Meanwhile Chin Lee’s stew was ready. The Ork had scrounged up some wild herbs that gave even the soyburger and reconstituted tubers some taste. After eating, they all settled down. Hanae nestled quietly within the span of Sam’s arm. Even Black Dog and Sloan were relaxed, talking about some old shadowrun rather than harassing one another. Chin Lee set a pot of water on the stove and started a card game with Kurt. In the saffron glow of the lanterns, all seemed peaceful.
Above them, the cloud cover grew steadily as the moon slipped lower. The surrounding forest hummed with the soft sounds of wildlife going on with its own business, barely disturbed by their presence. Once, Sam thought he heard a wolf howl. He couldn’t be sure, though, never having actually heard a wolf before.
Whatever it was, Hanae heard it too.
“I don’t like it out here,” she complained.
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” He knew how she felt. All the open space, the lack of walls, the rawness of the air. The forest just didn’t have the comforting, protective safety of the arcology.
“That’s a good idea,” Roe seconded. “it looks like Tessien won’t be back for a while yet. Once we get moving again, none of us will get any sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep out here,” Hanae said. “It’s too open. Too strange.”
“You can sack in the van,” Kurt said, indicating the Caravaner with his head. “There’re pads and blankets in the back.”
The peace of the forest was making them all solicitous.
Some time after he and Hanae had settled down in the van, Sam came awake. A check of his watch showed that a little over an hour had passed. Hanae slept peacefully. Careful not to disturb her, he eased his way out of the Caravaner. The night was quiet except for the sounds of the camp. in the stillness, he could hear the soft talk of the runners. Sloan and Black Dog were exchanging insults again.
Movement near the other vehicle caught his attention. The tall, feminine shape he saw could only have been Roe. She slipped a rucksack onto her back, then pulled a shotgun out of a locker and slung it over her left shoulder. Without a word to the others, she walked around the Caravaner into the darkness.
Curious, Sam followed.
He spotted her again, crouched by the edge of the trees, and walked up to her side. She surprised him by grabbing his arm and pulling him down. Saying nothing, she held a finger to his lips.
Sam’s scalp prickled. He didn’t know much about the natural world, but earlier there had been so many sounds. The wind in the leaves. The buzzing and clicking that he was sure were insect noises. The soft scratchings in the undergrowth. That had all stopped now, yet he could see the leaves of the trees still moving against the clouds. They should be rustling and bringing the moist smell of the forest with them. But there was nothing.
Something was very wrong.
“Roe,” he whispered. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
He scanned along the treeline. Dark boles shone slightly in the light of the lanterns and the camp stove’s flame. Leaves that he knew were green glittered with an evil blackness.
A glint of light caught his attention. He squinted in that direction. After a moment, he thought he made out a figure standing several meters into the trees. It was tall and thin… like an Elf.
He tapped Roe’s shoulder and pointed. She looked in the direction be indicated and cursed softly. She began to search through her pockets.
The breeze rose suddenly, kicking up dead leaves as the Dragon had done. The soft brown detritus rustled as it skittered away.
Then that small sound was swallowed by the heavy thwopping racket of rotor blades. Sam looked up as a dark shape swept over the trees. A second and third rushed in its wake. They were followed by still more.
“Yellowjackets,” Roe breathed as she rose.
Sam stood, too. He knew Yellowjackets from seeing them on tridcasts of corporate settlement wars. They were small, fast, one-man helicopters that carried more than enough armament to take on a light armored vehicle.
Sam discovered that the Yellowjackets also mounted searchlights when shafts of light began to stab down from the craft as they swept over the camp. Sam counted six bright beams cutting across the open ground.
He and Roe were outside the area illuminated by the lights, for the moment undiscovered. She held something out to him.
“Take it,” she said, stepping away.
He grabbed it reflexively with both hands. Looking down. he saw it was her shotgun. As though it were red hot, he opened his hands in horror and let it fall to the ground. No more guns, he had sworn. He expected Roe to say something. but she had already vanished into the darkness.
The weaving lights had spaced themselves into a circle that bathed most of the clearing in harsh glare.
“By the authority of the High Prince of Tir Tairngire, I order you to surrender without resistance. Do so immediately and you will not be harmed.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Sloan broke the tableau by sprinting for the Caravaners. As he ran, he screeched, “You ain’t taking my mind.”
“Remain where you are,” the disembodied voice boomed. “This is your last warning.”
Sloan ignored it. He pulled an automatic rifle from under the seat and spun on his heels. Locking the stock under his elbow, he triggered the weapon, ripping a burst at the chopper with the loudspeaker. Sloan’s rifle stuttered in a piping tone, piercing the steady thump that came from the whirling blades of the surrounding aircraft. Higher-pitched whines shrieked as the weapon’s slugs tore at the craft’s fuselage until, in a shattering of glass and a shower of sparks, the lead chopper’s searchlight winked out.
“Mother, be got me,” the mechanical voice said. Sam was sure the voice did not intend for those on the ground to hear. After a moment, it spoke again as though in reply to a question. “They’ve drawn blood, Bran. They can damn well drink it. All units, lights out. Fire at will.”
The clearing plunged into darkness as the hovering choppers extinguished their lights as one. Before the after-images had faded, red tongues of fire erupted in place of the lamps. Heavy slugs tore gouts of earth in lines across the camp.
Kurt, racing for cover against the other van, was thrown to the ground when one copter’s fire caught him. A second craft’s machine guns sought his downed form, slicing through him and leaving him dismembered on the bloody ground.
Sloan Opened up again, firing wildly into the night. Tracer rounds from his gun flared orange in the darkness. He shouted incoherently as he fired. The Elves responded forcefully. Fire illumined one of the Yellowjackets briefly turning it into an alien insect god of destruction as it launched an air-to-ground rocket.
Time seemed to freeze for Sam. He saw, or imagined he saw, the slim, deadly shape leave the launch tube. As the rocket cleared the tube’s mouth, its fins extended, snapping into place to control its flight. The missile roared toward the van beside which Sloan shouted and raved. Hanae had been sleeping inside that van.
At that instant, Sam saw her face appear at the door. She was bleary-eyed and her hair tousled, looking disoriented by the turmoil and destruction Just as Sam started to shout a warning, the missile struck.