Dave scowled at him, waiting for the sound to come again. "That," he
said when it did. "It sounded like a scream."
The guard listened for a moment, then frowned as the sound came yet
again. "Bad news, if it's what I think." Dave shivered at his
expression as he went on. "Don't do anything stupid while I'm
checking, kid. This could be serious."
"I won't," Dave promised, impressed into obedience despite himself.
He'd tried escaping a couple of times since he'd been foolish enough to
try replenishing his supplies at what had seemed to be a commercial
camp, but he'd been recaptured quickly; now he endured his captivity
stolidly.
"Good enough. I'll be back as soon as I can." Theo left the tent they
shared, with Dave following him as far as the entrance. It was dark,
so he saw only fire-glow from the central area--but from here, he could
hear a slapping noise like something hitting flesh before another
scream broke through the party sounds. It made him wish again that he
was back in his own tent, maybe five kilometers away. His parents had
let him go camping alone to celebrate his fourteenth birthday, and that
had been a lot more fun than this . . .
Moments later Theo returned, looking grim. "It's time for you to get
out of here, kid. Lord Robert's gone beyond trying to kick out his big
sister; this ain't just a family fight any more, it's treason against
the Empire." He paused. "I'd get out myself, but maybe I can help the
Ranger by sticking around. Think you can slug me convincingly with
that lamp, then get the hell back home? There're grav-hoppers in the
parking area just south of the camp, and it's drunk enough out that you
should be able to duck what guards're left."
"Ranger!" Dave exclaimed, horrified. "That's a Ranger--" He broke off
at Theo's expression. "Yeah . . . I think I can." Then he'd see what
he could do!
"Okay. Do a good job; I'll need a fair-sized lump to convince his
Lordship." Theo turned his back to his prisoner.
Dave picked up the lamp and hefted it, thinking. He and Theo both
wanted to help the Ranger, so he'd have to make his escape look real--but
he didn't want to hurt Theo, who'd been as good to him as possible
under the circumstances. He took a deep breath, gave the lamp a couple
of practice swings, and then brought it down with what he hoped would
be the right amount of force.
Without a sound, Theo collapsed.
"Hey, it worked!" Dave exclaimed, a little surprised.
Then he frowned as a sudden thought struck him, and he knelt beside
Theo's limp form. A blow like that, he'd read, could sometimes kill!
But thankfully this time it hadn't; he was relieved to find his guard
still breathing. Theo might play a mean game of chess, but for a rebel
he was okay. Dave started to leave the tent, but it occurred to him
that it would look better if he took Theo's gun.
He did so, slipping the heavy disruptor pistol into his belt. He knew
how to use it; his mother had been an Imperial Marine, and had made
sure her husband and children knew how to handle all the weapons she'd
been trained on. He checked to be sure the area was clear, then left
the tent. Everyone seemed to be near the main fire at the center of
camp, but he kept to cover anyway. He knew he should leave without
stopping for anything, but he couldn't. Not with a Ranger being
hurt . . .
The cries of pain were weaker, and as Dave made his way toward the
fire, he found himself hoping the Ranger would pass out. He was
getting too close to stay on the ground, though; he climbed one of the
trees that ringed the campfire and made his way along a limb until he
could see what was going on through the leaves.
Almost immediately he ducked back, half-sick and not wanting to believe
what he'd seen. He'd known it would be bad, the sounds hadn't left any
doubt of that--but knowing didn't make it any easier to watch an
Imperial Ranger being beaten, maybe to death. Dave's first impulse was
to start shooting, but even as he reached for the disruptor in his belt
he realized that would do more harm than good. Firing into the rebels
would just get him recaptured, maybe killed, and that wouldn't do
either him or the Ranger any good. There were too many rebels, and it
looked like they were all mean-drunk.
Where in Chaos were the Marines? Dave thought desperately. They should
be here, stopping this! In the holos, they always came to the rescue--but
in his mother's stories, they were sometimes too late. He inched
forward again, horrified fascination making it impossible for him to
look away. The Ranger's cries had subsided to moans, his body jerking
at every impact of the whip the rebels were taking turns using on him.
After what seemed like hours, even the moans ceased, and he hung limp
in his bonds.
With the entertainment over, the rebels lost interest in their
prisoner, and the ones who hadn't already been overcome by the
refreshments wandered away, too drunk--or, Dave thought bitterly, too
confident of the Ranger's helplessness--to bother posting guards. He
descended from his perch, careful not to lose the disruptor. He didn't
dare use it now, it was too noisy, but it could come in handy later.
Right now what he needed was a quiet way to cut the Ranger's bonds.
Maybe one of the passed-out rebels carried a knife he could use--most
people did, in the wilderness.
The dying firelight provided just enough illumination for him to find
what he needed on the second rebel he checked. It was an expensive
hunting knife, and he hesitated for a moment, feeling a twinge of guilt
at taking it even from a rebel.
