Was Once a Hero

chapter Ten





Morning is surprisingly chilly for this time of the year, thought Fenaday. He clutched his leather jacket a little closer and looked over his coffee cup at the lightening eastern sky. The sunlight of the big star made for quite a predawn show. He’d slept hard and deep, waking early, alert and energetic. Maybe it’s just joy at still being alive, he thought. Fenaday stuck his nose in the plas-steel cup and breathed the coffee scent deep into his lungs.

“It is definitely not a good day to die,” he whispered to himself.

“There are no good days for that,” Shasti said from behind him.

He turned and smiled. “Good ears, Ms. Rainhell.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “The better to hear bad, ugly things sneaking up on you, Captain.”

“Good. Listen very carefully,” he said. “This could be a long day.”

“If we are lucky,” she replied.

The exploratory team broke camp after field showers and a hastily cooked breakfast which were their only luxuries. The camp’s defenders packed up the barrier wire and trooped into the big Dakota shuttles, which lifted off, covering each other.

Fenaday led the way in Pooka, though he left the actual flying to Angelica Fury. Banshee trailed with Karass at the controls, followed by Farriq-Dar. They maintained a combat-ready formation as they headed for the outskirts of Gigor base. The first Enshar expedition had landed twenty-one kilometers from the base. Earhart’s captain had intended to do a long-range ground recon before moving into Gigor but the Confed force was overwhelmed at their landing site.

Tension grew as they neared the site of the first landing. Pooka slowed and the other two shuttles climbed for altitude.

“There they are,” announced Telisan. His sharp eyes spied the camouflaged shuttles, set down in what was once a farmer’s field. The Denlenn’s face became grim and his eyes glittered. Fenaday remembered Telisan had friends in those shuttles. He certainly had them among the fighters wrecked in the area. Mercifully, none of the Earhart’s crashed fighters lay near the shuttles.

Foliage partially covered Earhart’s shuttles. The three large Wolverine class assault-shuttles, many times more dangerous than Fenaday’s old Dakotas, sat in a landing triangle. Each ship faced outward in the textbook deployment pattern. Their standard gray-green camouflage, dulled by years of sun and dirt, blended well with the local equivalent of wheat or corn. Vegetation covered the clear plas-steel gun turrets. Nothing could be seen of their interiors from the hovering Pooka.

Fenaday looked over Telisan’s shoulders. “I don’t fancy dropping into head-high ground cover. We won’t be able to see a damn thing.”

“There are a few ways to clear foliage,” replied Telisan. “Daisycutter bombs, laser or chain gun fire, none of which seems practical.”

“There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” Mmok quoted, “and they’re all fun.”

Telisan half turned in his seat, his eyes narrowing. “Does thee have something to say?” Clear warning sounded in the Denlenn’s voice.

Mmok’s half grin faded slightly. “The robots can do it. We hover at ten meters as they jump in. They use monofilament to cut the grass and gather it up so we don’t start fires on landing. The galaxy’s most expensive weed whackers.”

Telisan looked at Fenaday, who nodded.

“Do it,” commanded Telisan.

“Fury, hover in the center of the landing triangle,” Mmok ordered.

The HCRs jumped off the rear ramp of the shuttle Pooka as the crabs fell from their hookups under the shuttles. Shasti and her trouble squad, wearing hearing protection and secured to brackets at the hatchway, covered them. The robots quickly deployed and strung monofilament between pairs. They cut a huge swath through the area, uncovering each Wolverine, drawing no reaction. HCRs easily cleared the cut material. Fenaday ordered Pooka to land. As they came down, the robots stamped out any small fires that broke out and then fell back on the Pooka.

Hatches popped and nervous faces peered out over leveled weapons. Fenaday and Telisan joined Mmok and Shasti on the large rear ramp. One of the Wolverines sat a scant forty meters away. Fury stayed at the controls, ready to lift at the first sign of trouble. After a minute, Fenaday gave her the sign to cut the engines and quiet descended.

Fenaday looked from face to face. Only Shasti and Mmok looked unconcerned

“The robots report no animal life closer than four hundred meters, and those signals are retreating rapidly,” Mmok reported.

Fenaday nodded, then turned to the radiotech, Susan Bernard, “Call the other shuttles down. Have them land close to us. We’re going over to Wolverine Six.”

