Was Once a Hero

chapter Six

Telisan appeared outside Sidhe in the bitter cold of early morning. Fenaday met him at the main hatchway. He saluted Fenaday in crisp navy style. “Reporting aboard, sir.” Breath steamed from his breather.

“Glad to have you aboard, Mr. Telisan,” Fenaday replied, returning the salute. The Denlenn followed him and they resealed the hatch. Fenaday knew the Denlenn had other names, but only his closest family would know those. To others, the Denlenn would be known only as Telisan of the Selen clan.

Telisan immediately took charge of the thousand details of preparing a starship for deep space. The Denlenn displayed a solid working knowledge of the Conchirri Frigate-leader’s design. Of course, thought Fenaday, he’d attacked enough of them during the war. Fenaday’s opinion of the Denlenn went up a notch after he discovered Telisan had been studying the interior design of the frigate for over a month, since he and Duna settled on Fenaday’s vessel as a candidate for the desperate voyage.

Since Mandela’s contingent knew of their destination, Fenaday kept them off the ship. After stowing their equipment and belongings, the scientists occupied an entire floor of a nearby hotel, kept under guard by Rigg and his Air Space Assault Team. Fenaday posted Mmok and his various robots, including the HCRs, around the ship’s exterior as guards. He also sent out Shasti’s best Landing Expedition and Assault Force troops: Gunnar, Chan, Connery and the Toks to keep an eye on Mmok.

Reporters began to catch wind of unusual doings at the port. Telisan and particularly Duna were too well known to escape attention entirely. Apparently the bartender had talked to someone about Duna’s meeting with Fenaday at Luchow’s. Fenaday despised reporters and knew that if word of their destination got through to the regular crew, he would never find enough people to lift ship. Shasti doubled security and referred all calls to Duna. The Enshari’s staff issued innocuous press releases about an archeological dig in the Altair system. Fenaday hoped the ruse would gain him the few days he needed to escape their attention. Mandela wanted the government’s involvement concealed, which meant there was some force, either public or within the government itself, that opposed the expedition.

Regulars among the crew tried frantically to discover the real destination while they could still jump ship. Money drew back all the people Fenaday needed, but they remained skittish about the secrecy and his vague warnings of extreme hazards ahead. Of Sidhe’s regular crew, only Fenaday and Shasti knew their destination. Mandela’s people stayed out of reach in the hotel and none of Sidhe’s crew ventured to question Mmok. New crewmembers grilled the old. The veterans knew nothing—but for the sake of their pride—pretended to be in the know.

*****



Shasti finished her stowage check in the LEAF bunkroom and walked toward the exit. A few troopers worked on their personal equipment or lounged about. She spotted Gunnar talking with the Morok brothers, Lokashti and Hanshi. She’d finally forgiven Gunnar for abandoning a decent chance at a normal life and coming. She nodded when he waved.

“Commander Rainhell,” said a voice, “got a minute?”

Shasti turned to look at a new member of her expeditionary force. His name popped into her memory, Heaton, former Confed marine commando. One of the last people she’d hired as she ran short of time. The barrel-chested man leaned closer than he needed to.

“What?” she asked. Something about the scent of the man bothered her.

“How about a break? We’ve been cooped up shipboard for days. Why? What do you say to some liberty?’

“No,” she replied, annoyed at being asked.

Heaton’s face darkened. “Then how about some break in this bullshit security. Where are we going? Huh?”

“You’ll be told what you need to know when you need to know.”

“This ain’t the real fleet, you know,” he said. “It’s a f*cking pirate ship—that’s all. I don’t need to put up with this crap from you people.”

Shasti studied him and it clicked, the jittery posture, overly bright eyes and the scent, adrenaldust. A common vice among combat troops, the chemical antidote to fear made dusters fierce but unstable.

She looked at him without expression. “Twenty-days double duty,” she said. “More if you don’t shut up. And you’ve had your last dust on this ship, hophead.” She turned to leave.

“Damn you, don’t turn your back on me,” Heaton yelled. He grabbed at her. Maybe he was reaching for her arm but his hand closed on her breast instead—hard.

Shasti spun back and punched. Heaton flew backward but not faster than Shasti. She followed the fist with a kick, hitting him while he was still in the air. The man landed flat on his back. She stood in the center of the bunkroom, waiting. Around her, people scrambled to their feet. Before anyone could intervene, Heaton roared and threw himself at her. She blocked his powerful arms easily, contemptuously parried a kick then stepped into the big man. He grappled, relying on his size and bulk. She pulled him off the floor and threw him into a bulkhead. He clambered back up, shock on his face, finally realizing that he was up against something more than human. She lunged at him, hands moving almost too fast to see.

