Exiles of colsec (v1.0), page 5
Jeko, Rontal and Heleth nodded dumbly.
“And fourth,” the Lamprey went on, “there’s nothing but wild country between Quake City and the American Segment. And I’ve crossed it more times than MaKiy, here, has sat down to supper. I reckon he could learn from me. So—what d’you say now, sweets?”
Samella glared, but said nothing.
“’Course,” the Lamprey said, surveying the oth-ers with his evil grin, “there’s a way for anyone to take over a troop, if they think they’re good enough. They can fight the leader, head to head. So any of you want to take over, that’s how you do it. Over top of me.” He reached out with a long arm and prodded Cord’s chest with a sharp-nailed forefinger. “How about you, chub?”
No one moved, or breathed, and the tension in the air seemed almost solid. But Cord stared back at the glittering eyes, trying to sound calm.
“We went through all that before you turned up,” he said. “There’s no point fighting among ourselves. We have to get along, to survive.”
The Lamprey giggled. “That means you don’t want to fight, right?”
Cord did not reply. He had seen Samella look at him anxiously, when the Lamprey had first challenged him. But now she turned her gaze away, and there seemed to be a shadow across her eyes.
She thinks I’m afraid, Cord thought unhappily. And maybe I am. But I don’t see the point of getting killed trying to stop this maniac from being leader. Especially when I don’t want to be leader myself.
But as those thoughts were swirling through his mind, the Lamprey was beginning his leadership.
“If that’s all settled,” he said, grinning around at them all, “time to get doing things. What about supplies and stuff?”
“Our supplies were in there,” Samella said coldly, pointing to the crushed front of the shuttle.
The Lamprey nodded. “Some of us can go see if anything’s left that we can use. Sweets, you were messing with the computer when I came back. You know about that stuff?”
When Samella nodded wordlessly, the Lam’ prey’s fanged grin widened. “So you’re some use after all, even if you got a smart mouth. Too bad you’re not pretty.” Samella’s eyes blazed as the Lamprey giggled. “You can find out what the computer knows about this planet, and I’ll take these two—” pointing at Jeko and Heleth—“to see what we can dig out of the mess up front.”
“And me?” Cord asked evenly.
“You, chub, get the garbage detail.” The Lam’ prey gestured with a long hand at the heap of crushed caskets. “You and this Limbo baldy here—” a sneering glance at Rontal—“can go out and dig a nice deep hole. Then you can dump all these blank’ heads who got killed in the crash, and cover them up. Caskets and all.”
Cord looked at him emptily for a moment, then shrugged and turned away, followed by Rontal—and by another of the short, eerie giggles.
* * *
The work came as a relief to Cord. He and Rontal were digging—out in the clearing, some distance from the airlock of the shuttle—with makeshift spades that were two larger shards of broken metal. And the steady, sweaty effort of using his muscles helped to calm his tension. He tried not to think, merely to dig, in silence. And Rontal, too, had withdrawn into himself, so they did not exchange a word during all the hours it took to carve deep into the reddish soil beneath the turf.
As those hours went by, under the hot orange sun of Klydor, hunger and raging thirst began to affect both diggers. Until Heleth appeared at the edge of the deepening pit, with strange containers in her hands. They held clear water and a porridgy kind of food, and Heleth cheerfully told Cord and Rontal the news as they ate and drank.
Some of their supplies had, after all, survived the crash. There were packs of food concentrate, crushed but unharmed, and containers of water that had been stored frozen. There was even a medikit, almost intact, and a few specialized electronic tools— which Samella was now using in her work on GUIDE.
“Has she learned anything yet?” Cord asked.
“Not much,” Heleth said. “Just that this’s an Earth-type planet, most ways.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I got to get back. The Lamprey told me not to hang around out here.”
“Could be Earth-type food and water on this planet, then,” Cord said to Rontal as Heleth hurried away.
“And maybe Earth-type other things,” Rontal replied gloomily. “Like animals. Monsters.”