He hopped off the ramp, followed by Telisan, Shasti, Duna, Mmok and the trouble team. Everyone wore disposable chemical-biological warfare suits. The Confed shuttles had lain sealed for over two years. Their interiors would not be pleasant.

Sidhe’s other shuttles grounded as Fenaday’s party reached Wolverine Six. Telisan looked up at the gray-green hull and climbed onto its left thruster, reaching for the keypad. Before keying the opening sequence, he looked into the small battle porthole, shining a torch.

“Bodies,” he said grimly, “lying around on the deck. Debris everywhere.” He backed away and touched the keypad. Nothing happened. “As I suspected,” said Telisan. “Power is out and the electronics are fried. I’m going to use the emergency lever.”

Telisan reached down to a panel surrounded by yellow and black stripes, marked “Emer-Release.” Everyone else covered the door. The hydraulics still worked and door whooshed open slowly, outward and down, forming a ramp. The smell that rolled out made them all seal their masks. Not the sickly sweet smell of rotting meat but a musty odor of mold and decay. Fenaday, Shasti, Telisan and Mourner entered. Gunnar came as far as the door, looked in and backed out cursing. He seemed happy to stand on the ramp. Fifty bodies lay inside the forty-five meter Wolverine. Most were in the back, where they formed an unpleasant mass on the floor. The bodies, sealed in the airtight shuttle, had not gone to bone or been devoured. Natural fungus and the microbes carried by all life had degraded them. They’d turned into mold gardens. Mourner called for Yamata and Vashti to get into suits and join her.

Bodies and equipment lay about the shuttle as if some giant had picked it up and shaken it. “Just like Gigor,” Fenaday said.

“Look at this,” Shasti called. She stood in the middle section of the shuttle, near the communications panel, pointing at one of the dead ASATs. The desiccated corpse lay on its back on the panels, a pistol still clutched in mummified hands. A space suit lay on top of the body, as if in some obscene embrace. The suit was the armored type used in boarding actions, and two blast holes showed in its back.

Fenaday looked at Shasti. “From the pistol?” he asked. Pulling out his long Scottish dirk, he tried to lever the encrusted space suit off the body. It stuck. Impatient at his squeamishness, Shasti simply grabbed the suit’s shoulder with a gauntleted hand and pulled it off the corpse. It came free with a nauseating, crackling sound. She flipped it over, revealing larger blast burns on the suit’s front. It had been shot from close range.

“Perhaps someone threw it at him,” wondered Telisan. The Denlenn had returned from the cockpit with dog tags clutched in his hands. His face looked drawn and tired.

“Or he held it up for defense and shot through it,” Duna mused.

“Doesn’t make sense,” Shasti said, looking at the shuttle’s interior with distaste.

The scientists plied their probes as the rest of them checked the shuttle’s instruments. Gunnar ran a cable from Pooka to the Wolverine’s ground power port to no avail. The ship was thoroughly dead.

Mourner came over toward them. The small, intense woman stood next to Shasti, who overtopped her by most of a meter. The Olympian and the doctor made for an incongruous sight.

“As near as I can tell,” said Mourner. “Most people in here died from blunt trauma. Bones are broken, skulls cracked. There are also indications on some bodies of stab wounds. Three, including the pilots, show signs of electrocution. The bodies are too badly decomposed for me to tell much in a field test. All this mold has screwed any chemical analysis.”

“What the hell went on here?” Fenaday asked.

“I don’t know, Captain,” Mourner replied. “I can tell what killed them, but not who, or how they got aboard.”

“I don’t think any attack force was on board,” Shasti said. “It doesn’t look right for a gunfight or close-in battle. No burns on the bulkheads, magazines full of unfired rounds. They died quickly. Yet, who could surprise troops of this quality?”

“None of it makes sense,” Telisan growled. “The shuttle doors never opened. How did attackers get in here?”

“I checked the hull floor-plates,” Shasti said, “they are intact. Nothing came up from below.”

“Maybe they went mad and attacked each other,” Mourner said. “I just don’t know.”

“Any reason to stay here further?” Fenaday asked, fervently hoping there wasn’t.

