Montrose had seen holos of native Oleaakans, of course, in preparation for the training exercises, but hadn't quite taken in their scale until the sudden appearance of these five out of the side passage. They were so—big. The laka stood now shoulder to shoulder in front of the crystals as though to protect them. Their gleaming bodies, tinted in various pastel shades, were head and shoulders taller than a man, and their shell-pink eyes peered down at the human soldiers with unnerving directness.
In the center of the chamber, the crystal matrix kept up its shrill keening, now audible in the human range. Montrose was having trouble concentrating.
Riordan edged along the slick white wall, rifle at the ready. "Should we blast our way out?"
Montrose shook his head. "No, they're not even armed. Wait, unless they charge. Maybe they'll back off, or at least communicate what they want."
"According to the briefings—" Steve Ishara, a big, bluff man, hunkered down and studied the natives through narrowed eyes. "—the laka are a `peaceful, retiring species.' "
Onopa gripped her rifle with both hands. Her sun-bronzed face was grim. "They don't look so all-fired retiring to me."
"We'll split up," Montrose said. "Ishara, take Riordan and Niels. Try to break past them and make it back to the ladder. The major headed that way and so far they haven't gone after him. I'll take Onopa and try the other tunnel. With luck, they'll be confused and won't follow either party."
Ishara looked dubious. "Blackeagle sent a hrinn to scout for an outside entrance into the cave, but it didn't find one."
Montrose grimaced. "He didn't find one—not `it,' and, if you ask me, we could use a few of those hrinn at our backs right about now."
"Yeah, sure," Ishara said. "Anyway, you don't know where that passage leads. It could be a dead end. You and Onopa might wander around down here in the dark for days."
The crystals' wail revved up another notch. The natives tensed and Montrose felt as though the sound was sauteing his brain. "There has to be a way in from outside, or these guys wouldn't be here now. Anyway, if we don't find the exit, we'll come back." He checked his rifle, then switched on his coldlantern. "On my mark—go!"
The other three darted past the natives into the side tunnel. Montrose ducked his head and dashed into the far passageway. He kept moving, listening for sounds of pursuit. The cave twisted, opened out into an unoccupied chamber, then doubled back on itself. It was dark and claustrophobic, stuffy. He felt like he was running in place, not getting anywhere. Onopa dogged his heels, uncomplaining and silent as a shadow.
Finally, he signalled a halt and stood with his spine pressed to the stone so he could catch his breath. By the coldlantern, he could see roots penetrating down through cracks in the ceiling rock overhead. They must be close to the surface.
Breathing hard, Onopa reached up and ran her fingers over the black stone. "I think this may be a lava tube, left over from the island's origin. It could go on for miles, maybe even lead down to the sea."
Something brushed the cavern wall in the impenetrable darkness behind the bright circle of light. The hairs stirred on the back of his neck. "Keep moving," he whispered hoarsely and motioned her on.
Onopa, who had already seen action on three worlds, before applying for specialized Ranger training, nodded and slipped into the darkness ahead, activating her own coldlantern. Montrose followed at a trot, his heart racing.
The noise came again, more of a scrape this time. Voices rose and fell. Not human. Not hrinnti either. "Faster!"
Onopa ran, her light bobbing with each stride. Their footsteps echoed and again they seemed to be running through an endless night.
Then he glimpsed a patch of gray-black beyond Onopa, only slightly less dark than the cave, but peppered with stars. He redoubled his pace and caught up just as the floor curved upward. They climbed hand over hand, feet struggling for footholds. Montrose slipped, then caught himself on an outcropping of jagged rock. Pain shot through his hands and he could tell by their slipperiness that he was bleeding.
Onopa reached down and hauled him by his belt up into the sweet-scented Oleaakan night. He sprawled at her feet and took in great lungfuls of fresh night air. The breeze sighed against his face, filled with the tang of the not-too-distant sea. Tiny night flyers fluttered overhead, black against the green-black sky.
