Battlefield Earth Part 68

Things were definitely looking up. Certain crimes must be corrected even if the criminal were an old companion!

Chapter 2.

That day had left Terl feeling very optimistic.

It had gone off just like he knew it would. Someone sooner or later was going to get teleportation in operation again on this planet, and with what joy he had found that the animal himself was taking an interest in it!

Terl was a highly trained security chief, the best by his own admission, and he knew all about teleportation. All All about it. about it.

When the animal went over to the Chamco dome, Terl had even pleasantly waited for the shots. They came!

Terl was of two minds about the outcome. He was very pleased there was a fight and that the Chamcos had reacted exactly as predicted, and at the same time he was disappointed the animal had only received a scratched face. It was a difficult emotional conflict to be glad the animal had shot up the Chamcos successfully and to be unhappy to see the animal still hobbling around alive afterward. Well, one couldn't have everything.

He waited for two days for the news that the Chamcos had committed suicide. It finally came to him through the stupid cadet who visited him of an evening. Practicing talking a language required having something to talk about and so Terl got lots of news.

"You know those two Psychlos that used to work over in that dome," said Lars, talking through the barrier and bars. "Well, they put them in a cell down in the dormitory area, and this afternoon, despite a great deal of precautions, the two hung themselves with their chains. Over a crossbeam. They broke their chains apart and made a pair of nooses with them and they hung themselves. They could have escaped maybe, but instead they simply strung themselves up."

"No!" said Terl, pretending he didn't expect just that. "The poor fellows. Must have been hurt terribly badly by the animal. I saw it from here. He just stood there and kept firing into them. When a Psychlo is. .h.i.t too badly and knows he can't recover, he is likely to commit suicide." Which was about as far from the facts as Terl would allow himself to stray. Without breaking down laughing.

"They're giving the sentry and the guard sergeant drumhead court-martials," said Lars. "Probably send them back to Scotland. They're Argylls. Clanargyll, that is."

Terl clicked his fangs in sympathy over this gross injustice and said so.

Lars could agree how unjust authorities could be. But he mustn't go too far. "There's someone here I'd like you to meet. He's very important, a senior Council member. I won't mention his name. He's standing over in the shadows under the pole. Do you see him?"

Terl had seen him the instant he took position over there. He said, "Where?

Oh? What's a senior Council member?"

So Lars-it was great practice for his Psychlo- filled him in on the whole political background that was now functioning. And Terl said, well, certainly he'd talk through his friend the cadet to this very important official, it would be glorious practice for the cadet's Psychlo.

So, using a couple of mine radios (Brown Limper said the glaring lights in front of the cage hurt his eyes and he had had a fever lately), a considerable amount of conversation occurred with Lars in the middle.

Terl gave the politician a lot of very good, "factual" data. The Psychlos were actually a peaceable people, interested in commerce, and here, only in mining. A disaster had occurred a thousand or so years ago that made it possible for the Psychlo company to move in. No, he didn't know what caused the disaster, probably some natural cataclysm. The company had tried to save all the people they could but the inhabitants misunderstood their intentions and hid from the peace missions and rescue teams, and the company, being only a commercial company and not political, had been quite poor and unable to continue with the financial burden of rescue since profits were down and so the whole thing had gone on.

Yes, well, he could say that this animal (Tyler?) had provoked a crisis. Rash? Well, yes, come to think of it, pretty rash. Wild, too. He knew. He had tried to befriend him and now he, Terl, was in a cage- without trial too! But of course his feelings of guilt and desire for repentance were the real reason he wanted to be in the cage. This animal- what did you say its name was? Tyler? He didn't know it had a name; it was very secretive, bad-tempered in fact. Well, look what he had done to Terl's two best friends just a couple of days ago, and they had been so badly injured they had now committed suicide.

Oh, indeed the Psychlos were very peace-loving people. Honest, kind, good to their friends. Trustworthy. He, himself, made it a rule of his life never to betray a trust.

What? Oh, yes, it was too bad this animal Tyler didn't have the principles and morals of a Psychlo. Yes, he agreed someone should have taught him to be honest and upright when he was young.

Oh, no, the Psychlos would never think of counterattacking. They weren't a military nation and Intergalactic was only a mining company, only interested in struggling along and staying at peace with the universe. Badly misunderstood people, the Psychlos.

After they left, Lars was very gratified at all the Pyschlo practice he had had, and the shadow under the pole was seemingly desirous of further conversations. Terl hugged himself enough to crush his rib bones.

He would get off Earth, that was for sure. His plans were really sparking! What a lucky break. He would have made it without the break, but how easy it all became. He was not only going to get home to his gold, he was going to blow this planet out of the sky. And he was going to take a prisoner with him. They had air chambers on Psychlo. They could question a captive from almost any system for weeks- and very painful weeks they were. Yes, he'd take a prisoner. Not this silly cadet who knew nothing, not that crooked self-serving politician who was too c.r.a.p-brained to know valuable information from trash, not the animal Tyler since he could be awfully dangerous...well, maybe Tyler if he had no success with anyone else. But it better be somebody else, somebody who would know all their plans and military preparedness...who?

