Fenaday sat with Shasti and Telisan in the left side hatchway of the shuttle Pooka, each too keyed up from the day’s events to sleep yet. They kept their weapons with them, but nothing seemed threatening. The light element in the barrier wire made a delicate tracery of white light around their perimeter. It would make a perfect beacon had someone tried to range on them with a mortar, but as yet there had been no sign of any conventional enemy on Enshar.
“I didn’t think I would be looking at stars tonight,” Fenaday said quietly.
“We are okay so far,” Shasti replied, “though no closer to finding any answer as to what happened and why. The scientists have been unable to find a computer with any useful information in it. They’re shorted electrically, damaged by electromagnetic pulse, deteriorated due to lack of care, or simply show nothing useful.”
“Still,” Telisan said, optimistic as ever, “we are alive and nothing has menaced us other than the weather.”
Fenaday shook his head. “Until we know what happened and why, no one dares bring the few remaining Enshari or anyone else back here. Our contract with you says we stay till Duna finds the answer or gives up. Who is to say what will happen tomorrow?”
“You are,” Shasti answered. “What does happen tomorrow?”
“The science team recommends we check out the Earhart shuttles,” he replied. “After that, Duna wants to stop at his home. Beyond that, I don’t know.”
“Well, since I have the early morning watch,” Telisan said, “I am going to get some sleep. Wake me if the world decides to end first.”
Fenaday smiled at the retreating Denlenn. Shasti nodded pleasantly. She appeared to accept Telisan as a companion now, but Fenaday couldn’t help but wonder if Mandela was right about her being capable of sabotaging a shuttle with Telisan and Duna aboard.
“That’s probably a good idea,” she said. “Why don’t you do the same? I’ll take the first watch. I want to get something else to eat any way.”
“That reminds me,” he said, with a smile. Reaching into the pocket of his flight suit, Fenaday pulled out a large chocolate bar. “It’s broken, I’m afraid.”
“Ah,” she said, snatching it out of his hands, “it will taste just as good. I thought you were sure we would be dead after we landed?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure what scared me more, Enshar, or being down on Enshar with you, without chocolate.”
“Is there more?” she asked suspiciously.
“We’ll see,” he replied. “Good night.” Fenaday’s bunk was just inside the hatchway. He fell asleep the instant his head hit the pillow.
Chapter Ten
Morning is surprisingly chilly for this time of the year, thought Fenaday. He clutched his leather jacket a little closer and looked over his coffee cup at the lightening eastern sky. The sunlight of the big star made for quite a predawn show. He’d slept hard and deep, waking early, alert and energetic. Maybe it’s just joy at still being alive, he thought. Fenaday stuck his nose in the plas-steel cup and breathed the coffee scent deep into his lungs.
“It is definitely not a good day to die,” he whispered to himself.
“There are no good days for that,” Shasti said from behind him.
He turned and smiled. “Good ears, Ms. Rainhell.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “The better to hear bad, ugly things sneaking up on you, Captain.”
“Good. Listen very carefully,” he said. “This could be a long day.”
“If we are lucky,” she replied.
The exploratory team broke camp after field showers and a hastily cooked breakfast which were their only luxuries. The camp’s defenders packed up the barrier wire and trooped into the big Dakota shuttles, which lifted off, covering each other.
Fenaday led the way in Pooka, though he left the actual flying to Angelica Fury. Banshee trailed with Karass at the controls, followed by Farriq-Dar. They maintained a combat-ready formation as they headed for the outskirts of Gigor base. The first Enshar expedition had landed twenty-one kilometers from the base. Earhart’s captain had intended to do a long-range ground recon before moving into Gigor but the Confed force was overwhelmed at their landing site.
Tension grew as they neared the site of the first landing. Pooka slowed and the other two shuttles climbed for altitude.
“There they are,” announced Telisan. His sharp eyes spied the camouflaged shuttles, set down in what was once a farmer’s field. The Denlenn’s face became grim and his eyes glittered. Fenaday remembered Telisan had friends in those shuttles. He certainly had them among the fighters wrecked in the area. Mercifully, none of the Earhart’s crashed fighters lay near the shuttles.
