Was Once a Hero

chapter Fifteen





Sidhe slid closer in orbit to Enshar, recovering her Wildcats. The fighters’ running lights glinted as they lined up for entry into her hangar bays. With recovery complete, the frigate altered orbit with a quick burn of engines. Fenaday’s security protocol allowed the starship’s engines to be used to change orbit, but the mutineers’ best efforts had failed to find a way to use them to break out. She moved to an orbit sufficiently close for a parachute drop on Barjan Field.

A brilliant yellow escape capsule popped from the frigate’s side. Inside it sat a Mark Nine one-kiloton warhead, the largest the Confed Navy permitted a private warship. The capsule fell through the atmosphere until its onboard computer finished analyzing wind, height and trajectory. A parachute deployed much later than would have been the case with live cargo. The warhead, well secured and incapable of going off by accident, slowly sank through the quiet of Enshar’s night. At a thousand meters, it disturbed a flock of migrating unbars. The giant bird-like creatures squawked and dodged the capsule. The deadly load landed between the wrecks of two in-system freighters on Barjan Field. Emergency and rescue lights began their automatic plea for help. They pulsed brightly at intervals. On the half-hour, a siren sounded for a few minutes. Wildlife fled the area in alarm.

*****

“Barjan,” announced Duna, pointing at the horizon with a small furred hand, “a city with a longer history than some species, far larger even than your Tokyo or Peking.” He drew his otter-like body up in evident pride.

Fenaday and the others crowded the flight deck. As the shuttles came in from the ocean, they could see the city in its ruined majesty, stretching out in all directions back from the coastline. From the air, it looked like a froth of bubbles of different sizes and shapes, burying the low mountains of the coastline. They could see domes of white and a variety of metallic colors shining in the sun. Shaftways lined with windows and balconies allowed light to plunge into the depths. Some of the domed exteriors showed rents and signs of explosions. Several new-style towers visible in the distance looked ragged, uneven, as if they had attracted some form of explosive weapons fire.

“The mansions and the more desirable properties are down those shafts,” Duna said. “Barjan’s upper regions were reserved for commerce, sanitation, industry, the poor and those young non-traditionalists influenced by other cultures.”

The shuttles approached the immense Barjan Spacefield, a proper complement to the huge city. Fenaday could not tell where the city began and the space/airport ended. They’d flown over the seaport side on the way in, passing over dozens of half-submerged wrecks, long broken free of their moorings. At the quays sat more vessels, including a huge submarine transport lying on its side.

“Are there undersea cities?” Fenaday asked Duna.

“Several major ones and a number of other installations,” answered Duna absently staring at the horizon-filling city.

Fenaday imagined being hunted by Shellycoats through the streets of a city beneath the sea. The thought filled him with a deep horror, as did the sight of the half-sunken ships. Fenaday feared little in space or in the air, but for some reason, the sight of a sunken vessel always made him uneasy.

“Radio direction indicates we are nearly on top of the capsule,” called Bernard. They all pressed against the windows, searching for it. Fenaday saw the bright yellow capsule first, pointing it out to Fury. The shuttles sank to the concrete of the field. This time Fenaday didn’t tax the engines by running them for a possible escape. The damaged shuttles couldn’t take the strain, and in truth, they had nowhere else to go.

The Dakotas’ still functional ramps dropped. In a well-rehearsed drill, the remaining robots, led by the three HCRs, came out, forming a perimeter. The ground troops followed warily, taking cover around the shuttles or behind the robots. In a deliberate display of nonchalance, Fenaday and the command staff sauntered out of the shuttles and into the open.

Sweat popped out on his forehead as Fenaday stepped into the enervating heat of the spaceport apron. He unsealed his shirt, glad he had left his leather A-2 jacket in the shuttle. Shasti walked beside him. She’d torn the sleeves out of her shirt. Her well-muscled arms cradled a bipod-mounted tri-auto, the same heavier caliber the HCRs used. He admired the way the shirt stretched over her chest, then mentally kicked himself for being distracted from the task of surviving the day. He wondered if she had noticed.

Telisan had noticed and he smiled to himself. The Denlenn was an essentialist, having seen so much cut short in the war. He lived for the moment. A pity, he thought, not for the first time, that there are no Denlenn females along. He found human females attractive enough, but there were compatibility problems in physiology and psychology. He sighed. Two particular faces occupied his mind, a female and demi-female of his species. He wondered if he would ever see them again.

