R.W. IV - The Magic Labyrinth

by Philip José Farmer

  "He's not even in the race," Sam said. "I've been eaten out by the best. You should have heard my mother. Or my wife. They could give him a thousand-word start and catch up in ten seconds flat. Forget him. What does he know? I'm doing this for him and all the rest of those mealy-mouthed Chancers. For everybody, whether they deserve it or not."

  "Huh? I alvayth thought you vath doing it for yourthelf."

  "Sometimes you get too smart-alecky," Sam said. "You don't talk to the captain like that."

  "I chutht call them am I thee them," Joe said. He was grinning. "Anyvay, I'm not talking to you like a deckhand to the captain. I'm talking to you ath your friend, Choe Miller."

  John Byron spoke to them as they entered the control room.

  "Sir, de Marbot reports that the launchers are set up."

  "Good. Tell him to get back down to the launch. And tell Plunkett he can go ahead now."

  The Gascon responded immediately, heading for the strait. The tiny figures of the marines were dimly visible against the blue-black stone and green-black algae as they walked down the ledge cut upon the mountain's face. They would be using their flashlights before they reached the bottom. The Post No Bills was cutting along the bank for the stone to the west. The noise of machinist's mates aluminum-welding supports across the shattered base of the pilothouse came to him. Torches flared bluely as men cut away the wreck of the steam machine gun in the bow. Others busied themselves with rockets and a tube-battery to be set up in place of the gun. A party worked furiously to replace the radar antennas.

  A half-hour passed. The chief medic reported that five of the wounded had died. Sam ordered that their bodies be taken out in a small boat and dropped in the center of The River. It was done without fanfare, since he did not want to lower the morale of the crew anymore. No, he wouldn't say service over them first. Let one of the medics do it.

  Sam looked at the chronometer. '"Plunkett should just about be at the exit of the strait."

  "Then we should see him coming back out in about ten minutes," the exec said.

  Sam looked at the marines halfway down the path. "You did give de Marbot orders that he and his men should flatten out on the ledge if John's chopper or his launch appears?"

  "Of course," Byron said stiffly.

  Sam looked at the bank. There were thousands of men and women there, moving slowly in a closely packed mass eastward. There wasn't much noise coming from them. Most were burdened with bundles of cloths, pots, vases, statuettes, chairs, fishing poles, carpenter tools, disassembled gliders, and, of course, their grails. They looked at the great boat as they went by, and many held up their hands, the three middle fingers extended in blessing. That made Sam feel guilty and furious. "That thyure ith a pretty balloon," Joe said.

  The huge pear-shaped globe, painted a bright yellow, rose from a roofless building. It soared swiftly upward at an angle, carried east by the wind. At an estimated four thousand feet of altitude, the balloon was a small object. But it was not so small that Sam could not see the sudden blazing red flare.

  "They blew it up!" he said. "That must be the real signal!"

  Burning, visible on both sides of the lake and for many miles up and down The River, the balloon fell. In a few minutes, it plunged into the water.

  "Well, at least we don't have to worry anymore about civilian casualties," Byron said.

  "I don't know about that," Detweiller said. "It looks like La Viro and some others are staying behind."

  That was true. But the group was walking back toward the temple.

  Sam snorted and said, "They're probably going to pray for us!"

  "The Gascon's in sight!" a watchman said.

  There it was, the sun white upon her, her bow up as she poured on full power. And there, about five hundred feet almost directly above her, was the enemy helicopter. It was slewing around, tilting, so that its machine-gunners could fire downward.

  "Byron, tell de Marbot to fire upon the chopper!" Sam said loudly, but at that moment the roar of discharging grailstones drowned his voice. When the thunder had subsided, he repeated the order.

  "Enemy launch sighted!" the lookout said.

  "What . . .?" Sam said. Now he too saw the red sharp-nosed bow and the curving armor-plated back and gun turrets of the original Post No Bills, stolen by King John. It was coming out of the towering gap.

  A single rocket leaped from the opening in the face of the cliff. It flew straight, locked into the red-hot exhaust of the copter. It shone like a long line drawn against the black mountain with a flaming pencil. And then it and the chopper became a round ball of scarlet.

