Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (35 page)

“Yes,” the intelligence officer replied patiently, “we understand that. Which is why you're going to launch at the conclusion of this briefing, land a day's march to the rear of the Confed column, and wait for our signal. The moment the transport takes to the air, we'll call you. The rest will be easy.”

“What if the ship is on the other side of the planet when the soft bodies depart?” Sagdo inquired pragmatically. “What then?”

It was a good question, and the briefer responded with the Ramanthian equivalent of a smile. “Our techs built three crude but serviceable satellites and launched them six standard hours ago. They aren't very fancy, but they can supplement our surface coverage and close some of the gaps. I can't offer you any guarantees, but there's an extremely good chance that if the aliens take off, we'll know about it.”

Sagdo was impressed and conveyed that sentiment by clacking his right pincer. The pilots withdrew, launched their fighters shortly thereafter, and Satto watched the arrow-shaped aircraft fall toward the planet below. The attack wasn't much, not nearly enough to make up for the damage done to his ship, but some measure of revenge was better than none.

Old Faithful
shook, and the hull rattled, as Has Norby took one last look at the instrument array, ran the transport's engines up, and felt the ore carrier break contact with the ground. The pilot was used to handling heavy loads, and the ship felt light. Though far from drunk, Norby had consumed half a pint of locally made rotgut an hour before liftoff and felt pretty good as he turned toward the northwest and opened the throttles. The glow from the instrument panel lit his grizzled face from below, and he began to whistle. Outside of the light produced by the stars it was pitch-black outside
. A fact for which Norby was grateful, knowing that the darkness, plus the enormous amount of surface area the bugs had to monitor, were the only forms of protection that he and his passengers had.

To the rear of the tiny cockpit, in the grimy ore bin, the children had been strapped into the makeshift bench-style seats that lined both of the bulkheads. Most were quiet at the moment, but Qwis knew that if left to their own devices it wouldn't be long before some of them began to fidget, and the youngest started to cry.

One of the other adults launched a round-robin-style song; those children who were old enough chimed in, while the rest listened with interest. Soon it was Qwis's turn to sing, and she was just about to create a new verse, when a heat-seeking missile hit the port engine and exploded.

There was no time to do anything more than scream as
the port engine pod shattered into hundreds of jagged pieces. Some of them ripped through the hull as
Old Faithful
did a wingover. Inside the cargo compartment the jury-rigged lights strobed on and off as a steel shard decapitated an eleven-year-old girl and sent a gout of blood shooting up into the air. A boy slumped forward, having been struck between the shoulder blades, and a second lost his left arm.

Children screamed, and Lin Qwan hit the release on her harness just as the transport performed an unintended barrel roll. With nothing to secure her, the colonist slammed into the overhead, then fell to the deck before Norby managed to regain control.

But the ship was in a steep dive, and Qwis knew her mother was dead even as her father bellowed his wife's name, and the pilot said something unintelligible over the intercom. Then the transport hit with a spine-jarring jolt, bounced back into the air, and skidded for the better part of two hundred feet before it slammed into a rock formation and sent everything that wasn't secured flying toward the stern.

Norby was killed instantly, as was one of the adults and the infant she was holding. A fire started, but
Old Faithful
's onboard computer detected the blaze and managed to put it out. That was when the power went down, the lights failed, and the cargo compartment was plunged into total darkness.

Like any mechanized outfit, the Pincer of Steel Battalion had an armory as well as an extensive maintenance facility. And, like everything else in Hagala Nor, it was located underground. Something Kuga-Ka didn't like because he felt trapped down there.

But, like it or not, that's where the captured Trooper II had been taken and chained to a couple of steel support columns. The Ramanthian-style lights were extremely dim,
so Kuga-Ka and Knifethrow had rigged more, which when combined with the Hudathan's intimidating presence had been sufficient to drive idle onlookers away.

