EarthRise (28 page)

Manning, who had ridden a horse for the first time in his life, and walked for another ten miles after that, hurt in places he never had before. “Absolutely . . . I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Then you’re just as crazy as I thought you were,” Smith replied. “Remember, one hour, that’s all we have.”

Manning grinned. A camo stick had been used to darken his face, but his teeth gleamed white. “So, what are we waiting for? An engraved invitation?”

Smith chuckled, whispered, “Follow me,” and low-crawled in the direction of the encampment. The security chief followed. There were other resistance fighters, roughly thirty of them, hidden out in the darkness. They would provide fire support if that became necessary—but Smith hoped it wouldn’t. The whole point of the exercise was to access conditions within the encampment. An attack, if any, would come later.

Careful to keep his head down, the resistance leader followed the edge of an overgrown irrigation ditch in toward the fires. A good way to sneak past humans, but the Kan weren’t human. Rather than walk one section of the perimeter the way a human sentry would, the Saurons jumped from point to point, rarely landing on the same spot twice. That made the aliens unpredictable, which was to say dangerous, which was to say scary. Now, as the two men approached the Kan perimeter, Smith paused. Manning, elbowing his way along behind, had little choice but to do likewise.

A gentle breeze sprang up, caused the bonfires to shiver, and blew smoke to the northeast. Smith watched the nearest bug complete a jump, pause to take a look around, and bounce into the air.

Moving quickly in hopes of getting to the next way point before the Kan returned, the ex-Ranger left the protection of the irrigation ditch and squirmed into the open. The earth was relatively soft and gave under his elbows.

Then, with relative safety still a good fifty feet ahead, Smith was forced to pause. The Kan with responsibility for that sector had arrived at the edge of another warrior’s turf. He landed, turned, and went airborne again.

Smith knew that if he could see the bug, then the bug could see
him
, especially if he moved. That’s why he froze into immobility, hoped Manning would do the same, and felt his heart pound in his chest.

The Kan, an individual named Wob-Ree bounced, and took off again. Like his peers the warrior had been trained to survey the surrounding area from the
apex
of his jump, not from the ground. The fires, which naturally drew his attention, fell away. Then, from a perspective some twenty-five feet up in the air, Wob-Ree eyed the ground below.

Smith watched the alien rise, ran a quick calculation regarding the bug’s likely trajectory, and gritted his teeth. Now, based on the way things appeared, and contrary to established patterns, it looked as if the godless spawn of the devil was about to land where he had the last time! Right on top of them! All they could do was wait.

Wob-Ree felt gravity kick in, watched the fires rise, felt his feet hit the ground. His knees flexed to absorb the shock, the Kan scanned the darkness off to his right, but saw nothing. Feral slaves lived out in the woods, everyone knew that, so it was best to be careful.

Smith held his breath. One of the Kan’s enormous flat feet was so close that he could have touched it. The radio clipped to the bug’s battle harness burped static followed by silence. Then, like an answer to the resistance leader’s prayers, the warrior was gone.

Eager to escape any chance of another close encounter of the sort they had just experienced—Smith scuttled his way forward. Manning, who felt at least ten years older, followed.

Then, having passed between the outermost fires, the infiltrators could finally stand. Both men wore blue ear tags and carried handguns beneath their raggedy clothing. The application of two wet wipes apiece was sufficient to remove the camo stick markings.

So numerous were the slaves that they had little difficulty blending in. Most of the people were gathered around the bonfires, and it seemed natural to drift from one to the next. Smith paid close attention to what he heard. There was anger, which beat the heck out of passivity, and a lot of rumors. Some, like those that spoke of a coordinated resistance movement, were even true.

Manning’s task was a good deal easier. All he had to do was ask the first person he ran into where Dr. Sool had established her clinic and was directed toward a distant fire. Hearing that, and knowing that Seeko was still alive, filled Manning with joy. Slowly, so as not to draw attention to themselves, the two men edged in that direction.

