Was Once a Hero (29 page)

“A
hunting we shall go,” Fenaday said.

“Tally-fucking-ho,”
Mmok added.

Chapter Fourteen

Shasti
and Fenaday kept their distance from each other the rest of the day, even
visiting the casualties separately.
 
One
of the critically wounded died without regaining consciousness.
  
She joined the others in the mass grave dug
alongside the
Farriq-Dar
.

Fenaday
walked over to the graveside carrying a small Bible.
 
They
call it a soldier’s manual,
he thought.
 
Full of the
“Yea, though I walk
through the valley of death”
passages someone in the Confed Chaplains Corp
thought would comfort believers.
 
I must not count as a believer.
 
They don’t comfort me.
 
He squinted up at Enshar’s fierce sun.
 
Is
there a God up there,
he wondered.
 
Is someone, anyone, looking down?
 
Can you hear me?
 
Where’s Lisa?
 
Why did all these people die?
 
Why?

“Captain?”
Rigg said, giving him a concerned look.
 
“We’re ready.”

“Yes,
of course.”
 
He glanced around.
 
Those not on guard or repairing the ships
stood around the huge hole dug by the utility robots.
 
Fifty people, many wounded, looked at him
expectantly, waiting for the words to sum up the lives ended in that hole.
 
Waiting for him to chant the magic spell that
would somehow make sense of it all.
 
Suddenly, he wanted to scream at them, wanted to tell the terrible truth
that it didn’t make sense, that he didn’t know why those in the pit were dead
and they were still alive, didn’t know why the guardian angels of the fallen
had failed to guard.
 

He drew
a deep, shaky breath, looking at their faces, then opened the small black
book.
 
“Man that is born of woman has but
a short time…”

He
finished the inadequate words and Rigg’s ASATs fired a volley.
 
People picked up shovels and put the dirt
in.
 
Very gently at first, till the
wrapped bodies disappeared under the soil, then with more of a will.
 
They had no markers, but
Farriq-Dar
would guard their sleep.

The
survivors packed themselves into the two airworthy shuttles and headed for the
inner island.
 
Shasti rode in
Banshee
, ostensibly to keep an eye on
things in the more damaged shuttle.
 
Fenaday did not object.

He
sat in the shotgun seat of the
Pooka
,
looking down at the deep ocean.
 
Mur’s brilliant light splashed among the waves.
 
The sight should have cheered him.
 
As it was, he was merely grateful that the
storms plaguing them had subsided.
 
It
seemed impossible to reconcile last night’s battle with the bright sanity of
day.

Fenaday
looked over at the
Banshee
, thirty
meters away and slightly higher.
 
The
Guard’s Red paint on her upper hull was scorched and chipped.
 
He could see some evidence of structural
damage by the airlock door.
 
Telisan and
the aircrew patched it so air did not blow through the hole, but the shuttle’s
speed was down to two hundred kilometers an hour.

Fenaday
unconsciously rubbed his ribs where Shasti hit him with her weapon, forcefully
enough to break skin.
 
Telisan noticed
his movement and looked over at him.
 
“Is
something broken?” he asked.

Fenaday
did not look back.
 
“I’m afraid it might
be,” he replied distantly.
 
The Denlenn
waited, but Fenaday said nothing further.
 
He just looked out of the canopy.
 
Telisan shrugged and returned to his instruments.

*****

The
spacers reached the smaller island after several hours travel in the protesting
shuttles. The shuttles landed back to back.
 
Nervous spacers hastily erected defenses.
 
All the wounded remained aboard while the
able-bodied set up camp.

Just
before sunset, the
Wildcats
arrived.
 
The appearance of the
Wildcats
cheered the defenders as the
fighters circled the encampment.
 
Wildcat 1
balanced shakily in VTOL mode,
then bumped down on the cleared field.
 
Fenaday winced reflexively, praying nothing failed in the landing
gear.
 
Sidhe
shipped few pilots; most of them were already down-world with
the expedition.
 
Clearly the
Wildcat’s
pilot was not familiar with
the fighter.
 
The canopy rose on the
stubby fighter.
 
As Fenaday expected,
Hanshi Tok climbed out.
 
The Tok brothers
were Moroks of the same blue-skinned humanoid race as Rask and among the most
reliable of the crew.
 
Fenaday knew
Hanshi to be trustworthy, especially as his brother, Lokashti, was on-world
with the landing force.

Hanshi
climbed out.
 
Lokashti walked over to him
and gave him a very human-like embrace.
 
Then Hanshi hurried over to Fenaday.
 
“Captain, it is good to see you.
 
I am your man.
 
I spit on all
mutineers.”
 
The Morok’s smile, with its
pointed teeth, was a fearsome thing.

“Thank
you, Hanshi.
 
It is good to see you too.”

Telisan
and some of the crew began unloading supplies from the ambulance and stores
pods, as well as the small internal cargo space.
 
Mmok and the utility robots immediately took
some of the boxes out to the perimeter.
 
Mines and robot spares, Fenaday imagined.

The
other fighter continued to circle.
 
Fenaday scowled up at it, noting the point-to-point missiles nestled
under the wings.
 
“Who’s the watchdog?”
he asked.

“One
of Mr. Perez’ new engineers, Tolk by name,” Hanshi said.
 
“Gods rot him.
 
I would give much to shoot him from the sky.”

“Another
one of Mandela’s,” Fenaday murmured to himself.

“They
don’t seem to have been as reliable as he assured us,” came Shasti’s voice.

Fenaday
turned.
 
She’d slipped up on him again.

