“So, what now?” I asked. “Do we wait here hoping for it to come out into our guns? We’re getting further from the jump point every second. If we want to stay in weapon range, we’ll have to brake soon.”

  “Can’t say I like the idea of jumping back out with some horror that can eat us in our sleep, waiting.” Delt said.

  “Maauro,” I said, when she does not speak. “I’m not sure that hanging here for an indefinite period makes sense. We’ll have to brake hard, use fuel and we will be out of sensor range of the jumppoint before we can get back. We won’t know if it emerged during that time.”

  She looks at me, uncertain, something I have so rarely seen in Maauro. “I’m glad that you consult me Wrik, I am made for combat situations, but this one is beyond my depth. My tactical calculus contains holes large enough to drive Stardust through sideways, but I concur. We have a mission and we cannot accomplish it hanging here. Our best guess is that Taiko fled this way. Perhaps it encountered this creature and escaped it.”

  “If it did,” Delt says, “it must have done so in normal space. If they had been attacked in jumpspace, they wouldn’t have known it. Any more than we would if we didn’t have you.”

  “But that also means a cruiser with twenty times our throw weight had to flee it. That cruiser is still missing, the creature is here. Or there could be more than one,” Dusko said.

  “Captain Cheerful is heard from again,” Delt snorted.

  We all turned to look at Maauro.

  “Damn if I know,” she replied.

  This triggered a brief blast of slightly hysterical laughter, even from Dusko.

  “Then onward,” I say. “Delt, where is Fetch IV?

  “It’s in formation with us. The automatics picked up on us when we jumped in and it went to full burn. I’ll bet’s it’s a worried puppy given how we hit the gas.”

  “We should top off all supplies now that we know there is an enemy present,” Maauro stated. “I have taken control of Fetch IV and am having it match speed and course with us. I will handle the transfer of fuels. Please all suit up and transfer any sundries and equipment. I realize that we’re very full, but let’s pack every available space with supplies.

  Everyone nodded.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  We park Fetch IV in a long orbit around the jumppoint and head in toward Tamba, the colony location we have come to investigate. The sled does not have much in the way of a sensor suite, but what it has, I set to watch for anomalous readings, or anything emerging from the jumppoint. My confidence in my watchman is low, the sled’s computer system is basic and I have no idea of whether the…whatever, will register on the instruments. Stardust’s vastly superior systems had failed to detect it. Only my presence in the systems, with my special abilities and perceptions, revealed it.

  I spend a great deal of my processing power hooked into the sensor suite. Additional hours are spent perched in my accustomed seat near the slender nose of Stardust, my hair spun out to long filaments, making a sensor net superior to the ship’s own. I detect nothing, no monsters, no starships, no electromagnetic traffic of any sort. It’s another star system devoid of artificial noise.

  Tamba is more hospitable than Windrush or Fargo, but was lightly settled, chiefly by Voit-Veru. The planetary rush had spread out by this point and the initial settlers here had been unfriendly to others. We come up on a world with small oceans and more exposed land mass than Earth. Much of it is mountainous, with peaks well into unbreathable heights. The kangaroo-like Voit-Veru had settled in a river valley, near an ocean, the usual preferred site for a colony. Our first pass over the world does not show the colony, there is only a flattened area near the river, the earth raw and turned. Even the course of the river is altered, as if a mass of debris has been forced into it.

  Suddenly a sensor lights with a return of a metallic signal, a refined-metal object, 191 kilometers north of the colony site on a high plateau. I focus our full power on it.

  “Contact,” I say, “a small ship or aircraft. Zooming optic sensors.” The others cluster around me and the image of small vessel appears.

  “A Confed shuttle,” I advise. “It struck and slid across the plateau.”

  “Can’t see it well,” Olivia grumbles, “it’s in the shadow of that hill.”

  “Infra –red,” I add, “shows no energy.”

  “Any sign of life?” Wrik asks.

  “None, but the image is poor due to the shadow and angle.”

  “Maauro, send one of the probes down; check the area for plague with those biofilters you updated.”

