“Over there!” Reaching forward from the back seat, she grabbed the driver’s right shoulder with one hand, even as she pointed sharply with the other. “That way, by the copse of big oaks!”
As the driver obediently swung their vehicle in the indicated direction, an energized Lopé saw what she was pointing at. Two heavy horses, both percherons, had not made their escape with the rest of the herd.
What the hell…? Lopé stared.
One lay on its side on the ground. It was utterly motionless, its eyes open and unblinking, all four legs stretched straight out from its body. Fully exposed to the view of those in the car, its underside was neatly slit from groin to chest. There was no blood. There was no cascading viscera, no organ dump. There was, however, plenty of room for machinery, instrumentation, and a passenger.
The percheron was a mesyn—part mechanical, part synthetic. The robotic components were required in order for it to function, Lopé knew. It wasn’t a full synthetic, like the Walter model that had been assigned to the Covenant. The composite life form gave new meaning to the definitions of horse and rider. It was also an unparalleled example of camouflage—of a sort no one ever could have foreseen.
Indistinguishable from its counterpart, the second mesyn continued to move back and forth as it and its concealed operator stalked a subject among the trees. Here they grew too close together for the car to proceed any further—another argument in favor of the equine synthetics.
He and Rosenthal drew their sidearms as they piled out. Rosenthal sprinted to her right as Lopé admonished the driver to stay with the car and keep watch. He moved to the left, and they warily approached the confrontation that was taking place in front of them.
Beyond the mesyn horse, two men were retreating. One of them—a lithe, muscular man—was backing away using an arm to hold the other individual close in front of him. At the same time he kept the muzzle of a small pistol pressed tightly against his captive’s neck.
Abruptly the horse-machine opened its mouth to spit several small-caliber shells in his direction. The slugs chewed up the ground to the left of the entwined pair. Warning shots, Lopé theorized. He recognized neither of the two men.
Taking cover behind a tree he nodded across to Rosenthal, who had done likewise. Then he leaned around the bole, aimed his weapon, and shouted.
“This is Daniel Lopé, sergeant, Weyland-Yutani security! Identify yourselves!” The figure with the gun replied immediately. He didn’t, however, take his eyes off the second mesyn.
“Yoji Ngata, kodenbushi,” he called back. “Weyland-Yutani special operative, Tokyo department!” He nodded as best he could at the man he was dragging backward. “I have in custody one Duncan Fields, the so-called prophet of the organization headquartered at this property!”
Before he was finished the head of the mesyn swung in Lopé’s direction and unleashed a barrage of chain shells that tore away bark and part of the tree behind which the sergeant had taken cover. Ducking around the trunk, he took aim and began firing. Off to his right he could hear Rosenthal opening up with her own weapon.
“Aim for the head!” He could see puffs of faux flesh flying as the shells from his pistol tore into the mesyn’s synthetic flesh. “Aim for the eyes!”
Trying to deal with the new threat from the sergeant and the private, the operator inside the pseudo-percheron ended up cutting nothing but wood. Rosenthal again proved her skill by taking out one of the mesyn’s camera eyes. When Lopé succeeded in shattering the other, the organo-mechanical composite began to stagger, though bullets continued to fly erratically from the mouth muzzle.
It gave Ngata time to get his captive behind a tree. With delicate features and straight black hair falling down to his eyes, he looked more like a musician than a free-ranging security operative. He was breathing hard from the effort of keeping his prisoner between them and the second mesyn.
“Thank you, Sergeant Lopé!” Ngata yelled out. “It was becoming difficult to continue.” He looked around the tree where he had dragged his captive. Finally they ducked behind an old sycamore, its broad trunk offering plenty of cover.
Lopé nodded, peering again around the flank of the oak behind which he had taken shelter. The still erect mesyn began stumbling about. Its operator had ceased firing.
“Stay put!” Lopé called out, making a face as he shifted his attention to the Tokyo operative’s captive. “For someone who’s caused so much trouble, you don’t look like much.”
