Their Master's war

by Mick Farren

  "Rance, we've pinned your thumper."

  There was the sound of engines in the background.

  "Taking it out now."

  The saucers halted in midair and started pouring fire directly at the ground. There was an explosion. The saucers peeled away.

  "There you go, Rance. Don't say we never do anything for you ground monkeys."

  "Many thanks."

  The chibas withdrew as fast as they had come. It was as if a sudden loss-cutting decision had been made by the Yal generals. Some alien calculation of cost-effectiveness seemed to have indicated that the chibas would not be able to overrun the base and stay within some strange limit of acceptable losses. The engagement had simply been terminated. Looking at the piled heaps of dead chiba wreckage, though, it was hard to imagine what those limits could possibly be. There was an eerie unreality to the way the fighting abruptly stopped. It was intensified by the fact that the contact was broken off at the very moment that the sun first showed over the hills. As the light filtered into the valley, casting the first long shadows of dawn, the chibas fought a swift rearguard action and melted away into the jungle, leaving the fallen behind them. A terrible silence settled over the base as the firing stopped. Here and there a wounded man was screaming. The jungle animals appeared to sense that the fighting was over, and their dawn cries filled the thick, sluggish, smoke-filled air as if it were any normal day. The men on the ground stayed exactly where they were, expecting a trick. The gunsaucers silently pulled back and regrouped, hovering over the center of the base. A dyne took a pace forward and sprayed the jungle with a final sweep of fire, the dawn chorus faltered. The ports of a crawler clanged open, and its crew climbed wearily, down the cabin ladder. When they reached the ground, they simply dropped to the dirt and sat with their heads between their knees. The communicators were a level hum with just the faintest undertow of heavy breathing and muttered curses. One man straightened and clambered out of his foxhole. A second followed. A third took off his helmet. All over the base, men were standing up as the realization spread that the firefight was really over. There was little conversation. Men looked around at the whole picture, shaking their heads and grimly marveling that they had survived yet another one. They inspected the wreckage and the dead, and a few cautiously walked to the perimeter, toward the tangle of chibas^ 9 frames and the goop soaking into the scorched earth. Some even broke into their ration packs and started eating. All over there was the lethargy and depression that was left behind as the suits stopped their chemical massage.

  The calm didn't last very long. The noncoms started yelling, pushing men into exhausted, round-shouldered ranks. They called the rolls and tallied the missing. The complaining had started. Bitching was the second stage of reaction.

  "I gotta tell you all, I thought we were going to hear the fat lady singing back there."

  "How the hell did they get so close to us without us knowing? That's what I want to know."

  "We don't never get to know nothing, asswipe."

  "I just want to sleep for a couple of days, that's all I want."

  "Don't it bother you that the medians are screwing up?"

  "Sure it bothers me, but what the hell do you want me to do about it?"

  "The medians always screw up." "That's the whole story."

  The earth shook slightly as all three dynes started to move forward. The conversation stopped dead. Crawler crews were reluctantly saddling up again. Sappers had begun to dismantle the temporary structures. Helot looked at Hark. His face was a mask of disbelief.

  "We're going after them?"

  "You got to be kidding."

  The longtimers confronted Rance.

  "Is that it? Are we going after them?"

  The dynes had waded out into the river and were striding upstream. The gunsaucers were making a wide formation pass across the valley. The crawlers were pulling into line. Rance didn't have to nod.

  "Those are the orders."

  There was a storm of protest, but even the men doing the protesting knew that it was futile.

  "At least you're among the lucky ones," Rance said. "You're all going to ride a crawler up the river."

  Elmo's twenty was assigned to crawler 3-except that there was no sign of Elmo. They straggled toward the machine and swung themselves through the port, only to discover him waiting inside the passenger bay.

  "What fucking hole were you hiding in?" Renchett snarled.

  Elmo's face was as blank as his visor. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  Renchett made a disgusted gesture. "Forget it. I ain't got the strength."