  I nod. The probe launches.

  “We’ll set up for a landing and abort if the probe detects anything,” Wrik advises.

  The probe returns and is recovered, showing no indication of CBO, so we continue to descend. We drop through the azure sky, heading for the stable outcrop of stone we’d spotted from orbit, near where the crashed shuttle went down. The area close by the wreck is too sandy to risk a landing.

  Wrik draws Stardust into vertical and a slow descent. I open the airlock door and step out onto the hull, grasping a takehold and magnetizing my soles. I cannot spin my hair out into full nimbus due to gravity, but fan it as best I can, scanning for any evidence of the plague we’d seen before, and confirming that the outcrop is suitable for our landing. I am not above double-checking and am relieved that the site is geographically stable. Stardust can safely land.

  “Wrik,” I send, “you can take her down.”

  “Got it.”

  Stardust settles with Wrik’s usual care and finesse, all of which are needed coming down on an unprepared field. We are far from home or help and anyway Stardust is home for me. The ship lands with barely a jar as her autojacks level her for a prefect three fin landing. The impellers sigh as they run down.

  I scan again for any sign of CBO. “I can detect no indication of the plague we encountered before, or of any other chemical or biological agent.”

  “Wrik to crew, we’re landed and level. All systems are nominal and switching to planetary routine. Maauro says that there is no danger of CBO.”

  I reenter the ship and head for the cargo bay. Quick as I am, Delt and Olivia have preceded me and have the bay doors open and the main power winch ready. I take active control of the three crab robots and move them to where I can hook them up. Delt then winches them to the surface. Then I release them to their own AI’s, so they will take station around the ship.

  The robots, each half as big as an aircar, retract their wheels into the legs that give them their names and begin to move off. Their pincer claws are folded against the armored hulls, but each sports a multi-barrel gun that, like a searching antenna, is up and pointed skyward. The gray and green standard camouflage changes as the surfaces adapt to a high-desert camouflage of browns and tans.

  Delt grins at me. “I can tell when you’re controlling something. They don’t move with that much finesse on their own.”

  “Finesse is my middle name,” I reply.

  “Don’t you need a last one first?” Olivia throws over her shoulder.

  She does not see my momentary freeze. Perhaps one day I will have one, I think, then shelve the idea. Time will answer the question, and one must admit that, despite our good start, the odds seem long. But now is not the time to think about this even with a brain that can segment and partition.

  Wrik and Dusko appear, and we begin assembling the Mule and unlatching Delt’s Bush Rebel two-wheeler. I speed to the armory for weapons. Even for me it takes two trips to secure the heavy machine gun for the Mule and weapons for all. I bring my armspac with a loadout of HE and AP missiles.

  Olivia is working frantically, the thought that there might be Confed survivors clearly spurring her efforts. With my help, the job is done in 17.43 minutes. We winch the vehicles to the ground, with me riding the four-wheeled Mule down and the others following in the outside elevator or on the scaling ladder.

  I look at the countryside as I ride down atop the vehicle, holding onto the straps and quick release that hold the Mule. A small range of mountains lie behind us. Stardust rests on a flat spur of granite from it that extends into the desert. The mountain range is of reddish-orange stone, uncapped by snow and barely softened by vegetation around their base. The desert is curious, more of a veldt of scattered grass and stone, with bands of azure sand that mirror the color of the sky over the small dunes that punctuate the area.

  Our Mule is painted in a black and green camouflage pattern that will stand out on the desert landscape. Unlike the crabs, it cannot change, being simply paint on a utility vehicle. Right now it looks more like a frame on an engine then a vehicle. We have not taken the time to put weather shields or covers on it.

  The five of us gather next to the vehicles, belting on body armor, helmets and weapons. I raise my hand as Dusko reaches for his.

  “Please remain with the ship,” I say. “You will have the three crabs and the ship’s weapons for protection. The ship’s AI will handle defense.”

  He nods, looking relieved at being left out of the expedition. Well, some things do not change... much.