Cord’s voice hardened. “Seems to me we’ve brought our own monster with us.’’
By what turned out to be mid-afternoon—for the days seemed more or less the same length as on Earth—the pit was deep enough. Then Cord and Rontal faced the gruesome task of carrying out the crushed caskets, with their mangled human con^ tents. When they picked up the first one, Rontal staggered a little under its weight, and his dark eyes flickered when he saw that Cord had hoisted up his end with no apparent effort. But the tall Streeter made no comment—not until more time had passed, and all the caskets with the dead youths in them had been deposited in the pit, and the soft earth laboriously heaped over them.
Only then, in the gathering shadows of the late afternoon, with the mist stealing back among the trees beyond the clearing, did Rontal pause and look darkly at Cord.
“You’re a strong fell’,” he said. When Cord shrugged and said nothing, Rontal went on. “But you got smarts, too. What you did this morning was smart. ’Cause strong’s not enough, against a Crusher. Fell’ like that, he’s trained every way there is, to kill. Most of all close up, with hands.”
Cord looked at him bleakly. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
Rontal shook his head. “Nobody feels good about backin’ off. Nobody feels good about bein’ dead, neither. You made your choice. That’s all you had.”
He turned and strode away towards the shuttle.
And Cord felt a little ashamed of his surly response. So he broke into a jog, to catch up with Rontal, trying to find the right words to say. But they were never spoken.
Rontal had stopped, staring tensely at the airlock. And Cord stopped as well, tension gripping him just as hard.
The Lamprey was standing in the opening, holding a strange object in his hand. It was like a short bulky cylinder of plastic and metal, with odd protrusions coming out of it, including a long slim tube jutting from one end.
“Look what I found, chub,” the Lamprey said, his evil smile flashing.
“What is it?” Cord asked Rontal quietly.
“Laserifle,” Rontal grunted.
“Works, too,” the Lamprey said. In a blur of motion he raised the weapon—and from the slender tube a beam of lethal, focused light leaped out, directly at Cord.
7 Forest-dwellers
Cord slept very little during that first night on Klydor. He felt he would never erase the memory of the laser beam’s vicious hiss, as it sliced through the air only centimetres past his ear. Nor would he forget the grinning mockery of the Lamprey.
“Don’t know if you’re yellow or smart, chub!” the white-haired creature had yelled, with another manic giggle. “If you’d tried to duck, you might’ve moved right into the beam!”
Cord had thought of that as well, in a cold wave of delayed shock. Even so, he merely stood there, silent, gritting his teeth. And at last the Lamprey had grown tired of tormenting him, and they had all gone in, to spend a miserable evening in the shuttle.
The atmosphere had been alive with tension all evening, made worse by the Lamprey’s constant cruel jibes. Clearly the maniac was trying to provoke someone—preferably Cord, but not necessarily. It was as if he needed violence, like a drug, Cord thought. Now he’s got that rifle, he won’t be happy unless he can use it. And we’re his only available living targets.
The others had remained mostly silent, like Cord, sitting apart from one another. Even Samella had lost her earlier defiance, and seemed tired and withdrawn, not looking in Cord’s direction. Nor were any of the others. So a feeling of isolation was added to Cord’s burden of anger, humiliation and anxiety.
He even began to think that it might be better if he simply went off on his own. His absence might ease some of the tension. Also, it was the Highland way—to walk alone, to avoid the restrictions and leaders of group living. And he was confident that he could survive somehow, even in an alien wilderness.
But he was not sure that he could just walk away from the others, especially Samella, and leave them to the mercy of the Lamprey. So as he sat there, alone and silent, he was tom with indecision and misery—until the Lamprey interrupted his thoughts.
By then the others were removing the padding from the caskets that they had travelled in, to make crude beds on the metal floor. The Lamprey grinningly ordered Samella to prepare his bed in the same way, and she had begun to obey, without a word or a change of expression. Then the Lamprey ordered Cord to clear a space for the bed, amid the rubble and wreckage of the forward section.
