Drifter's War (30 page)

"Excellent questions," Heek rumbled. "Get some answers."

Rola-4 wanted to panic, wanted to do anything but stay in the command post and think, but forced herself to do so. Thinking took time and she must allow for it. She forced herself to ignore the bodies and the buzzing comset.

The question was how? How to escape and take Neder-33 with her? What would a light or a human do? Pick up a weapon? Call the sentry inside? Kill him? Then what? She couldn't kill them all.

No, there had to be a better way, something intelligent. Wait a lak, what about the first part of that idea? What about using the sentry instead of killing him? Yes, that was more like it!

Rola-4 checked to make sure that her clothing was free of Il Ronnian blood, glanced around to make sure that the sentry wouldn't be able to see anything when she slipped out through the door, and took hold of the handle.

The door opened easily and closed behind her. The sentry was six or seven paces from the command post. He turned at the sound of the door. Rola-4 adopted her most servile persona.

"Excuse me, sir, but Sixteenth Sept Commander Beed asked that I give you a message."

"Well?" the sentry demanded. "Out with it? What does he want?"

Rola-4 cast her eyes down toward the sentry's muddy boots. "His Excellency Commander Beed asks that you locate the construct known as Tusy-35 and bring her here. And the child called Neder-33 as well."

The sentry gave a grunt of assent, turned his back on her, and trudged off into the rain. The position of his tail indicated what the trooper thought about officers who stayed warm and dry while he ran errands through the mud. But the gesture was wasted since the officer in question was dead and Rola-4 had no way to know what it meant.

The next twenty laks were the worst of Rola-4's life. Waiting inside the overly warm command post, with the scent of blood thick in the air, and the comset buzzing like some sort of insistent insect.

There was no way to know how long it would take Tusy-35 to arrive so she was forced into a constant state of readiness behind the door. She would have to kill the sentry, Rola-4 was certain of that, and the knowledge made her queasy.

She had chosen Beed's energy weapon over the other Il Ronnian's slug gun because it made less noise. The march, and the subsequent attack on Holding Area Two, had taught her which weapons did what.

Still, the buttons and levers were unfamiliar, so she had fired some test shots just to make sure. Steam rose from the holes in the floor.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, there was noise outside. The squishing of boots in the mud followed by the sentry's voice. "Get in there, geek, and take the brat with you."

Tusy-35 came through the door first as Rola-4 had assumed that she would. A lot of things happened all at once.

Tusy-35 caught sight of Beed's dead body and gave a gasp of surprise.

Neder-33 turned, caught sight of his mother, and said "Maa!"

The sentry realized something was wrong and pushed Tusy-35 aside.

Rola-4 waited for him to step forward, aimed at the side of his head, and pressed the firing stud. The bolt of bright blue energy burned its way through his head and hit the comset beyond. It stopped buzzing.

Rola-4 pushed the door shut as the sentry slumped to the floor.

Completely terrified, and afraid that she might be next, Tusy-35 offered Neder-33 to his mother. "Here… I took good care of him… see for yourself."

Rola-4 refused her son's urgings to pick him up and motioned toward the second guest chair with the still warm blaster.

"Shove the equipment on the floor. Place my son on top of the equipment. Sit on the chair."

Tusy-35 was really worried now. "Wha-what are you going to do?"

"Nothing half so bad as what you did to me," Rola-4 answered. "Now shut up."

It took a while to gather belts and equipment harnesses enough to tie Tusy-35 in place but Rola-4 got the job done. The other construct would eventually work her way free, but by the time she did, Rola-4 and Neder-33 would be long gone.

Tusy-35 snuffled piteously. "The aliens will blame me for this! They will kill me!"

"Really?" Rola-4 asked, slipping a gag into the other construct's open mouth. "That would be terrible. Good luck."

Neder-33 had crawled all over the floor by now, and was covered with mud, but Rola-4 hugged him anyway. And she was still hugging him when she opened the door, stepped outside, and made her way down toward the rest of the constructs. Her heart felt like it would beat its way out of her chest. It was evening, and the light had started to fade.