Mourner sighed. “Not without a real lab. I’ve taken samples, holos and everything else I can think of. Maybe after we get back to the starship and I can use her facilities…”

Fenaday looked around the dead shuttle and shuddered. “All right,” he said harshly. “Everyone out and back to our ships. We are pulling out and heading to Duna’s home.”

The crew left gladly and quickly. As they came to the hatch, Telisan put a hand on his arm. “Help me reseal it. I want no animals disturbing their rest.”

The hatch was clearly beyond the strength of the two, but they didn’t call for the HCRs. This was a job for people. Shasti and Johan Gunnar threw their backs in as well, and the Confederate shuttle resealed. They made their way back to Pooka. As they crossed the open ground, Gunnar looked up. Clouds darkened the sky and thunder rumbled in distance. The big man scowled. “Does it rain every damn day here?” he groused.

“Maybe we landed in the rainy season,” Shasti replied.

Gunnar, one of the few people who could small talk with Shasti, grinned at her.

Telisan and Duna listened to the conversation and exchanged anxious looks at each other and the sky. The Denlenn looked as if he might speak, but the Enshari shook his head.

*****

In Wolverine Six, behind the sealed hatch, something stirred in the darkness. From near the shuttle's communication panel, a shape humped itself painfully forward. The armored space suit Shasti had thrown to the deck in disgust rose from where she left it. It crawled slowly, seemingly with great effort, to the hatchway. Once there, it became mostly erect, propped against the hatch. It plopped its mass against the hatch several times, as if trying to pass through the obstinate metal. A slight electrical smell wafted through the fetid air along with the crackle of a tiny discharge.

The door remained sealed. Even Mmok’s guardian angels did not hear the slight sound the suit made in the dead ship. The faceplate of the suit pressed against the porthole. It could not be seen against the shuttle’s darkened exterior. Then, as if exhausted by the effort, it dropped to the deck like a puppet with cut strings. Utter stillness returned to Earhart’s dead shuttle.

*****

They lifted from the site of the Confed shuttles and their slaughtered crews, leaving the impending storm behind. Fenaday looked down on the shuttles sitting in the defensive triangle and shook his head. He turned to the pilot, Angelica Fury.

“Keep Pooka in lead, triangular formation,” he said. “Maintain an economical cruising speed.”

“Aye, sir, four hundred knots it is.”

“Why so slow, Captain?” Duna asked, “Aren’t these Dakotas marginally supersonic?”

“Yes,” Fenaday replied. “We have fuel-efficient reactor-based drives, but their range isn’t infinite. The more propellant we use, the more often we have to either shuttle up or send the fighters down with tanks.”

“Of course, Captain,” Duna said. “Foolish of me to ask.”

“Relax,” Fenaday said kindly. “We’ll be there in a few hours.”

From the deck of the Pooka, Fenaday and the others watched the farmlands roll beneath them. Brilliant yellow crops topped with growths of swaying rusty orange filled the miles in a scene reminiscent of the American Midwest. Dark-hued trees looking like Terran pines but studded with white flowers marked the edges of the fields. Occasionally, the spacers saw farmhouses. Most were of the domed variety the Enshari favored, painted in light cream and beige. Duna pointed out some of an older style. Small hillocks of natural dirt, poured over a modern construction, these resembled the early dens of Enshari farmers.

Other, less pleasant sights presented themselves: crashed aircraft of various types, cars and trucks that had run off roads. The shuttles flew over a wrecked Maglev train, its cars flung about as if by a maddened child.

The contrast between the pleasant countryside and the devastation became too much for Duna. “My poor people,” he mourned. “What force is it that hates us so?” His small hands covered his expressive brown eyes. Telisan put a hand on Duna’s shoulder, his golden, leathery face marked by concern. Shasti looked out of the canopy, uncomfortable. Fenaday, who had lost a home and family, felt a pang of sympathy for the Enshar.

“While we are still alive, there is hope,” Telisan said.

“Hope is a thin meal,” Duna replied, uncovering his eyes.

For the first time, Fenaday drew a sense of age from the Enshar. Duna always seemed energetic. It was hard to believe the little alien had lived for eight hundred years. Now Duna looked every one of those years, old and tired. For some reason, it frightened Fenaday. He wished desperately for something comforting to say but could think of nothing that did not seem trite in light of the tragedy.

