The Hero

by John Ringo

  The first ford they found wasn't as hospitable as Bell Toll had hoped. Certainly it was shallower than upstream, but it was on a moderate slope that gave the shallow water good velocity over rocks. It wasn't going to be that much easier to cross here.

  "Keep low," Bell Toll advised in a whisper. Everyone nodded. Besides keeping their silhouettes concealed, it would keep them stable in the current. They were as wet as they could get already, anyway. "Ferret, out you go."

  "Ferrets don't like swimming," the little point troop replied, but he said it as he moved out on the rocky shallows they'd been using, toward deeper water.

  Ferret stepped down off the shelf, one hand on a protruding root near the bank, and began wading. The bubbling, ankle-deep stream near the edge turned to rippling and waving knee-deep currents within a couple of steps, then to a pounding torrent that ripped at him, seen as dark and light infrared and enhanced visible traces across his visor. He leaned forward and grabbed a rock that rose from the water, and worked his way around into the calm downstream of it. Kneeling and reaching, he caught another handhold and crossed the channel between the two, water shoving at his chest and splashing into his face. He worked his way across by keeping solid hold of the rocks as his feet slid on smooth, moss-slickened pebbles underneath and water raged past him. He was two thirds of the way over when he reached a deep, rushing current about two meters wide. It didn't take much observation to conclude that he wasn't going to cross it alone. And it would likely look worse in daylight.

  Ferret studied the voracious swirl for long seconds. Then he began crawling backwards. Once he reached the previous slab of weathered limestone he called back on his transmitter, it being too loud to shout even if noise discipline allowed it. "It's too swift. Gorilla can likely get over; he's taller and heavier. We're going to need to belay," he said.

  "Goddammit. Understood," Bell Toll replied.

  Shortly, Gorilla began splashing and crawling from the bank. His larger mass was of benefit, and he made steady progress through the tugging current and was alongside in moments.

  "Hold my ruck and tell me what you need," he said as he swung his albatross-long limbs free from the harness.

  "Deep and swift," Ferret said, pointing. "If you can shove across we'll run the rope. Otherwise, that bastard is going to take someone for a ride."

  "Got it," he nodded.

  Gorilla had a tough time of it himself, and Ferret was glad he'd asked for aid. The two-meter tall troop splashed into the water and only kept his head above by maintaining a firm grip on Ferret's proffered hand. He reached across, angled by the strong current, scrabbling for purchase. The flow underneath was unbelievable, stretching him out starfishlike. After several minutes of clutching, he retreated. Sitting under the rock, he shouted up to Ferret, "I think it would be easier to move further downstream. But let me try something."

  He sought a chunk of rock about as wide and flat as his hand. He plunged his hand in and wrenched free one that seemed appropriate.

  "Tie the rope around that," he demanded. "Toss it and I'll pull myself across."

  It sounded reasonable, and Ferret gave the rock two loops and two half hitches. At a nod and a point from Gorilla, he tossed it over the depths and between the large boulder and a projecting knob just upstream. He pulled and it caught. Gorilla seized the cord and was across in seconds.

  Then came the task of tying his ruck near the far end of the line, tossing the free length and drawing it across. Everyone and all their gear was going to get soaked from this. They'd only thought themselves wet so far.

  Ferret was ignominiously hauled over, then made it the rest of the way in a combination hop, skip and plunge. There was no real cover on the far bank, so he settled back into the water downstream of another bit of rock.

  "Secure," he reported. "Give me some company."

  At a nod from Shiva, Tirdal trudged down and over. His dense form was of some help here, and he kept his position despite the flow. At the rope where Gorilla still waited, he planted his ruck and let Gorilla tow it across. That accomplished, he grasped the rope and slid over. He disappeared beneath the shifting surface, leaving only his hand as an indicator. That hand was joined by his other, and he made his way in fitful, sliding jerks across. As he bumped the far boulder, he extended a hand and clenched it twice, until Gorilla reached down and heaved him up, or tried to. It took both of them, Tirdal shoving with his feet, Gorilla heaving on the rope and straining back with his feet, before the Darhel's head surfaced. He could be audibly heard to gasp in a breath as his massive form rose up onto the rock.

