Was Once a Hero

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.”

Shasti appeared to draw even more into herself. “That’s none of your concern,” she said, turning away from Duna.

“As you wish, my dear girl. I wish only to help.”

There was a hesitation, almost a lack of firmness, in her for a second, “I do not think it is something you would understand.”

“Perhaps not,” Duna replied. “I have studied alien species for several hundred years. But I fear I remain dreadfully ignorant. Why, I was even married to the same lovely lady for four hundred years and never knew everything about her, either. She was always a source of delightful surprises. Of course, it might not be important that I understand. Perhaps it is important that Robert understands. He seems confused, a bit lost.”

“The attacks keep escalating in size and intelligence,” she replied, bitterness ebbing, leaving an undertone of sadness. “We are not going to last much longer. We’ll probably all be dead tomorrow, then it won’t matter.”

To her surprise, Duna reached up and patted her hand. His small paw felt warm and leathery. “That is why,” he said, “it matters so much today, dear girl.” The little Enshari turned and walked away. Shasti watched him go, then looked heavenward at the early evening stars and sighed.

*****

Fenaday groaned and rolled upright in his sleeping bag. All the available floor space in the shuttles went for the wounded. He lay under the Pooka, on ground that appeared to grow rocks. Early morning light was falling, and people were beginning to stir. One or two got up briskly. Fenaday hated morning people.

He stumbled to his feet, fighting off the usual headache that he got from sleeping on anything other than a regular bed. Every muscle and bone ached from the battle. Telisan sat at the nearby campfire, having had the last watch. Without a word, he handed the human a cup of coffee. Fenaday managed a grunt.

Telisan looked at him. “Perhaps it would be better if I went to get the breakfast crew started.”

Fenaday grunted again. Morning was difficult enough to deal with without being hungry as well.

The ships had grounded near some small freshwater pools. After draining the coffee, Fenaday felt the urge for a bath. He headed down past the guards and the barrier wire. Cobalt stood by the outer barrier and dropped the lines for him.

“Morning,” Fenaday growled, before realizing it was only a robot next to him.

“Situation normal,” the robot replied.

Fenaday made his way down to the streamside. Water poured over shallow, rocky basins, almost perfect for bathing. He walked down the slight hillock and saw Shasti, wearing only dark-gray underclothes, sitting on a towel spread over a broad flat rock. Her long white limbs caught the sunlight as she brushed her black hair. She looked neither sore nor bruised. Any artist would have sold his soul to paint her sitting there.

She spotted him and he nodded at her. Things were settling between them, but the strength they provided as a team was gone. He couldn’t afford any further problems with her. To leave seemed to risk their fragile peace. So he said nothing, just stripped out of boots and uniform, cooling sore, abused feet in the pool. He stood at its shallowest edge for a few moments.

He was relieved to hear other feet coming. Turning, he saw Brian Connery walking down the trail. Connery spotted Shasti, and a black glare from her caused him to veer away to find a pool at the far end of the glade.

Shasti brushed her waist-length hair for a few moments longer. Then with a curse, she threw down her brush. Fenaday looked directly at her for the first time, surprised.

“My ex-husband used to do that to me—drag me backward like a doll,” she said softly. “It meant pain for starters and much worse to follow.”

For a second Fenaday was lost, then realized she was referring to his pulling her away from Johan’s body. He sat down on a rock, looking back in stunned silence. “I’m not sure what’s the biggest surprise,” he finally managed, “that I didn’t know you’d been married, or that someone could manhandle you and live.”

She looked at him obliquely and shrugged.

“We’ve shipped ten voyages together,” he said after it became obvious that she would say nothing more. “Fought side by side, been lovers even. I haven’t forgotten that you carried me out on Morokat, but I don’t really know you at all. Do I?”

“I’ve never let you,” she replied, picking up the brush and inspecting it. “You’ve never met anyone else from my world?”

“No,” he said. “Olympians are a secretive lot. They rarely go off-world and don’t encourage visitors or trade. From what I have heard, it’s not a place I would want to visit anyway. ”

“A hard world,” she said bitterly. “A place for supermen to measure themselves.

“His name is Jalgren Pard, of the House of Denshi,” she continued, with obvious reluctance. “Denshi specializes in assassins and bodyguards and controls the government. Pard is much older than I am, big, even for one of us: strong, cruel and very rich.

“We Olympians worship a new god. His altars are laboratories, and we sacrifice original humanity on them. Did you never wonder why I’m so tall, so strong, so perfect?”

He nodded carefully. Silence seemed best.

“Olympia was settled by people who wanted to guide natural selection, to breed better people. Careful programs mated the best people, producing superior children—each generation slowly building toward the ideal. They’re called the Selected. But that was too slow, too chancy for some people. About a hundred years ago, a faster road beckoned: bioengineering. Who needs parents when you have artificial wombs?

“I came out of one of those, Robert. I was made.”

“What?” he said.

“We build people on Olympia,” she continued, “taller, stronger, with perfect features and no diseases. We’re called the Engineered. Pard used to say that our existence rendered the Selected obsolete. I know that gradually the Engineered are displacing them from government and the military on my homeworld.

“My body builds muscle at a rate no standard woman’s body can. My bones are twenty-percent denser than a human male’s and more elastic. That’s why I weigh more than a human my size. I should live to be at least a hundred and seventy years old.”

She took the brush to her hair, stopped and held some of its glossy length in her hand. “Even my hair doesn’t require the care of a regular woman’s. Tailored genes keep it soft, not oily and ten times stronger than human hair. Makes a good garrote.”