Li, one of Shasti’s trouble squad, came up with a cup of hot tea. Shasti assigned Li as a bodyguard to Duna. Duna looked up at the tea and the concern on Li’s hard-bitten face. The scholar took the tea and bowed his head against the cup twice in an Enshari gesture of respect and thanks. Li bowed gracefully from the waist.

Fenaday shook his head. Li, like most of his crew, had never shown a sign of giving a damn about anyone. Somehow Duna seemed to bring out the best in people.

Li caught his look. “I learned it from the old movies,” he said. “I grew up in Stockholm.”

There was a brief laugh from the humans, even Mmok. Duna and Telisan looked puzzled. Telisan made the Denlenn equivalent of a shrug, a gesture Fenaday had learned meant, “Aliens, who can understand them?”

People settled in. Mmok, Rigg, Rask and some of the other troopers folded down enough of the seats to play cards. Some talked, cleaned weapons, or slept. Fenaday and Shasti stayed by the canopy watching the world roll beneath them: beautiful, mysterious and alien. One could almost forget the disaster that had brought them here.

Three hours later, the shuttles began circling a huge house on the outskirts of the town of Pelen. The sprawling structure was painted a mustard-yellow with an olive green roof and cream trim. Duna’s home sat on a cliffside, its back to the eastern sea of Canelda, with its dark, almost black waters. It fronted a wide lawn where the shuttles could land without difficulty. Two smaller cream-colored domes of typical Enshari architecture sat on the grounds as well. The staff and groundskeepers had lived there. Duna’s home was only for the family and guests. The house was not typically Enshari, as befitted its unusual owner.

“Pelen is where I was born,” Duna said. “I met my wife, Medu, here. We made it our home for three hundred years. She passed away years before the disaster and is buried on the property below, but my mission here is not sentimental. As one of the few of my kind to spend much time off-world, I enjoyed a quasi-ambassadorial status. My home, which I’ve not seen in fifteen years, also acted as an intelligence gathering station. The staff maintained an extensive bank of computers, recordings, books and periodicals, sending me material on all manner of current events.

“My hope is that the computers in the building survived whatever happened. They were electronically protected from snooping, and the building has its own power supply. We may find some clues within.”

“It’s beautiful,” Telisan said, looking at the huge building.

“Medu,” said Duna, “trained as an architect. She based the design, with a few Enshari refinements, on homes found on the North Atlantic coast of Earth’s North America. The building style is similar to a New England telescope house, though she added another story. Oh, how proud she was when it was finished...”

Duna’s home reminded Fenaday of his own on New Eire’s rugged seacoast. An unexpected feeling of homesickness swept through him. He turned away from the view outside the canopy for a few moments.

They flew in over the lawn, dropping in a triangular formation. Robots sprang from the shuttles, forming a perimeter. Rainhell’s and Rigg’s people fanned out, more confident now, also taking defensive positions. Fenaday held the shuttle engines at low throttle for a minute. Annihilation did not threaten. He joined the others on Pooka’s rear ramp.

Fenaday tilted his head back and let the sunshine fall on his face with its gentle warmth. The breeze from the ocean brought a fresh, clean scent to them, cooling the air and stirring the evergreen-like trees, making their white flowers bob almost cheerfully. The lush growth of the interior had thinned out in the windswept coastal area. Leaves and plants appeared darker and more subdued, less dazzling to human sensibilities. The grass they trod on looked similar to Terran fescue, though shaded a darker green and with metallic hint to it.

The spacers started up the crushed rock path toward the door. Duna, Mmok, and Telisan walked beside Fenaday. Rainhell and her trouble team guarded their right. Rigg and a fire team of ASATs paced them on the left. They walked at an easy pace, looking over the beautiful grounds.

“My home,” Duna said simply.

Magenta and Cobalt moved at a distance from them, patrolling further out on the flanks. The crab robots and the HCRs Verdigris and Vermilion circled the shuttles with their firepower.

A sudden movement from the forest’s edge caught Shasti’s eye. “Down,” she yelled. The spacers threw themselves flat. Magenta flashed into sight, firing a tri-auto. In the background came cries and yells. The shuttle’s engines coughed into restart.

