The Sword and the Plough by Carl Hubrick Page B

similar reverse fairing,
shielded the trooper from weapon fire from behind. Aft of the
rider, the fuselage tapered, ending in a tall tail fin with a
rudder, the height of a man. Two hover-thrust engine pods, set
amidships, powered the machines, and gave stability. A third
hover-thrust motor in the stern provided extra lift and
maneuverability.
    Lars supposed that the one-man craft had
some official name and model code, but popular thinking had long
ago dubbed it the horse and the tag had stayed.
    The horse could travel at high speeds over almost any
terrain, and rise up on its hover motors to jump fences and other
obstacles, much like the graceful animal used in the ancient sport
of show jumping still practised in some parts of old
Earth.
    As Lars watched, some dozen or so troopers
mounted their machines and he heard the sinister snake-like hiss as
the solar motors awoke, and saw the silvery shapes rise up off the
ground, their tall tail fins cutting through the dark green foliage
as they swished out into the bright of the sun. The machines merged
into a single column and the hiss rose to a high-pitched whine as
the streamlined machines swept past the barracks and through a gap
in the stone wall, which Lars could not see. He saw the line of
tail fins, like so many sharks, speeding through the fields of
ripening corn toward the road.
    The sudden sound of men’s voices made Lars
drop to the ground behind the black stone fence. He breathed in the
rich smell of the soil. The voices came closer. He heard boots
crunch the corn stubble close by, felt the skin on his neck
prickle, and his heart thump wildly. His body tensed. Two
serpentine columns of ants, going in opposite directions, marched
hurriedly about their business across the black dirt in front of
his face.
    The men hoisted themselves up to sit atop the
fence. Their voices drifted above him. Lars measured his
breaths.
    “I hear the Trionians are beginning to come
out of their holes at last,” a young man’s voice said
scornfully.
    “Yeah!” a gruff voice answered. “And they’ll
do what they’re told now that we’ve got all their VIPs safely under
lock and key.”
    “What’s left of them,” another voice noted
with a sneer.
    “Not to mention their choicest virgins,” the
first speaker snorted. “I’d give a year’s pay to be in charge of
that lot for an hour or two.”
    “Why rush things,” the gruff voice queried.
“How ’bout having charge of them for a month or more?”
    A burst of bawdy laughter followed,
gusting louder with each new lewd remark. Lars shivered and feared
for the safety of his sister. All at once, he remembered the other
young woman from the Communication Centre. The young woman with the
beautiful hazel eyes – Caroline. Had their fates been the
same?
     
    * * *
     
    The troopers moved on their way, their coarse
jokes and laughter gradually fading. Lars planted his elbows and
rested his chin in his palms. He could only guess where the
prisoners might be, but it now seemed likely the first place to
check out was the camp.
    His main problem then was not where to start
his search, but rather how to achieve it without being shot. There
had to be a way…
    Lars lay deep in thought, absentmindedly
observing the numberless procession of small black ants as they
bobbed and sidestepped each other in their tireless cavalcade among
the grains of black soil in front of him. There was purpose in
their endeavour.
    Many carried little white cargoes above
their heads – like porters on some ancient African safari –
appearing and disappearing through a crevice between the black
stones of the fence.
    Their ancestors had been about their business
long before Homo sapiens had evolved on Earth. Over time, they had
unknowingly accompanied humankind to new worlds and continued
undismayed about their tasks. Nothing had stopped them in over a
hundred million years.
    Yes, there had to be a way… He had but to
think of it…
     
    * * *
     
    Kill a Megran