Acorna’s Quest

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Luck of the Smirnoffs, Ed old buddy!” he greeted Ed.

  “Luck?” Automatically, Ed took position beside Des, his iron pole at an angle where he could jab it out the window at anything approaching. “Our ship’s been destroyed, we’re trapped on this planet between crazy settlers and invading space bugs, Ikwaskwan’s gonna pound the bugs and doesn’t care what he does to us in the process, and you say we’re lucky?”

  “If the bugs hadn’t moved in,” Des said cheerfully, “these maniacs would’ve likely hung us. And as for the ship, there’s a simple solution now, isn’t there? We’ll just have to take theirs!”

  “Simple.” Ed almost choked.

  “No alternative, buddy. Oh-oh, here comes a bug. Let’s see if their armor holds up to a…” Des squeezed off a shot. A cloud of steam went up from the advancing alien’s hard brown carapace, and one of its many legs disappeared, but the other limbs kept inexorably moving. Some of the legs fired green energy bolts at the cabin.

  Des ducked, looked at the weapon in his hand, and swore. “Damn fools gave me your blaster!”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Got mine fitted with a PowrChargr last station,” Des said, naming one of the many enhancements that was considered illegal and immoral in the civilized world. This particular one was supposed to allow an ordinary hand blaster to spread its stun range over half a klick, or alternatively to narrow and concentrate its power in one needle-sharp pulse that would vaporize the object it hit.

  “Shit!” Des squeezed off half a dozen more shots as the alien advanced, coolly picking off the jointed legs along one side of its flat body until they were all gone. The alien toppled to one side and lay wriggling its other legs helplessly.

  “Give me the pole.” Des squeezed his bulk through the open window with a few rips, scratches, and curses, dropped with a thump onto the muddy ground, and charged without stopping to catch his breath. The hooked pole went into a bulbous, gleaming structure on the alien’s head and sank deep within, splashing Des with the black fluid that spurted from the sphere. Ed clenched his teeth against the wave of nausea rising from his guts.

  A moment later Des was back at the window, saying, “Come on, get ’em all out this way. We can’t stay in the house, it’s an obvious target.”

  “What’s the point of leaving it?”

  “Easy,” Des said. His teeth gleamed white among the blood, foam, and black droplets that decorated his face. “We’ll lure the bugs into the house, then fire off a couple of blaster shots and bring that cliff down on ’em…it’s not all that stable now, didn’t you notice that when we were coming down the track?”

  Ed certainly had. And though he had little or no faith in Smirnoff’s plan, he couldn’t think of anything better—so he begged, bullied, or persuaded the remaining settlers to crawl through the back window and follow Des along the narrow track he had temporarily cleared.

  For one dark moment he wondered exactly how Des planned to “lure” the Khleevi into the cabin and who was going to play “bait,” but One-One Otimie solved that question once he understood the plan. From an overlooked cupboard above the food stores he produced battered musicubes and a solar-powered player.

  “Kirilatova,” he said, jamming a cube into the player with ruthless disrespect for the delicate workings of the machinery. “Figaro. Remastered from the originals.” He cackled at the look of surprise on Ed’s face. “Thought we was all uncultured backcountry folks, din’t you, sonny? Hee-hee-hee. I like opera just fine; it’s people I wanted to get away from.”

  As they scrambled through the back window, the last two humans to clear the cabin, the seductive strains of Susannah’s aria, “Deh vieni, non tadar,” floated through the air. Ed only hoped the song would be as enticing to the Khleevi as it had been meant to sound in the opera.

  He was almost disgusted at how well Des’s crude plan worked. The cockroachlike Khleevi approached the cabin, cautiously at first, then more openly as no one fired on them. They made sharp crackling noises among themselves as they drew closer, firing occasional bolts into the cabin; Ed could almost have sworn the two in the lead were laughing and rubbing their forelegs together in anticipation of a jolly time. He remembered the vids Ikwaskwan had copied from the Linyaari and used as training films, and felt sick all over at the memory of what the Khleevi considered light entertainment. He had a terrible moment as he worried that everybody was out of the cabin. He couldn’t have left a dog to the mercies of those—those things….