Fenaday rolled upright, his laser pistol clearing the holster. No less quickly, Shasti dropped into a firing position with her tri-auto rifle. Magenta stood triumphantly over the smoking remains of the menace; a late model garden robot. It lay on its side, sparking fitfully. Its hedge trimmers and clippers seemed comical compared with the deadly efficiency of the HCR. Fenaday looked around with more attention. He was chagrined. The erratically clipped grass should have told him something. The solar-powered mechanism must have operated irregularly, soldiering on whenever the weather allowed it sufficient charge to go about its work.

“Captain,” Angelica Fury shouted into his headset, “what’s happening? Do you need support?”

“Negative,” replied Fenaday drolly, standing and holstering his laser. “Mr. Mmok just made our first bag of the voyage. A three thousand credit garden robot, by the look of it.”

Laughter barked out over the net and Fenaday saw quick, nervous grins on the faces of the spacers near him. Mmok ignored all of them, his throat moving as he subvocalized. Fenaday wondered if he was chewing Magenta out or adjusting her programming. In the background the shuttle engines wound down again.

Duna picked himself up, dusting off his ship uniform. He headed for a small tree to the right of the house as if nothing had happened. As they neared it, a small headstone became visible. Everyone held back as Duna spent a few moments at his wife’s graveside. He leaned forward to embrace the stone. Fenaday looked up at the house, fighting to keep his vision from blurring. He knew what it felt like to mourn a lost wife. Finally, Duna stood and walked, very deliberately, back to the house.

Fenaday realized that the little Enshari might find the bodies of friends or family on the other side of the door. He signaled Shasti to stop Duna and waved to Telisan.

“Does he have anyone in there?” he whispered.

Telisan looked at him for a second, then smiled. “You are very considerate for a pirate.”

Fenaday wasn’t sure why the comment warmed him, but for the first time that day he managed a smile. “I don’t want the old scholar to go through any more than he has to. He may have gotten us into this mess, but I’ve grown kind of used to him.”

Telisan looked up at the big, cream-colored house. “Medu passed away long before I met him. He has many children, some survived off-world. Of the ones who died on Enshar, I do not think any lived here. They were all grown. He had many friends, but I doubt they would have been at the house while he was away.”

“Yeah. Well, I think we’ll go in first anyway,” Fenaday said.

They walked up to the door.

“Shasti, Mmok, Morgan, Li, Connery and Rigg, you’re with us. Gunnar, you stay with Duna. Send the HCRs around the back,” Fenaday ordered.

He keyed his mike. “Fury, come in.”

“Fury here.”

“Send a squad to secure the area between the shuttles and the house. We got sloppy, not noticing the mowed grass. It didn’t cost us. Let’s not get sloppy again.”

Fenaday drew his laser in a fluid move, aiming for the door lock.

Duna made an apologetic noise. Fenaday looked down. The little Enshar offered him a sonic key. Telisan and Mmok grinned. Shasti pretended to study a cloud formation. Fenaday sighed, took the sonic key, and unlocked the door. It swung open easily. He reached in, bending low, to find the light switches. About half of them came on. Some flickered. He noted panels in the ceiling. These glowed softly as he opened the door.

“Bioluminescent fungus,” Duna said, catching his glance. “We developed it to a high art. Enshari do not require darkness to sleep. There will be light in every room. The panels require no maintenance and get all they need from the air.”

“Good to know,” said Fenaday. “Less shooting at shadows.”

He stepped into the room. The ceilings were low, a little over two meters. Shasti did not actually have to stoop, but she was clearly unhappy about it. She stood at eye level with a ceiling fan.

Duna’s home ran off solar power, with a backup generator. Surprisingly, the house was in good order even the air-conditioning still worked. The spacers split into teams of four to search the house. They found water damage in the kitchen from a burst pipe; otherwise everything seemed intact and in good condition.

Li and Telisan called Fenaday and Shasti up to the study. They found the Landing Force Troops standing in front of a locked door that the sonic key would not open. Fenaday burned through the lock as the others covered him. He kicked the door open, but Shasti cut in front of him, leading with her tri-auto. The room they entered was particularly cold, and in the middle of it, lying on the floor, they found the body of an Enshari, nearly buried under a mountain of books, tapes, disks and data crystals. Fenaday and the others looked around the room. All the windows were sealed from the inside. On the far side, a connecting door led to the computer room they had come so far to investigate. Fenaday leaned in; there was no other exit from the computer room.