Meanwhile, not far away, Sool sat on the back of a cart, accepted a cup of tea from an admirer, and nodded her thanks. The ceramic mug was hot, and it felt good to wrap her hands around its warmth. The closest fire, which was about fifteen feet away, crackled and threw a fountain of sparks up into the air.

Strangely, or perhaps not so strangely, the number of people who showed up for sick call had been relatively light. The not-so-pleasant truth was that thousands of slaves had died of various diseases, been killed in construction accidents, or simply murdered by the Kan. Those who survived had a tendency to be young, resilient, and lucky. The net result was fewer people at sick call.

“So,” a familiar voice said, “a penny for your thoughts.”

Sool felt her heart leap, turned in the direction of the sound, and spilled hot tea on her thigh. She didn’t notice the pain. Manning laughed as the doctor dropped the mug, jumped off the cart, and threw her arms around his neck. Their lips met, Sool felt all the things she hoped she might feel, and heard the sound of applause. That’s when the kiss ended and the twosome turned to discover that Smith, Dixie, and more than a dozen blues were grinning appreciatively and clapping their hands.

Sool blushed, Manning laughed, and took her hand.

“That’s enough,” Dixie proclaimed, “let’s give them some space.”

There were whistles, followed by a catcall or two, but the bystanders obeyed. Slowly, hand in hand, the twosome walked out to the point where firelight surrendered to darkness. “So,” Sool said, looking up into Manning’s face, “to what do I owe this visit? And how did you get here anyway?”

The security chief shrugged. “I was worried about you,
very
worried, and Franklin allowed me to come. As for the how, well, let’s just say that I now know why they invented cars. Horses are a pain in the butt.”

Sool laughed. “Now that you’re here—how will you get out?”

Manning checked his watch. “You can expect some fireworks in about twenty minutes. That’s when the Deacon and I will slip away.”

The security chief took her hands in his. They felt small and vulnerable. “Please, Seeko, come with us.”

Sool liked the way he said her name . . . as if it were something special. “I’d like to, Jack, I really would, but my duty lies here.”

Manning nodded. “I kind of figured you’d say something like that. Okay, how ’bout we break everyone out?”

Sool frowned. “You could do that?”

Manning shrugged. “Timing is important. That’s why Franklin put the resistance on hold. Move too early, and the bugs have the time to respond. Move too late, and everybody dies. So why not now?”

“Wouldn’t Franklin be upset?”

“Probably, but let’s do it anyway.”

Sool shook her head. “No, Jack, not for me.”

Manning looked back toward the fires. “I’m here because of you, I admit that, but it doesn’t change the facts. It would be a lot easier to free these people now rather than later.”

“True,” Sool admitted, “but the Kan would hunt them down. Many would die.”

“Many will die anyway,” Manning responded, “on the job, or during the slaughter.”

Sool stared intently into Manning’s eyes. He was different from what she had always assumed she wanted, yet absolutely right. She raised one of his hands and kissed it. “You may be correct, but your motives are questionable. Put your case to the president. Get
his
agreement, and you’ll have mine.”

Sool was correct, Manning knew that, and grinned. “You’re a pain in the ass . . . did anybody every tell you that?”

“People remind me from time to time.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Kiss me.”

Manning kissed her, felt her lips give under the pressure of his, and was suddenly afraid. Now, there in the circle of his arms, he had something to lose. It made him weak and, therefore, vulnerable.

Deac Smith cleared his throat. “Break it off, you two . . . There’s going to be one hellacious racket, and we need to be ready.”

Manning kissed Sool on the forehead. “Take care of yourself, Doc, and keep your eyes peeled. If the prez green-lights some sort of raid, there will be a whole lot of confusion. Watch for me . . .’cause I’ll be there.”

Sool smiled. Memories of fear, of gunfire, flickered through her mind. “Yes, I’m certain that you will. Please be careful.”

Manning nodded, backed away, and was absorbed by the darkness. The rockets, firecrackers, and other displays went off three minutes later. At least six of the Kan bounced toward the source. No one was there.

