The Crystal Variation (81 page)

She slipped the scan back into the kit and pulled out the ambicorder. Might as well get as much as she could. Judging by the layer of dust on the pile of burnt wires and the old stool in the corner, the place wasn’t exactly a popular meeting spot; she should have plenty of time to record conditions.

JELA HURRIED BACK
toward the fort, thinking, his quick steps startling the rare casual passersby. The
sheriekas
tech was a present danger. He’d have to alert whoever was in command at the garrison now that Gorriti was gone, which could call into question how he knew these things, and might entail a trip to the psychs—though there his M nature would stand him in good stead. Ms almost never went delusional, and he was prepared to stand his brain in front of the doctor for a second time if need be—if the mission demanded it.

Between one step and another, he became aware of someone walking beside him, matching step for step down the dusty, near-deserted path, and turned his head.

His companion smiled, red curls disordered by the breeze. “M. Jela,” he murmured. “I hope I find you well?”

“Rool Tiazan. What brings you to this garden spot?”

“The ardent desire to renew your acquaintance, dear sir! What else might I be doing?”

“I’d hate to have to try to imagine,” Jela said honestly.

Rool Tiazan laughed with every evidence of delight. “My apologies, sir. We did not mean to disconcert you at our last meeting. But, here! I bring news that I am certain you will be eager to have!”

Jela eyed him. “News,” he repeated.

“Indeed.” The little man smiled. “I was only just now visiting my associates who ready themselves to battle the
sheriekas
upon their own terms. While there, I was made privy to certain of their intelligence, which I feel must be of very close interest to yourself. Therefore, I made all haste to your side.”

“Intelligence?” Jela asked. “
Military
intelligence?”

“Just so!” Rool Tiazan paused and looked around him, at what passed for day on Vanehald, with the chill breeze carrying dust and the light a weak and unappealing tan. “What a delightful planet!”

“I’ve seen better,” Jela said, pausing as well, his weight distributed so as to put less strain on his right leg.

“Ah, but I have policies, M. Jela. And one of them is to find any planet which has successfully stood against the
sheriekas
to be delightful.”

“There’s that,” Jela agreed. “But you said you had news. Of Master dea’Syl?”

“I have news of Master dea’Syl, if you would like to hear it,” the
dramliza
said agreeably. “He and the cat and the young pilot have arrived at Solcintra and been made welcome by your good friend Wellik. All should go forward as desired, to the hopeful ascendence of our cause.” He turned his hands up as if he had heard Jela’s impatience.

“Forgive me, M. Jela, I chatter while you pine for intelligence. You wish to know what it is that my associates have discovered. It is this: The
sheriekas
, whose memories are long, are determined to have Vanehald, and to that end they have dispatched a great many of your kindred on purpose to take the planet, the mines, and the shield.”

“My—kindred?” Jela frowned. “I don’t—” He stopped, skin prickling, and looked into Rool Tiazan’s depthless blue eyes. “The prototypes,” he breathed. “The
sheriekas
Ms.”

“Exactly so.” He looked over Jela’s head, as if judging the progress of something discernible only to himself. “Yes,” he said as if to himself, “the energy level is almost sufficient to sustain a transition point.”

“They’re coming in through the mines,” Jela said, abruptly seeing it all. “The devices, and the timonium—it’s not a comm network they’re building, but a shortcut. The shield—”

“Activate the shield and it will only be one more source of energy to sustain the gate, this far into the proceedings.”

Rool Tiazan’s eyes sharpened. “It were best that the
ssussdriad
, Lady Cantra, and your son be on their way—soon. And all of the lines in which I am the one to suggest this to her directly, those lines return—diminishing rates of success.”

Jela stared at him.
Son
? he thought, then shook it aside. There was no time to discuss the realities of M Series genetics with this oddest of his allies—not with battle soon to be joined.

“I need to warn the garrison,” he said, giving his attention to those things which were a soldier’s proper concern.

The
dramliza
moved his shoulders. “I am hardly one to tell a man what he must or must not, yet surely it is imperative that you move your comrades—” He paused, then, murmured distantly. “Yes. Your pardon, M. Jela, I do see—” Another pause, and Rool Tiazan appeared to
fade
, into or beyond the dust-filled air— “that in fact you are correct. Every moment that the Iloheen are denied surety here adds to the percentages for our ultimate success.”

