Trial by Fire - eARC (60 page)

Vrryngraar wondered if fear, loss of comrades, and isolation had damaged U’tuk’s mind more than combat had damaged his suit. “Be clear, grubber. What torture?”

“Do not say you do not know. This was the third time I have seen this kind of killing. Go, look at its mouth.”

Vrryngraar did. And now, the unusual nature of this particular corpse became evident, made it distinct from the hundreds—no, thousands—he had already seen or made this day.

The evident cause of the human’s death was a wound to the groin. But no, it was worse than that. The male generative member had been removed. If the nearby evidence could be trusted, the penectomy had been performed with a rusted strip of corrugated metal, torn from a nearby wall. Judging from the lack of other injuries, the amputation of the member had been the cause of death, which meant that it had been performed pre-mortem.

Imagining that deed made it impossible for Vrryngraar to think for a long moment. What savagery was this? Not even animals did this to each other, Then he saw that the crudely severed member had been jammed deep into the corpse’s mouth. He looked up at U’tuk.

Who said, “You must stop this.”

“Me? Stop this? How?” Then he understood the presumption implicit in the Arat Kur’s exhortation. “You must be mad, to think this the work of my troops, of the Hkh’Rkh. What do we care of the humans’ insane dominance rituals and symbolic disfigurements? We did not do this.” He saw U’tuk’s mandibles sag in shock, drove home his point. “Grubber, do you not understand? The humans did this—to their own kind.”

The Arat Kur was completely motionless for a moment and then shivered so sharply that his armor rattled. “But why—?”

“Look around you. Do you know what this place was?”

“N-no.”

“I patrolled this street sometimes. The owner was a merchant of bulk goods. But he also sold grain.”

“So he was one of the food distributors?”

Could the grubber truly be so naïve? “Not legally. He found ways to acquire food when the other humans could not and sold it to them for greatly increased prices. He profited from their hunger. And the more hungry they became, the more he profited.”

“So they—?”

“Yes. They did this.” Vrryngraar looked down again. The humans might not be warriors, might be duplicitous and conniving
s’fet
, but that did not diminish their capacity for savagery. If anything, it seemed to amplify it.

“We should not have come here.” U’tuk’s voice was quiet, withdrawn.

Although worried that the Arat Kur was perilously close to slipping into some kind of trauma-induced fugue state, Vrryngraar also could not suppress a quick, confirmatory neck-sway. No, they should not have come here. There was no honor in such a place, in such a conflict—for one could not call it a war. The only proper course of action regarding humanity was to leave it alone, and, if possible, isolate it. Just as one would handle any other sophont that was quite irremediably and dangerously insane. “I agree. Tell me the result of your scouting mission. Is it safe to withdraw back to the presidential compound through this area?”

The Arat Kur took a moment to respond. “Yes. Before entering this building, our scouting mission was uneventful. We encountered no sign of insurgents. If any humans remained in the area after we first cleared it, they have kept to their houses.”

“Promising. Are you still in contact with the compound?”

“I receive their signals, but they do not receive mine. And the rest of your troop?”

Vrryngraar swayed his neck in the direction of the rest of his battered, hiding unit. “All radios save one—our shielded set—were disabled. But we lost that set and its operator to enemy fire about ten minutes ago. Which is why I came to find you.” Vrryngraar rose up out of his crouch. “Stay hidden in this spot. I shall return to the troop and lead them here. Together we shall return to the compound. We are no longer combat effective. All we can do now is make a report and gather replacements.”

The Arat Kur bobbed and said nothing as Vrryngraar turned and exited the black marketeer’s warehouse. Trying to put the image of the butchered human from his mind, Vrryngraar swept back around the corner by which he had entered Mangga Besar Selatan and started across a smoke and mist-shrouded moonscape that had once been a side-street. He recalled his explanation to the cowed and quiet U’tuk: his unit was “no longer combat effective.” He growled at the grim irony of the term. His troop was down to a dozen, most of whom were incapacitated in at least one limb, few of whom had more than thirty rounds of ammunition left. Half a hundred proud Hkh’Rkh reduced to that handful, hiding like a pack of furtive
s’fet
in a semi-intact basement—and having fought only one true battle to speak of.

