Worlds in Chaos (100 page)

When morning came, the whole situation had changed. News via the flyer’s system brought the staggering announcement that the Western part of the U.S. had seceded and declared itself a sovereign federation governed from Sacramento. As fugitives on an alien planet, by no means sure where they stood with their own authorities, none of the Hyadeans was sure of the implications or what they should do. The easiest and perhaps safest choice seemed to be simply to stay on in the village, making the best of the peace and seclusion it offered, get the rest that they all needed, and give things a couple of days to see what happened. The villagers and their headman had no objections, and the children found the blue aliens fascinating, following them everywhere.

But before they had finalized any plans, an even stranger thing happened. A call came in over the flyer’s system, forwarded by Luodine’s blue-and-yellow flyer, still landed far to the south in Bolivia. It was routed via Chryse, but had been sent by the Hyadean girl that Hudro had returned to Brazil to collect before joining Rocco’s force for the attempt to free Cade and Marie. Her name was Yassem. The operation had succeeded, but the helicopter bringing them all back to Segora had been shot down. As far as Yassem knew, she and Marie were the only survivors. She was relieved to learn that all three Hyadeans had got away safely from Segora. Right now, Yassem and Marie were at a Brazilian military base on the southern side of the Amazon basin. For the moment, they were managing to pass themselves off as affiliated with the security forces under a story that Yassem had dreamed up, but that cover could only last so long. Using codes obtained from registration records on Chryse, Yassem had located the blue-and-yellow flyer down in Bolivia. She wanted to use it to get them away. Now that they knew where Luodine and the others were, she and Marie could fly there and join them. Nyarl was worried about surveillance risks. That was okay, Yassem assured him. Military communications was her job. She would take care of that.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Pink lights flashed past the open gun-hatch; then came the jolting of objects hitting the helicopter’s structure. Yassem, crouched on the floor in front of where Marie was sitting, put her helmet on and secured it. Rocco shouted back instructions from the front, and one of the men clambered up to man the machine gun, while another hooked up the ammunition belt. Marie and Cade braced their arms on the sides and tried to steady themselves against each other as the pilot went into evasive maneuvers. And then a giant fist seemed to slam the helicopter, bursting the wall behind them inward and tearing Cade away from her grasp.

Impressions kaleidoscoped together of bodies tumbling and hurtling about the interior, cries of pain and fear, a blast of wind. The figure that had been at the hatch was gone. Everything was turning. A force pinned Marie with her face and chest to the wall, unable to move. Yassem rose from somewhere and then fell against her, entangling them. Past Yassem’s shoulder, Marie saw Cade caught in the side webbing, blood pouring from his head and down the back of his jacket, and Rocco nearby, clinging to the edge of the hatch. The helicopter hit the ground to a cacophony of screams, objects crashing against the sides, and the shriek of metal rending and buckling. Marie heard herself cry out as Cade and Rocco collided and disappeared. The helicopter carried on sliding downhill, slewing, and coming apart, spilling bodies, equipment, and debris. A limb of a tree reared up through pieces of disintegrating cabin and floor, and Marie was pitched forward onto a headless body that gushed blood over her face and chest. There was a wrench that felt as if she were being pulled apart; sudden light; leaves and branches rushing and tearing at her. . . .

She was underneath a section of what had been the fuselage, ensnared in foliage among pieces of wreckage. Her face felt on fire. Her whole body ached. She became aware of guns firing, sounds of aircraft, explosions. They had come down in the middle of a battle. She tried to move, and winced as every muscle and joint protested. But there was no other way out of this. Testing herself warily, she concluded nothing was broken. Then, gathering her breath, she bit her lip against the pain and forced herself to move, first freeing the thorns and vines from her clothing. The activity seemed to help. She extricated herself gradually, straightened up, and took stock. The headless corpse was doubled grotesquely over a seat attached to part of the cabin wall. The only other figure in sight was in Hyadean military garb, lying facedown and motionless on a section of buckled flooring. Marie hauled herself across and turned the helmet to reveal a flash of yellow-orange hair against the blue skin. It was Yassem. She was breathing. There was no sign of Hudro. Marie could smell smoke and burning. Forcing herself onto her feet, she turned the Hyadean’s body over and secured a grip under the arms. Yassem was spattered with blood too, but there was no way of telling if it was hers. There were no obvious gashes in her clothing. Gritting her teeth and straining, Marie dragged her inch by inch clear from the wreckage.

They were on one side of a sloping, rocky-sided ravine filled with dead trees. The rest of the helicopter was in parts farther down, with seats, pieces of rotor, parts of the tail assembly, and more bodies strewn in between. Flames were licking around the largest section. Somehow, Marie pulled Yassem’s inert form through the thickets of dead branches and thorn bush to the rocks higher up the ravine side, where she collapsed with her burden into a hollow. A dull
whoosh
sounded as the wreckage ignited, and black smoke curled upward from below. The crackle of small-arms fire was coming from very close, interspersed with bursts from a heavy machine gun. At one point, Marie heard voices shouting. She lay still, too numbed with delayed shock to know what she should do. Time passed. She nudged and tried to shake Yassem. The Hyadean groaned but wouldn’t stir. Marie located the water bottle on Yassem’s belt, unscrewed the cap, and pressed it to her lips. “Yassem, can you hear me . . . ?” This time Yassem reacted, feeling for the water bottle and holding it to her mouth. “How bad does it feel?” Marie asked. “Does it hurt anywhere?”

