Caught!

CAUGHT!

   "Boris, do you see anything out there?" she whispered. This planet has no moon, she thought. No moon, no light at night, clouds all the time. It's creepy.
   "No, Christina. But I hear people–someone or something– breaking through the brush."
"People? More than one? How many?"
"Sounds like a patrol. Maybe five or six."
Crack! A branch of a méki bush, dry, low, brittle. "Damn it, Srethims, be quiet," said a hoarse voice in the dark. "We know they're around here somewhere. We need to get them before they get us."
   Christina held her breath, as did Boris. Are we being set up? Are they trying to lure us out of hiding? Do they expect us to fall for that old trick?
Suddenly, from across the meadow, a shout rang out. "Get 'em now, the bastards! They're over there!" The quadrant rushed towards the trap.
What the hell is Cardeño doing? He'll blow our cover! He'll get us all caught! Boris and Christina took advantage of the noise and ducked down further under the wide méki that was covering them.
   A bright light came on, then another, then the field was lit up like a ball park. Cardeño, realizing his error, compounded it by opening fire. A ray from his gun missed the Militia leader and struck the méki, just at the spot where Boris had been hiding. Cardeño's shot was answered by several blasts. Four more dead; that makes nine so far. A double squad went out into the light, there were 12, 15, 16 Primmies. How many more were still lurking in the hidden recesses of these woods?
"We still don't have the big cheeses. Look at this: three men and a woman, not one even a sergeant. Keep an eye on the area, Mezclan; they can't be far. We'll catch 'em at dawn."
"What should we do with the carcasses, Deacon?"
"Leave them alone. The wolks'll swoop down and eat them. I can smell them coming already, even if we can't hear their wings."
   Mezclan admired this kind of thinking. After all, these are infidels, or moderns, which amounts to the same thing. They don't deserve any better. They wouldn't want to be buried like proper human beings anyway. Still, the wolks were fierce. They began with the eyes, then the throat; after that, he couldn't bear to look any more. If any of the quadrant's alive, the wolks will take care of that in a hurry.
The Deacon and most of the crew left. Boris and Christina could hear another guard element behind them, in the forest. In front of them, the lights out again, everything was dark. But, God, the stench! The horrible sound of flesh being torn apart! The cries and the in-fighting of these disgusting flying lizards pierced the still of the night. The cloud cover chose this moment to break up a bit, and the dim light of the stars let the pair see the chilling sight of the carnage. Their crew members! Their comrades!
Suddenly, it was all over. The incredible silence of this strange world rolled in like fog.

Christina woke with a start. The first light of the Mesnosian dawn cast a grey pallor all around them. Boris was asleep; she gently shook him, then covered up his mouth with her hand just as he was about to utter some sound. "Shh. Let's take a look at where we are and see if we can get out of here."
Before them, gleaming bones caught the light of the first sun rising. Little mouse-like carnivores were finishing up the job the wolks had started. Probably what they call stots. Above, bad news. The clouds were all gone for the first time in almost a month. The sky, blue, white and orange, promised a very hot summer day, especially when the second sun would rise above the far horizon. Worse, the thin foliage of the mékis couldn't hide them for long. They'd have to move fast.
Boris looked around, then looked at Christina. He seemed to know what she was thinking. "I think there's one of those cellar units, or maybe a mine shaft, near here," he whispered. "Look. The map shows a hidden entrance under a méki next to an abandoned hangar."
"Yeah, but the hangar's on the other side of the field. We'd be crazy to try to get there. They must have a hundred people around here."
Just then she caught sight of a quietly moving figure about 20 paces away. She yanked at Boris, and they both ducked. It was the leader of a small patrol, a triad. Her two soldiers were close behind. They looked into the brush and then out at the pile of bones and bloody fatigues. "Nobody around here," the leader was saying. "Too bad, there's a price on their heads. Ten credits apiece."
