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  The mercenaries surrounded the group of DEST members who were talking with Dakodo. Shawn Arsenault, leader of the first DEST section, looked across the circle and caught the eye of Johan Miranda. He blinked slowly and Miranda nodded; not a big nod, just a slight creasing of the neck. Both men rose and stepped back through the ring of mercs. Vost and Seagroves pushed forward to take their places.

  Now the questioning of the Tetatae began in earnest. Unfortunately, Dakodo did not have much specific information about the human enclaves. He had been to them before, but only when very young. He'd gone to them with Dikaka on a mission from the tribe to the humans when the humans first came into the forest. There had been no resolution of the problem, and shortly after that the tribe had moved deeper into the forest. All Dakodo's other information had come second- or third-hand from other Tetatae and the occasional human who wandered too far into the forest. It was from those contacts that he had learned the language of the humans. The humans sent traders to the woods to search out various delicacies that grew there, and the Tetatae had been glad to harvest them for the humans. Supplying these items seemed to keep the humans calm, and a calm human was much better than an angry one.

  According to Dakodo, there were three inhabited human areas. There had been more in the beginning, but conflicts among them had reduced their number through attrition and amalgamation. The exact organization was beyond the aliens' understanding or knowledge. That they were three in number was all he could say for certain.

  Vost probed for more information about the settlements, or enclaves, as the Tetatae knew them. Each one, it seemed, was surrounded by an elaborate system of walls and ditches in various configurations. Great gates, normally barred at night, secured each settlement. Although there was general free access to the enclaves during the hours of daylight, there was no entry during the hours of darkness unless one had a special pass. Dakodo did not know how to obtain such a pass.

  It was the state of the walls that intrigued Vost, but he was careful not to lead the alien with his questions. He wanted to be sure the answers given were the most accurate, not the ones he wanted to hear. It was usual in an interrogation—which this surely was, that the person being interrogated begins by telling the questioner what he wants to hear. With his most careful questioning, Vost drew out a picture of an elaborate defensive position designed to stop ground forces. But the forces they were designed to stop would have been primitive even five hundred years ago. It was obvious that none of the humans had much in the way of powerful vehicles, though Dakodo's limited knowledge provided no explanation for this fact. Meanwhile, Vost tried hard to keep his excitement under control. A plan was beginning to form in his mind, but he didn't want it to leak out too soon.

  Brian Seagroves was more blunt with his questions. Seagroves was the pilot of the Phoenix Hawk LAM, and he was frustrated at not being able to fly. Land-Air 'Mechs were the ultimate fighting machine in the eyes of their pilots, and Seagroves fit the mold perfectly.

  There were two things that Seagroves liked, that gave his life meaning, and one of them was flying. The sense of power he got from taking the LAM into the air was more than he could describe or even admit. Sitting in the cockpit, the thruster controls under his hands, feeling the surge of power through the command seat, watching the ground flash by beneath the swept-back wings at 900 kilometers per hour, was almost sensual. Flying and wealth. Seagroves wanted to be rich, so rich he'd never again need to think about money. That was what drove the LAM pilot.

  "But they don't even fly." It was a question as well as a statement. "The humans don't fly. How can that be true? Everyone knows how to fly. It's the first thing we do."

  Dakodo looked at Seagroves in surprise. "Of course they not. Bird fly; human on ground walk." The alien shook his head. "Only bird fly. No need others to fly."

  Seagroves leaped to his feet. "Get out the LAM," he shouted. "We can rule the world!"

  "That's enough, Seagroves," said Vost sternly. "Just hold your jets for a while. We need to think about this." If looks could kill, Seagroves would have been dead on the spot. Vost had been very careful not to tip his hand, and now this fool was going to blow the whole scheme.

  "But don't you see? Don't you see? They don't know how to fly!" Seagroves was almost dancing with excitement. "We can have it all!"

  "Seagroves! Sit down and be quiet or leave the area!" Vost rose to his feet, hands on his hips as he glared across the circle. "This is not the time or the place to discuss it."