They had spent most of the morning fighting the unpredictable and inexperienced insurgents. With the exception of a demolition trap, each encounter merely inflicted some wounds. But those wounds had caused fatal decreases in agility, speed, responsiveness. Then, half an hour ago, they had encountered a true military force. Mostly nonindigenous, these humans had been taller, of diverse phenotypes, and equipped with extremely high-power liquimix assault rifles, rocket-propelled munitions, and sophisticated sensors. Worst of all, they had been trained professionals. Vrryngraar had to admit that what the humans might have lacked in size and courage they more than made up for in technical skill and cunning. His troop lost a dozen dead, and a similar number wounded before ammunition depletion forced Vrryngraar to think, and then do, the unthinkable. He withdrew. From humans.

And since then, they had been fleeing. They called it a withdrawal, but call it what one might, they had been beaten and repulsed, and now sought the sanctuary of the main compound.

Perhaps it was because Vrryngraar was preoccupied by his sour reverie, but, as he angled toward an alley that led to his remaining troops, he moved incautiously into a solid wall of smoke billowing up from a clutter of burning vehicles. He did not wait for a gap in the dark, feathery drifts, and so emerged from the blinding blackness straight into the rear of a crowd of humans gathered at a street corner.

Most were females or young, clustered around two persons in intense discussion. One was a local male armed with an AK-47 trying to communicate in the planet’s main—and maddeningly untidy—language with a female who was lighter of skin and subtly heavier of build, particularly in the shoulders, head, and upper legs. The female was the first to see Vrryngraar. Her eyes snapped over, detecting his movement even as he emerged from the smoke. He admired her reflexes. She uttered a one-syllable word that sounded like a bark and dove toward the entry of the nearest building. The local with the gun turned, taking approximately one-half second to absorb the situational change before reacting.

That half-second’s delay was his death. Vrryngraar brought up his own AK-47, tried squeezing off a single round, but wound up two-tapping the human. The first of the 7.62 x 39mm rounds went into the human’s side, making a wide bloody wound and spinning him slightly so that the second bullet caught him square in the sternum. The human fell backward with the utterly nerveless flop of those who die instantly on their feet.

Vrryngraar pointed the gun at the dominant female and let instinct guide him. “Obey or she dies,” he shouted at the rest of the humans.

The first tentative cries of terror, shock, loss ended abruptly. The dominant female rose from her covered position—she had almost made it through the doorway on a fast low crawl—and turned to face him. As was common with some human subspecies, her eyes were green and very clear, like the Great Equatorial Sea of Rkh’yaa. That brief second, he missed homeworld so very greatly that he could have lamented with a hero’s grief-hooting. But this was neither the time nor the place. “You. Who are you?”

She was one of the few of the half-circle of humans before him who did not start back when he barked out his question. Instead, she looked at him, seemed to be studying him, even his armor and gear. Then she nodded gravely. “Great Troop Leader, I was a diplomat.”

He suppressed his surprise at her rapid ability to identify his rank, and although his first impulse was to dismiss her improbable claim to be a diplomat, her confident demeanor and sure identification of his social standing compelled him to hold that dismissal in abeyance. “A diplomat for whom? To whom?”

“For my planet. To your people.”

“Where is your retinue, diplomat?”

She looked him in the eyes, seemed to be measuring. “Where is yours, Great Troop Leader?”

Had she been a male, he might have killed her on the spot. But her sex gave him pause, and that pause gave him the opportunity to consider the aptness of her rebuffing question. Where indeed was his troop, but scattered prone and lifeless upon the wet, misty, labyrinthine streets of this alien hellhole? On a day such as this, her retinue might have fared no better. And if she was a genuine diplomat—“You will come with me. The rest of you: go. Except you.” He pointed to a young male who was standing solicitously close to the female “If you flee, her life is lost. The rest of you: if you bring more humans, again, her life is lost. Go. Now.”

Without a sound, they turned their backs upon him and rapidly vanished into the humid, milky drifts of smog.

Vrryngraar turned back to the female. She looked at him, then looked at the young male. “Adi, do not fear for me. I will be right back.”

