Part 20 (1/2)

Megan Oneagle blinked away tears. She wanted to turn away, not to look, but she forced herself to watch the carnage one more time.

The large holo-tank depicted a night scene, a rain-driven beach that shone dimly in shades of gray under faintly visible brooding cliffs. There were no moons, no stars, in fact hardly any light at all. The enhancement cameras had been at their very limits taking these pictures.

On the beach she could barely make out five black shapes that crawled ash.o.r.e, dashed across the sand, and began climbing the low, crumbling bluffs.

”You can tell they followed procedures precisely,” Major Prathachulthorn of the Terragens Marines explained. ”First the submarine released the advance divers, who went ahead to scout and set up surveillance. Then, when it seemed the coast was clear, the sabots were released.”

Megan watched as little boats bobbed to the surface -- black globes rising amid small clouds of bubbles-which then headed quickly for sh.o.r.e. They landed, covers popped off, and more dark figures emerged.

”They carried the finest equipment available. Their training was the best. These were Terragens Marines.”

So? Megan shook her head. Does that mean they did not have mothers?

She understood what Prathachulthorn was saying, however. If calamity could befall these professionals, who could blame Garth's colonial militia for the disasters of the last few months?

The black shapes moved toward the cliffs, stoop-shouldered under heavy burdens.

For weeks, now, the remnants still under Megan's command had sat with her, deep in their underwater refuge, pondering the collapse of all their well-laid plans for an organized resistance. The agents and saboteurs had been ready, the arms caches and cells organized. Then came the cursed Gubru coercion gas, and all their careful schemes collapsed under those roiling clouds of deadly smoke.

What few humans remained on the mainland were certainly dead by now, or as good as dead. What was frustrating was that n.o.body, not even the enemy in their broadcasts, seemed to know who or how many had made it to the islands in time for antidote treatment and internment.

Megan avoided thinking about her son. With any luck he was now on Cilmar Island, brooding with his friends in some pub, or complaining to a crowd of sympathetic girls how his mother had kept him out of the war. She could only hope and pray that was the case, and that Uthacalthing's daughter was safe as well.

More of a cause for perplexity was the fate of the Tymbrimi Amba.s.sador himself. Uthacalthing had promised to follow the Planetary Council into hiding, but he had never appeared. There were reports that his s.h.i.+p had tried for deeps.p.a.ce instead, and was destroyed.

So many lives. Lost to what purpose?

Megan watched the display as the sabots began edging back into the water. The main force of men was already climbing the bluffs.

Without humans, of course, any hope of resistance was out of the question. A few of the cleverest chims might strike a blow, here or there, but what could really be expected of them without their patrons?

One purpose of this landing had been to start something going again, to adapt and adjust to new circ.u.mstances.

For the third time-even though she knew it was coming-Megan was caught by surprise as lightning suddenly burst upon the beach. In an instant everything was bathed in brilliant colors.

First to explode were the little boats, the sabots.

Next came the men.

”The sub pulled its camera in and dived just in time,” Major Prathachulthorn said.

The display went blank. The woman marine lieutenant who had operated the projector turned on the lights. The other members of the Council blinked, adjusting to the light. Several dabbed their eyes.

Major Prathachulthorn's South Asian features were darkly serious as he spoke again. ”It's the same thing as during the s.p.a.ce battle, and when they somehow knew to gas every secret base we'd set up on land. Somehow they always find out where we are.”

”Do you have any idea how they're doing it?” one of the council members asked.

Vaguely, Megan recognized that it was the female Marine officer, Lieutenant Lydia McCue, who answered. The young woman shook her head. ”We have all of our technicians working on the problem, of course. But until we have some idea how they're doing it, we don't want to waste any more men trying to sneak ash.o.r.e.”

Megan Oneagle closed her eyes. ”I think we are in no condition, now, to discuss matters any further. I declare this meeting adjourned.”

When she retired to her tiny room, Megan thought she would cry. Instead, though, she merely sat on the edge of her bed, in complete darkness, allowing her eyes to look in the direction she knew her hands lay.

After a while, she felt she could almost see them, fingerslike blobs resting tiredly on her knees. She imagined they,were stained-a deep, sanguinary red.

29 Robert

Deep underground there was no way to sense the natural pa.s.sage of time. Still, when Robert jerked awake in his chair, he knew exactly when it was.

Late. Too d.a.m.n late. Athaclena was due back hours ago.

If he weren't still little more than an invalid he would have overcome the objections of Micah and Dr. Soo and gone topside himself, looking for the long overdue raiding party. As it was, the two chim scientists had nearly had to use force to stop him.

Traces of Robert's fever still returned now and then. He wiped his forehead and suppressed some momentary s.h.i.+vers. No, he thought. I am in control!

He stood up and picked his way carefully toward the sounds of muttered argument, where he found a pair of chims working over the pearly light of a salvaged level-seventeen computer. Robert sat on a packing crate behind them and listened for a while. When he made a suggestion they tried it, and it worked. Soon he had almost managed to push aside his worries as he immersed himself in work, helping the chims sketch out military tactics programming for a machine that had never been designed for anything more hostile than chess.

Somebody came by with a pitcher of juice. He drank. Someone handed him a sandwich. He ate.

An indeterminate time later a shout echoed through the underground chamber. Feet thumped hurriedly over low wooden bridges. Robert's eyes had grown accustomed to the bright screen, so it was out of a dark gloom that he saw chims hurrying past, seizing a.s.sorted, odd-lot weapons as they rushedup the pa.s.sage leading to the surface.

He stood and grabbed at the nearest running brown form. ”What's happening?”

He might as well have tried to halt a bull. The chim tore free without even glancing his way and vanished up the ragged tunnel. The next one he waved down actually looked at him and halted restlessly. ”It's th' expedition,” the nervous chen explained. ”They've come back. ... At least I hear some of 'em have.”

Robert let the fellow go. He began casting around the chamber for a weapon of his own. If the raiding party had been followed back here . . .

There wasn't anything handy, of course. He realized bitterly that a rifle would hardly do him any good with his right arm immobilized. The chims probably wouldn't let him fight anyway. They'd more likely carry him bodily out of harm's way, deeper into the caves.

For a while there was silence. A few elderly chims waited with him for the sound of gunfire.

Instead, there came voices, gradually growing louder. The shouts sounded more excited than fearful.

Something seemed to stroke him, just above the ears. He hadn't had much practice since the accident, but now Robert's simple empathy sense felt a familiar trace blow into the chamber. He began to hope.

A babbling crowd of figures turned the bend-ragged, filthy neo-chimpanzees carrying slung weapons, some sporting bandages. The instant he saw Athaclena, a knot seemed to let go inside of Robert.

Just as quickly, though, another worry took its place. The Tymbrimi girl had been using the gheer transformation, clearly. He felt the rough edges of her exhaustion, and her face was gaunt.

Moreover, Robert could tell that she was still hard at work. Her corona stood puffed out, sparkling without light. The chims hardly seemed to notice as stay-at-homes eagerly pumped the jubilant raiders for news. But Robert realized that Athaclena was concentrating hard to craft that mood. It was too tenuous, too tentative to sustain itself without her.

”Robert!” Her eyes widened. ”Should you be out of bed? Your fever only broke yesterday.”

”I'm fine. But-”