Was Once a Hero (24 page)

“I remember
the stories,” Fenaday added, “though the Shellycoats from those legends were
more mischievous then deadly.
 
They were
also called Bogles.
 
I thought it was a
Scottish legend.”

“I’m Scots on
my mother’s side,” Connery confessed.

“We won’t
hold that against you,” Fenaday said, drawing a quick nervous laugh.

“Whatever
we call them,” Fenaday said, turning back to Duna, “what the hell made you
think this had something to do with now?”

“A
few weeks before the disaster,” Duna replied, pacing on the broad rock, his
hands clasped behind his back, “I was at the University on Denla.
 
I received a communication chip from my old
friend, Unam Bela, an associate of Creda’s.
 
He told me that Creda had called him to the site of a new municipal
construction in Barjan.
 
City planners
decided to ignore the old tradition about not digging in the Barjan Deep.
 
The work uncovered many old artifacts, but
recently at the deepest levels, they uncovered fragments of ancient metal, an
alloy of an unfamiliar type.
 
MRI and
sonic scanners revealed a sub-cavern below.
 
He was going to join Creda on the dig.
 
The disaster occurred two weeks later.”

Duna
stopped pacing for a few seconds.
 
“I did
not believe it myself at first.
 
Like
most, I thought the Conchirri engineered it somehow.
 
Gradually, I began to wonder if there could
be something in the old tales of an evil buried in Barjan Deep.
 
After I discussed my thoughts with a few of
my fellow survivors, I became so discouraged that I told no one but Telisan
here.
 
I swore him to secrecy long before
we met you, Captain.”

Fenaday
looked at Telisan.
 
The Denlenn did not
meet his eyes, but said, “I have carried the burden of two secrets; this and my
knowledge of the zone of death.
 
I no
longer bear either weight but feel no lighter.”
 
He threw a small log on the fire, as if it mirrored the disturbance in
his soul, it cast a shower of sparks upward.

His
head came up and he looked squarely at Fenaday.
 
Light from the camp lights flared in his alien eyes.
 
“I fear I have not fully kept my oath to serve
you as I served the captain of the
Empress Aran
.
 
You may have my
resignation if you wish.”

“I’ll
take it under advisement,” Fenaday said, expressionless.

“So
where does that leave us?” Mmok interrupted.

“Pulling
out,” Fenaday said.
 
“We’ve landed on
Enshar, survived, gathered more information than has been learned before.
 
We are even on the scoreboard, actually one
up.
 
I don’t want to give whatever the
hell is down here the chance to start a tally.
 
I think it’s time for the Confederacy to take over.”

“With
respect, Captain,” Duna protested, “everything we have learned here has been
transmitted to the starship and the satellites.
 
And what is it we know?
 
An
inimical force haunts Enshar.
 
It hates
my kind but doesn’t care who else it kills.”

“It’s
confined to Enshar,” Fenaday said, leaning back on the shuttle and crossing his
arms.

“Do
you know that, Captain?” Duna asked.
 
“Will you chance that the creature will never get off my world?
 
It came from outside, if the legends are
true.
 
And you met one of those legends
today.

“What
if there are others out there?
 
This one
must have been in a weakened state.
 
Else, why do we live?
 
Now is our
chance to try and destroy this enemy, to free Enshar and give my people a
chance for survival.”

“I
vote we stay,” Mourner said, obviously moved by Duna’s speech.
 
“I know the whole medical staff is with
me.”
 
Behind her, Dr. N’deba nodded.
 
A few others murmured assent.

“This
isn’t a democracy, and you don’t get a vote,” Fenaday snapped.
 
“We have a contract, Duna.”

“You
may be the Captain, Fenaday,” Mmok said, “but you’re not the owner.
 
You know Mandela’s conditions.
 
You pull out now, and he is not going to
regard that as fulfillment of the bargain.
 
What good does Duna’s agreement do you without Mandela’s?”

“Some
of us have orders in such an event,” Rigg said reluctantly, and evidently
surprising Mmok.
 
Mmok looked displeased,
but said nothing.

“Do
not threaten the captain,” Telisan rapped.

“Whose
side are you on?” Mmok said.

“I
wish to stay,” Telisan said.
 
“To defeat
this evil that has very nearly murdered a race.
 
My life is sworn to this purpose, and I will use every honorable means
to stay.
 
But do not threaten the
captain, or my hand is against you.”

Fenaday
felt the situation slipping from his control.
 
Shasti coiled, cat-like, on the wing next to him.
 
He could see the other HCRs in the dimness
beyond the shuttles.
 
Shasti’s trouble
team stirred as well.
 
Some additional LF
troops, sensing the trouble, looked warily at the ASATs near them.
 
The situation headed for explosion.

“Captain,”
Duna said in calm, measured and pleasant tones, “may I make a suggestion?”

Fenaday
nodded warily.

“We
are fortified in a strong position here.
 
Let us sleep on it, as you humans say. Perhaps the sun will bring us new
counsel and wisdom.”

Fenaday
looked around, as if weighing the odds.
 
The old Enshari had been a politician, and he was providing Fenaday with
a way out.
 
Clearly he could not force
the expedition off-world just now.
 
Perhaps he could at least engineer a temporary retreat to the
Sidhe.

“Very
well,” Fenaday said.
 
Tension in the area
collapsed visibly, hands slid off weapons, and people breathed again.
 
“We don’t have a good launch window till
mid-morning anyway.
 
We could make a low
orbit tonight, but there’d be risks.

“When
we reconvene in the morning, we’ll consider a temporary pull back to the ship,
while we figure what’s going on.
 
I don’t
think that’s unreasonable,” he added, pleased to get a few spontaneous nods.

