Genellan: Planetfall Part 24

"Can't be far. Maybe a kilometer." MacArthur glanced sideways into the falling snow. The nagging feeling would not leave.

"We're too spread out," he said. "I want the rear closed up. Let's take over the rear guard from O'Toole. I'm putting O'Toole with Chastain. Tatum's really slowing us down."

A single rifle shot sounded from the head of the column. Burping automatic fire followed, shattering the cottony stillness. MacArthur turned and lunged ahead with Buccari in his wake. Growls reverberated in the air. As he came even with Tatum, he saw five wraithlike apparitions, their paws throwing up a furious churning of snow, charging the column from the opposite side. Tatum and his attendants blocked his line of fire. MacArthur dove behind the men, plunging into the dry snow, and fired a burst into the black-rimmed maw of the closest beast. Buccari's carbine stuttered over his head. Another nightmare fell. Chastain stumbled, dropping Tatum facedown in the snow. Someone screamed! Hudson drew his pistol as two ferocious animals rammed into him, jaws snapping for flesh. MacArthur rose to a knee and fired a round into the closest beast, knocking it squealing and whimpering. Chastain stepped forward and grabbed the other growler by its thick scruff and heaved it into the air. The agile, twisting beast landed on its feet and withdrew.

The other growlers swerved at the rifle reports but maintained their attack. Snarling animals leapt for Chastain's hamstrings. A burst from Buccari's carbine hit one growler in the shoulder, knocking it down, but the remaining beast struck at Chastain's b.u.t.tocks and drew blood. Chastain went to his knees. Hudson, already on the ground, put his pistol behind the growler's ear and squeezed off two rounds. The growler fell dead.

MacArthur leapt to his feet. Hudson, clothing torn and bloodied, attended to Chastain, helping the big man stagger to his feet. As Buccari rolled Tatum' s snow-covered form face up, more rifle fire exploded from the rear of the column.

Explosions of death sticks reverberated along the cliffs. Braan and Craag, bows drawn, rushed into the snow. Kuudor deployed two sections of archers and called up the next watch. With nothing further to do, he drew his bow and marched forward, confident his sentries would stand their ground.

The reports from the death sticks were louder, the frenetic explosions coming in desultory bursts and random single shots, all m.u.f.fled by the deadening snowfall. Shouts and screams wafted through the flurries, the long-legs' rumbling voices growing louder and louder. Sentries gave the alert-movement had been seen. The first hulking form appeared; it was colossal, and it carried the limp form of a fallen comrade. Two others followed closely behind, their heavy bodies sinking in the snow. They were startled by the cliff dwellers. One giant shouted, signaling his own warriors not to their point death sticks at the hunters.

"Craag! Guide them!" Braan ordered. "We will help those that follow."

The next group came out of the blizzard-another injured one attended by three heavily burdened long-legs intent on keeping the hurt one moving. There was much shouting and screaming. Confused, the long-legs stumbled and fell in the deep snow. Kuudor bravely approached, grabbing one by the hand. Two of the longlegs, seeing cliff dwellers and sensing safety was near, left the injured ones and returned toward the gunfire, all the while shouting with their booming voices. Braan followed them into the unyielding whiteness.

From out of the dusk-darkened snowfall came the largest of the long-legs. He was injured, leaving a trail of blood and staggering ponderously through the powder. He also struggled with the limp form of an injured comrade. The two long-legs returning to the fray relieved him of his burden, leaving the giant standing unsteadily, looking lost. Braan was concerned he might fall, but more long-legs came out of the flurries; two grabbed the big one's arms and pushed him forward, supporting his great weight. A third one took his rifle and turned to face the rear, maintaining a guard. Another long-legs advancing from the snows appeared; they retreated together.

More shots, near! Craag was at his side, and Kuudor, bows drawn and ready. And more shots! Brilliant flashes of orange! The cliff dwellers flinched and recoiled at the barking death sticks. Growls! Snarling growlers! The hunters smelled the deadly animals despite the chemical reek of death stick magic. The scent of blood was also strong, as snowflakes drifted gently downwards, serenely oblivious to the carnage.