At this point Boris leaped up. "Sister and Brothers, take this!" he shouted. He fired at the leader, then at the others. They all fell, dead as rocks from Venus.
"Boris, what are you doing? They'll be sure to find us now! Let's get out of here."
"The triad will be found by their friends, maybe the Deacon. While they're occupied with them, we'll be able to sidle away, over towards the entrance."
A crazy idea, she thought, but what the hell? And there's nothing we can do about it now. So they crept slowly to the right, zigzagging a bit to stay under whatever cover the mékis could give them in the sunrise. Bush by bush, rock by rock, they were now just a few meters from where the map indicated a hidden entrance. Steady... don't let a branch get in your way, don't make any noise. Finally, the méki next to the now fallen-down hangar.
They waited until the bodies of the guard were discovered. Shouting, 10, 20, 30 Militia emerged from who knows where? From the edge of the forest, maybe. Commands were given, search parties began fanning out. Boris and Christina dug through an inch of soil until they felt a metal door. They lifted it up just enough to slip in, let it down slowly, and went down the ladder to the floor of what seemed to be an old tunnel. No light, but their flashlights revealed a concrete tunnel barely a meter high stretching out to the right and the left, slanting downward. To their right, it went under the open field and ended at another door; to the left, it led towards the long-abandoned underground factories built on Mesnos over 100 years ago. Protection from the wolks and the stots. The wolks live in caves high in the mountains nearby, the stots build nests at the top of tall dead trees. What a deadly one-two punch! But they never come underground. Maybe it's too cool for them here.
They went left, towards the factories, where perhaps they'd find some food and maybe a functioning radio.
A tunnel led to the right. Dead-end, according to Boris's map: it looked like an unfinished way out, or maybe it was intended to be opened up into another plant.
"What did they make here, Christina?"
"Some of the factories processed food, others wove cloth out of the fibrous under-bark of the méki. See if your map directs us to one of the luminescent caves that were the living quarters of the earliest settlers."
"Were those the settlers who became Primitivists? ... Ah! if we turn right here, we should come to a passage leading to one of those chambers."
"No, ordinary Primitivists never came here, but some Militia types landed just ahead of us. They seem to want to wipe out every vestige of civilization. Judging from the ruins of New Terra we saw, they must have killed thousands of people. Maybe there are a few colonials still alive. Mesnos was slated for full-fledged colonization until the Primmies, or rather, the Militia, came to put an end to that. By the way, it was not smart killing that triad. If there was already a price on our heads, what must it be like now?"
"I didn't kill them, just stunned them. They should start stirring in an hour or so. I don't like killing people."
"You're just the opposite of the Deacon. How can a person be high up in a church hierarchy and want to kill anyone who doesn't agree with him?"
"The Primitivists don't all act like that, you know. It's just their Militias. The Deacon must be a leader of a Militia cell."
"Well, they certainly all seem to take after me, Militia or not. I'm a nonbeliever, not just an infidel. Anathema. Get her in your sight and shoot: that's the kind of person I am to them."
"Look, a bit of light ahead."
"Let's be quiet and inconspicuous. Douse our lights."
They moved slowly towards the glimmering phosphorescent bluish light that seemed to come from behind a partly-opened door. Christina reached the door, then dropped down. "Cover me," she whispered, as she pushed the door open just enough to slip through. She looked around: no sign of life, but this was indeed an old factory. "It looks clear," she said to Boris; "looks like a food-processing plant. There might be something to eat in those cupboards."
Boris entered the chamber, closing the door behind him. The chamber was a natural cave, with a small stream of water running along one side. "I can use a drink," he said, and rushed towards the stream. Christina grabbed him with her unexpectedly strong arm and held him tight in her grip. He was surprised at the power she had–physical as well as mental and moral strength.
"Careful. We'd better test it first," said Christina. Boris was an impetuous guy. Sometimes his instincts worked, sometimes not. His plan to divert the Primitivists was an instinctive gem. But she remembered when he managed to get them in an ambush. They almost didn't make it out alive. And then, on Ares, when they almost ate the poisoned food.
