Alien Landscapes 2 by Kevin J. Anderson Page B

up? I’d like to take you for a walk to show you where you are.”
    Barto did not argue with her. Regardless of her intentions, Juliette’s offer would allow him to continue his reconnaissance. She could show him whatever she wished, and he would gather information. Without the helmet visor and its implanted cameras, he would have to observe with his own eyes, and remember details. But it could be done.
    As he swung off the bed, the loose-fitting pajamas felt strange on him, not hard enough, not safe. He walked on the balls of his bare feet, every muscle tense, searching for mysterious threats as Juliette led him out of the room. She took him down underground corridors into even richer light. They passed beautiful images of scenery, forgotten forests and lost mountains . . . waterfalls and lakes unlike anything he had ever seen on the battle-scarred combat fields.
    “Who are you people?” Barto said. “What is this place?”
    “We’re civilians. We went underground centuries ago to escape the fighting, while our armies defended us against the invasion.”
    Barto tried to assess the information, to fit it like puzzle pieces into the sparse information in his mind. “My squad is . . . part of the defenders? We fight against the invaders?”
    She looked at him with a curious, placid expression. Her pale skin, delicate bone structure, and pointed chin gave her an ethereal, elfin appearance. “No one knows which side is which anymore.”
    Other people, similarly pale-skinned and soft-looking, observed the pair as they walked by. Some smiled, some drew back in fear. Many regarded him with cold, fish-like interest. Juliette seemed to enjoy the attention she received just by being with him.
    Barto scanned his surroundings for a way to escape and return to his squad. But then he remembered that, except for Arviq, all of his comrades were dead, annihilated by the immense gun emplacements that protected this underground shelter. Back at his own HQ, the databases must have already recorded him and his point man as casualties of war.
    Juliette talked as they continued, her voice a pleasant melange of words. She told him of their days of peace and shelter down below, how the survivors had made an entire world down here by excavating tunnel after tunnel. There, the civilians did what she called “the great work of humanity”—composing music, dabbling in art, writing poetry and literature . . . though, if they remained isolated down here without experiencing the hard edge of life, Barto didn’t know how they found any material to incorporate into their creations.
    Though she turned at intersections, descended to different levels, walked in circles, Barto never lost his bearings. He imprinted a map of everything they encountered, knowing he might need to use it later. On his own.
    Juliette took him to a greenhouse where the smells nearly stifled him: humid air, the odors of vegetation and mulch, flowers bursting forth like explosions from mortar-fire. Pollinating insects flitted from blossom to blossom, and brilliantly ripe vegetables and fruits made his eyes hurt.
    He heard the drip of irrigation systems, saw colorful birds hopping from plant to plant, and a shiver went up his spine. Everything was so quiet here, so gentle. It made him feel too full of energy, too restless.
    Barto remembered when he’d been forced to recuperate in the HQ infirmary as the hairless chimpanzees tended to him. He had been bored and frustrated . . . but with a goal—to heal, so he could go back and fight. He had managed to wait until his body returned to its optimal condition, when he could go out and serve his purpose in life.
    Here, though, these people had a quiet calmness about them, an air or superiority . . . with nothing else to do. Juliette seemed to enjoy it, seemed proud of being a civilian.
    Barto had never experienced such vibrant beauty, the smells, the music
    . . . the sense of peace. His body rebelled at the thought, but as the hours