The blues cheered, whistled, and danced each other around. Sool watched with arms folded. Dixie seemed to materialize at her side. “Nice work, boss, you got it right this time.”

“Thanks,” Sool replied. “Some things work better when you don’t have time to think about them.”

“Amen to that,” the nurse said fervently.

Then, as if to underline Dixie’s words, a rocket whistled high into the air, where it exploded and showered the slaves with light.

ANACORTES, WASHINGTON

The site for the facility had been chosen for purely pragmatic reasons. The factory would require fresh water and plenty of it. A sizable water main ran next to what had once been a rather pleasant park. By cutting the trees down, and leveling some small service buildings, the aliens freed sufficient ground for their purpose.

The Sauron Book of Cycles didn’t include any strictures where the manufacture of birth catalyst was concerned, or that’s the way it seemed, as an engine revved, and a team of bright-eyed cokeheads used a crane to swing a pump from one side of the construction site to the other.

Andromeda felt the pain before she heard the crack of the Fon’s harakna hide whip. The blow wasn’t much as such punishments went, only what the bugs referred to as a “starter,” but it would leave an angry weal nonetheless.

Andromeda swore at herself for daydreaming, knew the lapse to be drug-related, and returned to work. She, along with three others, had been assigned to prepare valve assemblies for installation. The necessary parts had been laid out on a series of improvised worktables. Andromeda’s job was to snap an injector nozzle into the side of each fitting, grease the threads, and pass the assembly down the makeshift assembly line. Her peers worked in silence.

It had rained earlier that morning, which meant that everything they touched was wet and cold. A fact that would normally generate a considerable number of complaints but didn’t.

The simple fact was that the daily injection of cocaine had changed the way the slaves viewed the world. Now, as their bodies grew increasingly dependent on the drug, it moved in toward the very center of their lives. Cocaine was more important than their loved ones, more important than food, and more important than anything but the worst sort of pain. Even more horrible was the fact that Andromeda
knew
what the Saurons were doing to her and was still powerless to stop it.

Each day was the same. A restless night during which the hours seemed to crawl by. Then, as light appeared in the east, the anxiety would begin. Would the dose arrive on time? Would it be strong enough? Did the bugs have enough blow to supply the entire workforce?

That’s when Andromeda’s hands would begin to shake, when some of her fellow slaves became dizzy, and others started to hallucinate.

Then, after a breakfast which they were forced to eat, the slaves would rush to queue up. Everyone wanted to be first—especially since the chits had a consistent tendency to come up five doses short. Not
every
time, since that would introduce an element of predictability, but every third or fourth day, so as to keep the addicts on edge and at each other’s throats.

Most of them understood that,
understood
the manner in which they were being manipulated, but found that the knowledge made no difference. The drug was in charge, and they were unable to intervene.

So, thanks to the leverage provided by the cocaine, construction was actually
ahead
of schedule. Something which, thanks to her knowledge of Sauron plans, Andromeda knew could hasten the slave slaughter.

In fact, throwing all caution to the winds, she had even gone so far as to tell others what she knew in hopes that she could garner some support. Some people believed her and others didn’t. It made no difference. Once hooked on cocaine only the most rebellious of souls had sufficient strength to fight back—and they were few and far between. That’s why Andromeda, in an effort to sabotage the facility, had been forced to act entirely on her own.

Most of the parts were crudely made, a fact that made perfect sense to anyone who understood that while the processing plant had to function, it wouldn’t have to last for long. Clearly defective parts, like plugged injectors, were supposed to be identified by Fon inspectors prior to delivery. But a few made it through—and whenever Andromeda came across a clearly defective part, she was careful to install it.

What was it that her mother used to say? “The devil is in the details?” Yes, that was it, and the phrase seemed to fit. Soon, very soon, the Saurons would crank up their processing plant only to discover that it didn’t work. All hell would break loose, the problem would eventually be fixed, but time would be lost in the interim. Precious time that could save lives.

But what about her need for cocaine? If the plan worked, and the Saurons lost, she would go into withdrawal. That struck Andromeda as funny. She laughed out loud. No one even turned to look.