With reluctance Fenaday turned to Telisan. “Duna should see this body. He may have known the person.”

The Denlenn nodded. “I’ll prepare him for it.”

Telisan returned with Duna in tow. Duna approached the body and looked at it. Fenaday held his breath. The Enshari made a few small hand gestures while speaking in a low voice. It reminded Fenaday of Father Lux saying last rites over his father.

Duna stood and turned to look at Fenaday. “I do not recognize the body, though it appears from the uniform that she was on the staff here.” He waved a hand at Telisan. “Come my friend; the data banks are back here.”

Duna and Telisan disappeared in the back room and began working on the equipment. Fenaday and the others returned to the body. Fenaday had no idea of the corpse’s age. Enshari looked much the same for most of their long lives. The corpse had been mummified by the cold, dry, air-conditioning. Shasti and Fenaday exchanged puzzled looks.

“Great,” he said, “a locked room murder mystery.”

“She came in here,” Shasti mused, “locked the door, sealed the windows from the inside and then buried herself under books and junk?”

“Doesn’t make any damn sense,” he replied.

This time Fenaday leaned over the body and searched it. He pressed his lips firmly together and tried not to think. He found a wallet in the overalls. He pulled it out, breathing hard and did not protest when Shasti took it from his hand to briskly empty the contents. She pulled out a hand comp from her harness-pack, running it over the cards she extracted from the wallet. It interrogated the chips in the cards and yielded the details of an ordinary life—as collected by bureaucrats galaxy-wide. The little speaker on the hand comp converted the Enshari language into toneless Terran.

“Barsta Ucout, 169-3 Beltway Street, in Hardin Town, Deieppen Province. A married female; age, one hundred and twenty-seven Terran standard years, two children, employed as a domestic.” It added phone numbers and other such details, a pitiful summation of a life.

“Apparently, she was the housekeeper,” said Shasti. She turned to Gunnar, “Show this to Duna. He may have known her.”

The big man nodded and disappeared into the other room.

“Fenaday to Fury.”

“Fury here.”

“Send Dr. Mourner’s team up under escort. Tell her we found a body in a sealed, air-conditioned room. It’s in good condition. I want her to check it out.”

“We copy, sir. They’re on their way.”

Johan Gunnar returned. “He said it was a cleaning service, no one he knows.”

Doctor Mourner arrived with N’deba and the rest of her team. Fenaday sent most of the trouble team outside to keep the perimeter. Mourner and her techs set up a bewildering array of instruments delivered by one of the crab utility robots. The small cargo carrier looked a lot like its namesake. Fenaday, who did not like bugs or shellfish, ordered it out of the room after it unloaded. It lumbered out on its six sturdy legs, unoffended, followed by Gunnar.

Mourner set about her medical butchery with an unsettling clinical efficiency. Shasti watched with her usual detachment, doubtless memorizing how Enshari came apart in case she ever needed to kill one. Fenaday looked out the window at the ocean.

Telisan appeared from the other room. “The equipment looks intact,” he said excitedly. “It was all off-line at the time of the disaster, for some reason. It may be that when the main power failed, no one reinitialized the system. I need a power generator from the shuttle. The house system is not generating enough reliable power.”

“Order it,” said Fenaday.

This time, it was Fenaday’s tech people who showed up with the crab robot and a small portable generator. They dropped it off in the study and headed back to the shuttles.

Dr. Mourner came over to Fenaday, snapping off her gloves. Her team packed up and moved downstairs. There were more bodies to check in the outbuildings.

“I figured you would like a preliminary report,” she said.

“Yes, Doctor.”

“The subject is a young Enshar female, overall premorbid health appeared good, prima gravida two—”

“Please, Doctor,” said Fenaday, exasperated.

Mourner smiled. “Sorry. The short version is death by multiple, severe, blunt trauma. I believe the trauma was inflicted by the objects covering the body. I base that on the force with which blood and hair is driven into the material of the books, tapes and disks used.”

“Beaten to death with books,” Fenaday said in disbelief. “They can’t be that heavy.”

