Gordon R Dickson, page 10
She looked around at their faces.
“Myself, first. Then Mene and Reiko. The rest team up as you wish. Team members, stay close and fire as needed; but don’t move in to the compound unless or until you’re called in by one of us who’ve gone ahead. That includes Ancients. Ancients, stay with your teams. In case everything falls apart here, it’ll be up to each of you to pull your team off, get it back into the mountains, and keep it alive. Everybody understand?”
They nodded or murmured their understanding.
“All right—” She was interrupted by a flicker of red, a cloth being waved briefly from just behind the crest of the ridge overlooking Foralie. “All right. Convoy in sight. It’ll take it another five minutes or so to reach the house. Everybody up behind the ridge, ready to go.”
Lying with the others, just behind the crest of the ridge, she looked through a screen of grass at the convoy. Even to her eye, its vehicle column seemed to move somewhat sluggishly. Evidently that part of Arvid’s information—about the convoy troops all being sick—was correct. She crossed her fingers mentally upon the hope that the rest of what he had told her was also reliable—but with misgivings. Counting the team members, the Dorsai would outnumber the troops of the convoy and those already at Foralie nearly five to one—but children against experienced soldiers made that figure one of mockery. Experienced soldiers against civilians was bad enough.
The convoy was almost to the house. She pushed herself backwards and got to her feet below the crest of the ridge. Looking over, she saw the last of the Dorsai soldiers belonging to Bill and Arvid already disappearing—they would be crawling forward through the tall grass now, to get as close as they could come to the house before making their move. She checked her watch, counting off the minutes. When four were gone, she waved to the other civilians, mounted her skimmer and took it up over the ridge, directly down upon the single sentry standing in front of the compound of bubble plastic structures at the far end of the house. The convoy had pulled out of sight into the compound just moments before she reached him; and his head was still turned, looking after it. She had set the skimmer down before he belatedly turned to the sound of her power unit. His cone rifle swung up hastily, to cover her.
“Stay right there—” he was beginning, when she interrupted him.
“Oh, stop that nonsense! My great-granddaughter’s having a baby. Where is she?”
“Where? She…oh, the house, of course, ma’m.”
“All right, you go tell her I’ll be right there. I’ve got to speak to whoever’s in charge of that convoy—”
“I can’t leave my post. I’m sorry, but—”
“What do you mean, you can’t leave your post? Don’t you recognize me? I’m the mayor of Foralie Town. You must have been shown an image of me as part of your briefing. Now, you get in there—”
“I’m sorry. I really can’t—”
“Don’t tell me can’t—”
They argued, the sentry forgetting his weapon to the point where its barrel sagged off to one side. A new humming announced another skimmer that slid down upon them with Reiko and Mene Tosca aboard.
“Halt—” said the soldier, swinging his rifle to command these new arrivals.
“Now what’re you doing?” said Amanda, exasperatedly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cletus being escorted into the house. The majority of the soldiers of the convoy should now be out of their vehicles and moving inside one or another of the cantonment buildings. There was still no sign of Arvid, Bill and their team.
“Don’t you understand that neighbors come calling when there’s a birth?” she said sharply, interrupting another argument that was developing between the sentry and Reiko. “I know these neighbors well. I’ll vouch for them…”
“In a second, ma’m…” the sentry threw over his shoulder at her and turned back to Reiko.
“No second,” said Amanda.
The difference in the tone of her voice brought him around. He froze at the sight of Amanda’s heavy handgun pointed at his middle. Ineffective as they were at ordinary rifle distance, the energy handguns were devastating at point-blank range like this. Even if Amanda’s aim should be bad—and she held the gun too steadily to suggest bad aim—any pressure on its trigger would mean his being cut almost in two.
“Just keep talking,” said Amanda softly. She held the gun low, so that the sentry’s own body shielded any view of it from the compound or the house. “You and I are just going on with our conversation. Wave these two to the compound as if you were referring them to someone there. There’ll be other skimmers coming—”
“Yes…two more. On the way now,” Mene’s voice almost hissed, close by her ear.
“—and after each one stops here for a moment, you’ll wave them to the compound, too. Do you understand?” Amanda said.
“Yes…” His eyes were on the steady muzzle of her handgun.
“Good. Mene, Reiko, go ahead. Wait until enough others catch up with you before you make a move, though.”
“Leave it to us,” said Reiko. Their skimmer lifted and hummed toward the compound.
“Just stand relaxed,” Amanda told the sentry. “Don’t move your rifle.”
She sat. The sentry’s face showed the pallor of what was perhaps illness, now overlaid with a mute desperation. He did not move. He was not as youthful as some of the other soldiers, but from the relative standpoint of Amanda’s years they were all young. Other skimmers came and moved on to the compound, until all the adults had gone by her.
“Stand still,” Amanda said to the sentry.
Off to one side, a movement caught her eye. It was a figure slipping around the corner of the house and entering the door. Then another. Arvid and Bill with their men—at last.
