Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (37 page)

Not only did Kuga-Ka know next to nothing about the Paguum, he had no interest in trying to learn. His reply was clumsy verging on rude. “Thank you. My name is Kuga-Ka. I'm glad to be here, wherever ‘here' is. Are the troops ready?”

Riff found the lack of courtesy to be annoying and changed the form of address to that used between slightly hostile strangers having no tribal connection. “Yes, the warriors are ready and waiting.”

Oblivious to the shadings that had no equivalents in standard, and therefore unaware of the manner in which his social standing had thereby been reduced, Kuga-Ka nodded agreeably. “Good. Let's get going.”

Riff 's bodyguards and members of his staff were arrayed behind him by then. The chieftain turned to a burly subchief, ordered him to handle the matter, and left, without wishing Kuga-Ka well. Still another insult had the Hudathan been knowledgeable enough to understand it.

“Follow me,” the subchief said, and ordered his zurna to turn around.

Now we're getting somewhere,
the renegade thought to
himself, and opened the intercom. “You heard the hatchet face—follow him.”

Haaby did as she was told. Kuga-Ka was a lot heavier than the average human, so hauling him around affected her balance and required a lot of energy.
Still,
the cyborg thought to herself,
it feels good to have a war form again
.

Then Haaby remembered Oko and immediately felt guilty knowing that the war form actually belonged to
him,
and he was where she had been, floating in an uncertain darkness, cut off from the rest of the world, wondering if he was going to die. But there was nothing the cyborg could do about it, and servos whined as she followed the subchief through the crowd. They passed between dozens of dome-shaped shelters and out into the shadow cast by one of the spires guarding the Well of Zugat. Six sphere-shaped remotes floated along behind her. Each Ramanthian-made remote was equipped with a
speaker, a spotlight, and a stun gun.

The warriors waiting at the foot of the spire stood and cheered. Not for Kuga-Ka, or for Haaby, but for the subchief. He ordered his steed to stop, stood on its back, and addressed the crowd. In spite of the fact that he didn't have a PA system to help him, the Paguum had little difficulty making himself heard. “The dawn people want our water. The humans taught them new ways to fight. Obey warrior Kuga-Ka as you would me.”

The final admonition was met with silence as the Paguum turned their attention to Kuga-Ka, the machine he rode, and the remotes that sped out to hover above their heads. Even veteran warriors were frightened though none of them would have been willing to admit it. “All right,” Kuga-Ka said, his voice booming out through the airborne speakers, “listen up!”

Most of the warriors turned their attention to the Hudathan, but a few continued to look up at the remotes. One took a bolt from a stun gun, convulsed, and fell. The crowd stirred uneasily and hands went to weapons. “You're supposed
to be looking at
me,
not the frigging remotes, or the idiot ly
ing on the ground,” Kuga-Ka said impatiently. “He'll be up and around in a few minutes—but his head will ache all afternoon.

“Now, as long as we're getting acquainted, here's something else to consider. See the boulder over there? Watch what happens to it.”

The orders came in over the intercom, Haaby “saw” a ready light come on as the Hudathan released control of her weapons systems, and felt a moment of temptation. If she could buck the Hudathan off her back and turn quickly enough, perhaps she could nail him. But Missy insisted that the renegade would be ready for that, especially the first time out, which meant he'd zap her. So, convinced that she didn't have any other choice, the cyborg raised her arm. The energy cannon fired, there was a loud
bang!
as the superheated rock flew apart, followed by the rattle of falling debris. There
was an audible gasp as the warriors saw what the T-2 could do.

“So,” the Hudathan said meaningfully, “even though most of you are going to hate my guts by the time the sun goes down, don't take a shot at me unless you're in a hurry to die.

“Now that we have the preliminaries out of the way,” Kuga-Ka said cheerfully, “it's time to talk about the purpose of this training. Based on information gathered by your scouts, we know that the southern tribe is planning to attack you with cavalry
and
foot soldiers. You already know how to fight mounted warriors—so my job is to teach you infantry tactics. Or a single tactic in this case, since the enemy is on the way and we don't have time for more. Different cultures have different names for the evolution you are about to learn. The humans call it a massed column, but my pe
ople call it the Intaka, or blow of death. The basic concept is that of overwhelming force. Now, unless some idiot has a question, we'll get to work.”

What followed wasn't especially pretty, lasted for six hours, and resulted in nearly a hundred causalities as warriors were stunned for making mistakes, dropped from heat prostration, or were injured during mock-combat sessions. But when the training day finally ended, the beginnings of a new weapon had been forged, and ex–Gunnery Sergeant Hreemo Kuga-Ka was pleased.

Having arrived at the crash site, Santana waited for sunset before leading the survivors out into the desert and away from the blood-splashed transport and the row of carefully marked graves next to it. The decision was based on the possibility that the Ramanthians might return to the wreckage
and the fact that metal was so valuable on Savas that
Old Faithful
was bound to attract all sorts of looters.

Except for the soft ghostly light provided by the thousands of stars that glittered above and the glow sticks issued to a few of the adults, it was completely dark as the Paguum led the off-worlders across the trackless desert. A zurna snorted, equipment creaked, and one of the children coughed as Santana gave thanks for the fact that he was in
front
of the animals rather than behind them. An unpleasant place to walk given their foul-smelling bowel movements.

The goal, assuming it was where the Paguum named Saddo said it was, consisted of an ancient though parsimonious well. Though too small to support an encampment, or a herd of katha, the digs claimed the pito (water seep) would be sufficient to support the forty beings that Santana had responsibility for. But for how long? Kobbi was closing on Fire Base Alpha, but there was no chance of a pickup until he arrived, and all sorts of things could delay him.