“Wouldn’t want anyone to get tempted,
night, by my property here,” the Lamprey said with a giggle, patting the laserifle.
Cord had quelled his sudden surge of anger, and had done as he was told. And when he had squeezed through the crumpled hatchway, into the forward area, what he found almost made him forget his problems.
The entire front half of the shuttle had been crushed inwards, pushed back so that instead of being an area about twenty metres across, it was now only about five metres. Most of the hull had been split open, and the smashed containers that had held their supplies were covered with broken metal and fragments from the shattered interior walls.
It’s a miracle anything survived in here, Cord thought. Then he remembered the laserifle, and knew that it was one part of the miracle he could have done without.
Unhappily, angrily, he set to work obeying the Lamprey’s order. He had nearly finished clearing a narrow space when Samella came through the hatchway, dragging the loose padding for the Lamprey’s bed. Setting it down, she went wordlessly out again, returning in a moment with what looked like an armful of metallic junk.
“What’s all that?” Cord asked, trying to sound casual.
“Spare bits from damaged laserifles he found,” she replied briefly, “for replacement parts. And two spare power packs for the rifle. Now he can keep that weapon going for years.”
Her voice had been flat, and she had still not looked in Cord’s direction. Without another word, she turned and went out.
Cord felt sick, and somehow betrayed by her coldness and withdrawal. If this is what life will be on Klydor, he thought wretchedly, I’d as soon be out there in the pit with the ones who didn’t make it.
But somehow he got through that first tense and miserable night. And in the morning the Lamprey raised everyone’s spirits a little by announcing that they would spend their second day exploring the forest. Since Cord had been aching to do just that since he had first stepped out of the shuttle, he was feeling almost eager when they finally set out.
The Lamprey led the way, laserifle held jauntily over one shoulder, as they crossed the clearing with its clutter of crushed and broken trees. Halfway across, Heleth noticed that Samella’s lips were pressed tight, and that there were lines of pain around her eyes.
“What’s the trouble?” the dark girl asked.
“Headache,” Samella said through clenched teeth. “Like I had before, when I left the shuttle.”
The others turned to look. “Maybe you should go back…” Heleth began.
“She stays!” the Lamprey snapped. “I like my troop to keep together, so I know what everyone’s doing.”
He turned away, and the others followed. Samella was clearly still in pain, but fighting to control herself, as if determined not to show weakness in front of the Lamprey. Admiration for her toughness again grew within Cord—along with a new flood of helpless rage and misery.
They moved past the edge of the ragged clearing, into the forest, where the morning mist was thinning as sunlight filtered into the dimness. The springy turf, and the absence of other plants in the spaces among the trees, made walking easy. In other circumstances, Cord knew, he would be enjoying himself. He also felt hopeful when, farther into the forest depths, they found a small rivulet of clear water. But no one was willing to risk tasting it—and no one had seen anything that looked like food. Just the trees, and the turf.
But here and there Cord saw that the ground bulged upwards into long, rounded humps, as if there were things shaped vaguely like cylinders buried just under the soft turf. They were all of different sizes— some no larger than Cord’s forearm, others much bigger and bulkier. And Cord realized that they looked like logs, with the turf grown over them. So there are dead trees, he thought, and felt a little better about the eerie strangeness of the forest.
And he felt better still when, a kilometre farther into the forest, they saw their first Klydor life form—a cloud of flying things about the size of moths, bluish-coloured and heavy-bodied. They settled peacefully on the trunk of a tall tree, and the group inspected them with interest, pleased to find that the silent, shadowy trees harboured some kind of living thing besides themselves.
Then, almost at once, they spotted another creature—a brown-furred, wide-bodied animal about the size of a rabbit but with twice as many legs. It moved in a slow, comic waddle, until it reached the tree where the fat blue flying things were resting. Then it went up the tree-trunk like a frightened cat. Clinging to the trunk with sharp little claws, it chewed busily at the flying creature it had caught, with a foolish expression on its snub-nosed face that made Samella laugh despite her headache, and even brought a smile to Cord’s lips.