Out of the darkness, a wall of four-armed, four-legged bodies surged forward to surround them.
Montrose heaved onto his feet, while Onopa swept her light over the natives and swore.
"You're not going anywhere, but back to camp!" Heyoka informed Mitsu. He didn't like that overbright gleam in her eyes, reminiscent of a feverish child who refuses to be put to bed. She needed to be back under the watchful eye of the med.
Mitsu wiped her scraped hands on her thighs, leaving smears of blood that looked black in the starlight. "I can slip in, flank the natives, get the drop on them—"
Dennehy's grizzled gray head appeared as he struggled up the rope ladder. The older man was breathing hard as he pulled himself out onto the vine-covered ground. The vines slithered fastidiously out of reach. "They weren't armed, but they blocked us, when we tried to leave, and made no effort to communicate."
"That's strange," Heyoka said. "According to reports, they usually avoid ruins on the surface."
"I think it's safe to say they don't feel any aversion to these." Dennehy mopped his overheated face. The night was sweltering and the breeze seemed only to move the thick, humid air around, rather than cooling. "We're going to have to take stiff security measures when the assessment team arrives. We can't have them barging in like this."
Mitsu peered down into the cave, then met Dennehy's eyes. "Let me go down there, Major, and assess the situation," she said reasonably. "I'll report back as soon as I know what's up."
"No!" Heyoka said, before Dennehy could answer.
"Hell, I'm in charge here." The major's brow wrinkled like an old pit bull's. "Why not, if she's fit for duty? You certainly can't go. Those crystals would burst your eardrums."
In his haste to catch up to Mitsu, he'd left the damn ear protectors back at camp and it was too late to go back for them now.
Mitsu sat very still, her back straight. Though her eyes were huge in her haunted face, she looked more like her old self than she had in quite a while, he thought, more like a Ranger in the field and eager for action. If he insisted she go back to camp now, he'd have to explain to the major, and that information would probably wash her out of the military for good.
"All right," he said gruffly. "Take your rifle, as well as your sidearm, and don't waste time trying to be a hero. Just take one quick look and report back. Don't open fire unless your life is in danger. I'll decide what, if any, our response will be."
"Yes, sir!" Mitsu saluted, but her blue eyes twinkled. Heyoka knew that look. She'd put one over on him. In the old days, there'd been absolutely nothing she liked better. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and climbed lightly back down the ladder—as though her hands weren't scraped raw and she hadn't broken two ribs earlier in the day.
As though she were in her right mind, which Heyoka very much doubted.
Second Breeder stalked about the underground chamber, beating his second-hands against his flanks in a restless chant of disapproval. He turned his face this way and that, taking in the eerie blue beauty. Songs he had never sung, concepts that lurked deep within his cells and had never made themselves known, quivered now almost within reach.
How dare those squalid creatures defile this place! True, he and the other breeders were only short-lived males, fit for little except procreation, but even they understood its power when it called out to them. Once, long ago, important things had happened here, momentous things of which the other castes would no longer speak. It was rumored, though, that drones had done these things. He shivered at the thought.
The great crystal trees in the center of the room sang, such a pale word for the incredible rush of sound and sensation and resonance. That was how he and the other breeders had known they must come. Its call had penetrated the night and jolted them out of their bored stupor.
It hinted at power and must truly have some immense meaning, but he and his fellows were too low-bred to understand. A translator might have been able to decipher it, but translators were female, and females, with their intense need for cooperation at all levels of laka society, did not approve of power.
Second Breeder let the song reverberate through his body. Some of the others had chased after the intruders, but that was pointless. What could any of them do, except block the aliens' path, should they attempt to come back? A very unsatisfactory alternative, he thought. There ought to be more one could do, even a useless drone like himself.
He scratched an itch just behind his first-shoulder and let his mind roam. Somehow, some way, there ought to be something . . .
It appeared to be either the same group of natives who had cornered them back in the cave, or another very much like it. Was there another way out? Montrose reached for his pistol and clicked the safety off.