In seconds the fight turned into a beating. Shasti’s beautiful face stretched taut in a silent snarl. Heaton collapsed, and she started kicking him to death.

“Boss, boss,” Gunnar shouted. He, Hanshi and Lokashti rushed up to stop her.

Shasti flung off all three, but they managed to break her murderous concentration. She paused. Gunnar climbed to his feet, moving between Shasti and the wreck of Heaton.

“Boss,” he said. “It’s me, Johan. Come on. Look at me. It’s Johan.”

Shasti stared unblinking at him.

“Boss,” Hanshi called in Morok, “this dung is nothing. Do not dirty your hands. My brother and I will do this for you.”

“I need no help,” she growled, but the madness receded from her eyes.

“Of course not,” Gunnar said. “Of course.”

“No one touches me like that,” she gritted. “No one. Not ever.”

Lokashti walked over to Heaton and stirred the bleeding man with a foot. “Certainly not twice,” he said.

“Leave it to us,” Gunnar said.

She shook her head. “Fight’s over,” she replied, anger vanishing as if never present. “Call Sickbay. I’ll report to the captain.”

“No need,” said Fenaday from behind them. He stood in the hatchway. “Heard the donnybrook,” he added.

She looked down at Heaton, then back at Fenaday.

Fenaday shrugged. “There’s always one who seems to feel the need to test you on each voyage. We got it out of the way early this time.”

Shasti nodded stiffly. She suspected that he wasn’t pleased with how she’d handled the situation but wouldn’t reproach her in front of the others.

“I’ll call Dr. N’deba to the ship,” Fenaday said. “Gunnar, get a med-tech up here.”

Fenaday looked at Shasti. “Are you all right?”

The question surprised her. Couldn’t he see she was unhurt? “Yes.”

“Good,” he replied. “I’ll see you on the bridge later. Get this cleaned up.” He left.

Shasti looked at Lokashti. “First aid,” she said. “Hanshi,” she added, “get the newbies to clean the deck.” She looked around at the faces in the compartment. “I won’t be so gentle with the next person who crosses me.” People nodded or looked away. No one met her eyes.

She walked to the hatchway. No one touches me like that, she thought. Never again, never again, never ever again.

*****

Hours later Shasti joined Fenaday on the bridge. She was her usual cool, controlled self.

“N’deba patched up Heaton,” she said. “I arranged with Gandhi to transfer him to a military hospital where he can recover under wraps until we leave.”

“Good,” Fenaday replied. “I understand Hanshi and Lokashti wanted to cut him up and process him through the waste system.”

Shasti nodded. The Toks long ago bestowed a nom de guerre on her, ‘Death’s Angel’. The name stuck, and Fenaday knew the Toks would make sure it circulated among the new members, especially the ASATs. Shasti never acknowledged it, but Fenaday suspected it secretly pleased her. The Olympian Assassin had brought the Morok brothers aboard. She had saved their lives on Morokat long before she joined the Sidhe, and they were fanatically loyal to her. He doubted there’d be any repetition of the hospitalized spacer’s mistake.

“Did you call for me, sir?”

Fenaday turned to see that Daniel Rigg had entered the bridge. “Yes,” Fenaday replied. He nodded toward Shasti.

“I’m going to break your squads into fire teams,” Shasti stated. “I want to match one of yours with one of mine to integrate the force.”

Fenaday expected Sgt. Rigg to protest the dispersion of his ASATs. He didn’t. Rigg simply smiled, as if acknowledging the point scored. He measured both of them with cool, gray eyes, seemingly unconcerned. He gave Shasti a look one reserved for a respected opponent, wary, yet confident. Fenaday would have been happier if Rigg shot his mouth off.

“That will be all for now,” Shasti said.

Rigg left without a word.

“That one is no dumb grunt,” Fenaday said. “Watch him and never turn your back. He believes he can take you.”

She nodded. “He believes it, but he’ll have to bet his life to find out.”

“I’m not worried about his life,” Fenaday replied, “there are twenty-four ASATs. I’ve only got one of you.”

Shasti’s teeth flashed briefly. “I like the odds.”

*****

Shasti and Fenaday met with Duna for a late dinner at the Marsport Hilton. Telisan stayed behind in the port office, straightening out details of the initial flight plan to exit Mars’ congested orbit. The evening, like several before it, turned into a working dinner held in the Enshari’s spacious rooms to avoid notice. Shasti perched on the window, staring up at the top of Marsport dome, as Fenaday and Duna reviewed progress on the ship, stores and crew.

