Genellan: Planetfall Part 38

"Your command of my tongue is excellent," Hudson said in konish, talking as he put his things in order, buying time. "I am proud of your progress. Is there any reason why you are speaking my tongue? Are you testing Kateos' s translation program?"

Et Silmarn smiled uncomfortably. "Thank-ah you for compliment. You are most kind-ah, and logic is correct-ah. No more questions. Please to hurry."

"Ca.s.sy," Carmichael announced over Peregrine One's Peregrine One's command circuit. "Fleet acknowledges your recommendations, and flag operations has cleared us for a landing. Commencing return to low orbit. We'll launch a survey team as soon as we are in position to de-orbit the lander." command circuit. "Fleet acknowledges your recommendations, and flag operations has cleared us for a landing. Commencing return to low orbit. We'll launch a survey team as soon as we are in position to de-orbit the lander."

"Roger, Jake," she replied. "Finally!" she added under her breath.

"Holy torpedo, look at the size of that thing!" G.o.donov stammered. He stared through the high-powered optics, his hands deftly working the controls.

"What is it, Nes?" Quinn asked.

"That manned alien platform we've been tracking-the big one. It must be an interplanetary ship," G.o.donov said. "It's maneuvering in low orbit. We'd better tell Commander Carmichael. Here-take a look! You won't believe it."

Quinn stared into the eyepiece, adjusting the instrumented reticle. G.o.donov' s a.s.sessment was correct; she double-checked the magnification settings. The satellite-the s.p.a.ceship-was a thousand meters in length! The telescope's motion-detection indicator started flashing. Quinn increased the magnification to maximum in time to see objects separate from the larger craft. Engines bloomed in retroburn, and the two craft dropped from sight.

"Tell Commander Carmichael the alien ship just deployed and retrofired two objects, probably landing modules. Something tells me they're looking for the same thing we are."

After days of rain only a few dirty pockets of snow remained. Rivulets of silty water poured from the mountains; streams swelled with impatient force, and the great river, usually not loud enough to be heard from the settlement, thundered and crashed. Sunlight weaved through scattered clouds, highlighting the proliferating buds and blossoms. Gra.s.ses poked fine needles through the humus, metamorphosing the dull and dirty ground into glorious shades of emerald. Fragrant wildflowers bravely spread their petals in random abundance.

Lee, wrapped in furs, reclined in the intermittent sunlight, enviously watching the bustling settlement. Baby Hope slept soundly at her mother's breast. Fenstermacher stood on the threshold of the stone hut, leaning against the open door frame.

"You sure you're comfortable?" he asked. "I can get more furs-"

"I'm fine, Winnie," Lee replied, her voice regaining much of its strength. "I need to get back on my feet. There's work to be done. It's time to start planting."

"Buccari gave me orders to take care of you and to keep you on your back," Fenstermacher announced. "And I intend to follow those orders-for the rest of my life."

"What? To take care of me or keep me on my back? I don't think that's what the lieutenant had in mind."

Fenstermacher looked at his feet with a silly grin on his face.

"Oh, go fishing!" Lee suggested. "Here comes Nancy to keep me company. Get out of here. Beat it." Dawson, carrying her baby, dodged across the muddy ground.

"I can take a hint," Fenstermacher said, grabbing his fishing gear off the wall. Fenstermacher was pleased to be at liberty. Leslie was finally well and growing stronger. He never wanted to worry that much again. He was a proud father, a happy man, and he was particularly delighted to be going fishing. Shouts grabbed his attention. A hundred paces downhill, moving away from the cove, was a huge bear, its hide moldy and ragged. It trundled along, still logy from hibernation, looking over its mane-covered shoulder. Chastain and O'Toole chased after it, jumping up and down and shouting, while Shannon stood, an a.s.sault rifle poised at his shoulder.

