Redliners by David Drake

As the spike dropped away, a hydrostatic mechanism in the wood snapped viciously, rotating the base. Body heat would have released every spike within range to rip like tiger claws if the scouts had brushed the trunk as they passed.

Blohm’s left hand was gloved. The garment was part of the body sock worn with a hard suit in extreme temperatures. He carried the thorn with that hand to the edge of the pond where he probed at the bottom, shifting pebbles. There was a stiff surface beneath; perhaps clay, perhaps some rubbery plant excretion.

“Okay, Gabe,” Blohm said. “We’ve got to go around this pond. We’ll try the right side. Watch out for the white-barked tree twenty feet on. It’s got seeds that look like spears up where the fronds flare, and they weigh a couple pounds each.”

Gabrilovitch slipped out of his null sack with itchy speed. “Why don’t we just cross?” he asked, not arguing. “Afraid of getting your feet wet?”

“The top inch or two is water,” Blohm said, holding up the thorn. The point was black and already shrivelling. “Underneath it’s something else heavy enough that the water just floats on it. Concentrated sulfuric acid is my guess, but I don’t suppose we need to know for sure.”

Gabrilovitch stared at the black water. “God damn,” he whispered.

“Come on, Gabe,” Blohm said mildly. “That vine you saw across the pond’s going to have us for breakfast if we stay much longer. You did a good job to notice it.”

The rain had brought out fresh foliage on the young trees growing in place of the giants killed when the asteroid hit. The leaf flushes were of brilliant hues: reds, maroons, and poisonous, metallic greens which seemed to have nothing to do with life or growing things.

A civilian started to cry. He was a middle-aged man whose tight, youthful face had profited from cosmetic shaping and whose pudgy body had not. “They’re going to kill us,” he whimpered. “They hate us and they’re going to kill us all.”

Abbado cleared his throat. He’d been about to give the civilians a pep talk before the lead tractor moved past and took a bite out of the jungle, but he thought he ought to do something about the crying man first.

Glasebrook walked over to the fellow and hugged him one-armed against a torso lumpy with crossed bandoliers and a waist belt whose every slot held munitions. Four-pound rockets waggled like tassels, rattling against other gear.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Bledsoe,” the Flea said. “We’re not going to let them kill you. We’re going to kill them first.”

“Bedsoe,” said the civilian. “My name is Bedsoe.” He straightened. “I’m so very sorry,” he said with a dip of his head to Abbado.

Abbado cleared his throat again. “The dozer’s going to cut us a twenty-foot trail through the woods there,” he said in a deliberately cheerful voice to the watching civilians. “That sounds like a lot and it is, but I don’t want anybody getting careless. God and his pretty blonde—”

He grinned and thumbed toward the mass of people with Manager al-Ibrahimi at the heart of it.

“—assistant say six feet is as close as you’re to get to the sides of the cut. Does everybody hear me?”

There were nods and murmurs, mostly nods. The civilians looked scared, clutching their baggage or family members to them. They watched Abbado with wide eyes.

“Right,” said Abbado. “Now, it’s important that you stay closed up. Help your neighbors if they aren’t keeping up. People are more important than any of the other shit we’re carrying. If the column straggles, it’ll take us twice as long to get out of these fucking trees and I tell you, people, I don’t even a little bit like their company. Understood?”

This time at least a dozen civilians spoke in agreement. Ace Matushek said, “Too fucking right!” from the back of the assembly. He faced outward, bouncing a grenade on his palm, just in case the Spooks or the forest wanted to start something early.

“Now folks, listen,” Abbado said. “There’s over a hundred of you. I’ll have two or three people in front, backing up the dozer, and there’ll be two or three on each side of the column. Because we’re at the front, that’s better protection than most of the other folks are going to get; but it’s pretty damn little even so.”

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