Onopa gave him a sideways glance, her broad face impassive. He felt a burst of irritation. He'd had trouble reading her ever since she'd joined the squad five months ago. She never gave him any clues. In combat, it cost lives if you didn't know what your partner was going do without being told.
"Let's try to give them the slip," she said in a husky whisper, gazing purposefully into the darkness as though the natives weren't there. "They're not armed, so we don't want to fire on them if we can help it. We can keep this from turning into a diplomatic incident, if we can lose them in the brush and then head back to camp."
Of course, just where camp was, in relation to their current position, Montrose was not sure. He supposed they could at least head for higher ground and then hole up until daylight. And, once they got away from here, they could check in. The coms should work up here, away from the interference.
"All right," he said. "You go left. I'll take right. We'll rendezvous up beyond that outcropping of rock." He motioned toward the hills.
Onopa nodded, switched off her light, then edged left, putting more distance between herself and the nearest native. It hesitated, then reached for the tall woman. She ducked its grasp and plunged into the darkness, leaving swaying bushes in her wake. The native darted after her.
At the same moment, Montrose dove right as two more laka closed on him. Their scent was thick and musky, laced with a sickly sweet base note. Despite their size, they were faster than he'd anticipated and one snagged his sleeve. He dug in his feet and broke free, then scrambled up the dark hillside on lacerated hands and knees.
They followed, climbing relentlessly, and seized his ankle. He slid backwards, dropped his pistol and fumbled desperately to retrieve it with one hand, clawing for a handhold with the other. His fingers found the pistol, so he turned over and tried to take aim. The native snatched the sidearm out of his hand with surprising ease.
"Peaceful and retiring!" he thought angrily. They should have had better intel than this, even for a training exercise. What kind of situation had they blundered into?
The native swayed above him, chanting in a surprisingly melodious voice. He wrenched at his ankle, but the creature tightened its grip and wrung a yelp out of him. He swore under his breath and hammered at it with his fist.
Another set of inhumanly strong hands seized him from behind and, then holding him aloft, bore him away into the overheated Oleaakan night.
Mitsu ran into Ishara, Riordan, and Niels just as the three stumbled up to the rope ladder. They were out of breath and tense, glancing back over their shoulders.
"Don't go down there!" Riordan, a chunky red-haired youth, wiped his perspiring forehead. "The locals have staked out the crystals and they don't look friendly. We were lucky to escape without having to take any of them out."
Mitsu hopped down from the ladder. "Did they attack?"
"No, we split up before they made a move," Niels said. He had the white hair and pale skin of a colonist from Brae's World, which had fallen to the flek three years ago. "Montrose and Onopa ducked out the other way. We're supposed to rendezvous back at camp."
Mitsu stepped away from the ladder and nodded. "The major sent me to check the situation," she said. "He and Sergeant Blackeagle are waiting above right now. Go up and report. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"That's stupid," Niels blurted and looked back into the darkness. "They could be right behind us."
"I have my orders, mister," she said, "and so do you."
"Yes, sir," Niels said. He gave her a sour look that clearly said she was off her rocker. Ishara stared instead at his boots.
She had to put some distance between herself and Heyoka before they reached the top and he called her back, so she plunged into the darkness. The coldlantern cast its cone of light before her as she oriented herself with one hand on the cool wall. She was so tired of everyone waiting for her to go off the deep end and do something crazy.
Even though she tried to be quiet, the sound of her footsteps echoed. Her heart leaped into overdrive. They would hear her coming!
But these were only laka, the rational part of her brain insisted, civilians. They were supposed to be peaceful to a fault, so unable or unwilling to defend themselves, they'd let the flek nearly wipe them out. Whatever their reasons for coming down here tonight, most likely it wasn't to hurt anyone.
It was just like the brass to get all excited over a few harmless gawkers. Even Heyoka was getting delusions of grandeur, now that he had his own command and oversight of the hrinnti training program. He didn't need a partner anymore, he needed subordinates. If she kicked this fear, she would probably have to find a new partner, someone who had his mind on the here and now.
