Part 21 (1/2)

Mayor Kimmeron or other high-ranking officials. At no time, despite Cerenkov's carefully phrased requests, was the contact team taken to anything resembling a communications or computing center; nor were they shown any of the city's industrial or manufacturing capability.

And yet such capability obviously existed. The glimpses they got of intercity roads and the relatively spa.r.s.e traffic on them showed Sollas's goods weren't simply being s.h.i.+pped in from somewhere else.

”It's got to be underground,” Rynstadt commented that evening as the four men relaxed in the lounge that connected their two sleeping rooms. ”All of it: refining, manufacturing, waste processing-maybe there's even a tunnel network for product distribution.”

”Except for smaller operations like the boron plant we saw the first day?”

Cerenkov shrugged. ”Possibly. Probably, even. Sure seems to be the hard way to do it, though.”

”Depends on what they were after,” Joshua put in. ”Aesthetically, this is a clean, beautiful city, a good place to spend your leisure time even if you have to work underground all day.”

”Or else,” York said quietly, ”they were simply worried about having everything out in the open.”

Cerenkov felt his jaw tense up, forced it to relax. The unspoken a.s.sumption was that the Qasamans were eavesdropping on these conversations, and to go anywhere near military concepts made him nervous. But on the other hand, ignoring such a normal aspect of human societies was likely to look even more suspicious. As long as York didn't let his professional interests run away with him-”What do you mean? They built underground to protect their manufacturing base from attack?”

”Or from detection,” York replied. ”Remember our a.s.sumed starting point:

migrs-or exiles-from perceived repression, having gone way farther than they intended and now stuck on Qasama with a useless stardrive.”

”Do you suppose they ran into some Troft s.h.i.+ps on the way here?” Joshua suggested. ”The Dominion probably hadn't met either them or the Minthisti when the Qasamans left. If I'd just seen a Troft for the first time, I think I'd probably have kept going until my tanks ran dry.”

Nodding, York said, ”I suspect that's exactly what they did. The distance seems right for a colony s.h.i.+p's full dry-tank range.” He looked back at Cerenkov. ”I'd guess they had their whole city underground to begin with, moving up only as they started to outgrow the s.p.a.ce and no one showed up to stomp them.”

”And they came up smack in the middle of the bololin migration pattern,”

Cerenkov sighed, shaking his head. ”Definitely poor planning on someone's part.”

”That doesn't explain where the villages came from Rynstadt mused. ”Though maybe we can get some of their history tomorrow. a.s.suming the trip is still on.”

Cerenkov shrugged. ”As far as I know Moff and company are driving us out there first thing tomorrow morning.” He broke off as a familiar hooting sounded faintly in the distance.

York grimaced. ”More bololins. I think I'd have stayed underground until I found a way to keep the d.a.m.n things out.”

At least, Cerenkov thought, the streets ought to be pretty empty by now. I wonder how many people those things kill every year? ”I a.s.sume they had their reason. Maybe Moff will loosen up some day and talk about it.”

First time in a week I'm close enough to make a grab, Pyre groused silently to himself, and the d.a.m.n herd decides to be nocturnal.

From Pyre's end, of course, it wasn't all that bad. Locking in the light amplification capability of his optical enhancers gave him as good a view as he would have had on an overcast afternoon, and with magnification also on he'd be able to target any likely tarbines as soon as they emerged from the obscuring buildings. And once he had targeting lock established he could follow his chosen bird into the woods, where he could shoot it without anyone seeing the flash.

The problem was that with most good Qasamans tucked away in their beds there weren't likely to be many bololins running into bullets out there, and correspondingly few impregnated tarbines for him to hunt. Muttering under his breath, he mentally crossed his fingers and waited for the herd to appear.

It did; and his pleadings were answered from an entirely unexpected direction.

Across the landing area-about half a kilometer away and somewhat northeast of his current position-a door suddenly opened in a tall building the Dewdrop's crew had tentatively labeled the control tower, spilling light and people out onto the pavement. Flickers of fire erupted from outstretched hands, and even as their mojos took to the air the sound of gunfire reached Pyre's ears. s.h.i.+fting his attention back to the herd, he waited. Within seconds the tarbines began to appear.

The mult.i.target capability hadn't been a part of Cobra optical enhancers since

Jonny Moreau's war, but Pyre's team had trained with them prior to the Qasama mission and he'd developed a healthy respect for both their advantages and their dangers. Once he target-locked one or more tarbines, his nanocomputer and servos would make sure his next laser shots would be in that direction-whether or not he suddenly found a predator he needed to deal with first. He'd run into at least twenty such creatures since leaving the Dewdrop-dog- or monkey-sized, most of them, but none he'd care to give a free shot at his back regardless. But it was a chance he'd have to take. Keeping an ear c.o.c.ked for suspicious sounds, he activated his mult.i.target lock and waited. The wait wasn't long. As before, the mojos attacked swiftly, swooping in through the tarbines' attempts at evasion.

With the larger birds' head start, though, most made it into the cover of the nearest trees before their mojos could disengage. Pyre targeted two of the tarbines just before they entered the forest and, on slightly reckless impulse, locked onto one of the riding mojos as well. The birds swept through the branches, disengaged... and, raising his hands, Pyre squeezed off three fingertip laser shots.