The spacers stood in a circle, surveying the evidence of their unknown enemy’s work on the field. Some ships were scorched and flayed open as if by a tremendous heat, perhaps the whips of lightning from Duna’s ancient stories. Carbon scoring defaced the hulls and the concrete apron. Glassy trails lay melted in the permacrete. In the far distance the remains of a large vessel rested where it careened into the ground on that fateful day. Her shattered inner structure resembled an enormous ribcage.

Telisan followed Fenaday’s gaze. “At least it was quick on her.”

The permacrete apron stretched before them, littered with smashed helicopters, aircars and lesser modes of transport, as if they’d been struck down in a single instant. The characteristic debris piles typical of a Shellycoat attack were curiously absent.

Fenaday raised field glasses to the city beyond. Several fires burned in the distance, trailing plumes of smoke into the bright blue sky. He didn’t know if these were natural or the result of some power short or failed machinery. Batteries, solar power and self-repairing machinery had kept Barjan full of mechanical movement since the Enshari perished, but it was a dance of the dead. Out in that foreboding city, robot domestics tended rooms filled with bones of their masters or perhaps, cleaned them away as mere refuse. Repair robots without central direction attempted to keep the city lights working. Gradually, each hit a problem only solvable by the living and failed. Still as seen from orbit, many machines continued to move in the city’s bowels.

“The amount of mechanical and electrical movement in Barjan,” Duna said, “makes me doubt that the EMP effect was used near the city.”

“Let’s hope so,” Fenaday replied. “It will be hard enough to get a ship operational without having to replace the computer system as well.”

Fenaday turned his eyes away from Barjan’s ruins and walked over to the nearest crashed vehicle. The others trailed him. Shasti gestured to Brian Connery and Daniel Rigg, who spread their squads out further to cover them.

They examined the wreck of a small helicopter. The black and orange machine lay badly crumpled, though there had been little fire. Human and Enshari bones rested intermingled in the cabin; the remains were in poor shape from animals and heat.

“Christ,” Mmok said, “can you imagine what this slaughterhouse smelled like for the first few weeks?”

“No,” said Fenaday quietly, “I thank God I can’t.”

“The bodies are all gone to bone or less by now,” said Shasti, as if to reassure him. Fenaday smiled to himself. She knew he was somewhat squeamish, at least by her standards.

Over twenty spacecraft lay in this section of the port. They ignored four more, smashed onto their sides by the attack or perhaps, merely toppled by storms. These were clearly shattered and beyond hope. Of the others, about half were military, or of a commercial type for rough, semi-prepared fields. The rest sat on the field, in vertical take-off cradles like the ones on Mars. Several of the nearest ships were burnt out hulks. One more looked as if it had been in the advanced stages of a refit never to be completed. A few promising prospects existed: a small in-system sloop and a huge liquid-hauler—both looked undamaged. Fenaday made a mental note of their positions.

“All right,” Fenaday said, “enough sightseeing. Let’s get that nuke and find the Terran Embassy.”

Mmok pointed to an area between two badly damaged in-system freighters. “Signal came from there,” he said laconically. Mmok stripped out of his shirt and tossed it to Cobalt. His one cyborg arm gleamed as the sun bounced off metal and polymer, contrasting with his pale white face and other natural arm.

They walked into the shadow of the freighters, grateful for the shade, and spotted the capsule immediately. Mmok unsealed the hatch, cutting off the lights and siren before it could blare again. The warhead and the detonation kit were bundled in with additional supplies.

“Dinnertime,” Mmok called out as he passed fresh charges to Cobalt and the other HCRs, which in turn loaded them and other supplies on the three utility robots. The larger unarmed versions of the crab robot handled the equipment easily.

“There’s a groundcar park over near the port buildings,” Rigg said. He’d pulled out his field glasses and scanned toward the control tower area. More cautious than some of the others, he’d only unsnapped the body armor over his chest, and sweat stained his green uniform shirt.

“Let’s check it out,” Fenaday said.

As the landing force moved, the gray crab robots skittered over the permacrete, keeping an unvarying distance from Mmok. Cobalt and Vermilion also paced them, though closer. Verdigris returned to the shuttles with the utility robots and the warhead under the watchful eyes in Pooka’s top turret.

