Koban (43 page)

Soon he could send sated flyers out to guide in fresh squadrons
to continue the nest hunt. Then with whole squadrons with full stomachs, and their
store sacs full, the flyers could return to the home nest to feed their mates and
pups.

There were already too many flyers missing. Some small pups could
die if the mate-less mothers needed to leave the home nest for long periods to hunt.
Flock Leader could still end this day without one or more challenges for leadership,
particularly if the other larger squadron made kills from the seven certain prey
animals they saw enter the nest.

His stomach now full of the high-energy rich fatty flesh, he
filled his own store sac, despite having no mate or pups to feed. He could help
secure his position by feeding fatherless pups, gaining the loyalty of those mothers.

Their cries of support in answer to his call for that would add
more voices for potential challengers to hear in home nest. If loud enough, the
challengers would wait for another more favorable day. Just as Flock Leader had
once waited to challenge the previous Flock Leader for this position.

There were noises heard from elsewhere, and several loud clicks
and thuds sounded from outside this small nest. Flock leader, distrustful of how
this prey had behaved, went to scout the cause.

He smelled no fresher scents than before, but there was a change
in the echo’s that returned from his ranging calls. It was as if there were walls
present now that were not there when they entered the hard flyer nest. He flew along
the passage that his mind’s map said was the way they had chased the prey to its
small nest. However, the echo now said there was a wall where there had been a longer
passage.

When his eyes saw the same thing his ears said was there, a wall
closing the passage to the outside, he instantly called to the squadron and its
leader. He gave the scatter and retreat call used when they hunted in nests of other
animals or other flyers. If any of his flyers found a way out, a ranging call from
that one could be used to backtrack along the echoes to his location.

However, there were other new walls that the mind maps of other
flyers said were not present in the remembered sound image when they entered this
large nest. Seek as they might, there were no echo returns that pointed a way to
the outside, or even far from where they had just fed.

The prey had trapped them! How could these weak, slow, stupid
animals do this? Flock Leader had never hunted live ones inside a nest before, but
this particular prey did not behave “right” even when outside the nest. They acted
more like the same prey after they lived in the world for a time, and learned to
be wary. These were wary now, and many were acting like herd protectors.

Flock Leader called for his flyers to be alert; that the enemy
would come soon. He signaled
enemy
now, because that’s what the prey had
become. More like marauding flyers from another nest than like prey. Like other
flyers, they were able to plan, and change what they planned while hunting.

An enemy would not trap them without a reason. They would attack
from some direction, perhaps by opening one of the new walls they made. His command
call was for each flyer to land and be still, to listen for changes in hard echo
patterns, then signal to the entire squadron to attack as one at a point where that
pattern changed, or where motion was detected.

Instead, what they all heard simultaneously, was a soft hissing
sounds well below normal talk or ranging call sounds. More like how the world “talked”
when wind or water moved, or leaves rubbed.

A stronger movement of air was also felt, and the air grew whiter
near the roof, like when flying just below a cloud. The pale white air drifted down,
and Flock Leader remembered with alarm the cloud that had come before a squadron
had burned to death in a ball of flame. However, this did not burn, it was cool,
and did not hurt at all.

He soon became very tired, and he heard the other flyers talk-calls
soften. They all had settled onto the floor or ledges in order to listen quietly,
to make no movements that could confuse the echo’s that made pictures in their minds.

Flock Leader knew he should be more alert, that he
needed
to be more alert. But he was more tired now than before he fed. He was not having
trouble breathing in and out, but he didn’t feel like he was breathing enough air.
He didn’t know how they could do this, but he had the thought that the prey was
stealing the air. It made him more angry and ready to fight at this trickery, but
he could barely move his wings. They had beaten him without a fight.

His last thought was that at least there would be no challenge
waiting for him at the end of this day.

After two and a quarter hours, all but about eighty passengers
were off the ship, plus the three engine removal teams, down now to forty, after
one volunteer broke a couple of fingers. Engine removal was behind because of the
wolfbat attack and fatality, but they still expected to finish in less than three
hours, shortly after the last passengers crossed the tarmac.

Skeeters were still a threat, but simply keeping eyes on them
held them at bay. They were just smart enough to know when they were being watched.

The wolfbats had virtually disappeared, slowly leaving in small
groups after losing another ten members of the flock in the unproductive raids into
the ship.

The humans naturally didn’t know that they had killed their leader,
and some flyers waited for a time in hopes that he would reappear. They also waited
to see if they could claim the flesh of their dead on the tarmac, having decided
the risk of further attacks on this prey was too high.

The Flock itself was weakened by the loss of so many members,
and a day of high-energy expenditure with no return. Eventually the last squadron
departed for the home nest, or some to hunt elsewhere. Their rate of metabolism
required them to hunt every day.

The humans did not reduce the number of armed escorts, though
three of the Jazzers had charges for only a single shot, and the four spare power
packs had already replaced dead ones. Only a few skeeters had suffered from the
recent shots taken. The four fully depleted power packs were charging, but the ship
would be evacuated before they had full charges.

The removal crew would get the four highest charged Jazzers and
one Sonic before the remaining escorts followed the last of the people into the
dome.

Rigson had reported to Mirikami by Link that the Flight of Fancy
people were not being well received by the earlier captives. They claimed they weren’t
prepared to feed so many new mouths, which was quite plausible.

One man told Rigson that they didn’t have enough sleeping mats
and bedding for them all, which also sounded plausible. Until he learned from a
woman that they once had housed three thousand six hundred forty nine people here.

That was a rather precise number, but she now said there were
“about” twenty seven hundred surviving captives. It sounded as if there should have
been a bedding surplus, and a better head count. They essentially had little organization,
or inventory of materials.

