Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(18)

The engineer closed his eyes, then opened them. Less than six hundred rounds of ammunition-that was what stood between them and being captured or killed by the locals. The battle laser might be good for another skirmish, but it wouldn't be much good once the fighting reached the hand-to-hand stage, and that meant a cold decision to wipe out the locals before they even charged the angels.

And after that? The locals wouldn't go away. It might be a few seasons or years before they attacked again, but given human nature, they would. Then what would the angels have left for defense? Ryba had agreed to build a tower, and that meant he had to design one that was simple and relatively quick to construct, big enough for growth, and proof against a cold, cold winter that probably lasted more than half the local year. Ensuring that the tower could hold off any lengthy attack also meant figuring out a water supply that couldn't be blocked . . .

He sighed.

"You're still awake?" asked Ryba.

"I thought you were asleep," said Nylan.

"No. I was thinking."

"So was I. What were you thinking about?"

"You name it, and I was thinking about it," she answered slowly. "Weapons, the locals, weather, crops, housing, your tower, the next generation, how to feed horses through the winter, how to get to the winter . .."

Nylan nodded, then added, as he realized that, while he could see her, she didn't seem to have the same night vision he did, "I was thinking about the tower."

"I told you that you could use the lasers to cut stone to build the tower. Just make it big enough for three times the numbers we have."

"Four," suggested the engineer.

"If you can do it. There's not that much power in the firin cells." Ryba reached out and squeezed his hand. "It isn't going to be easy."

"No. And the building season won't be much longer than the growing season. Some of the evergreens look solid enough, and straight enough to provide the timbering we need. But we'll have to cut green timber, and that's going to be hard with one axe and one portable grip saw."

"You just can't stack stones on top of each other, though, can you?"

"Not unless we want to use huge blocks, and we don't have enough people to move things. We'll need mortar of some sort, but there has to be clay somewhere around here, and, unless I'm mistaken, there are old lava flows across the way."

"What does lava have to do with mortar?"

"I haven't found any limestone nearby. So I'm hoping that I can either pulverize some of the lava or that there's some compressed ash that I can use with the clay. It's going to take a little experimenting."

"What about glass?"

"Shutters, probably, for the first winter, except for what I can make out of the armaglass screens, but they're small. There's one small handsaw besides the grip saw. If the emergency generator holds up for a while ... if I can figure out how to make mortar ... if..." Nylan took a deep breath. "Too many ifs..."

"Yes." She squeezed his hand again, and he squeezed back.

They lay silently for a time longer.

"Those swords we got from the locals aren't much better than iron crowbars," Ryba finally said into the darkness.

"That bothers you, doesn't it?"

"You can't forge replacement shells for the slug-throwers, can you? Or make powder?"

"I could make black powder, if I could find the ingredients, but it would destroy the guns within a season, I think. There's too much residue. That's even if I could cast shells out of the copper I don't know even exists."

"Better blades ought to be possible . . ." mused the captain. "Somehow . . ."

The silence dropped over the couch again, then lengthened into sleep as the scent of the fire was replaced with the colder late-night air, the stronger smell of the evergreens, and the hint of the oncoming rain.





XII



AFTER WIPING HIS forehead, Nylan handed the crude shovel to Huldran. "Keep clearing this rock off, all the way downhill to the stakes there. Make sure the dirt goes way outside the stakes, or you'll have to move it again."

"Yes, ser," answered the stocky blond.

Nylan took his makeshift twine - and - weight level and measured the slope of the clear rock shelf. The rock ledge uncovered by the digging sloped enough that the tower foundations would have to be stepped and leveled. With the brush of pine branches, he gently swept the dust and dirt off the rock around one crack that extended the length of the cleared area, bending down and using his hand to gauge the width.

On a flat expanse of rock to the west of the tower foundation area, two marines took turns using crude stone sledges on the chunks of reddish rocks. Beside them Saryn took a small hammer and pulverized the small pieces into dust, and then swept them into one of the few plastic buckets.

Kkhhcheww!!! Chhhew!!!

"Frigging dust!" snapped the former second pilot, shifting her weight and the cast on her injured leg.

Kkkchew!!!

Despite the sneezing, Saryn kept pulverizing the reddish rocks.

Over the hammering came another set of vibrations. The engineer raised his eyes to see Ryba riding up, her eyes surveying the area.

"Are you still digging holes?"

Nylan glanced at the captain sharply, then exhaled as he caught the glint in her eye. "Yes. We're still digging holes." He gestured, then swallowed, and continued the explanation he felt stupid making. "If I get the foundation and the lower level right, the rest will be easy. If not.. ."