"Fall back, Lieutenant! Fall back!" MacArthur shouted. "O'Toole! Boats! Who else is still here? Shout your name and close up!"

No answer. It was just the four of them, formed into a tight huddle, their backs together. They knew that cliff dwellers were close by. They had made it! Almost made it-the four of them still needed to break off the engagement. They could not turn and run.

"Keep moving. O'Toole! Watch our backs and lead the way," MacArthur ordered. "Do you see anything? Any cliff dwellers?"

"Not yet. Which way do we go, Mac?" O'Toole asked helplessly.

MacArthur glanced at his compa.s.s, trying to hold it steady. Uncertain, he pointed in a general direction. They could be marching off the cliff for all he knew.

Growlers exploded from the blizzard. Buccari' s carbine and Jones' pistol barked viciously and were quickly joined by the lower-pitched and angry reports of MacArthur's and O'Toole's heavy automatics. Only two of the growlers survived to close the gap, and one of those was dispatched with MacArthur' s bayonet. The last growler fell to the ground with three arrows in its throat. The firing stopped. The humans stared at the shaft-studded growler and looked about for the unseen archers.

Fur-shrouded cliff dwellers materialized, bows drawn and arrows nocked. One of them approached and indicated with a sharp gesture they should follow.

"It's Captain!" MacArthur shouted, recognizing the dweller leader by his manner and gait. "Follow him!"

The hunters turned and ambled over the snow, their broad feet keeping their light bodies from sinking. The humans followed, struggling to keep pace, eyes scanning the snowy gloom.

Chapter 27.

War It had gotten extremely late. Runacres was escorted from the inner offices of the west wing to the empty lobby of the deserted a.s.sembly forum. Only janitors puttered about, attempting to bring order to the hallowed chambers of that last bastion of democracy on Earth, such as it was. Runacres proceeded to the east entrance alone. He knew the way well. His footfalls on the lacquered floor echoed from the mahogany paneling and high-ceilings of the interminable corridors. His pace was measured, neither quick nor slow, but then again gravity was a nuisance. Of habit he enjoyed reviewing the yellowed oils of ancient leaders and war heroes hanging from the walls, along with mildewed draperies and innumerable faded, dusty campaign banners and flags. The glorious past.

He entered the east wing rotunda "Guard! Attennn-huttt!" the captain barked. Elite troops of the Alberta Brigade in chromed helmets cracked explosively to attention. Runacres pulled on his thick reefer, donned his heavily braided cap, and tossed a s.p.a.cer salute, flipping a hand from the cap brim, neat and quick, unlike the chest-thumping, fist-in-the-air salute of the Legion Federation Peacekeepers. Runacres laughed at the irony of that appellation as he stomped into the snowy night.

Night reigned over Edmonton, but there was precious little darkness. Arc lights illuminated the capital mall, all the way to the distant Defense Ministry, in which he had labored the past months. Armed patrols in combat fatigues, some leading dogs, crisscrossed the grounds. Other than ground-wire trolleys, there were no powered vehicles within the administration perimeter. Runacres elected to make the short walk to the General Officers' Club, a refreshing prospect after so many hours in closet session. Jupiter, he hated politics! His planet was dying.

He glanced at his watch; it was two hours after than their agreed-upon meeting time, but he knew they would be waiting. He walked through the bra.s.s and teak lobby of the officers' club and into the secluded apartments reserved for the occasion. Sarah Merriwether stood at the window watching snow fall softly through the harsh glare. The others, cl.u.s.tered on leather sofas near the fireplace, jumped to their feet-all except Ca.s.sy Quinn who remained seated, staring at the floor. A magnificent oil of an ancient sail-powered dreadnought heeling to the wind hung above the mantel.

"We're going," Runacres announced stolidly. "The president wants us on that planet. We've been authorized to use all available means." He looked around the silent room, not knowing what to expect, anything except silence. Quinn looked up at the ceiling, her eyes glistening in the firelight.

"I'll get the word out, Admiral," Wells replied, putting on his winter cap. "We have a few logistic problems to iron out."

