by AM Scott
The laser splashed harmlessly against their shields. They were too far away. Slavins-Kee Model Fifteens weren’t as good as their JMB Twenty-Twos, but Lightwave’s shuttles only had four per shuttle, plus the standard anti-meteor cannons. Incorporating meteor cannons into shuttle defenses was a common, and necessary, modification. It voided the warranty, but if you needed to file a claim, you were probably dead.
Fortunately, he’d wager few could integrate everything together as well as the Phazeers and Chief. And he’d be wagering just that, since they’d be two-v-one for four and half rad-blasted long minutes. Good thing they’d upgraded their shield generators. He really wished they’d sprung for some projectile cannons, but those were too expensive after they’d bought the torpedo system for the folder.
“Splash mike, Haven. Concentrate fire on the north side; that’s where the majority of the enemies are,” the Scholar said. “Lightwave, Shuttle Fortuna Lucia lifting off. Do not fire.”
“Fortuna Lucia, what is your intent?” Chief asked.
“Surveillance for Haven. I’ve got one more remote left with a small anti-vermin laser and a stunner mounted on it, so I’ll take out as many enemies as I can. Looking for command elements—”
Chief stepped on the Scholar’s transmission. “Alpha Shuttle, Tango Two is slowing. They may be wary because of the Scholar’s lift.”
If it meant avoiding a two-v-one situation, it could be a Klee dance party and he wouldn’t care. Ruhger turned all the weapons back to Katryn and watched her integrate them into her attack. Laser fire continued pulsing against their shielding, so he checked the generator status—all humming away perfectly. Sweeping through status screens, Ruhger checked—everything on Alpha out-performed spec.
What was the Scholar thinking? She could get herself killed. Modifying remotes was clever, but he was fairly certain her shuttle didn’t have any weapons except standard meteor defenses and shielding. An experienced combat pilot could use both of those things against troops on the ground, but it was unlikely a Scholar of Ancient Music would know that. Or know how.
He swept up the tactical operations view from Lightwave. It showed them stationary, Tyron inbound at max velocity, and the Scholar moving slightly at an extremely low altitude, just off the surface of the planet. She swooped back and forth along the north side of Haven—by all Suns of Saga, she did know how to use her shuttle defenses against ground troops. Ruhger blinked in disbelief. Scholar of Ancient Music? He snorted. She had to be more. But why would a Clocker know ground battle desperation tactics? Either way it didn’t make much sense.
Speculation swept away when Katryn’s display beeped with a hit. Ruhger brought up an outside vid and zoomed to max range. Tango One spun wildly like it had a wonky thruster—Katryn must have taken out one of the cannons and got a lucky hit on the grav generators. “Good job, Katryn. Keep it up!”
Katryn grinned fiercely, but didn’t reply, her fingers conducting a symphony of laser attacks as Tango One stabilized and fired back.
Chief said, “Tango Two moving again. ETA thirty seconds. Beta shuttle ETA three minutes.”
“Sand fleas!” Katryn said, sweeping her fingers faster. She pulsed the lasers in a pattern, giving each cannon more time to recover and generate more impulse, but it wasn’t working. She swept her hands down and held them, firing three cannons continuously, the cannon temperature gauges rising into the yellow. Another flare from the outside vid view—she’d penetrated the shields again. Ruhger squinted, peering at the darkened, pixilated view. Yes, she’d done it—another cannon down. The enemy shuttle spun to bring another weapon to bear, but it wobbled. Maybe she’d permanently damaged the anti-grav.
“Nice, Katryn.”
Chief said, “Tango Two slowing. ETA twenty-five seconds.”
“Lashtar to Chief.”
“Go, Lashtar.”
“All, we’ve intercepted comms. The ground troops are demanding top cover from the shuttles. Tango One is threatening to pull back if Two doesn’t help them.” Satisfaction sounded in Lashtar’s voice.
Ruhger smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. The typical problem of a non-integrated force—they didn’t trust each other and were more interested in saving their own hides than each other’s. Their leadership probably didn’t have any experience with combat either, just slaughter. They’d never fought an enemy able to fight back.
“All stations, Tango Two has called retreat,” Lashtar said.
