Drifter's War (27 page)

Cap looked at them through narrowed eyes. He remembered the look on Melissa's face as Lana-8 dragged her away. "I refuse to say or do anything that will endanger my friends."

"Commendable, quite commendable," the third Il Ronnian said, stirring from his apparent lethargy. "We applaud your sense of loyalty. However we would be derelict in our duty were we to ignore an opportunity to speak with one of the resistance movement's most important leaders. I have a suggestion. Let's talk, but limit our conversation to subjects that have no current military value."

Sorenson sipped his drink. Of course. Their desire to speak with him was only natural. And the suggestion
did
seem rather reasonable. If they asked the wrong sort of questions he would refuse to answer. Besides, the longer they talked, the longer he could drink.

"That seems fair… what would you like to discuss?"

"The alien spaceship seems like a good place to start," the first Il Ronnian said easily. "We would like to know what the interior is like and how it operates."

Cap frowned. It was hard to concentrate, but the last time he had agreed to discuss the drifter with a stranger, all sorts of things had gone wrong. The bounty hunters had come after Lando, they'd been forced to flee the planet, and had ended up here. Wherever "here" was. No, there was no doubt about it, he shouldn't answer.

Sorenson did his best to sound dignified. "I'm sorry. I cannot answer your question."

The smaller Il Ronnian sounded surprised. "Really? Why not? The spaceship is no longer around. What harm could it do?"

Cap thought about it as he poured himself another drink. What harm indeed? The drifter
was
gone and the aliens couldn't touch it. Even Della would agree with that. Wouldn't she? Yes, of course she would.

The wine? Brandy? Liqueur? Whatever it was went down smoothly indeed. Cap started to feel downright cheerful. Just right for telling stories. A thought occurred to him. He grinned.

"Come to think of it, you're right. The ship's gone and a good thing too. It was horrible on board, just horrible. There were these bodies see, all mummified, and sitting at the controls. Weird-looking things with three arms and four eyes. Been there for a thousand years at least.

"And robots, big ugly critters that ran the ship, and tried to hunt us down…"

Sorenson paused to take a sip, saw that his audience was properly entranced, and kept on going. They wanted a ship, did they? Well, he'd give them a ship, a ship they'd never forget.

Rola-4 clutched Neder-33 to her chest as the Sand Sept troopers dragged her toward the command hut. What did they want with her? Was this the punishment that she'd been dreading? Many days had passed since the soldiers had ripped her dress open and taken the plastic disk. Days spent all by herself in a special pen, unable to speak with God and alone with her fear.

It was raining and the mud made a squishing sound under her feet. Rola-4 looked to the left and saw the broad expanse of Holding Area Two, even more crowded now, and still showing signs of the damage caused during the attack. She saw faces turn her way, tight staring faces that were curious about her fate and glad it wasn't happening to them.

Rola-4's heart felt like it might beat itself right out of her chest as they opened the door and shoved her inside the hut.

The walls were bare, a portable heating unit occupied one corner, and the floors were covered with mud. A makeshift desk had been built out of empty ammo crates and some loose boards.

An Il Ronnian sat behind it. The alien was thin, and in spite of the weather absolutely immaculate. He gave her the same kind of look that the village elders reserved for shirkers and wastrels.

Rola-4 used the same tactic that always worked on them. She hung her head penitently and looked at the floor. Neder-33 made complaining noises and tried to squirm out of her arms.

"You are construct Rola-4." There was something wrong with the alien's translator and it made his voice sound tinny.

"That is correct."

"You stand accused of treason against the Il Ronnian people."

Rola-4 struggled to understand. "Treason?" What did that mean? She mustered her thoughts.

"I meant no harm. God spoke to me and I listened."

The Il Ronnian looked stern. "And repeated his words to others."

"Yes, he told me to do so."

"And we told you not to."

Rola-4 shrugged. "Obedience to God is a part of my nature. I could no more ignore his commands than fly through the air."

The Il Ronnian, a rather skilled xenologist, knew it was true but maintained the same stiff expression anyway.

"Guilt is guilt. You committed a crime and must pay the price."

Rola-4 felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. "What price?"

"Death."

