Was Once a Hero (32 page)

“Dinnertime,”
Mmok called out as he passed fresh charges to Cobalt and the other HCRs, which
in turn loaded them and other supplies on the three utility robots.
 
The larger unarmed versions of the crab robot
handled the equipment easily.
 

“There’s
a groundcar park over near the port buildings,” Rigg said.
 
He’d pulled out his field glasses and scanned
toward the control tower area.
 
More
cautious than some of the others, he’d only unsnapped the body armor over his chest,
and sweat stained his green uniform shirt.

“Let’s
check it out,” Fenaday said.

As
the landing force moved, the gray crab robots skittered over the permacrete,
keeping an unvarying distance from Mmok.
 
Cobalt and Vermilion also paced them, though closer.
 
Verdigris
returned to the shuttles with the utility robots and the warhead under the
watchful eyes in
Pooka’s
top turret.

“Wouldn’t
it have been faster if we landed near the embassy?” Duna asked.
 
On his shorter legs he had some trouble
keeping the pace.
 
He was also struggling
with a silvery tube that he’d brought from the shuttle.

“We
passed over the embassy on the way into the spacefield,” Fenaday said.
 
“The helipad is blocked by a crash.
 
I want to scout the site from the ground
before trying to move into the legation.
 
Automatic defenses might still be operating, and we need to clear
landing areas of debris before bringing in the shuttles.”

“Ah,”
Duna said.
 
He popped a seam on the
silvery tube, and it unfolded into a silvery parasol that Duna raised over his
head.

As
the spacers slogged over the burning apron, fitful breezes from the ocean
provided them some relief.
 
Fenaday was
glad for the brim of his hat and the sun goggles he wore.
 
Rask walked next to Fenaday.
 
His blood red eyes were hidden behind goggles,
otherwise, the heat didn’t seem to bother the blue-skinned, goblin-like
alien.
 
A breeze lifted Shasti’s long
mane of hair, and the sun created flashing blue highlights in it.
 
It also raised bright, metallic highlights on
Mmok’s ceramic metal skull in a far less charming effect.

Reaching
the vehicle-park, they bypassed the smaller Enshari vehicles, heading for others
of Terran design.
 
Several of the largest
vehicles bore Confederate Military markings.
 
Rask greeted these like old friends.
 
“Well, well,” he crowed, waving his ape-like arms, “good old reliable
M-2 multi-fuel armored transports.”

“You
think they’re usable?” Rigg asked dubiously.

“Hell,
Sarge, the damn things run off of any liquid you can get into the
converter.
 
Engines will be gunked up,
but we aren’t buying them.
 
Gimme about
twenty minutes with some help, and I’ll have at least one of them running.”

Rigg
looked at Fenaday. “What do you say, sir?”

“How
many of the mules do we have left?” Fenaday asked.

“Just
three.
 
They can only take four people
each or the equivalent in equipment.
 
We
could put everybody in the scout force into two of these.
 
They also have armored sides.”

“You’ve
got your twenty minutes,” Fenaday said.

“I’ll
give you a hand,” Mmok added.
 
“I’m
pretty good with engines, being half one myself.”
 
The rare evidence of humor drew a few grins.

The
spacers settled into whatever shade was available.
 
Telisan radioed Fury, relaying the reason for
the hold-up.
 
In the shade, it was cool
enough to make sweat-soaked shirts suddenly cold.
 
Shasti sat next to Fenaday.
 
Despite all the improvements of genetics,
Shasti shared something in common with most women.
 
Her body temperature ran on the cool
side.
 
Fenaday, who radiated heat
cheerfully, provided a comfortable place to put her back against.
 
He smiled at the liberty, taking it as a sign
that things were healing between them.

Shasti
looked at Duna sitting near them, studying the city.

“Belwin,
how are you doing?” she asked—in a rare display of concern.

The
Enshari looked back at her with his large dark eyes.
 
“I am all right, Shasti, though I cannot help
thinking of all that is lost and can never be made good.
 
I keep my mind focused on the task to be done
here.”

“Revenge
is a powerful motivation,” she said.

“Revenge,
my child,” Duna said gently, “is a luxury, and an expensive one.
 
I am only interested in re-establishing a
home for my people.
 
Life is more
important than revenge.
 
Nothing brings
back the dead.
 
Nothing makes them rest
any easier.
 
I would forego revenge for a
home.”

Fenaday
tensed a little, expecting Shasti to take offense at being called a child.
 
No rebuke came from the Olympian, who only
replied, “Interesting thoughts, though foreign to me.
 
On my world, people live by the blood feud,
and revenge is an everyday occurrence.
 
I
was raised in a guild of assassins.”

“How
terrible,” Duna said.
 
“It sounds as if
much that is precious is wasted on such a world.”

Fenaday
listened to the discussion with bemusement.
 
Shasti was not by nature chatty or empathetic.
 
Somehow the Enshari had made a connection
with her.
 
Fenaday felt grateful for
it.
 
She needed more friends.

Rask
and his crew were better than their word, getting two of the large M-2’s
running in the twenty minutes.
 
“If my
old motor sergeant saw the abuse I put the engines through in startup,” a
gleeful Rask said, “he’d die of apoplexy.
 
The engines need a tear down and clean out, but there’s no time for it
now.”

Rigg
and Shasti’s best troops boarded the multi-fuels, leaving the remainder under
Fury’s command at the shuttles.
 
Fenaday
and his command staff rode the second vehicle.
 
Rigg and his ASATs took the point, flanked by the HCRs operating as a
skirmish line.
 
Crab robots, lacking the
HCRs’ foot speed or heat endurance, latched onto the vehicles.
 
Mmok’s air scout circled overhead.
 