  "Holy Shit . . . Tirdal," Gorilla asked between gasps. "What do . . . you weigh?"

  "I'm considerably denser in bone and muscle mass than a human," Tirdal said without answering him. He continued doggedly over and took Ferret's position, as the short human squirmed onto the bank proper.

  The procedure repeated. Only Ferret had been light enough to swim with his gear. Gun Doll slung her cannon over, then her gear and then herself. She massed less than her rangy size indicated and swung in the current like a flag in a stiff breeze until Gorilla caught her hand. Once across, she leaned against the mud, covering the rest of the squad while Tirdal guarded her and Ferret acted as a sensor wire against anything from the front. Ferret had adapted to his social calling of mine-tripper, and had become philosophical about it. He did hope for promotion within a few missions, though.

  Dagger went through contortions to pass his sniper rifle across to Gorilla without getting it into the water. It wasn't the wetness that worried him, but the risk of banging it out of alignment between the rocks. Truthfully, it was built much sturdier than that, and he was just obsessive, but Gorilla humored him and took it by the muzzle, even though the long extension of mass from his hand pulled muscles in his forearm. Dagger would spend a goodly time fussing over it and drying it later, he was sure.

  Shiva, Bell Toll with the artifact and Thor followed, and they were all across. Soaked, slimed with mud and moss, bedecked with bits of weed, they blended in even better than they had before. It was bone-chillingly cold even with the warm air. The best way to slow the conduction of heat through the water was to dial down the permeability of the suits. That left them wrinkling like prunes inside squelching, water-tight shells. Once warmed, they'd turn the permeability up until they steamed dry.

  "Gorilla, give us a good scan," Bell Toll ordered.

  "Will do, but only one bot made it across. The other one took a soaking—must have a hole in the shell somewhere—and won't work until dry," he replied. "Want me to send flyers, too?"

  Bell Toll thought for a few moments. It was likely they'd lose some more to predators, but the team was exfiltrating and the drones were intended for use. The risk of discovery was negligible, and the data they'd provide could be considerable.

  "Please," he said. "As soon as they're out, we'll move. At least we've had our bath."

  "Yeah, and it's only April," Ferret joked. He felt free to comment now. After all, he'd blazed the path across this giant roach hotel, its marshes, cliffs, plains, to the Tslek, the Aldenata box and that godawful river. There'd been two other planets before that, too.

  "We're looking for somewhere to hole up for the day," Shiva said. "We want hard cover and concealment, just in case. Be sharp."

  Once more they moved out, following Gorilla's technobugs.

  No matter their training and experience, this was an arduous mission. All of them were dinged and nicked from the trip so far, all fatigued and near exhaustion from the odd day cycle, higher gravity, strange air and odd environment. All were strained mentally from the risks and possible threats, as well as the incredible aloneness of being the only humans on the planet, the only ones within thirty-five light-years, for all intents the only ones in the universe, for nothing anyone else could do would help them in an emergency. Mundane annoyances like the boring rations and blisters were just teasing flirts to remind them of the rest.

  Then there was Tirdal. Th
e Darhel slogged along steadily, quietly, doing his part and doing it adequately well with no complaints at all. That just made empathizing with him that much harder. That, and he might peer into one's soul. Tirdal was still very much the outcast. No one could get a handle on him, but they weren't much trying, either. If he wound up staying with the team beyond this mission, perhaps that would change. It remained to be seen.

  The introspective and tactical silence was broken by Ferret saying, "I think that might work . . . over there." He lit the area referenced and everyone looked over. It was a large outcropping, still within the trees, with a series of smaller projections lower down the slope.

  "Stay cool," Shiva ordered. "What do you think, sir?"

  Bell Toll waved Ferret forward and moved up to see for himself. "Ought to do fine, Sarge. Bed 'em down."

  "Got it. Ferret and Gorilla, do a perimeter sweep. Gun Doll, cover them from right there," he indicated an outcropping. "Everyone else, dig in."