  “Olivia,” I add, “you ride with us in the Mule and handle the HMG.” I gesture at the weapon perched menacingly in the ring above our heads. She nods and jumps up onto the Mule to stand behind the driver’s seat and begins checking the weapon.

  “Delt,” I turn to him as he slings a triple-auto across his broad back. “Take point with your Bush Rebel.” I now make my voice stern. “At all times stay within fifty meters of me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Delt says. The playful Delt is gone, replaced by a soldier getting his orders.

  I pick up my armspac from where it rests in the back of the Mule. I will ride in the back in case I have to leap out and engage some enemy. I look at Wrik. He nods, as always content to leave ground combat situations in my hands.

  We pull out with Delt in the lead. I watch Dusko scramble back into the ship sealing it as soon as he is inside. Wrik drives with Olivia standing next to him, her thigh brushing his shoulder as she scans the area over the sights of her HMG.

  I too stand in the back. Otherwise my forward view is of Olivia’s backside, which, despite Delt’s appreciation of it, does nothing for me. I scan as best I can, over the shifting dunes and sandy, rocky soil beneath the sturdy Mule’s wheels. Wrik keeps to the firmer soil, using both a good eye, his panel instruments and the track of Delt’s two-wheeler.

  Fifteen minutes later, I see a rill of white smoke trailing into the sky; it goes up about a hundred meters before a wind takes it horizontal.

  “Smoke ahead,” I say, over the sound of the engine.

  “Survivors!” Olivia says.

  “Perhaps,” I caution. “It is from the area of the shuttle and there is no reason for there to be fire at the crash site months later.

  Delt pulls up and points. I nod. “Pull up on the reverse crest of the next hill,” I order. The small rise of land barely deserves the name of hill, but we stop on the reverse slope. Wrik pulls the Mule up so Olivia has a clear field of fire beyond the hillock.

  “What are we waiting for?” Olivia demands as I dismount.

  I give her a narrow-eyed look. “Use tactical sense, Major, it was trained into you. There is smoke; it thickens, so there is intelligent action behind it, but that intelligence need not be friendly. When advancing into unknown territory, you secure your perimeter and send out a scout.”

  She blushes furiously, both at the delay and the fact that I am right. Her head nods in a jerk.

  “I will scout,” I say, before Delt, on his speedy two-wheeler, can offer. “I am the fastest over this type of terrain and frankly the strongest.”

  “Be careful anyway,” Wrik says.

  “I promise,” I reply. As I move over the crest, Wrik and Delt drop prone with their triple-autos. Olivia again scans the horizon with her HMG. I blur into forward motion, wondering what lies ahead. My speed throws up dust, but my tactical sense is that speed is more important than stealth. Our descending ship was a beacon to anything within hundreds of kilometers. Surprise is not an element.

  It takes 25.43 seconds to cover the distance to the last rise of ground before the shuttle crash site. I poke my head over the crest to survey the area. Instantly, I spot two figures, jogging in my direction. Their ragged uniforms proclaim them Confed Marines. Both are male humans, the leader is a tall sergeant with reddish hair. The man next to him has skin that is nearly black, he is wiry and wearing a helmet. Both carry the latest Marine assault rifle. Behind them lays the shuttle, its bottom torn from the long slide it made coming in to its final resting place. From this angle I can now see the graves of six of its complement dug into the hard earth alongside it.

  I wait till they are close enough to see me to stand and wave, holding the massive armspac in one hand as I cannot conceal it and do not wish to hide it and come back for it later. They spot me, cry out and wave frantically, then run toward me.

  “There are survivors,” I report from inside my head. My voice will sound in the headphones of the others. “At least two. You may come up.”

  I pass over the crest and jog toward the Marines. As I close on them, they slow and examine me, puzzled. Well, I suppose I am a sight, a small girl, carrying an enormous gun, wearing a tight jumpsuit, is probably not what they expected as a rescuer.

  They pause a few meters away, wary, but with their weapons pointed either up, or at the ground.

