by Jake Elwood
“Are they gone?” said Ham.
“Probably,” Alice told him. “We'll leave the engines off for a while, just in case.”
Ham said, “Won't they keep hunting us?”
Alice shrugged. “They would expect us to bug out. Ships the size of ours don't usually hang around when they run into a cruiser. And they'll be wondering what we're up to. Early scouts for an incoming attack? Or are we a decoy intended to lure them away while another ship raids the planet?” She shook her head. “No, I don't think they'll keep looking for us. Not unless the Dawn Alliance has got a lot of ships in the system.”
Ham nodded, the furrows on his forehead easing. He frightened easily, but he had a way of setting his fear aside that Alice respected. In fact, she envied him the ability.
Bridger tapped at his console, then twisted in his chair to look at the others. “Well, we're moving toward the planet at a pretty good clip. By my calculations, we should get there in slightly under three standard years.”
Alice smiled. “I think we can shave a little time off your estimate. We'll do a prolonged scan, and if we don't see too much ship activity, we'll do another short leg in hyperspace. We've drawn their attention to this side of the system. We'll pop out on the other side of the planet and see what we can see.”
Chapter 19
Santiago died just before noon.
There was no way to bury him. They had no tools, and not much strength. Santiago had walked at first, moving slower and slower. Finally they took turns carrying him piggyback. It made for slow progress, and when he slid into unconsciousness they had to put him down.
Bernard and Kuzyk were trying to make a stretcher when Kabir announced that Santiago was no longer breathing. The rest of the men gathered around, and Tom gave a short, awkward speech praising the man for his courage and sacrifice.
He didn't say what most of them had to be thinking. That it was good luck for the rest of them that Santiago had died quickly. That they would make better time without his weight dragging them down. But if he had died sooner, fewer of his comrades might be murdered back at Camp One.
That it didn't matter anyway, because all of them were doomed.
They left Santiago stretched out on his back, hands clasped over his stomach, a leaf covering his face. It was all they could do. Tom turned away from the body, his thoughts churning in dark circles. I crossed a line I never should have crossed. I did it for these men. And they're dying anyway. I've done something awful, and it's for nothing.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he looked around, startled. It was a degree of familiarity that enlisted men just didn't show to officers.
Cooper said, “He died a free man, Lieutenant. If it was me … Well, I would want to die out here on the run.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Not back there, working for them.”
Tom nodded, and they started to walk.
They took turns leading the way, using the distant mesa as their landmark. Whoever went first got the machete. At times it was essential, as vines and brush blocked their path. At other times they were able to walk for long stretches without using the machete at all. The jungle canopy formed a green roof overhead, plunging the ground into gloom. Nothing grew in that shadowy space between tree trunks, and they walked unimpeded.
Tom kept waiting for another man to collapse. He made sure there was always a healthy man bringing up the rear, and he kept glancing back, expecting the worst.
They stopped frequently for rest breaks, and every time they stopped, they ate. Their hunger was insatiable. They would eat until their stomachs were full, and an hour later they'd be hungry again.
Tom thought about rationing their food. After so many endless weeks of near starvation, though, he couldn't bear to deny himself or the men a meal. The food was heavy, too. So they ate, and made their burden lighter with every meal.
And as they walked, their pace increased. The food helped. The fever medication helped. Hope helped. They were free men, for the moment at least, and it filled them with exhilaration. No matter how weary they were, no matter how depleted their strength, they all had a restless energy.
The jungle was riddled with streams and pools, and they started carrying less water. The risk of a stomach bug from untreated jungle water was pretty high, but they would be off the planet or dead before they had time to get very sick. So they drink their fill, and ate their fill, and smiled at one another as they walked.
When night fell they talked briefly of trying to walk in the dark. Exhaustion stopped them, and they stretched out under the trees. Tom considered posting a guard, but if soldiers came, what could they do?
He let the men sleep.