Until the Lamprey raised the laserifle and shot it.
Samella wheeled on him, furious. “You didn’t have to do that!”
“I do what I want, sweets,” the Lamprey said, with an ugly grin. “And you do what I want. Remember that.” He gestured with the rifle. “Jeko, go pick it up.”
As Jeko moved away, Samella looked directly at Cord for the first time since the previous afternoon. There was anger in her eyes, and an edge of pain, and something else that Cord could not fathom. But before he could find anything to say, Jeko yelped.
The small furry thing had fallen near one of the turf-covered mounds that Cord had thought were buried logs—one of the smaller ones, less than a metre long. The furry thing had not been killed outright, and was lying on the turf, jerking and kicking in agony. But that was not what had startled Jeko. It was because the buried log had moved.
The front end of it reared up, out of the turf. It was a living cylinder, thick and flexible like an oversized worm. Cord saw that it was segmented, and covered with a kind of thick shell, dark brown and shiny, which was also segmented, like separate plates of what seemed to be a solid natural armour. It was eyeless, with a spray of thin tendrils, like antennae, sprouting from the front of its head. And on the underside of the head was a wide, gaping mouth, surrounded by longer, sturdier tendrils, more like tentacles. Each tentacle had a sharp, barbed hook at the end of it.
Still half-reared, the creature slid swiftly forward. Cord saw the small hooks on its underside, which pulled it along in an oozing slither, disturbingly silent. Ignoring Jeko, the worm-thing headed for the twitching form of the furry beast. One of the tentacles around the repulsive mouth struck out like a snake, the barbed hook driving into the furry body. The little creature convulsed, a final spasm that almost lifted it from the ground, then sank back into stillness. And the worm-thing lowered its gaping mouth on to the body.
“Yeck,” Heleth said with feeling.
“Reckon those hook-things’re poisonous,” Rontal growled.
“Who cares?” the Lamprey snapped. “Out of the way, Jeko.” He raised the rifle and took aim.
The beam struck dead centre on the worm-thing’s turf-covered back. But nothing happened. Only the turf was scorched and burnt—and through it Cord glimpsed more of the shiny-brown shell.
“That thing’s tough as space-steel.” the Lamprey snarled. He strode forward, and his foot lashed out in a blurring kick at the feeding worm-thing. At once the creature reared up again, two of the hooked tentacles lashing out. But though it had struck so swiftly that Cord could hardly follow the movement, the Lamprey was even quicker. Leaping away from the deadly barbs, he fired from the hip into the centre of the mouth.
The worm fell away, rolling. Then it reared up again, tendrils slashing at the air, but its movements were slower, more erratic. And when the Lamprey fired once more, into that gaping mouth, it fell away and lay still, the tentacles limp.
“Are you going to kill off all the life forms on this planet?” Samella asked coldly.
The Lamprey grinned mockingly. “Might be a nicer place to live if I did.”
“You’d be busy, Lamprey,” Heleth said uneasily. “There’s hundreds of those things.”
They all looked around. Among the trees where they were standing, they could see about three dozen of the cylindrical, turf-covered mounds. Must be more like thousands of them, altogether, in the forest, Cord thought. And if they aren’t fallen logs, the further thought came, then what does happen to dead trees?
But then he turned to watch as the Lamprey went over to kick brutally at another smaller mound. The kick jolted it, but it did not rear up to expose its menacing mouth. It remained unmoving.
The Lamprey giggled. “Asleep, or dead, or maybe not hungry. Anyway, these things aren’t big enough to worry us.”
“I wonder if there’s anything out here,” Rontal said edgily, “that is?”
The question seemed to remain in the air around them as they pushed deeper into the forest. But some while passed, and they saw no other creatures except more of the small turf-covered worm-things—all of them motionless, rock-like, impossible to disturb by a prod or a kick.
But then they came to a place where they learned that not all worm-things were small.