“Yes,”
he said stiffly.
 
“I don’t think anyone
counted on the Special Forces people going bad.”
 
She walked up to stand near him.

“Ah,”
said Hanshi, delighted to see Shasti, “you live.
 
Well, this is good.
 
We shall have much fun retaking the ship.”

Shasti
nodded.
 
Hanshi did not seem offended by
her cool greeting, doubtless used to her reticence.

“How
does it stand on the ship?” Fenaday asked.

“Balanced
on a razor,” Hanshi replied, looking around at the campsite.
 
“Micetich and her lover, Naks, lead the
mutiny. The supply crew is in with them.
 
Dobera remains loyal.
 
You took
most of the regular landing force down with you.
 
The few who remain are worthless and do what
Micetich tells them.
 
The only other
armed people on board are Naks’ ASATs.
 
Half follow him and half are in the brig.
 
He arranged to have all their people on duty
just after the attack.
 
Sidhe's
security systems are designed
for operation by a small loyal cadre.
 
This time it is a small disloyal cadre.
 
Most are just waiting it out to see who comes out on top, especially in
Engineering.
 
They support neither
side.
 
They just keep the ship running
and obey the nearest person.”

“So
there is no chance the vessel will be retaken?” Fenaday asked.
 
A gust of cool wind slapped at him and he put
his hands in his jacket pockets.

“No,”
Hanshi said, “not unless you and Death’s Angel are there to lead the
attempt.
 
Most would follow you if you
were there, but they will not fight to come down to the planet.”

“I
never figured Micetich for something like this,” Fenaday said.

“Naks,”
Hanshi said, “has turned her head.
 
All
she sees now is him.”

“So
what do I bring back to the ship, Captain?” Hanshi asked hopefully, looking at
Shasti.

“Just
the wounded,” Fenaday said.
 
“Deliver
them to sickbay,
then
go spend some hours in the
simulator.
 
You nearly pancaked coming in
today.
 
We don’t have spare ships.”

“Captain,”
Hanshi begged, “if we are not going to attack, do not send me back to the
ship.
 
Send Karass.
 
As you saw, I am a lousy pilot.
 
I can do more good here.”

“I
would like to have him,” Shasti said.

“It
would make the likelihood of surviving the flight higher, I suppose,” Fenaday
grimaced.
 
“Hanshi, call Tolk on the
ship’s radio; see if you can set it up.
 
Shasti,” he almost stumbled over her first name, “tell Karass to get
ready.”

“Yes,
sir,” she replied woodenly and stalked off.

They
made the transfer.
 
Wildcat II
, its armed and suspicious pilot watching them intently,
also landed and off-loaded.
 
Fenaday
wished he had bought more of the ambulance pods, but there were only the
two.
 
The small fighters, loaded with
three wounded, headed back to the frigate before the flight window closed.
 
The better part of a day would pass before a
second landing could be attempted.

Night
began to fall around the tense camp.
 
This time the starship remained alert to any object on the sea, with
orders from Fenaday to fire on anything that approached.
 
Mmok sent out his air scout.
 
Beyond rolling waves and thundering surf, it
saw nothing.

Shasti
came over to where Fenaday, Telisan and Duna studied maps of the area by
lantern light, trying to assess their next move.

“Captain,”
she said, “would you care to inspect the perimeter defenses?”

Fenaday
looked at her, his face carefully free of expression.
 
“I’m sure your arrangements are satisfactory,
Commander.”

“As
you wish.
 
With your permission, I'll
take the first watch.”

“Very
good, Commander.
 
Mr. Telisan will
relieve you.”

Telisan
smiled at Shasti.
 
She registered no
reaction, just nodded and walked off toward the barrier wire.
 
Fenaday returned to the map.
 
Duna looked thoughtfully at Shasti’s
retreating back and excused himself from the others.

Mmok
watched the exchange from a distance, eavesdropping with the aid of his
mechanically enhanced hearing.
 
Shasti
passed by the mechanical man, out of sight now of Fenaday and the others.
 
“Trouble in paradise?
 
Lover’s tiff?” he whispered.

Shasti
blurred into motion, seizing Mmok by the throat and lifting him off the ground
before he could react.
 
She banged him up
against the shuttle’s hull.

“Who
gave you permission to talk to me?” she said in a silky, dangerous voice.

He
glared back, started to move and stopped abruptly as the pressure on his
trachea doubled.
 
“One call to an HCR,”
he choked out, “and you’re history.”

“Make
the call,” she dared him.
 
“You’ll be
there to greet me in hell.”

“Perhaps,”
came another voice, “it would be better if neither of you did anything
further.”
 
Duna padded up to them.
 
“Please let him go.”

Shasti
stared down at the little Enshari, then let go of Mmok, who slid down the
shuttle’s side.
 
The two tall humans
stood, stiff-legged, eyeing each other.

“Mr.
Mmok,” said Duna, “I believe Captain Fenaday wanted to see you.
 
Something about the robots.
 
I am afraid with my old brain, I can’t
remember the details.”

Mmok
sidled by Shasti, his face murderous.
 
Shasti looked back, calmly, no trace of emotion visible.
 
Mmok disappeared around the shuttle.

“I
don’t recall asking for any help,” she said.

“No,”
Duna said, looking up at her.
 
The
Enshari came barely to the top of her hip.
 
“I’m sure it is a rare event when you find yourself in need of help.
 
You have always seemed very self-sufficient.”

“I’ve
had little choice in that,” she replied with a hint of bitterness.

“Still,”
the Enshari mused, “it does seem you have had a friend in our captain.”