  “Are you from the Confederacy? What ship?” asks the big man, with a pronounced accent that I associate either with Ireland of Earth or New Eire. His name badge says, Cully.

  “God,” interrupts the dark-skinned man, a grin almost splitting his face. “Are we glad to see you. We’ve been stranded here for seven months.”

  “I’m Maauro off the SS Stardust,” I say. “You’re from the CSS Taiko?”

  “We are,” Cully said, as he studies me intently. “I’m Sgt Sean Cully; this is Lance Corporal Abin Troy. You’re a civilian ship?”

  I shake my head. “We’re covert. My rank is that of Lieutenant Commander in Confed Military Intelligence. My companions are following in vehicles and will be here in a minute. We were sent to find out what was happening in this sector and find your ship. Are there other survivors?”

  “There are,” Cully says, his voice suddenly weary. “Glad to see you, Commander. We lost six in the crash. We’ve got two wounded in a bad way; there are two able-bodied taking care of the wounded. Then there’s the Lieutenant,” he hesitates. “She’s not been right since the crash. Not since the thing.”

  “Thing?” I say.

  “We didn’t get a good look at it,” Cully says. “Just a big shape that hit us and then took off like a rocket, headed up to the cruiser. We couldn’t follow the action, but whatever the hell it was, it chased off our ship.”

  “Yeah,” Troy replies bitterly, “they bugged out and left us on this rock.”

  “Easy, Troy,” Cully says, “Captain Raglan wouldn’t have left us if he had any choice.”

  “Anyway,” Troy continues. “Thank God you’re here. We’re almost out of supplies and our wounded need attention. Man, I really didn’t believe we’d ever get rescued. We hot-footed it in your direction when we saw the ship coming in. Couldn’t tell what you were from the distance. You can take us off, right?” His face suddenly hardens.

  “We can,” I assure, “and we will.”

  The sound of engines causes the Marines to look up. The Bush Rebel and Mule crest the hill. They pull up and Olivia leaps off the Mule. There is a flurry of handshakes, congratulations and introductions.

  “How about we tell you our entire sad story after we get back to the others?” Cully says. “I want them to know the good news. Our coms are out of power so we can’t call.

  “Sure,” Wrik says. “Hop in.”

  “I’ll ride with Delt,” Olivia says. She locks the HMG in place and racks her carbine in the back, then hops on the back of the two–wheeler to Delt’s apparent pleasure.

  The two Marines walk to the back of the Mule. I place my armspac in there and catch Cully looking over it and me.

  “That’s quite a weapon you have there, Commander,” he says. “How much does that weigh?”

  I smile. “The weapon was specially designed for me. It’s not as heavy as it looks.”

  “Miss, or rather Commander, though I can’t recall meeting an officer of that rank at your apparent age, I’ve been around weapons my whole life. That’s 150 pounds of metal with missiles and an autogun that would break the arm of anyone foolish enough to fire it while standing. You handle it like it’s a derringer. Who are you really?”

  “I am just who I said I am,” I reply.

  Troy gives his companion a worried look, but Cully relaxes as he sits back. “As you wish.”

  “You boys want some power bars?” Wrik says.

  “Ta,” Cully answers.

  He tosses them a ration packet. Cully snags it.

  “Hah,” I add. “I make far better.”

  Cully eyes me again. “There’s more to you than meets the eye, Commander, or I’m a Bain Sidhe.”

  “Iced tea,” Wrik adds, pulling two plastic bottles from a cooler at the foot of the passenger seat.

  Both men are diverted into drinking and eating a food bar.

  “Save some for the others,” Cully says.

  “No need,” I assure them. “There will be more than adequate provisions aboard our ship.”

  “Happy days are here again,” Troy says.

  “Troy,” Cully says, “you ride up front and direct Mr. Trigardt—”

  “Wrik has the rank of Lt. Commander as well,” I add. “Olivia is a Major of your own service. Delt is a civilian member of our crew.”

  “Commander Trigardt,” Cully corrects.

 

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