“Wouldn’t it have been faster if we landed near the embassy?” Duna asked. On his shorter legs he had some trouble keeping the pace. He was also struggling with a silvery tube that he’d brought from the shuttle.

“We passed over the embassy on the way into the spacefield,” Fenaday said. “The helipad is blocked by a crash. I want to scout the site from the ground before trying to move into the legation. Automatic defenses might still be operating, and we need to clear landing areas of debris before bringing in the shuttles.”

“Ah,” Duna said. He popped a seam on the silvery tube, and it unfolded into a silvery parasol that Duna raised over his head.

As the spacers slogged over the burning apron, fitful breezes from the ocean provided them some relief. Fenaday was glad for the brim of his hat and the sun goggles he wore. Rask walked next to Fenaday. His blood red eyes were hidden behind goggles, otherwise, the heat didn’t seem to bother the blue-skinned, goblin-like alien. A breeze lifted Shasti’s long mane of hair, and the sun created flashing blue highlights in it. It also raised bright, metallic highlights on Mmok’s ceramic metal skull in a far less charming effect.

Reaching the vehicle-park, they bypassed the smaller Enshari vehicles, heading for others of Terran design. Several of the largest vehicles bore Confederate Military markings. Rask greeted these like old friends. “Well, well,” he crowed, waving his ape-like arms, “good old reliable M-2 multi-fuel armored transports.”

“You think they’re usable?” Rigg asked dubiously.

“Hell, Sarge, the damn things run off of any liquid you can get into the converter. Engines will be gunked up, but we aren’t buying them. Gimme about twenty minutes with some help, and I’ll have at least one of them running.”

Rigg looked at Fenaday. “What do you say, sir?”

“How many of the mules do we have left?” Fenaday asked.

“Just three. They can only take four people each or the equivalent in equipment. We could put everybody in the scout force into two of these. They also have armored sides.”

“You’ve got your twenty minutes,” Fenaday said.

“I’ll give you a hand,” Mmok added. “I’m pretty good with engines, being half one myself.” The rare evidence of humor drew a few grins.

The spacers settled into whatever shade was available. Telisan radioed Fury, relaying the reason for the hold-up. In the shade, it was cool enough to make sweat-soaked shirts suddenly cold. Shasti sat next to Fenaday. Despite all the improvements of genetics, Shasti shared something in common with most women. Her body temperature ran on the cool side. Fenaday, who radiated heat cheerfully, provided a comfortable place to put her back against. He smiled at the liberty, taking it as a sign that things were healing between them.

Shasti looked at Duna sitting near them, studying the city.

“Belwin, how are you doing?” she asked—in a rare display of concern.

The Enshari looked back at her with his large dark eyes. “I am all right, Shasti, though I cannot help thinking of all that is lost and can never be made good. I keep my mind focused on the task to be done here.”

“Revenge is a powerful motivation,” she said.

“Revenge, my child,” Duna said gently, “is a luxury, and an expensive one. I am only interested in re-establishing a home for my people. Life is more important than revenge. Nothing brings back the dead. Nothing makes them rest any easier. I would forego revenge for a home.”

Fenaday tensed a little, expecting Shasti to take offense at being called a child. No rebuke came from the Olympian, who only replied, “Interesting thoughts, though foreign to me. On my world, people live by the blood feud, and revenge is an everyday occurrence. I was raised in a guild of assassins.”

“How terrible,” Duna said. “It sounds as if much that is precious is wasted on such a world.”

Fenaday listened to the discussion with bemusement. Shasti was not by nature chatty or empathetic. Somehow the Enshari had made a connection with her. Fenaday felt grateful for it. She needed more friends.

Rask and his crew were better than their word, getting two of the large M-2’s running in the twenty minutes. “If my old motor sergeant saw the abuse I put the engines through in startup,” a gleeful Rask said, “he’d die of apoplexy. The engines need a tear down and clean out, but there’s no time for it now.”

Rigg and Shasti’s best troops boarded the multi-fuels, leaving the remainder under Fury’s command at the shuttles. Fenaday and his command staff rode the second vehicle. Rigg and his ASATs took the point, flanked by the HCRs operating as a skirmish line. Crab robots, lacking the HCRs’ foot speed or heat endurance, latched onto the vehicles. Mmok’s air scout circled overhead. It transmitted the best views of the way ahead to Mmok so they didn’t waste time on blocked streets.