Foliage partially covered Earhart’s shuttles. The three large Wolverine class assault-shuttles, many times more dangerous than Fenaday’s old Dakotas, sat in a landing triangle. Each ship faced outward in the textbook deployment pattern. Their standard gray-green camouflage, dulled by years of sun and dirt, blended well with the local equivalent of wheat or corn. Vegetation covered the clear plas-steel gun turrets. Nothing could be seen of their interiors from the hovering Pooka.
Fenaday looked over Telisan’s shoulders. “I don’t fancy dropping into head-high ground cover. We won’t be able to see a damn thing.”
“There are a few ways to clear foliage,” replied Telisan. “Daisycutter bombs, laser or chain gun fire, none of which seems practical.”
“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Mmok quoted, “and they’re all fun.”
Telisan half turned in his seat, his eyes narrowing. “Does thee have something to say?” Clear warning sounded in the Denlenn’s voice.
Mmok’s half grin faded slightly. “The robots can do it. We hover at ten meters as they jump in. They use monofilament to cut the grass and gather it up so we don’t start fires on landing. The galaxy’s most expensive weed whackers.”
Telisan looked at Fenaday, who nodded.
“Do it,” commanded Telisan.
“Fury, hover in the center of the landing triangle,” Mmok ordered.
The HCRs jumped off the rear ramp of the shuttle Pooka as the crabs fell from their hookups under the shuttles. Shasti and her trouble squad, wearing hearing protection and secured to brackets at the hatchway, covered them. The robots quickly deployed and strung monofilament between pairs. They cut a huge swath through the area, uncovering each Wolverine, drawing no reaction. HCRs easily cleared the cut material. Fenaday ordered Pooka to land. As they came down, the robots stamped out any small fires that broke out and then fell back on the Pooka.
Hatches popped and nervous faces peered out over leveled weapons. Fenaday and Telisan joined Mmok and Shasti on the large rear ramp. One of the Wolverines sat a scant forty meters away. Fury stayed at the controls, ready to lift at the first sign of trouble. After a minute, Fenaday gave her the sign to cut the engines and quiet descended.
Fenaday looked from face to face. Only Shasti and Mmok looked unconcerned
“The robots report no animal life closer than four hundred meters, and those signals are retreating rapidly,” Mmok reported.
Fenaday nodded, then turned to the radiotech, Susan Bernard, “Call the other shuttles down. Have them land close to us. We’re going over to Wolverine Six.”
He hopped off the ramp, followed by Telisan, Shasti, Duna, Mmok and the trouble team. Everyone wore disposable chemical-biological warfare suits. The Confed shuttles had lain sealed for over two years. Their interiors would not be pleasant.
Sidhe’s other shuttles grounded as Fenaday’s party reached Wolverine Six. Telisan looked up at the gray-green hull and climbed onto its left thruster, reaching for the keypad. Before keying the opening sequence, he looked into the small battle porthole, shining a torch.
“Bodies,” he said grimly, “lying around on the deck. Debris everywhere.” He backed away and touched the keypad. Nothing happened. “As I suspected,” said Telisan. “Power is out and the electronics are fried. I’m going to use the emergency lever.�
�
Telisan reached down to a panel surrounded by yellow and black stripes, marked “Emer-Release.” Everyone else covered the door. The hydraulics still worked and door whooshed open slowly, outward and down, forming a ramp. The smell that rolled out made them all seal their masks. Not the sickly sweet smell of rotting meat but a musty odor of mold and decay. Fenaday, Shasti, Telisan and Mourner entered. Gunnar came as far as the door, looked in and backed out cursing. He seemed happy to stand on the ramp. Fifty bodies lay inside the forty-five meter Wolverine. Most were in the back, where they formed an unpleasant mass on the floor. The bodies, sealed in the airtight shuttle, had not gone to bone or been devoured. Natural fungus and the microbes carried by all life had degraded them. They’d turned into mold gardens. Mourner called for Yamata and Vashti to get into suits and join her.
Bodies and equipment lay about the shuttle as if some giant had picked it up and shaken it. “Just like Gigor,” Fenaday said.
