Commodore (20 page)

"Don't mention it," I replied, releasing him. "Now… Which way out do you have in mind for us?"

"Tunnel seven," he replied.

I nodded. "The longest one. It exits behind a thermal spring."

"Right," he agreed. "You'll be the first to use the route—we've been saving it for something special. An underground operative will be right there on the spot to pick you up. And…. I'll be accompanying you all the way to daylight personally, sir. Since it's the first time for this tunnel, you see—I always come along the first time, in case something goes wrong. Jean's going to do two shifts back-to-back in the command post to cover me."

I smiled at the polite, well-intentioned lie, just to show that I knew it for what it was. Heinrich couldn't
possibly
have time to accompany escape-groups to their designated exits, not even just the first time. He was trying to take special care of me, was all, and didn't want me to feel badly about it. "Of course," I agreed. "How long's the hike?"

"It's too far to walk," Heinrich explained. "So we've arranged for an electric tram." He smiled again, this time far more naturally. "Only the best for personal friends of the management, you see!"

37

Even by tram, it was a long, dull trip to the end of tunnel seven. I was no geologist, but as near as I could tell by the headlights the hole's walls consisted of a single type of stone—the gray and boring kind. This being one of our purely military additions to the tunnel complex, we were no longer anywhere near the presumably more interesting ore body. Still, after the first hour or so of watching the featureless walls roll by I was ready for something more than just a slight change in the slope of the floor to break the tedium. But when it finally came, well…

Our first clue that something had gone badly wrong was when we Rabbit-types noticed an odd sort of roaring-crashing sound above the continual whine of the tram's motor. Fidel—the Dog—heard it as well, I'm certain, because his ears pricked up too. Then, before we had time to think, it was as if something huge punched me in the gut and kicked me in the behind at the same time. Then we were flying half-senseless down the borehole, at least six of us, until suddenly the tunnel floor rose up and smote us. Somewhere in there—I'm not sure exactly where—something big and glowing yellow-orange came careening through as well, bouncing from the curved walls like a ping-pong ball. Then, though I tried my hardest to remain conscious, I passed out.

The next thing I knew I was being dragged through a silent darkness—the tugs came from a low-enough angle that I knew I was being dragged by a Rabbit. Then I was rather unceremoniously flopped down next to another bunny, who I recognized by scent as Nestor. I couldn't move a muscle, however; the explosion of whatever-it-was had completely paralyzed me. Soon Fidel was lying on the other side of me, then another Rabbit beyond him. I was just about to go insane with frustration at not understanding what was going on when something finally unstuck itself in my head and I could hear again, though in a curiously muted way.

"…anti-tunnel bomb," Heinrich was explaining to someone. "Special purpose—full of little rockets that spread out and smash everything within reach all to hell. Any closer and it would've killed us all."

"We've got to go back, sir," Sergeant Lundberg replied. "We'll never get past the Imperials with so many wounded."

"You're right," Heinrich replied in his upper-class Imperial accent. "But the roof's caved in, probably for a hundred yards or more. There's only one way out for any of us now, like it or not. And that's forward."

Just about then my musculature caught up with my hearing, and I began to be able to move a little. The first thing I did was to lean over and sniff Nestor to see how badly hurt he was. I couldn't detect any blood, so I figured that he was probably just stunned, as I'd been. Then I did the same for Fidel. He smelled okay, too. Very slowly I climbed to my feet and stood as the tunnel floor heaved to and fro under my feet. "Heinrich?" I asked when it finally stopped.

"David!" he replied. "Thank god! You just lie still, and—"

"I'm already up and about. And I think I'll be all right—nothing feels too badly broken. Status report, please."

"Yes, sir," he replied formally. "We've been hit by a tunnel-busting bomb, sir— it was probably shipped in all the way from Imperious. The injured all appear to have been stunned—the ones riding with you towards the back of the tram were worst affected—and one marine has a badly broken leg. I don't think we could've been targeted specifically, sir—they missed us by a good half-mile, and while they clearly have the complex at least partially mapped out I don't see how they could possibly know which parts we're using for what. More likely, in my opinion, it was part of an opening salvo of best-guesses—almost a random shot."