She turned her head slightly to look. Five…six figures flickered around the corner of the house and in through the door. Out of the other corner of her eyes she caught movement close to her. Looking back, she saw the sentry bringing up the barrel of his rifle to knock the energy weapon out of her hand. Twenty, even ten years before, she would have been able to move the handgun out of the way in time, but age had slowed her too much.
She felt the shock against her wrist as metal met metal and the energy gun was sent flying. But she was already stooping to the scabbard with the pellet shotgun as the sentry’s cone rifle swung back to point at her. The stream of cones whistled over her bent head, then lowered. She felt a single heavy shock in the area of her left shoulder, but then the shotgun had, in its turn, batted the light frame of the cone rifle aside and the sentry was looking into the wide muzzle of the heavier gun.
“Drop it,” said Amanda.
Her own words sounded distant in her own ears. There was a strange feeling all through her. The impact had been high enough so that possibly the single cone that struck her had not made a fatal wound; but shock was swift with missiles from that weapon.
The cone rifle dropped to the ground.
“Now lie down, face down…” said Amanda. She was still hearing her voice as if from a long distance away, and the world about her had an unreal quality to it. “No, out of arm’s reach of the rifle…”
The sentry obeyed. She touched the power bar of her skimmer, lifted it and lowered it carefully on the lower half of his body. Then she killed the power and got off. Pinned down by the weight upon him, the sentry lay helpless.
“If you call or struggle, you’ll get shot,” she told him.
“I won’t,” said the sentry.
There was the whistling of cone rifle fire from the direction of the cantonment. She turned in that direction, but there was no one to be seen outside the buildings she faced. The vehicle park was behind them, however, screened by them from her sight.
She bent to pick up the handgun, then thought better of it. The pellet shotgun was operable in spite of the rust in its barrel, and uncertain as she was now, she was probably better off with a weapon having a wide shot pattern. She began to walk unsteadily toward the compound. Every step took an unbelievable effort and her balance was not good, so that she wavered as she went. She reached the first building and opened its door. A supply room—empty. She went on to the next and opened the door, too wobbly to take ordinary precautions in entering. The thick air of a sickroom took her nostrils as she entered. Tina Alchenso, one of the other women, stood with an energy rifle, covering a barracks-like interior in which all the soldiers there seemed sick or dying. The air seemed heavy as well with the scentless odor of resignation and defeat. Those who were able had evidently been ordered out of their beds. They lay face down on the floor in the central aisle, hands stretched out beyond their heads.
“Where’s everybody?” Amanda asked.
“They went on to the other buildings,” Tina said.
Amanda let herself out again and went on, trying doors as she went. She found two more buildings where one of the adults stood guard over ill soldiers. She was almost back to the vehicle parking area, when she saw a huddled figure against the outside wall of a building.
“Reiko!” she said, and knelt clumsily beside the other woman.
“Stop Mene,” Reiko barely whispered. She was bleeding heavily just above the belt of her jumper. “Mene’s out of her head.”
“All right,” said Amanda. “You lie quiet”
With an effort, she rose and went on. There was the next building before her. She opened the door and found Mene holding her energy rifle on yet another room of sick and dying soldiers. Mene’s face was white and wiped clean of expression. Her eyes stared, fixed, and her finger quivered on the firing button of the weapon. The gaze of all the men in the room were on her face; and there was not even the sound of breathing.
“Mene,” said Amanda, gently. Mene’s gaze jerked around to focus on Amanda for a brief moment before returning to the soldiers.
“Mene…” said Amanda, softly. “It’s almost over. Don’t hurt anyone, now. It’s just about over. Just hold them a while longer. That’s all, just hold them.”
Mene said nothing.
“Do you hear me?”
Mene nodded jerkily, keeping her eyes on the men before her.
“I’ll be back soon,” said Amanda.
She went out. The world was even more unreal about her and she felt as if she was walking on numb legs. But that was unimportant. Something large was wrong with the overall situation.
Something was very wrong. There were only two more huts shielding her from the vehicle park where the convoy had just unloaded. Those two buildings could not possibly hold all the rest of the original escort, plus the troops of the convoy. Nor should just those two huts be holding two or three of her adults. It did not matter what Arvid had told her. Something had gone astray—she could feel it like a cold weight in her chest below the weakness and unreality brought on by her wound.
She tried to think with a dulled mind. She could gamble that Arvid and Bill’s team had already subdued the house; and go back there now, without checking further, to get help…her mind cleared a little. A move like that would be the height of foolishness. Even if Arvid and Bill had men to spare to come back here with her, going for assistance would waste time when there might be no time to waste.
She took a good grip on her pellet gun, which was becoming an intolerable weight in her hands, and started around the curved wall of one of the huts.
Possibly the sense of unreality that held her was largely to blame—but it seemed to her that there was no warning at all. Suddenly she found herself in the midst of a tight phalanx of vehicles, the front ones already loaded with weaponed and alert-looking soldiers, and the rear ones with other such climbing into them. But, if her appearance among them had seemed sudden to her, it had apparently seemed the same to them.
She was abruptly conscious that all movement around her had ceased. Soldiers were poised, half-in, half-out of their vehicles. Their eyes were on her.