“I received this from my Confederation security this morning,” Duna said. He pressed a switch on the tabletop causing a large viewscreen on the wall to flick on. Shasti left her spot at the window to join them.

“Here is the latest data on Enshar from the Confederate destroyer Quicksilver,” Duna began. “She uploaded the monitoring satellite’s information about six months ago.”

On the screen the image of the planet’s night side appeared as seen from the satellite.

“Not much has changed,” continued the Enshari. “At night, less artificial light is seen, as one after another, the power plants go off-line. Cities continue to decay or become infested by wildlife and flora. Massive fires rage unchecked in some cities and forests as some untended device made by my people fails, causing ignition. Most of the derelict shipping has sunk. There is no sign of any intelligent life.”

“Not at all encouraging,” Fenaday said. Enshar had been abstract to him until now. He felt as if he was looking at his own gravesite.

“Captain,” Duna said. “It’s evident from what my security tells me that reporters are becoming more suspicious about my stay. We’ve used our cover story as best we can. The ruse seems to be working for now. Should they put two and two together, as you humans say, with the unusual doings at the port and your ship, we could have trouble. Your government’s aid to me is conditioned on the expedition remaining secret. I also fear that others, some from only the best motives, will interfere or seek to cancel our mission.

“There’s considerable opposition to this trip among your government. Some feel that I am raising my people’s hopes only to dash them. They think our only hope for survival is to forget our homeworld and fear I may bring on the very extinction I seek to fight.”

“I can’t imagine,” Fenaday said, “that Congress would be glad to find out the government put an eminent scholar into the hands of a privateer under suspicion of criminal activity and sent him on a suicide mission.”

“Please stop using that expression,” Duna begged, visibly upset even to the humans. “I wouldn’t have agreed to this voyage if I thought there was not at least some chance.”

Fenaday shrugged. “As you wish.”

“I think the time has come,” Duna added, “to move me to the ship. I will remain in my cabin until liftoff. Mandela can arrange a story about my going off to a university on Earth, or some such cover.”

“Very well,” Fenaday said. “Shasti, call ahead and tell Mmok we are coming in by way of the emergency hatch and to keep the area clear.”

She nodded and pulled her pocket com, speaking quickly and quietly into it. Fenaday could hear Mmok’s voice rasp out something from the other end. “It’s set,” she said, snapping the device closed.

Fenaday turned back to Duna. “I am afraid you’ll have to ride the last couple of hundred yards in a sack. One sight of an Enshari, and we might have a half-empty ship.”

“A sack?” Duna repeated, looking a little ruffled.

“Don’t worry,” Fenaday grinned. “We even have one with us, just for the eventuality. Shasti will carry you on board on her shoulder. She’s quite strong. Carried me for two miles when I was shot on Morokat.”

Duna looked up at Shasti, who gazed down impassively. “One would be quite far off the ground on such a shoulder,” he said. “I am from a species that prefers underground dwelling. Perhaps you could...”

“I’m the captain,” he replied. “She carries the sacks.”

They were saved from further argument by the arrival of Telisan with their final approved exit papers. Security had admitted the Denlenn, who joined them for coffee, as Duna gathered up his belongings. Fenaday handed Duna a package Telisan brought from the quartermaster’s stores. It held a ship’s uniform tailored for the little Enshari. Duna seemed touched by the gesture.

“Well, I shall be quite in fashion,” Duna said, looking at the black leather jacket and sage green clothing.

“There’s a uniform for you in your cabin, Telisan,” Fenaday said. “For now, we wear civvies until we get to the starship.”

“About this sack,” Duna said, “I hope you wouldn’t mind if Telisan carried me in it?”

Telisan sputtered into his coffee. “Sack?”

“I’ll explain on the way down,” Fenaday sighed. “Grab his suitcase, please.”

Exiting separately, they took different cabs. The yellow and black robot cars dropped them at the edge of Marsport proper, the great dome that provided Earth-like warmth and conditions. From there they traveled in separate cars on the transport tubes, taking the train-like machines to the commercial and industrial sections. They rendezvoused at the entrance to the freight area of the port where Sidhe lay docked. From the tubeway exit, it would be a walk on Mars’ own cold surface.

After donning insulated Marscoats and putting on breathers, they set out. The small devices whiffed enough oxygen in a nose tube to keep anoxia at bay. As they stepped out onto the frigid surface, Fenaday was glad for the terraforming that raised the equatorial temperature to about ten degrees Fahrenheit.

