The trail wound between stands of three-hundred-yearold trees, and crossed a dozen icy creeks and streams, before eventually coming to an end at the foot of a fl?at-topped butte. That seemed strange since all the other hills and mountains in the area had rounded if not jagged tops. The mystery deepened as Colonel Six led the column up a slanted walkway that ran along the west face of the butte. A uniform walkway that was far too wide, and far too well engineered, to have been created recently. What might have been round windows appeared at regular intervals. Many were open, but some had been sealed, using a variety of materials. So there was no telling what the structure was. Kelly had some friends by that time—one of whom was the Ortov female who had been assigned to carry about a third of the doctor’s medical equipment. The clone explained that the complex was believed to be contemporaneous with similar ruins found on about 10 percent of the planets that had been surveyed so far, which suggested it was the work of the mysterious civilization generally referred to as “the Forerunners.”
Regardless of its origins, the butte offered local civilians a place to take shelter after their town had been destroyed, which was why Six had decided to take his troops, hostages, and stolen supplies there to rest and regroup. When the people in front of her came to a sudden stop, Kelly was forced to do likewise, and took the opportunity to look around. The sky was pewter gray, and her breath fogged the air before a light breeze blew it away. Now that she was standing still, Kelly could feel her body temperature start to drop as sweat cooled her skin—a phenomenon that could lead to hypothermia unless the column began to move again. Kelly’s thoughts were interrupted by a sudden fl?urry of gunshots, distant yelling, and a physical response as the entire line recoiled in response to whatever was taking place at the top of the incline. Some of the Ortovs stood on tiptoe, trying to see what was going on, but none of the clones ran. Moments later a Seebo appeared, skidded to a stop, and waved Kelly forward. “Come on! They shot Three-Three!”
Kelly had no idea who “they” were, but followed the Seebo up past the long line of Ortovs, with Sumi bringing up the rear. Two minutes later they arrived on a landing, where a Seebo lay sprawled on the bloodstained snow. Six was there, pistol in hand, kneeling beside the fallen soldier. Other clones, weapons at the ready, were clustered in front of a metal door. “Hurry!” Six said urgently, as he waved Kelly over. “They shot Three-Three in the chest!”
Kelly was struck by the obvious angst in the offi?cer’s voice—and the expression of concern on his normally stern face. He was clearly upset, and even though the doctor disagreed with the Seebo’s approach to almost everything, she felt sorry for him. And a little bit pleased to discover that there was something the cold-blooded bastard cared about. Even if it was an exact replica of himself! Yet this same man was responsible for killing more than a dozen marines. . . . So liking him was wrong. Very wrong.
“Get out of the way,” Kelly said, as both she and Sumi moved in to displace Colonel Six. “It’s a sucking chest wound,” Kelly said, as she removed a blood-soaked battle dressing and heard the characteristic hissing sound. “Where is this man’s body armor?”
“The idiot left it unzipped,” Six replied darkly. “Can you save him?”
“Of course I can,” Kelly answered confi?dently, as Sumi handed her a sterile patch. Three of the edges bore adhesive, so that when the dressing was placed over the purple-edged hole, air could escape the chest cavity. But air couldn’t enter the chest cavity when the Seebo inhaled. Which was important because the bullet had passed through the Seebo’s lung and caused it to collapse. It was a life-threatening injury if not treated immediately.
“Okay,” Kelly said. “Let’s get him inside, where it’s warmer. We’ll put the chest tube in there.”
“They won’t let us in,” Six responded angrily. “A group of revolutionaries took control of the complex.”
Kelly stood. “Revolutionaries, as in people who want to overthrow the government?”
“Yes!” Six answered emphatically. “And when I ordered them to let us in, they shot Three-Three!”
“Did you try asking instead of telling?”
“I don’t have to ask!” the soldier insisted loudly. “They are required to obey me!”
“Let me give it a try,” Kelly said reasonably, as she approached the door. The metal was dimpled where bullets had struck it, but the door was otherwise intact. A small portal located about chest high was closed at the moment, but could obviously be opened. Kelly felt sure that someone was standing just beyond the door listening and perhaps peering through a crack. “This is Lieutenant Kira Kelly,” the physician said loudly. “I’m a navy doctor. . . . You don’t trust the Seebos, and I understand that. But it doesn’t alter the fact that we have a wounded man out here—and he’s going to die unless you let us in! So, here’s what I propose. . . . Colonel Six and three of his men will offer themselves up as hostages against the good behavior of everyone else. Then, when the Seebos are ready to leave, you’ll let them go.”
“What?” Six objected. “I never agreed to that!”
“No,” Kelly said reasonably, as she turned to look at him.
“But you should. . . . Unless you want Three-Three to die.”
“Damn you!” Six said fervently. “I should never have brought you!”
“On that we can agree,” the doctor said sweetly. “So what’s your answer? Yes? Or no?”
“Yes, blast you,” the Seebo said disgustedly. “Did you hear that?” Kelly inquired, as she turned back toward the door. “The offer stands.”
There was a long pause, as if some sort of debate might be taking place within. Then came a clang as the smaller portal opened, and a bland-faced Fisk appeared. “Tell the hostages to put their hands on top of their heads,” the anarchist said brusquely. “And no funny business.”
The larger door opened moments later and was quickly slammed shut after Six and three of his Seebos went inside. A long, agonizing fi?ve minutes passed before the door swung open for a second time. A Fisk armed with a submachine gun motioned for them to enter. “There’s a room down the hall on the right. All weapons must be placed there, but two Seebos can stay to monitor them.”
Kelly looked at Lieutenant-790,444, who nodded in agreement. “Okay,” the doctor said as she turned back toward the door. “It will be as you say.”
“Good,” the Fisk said. “Welcome to the Sanctuary.”
The Forerunner complex was so huge that the approximately fi?ve hundred clones who had taken refuge in it occupied less than 5 percent of the available space. But given the bitterly cold weather, there was no incentive to spread out since doing so would require more fuel for the makeshift fi?replaces.
There was no heat source in the cell-like room that Six had been placed in, however. Just a built-in bench made out of the same material as the butte itself. So the Seebo was sitting on the bench, huddled inside his sleeping bag, when he heard the sound of voices. The door rattled and opened to admit Kelly. She was holding a brown ceramic bowl, a spoon, and a tubby thermos bottle. Even though Kelly was a bit grubby, and clearly tired, she was still beautiful. That’s what Six thought anyway, as one of guards pulled the door closed, and Kelly presented him with the bowl. “Here, hold on to that while I serve you some soup. It’s actually quite good.”