The officer's thoughts were interrupted as Qwis appeared at his elbow. She was one of the adults authorized to carry a
glow stick, and the rod lit her face from below. Though still recovering from the shock of her mother's unexpected death, the young woman now found herself responsible for all of the civilians, including her father. In the wake of his wife's death, the once-confident and energetic businessman had been reduced to little more than a shambling scarecrow whose eyes were eternally focused on the horizon. The combination of burdens weighed heavily on Qwis, and she looked tire
d. “Here,” Santana said, handing the colonist an energy bar. “It tastes like shit, but it'll give you a boost.”

Qwis accepted the bar, peeled the wrapper off, and forced a smile. “If Private Cho wasn't back there, watching for stuff like this, there would be a trail of litter all the way back to the wreck. We told the children to put the trash in their pockets, but they have a tendency to forget things like that.”

Santana glanced over his shoulder, but the far end of the column was lost in darkness. “We have to try—but it's hopeless. We're leaving tracks, not to mention enormous piles of Zurna poop, and what Guppa calls ‘fita.' By which he means tiny clues that only a Paguum would see.”

Qwis bit off a chunk of energy bar and nodded. “I never spent any time with the Paguum, but a skilled Jithi can track a doo bug through the jungle, so I believe it. You were right by the way . . . This thing is
awful
.”

Both of them laughed and continued to walk side by side. The desert was cold at night, and the legionnaire shoved his hands down into his pockets. “How's your father?”

Qwis shook her head. “Not very well. Mother and he were extremely close. So much so that I always felt like an outsider.”

“Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be,” Santana replied, and remembered what it was like to look into Christine Vanderveen's eyes.

“Yeah,” Qwis agreed soberly, “maybe it is. But look what
happens when something goes wrong. It rips your entire world apart.”

There had been an attraction between them, and there still was from Santana's point of view, though not on a level with what he felt for Vanderveen. Still, what seemed like an unbridgeable social chasm existed between the diplomat and he, so why yearn for the impossible? Especially if Qwis was available. Or was she? Maybe she was trying to tell him something. That attachments were dangerous? That she wasn't ready for an ongoing relationship? The legionnaire tried to see into her eyes but couldn't find them in the darkness. “True,” Santana responded gravely, “but I'll bet that your fath
er would agree that some people are worth the risk.”

“Yes,” Qwis replied, “I'm sure he would.” She reached out to squeeze the officer's hand, and said, “Thanks,” as one of the children started to cry.

Santana was about to reply when the hand was withdrawn, and she disappeared.

The column had been marching at night to avoid the heat of the day, but when dawn came, Kobbi made the decision to complete the journey in the daylight rather than bivouac less than ten miles away. The long line of soldiers and civilians wound past a flat-topped rock formation, struggled up a long sandy slope, and emerged onto the flat area east of the wreck. “My God,” Major Matala said, eyeing the expanse ahead. “What happened here?”

Kobbi found himself staring at a sea of sand-drifted bones. Some were large, and might have belonged to zurnas, while the rest were smaller and consistent with what the officer imagined Paguumi bone structure might be like. Some of the sun-whitened sticks still bore pieces of
sun-dried gristle, but the rest had been picked clean and would eventually be buried by the wind. Bits of brightly colored cloth could be seen in among the bones, half-buried by the sand, but still willing to flap if a breeze came along. “A battle was fought here,” Kobbi answered simply. “Our people took on what must hav
e looked like an ocean of Paguumi warriors and fought them to a standstill. Not line troops, mind you, bu
t support staff, many of whom normally fire a weapon once or twice a year. Captain Danjou would be proud.”

“Proud? Hell, he'd be amazed,” Matala said, as the column picked its way through the field of bones.

Once clear of the battlefield the column followed the deep ditch the ship had plowed into the planet's surface up to a blast-blackened berm and the formation that stood arrayed in front of it. There were six war forms, all the group could muster at the moment, and a small group of bio bods. They were at rigid attention, eyes front, as Captain Calvo took two steps forward and delivered her best salute. Her skin was a deep brown color and looked as though it had been stretched over the bones of her face. “Welcome to Fire Base Alpha, sir. It's damned good to see you.”

Kobbi returned the salute, and said, “At ease. You and your people did one helluva job, Captain. And that's the best-looking wreck I've ever seen.”

There was a cheer as both groups broke ranks, and the battalion was reborn.

After nine hours of walking Santana had fallen into a sort of ambulatory stupor. His body continued to place one foot in front of the other, but his senses were dulled, and his mind was adrift. That was why the legionnaire didn't realize that the Paguum had stopped until he was about to walk past
them and Guppa reached out to grab his arm. “Lieutenant? We're there.”

Santana came to a halt and blinked repeatedly. A wash of pink light heralded the reappearance of the sun, the air was cold, and the officer could see his breath. “There? Where?”

“At the well,” the warrior replied patiently.

The interaction served to clear his mind, and Santana looked around. The ground around them was featureless. Surely there had been a mistake. “No offense, my friend, but I don't see a well.”

“That's because you are standing on top of it,” Saddo said mischievously. “If the lieutenant would be so kind as to back away, we could remove the lid.”

The legionnaire looked down and saw nothing but his boots and the sand beneath them. Surely Saddo was wrong. Only someone who had access to modern technology could pinpoint one square foot of sand in a trackles
s desert. But there was only one way to find out. “Sorry,” Santana said, and took a full step backward.

The rest of the column had caught up by then, and there was a considerable ruckus as zurnas squalled, children demanded the right to get down, and exhausted adults worked to sort things out.

Meanwhile the Paguum were down on hands and knees, digging with their hands. Sand flew, and it wasn't long before a flat piece of rock appeared and gradually grew larger. Santana's eyebrows rose as he saw that a series of pictographs had been revealed. “What does it say?”