Fields had long since ceased struggling against Ngata’s powerful grip, but he met the sergeant’s gaze evenly. “I never meant to cause anyone any trouble. I just tell people what I dream, what I see. It is their decision to try and save mankind from itself.” To the sergeant he looked more tired and resigned than angry. “Now I just want it to end.”
Lopé snapped back. “Maybe you should have left the saving to those equipped to do it.”
Before Fields could offer a comment the sergeant had stepped out from behind the oak. Beckoning to Rosenthal he started forward, crouching low while moving from side to side as he advanced, careful never to move in a straight line.
His caution proved unnecessary. With its optics shot out, the mesyn was blinded. Approaching the staggering composite from behind, Lopé took careful aim at the rear left knee. Silently he gestured for Rosenthal to do likewise to the knee joint of the left foreleg. Motioning up and down with his hand he counted down to three, barked “Now!” and fired several rounds.
The knees shattered, spitting flesh and shrapnel. As the mesyn collapsed to the ground its operator attempted to fire at the unseen assailants. It continued firing until several clicks indicated that it was out of ammunition.
Lopé waved Rosenthal off to the right and took up a position facing the mesyn’s ventral side. Bearing in mind Glynis Hazelton’s explosive self-immolation in a city alleyway, each of them stayed at a safe distance. Though the mesyn was now effectively sightless and immobilized, they had not shot at its ears.
“I repeat, this is Sergeant Daniel Lopé of Weyland-Yutani security! You are surrounded. Your prophet is in custody. You are immobilized. We will not move within range of your weapons’ system, and there is nothing more you can do.” His grip tightened on his pistol. “There’s no reason to sacrifice yourself. Come out and raise your hands. If I see the slightest indication of a booby-trap or concealed explosive device of any kind, I will shoot you down without hesitation.”
No response. From across the way, Rosenthal looked questioningly toward her superior. Lopé gestured for her to be patient. Behind them, Ngata held onto his captive while regaining his strength.
A whirring sound came from the mesyn’s guts as belly and chest split open. The diminutive female figure who rolled out of the prone operator’s position kept her hands above her head. As the sergeant tracked her every movement she rose, calmly brushed herself off, and started walking backward. Lopé pursued slowly, maintaining the same distance between them.
“Stop there.” He gestured with the muzzle of the pistol. “Stop walking.”
“Sorry, Sergeant.” Yukiko spread her hands to show that she held no weapon, no button, nothing that could activate a concealed explosive device. “I have to leave before your other people arrive. What you say is true. I have sacrificed—but not enough. Not yet.” Her expression was grim, her voice taut. “I am not afraid to give my life in the service of mankind, and I will continue to do everything I can on behalf of the Prophet, to save our unworthy species from—”
“I know, I know.” He continued following her. “The demons out there. Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s nothing out there but interstellar gas, dust, and if we’re lucky, a handful of habitable planets. You’ve been wasting your time. You’re wasting it now. Lie down on the ground and put your hands behind your back.”
Shaking her head she continued slowly backing away. He considered rushing her and knocking her down. She was a lot smaller than he was. But he had no idea if she was hiding some
thing lethal under her clothing or somewhere within that slight frame.
“I will shoot,” he warned her again.
She gave a slight shrug. “Then that truly will conclude my sacrifice, Sergeant. Go ahead then, and shoot.” With that she whirled and broke into a run.
She’d gone two steps before, startled, she ran straight into Rosenthal’s right fist. So intent had she been on her conversation with Lopé that she hadn’t seen the private circle around behind her.
Lopé jogged over to join them. Standing over her and looking down, he holstered his pistol, then nodded approvingly to Rosenthal.
“You’re quick.”
“I hope I’m always quick enough.” Reaching into a back pocket she removed one of a pair of standard-issue security restraints, knelt, and began securing the unconscious woman’s wrists. As she worked, she nodded once in the direction of the tree that continued to shield the Earthsaver’s prophet and his captor. “Where’d pretty boy come from, anyway?”