"More than a few, Franklin. Get on it," he said, turning to face the geologist. "Commander Quinn, your report was the hammer. The president's advisors swallowed the hook. You are to be commended. I know how hard you worked for this."

"Thank you, Admiral," Quinn replied, color just starting to flow into her face. "I really believe my-h-how soon, sir?"

"Of course you do, Ca.s.sy," Runacres replied. "We'll have to see how quickly Commodore Wells can crank up the refit. Not sooner than three months, probably more like six. We must be prepared to do battle."

Muzzle blasts from heavy artillery thundered across the land. Pig-snouted cannons erupted, hurling hunks of demon iron screaming through tortured skies, and distant, low-pitched explosions beat an arrhythmic dirge day and night. Black clouds of greasy smoke tumbled skyward from hideously orange tongues of flame raking the brutalized horizon. Joined in mortal combat were the konish armies of north and south. Devastation spread, and word of war flew in the wind. Millions of panicked civilians and thousands of furtive soldiers fled southward, forming endless refugee columns, filled with despair and absent hope.

Gorruk' s hordes poured into the cratered and torched salients. They did not appear to be conquerors. Parched and blackened by sun, the troops of the north were also refugees, fleeing from the unmerciful heat and winds of their forced march across the arid sands. The soldiers stumbled forward, relentlessly, knowing too well the searing tribulation behind them; they would rather die attacking the unknown than to repeat the ordeal of the deserts. As the dehydrated hordes reached the pitiful tributaries draining the contested lands, they would raise immense cheers and stampede the feeble watercourses, falling and wallowing in muddy ditches like cattle. Their footholds established, the northern armies flowed inexorably southward, supported by ma.s.sive logistics convoys. Engineers, ruthlessly employing prisoners, struggled to erect rail systems spanning the deserts, striving desperately to complete their slave-driving atrocities before the weather systems returned to normal, reverting the deserts to impa.s.sable infernos.

The southern tribes put aside argument and rivalry. Gorruk' s daring invasion eclipsed petty trade and boundary squabbles, putting in their stead a full blown threat to their very existence. Jook' s iron-fisted general did not subscribe to civilized conventions of warfare. To Gorruk, all war-by definition-was total war. Torture, genocide, plunder, the torch-all of these, and more, were weapons in his a.r.s.enal of terror. The kones of the south were victims of their own complacency. The equatorial deserts had not been the ultimate barrier after all. Madmen knew no barriers.

"Rather obvious, is it not?" Et Kala.s.s asked wryly. He stared from his fourth-story penthouse overlooking the regimental parade field. Lovely orange-blossomed kotta kotta trees lined the gra.s.s-covered fields. The atmosphere was thick with particulates and smog-as usual. The muted sky, clear of clouds, yet still murky, was tinted almond, complementing the bright blossoms. trees lined the gra.s.s-covered fields. The atmosphere was thick with particulates and smog-as usual. The muted sky, clear of clouds, yet still murky, was tinted almond, complementing the bright blossoms.

"Perhaps we can argue our way clear, Your Excellency," said his militia commander, General Et Ralfkra. "We can say that the satellites were possibly defective-or already sabotaged, built with time bombs installed. There is no proof they were destroyed at our hand."

"Proof is rarely a weapon of justice, certainly not of the ilk served by our friend Gorruk," said the ancient kone lounging in the corner.

"Our wise and worthy Samamkook is correct, of course," Et Kala.s.s said. "We may have to relent, or we will surely be purged. How goes Gorruk' s latest attack?" Et Kala.s.s turned his attention from the window, back to the long wall of his office suite upon which strategic maps were arrayed.

"He has broken out to the west, along the Ma.s.sif of Rouue. Et Barbluis is ready for him at the highlands. They will engage at day's end."

"So many to die!" the minister moaned. "When will we be free of this?"

"With the Restoration, m'lord!" the general replied, too loudly.

"It is dangerous to flatter ourselves," Samamkook said.

"Truth and freedom were in our past," Et Ralfkra said. "So will they be in our future."