“Shuttle Alpha, do not follow. When Tangos are out of range and confirmed running, Alpha will return to Haven. Beta, land at the Sisters’ compound. Both shuttles will provide assistance as necessary and possible. Lightwave will enter station-keeping above Haven and maintain command and surveillance. Fortuna Lucia, I recommend you land back at Haven. Objections?” Chief asked. There was silence on the comms. “Confirmed. Tango One and Two retreating. Shuttles, stand by until Tangos out of surveillance range.”
If it wasn’t clear before, it was now. These people were not professionals. If the two shuttles worked together, they could have destroyed Alpha, then the other shuttles, and the rest of the world, avoiding Lightwave as they went. A relatively simple strategy. Ruhger shook his head. Now, if they attempted anything, they’d be up against two shuttles—or three—and Lightwave in a coordinated defense.
“Wow. These guys aren’t so smart, are they?” Katryn said to him with a grin.
If her expression contained more relief than triumph, well, his probably did too.
Ruhger muted his connection to the combat net. “Nope. Shortsighted. Now they don’t have an asteroid’s chance in a black hole of taking us out, unless they’ve got a lot of firepower stashed someplace. Which is possible. But I think they’re used to intimidation and slaughter, not fighting.” He grinned back at her. “Their loss.”
Chief’s voice broke in. “Haven, Sisters, give me a casualty report when available. Let us know if you need medical assistance. Lightwave doesn’t have much, just a basic medico station. Break, break. Alpha and Beta Shuttles, Tangos are retreating; you’re clear to land. Belay that. One of them is landing in the Badlands. We’ll keep tight surveillance on the area—we won’t have much warning time.”
“We’re in their comm net now, so we should be able to hear any future attacks,” Sister Lashtar said.
Ruhger listened to the rest of the chatter with half an ear, setting in a course for Haven. “Initiating thrust for Haven, Katryn. Once we’re down, grab the first aid kit, and I’ll get the lift van. We’ll probably have to evac a few to Lightwave.”
She turned to him with a grim smile. “Too bad the Medicos didn’t stay on. We could use them right now.”
Ruhger nodded in agreement. “But the Scholar turned out to be more helpful than we thought, didn’t she?”
“Interesting, isn’t it?”
“Very.” Ruhger pushed the speculation away and concentrated on the flight. He’d puzzle over the Scholar some other time.
Chapter 9
Weariness sang through Saree in a mournful dirge. They’d tried so hard, but there were so many wounded, they couldn’t save them all. And Lightwave’s medico station could only handle one at a time. The Havenites were taken completely by surprise, despite the sentries they’d posted. They were no match for a force like the Inquisitors. They’d taken out Haven’s surveillance and most of their outer sentries in a silent, coordinated attack. Haven’s survival was pure chance—a group of rebellious teens were breaking curfew, hanging out on the water tower. The kids saw the incoming forces. A couple of them were armed, so they’d fired, the others messaging frantically. Unfortunately, the kids only had short-range weapons. The water tower and the kids died when the enemy fired a rocket into them. But their sacrifice gave the town enough warning to mount a defense. Nothing woke you like a water tower exploding.
Saree straightened and looked across the bar room, full of wounded men, women and children. She wished it still smelled like sour beer, but that scent was buried under the met
allic tang of blood. The Havenites probably couldn’t hold the Inquisitors off again. They didn’t have enough defenders. Although, more people streamed in every minute and they’d handed the Inquisitors a big defeat, so maybe they’d hold out until they could get off-world. Saree sure hoped so, but hope could be a big black hole, sucking you in. She stared down at her hands, full of bloody rags.
“Scholar?” a female voice said behind her.
She turned slowly to see one of the Sisters. “Yes?”
“Scholar, go get some sleep. We’ll take care of the wounded now.”
She just blinked up at the Sister for a moment. “We?” she said, puzzled.
The Sister smiled gently and nodded. “We. There are twenty of us. It’s more than enough. Go to your shuttle and get some sleep. You’ve done wonders, but we’ll take over now.” The Sister held a bag open beneath Saree’s hands.