Rola-4 held Neder-33 more tightly. "Death? For speaking with God? What about my baby? You killed his father and would kill his mother too?"

The Il Ronnian made a sign with his tail. "I did not invent the penalties, I simply enforce them. You spoke with the machine called 'God,' spread his lies among your people, and must suffer the penalty. Unless…"

The pause seemed deliberate and therefore fraught with meaning. Hope filled Rola-4's breast. "Unless what?"

The alien made a motion with his hand. Rola-4 sensed movement behind her. A chair appeared. An Il Ronnian chair, with a tail slot down the middle, but a chair nevertheless. Neder-33 was getting heavy and Rola-4 accepted the invitation to sit down.

"Unless," the Il Ronnian continued, "you are willing to correct some of the damage that you have done."

Rola-4 didn't know what the damage
was
much less how to correct it, but was extremely interested in staying alive. "What would I be asked to do?"

"Nothing much," the alien said reassuringly. "Simply return to your people, seek out those in charge, and offer to help."

Rola-4 sat up straight in her chair. It was too good to be true. "Offer to help? That's all?"

"Well, almost all," the Il Ronnian replied. "We want you to find out where God is located."

"But that is impossible. God is everywhere and nowhere at all."

The alien was angry. His fist hit the desk so hard that boards jumped. "That is nonsense! God is a machine. It has parts like any other machine! They are located somewhere! Find God and live!"

Rola-4 forced her head down into the penitent position. Neder-33 looked up into her face and said, "Gaa?" He looked so much like his father that she wanted to cry.

"So," the Il Ronnian said, "what is your decision?"

Rola-4 was surprised that her voice sounded so calm and clear. "I wish to live. I will find God."

"Excellent," the Il Ronnian said, leaning back in his chair. "Excellent. Peeb!"

A trooper appeared to Rola-4's right. "Sir!"

"Bring the female in."

"Sir!"

Rola-4 heard a commotion behind her and turned to look. She was shocked to see the door open and Tusy-35 walk in.

Rola-4 noticed that the other female looked none the worse for wear. Her clothes were clean, she was obviously well fed, and she entered the hut as if she owned it. Tusy-35 nodded to the Il Ronnian, folded her arms across a more than ample chest, and regarded Rola-4 with the affection that a belly creeper has for its prey.

Why? What was going on? Rola-4 turned toward the Il Ronnian. He gestured toward Tusy-35. "Give the baby to her."

Rola-4 clutched Neder-33 to her chest. "No! Never!"

The alien was merciless. His eyes bored right through her. "You will do as you are told. Look for God. Find it. Report here. The youngster will be returned. The female will care for him in the meantime."

Rola-4 started to protest, started to beg, but saw that it would do little good. Her only chance, Neder-33's only chance, was to cooperate and hope for the best.

Slowly, reluctantly, Rola-4 did as she was told. Tusy-35 practically snatched Neder-33 out of her arms. She chucked him under the chin. "Hello, little one. I see you look like your father instead of your mother. My, what a lucky little male you are."

Rola-4 reached out to touch her son, to tell him good-bye, but Tusy-35 jerked him away. Her smile was pure venom. "Naughty, naughty. You have work to do, remember?"

The Il Ronnian stood and pointed toward the door. "That is all. You may go."

Neder-33 saw his mother moving away, didn't like it, and started to cry.

Rola-4 didn't look, couldn't look, for fear of falling apart. She stepped out into the pouring rain. The soldiers ignored her. She was free to go.

Cap gave a loud belch and looked to see what sort of reaction it would generate. The Il Ronnians nodded agreeably. Cap smiled. Silly bastards.

"So," the shortest Il Ronnian said, "that concludes your report?"

"Yup," Sorenson answered deliberately. "Humans always make that sort of noise when they reach the end of a story."

"Story?"

"Did I say 'story'? I meant 'report,'" Cap added hastily.

The Il Ronnian bowed slightly. "Your report was most interesting. We may ask additional questions later on. You may go."

Sorenson stood. He gestured toward the half-empty decanter. "May I take that with me?"

The alien's tail danced back and forth. "You may."

Cap gave a slight bow. "Thank you."