But the twinge didn't stop him; he had to help the Ranger! He stared
for a moment at the limp figure in the torn and bloody forest-green
uniform, then moved toward the south. He had to get transportation
first; he was strong for his age, but he didn't think he could carry or
drag that much dead weight--he shuddered at that thought--very far.
The parking area was guarded, though it was obvious that the two on
duty had been doing their share of drinking. Dave thanked any gods who
might be listening that the rebels didn't come at all close to Marine
standards; if they had, a fourteen-year-old civilian wouldn't have had
a chance. Even as it was, he'd be lucky to get out.
Not that he didn't have some things going for him, he thought as he
studied the layout of the parking area and the way the guards were
negotiating their patrol routes. First was surprise, since they
wouldn't know he was free and wouldn't consider him much of a threat if
they did see him. Add that he was armed, something else they wouldn't
expect--and, he thought grimly, that he had paid a lot of attention to
his mother's stories and teaching. He might be young, but he had as
much theoretical combat knowledge as anyone who hadn't been through the
Academy, and he was willing to use gun and knowledge both to help the
Ranger. But right now, stealth was better than a confrontation.
He made his way cautiously to an aidvan, finding as he'd half-expected
that it wasn't secured; aid vehicles had to be ready to go at a
moment's notice. He would have liked to take the van, considering the
Ranger's injuries, but he didn't dare; he needed something that was
both more maneuverable and less noticeable. He also didn't have the
training to make use of its resources, at least not enough to make it
worth the tradeoff. But he could take things he knew how to use, like
bandages, emergency blankets, a survival kit, and rations; he stuffed
those into a carrying sack, then went forward to check the controls.
This was a rebel camp, after all, so the vehicles shouldn't require
personal ID to operate; if it was like most large fleets a single code
should be able to activate anywhere from five to a couple of decade
vehicles. And the aidvan ought to have one of the code cards in the
slot, ready to go . . .
Dave grinned in satisfaction when he got to the driver's position.
Convenience, as he'd hoped, had overcome security, something his mother
said disapprovingly even happened sometimes with Marine units; the card
was in the slot. He took it, then grabbed his supplies and hurried
into the next vehicle in line.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the card proved to activate this
vehicle as well; he might have had to go through a decade or so. Now
to see if it had . . . yeah, good. Lord Robert might be a rebel, with
creeps--well, mostly creeps, Theo was okay--for followers, but he had
good equipment. This had variable coloration, which Dave promptly set
for camouflage, as well as convertible capability, a light-enhancing
windscreen, and a low-power setting that made the whine of null-grav
engines almost inaudible. Making use of the last two, Dave took the
vehicle carefully out of the parking area. Really good equipment had
its disadvantages, too, he knew,; he'd have to get the Ranger, get out
of camp, and find a hiding place fast, before the rebels realized what
was happening and used the override the car almost had to have. He
wouldn't dare take enough time to get home, or to a town, and his camp
was out of the question.
Dave lowered the car's top as he guided it into the campfire area and
nudged the passenger side against the Ranger's legs, then he clambered
into the back and stood on the seat to reach the man's bonds. They
were rope, so he wouldn't have to risk even low-power disruptor fire;
he sawed through them, then laid the Ranger as gently as he could on
the back seat. The fabric he touched was sticky-wet; he wiped his
hands on his pants legs before he got back in the driver's seat and
began edging the car away from the camp.
He kept the car on low power, traveling slowly, until he was almost a
kilometer away, then went to normal power and sped up. This part of
the mountains was honeycombed with caves, so he decided their best bet
would probably be to find a nice one and hole up until the Marines
finally landed. Dave was confident they would; whatever had kept them
from showing up right away surely couldn't keep them from starting to
search when the Ranger didn't return when he should!
It took him almost an hour, but he found a cave that would serve them
as a decent shelter. It had a fairly level floor, as far as he dared
take time to explore, with enough turns and side passages to keep the
wind out and maybe provide them with emergency hiding places or a
stronghold--if he could get the Ranger to them. And, best of all, one
of the side passages had a small spring overflowing into a stream that
led deeper into the cave. Yes, he decided, it would do nicely.
He brought the car to the entrance and turned on the visible-light
headlights long enough to unload his gear, arrange a makeshift bed for
the Ranger, and finally half-carry and half-drag the man inside and
settle him. Then he started to program the car to take it away from
them, but hesitated, thinking. He'd gotten what he could carry from
the aidvan, but there was a better than even chance the car itself held
something useful, this far from any settlements. He checked, finding
more blankets and rations, a military-issue medikit--and the jackpot, a
fusion lamp/stove combination. He grinned, lighting the lamp and
stacking his fresh loot inside the cave entrance, then finished
programming the car and sent it on its way.
It lifted off, climbing to well above treetop height, then oriented
itself to a heading that would take it--if it didn't blow itself up or
get shot down first--to the Planetary Palace an hour or so after dawn.