A section of fence separated the command post from the holding area with a gate to provide access between the two. No less than two sentries stood to either side of the gate, cursing the rain and wondering when it would stop.

One of them glanced at Rola-4, saw a female geek with child, and made an entry on his arm pad. Another waved her through. One and a half geeks came out, and one and a half geeks went back in. That's what they needed and that's what they had.

The other constructs paid scant attention at first. But a female from Rola-4's village saw her, remembered how she had been taken away, and called her name.

Rola-4 made no reply. She had an idea, the means to carry it out, and little time for idle chatter.

She'd been very, very lucky. Lucky that she had been able to retrieve Neder-33, lucky that no one had entered the command post, and lucky that the sentries had let her pass.

Now that luck would surely be running out, but before it did, she was determined to accomplish one last thing. Something that would free her and every other construct present.

The villagers followed along behind, excited by Rola-4's sudden appearance, and intrigued by her silence. She spoke with others, instructing them to tag along, and a crowd started to form.

In the meantime, on the far side of the compound, the sentries saw movement and realized that something was afoot. They radioed the command post for advice but received no answer.

The senior trooper, an assistant file leader named Geeb, signaled disgust with his tail and trudged up the slope. Officers were all the same. Stupid, and lazy to boot.

Rola-4 stopped in front of the fence. This was the most distant point from the command post and therefore the best. The other constructs watched in openmouthed amazement as she pulled a blaster out from under her clothes, aimed it at the fence, and pressed the firing stud.

Alarms shrieked as metal turned orange, red, and dripped downward. Rola-4 managed to make two vertical cuts in the fence before the power pak ran out. The crowd did the rest.

Assistant File Leader Geeb had just found the bodies, and was in the act of calling for help when the constructs pushed the fence outward and streamed to freedom.

Resistance fighters, the same ones who had been assigned to protect Rola-4, saw and took action.

Energy beams flashed, automatic weapons hammered, and Sand Sept troopers started to die.

Wexel-15 went first with Lando and Della right behind. The scaffold was easy to climb. The metal framework was cold to the touch and shook under their combined weight. Lando moved his hand off just in time to save it from an enormous boot. Della swore as an avalanche of grit fell from above.

Lando saw smiling faces look down, felt hands grab his combat harness, and was lifted through the hole. He landed on his knees and crawled forward to get out of the way. His assault weapon made a scraping sound as it dragged against the floor.

What light there was originated from portable work lights and was heavily filtered by the dust.

The smuggler tried to stand, felt cold concrete press down against his shoulders, and felt suddenly claustrophobic. He knew that there were uncountable tons of material pressing down from above just waiting to squash him flat.

"Over here." The voice belonged to Wexel-15. Lando checked to make sure that Della was okay, saw that she was, and duckwalked in the heavy's direction.

In the meantime a stream of heavily armed resistance fighters poured up through the hole, formed orderly rows, and waited for orders. Lando saw more than a few lights interspersed among the heavies.

Work lights back-lit them, threw gigantic shadows against the ceiling's uneven surface, and spread out to join the surrounding gloom. The crawl space was huge and seemed to extend endlessly in every direction.

Lando hit his head and swore softly. Wexel-15 nodded sympathetically. Given his greater bulk the confined space was even harder for him to maneuver in. His voice was little more than a whisper.

"We are very close. So close the aliens could hear us if they chose to listen. Follow me and be as quiet as you can."

Lando nodded, glanced at Della, and received a grim thumbs-up. She had smeared grease on her skin to darken it and wore a bandanna tied around her head. He noticed that a curl of bright red hair had escaped and dangled over her left ear. She looked fierce but very, very small.

The smuggler knew that she was a more experienced fighter than he was, knew that she had some of the fastest reflexes he'd ever seen, but still felt protective toward her.

And must have shown it in his expression because she winked at him and whispered: "I love you too."

Lando grinned and turned back toward Wexel-15. The heavy had turned his back and was in the process of crawling away. The smuggler held his assault rifle chest high, took the sling in his teeth to keep the weapon up off the floor, and crawled forward. It was easier on his leg muscles but hell on his knees.

