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However, as it passed over the bridge, ready to make its programmed turn, it paused. Around it the part oolt formed, looking for the threat that had prevented their temporary master from continuing on. No threat. No thresh, no threshkreen. Just the dark silence of the moonless night.
For the superior normal, however, there was a problem. The last time the God had spoken to him—he recalled it with a thrill of pleasure—the God had asked if he had seen anything not-normal. This, then, these . . . trails through the high grass and thorn bushes, this was not normal. By extension, it was possible that he should call for help if something was not normal. However, those were not his orders. His orders were to fire off one magazine if he saw "sign of threshkreen."
But . . . this could be the mysterious "sign." Ru
But even the four-legged thresh of these hills made trails like that from time to time. Another patrol could have scattered them, driving them away from the road by their presence. It could even have been wild oolt'os; there were some of those in these death haunted hills.
Rocket science indeed. Finally, cautiously, the normal moved towards the trails, searching and scenting for any clue. The trails came off of the road, crossed the field with some evidence of scattering or bedding, then went up into the hill beyond. He cautiously paralleled one of the trails. There was a scent of oil, a bite of gun-smell, that combination of propellants, metal and cleaners. But that could have come from anything. It could be in his nose from their own weapons. Finally he paused.
The field was covered in thorn and grass, a simple triangle between the trees along the river, a road that paralleled it and the main road they were patrolling. The parallel road, a washed-out track now after the first onslaught cleared these hills, was also torn in the passage of whatever had made the trails. And in the mud on the far side, under the short cliff that terminated the field beyond, was a clear and unmistakable boot print.
The normal didn't know it was a bootprint. But he now knew what his God had meant by "sign of threshkreen" for he had seen this before as well. And when he saw it, he lifted his railgun in the air and fired.
* * *
"Oh, bloody hell," Nichols said quietly.
"Somebody spotted the path," Mueller added u
"Sister, call for fire on that field, call for scatterable mines on our trail, too. Let's didee-mao, people."
* * *
Cholosta'an scratched up behind the head of the superior normal as he drew his blade. It bothered him to gather this one. The normal was, without a doubt, the best of his oolt'os, but he was wounded sore and the path of duty was obvious. Cholosta'an scratched the cosslain and told him how good he had been to find the trail of the threshkreen as he laid the monomolecular blade against the normal's throat.
"Wait," Orostan said quietly. "Is that the one that found the trail?"
"Yes, Oolt'ondai," the younger Kessentai answered. "It . . . bothers me to gather him. I have none better. But the way is clear."
"Leave him. We will provide him with food. With enough food and rest he may grow well."
"Even if he survives he will be crippled," Cholosta'an protested feebly. The idea was attractive, but the oolt'os would be nothing but a weight on his balance sheet.
"If you will not support him, I will," Orostan said. "Keep the genes. Keep the material. Put him to the work of a Kenstain, that which he can do. We need such as he. And you have other things to do."
"As you bid, Oolt'ondai," Cholosta'an said, sheathing the blade. He gave the oolt'os some of his own rations, a singular honor, and stood up. "Well, you suggested I give up half my oolt and that is, more or less, what has occurred."
"Not exactly as I had intended," Orostan said. "But not without some good. We now have these damned threshkreen, this Lurp team, localized. We can put all our patrols on a few roads and narrow the area down even more. Once we have them in a tiny box we will find and destroy them if it takes the entire host to do it."
"Good," Cholosta'an said savagely. "When we do I want to eat their hearts."
Orostan hissed in humor. "I am no human lover, but they do have some good expressions. They refer to that as 'payback.' "
CHAPTER 10
Near Seed, GA, United States, Sol III
0623 EDT Sunday September 14, 2009 ad
Mosovich cursed bitterly. "I'm getting too old for this shit."
"Yeah," Mueller whispered. "Tell me about it."
Oakey Mountain Road was a tiny thread paralleling the Rabun/Habersham county line. The line itself followed the ridges that the team was using to avoid detection, but the road, not all that far away at most points, was generally obscured by the thick forests of the hills. This was their first clear glimpse, paused on the mountains above Lake Seed, and it was horrifying; the narrow trail was crawling with Posleen.
"That's a couple of brigades' worth, Jake," Mueller whispered.
"Yeah, and if they're there, they're going to be on Low Gap Road . . . They're boxing us."
"Jake, Posleen don't do that," Mueller protested, ignoring the evidence of his own eyes.
"Yeah, well, these Posleen do," Mosovich answered. "Sister Mary, are we secure?"
"Yep," she answered. "There's a box over on the other side of Lake Rabun and I've put in a couple of new ones. We're solid laser back to corps."
"Wake somebody up. I want a human being, not a machine. I think this mission is a bust and we're going to have to cut our way out."
* * *
The officer rubbed his eyes sleepily and took the proffered headset from the communications tech. "Major Ryan, FSDO. Who is this?"
Ryan sometimes wondered if he wouldn't have made a greater contribution to the war effort in the Ten Thousand, a posting that came automatically with the tiny "Six Hundred" embroidered on the right chest of his BDU uniform. However, a brief but memorable "counseling session" with the Chief of Staff of the Army Corps of Engineers had convinced him that there were better places for him, and for the Army.
The Ten Thousand generally depended on other units for their engineering support and their senior engineer was basically a liaison. Sergeant Leo, now suitably promoted to warrant rank, fulfilled the position perfectly. And it would be a dead end for a junior engineer who had realized he liked being an officer.
Thus had started a series of usually high profile, and always critical, assignments. The first had been as junior aide to the Commander of the Corps of Engineers and almost all the others had involved positions equally challenging and career advancing. Even this last, a redesign of the Rabun Gap defenses, was a high profile job. He was, technically, just the Assistant Corps Engineer, but in reality he was directing not only the brigade of engineers but all the divisional engineers in a complete rebuild of the valley's defenses.
The defenses for Rabun Gap were extremely heavy, make no mistake. The gap was a relative low point in the eastern ranges with a major road passing through it, so the United States had spared no expense in preparing for the Posleen onslaught. The primary physical defense was a curtain wall that stretched across a narrow point south of the former Mountain City like a slightly smaller Hoover Dam. The wall stretched, on an only slightly less massive scale, up both of the steep slopes on either side ru