Jela blinked. If his eyesight was going—the thought was interrupted once more by images of ravening rodents—and now he understood too well what the tree had been telling him this while.

“I’ll warn the garrison,” he said, briskly, “and see to Cantra. The tree’s aware of the danger, as it happens—” He looked to the other man, who was solid enough, now, and considering him quizzically.

“You get Dulsey and her team out of here.”

The thin eyebrows twitched. “I?”

“I thought we were allies?”

“Ah. Indeed. We are allies.” Rool Tiazan bowed his head. “I will arrange it, M. Jela. Allow me, also, to hurry you on your way.”

A sudden downburst of wind raised dust in a swirl. Jela threw an arm over his eyes; the wind struck again, lifting him off his feet as if he were no more substantial than a leaf, then set him smartly down again.

He staggered, recovered his footing, lifted the shielding arm away from his eyes—and looked directly into startled face of M Sergeant Lorit.

“I need to talk to command,” he gasped. “Immediately.”

Twenty-One

TWENTY-ONE

Vanehald

“We are not,”
Arin said sternly, “aborting this project and going off to Solcintra on the say-so of the old M soldier. We do not take orders from M soldiers; we take orders from Uncle, who—”

“Arin,” Dulsey broke in. “The devices are calling the Enemy
here
. Whether or not we take Pilot Jela’s advice regarding our destination, it might well be prudent to load what we can now and lift out.”

“How close d’you think the Enemy is?” Jakoby asked in her ragged whisper. “Even if the devices have networked and put out a call for aid, it’s going to take some time to transition from the raw end of never—”

“We don’t know,” Fern said, quietly, not looking up from her work, “where the Enemy
is
, Jakoby. I remember hearing tales of crews put to sleep with their ships, parked off the traveled routes, waiting. When the Enemy needs them, up they wake, with their destination already coded into the nav-brain.”

“Baby stories,” Jakoby scoffed. “The Enemy is no more or less—”

“Arin,” Dulsey said urgently. “We should go. I think that Pilot Jela has the right of it. We do not wish to be caught in a battle for this planet.”

“No,” Arin said sharply. He looked at each of them in turn. “I am the team leader, Uncle’s representative on this project. We will complete our assignment. I checked the ship-boards last night. There’s a freighter due in within the next two local days. When it’s on-port, I’ll negotiate for space with the captain.”

“Arin—” Dulsey began, and he rounded on her, eyes snapping.

“That is my final word!”

Dulsey’s mouth tightened and her shoulders sagged.

“Yes, Arin,” she said softly.

At which point, the workroom went away.

CANTRA EASED OPEN
the door at the top of the stair, wincing as the noise hit her: klaxons, people yelling, and the unintelligible drone of an automated voice. Carefully, she looked both ways, then slipped out into the hall and relocked the door. The ruckus was coming from the street and—she hoped—had nothing to do with her or her little look-see. Straightening her jacket and adjusting the kit over her shoulder, she ambled down the hall to have a closer look.

The noise was both better and worse outside. Worse, because there was more of it. Better because she could finally make out what the autoshout was saying.

“We are on attack standby! Repeat: Attack standby! All citizens are urged to evacuate. Those who choose not to evacuate and who have weapons are advised to arm themselves now and report to the garrison. This is not a drill. This is not a drill. Situation Level Two: Imminent Enemy Action. Message repeats . . .”

Imminent Enemy action? Loitering in her doorway, Cantra saw some people run, some laugh. Most just shrugged their shoulders and keep on about their business like announcements of imminent Enemy action were an everyday affair. She watched a woman with a old-style blunderbuss over her shoulder walking purposefully toward the garrison. A couple others followed, including a boykid with an energy pistol strapped to his leg. All in all, not much help to the garrison, if an Enemy attack really was imminent.

At least, Cantra thought with a sigh, she knew exactly where to find Jela.

She eased herself out into a lull in traffic, thinking to check the needle-gun riding in its inside pocket. She’d left her heavy weaponry on the ship, not having expected to need it on a snoop job, and set out toward the garrison at a light jog.

FERN WAS WEBBED
into the pilot’s chair; Arin sitting co-pilot. Dulsey and Jakoby were strapped into the jumpseats behind each pilot.