  Every muscle of his body screamed to run, run now before they noticed their quarry had escaped, but Des coolly waited through agonizing seconds until all but one of the advancing aliens was out of sight inside the cabin. Then he and One-One fired blasters at the designated weak spots, dissolving a long line of muddy earth and stone into a bubbling liquid that let the front face of the cliff slide downward with a long, final sigh. Slabs of stone tilted slowly forward and smashed the cabin roof flat; one of them fell half across the one Khleev who remained outside, turning his body into a mangled mess that leaked black fluid and curls of steam. The stone slabs were followed by a slow but inexorable tide of wet dirt and the molten lava created by the blasters, which buried the cabin and its occupants under a newly created hill.

  “Come on,” Des hissed before the wave of mud and lava had settled, “gotta take their ship before they catch on to what just happened!”

  “Before who catch on?” gasped Ed, at his side. “We just killed—oh.” More cockroaches were pouring out of the squat, alien-looking ship that stood in the clearing.

  “You are so damn dumb, Minkus. Would you leave a ship totally unguarded while everybody chased the natives?” Des gave him a look of disgust. “Yeah, you probably would. Give me that pole, you don’t know what to do with it.” And he plunged in among the Khleevi with a battle yell of pure, savage joy, stabbing the pole down with unerring aim into the enemies’ soft spots.

  Someone thrust a cleaver into Ed’s hand, and the wave of yelling settlers carried him on until he found himself in the thick of the fight, chopping off legs with his cleaver, dodging the energy bolts, frantically waving his free arm to defend himself from the gouts of black acid the aliens spat…and then, before he knew it, they were through and on the farside of the aliens, and Des was shouting at them to follow him into the ship itself. Ed stepped over blobs of black guck, already crusting over, and kicked a dying Khleev off the ladder with one booted foot.

  There were no more Khleev inside…no more living, that is…though the stench of their dying and the acid whiff of their black…blood?…whatever…infested the entire ship. The settlers crowding after Ed forced him forward and into the tiny section covered with unreadable instrumentation that Des already occupied. He was squatting on the low, narrow bench that the Khleevi must have used instead of chairs.

  After a moment’s uncomfortable experimentation, Ed decided that Smirnoff had found the only possible adaptation of the human anatomy to these furnishings. Wide metal columns behind them, their outer walls curved in a concave form that must have been designed to fit a Khleev carapace, promised support and protection during takeoff, and the straps that dangled from the columns could, with some ingenuity, be arranged to hold a human body. Ed hoped the settlers had made their own accommodations to the Khleev interior; Des was already punching buttons with mad abandon in search of the one that would fire up the ship’s engines.

  “You think you can fly one of these things?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Can’t be all that different from ours,” Des said. “Same problems, same type solutions. They gotta get free of gravity, navigate, correct position, and tilt…Yeeehaw!” he screamed in triumph as one of the buttons he’d punched resulted in a wild blast of flame that lifted the ship from its landing place with a sickening double punch and sway. “Ikwaskwan, here we come! See if you can find a portable com system among all that crud the settlers dragged on, Ed. It might be polite to announce we’re on our way!”

&n
bsp; Sixteen

  Haven, Unified Federation Date 334.05.26

  With the Khleevi mother ships disabled and their pods pinned down on Rushima by the orbiting ships of the Red Bracelets, there was time to discuss Markel’s suggestion of using weather-modification technology to destroy the Khleevi rather than the expensive, and destructive, kinetic energy weapons favored by Ikwaskwan.

  “I had intended this system for peace, not war,” said Ngaen Xong Hoa sadly. “But it seems that technology of this sort must be used always for destruction—if not by the warring parties of my homeland, then by whoever controls it.” He gave Markel a long, steady look. “I trusted your father’s honor. He died rather than permit Nueva Fallona and her cronies to make war on Rushima with my weather-modification system. Now you ask me to do the same thing.”

  “Not on Rushima, on the Khleevi—” began Gill.