"Only if our kings are pure and wise-a difficult challenge for mortal kones, good General. Even those of unblemished n.o.bility," Et Kala.s.s reflected. "And let us not forget: our pretender is himself in grave danger."

Gorruk's attacking advance was met by superior forces occupying developed defensive positions-a recipe for disaster- but Gorruk was not to be denied. It was a disaster, a disaster for both sides, and despite horrendous casualties, casualties no sane military commander could tolerate, Gorruk' s forces rolled over the bodies of dead mult.i.tudes and climbed the high ground. Marshall Et Barbluis's lines were irresistibly bent and then finally broken by Gorruk' s maniacal charges, ammunition depleted on both sides, blasters melted, soldiers reduced to scratching, clawing, stabbing, and clubbing. General Gorruk was prominent on the front lines, exhorting and goading, brave and resolute, constantly exposing himself to enemy fire. At one critical juncture he personally led a charge against an enemy strong point, suffering a superficial wound. He was seen to wipe the blood across his face as he pressed onward, onward toward the objective, screaming the battle cry of his ancient tribe. His men, witness to the inspiring charge, carried everything before them and would not be stopped. The southern army retreated, gravely mauled, leaving the field to the bleeding barbarians of Gorruk' s decimated armies.

Chapter 28.

Winter "A girl!" Buccari announced, walking into the low rock-walled barracks. "Goldberg's doing fine."

A cheer erupted from the crew, followed by raucous comments and laughter. Cliff dwellers peeked into the barracks area, curious. Buccari, closest to the entryway, used crude sign language to indicate a pregnant belly and a babe in arms. The old females went away chirping, smiles on their ugly faces.

"So...uh, who does it look like?" Tatum asked.

Everyone laughed and hooted, pounding the tall Marine on the back.

"So who does it look like," Tatum persisted.

"It's not an it, you big dork!" Lee admonished. "It's a she! Her name's Honey. She looks like a little monkey, just like all newborns."

"Fenstermacher, you dog!" Wilson shouted.

"Leave me out of this!" the little man protested. "I'm innocent."

"You mean impotent," O'Toole jibed.

Laughter echoed from the narrow walls-for a change. Cramped quarters and forced indolence had been telling; tempers ran short and att.i.tudes sour. Their small world had become a prison.

"Do you think I can see her?" Tatum asked softly.

"Won't hurt to ask," Buccari said. "I'm expecting Lizard soon. I'll write out a request. Anyone else want to go?" It was a silly question; they all raised their hands. "I'll see what we can do," she laughed.

"So what did you see?" Hudson asked.

"Corridors, polished floors. Running water. Lots of rock. And elevators! They have elevators," Buccari reported.

"They covered our heads," Lee added. "Pepper's room looks like this, only smaller and much warmer. She says they never put her under anesthetic. She had to work hard, and it took hours, but she feels good-and strong."

"Get this!" Buccari exclaimed. "They delivered the baby under water! Goldberg says they put her in a dark room with a stone tub filled with hot water."

"That used to be done on Earth," Lee said.

There were few sanctuaries at Goldmine, the science expedition's retreat for the winter. Doworn.o.bb and Kateos, mature adults, realized they were suited for mating, and they wished to discuss the delicate matter fully and candidly. They discovered the necessary solitude under the dome housing the station's fruit and vegetable gardens. The agricultural dome did not have an elevated pressure, but the temperature was moderated. By the kones' perspective it was uncomfortably cold. It was impossible for Doworn.o.bb to imagine what it was like outside.

Frigid winds blew leaves and debris against the dome's surface. It was snowing. The first soft flakes of the season whirled before driving winds, striking and sliding across the translucent surface; ridges of white snow acc.u.mulated on the dome's seams. Imbedded heating coils in the dome sh.e.l.l kept the ridges wet and narrow, causing melting snow to slide downward across the dome in long streamers of ice. Doworn.o.bb sat with Kateos on a green bench, helmets off, staring dreamily, enchanted at the strange precipitation and its effects on the dome. They had talked for many minutes yet had said little.

"I am told each snowflake is unique," Kateos sighed.