“This way,” he said. “No fancy passenger terminal for us privateers. We live a hardy life.”

“I think I would like to get into that sack already,” Duna said.

“Sorry,” Fenaday said. “You’ll have to suffer like the rest till we get nearer the frigate. Besides, what are you complaining about? You have a fur coat on under there.”

“Wait till you are eight hundred years old,” the tiny Enshari groused, “then you can tell me about how much you feel the cold.”

Fenaday grinned. “I’ll see you get a cognac in your cabin after we are aboard.”

Fenaday’s chronometer indicated well after midnight as they trudged toward Sidhe’s cradle, passing silent warehouses and small docker bars. Fenaday began to feel like a child trying to sneak around the schoolyard after closing.

They boarded a slidewalk to take them the final leg to the cheap-seats—as Fenaday referred to the area around the frigate. Sodium floodlights illuminated some of the port, barely holding the darkness of the Martian night at bay. The stars shone down brilliantly with hardly a twinkle in the thin air. Phobos, larger and closer of Mars’ moons, rolled through the sky above them only six thousand kilometers away. It looked like a chunk of reddish rock but glittered with lights from homes and installations on its airless surface.

The slidewalk ended. From there they trudged on pavement covered in part by the grit of the Martian desert, which crunched under their insulated boots. They passed older warehouses with field equipment parked about them. Some smaller freighters sat on their own gantry-aprons. Occasionally, a light glinted from a port or hatchway. For the most part, the ships in this area sat sealed tight against the inhospitable air.

Duna spoke in his soft small voice about his last time on Enshar. Fenaday listened with half an ear, thinking mostly about a few hours of sleep in a warm bunk. The others trailed behind them.

“Look out!” Shasti yelled from behind them.

From the shadows of a warehouse and from between parked trucks, figures sprang at them. Suddenly the Martian night was full of bodies, making impossible jumps in the low gravity. Knives glinted, clubs and batons waved. Had there been guns in the attacker's intentions, Fenaday’s people would have been cut down. Fortunately, it was near impossible to get firearms in and out of Marsdome proper.

Shasti intercepted an attacker heading toward Duna. Her booted foot flashed out in a flying side-snap kick. The man’s breath left in an agonized whoosh and he rocketed away, crashing through an aircar window. Shasti landed upright and immediately exchanged a blur of ferocious blows with a Morok. The apish alien backed away from her, blocking as best he could. A roundhouse kick caught the Morok in the midsection, and he folded like a wet bag.

Fenaday sidestepped a baton, moving to a hook stance, as the wielder struck at him sideways. He merged with his attacker, a bearded human with wild eyes and the stink of liquor on him. Fenaday seized the baton with his right hand, continuing its motion with his spin, ripping it free of the other man’s hands. Reversing the circle, he smacked the baton into bearded man’s gaping face. One down.

He caught the glint of a knife from the corner of his eye and swung the baton down in a block. A Dua-Denlenn with a knife pulled the thrust as if it had been a feint and lunged as the club swept past. Fenaday dropped into a back stance, swinging the baton back in a wing block. As his left hand touched the knife arm of the attacker he clamped on it and pulled the alien forward, off balance. Fenaday slammed the baton into the Dua-Denlenn’s armpit and ribs then went for the head. He snap-kicked the side of his opponent’s knee and heard a rewarding crunch. The knife flew away as the Dua-Denlenn screamed and fell.

Fenaday’s head snapped around. Assailants charged from everywhere. The fight seemed to slow in his eyes, taking on a preternatural clarity. Telisan, fifteen feet away, fended off two attackers trying to reach Duna. Another man lay on the ground with the small knife Telisan had sworn allegiance to Fenaday with, sticking in his throat.

The Enshari wisely dodged behind the big Denlenn. Fenaday could see that Telisan was strong and fast, but not a trained hand fighter. His barroom swing knocked one man back, but the knife-wielder closed in. Telisan blocked awkwardly, avoided being gutted by a hair, and backed up with cut hands. Fenaday lunged toward him, but too many opponents stood between them. He shoulder-rolled to get clear, came up and flung the baton. It cracked the knifer in the side, startling more than disabling him. As the knife-wielder staggered, Duna leapt onto the man’s arm. An enraged Telisan followed up, hitting the knifer hard and downed him.

Someone jumped on Fenaday’s back, applying a full nelson. Fenaday reached down with his left hand and found groin. The grip loosened. He grabbed the sensitive inner thigh, gouged, and the hold loosened more. Slipping a leg behind his attacker’s leg, he twisted and flung him free.