Multi-fuels proved a good pick for the trip. They could go around—or in some cases up and over—the debris. The big machines headed up the on-ramp of the airport freeway, slowly wending their way through the wreckage of the last Enshari rush hour.

“Could all this have been done by Shellycoats?” Shasti wondered.

“I doubt it,” Fenaday said, grabbing onto a side rail as the multi-fuel shoved a wreck out of its way. He avoided looking into the wreck but couldn’t miss the flash of white bone within.

“Why?” Telisan asked, looking at the cars dotting the roads all around them.

“Yes indeed, Captain,” Duna said, intent. “Why?”

“What would the Shellycoats form from in a car on these highways?” Fenaday said. “Nor do we see any sign of chained lightning or extreme heat. I fear our enemy has other ways of killing than what we have seen. Something that killed people over a wide area all at the same time.”

“Ah,” Telisan said, “you cheer me. I was afraid we had seen all there was to see. Now you tell me there are new amusements ahead.”

Fenaday snorted, “Let’s hope we don’t experience those amusements.”

“Hmmm,” Shasti said, “neutron radiation, a massive EMP, nerve gas?”

“The God knows,” Duna said.

Near midday, they finally reached the embassy. The building resembled a fanciful castle with a crenellated roof and heavy stone facade. Lesser buildings, barracks, tool sheds and the like surrounded it. The embassy sat on a greenish-blue lawn, secure behind an ornate wrought iron fence.

“Mmok,” Fenaday called, “send the HCRs to scout and have the crab robots open the gates.”

Mmok nodded, and the machines skittered over to the main gate, slicing through the locks and pushing them open. Nothing fired on the machines. The HCRs raced into the grounds spreading out to counter any threat. The spacers proceeded carefully onto the lawn, weapons at the ready.

“Look at that,” Rigg demanded, rare excitement showing on his lean face.

A circle of Marine and ASAT corpses, identifiable only by the remains of their uniforms and weapons, lay around a cluster of civilian corpses half way to the helipad. The spacers trotted over to the scene of the final stand.

“Whatever struck the Enshari down at the same instant did not seem to have been at work in the embassy,” Fenaday said observing the circle.

“We can’t leave them like this,” Rigg said, his jaw knotting. “I’ll get a burial detail together.”

“Later,” Fenaday said, looking up at the big man. “We need to make the embassy ready for the rest of our force.” Rigg and Rask looked at him both clearly upset.

“These were our people,” Rigg growled.

“The living take precedence over the dead,” Fenaday snapped. He regretted the words as they left his mouth. Shasti stood right next to him, Johan had to be on her mind. “We will attend to them when we can. Our own wounded come first. Right?” The ASATs nodded reluctantly, walking off to join the others on the first multi-fuel.

Fenaday looked up at Shasti and searched for something to say.

She spared him the trouble. “It’s all right,” she whispered.

They avoided the section of the embassy gutted by fire, starting toward the main doors. Troops covered the door, while the HCRs and crab robots went up to the entrance. As they reached it, Mmok spun around. “The air scout spotted an incoming target,” he hissed. “It’s under vegetation, coming this way. No identification.”

The HCRs and the crab robots dashed down the stairs as the humans scattered, seeking cover. Shasti dropped the bipod legs on her weapon, sighting in on the direction the HCRs were facing. “Everyone, look to your front,” she called. “Rigg, keep a fire team facing the embassy. Connery, Li, back up Cobalt.”

Vermilion stood next to Fenaday. “Distance to target?” he asked.

“Target is approaching edge of the tree-line,” advised the robot, its flat voice gratingly calm, its weapon leveled and motionless.

“How many? How big?”

“Single target, approximately 1.5 meters.”

“The size of one of my people,” Duna cried, “Fenaday!”

Fenaday opened his command mike. “Attention! No one is to fire except on my direct order. Hold your fire. Hold your fire.”

They covered the tree line tensely, every eye searching for a target.

It came out of the tree line hesitantly, on all fours, with ears up and its nose in the air.

“It's a f*cking dog,” cursed Greywold, the Landing Force trooper Shasti had offered to execute as an example. He aimed at the animal.

Fenaday spun toward him. “Freeze,” he roared.

Shasti, moving as fast as thought, knocked Greywold flying.