The bear became irritated at its human hounds. Deciding the two-legged creatures had become too brazen, the truculent ursine wheeled on its pursuers and feigned a charge. O'Toole and Chastain turned to run, collided, and fell in a tumbling heap. They struggled to regain footing on the muddy ground, their feet slipping and sliding in a panicky flurry. Shannon sprinted forward, shouting. He fired a precious round into the air and then took deadly aim. The cranky bear recoiled at the explosive report and galloped for the woods.

Fenstermacher broke the silence, hooting at the bear chasers, while Chastain and O'Toole knocked mud from their clothes. Hearing his laughter, they looked up, chagrined.

"You should've seen the looks on your faces!" Fenstermacher shouted. "You guys need new skivvies. That's why the ground got slippery. What a story for the campfire."

"Ah, come on, Winnie," Chastain pleaded.

"I don't see you chasing bears, Fenstermacher," O'Toole challenged.

"I ain't that h.o.r.n.y," Fenstermacher retorted, "or that stupid!"

"Easy there, friend," Shannon counseled, ambling in Fenstermacher' s direction, a disarming smile on his face. "These gentlemen were only following my orders. You wouldn't want to embarra.s.s them for that, would you?"

"h.e.l.l, yes, I would! d.a.m.n straight! What a legend this will be! You guys'll be famous by the time I'm-gerk!" Fenstermacher was throttled by Shannon's thick forearm. He felt his feet lifting off the ground. He dropped his fishing equipment, using both hands to combat the iron grip.

"Now run that by me again, Winnie, old friend," Shannon said calmly. "Tell me how brave you think these upstanding men are." Shannon eased the pressure.

"Brave-my a.s.s!" gagged the incorrigible Fenstermacher. "A couple of-clowns!"

Shaking his head, Shannon handed Fenstermacher bodily to Chastain. Chastain grabbed him with meaty hands as if he were a sack of flour.

"He's yours, men," Shannon said. "Use your worst judgment."

Chastain, smiling, turned toward the lake but stopped suddenly. His grin evaporated. He glanced upward. "What's that?" His grip loosened, easing Fenstermacher to the ground.

"What's what, Jocko?" Shannon asked, slinging the a.s.sault rifle.

"That noise..." But everyone was hearing it now-feeling it. The low-pitched ambient rumbling had graduated to full-throated thunder.

"There! Over there!" Fenstermacher shouted, pointing up. Everyone turned to where he was pointing, staring into the overcast. A glowing, white-hot blade of flame stabbed through the ragged layer of clouds. The screaming exhaust smoothly descended until its source was visible-the black cylinder of an alien landing module. And then a second one! Two black cylinders on hot plumes of fire broke through the clouds. Clear of the overcast, the alien vessels slid slowly across the northern sky, descending smoothly into the valley. A bedlam of rocket exhaust, already at crescendo, increased to an exploding h.e.l.l. The humans clapped hands to ears and ducked, all rational thought eclipsed by the single reflex of fright.

The alien engines of h.e.l.lfire terminated lateral movement and hovered over the sh.o.r.e of the wooded lake. With startling abruptness they settled into the trees. Humans daring to look into h.e.l.l watched the columns of flaming exhaust explode into the forest and shoot sideways, their obscene power supporting the landing modules ever lower, lower, until they were obscured by billowing smoke. The explosive chaos ceased.

The silence was worse. Nerve endings deadened by sensory onslaught triggered into paroxysmic action. Ringing ears and glare-shocked eyes sent belated pulses of energy to the brain. Muscles reacted randomly, and stomachs, bladders, and bowels rejected the tenuous control of the nervous system. Human thought groped for references, but all logic dictated panic; men and women screamed.

