“And we’d better regroup,” added Rulaine. “We lost contact with Tygg.”
“What about radios?”
“The signal is scratchy and in this soup, without GPS, and without a current map of this complex, we’re not navigating: we’re playing Marco Polo.”
Stosh watched the rain running off his nose. “How many combat effectives do we have left?”
Trevor did the headcount. “You, me, Cruz, Rulaine, Barr, Caine, maybe a dozen insurgents.”
A dozen insurgents? Out of almost forty? “Is that all?”
“That’s all. They hit us pretty bad. And they got Gavin where he set up the Remington.”
“Yeah,” muttered Barr, “and if it wasn’t for him cutting down their flankers, we’d be dead like him.”
“He was a hell of a shot.”
Caine stared at them, realized he could see them all a bit more clearly—“Shit! The rain is settling the mist. If we don’t move—”
At least a dozen automatic weapons—throaty and loud—opened up in unison. Some rounds bit into their scant cover: a low concrete berm ringing a cratered vertipad. More shouts and groans came from the insurgents in darkness behind them. Their covering force was taking losses. Trevor shouted that direction. “Everyone: fall back! Run!”
Caine sprinted away from the sound of the gunfire, wondering if he was the only one of the command group who was already following Trevor’s orders that they should all run like hell. Looking to right and left, he saw Stosh and Rulaine respectively, legs stretching, arms pumping. Well, at least I’m not the only one.
Behind them, there was more of the automatic weapons fire—this time punctuated by crackling hisses made by shrill projectiles which sliced the air about two feet over their heads. Shit. A coil gun. Just over his shoulder, speaking sharply above the gunfire and new screams, Trevor’s voice announced, “I recognize this area. Photos showed a work shed just ahead. Make for that.”
“A work shed? That won’t stop a coil-gun—”
“It’s the only cover we can reach in time. Just keep running.”
“Keep running?” Caine tried to ignore his fear. As if you could make me stop.
“Stay where you are,” ordered Opal. “Don’t move.”
The alien headquarters was filled with ruined equipment and dead Arat Kur, a few more well on their way to that same fate. One of the survivors rose up from the side of a very severely wounded comrade and seemed to stare at Opal.
“Major Patrone?”
What the—? “Do I know you?”
“Not really, but I knew of and saw you during the Convocation.”
So who the hell would—? And then she remembered Caine’s encounter in space. “Jesus! Are you Darzhee Kut?”
Despite the carnage, the destruction, the guttering flames, the two dozen short humans aiming guns at him, the Arat Kur sounded pleased. “Yes, it is indeed I, Major. I am, I suppose, glad to see you.”
“Er—likewise. I guess. Listen, let’s save the talk for some other time. Where’s Cai—um, Mr. Riordan?”
“The ambassador fled, pursued by one of the Hkh’Rkh.”
Ambassador? Well, it would be interesting to learn about that later, too. “Was Caine hurt?”
“I do not think so. Major, could you leave some of your men here with us. And a radio?”
O’Garran laughed. “You want us to get you some takeout food, as well? You’re lucky we don’t gut you here and now.”
Darzhee Kut seemed confused. “But—are you not the security forces of whom Downing spoke?”
Downing? Security forces? Opal squatted down. “Darzhee Kut, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
His claws sagged, then came back up. “You have not heard. You are not part of the forces Richard Downing is sending.”
“Sending for what?”
“To protect us from the insurgents and the Hkh’Rkh.”
“What? Why protect you from your own allies?”
“Ah, again you do not know. We Arat Kur surrendered ten minutes ago. But the Hkh’Rkh did not. They are—they are in sun-time. All of them.”
Opal stared at Darzhee Kut but did not see him, could only hear her thoughts moving like a flume pushing through the smoke and dim orange emergency lights. Okay, gotta secure the HQ. Particularly since these are the senior staff. If they die, the situation could spin out of control. Well, further out of control. Besides, it’s good to have a place to fall back on. But I’ve gotta find Caine. He’s out there, unarmed, with a pack of mad-dog killer Sloths after him.
“Okay, I’m leaving a dozen of my men with you. Wu, you and your detachment stay here: provide security. And if they need your radio, let them use it. Within reason.”
Darzhee Kut bobbed. “I thank you, Major, but I must ask one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you have any medical supplies?”
“I’m not sure our supplies would be of any help to you.”
“Actually, a few of your more common anesthetics are somewhat effective on our biochemistry as well.”
“What do you need them for?”
“For administering to First Delegate of the Wholenest, Hu’urs Khraam.”
“Is he badly injured?”
“He is dying.”
Barr turned to say something to Rulaine when Caine heard the saw-toothed supersonic ripping noise again. Chunks of the work-shed’s double-layered sheet metal were suddenly flying like buzzsaws around the interior. Several hit Barr, whose head bounced off the back wall, his falling torso sliced open from the left clavicle to the right floating rib. Daylight—suddenly present in the last two minutes—streamed in the holes like spotlights.
Caine looked up. “Jesus Christ.”
Trevor rolled up to one knee and peered out one of the larger holes, his body behind an empty oil drum. “Damn coil gun. Wonder where they have it mounted?”
Caine started moving to better cover. “Might not be mounted. I’ve seen some Hkh’Rkh elites big enough to carry them dismounted as squad-support weapons.”
Stosh’s eyes widened but he said nothing.
Trevor crouched down again. “Pretty quiet.”
Caine agreed, then silently amended, Too quiet.
A few rounds banged in from the front, followed by another spray of the bug-zapper rounds which ripped the door clean off its hinges. Then silence again.
Caine low-crawled to Barr’s body, took the hotjuice canisters out of his gun, scavenged the ammo and other canisters off his web gear, started tossing them to the others, always glancing toward the shed’s small rear window.
Trevor must have seen him looking that way. “What are you thinking?”
“That last volume of fire was pretty weak, compared to the stuff that got the last of the insurgents, and now, Barr. At first it sounded like they had two coils gun out there, but we only heard from one just now.”
Trevor nodded. “They’re flanking us, putting one of those damn bug zappers at our rear. Caine, you and I—we’re going to cover the back entry of this little deathtrap.” Trevor went prone, started low-crawling over long-unused rakes, hoes, and hoses. “If Tygg doesn’t find us soon, this could get a lot worse before it gets better.”
“Oh, I think you can count on that,” smiled Stosh.