Ronnian frowned, did some sorting, and lined them up on the surface of his desk. He looked up. His face was angry.
"This is garbage! Pictures taken from our own satellites. And worthless besides. Look! Do you see photos of one particular place? No, these shots cover hundreds of square units!"
Rola-4 steeled herself against the alien's anger. Beed was seconds away from throwing her out, from ruining the plan, from cutting her off from her son.
"What you say is true… but that is the secret. The resistance leaders discussed it as I mopped the floor. The streets, the buildings, even the statues are part of God. He is enormous and covers thousands of square miles."
Beed started to say something, frowned, and took a second look at the pictures. He sorted through them. Understanding started to dawn on his face.
"By all that is holy I think you are right! That explains why we could not find it! The blasted machine is everywhere!"
Rola-4 felt a tremendous sense of relief. Beed understood, her mission was accomplished, and Neder-33 would be freed.
"Could I please have my son back now?"
Beed reached for his comset. "Of course not. You are much too valuable to shuffle around in the rain. I will send you back and learn even more!"
The Il Ronnian fed the photos into a slot at the bottom of his comset and spoke into the handset at the same time. The alien had deactivated his translator so the construct couldn't understand what he said.
Rola-4 felt hopelessness settle over her like a blanket. The alien had lied. And he would continue to lie. He would never allow her to hold Neder-33 in her arms again.
Time seemed to slow. The construct moved sideways. She saw the chair heaped with armor and other gear. She grabbed the one thing she instinctively understood. A shovel-shaped entrenching tool. It caught on something. She sensed movement as the second Il Ronnian turned her way. The shovel came loose. The soldier opened his mouth and started to stand. Rola-4 swung with all her might. Blood sprayed as the edge of the tool caught the alien's unprotected throat. He clutched the wound, made a gurgling sound, and died.
Beed dropped the handset and scrabbled for his side arm. Had he been a little bit faster, or favored a less cumbersome holster, he might have made it. As it was the shovel hit him in the forehead just as the barrel cleared plastic. The second, third, and fourth blows were completely unnecessary.
Beed collapsed onto the top of his desk, slid backward, and slumped to the floor. A barely heard voice squawked from the receiver. Rola-4 replaced the handset. Silence filled the room. The construct had something in her hand. She looked down. It was a shovel. There was blood all over it. She laid it on the desk.
Now what?
The thought brought no answer.
Lando followed Wexel-15's broad back up the corridor. Della was right behind.
What light there was had a greenish quality and came from the walls themselves. Dust swirled through the air and made it hard to breathe. The floor was scratched and grooved where heavy equipment had been dragged the length of the hal
l. Equipment designed for mining, only this mine went from the bottom up, and would terminate on the surface.
The corridor emptied into a small chamber. Some scaffolding occupied the center of it. A pair of massive heavies stood atop the structure passing boxes of ammunition up through a hole in the ceiling. Something came loose and a small avalanche of rubble came tumbling down. Dust exploded into the air and Lando covered his eyes.
"How much longer?" Wexel-15's voice was strong and commanding.
"Not long," one of the heavies answered. "Ten laks at the most."
Wexel-15 gave a wave of acknowledgment. He turned to the humans. "Wait here while I check on the troops."
Lando nodded and took a look around. The walls were decorated with mosaic tile work that made his head swim. Wait a minute… he'd been here before!
The smuggler sidestepped some heavies and worked his way around the scaffolding. Sure enough, there was the door. A peek inside confirmed his suspicion. The room was dirty, and packed floor to ceiling with equipment and supplies, but the oval shape gave it away. This was the same room where he'd met with Dru-21, Dos-4, Zera-12, and Pak-7—the lights, who in their own way had shaped the future by opting for a policy of cooperation rather than domination.
Little had he known as he met with the lights that Il Ronnian Fire Base One was just overhead.
The aliens had landed, leveled a building called the Hall of Life, and built their base on top of the rubble. A more careful investigation might have revealed one of three different paths down into the hill's interior. But God had ordered work crews to seal the passageways off immediately after the first Il Ronnians had landed. Later, when the aliens destroyed the building, the entrances had been buried under tons of rubble,
making them almost impossible to find.
Lando left the room to join Della in the antechamber. She was busy removing a layer of dust from her custom-made assault weapon. Chunks of masonry clattered to the floor as the heavies continued to pass supplies up through the hole. He kissed her ear.
Her voice was soldier-hard. "What did you do that for?"
"You're cute when you play with guns."
Drifter's War Page 22