Oh, thank the Egg of Zarar. Saree sagged in sheer relief, opened her hands, and let the tatters of spent life fall away. She forced her legs straight. Once on her feet, she smiled at the Sister, but she was already busy sealing the wound Saree could only bandage with torn sheets. The town had run out of modern medical supplies quickly. “Thank you,” she said to the Sister, but she wasn’t sure her voice was loud enough to be heard. The Sisters spread across the room, shooing townspeople stumbling to the doors. Saree followed them outside and started toward her shuttle.
“Scholar, wait!” a boy’s voice called.
Saree turned reluctantly. Now what?
“Scholar, come,” a boy said, waving to her. “You need to clean up and eat first.” He walked over to her and took her by arm, almost dragging her around the back of the building. Large tents stood there in neat rows. The boy gently pulled her to the opening of one labeled ‘Women.’ She stumbled inside, finding a long trough with water spigots, soap and brushes for handwashing. She eagerly scrubbed the blood from her hands, relishing the teeth-chattering chill of the cold water swirling the crimson and black trails away. Saree splashed her face, the shock of cold waking her. A young girl handed her a rough towel and she smiled her thanks. Oh, the relief of clean hands.
The little girl smiled, a sad smile, up at her. “Breakfast is next door. Go back out and turn right.”
“Thank you,” she said in return. The girl blinked up at her and motioned to the doorway.
Getting clean helped, but she was dragging—she had no energy left. Slowly, she shuffled to the next tent, perking up a bit as the scent of browned butter and some sort of sizzling meat, mixed with a bit of burned bread, hit her nose. Her stomach growled loudly. Before she could even take the scene in, another Gliesian child took her by the hand and pulled her over to a long table. “Sit here, Scholar. We’ll bring food.”
As soon as she sat, a plate plopped in front of her, stacked with griddle cakes, a glass of water set next to it. She guzzled the water and her glass was refilled immediately, the child spilling a bit as he struggled with the big pitcher. She downed the second glass too, smiling at the boy as he filled her glass again. “Eat, Scholar!” he piped.
Absolutely ravenous, she turned back to her plate and attacked the food. Once she’d managed to take the edge off, she looked around the tent. Tables—from the bar?—were filled with townspeople who looked like she felt—exhausted, starving and mournful. At the end of the tent, several teenagers cooked griddle cakes on industrial-sized grills, that end of the tent pulled up to let the heat escape. Still, it was blistering hot with the sun beating down and the stoves fired up. A piece of some sort of meat plopped down on her plate, startling her. She turned to see another teenager with a tight-lipped expression making her way down the row of diners, putting slices down as she went. No one spoke; they were all intent on the food. And probably unwilling to voice any of the emotions running through them for fear of breaking down.
Saree applied herself to her food, finishing quickly, and stumbled back outside. She turned toward her shuttle, her eyesight wavering in the heat of the brilliant sun beating down.
“Saree, are you all right?” Hal said in her ear.
She subvocalized, “Yes. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’m watching with a remote. No one is approaching.”
Unconscious tension released and she tried to walk faster, but an exhausted shuffle was all she could manage. Even the dust poofing up around her couldn’t make her pick up her feet. After what seemed like hours of staring at the sand beneath her, she made it back to the shuttle. Hal opened the hatch without comment or DNA testing. Mechanically, Saree went through the decontamination routine, dropping all her clothes in the airlock. Dragging herself to the sanitation module, she took care of business and, finally, flopped across her bed. The lights dimmed.
“Sleep well, Saree. I’ll wake you only if necessary for your safety.”
“Thank you, Hal.”
‘You are welcome, Saree.”
Knowing Hal was on guard, his customary response and the comfort of her own bed allowed her to ignore everything and she dropped into sleep.
“Saree?”
She cracked open her eyes. “Huh?”
“Saree, Captain Ruhger is trying to contact you.”
“Oh.” She blinked again and blearily wiped her sleep-encrusted lashes. “What does he want?”
“I believe he wants to coordinate flying the Sisters to Lightwave.”
“Oh. Can you ask him to give me a few minutes?” Prying her body up off the bed, she reluctantly rolled to her feet. “How long did I sleep?”