“Hold your fire,” Fenaday ordered. “Everyone on safe, now.”

Shasti ignored the fallen Greywold and walked toward the animal. She stopped halfway, kneeling down to make her height less intimidating. She reached into her pack, pulling out a ration, popping the canister of food and holding it out to the dog. Her voice, always musical, coaxed.

Greywold glared at Shasti’s back. Fenaday tapped his heavy laser pistol against his thigh twice. “You’ve already had two strikes, mister. Care to go for the third?”

“No,” Greywold replied sullenly. The young tough climbed to his feet, watching Fenaday warily. He safed his rifle. Telisan walked over and snapped it out of his hand with a glare. Greywold glared back.

“Would you care to try taking it back?” Telisan asked, golden eyes blazing in his leathery face.

Greywold stepped back, dropping his eyes.

The dog, a large but gaunt German shepherd, walked closer to Shasti, but still hung back, afraid. She continued to talk softly, throwing a small piece of food—hastily snatched up by the animal. The big shepherd looked at Shasti, sniffing the others beyond her. He whimpered and walked back and forth, wanting people, but afraid after so long alone. The dog crept closer to Shasti, who held still more food in her hand. He nibbled hesitantly; enjoying the food and the soft sounds that Shasti made. It was the old bond, being offered again. Shasti kept her hand out and the dog sniffed it, then licked. His tail began to wag and he moved closer, whining anxiously and butting his head against Shasti. She scratched the dog’s ears, and he sat delighted. As far as he was concerned, happy times had returned to Enshar.

Fenaday walked up slowly and sat down a little away from the dog. The shepherd came over to him slowly. Fenaday held out a hand, speaking the way he would have to one of his father’s hounds. The tail came up, and the dog practically jumped into his lap, knocking him over. Fenaday petted the animal, feeling its too thin body as it tried to lick him.

Shasti laughed. The dog, perhaps realizing the significance of the event, abandoned him to return to his first love. Shasti started talking to him. Fenaday handed Shasti a ration can from his pack. She opened it and dished it out for the shepherd’s noisy enjoyment.

Shasti reached over and looked at the synthetic collar around his neck. This required more petting. The collar and its I.D. tag were nearly buried in his fur.

“His name is Risky, according to the collar, it’s got a military ID. I thought he might be a K-9. They’re genetically enhanced, bigger and smarter than a regular pet. He must have been assigned to embassy security.”

Fenaday looked at her curiously.

“When I trained on Olympia, I worked with K-9’s. They were the best friends I had.” She stood slowly. The dog looked wary, his tail down. She stepped away then patted her leg and whistled. Risky trotted up and walked alongside her toward the others. She made several people come up, one by one, so as not to alarm the dog. Some offered snacks Risky happily accepted. Shasti quickly stopped that. “He won't be used to such rich food anymore. Let’s not make him sick.”

The dog greeted everyone with enthusiasm, even a chagrined Greywold. Duna and Telisan stayed back. Dogs meant nothing to either, and the shepherd was nearly as big as Duna. Fenaday couldn’t blame him. He turned to Cobalt, the nearest robot. “Log this creature as a member of the landing force. Update all fire control protocols.”

“Linked,” the robot replied, “update complete. Please identify the new crew member.” The breeze kicked up and lifted the robot's hair. For a moment, it looked nearly alive.

“Identify the new crewmember as Risky, a K-9 unit,” Fenaday said.

“Acknowledged,” Cobalt replied. The robot turned to the shepherd, which eyed it without much interest, having classified it as a man-made thing and hence useless as a source of treats or pets. “Arf, Arf,” the robot said.

They all stared at Cobalt for a second. Fenaday snorted. “Very funny, Mmok. I have heard of living vicariously, but you take the cake.”

With Risky on the team, they reentered the embassy. A familiar maelstrom had struck its interior.

“Shellycoat attack,” Telisan said. Fenaday nodded.

“I don’t know if it makes a difference,” Fenaday said, “but I want all this debris moved out of here. It may be that if something was a Shellycoat once, it might make it easier to become one again. All the bones are to be buried and everything else, burned, buried, or put in the stream out back.”

Telisan nodded. “After we check the place out, I’ll have Mmok put the robots on it.”

“Let the ASATs take care of the remains,” Fenaday cautioned. “They might not want the bones handled by machines. I don’t need any trouble from that quarter.