The double row of lights reminded Lando of a runway. Wexel-15's bulk blocked them from time to time but they led arrow-straight off into the distance. Some flickered as their power paks wore down, and some were already dark, but they appeared and disappeared with monotonous regularity.

Time passed, and each minute brought more, and more pain. Pain in his knees, pain in his hands, and pain in his jaws where the unaccustomed weight of the assault weapon had started to take its toll.

Finally, just when Lando was almost sure that he couldn't take it anymore, he caught the faintest whiff of fresh night air. Mounds of rubble appeared to the left and right and the lights disappeared.

Lando imagined what it had been like, chipping away from below, breathing the ever-present dust, moving the debris one chunk at a time, waiting for the shock of sudden discovery. These were the true heroes, the constructs who had labored in secret, and opened a hole through which their comrades could pass.

Two of Wexel-15's heavies were waiting and both signaled silence by holding their hands palm downward over the ground. Lando needed no further warning. Stealth was everything.

The only chance for victory lay in putting a significant number of resistance fighters inside the enemy's perimeter right off the top.

If the Il Ronnians heard them, and found the opening right away, the entire plan would go up in smoke. Worse than that, the aliens would follow them downward, and find the arms factory hidden below. A serious if not fatal blow to the resistance.

There was a pause as the heavies whispered to each other. Wexel-15 nodded in response to a comment from one of the constructs, pointed toward the surface, and said, "Well, this is it. Time to—how do humans say it?—kick some serious posterior."

Lando chuckled. "That's how we say it all right."

"Good! Let the kicking begin."

The words were no more than out of Wexel-15's mouth than he was up and through the hole. Lando and Della came right behind.

The entry point was as good as they were likely to find. Away from the main bunkers, just north of the landing pad, and about a hundred yards inside the perimeter. A large pile of rubble had been dumped nearby and offered the resistance fighters an excellent place to hide while they prepared for the attack.

It took time to get two hundred-plus constructs through the hole and into Fire Base One. Time that Lando used to look around.

It was dark and a steady rain fell from the sky. Good. It would encourage anyone who was off-duty to stay inside. A section of fence gleamed in the distance. Pylons stood lonely vigil, their sensors and searchlights aimed outward, where there was nothing to see or sense.

A bit closer in lights appeared, then disappeared as doors were opened and closed. Snatches of conversation drifted through the night air. Shadows moved this way and that. Equipment clanked. A ground vehicle bounced toward the fence. Alien music wailed and was abruptly cut off. A voice complained. They were normal sights and normal sounds and all of them were about to change.

Lando felt a huge hand close around his arm. "Are you ready?"

The smuggler's throat felt suddenly dry. He swallowed to lubricate it. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Wexel-15's eyes gleamed with reflected light. "Myself as well. I want to thank you."

"For what?"

"For what you are doing, for what you have done."

Lando shrugged. "By helping you we help ourselves."

The construct smiled. "I know that, and Dru-21 reminds me of it from time to time. Still, you fight at our sides, and that speaks louder than words."

Lando smiled in return. "That's what friends do."

Wexel-15 nodded, looked right and left, and brought a toy whistle to his lips. There was nothing further to wait for. The whistle made a high-pitched warbling sound.

Loud though the whistle was, it was not that noticeable against the other background sounds, and provided the Il Ronnians with little warning.

The constructs covered the intervening ground with surprising speed, waiting until their targets were clear before they pulled the trigger, transforming the night into a hell of death and destruction.

The first five minutes of the battle would forever be burned into Lando's memory. He would never forget the heat and the smell of alien food as they burst into the underground mess hall. Nor would he forget the awful hammering of the automatic weapons, the screams of the dying Il Ronnians, and the sight of their bullet-ridden bodies.

Most of the troopers were off-duty, and had left their weapons in their bunkers, so there was very little in the way of resistance. Some tried to surrender and were immediately shot down. Others, like the noncom who charged Lando with nothing more than a two-pronged fork, died fighting as best they could.