Free Women of War by Alexander Potter Page B

evolution.
    Until those who believed they had the right chose the short path, the one that wasted the lives and resources on which the future depended.
    Skalet fastened the strap of her goggles around her neck, then methodically checked the laces and zips of her clothing. One opening and this form could suffer frostbite and impairment. She could risk neither tonight.
    Her role was deceptively simple, elegant in Kraal terms. The Bryll assault fleet would pass in range of this outpost on its way to attack the Bract homesystem, to take advantage of their scans to detect and warn of any Bract ships in the area. Their fleet would remain unseen until it was too late to mount a defense. Except that Her Eminence, as Courier to Bryll’s Inner Circle, specifically those within that Circle in opposition to those mounting the assault, had sent a coded message to the Bract, recommending this system as the ideal place for an ambush.
    Bryll would sacrifice her own, Skalet the pin to prick the unsuspecting throat.
    Maven-ro, always alert to comings and goings, appeared in her doorway. “Didn’t you just come in, Icicle?”
    â€œHours back.” Skalet shrugged her fur-cased shoulders. “Weather’s worsening. We can’t risk anything impeding reception.” She flicked two fingers against her pseudo-tattooed cheek. They’d all been briefed by Dal-ru on the importance of protecting the fleet.
    Maven-ro’s look wasn’t as approving as usual. In fact, she began to frown. “It’s bad enough out there even Her Eminence’s guard has come inside. There’s no indication of ice buildup yet. Stay.”
    Skalet lifted a brow. “If I wait until there’s a problem, it could be too late. You know that.”
    The Kraal shook her head. “There’s attention to duty and there’s being a fool, S’kal-ru. The winds have doubled. You won’t be able to stay on your feet, let alone hold to the guide line.”
    Skalet rattled the clip and safety cable around her waist. “I’m prepared.”
    Maven-ro threw up her hands. “Fine. Go freeze stiff. If we find you this spring, we’ll stand you up as a flagpole.”
    It didn’t seem like humor. Puzzled, Skalet watched as the other walked away, slamming a door unnecessarily behind her, then returned to her own preparations.
    It was worse. Unimaginably worse. The moment the outer door retracted, the wind howled inside the tunnel, blowing Skalet off her feet, rolling her along the icy floor until she hit the yielding edge of a fuel bag. The rubbery material gave her a grip as she pulled herself to her feet.
    At least it was a steady wind, to start. She could force her way against it and did, reaching first the doorframe, then the outer wall, and, after groping in the dark, the guide line. She clipped herself to it, and pressed out into the night.
    Lean, drag a foot free, move it up and forward, push it into yielding softness to the knee, to the thigh. Skalet couldn’t predict her footing. Drifts were curling and reforming like living things. All she could do was drag the other foot free, up and forward, push it down, and progress in lurches and semi-falls.
    She’d run out of choices. There was no living mass except that behind her. Without a source, she could not release her hold on this form and choose another more suited to surviving these conditions. Not and return to the outpost as S’kal-ru. Only living matter could be assimilated into more Web-flesh, and she’d need to replace what she used.
    There was escape. She almost considered it as the wind lifted her for an instant, her grip torn from the guide line, one outer glove sailing free and only the cable jerking snug around her waist keeping her in place. She could cycle into a form that flew on this wind, pick one able to hide beneath ice for however many decades it would take for Ersh to notice her absence and send one of her kin to