“Tokyo, he said.” The sergeant spoke brusquely as he turned to regard the same tree.
“How did he end up here?” Having secured her prisoner, Rosenthal began to check for booby traps. As the woman beneath her began to come to, moaning, Rosenthal showed admirable expertise. “Did you know about him?”
Lopé shook his head, his reply a conflicting mix of irritation and admiration.
“His presence here fits with some of the stories I’ve heard of how the old man likes to work. It’s just like Yutani to send out somebody to operate on their own to work the margins of an operation like this.”
Satisfied with her work, Rosenthal rose. “So Yutani doesn’t trust his people out in the field? Doesn’t trust us?”
“I don’t think it’s that. More like covering your bets.” He looked down at the now securely bound captive. “Ngata must’ve been poking around outside the perimeter Bevridge established. If he hadn’t, this woman and her ‘prophet’ might have successfully galloped away alongside the real animals.” He turned again toward the protective oak. “We should thank him. Or congratulate him, anyway.”
“Any congratulating better be mutual,” Rosenthal said. “If we hadn’t come along, he likely wouldn’t have made it away. He couldn’t keep dragging that ‘prophet’ all the way back to the entrance road. Not with the mesyn pursuing him. And if he’d tried to pull a comm unit to call for backup, Mr. Prophet would’ve been able to break free. That would’ve taken away his shield.”
Lopé looked thoughtful. “Speaking of backup…”
XXV
Bevridge was more than a little relieved to hear from the sergeant. Leaving his team to complete a search of the farm buildings, he had his driver track the signal from Lopé’s comm unit. Going off-road, they soon arrived at where the sergeant’s vehicle was parked. Its driver pointed into the dense stand of old trees directly ahead.
While Rosenthal secured the prophet Duncan Fields, Lopé introduced Bevridge to the unexpected backup from Tokyo. As the two men exchanged professional courtesies, the amused sergeant noted that Bevridge was trying hard to appear thankful for Ngata’s intervention, when in reality he was more than a little upset at having his authority undercut.
Not that it would matter, he knew, given the results of the operation. The Earthsavers’ organization had been effectively smashed. Its prophet and supervising council had been taken into custody. Though there were probably an unknown number of lower-level operatives still out there, with no one remaining to give them orders or direction, they were likely to fade into obscurity.
A truck full of armed security personnel arrived to pick up the two new prisoners. Part of Lopé wished he could be present to see the faces of the other Earthsavers when their prophet rejoined them. Their diversion had failed to draw attention away from the escape attempt. They had been outnumbered and outgunned, and their “mission” was at an end.
Bevridge spoke to someone on his comm unit, probably informing his superiors that the operation had achieved its goals and without a single fatality. Rosenthal escorted the now-bound prophet over to the newly arrived truck. That left the Japanese operative standing by himself.
Lopé sauntered over. Seeing the sergeant approaching, Ngata bowed slightly. When he straightened, he was smiling.
“My thanks to you and your partner, Sergeant. While I would have managed something on my own, your arrival was both timely and welcome.”
Nodding, Lopé offered a crisp reply. “Maybe. Or you would’ve lost control of your prisoner, and been drilled by a fanatic.”
Ngata’s smile tightened but did not disappear.
“Those were also possibilities.”
“You didn’t get here in a late-model dark blue four-seater, by any chance? With dark bronze trim?”
Ngata looked surprised. “How did you know that?”
Lopé grunted. “I’ve got an eye for cars. One thing has me wondering, though.” Lopé gestured westward, in the direction taken by the long-vanished mob of real horses. “You were wandering around out here, away from the action, doing your own reconnaissance. Suddenly a herd of horses comes stampeding toward you and jumps the rock wall surrounding the property. Instead of taking shelter behind a tree and getting out of their way, you pick out the two fakes, the two mesyns, out of a herd of maybe two dozen, and you do it in a matter of seconds.” He stared intently at the youthful operative. “How’d you know to do that?” One hand gestured into the woods. “How did you know to single those two out? Not to mention to bring one down and open it up?”