  Gun Doll sighed in relief as she set her cannon down on its spiky monopod. The gyroscopic stabilizers would keep it steady and level, ready to swing at a touch. That done, she ripped off her helmet and gave her matted hair and the scalp underneath it a good scratch. "Going numb under here," she muttered, barely audibly, to no one. Days of the helmet's mass across the webbing, even with the foam padding she'd added, was a growing distraction. The dandruff didn't bother her, it was just part of the job, and would clean up once home. Besides, there was no one here but the guys.

  Shortly, Gorilla had his sensors out, doubled to act as mines at his order. They were far more expendable now than they had been early on and the potential threats were greater. Equipment was expendable, people were not.

  Shortly, they were in place, the flyer bot sensors atop the rocks, three small killer bots lurking downhill, and the sole surviving pill bug uphill and watching. Shiva directed the troops to individual spots where they'd be hidden but able to provide interlocking fire, and had them roll out their bags. The latrine was dead center for convenience and security. "Not going to be deep, Sarge," Dagger said. "Rocks less than a half meter down, of course."

  "It'll do," he said by way of acknowledgment and dismissal.

  While Shiva handled the housekeeping, Bell Toll examined the artifact. He ran his fingertips over the surface, seeking controls or seams. There were none apparent in this light. Shrugging inwardly, he reached into his gear and pulled out a tracer-transponder. It wasn't really necessary, and he was probably overreacting, but they'd all hate to lose such a prize. It couldn't hurt to mark it, so he did. He slapped it onto a corner and the molecularly thin film of it fused with the artifact's surface and became effectively part of it and invisible.

  Dagger had slipped alongside him, undetected until the last moment. Bell Toll started slightly, but kept it from showing. Dammit, he hated when the sniper did that. He did it just because he could, and it only encouraged him if he thought he'd got one over on you.

  "Yes, Dagger? Are you here to take advantage of the commander's open-door policy?" he asked.

  "Nah, just wanted another gander at the box, sir. I didn't get a good look earlier," he said, moving in close. He was shoulder to shoulder now, and it made Bell Toll uncomfortable. Frankly, he'd rather have Tirdal that close than Dagger. One was unknown, the other a pain.

  "Well, this is the artifact, Dagger. Artifact, meet Dagger," he said, trying to inject some levity into the situation.

  "Charmed," Dagger joked. Hell, he wasn't that bad, Bell Toll thought. Just another kid with something to prove. Give him five years and he'd mellow. When he'd first arrived he'd been all attitude, now it was partly an act. He'd get over it, and if there were opportunities to let him act like a mature person, they should be encouraged.

  Dagger was poring over the device in the growing light. His fingers traced the raised symbols that might be long dead controls, followed the contours and hefting it. "What is it and why is it here?" he asked, mostly to himself.

  "We might never know," Bell Toll said. "Some can be opened inside a stasis field, though some are equipped to self-destruct. Others are unresponsive. The fact that this one still has latent power is a good sign."

  "Any guess what it might be, sir?" Dagger asked, his sharp, perfect eyes still focused on the box, examining every line, every dirt-filled pit.

  "No clue. A ship's control box, unlikely. A base computer, possible, though I'd think they'd have extracted it when the base was abandoned, or an enemy would have seized it. Anything else I couldn't say. I've had briefings, but I'm no expert." He shrugged.

  Dagger shrugged also. "I see what are obviously seams, but I don't see a way to make them budge. We going to take turns humping this?"

  "No, Dagger," Bell Toll replied, smiling. "In this case, the commander will assume the horrible burden of carting the cargo, thus to spare his troops a strain that wasn't in the original plan. Besides, it's my ass if we lose it."

  "Yeah, I could just see that one. 'We found this Aldenata artifact and dropped it in a lake. So sorry. but it really was cool at the time.' I can't see them buying that."

  "Right," Bell Toll chuckled. "Well, I'm going to wrap it back up, so show and tell is over."

  "Right, sir. I'll keep an eye out tonight. And I can set some of my sensors to act as additional alarms if you'd like."

  "Please," he agreed as Dagger walked in a crouch back across to his gear. He reflected that Dagger wasn't so bad when his interests were challenged. It was boredom that made him awkward.