“Look at this,” Shasti called. She stood in the middle section of the shuttle, near the communications panel, pointing at one of the dead ASATs. The desiccated corpse lay on its back on the panels, a pistol still clutched in mummified hands. A space suit lay on top of the body, as if in some obscene embrace. The suit was the armored type used in boarding actions, and two blast holes showed in its back.
Fenaday looked at Shasti. “From the pistol?” he asked. Pulling out his long Scottish dirk, he tried to lever the encrusted space suit off the body. It stuck. Impatient at his squeamishness, Shasti simply grabbed the suit’s shoulder with a gauntleted hand and pulled it off the corpse. It came free with a nauseating, crackling sound. She flipped it over, revealing larger blast burns on the suit’s front. It had been shot from close range.
“Perhaps someone threw it at him,” wondered Telisan. The Denlenn had returned from the cockpit with dog tags clutched in his hands. His face looked drawn and tired.
“Or he held it up for defense and shot through it,” Duna mused.
“Doesn’t make sense,” Shasti said, looking at the shuttle’s interior with distaste.
The scientists plied their probes as the rest of them checked the shuttle’s instruments. Gunnar ran a cable from Pooka to the Wolverine’s ground power port to no avail. The ship was thoroughly dead.
Mourner came over toward them. The small, intense woman stood next to Shasti, who overtopped her by most of a meter. The Olympian and the doctor made for an incongruous sight.
“As near as I can tell,” said Mourner. “Most people in here died from blunt trauma. Bones are broken, skulls cracked. There are also indications on some bodies of stab wounds. Three, including the pilots, show signs of electrocution. The bodies are too badly decomposed for me to tell much in a field test. All this mold has screwed any chemical analysis.”
“What the hell went on here?” Fenaday asked.
“I don’t know, Captain,” Mourner replied. “I can tell what killed them, but not who, or how they got aboard.”
“I don’t think any attack force was on board,” Shasti said. “It doesn’t look right for a gunfight or close-in battle. No burns on the bulkheads, magazines full of unfired rounds. They died quickly. Yet, who could surprise troops of this quality?”
“None of it makes sense,” Telisan growled. “The shuttle doors never opened. How did attackers get in here?”
“I checked the hull floor-plates,” Shasti said, “they are intact. Nothing came up from below.”
“Maybe they went mad and attacked each other,” Mourner said. “I just don’t know.”
“Any reason to stay here further?” Fenaday asked, fervently hoping there wasn’t.
Mourner sighed. “Not without a real lab. I’ve taken samples, holos and everything else I can think of. Maybe after we get back to the starship and I can use her facilities…”
Fenaday looked around the dead shuttle and shuddered. “All right,” he said harshly. “Everyone out and back to our ships. We are pulling out and heading to Duna’s home.”
The crew left gladly and quickly. As they came to the hatch, Telisan put a hand on his arm. “Help me reseal it. I want no animals disturbing their rest.”
The hatch was clearly beyond the strength of the two, but they didn’t call for the HCRs. This was a job for people. Shasti and Johan Gunnar threw their backs in as well, and the Confederate shuttle resealed. They made their way back to Pooka. As they crossed the open ground, Gunnar looked up. Clouds darkened the sky and thunder rumbled in distance. The big man scowled. “Does it rain every damn day here?” he groused.
“Maybe we landed in the rainy season,” Shasti replied.
Gunnar, one of the few people who could small talk with Shasti, grinned at her.
Telisan and Duna listened to the conversation and exchanged anxious looks at each other and the sky. The Denlenn looked as if he might speak, but the Enshari shook his head.
*****
In Wolverine Six, behind the sealed hatch, something stirred in the darkness. From near the shuttle's communication panel, a shape humped itself painfully forward. The armored space suit Shasti had thrown to the deck in disgust rose from where she left it. It crawled slowly, seemingly with great effort, to the hatchway. Once there, it became mostly erect, propped against the hatch. It plopped its mass against the hatch several times, as if trying to pass through the obstinate metal. A slight electrical smell wafted through the fetid air along with the crackle of a tiny discharge.
The door remained sealed. Even Mmok’s guardian angels did not hear the slight sound the suit made in the dead ship. The faceplate of the suit pressed against the porthole. It could not be seen against the shuttle’s darkened exterior. Then, as if exhausted by the effort, it dropped to the deck like a puppet with cut strings. Utter stillness returned to Earhart’s dead shuttle.