  Seagroves stood open-mouthed. Vost had burst his bubble. His shoulders dropped, his lower lip hung down, his hands dropped to his sides. He was a pillar of despair. Standing there in the fading light, he looked like a man bearing the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. He turned from the group and slunk away.

  Vost scrambled to his feet and followed Pesht. Coming alongside the shambling LAM pilot, he took him by the elbow and spoke softly. "You're right about the LAM, of course. You know it and I know it, but we don't want the others to get the idea. You're LAM qualified, but don't forget that I am too. We understand the power it can give us.

  "Think of it, a whole society ripe for the picking. Remember what that little guy said about the walls? Those walls are designed to keep out land vehicles. There are places you can go to see things like that, I've seen the pictures. With the 'Mechs out we can have it all. We can become bossman of the whole planet. It's not just us against the DEST cruds. We don't need them at all. But we have to play our cards right. If they get the idea that we want to take over, they just might decide to destroy our 'Mechs. That we cannot let happen. So be a little more reserved. Cool down."

  Yubari Takuda watched the two 'Mech pilots merge with the deepening gloom. That they were scheming something was obvious, and any plan of theirs would surely not be in the best interests of him or his men. There was always the option of eliminating the mercenaries, one that remained viable as long as the DEST team maintained superior firepower. Until now, he'd rejected the idea because they needed their combined strength for the survival of all. The discovery of the other humans on the planet had changed the equation. The mercenaries were no longer so important to survival, but then again, neither was the DEST team.

  He was also certain that any other humans living on this world would consider the newly arrived humans a great asset. He didn't plan to make any moves until he had more information about the others, however. From what Dakodo had said, there were three groups, or possibly more, living some distance away by the great river that flowed to the west. The Tetatae was not sure how far distant they were, seeming to lack the grasp humans had on time or distance. The Tetatae seemed to give the concept little importance. But somewhere to the west were the humans. Takuda knew they would have to make contact, but they would have to do it gently. There was no need to upset what sounded like an already delicate situation between the other humans.

  Meanwhile, Garber Vost had called the other 'Mech pilots around him upon returning to the mercenary camp. They squatted in a tight group, the technicians standing behind in a reverential circle. His tone was conspiratorial. "It's unbelievable," he whispered. "We have the whole planet in our hands. Nothing like this has ever happened before. We've got to make contact with the humans. With our firepower, we can rule everything. According to that furry little beast, the enclaves have only the most primitive defenses. Like something from a thousand years ago. They'll be a push-over."

  "There may be too many of them," Pesht said. "And they may have weapons we don't know about, even if they have to crawl across the ground to use them. There are some archaic weapons that could do a job on a 'Mech."

  Vost was about to squash the little pilot but thought better of it. Not only was Pesht valuable to him because he was the Javelin pilot, but he also had a point. There was no use charging into a situation that could be as fraught with danger as with possibilities. But there had to be a way to profit from the situation—they were mercenaries, after all. That was the solution
! "Mercenaries," said Vost, thinking aloud. "That's it. That's what we can do. We'll sell our services to the highest bidder." He sat back on his heels and chuckled.

  This called for decisive action. He stood up and put his hands on his hips, again hoping to impress the others with his air of command. "We make contact," Vost said. "Show them what we can do, and then offer our services. We take the best offer. We can always change our minds if we want to." He raised his fist in a victory salute. "We can have it all!"

  He looked down at his followers. "But we have to be careful," he continued in a softer voice. "Takuda and the rest of DEST team may not like our little plan. He thinks too much, too much by half. We'll have to convince him that we're doing it his way. Make him think it's all his idea. We have to get the 'Mechs out of that DropShip, and we can't do it as long as he's got a guard there."

  "We have slug pistols," said Collis Brank, looking up at his leader. "We could just do a job on them."

  "Not a good plan, Brank. There are times when your mouth overloads your brain. How do you expect to get close enough to get them all on the first shot? Have you ever seen what a laser rifle can do to an unarmored human body? Or do you want to become a specimen yourself?" He turned away from the seated pilot. "No. We have to do it slowly. Just wait until we get those 'Mechs out of the ship, and then we'll see who's boss." Vost threw his head back and looked up at the first stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. "By the eyes of the dragon, this will be an adventure our children and grandchildren will sing about."

