“Kris, I will be more decorous. And I will teach Cara to be more proper as well. And one of my nanos has found a vent and is diving into it. The airflow is from belowground. Should I send more nanos in? The vent is just a single path, but it may branch at any time.”
Kris was once more back to juggling that which could merely kill her rather than that which really bothered her.
Question for later consideration. Might Nelly be taking lessons from Abby on how to avoid getting talked to?
Kris got down to business.
“Lieutenant Troy, Gunny, I’ve found evidence that folks are underground.” Kris yelled. It felt weird to be shouting her commands for anyone and everyone to hear. Still, it had been good enough for Alexander and Caesar. Why shouldn’t it be good enough for one Princess Kris?
“You want us to form on you?” the LT asked.
“No, stay scattered. I’m just following an air vent right now. Don’t know where it will lead, but I’m betting it will be closer to the house.”
The LT and Gunny began moving the troops, still in scattered formation, but oriented toward the still-burning home.
Now Kris took a good, hard look at the lay of the land before her. It had seemed level. And it certainly was from orbit. But during the walk up from the lake, the land had taken on a rolling character. It wasn’t really hilly, but the bottom of one roll might leave you looking up at the feet of a trooper fifty meters away. And the low points were usually cut deeper a half meter or more by some creek or meandering brook.
Good ambush territory.
It had been a while since Kris lugged a gun over such ground. She gritted her teeth and called up a rarely used part of her tactical training. She should have been more on the ball. She couldn’t afford to be slow at this business.
“Kris, the nanos are branching off,” Nelly reported. “I’ve set up a communication line so they can use a tight, low-power communication beam. I think one of them is doubling back.”
“Where?” Kris snapped.
“It is under that low hillock,” Nelly said, sending a small laser pointer at the rise ahead of Kris. “I think it is coming out the other end.”
“Andy,” Kris shouted. “We may be making contact soon. You might want to be with me when we do.”
With a shout, the young man took off running for Kris. In full battle armor, he kind of lumbered along. But there was no question about his enthusiasm to see someone from home.
From the top of the rise, Kris had a good view of the homestead, now pretty much burned-out but still smoking. Nelly’s light led her down the hill, halfway to the wash below . . . and right to a low rock that might have offered a couple of proud owners a good view of their holdings if they wanted to sit there on a cooling summer evening. Kris suspected she knew why it had not been dug up and lugged away.
“The nano just slipped out a view slot under the rock.” Nelly reported. “There is someone down there on watch.”
Kris considered having the tech folks come over and rip the rock out. She nixed that idea. There’d be the devil’s own time covering that up before Thorpe was back in the sky.
So Kris plopped herself belly down on the ground and stared at the situation from that viewpoint.
Clearly, you don’t dig up the ground directly under a heavy rock. Not unless you have a very hard head. Kris spotted a clump of weeds to the right of the rock and reached over with both hands. In a second, she had worked them aside.
To find herself facing a very freckled, redheaded young man about her own age.
He was clearly startled to find himself face-to-face with her, but not slow to react. He jammed a long-barreled, slug-throwing rifle in her face.
“Slow down, fellow. I’m one of the good guys,” Kris said, less worried about gender issues at the moment. “I’ve got a friend of yours here with me. Andy! Andy, could you come have a word with a very angry redhead who’s got a rifle jammed up my left nostril.”
Andy slid to a stop beside Kris. There wasn’t much space in front of the view, what with Kris kind of unable to make more room for fear of getting another hole in her nose.
“Jamie, that you. Jamie, it’s me, Andy. Are you down there, Jamie?”
“Andy? Are you in cahoots with these bushwhackers? They done captured you?”
“No, Jamie, these aren’t bushwhackers. This is Princess Kris Longknife of Wardhaven, and they’ve come to help us.”
Jamie frowned, nothing even close to conviction on his face. “A Longknife, huh. You know what Grampa says about Longknifes.”
“But this one is on our side.”
