Women of War (9 page)

The other woman's mouth twisted and she turned her head to spit decorously over her own shoulder. “Farmland. Factories. The uninvolved. The
sous.
”

Sous. Noncombatants. The quiet majority of Kraal, who served their affiliations through a lifetime of peace and accomplishment, fueling the vast economy that afforded the great Houses their wealth—by convention and utter common sense, untouchable.

Until now. “You must stop them!” Skalet blanched at the ring of command in her own voice. “Forgive me, Your Eminence. I meant no disrespect.”

“I heard none. Conflict as a challenge to advance a House tempers our society. Strip challenge from conflict and we become no better than Ganthor, squabbling for the day's profit. Yet even that shame can be forgiven, with time.” Her fingers formed a gnarled fist, punching down through the air between them. “To attack those who provide for all? That, S'kal-ru, is to court our own extinction. Which is why I need you, Icicle.”

Perhaps some part of Skalet remembered the Ersh and the Prime Law. If so, she made a choice to disregard both for the first time in her life.

“What do you want me to do, Your Eminence?”

Circles within circles, folded back on each other until the overall pattern of Kraal society appeared more an orgy of snakes than an organization of Humans—or those whose ancestry traced back to the same trees. Despite the perception of the non-Kraal, war had never been a game to those who created the Great Houses and defended them. They waged their power struggles without losing sight of the future or their desire to make it as they wished. There was much to admire in a culture that took charge of its own evolution.

Until those who believed they had the right chose the short path, the one that wasted the lives and resources on which the future depended.

Skalet fastened the strap of her goggles around her neck, then methodically checked the laces and zips of her clothing. One opening and this form could suffer frostbite and impairment. She could risk neither tonight.

Her role was deceptively simple, elegant in Kraal terms. The Bryll assault fleet would pass in range of this outpost on its way to attack the Bract homesystem, to take advantage of their scans to detect and warn of any Bract ships in the area. Their fleet would remain unseen until it was too late to mount a defense. Except that Her Eminence, as Courier to Bryll's Inner Circle, specifically those within that Circle in opposition to those mounting the assault, had sent a coded message to the Bract, recommending this system as the ideal place for an ambush.

Bryll would sacrifice her own, Skalet the pin to prick the unsuspecting throat.

Maven-ro, always alert to comings and goings, appeared in her doorway. “Didn't you just come in, Icicle?”

“Hours back.” Skalet shrugged her fur-cased shoulders. “Weather's worsening. We can't risk anything impeding reception.” She flicked two fingers against her pseudo-tattooed cheek. They'd all been briefed by Dal-ru on the importance of protecting the fleet.

Maven-ro's look wasn't as approving as usual. In fact, she began to frown. “It's bad enough out there even Her Eminence's guard has come inside. There's no indication of ice buildup yet. Stay.”

Skalet lifted a brow. “If I wait until there's a problem, it could be too late. You know that.”

The Kraal shook her head. “There's attention to duty and there's being a fool, S'kal-ru. The winds have doubled. You won't be able to stay on your feet, let alone hold to the guide line.”

Skalet rattled the clip and safety cable around her waist. “I'm prepared.”

Maven-ro threw up her hands. “Fine. Go freeze stiff. If we find you this spring, we'll stand you up as a flagpole.”

It didn't seem like humor. Puzzled, Skalet watched as the other walked away, slamming a door unnecessarily behind her, then returned to her own preparations.

It was worse. Unimaginably worse. The moment the outer door retracted, the wind howled inside the tunnel, blowing Skalet off her feet, rolling her along the icy floor until she hit the yielding edge of a fuel bag. The rubbery material gave her a grip as she pulled herself to her feet.

At least it was a steady wind, to start. She could force her way against it and did, reaching first the doorframe, then the outer wall, and, after groping in the dark, the guide line. She clipped herself to it, and pressed out into the night.

Lean, drag a foot free, move it up and forward, push it into yielding softness to the knee, to the thigh. Skalet couldn't predict her footing. Drifts were curling and reforming like living things. All she could do was drag the other foot free, up and forward, push it down, and progress in lurches and semi-falls.

She'd run out of choices. There was no living mass except that behind her. Without a source, she could not release her hold on this form and choose another more suited to surviving these conditions. Not and return to the outpost as S'kal-ru. Only living matter could be assimilated into more Web-flesh, and she'd need to replace what she used.

There was escape. She almost considered it as the wind lifted her for an instant, her grip torn from the guide line, one outer glove sailing free and only the cable jerking snug around her waist keeping her in place. She could cycle into a form that flew on this wind, pick one able to hide beneath ice for however many decades it would take for Ersh to notice her absence and send one of her kin to retrieve her.
Disgraced.

Skalet dropped to the ground as the wind caught its breath, then drove herself to her feet. If she failed for whatever reason, Her Eminence had another option. She could destroy the outpost and all the talented, complicated beings in it, including herself.
Wasteful.

It was only a question of one step after another. This form would obey her will. It would endure. Skalet pulled her right hand, now clad only in the liner, within the sleeve of her innermost coat, shoving the cuff through her belt as tightly as possible. She would need those fingers able to function once at the ladder.

Her goggles were coated with snow, despite the fur trim around her hood. No matter. What use were eyes without light? She leaned into the wind again, trusting to the cable. One step after another, a movement that grew only more difficult as she lost feeling below her knees. No matter. She could not control time or the movement of starships, but she could control this body. It would succeed.