"Okay, you win. I know what you're thinking. Ares, right? Maybe there's something wrong here, too." He scooped up a cupful of water and dropped in a small tablet. Some new kind of testing device. "What does it mean if the water turns green?"
"Remember the light's sort of blue here. That must mean the outdoor-light color of the water with this tablet in it is really yellowish. That means it's safe."
"See? You didn't have to stop me. I could have drunk that water without a worry in the world."
"Better safe than sorry."
They sat down at an old work table and had a long drink of the cool water, which had a sweet taste to it, sort of like flat unflavored soda pop. Or just plain sugar water. Christina found some tins of food, some kind of fish. That should help them get through the day: they hadn't eaten for 24 hours, and that was just some crackers. They could even wash off their faces here. Could they wash off that blue color? Nah, that was the luminescence.
"Anyone ever tell you you'd look real cute as a blue-blood, Boris?"
"I am a blue-blood. Aristocratic roots. Left-hand branch of Catherine the Great's family. Rumor has it some French guy named Diderot sired one of my ancestors, who became an enlightened serf-owner."
"Hey, that goes back hundreds of years. Eighteenth century, right? Gee, maybe some of our forebears knew each other. I'm named after my umpteenth great-grandmother, who was the Queen of Sweden, but gave up the throne to study physics, mathematics, and philosophy."
"Brains run in your family, eh? You cold and logical Swedes. We Russians always act without thinking."
"Cut out the stereotypes, will you? By now your genes, like mine, have been enriched by those of countless other people. We're really sixty-fourth breeds, or something!"
"Nevertheless, you've got to admit that in our cases the stereotypes work pretty well."
"Can't argue about that, I suppose. And now, the logical Swedish part of my brain tells me that we've got to figure out where to go from here, and what next to do."
"Well, we have two major options, I guess. One is to find our transmat site right away; the other is to hide out for a day or so, then look for it. I suppose you'd prefer the second option. 'Better safe than sorry.'"
"You know, I almost feel like making a run for our transmat site, just to be ornery. Or maybe to act like you."
"Believe it or not, I'd rather lie low a bit, maybe explore these factories, see where we are. I did take reconnoitering at the Academy, you know."
"Does your map cover this area?"
"No, it ends just inside the door. How's your sense of direction? Without a map, mine's terrible."
"Yeah, I know: you can't find your way out of a room that has only one door. You may not know that I've got a good memory for places I've seen and for the turns I've made. I bet I could duplicate your map right now."
"Okay, bet's on."
Christina picked up a pebble and scratched their route out on the floor. There was the méki they had been hiding under, the zigzag path they took to the old tunnel entrance, the position of the hangar outside, the tunnels they followed, the passageways they saw, the rooms, the spot where they were. Boris checked her sketch against his map. It was amazing! Where did she learn to do that? Is it instinctual, for that matter, or is it something you can be taught? This woman never stopped astonishing Boris.
"So if we went through one of those doors, and the halls turned out to be a maze, you'd be able to find your way back here? Did your umpteenth great-grandmother have this skill, too? Is that what made Sweden such a powerful country back in our blue-blood days?"
"No, just something I learned to do over the years. I'm a self-taught woman."
They reached the end of the chamber, which bent down and arched slightly to the left. The rock looked scarred in front of the right-hand door, as though it had been chiseled, but looked pretty natural around the left-hand door.
"My guess is that through the chiseled doorway we'll find the living quarters, and at least one exit to the outside. They would probably have kept the workshops closer to the interior.
God, I wonder how many survivors there are. How many did the Primmies kill? And how did the Primmies get here?"
Boris thought for a moment. "I read somewhere that they've managed to infiltrate even the Space Fleet. Maybe they stole a Space Fleet ship, or maybe they bought or rented a freighter. With warp drive, we're only what? six months from Earth? It's hard to say because we didn't come here directly."