She felt vibration in the wall beneath her palm. That night on Anktan swept back over her—the grid fully functional at last, the crystals shrilling, the lights tinting the attacking hrinnti faces pink and purple. She had been a stranger then, someone else entirely.
Sweat soaked her forehead, her shoulders, her back. This was stupid! she told herself fiercely. The grid had been inactive for decades. Nothing and no one was coming through, or they would have done it a long time ago!
It was odd that the flek had secreted their chamber down here in such a small space. The configuration of this matrix was almost as big as the one the flek had grown back on Anktan, but that facility had been constructed to transport hundreds of flek warriors at a time. This one could not handle more than thirty at the most.
She rounded another bend and glimpsed the faint blue glow up ahead. The rifle was a comforting weight looped over her shoulder. She raised her pistol and clicked the safety off. It had warmed to the touch, as though now part of her.
She eased forward, shoulder sliding along the wall. Her hand carrying the pistol looked dead-white in the eerie blue shimmer. Flek warrior-drones were that shade of white, with vicious red eyes. Before Anktan, she'd encountered flek in battle, of course, but either dead or at a distance. Once she had come face to face with them, it was apparent holos did not do them justice.
But she'd become accustomed to them, during her captivity, far too accustomed to them. Sometimes she still thought she remembered what it was like to have four arms. Guilt oozed through her mind, white-hot and amazingly fresh. How could she have been so gullible?
It wasn't her fault, the meds and therapists had told her over and over. The flek possessed mind-control techniques far superior to anything humanity had ever developed or condoned, and had honed them to perfection during centuries of slaving. They could literally make you believe anything. And so she had.
One last curve and then the crystal chamber was before her. The white walls reflected the blue glow and magnified it a hundred times. Her ribs ached and she braced them with her free hand. The bones had knit, but the muscles and tendons were still strained from the fall. The sound emitted by the crystals had altered, much more audible to human ears now, and harder to bear. A hrinn would indeed have been in agony down here.
The scintillating blue light had reached a blinding intensity and she glimpsed a four-armed shape pacing around the matrix. Flek! her reflexes insisted and she dropped into a firing crouch.
No, it was most likely only an Oleaakan native, her rational mind said. The flek had left this world long ago and the laka's similarity in basic body type had been noted before. It had even been postulated as one of the reasons the natives had been allowed to survive. She hesitated, pistol ready.
There was no sign of Montrose or anyone else. Perhaps they had escaped through the side passage, she thought. Or perhaps the natives had proved dangerous after all and their torn bodies lay strewn across the cavern floor just out of sight. After all, no one had ever suspected the flek had dug in back on Anktan either until it was almost too late.
The hum was overwhelming this close. Even her bones vibrated with it. She huddled against the wall, teeth clenched, trying to decide what to do. If she dropped this native in its tracks, she could get past and find Montrose and the rest of the squad. But Dennehy had ordered her to scope out the situation and then report back, nothing more.
If she did, then maybe Blackeagle would back off and not look at her all the time like she was going to explode. The figure hesitated, then turned toward her. The light pulsed so brightly that its every movement seemed abrupt. It was still little more than a backlit outline to her light-dazzled eyes. She held her breath, body flattened against the wall just beyond the last curve. If it saw her, she might have to defend herself, despite the major's orders.
The native craned its head, atop that woefully spindly neck, as though searching for something. Was its sense of smell so keen that, like the hrinn, it could smell her out? She tightened her grip on the pistol and shaded her eyes with her free hand.
It hesitated and she eased back into the cave. She should leave, she thought, but she wanted to pick up useful intel. What little she had acquired so far would be of almost no help.
She withdrew further into the shadows. The figure stood framed in the pulsing blue light, like a living beacon, then turned back, so that for a second she got a good look at its characteristic smushed-in face. She froze, unable to move or think.
It was a flek, undersized and probably immature, certainly not a grown warrior-drone, but a flek all the same. The enemy was here.