“As I heard the stories, they usually were,” Jamie said, but the rifle came out of Kris’s face, so apparently Grampa Ray had not come off all that bad in this family’s stories.”
“Jamie, we need to talk to Pa, and Grampa, too. They okay?”
“Yep, and so are Glenda Sue and Gracie Ann.”
“Gracie Ann?”
“Yep, the cutest little thing on two pudgy legs. You get over to the cool house, and I’ll see that they let you in. Now close this thing back up and quit messing with my lookout.”
The man was gone, crawling backward into the dark. Kris had shivers just thinking about wiggling around in such close quarters. Still, she did her best to put the weeds back and smooth the earth as she got to her feet. The ground cover here was the perennial that seemed to pass for both cover and crop. The grain had recently been harvested, and there was nothing but stubble.
Standing, Kris took a moment to reevaluate her situation. Andy pointed, eager to get on his way, to a low hill about fifty meters from the burned-down house. Cool room. Or cool warehouse. Kris was hardly less eager to be off and find out what wonders lurked in its cool insides.
But there was this matter of a war between her and Thorpe.
“Lieutenant, I’d like two squads to take everyone’s store of hoppers and beat a slightly visible track to the south, say in two groups. Try to make it look like more than just eight troops,” Kris said.
“Distract the orbital sensors from here,” the young lieutenant said.
Kris projected a map of what lay to the south. “But don’t give them any real targets. Five minutes before Thorpe pokes his nose above the horizon, go to ground and get hard to find.”
“I understand, Your Highness. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take this team, ma’am. Once we’re down there, we can set up our watch on the road. Let you know if anything comes up it and do something about anything bite-size and chewy.”
Kris glanced at Gunny. He had a fatherly smile on his face for the young officer, and a quick nod for Kris.
“Set up some tight-beam repeaters along your path so we can keep in touch,” Kris said, and left the youngster to organize his first command. No, second. He’d had half the company dropped in his lap when the last CO nearly bought the farm on a lovely and violent evening back on Eden.
The LT was whistling softly as he went off to do his duty.
Kris turned to Gunny. “It seems there is a magic door to all the glorious treasures under the hill if we but go there,” she said, pointing at the hillock.
“I had a good friend who swore by the little people. Or at them, depending on which way he thought they were leaning,” Gunny said.
“I had a good friend like that, too, once upon a time,” Kris said. “Word is, these people under the hill are our friends. Let’s hope they stay that way. See what you can do about getting our troops in there without leaving anything pointing too blatantly at where we went.” And with that in mind, Kris signaled Andy to lead the way.
Behind her, Gunny went noisily about the business of getting the platoon in single file and having the engineers sweep down their tracks. Kris would have to tell Grampa Ray about this next time she saw him and they were on speaking terms. The Marine engineers were using brush to sweep away the tracks just like Apache warriors of old Earth. It had worked for them in their desperate battle against the odds. What ain’t broke,
hardheaded Marines didn’t fix but stole from with pride.
As Kris approached the cool room, she had to smile. At least the door into the hill was a solid, respectable rectangle. That lowered Kris’s expectations for meeting halflings or elves. On the way, she had removed her helmet and gauntlets. It didn’t seem quite friendly to make her first acquaintance with an ally encased in armor.
The first man she saw caused her to double-check that the door wasn’t round. The short, round fellow, with bald pate and white whiskers looked like he’d be right at home in some fantasy epic. If the tall, thin woman beside him had offered Kris an apple, she would not have taken a bite out of it. Instead, the woman eyed Kris as if sizing her up for some cauldron and let her pass.
Kris’s move on down the rabbit hole was brought to a quick halt as, in a flash of gingham skirts, a young woman raced out the door Kris was obviously being directed toward. With wonderfully golden hair and an improbably pale complexion, the young woman easily met the local role of Snow White.
A second later she hit Andy with all the force of the irresistible object. That had to be painful, and the poor kid was bound to find black-and-blue marks on herself in the morning where tender human flesh met the hard, unyielding tools of war. But Snow White’s mouth had found Andy’s, and the only sound to escape them was pure yearning.
