The Eternal Enemy (28 page)

“Well, Kominski, you saw what the Old One said. I won't bother translating it all, but what it came down to was that your life should be spared.”

“What
are
you going to do?” Straka asked.

“Leave him to me,” Jackson said.

“No, much as I'd like to.”

“Why don't we just space him?” Martinez asked.

“Yeah,” McGowen said.

“No, that's not the answer either. Despite what I feel about him, I can't just waste him like that. Didn't you all feel what he feels when we linked up?”

“What?” Kominski demanded, vocal at last. “That I detest you? All of you? That I want to be human again? That I don't like being a freak?”

The room fell silent.

“What's wrong with that?” Kominski demanded. “Well? I never asked to be changed into this creature I am! I never asked for some freak to mold me in his image! One day I go into the geltank. Sure. And the next I wake up in this body, off to war. Well, not me! I'm going home. Maybe they can change me back!”

“You're dreaming, Kominski,” Jackson said.

“We'll see about that,” Kominski said.

“The best thing for you to do is accept it, try to live with it,” Markos said. “I know these people had a choice. You and I didn't. I was angry at the Habers for a long time. And I was angry at you, too. All of you. It cost Van Pelt his life. And Maxwell his.”

Kominski was shaking his head back and forth.

“Enough of us have died, Kominski. Don't make me kill you too.”

Kominski backed up a step, but behind him was the bulkhead, and the crew blocked off any other possible exit. Markos knew that Kominski wasn't listening, couldn't be listening, wasn't interested in changing what he thought or the way he felt about being changed. Markos wasn't sure what to do, but whatever he decided, he would have to do it soon. They were well within the Hydran sphere of influence, and every wasted moment increased their chance of discovery.

Kominski tried to backpedal through the bulkhead, and Markos channeled most of his energy into his eyes.

He thought calming, relaxing thoughts, focused them into his eyes, speaking a language of light with no words, a language of pure emotion. He spoke words with his raspy voice, words that spoke of a saner, calmer time, when things were right with Kominski and the Universe. His eyes swirled with hypnotic colors, his bubbly voice talked to some inner resource that was the essence of Kominski. Kominski resisted, but had stopped trying to get through the bulkhead, had stopped trying to escape. Markos knew then that he had him.

He reached out to touch Kominski's skin, switching all of his calming and relaxing thoughts to his hands.

The instant contact was made, Markos's mind floated beneath Kominski's skin, traveled up his arms to his mind.

He found what he was looking for. It was like a little ball of clay, a moldable piece of Kominski, his ego, the root of his Terran soul.

Markos removed it.

In its place he created a desire, a drive, and a strong feeling of loyalty. Whether Kominski liked it or not, whether he understood what had happened or not, he was a changed being. He was now a Haber.

H-2 was anything but crowded. It was large for a fighter, for a reconnaissance ship, for an escape pod, but it was the Haber mold. They were fast—faster and more maneuverable than the
Paladin
would ever be—and capable of withstanding more stress. They could never have been considered one-man ships, but they were the best thing available.

The Haber controls had been modified slightly as the need for weaponry and visibility had increased. Straka sat in the pilot's seat, and Wilhelm sat beside her. The large startank before them showed the stars of surrounding space, the odd guidance system that worked so well for the Habers. The screens directly before them had been modified, though, by duplicating the engineering of the
Paladin
's screens. When they'd test-flown the Haber ships, the Old One had backed them up. They'd had a difficult time understanding the swirls of color that appeared on the screens during the landing sequence. Their first test flight had been a near-fatal crash, with the Old One interceding just in time to save them.

By changing the swirling colors to visual output, the crew found they could handle the rest of the strange instrumentation well enough. Watching those screens had been like trying to watch thirty Habers in a heated debate.

The intercom clicked on. “Ready to launch?”

“No. Give us a few seconds to check out the systems,” Straka said.

She would let Wilhelm do the actual piloting from the seat beside her. She would handle the weapon systems.

