And their orders for what to do if they did come from the enemy were equally clear.
6
Samson snorted in sudden alarm. The stallion’s head snapped up and around, as if to peer back the way he’d come, and Jackson frowned. He’d never seen Samson react that way, and he turned his own head, staring back along their path and straining his ears.
He heard nothing for several moments but the whisper of the wind. But then he did hear something. Or perhaps he only felt it, for the low rumble was so deep it throbbed in the bones of his skull. He’d never heard anything like it, and sheer curiosity held him motionless for several seconds while he concentrated on identifying it rather than worrying about its source.
But that changed quickly as he peered into the west and saw… something.
The moonlight was too faint for him to tell what it was, but there was light enough to see that it was huge… and moving. In fact, it was headed straight towards him—a stupendous black shape, indistinct and terrifying in the darkness, moving with only that deep, soft rumble—and panic flared. Whatever that thing was, it was coming from the direction of the old battle site, and if he’d inadvertently awakened one of those long-dead weapon systems…!
Flight Leader Ukah checked his navigational display. Assuming his systems were working properly (which was no longer always a safe assumption), his shuttles were approaching the nearest of the emission clusters Lieutenant Janal had plotted.
“Flight, this is Lead,” he said. “Red One and Two, follow me. We’ll make a close sweep. Yellow One, hold the rest of the flight at four hundred kilometers until I clear for approach.”
“Lead, Yellow One. Affirmative,” Sub-Flight Leader Yurahk acknowledged, and Ukah and his two wingmen slashed upward and went to full power to close the objective.
Jackson cursed as he scrabbled for the radio only to drop it. It vanished into the night and tall grass, and he swore again as he flung himself from the saddle, clinging to Samson’s reins with one hand while he fumbled after the radio with the other. He had to warn the steading! He That was when the three bright dots streaked suddenly in from the northwest, and he felt fresh panic pulse in his throat at their speed. The colony’s five remaining aircraft were too precious to waste on casual use. Their flights were rationed out with miserly stinginess, and none of them could move that fast, anyway. But if they weren’t from Landing, then where—?
None of the three shuttles detected the heavily stealthed sensor drone Shiva had deployed to drive his anti-air systems, but the Bolo himself was far too obvious to be missed.
“Lead, Red Two! I’m picking up something to starboard! It looks—”
Ukah Na-Saar’s eyes snapped to his own tactical display, but it was already far too late.
Something shrieked behind Jackson, and Samson reared, screaming as the eye-tearing brilliance of plasma bolts howled overhead. Sharp explosions answered an instant later, wreckage rained down in very small pieces, and Jackson understood the stallion’s fear perfectly. But despite his own bone-deep fright, he clung to the reins, fighting Samson’s panic. Every nerve in his body howled to run, but he’d been flash-blinded. Samson must have been the same, and Jackson refused to let the horse bolt in a blind, frantic flight across the rolling fields which could end only in a fall and a broken leg… or neck.
The stallion fought the bit, bucking in his terror, but Jackson held on desperately until, finally, Samson stopped fighting and stood trembling and sweating, quivering in every muscle. The horse’s head hung, and Jackson blinked against the dazzling spots still dancing before his eyes, then found the bridle’s cheek strap by feel. He clung to it, mouth too dry to whisper false reassurances, and fought his own terror as the basso rumble he’d first heard headed towards him.
He could hear other sounds now. There was a squeak and rattle, and a rhythmic banging, like a piece of wreckage slamming against a cliff, and he blinked again and realized his vision was beginning to clear. The blurry, light-streaked vagueness which was all he could see wasn’t much, but it was infinitely better than the permanent blindness he thought he’d suffered. And then he cringed, hand locking tighter on Samson’s bridle, as brilliant light flooded over him. He could actually feel the radiant heat on his face, and his hazy vision could just make out a cliff—like vastness crowned with glaring lights that blazed like small suns. He trembled, mind gibbering in panic, and then a mellow tenor voice spoke from behind the lights.
“Unit One-Zero-Niner-Seven-SHV of the Line reporting for duty, Commander,” it said.
Yurahk Na-Holar flinched as Flight Leader Ukah’s three-shuttle section was obliterated. The remaining shuttles were too far back and too low to see the source of the fire which did it, but the explosions had been high enough to get good reads on.
Hellbores. The analysis flashed on Yurahk’s tactical display, and he felt muscles tighten in the fight-or-flight instinct the People shared with their Human enemies. Yield estimates suggested weapons in the fifteen to twenty-five-centimeter range, and that was bad. Such heavy energy weapons could destroy any of the transport ships—or, for that matter, Starquest herself—and their effective range would be line-of-sight. That was frightening enough, yet there was worse. Lieutenant Janal’s rough plot indicated that the emissions cluster directly ahead was one of the smaller ones, and if something this small was covered by defenses so heavy, only the Nameless Ones knew what the big population center was protected by!
The pilot who’d inherited command drew a deep breath and made himself think. Only three shots had been fired, which indicated either that the ground battery’s commander had total faith in his fire control or else that there were only three weapons and the defenders had simply gotten lucky, and the second possibility was more likely. The Humans must be as desperate to survive as the People. If the defenders had possessed additional firepower, they would have used all of it to insure they got all the enemies they’d detected.
But Yurahk still had twenty-six shuttles… and if the origin point of the fire which had destroyed his CO was below his sensor horizon, he knew roughly where it had come from.
“Plot the origin coordinates,” he told his tactical officer coldly. “Then enable the missiles.”
Jackson Deveraux stared into the glare of light. It couldn’t be. It was impossible! Yet even as he thought those things, he knew who—or what—that voice belonged to. But why was it calling him “Commander”?
“W—who—” he began, then chopped that off. “What’s happening?” He made himself ignore the quaver in his own voice. “Why did you call me that?”
“Hostile forces tentatively identified as Kestrel-class shuttles of the Imperial Melconian Navy have begun hunter-killer operations against the Human population of this planet,” the tenor replied calmly, answering Jackson’s taut questions in order. “And I addressed you simply as ‘Commander’ because I do not yet know your name, branch of service, or rank.”
The huge machine spoke as if its preposterous replies were completely reasonable, and Jackson wanted to scream. This wasn’t—couldn’t!—be happening! The Bolo he’d ridden past and around and even under this morning had been dead, so what could have—?