Misfits (9 page)

Liz nodded and moved away, hand up to grab
somebody else's attention.

Redhead sat down and punched the "talk"
button.

"Redhead here."

"Here's Tech," she heard, followed by his
calm, unflappable voice. It was like easing in for a swim after a
hot, horrible day, his voice; the water so cool it felt like
silk--…

"Redhead, you are untroubled by the
earthquakes?"

She laughed, hand to face.

"That's not true, Brunner. I hate 'em. I
feel like the whole damn world's trying to shake me off it! And
that's when the locals aren't praying for me one minute and
shooting at me the next."

"You have a good commander, Redhead," he
murmured. "I think you will not have those problems much longer. If
you have a portable, or paper to hand to record this--… we think
you can expect waves of about the same strength as you recently
experienced at approximately every nine standard hours. I stress
that this is approximate. Recent events are--unprecedented, which
makes prediction--… difficult. So, there will be a resonance, if we
are right, a larger kick-in-the-pants, as Jack calls it, perhaps
every fourth or fifth. Also, there will likely be random sharp
waves."

"Got it," she said, memorizing what he told
her; she'd lost her portable, with her books and games and
all--gods, it seemed like years ago, at that firefight at--

"And so," Brunner was continuing, "the rest
of the information is that in the short term we see no major
precipitation. This is good; it keeps some of the fallout radiation
above you. You are not under the jet currents carrying the worse
loads yet. The long-term is much harder."

"Snow?" she offered.

Brunner laughed.

"Not snow, no. What is happening is that we
have new water flows in the ocean, new and unstable. This will
affect the--… the--… mesoscale events, the regional weather and
possibilities for local and regional. Weather we cannot predict so
well. We are um--… perhaps aided in that we know where you are and
will be able, to some extent at least, to concentrate our efforts
in predicting for you. It would be best for us and for you, if we
can receive frequent updates. They needn't be non-stop, but perhaps
a reading each orbit or two that we travel overhead--…"

"That's what--about fifteen times a day?"
She chewed her lip. "I'll see what we can do. Might need to add
somebody to the talk list--… but if mostly you need the unit
switched on, we ought to be good for that."

A pause then, and then Brunner's voice came
as if he was partly turned away from the mike.

"Yes, we will monitor at all times, but will
expect voice communication as you need, else three times per day.
Perhaps you should take our tide warnings and we will set a
schedule from there?"

"I can do that. Send away!"

* * *

Brunner woke, his body already calling for
tea and chernubia. He kept time now by the next time he was needed
at the microphone, or what sort of weather was imminent. It
happened that this time, his waking and first meal coincided with
the day's first scheduled report from the surface, where Lizardi's
Lunatics slowly moved through the smoldering remains of what had
once been a vast forest toward an abandoned hilltop farmstead,
hoping to find shuttles waiting to bear them to the station.

That there would actually be shuttles--that
sat between the Scout and the station master.

He heard raised voices as he approached the
weather room, one of them Boylan's, one the Scout's. Then Jack
chimed in and the level rose.

"We have to go in!"

"There's nothing we can do."

"The chief insists that we cannot land."
That was the Scout, and it hurried Brunner's steps. Cannot land?
But--

"It's disturbing the science!" Boylan
shouted. "We knew from early on there was little chance--…"

Brunner ran, bootheels noisy against the
floor.

"What has happened?"

His three associates fell silent. The Scout
bowed, slowly, as between equals.

"I see we need not wake you for this
news."

Jack stepped up, ushering Brunner toward his
seat.

"I slept late and had a meeting with the
intern," said Boylan defensively, "and when I arrived, we were
beyond range already."

Brunner turned to face her, his stomach
twisting. "What has happened?"

She turned away from him. It was the Scout
who leaned forward and touched the pad, started the recording.
There was noise, bursts of sounds that once he would have mistaken
for thunder.

"Tech! Recon squad found us a nest of
leftovers. Liz tried to talk to 'em but you hear what they're
saying. Hold them ships till you hear from us cause it looks like
they got themselves some anti-air stuff. Bastard's tried to sneak
in through--… damn. Out."

