Fall of Angels

XII

AFTER WIPING HIS forehead, Nylan handed the crude shovel to Huldran. “Keep clearing this rock off, all the way downhill to the stakes there. Make sure the dirt goes way outside the stakes, or you’ll have to move it again.”

“Yes, ser,” answered the stocky blond.

Nylan took his makeshift twine-and-weight level and measured the slope of the clear rock shelf. The rock ledge uncovered by the digging sloped enough that the tower foundations would have to be stepped and leveled. With the brush of pine branches, he gently swept the dust and dirt off the rock around one crack that extended the length of the cleared area, bending down and using his hand to gauge the width.

On a flat expanse of rock to the west of the tower foundationarea, two marines took turns using crude stone sledges on the chunks of reddish rocks. Beside them Saryn took a small hammer and pulverized the small pieces into dust, and then swept them into one of the few plastic buckets.

Khhhcheww!!! Chhhew!!!

“Frigging dust!” snapped the former second pilot, shifting her weight and the cast on her injured leg.

Khhchew!!!

Despite the sneezing, Saryn kept pulverizing the reddish rocks.

Over the hammering came another set of vibrations. The engineer raised his eyes to see Ryba riding up, her eyes surveying the area.

“Are you still digging holes?”

Nylan glanced at the captain sharply, then exhaled as he caught the glint in her eye. “Yes. We’re still digging holes.” He gestured, then swallowed, and continued the explanation he felt stupid making. “If I get the foundation and the lower level right, the rest will be easy. If not …”

“I’m glad you take it seriously.” She wiped her forehead. “We’re going to need it, and a stable or barn as well.”

“I don’t know how long the laser will last …”

“It lasts as long as it lasts. Then we try something else.” Ryba’s voice was matter-of-fact.

“Any signs of the locals?”

“Istril thought she saw someone in purple on the far ridge, but whoever it was didn’t stay around. There’s a road down along the bottom of the ridge, more like a trail. I’d say it’s one of the high passes across the mountains, probably more direct, but colder.” Ryba turned in the saddle, studying the fields and the surrounding slopes, then looked back at Nylan. “Gerlich says there aren’t any signs of local hunters in the higher woods. Not much in the way of larger game, either. That cat seems to be the top of the predatory chain. There are some goats, probably escaped domesticated animals or their offshoot, some horned sheep, and a lot of smaller animals, all off the mammal evolutionary tree. Thegoats and horned sheep run at the first sign of anyone nearing. There are traces of what might be deer, but no one’s seen any.”

“Goat and mutton are the animal-protein sources, then?”

“And the deer. Horse meat, possibly, and there have to be cattle, somewhere.”

“Why?”

“Where did the leather come from for those saddles and reins? Or those vests?”

Nylan felt stupid. “Of course.”

Ryba glanced toward the marines pounding rocks, and toward Saryn, who wore a floppy hat she had scrounged from the plundered goods. Ryba blotted her forehead, then steadied the horse, which sidled away from Huldran. “Sandstone? Why are they crushing that?”

“Volcanic ash. It’s almost too hard, but if we crush it and mix it with some other stuff, and some of the clay at the base of the ridge, it sets pretty well, maybe too well, sort of like a stone epoxy. We won’t be able to mix much at once, and that’s going to be a problem.”

“It hardens too quickly?”

Nylan nodded. “All or nothing. It either sets quickly, or it’s slop.”

“When will you start actually building?”

“Not until I get the footings set. Another couple of days probably. The first line of stones-that will really be like a sill-has to be perfect. We’ll do a double wall up to the third-floor level, fill it with stone chips and clay for insulation-”

“Whatever you think.” Ryba nodded and turned the horse down toward the section of the meadow that resembled a field of sorts.

As she left, Nylan pondered. Did he really need to cut all the stones? How big, or small, should they be? What pattern would optimize the energy usage and prolong the laser’s useful life?

He took a deep breath, then laughed. He was taking too many deep breaths.

“No! I’m no friggin’ field hand! You take your turn in the fields, too! Your ship’s scrap, and you’re no better than the rest of us now.”

Nylan looked downhill and to the eastern part of the field from where the voice carried up across the meadow.