  The amphibious crawlers slid down the bank and nosed into the water. The overhead compartment covers started to close. The last thing Hark saw before they closed completely was a dead, bloated lizard floating belly up in the shallows of the opposite bank. The covers sealed with a hiss. The lights came on. The compartment was pressurized. The troopers started taking off their helmets and masks. Rations and water were broken out, but a lot of the men just sat hunkered down, backs against the wall, too tired to eat.

  Crawler 3 moved smoothly up the river. The majority of the troopers slept. It was an uneasy, uncomfortable sleep, cursed by dreams. Elmo just stared straight ahead in a semitrance, as if he didn't even have what it took to make nightmares anymore.

  There was only one incident during the trip upriver. After seventy uneventful minutes, the craft lurched and there was a series of loud bangs. The troopers grabbed for their masks, helmets, and weapons. They had to be taking fire from the bank. A section of the hull was warm to the touch. The crawler's own guns opened up. Inside the passenger bay, the lights flickered. Everyone was crouching on the steel floor, ready for anything. There were two more series of shocks, and then the crawler heeled over in a sharp left-hand turn. Moments later, it did the same to the right. After it straightened out, the men braced for the next shock, but nothing happened. The crawler remained on an even keel, and the guns topped. Nothing else hit the craft, and the incident teemed to be over. Confirmation came from a voice in iheir helmets.

  "Hope that didn't shake you up too much. We had a bit of nastiness from the bank, but we seem to have nailed it. We're proceeding on course."

  Things had only just settled down when there was a new voice in their helmets.

  "All ground troops will hear this."

  "It's a forsaken officer."

  "That's got to mean trouble."

  "Our long-range scouts have discovered an enemy tunnel system that covers most of the upper parts of this valley and extends through the hills. This has to be the means by which they were able to mass so quickly last night before, attacking the task force. Accordingly, we have been given the responsibility of clearing and destroying these tunnels."

  "What do you mean 'we,' asshole? You won't be in the goddamn tunnels."

  "You will be issued with your individual orders as you disembark from the transport. It only remains for me to wish you luck with this mission."

  The men were silent. What they had heard was close to a death warrant. The longtimers had encountered Yal tunnels before. Tmnel clearing always involved severe casualties.

  "I hate tunnels.".

  There was unashamed fear in the voice. It belonged to Tabor, who had been with the twenty for some forty days. Nobody seemed to have anything to add.

  Something grated under the crawler's hull. It lurched as it reared up onto its treads and started to climb the riverbank. Finally it leveled off and stopped. The original voice was back in their helmets.

  "You can all relax. As of now, there's no one shooting at us."

  When the ports were opened, the first thing they saw as they came down the ramp was Rance. The topman was standing waiting for them.

  "I don't want to hear any complaining. I'm no more pleased about it than you are."

  The crawler had halted on a flat area of river beach. Beyond it, the side of the valley rose sharply. Sappers had already burned away a large section
of jungle, revealing the mouth of a large, previously hidden tunnel that was driven horizontally straight into the hillside. Rance pointed to it.

  "That's your one. Take a good look at it."

  Take a good look because the odds are that you will die in there, he thought.

  "Nothing happened when we opened it up, so we can probably assume that the first stretch is empty. It may well be gimmicked, though, so be exceedingly careful."

  He glanced at Elmo, who was staring transfixed at the tunnel entrance.

  "Are you netted into the schematic?"

  Elmo didn't answer.

  "Do you hear me, Overman Elmo?"

  Elmo twitched and then looked at Rance. "What did you say?"

  Rance's voice was acid. "I asked if you were netted into the schematic of the tunnel system."

  "Yes… yes, I'm getting it in my visor."

  "Then why don't you take your men into the tunnel."

  "You're not coming in with us?"

  Rance shook his head. "I'm coordinating this one."

  Elmo took one more long look at the tunnel mouth, and he seemed to pull himself together. He faced the men.

  "Okay, let's get moving. The sooner we get in, the sooner we get out." "Ifwegetout."

