The Forlorn(98)

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The vanguard wings had crept into the fields as silently as mice. All had been well until they'd come within three-quarters of a mile of the low walls. Suddenly the ripping sear of concentrated laser bursts tore into them.

"Shit!" Cap swore as he saw the secrecy of his attack shattered. "Fire the Brunhildes."

From the ridge came the wump of the catapults, flinging their cargoes of black powder kegs. Seven of them were blown apart in flight, but the eighth, by pure luck, exploded on the edge of the tower from which they'd drawn fire. And the Gene-spliced charged forward again.

Into withering fire. The alpha-Morkth engineering and ordnance were designed to survive a Beta attack, with far more serious threats than a hundredweight of black powder. It would have been infinitely worse if the comms network had been functioning. "Hell and damnation! Sound the retreat. They're not even going to make the walls!" Cap said disgustedly.

But, as he said that, the lasers fell silent. If he'd gone to check on his two psis he would have found them stunned and sobbing.

Down on the battlefield Beywulf raised his head in the sudden silence. He understood. The man had kept his word. Bey stood up and turned to face his fellows.

His voice cut through the newly won quiet. "S'kith, the Morkth-man, promised to silence their guns. He has done it. Come on! Forward!"

He turned, and with a cry of "S'kith!" began to lumber toward the hive. In a wave the Gene-spliced joined him, the Morkth-man's name echoing across the plain. And not as much as an arrow cut at them, as they poured forward up scaling ladders, and onto the walls.

Here they did meet what could vaguely be called resistance. It was more of a case of the death threshings of a dangerous but now headless beast. For there were no Morkth officers, no communications, and no orders. But there was a grumbling, and then a thunderous rumble from deep within the hive. As if some great monster was stirring. It caused momentary panic among the invaders.

Then Cap was there, shouting. "Into the hive. They're trying to flee."

Keilin and Shael, with no memory of how their fingers had so twisted together, saw the Morkth lander, a huge craft, vintage of the original Alpha-Beta split, erupt from what had been the plowed fields of FirstHive, rise on a column of steam and smoke . . . and run north.

They stood in silence for a minute. Then Keilin spoke up quietly. "We've got to go down. S'kith expected us to come and fetch the core sections."

"Won't the explosion have destroyed them too?" Shael surveyed the disturbed ants' nest below with trepidation.

Keilin shook his head. "Diamond won't scratch them. And no furnace will melt them. That much I've gathered. Besides, I could still feel them calling. It will take the Gene-spliced time to find their way through the queen maze. But if we go the way S'kith went we can avoid trouble."

They went down to the fortress. There they saw Beywulf directing operations, organizing torches, as well as a shield path that led the endless stream of confused, unresisting Morkth-men out onto the plain. "They won't attack unless they are attacked," he said grimly. "And most of them seem to be these brainless field-workers. Like human sheep."

"I need a torch or three, Bey. We're going to follow S'kith's route down," said Keilin.

"Hell, Keil, why don't you just ask me for hen's teeth? Every one needs them and I've got to ration 'em. Cap's already down there heading for the queen section. But . . . any chance that S'kith's still okay?" There was concern and hope in his voice.

Keilin shook his head, trying to get his voice to work. Finally he said, thickly, "No. He's dead, Bey. He died laughing at his joke. He used the bomb in his own body to blow the power cable."

The broad man turned away. He shouted at the party of Gene-spliced going down past the frightened stream of Morkth-men. "Remember, I'll have the guts out of any of you that injures a woman or child! Bring them up, and bring them up careful!" He turned to the captain next to him. "Diarma. This has become a debt of honor. That Morkth-man died to save my kid . . . all of our kids. I gave my promise. I'm responsible to see the kids especially don't get hurt. That they get looked after. Pass the word down the communication lines, will you?"

The Gene-spliced have the strength and speed and dexterity of their spliced-in ancestors. They are also an emotional people. Perhaps the human source material was like that. Or perhaps it was a lingering trace from the chimpanzee and kodiak lines. These folk were close-knit and clannish, and they cared. Keilin should not have been surprised at the ready tears on both broad faces. Bey handed Keilin a bag of pitch-pine knots. "See if you can find him. He'll have a hero's grave on the Moss. I'll stay here and see that his wishes are carried out."