11

 

The third guard was the problem.

Cerrin and the three Vitaari had been out in the forest for several days—observing, planning, setting traps—and they had now captured six of the eight creatures the Count wanted. She had remained cooperative throughout and, despite her reputation, two of the guards had become far more relaxed. They no longer kept their hands near their jolt-rods and seemed happy to help with the work.

But the third guard—who rarely spoke, even to his compatriots—always kept his eyes on her. Cerrin reckoned he’d been specifically instructed to do so. Though they had ventured as far as three miles into the forest to locate and trap the creatures, he had maintained his vigil with a relentlessness that Cerrin begrudgingly admired. Her nemesis was named Kezzelet.

He was even sitting next to her now—in the rear of the vehicle behind the other two. Cerrin had thought several times of jumping off and making a run for it, but there was little chance of getting away. When lightly equipped and armed, the Vitaari could outrun her with ease. Worse still, they had two of the trackers like the technician had used on the hunt. Without them, they would not have found all the animals—the machines could somehow “see” movement and heat. Even if Cerrin got far enough away to hide, the guards would have located her. She had also not forgotten the governor’s threats: attempted escape would bring more punishment and end what had actually been a comparatively pleasant few days.

Cerrin took no satisfaction from capturing the creatures—and was far from sure that any of them would survive—but she had to admit she was almost enjoying herself. In the unlikely event that a chance arose, she would take it. Until then, she intended to milk this opportunity for all it was worth.

Kezzelet activated his translator and turned to her. “You better get one of those rats this morning. It’s taking too long.”

“Rats?” said one of the guards at the front. He paused as the vehicle bumped over some tree roots, then continued. “Did you see the size of that thing yesterday?”

Kezzelet shook his head.

“The lightflies could be difficult, too,” said Cerrin. “We’ve not seen any yet and they’re very fragile.”

“Waste of time,” mumbled Kezzelet.

“Why don’t you tell the Count that?” asked Cerrin. “Perhaps he’ll give you another duty.”

The remaining guard was sitting in front of her. He pointed ahead. “Girl, we’re close to those big trees. Where are we starting?”

“Anywhere. We’ve got plenty of traps.”

The Vitaari had spent much of the morning putting them together. Transparent containers of various sizes had been sent down via a shuttle, and a technician assigned to rig them as traps. Cerrin had no idea how it worked, but some small device clamped to the door sensed when an animal entered and shut it. All she had to do was place bait inside. They had tried numerous different foods the previous day but, despite seeing several sesskar, hadn’t managed to entice one of them inside. Today, they had double the amount of traps and a greater variety of bait.

The vehicle slowed and stopped well short of the trees. They were not particularly tall but had wide trunks that splayed out and split above the ground. The cool, dark recesses beneath could harbor all types of creatures and were particularly favored by sesskar.

Cerrin jumped down, then walked to the rear of the four-wheeled vehicle and the rack containing the traps. The Vitaari had laughed at the way she gripped her seat during her first trip in what they called the “runner.” The craft seemed to her almost as fast as their shuttles, and she had been amazed to discover that the guards didn’t even control it. Apparently, they just gave it the destination and the machine did the rest. Though it could cope with flat terrain and smaller obstacles, Cerrin had noted that it avoided steep slopes and very slippery ground. Over a long distance, it would be no more useful to the Vitaari than their combat shells, which struggled with dense forest.

Cerrin waited for one of the guards to untie the straps used to secure the containers, then helped take them off the vehicle. As usual, Kezzelet stood to one side and watched her. She had been surprised that the other two hadn’t said anything about him never helping with the work and guessed he was either older, more senior, or both. Apart from the obviously old and young, she found it hard to judge their age.

The other guards grabbed two containers each and—not for the first time—Cerrin found a jolt-rod within easy reach. She doubted the weapons were particularly complicated, but it was too risky to make a move. She also couldn’t be sure what effect the rods might have on a Vitaari. Though it would be almost impossible for her to reach the head, she imagined a blow anywhere might put them out of action temporarily.