I nodded. "That makes perfect sense."

"Does anyone have a light?" a human voice asked off to my right, where most of the rest of the wounded still lay in a row. From the tone of his voice, it wasn't the first time he'd asked.

"Mine's broken," Sergeant Lundberg muttered. "The survival-specialist's flashlight is broken— can you imagine that? I just hope I live long enough to write a nasty letter to the manufacturer. They claim their products are indestructible!"

"Everyone's lights seem to be broken, sir," Heinrich amplified. "They imploded. Apparently there was a severe pressure-wave."

I nodded; that was to be expected whenever there was an explosion in a confined space. "Do we have anything that'll burn?"

"Working on it now, sir," Lundburg replied; faintly (due to my damaged ears) I heard him rummaging through our luggage-boxes. We Rabbits were supposed to carry those, once we were on the surface. In them were most of our weapons, plus a few important files and such that we hoped might somehow make it back to Royal space. Presently there was a little 'pop', and Lundburg was holding a burning piece of cloth in his hand—a hat, I suddenly realized. It produced perhaps as much light as a dinner candle. But between the previous darkness and my recent spell of unconsciousness, it was bright enough to drive daggers into my eyes and make me nauseous.

"Good work!" Heinrich exclaimed. "Let's check on the wounded first, so we know where we stand with them." He looked directly at me. "And that includes you, sir."

My head was pounding worse and worse from the 'bright' light, then my knees grew weak again as well. "Yes," I agreed reluctantly, sinking back down to the stone floor. "But check on me last. The others are worse off than I am."

38

Modern first aid kits are wonderful things, but they have their limits. While we were able to establish that save for a single broken tibia all of our victims were suffering from concussions, treating them was another matter entirely. We had a medication available in our first aid kit that'd help stabilize the brains of any of our three species. The stuff had nasty side effects, however, including inducing a twelve-hour near-coma. "Evacuate the patient immediately to a field hospital with adequately trained personnel," the instructions on the little bottles read. Fortunately while we were squinting at the tiny letters in the darkness two more of the Rabbits, a human marine, and Fidel regained consciousness as well. Fidel in particular was even more unsteady on his feet than I was; he vomited twice before his head began to clear.

"He was sitting in the second to the back row, wasn't he?" I asked Heinrich.

"Just in front of you," the marine commander agreed.

I frowned into the darkness, trying to think. It was growing easier all the time, thanks to the very different injection I'd received—it was meant for battlefield patients who'd regained consciousness on their own and contained stimulants instead of coma-inducers. "But most of the cargo-boxes were directly behind me. They must've diverted part of the blast around and over my head." I frowned a second time—if that were the case, then Nestor had been sitting in the worst place of all.

"It fits," Heinrich agreed. Then he thought things through for a long moment. "We can only carry so many wounded; at a certain point any more becomes physically impossible. Yet we
must
get out of here before there's another raid. Our corpsman is still unconscious himself. Even worse, he was sitting directly in front of Nestor. So… How about if we pick out those who look worst-off and who were sitting furthest towards the rear and give them the sleepy-shot? The rest we'll hit with stimulants and hope they'll be able to march on their own."

"Sounds like a plan, I suppose." I began to stand up, and the world whirled again. "I—"

"Just sit, sir," Heinrich urged, taking my arm and lowering be back down to the tunnel floor. "The sergeant and I can handle it. You're still recovering yourself.'