  "There goes the last flying machine on this world," Sam said.

  The ever-cool Byron said, "Better wait, sir, until the helicopter has hit The River. Otherwise, the rockets'll go for it. It's the hottest object out there."

  The blazing main body and its satellites of metal pieces fell with what seemed an unnaturally slow pace. Then they struck the water and disappeared.

  Byron spoke into the radio reserved for communication with de Marbot's walkie-talkie. "Direct one rocket volley at the enemy vessel."

  "Jesus, sir!" the lookout said. "The Rex is coming out too!" Byron looked once, and he punched the alarm button. Sirens began whooping. The crowd that had been standing on the flight deck quickly disappeared.

  Sam forced himself to speak calmly though his heart was racing. "Drop the grail-connector. Telescope the crane."

  Byron had already told the deckhands to cast off the lines. Detweiller sat waiting for his orders, his hands on the sticks. Byron looked out the port. "Lines all clear, sir!"

  "Back her out, pilot," Sam said.

  Detweiller eased the sticks from neutral, pulling them toward him. The giant wheels began turning, and the vessel slid by the dock.

  There was smoke all around the launch of the Rex. It was swept quickly away, revealing a blackened boat. It wasn't moving, so perhaps it had been badly damaged. But three inches of duraluminum armored it. It could take a hell of a lot of punishment. Maybe the crew was just stunned by the explosions.

  Now the Rex Grandissimus was halfway out of the darkened strait. It shone whitely, then became pale as the sun slid all the way behind the mountains. Twilight fell on the lake. The sky darkened. The mass of closely packed stars and gas sheets in the sky began to glow as the sunlight faded. By the time complete night came, the light above would be as bright as a full moon on a cloudless Earth.

  The two launches were smudges of paleness. The Rex was a greater whiteness, like an albino whale seen just before it burst through the surface of the sea.

  So, old John had decided to attack while the Not For Hire was tied up for recharging. He was not turning back. He'd take his punishment whether he liked it or not.

  How had John known that the boat was tied up? Easy to explain. Somewhere up on the mountain on a ledge above the mouth of the strait was a lone observer with a transceiver. That would also explain the readiness of the Rex's defenses against Petroski's attack.

  Sam spoke quietly to the pilot. Detweiller stopped the vessel, then turned her toward the Rex and applied full speed ahead. Byron said, "What should the Post No Bills do?"

  Sam waited a moment to reply while he watched the arc traced by the rockets from the cave. But surprise was dead now. John knew that the missiles came from his now usurped cave. Before the rockets had gone halfway, flames spurted from the Rex, and trails of fire rose from it. The two packs met about fifty feet above the boat, and the roar rolled across The River. Smoke covered the vessel and was whisked away.

  If the Rex had been hit, it could not be determined from this distance.

  John's rockets would not have hit so many of his unless they, too, had heat-seekers in their noses. Which meant that the enemy did have some of the devices. Apparently, John had had some manufactured. But how many did he have? Whatever their number, some had been sacrificed to stop the attack.

  A second covey darted from the cave. This time, they were met h
alfway, and a flame-centered cloud spread out to be swiftly dissipated. Almost before that happened, a third flight shot from the Rex. Its arc ended against the cliff. Some had hit the cave itself, though. Flame belched like gas from a dragon's mouth. Mark off thirty good men and women.

  Now the leviathans headed toward each other. Sam could see one light in it, that from the control room. Like his boat, it was blacked-out except for the one illumination needed.

  The lookout reported that the enemy launch had resumed motion.

  "Neither of his launches originally had torpedo tubes," Sam said to Byron. "But John may have fitted them with tubes. I'm betting he has. Where is his other launch, by the way?"

  A moment later, the lookout reported that it was now detected. It must have just emerged from the stern launching compartment.

  The Post No Bills was cutting toward the Rex. It had two torpedoes set to go and four waiting.

  The Gascon was racing toward the motherboat, under orders to get into her compartment and take on torpedoes. Sam doubted that it could be gotten aboard soon enough.

  "There goes the smaller enemy launch, sir," the lookout said. "Headed toward the Bills."

  Sam told Byron to order the Gascon to assist its sister boat.