"Et Silmarn claims the entire ground, as far as the eye can see, will be covered in white by the end of the day," Doworn.o.bb said. He stood, walked to the dome, and tested the temperature of the dome. He yanked his bare hand away and returned it to his glove. "Ouch! Quite cold!"

He ambled back to the bench and looked at Kateos. She sat, unnaturally quiet and demur. Doworn.o.bb had grown accustomed to her loquaciousness and her spontaneity-characteristics she revealed, with interesting exceptions, only to him. The import of their conversation was affecting him in similar ways. He sat, picked up her gloved hand, and gave a gentle squeeze. She pressed his in return, averting her eyes.

"Our lives have become complicated," he said.

"Yet at the same time more purposeful," she replied softly. "Our lives are more defined." She looked upward and outward, staring resolutely through the falling snowflakes.

"I wish to express my feelings, Mistress Kateos," he said softly.

"You have done so already, and without words, Master Doworn.o.bb." She turned to look deeply into his eyes. Had Doworn.o.bb retained any thoughts of independence or equivocation in the matter-which he did not-that sweet, simple, yet intense glance would have crushed all ambivalence. Doworn.o.bb felt his gay heart and free soul climb through his eyes; he desperately wanted to belong to this female, and in wanting to belong, he needed also to possess.

"It is said that life is long, no matter how few the days, when life is shared," he said after many entranced moments.

"And it is said," Kateos added, continuing the litany, "that true love is a perpetually blooming flower that knows not seasons and can never die."

Doworn.o.bb' s pa.s.sions swelled, doubts vanished. His love scent lifted. "Mistress Kateos, our lives are uncertain. I am but a common kone, and I cannot promise comfort and wealth-"

"If certainty and wealth were that important to you, then I would rather not continue this conversation," she interrupted, most rudely.

"Please, Mistress Kateos," said the exasperated male, struggling to maintain his composure and train of thought. "Your welfare and happiness will be my responsibility. You must permit me to express my concerns, even if I am incapable of eloquence."

"Yes, Master Doworn.o.bb," Kateos replied. "Want not eloquence if you speak sincerely."

He stared into her large, l.u.s.trous brown eyes and found himself a dazed wanderer, lost in love, not caring where he went, but ever so thankful for the chance to take the voyage. Time floated by. The air thickened with his essence.

"Master Doworn.o.bb?" she whispered, bringing him back to the moment.

"Yes?" he said blankly. "Oh, yes!" His objective clearly in front of him, he sh.o.r.ed up his resolve yet again and stated his position, "I want you as my mate, forever and without end."

There! It was said-a bit tersely. But she made it so difficult for him to think and talk. She looked down at the ground. No response was forthcoming. Just as he was about to expound further, she spoke.

"I have no choice in the matter. You have selected me, so I am bound to submit and to obey. It is the rule-my life is yours. Of course, I am honored." Her head bent low in submission; a large, pellucid tear welled up and clung to her lower lid. She blinked, and it fell to the ground.

"Thank you, Mistress Kateos, for your formal acceptance," Doworn.o.bb said quietly. Suddenly it was easy for him to speak. Her abject posture injected him with the urgent need to relate his feelings. Doworn.o.bb was a scientist and a freethinker. He loathed the orthodoxy of his society, especially if it would interfere with his ability to express his emotions, or to understand the emotions of another.

"We share a bond, an understanding, a feeling-" he stated quietly but with escalating pa.s.sion, "-something deeper and more profound than ancient rules." It was his turn to lecture. "I want to be your companion. I want you to be my companion-for life-forever and always. I want you as my mate, not because I have ordered it so, and not because I am willing to take social responsibility for your children. I want you to be my mate because, and only because, you wish to be. If that is not the case, you may walk from me and not turn back. I will not invoke the social rules, and I would be disappointed in you if those were your reasons for submitting to my wish."

She gazed into his face as he lectured, and her demeanor fairly glowed with each word of admonishment. Doworn.o.bb detected her love scent exploding in waves.

"Oh, I promise you!" she declared effusively, taking Doworn.o.bb aback. "I promise you that my acceptance demonstrates my expression of free will. I am yours forever. I am yours because I want to be. You are my master."