Doctor Who_ Longest Day - Michael Collier [50]
'Not so, Leader,' said the technician, delicate fingers flicking over the digitpad as it restored basic life-support to the areas sabotaged by the dangerous humanoid. 'We have assimilated the cranial functions and physiognomy of the humanoid leader. We can operate the systems, but the interface is not as effective.'
'It will suffice,' muttered the Leader, slightly aggrieved at the technician's sudden authority in this situation. His voice became lower, barely more than a gurgling moan.
'Locate the Prize.'
***
Most of the men in the settlement had been rounded up and made to stand among the brukweed. Grey-suited guards were firing a few shots above the heads of some of those trying to run away, bringing them down with the threat of brute force.
Chasing them, catching them. The years of enforced idleness made the men easy prey. Yast was saddened to see a couple of the men try to employ some of the techniques his crewmates had been teaching them so recently. Unconfldent, hesitant, they were made to feel their final beating down and defeat all the more painfully.
Yast averted his eyes. He'd never been one for heroics. He'd fallen in with Felbaac and Tanhith on Ipmuss, sent there because his father had spoken out one time too many against the government and the K'Arme's atrocities.
Father had died shortly after sentence of exile was carried out. Yast had kept his head down, and soon worked out that the best way to stay alive was to ingratiate himself with Felbaac, whose reputation was growing in the camp. A reputation Yast himself helped to spread. A rumour here, a blatant lie or exaggeration there. And he'd made sure Felbaac knew exactly what he was doing. His own status, son of a rebel agitator, made him the ideal mouthpiece for propaganda.
Yast had barely been on Ipmuss half a season before he'd joined Felbaac's and Tanhith's escape with Somaath. Felbaac had noticed Yast's talent for calming down a rabble, recognised that patience was occasionally more effective than shouting or losing your temper. Yast had made a virtue of that fact, and worked hard to make himself indispensable. He'd grown used to Felbaac's limited palette of reactions and interceded accordingly, always stepping in at the right time. His contribution to rebellion was small and safe, but prized above the more obvious talent of a lot of Felbaac's cannon fodder. In return, he never questioned Felbaac's motives or decisions, and helped maintain the myth of invulnerability.
And right now he was painfully aware that the myth was being put unpleasantly to the test. Another man was brought down, smacked, shot in the arm, kicked again. Yast knew the K'Arme troops were probably bored and unoccupied for much of the time. Events like this were an opportunity to vent their frustrations and let off steam. They made the most of them.
He saw the woman. Harsh-looking, smiling coldly at the frightened men, staring with disgust at their naked or semi-naked bodies. She scared him -
all the more because he was so obviously not a part of the settlement. He looked around, and noticed with resentment that Elb, Maadip,Yattle, and Caft, all that was left of Felbaac's small advance guard, had stripped naked to blend in. It was something he just hadn't thought of until it was suddenly too late, and the realisation that he would be instantly spotted made him feel sick.
He was jolted back to attention as the woman spoke, her voice imperious and clear. 'Which of you is the spokesperson for this rabble?'
Dwynaar, his nose inflamed and crusted with dried blood, walked forward without hesitation, unconsciously trying not to trample the brukweed as he did so.
'I am,' he said simply.
'Then tell me, where is Felbaac?'
'Who?' He looked round in mock bewilderment at his men. 'Sorry, name don't ring a bell. Been a bit out of modern politics, I'm afraid. So leave us alone.'
The woman shot at the ground near Dwynaar's feet. Yast flinched, and tried to hide himself a little further back