Kominski stood by, armed, deflection belt strapped around his chest, lasetube by his side. He would be the first one out of the ship when it landed. He had demanded the honor. Straka feared that Markos may have gone a little too far in altering Kominski. It was spooky the way he'd changed instantly.

Markatens sat on the deck, calmly relaxed, dropping in and out of his meditative cycle.

“Everyone ready to go?” Straka asked.

They all flashed red.

“Good. If there's a way to get out of this thing alive, we'll find it. No heroes, please. We'll be outnumbered a few billion to one, if what the
Paladin's
sensors say is true.”

“We're too far away to give them much credence,” Wilhelm said.

“So much the better. But even if there are only two Hydrans on the surface, don't be a hero. Understand?”

Kominski nodded. Markatens flashed red. “We'll be cool,” Wilhelm said.

Straka pressed the intercom button. “We're ready to go, Markos. How about you?”

“We're ready.”

Markos's voice was even more distorted over the intercom. Each time Straka would start getting used to the way it sounded, something would happen to point it out to her again. And that would bring back the memories of her half-insane chase across four and a half years of space. Her lying to the crew. Her desire for everlasting life. How she had used and abused the trust the crew had given her.

“Old One? Can you hear us?”

“Yes,” the Old One said.

“Release the ships for launch,” Straka said.

“They are released,” the old Haber said.

“Okay, Wilhelm, this is it. I sure hope you know how to fly this thing as well as you say you do.”

“No sweat,” Wilhelm said. “If it moves, I can fly it.”

Wilhelm settled his hands over the strangely shaped armrests and touched the control plates to his left. By leaking electrons and capturing them, he activated the necessary switches to put the ship into motion.

“We'll be in a stable orbit in about thirty minutes,” Wilhelm said.

“What'll you bet the place is crawling with Hydrans?” Kominski asked.

“Let's hope they're not even there,” Straka said.

“I hope they are,” Kominski said.

“I think I liked you better before you became so enthusiastic,” he said to Kominski. He turned to Straka. “Spacey, isn't he?”

“The more Hydrans I kill, the better I'll like it,” Kominski said. “Haven't you got any idea what they've done to our people?”

“Our people,” Wilhelm said softly.

“The thing is, Kominski, that if we don't find any down there, then there's a chance the Habers living on this planet are safe,” Straka said.

“Oh, yeah. Never thought of that.”

“Swift,” Wilhelm said.

“Pay attention to the controls,” Straka said.

“Sure,” Wilhelm said, knowing full well there was nothing to do for quite a while.

This was no time to be arguing, picking on each other, getting on each other's nerves. Things were going to get hot and heavy, and very soon. Straka had to keep these two cooled out. Markatens wasn't a problem. He looked like he didn't even know what was going to happen. Well, Straka realized, he probably didn't. The less he knew, the better.

Straka sat back and watched the planet grow in size on the screen. There was little else to do until they arrived. She patted the belt around her waist and prayed it worked properly. She touched her lasetube by her side, brushing it with her fingertips just to make sure it was still there. She decided it wouldn't be such a bad idea to pray a little, to offer her atonement for some of her past ill deeds.

But as she thought about it, she realized she had no idea who she should be praying to. Or what. When she'd been a Terran, there was always God. And now God didn't seem to be the same thing. God wasn't like what Straka had learned about in school, or from her parents. God seemed to be something entirely different.

To her, God looked like the primary rule in the Universe, a physical law or set of laws, a spiritual path for life. That was what the Habers understood.

Change.

But how in all hell could you pray to Change?

22

Wilhelm piloted the ship through the atmosphere as if it were a screamer—small, tight, and maneuverable. Without the fear of G forces crushing them, blacking them out, he could whip the ship around like an appendage of his body. He flew over the equitorial region, the area where the Habers had originally settled.