Another man hit Fenaday in the chest with a flying tackle. Fenaday flew over backward, falling as best he could. The man landed on his chest, raising an arm. Shasti appeared suddenly over the thug’s shoulder. She dropped on him, wrapped an arm around his neck, snapping it and shoving the body away. A baton wielder struck her, and her block did not quite stop the blow. She dropped away sidewise but gathered herself almost instantly.

Fenaday rolled and tangled the legs of her attacker. The man fell to his knees and Fenaday’s knife-edge palm landed on his neck. He sprawled bonelessly. Fenaday scrabbled forward, snatching up the dead man’s weapon. I have a club again, he thought, as he lunged—not bothering to come to his feet. Telisan struggled in the grip of three men. Duna lay on the ground, kicking upward at a man who struck at him with a club. The Enshari locked his hands protectively around his head and pedaled his feet at the attacker, preventing him from getting in a good shot.

Fenaday slammed into the club wielder. The thug swung wildly with the club as he staggered. Fenaday parried at the forte of his own club. He kicked the other man’s arm up, thrust into his solar plexus and followed with a savage blow to the skull. Another man down.

Shasti lifted one of Telisan’s attackers over her head and dropped him to her knee. His scream cut short as his spine snapped. Telisan put his back to hers and inexpertly boxed with another brawler. Duna stood between them. At least six of their attackers lay unmoving. More hung back, injured. But reinforcements rushed from the shadows.

Fenaday ran, hopping over a club and parrying a knife to get back to the others. The situation looked grim.

“Come on,” shouted one man. “Let’s get them.” He leaned close, swinging a crowbar. Shasti grabbed, pulled and seized him by the neck, twisting in one fluid move. She flung the body, tripping up a big-bellied thug who rushed toward Fenaday.

Suddenly new figures appeared in the fight, thin, slender blurs. Men screamed briefly as the shadowy forms raced among them. A few turned to run. They didn’t get far. The figures cut them down with single blows. In seconds, only Fenaday and his party still stood. Silent, feminine figures formed a motionless ring around them, facing outward.

Mmok walked out of the darkness, his stiff-legged limp betraying him even in the low light. “It appears,” he said, “that not everyone wants to run the risk of the Enshari getting their planet back.”

“No,” Fenaday huffed, trying to catch his breath, “but they didn’t want us dead either. Just disabled. These aren’t assassins. They’re bar toughs, leg breakers. Pros would have used guns. Or at least they’d have been better hand-to-hand.”

“They were good enough for me,” Telisan gasped. The Denlenn had the worst of the fight, trying to protect Duna. His hands were badly cut and he was covered in bruises. “I am apparently better in a Spacefire than a brawl.”

“Cobalt,” Mmok ordered. “Med kit.”

The machine turned, detached a small package from its utility belt and held it out.

Duna snatched the kit from the machine and began frantically bandaging Telisan’s cuts. He spoke softly, consolingly, in his own tongue to his friend.

Like the robots, Shasti stood facing outward, face calm and still, eyes searching for opponents. The similarity between the machines and the genetically enhanced woman chilled him. It was almost reassuring to see a trickle of blood on her ivory skin. Shasti didn’t bruise worth a damn, but even she could be cut.

“Let’s move it,” Mmok said.

Fenaday shook his head. “Things will go better for us if the Port Police find us here.”

“The Port Police aren’t coming,” Mmok growled. “Someone else is. You don’t want to be here when they arrive. All this is going to disappear and what you don’t see, you can’t be asked about later. We have to go. Now.”

Fenaday stared at him for a few seconds, trying to read something in the one human eye and failing. “How did you arrange that?”

The half machine man looked at him coldly. “I uplinked to Mandela as soon as I saw trouble. He’s sending the cleaners.”

“Let’s get to the ship,” Fenaday decided. “Telisan, can you walk?”

The Denlenn nodded and they started off, keeping the best speed they could. The HCRs paced them at a distance.

“How did you know we were in trouble?” he asked Mmok.

Mmok gestured upward. Fenaday looked up to see a small, saucer-shaped object floating silently, about thirty meters over them.

“Reconnaissance robot,” Mmok grunted. Despite the limp he had no trouble keeping the pace. “Didn’t see the ambush. They were undercover in the cars and buildings. Saw the fight. Me and the girls came as fast as we could.”

“It appears that you will be useful to have around, Mr. Mmok,” Fenaday said.