“Shasti,
Telisan and Duna, please stay.
 
Everyone
else, dismissed.”

The
others drifted off.
 
Mmok looked unhappy
about not staying, but he’d probably bug them anyway.

Duna
studied the human.
 
“Captain,” he said
slowly, “you may have a political future yourself.
 
All you intended was a temporary retreat.
 
Very clever.
 
Advance a proposition you cannot defend and replace it with one more
reasonable.”

Fenaday
yawned.
 
“It also served to clarify the
sides.”
 
He looked up at Telisan, “So,
whose side are you on?”

“I
gave you my word,” Telisan said, his face drawn and tight.
 
“So long as you got us to Enshar and made no
move against the personal safety of my patron, I am your officer.”

“You
disagreed with me a minute ago,” Fenaday said.

“Forgive
me,” Telisan said, “but I hate ambiguity.
 
I disagreed but made it clear that I am your man.
 
I will follow your orders,
even if it means killing.”

“Yes,”
Fenaday said, more gently.
 
“Thank you,
Mr. Telisan.
 
As regards the matter of
your resignation, can I rely on your giving me fair warning if I encroach on
your oath to Duna?”

“Yes,”
Telisan said, clipped and tense.

“I
believe you,” Fenaday said.
 
“Please
retain your commission.”

“I
also believe you,” Shasti added, to everyone’s surprise.

Telisan
nodded, evidently not trusting himself to speak and looking almost weak with
relief.

“Poor
Telisan,” Duna said, his fur rippling with anxiety.
 
“It is I who did this to you.
 
Blame me for any failure you feel there has
been, Captain.”

“We
all do what we have to do, Duna,” Fenaday said, “and justify it later.
 
No one is pure here.
 
At least I can understand and admire your
motives; that’s more than I can say for most people.”

“Well,
perhaps you can start calling me Belwin then,” Duna said, hopping off of his
rock podium.
  

Fenaday
smiled.
 
It was almost impossible not to
like Duna, despite the predicament.
 
“Good night, Belwin.”

“Good
night, Captain,” Duna turned and walked out of the lantern light.

“I’ll
take first watch,” Telisan offered.
 
“I
am too keyed up for sleep.”
 
He nodded to
Fenaday and also vanished into the dark.

Fenaday
turned to Shasti, anxious for her assessment.

“Do
you have another chocolate bar?” she asked.

Chapter Twelve

Fenaday’s
fortified campsite stood on the southeast coast of an island almost twenty
kilometers long.
 
Near midnight, on the
northern side of the island, a huge mechanical shape drifted down toward the
rocky beach.
 
The name on the immense
floating platform would have translated as
Industrial
Seacatcher #14
had there been anyone
to read it.
 
Nothing warm-blooded had moved on the giant
processing platform in nearly three years.
 
Nothing since the nightmare of terror ended for her crew on its derrick
and net-filled decks.
 
Pitiful skeletons
littered those decks, splintered and fragmented.

Seacatcher
wandered with the current,
much as her designers intended.
 
A few
functioning automatics and luck kept her from grounding.
 
On her port side, a small ferry lay wedged
and partially submerged—a companion in death also crewed by bones—collected on
some unwitnessed occasion.

The
heart of her automatics had now failed and
Seacatcher,
which floated over the horizon when Fenaday’s force landed, drifted into
shore.
 
High above,
Sidhe
orbited.
 
The starship
noted the approach of the derelict.
 
Despite the upload of the attack at Belwin Duna’s home, it never entered
Perez’s prosaic mind that the derelict could pose any threat.
 
The chief engineer lived in a secure world of
math and science.
 
Imagination was not
his strength.
 
He noted the powerless
derelict’s drifting approach, but ignored it.
 
It was, after all, merely another dead wreck.

Seacatcher
came to rest on the other
side of the volcanic ridge that bisected the island.
 
The pounding roar of the surf masked much of
the grinding, metallic cacophony of its arrival.
 
Distance and the heavy night air attenuated
it further.

On
the derelict a shape formed, taller than an Enshari, nearer the height of a
man.
 
It drew its substance from paper,
plastic and bits of bone and metal.
 
The
shape canted across the deck, heading toward land.
 
As it moved, pieces dropped off and new ones
took their place.
 
The gusting wind
seemed to shred it at times, as if the energy or attention keeping it together
waxed and waned.
 
When it reached
Seacatcher’s
landward edge, it simply
toppled over into the surf.
 
Fragments
washed up along the beach, and it took some time for the manifestation to
collect itself.
 
It moved on, pulling
sand, driftwood and shell into its body.
 
Down the wind-swept beach it danced, with only the rustling sound of wet
paper and sticks.
 
It slipped along
lightly, now with greater speed, now with lesser.
 
Sometimes, it came close to dissipating, as
if its outraged component parts demanded rest, a return to their natural
state.
 
The shape negotiated the open
areas of the island, avoiding the heavy forest where it could.
 
Eventually, it reached a point on the
headland, above the spacers’ encampment.
 
It stopped in line of sight of the camp, but not near.
 
Having reached its objective, the collection
of bones and bits settled lower to the ground.
 
Its substance became denser, whirling with less energy.
 
It called.

On
the deck of
Seacatcher,
unlife
stirred.
 
An army, resting from its
previous mission of slaughter, reassembled.
 
It incorporated its previous victims’ bones, metal, plastic, anything
handy.
 
They varied in size, but six
giants made from girders and scaffolding stood like field marshals in the midst
of the resurrected force.
 
The ghastly
army, its mission renewed, began to disembark.
 
Above it, as if in cooperation, the heavens joined the assault with a
rumble of thunder and a deluge of rain.