Riding the Red Horse (47 page)

A single, deafening war cry went up from the Imperial troops. They were pushing for full envelopment.

But Erel’s voice was louder than them all.

“VOLLEY!” he yelled.

Arrows spat out of the general’s formation and stuck fast in Imperial shields as well as Imperial men.

The ponies slowed, and both Joonta and Nateel closed on the nearest enemy flank. The Imperials were stacked up on each other, trying to use body weight as much as muscle to crack the general’s wedge. Joonta’s bow was in her hand and she began rapid-nocking arrows, not necessarily bothering to aim because at that range, it was impossible to miss. Nateel did the same. Five men were down before the alarm cry went up, and the Imperial flank whirled to face the Coamian archers.

“CONCUSSIVES!” Erel yelled.

The warrior-mages deployed their wares. Tiny clay jars wrapped in waterproof, tarred cloth, were sling-launched over the heads of the imperials. The ground where the jars landed blew open with thunderous explosions, flinging some of the imperials away—like rag dolls in a storm.

Joonta felt the blasts, as well as heard them, and momentarily had to get control of her pony as the animal went wide-eyed and threatened to bolt. Nateel was almost thrown off her steed, but managed to keep one fist knotted in the animal’s mane, which she used to upright herself in the saddle and bring her steed to bear.

“VOLLEY!” Erel commanded again. The Mighian bows snapped shafts into Imperials, who had become confused trying to fight the Coamians on horseback, and the general’s wedge at the same instant. But the enemy on the opposite side was undistracted. They crashed into the general’s shieldmen. Erel’s wedge formation compressed dangerously as the shieldmen were literally pushed back, sandals sliding on the ground; the groaning and yelling of the Imperial troops being matched by Erel’s shouted call for his guard to keep the line intact.

“SPEARS OUT!” Erel commanded.

The Combine spearmen thrust in unison.

Imperials screamed and died.

Joonta loosed more arrows, point blank. Into faces, into chests, into shields. Return fire came in the form of Imperial shafts whipping past Joonta’s head as she guided her pony back around the way she’d first come.

“We have to take the pressure off the other side!” Nateel shouted.

“I know!” Joonta replied. Together the women rode back toward the tip of the arrowhead, and around to where the Imperials were like a single wave, crushing the wedge.

“SPEARS OUT!” Erel commanded.

Thrust, stab, kill.

“SPEARS OUT!” he commanded again.

Thrust, stab, kill.

But it was not enough. The line was too tight, and broke with an almost audible snap. And suddenly the enemy was in among the general’s guard, blades slashing.

“SWORDS!” Erel cried. Joonta had a brief glimpse of the old Haynian as he had his own shield up and his own sword out, his crested helmet thrust high and his eyes almost glowing from behind the helmet’s slits: his teeth bare, ready for what was to come. She plowed her pony into the mess and fired arrows down into Imperial backs as fast as she could nock them. Men screamed and turned on her with rage. Joonta’s pony reared up and whirled away from the danger, horse’s blood flying, and throwing her off the animal’s back. Per training, Joonta tucked and tumbled, letting her bow clatter to the ground while the injured pony fled.

When Joonta got to her feet, Nateel was there, offering a hand down from her place in her saddle.

“Climb up!” Nateel yelled. “You shoot, I ride!”

Joonta—scraped and bruised—took Nateel’s hand, and helped pull herself up onto the pony’s back. Nateel’s bow passed wordlessly between the women, then they were off. It was much easier to aim, now that someone else was managing the problem of the pony. Joonta put three more men down—arrows buried into faces and necks—before a surprising thing happened.

“For the general and the Combine, HUUAH!” Nateel screamed, loud enough for the entire guard to hear. So loud, and with such force, in fact, that Joonta would have sworn Nateel was not capable of uttering such an inhuman noise.

The effect was immediate.

The general’s guard as a whole erupted with a loud, unified: HUUAH! Joonta's voice was higher-pitched than most, but it was among the loudest.