Kris assumed it was pure. This had to be Andy’s wife. Otherwise, matters were going to get very interesting very soon.
“Mommy,” came from the door at the end of the cool room as a grandmotherly type, gray hair in a tight bun, carried a handful up what Kris now saw were dirt stairs.
“Mommy. Mommy!” came again as the cutest meter of humanity struggled to escape adult control and then did. Perched on her own two feet in defiance of gray hairs and the law of gravity, the little girl drove her pudgy feet forward, one half-balanced step at a time, to what had to be Mommy.
Kris thought Snow White’s hair was the fairest and most golden she’d ever seen, but the small version of her was golden almost to white. The toddler reached her mother’s skirts and gave them a puzzled look.
Mom was fully off the ground, her pale legs wrapped around the armored and camouflaged waist of the man holding her and showing no interest in letting go. The tiny tyke studied this image of her mom, a setup of skirts and legs Kris suspected was never seen before by these young eyes. After puffing up her lips into the most determined look ever worn by someone with only six teeth, the girl reached high above her head, grabbed a handful of motherly skirts, and pulled. “Mommy!”
Awareness seemed to dawn on Snow White quite suddenly. Awareness at several levels. First, of her daughter making absolute and personal demands. And secondly of the adults around the room. Kris wondered if she was wearing anything like the silly grin that seemed to have infected every witness to this reunion, which had managed to stop, just barely, short of full conjugal relations.
Suddenly demure, the mother dropped gracefully to her feet. Momentarily, a look flitted across her face that told of legs in hard contact with a sharp and unyielding object . . . and now hurting.
Settled gracefully on her own two feet, she reached down for the child, who . . . levitated . . . into her arms. Clearly, levitation is not a human skill. Of that Kris was sure. Even two-year-olds didn’t do that! But that was what Kris saw.
It was either time for glasses or a rewrite of the physics books. Or maybe Kris was looking at such short miniatures of the human condition as something nice to have around.
I am too young to have a ticking biological clock, Kris warned herself and forced herself to grit her teeth against the little invader. But around her, several hard-case women Marines were showing soft, round eyes. And even Gunny was grinning like a proud grampa.
The woman held up her little darling. “Andy, may I introduce you to Gracie Ann, the youngest of the Fronour family and your daughter.”
“Glenda Sue? No.”
“Yep, she’s yours. She goes straight for my breasts, just like her dad.”
Which brought on a laugh from the locals, so Kris did her best not to blush. They were farmers, and things were done in front of them every day that Kris had been protected from until she was twelve and confronted with the red proof of her womanhood . . . in the quiet privacy of the girls’ restroom at school.
At least the principal had been quick to assure Kris that she was not dying of some horrible disease. Mother’s only reaction had been to agree that maybe the chauffeur should lay in a supply of female sanitary napkins, what with Kris’s age and all.
Thank heavens Henry’s wife Lotty had corrected the education Kris got from the girls out behind the gym.
Glenda Sue slipped Gracie Ann into Andy’s arms. Maybe it was the armor, but the two-year-old went just as quickly back to mother. But once her well-padded rump was safely held by mom, the toddler began to play with the strange man now in her world.
She yanked on his hair, pulled the mike from his helmet ring, gave it back, and pulled it off again as soon as Andy had reinstalled it. A tech took it this time and, with a smile, draped it over his shoulder out of the reach of pudgy fingers.
“It’s getting a mite bit crowded in here,” the whitebeard said, joining the group around Andy. “And Grampa wants to have a word with whoever is in charge of our rescuers.”
So saying, he led the way through the door and down dirt stairs. Whoever said that dirt here got hard as concrete once it got in contact with the air had it right. Kris was careful with her weight, but the stairs showed no tendency to crumble.
Too bad Kris couldn’t be equally careful with her height. Both the floor and ceiling were uneven. Kris divided her time, half watching her step, the other half looking out for her head. As luck would have it, she was watching her head when she stumbled and looking out for her feet when she banged her head.