  “Wait!” Markel swallowed hard after interrupting Gill, but his face showed a maturity and resolution that had not been there short weeks earlier. “Yes, Dr. Hoa. We wish to use your scientific knowledge to kill…those who would otherwise…exterminate us. So we would be using it in self-defense, which is not the same thing as using it for making war on the helpless…. You know what the Linyaari have told us about these invaders. If they had come in peace, we would have greeted them in peace…but they come to destroy us. And, yes, I will use any means at my disposal to defend my people and myself. I believe Illart would have done the same thing.”

  “We do not know they have come to make war,” Hoa said.

  “Actions speak louder than words,” Rafik pointed out.

  “Ah. But words have not spoken yet.” Hoa clasped his hands together in front of him. “Before I give consent to this further misuse of my research, I must insist that we make every effort to communicate with our alien visitors.”

  “Markel? Is this necessary?” Andreziana glanced at Markel and raised one eyebrow.

  “Yes,” Markel said in the most decisive tone. He paused and gave an indolent shrug more like his usual mannerisms. “Anyway, I could probably deploy the weather-intervention technology without Dr. Hoa’s consent. Just as Nueva Fallona did! By analyzing the programs Nueva’s people implemented we could deduce those things that were left out of the research notes.” He paused, and all his aggression seemed to dissipate suddenly. He swallowed again. ” But…I believe…Illart would also have said we must first attempt peaceful negotiation.”

  “Ridiculous!” Andreziana was on her feet. “Markel, as captain of the Haven, I could order you to implement the technology now.”

  “But you will not,” said Pal Kendoro sharply.

  Pal was so quiet that all were startled at this interruption and watched as he came forward to grip Andreziana’s arms at the elbows, forcing her to look up at him. “’Ziana, don’t you know better than to give orders that Markel will feel honor-bound to disobey? You and the other kids did a grand job of recapturing the Haven. You’re a bunch of infant experts at everything from astrogation to life-support systems, but you’ve still got a few things to learn about people…and the art of command.”

  “I know what we need to do in order to deal with the Khleevi,” Andreziana snapped, freeing herself from Pal’s grip with a quick, vicious twist of her body. “Unlike some around here, I’m not afraid to take responsibility for it—any more than I was afraid to space the murderers who killed my mother and father!”

  “And you’re still feeling bad about that, aren’t you?” Pal said in a low, gentle voice. “They were murderers, and you had no other option, but you see their faces in your nightmares…and so to prove you made the right choice then, you have to keep choosing the toughest path, whether or not it’s necessary.”

  Tears sparkled in Andreziana’s eyes, and she stared up at him wordlessly.

  “You don’t have to do that now, ’Ziana,” Pal said. “This responsibility belongs to all of us; you don’t have to carry it alone. Whatever we do, we’ll all discuss it, and we’ll all share in the decision. You and the other kids did a fine job when you were left on your own, but the point is, that you’re no longer alone anymore. We’re in this battle, fighting right beside you.”

  Andreziana’s lips trembled, and Pal put his arm about her, shielding her face from the view of the others for a long, tense moment. When Andreziana finally turned away from him, she looked composed, more at peace than she had since the Palomellese coup on the Haven.

  “I’m sorry, Markel,” she said. “Understand,” she warned him, “I’m still captain of the Haven…but this can’t be just the captain’s decision. This decision belongs to all of humanity…all who are here to speak, at least…and to the Linyaari, too,” she said. “Shouldn’t they be here? And the Red Bracelets—”

  “Let’s not overdo it,” Johnny murmured. “I think we know how the Red Bracelets would vote. Besides, they’re needed where they are…in low geosynchronous orbit, making sure the Khleevi don’t go anywhere.”

  “And we cannot afford to keep them there indefinitely,” Gill pointed out.

  After more discussion, it was agreed that the Haven and the Acadecki would attempt for a period of two Standard hours to establish some communication with the Khleevi on Rushima, using the universal codes that had long been agreed on for first contact with any sapient alien race, should one ever be found. Therefore, mathematical formulae and physical constants were broadcast in steady sequence, using different base systems and with regular pauses to invite reply.

