and followed the trail along the side of a hill. Vanderveen thought things were going to get better at that point but soon learned how wrong she could be as the vegetation began to change and the ground softened. The sun was hanging low in the western sky by the time the diplomat was forced to wade out into the murky waters of a swamp. As the cold water closed around her legs, Vanderveen wondered if the column would be able to reach solid ground before darkness settled in around them.
An hour later the answer was clear as the red monitor led the prisoners out of a forest of frothy celery-like trees and into shallow water. The sky had turned a light shade of lavender by then, and stars had begun to appear, as the exhausted POWs followed a line of vertical poles out toward the low-lying island at the center of the lake. “Look!”
Hooks said as he splashed through the water at Vanderveen’s side. “I see ruins.”
The diplomat knew there were forerunner ruins on Jericho, lots of them, so she wasn’t surprised as the bottom shelved upwards, and their boots found fi?rm footing. So fi?rm it was quite possible that they were walking on a submerged road.
Nankool was exhausted by the time he arrived on dry land, but rather than collapse when a guard announced that the prisoners would be staying the night, he took charge instead. “We need fi?rewood,” the chief executive announced fi?rmly. “Enough to fuel at least six fi?res. We had a relatively easy time of it today,” the president added, “so the least we can do is have everything ready when the rest of the column arrives. Secretary Hooks, please fi?nd Commander Schell and tell him to come see me. The people who led today should follow tomorrow.
“FSO Vanderveen,” Nankool continued, “fi?nd the doctors. Tell them to open a clinic. I hope they know some83
thing about feet—because they’re going to see a lot of them. Once that’s accomplished, we’ll need some latrines. And pass the word for people to boil the lake water before they drink it. Lord knows what sort of bugs are swimming around in that stuff.”
Vanderveen fi?gured that few if any of the local microorganisms would be able to exploit alien life-forms on such short biological notice, but it made sense to be careful, so she nodded.
By the time darkness fell, fi?res illuminated parts of the mysterious half-buried building, and most of the prisoners were clustered around what little bit of warmth there was. Meanwhile, the night creatures had begun to grunt, hoot, and gibber out in the swamp. And just in case the night sounds weren’t suffi?cient to intimidate any would-be escapees, Tragg’s monitors fl?oated through the ruins like silvery ghosts, bathing everything below in the harsh glare of their fl?oodlights. The overseer was camped on a smaller island, where his robots could better protect him, but it soon became apparent that the mercenary could see what the monitors saw. Because as the airborne machines continued to patrol the area, the overseer made occasional comments intended to let the POWs know how omniscient he was.
But intimidating though such measures were, some of the prisoners managed to ignore them. One such individual was Private First Class Cassidy, who, having devoured all his food during the day’s march, went looking for more, a practice very much in keeping with the survival training the Marine Corps had given him.
So neither Vanderveen nor the rest of the people gathered around Nankool’s fi?re were alarmed when Cassidy disappeared, or especially surprised when the torch-bearing marine reappeared forty-fi?ve minutes later, with a rather remarkable prize cradled in his arms. The egg, which had a yellowish hue, was at least twelve inches in circumference.
And, as Hooks put it, “A sure sign that something big and ugly lives in the area.”
Cassidy, who was clearly pleased with himself, grinned happily and immediately went to work preparing his fi? nd for a late dinner. No small task, given the shortage of tools and cooking implements. But fi?nally, after painstaking experimentation, the marine managed to remove one end of the oval-shaped egg with repeated taps from a triangular piece of rock. Then, having seen how thick the shell was, Cassidy placed the container on a carefully arranged bed of coals. It was slow going at fi?rst, since there were solids within the yellowish goo, but the process of stirring became considerably easier as the now-scrambled yolk began to heave and bubble.
A tantalizing odor had begun to waft through the smoky air as the marine bent to remove the protein-packed shell from the fi?re—and Vanderveen felt a moment of temptation as Cassidy offered her both a grin and a spoon. “Here, ma’am. Dig in!”
But for reasons Vanderveen wasn’t entirely sure of, she shook her head and smiled. “I’m full at the moment. But thanks.”
Cassidy shrugged good-naturedly, ate a spoonful, and rolled his eyes in obvious pleasure. That spurred a sailor to try some—followed by a greedy Calisco. All three were busy chewing when the Ramanthian guard shuffl?ed into the circle of light and eyeballed them. All conversation came to a sudden stop, and fi?relight danced in the alien’s coal black eyes. He couldn’t speak standard, but when the trooper spotted the fi?re-blackened egg, his electronic translator did the job for him. “What-is-that?”
The rifl?e made an excellent pointer, and, being a marine, Cassidy had plenty of respect for it. “That’s an egg,”
the young man said proudly. “A big honking egg that I found out in the swamp. You want some?”
The question was followed by a moment of profound silence, during which Vanderveen began to feel a strange emptiness take over her stomach. Because as the Ramanthian processed Cassidy’s words, the diplomat remembered something important. Rather than give birth to live offspring, the way many species did, the Ramanthians produced eggs, some of which were allowed to hatch naturally.
The diplomat wanted to say something, to fi?nd a way to forestall what she feared would happen next, but it was too late. There was a loud bang as the Ramanthian shot Cassidy in the left knee. The marine uttered a cry of pain as he grabbed hold of the bloody mess and began to rock back and forth. “Why, God damn it, why?” the soldier wanted to know.
Half a dozen prisoners had come to their feet by then, Nankool among them, and the Ramanthian might have been in trouble had it not been for the sudden shaft of light that washed over the entire area. “Hold it right there,” Tragg said grimly. “Or pay the price.”
More Ramanthians arrived after that. There was a brief burst of conversation as the fi?rst guard made his report, followed by an obvious expression of anger from a heavily armed noncom. “Who else?” the trooper demanded. “Who else eat our young?”
Cassidy screamed as another shot rang out. His good knee had been transformed into a ball of bloody hamburger, and he brought both wounds up against his chest where he could cradle them with his arms. “Nobody!”