“Have Rask hook up one of the multi-fuels to the helicopter wreck. Drag it off the pad. I want to bring the Banshee in back there. We’ll put Pooka down on the front lawn.”

Telisan nodded and went off to get Rask.

One of Mourner’s medtechs came up the stairs and over to Fenaday. “The embassy follows the standard pattern,” he said. “There’s a good-size clinic in the basement for situations local doctors might not be able to handle. None of the drugs are usable, of course. The equipment and computers were off-line. They must not have had any medical emergencies that day.”

“Good,” Fenaday said. “Inform Dr. Mourner and prepare it to receive all our casualties.”

He turned to Shasti. “First bit of good luck we’ve had in a while.”

She nodded. “We were due.”

Connery came up to them. The red-haired Irishman had a grin plastered across his face. “Whatever hit here got to them before the emergency power could go on. The units are still off and look to be in working order. The generator is a multi-fuel. Rask should be able to get it running. We’ll need a portable battery pack from one of the shuttle’s stores.

“The armory is intact. They must not have had time to use more than the weapons that were at hand. There is a fair supply of claymore mines, plastic explosives and additional barrier wire. That means we have power in the building and for the exterior defenses. We’ll also have more weapons than we have hands to shoot them. We’ll be ready for a fight, Captain.”

“The good news,” Shasti said grimly, “is that we have power. The bad news is whatever hit these people took them out fast. Seconds, minutes tops.”

Connery’s face fell.

Fenaday shot her a warning look. “Good work, Connery. By nightfall, we’ll be forted up so tight that the Conchirri fleet couldn’t dig us out. Go get the equipment and tell Rask we have another engine job for him. He’s in the back with one of the M-2’s trying to clear the helipad.”

“Yes sir,” said Connery. He headed for the rear doors of the embassy, casting dubious looks at the piles of bones on the floor and shining a pocket torch at any dark corners.

After he left, Fenaday leaned slightly toward Shasti. “Remember, everyone else here comes complete with fear and doubt. They need hope to keep their morale up.”

“Self-deception,” she judged, “but if it motivates them, so be it. I’ll be more careful.”

“Shasti,” he said gently, “everyone needs hope.”

She looked at him without comprehension.

They converted the embassy to a fortress in short order. Behind the main building, Rask and his M-2s cleared the landing pad. Telisan, their best pilot, drove a mule back to the airport to take Pooka in himself. Fury switched over to the Banshee, relieving Hanshi. She had the easy approach, a nice wide helipad.

The landing spot in the front of the embassy was far trickier. Fenaday and Shasti watched from the roof as Telisan brought the big red shuttle between trees, fence line and the outbuildings. Fenaday’s own hands unconsciously flexed as if he had the controls. The Denlenn zoomed up to the clearing, dropping the shuttle into the narrow landing site in a maneuver that made Fenaday cover his eyes. He opened them, expecting to see a smoking disaster. Instead, he saw Telisan smiling happily as he popped the cockpit door and jumped out onto the lawn.

“Do you think he actually waited long enough for the engines to switch off?” Fenaday wondered aloud.

“You said he was a hot pilot,” Shasti said.

“God damn all fighter jocks,” he griped. “We just made the last payment on that thing.”

Shasti gave a brief laugh.

Fenaday and Shasti hurried down the stairs and out onto the lawn. A few of the landing force only now peeked out of their foxholes to see if it was safe. Dr. Mourner came out the back of the shuttle with the first stretcher case. She shot a venomous look at the unaffected Denlenn. As she went by, she looked at Fenaday, “Next time, you fly it or I’m walking.”

Medics came out to help take the wounded to the basement clinic for better care than the shuttles could supply.

Armed with equipment from the shuttles and with the help of the robots, Fenaday sent work parties to get a suitable area prepped for the evening’s fighter landing. At least three more of the wounded would be sent up to the safety of the ship. The area beyond the helipad looked best suited for the task. In three hours, they cleared a rough field on which the fighters could safely land.

Troops encircled the grounded shuttles and the embassy itself with barrier wire. A fire-team manned each small shuttle. Fenaday ordered mines laid in abundance down every likely avenue of attack. Crew-served weapons set up on the roof and sighted in. Mmok positioned the robots for maximum effect. Quickly the force divided into watches. Those without immediate assignments did the sensible thing—they sacked out in anticipation of a long night. Fenaday, Duna and the others nervously watched the sky. Bad weather could mean a return of the enemy’s forces, but the sky remained cloudless as it darkened toward evening.