I nodded; he was right and I knew it. So I crawled off to where our baggage lay strewn in a pile and began to paw through it while the rest were giving injections. The boxes were plain wooden crates of the sort ordinarily borne by Rabbit-laborers, the smaller ones equipped with straps for backpack-style carry while the larger containers had rings through which poles could be run. Some had been crushed to splinters, while it was clear that we could no longer carry most of the rest anyway. We Rabbits were all carrying small hand-blasters in our slave-shorts already, my own Imperial weapon being the largest and most powerful of the bunch, and I assumed that the humans were similarly equipped. Fidel wasn't trained on anything but volunteer-type weapons that I knew of, so I pulled out three grenades for him. He probably didn't know how to use these either, but they weren't all that difficult to figure out. If worse came to worst he could always hand them off to someone else. Then I found the two least-damaged backpack-boxes and loaded them up with human-style ration-packs, water-purification tablets, matches, and enough blankets for the non-furred types. Finally I crammed in more ration-packs around the edges, leaving only enough room for the first-aid kit. Fidel, I reasoned, could eat human-food in a pinch, while we bunnies would have to graze. It wouldn't be pleasant, but we'd live.

Just as I finished up, I found two more items lying off to one side that simply
had
to be dealt with as well. The first was a nondescript-looking leather bag that I barely even noticed until I tried to move it. It was extraordinarily heavy for its size, and clinked. When I opened it up I found that it was stuffed with gold coins, some of them quite large in denomination. By now we were burning bits of Heinrich's uniform for light, as it was one of the few things we could be certain we'd have no further use for later. So I moved the burning butter-soaked sleeve of my friend's coat closer and saw a fire-lily stamped on the leather. This was
Marcus
gold! But how, and why? Then it came to me— either James or Uncle Robert must've entrusted it to Nestor in case an emergency arose in which I was unable to tap family resources. Well, this was certainly an emergency, and gold was always useful stuff to have around. So I went back and crammed the little bag into one of the backpack-boxes. Then I looked back at the other item, and sighed.

It was my Sword.

At first I'd planned to cache the thing somewhere in the mountain where it wouldn't be too much trouble to dig out later. But Heinrich and Jean had convinced me that it'd become a vital symbol of His Majesty's cause, almost as much so as my physical person. Besides, if a way were found for me to make any more propaganda broadcasts it'd be important that I be filmed wearing it. Yet… What was I to do with the thing? I pondered the matter for several minutes, then came up with a tentative solution. Slave Rabbits weren't allowed weapons, but tools were another matter entirely. My Sword was far shorter than that of a human, simply because I was so much smaller myself. So I took a little roll of dull-brown waterproof tape that we weren't bringing along anyway and wrapped the entire scabbard with it. Then I removed the rectangular wrapping from a surplus ration-pack and used it to cover the hilt and guard. The final result resembled a curved-handled axe more than anything else, or at least I hoped it would from a distance. Up close it'd never pass muster, of course. But at short range, well… The Imperials knew Nestor and I
far
too well for us to have much hope up close anyway. So, maybe it'd do.

"Hello, sir!" Sergeant Lundburg said as he loomed up in the darkness. "Been doing some repacking?"

"Yes," I replied. "And of course I'd appreciate your expert opinion."

He nodded and unpacked my two Rabbit-boxes. The oversized sack of gold coins elicited a whistle, but he said nothing. "I think you chose very well, sir. Except that I'd add a coil of rope on the outside of each pack and maybe try to work in a few more grenades. If I didn't know better, I'd have to say you've been in a tough spot or two already yourself and are therefore a bit of a veteran at this sort of thing."

I smiled. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome, sir. I've been some bad places indeed, but never…" Then his voice trailed off and he shook his head. "I'll get you out, sir. Or die trying. My word of honor."

"We'll all get each other out of this together, Sergeant" I corrected him. "At least as many of us as we can, that is." Then I sighed. "How much longer long before we're ready to start?"

39

The answer, apparently, was "not very long". Lundburg was just finishing up his repacking job when I noticed that all the rest of the able-bodied members of our little group were looking down silently at us. I rose to my feet just as the sergeant latched the second carry-box's lid and tied on a large hank of parachute cord. "That should do it," he muttered, rising to his feet. Just then we furred-types distinctly heard another roar-crash like the one that'd occurred just before we'd been bombed. This time it was further away, however, and except for the ground trembling a bit the bomb caused us no further ill effects. "They've hit Seven again," Heinrich observed. "But further up, this time. Almost certainly a wasted shot, since we don't use it for anything."