Yassem gulped and took in a series of long breaths. “Hudro?” she whispered. “We were hit. Is he here?”

“Don’t worry about that now. We have to move.”

Like Marie, Yassem was torn and bruised but seemed otherwise uninjured. After waiting perhaps a half hour for her to orient herself and collect her strength, they began moving, stopping frequently for rests. Marie had no clear plan. Her vague thought was to find a river or creek and follow it downstream. Water led to habitation. Yassem seemed too dazed or perhaps overcome by grief to object or offer anything more constructive. The sounds of fighting drew farther away. They carried on, movement still painful, making slow progress over the rough, forested, hilly terrain.

Nightfall brought them to a deserted collection of huts and trailer cabins by a dirt road, several demolished, and the rest riddled with bullets—clearly the scene of recent fighting. A number of bodies lay scattered around, including some charred black in a burned-out gun pit. Despite the macabre surroundings, Marie and Yassem could go no further. Finding some packs and cases with unused rations, they scraped together a meal of sorts—even a dash of brandy—and lay down with makeshift blankets in the corner of a relatively unscathed house, away from what appeared to have been the center of the action, to spend the night.

They were found and awakened next morning by Brazilian soldiers sent to clear up the scene and bury the corpses. Seeing Yassem and her military garb, they fetched the Hyadean officers accompanying their unit. The Hyadeans were tough-looking, confident, reminding Marie of the ones she had seen in the air terminal at Uyali. Yassem had regained much of her strength by now, and answered their questions in Hyadean. From their general manner, Marie got the impression that she and Yassem were considered to be on the same side—certainly not prisoners.

A medic was summoned to check both of them. He pronounced no major injuries but used up a lot of adhesive dressings and gauze on minor things, including a lot of superficial lacerations to Marie’s face, which he said would heal. Shortly afterward, a Hyadean military flyer landed, and they were put aboard. One of the Hyadeans and two Terrans would be apparently coming too. Just before entering, they turned to exchange a few final words with others outside. It was Marie and Yassem’s first moment of privacy since their awakening that morning.

“What’s happening?” Marie asked in a whisper as they sat down.

“I told them I’m one of our communications liaison officers, and you’re a Terran aide who works with me,” Yassem replied. “We were attached to a Terran unit mixed up in the fighting here, and we were separated. They’re taking us back to their base.”

Marie couldn’t feel totally happy about it. “Won’t they check?” she queried.

“Eventually. But it will give us some time.”

Marie looked down at the drab gray tunic that she was still wearing, which she had been given at Cuzco. “I’m surprised nobody noticed this prison garb.”

Yassem looked Marie up and down. “With all that blood, I’m not sure anyone could tell what it is,” she said.

They arrived at a camp of wooden and corrugated steel huts, depot facilities, an airstrip, and defensive positions, set inside a perimeter of double wire fences. Beyond were grassy hills cloaked by scatterings of trees. The camp was bustling with Terran and Hyadean aircraft arriving and departing, presumably in support of the operations still in progress elsewhere. Yassem declined a suggestion of the base medical officer to put her and Marie in the sick bay for a couple of days, which would straightaway have required information on who they were and from what unit. Staying on their feet would leave them more in control of their own affairs. So instead, they were shown to quarters where they were given clean clothes and left to freshen up.

Later, when they came out, and tottered over to the officers’ mess for breakfast with more effort than they let show, it turned out that their story was not anyone’s special concern just for the moment, anyway. The big news was that in the north, the governor of California, William Jeye, had declared the secession of the Federation of Western America. The talk among the Brazilian officers was about whether an all-out North American war was imminent, and if so, where they would stand in it. But the most astounding thing was when the newscaster replayed notable incidents from the days leading up to the declaration. One event cited as having had a profound effect on the American people was a documentary released from unofficial Hyadean sources to the Western news media. It was none other than the one featuring Cade and Marie that Luodine had made.
It had gotten through!
At least, it had as far as California. Marie stared disbelievingly. Yassem watched her in puzzlement before making a connection between the face on the screen and the swollen, discolored one next to her swathed in dressings—and even then, probably only because Hudro had told her about it. Marie excused herself to go back to their quarters. It wasn’t only to recover from the shock and absorb the implications. Even with the dressings, she couldn’t rid herself of the conviction that it would only have taken minutes for somebody in the room to recognize her. Some time passed by before Yassem joined her.

“I’ve been getting a picture of the situation,” she told Marie. “It doesn’t sound good. Segora was heavily attacked yesterday. It’s in government hands now. Vrel and the others would have been right in the middle of it all if they got there the night before. We have to try to contact them. Obviously we’re on borrowed time here. Do you know the number of Vrel’s phone—the one Roland sent the file to?”

Marie shook her head. “There was never any reason to think I’d need it.”

Yassem looked vexed. “Communications is my specialty. We talk routinely to people on Chryse. There
must
be some way. . . .”

It took Yassem ten minutes of pacing about the room and frowning out the window to realize what she had said. “Chryse!” she exclaimed suddenly. “Luodine and Nyarl’s flyer—the one that’s still in Bolivia, somewhere. It carries Hyadean communications that can be reached from there. The registration record to Luodine’s agency on Chryse will have its call code, and it’s accessible via the Hyadean equipment here at the base. We can get through to them that way!”