Before nightfall, the Wildcats returned. The more wounded crew went up in the ambulance pods. Another of the less wounded rode up in Wildcat Two’s back seat.

Ninety-one of them remained on the planet, including six wounded, not counting the robots. They gathered close as Mur set in the west, taking with it the comfort of its fierce light.

Shasti reported to Fenaday as Mur’s light began to fade. “Two fire-teams are on the roof,” she said, “additional guards man every window.”

“We’ve never been attacked in the open, during daylight by the Shellycoats,” Fenaday said. “All the attacks occurred in the dimness of buildings or at night.”

“We don’t know,” Duna said, “if that’s because we keep relocating too quickly to trigger a massive attack during the day, or if the things dread bright sunshine.”

“That sounds too much like an old ghost story to me,” Fenaday said. “I prefer to believe we’ve covered too much ground in the shuttles for our enemy to track us. On the chance that light does bother them, I ordered Shasti to have every light in the embassy switched on. One can only guess in such a battle.”

“Did you find anything on the computers, Duna?” Shasti asked.

“Telisan and I have tried, without success, to find any part of the Barjan Computer Net that is still in operation, using the medical computers downstairs. All the other embassy computers are inoperable. After three fruitless hours, we gave up. Barjan’s net is gone.” He pulled out the disks he made from his home system. “We are going to devote our time to a detailed analysis of the video from Creda.”

“You think it’s particularly significant?” Fenaday asked.

“Yes,” Duna said. “Barjan Deep is the name for a special area many miles long in the oldest section of the city. It had been underdeveloped for cultural reasons as I told you. In the last few years, it acquired a certain style as an address. This led to the digging boom that I believe uncovered the cause of the disaster. We hope to pin down the exact location using the video.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Fenaday. “We have only one tactical nuke.” He dreaded the prospect of crawling for days through the subterranean city, searching for the heart of the darkness that overwhelmed Enshar.

Tense hours followed, but there was no sign of any enemy. Fenaday reduced the alert so more of his force could rest, then summoned his senior officers. They gathered in the ambassador’s office to review their plan of battle. Shasti attended, with Risky by her side. The animal had not ventured far from her since they found him that afternoon. Shasti had asked Dr. Mourner to examine the dog, who pronounced Risky healthy, just underweight and suffering from some vitamin deficiencies. The native bugs and parasites on Enshar had shown little interest in Risky, who was bigger than most of the wildlife he encountered.

Risky boosted everyone’s morale. Everyone wanted to pet the dog, who reveled in the attention. They took his survival as a talisman that their luck had changed. Fenaday was glad for the effect, especially among the wounded.

Fenaday drained his coffee and looked at the others. “Well, we are in as good a situation as can be hoped for. We are in the capital city, dug in with all the supplies we need. The worst of the wounded are back on the ship. Tomorrow we start work on getting out of here and finishing off this... this... whatever the hell it is.”

“If we last through tonight,” Mmok said, sitting back in the chair with both hands behind his head.

Fenaday shrugged. He didn’t feel the need to candy-coat the situation for this group, but he wanted no pessimism either. “We have a good chance. There have been no storms. We have relocated twice in the last forty-eight hours.

“If Duna is right in his theory that there is no central intelligence guiding the attacks on us, at least as yet, we may have slipped off the boards as far as the enemy is concerned.”

“Yet, here we are in the middle of what may be its central location,” Shasti cautioned.

“Remember,” Telisan said, “the attacks have been disjointed, purposeless, stupidly done—if still terrifying. The thing may not have garrisoned this city; it does not act in what we perceive as a logical fashion. We do not know. ”

“We’re not out of danger,” Fenaday said, “but what point is there in planning for an overwhelming attack by an invincible force? If it happens, we die. If not, we are the first force to survive long enough to launch a counterstrike.

“Strike, we shall,” Fenaday promised. “Mr. Duna.”

“Every evidence we can find,” Duna began, “indicates that the assault radiated out of Barjan. Here, the slaughter took minutes, if that long. The entire disaster was over, planet-wide, in hours. As the captain says, we are the first force to survive the initial attacks. We are in range of the enemy, alive and armed. There is—there must be—a chance.”