Although they had experimented with various aspects of cybernetics, and learned a great deal from captured cyborgs, the Ramanthian psyche had never been comfortable with the concept of machines controlled by disembodied brains. As a result Dontha was willing to let Kuga-Ka maintain dominion over the T-2 so long as it furthered his purposes.

Although Kuga-Ka wasn't qualified as a cyber tech, the process of exchanging Private Oko's brain box for Haaby's was intentionally simple and could be accomplished in less than a minute. More difficult, however, was the process of rewiring the T-2 to override selected functions.
That
required some technical expertise, most of which came from a Ramanthian electronics tech. His name was Vahgo, and while not trained in cybernetics, he was a whiz where control systems were concerned. He had to wear goggles in order to cut the glare created by the additional lights, and had a difficult time using
the tools included in the T-2's onboard kit, but eventually got the job done.

So, having secured Vahgo's assistance and completed the necessary changes, Kuga-Ka made the necessary switch. Floating in eternal darkness, and not having had any contact with the outer world other than the sadistic conversat
ions that Kuga-Ka insisted on once a day, Haaby was no longer sure of her own sanity. Having no form to reside in, and therefore unable to “see” or “hear,” the cyborg had nothing else to do but roam her own psychological landscape in search of things to relate to.

Fortunately the cyborg had a friend, a companion with whom she could talk and thereby fight the loneliness. Haaby knew that Missy was dead, having accidentally killed the youngster herself, which made the relationship that
much more remarkable. Though not exactly happy about her death, Missy had learned to accept it, and being very close to dead herself, the legionnaire found inspiration in the youngster's attitude.

So, by the time Haaby's tormentor removed Oko's brain box and replaced it with hers, the cyborg had grown accustomed to if not comfortable with her enforced isolation. The sudden and completely unexpected restoration of her electronic senses was so pleasurable, so intoxicating, that the Haaby felt as if she were drunk.

Video blossomed, Haaby saw what appeared to be a maintenance facility, and felt a sudden surge of hope. Then she realized that the equipment didn't look right and that something was seriously wrong. That impression was confirmed when ex–Gunnery Sergeant Kuga-Ka stepped into view.

Heavy chains rattled, then snapped taut as the newly resurrected T-2 sought to bring her arms forward so she could aim the war form's weapons at the Hudathan and kill him. Kuga-Ka offered the equivalent of a smile. “Nice try, dra for brains, but I'm not that stupid. And don't attempt to break those chains unless you'd like a taste of
this
.”

The Hudathan held the illegal controller up for Haaby to see, and the very sight of the device was sufficient to send a lance of imagined pain into the center of the cyborg's brain. “And that isn't all,” the renegade continued smugly. “I have a
new
toy. See this remote? I can use it to turn your weapons systems on and off. Get the picture?”

Haaby looked at the unit in Kuga-Ka's enormous hand and knew exactly what it meant. By alternating between the zapper and the cutout switch, the Hudathan could make her do just about anything. “That's right,” Kuga-Ka said knowingly. “And there's more. I pulled a box head named Oko out of that unit in order to make room for you. He's on life support right now, the same system you were hooked up to,
and that's where he's going to stay. But one wrong move on your part, and the freak dies. Do you understand me?”

Haaby wanted to give up, to let Kuga-Ka kill her, no matter how painful the process might be. But Misty was made of sterner stuff. “Go along
with him,” she urged. “We'll get our chance, and when we do, the ridge head is going to die.”

Haaby wasn't so sure, but heard herself say, “I understand,” and saw the Hudathan nod.

“Good. I have a job to do, and you're going to help me do it.”

Haaby was awake, but the nightmare continued.

It was just after daybreak, the air was still cool, and the dawn people were in the process of breaking camp. Enormous dust clouds rose as guy ropes were released, and dome-shaped shelters collapsed to be folded into bundles. Skittish zurna squealed, snorted, and balked as the children who were going to ride them hung heavily loaded panniers across their sturdy hindquarters. Warriors ran hither and yon. Some were on actual errands, but many were simply posturing in hopes that one or more of the busy young females would notice how dashing they were.