The Il Ronnians waited until the hatch had hissed closed behind him before they spoke. Half Sept Commander Heek was the first to break the silence.

"It seems hard to believe. A self-repairing artifact, its owners dead for thousands of years, controlled by rampaging robots."

Ceeq signaled respectful disagreement with his tail. "Not when you have seen the vessel in action it isn't. It resembles nothing we have seen before."

"True," Teex said thoughtfully, "but one thing bothers me. The human denied a connection between the ship and the device known as 'God.' Yet it arrived at a rather inauspicious time for us and a rather good time for God. Deex?"

The intelligence officer looked up from the small palm-sized monitor in his hand. It was electronically linked to both the chair that Sorenson had been sitting on and the table before him.

"Quarter Sept Commander Teex is correct. The human's vital signs became slightly elevated when asked about the possibility of a connection."

Ceeq leaned forward. "What about the ship?"

Deex indicated uncertainty with his tail. "I believe that his answers were truthful but cannot be sure. The presence of alcohol in the subject's bloodstream introduces the possibility of error."

"So," Heek said lazily. "What should we do?"

There was silence for a moment as Teex and Ceeq considered the merits of putting forth what could be a winning plan against the demerits of having it fail. Teex was first to speak.

"I have a plan, sir."

Ceeq waited to find fault. Heek signaled his approval. "Excellent. Please proceed."

There was a gamble here but it could be worth the risk. Teex marshaled his thoughts. "Our most recent intelligence reports indicate that something is afoot. The total number of geek attacks have fallen off while the efforts to repair damage have doubled."

Heek came to his feet. "That is wonderful news! The concentration camps are working!"

Teex signaled reluctant disagreement. "Maybe… but there is another possibility as well."

Sensing what could be a weakness, Ceeq was quick to respond. "And what would that be?"

"Preparations for an all-out attack," Teex answered calmly. "An attack that could drive us off the planet."

"Impossible," Ceeq snorted imperiously. "We are far too strong. Besides, while a lull in the fighting might signal preparations for an all-out attack, repairs do not."

"And that is where you are wrong," Teex replied calmly, making no effort to avoid confrontation. "Consider the following facts: The geeks outnumber us ten to one. They are manufacturing weapons faster than we can find and destroy them. And the humans are providing them with some excellent military advice. Given those facts the repairs take on additional significance. The constructs are up to something, something that will benefit them and disadvantage us."

"Total rubbish," Ceeq said peevishly. "You look for darkness in the midday sun. We should send for reinforcements if we fear attack."

There was a long silence as both officers waited for Heek to take a position. And when he did the older Il Ronnian spoke from the perspective of the Sand rather than Star Sept. A bias that Teex had counted on.

"I am hesitant to send for reinforcements without a documented need. The Council tends to frown on such requests. Besides, I think Teex is correct. And even if he isn't, we cannot afford to take the chance. So, Teex. What would you have us do?"

Teex had his answer ready. "I recommend that we clamp down, and clamp down hard, starting with the most recent repairs. If they are up to something that should put an end to it, and if they are not, it will act to solidify our control."

Ceeq had no choice but to cave in and Heek signaled approval with his tail. "Good. Now, what's for dinner?"

21

Lando tried to resist but an insistent something pulled him up and out of the comfortable darkness. Something or someone had a hold of his shoulder and was shaking it.

"Pik… it is me, Wexel-15… wake up."

"I'm sleeping. Go away."

"The aliens attacked Village 241."

Lando's eyes flew open. Wexel-15 was a dark blob against the hallway light. Six rotations had passed since the storeroom strategy session. Careful analysis had revealed that Village 241 served as an important junction for some of God's more critical circuits.

Circuits made of glass fibers that twisted and turned through the streets themselves, of chips the size of city blocks, of transistors, capacitors, and diodes that looked like statues, sculptures, and mosaics. The circuits were huge, so massive that even the constructs had missed them. And in Village 241, like so many others, many had been destroyed.

By repairing the damage to Village 241 the resistance could restore 2.1 percent of the computer's previous effectiveness. A damned good start. Or what would've been a damned good start if the Il Ronnians had left it alone. Lando sat up.