It transmitted the best views of the way
ahead to Mmok so they didn’t waste time on blocked streets.

Multi-fuels
proved a good pick for the trip.
 
They
could go around—or in some cases up and over—the debris.
 
The big machines headed up the on-ramp of the
airport freeway, slowly wending their way through the wreckage of the last
Enshari rush hour.

“Could
all this have been done by Shellycoats?” Shasti wondered.

“I
doubt it,” Fenaday said, grabbing onto a side rail as the multi-fuel shoved a
wreck out of its way.
 
He avoided looking
into the wreck but couldn’t miss the flash of white bone within.

“Why?”
Telisan asked, looking at the cars dotting the roads all around them.

“Yes
indeed, Captain,” Duna said, intent.
 
“Why?”

“What
would the Shellycoats form from in a car on these highways?” Fenaday said.
 
“Nor do we see any sign of chained lightning
or extreme heat.
 
I fear our enemy has
other ways of killing than what we have seen.
 
Something that killed people over a wide area all at the same time.”

“Ah,”
Telisan said, “you cheer me.
 
I was
afraid we had seen all there was to see.
 
Now you tell me there are new amusements ahead.”

Fenaday
snorted, “Let’s hope we don’t experience those amusements.”

“Hmmm,”
Shasti said, “neutron radiation, a massive EMP, nerve gas?”

“The
God knows,” Duna said.

Near
midday, they finally reached the embassy.
 
The building resembled a fanciful castle with a crenellated roof and
heavy stone facade.
 
Lesser buildings,
barracks, tool sheds and the like surrounded it.
 
The embassy sat on a greenish-blue lawn,
secure behind an ornate wrought iron fence.
 

“Mmok,”
Fenaday called, “send the HCRs to scout and have the crab robots open the
gates.”

Mmok
nodded, and the machines skittered over to the main gate, slicing through the
locks and pushing them open.
 
Nothing
fired on the machines.
 
The HCRs raced
into the grounds spreading out to counter any threat.
 
The spacers proceeded carefully onto the
lawn, weapons at the ready.

“Look
at that,” Rigg demanded, rare excitement showing on his lean face.
 

A
circle of Marine and ASAT corpses, identifiable only by the remains of their
uniforms and weapons, lay around a cluster of civilian corpses half way to the
helipad.
 
The spacers trotted over to the
scene of the final stand.

“Whatever
struck the Enshari down at the same instant did not seem to have been at work
in the embassy,” Fenaday said observing the circle.

“We
can’t leave them like this,” Rigg said, his jaw knotting.
 
“I’ll get a burial detail together.”

“Later,”
Fenaday said, looking up at the big man.
 
“We need to make the embassy ready for the rest of our force.”
 
Rigg and Rask looked at him both clearly
upset.

“These
were our people,” Rigg growled.

“The
living take precedence over the dead,” Fenaday snapped.
 
He regretted the words as they left his
mouth.
 
Shasti stood right next to
him,
Johan had to be on her mind.
 
“We will attend to them when we can.
 
Our own wounded come first.
 
Right?”
 
The ASATs nodded reluctantly, walking off to join the others on the
first multi-fuel.

Fenaday
looked up at Shasti and searched for something to say.

She
spared him the trouble.
 
“It’s all right,”
she whispered.

They
avoided the section of the embassy gutted by fire, starting toward the main
doors.
 
Troops covered the door, while
the HCRs and crab robots went up to the entrance.
 
As they reached it, Mmok spun around.
 
“The air scout spotted an incoming target,”
he hissed.
 
“It’s under vegetation,
coming this way.
 
No identification.”

The
HCRs and the crab robots dashed down the stairs as the humans scattered,
seeking cover.
 
Shasti dropped the bipod
legs on her weapon, sighting in on the direction the HCRs were facing.
 
“Everyone, look to your front,” she
called.
 
“Rigg, keep a fire team facing
the embassy.
 
Connery, Li, back up
Cobalt.”

Vermilion
stood next to Fenaday.
 
“Distance to
target?” he asked.

“Target
is approaching edge of the tree-line,” advised the robot, its flat voice
gratingly calm, its weapon leveled and motionless.

“How
many?
 
How big?”

“Single
target, approximately 1.5 meters.”

“The
size of one of my people,” Duna cried, “Fenaday!”

Fenaday
opened his command mike.
 
“Attention!
 
No one is to fire
except on my direct order.
 
Hold your
fire.
 
Hold your fire.”

They
covered the tree line tensely, every eye searching for a target.

It
came out of the tree line hesitantly, on all fours, with ears up and its nose
in the air.

“It's
a fucking dog,” cursed Greywold, the Landing Force trooper Shasti had offered
to execute as an example.
 
He aimed at
the animal.

Fenaday
spun toward him.
 
“Freeze,” he roared.

Shasti,
moving as fast as thought, knocked Greywold flying.

“Hold
your fire,” Fenaday ordered.
 
“Everyone
on safe, now.”

Shasti
ignored the fallen Greywold and walked toward the animal.
 
She stopped halfway, kneeling down to make
her height less intimidating.
 
She
reached into her pack, pulling out a ration, popping the canister of food and holding
it out to the dog.
 
Her voice, always
musical, coaxed.

Greywold
glared at Shasti’s back.
 
Fenaday tapped
his heavy laser pistol against his thigh twice.
 
“You’ve already had two strikes, mister.
 
Care to go for the third?”
 

“No,”
Greywold replied sullenly.
 
The young
tough climbed to his feet, watching Fenaday warily.
 
He safed his rifle.
 
Telisan walked over and snapped it out of his
hand with a glare.
 
Greywold glared back.

“Would
you care to try taking it back?” Telisan asked, golden eyes blazing in his
leathery face.