The first recognizable sensation was the blast of heat rolling over the settlement, followed by the fragrance of burning wood. Sensations! Links to sanity; the hypnosis of terror was broken. Fenstermacher staggered to his feet and looked about. Shannon, eyes slit with ferocious intensity, had unslung his rifle and was poised to shoot. Chastain, great brown eyes surrounded with white, was crouched low, ready to spring. Shannon was shouting, but Fenstermacher was unable to distinguish any words, only an infernal buzzing. O'Toole stumbled in circles, wide-eyed and witless. Shannon grabbed the Marine by the elbow and slapped him. Confusion reigned. Fenstermacher realized that Shannon was shouting at him. Concentrating with all his might, he could hear Shannon's voice, a tinny whisper under a waterfall of ambient noise. It increased in volume and fullness.

"-get back to the stockade!" Shannon shouted.

Fenstermacher dumbly nodded, grateful to hear again. He turned toward the stockade and stumbled uphill. He halted as Buccari sprinted toward them.

"W-What are we going to do?" Shannon asked.

"Let me think!" she shouted. She held her hand over an ear, trying to hear.

An acrid stench, like kerosene burning, a.s.saulted Fenstermacher' s senses. Vivid tongues of flame danced above the treetops, and black billows tumbled into the sky. Wilson and MacArthur came running along the sh.o.r.e and joined the collection of haggard humans on the cove beach.

"Sarge!" Buccari shouted. "Collect the women and children and get out of here. Take the horses, and get moving into the woods."

"Mac," she continued, louder than necessary. "I want you to round up everyone else and report back here-with weapons! When Shannon's clear I want you and Chastain to come down the sh.o.r.e until you can see me or Chief Wilson. Wait for signals. Stay spread out and don't get closer than three hundred meters, unless I call you in. If you can't see us, don't do anything stupid. Fall back and try to stay alive."

"Aye, aye, Lieutenant," MacArthur replied, but his eyes showed concern-concern for Buccari. She waved him away and turned to Wilson.

"Gunner, you and I are the reception committee! Let's go." "Yeah, that's exactly what I was hoping we were going to do,"

Wilson muttered, jaw tight. "Must be my friggin' lucky day."

The clutch of frightened humans broke apart. Fenstermacher sprinted for the palisade gate, his fishing gear lying in the mud.

The spring thermals were weak. It had taken Brappa and Kibba two days to make the downwind trip. Full-fledged warriors, the proud young hunters had been selected to make the first contact of the year with the long-legs-a great honor. They were still far away when the engines of terror broke through the clouds. Brappa screamed warning signals and accelerated his glide. With a freshening wind carrying them southward, the cliff dwellers lifted high on firming updrafts. The scar gouged out of the forest by the alien vehicles was a carbonized gash on the sh.o.r.es of the lake. Everything within bowshot of the sinister black cylinders was cauterized into ash.

Two long-legs stood on the verge of the destruction; Brappa recognized Short-one-who-leads and One-who-cooks. Two more long-legs, Brave-crazy-one and Giant-one, ran along the lake sh.o.r.e toward the landing site. All carried weapons. Brappa returned his scrutiny to the alien ships. An open entrance was visible in each vessel, and uniformed aliens-immense beings carrying weapons- were descending to the ground.

"Bear people! The long-legs are in peril," Braan whistled. "Stalwart Kibba, return and inform Braan-our-leader of what we have seen. We will have war!"

Kibba screamed and climbed for alt.i.tude, weariness in his wings eclipsed by his mission. Brappa soared over the troubled valley.

Buccari and Wilson rounded the charred trees. A thick smell of ash and smoldering wood permeated the smoky air; the ground was fused into crusty blackness. The alien vessels loomed high, easily the height of a lunar yard booster. Their ma.s.sive engines had excavated prodigious craters over which the heavy craft were suspended, supported by articulating b.u.t.tresses. Buccari looked back along the beach and saw MacArthur and Chastain in the distance. She turned to the konish landers. Three aliens dressed in burgundy suits approached, crawling on all fours.

"Stay here, Gunner," Buccari ordered. "Keep MacArthur in sight. Take this." She handed Wilson her pistol and left the lakesh.o.r.e. Heat from the hot cinders crept around the soles of her sandals. Forty paces from the approaching aliens she halted and held her ground; other kones were visible at the lander hatches. She searched for Hudson, to no avail, but she saw Et Silmarn in his distinctive gray suit; he stood erect in a hunched cl.u.s.ter of black-uniformed kones. She counted twenty.