Feeling Kezzelet’s eyes on her, Cerrin looked over her shoulder. There he stood, motionless, one hand on the top of his gun. His cheeks were less angular than some of the others; but his brow was heavier, and those dark eyes didn’t miss a thing. Unlike Stripe, he didn’t say much, but Cerrin felt sure he was another who would enjoy the excitement of foiling an escape.

“Girl.” One of the other guards handed her the bag containing today’s bait. Cerrin thought it possible that her scent—or more likely that of the invaders—had put off the sesskar, so all of the food had been carefully wrapped. She would use gloves to place the warbler eggs in the traps.

“Let’s hurry it up,” growled Kezzelet.

She led the Vitaari toward the trees.

 

 

The rock formations were bizarre: colossal chunks of orange stone that seemed to have been stuck together and then dropped onto the desert floor to form towers. A line of them ran as far as the eye could see both east and west, many marked with glittering red where erosion had torn at the surface.

“They looked like mountains from the map,” remarked Vellerik, as he and Triantaa strode across the plain. Thankfully, they were now through the rock field, and instead of watching his footing, he could admire the view.

Triantaa was fiddling with the sensor unit attached to his forearm. “That one to the east is the highest. Almost three kilometers.”

“How far to the pass?”

“Five.”

Vellerik looked back at the troop. Clad in light brown fatigues, the ten soldiers were laden down with heavy packs containing shelters, sleeping gear, and provisions. It had taken them a full day to prepare, and Vellerik realized he’d been remiss in not properly training for such a mission. He could have used the shuttle or the shells, but the pass was narrow and flying close to the towers would be risky. On the ground, however, they would have a perfect opportunity to intercept the Kinassans before they could pose a threat. Cutting costs and widening the experience of the troop were added benefits. Vellerik was finding the mission refreshingly authentic. The barren, hostile landscape and lack of air support robbed them of most advantages and, to him, recalled a dozen such missions on dangerous, unpredictable worlds—facing dangerous, unpredictable foes.

But when he reminded himself they were facing an enemy who hadn’t advanced beyond bladed weapons, he suddenly felt rather foolish.

“Any reading on them?”

The troop had disembarked from the shuttle two hours previous, and the last update had shown a significant number of lifeforms twenty kilometers from the end of the pass.

“Not yet, sir,” said Triantaa. “But range is much less at ground level.”

Vellerik—who had a display of his own but left it off when he was with Triantaa—pointed ahead at a gap between two of the taller rock towers. “Is that it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Reminds me of Tangaara back home,” said Vellerik after some time. “Same heat. Same emptiness. Ever been there?”

“No, sir. Flown over it a couple of times.”

Vellerik examined the ground ahead. Though the wind was currently light, over time it had crafted elaborate swirls into the sandy plain. It seemed almost a shame to walk across them.

He checked the troop again; they had clearly dropped back. “Pick it up, you men.”

“Sorry, sir,” said Triantaa quietly. “Hard to keep up stamina aboard ship.”

“Not your fault. Soldiers get less fit every year. And most of them aren’t even past fifty. What are you again?”

“Forty-eight, sir,” said Triantaa, adjusting the visor attached to his lightweight helmet.

Vellerik was actually feeling rather spry, having augmented his exercise regime and stayed off the Almana’s Breath for five days.

“The High Ridge was terrain like this, wasn’t it, sir?”

Vellerik smothered a grin. Triantaa used any opportunity he could to bring up one of the famous battles at which his superior had fought. The Imperial Legion’s defense of an isolated fortress against a massive enemy force had turned the tide of a stuttering campaign. It was one of the few victories Vellerik was proud of; the battle hadn’t been conducted to secure an operating base for the Fleet or a mineral field for the Resource Directorate. It had been fought to wipe out a race who had attacked the Vitaari: the inhabitants of the Erax system.      