And just like that, the Imperials broke and ran. Perhaps half the number which had initially attacked, turned and began fleeing back up the slopes. Panicked. Disorganized. Whipped. Nateel sent her pony after them, hollering at the top of her lungs while Joonta exhausted the last of the arrows. When it became clear that the defeat had become a full rout, Joonta tugged at Nateel’s arm and shouted, “They’re done! We don’t want to get too far from the wagons, lest the Imperials regroup and turn on us!”

Nateel slowed her pony and guided it back around to where the wagons were huddled. When they approached the general—his helmet off, clutched in one hand—Nateel’s animal was covered in froth, and shivering from exertion.

Both Nateel and Joonta slid off the pony’s back, allowing it to rest and catch its breath.

“Nicely done,” General Erel remarked, tipping his head. “There was a moment where I thought they had us. You kept them occupied just enough for us to . . . well, we can conduct an after-battle examination later. Right now we have wounded and dead to attend to. That, and finding an alternate route to Zurr. Losing the bridge is no minor calamity.”

“We will find a way, sir,” Joonta said, looking at Nateel. “We can ride up and down the stream, looking for a shallow, slow point where the current won’t threaten the wagons, nor sweep away men on foot.”

“Good.” Erel said. “Nateel, walk your pony back, allow it to drink, then make haste. Unless my eyes deceive me, Joonta, the pony that threw you is already at the water’s edge. Hopefully only grazed? I expect your report as soon as you have it.”

Joonta and Nateel mutually nodded, then set off at a fast walk, the horse in tow. Out of the corner of her eye, Joonta noted the erectness of Nateel’s posture. The calmness in the shorter woman’s expression.

Wordlessly, Joonta reached up and tapped a fist on Nateel’s shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt. But with enough force to make her sentiment known. A tiny smile crossed Nateel’s lips, then she too reached up and tapped a fist on Joonta’s shoulder. Whatever else happened, things were going to be different from now on. Between them.

Tedd Roberts is the pen name of a neuroscience researcher with a 35-year career in both laboratory and clinical aspects of physiology and pharmacology. He also has a long familial and professional connection with the US military, in the latter case working with military and civilian agencies to develop diagnostics, pharmaceuticals and medical technologies that benefit soldiers and civilians alike. When you read “They Also Serve”, keep in mind that he has recently been working as part of a team to develop “neural prosthetics” to restore human brain functions following brain injury or disease.

Tedd has probably written more words than I have in government grant proposals alone. When we talk, which we do regularly, since he’s a pretty close friend, I try to avoid mentioning how much of that is probably as fictional as anything I’ve ever written.

He also has an ongoing interest in public education and brain awareness, which has led him to write a series of science fact and fiction. These non-fiction articles are a regular feature on the Baen Books site and are available for free. Tedd frequently gives public talks on science, science fiction, and the science in science fiction for SF conventions, as well as student and civic groups. He is a subject matter expert relied upon by many SF/F authors, game developers, and members of the entertainment media via the Science and Entertainment Exchange, a service of the National Academy of Sciences.

His first published fiction, “They Also Serve”, is right up that alley and on the cutting edge of the medically possible. Look to see it, sooner than you might think, in a grievously wounded soldier near you.

The operating room was as quiet as it was empty. Entering it, Tobias
Toby
Greene, M.D. felt uneasy, but couldn't immediately figure out what was wrong. It hit him suddenly:
Ah, that was it, operating rooms are rather cramped but this one was a vast open space with only an operating table in the center. It should have had supply cabinets on the walls, a large anesthesia/monitoring device, instrument table with all of the sterilized tools for surgery, microscopes, lights, monitors… and people…where are the people?

Instead of white walls and ceiling, the room seemed to recede into the distance, even into an infinity itself; dim, gray, and empty. Again Toby wondered:
Where were the people? There should have been another surgeon, an anesthesiologist, several nurses, students, residents, medical device company representatives
…

Toby's hands felt strange—wet, cold, sticky—he looked down at the blood and the scalpel in his left hand.
What was he doing? He couldn't remember.
He noticed then that he was not alone. There was a patient, chest open, heart beating slowly.
There should have been sound. The heart monitor should have been beeping in synch with the heart. There should have been sounds of life, air movement, clicking of the respirator, but there was nothing.
Toby heard nothing, felt nothing, and could only see the open surgical field in front of him.
What was he doing here? What was the surgery? Who was the patient, and what was he supposed to do?

