There were many armored Imperial troopers sprawled about, their armor showing gray or charred where their force-film combat protection had failed. Some had died locked in combat with the furred defenders who wielded only wooden spears and bone or flint knives and hatchets. Had the Imperials set an explosion that killed their own men?
Jindigar rose and croaked hoarsely, "There's someone still alive"
Storm unlimbered his stunner, knees bent, eyes roving.
Krinata scanned the armored bodies, counting four species of soldier. Which type would they have to care for? "Where?" she asked. Jindigar led them into the tunnel, careful not to step on any of the body parts.
Taking a good hold on her stomach, Krinata followed. Beyond the end of the armored bodies they came to a white form propped against the side of the tunnel, red blood trickling in a branched tree shape across his—definitely his– skull. His chest rose and fell, and another wound in his side bled. He wore only a few ornamented leather straps around his body, with loops perhaps for tools.
Jindigar slid out of his pack and knelt before the native. As he pulled out water and cleansers he said, "I don't think he can hurt us, but be careful."
The native started, murmured, and his dark eyes widened. He shrank back against the wall, trembling weakly. Jindigar put his hands on the native's face and stroked downward. He did it again, then raised the native's hands to his own face. The whimpering lessened.
He permitted Jindigar to wash and bandage his wounds. Then Jindigar said, "This happened early this morning. His internal bleeding has almost stopped. We may be able to save him, but only if we take him with us."
"He'll die of fright," predicted Gibson sourly.
"He'll starve here," countered Krinata. "Imagine what this last day must have been like for him! If we weren't on this planet—this never would have happened to him!"
Jindigar nodded. "The troopers panicked under the hive's defenses. I'm amazed they held together long enough to do this much damage. They must have been drugged."
"Which means," said Gibson, "this has happened before. We've got to move fast—the Squadron will be back for its dead any minute now." He hefted the stunner and went toward the entry. "Come on, we've got to tell the others."
Krinata; said, "Jindigar, we can't just leave him! I won't allow it!"
He studied her. "Did you think I intended to?"
Resignedly Ruff announced, "I'll rig a litter." As he passed Gibson, Krinata heard him mutter, "There's no arguing about it." For once, Gibson seemed to take their advice. He followed Ruff, slinging his gun to give the Lehiroh a hand.
Storm asked, "Jindigar, what can we do with him?"
"When he's recovered, he'll take off into the woods. I
just hope he can find a home. I really don't understand the
hives well, you know. It might be kindest to kill him."
Storm nodded. "I know, 'If we had an Oliat—'"+
"I don't say it that often, do I?" asked Jindigar.*
"No," answered Krinata, "but it's in your eyes." She watched the two of them prepare the native to be transported, Jindigar calming the terrified primitive with soothing noises, delicate touches, unjudgmental compassion.
When Ruff brought his litter, rigged from the bamboolike stalks with lashings of supple vine, Krinata and Jindigar carried it. The native was lighter than he looked, but though her shoulders were now strong enough for such burdens,, her feet felt painfully squashed, and her hips complained. At thirty-three she was rather old to adjust to one-third more gravity than her home world.
Outside, Gibson had taken a position behind a pile of bodies, scanning the sky to the west. As they emerged, Storm and Ruff with stunners at ready, he rose, beckoning them to hurry. They were no sooner out of the tunnel, however, when Jindigar turned, staring into the sky. Then Krinata heard it—a flyer, coming fast. She was set to run for it, but it was too late. The machine screamed to a hover overhead, the armored shield that protected the pilots drawn back, showing a Lehiroh head and the snout of a blaster. The bay door was also open, a row of armored troopers poised to leap, weapons already blazing.
Jindigar cried, "Down!" and, lowering the stretcher, he threw himself on top of the native, motioning Krinata to do likewise. As she hesitated Gibson went down with a strangled cry, his stunner discharging into the air.
Storm and Ruff loosed stunbolts at the pilots. The stun-bolts traced rivers of bright blue through the air with the high-pitched, sizzling crackle of full power. The pair of Outriders fired again, despite Jindigar's sudden shout: "No!"
Krinata wasn't sure what happened next, it was so fast. But later Jindigar explained. The pilot had her hands on the landing controls. When the double beam hit her, her full weight came down on it, and the machine went into a power dive—barely three body lengths from the ground.
It hit and exploded in bright, leaping hot flames that seared Krinata's skin. "Run!" yelled Storm. And he took one side of the litter from Krinata as Ruff hefted Gibson over one shoulder. With Storm yelling "Left! Right!" to keep in step with Jindigar, they plunged across the meadow toward the brook. When the second explosion hit, they were all prone in the water at the bottom of the ditch.
Debris rained down, young trees whipping and splintering above them. Jindigar threw his body over the native's and was pinned by a crashing branch. When Krinata's hear-big cleared, the native was whimpering pathetically, eyes squeezed shut, arms and legs wrapped around Jindigar.
Mercifully he soon lost consciousness. When they pried the branch off Jindigar, he was able to stand. But Gibson was dead, chest burned away by the blaster. With only a brief but heartfelt groan of regret, Jindigar turned from the dead human to the living native. "He has central nervous and circulatory systems. Shock could kill him." They hadn't brought blankets. Picking up their packs, they doubled the pace on the way back, Jindigar and Krinata carrying the litter, the Lehiroh taking turns with Gibson's body.
Exhausted, mud-caked clothes chafing everywhere, they threw themselves into the arms of the party Frey brought to meet them. Krinata blessed the duad that allowed Frey to apprehend what had happened and accepted cool water and cold meat while Irnils and the other two Lehiroh hoisted the native to the top of one of the sleds.
"They all died," reported Jindigar to the gathering. "But the Squadron will send another unit after them, so we've got to make good time now. We did learn something. Those troopers were drugged to offset the effects of the hive's mental broadcast. They were extremely fatigued, reaction times down. And it's taken an unconscionable time to get their hospital corps out here. That implies they've taken heavy casualties—and—that flyer's fail-safes didn't work. They are beyond the ends of their supply lines here—no replacement parts. Soon equipment failures and personnel shortages will defeat them if the hives don't."
"Precious little to learn at cost of a man's life," said Viradel bitterly.
"Yes," replied Jindigar. "But if he hadn't drawn then-fire, we might all be dead. He was a hero."
That wasn't the way Krinata had seen it, but it was the right thing to say—and it might have been so.
"How can they be having such a hard time," asked Terab, "with all their tech backup, when we've been living off the land and have only been hurt by accidents?"
Frey answered, "We know enough not to steal the last eggs of the bluesnake hive or not to sit on feathergrass because it grows over stingbug hives. We're learning the manners of this world; they don't believe they need manners. The world is teaching them, anyway."