  It was dinnertime again. Hopefully, there'd be few more of those on this patrol. As shifting, flashing sparks of false dawn warned of the coming light, they plowed into their food. Hunger helped and so did long practice, as well as awareness that they'd be out of here in very few sleeps.

  "Tuna again," Gun Doll bitched. "Who eats this crap?"

  "Sorry, Doll," Thor said. "But I'm not swapping my pork fritter."

  "Doesn't matter," she said, resignation and a sigh in her voice. "I'll eat it."

  Dagger said, "Be right back. Gotta drain the vein," as he rose and walked toward the large rock.

  "Why didn't you go in the stream like the rest of us?" Thor joked. Then he wondered why the sniper was walking out past the rocks, and with his rifle. "Hey, Dagger, the slit is over th—"

  As he passed the rock, Dagger grabbed a neural grenade from the pouch on his harness and tossed it back into the middle of the team.

  Chapter 10

  Tirdal felt Dagger's aggression smack him. It was palpable, vicious, and thoroughly emotionless under the surface. The incoming feeling was so strong, it was one of the few visual senses he'd ever had. The feeling hit him and rolled over him, creating a link for a bare fraction of a second. He could feel the callous smirk on his/Dagger's face, see the grenade arc from his/Dagger's hand. The sudden image of a fangar, a predator on Shartan, came through clearly. Dagger was not only committing mass murder, he was enjoying it. It was an intense moment, the sensat equivalent of orgasm, personal and powerful. They were Tirdal's specialty. He couldn't always "feel" people in his area. But he always knew when they were participating in a kill.

  He also knew that there wasn't time to stop it. His punch gun would go right through the boulder the sniper was using as a shield against the neural lash but the grenade was already in the air as the Darhel surged to his feet. Stopping to kill the sniper would just leave the entire team dead on the ground. Their vital information, and the possibly more vital artifact, would never make it back.

  This thought process occurred in an instant and Tirdal knew what he had to do. Saving the team was out of the question; he couldn't reach the grenade and throw it out of range in time. All he could do was avoid the death himself. And keep the box, which had to be Dagger's target, out of the hands of the sniper turned traitor.

  But to do everything that he had to do, it would be necessary to use tal hormones. Which was another problem.

  Tirdal summoned the tal, letting the natural anger at t
he sniper's betrayal slither a tiny tendril past hard-held defenses. The mere touch of anger triggered the tal gland, dumping a modicum of hormone into the Darhel's system and slowing his subjective time and the world around him as he reached for the box.

  The captain was slowly looking at him in consternation but Tirdal didn't pay any attention; the captain, who was a decent person, really, was dead and didn't know it. Tirdal's knife-blade hand struck the officer's wrist, breaking it and releasing the hold on the box.

  As soon as he had the box secured Tirdal turned and dove over the boulder behind him. The whole world seemed to slow as he could see both Shiva's and Gun Doll's looks of horror at the sight of the grenade out of the corners of his eyes. His vision split, one eye tracking on potential threats to the right as the other looked to the left where the grenade was coming in. Humans couldn't do that, he remembered. It might be useful knowledge later.

  He had the box, his punch gun and his combat harness with its small patrol pack. What he didn't have was his rucksack. But as soon as he had the bulk of the granite between him and the grenade he intended to teach the sniper a few things about Darhel.

  One of which was that they really hated traitors. At least Bane Sidhe Darhel did.

  He leapt up and back, and one hand struck the top of the boulder to correct his course with a twist. Fingers tougher than granite left small scars as they drove him forward and down into the tangled undergrowth. The landing would receive no praise from his master, and he felt one shoulder give. But then he was flat on the ground, if somewhat battered, when the neural grenade gave its snarl.

  Breathing slowly and deeply to prevent lintatai, Tirdal spun around on his belly and, carefully controlling his tal reaction, fired back along the line towards the spot the sniper had thrown from. Carefully. He was just shooting boulders and dirt. Not a person. If the person happened to be in the way that would be a pure accident. But not a kill. Never a kill.