Taking exception to Vitaari ships flying through what they perceived as their territory, the advanced Eraxi had launched several strikes, including one raid that vaporized almost a thousand civilians. It had taken two years for the Vitaari to defeat the Eraxi ships and another three years on the ground. The Battle of the High Ridge had taken place close to the start of that campaign, when the surrounded Fourth Legion held out against a fearsome Eraxi counteroffensive.

“A little,” said Vellerik, though in truth he had only a handful of clear memories. He had been a lowly trooper back then, with not a single decoration to his name.

“The real problem was that the High Ridge wasn’t actually all that high. If it had been, we might have had an easier time. Once they’d given up trying to bomb us out, they sent in their best assault division.”

“Five thousand, wasn’t there, sir?”

“So they say. Must have been three thousand of them dead on those slopes when it was done.”

“And just the six hundred of you, sir?”

“About that.”

Triantaa seemed keen to exploit this rare opportunity. “I saw a preserved Erax at the imperial museum. Very hard to bring down, weren’t they?”

“Very—thick carapace protecting the head and the vital organs. Then they had all that armor, too. Sometimes took six or seven direct hits. But you know why we won? Really?”

“Commander Xersiix, sir. His speech on the third night.”

“Couldn’t tell you what he said. I slept through it.”

Triantaa’s eyes widened.

“No, soon after we secured the ridge, a supply officer arrived and worked out we were running low on food. There was a crippled eight-wheeler a few hours away, but Xersiix didn’t want to risk losing any men before the Eraxi hit us. The supply officer asked time and again, but Xersiix refused. He was confident we would be resupplied, but the freighter sent our way was shot down. The supply officer went out on his own in a runner—came back with enough ration packs to get us through. Without him we would have run out of food two days before the battle—we wouldn’t have been able to even lift our guns.”

“I didn’t know that, sir.”

“Not many people do. And you know what, I don’t even remember the man’s name. Everyone’s heard of Xersiix, of course.”

Triantaa looked thoughtfully up at the sky.

“You’re a good troop lieutenant,” Vellerik told him. “But you never disagree with me. Never. Remember—a good second-in-command questions his superior. You think I’m wrong or I forget something—you tell me. I may well ignore you, but you tell me. Understand?”

“Captain.”

They marched on. Though he eventually began to feel weary, Vellerik didn’t stop for a break, even when Trooper Dekkiran stumbled into a hollow and twisted his ankle. They would still reach the pass by the middle of the day, though the temperature was soaring. And when another trooper complained about keeping his helmet on, Vellerik reminded him that he had the advantage of self-cooling clothing and skin specially treated to resist extremes of heat and cold. These treatments—and an accompanying mix of booster medicines—were administered annually to all the armed forces of The Domain. There was also the option of newer augmentations that could improve concentration, reaction time, and so on. Vellerik always refused them; he felt safer with his own narcotics.

Only when they neared the pass was it really possible to appreciate the huge dimensions of the rock towers. In some places, erosion had left larger chunks close to the top, giving the impression that the structures might fall at any moment. The surface was pock-marked and seamed by white and gray.

Vellerik finally called a halt in the shadow of the tower to the left, fractionally the higher of the two. The pass was no more than fifty meters across at its widest and stretched away out of sight, bounded on both sides by more towers and lower, flatter formations.

“Take a few minutes,” said Vellerik. “Get some liquid down, food if you want it. Then get the shelters up.” He walked a few paces into the pass and started adjusting the settings on his visor. Even with the range at maximum, he couldn’t see any movement to the south.

“Got anything?” he asked Triantaa.

“Only smoke, sir. About ten Ks away, right side of the pass. Wouldn’t pick up any lifeforms unless they were line of sight.”

“Ten—if they keep moving, they could be here before night. Check every half-hour. I’ll get us set up.” Vellerik walked back to the men, who were now lying on the sand in shade, slumped against their packs. “Trooper, get your gun barrel out of the sand.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Dekkiran, whose neck was dotted with green tattoos in the style of his native region, lifted his gun and placed it on top of his pack. The troop—Vellerik included—were armed with the Mark 8 Assaulter: a lightweight, reliable weapon that had been in production for years. With a long effective range and a one hundred shell clip, it was ideal for the mission. Each man also carried three spare clips and five anti-infantry missiles for the pod attached to the top of the gun. Two also carried mines, which Vellerik intended to plant before they left—to discourage any further incursions along this route.