  Four rockets sprang from the Rex. An explosion announced the end of one curve. A moment later, Admiral Anderson spoke over the radio. "That bird knocked us silly, sir. But we're on our way again. No damage to the boat – that I know about."

  The Gascon, firing rockets at the enemy launch, swung about it. Little spurts of flame showed that their machine guns were operating. The other enemy launch continued doggedly toward the Bills, shedding warheads and bullets alike. The distance between the two larger vessels, as estimated by the eye, was five hundred feet. Neither was loosing its rockets. Evidently they were waiting until they got within close range.

  The Gascon was circling behind the enemy now. Plunkett's voice came. "I'm going to ram."

  "Don't be a fool!" Sam shouted, in his fear bypassing Byron, who should have relayed the message.

  "Is that an order, sir?" Plunkett said calmly. "The crew has left – at my orders, sir. I think that I can wreck the enemy's propellers."

  "This is the captain!" Sam said. "I order you not to do that! I don't want you to kill yourself!"

  There was no answer. The smaller of the two white objects crept upon the stern of the bigger. At least, it seemed to be moving slowly. Actually it was overtaking the slower craft at about fifteen miles an hour. Not much speed, but the weight of the heavy armor-plated boat gave it a fearful amount of energy.

  "Gascon and enemy launch closed, sir," the lookout said.

  "I can see that, hear it, too," Sam said, looking through his night glasses.

  All motion of the Gascon had stopped completely except for its drift with the current. The other launch was slowing down. Now it had stopped.

  "By Jesus!" Sam said. "He did it! Poor bastard!"

  "Maybe he ain't hurt," Joe said. "He voud've been thtrapped in."

  The Post No Bills was closing in. It came within perhaps a hundred feet of its target. Then it swung sharply away. Several seconds later, the enemy boat rose in water and flames and came down in pieces.

  "He torpedoed it!" Sam yelled with exultation. "Good old Anderson! He torpedoed it!"

  Byron said coolly, "Good show, that."

  "NFH! Anderson! What are my orders?"

  "Find out if Plunkett's all right," Sam said. "And if the Gascon is still serviceable. And pick up the men who jumped."

  "Sir, the Rex is an estimated fifty-two hundred feet away," the lookout said.

  "Okay, Admiral," Sam said to Byron. "You take over the cannons."

  Byron said, "Yes, sir," and he turned to the intercom. Sam heard him giving orders to the fore port-cannon lieutenant, but his eyes were on the launches. If the Gascon was operable, it could be used to harass the Rex with its small rockets. There wasn't enough time to fit it with torpedoes.

  Byron, standing by the intercom, was repeating the range as the gunnery lookout reported it.

  "Forty-nine hundred. Forty-seven hundred. Forty-five hundred."

  "That's going to be a hell of a shock to John," Sam said to Joe Miller. "He doesn't know we have cannons."

  "Fire!"

  Sam counted the seconds. Then he swore. The first shell had missed.

  The second struck, apparently just by the waterline near the fore. But the Rex continued steadily toward its enemy.

  "Bring her around so we can give them a broadside from the port," he told Detweiller.

  Both cannons spoke now. Columns of smoke roiled out from the Rex. A large fire was burning on the flight deck. Still, the boat came on. And now it was close enough to launch its larger rockets.

  "Enemy within twenty-six hundred feet," the gunnery lookout said.

  "Are the big birds ready?" Sam said to Byron.

  "Yes, sir, all."

  "Tell the officers to fire as soon as the Rex does."

  Byron relayed the order. He had no sooner quit speaking than Sam saw a multitude of flames on the Rex. The coveys met about 450 feet away, headlong in the air. The explosions deafened Sam.

  Joe Miller said, "Chethuth Chritht!"

  Suddenly, shells struck the Rex. The starboard wheelhousing went up in flames, and smoke covered the pilothouse. Immediately following, gouts of flame arose along the starboard side. The shell had touched off a rocket battery, and the detonation of that had set off others in a series.

  "Hot damn!" Sam said.

  The smoke around the pilothouse cleared, though not so swiftly. The wind had died down, and the Rex had lost considerable speed.

  "It's turning its port side to us!" Sam said.