  * * *

  In the quiet of the camp that night, Dakodo rose from his nest. The stars twinkled in the sky overhead; there was hardly a breath of wind. With a stealthy softness born of instinct and much use, he stole silently from the camp.

  14

  Sho-sa Yubari Takuda sat with the other members of the DEST headquarters. He would have to send a patrol to make contact with the humans, a mission that would require sending the best. The Knyte section had made first contact with the aliens, and so by all rights he should send Arsenault and his team on this patrol. It was a matter of sharing the responsibility and the danger. But he didn't have as much confidence in Arsenault's people.

  Roland Dupe, the number two man in the section, had a tendency to gripe. That wouldn't have been so bad in itself, for griping about duty was a time-honored tradition among soldiers. But Dupe had a nasty habit of complaining about almost anything, which he'd been doing since even before they'd landed on the planet. Takuda felt for Arsenault, who had to put up with it on a constant basis.

  The other member of the team was Dana Lost. One of Lost's distinguishing characteristics was the desire to do anything for anyone—to the point of volunteering to do so. There was not a fighting position in the DEST perimeter that Lost had not helped build. He had worked on his own, then gone roaming the site looking for other jobs that needed doing. The problem was that Dana Lost was also opinionated and loud—and most of his opinions were wrong. He and Dupe were inseparable friends, but between one's griping and the other's opinions, they were constantly fighting. Rising above it all was Arsenault, serene and calm. Takuda decided to give them the assignment just to keep them out of trouble.

  Since time immemorial, military organizations had tried to prevent the dangerous problem of idleness among soldiers. They usually solved it with uniforms loaded with brass as well as healthy doses of close-order drill to keep the troops well-occupied during the innumerable, interminable periods of boredom between combat.

  Takuda discussed the plan with So-cho Saitan Yura. He would have preferred to have another officer in the headquarters section, someone of equal social standing, but the non-commissioned Yura was all he had. Having served the Draconis Combine for nearly forty years, the sergeant-major had seen commanders, policies, victory and defeat come and go, come and go. Nodding in agreement, Yura listened impassively to his commander explain the mission and the people he would send. Yubari Takuda hoped that the nod meant agreement with this particular decision, not agreement with ANY decision. Takuda rose, about to direct the sergeant to issue the orders, when Garber Vost suddenly made an appearance.

  "I've been thinking, Sho-sa," the mercenary said, "about the idea of contacting the humans to the west. I think we must do it as soon as possible."

  Takuda could hardly suppress the smile that tugged on his lips. This was the first time the mercenary commander had addressed him by his Combine rank of sho-sa rather than that of "major." It was also the first time since they'd boarded the DropShip that Vost had spoken to Takuda with anything approaching deference. Something smelled, but Takuda was willing to let it play out. "You have an idea, Pilot Vost?"

  "Well, we don't know how far it is to the humans. We could send out a foot patrol, but it could take days to get to them, and more days to get back. If the patrol ran into any trouble, which wouldn't surprise me from what that furry fellow had to say, we'd never be able to support them. We'd all have to go. There's also the problem of how much time the patrol would need. We don't have a clue how far away from each other these enclaves are, and it could take days to recon all of them."

  "Yes," acknowledged Takuda. "Time is a problem." He had, in fact, come to much the same conclusion. The 'Mechs could cover the ground much faster, and the LAM, which was stored in the DropShip's overhead bay, would be faster still. But he didn't want the 'Mechs deployed, at least not yet.

  "The LAM could make the trip out and back in less than a day." Vost could see that Takuda would never think of using the 'Mechs on his own; he would have to be prodded. That was the trouble with the Combine soldier's mindset, thought Vost. Once he'd been trained to react in a certain way, he could never change that set. No wonder the Draconis Combine was so desperate to hire mercenaries. It was only mercs who had the ability to think on the move.

  "Yes," mused Takuda. "That is so. But I wonder about using a machine of such immense firepower around these people who have never seen one and certainly have never seen something that flies. It could be quite a shock."