“Any sign of them, sir?” asked Pertiell, who was holding a huge water flask in both hands.

“Just smoke. But close. It’ll be today or tomorrow.”

“Unless they travel at night, sir.”

“Unlikely, I would think. Primitive peoples tend to fear darkness.”

“I wonder why they’re coming north now, sir?” asked Perttiel.

“To attack,” suggested another soldier.

“Or they might be hungry,” said a third. “Looking for food.”

“Doesn’t matter,” said Vellerik. “All that matters is we stop them.”

 

Cerrin sat alone with the animals, knowing she had only the rest of the day before she was thrown back into the grinding routine of Block A and that accursed cavern.

“Stupid thing,” she whispered, watching the sesskar as it scurried from one side of the transparent container to the other. Upon their return to the traps in the afternoon, they’d found the greedy creature unable to resist the warbler eggs. Cerrin had been dismayed to see it and wished she had been less conscientious with her choice of bait. Worse still, they had captured a dozen or so lightflies at the first attempt: the winged insects adored tree syrup.

The three Vitaari—especially Kezzelet—had been glad to finally get the job done and left her with the creatures in a storeroom close to the landing strip. The door was, of course, locked so Cerrin had occupied herself by checking on the animals. Though all were showing signs of anxiety, she had provided a good supply of food for each and added vegetation to the containers.

Of the eight types of creatures, it was the climbing karki she felt most sorry for. She walked over to the container in which the animal was housed. It was lying in a corner on a pile of branches, long legs and arms hanging loose. Karkis were usually noisy and were said to have their own language, but this one—a young male by the looks of it—was silent. It looked dolefully up at her with its big brown eyes.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Noting how smelly and stuffy the storeroom had become, Cerrin walked over to a control panel and keyed the button to open the window wider. The transparent pane was situated close to the top of the wall—about fifteen feet up—and, as it eased open, Cerrin realized how broad it actually was. She looked around. The store room was full of empty containers; it wouldn’t be difficult to make a stack and climb out. Better still, darkness was coming.

But even if she could get out, what about the wall? She had gotten over it twice, but the Vitaari now ensured that no vehicles were left close enough to be climbed upon. There were also rumors that they had installed some other security measure on top of the wall, but no one knew for sure. And even if she got over and as far as the river? There was no reason to think it would end any better than last time.

Then again, she had been close—closer than ever before. And with this work for the Count done, it was possible the Vitaari might not need her. For all she knew, she might never see the forest again.

Almost before the thought was fully formed, Cerrin had her hands on a large container and was dragging it under the window. Once she had pushed it into position, she looked around for another.

The sesskar began its scurrying again, and the karki let out a whimper. Cerrin realized she could hear two Vitaari approaching outside. As they got closer, she heard the familiar voice of the governor.

Her mind was made up now. When they came in, she would try for the door. She couldn’t think any farther than that. She just had to try.

But she would also have to put them off somehow, pretend she was in no state to escape. She sat on the floor close to the animals. By the time the door opened, she had her head in her hands.

“Cerrin.”

She looked up and knew instantly her chance had gone. The governor had Kezzelet with him, and the soldier’s gun was aimed right at her.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, Governor.” She slowly got to her feet.

“I will have some food brought to you soon.” Yeterris’s expression turned sour with one look at the sesskar. “You are to remain with the animals for the moment.”

As Kezzelet moved up alongside his superior, Cerrin tried to process what this meant.

“A change of plan,” continued Yeterris. “Without your knowledge, the creatures may not survive the trip back to the home world. You will go up with the next freighter to the Galtaryax in two days’ time. You will pass on all that you know so that the animals have the best chance of survival. The Count has ordered this.”