Terl was hugging his ribs to keep from laughing with delight. He didn't want the sentry to log something about his conduct. Maybe the sentry would think he had a stomachache.

Oh, it was too much!

His professors were absolutely right. He was easily the greatest officer they had ever trained!

The laughs finally erupted from him but the guard had changed by then and the new sentry thought he was just being more insane than usual. There was nothing in the log except that that cadet had been there for a routine visit to practice talking Psychlo. The new sentry walked about. He had an odd feeling of foreboding. Had the summer night turned cold? Or was it just that insane laughter from the cage?

Chapter 3.

"We," said Jonnie, "are going to Africa."

Dr. MacKendrick looked up from his task of removing the cast from Thor's arm, a little startled.

All the wounded Scots but Thor had left the underground hospital; Thor's arm had had to be rebroken and set but now it was fine, and with Thor gone, the hospital would be empty save for Jonnie. Dr. Allen had returned to Scotland to care for his practice and Dr. MacKendrick had been thinking of doing so as well.

As he finished cracking off the cast, Dr. MacKendrick said, "We"

"Yes," said Jonnie. "You are a bone man but you are also a neurosurgeon, I think they call it."

Dr. MacKendrick looked at the tall young man, standing there leaning on his cane. He liked this young man. He liked him very much. His practice was being run at home by a competent young doctor and he supposed that arrangement could continue. He had thought a little vacation might be appropriate before taking up his tools in the Aberdeen cave. But Africa?

Thor was flexing his arm, looking very pleased. MacKendrick told him all about what exercises he must now do to keep his muscles from collapsing. It looked like a pretty good job of bone-setting this time.

Jonnie beckoned and MacKendrick followed him as he hobbled into a sickroom Jonnie had been using as an office. An old operating table was covered with papers, photographs and books.

"I need some dead Psychlos and I need some live Pyschlos," said Jonnie.

Thor, in the doorway, laughed. "I shouldn't think you'd have any trouble with the dead ones. There's nearly a thousand somewhere around the compound."

"Sorry," said Jonnie. "They dumped them in a mile-deep mine shaft and the shaft is so shaky it's a risk to fly down it. I've spent the whole last week looking for dead Psychlos."

"There is the Chamco pair," said Dr. MacKendrick.

"Sorry again," said Jonnie. "The Council for some reason of its own had the bodies burned."

"Just what is the problem here?" said Dr. MacKendrick.

"You ever stop to wonder why the Intergalactic Mining Company always shipped bodies home? They don't want dead Pyschlos lying about."

"The parson," said Thor, "cut up the pair we found in the plane."

"He wasn't looking for what I'm looking for," said Jonnie.

Dr. MacKendrick smiled. "Autopsies on dead Psychlos. Jonnie, it wouldn't be a full day unless you astonished me with something." He was referring to an incident a week ago when he was sewing up Jonnie's cheek: the needle had been a little dull, and Jonnie in reflex had reached up with his right hand and gripped his wrist to make him ease off.

MacKendrick had felt a bit contrite about the arm and leg; he had feared that he might have injured something when he operated. But the sudden movement of the arm and hand had told him that it was a matter of getting back into communication rather than physical damage: Jonnie had tried to do it again voluntarily and couldn't. "Must be like learning to wiggle your ears," Jonnie had said. "All you have to do is find the right muscles to pull, and how." MacKendrick supposed he really should stay around and help Jonnie recover.

"Well," said MacKendrick, motivated more by the possibility of being able to help Jonnie's arm and leg than by any real interest in autopsies on dead Psychlos, "I guess I could go along. But why Africa?"

Jonnie smiled and beckoned Thor nearer. "There's a live, operating, untouched Psychlo mine there!"

Thor gasped. "We missed?"

"It isn't a full-fledged minesite. It is a branch mine of the central minesite near what used to be called 'Lake Victoria.' Here." And he showed them on the map. "Over to the west of there, way deep in jungle, there was-and is- a tungsten mine. The Psychlos are mad for tungsten." He circled an area. "All this is jungle. On the pictures it looks like tall, tall trees, making a total umbrella. Thousands of years of growth. A recon drone doesn't even penetrate into that vast area of swamp.

"We chose our targets from recon drone maps. And yes, we missed. It 's my bet they're still sitting there listening to the strange chatter on the pilot planetary, keeping their furry Psychlo heads down and waiting for a chance to break out.

Thor smiled. "That's sort of grim, Jonnie. We go down and shoot them just to get some dead bodies."

"I don't want just dead bodies, I also want some live ones. There's a graduate engineer or six at every minesite."

"And what," asked MacKendrick, "are these autopsies supposed to show?"

"I don't know," said Jonnie. "So will you gather up your scalpels and come along?"

"You're not telling me everything," said Dr. MacKendrick.