Until learning what hardships and terrors they had endured in
losing so many people, the Captain advised there was no reason to be critical. Besides,
they had bedding on the ship if it proved necessary to bring any across. For the
one night, the self-named “Koban Committee” decided that some bedding and selected
materials would be sent over.

They hoped the entire ship complement could return to the ship
the next day, after resting overnight. There was no intent to send other than a
skeleton crew back before sunset, after a Krall inspection of the ship. Assuming
that was allowed by Parkoda.

Rigson reported most of the captives he saw walked around with
holstered pistols or slung rifles of Krall manufacture. Not only did they not offer
the Flight of Fancy weapons to defend the people still crossing the tarmac, they
claimed new arrivals were not allowed to have them. That didn’t correspond to Telour’s
description of how things were supposed to work here.

Leaving Noreen in charge at the ship, Mirikami decided it was
time for him to introduce himself, and find out what was what going on over there.
He took the liberty of riding with Ricco as he took a load of bedding and thirty
of the Smart Fabric tablecloths to the dome.

They picked up an older limping couple as riders along the way.
They sat on the edge of the pallet. Mirikami was on the driver’s step-up, holding
onto the cage top.

It was only about three hundred feet to the dome, but it had
proven a surprisingly long distance for some of the out of shape passengers. In
hindsight, the days of increased ship gravity had produced mixed results. Some,
particularly the crew and younger passengers found it to have been of value, but
older passengers had not handled it as well. They had arrived much more weakened
than anyone had expected.

Noreen had sent Dillon and his two volunteers, whom were all
now amusingly named the “Fireball Brigade,” over on an earlier hauler trip once
it was obvious that the wolfbats had departed. The extra weight of the tanks and
lack of bug treats negated their usefulness.

Mirikami asked for a Link to Dillon. “Don’t answer unless you
are alone, this is Mirikami. I’m on my way over.”

There was a delay of a couple of minutes then Dillon answered.
“I was with my fellow Fireballs Sir. I stepped to one of the garage doors for privacy,
what’s up?”

“Rigson isn’t really in shape to help unload the pallet I’m bringing,
and I’d like you to pretend to see us coming, and meet us under the overhang with
a few of our people to carry stuff inside. I have some bedding, and a bunch of Smart
Fabric tablecloths we might use for bedding. We might shelter under them to return
to the ship tomorrow.”

“I’ll get some people. I do see you from around that shuttle
nose.”

“One more thing while you can talk freely. Did you scout the
area and pump for information we can use?”

“Sure did. That’s what I was discussing when you linked. I can
fill you in when you get here. Tricky to get privacy guarantees when our friend
can’t see us.”

“We’ll fix that later. Any idea where that translator went that
I saw running to the dome after landing?”

“The Krall maintain a full level for their private use at the
top of the dome. There are thirty two levels here, an even octal number.” Meaning
it was the fortieth floor in the Krall number system.

“This place could house perhaps eighty to a hundred thousand
people, if it had the right facilities to support them. Humans aren’t allowed on
that top level on penalty of death. The best I can tell is that the translator went
there. I wonder which one it was?”

“It was Dorkda that went to the dome from the ship.” Jake supplied,
as if the question had been directed to him.

“This was Dorkda’s clan home at one time,” mused Dillon, “so
that makes sense. If you want to speak to him, perhaps the other captives know of
a way.”

“That can wait, I suppose, but I’d like to know what’s happening
at that clan meeting, and when Parkoda and Telour will be back. I think we need
to find out if there is any semblance of real authority here among the human population.
There has to be, if only to control the weapons they won’t give us, and the limited
food they can’t share.”

As he finished that statement, the hauler left the bright afternoon
sunlight, and entered the slightly cooler shade of the overhang.

The wall under the overhang was as much as fifty feet back at
the center, with alternating large and small doors for entry. Dillon stepped out
of a smaller middle door as they pulled in, and waved them towards one of the big
doors, which started to lift as they approached.

Driving right into the maintenance bay, Ricco stopped when a
group of six people with guns pointed the hauler’s way confronted them. The door
started back down behind the hauler, but neither their two riders, nor Mirikami
or Ricco made any move. Mirikami hadn’t expected a hostile greeting.

However, as soon as the door clanged shut, the half dozen people
facing them lowered their weapons and most turned away, talking among themselves.

With a flash of embarrassment, Mirikami realized they had merely
been covering the open door against entry by wolfbats or skeeters.

Dillon walked over from the door control accompanied by two other
big men. Mirikami recognized Ray, and knew the other man’s face from the ship, just
not his name.

“Captain, I didn’t get a chance earlier today with so much happening
outside, but these two gentlemen are my fellow Fireballers, Ray McPherson and Jim
‘Jimbo’ Skaleski.”

Mirikami shook their hands, “I’ve had dinner with Ray and his
wife a few times. I’ve seen you around on the ship Jimbo, but we actually never
had a chance to meet. I really appreciate all of you being willing to go out to
test those homemade flamethrower contraptions my machinist’s slapped together.”

“I’m glad I didn’t need to use mine,” Ray answered. “Turns out
that not only would my spark igniter not have worked any better than Dillon’s, but
my backup laser was set to the wrong focal length. I might have lit a cigar at two
feet, but not the vapor cloud farther out.” He made a rue little chuckle.

“Some of those folks on the pallet would have died while I tried
to hit the bats with my nozzle.”

Jimbo had his own tale. “After the bats pulled out, I tested
mine out closer to the Krall Shuttle, aiming away from the line just to see if would
work after Ray’s test flopped. The igniter lit the stream, and it shot out about
twenty or thirty feet, dripping flaming drops on the ground. That would have coated
the bats and the people.