“Ten hours, Saree.”
Blowing out a breath, she walked to the sanitation module. “You’d think I’d feel better after that much sleep, wouldn’t you?” She moved like her magnetic boots were engaged, just barely shuffling. With all the missing floor tiles, that probably wasn’t a bad thing. How did she manage to make it to her bed last night?
“I do not know, Saree. I don’t sleep.”
She chuckled a little, which was probably Hal’s intent. Or maybe he was serious. She washed her face, scrubbed her teeth and completed the rest of the necessary preparations for a normal day, pulling on another set of robes and pushing her bed into a couch. She glanced at the closed hatch. Hal must have used a remote to pick up her clothing and secured the airlock. She smiled wider. Life was so much easier with Hal, she just couldn’t worry about his sanity or lack thereof too much.
She did need to worry about the questions his abilities would bring—like knowing how to use meteor shielding against ground troops. She stretched up high and moved around a bit, trying to warm her muscles and her mind for the day ahead, then plopped down in the pilot’s seat, air sighing out as the worn cushion collapsed. Nope, still felt like the day after a Klee dance party—if she’d been the floor, or a drum.
“Would you like some coffee, Saree?”
“Oh, that would be marvelous, Hal. Thank you.”
“You are welcome, Saree.”
She smiled again at the rote phrase. Somehow, it no longer seemed like just a programmed nicety, but a true expression of Hal. Was it? She had no way to know. But she—and Hal—would probably be better off if she took his interactions at face value. “Please contact Captain Ruhger for me, Hal?”
“Certainly, Saree.”
Before long, Captain Ruhger’s heavy features appeared before her. He was grimmer than usual, dark circles under mournful, sagging eyes and a tired, barely there smile lightening his face—and her heart—for a split second before collapsing into his normal clamped-lip expression. “Scholar. Thank you for returning my call. We’ll start transporting within the hour. Are you still willing to help?”
“Of course, Captain. I just need to store a few things and fire up the engines. Are we starting with the Sisters?”
“Yes and no, Scholar. We’ve reworked the evacuation plan again to load the worst of the wounded still on Gliese and their families along with the Sisters. We’ve got the Havenites preparing for the first load right now. They should ap
pear at your hatch within—” he glanced away for a second “—forty-five minutes or so. We’ll load your shuttle first, then ours. Katryn and I will provide security and check all the passengers. Based on the layout you sent us for transporting personnel, I’ve taken the liberty of rearranging your layout to accommodate stretchers. I’m sending it back to you now. We’ll bring harnesses with us. If you agree, we’ll come over in about ten minutes.” His brows arrowed into a frown. “Don’t open your shuttle until we get there, Scholar. We haven’t seen any signs of trouble, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t out there.”
“I understand, Captain. I’ll be ready.”
“Thank you, Scholar. Ruhger out.” The screen blanked.
“I’ve reviewed the layout, Saree. It looks efficient. I can show you which panels to pull and replace, if you’d like to get started.”
“Good idea, Hal.”
“Drink your coffee first, Saree.”
She chuckled. “Thank you, Hal. You know it would have sat there, getting cold, if you hadn’t reminded me.”
“Yes.” A rough rumbling noise followed.
“Uh, Hal, what did you say?” Carefully avoiding the missing floor tiles, Saree walked to the auto-bev. She eagerly lifted the cup and sipped. Ah. Dark bitterness slowly eroded the coppery scent of blood still lingering in her sinuses.
“That was my attempt at what you refer to as ‘chuckling,’ Saree. If you have to ask, I was not successful. I didn’t think I had the pattern right.”
She smiled at his mournful tone. “Well, not entirely, but now that I know what the sound is, I’ll respond appropriately.” She frowned. “They didn’t supply you with appropriate voice files?”
“Not for emotions, Saree. I can simulate some by raising and lowering my tone and slowing and speeding my delivery, but laughter, crying, screaming and other similar sounds are not part of my library. I am attempting to create them by mixing various recorded examples and my own recordings, but I’m finding it oddly difficult. I believe there are nuances that don’t translate to simple sound patterns. I don’t want to use a simple recording either; they don’t sound like me. I will keep trying.”