One of the stocky marines, one of the few not only bigger but broader in the shoulders than Ryba-Nylan thought her name was Mran, but he’d never been good with names and hadn’t been concentrating that much-held the crude hoe like a staff, daring the captain to force her to return to work.

Nylan missed Ryba’s response, but she vaulted out of the saddle and handed the reins to Siret, one of the three marines with silver hair like Nylan, and one of the more quiet marines, though Nylan thought the deep green eyes saw more than most realized.

“Big trouble, ser,” observed Huldran. “Mran’s tough, and she’s a hothead.”

The four other marines in the field drew back, slightly, but watched as Ryba carefully slipped off the crossbelts that held her blades and the belt and holstered slug-thrower, then laid them across the roan’s saddle.

Mran smirked-Nylan could sense the expression as he and Huldran hurried downhill toward the field.

Then Ryba said something.

“You and who the frig else?” demanded Mran.

“Just me.”

Except for his and Huldran’s steps, and the faint rustling of the wind through the evergreens beyond the meadow, a hush held the meadow. Even the few remaining starflowers seemed held in stasis. Nylan wanted to shake his head, knowing what would happen. Mran didn’t understand what Ryba really was.

“You afraid or something, Captain?”

“No … I’m giving you one last chance to get back to work. If you don’t, some part of your body won’t ever work right again.” The words were like ice. “I didn’t think even you were stupid enough to take on someone raised as a nomad and wired as a ship’s captain.”

“You don’t scare me, Captain.”

“That’s your problem, Mran, not mine. Get back to work.”

“Make me.”

“All right. You were warned.” With the last word, Ryba blurred, as her hardwired reflexes kicked in.

Mran tried to slash with the hoe, but dropped it as Ryba’s foot snapped her wrist. The marine used her good hand and reached for the pistol, but the captain followed through with stiffened hands and an elbow. A second crack followed the first, and Mran looked stupidly at the second damaged wrist-but only for a moment before she crumpled into a heap.

Ryba slowed to normspeed and smiled. “Anyone else think I shouldn’t be in charge of things?”

“No, ser,” came the ragged chorus.

Her face hardened. “Surviving in this place isn’t going to be easy, and I don’t want to have to keep doing this sort of thing.” She glanced toward Nylan. “I might add that the engineer, the second, and the comm officer could have done the same thing, except that they don’t have the advanced martial arts training, and they would have had to kill Mran. Disabling is harder.” She smiled again and looked down at Mran.

The marine’s eyes unglazed, and hatred blazed from them.

“Next time, I’ll break your neck first. The only reason you’re alive is the same reason Gerlich is alive. There are too few of us for genetic purposes, but you cause one single bit of trouble, and I’ll drop you over that cliff without another thought. Do you understand?”

“Frig you!”

Ryba took a deep breath. Then her foot lashed out. Crack! Mran’s head snapped back, and the lifeless body slumped onto the field.

Ryba looked at the marines. “I never want to do this again-ever. But I will if I have to. We won’t survive if everyone thinks she can second-guess me. I’ll listen to ideas, and I have, and I’ve taken them. But there’s no room for this sort of thing.”

As Ryba belted on the crossbelts, Huldran turned to Nylan. “Hard woman.”

He nodded. “I’m afraid she’s right. According to our local source, old Narliat, we’re regarded as the evil-doers from the skies, and force of arms and surviving up here in the cold are all that are likely to save us. More democratic systems don’t work well with large egos, and marines and ship’s officers all have large egos.” Nylan snorted.

“Frigging lousy situation.” Huldran’s green eyes glared momentarily.

“Let’s try to make it better.” Nylan shrugged, and turned to walk back toward the incomplete tower. He didn’t know what else Ryba could have done, not without creating even more problems in the days ahead, but he didn’t want to talk to her at the moment. Even if some people, like Gerlich and Mran, or Lord Nessil, the dead local leader, seemed to respect only force, Nylan might have to accept it, but he didn’t have to like it.

He looked back to where Ryba mounted. He suspected Ryba was shaking, inside-high speed took a lot out of a body-but the captain seemed as solid as the stone Nylan labored over as she turned the roan toward the next field.