"Last orbit?" Brunner demanded, though he
could see the time on the scan. "This happened and no one told me?"
He spun, coming up out of the chair so quickly the Scout fell back
a step.

Boylan turned to face him. "What could you
have done?" She shouted. "Nothing! There's nothing you can do for
them, Brunner, and the sooner you stop pretending--and him,
too!--the better, for you and for the mission! Mercenaries are paid
to die!"

Breath-caught, Brunner took a step, his hand
going out of its own accord, snatching up a coffee cup left on the
counter--

Jack moved, clinks subdued, caught Brunner's
shoulder and pried the cup from his hand.

"Sorry, Tech." The hand squeezed his
shoulder, perhaps meaning comfort, then Jack turned, cup yet in
hand as he nodded to the planetologist.

"Let's get some breakfast, hey? We'll be
able to work better after we've had something to eat."

Boylan looked at Jack, then at Brunner, her
eyes wide and her face hard.

"Later today," she said, and her voice was
soft. "I marked it in the event file. Later today the tides will be
bad. Ugly. I'm not sure they're survivable. I'm sorry,
Brunner."

He stared at her, vision spangling. He
blinked and felt the tears, hot down his cheeks.

"Right." Jack took Boylan's arm and steered
her toward the door.

"Coffee. Coffee'll help us both, and
company, too--…"

Weeping, Brunner watched them leave, then
turned back to his instruments, tapping the event file up.

"The times are there," the Scout said
quietly. "I believe that the quakes are due six orbits from now.
Before that, there is the enemy. With the right weather, with luck,
perhaps they may sneak past to a place of safety. It would be wise
of you to prepare a forecast, my friend. I go to see if calls for
assistance will be answered."

The Scout bowed, gently, and Brunner
replied, "Comrade."

* * *

The civilians were dead; the gun took the
couple the land had let live. Liz pulled what was left of the
Lunatics back some, and sent scouts out, looking for a way around
trouble. Joey came back, reporting no joy. Auifme didn't come back
at all, which Redhead guessed amounted to the same thing.

"We got no good choices," Liz said.
"Weatherman upstairs says there's bad weather coming--worst we
seen. Weatherman's a cheerful boyo, but he's not being cheerful
about this. Wants us to get to a safe place pronto, by which I
gather he means off-planet and maybe out-system.

"In the meantime, the Scout's guaranteeing
transport, but we've got to make the rendezvous point before that
weather hits."

Scandal shook her head. "Hell, Liz, that
ain't no choice; it's one choice!"

There were a few laughs from around the
circle. Miri finished up her half of the last ration bar in her
pack, had a drink, and passed her water jug to Skel. They'd
stripped down to necessaries some while back, taking just enough to
keep 'em to the rendezvous. That was before they'd run into the
crazies with the Forsbo 75, o'course, not that anything they'd had
left would've answered it for good.

"There's a little obstacle between us and
the rendezvous, in case you hadn't noticed," Skel said to Scandal,
when Liz didn't.

"So, we run for it," she answered, pushing
her helmet up off her face with a grimy forefinger.

"It's an option," Liz allowed. "I'd like to
up our odds some, though. I'm thinking in terms of a diversion.
Something to draw the gunner's fire while we're sneaking past in
the direction we need to go." She looked 'round at them, taking her
time.

"I'm looking for a volunteer."

Miri took her water jug back from Skel and
snapped it onto her belt. Outside the circle, a baby wind twist
swirled into being, stirred the dust, threw a couple stones and
dissipated. Inside the circle, nobody said anything.

"I'll do it," she said, and heard Skel draw
in a hard breath, exhaling it on a laugh.

"Hey, no, now. Stealing my thunder,
Redhead?"

She shook her head at him, but she was
looking at Liz. Liz, whose face had gone still, eyes narrowed;
who'd gotten her off of Surebleak and given her a fighting
chance.

Well, and sometimes you fought, and
sometimes you lost. Even she knew that.

And, besides, she didn't intend to lose.

"Makes sense," she said to Liz's hooded
eyes. "I'm smallest. I'm fastest. Got the best chance of getting
in, doing the job and getting back out."