Surely, there is no justice. At least, not for Longknifes.
Fortunately, they had not far to go. Down one flight of stairs from the cool room, along a short corridor, then down a ladder. At that point, they turned once, then a second time, and finally a third while going only a short way in each direction. That took them to a room with a rough table and a couple of chairs. The wall on both sides had been left with a step up that served a dozen people as seats.
At the end of the table, eyeing Kris, was a man easily Grampa Ray’s age. Only his days had been lived in the sun doing hard work, not at any desk. His hands were curled on the table, knuckles large and red. Kris suspected arthritis was finally enforcing a pause on the old workhorse. And he didn’t much care for the break. Beside him sat a woman of equal age.
Kris stood, waiting for introductions.
A few more people squeezed into the room, dimly lit by a single electric lantern. When the elder seemed happy with what a glance around told him, his scowl got even deeper.
“So we drew a Longknife. I thought I’d seen the last of your kind when Ray didn’t manage to get me killed on Hamdan II.”
“You and he seem to have saved humanity,” Kris said softly. “We haven’t heard from the Iteeche in over eighty years.”
The man snorted, but did grin at the praise. “Yeah, we did settle their four-eyed bacon. We sure did, didn’t we, Hilda?”
“Those of us that survived the butchers passing themselves off for colonels. Admirals,” the old woman said. Her teeth must have been false, for she had a whistle when she spoke. One eye was covered with a cataract or something. Curing things like that was supposed to be minor surgery.
Kris schooled her face to a gentle neutrality and waited to see where this was going.
“We ain’t needed your like for sixty years,” came from a man sitting against the wall. Around the wall, people nodded and agreed among themselves that he was right.
“You sure haven’t,” Kris said into their wave of self-affirmation. It died down after a while.
The old man shook his head and actually smiled at Kris. “Nice of you not to point out that we’re
hiding down here like a bunch of rabbits just now.”
“I figured you’d bring it up when you were ready to,” Kris said. “If you don’t mind my asking. This is quite a setup you have. I kind of doubt you dug it while those raiders were in-bound. This well-prepared defense certainly has thrown a wrench into their plans. How’d you come by it?”
The elder’s smile deepened. He took the praise for what it was, a pat on the back, well earned, but “defensive.” Around the wall, some congratulated each other as if they had won the war.
“Didn’t Andy tell you? Iteeche and Earthmen was a fun game when he was growing up. They’d dig tunnels and underground forts and ambush those ‘dirty Iteeches.’ ”
“I told her about our forts,” Andy put in. “I kind of left out the Iteeche stuff. Out there, the four-eyes seem to be pretty well forgotten. At least where I was.”
“They are, some places,” Kris agreed. “I kind of have my great-grandfathers to remind me how close we all came to being an extinct race that might be the subject of an anthro paper half a million years from now for some four-eyed college student.”
“Do they have colleges?” Andy asked.
“I never heard tell they did,” the elder answered. “Did the generals know more than us guys down at the gun batteries?”
“Not that I ever heard,” Kris said. “We beat them back without ever learning a whole lot about them.”
“All we needed to know was how to kill them,” the woman said.
“So,” Kris said, changing the topic away from the distant past, “when did you start digging?”
“A bit after Andy left,” the old man said. “A tub wandered by here, not much trade on it, but a dozen couples got off. They were from a little place I’d heard of, Finny’s Rainbow. They’d been hit by a raider. He stole all their ready cargo, a lot of their herds, and for fun, burned out a couple of spreads. The merchant tub had given them a lift out of the kindness of his heart . . . and an IOU signed in blood.”
“We took them in, arranged places for them to work,” the old woman went on. “I didn’t much like the story they told. Told Bobby Joe that times must be getting raw back inside the Rim, its violence was starting to leak out to us. Some folks listened and spent their spare time digging. Others, city slickers, figured they knew better. I hope they’re enjoying the hobnailed boots on their backsides.” At that, she spat. Was it just coincidence that it went Kris’s way?
Kris Longknife: Intrepid Page 13