At some point, the howl dimmed to a whine and the force pushing her back lessened. Skalet smiled, lips cracking, blood burning her chin. She had reached the array.

The clip had frozen shut. Rather than waste energy fighting it, Skalet drew her knife and cut the cable around her waist. She staggered and caught herself with a grip on the ladder as the wind tried to peel her away again. The climb was a nightmare. Not only were the lower rungs half-buried in a rising drift, but she could not longer judge where her feet would land. Three times Skalet neared the top, only to lose her grip and slip back down.

Once on the platform, she didn't bother looking for the ice-breaking tools. Skalet felt her way down the nearest strut to its linkage with the rest, found the fastener. She drew her knife once more, then shook her head. No traces. Even if House Bryll was as devastated as the courier implied, there would be an investigation. Like other Humans, the Kraal were curious, tenacious beings. Unlike other Humans, the Kraal took the assignment of fault to extremes. For the crew of this outpost to outlive their doomed fleet, this had to appear an accident.

Skalet put away her knife and pulled off the outer glove on her left hand, securing it in her belt. Her fingers turned numb almost immediately, but she managed to grip the fastener and twist. It was meant to be mobile to minus seventy degrees Celsius, so the antenna could be replaced at need. It wouldn't budge.

Cursing substandard equipment, Skalet stripped off her liner and the other glove, restraining a cry as the wind seemed to flay her skin. She pressed both palms around the fastener, warming it with her own, slightly greater than Human, heat. The core of her body seemed to chill at the same time, a dangerous theft. Skalet fought to hold form as much as she fought to keep her hands where they had to stay.

Another twist. Nothing. She screamed in fury and drove her fist into the metal, feeling a knuckle break, but something else give as well.
Satisfaction.
Another twist and the fastener came free.

By now, Skalet's hands were shaking so violently she could barely get them back into the gloves. She couldn't feel any difference with the protection on, but knew it was necessary. Form-memory was perfect. If she lost fingers to frostbite, she'd remember herself that way forever. She refused to believe it might be too late.

Meanwhile, the wind, now her ally, was busy at work. The strut creaked and groaned, succumbing to the force hammering it. Skalet touched the support, feeling irregular shudders. Good. It would take only the slightest of bends to make the antenna uncontrollable. As if hearing her thoughts, the strut snapped and the array began to tilt.

The outpost—and the fleet—was blind.

Time to leave. Skalet made her way back down the ladder, groping in the dark with her left hand for the guide line. The right she'd drawn inside her coat completely, cradling it next to her heart, a source of searing pain as the flesh thawed and the abused knuckle complained of ill treatment.
Reassuring.

She'd anticipated an easier return journey, the wind shoving from behind and her trail already broken through the drifts. Instead, with a perversity she should have expected, the wind was a wall in her face and her footsteps had filled with snow. There was only the guide line and the strength of her grip on it.

Her progress became a series of forward stumbles, never quite on her knees, never quite stopping. At any moment, Skalet expected to collide with a Kraal hurrying from the outpost to see what had gone wrong, to try a futile repair. Ephemeral and fragile, yet they readily risked their fleeting lives.
Exceptional
.

Then the line came alive in her hand, yanking her backward into the snow before becoming limp. Skalet stood and gave a sharp pull in the direction of the outpost. The line came toward her with no more tension than its weight dragging through the snow.

The entire array must have become unstable, the bent antenna a sail catching too much wind. Whether the structure had toppled to the ground or merely leaned didn't matter. It had moved enough to pluck the uncuttable guide line from the outpost dome.

 

I whined and curled in a ball, my tail covering nose and eyes with a plume of fur. Despite this, and despite being perfectly safe and warm, I shook miserably. I'd assimilated nothing like this before. I'd never felt what it was like to truly risk one's formself. My other Web-kin, being far more sensible, would have cycled long before this point. I would have. Skalet's resolve was as horrifying as the Kraal themselves.

If I could have stopped remembering, I would have. But Ersh had given me all of it and I whirled through Skalet's memories as haplessly as a snowflake—or the Kraal fleet.

This form reacted to fear with a rush of blood to the ears, a sickness in the stomach. Skalet ignored biology, intent on her problem. She couldn't see, feel, or hear her way to safety. The broken line in her hand, however, would give her the distance from the array to the outpost. The wind in her face would give her direction. A risk, given that same wind had already swung one hundred and eighty degrees, but an acceptable one. If she reached the end of the guide line and found nothing, she could walk in an arc bounded by the line—if she could move it—and have a fifty percent chance of being right. Or have to abandon this form when it reached its physiological limit.

But not before.

The guide line proved harder to combat than the wind. Though light, its length gave it considerable mass and weight. Exposed portions flailed with every gust, the rest being buried by the snow of a continent. Skalet barely managed to hang on to the piece by her side and keep moving. Her best estimate put her near or within the outer ring of domes, but they were difficult to detect under good conditions, let alone in the dark. Her goal was the ramp down to the central dome.

Her feet started fighting a drift larger and more compact than most she'd encountered. Gasping with effort, Skalet nonetheless felt a thrill of hope. There were always drifts curving around the slight rise of each dome. She began step down the other side and suddenly lost her footing as well as her grip on the line. Before she could recapture it, it was gone.

Skalet sat on the slope of the drift and replayed memory. She knew this area, had walked its winter night a hundred times. Yes. She should be able to see the dome from here.