Battlefield Earth Part 38

Two hours later, with his side aching from running, Jonnie came back to the base.

Robert the Fox had seen that no unusual lights were on and had the place organized in case of pursuit. As the raiders came in, one by one, he had their boxes of breathe-gas carefully hidden in a bas.e.m.e.nt and collected them in a silent group in the faintly lit auditorium. He had fifteen Scots standing by with submachine guns and pa.s.senger s.h.i.+ps lined up in case they had to evacuate. The camouflaged capes had been removed and hidden. No evidence left in sight; no precaution untaken; withdrawal, if called for, already organized. Robert the Fox was an efficient veteran of many a raid in his own homeland.

"Did we leave anyone?" panted Jonnie.

"Nineteen came back," said Robert the Fox. "Dunneldeen is still out there."

Jonnie didn't like it. He looked around at the nineteen raiders in the hall. They were concentrating on getting themselves back to normal, straightening their bonnets, picking gra.s.s off themselves, winding down.

A runner from the lookout with night gla.s.ses posted on top of a building came in with the message: "No pursuit visible. No planes have taken off."

"That was one devil of an explosion," said Robert the Fox.

"It was a blast rifle that blew up," said Jonnie. "When the barrel is clogged they blow back and explode their whole magazine of five hundred rounds."

"Sure made the echoes ring," said Robert the Fox. "We heard it over here, miles away."

"They are loud," said Jonnie. He sat panting on a bench. "I've got to figure out how to get a message to Terl. Chrissie is ill, and they're without water. No firewood."

The Scots tensed. One of them spat the word "Psychlos!"

"I'll figure a way to get a message," said Jonnie. "Any sign of Dunneldeen?" he called to a messenger at the door.

The messenger went off to the lookout.

The group waited. Minutes ticked on. Half an hour went by. They were strained. Finally Robert the Fox stood up and said, "Well, bad as it is, we better-"

There was the thud of running feet.

Dunneldeen came racing through the door and sank down panting. He was not just panting, he was also laughing.

"No sign of pursuit!" the messenger shouted in.

The tension vanished.

Dunneldeen delivered a box of breathe-gas vials and the parson rushed it off to hide it in case of search.

"No planes have taken off," the messenger yelled into the room.

"Well, for now, laddies," said Robert the Fox, "unless the devils are waiting for daylight-"

"They won't come," said Dunneldeen.

Others were drifting into the room. Submachine guns were being unc.o.c.ked. Pilots came in from the pa.s.senger standby planes. Even the old women were peering in the door. n.o.body knew yet what had gone wrong out there.

Dunneldeen had his breath and the parson was moving around serving out small shots of whiskey.

"I stayed behind to see what they would do," said the cheerful Dunneldeen. "Ooo, and you should have seen our Jonnie!" He gave a highly colored account. He had been one of the last ones to reach the dump, and when he touched a box a whole pile of them fell over. He fled, zigzagging, but circled back in case Jonnie needed help. "But help, he needed no help!" And he told them how Jonnie had killed the three Psychlos "with his bare hands and a rifle b.u.t.t" and had "blown the whole lot sky-high." And he'd "looked like a David fighting three Goliaths."

There wouldn't be any pursuit. "I hid behind the horse two hundred feet away and moved it closer when the Psychlos all met at the bodies. The horse wasn't hit in the blast but a piece of gun must have slashed into a buffalo that was standing near the dump."

"Yes, I saw the buffalo." "I ran into it going in. Is that what that shadow was?" murmured various raiders.

"Some big Psychlo- maybe your demon, Jonnie-came down," continued Dunneldeen, "and flashed lights around. And they figured out the buffalo had overturned the boxes and the sentries had gone hunting on watch- oh, they were cross at the sentries for that- and stumbled and dug a blast rifle into the dirt and it went off and killed them."

Jonnie expelled a sigh of relief. He hadn't known about the buffalo but he had intended them to think the rest of it. He had even recovered the burned-off thong. The explosion would have masked the other damage, and he'd found his kill-club in a mad last-second scramble before escape. Yes, there was no evidence.

"What a raid!" exulted Dunneldeen. "And ooo what a bonnie Chief our Jonnie is!"

Jonnie sipped at the whiskey the parson gave him to hide his embarra.s.sment.

"You're a scamp," said Robert the Fox to Dunneldeen. "You might have been caught."

"Ah, bit we haed tae know noo, didn't we?" laughed Dunneldeen, unabashed.