  Another flight of missiles arose, this time from the opposite side. Again, the Not For Hire's countermissiles struck, and the result was a blast in midair that shook the boat. But no damage was done.

  By then Sam could see that the Rex was in serious trouble. Its decks on the starboard were blazing here and there, and it was turning away from them.

  For a moment he thought that the Rex was fleeing. But no. It continued to turn. It was describing a small circle.

  "The starboard wheel is malfunctioning or destroyed," he said, "They can't maneuver."

  That knowledge relaxed him somewhat. Now all he had to do was to get out of effective rocket range and blast the Rex out of the water with his 88-millimeter and compressed-air cannons.

  He gave the orders to do so. Detweiller turned the boat to put the necessary distance between it and its victim.

  "Well, we didn't do so badly," he said exultingly to Byron.

  "Not so far, sir."

  "It's practically over! Don't you ever give way to human emotion, man?"

  "Not on duty," Byron said.

  Joe Miller said, again, "Chethuth Chritht!"

  "What's the matter?" Sam said, grabbing Joe's enormous arm.

  The titanthrop, his eyes goggling, strangling noises coming from his open mouth, pointed up and out to the stern. Sam stepped in front of him to look, but he did not get there.

  The explosion tore the bulletproof glass out of the frame of the rear window in a solid piece and slammed it against him.

  34

  * * *

  The mouse had sprung the trap on the cat.

  While the Not For Hire was still two days' journey away, the crew of the Rex had removed from storage the envelope of a small airship made from the intestinal linings of dragonfish over two years ago. The hydrogen-generating equipment was set up on shore, and the envelope was inflated within the bamboo and pine hangar built two weeks ago.

  The Azazel, as John had christened it, was a semirigid airship. The envelope depended upon the pressure of gas to fill it out, but a metal keel was attached to it. The control cabin and the two motor gondolas, salvaged from the wreck of Podebrad's blimp, were fitted to the keel. The electrical and mechanical connections between control gondola and motor gondola and th
e elevators and rudder were attached. The fuel tanks were filled with methyl alcohol. The bomb and the torpedo were fitted to the release mechanisms halfway along the underpart of the ship.

  The bombardier and the pilot got aboard the airship and took it up for a two-hour shakedown cruise. Everything worked well. And when the Rex left to do battle with the Not For Hire, the dirigible lifted to the desired height and began circling. Not until it became dark would it go through the high part of the strait.

  As the Rex circled, imitating a crippled duck, the blimp was down-River behind the enemy vessel. It had come over the strait and then had turned right, cruising alongside, but not too near to, the mountains. Its black color would keep it from being visually observed by the enemy. There was a chance that the enemy radar would detect it. It was John's hope that it would be centered on the Rex. Clemens would think that the Rex had no more aircraft, so why make a radar sweep at a high altitude?

  When the radar of the Not For Hire was destroyed, John was jubilant. Though his boat and crew had suffered terrible punishment, he danced with joy. Now the Azazel could creep up on the enemy, avoiding all but visual observation. And in this pale light, with the enemy's eyes only for the Rex, the airship had a good chance to get within striking distance.

  The plan had worked out. The airship had hugged the mountains to the north, coming down to an altitude below the tops of the highest hills at times. It had gone east for some distance, then had eased out over the treetops to The River. And it had sped full power then, the bottom of its control gondola only a foot or so above the surface.

  All was going well, and now the Azazel was behind the Not For Hire. Its bulk was shielded by the enemy boat, undetectable by its mother vessel's radar.

  Burton, standing near John, heard him mutter, "By the Lord's loins! Now we'll see if the airship is swift enough to catch up with Sam's boat! My engineers had better be right! It would be ironic if, after all this work and planning, it was too slow!"

  Salvoes from the enemy struck the Rex along the starboard decks. Burton felt stunned as the roar deafened him, shook the deck beneath him, and blew in a starboard port. The others looked as shocked as he felt. Immediately afterward, John was yelling at Strubewell to get the damage and casualty reports. At least, that is what his mouth must have been voicing. Strubewell understood. He spoke into the intercom, but it was difficult to hear him. Within a short time, he was able to get in some reports and to tell his captain. By then, Burton could hear well enough, though not as well as he would have liked to.