  “No response,” Calum said wearily after more than an hour had gone by. “Perhaps we should try something else.”

  “We could shoot at them,” Gill muttered. “That sure got a response!”

  “No, not—waitaminute, wait a minute!” Calum punched at the control panel to bring up an enlarged view on one screen. “Something’s leaving the planet—and heading straight for us. Coms, tell Ikwaskwan not to shoot it down!”

  “Trojan horse,” Gill suggested, while Acorna efficiently raised Ikwaskwan’s flagship and requested the lone vessel be allowed to exit Rushima unhindered.

  “He’s not heading straight for anywhere,” Calum exclaimed. “Look at that—yawing all over the place…don’t these people know how to stabilize their ships?”

  “They did just fine in the battle,” Gill pointed out. “Maybe this one is damaged.” His fingers twitched, indicating his complete willingness to do more damage.

  “Acorna, are you open on all frequencies?”

  “Of course, Calum,” Acorna said. “Intruder is not transmitting.”

  “If they don’t correct their course and identify themselves somehow in the next sixty seconds,” Calum said tensely, “rescind the hold-fire request and give Ikwaskwan permission to destroy them. They’re now, more or less, on a collision course with US. I’m sorry about Dr. Hoa’s sensibilities, but not sorry enough to die while waiting for the other fellows to parley. The Linyaari said they don’t parley, and it looks like…”

  Fortunately for two newly hired mercenaries and a group of weary Rushimese settlers, at that moment Ed Minkus found a portable com system.

  “Don’t fire! Don’t fire!” he squawked first, and then, regaining a little control, “All Red Bracelet ships and allies: this is Ed Minkus for the ship…uh…what is it called, Des?”

  A rumbling growl seemed to be telling the speaker not to waste time on nonessentials. “Call it Jurden, it smells like one!”

  “Right! Uh…this is the ship Jurden, a prize of war captured from the Khleevi, requesting permission to rejoin…and, uh, could somebody tow us in with a tractor beam? We’re having a little trouble figuring out the controls on this thing.”

  “Jurden, this is the Haven,” came a crisp young voice on the frequency Ed had found. “We have a fix on you now. Can you verify this is not a Khleevi trap?”

  “Dammit, we just got away from the Khleevi…wait a minute!” There were scuffling sounds and Ed’s voice muffled by distance, protesting; then a crackly old voice came on.
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  “Girlie, this here’s One-One Otimie, free settler of Rushima, and you bring us on board right fast, you hear me? Got things to tell you about them big ol’ bugs like you wouldn’t believe! And I ain’t goin’ back there, no how, no way, so if you think us is bugs, you just go right ahead and blow us out of the sky, you hear? Rather that than goin’ back, right, folks?”

  “Jurden, prepare to be towed,” Andreziana’s voice responded.

  The exchange was shut off as Haven’s tractor beam attached itself to the Khleevi ship. Gill and Calum leaned back, laughing weakly, while the others exchanged puzzled glances.

  “What’s so funny?” Acorna finally asked.

  “Smirnoff. The bastard can’t be all bad,” Gill said. “He must have some Celtic ancestors somewhere.”

  “I fail to see that as a guarantee of respectability—look at you two giggling idiots!” Rafik said, crisply critical.

  “Jurden,” Calum calmed himself long enough to explain, “is an old Scots word for a chamber pot. So I guess we know Smirnoff’s opinion of the Khleevi!”

  And once Smirnoff and Minkus and One-One had described how the Khleevi came in firing and attacked immediately, even Hoa regretfully agreed that the Linyaari account of their enemies seemed to be completely accurate.

  “Talk is better,” Hoa said ruefully, “but some warlords do not talk, only kill. Markel, you will assist, please?”

  The weather-intervention process fascinated Calum, who was watching every detail of Hoa’s work. There was plenty of time for all interested observers to assemble because Hoa insisted that the Red Bracelet ships must clear out of their low orbit.

  “Ionospheric intervention of this magnitude can affect orbiting ships’ communications and electrical systems,” Hoa explained. “Haven must maintain a certain distance in order to fire laser beams, but all others should retreat as far as possible.”