*****
They lifted from the site of the Confed shuttles and their slaughtered crews, leaving the impending storm behind. Fenaday looked down on the shuttles sitting in the defensive triangle and shook his head. He turned to the pilot, Angelica Fury.
“Keep Pooka in lead, triangular formation,” he said. “Maintain an economical cruising speed.”
“Aye, sir, four hundred knots it is.”
“Why so slow, Captain?” Duna asked, “Aren’t these Dakotas marginally supersonic?”
“Yes,” Fenaday replied. “We have fuel-efficient reactor-based drives, but their range isn’t infinite. The more propellant we use, the more often we have to either shuttle up or send the fighters down with tanks.”
“Of course, Captain,” Duna said. “Foolish of me to ask.”
“Relax,” Fenaday said kindly. “We’ll be there in a few hours.”
From the deck of the Pooka, Fenaday and the others watched the farmlands roll beneath them. Brilliant yellow crops topped with growths of swaying rusty orange filled the miles in a scene reminiscent of the American Midwest. Dark-hued trees looking like Terran pines but studded with white flowers marked the edges of the fields. Occasionally, the spacers saw farmhouses. Most were of the domed variety the Enshari favored, painted in light cream and beige. Duna pointed out some of an older style. Small hillocks of natural dirt, poured over a modern construction, these resembled the early dens of Enshari farmers.
Other, less pleasant sights presented themselves: crashed aircraft of various types, cars and trucks that had run off roads. The shuttles flew over a wrecked Maglev train, its cars flung about as if by a maddened child.
The contrast between the pleasant countryside and the devastation became too much for Duna. “My poor people,” he mourned. “What force is it that hates us so?” His small hands covered his expressive brown eyes. Telisan put a hand on Duna’s shoulder, his golden, leathery face marked by concern. Shasti looked out of the canopy, uncomfortable. Fenaday, who had lost a home and family, felt a pang of sympathy for the Enshar.
“While we are still alive, there is hope,” Telisan said.
“Hope is a thin meal,” Duna replied, u
ncovering his eyes.
For the first time, Fenaday drew a sense of age from the Enshar. Duna always seemed energetic. It was hard to believe the little alien had lived for eight hundred years. Now Duna looked every one of those years, old and tired. For some reason, it frightened Fenaday. He wished desperately for something comforting to say but could think of nothing that did not seem trite in light of the tragedy.
Li, one of Shasti’s trouble squad, came up with a cup of hot tea. Shasti assigned Li as a bodyguard to Duna. Duna looked up at the tea and the concern on Li’s hard-bitten face. The scholar took the tea and bowed his head against the cup twice in an Enshari gesture of respect and thanks. Li bowed gracefully from the waist.
Fenaday shook his head. Li, like most of his crew, had never shown a sign of giving a damn about anyone. Somehow Duna seemed to bring out the best in people.
Li caught his look. “I learned it from the old movies,” he said. “I grew up in Stockholm.”
There was a brief laugh from the humans, even Mmok. Duna and Telisan looked puzzled. Telisan made the Denlenn equivalent of a shrug, a gesture Fenaday had learned meant, “Aliens, who can understand them?”
People settled in. Mmok, Rigg, Rask and some of the other troopers folded down enough of the seats to play cards. Some talked, cleaned weapons, or slept. Fenaday and Shasti stayed by the canopy watching the world roll beneath them: beautiful, mysterious and alien. One could almost forget the disaster that had brought them here.
Three hours later, the shuttles began circling a huge house on the outskirts of the town of Pelen. The sprawling structure was painted a mustard-yellow with an olive green roof and cream trim. Duna’s home sat on a cliffside, its back to the eastern sea of Canelda, with its dark, almost black waters. It fronted a wide lawn where the shuttles could land without difficulty. Two smaller cream-colored domes of typical Enshari architecture sat on the grounds as well. The staff and groundskeepers had lived there. Duna’s home was only for the family and guests. The house was not typically Enshari, as befitted its unusual owner.
Was Once a Hero Page 12