"Well, as a matter of fact," said Jonnie, "I'm not. This is very secret. We will state we are going to make a tour of some tribes. And if you go, Thor, you can even visit some, and pretend to be me the way you used to at the lode."

"This sounds very hush-hush," said MacKendrick.

"It is," said Jonnie.

Jonnie had not liked the way things were going with the Council. It was pa.s.sing lots of laws- one couldn't keep up- and he wasn't invited there anymore.

"And you're trying to solve-?" said MacKendrick.

"Why the Chamcos committed suicide," said Jonnie. And why he was making no progress trying to untangle the mathematics of teleportation. For a week now he had been going round and round and getting nowhere. He didn't know exactly what he was looking for, but it had to be there whatever it was.

"So Africa?" said Jonnie.

"Africa," said Thor.

"Well, Africa," said Dr. MacKendrick.

Chapter 4.

The big battle plane lanced through the skies over the Atlantic. It was a type used for company marines and had seats for fifty Psychlos with s.p.a.ce and lift capacity for tons of weaponry and gear. Jonnie in the pilot's seat flew easily and relaxed, flying with his left hand, straight on course.

Big as the plane was, they had had trouble keeping it from getting overloaded. It was all secret and would remain so. There would be no leaks. But friends and a small amount of activity attracted attention to them.

Dunneldeen had shown up with five Scots- just happened by that day from their regular run to Scotland. Colonel Ivan, whose total force was about eighty valiant-red-army Cossacks, had to be persuaded to leave half of them taking care of the base. Angus, just an hour before departure from the heliport, had casually plunked about a hundred pounds of tools into the back and quietly sat down, uninvited. A rather fearful stack of weapons and explosives had magically appeared in the hands of four of the original Scots led by Dwight. Dr. MacKendrick seemed to have brought anything he thought he ever might need in any practice.

There had been a bit of a flap just before take-off. Pattie, it seemed, had found the true love of her life in Bittie MacLeod and they wouldn't have known Bittie was also aboard except that Pattie came rushing down the stairs to the heliport to kiss him a childishly tearful goodbye. Chrissie had said nothing, feeling bad. But suddenly an old woman had come up with Chrissie's possessions and taken her in tow, and it turned out Robert the Fox was putting them on a regular run to Scotland. His family wanted to meet Chrissie, he explained. And then Pattie had to be packed up and sent with them. Then they were just closing the door when they had to open it again to take in Robert the Fox, complete with cloak and claymore.

Then just as they were pa.s.sing the eastern coast of what had been the United States, two battle planes had shown up, and it turned out to be Glencannon and three other pilots. "Just finished with our regular ferrying runs, and where are you going, we have enough ammunition and fuel," on the local command radio channel.

They also had a Coordinator who was an expert on Africa and spoke French.

It was not, Robert the Fox said reprovingly in Jonnie's ear, walking up the wide aisle from the back, the best planned raid he had ever partic.i.p.ated in. And where was Jonnie going?

The Coordinator was a young lad called David Fawkes. He had recovered from having a Russian drag him out of bed before dawn, jumble his possessions into a bundle and his reference books into a pack, and spirit him to the plane. Sitting with the copilot and next to Jonnie, the Coordinator was babbling away happily.

"We have an operation going in that part of Africa. I think it used to be called the 'rain forest.' So if this is all hush-hush, you better stay clear of the Federation unit operating there. We didn't know there was a minesite up north of there."

"You're lucky you didn't get your heads blown off," said Robert the Fox, leaning over the back of the copilot seat.

"Well, you see," said David Fawkes, "we're not really a war unit. We don't operate like that. This is the first time we've felt a need for such hardware, as you raiders call it."

"You mean you were going to fight Psychlos?" said Sir Robert.

"Oh, no, no," was the quick response. "The Brigantes. Usually tribes are so happy to see us they're delirious but-"

"What's a Brigante?" said Robert the Fox. This certainly wasn't a well-researched, well-planned raid. He didn't even know their target or purpose.

Well, it turned out that the "Brigantes," as they called themselves, were a pretty strange lot. A Coordinator had been dropped into a ruined city in that area to see whether anybody was alive and he'd almost gotten blown to bits with a grenade.

"Grenade?" said Robert the Fox. "Psychlos don't use grenades."

Well, they knew that. This was a pooler grenade. Smoking powder, bright orange flash. And then the Coordinator was about to do battle with a club while bellowing into his radio for help when a very old man crawled out of a wrecked bas.e.m.e.nt and apologized in French.

He was a very tattered old man, on his last pins. He'd been left to die by his squad because he was old now and couldn't keep up. Turned out he called himself a Brigante. He thought the Coordinator was a Psychlo at first glimpse. Then he saw he was human and now thought the Coordinator was part of a relief team sent by the bank.

"The what?" from both Thor and Sir Robert.

Well, seems like they had some kind of legend that they would be relieved by somebody, and they'd held onto it for over a thousand years. Incredible they could keep a tradition going that long- "What exactly," demanded Sir Robert, liking his information a little more crisp, "is a Brigante?"