In the morning Kabir made his rounds with the injector. He said, “We'll keep the rest, in case someone else gets sick, but these guys won't need another shot. They're all getting better.”
“That's good news.” Tom looked over at O'Reilly and lowered his voice. “How is his arm?”
Kabir shrugged. “He really needs a hospital. He needs surgery. His infection's under control, but he's still got dead tissue in there.” Kabir lifted his hands helplessly. “This is way beyond anything they trained me for. I'll keep giving him antibiotics. That's all I know how to do.”
“Good enough,” Tom said, and they resumed their walk.
It rained during the morning, quite a deluge by the sound of it, but the jungle canopy made a surprisingly good rain cover. There were places where the rain came through in a cataract, but for the most part it was like walking through a gentle shower. The ground grew damp, but not really muddy. Someone said, “I forgot to smash that damn wheelbarrow before we left. I hate that bloody thing.” The others laughed, and the trek continued.
In the early afternoon Cooper said, “Maybe they're not after us yet.”
“I bet our guards were calling in every morning,” said Kuzyk. “They've been hunting us since yesterday.”
“What if they didn't check in every day?” said Cooper. “Maybe they don't know. Maybe it's too late now. Whatever they detect with those hand trackers, maybe it's all gone by now.” He gestured upward at the canopy of trees. “They sure can't spot us from orbit. Maybe we're free and clear.”
“They're after us all right,” Kuzyk said darkly. “They'll catch up with us any time now, too.”
Cooper said, “If they're hunting us, where are they? It's not like we're moving fast.”
“They're on foot too,” Kuzyk said. “And using those scanners. It slows them down.” He hefted the machete. “They'll reach us today. The key is to put up enough of a fight that they kill us clean.”
But the day wore on and no one appeared in the trees behind them. They hiked, keeping a wary eye behind them, and at last the ground began to rise. As night fell they reached the edge of the trees and stared up at the sheer side of the mesa.
Reese shook his head. “How the hell are we going to get up that?”
“It will be easy,” Tom told him. “Wait until the sun rises. You'll see.”
The men seemed to accept this completely baseless reassurance. They retreated to the trunk of a forest giant and stretched out on the ground.
“I'm keeping watch,” Kuzyk announced.
Tom, his initial optimism tempered by weariness and a rising fear, nodded his agreement. “We'll take turns. Wake me up in a couple of hours.”
He surprised himself by falling asleep immediately. It seemed to him that the situation should be stressful, but he felt almost carefree. After endless weeks of doing nothing while men around him died by degrees, he had finally made a choice and taken action. He felt strangely at peace as he stretched out and closed his eyes, only to open them what seemed like a moment later as Kuzyk touched his shoulder.
“It's all quiet so far, Sir,” Kuzyk murmured, handing Tom the machete. “If you listen to the bugs it’ll tell you if anyone is approaching.”
The jungle hummed as Tom sat with his back against the trunk of a tree. The men breathed. Some of them snored. Leaves rustled abov
e them as a gentle breeze blew. And insects, just as Kuzyk had said, raised their voices in a constant background susurration.
The bugs must have been there all along, Tom supposed. They simply went unnoticed when the world was awake and full of distractions. Now, with no company but his own thoughts, Tom was alive to every buzz and flutter of wings.
When he caught himself almost dozing he rose and walked around the tree. The sound of the insects changed as he moved, the bugs falling silent as he approached and gradually starting up again behind him. No one would sneak up on the escapees. Not while someone was awake and paying attention.
He couldn't see the leaves above him. The sky was simply black. He found himself eager to climb the mesa. If we're still free tomorrow night, we'll see the stars.
That was as far ahead as he cared to look. For the moment all of them were well fed, reasonably healthy, and above all, free.
For the moment, that was good enough.
In the morning they climbed.