  Damn right it will, thought Vost. That's just what I want. "We could tell Seagroves to stay at high altitude. They might not even be aware of his presence. And even if they did see him, they wouldn't know what they were seeing. It could be worth a try."

  "Can we get the LAM out of the DropShip? It's taken some damage, and I understand from Parker Davud that the hull has been wrenched. We'd have to cut the hull open, which would mean we'd never be able to fly it out."

  We're never going to fly it out anyway, thought Vost. Get with the program, old man. We're here on this planet for eternity, just like the others, and we'd better make the best of it. And even if the DropShip could fly, there's no place to go.

  "The sacrifice of the DropShip would probably be worth it," Takuda was saying, "but I worry about the weapons. Having them is a temptation to use them. I wouldn't want that. I think your Pilot Seagroves might be tempted. Perhaps you could use someone else. Perhaps Pilot Goodall." Takuda knew that Vost was qualified on the LAM, but next to Seagroves, Vost was the last man he wanted over the enclaves.

  Oh no, you don't, thought Vost. You're not going to mess up this plan like that. "Well, Goodall isn't LAM qualified," he said aloud. "As for the weapons, we could always activate the external default for the lasers. To use them the pilot would have to land to re-engage the system, which it would take two men to do. The LAM is stored in flight mode in the DropShip, so once he took it out he'd be on his way. We just default the weapons while it's still hanging."

  Takuda did not quite trust Vost's suggestions, but this did seem like the best plan. The LAM could do in a few hours what it could take a foot patrol to do in a week or more. The information wouldn't be of the same detail and accuracy, but it would provide enough to make other decisions. "We'll do it," he said.

  "Great! I'll get my people working on it at once." Parker Davud was equally convinced that deploying the LAM was the best plan, but he didn't want to see his DropShip gutted like a pi
ece of meat after slaughter. As long as the DropShip maintained its structural integrity, they'd always have at least the possibility—however farfetched—of being able to fly out again. Besides, the DropShip was his, he owned it personally. He'd bought and paid for it from his earnings, money he'd taken significant risks to get in the first place. His profits from owning the DropShip had let him live in a way that others only dreamed of. Destruction of the ship would mean he could never hope to resume his former life. Yet, Davud knew there was no alternative.

  Examination of the ship proved beyond a reasonable doubt that it would never fly again, even if they didn't cut it apart. Davud dreaded hearing the news, but he couldn't avoid it for long. Once Mark Jacobs, the JumpShip engineer, got a really good look at the wreckage, he consigned the DropShip to the breakers. "Your main spar looks like a corkscrew," he announced. "Not only that, but ribs seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen have been stressed beyond their rebound point. They're so brittle I'm surprised you got this thing to the ground. The lifeboat's problems are even worse. I guess I really did a job on it while augering in. There's not an aerodynamic surface left to it. It'll smoke, and fume, and burn, but it'll never fly. Same with yours." He thumped the side of the DropShip. "Oh, well. Easy come, easy go."

  But cutting into the DropShip proved a more stubborn task than first imagined. Even using cutting torches from the maintenance compartment, it took quite a while to slice along the top of the hull. The torch had been designed for minor repair jobs, not for peeling away a section of hull. Jacobs finally suggested that laying cable along the surface and then superheating it with power from the fusion core might do the job more easily. It did, amid a shower of sparks that sprayed over everything. At last the nose of the LAM came clear of the hull.

  Seagroves had, meanwhile, been in the cockpit checking the systems and circuits. The crash had so damaged the power couplings that three of them needed replacement. That was easy enough for the two minor ones, because replacement couplings were among the prescribed load list bins the technicians carried. The third coupling was a major, no-failure joint that could not be replaced out of stores. The no-failure joints were designed to last the life of the ship and were sealed into the systems. Seagroves became pessimistic when he got a red light for that system, but Jacobs, always the tinkerer, came up with a solution. By cross-feeding the neurofield control system with the inter-coolers, he was able to bypass the damaged piece. He patted his repair with justifiable pride. "There.