  Elmo ignored the remark. Behind them, the crawler was up on its treads and easing back into the river. The thirteen men, all that were left of the twenty, started up the slope toward the tunnel. They halted again before actually going inside.

  "Check your redscopes."

  Each man turned on the heat vision option in his visor. Where the interior of the tunnel had been pitch-black, it was now a threatening red. There were no more excuses for delay.

  "Okay, let's do it."

  They moved cautiously into the darkness, as if they were treading on glass. The tension showed with every pace. Kemlo took the point, with Dyrkin right behind him. Elmo stayed well to the rear.

  Dacker, who was seventh in line, craned up to look at the ceiling. "I never did like the idea of having a whole goddamn hill over my head."

  "Cut out that talking."

  They moved on in silence. Behind them, the sky was nothing more than a small disk of brightness beyond the tunnel mouth. The redness in Hark's visor created the illusion that he was walking through the intestines of a giant. The datashot hadn't included much information about anatomy, but he'd learned more than enough on the battlefield to feed the fantasy.

  "Hold it back there," Dyrkin barked.

  The thirteen halted. Dyrkin, walking point, was in effective command of the squad. It was the way everyone, with the possible exception of Elmo, wanted it. Dyrkin would take no chances. There was an opening in the left wall of the main corridor. It was the first one that they'd encountered, and for all they knew, it could be full of chibas just waiting to boil out all over tfrem. In these kinds of situations, chibas seemingly had infinite patience. Dyrkin waved his arm in a low sweep that everyone understood. The column moved away from the center of the corridor and pressed against the wall. Dyrkin had stopped a few meters before the opening. He spoke softly into his communicator.

  "Elmo, any sign of this on the schematic?"

  "No, there's nothing. This is supposed to be a straight corridor with no turns or intersections."

  Elmo seemed content to let Dyrkin run the squad. Dyrkin waved up the next man in line, a recruit with the minimal name of Kov. He indicated that the man should get in front of him. The routine was simple. They edged their way along the wall with weapons at the ready. When they reached the entrance, Kov ducked briefly and adjusted the grav on his boots. When he'd straightened, they both took a deep breath that was audible in everyone's helmet. Kov made a grav jump straight across the opening. At the same time, Dyrkin spun around and fired from the corner. Immediately afterward, Kov fired from the opposite side. The concussion blasts were like hammer blows in the confined space. Although their helmets protected their ears, their bodies were kicked by the shocks. Their lungs felt as if they were suddenly being hugged by a huge constrictor. Dust cascaded down from the roof of the tunnel.

  The firing stopped; Dyrkin stepped back from the opening, putting up his MEW and letting it rest against his shoulder.

  "Ain't nothing in there."

  The others moved up and peered into the opening. Dyrkin had been right. There was nothing in there except a pile of dark blue hexagonal cargo containers and a rack of gleaming new chiba frames, presumably waiting to have the sacs of intelligent goop fitted to them. Glowing scars of residual heat from the firing crisscrossed the walls. One of the containers had fallen and burst open. Its contents, a kind of gray packing fiber, had spilled out and were burning, giving off oily smoke.

  "Don't touch any of that stuff. It's probably booby-trapped."

  Two explosions came from somewhere else in the tunnel system. Some of the men ducked. More dirt fell from the tunnel ceiling. A meter-square section detached itself and crashed to the floor. Everyone froze. In tunnel clearing, the other hazard, apart from the enemy, was cave-in. This planet was so young and unstable that tunneling into it was a dubious business at the best of times. The constant low-level quakes meant that the best reinforced tunnel was prone to collapse even without a fire-fight inside it. The men waited tensely. There were no further rockfalls.

  "Did anybody think that the Yal's best bet would be to wait until we were all inside and then blow the whole system?"

  "I don't want to hear that talk." There was no authority in Elmo's voice. It was pure fear.

  Dyrkin slung his weapon over his back. "You want that we should move on?"