At first it was easy – for about ten minutes. The slope grew steep, and soon it was almost vertical. However, the side of the mesa was far from smooth. The rock had broken and crumbled until it almost resembled a staircase. Clambering up was laborious but not complicated.
Tom's instinct was to go last, so he could keep an eye on everyone. It was clear, however, that the men were looking out for each other. Tom decided not to insult them by double-checking, and led the way instead.
The men who were recovering from fever had a tough time, stopping frequently to rest and catch their breath. O'Reilly was the worst off. His right arm wasn't good for much. He hauled himself up with his left as best he could, but he quickly became the pacesetter for the group.
Each time they stopped, Tom scanned the jungle behind and below. He could see nothing through the canopy, so he switched to checking the base of the mesa directly below them and searching the skies. He saw no flitters racing in to deliver troops, no trackers taking aim at them from below.
Still, the guards would be coming. He could feel it in his bones.
When the sun was directly overhead they stopped for lunch, sitting on half a dozen crumbled steps and ridges. Not much food remained. Tom set aside enough for a celebratory snack when they reached the top, and distributed the rest.
They were well past halfway, but moving slower with every passing hour. O'Reilly was almost done in, his face a mask of grim concentration. Cooper and Reese didn't look much better. Tom wished he could give them all a good rest.
Instead, he stood up and resumed climbing.
In the afternoon the sun moved past the mesa top and put them in shadow. It was a nice break from the heat, aided by a freshening breeze. The breeze grew stronger as they climbed, though, until Tom's baggy uniform flapped around his emaciated body. The wind felt like urgent fingers tugging at him, threatening to pluck him from the side of the mesa and hurl him down to the unyielding ground far below.
A cry caught his attention, and he looked down in time to see Champlain pushing O'Reilly more firmly against the rock. O'Reilly clung for a moment, then resumed climbing.
Tom climbed and cursed the treacherous, dangerous wind – until the rain began. Then he realized the wind hadn't been much of a hardship at all. Water blinded him when he looked up. It made the rock slick under his hands and feet. It chilled him, making his fingers numb and clumsy. And when he kicked a rock loose, the patter of raindrops obscured the sound so the men below him had no warning. They spread out, shifting left and right so that no one climbed directly below anyone else.
Tom's arms and legs were trembling by the time he reached a wide fissure in the rock with nothing visible above him but fat clouds. He told himself he wasn't at the top. This was an aberration, an irregularity in the structure of the mesa. He mustn't get his hopes up. The top had to be at least an hour away.
Still, his hopes rose in spite of himself as he flopped down on a natural stone bench. One by one the others reached him and took seats on either side, or clambered onto flat-topped chunks of rock around him.
Finally O'Reilly reached the fissure, Kuzyk at his elbow. O'Reilly didn't speak, just sagged against a boulder and gasped for breath. Kuzyk looked around, grinned, and said, “Are we at the top?”
“I don't know,” Tom said, and stood. “I'll go take a look.”
He clambered upward, hope and dread battling within him, and at last pulled himself up to the top of the cleft. A rock the size of his head came loose and bounced away behind him, and he heard men curse as they scrambled out of the way.
He didn't care.
A flat plain stretched before him. There was nothing left to climb. He was at the top of the mesa.
The plateau was a couple of hundred meters across, roughly oval with jagged gaps like the cleft he had just climbed. There was soil up there, a thin layer that supported scruffy weeds and waist-high shrubs. Water stood in stagnant puddles, or cut rivulets through the dirt as it flowed toward the edge. No trees grew. They would be exposed to rain and wind, but at least they would not have to climb.
“Well,” said Kabir behind him, “there's no ship waiting for us.”
Tom turned and gave him a rueful grin. “It was a long shot.” He looked back at the cleft, where the men who had reached the top were helping the rest over the last step. He wasn't needed.
“What now?” Kabir said.
“First we explore our new domain. Then we get ready to defend it.”