“No, they aren’t,” Mourner agreed. “I found a lot of fractures, indicating heavy blows. I doubt an Enshari could inflict them using such an implement. It would take someone quite powerful.”

“Or mad, crazed on some drug or something?” he asked.

The doctor shook her head. “Enshari physiology doesn’t work like human. There is no adrenaline, no hysterical strength mechanism. They evolved with a low rate of predation, so they’re long-lived and with slow reproduction. Enshari maintain the same level of vitality for most of their lives.”

“This makes less sense the more we work on it,” Shasti complained.

Telisan leaned out of the computer room, ducking because of the low opening. His face lit with excitement. “Everyone come in. We have the computer up and have found something.”

Mourner quickly followed Shasti and Fenaday into the computer room. The screen cast an eerie glow in the room, turning Duna’s face into an animal-like mask. He stared, unblinking, at the monitor’s flat screen. Fenaday edged behind Duna to get a better look.

On the screen he saw the image of a male Enshari. The small, alien face filled the screen; it seemed to speak urgently. Smoke drifted in the background. Flickering flames lit the area erratically. Duna slumped in his chair, speaking a few soft words in a low tone to himself.

Fenaday looked at Telisan impatiently. “I don’t speak Enshari.”

Without looking up, the old Enshari stirred, tapping the curiously shaped keypad. The image reset to start and began speaking. A computerized voice came out of the speakers, in the same cold uninflected Terran their own comps used. The voice overplayed the Enshari’s own.

“Duna, are you there, Duna? This is Creda. Everyone’s dead. It’s killed them all. The whole world is on fire. Everyone’s dying. What have we done?

“We unearthed ancient machinery in the Barjan Deep. We didn’t know. They were just legends, just old tales. Legends like the ones you taught. Stories to frighten children. We thought it was dead. It came back, drew on the power sources. Then came the manifestations. You kill them, but there are always more.

“We thought we could control it. We were fools.

“Duna! The power is going. Can you hear me? Duna!”

On the screen, the Enshari’s eyes turned from the monitor and beheld some horror. “No. No, go away,” came the mechanical translation. It did not convey the terror in the Enshari’s voice. The terrified squeaking of its native voice offered a chilling counterpoint. Creda fled the monitor. They heard a shriek, the dull, meaty impacts of blows, followed by the sound of objects falling to a hard floor. Then, only silence and the snapping sound of fire burning. The screen faded automatically, and the message began to cycle.

They stayed silent for a few seconds.

Duna spoke slowly. “Creda is…was a student of mine at the university. He became a full professor some time ago. We used to talk history until the early morning hours. Medu would get cross with him for keeping me up so late.”

“I am sorry, Belwin,” Telisan said.

“I think you may have a connection problem,” Shasti said. “I’m getting a burning electrical smell.”

Dr. Mourner shrieked. They whirled at the sound.

A monstrous figure filled the doorway, lurching toward them. Fenaday’s brain refused to process the image. It’s made of books, he thought, books in the shape of a man. What’s holding it together?

The thing flung itself at the knot of paralyzed explorers. Even Shasti was too stunned to get off a shot. It knocked her and Telisan flying as it charged. Mourner stood paralyzed. Duna dove under the computer table. The thing crashed into Fenaday. Years of martial arts reflexes triggered, though his conscious brain refused to work. Heavy blows fell on him. He blocked, rolling away from the worst.

Fenaday hit back with all his strength, then grappled, trying to tie up the thing’s arms. Its substance was more than just books and tapes. It felt as if there was some thick gel around the physical material. He could see nothing other than the paper and debris making it up, but he felt a cold weight, like the body of a heavy snake. As he grappled with it, a consciousness seemed to invade him, inchoate, hungry, and angry. He felt a sense of age, desperation, a longing for past strength. More sensations ate into him, and his mind grew numb under their weight.

Fenaday’s reflexes slowed, and this saved him. The thing batted Fenaday from its path. Arms made from books, tapes and paperweights slammed into him, cutting through the tough fabric of his leather uniform jacket. Fenaday hit the wall, sliding down limply. He looked up, numb and stunned, sure the creature would finish him, unable to even attempt to draw his laser. Instead, it turned and lurched toward Duna, who stared at the oncoming nightmare with huge eyes. The sense of rage in Fenaday’s mind flamed, driving out all other thought.