  The squad pressed on deep into the hill. There were sounds of firing and more explosions from other parts of the system, but nothing engaged them except a handful of miggies that dropped from the ceiling and were quickly dispatched. At regular intervals, wafts of scalding hot air washed down the tunnel. These only helped to accentuate the feeling that they were parasites in the bowels of some monstrous beast. Every step was racked with tension. Just because nothing had happened so far didn't mean it couldn't happen at any moment. The troopers, particularly the new recruits, flinched at every sound and movement. Already frayed nerves were being stretched to their limits. The prolonged stress involved in a search-and-destroy mission was bad enough in the open. In these claustrophobic tunnels, it was close to unbearable.

  Dyrkin called another halt. Up ahead, there was what looked like a yellow glow in their redscoped visors. As far as they could see, the tunnel was opening out into a larger lighted space. The air had become very warm, so warm that it was starting to interfere with the function of the redscopes. The walls were now pulsing with a blood-red light, and the men were pouring sweat. The yellow glow seemed to be the source of it all. Nobody had any particular desire to be the first to find out exactly what it was. Finally, when Elmo offered no suggestions, let alone orders, Dyrkin beckoned to Hark and Renchett.

  "Okay, let's go and see what we got here."

  The three of them walked slowly forward, silhouetted against the yellow glow. Their weapons were held in front of them, away from their bodies, ready to fire at the widest possible sweep.

  "When the tunnel opens out, keep on going. Hark, go to the left; Renchett, you go to the right. Look for cover and hit it. Best cut out your redscopes; that yellow light's going to blind us."

  For a moment, the three men couldn't see, but then their eyes adjusted to regular light. Now that they weren't looking at heat, the yellow was little more than a suffused purple glow.

  "That's plasma."

  "It must be a main energy interface." Renchett halted. "Then it's got to be defended." "So let's go in and find out," Dyrkin said. "Do we have to?" Renchett said. "You got a better idea?" "No."

  The spectacle that greeted them was little short of awesome. The tunnel had opened out into a wide, high-ceilinged, roughly circular cavern that seemed to be at least partly natural. The centerpiece was a tall translucent column that rose for the fiill height of the cavern a
nd then vanished through the roof. A massive charge of plasma was pulsing up it. This was the source of the purple glow. In addition to the channeled plasma, white flares of secondary energy flickered on the outside of the power stack. The base of the column was a large containment sphere of dull black, extradense metal. It was supported by five heavy-duty grav pumpers. Without their aid, the sphere would simply have sunk into the ground and gone on sinking until it reached the center of the planet. The sphere had to be unbelievably massive. It contained what was, in effect, a miniature sun. It was banded by an intricate system of interconnected subducts. Below the sphere, the ducts ran out and away, across the floor in a sunburst that extended all the way to the walls of the cavern. These were also attended by outward ripples of dancing static. As Dyrkin had guessed, it was a major energy interface. "Mother! It's big!"

  "This sucker could power a couple of firetowers." "Move it!"

  There was no time to stand and stare. Renchett and Hark peeled off as they came out of the tunnel, just as Dyrkin had instructed. Hark spotted a pile of the hexagonal containers that seemed to be a standard item with the Yal. He ran for them, jumping the ducts as he went. When there were no more ducts, he dived and rolled. So far, there was no one shooting at them.

  In position behind the containers, Hark tentatively called out to Dyrkin. "Nothing so far. You think this place is empty?"

  The plasma was crackling in their helmets.

  "Seems hard to believe they'd just leave it."

  Renchett came in. "I don't like it."

  Hark carefully studied the cavern. Other tunnels ran into it at regular intervals all around its circumference. The spaces in between them were taken up with racks of what, alien as it was, had to be control and monitoring equipment. A gantry, constructed from one molded piece of an ultrahard ceramic, ran around the containment sphere, some three meters above the ground. A broad ramp of the same material ran down from the gantry and into the mouth of the widest of the intersecting tunnels. Where the ramp and the gantry joined, there was a huge black chair. It appeared to have been contoured for some large, angular multilegged creature.