Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(19)

"I'm glad you take it seriously." She wiped her forehead. "We're going to need it, and a stable or barn as well."

"I don't know how long the laser will last. . ."

"It lasts as long as it lasts. Then we try something else." Ryba's voice was matter-of-fact.

"Any signs of the locals?"

"Isrril thought she saw someone in purple on the far ridge, but whoever it was didn't stay around. There's a road down along the bottom of the ridge, more like a trail. I'd say it's one of the high passes across the mountains, probably more direct, but colder." Ryba turned in the saddle, studying the fields and the surrounding slopes, then looked back at Nylan. "Gerlich says there aren't any signs of local hunters in the higher woods. Not much in the way of larger game, either. That cat seems to be the top of the predatory chain. There are some goats, probably escaped domesticated animals or their offshoot, some horned sheep, and a lot of smaller animals, all off the mammal evolutionary tree. The goats and horned sheep run at the first sign of anyone nearing. There are traces of what might be deer, but no one's seen any."

"Goat and mutton are the animal-protein sources, then?"

"And the deer. Horse meat, possibly, and there have to be cattle, somewhere."

"Why?"

"Where did the leather come from for those saddles and reins? Or those vests?"

Nylan felt stupid. "Of course."

Ryba glanced toward the marines pounding rocks, and toward Saryn, who wore a floppy hat she had scrounged from the plundered goods. Ryba blotted her forehead, then steadied the horse, which sidled away from Huldran. "Sandstone? Why are they crushing that?"

"Volcanic ash. It's almost too hard, but if we crush it and mix it with some other stuff, and some of the clay at the base of the ridge, it sets pretty well, maybe too well, sort of like a stone epoxy. We won't be able to mix much at once, and that's going to be a problem."

"It hardens too quickly?"

Nylan nodded. "All or nothing. It either sets quickly, or it's slop."

"When will you start actually building?"

"Not until I get the footings set. Another couple of days probably. The first line of stones-that will really be like a sill-has to be perfect. We'll do a double wall up to the third-floor level, fill it with stone chips and clay for insulation-"

"Whatever you think." Ryba nodded and turned the horse down toward the section of the meadow that resembled a field of sorts.

As she left, Nylan pondered. Did he really need to cut all the stones? How big, or small, should they be? What pattern would optimize the energy usage and prolong the laser's useful life?

He took a deep breath, then laughed. He was taking too many deep breaths.

"No! I'm no friggin' field hand! You take your turn in the fields, too! Your ship's scrap, and you're no better than the rest of us now."

Nylan looked downhill and to the eastern part of the field from where the voice carried up across the meadow.

One of the stocky marines, one of the few not only bigger but broader in the shoulders than Ryba-Nylan thought her name was Mran, but he'd never been good with names and hadn't been concentrating that much-held the crude hoe like a staff, daring the captain to force her to return to work.

Nylan missed Ryba's response, but she vaulted out of the saddle and handed the reins to Siret, one of the three marines with silver hair like Nylan, and one of the more quiet marines, though Nylan thought the deep green eyes saw more than most realized.

"Big trouble, ser," observed Huldran. "Mran's tough, and she's a hothead."

The four other marines in the field drew back, slightly, but watched as Ryba carefully slipped off the crossbelts that held her blades and the belt and holstered slug-thrower, then laid them across the roan's saddle.

Mran smirked-Nylan could sense the expression as he and Huldran hurried downhill toward the field.

Then Ryba said something.

"You and who the frig else?" demanded Mran.

"Just me."

Except for his and Huldran's steps, and the faint rustling of the wind through the evergreens beyond the meadow, a hush held the meadow. Even the few remaining starflowers seemed held in stasis. Nylan wanted to shake his head, knowing what would happen. Mran didn't understand what Ryba really was.

"You afraid or something, Captain? "

"No ... I'm giving you one last chance to get back to work. If you don't, some part of your body won't ever work right again." The words were like ice. "I didn't think even you were stupid enough to take on someone raised as a nomad and wired as a ship's captain."

"You don't scare me, Captain."

"That's your problem, Mran, not mine. Get back to work."

"Make me."

"All right. You were warned." With the last word, Ryba blurred, as her hardwired reflexes kicked in.

Mran tried to slash with the hoe, but dropped it as Ryba's foot snapped her wrist. The marine used her good hand and reached for the pistol, but the captain followed through with stiffened hands and an elbow. A second crack followed the first, and Mran looked stupidly at the second damaged wrist-but only for a moment before she crumpled into a heap.

Ryba slowed to normspeed and smiled. "Anyone else think I shouldn't be in charge of things?"