One of the warriors, a youngster named Guppa, brought his zurna to a skidding halt in front of one of the few hogas still standing. He instructed the animal to stay put, and the animal snorted by way of an objection as its owner walked away.

Guards stood to either side of the shelter's single entrance, but they had been told to expect Guppa and motioned for the youth to enter. The sun hadn't parted company from the eastern horizon as yet, which meant the interior was dim. What light there was emanated from a scattering of a few tallow lamps and the single off-world glow strip that dangled from
the ceiling. Most everything else had been packed into leather panniers that ringed the walls.

Nartha Omoni turned as Guppa entered and took pleasure in how strong her nephew looked. His eyes flashed as he nodded respectfully to both the chieftain and her guests. Omoni saw the veil cover his eyes but knew what he was thinking. Like his father, Guppa was distrustful of off-worlders, and who could blame him? His older brother had been among those killed during the ambush at Passing Rock. An act of treachery clearly engineered by the hard skins. Now he burned for revenge. It was a passion that could get him killed. The chieftain gestured to her companions. Her words were transl
ated by the device that hung from her neck. “Welcome, Guppa. I believe you know Nis Noia. This is Lieutenant Santana.”

Koba acknowledged the aliens with two perfunctory nods and waited to see what his aunt wanted of him.

“Please,” Omoni said, “take a seat.” To be seated with his elders was an honor, even if off-worlders were present, and Guppa hurried to do as he was bid.

Santana knew why the youngster had been summoned and took the opportunity to look the warrior over. Thanks to a briefing from Nis Noia, the officer knew that Guppa was like a son to Omoni and that the chieftain hoped to protect the lad by sending him on what amounted to an unpleasant errand, while the rest of the tribe rode north to fight the night people. But could Guppa successfully lead the legionnaires across the finger of desert that separated them from the point where the transport had gone down?
His
life, not to mention dozens of others, could very well depend on the answer. Accord
ing to the information provided by Colonel Kobbi, Qwis had survived, but there had been a number of casualties, including her mother. The survivors were vulnerable,
very
vulnerable, and it was important to reach them quickly.

Omoni locked eyes with her nephew. “I know you have
seen the machines that fly through the air,” she began. “During the hours of darkness Ramanthian machines attacked a human machine, and it went down. Some of the passengers were killed, but the majority survived. One of their talk boxes still works, and they called for help. Lieutenant Santana and his warriors have been ordered to secure the crash site and protect the survivors until another air machine can pick them up.”

Santana knew that Omoni's description of his orders was only accurate up to a certain point. The problem was that the colonel didn't have any more aircraft at his disposal, not unless he and the rest of the column had managed to reach Fire Base Alpha and the fly-forms stored there. But that was a secondary issue. He and his troops needed to reach the crash site first.

There was resentment in Guppa's eyes. “With all due respect, Aunt Omoni, I am a warrior, and it is my job to fight! Everyone knows you are going to lead our people into battle. My place is at your side.”

“Your place is wherever
I
say it is,” the chieftain replied grimly. “And you
will
obey. Not just me, but Lieutenant Santana as well. Do I make myself clear?”

Guppa's eyes fell. “Yes ma'am.”

“Good. I chose two warriors to accompany you. Not the hell-raisers you like to run around with—but people I trust. If they offer advice,
I recommend that you listen. Your life could depend on it. The outcasts suffer from the heat just as we do and are more aggressive of late.”

Santana looked at Noia, who shrugged. The operative knew that members of both tribes were banned from time to time. Petty criminals for the most part, who were turned out to fend for themselves. Many died, but some of those who survived had banded together to form groups that followed along behind the major tribes, and stole their katha.
But if the outcasts had become more troublesome of late, it was news to him.