Dave listened until it was out of hearing range, then carried his finds
further into the cave and braced himself to check the Ranger's
condition. First he cleaned his patient's face, recognizing him as
soon as he'd washed the blood off: Esteban Tarlac, newest and youngest
of the Emperor's personal representatives and troubleshooters. Then he
started pulling Tarlac's uniform shirt off, trying not to get sick as
the wounds were exposed. When he had it about halfway off, the Ranger
stirred.
Tarlac woke slowly, aware at first only that he was laying on something
hard and that he hurt all over. He shifted, trying to get comfortable,
but a hand on his shoulder restrained him. He opened his eyes, to see
a young man--not much more than a boy, really--bending over him.
"What--"
"We're in a cave in the Webster Mountains, sir," Dave told him. "I'm
Dave Scanlon. I was a prisoner too, but when they brought you in, my
guard let me go so I wouldn't be involved." He went on to describe
their escape and present circumstances. "I'm afraid it was the best I
could think of," he finished apologetically.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," Tarlac assured him. The youngster
had probably saved his life; he wasn't in any mood to quibble about
details. "You might not believe how much I hate to ask this--but just
how bad is it?"
"Uh . . ." Dave hesitated.
"That bad?"
"Well--not good, so far, and I've only checked your front. I haven't
even cleaned that yet, since the water's still cold." Dave swallowed.
"I'm no corpsman, obviously, and you need qualified medical attention,
but I'll do the best I can for you."
"I'm sure you will." Tarlac tried to sit up, unsuccessfully; Dave
caught him as he fell back, groaning. "Is there any painkiller in what
you brought along?"
"I think so." Dave rummaged through the medical supplies, brought out
an injector of quidine. "Uh, what's your mass?"
"Call it seventy kilos, that's close enough."
"Yes, sir." Dave read the instructions, set the injector for the
weight he'd been told, and triggered it into the side of the Ranger's
neck. "I hope that's right--there's only enough here for another
couple of doses."
After a few minutes, Tarlac sighed in relief. "That's fine, Dave--a
lot better. Would you help me sit up?"
"Of course, sir." Dave piled up some of the blankets he'd collected,
helped the Ranger to sit up, and shoved the blankets into position to
serve as a backrest. "I'm not really sure you should be putting weight
on your back--but I don't really think you should be putting it on your
front, either, and you have to rest somehow." He hesitated, then went
on. "I ought to check your back now, if you don't mind."
"Whether I mind or not doesn't matter very much," Tarlac said. "It
needs to be done, and at the moment you're the closest to a doctor I've
got. Plus if I'm in as bad shape as it feels like I am, there's a good
chance that I'll be unconscious a lot of the time--and when I am awake,
I won't know what's been going on, and I could very well not be in any
shape to make good decisions. Which puts you in charge, until we're
rescued. What do you want me to do?"
Dave stared at the Ranger in bewilderment. "But--I can't give a Ranger
orders!" he finally managed to get out. Granted that almost everything
he knew about Rangers came from the holo, news and dramas, he was
positive that they gave orders, they didn't take them . . . well,
except from the Sovereign, of course.
Tarlac grinned, reasonably sure what the youngster was thinking. "We
do take advice, suggestions, and sometimes orders, from anyone who
knows more about a given situation than we do, or who's in a position
to handle it better. Right now, that's you--and you had the initiative
and resourcefulness to pull me out of the middle of a rebel camp; I'm
satisfied to have you go on with the job."
"The kids at school will never believe this," Dave said, as much to
himself as to the Ranger. "But okay, if that's what you want. Uh . . .
I can ask you for advice, can't I?"
"Sure, but you'll have to decide if it's worth taking or not."
"I promise." Dave shook his head, still not quite believing what he'd
gotten himself into. He knelt beside his patient, spreading out more
blankets and grateful that he'd been able to find so many. "If you'll
roll over, then, I should check your back."
"Okay." It took effort--he was weak from the combination of pain,
shock, and loss of blood--but he made it.
Dave cut away the rest of the Ranger's uniform shirt, then checked the
water he'd put on the lamp. It was warm enough now, so he used it to
clean the caked blood away from the whip-inflicted wounds. He didn't
want to believe what he saw as he worked--you didn't use stingweed for
any reason!--but the yellowish edges of the wounds were proof that
couldn't be denied, and he used a swear-word he'd seen embarrass his
mother once.
Tarlac wasn't sure whether he should get worried or laugh at the boy's
virulent language, but on the whole it didn't sound promising. "What's
wrong, Dave?"
"The blankers soaked the whip in stingweed sap," Dave told him, trying
to control his anger. "It can't have taken full effect yet, or not
even quidine could kill the pain--and it carries something like a cross
between a fungus and a bacterium that nothing in a standard medikit
will touch. How long till your rescue party arrives?"
Tarlac frowned; this sounded serious. "Is this Tuesday, or was I
unconscious longer than I think?"