"Well, let's take a look in what I think are the living quarters. But we'd better go in carefully and quietly, in case there's an opening to the outside."
Once again, Boris covered for her as she pushed open the door. Not much luminescent material here. Their eyes adjusted to the dark a bit, then they turned on their flashlights. A big lodge-like room, with what were clearly bedrooms off to one side and a kitchen to the other, bending back parallel to the big chamber they just left.
"You're right again, Lieutenant! Over there, near the kitchen area, is what I suppose is the exit you believe is here. Should I open the door, or do you think it's too dangerous?"
"We don't know what's outside, and in any case the main sun must be up high. I'd rather wait a few hours, till twilight at least, before giving it a try. Let's see what's behind the other door first."
"You know what I'd really like to do?" he asked, looking at her somewhat hungrily.
"Yeah, but no, not now. If we do stay here in the living quarters, I think it would be best to get some sleep, so we'll be fresh for the evening foray."
"I feel pretty well rested. I'll tell you what. You take a nap, and I'll go see what's through the other door. I'll wake you up in, say, an hour. Unless I get lost."
"Let me see if I get the hint .You have no sense of direction, and since I say no to sex right now you want to go about exploring. Then I get worried, come out and spend a day or so looking for you while you're turning around in circles. How can I spare the anguish? Have sex, or go with you, and the hell with the nap. Right?"
"I didn't know I was so transparent. Now it's my turn to guess. We go exploring together."
"That's right, Lieutenant Smirnoff. But first, I've got to find a loo."
A few minutes later, the two officers went through the first place that the first colonists from Earth had ever built. Mesnos, where it all began. Well, almost. There were the two Space Stations, Aphrodite and Ares, before. But this was the first world found that already had a well-defined biota and could support human life. The wolks and the stots were fierce predators, but there were few other predatory species. Mesnos, within half a century, could already boast several towns and two cities above ground. Plans were made for further colonization. Then the Primmies came and changed all that literally overnight. New Terra was razed, maybe 10,000 people killed, the whole population! That city was just outside the cavern where they were now standing. Sandstone Village was the next town up the coast. Is that the next target?
Through the door, the same blue light. Looks like a textile plant. Primitive machines, but when Christina tried a loom, it creaked into action, and the dust on it covered up some thread that could still be woven. When did she learn how to weave with this kind of machine? A hundred twenty five years ago? Before she became a longie, that's for sure.
Boris was chuckling. "You look so, so, so domestic," he said, with an ironic grin. The truth is, I can't imagine you in a kitchen, but here you are, weaving cloth. Can you make me a new tunic? Mine's ripped and torn."
"Very funny. But you know, fishing and farming and weaving and hunting seems always to be the way societies begin. They had to start from scratch."
"Well, not quite from scratch. These people did have a lot of technological help."
Boris opened a door to another room, glowing with the now-familiar blue light. "This must have been a living room, Christina. There are doors leading from it, maybe to an interior room. Hey! Take a gander at this!"
Christina followed him in. A light flashed in her eyes. "What on Earth...!" Rough hands grabbed her from behind. She fought, broke loose, called out, "Boris! Give me a hand!"
Someone seized her arm. A little defensive maneuvre sent him spiraling upwards, then arching down. Bam! Right on his back, then on his head. Unconscious. But Christina couldn't see this. Another man took her by the shoulders. A hard blow backwards to his balls had him doubling over in pain. She spun around, crashing her clenched hands on the back of his head just as her left knee met his jaw. The impact must have been awful: blood spurted, probably from his mouth and nose. He fell in a heap to the floor.
"Boris!" cried Christina.
She was tackled from behind, fell over forward. A heavy weight fell across her back, another across her legs. "Get off me, you bastards!" But two other men quickly bound her hands and her feet. "Tie her up tight: she's a demon. She knocked out two heavyweights!"
Then a familiar but hated voice could be heard. "Good work, Brother Boris. We have our prey. The trial will begin after dinner. The execution will take place in the morning."