The young male nodded at her, stole a quick furtive look at Vrryngraar, and sat—or rather, squatted on his heels—where he was. Vrryngraar pointed into the corner building with the AK. The human female lowered her eyelids and head, and moved inside, calmly picking her way over the rubble which half-choked the doorway. Good. She was smart enough to be docile.

One inside, he turned the AK directly upon her. “Tell me of yourself, diplomat.”

“There is little to tell. I was at the recent Convocation. I was one of those who represented humanity. I met with First Voice of the First Family—”

“—my suzerain and patron!”

“Just so.”

“And you swear this on your life? For if I show you to him and he does not recognize you, your life is lost.”

“If he can tell one human apart from another, he will recognize me. He will also know my name.”

“Which is?”

“Elena Corcoran.”

Corcoran.
That was a name Vrryngraar knew. Her brother was a warrior. Perhaps there would be a ransom, or a challenge. Some honor would come to him after all, in this hell of pointless carnage. And better still, she was insurance that the survivors of his Great Troop would make it back to the compound alive. He turned to her, let the AK sag as he emphasized each point with a thrust of his free claw. “Sister of Corcoran, you are our prisoner, and possibly an emissary. You will come with us back to our compound. You will walk in the lead, with me, so that your fellow-humans will know not to attack us. We will travel under your truce-sign. It is what? A white banner? And—”

“And you did not listen closely enough to my answer, Great Troop Leader.”

The sudden interruption made him pause. “Your answer? What answer?”

“You asked me if I
am
a diplomat. But I replied that I
had been
a diplomat.”

“I do not understand.”

She showed her teeth. They were white and strong, if small. “I stopped being a diplomat months ago. Today, I am but a human, and a mother, and a citizen of this world.”

That was when he noticed that a small pistol had appeared in her hand. She smoothly elevated it to aim at his head. Because there was no waver in her arm or her eyes, he was relatively sure that she would not hesitate, flinch, or miss. He let the AK sag even further. She nodded her affirmation of that act without once taking her eyes off his. “So, ‘citizen,’” Vrryngraar said, “now you fight. For what? To save this planet? It cannot be saved. It is already hell.”

“I fight to repel ruthless aggressors. As do the Indonesians, who have a long tradition of doing just that.”

“They are not warriors.”

“Not by tradition or inclination, but they are dangerous fighters when they must protect their homeland.”

“They are not one of the more advanced countries of your world. They live in overcrowded filth, argue ceaselessly among themselves, and never built an empire. What can homeland matter to such a people?”

She shook her head slightly, once, but never took her eyes—or gun—off his: “You have read our history, but you drew the wrong conclusions. But don't feel bad. Three centuries of human oppressors in this region made the same mistake about the Indonesians. And the Vietnamese and the Filipinos and the Cambodians and a dozen other peoples. No one has ever enjoyed much success trying to occupy this part of our world. Of course, when a human invader’s dreams of conquest here went terribly awry”—and she leveled the gun at the Hkh’Rkh—“they all had someplace to flee back to. You, on the other hand, are not so fortunate.”

The gun was less than four centimeters from his right eye, aimed at a shallow retrograde angle. This human had studied Hkh’Rkh anatomy, knew where their brain was located, and where it was not protected by their helmetlike skull. They continued to stare at each other. So he was her prisoner. What further indignity would he suffer this day, Vrryngraar could not imagine. “What would you have me do now, human?”

The female seemed to think. At least, it cocked its head. Then it showed its teeth again. Among humans, this was a sign of humor or receptivity, so he relaxed a bit as she replied, “There is only one thing I need you to do, Great Troop Leader.”

“And what is that?” he grumbled.

* * *

In the street, Adi heard two sharp snaps, realized it was the report of an extremely small-caliber handgun. After hearing bombs, dustmix assault rifles, AKs, shotguns, and PDF railguns screeching overhead all day long, these discharges sounded like a popgun or a pair of mildewed firecrackers. Adi waited, wondered if he should run after all, if he still had enough time to do so, felt the countervailing tug of a vague loyalty to the American woman who had befriended him two days ago.