Free Glory Main by Henry V. O'Neil Page A

Cranther insisted that they remain motionless, observing the bridge and the far bank. The ground on the opposite side rose into yet another ridge, and it was covered in the same yellowish grass as the knob where they lay.
    â€œSee that?” Cranther spoke so softly that Mortas could barely hear him even though the scout’s lips were almost in his ear. “They graded the other side. It’s not exactly a road, but it means the settlement is on that side of the water.”
    Mortas found the whole scene simply incredible. First the ration bag, then finding the stream, then being menaced by enormous water snakes, and now finding proof positive of an alien presence was almost too much for him. He’d had his fill of water and was feeling more composed as a result, but the onslaught of unexpected developments still left him baffled.
    â€œIf there is a colony here, how come we haven’t seen any shuttles in the air? Or even ground vehicles?”
    â€œNo idea. None of this is making any sense. This planet was uninhabited as of my last briefing. And I’m still trying to figure out how a human ration bag connects to a Sim emplacement.” He raised a finger. “Look. Another bird. It’s like they’re coming back after running away from something.”
    â€œBut what?” Mortas pondered his own question. The absence of enemy aircraft, vehicles, and even personnel seemed to offer an answer. “You think maybe they had an accident? Blew up the whole colony? Chemicals, maybe?”
    â€œCould be. Thought I smelled smoke the first night, but just figured it was natural. Brush fire, something like that. But it still doesn’t explain how this place suddenly has a Sim colony.”
    â€œWhy does this mean it’s a colony?” Gorman pointed at the bridge below. “Maybe it’s just a survey party, like you thought when we were looking for whoever owned that bag.”
    â€œThat kind of bridge means a settlement, or at the very least a battalion-­sized force. No survey team would be cruising around plunking those down. But hey, look on the bright side: That big a bunch of Sims, they gotta have a ship we could steal.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “We need to find them. So let’s wait until full dark and then use their bridge to cross without getting eaten.”
    â€œH e sure seems confident that we can steal a ship from the Sims.” Gorman looked over his shoulder at Cranther, who was asleep behind them. The scout had worked his way into a Z-­shaped crack in the ground and pulled weeds over him so that he was practically invisible.
    Mortas lay on his stomach next to the mapmaker, watching the empty bridge as the stars slowly brightened overhead. Trent had slid back from the edge a short time earlier, and Mortas had assumed she was going to catch some shut-­eye in imitation of Cranther. He silently congratulated himself on having decided to make them pull guard shifts the night before, now that an enemy presence had revealed itself.
    â€œRemember we haven’t seen a live human or a live Sim yet. It sure would make things easier if they were all dead.” A disturbing thought: the Sim colony that Cranther believed was somewhere on the other side of the creek might have suffered an accident so severe that they’d packed up everything and gone home. It would be a disappointing explanation for why they hadn’t seen any of the aerial traffic normally associated with a Sim emplacement, and he pushed it away. “Right about now I’m up for anything that brings us closer to a meal.”
    â€œMe too. Trying not to think about it, but it’s hard not to.”
    â€œHey Lieutenant.” Trent’s voice came from just behind them, low. “Take a look at my foot.”
    He raised himself on an elbow to see that Trent was sitting in a small depression with one boot off. The bare foot was crossed over the opposite leg,