Shasti and Telisan’s guns filled the room with flash and roar. Books, tapes, paperweights, the gel holding it together, flew into pieces. Abruptly, the hate in Fenaday’s mind became an image of age, feebleness and despair. The thing came apart, and the detritus of its body tumbled to the ground, inanimate.

They stood frozen, staring at the debris. Mourner’s harsh tearing sobs were the only sound. Telisan, covering the mass on the floor with his laser, reached out and shook her. Hard. Shasti rushed over to the cut and dazed Fenaday, seizing his shoulders, looking into his face.

She is beautiful, he thought, distracted and confused.

Shasti took his chin in her hand and searched his eyes for signs of concussion. Her touch seemed to break the fog clouding his brain.

“I’m all right,” he said. “The... the thing... it was in my mind.”

“Can you stand?” she asked, concentrating on the essential.

“What was in your mind?” Duna demanded. “What did it tell you?”

“Later,” Shasti snapped.

“Yes, later.” Fenaday struggled to his feet. The thing had struck him harder blows than he had ever felt in any tournament or fight. He felt bruised to the bone.

Gunnar and the trouble team burst through the door, followed by Mmok, Rigg, two ASATs and the HCR Cobalt. Fenaday realized the fight had taken only seconds. His connection to the thing made it seem longer.

“It’s all right,” he said as their guns searched everywhere for targets. Mmok, Rigg and the HCR covered Shasti and him. Connery and Gunnar targeted the Confed agents. Li eyed Telisan.

“Put your weapons up,” Fenaday ordered. “Now, God Damn it.”

Fenaday flicked on his mike. Karass’ and Fury’s voices immediately spilled out, calling for instructions. He schooled his voice to calm. “This is Command One. Clear the net. All personnel fall back into defensive perimeter on the shuttles.”

In the background, Fenaday heard Shasti and Telisan explaining the nature of their attacker to the others. He saw disbelieving looks, even as Duna and Mourner confirmed it.

“Rask,” called Fenaday, “acknowledge.”

“Here Captain,” Rask replied.

“Keep the area from the house to the shuttles secure. Fire on anything that moves. Mmok will back you up.” He looked at the cyborg, who nodded and disappeared. Mourner and Duna were running their instruments over the mass on the floor, taking samples.

“Drop those,” he said, “something knows we are here. We’re going to break contact with this area and disappear. It might be able to follow a piece of what was itself.” They looked as if they might argue until they caught the glare in his eyes.

“Take every record and recording you can,” he continued. “Duna, download that computer disk. We’re getting out of here. Gunnar, cover that mess on the floor; if it stirs, blast it. Mourner, get back to the ship. Li, take her there.”

“Mother of God,” Connery said, “it’s like the Shellycoats of my grandfather’s old stories.”

“What?” Fenaday asked. Connery, a former Shamrock employee, was a native of New Eire. What he said triggered a memory in Fenaday as well.

“Ah, you’ve forgotten that one,” Connery said, “of the Sidhe; there were Drows, Pookas, Banshees and Shellycoats. Shellycoats were spirits, manifesting as creatures of rock, shell and wood. Anything you might find in a stream.”

“We have such legends too,” called Duna, from the computer.

“Shellycoats,” Fenaday repeated, remembering the legend. Enshar’s nemesis now had a name. “Are you through, Duna?”

The Enshari nodded, picking up his case.

“Let’s get out of here,” Fenaday said. They left the room with Shasti and Connery bringing up the rear, racing down undersized stairs and out the front door.

The sky above them darkened as the wind began to strengthen. Telisan and Fenaday exchanged worried looks. “This is more than coincidence,” Telisan said.

“Remember the port,” Shasti called over the gusts, “the blast damage. Can the thing call down storms?”

“God knows,” Fenaday said, as they neared the shuttles. “Let’s think about it after we’re airborne.”

They raced aboard Pooka as the first raindrops began to pelt them. The other shuttles had already sealed their hatches. Fenaday hurried up to the control deck. “Take her up,” he ordered Fury, “head out to sea. I want to find a nice, uninhabited island at least two hundred kilometers from here.”

Telisan reached past him to flick on a screen. As the shuttles drove up and sped away, they could see lightning begin to flash around the home of Belwin Duna.