Chapter 166: (Nemta) (2/2)

Nemta managed to keep from sneering, suddenly remembering that he had been told that Friend Terry was supposedly able to run as fast as a ground car.

While Nemta squeezed into the back of the little toy truck that was now covered with a rough black coating, Friend Terry was doing a set of quick stretching exercises.

When the truck jerked into motion with the sparking of graviton generators Nemta felt mollified that it was rather slow, a jogging pace for his species.

All too soon, however, the landscape was whipping by as the mantid driver expertly weaved between trees and debris. Nemta had to hold onto the sides of the truck with both hands to keep from being thrown out.

The little mantid drove like a maniac, whipping between trees, sometimes scraping the side of the modified toy truck against walls or Precursor machine hulls, showering sparks into the air, bouncing off the rocks to fly through the air and then bounce several times on the ground. A few times the mantid even honked the musical horn as the modified child's toy flew through the air.

After almost three hours of travel the truck slowed down, moving between wrecked vehicles and collapsed vehicles, moving at barely above a walking speed.

--finger on the trigger-- he heard the mechanical voice in his ear. --into the Valley of Death--

”I hear ya, buddy,” Friend Terry's voice sounded strange. ”Hey, Nemta, kid, keep an eye out behind us in case we've got another sneaker like ol' Kaa was.”

”Very well,” Nemta said. He drew the pistol and stared behind the truck, back where they'd come, watching the ash and debris covered streets.

The wind moaned over the broken walls, almost sobbed as it slid over the wrecks of vehicles. Nemta could see bones and mummified bodies scattered about most missing limbs or major sections of their skeletons. Quite a few were burnt and blackened.

Little by little Nemta felt like he was shrinking inside himself. The city felt more and more oppressive despite the sunlight. Here and there exposed cables sparked and sputtered, in other places water or sewage flowed from broken pipes.

Finally they reached what was obviously a starport. From the high control and guidance towers to the concourse building, to the parking lot.

”Keep an eye out, kid,” Friend Terry said. ”I haven't had a chance to scout this too well.”

”I understand,” Nemta said. He started to sneer at the fact the Terran thought he could instruct Nemta on military operations and then the image of Friend Terry ripping away a chunk of armor and then smashing his fist into the exposed mechanicals to rip free pieces of the armored snake.

I've been in the Corps a little over three hundred years, seen combat most of it, Friend Terry's voice, talking to Mother, floated up in Nemta's memory.

The sneer soured and went away.

The vehicle slowed down in front of the rough line of destroyed space going vessels. Friend Terry was walking beside the truck, ignoring the purple sparks showering his legs.

”Nope. Nope. No way. It wishes. Damn, they hit that one like six times. Nope. Wait, that one, looks like just the port engine nacelle was blown off and then it fell on its side,” Friend Terry said. ”What do you think, 303, think that one might have a scannable core?”

--maybe maybe-- the mechanical voice spoke again.

The little green mantid put on a helmet and climbed out of the truck, deploying a tiny tube-launcher from its back over its shoulder and a tiny rifle.

”You remind me of 608 like that,” Friend Terry said softly, his voice faintly regretful.

--sorry sorry-- 303 said. --be back be back--

The little mantid ran over to the vine and dirt covered, climbing the vines and disappearing inside.

”Keep an eye out, kid,” Friend Terry said.

Nemta looked around and realized he couldn't see the big Terran. He looked around for a moment until he saw Friend Terry fold back the faceplate of the insect head armor. His body looked see through to the other side. The faceplate folded back into place and Friend Terry was gone.

”Might want to move away from the vehicle. It's unshielded, any clankers nearby are going to home in on the fusion reactor,” Friend Terry said.

Nemta got out of the back and moved over next to a chunk of plascrete, sitting on top of it and looking around.

”Sure, that'll totally work. Why not?” Friend Terry said from somewhere off to the right.

--core good scanning scanning scanning-- came the mechanical voice.

”Now's when the universe jumps us,” Friend Terry said softly.

There was silence for a long time.

”We never finished our conversation, Nemta,” the Terran said. There was silence for a moment. ”You asked what I would do if I came across a wounded enemy soldier.”

”Yes,” Nemta said, looking around. The Terran's voice was only audible over the helmet.

”We have another set of rules,” The Terran's voice was low and growling. ”It involves pilots. Our laws say that a pilot who is shot down is a non-combatant until they join a unit. They must be treated with respect and dignity, offered shelter and medical care at the nearest POW camp and by the capturing unit.”

”We shoot them,” Nemta blurted out.

”Then you should be glad that it my side that found you and not your own side,” the Terran said. ”Because from what you've told me about the treatment of wounded and non-combatants, there's something you should think about.”

”What's that?” Nemta asked.

”If you go home, you aren't going to be greeted with parades. Nobody is going to treat you like a hero. You're probably the only survivor or one of the few survivors of a pretty serious loss for your military forces,” Friend Terry said. ”If you go back, they will either vanish you or kill you.”

”Vanish me?” Nemta asked.

”Erase your military records, or at least classify them,” Friend Terry said. ”Then dump your body into a hole where nobody will find it and claim you never existed.”

Nemta was silent a long time.

”So your plan of waiting for us to build the ship so that you can take it and run for Council Space where you'll be greeted as a hero is going to end in pain and blood,” Friend Terry said.

”How do you know?” Nemta said. He wanted to rebuke what the Terran was saying but for some reason the words gave him a chill in his soul.

”My people have tried a lot of different types of governments, allowed a lot of different things to happen,” Friend Terry said. ”I know exactly what will happen to you, kid, and it ain't gonna be pretty.”

The wind chose that moment to moan across the wreckage, blowing dust that tasted like scorched metal and burnt flesh to Nemta's nostrils.

”So you can try to grab the ship and run for it. We'll build another one,” there was silence for a long time. ”And then, even if you don't get vanished, me, or someone like me, will either kill you in your shitty little ship or tear your arms off on some battlefield.”

Nemta shivered slightly.

--done checking computer thinky thinky--

”All right, be careful. We're really exposed out here,” Friend Terry said even though Nemta couldn't see him at all.

Nemta reached back and scratched his armor over his amputated tail.

--wakey wakey adding power--

”Roger that.”

Nemta looked around again. To him it didn't look like anyone had been at the spaceport since it had been bombed out.

”Let's check out a few ships, see if we can find the kind of pilot systems you're used to,” Friend Terry said after a little bit, when the mantid had signaled he was done.

Together they searched the ships that had undamaged cockpits. Several times Nemta wanted to throw up when he saw the blasted and burnt corpses of the ship's crews. Finally they found a single one that Nemta recognized from training.

They sat there while the mantid scanned it.

”You might want to think about what we talked about, Nemta,” Friend Terry said quietly as they walked back out to the little truck. ”You might want to think real hard.”

The ride back was silent and they arrived just before sunset.

Nemta told everyone he was tired and went into his hut, laying down on the aerogel that made up his nest.

Sleep came fitfully.

He dreamed of Friend Terry tearing off the canopy of his aerospace fighter, his mouth full of parts as supercoolant ran out of his jaws, each time almost waking up as Friend Terry reached for him, but never able to quite wake up before slipping back down into slumber.

The next day he wasn't sure if he was more annoyed by the fact that the two mantids were installing a jumpcore in their construction, that Friend Terry was leaning against a rock napping, or that he had suffered nightmares all night.

When he went over to the ration box Friend Terry opened one eye. ”You think about what we talked about, Friend Nemta?”

Nemta just nodded.

”Good.”

Nemta's ration tasted like wet cement.