Liz took a breath. "You got a distraction in
mind, I take it?"

"Yes'm." She nodded. "I do."

* * *

"Tech Brunner, I have news which may--… ease
your burden somewhat."

Brunner turned from his screen. The Scout
was disheveled, even unkempt. He was, however, smiling. Brunner
felt his own heart lift in response, which was surely not wise, but
hearts were not known for wisdom.

"What has happened?" he asked.

"We have shuttle craft fueled and standing
by, we have pilots volunteered from among the crew."

"Ah. And the permission of Chief Thurton,
you have that, as well?"

"Pending receipt of a message from Phaetera
headquarters. If the hour comes upon us and the message as yet
unreceived, we go. This by the chief's own word."

Brunner's knees wobbled. He sat abruptly on
the stool.

"This is--… an astonishing reversal," he
said slowly, and took a breath.

"Earlier, when I spoke to her--they are
still pinned. Commander Lizardi had pulled back, and sent recon to
seek a way around." He took another breath, remembering. "She said,
this morning's count was twenty-seven. The civilians--… they did
not survive the night."

The Scout inclined his head. "All honor to
them," he murmured, then straightened, eyes bright. "We have been
in contact with others who are also making for the rendezvous
point. We will take any and all who meet us, but--… I fear we will
not be able to wait for those who are not there."

"Understood," Brunner whispered. He cleared
his throat. "Understood."

* * *

"Tech? Ichliad? You there?"

"I am here, galandaria." As if he
could--would--be anywhere else until this was over, however it
came--…

He leaned his head against edge of the
monitor, the plastic cool against his skin.

"I wanted to tell you," Miri Robertson said,
her voice as clear as if she stood next to him in the weather lab.
"Couple things. First, you done real good by us; we wouldn't've got
this far without you helping us so much--…"

Brunner closed his eyes, hand fisted on his
lap. "Child--…"

"No, hey, listen. And I gotta tell
you--having you on the other end of this thing, talking to me, an'
all? You didn't have to do that and it--I don't guess I can say out
how much it helped, so you're gonna just hafta believe it did. A
lot. We sit down and get that coffee, after this is all over, I'll
try to 'splain it better, okay?"

Brunner swallowed. "Okay--…"

"Good," she said. "That's good. Now, the
other thing I got to tell you? We're gonna be moving real soon.
Gonna strike for the rendezvous point--run like hell, that's the
plan. Good one, huh?"

"Indeed. A most excellent plan."

"It's got a lot going for it, mostly being
the only plan we got," she said, sounding amused. "But, see, the
Stubbs here. I'm gonna--"

"Leave it!" he said violently. That she
should worry over mere equipment when--He took a breath.

"Galandaria, listen to me. Set the unit to
automatic and leave it. I will gather what data I may, while it
functions. Promise me that you will do this."

"No--… can't. I--Brunner. Look, I need this
thing, okay? What I wanted to tell is--you're prolly gonna lose the
signal. Don't worry 'bout that, right? Promise."

Gods, Gods. He took another deep breath, and
when he spoke, his voice was calm, never hinting at the tears
running from closed eyes.

"Of course, you will do as you deem wise,"
he told her. "You have never given me cause to doubt your judgment.
Now," he said, more briskly. "You should know that the Scout has
just recently assured me that there will be ships at the rendezvous
point. They will board any who come, but they will not wait,
galandaria. Do you understand me?"

"Got it," she said cheerfully. "Right in
line with the plan, huh?"

"Yes," he murmured. "Run like hell."

* * *

"Get 'im?" Skel hunkered down next to her
and held out a square of chocolate.

"Did. Told me to get my ass to the
rendezvous point or else." She nodded at the chocolate. "You better
have that."

"Already did," he said, and if he was
lying--which he prolly was--he was good. "Saved this out for you.
Least I can do, huh?"

"Thanks." She took it and gnawed on a corner
while she pulled up the Stubbs' manual, ran the search and pulled
up the page.

"You tell 'im it ain't likely you'll be with
us to meet the pilots?" Skel asked harshly.

She looked up at him, shaking her head. "Not
planning on getting done just yet. You?"