Straka watched the planet through the screens, trying to pick up signs of civilization—buildings, machinery, small villages. If the Hydrans had landed on this planet, she should have been able to spot some signs of Hydran life. There should have been some small villages at least.

A few hundred kilometers in from the western coastline, Straka spotted a settlement. She had Wilhelm return to the site and hover a kilometer overhead while they examined the structures below through the screens.

“What do you think?” Straka asked.

“It's definitely not Haber,” Wilhelm said. “At least not like those we saw on Gandji or Aurianta.”

“Let me see,” Markatens said. Straka made room for Markatens, and he peered into the screen. “No,” Markatens said. “It's definitely not a Haber settlement.”

The settlement appeared as a series of concentric rings. The innermost one looked like a domed structure. The other rings showed no distinct internal structures from that altitude.

“I wish we had a bomb,” Kominski said. “We could drop one right on the center of the inner dome, and then we could move on to the next one.”

“Sure, Kominski. That would take us only about a hundred thousand years to do, too. After all, the Hydran Empire couldn't be that big, right?” Wilhelm asked.

Kominski moved his head away from the screen and walked away.

“What
is
it with him?” Wilhelm asked. “A little gung ho?”

“Why, Wilhelm,” Straka said. “I never knew you were such a master of understatement.”

Wilhelm laughed.

“I no longer understand him,” Markatens said. “And I am concerned over his welfare.”

“Don't be,” Straka said. “He knows how to take care of himself.”

Straka looked into the screen and tried to figure out the best course of action. Their task could be relatively simple if the Hydrans acted anything at all like Terrans. They would have to land—that much was for certain. And all they had to do was capture one or two live, uninjured Hydrans. Sure, Straka thought. Nothing to it. Just swoop down on them and steal one out of its crib.

If a Hydran ever left that settlement, alone and unarmed, then there's a good chance we can pull this off without any extreme danger. If the Habers were already wiped off the face of this planet, and if the planet was definitely Hydran-owned, as it appeared to be, then there was no reason for the Hydrans to remain armed and in large groups.

Sure. That's all well and good, Straka thought. That's
if
they think like Terrans. Which I doubt. All we know for sure is that they kill Habers like there's no tomorrow.

“You see anyplace you like a lot?” Straka asked Wilhelm.

“There's a place about a kilometer to the north,” he said, pointing to a spot on the screen. “We could try that.”

“All right. Kominski? Markatens? This is it. We're going down there. Now remember what our directives are. And please—no heroics.”

They all flashed red.

“Weapons ready,” she ordered.

They flashed red again.

“Let's go, Wilhelm.”

The ship dropped downward like a stone. Straka activated the ship-to-ship radio and told Markos they were going down. They had landed by the time Markos replied.

“We've got you,” Markos said. “We're five miles straight up. Holler if you even
think
you need help.”

“Right,” Straka said, then broke off communications. “Let's move.”

They ran for the bay. The door was half open by the time they got there. From the top of the ramp Straka felt the chill of the planet's atmosphere creeping in, smelled the rotting heaviness in the air. She made her body hard and activated her belt.

They leaped from the ship to the ground, and the bay door closed behind them. This area of the planet was rocky, with huge boulders and strange-looking broken hills surrounding them. The ground was muddy—thick and difficult for walking. There was little vegetation in the immediate area, and what little there was seemed to be dying. It was near midday, with Epsilon Scorpio high in the sky, offering little warmth. They were chilled to the bone.

Straka looked around, carefully searching for signs of life—Hydran, Haber, or native.

The air was still, and a thin ground fog hovered half a kilometer away to the south, just a meter or so off the ground. “Key yourselves for the smell,” Straka reminded. “When you catch that, get ready.”

They spread out into an expanding square for ten meters, trying to spot a lone Hydran or two, hoping against hope their job would be easy. Within a few minutes of scouting they had determined that either no Hydrans still occupied the nearby settlement or they all occupied it, with none of them straying from its safety. In either case, none were around the immediate area.