She looked away and resumed brushing. “Pard ordered me created,” she continued softly. “I’m designed to his taste: color of hair, eyes, skin tone, breast size, height, even length of leg.

“He had others before me but never another Engineered. I was an experiment for him. I even trained in the house of Denshi as a bodyguard and assassin, so I could be useful for more than bed warming. He wanted me to be self-reliant. No clinging females for Pard.

“I’m an expensive toy, Robert, built to spec and just for him to play with. When I reached my early teens, he claimed me for his bed. It began well. Ignorant child that I was, I was even honored. But it became… very twisted and sick. One day, I decided I did not want to be a toy anymore. I escaped. Sometimes, when he finds out where I am, he tries to have me killed. Wounded pride, I suppose.

“My world’s dirty little secret,” she ended.

“My God, Shasti,” he said, shaken. “I didn’t know. In all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve never found a time to tell me this? I don’t think you’ve ever told me anything about your past, never anything personal.”

“No, I haven’t,” she said, “but neither have you. You’ve never even shown me a picture of your wife or told me much about her.”

“It seemed, somehow wrong,” he said slowly, confused.

“Why?” she asked simply, turning back to look at him.

He looked into her face, there was no mockery there, just a child-like lack of comprehension. It suddenly struck him. Shasti had never been close to another human being before. She had no mother, father, brother or sister. Her sexual experiences began badly, with a cruel, older man. The greatest trust Shasti could show was to allow herself to be vulnerable. She handed him that trust now.

“Because of what happened between us,” he said, groping for words.

“You have been good to me Robert. Few have. But I don’t love you. I’ve never loved anyone. They left it out of my design.

“I like being with you. Enough to say these things. Enough to want to buy back last night. But, I could never give you what you are searching for in your lost Lisa. I wish I could hope to learn to give it. I wish I understood what makes a man do everything you’ve done for her. Even after years of watching you, I still don’t.” Her eyes shone bright with tears she would not shed.

“How old are you, Shasti?” he asked, wondering why he did not know.

She blinked and thought for a second. “Around twenty-four in standard years.”

“With a life span of one hundred and seventy, or more? A long time to live without love,” he said.

She looked down, pensive. “Can you miss what you do not know? So much of love is pheromones, hormones—intense feelings I simply don’t have. My systems are designed to suppress most strong emotions. Everything, except,” she hesitated, “rage. Rage is useful for survival, useful for a warrior. They left me that. I’ve tried to learn to control it on my own.” She looked at him sidewise. “I’m still working on it. Perhaps that is the worst of it, Death’s Angel they call me. It may be true, because it’s the only time I’m truly myself.”

“And when we were together?” he asked.

Again came the bitter smile. “Oh, I enjoy that too, as you should be able to tell. Remember, I was made to enjoy physical sex. The rage is all my own.”

Fenaday felt a deep sadness unlike anything he had felt before. When he lost Lisa, a soul-tearing grief and anger had overwhelmed him. He’d declared war on the universe and the God he believed had turned his back on him. His feelings for Shasti were less fierce, yet deep and tinged with pity.

“There is more to what happened out there in the woods than this,” he said, moving over to share the rock with her. She did not look at him. “You and Johan?” he asked. “It always seemed as if he was special to you.”

“Yes. Once, between missions,” she replied. “It meant more to him than to me. I didn’t understand what he wanted of me. I don’t even now. I didn’t want it to go further. It was a bad idea, in a moment of weakness.”

“We all have them,” he said.

“I am afraid it killed him,” she said, eyes downcast. “When this voyage came up, he threw away everything he had gained. I fear that I’m the reason he joined up. Perhaps he hoped to restart things between us. Asking me for things I do not understand and cannot give. So you’re right, it is both things.”

Fenaday shook his head. “I don’t think he’s unhappy with his choice.”

She looked back uncomprehending. “He’s dead.”

He could find nothing to say to that.

“I want to go back to what you and I were,” she said. “You won’t see last night’s side of me again. I want you to count on me as you did before.”

He nodded. “I never really stopped. I guess my feelings were just hurt.” Abruptly he leaned forward, taking her hand. She looked away, but held tight to his hand.

“One thing I’ve learned is that there are roads to places that no roads lead back from. Everything is different now,” he said. Emotion welled up in him. He felt unbalanced, like a man reaching for a handhold and missing it.

“Has this Pard tried to kill you since you joined Sidhe?” he asked, switching back to firmer ground.

She shrugged. “Twice on Bandish, once on Morokat. I think he was behind our troubles there. I handled it.”

“Then he knows where you are and will try again.”

“He doesn’t pursue me full time,” she replied. “It would be beneath his dignity. But yes, he’ll try again.”

“If we get out of this alive, we’ll deal with him,” Fenaday said, “together.”

“Make no rash promises,” she warned. “Pard is the head of Denshi and deadly. I bested him once by sheer surprise and barely escaped alive.”

“It’s been said and cannot be unsaid. Besides, I’m pretty formidable myself, you know,” he said with an ironic smile.

She shook her head, looking him in the eye. “You would look like a child next to Pard.”

“The bigger they are, they harder they fall?” he added hopefully.

“Well,” she said, with barest of smiles, “maybe we will get lucky.”

Fenaday and Shasti walked back to the camp, side by side, talking quietly. Duna and Telisan watched them return and exchanged their version of smiles of relief.

“I think our chances for survival just went up,” Telisan said.