The top of the mesa held an abundant supply of crumbling stone. They used it to make a rampart, a wall in a curving half-circle in front of the cleft where they had climbed up. It was the most likely place for trackers to appear. They worked until nightfall, and by the time they were done the wall stood waist-high. It was enough to block the wind, and when they laid down shoulder to shoulder there was just enough space for everyone to share this meager shelter. There was no protection at all from the rain, but shared body warmth helped, and eventually Tom managed to sleep.
By morning the rain had stopped, but the cloud cover persisted. Tom walked to the edge of the mesa, urinated into the void, then stood there, staring out across the jungle.
A boot scuffed against stone behind him and O'Reilly said, “Lousy weather we’re having.”
“Well, we won't get sunburned.”
O'Reilly said, “If there's a ship up there hoping to rescue us, they won't be able to see us.”
“Maybe.” There were scanners that could see through cloud, and the sky would clear eventually. “I have a job for you.”
“Sure, Lieutenant.”
“I want you to gather small rocks or whatever else you can find.” Tom looked at his own shoulder where he used to wear the proud sunburst of the United Worlds Navy. He was surprised by how much he missed it. “I need you to write me a note.”
The others moved rocks as well. Gravity was almost their only weapon, so they put stockpiles of stones along the lip of the cleft. Men circled the plateau, found other likely routes, and put stockpiles of rocks there as well, everything from fist-sized stones to massive chunks of rock that a man would barely be able to lift.
They built up the rampart until it was chest-high, and put stockpiles of rock inside the half-circle. Then they continued the wall until they had a circular fort with a narrow doorway.
By early afternoon the men were exhausted and the defenses were as ready as they were ever going to be. O'Reilly starburst was a dozen paces across. Lookouts stood at half a dozen points around the perimeter of the mesa. The rest of the men stayed close to the fort.
After that, there was nothing to do but wait.
Chapter 20
“I see two major installations and maybe nine smaller ones. But only two spots that look like they're populated.” Ham had the entire galley tabletop activated, showing images taken from long-range scans of Gamor. He had a surprising affinity for interpreting visual data. Alice could have stared at the scans for hours without spotting even the biggest active site
on the planet.
“Both big installations are on the large island,” he went on. “About a hundred kilometers apart. Everything else is natural.”
That rankled her. She'd been quite proud of herself when she spotted a square shape in the dunes of a smaller island. Ham was certain it was a naturally-occurring rock formation. “You're sure?” she said. “Never mind. Of course you're sure. You don't fire your rockets without fuel.”
He nodded, pleased at the compliment. “Both sites have the same layout, just on a different scale. A lot of identical rectangular buildings surrounded by a fence, and another fenced-off area with a few more buildings. It's almost certainly where prisoners are being held.
“The smaller sites are some kind of construction project. Probably a large-scale scanning system. If it was up and running, we'd have already been spotted.”
“That's not good,” Alice muttered. She wanted to call Bridger and ask him if the two ships they'd spotted so far were doing anything. She knew him, though. He'd let her know if anything changed.
The light cruiser that had chased them when they first arrived was on a continuous patrol of the system. It was working a spiraling search pattern that would bring it dangerously close to the Evening Breeze in about eighteen hours. By the time the cruiser spotted them, they'd be much too close to make a clean escape. She had to move soon. If she used the engines to change her course and buy more time she might catch the attention of the cruiser even sooner. But that was a problem for later.
At least the other ship was no threat, not unless she flew right up to it. A support ship tumbled around Gamor in a distant orbit. It was impressive-looking, a huge thing almost the size of a battleship, but it would have minimal armaments, and scanners no better than what the Evening Breeze had. Support ships carried vast reserves of fuel, medical and dental bays, and holds full of food and ammunition. She guessed it was here to support the forces on the ground, and to act as a moveable supply base for any Dawn Alliance ship in the area. If she stayed long enough she'd probably see ships drop in through portals, dock for a time with the supply ship, and move on.