Looking at the patient, another soldier, still in his uniform, cut open to reveal the chest cavity. Heart still beating. Slower. There should be sound, people… something. Toby tried to move his hand down to the surgical field, but it was hard, the air was thick, slowed his movements like running in water. Where is everybody?

Glancing upward, Toby saw a glass front observation gallery. They didn't build those anymore, did they? He hadn't seen one since Medical School. There's someone there, fuzzy and indistinct…
Who
?

The image swirled, cleared, and went into focus. It was Victoria, little Billy and Sally, in the yellow dress he'd bought for her eighth birthday. That wasn't right, Sally was older, married, had her own children and Billy was overseas. But there she was, just like at her party, hair in pigtails, arm and knee pads, holding a soccer ball. They were pointing, shouting, but Toby couldn't hear them through the glass. They were pointing at the patient on the table.

Toby turned toward the patient. Billy. It was Billy on the table, chest open, bleeding, heart beating, slowing. Toby could see Billy's face; his eyes were open, staring. His mouth was open, screaming… but no sound was coming out.

It all materialized around him; the noise, the crowd, the smell of blood. He felt dread. Monitors beeped Alarms sounded their blood chilling wail. A nurse was at his elbow, the room was crowded. The Chief of Surgery was telling the students and residents that they needed to leave now. It the distance, someone was screaming. The beeping stopped and a new alarm sounded.

"Doctor, he's going into arrest." Toby heard the nurse but he still couldn't move. Everyone was staring at him and Billy was dying and someone was screaming… and it was him.

Toby sat up in the bed with a start. His mouth was open as if to scream. Instead of that, though, he simply exhaled sharply. The sheets beneath him were damp and clinging with sweat. There was faint sound of surf. He'd had to start using the noise generator when the nightmares got worse. He looked at the clock. 3:30—oh-dark-thirty as Billy would call it.
Billy. This time it was Billy, that was new
.

He had rounds at six and needed to be in his office by five-thirty, so he might as well get up now. He'd get on the computer and send Billy a text before he showered. It was… he picked up his watch from the nightstand, pressed the dual time zone button and read the illuminated face… afternoon for Billy. He'd be busy until later, but at least it wasn't the middle of his night.

Toby sat for a moment on the edge of his bed. In one of those meaningless thought-clearing rituals, he ran his hands a couple of times through his short hair. He turned on the small lamp on the stand. It was very dim, just enough to see the outline of the bedroom furniture so that he didn't wake Janine when he had midnight shift or early rounds. He snorted. Not that it was a problem now. He wouldn't be waking Jany… and hadn't for several months.

Small night lights throughout the house kept the darkness at bay and allowed him to get to the kitchen without bumping in to anything. Declining to turn on the overhead, he fixed a cup of coffee by the dim lighting—everything was where he left it, and the power to the machine remained on at all times, since he never knew when he'd need to wake up and go to work on an accident victim or trauma case. Surgeons lived on caffeine, they'd set up an IV drip in the OR if allowed. Nicotine, too, usually, but he'd given that up after his heart attack scare three years ago. Into the computer room. Jany refused to call it an office even though she'd put in his-and-hers desks. The monitor was too bright for his dark-adapted eyes, but he waited a few moments for them to adjust, sent the text to Billy, checked for overnights from the residents and headed to the shower.

Even though he'd taken his time getting ready, and in the dark, to boot, he left the house by 4:30 AM. The drive in to the medical center was uneventful; it was still too early for much traffic. There was a video billboard just before the turnoff to the hospital. It was bright and eye-catching in the pre-dawn twilight. Toby grunted at the news headline displayed: “Scientists warn: New comet on close approach to Earth.”
It was always like that
, Toby thought,
new comet will be brighter than ever… oops, new comet fizzled and no one can see it even with a telescope
.

He was in his office by five AM; the lack of traffic had helped. An hour reading the residents' case notes, a new article on surgical robotics, and some departmental emails took him to time for rounds. He'd donned his white coat and joined the group of medical students and residents visiting each of his patients.