They wanted to parade the pipers. But Robert the Fox would give no clue to the eyes of a watching enemy that tonight was any different. He sent them to bed.

Well, thought Jonnie, as he settled down in the wool plaid blanket, they had their uranium detector, perhaps.

But that didn't help Chrissie. No radio. No personal contact. How was he going to force Terl to come over?

Chapter 5.

A haggard, nervous Terl approached the rendezvous. He drove his armored ground car with one paw and held the other on the firing triggers of the fully charged heavy guns.

He had not figured out Jayed's presence on Earth. The Imperial Bureau of Investigation agent had been a.s.signed to a lowly ore-sorting post by personnel; Terl had not dared suggest any a.s.signment. An ore sorter only worked when there was ore coming up at the end of s.h.i.+fts, and a fellow could disappear off the post for hours and not be missed and reappear as though he'd been there all the time. Terl dared not put surveillance equipment near him for Jayed was a past master at that, after decades in the I.B.I.

Terl had tried to get Jayed involved with Chirk, his secretary. He offered Chirk wild promises if she could get Jayed into bed with her- with a b.u.t.ton camera of the smallest size imbedded in a mole. But Jayed had paid no attention to her. He had just gone on shuffling about, head down, giving the exact appearance of an employee up to absolutely nothing. But what else? That was how the I.B.I. would work.

With shaking paws Terl had ransacked the dispatch boxes to home planet.

There was nothing from Jayed in them. No new types of reports, no strange alterations of routine paper. Terl had spent agonizing nights going through the traffic. He could find nothing.

Rumbling about, feeling like he was spinning, Terl had tried to figure out whether the I.B.I. had invented some new means of communication. The company and the imperial government did not invent things-they had not, to Terl's knowledge, for the last hundred thousand years. But still, there could always be something he didn't know about. Like writing on ore samples being s.h.i.+pped through. But it would take specially designated ore and there was no departure he could find.

The Imperial government was usually only interested in the company's ore volumes- the government got a percentage. But it could also intervene in matters of serious crime or intended crime.

Terl could not find what Jayed was doing. And the appearance of a deadly secret agent on the base, with falsified papers, had not permitted Terl a single relaxed moment for the past two months.

He did his own work with a fury and an impeccable thoroughness quite foreign to him. He got through investigations at once. He answered all dispatches at once. Anything questionable in his files was buried or destroyed at once. Terl had even personally overhauled and fueled and charged the twenty battle planes in the field so that he would appear alert and efficient.

He had filed a ba.n.a.l report about the animals. There were dangerous posts in mining, slopes one could not get into, and as an experiment "ordered by Numph" he had rounded up a few animals to see whether they could run simpler machine types. The animals were not dangerous; they were actually stupid and slow to learn. It did not cost the company anything and it might increase their profits in case the experiment worked out. It was not very successful yet anyway. Nothing was taught the animals about metallurgy or warfare, both because of company policy and because they were too stupid. They ate rats, a vermin plentiful on this planet. He sent the report through with no priority. He was covered. He hoped.

But fifteen times a day Terl decided that he should wipe out the animals and return the machines to storage. And fifteen times a day he decided to go on with it just a little longer.

The sentry affair had disturbed him, not because Psychlos had been killed (he needed the dead bodies for his plans), but because one of the sentries, when Terl put the body in a coffin for transs.h.i.+pment next year, had had a criminal brand burned into the fur of his chest. This three-bar brand was put on criminals by the Imperial government. It represented someone "barred from justice procedures, barred from government a.s.sistance, and barred from employment." It meant the personnel department on the home planet was careless. He had made an innocuous report of it.

For a flaming moment of hope he thought perhaps Jayed might be investigating that or looking for some such. But when he had a fellow employee mention it casually to Jayed, no interest had been shown.

Terl simply could not find out what Jayed was looking for, nor why Jayed was there. The tension and uncertainty of it had brought him near to perpetual hysteria.

And this morning, out of the blue, the animal had done something that literally stood Terl's fur on end with terror.

As was his usual practice, Terl was stripping the day's photos from the recon drone receiver, when he found himself looking at a photo of the minesite with a sign in it.

There, sharp and clear, at the lode, was the animal steadying a huge twelve-by-twelve-foot sign. It was resting on a flat place the animals had made back of the lode. In clearest Psychlo script it said: URGENT.

Meeting Vital. Same place. Same time.

That was bad enough! But a machine tarpaulin seemed to have fallen over the last part of the sign. There was another line. It said: The W....