The three burgundy-uniformed kones crawled up and stopped ten paces from her. The leader lifted gauntleted hands from the ground and stood erect, towering disconcertingly. It removed its helmet and nodded, looking beyond her as if searching. Buccari nodded curtly. The other kones kept their helmets on. One of them, carrying a blaster, removed a black box from a commodious uniform pouch and placed it on the ground.

The leader spoke loudly in his own language. After a short delay the disembodied translation came from the electronics box: "I greet you."

Disgusted, Buccari looked down at the box as if it were dog offal. She did not need a talking box. Where was Kateos? Where was Hudson?

"Et Silmarn!" Buccari yelled past the kones. "Where is Hudson?" The soldiers guarding the n.o.blekone rose on their hind legs and adjusted their positions, blocking the n.o.blekone from her sight.

"Talk to me," said the uniformed kone, the monotonous, mechanical translation giving no hint of emotion or inflection. "Speak slowly."

Buccari squared her shoulders and stared up at the hulking monster. "You have one of my people," she said. "Where is Hudson?"

The kone listened as the box translated. Buccari was frustrated and angry, her fears completely forgotten. The shock of the tumultuous landing had pa.s.sed, and her fury boiled at the thought of what had happened. There was no reason for them to land this close. Just a few meters closer and her people would have been crippled or killed.

"Yes, we have Huhsawn," the box replied. "He-"

"Where is he?" Buccari shouted, shouting over the kone's words. "If you have him with you, then bring him here! Now!" The translator emitted garbled noises.

The kone spoke again, slowly and with more volume: "Please wait for me to finish speak-" Buccari's jaw jutted out. She gave the alien an iron glance, stomped over to the electronics box, and kicked it tumbling backwards. Her sandaled toes hurt like h.e.l.l.

"Hudson!" she shouted with bald rage. "Huhsawn!"

The giant retreated a half step. A subaltern apprehensively sidled to the box and picked it up, checking for damage. It was apparently inoperative. The aliens talked among themselves. One departed, dogtrotting across the cinders. The alien in charge peered down at Buccari with a curious look on his face. She could smell his fear.

The incongruity of size was comical. Buccari felt like a rabid mouse. There was no reason for the huge alien to fear her, and there was every reason for her to be standing in stark terror, but her anger was controlling the confrontation. Could she control her anger? She observed Et Silmarn and a smaller figure-Hudson!-coming her way, escorted by four black-uniforms.

She watched them approach, feeling her intensity dampen. The compact formation stopped short of her position, and the subaltern moved briskly forward with another voice translator identical to the first one. He connected a coiled lead from the leader's helmet to the box and stood at his side, holding the box and watching Buccari carefully. The leader of the aliens put on his helmet.

Hudson's mouth was twisted into a worried smile. Buccari waved, and Hudson hesitantly waved back or, more accurately, pointed skyward with a jabbing finger. Hudson's appearance mollified her anger. She was cooler, more objective, and surprised at her audacity. Boldness was working to her advantage.

"Why did you land so close?" Buccari asked, retaining the initiative. "We have had injuries." She heard the metallic voice of the translation box remanufacture her words. The alien leader listened carefully and spoke several sentences.

"We apologize," the box announced. The alien spoke in short phrases. "We wanted to come down...on this side of the river. Once our landers were committed to land...we could not alter their trajectories...I am told that you and Huhsawn...are both ship pilots, so you must understand our plight... I am sorry...It must have been loud."

The excuse was plausible. An orbital descent on a planet this dense would be a fuel-critical maneuver, particularly for the nonaerodynamic, vertical-thrust machines flown by the aliens. She was not happy about it, but she would concede the issue. She reminded herself that it was futile to fight the kones; that cooperation would be their best chance for survival. She struggled against mutinous instincts.