Plainly, her fears had been justified. The apparent replacement of well soldiers by sick ones had been a trap; and these she faced now were about to move in for a counterattack She felt the last of her energy and will slipping away, took one step forward, and jammed the muzzle of her pellet shotgun against the side panel shielding the power unit in the closest vehicle.
“Get down,” she said to the officers and men facing her.
They stared at her as if she was a ghost risen out of the ground before them.
“I’ll blow every one of you up if I have to—and be glad to,” she said. “Get out. Lie down, face down, all of you!”
For a second more they merely sat frozen, staring. Then understanding seemed to go through them in an invisible wave. They began to move out of their seats.
“Hurry…” said Amanda, for her strength was going fast. “On the ground…”
They obeyed. Dreamily, remotely, she saw them climbing from the vehicles and prostrating themselves on the ground.
Now what do I do, Amanda thought? She had only a minute or two of strength left.
The answer came from the back of her head—the only answer. Press the firing button of the pellet gun, after all, and make sure no one gets away—
Unexpectedly, there was the sound of running feet behind her. She started to glance back over her shoulder; and found herself caught and upheld. She was surrounded by the field uniforms of four of the Dorsai staff members who had been with Arvid and Bill.
“Easy…” said the one holding her—almost carrying her, in fact. “We’ve got it. It’s all over.”
There succeeded a sort of blur, and then a large space of nothing at all. At last things cleared somewhat—but only somewhat—and she found herself lying under covers, in one of the Foralie bedrooms. Like someone in a high fever, she was conscious of people moving all around her at what seemed like ungracious speed, and talking words she could not quite catch. Her shoulder ached. Small bits and phrases of dialogue came clear from moment to moment.
“…shai Dorsai!”
What was that? That ridiculous phrase that the children had made up only a few years back, and which was now beginning to be picked up by their elders as a high compliment? It was supposed to mean “real, actual Dorsai.” Nonsense.
It occurred to her, as some minor statistic might, that she was dying; and she was vaguely annoyed with herself for not having realized this earlier. There were things she should think about, if that was the case. If Betta had been in labor before the attack began, she might well have her child by now.
If so, it was important she tell Betta what she had decided just before they moved in on the troops, that the use of the Amanda name was her responsibility now, and the responsibility of succeeding generations…
“Well,” said a voice just above her, and she looked up into the face of Ekram. He stank of sweat and anesthetic. “Coming out of it, are you?”
“How long…” it was incredibly hard to speak.
“Oh, about two days,” he answered with abominable cheerfulness.
She thought of her need to tell Betta of her decision.
“Betta…” she said. It was becoming a little easier to talk; but the effort was still massive. She had intended to ask specifically for news of Betta and the child.
“Betta’s fine. She’s got a baby boy, all parts in good working order. Three point seven three kilograms.”
Boy! A shock went through her.
Of course. But why shouldn’t the child be a boy? No reason—except that, deluded by her own aging desires, she had fallen into the comfortable thought that it would not be anything but a girl.
A boy. That made the matter of names beside the point entirely.
For a moment, however, she teetered on the edge of self-pity. After all she had known, after all these years, why couldn’t it have been a girl—under happier circumstances when she could have lived to know it, and find that it was a child who could safely take up her name?
She hauled herself back to common sense. What was all this foolishness about names, anyway? The Dorsai had won, had kept itself independent. That was her reward, as well as the reward to all of them—not just the sentimental business of passing her name on to a descendent. But she should still tell Betta of her earlier decision, if Ekram would only let them bring the girl to her. It would be just like the physician to decide that her dying might be hurried by such an effort, and refuse to let Betta come. She would have to make sure he understood this was not a decision for him to make. A deathbed wish was sacred and he must understand that was what this was…
“Ekram,” she managed to say faintly. “I’m dying…”
“Not unless you want to,” said Ekram.
She stared at him aghast. This was outrageous. This was too much. After all she had been through…then the import of his words trickled through the sense of unreality wrapping her.
“Bring Betta here! At once!” she said; and her voice was almost strong.
“Later,” said Ekram.
“Then I’ll have to go to her,” she said, grimly.
She was only able to move one of her arms feebly sideways on top of the covers, in token of starting to get up from the bed. But it was enough.
“All right. All right!” said Ekram. “In just a minute.”
She relaxed, feeling strangely luxurious. It was all right. The name of the game was survival, not how you did it. A boy! Almost she laughed. Well, that sort of thing happened, from time to time. In a few more years it could also happen that this boy could have a sister. It was worth waiting around to see. She would still have to die someday, of course—but in her own good time.
The voice of the third Amanda ceased. In the still mountain afternoon there were no other sounds but the hum of some nearby insects. A little breeze sprang up, and was gone again.
With her words still echoing in his mind, Hal thought of the struggle she had been speaking of, that early Dorsai fight to stay free of Dow deCastries; and its likeness to the present fight on all the worlds, to resist the loss of human freedom to the Other Men and Women—those cross-breeds from human splinter cultures such as that on the Dorsai itself. This present fight in which he and the third Amanda were both caught up.