Terl couldn't read the rest of it.

The stupid animal apparently had not noticed part of its sign was obscured.

With shaking claws, Terl had tried to find another frame in the sequence that looked back of the tarpaulin. He could not.

Panic gripped him.

Gradually his scattered wits collected down to seething anger. The panic died out as he realized that his was the only recon drone receiver on the planet; the telltale on the side of it that showed whether anything else was receiving was mute. He daily watched these photos and had exactly tracked the progress at the lode. The animal he had captured always seemed to be there with a crew. While all these animals looked alike, he thought he could recognize the blond beard and size of the one he had trained. This usually rea.s.sured him, for it seemed to mean the animal was busy and not wandering around elsewhere.

The progress at the lode was minimal but he knew the problems of mining it, and he also knew they might solve them without his advice. He had months to go- four months more, actually- before day 92.

He got over his panic and shredded the photos. Jayed had no possible access to them.

But to directly link Terl with the project was not to be allowed. He began to imagine that the sign had started with his name and regretted having shredded it so fast. He should have made sure. Maybe it did start: "Terl!"

Terl was not introspective enough to realize that he was bordering upon insanity.

The darkness spread like a black sack over the tank. He had been driving on instruments without lights. It was treacherous terrain: an old city had been here once, but it was now just a honeycomb of abandoned mine holes where the company had followed an old deposit centuries before.

Something showed on his detector screen right ahead. Something live!

His paw rested alertly on the firing k.n.o.b, ready to blast. He cautiously made sure he was headed away from the compound and masked by a hill and ancient walls. Then he turned on a dim inspection light.

The animal was sitting on a horse at the rendezvous point. It was a different horse, a wild horse nervous because of the tank. The dim, green tank light bathed the rider. There was another, someone else! No, it was just another horse...it had a large pack on its back.

Terl swept his scanners around. No, there was n.o.body else here. He looked back at the animal. Terl's paw quivered an inch above the firing lever. The animal did not seem to be alarmed.

The interior of the tank was compressed with breathe-gas but Terl also had on a breathe-mask. He adjusted it.

Terl picked up an intercom unit and pushed it through the atmosphere-tight firing port. The unit fell to the ground outside the tank. Terl picked up the interior unit.

"Get down off that horse and pick up this intercom," ordered Terl.

Jonnie slid off the half-broken horse and approached the tank. He picked the unit off the ground and looked through the tank ports for Terl. He could see nothing. The interior was dark and the gla.s.s was set to block a view in.

Through the intercom, Terl said, "Did you kill those sentries?"

Jonnie held the outside unit to his face. He thought fast. This Terl was in a very strange state. "We haven't lost any sentries," he said truthfully.

"You know the sentries I mean. At the compound."

"Have you had trouble?" said Jonnie.

The word "trouble" almost made Terl's head spin. He didn't know what trouble he had, or what kind of trouble, or from where. He got a grip on himself.

"You obscured the last part of that sign," he said accusingly.

"Oh?" said Jonnie innocently. He had obscured it on purpose so that Terl would come. "It meant to say, 'The winter is advancing and we need your advice.' "

Terl simmered down. Advice. "About what?" He knew about what. It was next to impossible to get out that gold. But there had to be a way. And he was a miner. Top student of the school, actually. And he studied the recon drone pictures daily. He knew the flexing rods would not let them build a platform. "You need a portable shaft stairway. You've got one in your equipment. You nail it to the outside face and work from it."

"All right," said Jonnie. "We'll try it." He had Terl calmer now that he was on a routine subject of interest.

"We also need some protection in case of uranium," said Jonnie.

"Why?"

"There's uranium in those mountains," said Jonnie.

"In the gold?"

"I don't think so. In the valleys and around." Jonnie thought he had better emphasize that Terl was barred from those places, and also he was desperate for the data. He could not experiment with uranium without protection from it. "I've seen men turn blotchy from it," he added, which was true but not of his present crew.

This seemed to cheer Terl up. "No c.r.a.p?" he said.

"What gear protects one?"

Terl said, "There's always radiation around on a planet like this and a sun like this. Small amounts. That's why these breathe-masks have leaded gla.s.s in their faceplates. That's why all the canopies are leaded gla.s.s. You don't have any."

"It's lead that protects one?"

"You'll just have to take your chances," said Terl, amused, feeling better.

"Can you turn a light up here?" asked Jonnie. There was a thump as he laid a sack on the flat section in front of the windscreen.

"I don't want any lights."

"Do you think you were followed?"