"Why are Hudson and Et Silmarn being guarded?" she asked, speaking slowly. "Is Hudson not free to rejoin his kind? Where is Kateos?"

"You are the one called Sharl," the box answered. "The research files...say good things about you...Is it true you are...a female of your species?"

"I am the senior officer," she replied, anger welling. With effort she contained herself. "Yes! I am Sharl. Allow me to speak with Hudson."

"Huhsawn will be brought forward," the box said. "Forgive the delay...but we desire to test this...translation computer without prejudice of knowledgeable a.s.sistance...It works well, yes?"

"Given a chance," she responded sheepishly, her foot still smarting.

The kone stared impa.s.sively. She could no longer smell its fear.

"I am Colonel Longo. As official representative...of the governments of Kon and of the Northern Hegemony... I have beenordered to establish contact with your race...and to define the preliminary conditions for relationships."

Relationships! That sounded encouraging.

"I am Lieutenant Sharl Buccari," she responded formally, "of the Tellurian Legion s.p.a.ce Force. It is our wish to cooperate fully with your government."

"Very well, Lieutenant Sharl." The kone turned away and talked to his subordinates; the sound was not processed by the translator. One subordinate loped over to Hudson's guards and returned with Hudson in tow. Her cooperation was being rewarded.

"h.e.l.lo, Nash!" she shouted, as soon as he was in easy voice range.

"The fleet's back, Sharl-" Hudson responded, but the kone held up his hand and said something loud and curt. Hudson obviously understood.

The fleet was back! Thunderstruck, she barely heard Longo' s admonition. Thunderstruck, she barely heard Longo' s admonition.

"Again," Longo said. "I must ask that you speak one at a time and slowly...so the translator can operate effectively.. .for my benefit." He looked at both of them. "Allow me to continue...Master Huhsawn, Lieutenant Sharl has expressed her desire...to fully cooperate with my government. That is also your desire. Yes?"

Hudson shot back an answer in the alien tongue even as the box was asking the question. "...Excellent Colonel," the box partially translated Hudson's words. "What is it that you wish us to do?"

Colonel Longo stared angrily at Hudson. He turned to Buccari.

"This location is not conducive to establishing relationship... that my government wishes to have with your race. Cold and remote... I have been ordered to relocate all humans to Goldmine Station...where it will be much easier to communicate...Your race is hardy, but you will be more comfortable in a southern climate... and we have a domed facility that you may use...Huhsawn will attest to the comforts of our base."

Buccari tried to think. The fleet was back! The fleet was back! That thought pounded through her consciousness. She forced herself back to the moment. She had to deal with the present- dreams would come later. She listened as Longo repeated himself. She knew the kones would ask them to relocate. It made sense-from the kones' point of view. She looked at Hudson, trying to gauge his expression. There was much unsaid.

"When and how do we accomplish this relocation?" Buccari asked, trepidation growing strong within her breast. The fleet was back. Everything was different.

"There are nineteen humans, is that not correct?"

"Yes, nineteen, er-no! Twenty," answered Buccari. She looked at Hudson. "Lee had a baby girl." Longo tilted his head curiously.

"Now! This day. We act on this day," Longo continued. "I have the means to lift your group...I have but to bring down another module...Of course, that will mean another very loud arrival.. .All can avoid danger by moving into the landers already on the ground.. .They are soundproof."

The translator cranked out Longo' s words like a.s.sembly-line cookies, with no inflection or accent, no tone, no emotion, but the words were sinister-the spider talking to the fly. Buccari looked down at her ash-blackened feet and contemplated a simpler life. She desperately missed flying s.p.a.ceships. Cheating death on a day-to-day basis as the pilot of a complex and powerful s.p.a.cecraft was so much simpler than facing death even once with your feet planted firmly on the ground. Pain and death came slowly on the ground. She shook herself from her confused trance.

"Colonel Longo," she said, her voice firm. "We will comply with your recommendation."