Shasti looked up from stroking Risky’s fur, as if to speak. Fenaday caught her eye and she subsided.

“We will attack in this fashion,” Fenaday said. “Shasti, Connery, Li, Mmok, and the bulk of his HCR and crab robot force will accompany me as we descend into...”

“Captain,” interrupted both Duna and Telisan simultaneously. Fenaday looked at them in surprise.

“I must go, Captain,” Duna continued. “None of you has ever even been in an Enshari city. You cannot recognize the signs, much less read them.”

“Duna,” Fenaday said, “you could give directions.”

“No, Robert,” Duna replied, “not well enough to help, but there are other reasons as well. You were brought into this through my actions. We have lost a quarter of our force, killed or wounded. I bear the ultimate responsibility for this. I dragged you here to face monsters. I must stand with you when you do.

“Finally, I am the only member of my race on this planet. This is my home, the place I buried my wife, where we had our children, where some of them died. In the name of all who have died, in the name of all that we lost, an Enshari must be there to strike the blow.

“Give me a place in this fight,” the Enshari demanded, his eyes brilliant.

There was silence in the room.

“It’s not necessary for me to give you what is yours by right,” Fenaday said softly. “You fight with us in the morning.”

The Enshari sat on the floor, his hand-paws covering his eyes. Telisan placed a long fingered hand on his shoulder. Duna grasped it tightly.

“I too, must go,” Telisan said, “for my comrades on the Earhart, for my friend Belwin and to buy back a lie.” He looked directly at Fenaday. “I demanded an oath from you, and you have been true in all things. I knew of Duna’s fears that some ancient menace had been uncovered. I knew the stories of the demons and monsters, what you call the Shellycoats. I did not tell you even after I was your officer. I have not lied in any matter of honor before. I must go to buy back that lie.”

“You don’t owe me,” Fenaday said. “I’m not some noble adventurer tricked into a quest. Shasti and I were forced to go by the government when our pasts caught up with us. Had you told either of us what you suspected, we would have thought you mad. Even if you’d told us and we believed you, what else could have been done?”

“Then it is myself I owe,” Telisan replied.

“Who will command the team to go to the spaceport and find a ship?” Fenaday asked.

“Send Fury,” said Telisan. “I am a fighter pilot. She actually served on freighters before the war. In any event she knows ship systems better than I.”

Fenaday looked at Telisan and smiled. “You’re a damn fool, but I’ll be glad to have you along. I’d rather be going anywhere else myself.”

“For once we agree,” Mmok added.

“All right. Fury will take Rask and half the ASATs and LEAFs back to the port, along with any of our engineers or other people she feels she’ll need. Rigg, you’ll take command here. I’m not going to give you any orders. Once we are gone, it’s your shop.”

“Mmok,” Fenaday said, turning to the half-cyborg, “I assume you can rig a variety of different time delay detonation sequences for me on that nuke.”

“In my sleep. How long a delay do you want?”

“I need four settings: three days, twenty-four hours, six hours and one for two seconds.”

The last fell on them all like a shroud. There was only one reason for the two-second delay, to replace a painful death with a quick blast of nuclear light.

“We’ll take one of the multi-fuels in the morning,” Fenaday continued. “Duna, draft a map of where you think the excavation might be. Everyone will carry one. It shouldn’t take all of one day to get there and back. It’s not much of a plan, but there it is.”

“The underground will not be so bad as you all imagine,” Duna said. “We Enshari evolved from denning animals, but we hunted on the surface. Our eyes see somewhat better in darkness than do yours, our sense of smell is better, but we do need light. In addition to all the shaftways bringing down light, there are bioluminescent panels almost everywhere. Remember, our genetic engineers developed them to a high art. They do not need replacing during their lifetimes and live twenty years or more, if tended properly. There will be sufficient light to see by.”

“We will take torches and lanterns anyway,” Fenaday said. “Daylight is 04:30 standard time.

“Mmok, prepare the nuke. Also, send that scout robot of yours out and see about securing us a decent route to the Barjan Deep. Duna will give you the coordinates.

“I suggest everybody check their equipment and try to get their heads down for a few hours. ‘Boots and saddles’ sounds at 03:00. Any questions?”

Mmok grunted as usual. The others shook their heads.

“Dismissed.”