“How—” Jakoby began, but her broken whisper was overridden by Fern’s crisp, “Co-pilot, report!”

“My screens are clear, Pilot,” Arin replied, his voice shaking only a little. “We are in transition.”

“We are,” Fern agreed, her fingers busy on her board. “How and why can wait until we are certain that the ship is hale and functioning as it should. Systems check, if you please. All remain strapped in until the pilots give the aye.”

There was silence while the pilots worked. Then—

“The ship is secure,” Fern announced. “Unstrap at will.” It was, Dulsey thought, notable that she herself did not unstrap.

“If the pilot pleases,” she said softly. “May we know our condition and course?”

Fern sighed. “We’re on course for Solcintra, Dulsey. Your M seems to have the means to enforce his . . . suggestions.”

“No mere soldier could have instantly transported us from the workroom to our ship, already in transition, with a destination coded in!” Arin protested. Fern shrugged.

“Can or can’t, that’s what we have.”

“We need to change course,” Arin said firmly. “There’s no need for us to raise Solcintra.”

“Yes, there is,” said Fern, at last unstrapping and rising in a single, fluid dancer’s motion. She met each of their eyes in turn. “The course is
locked
. Pilot’s override is non-functional.”

SOLDIERS WERE COMING
out of the inner gate in pairs, moving with that same ground-eating quick-walk that was so frustrating in Jela. Wide-shouldered and solid, clad in military ‘skins; heavy, dual-energy rifles held at ready; helmets on, face-screens down, they were disconcertingly alike, and not a little frightening. Cantra faltered, staring.
Jela’s mates
, she thought. Those calm and faceless forces of destruction moving out quick and light to face the incoming Enemy—
This is what Jela was bred to love
.

Which meant, she reminded herself forcefully, that the man was likely in the garrison, getting ‘skinned up, and in need of a sharp talking to on the subject of getting to his ship and off-planet before jolly hell broke loose. She only hoped the garrison folks would count her friend rather than foe at the gate.

She moved into the jog again, pushing past the crowd that had gathered to watch the soldiers march out, like it was some kind of play-parade, instead of an earnest deployment against a fast-approaching doom.

“Cantra!” His shout was ‘way too loud in her ear, his fingers too hard ‘round her arm as he dragged her back out of the crowd.

Concentrating on keeping her feet, she let him pull her clear, then dug her heels in, thinking it was going to hurt something bad if he dislocated her arm.

Fortunately, he was paying more attention than that, though he did scowl at her, and if she didn’t have bruises on her arm the size and shape of Jela’s fingers for this day’s work, it would be through no fault of his.

“You’ve got to get to
Dancer
!” He yelled at her. “Now!”

Jela wasn’t quite in full battle dress, she saw with relief. He’d thrown on a flak vest and grabbed himself up a rifle, which was only prudent, given the circumstances, and he wore a light helmet with an embedded com-set. There were marks on the helmet that looked like some of that silly new-soldier script, and some bright silver bars on the shoulders of the vest.

“I was coming for you!” She yelled back at him. “Let’s go!”

He nodded and started off at his quick not-run, she jogging after—and six full-’skinned soldiers fell in behind and at the sides, weapons up, status lights glowing ready.

Might be the escort was heading to occupy the port, she thought, as the substantial wing of them sliced through the crowd. That would make sense. The port could need defending.

It comforted Cantra some little bit that their party grew as they rushed on—it seemed that one in every ten or twelve of the soldiers was getting direction from somewhere, or saw Jela’s helmet or vest and knew that they were heading toward the proper duty station.

SHE HADN’T RUN
so far in a long time; and it was a good thing she’d had time to heal up from the strain of being a scholar. Their group moved with a quiet clatter; and now over all came new sounds, the sound of firing somewhere, out toward the mines Dulsey and her team were working—and of an attempt to bring order. The port gate was half-shut as they approached, a single forlorn police-type with a hand gun nervously eyeing them as they ran toward her.

“Attention! Attention!” The autoshout gave out. “Enemy soldiers on the ground in Druidill Park. Enemy ground action to east and south of Wister. Enemy forces emerging from the Southard mines. Repeat! Enemy soldiers at the mines. The planet is under attack! All soldiers to stations! All civilians to cover!”