Fall of Angels

VIII

THE EARLY-MORNING sun glared out of the blue-green sky and bathed the sloping meadow, and the figures who toiled there, glinting off the few exposed metal sections of the lander shells and off the small spring that fed the stream.

Ryba stood above it all, on the top of the rocky ledges above the dampness of the meadows in the wind that blew steadily from the northwest. With her stood Fierral and twomarines. All four looked to the northeast, down the rocky ridge line.

“There … you can see them, at the base of the ridge there. It’s almost as good as a road.” Fierral pointed. “They’re pretty clearly headed here. And there are a lot of them.”

“I’d expected a little more time before anyone found us. I wonder how they knew.” Ryba frowned, then shrugged. “I suppose that’s not the issue now.”

“What do you want us to do?” asked the blue-eyed force leader.

“Act innocent. Keep the sentries in place and use the mirrors to signal me when they get close. Position the rifles there in the rocks where you can sweep them if you have to. Try not to use them until you really have to. I’d rather save the ammunition. Make sure the rest of the marines have their sidearms with them. We only have the pair of rifles?”

“Just the two,” Fierral affirmed.

“Give one to each of your best snipers-besides you-and put one where you are and the other on the far end of that downhill clump of rocks.”

“Not a bad cross fire.” The force leader nodded.

“Then set up the rest of the marines where they can take cover quickly if they have to. They might have archers or something.”

“I didn’t see anything like that through the glasses,” Fierral said slowly. “You don’t think they’re peaceful?”

“With more than fifty horses in a primitive culture? That’s the equivalent of a half-dozen mirror towers.” Ryba snorted. “No … they’re not peaceful, but we’ll pretend they are, and I’m betting they’ll be trying for the same impression, too.”

Fierral raised her eyebrows, just as flaming red as her hair, but said nothing and waited for Ryba to explain.

“It’s simple. The way the approach runs here, you have to come up the ridge, and that’s exposed. Nylan was right. It’s a good spot for a tower-or a castle. The rocks behind there are too sharp to bring horses through, and too steep. So”-Ryba shrugged again-“without modern weapons, it would be hard to take. But first we have to survive to buildit. Anyway, they’ll pretend to come in peace, unless we attack first, just to get close, and they think we’ll be drawn in.”

“Men,” laughed Fierral.

“They may be transparent, squad leader, but they’re still dangerous.” Ryba turned. “The engineer will be doing the prep work for his tower, and I’ll keep a handful busy with the ditching. We might as well do something while we’re waiting. It will be a while. They’ll walk the horses up here so that they’re fresh for the battle they’re pretending they don’t want. Try not to kill the horses. We’ll need them.”

“Besides you, who can ride?” asked Fierral.

“You’ll all have to learn, sooner or later. This way, we won’t have to buy mounts.”

The other two marines looked from the hard face of their squad leader to the harder face of the captain.