Ngata’s grin grew wider. “Not being involved in the actual assault gave me ample time to monitor communications. Theirs, as well as yours.”
The sergeant was not pleased. “So you knew when these two were making a break for it…” Ngata nodded once. “But you didn’t think to inform anybody else.” He frowned darkly as he awaited the answer.
“There was no time.” The younger man just shrugged. “I had to get here to intercept them, in order to ensure they did not escape.”
“In your judgment.” Lopé’s stare was unblinking.
“In my judgment, yes.”
“What if they’d escaped anyway, or killed you in the process?”
“Then I would have been guilty of poor decision-making,” Ngata replied calmly. “At first I did exactly what you describe, Sergeant. Seeing the herd coming toward me, I took shelter behind a tree to watch them pass. As they drew near I quickly noticed that two of them running side-by-side were moving with a gait that was not normal. One that no normal horse would employ. It was not just unusual—it was dynamically and biologically impossible.” He shrugged. “Had I been wrong and shot down a real horse, I would have felt terrible. I love horses.”
Lopé nodded sagely. “So that’s what tipped you off. An unnatural gait.” When Ngata nodded affirmatively, the sergeant added, “I wouldn’t expect such a love of horses from a solo Weyland-Yutani security operative.”
Ngata explained. “In my childhood, I was exposed to the exploits of a national hero, Hiroshi Hoketsu. He was twice the oldest person to compete in the old international Olympics, and the oldest competitor ever for Japan.”
A look of understanding came over Lopé’s face. “Let me guess. Equestrian competition.”
Ngata nodded. “I wanted to be like him, but horses are expensive to maintain. More so than guns. I have maintained an affection for both, and follow developments in both.” Turning, he gestured into the woods. “I knew immediately that two of the creatures running could not be actual horses. So I took a gamble, and shot one.”
“Good call. Good shot,” Lopé grunted. “I love horses, too. Preferably broiled and medium-rare.” At the look that came over Ngata’s face, the sergeant hastened to reassure him. “A joke. Just a joke. Come on. I’ll buy you dinner when we get back to the city and you can tell me everything about the briefing you received before you arrived here.”
“I cannot tell you everything.” They started toward the car that had b
rought Lopé and Rosenthal. “Company policy.”
The sergeant pursed his lips. “I’ll settle for what you can tell me. It won’t matter anyway. In a little while I’ll be snug in deepsleep and unable to tell anyone anything. Besides,” he added cheerfully, “I know a great Uzbek restaurant that services horse steak and… just a joke, my friend, just a joke.”
Except this time, it wasn’t.
* * *
The security convoy reconvened back on the road leading to the farm complex. Lopé’s wish was granted as he was present when the captured prophet and his escort were loaded into the same truck as the quartet of previously detained colleagues. Instead of cries of anguish and distress, however, there were only brief nods of recognition. The captives’ expressions hardly changed.
It made no sense, and that bothered him.
With the capture of the prophet and the council, their entire organization had been broken. Yet no one seemed to care. This didn’t fit with the behavior of fanatics. Were they that confident of their lawyers? Did they expect to be released on their own recognizance? If so, he told himself, they greatly underestimated the influence of Weyland-Yutani, and the ability of Hideo Yutani to carry a grudge.
Or was he overlooking something?
I’m worrying too much, he told himself. We’ve more than done our part, helped take down the enemy that’s been bedeviling us. It was time to relax a little, enjoy the last sights and sounds and smells of Earth, before embarking on the final shuttle flight back up to the Covenant. Goodbye to Mother Earth and hello to Mother, the ship’s pervasive AI.
No surprises lurking there, at least.
Even so, as Bevridge was shaking his hand and going on and on about the success of the operation, the sergeant couldn’t escape a nagging unease at the sight of the preternatural calm displayed by the departing captives.
* * *
It did not bother Hideo Yutani that a typhoon was predicted to hit the islands. As far as he was concerned, the real storm, the important storm, was over.