The Thief of Kalimar; Captain Sinbad; Cinnabar

by Graham Diamond

  “About my meeting with Tamerlane? Oh, they’ll come around tomorrow after the party’s over and there’s been time for sober reflection. In fact, Damian has asked me to give him a full report in private. He’ll understand the peril. They all will.”

  She looked at him with a gaze that left him feeling uneasy. “What is it, Shara? What’s happened?”

  The yellow-haired scientist looked away from him and toward the spectacular skyline of her beloved city. The towers and steeples shimmered in the darkness. “They won’t understand, Aladdin,” she said. “None of them.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being unduly pessimistic? When I told you what Tamerlane said, you believed every word.”

  She shot around. “And I still do — you know that.” She reached out and brushed her fingertips across the side of his face. “Be careful, Aladdin. Be careful of what you say.”

  “Why? All I’ve done and intend to do is speak the truth. Nobody ever got into trouble for that.”

  “Mark me carefully, Aladdin. You’re still not fully familiar with our ways. There are those — military men, members of the Privy Council — who would call your acts traitorous. Suing for peace with Tamerlane and the Amphibs like that.”

  He couldn’t believe her. “A few backward-looking fools, perhaps, but not Damian. And Flavius is already on my side; he hasn’t said so in words, of course, but the old devil and I think pretty much alike. You’ll see. If I can enlist his help, maybe together we still have a chance to turn this thing around.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes; Shara closed her long lashes over them and sighed. “Oh, Aladdin, why didn’t you leave when I urged you to? Or even when Tamerlane told you to go...?”

  “That would have meant leaving you behind, remember? Besides,” he smiled, as she opened her eyes, “You and I still have an appointment to see the sun together.”

  “Listen to me, Aladdin. Things are happening fast. Ever since our disappearance Rufio has demanded new and extraordinary authority. The Council gave it to him. And now he’s using that power to press for a new assault. There are enough fools like him in Cinnabar who’ll see he gets his way. Even the Council’s hands may be tied.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I only heard about it hours ago. I tried to send word to your quarters but you’d already gone. My father broke the news to me...”

  “What news, Shara?”

  She stiffened, throwing back her head and shoulders. “Flavius is about to be relieved of his command.”

  “What?” Aladdin was incredulous. “They couldn’t! He’s probably the finest damned soldier they have!”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’ll be replaced by a special adjutant on the Legion Commanders staff — a man who won’t balk at what the military proposes.”

  “You’ve lost me again, Shara.”

  “The assault, Aladdin. Despite all the brave talk, our military knows we’re in deep trouble. They want to take a drastic action immediately.”

  “Before I even have a chance to deal with Damian?” “Yes. Rufio’s plans are simple and severe — to puncture the Hellix air umbrella.”

  Aladdin’s face drained of colour. Statuelike, he stared at the girl in disbelief. “No, it can’t be...”

  “It is, Aladdin! My father got word from one of his sympathetic contacts in the War Room hierarchy. He’s been at odds with the military all his life, but never before has he been in such a terrible dilemma. He needs your help, Aladdin. I need your help, too. Please.” She squeezed his arm with a trembling hand. “Do you know what it means if Rufio tries to carry out this action?”

  He didn’t have to answer. Instant retaliation would be the reply. Cinnabar would be crushed beneath the enormous pressure of the sea. Hellixians, no longer dependent upon their own air source, would survive in great numbers without it. Their adaptation was almost complete. But for Cinnabar, it would be a catastrophe rivalling that of the cataclysm itself. No one would survive. No one.

  “Rufio thinks our strike can destroy the enemy completely before they have a chance to retaliate,” said Shara hurriedly. “He doesn’t believe what we’ve told him. He thinks this business about Hellixian swimmers needing no air source is a ruse — a cunning ploy on Tamerlane’s part to extract from us a total surrender.”

  “Rufio’s wrong,” Aladdin protested. “We both know that. We saw for ourselves.”

  “That’s why your help is so urgent. There’s no time, Aladdin. The initial assault will commence tonight — without direct Privy Council permission — with probes by our new Green Line capability.”

  “While the goal will be to puncture the air bubble.”

  “Precisely.”

  Aladdin felt his mouth go dry; he flicked his tongue between his lips and said, “What is it you want me to do?”

  “Work with my father. Tonight. Convince Damian to speak with the Council at once and rescind the ordinance of special authority.”

  A peal of laughter arose from the Ballroom. Aladdin turned to see a host of guests applaud the newlyweds. He could see old Flavius and Shaman, as well, standing slightly aloof from the crowd.

  The thought of teaming up with Shaman rubbed against Aladdin’s grain. He hadn’t forgotten the grief the dying emissary had caused with his magic or the vendetta between them. But if Shara was right, if indeed the military was about to declare total war upon Hellix, then he had little choice in the matter.

  “All right, Shara. I’ll speak with your father at once. Maybe we can still do something. Maybe Flavius hasn’t lost as much of his power as we fear.” He turned to leave the girl on the terrace. Only the explosion of sirens and blinking lights caused him to remain. Beside him, Shara’s jaw slackened. She stared out across the city to where red and blue blinkers flashed, casting a strange pall ever the skyline.

  “Oh, my God,” she muttered.

  Aladdin leaned over the low terrace wall. The short intermittent blasts of the sirens left him frozen with alarm. The music inside the Ballroom stopped; dozens of frightened officers and officials raced from the hall and onto the terrace.

  Crispin read aloud the cryptic message of the warning blinkers, but there was little need. The message was plain enough. An attack upon Cinnabar was underway.

  “All officers to their Command Posts,” boomed Flavius. “All military leaves cancelled.”

  Rufio, with his ashen bride trembling on his arm, strode outside with a scowl on his face. “Damn them,” he whispered to himself. Then he screamed at the top of his lungs, “There will be a Supreme Staff meeting in fifteen minutes.” He paced before the assemblage, chest swelled with confidence. Inwardly, however, he was almost pleased Hellix had given him the perfect excuse — provocation.

  “Remove all Council members to the safety of the Pavilion. I hereby declare Cinnabar under military law.” Not a single guest, or soldier, protested.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Battle reports have begun to flood in,” said Crispin as he offered the adventurer a handful of recent dispatches from far-flung sectors of the undersea empire, painting a serious picture of what was taking place outside the city’s defence system. Aladdin scanned the handwritten dispatches, reading them aloud so that Shaman and Christóbal could hear. Shara seemed less interested in their substance than what they portended.

  “Strong resistance across Inner Circle perimeters,” read Aladdin. “Enemy swimmers consolidating their positions...” He went to the next. “Green Line sector indicates Eastern Quadrant under siege. Mines and quarries destroyed...” He frowned at the growing severity of the struggle. “Initial seabed counterattack repulsed. Field Commander, Ninth Regiment, mortally wounded. Retreat to protective zone urgently requested...”

  He read another. “Transport convoy under siege at position eighty degrees south, sixty-four west... Submersibles out of action. Casualties mounting. Possible retreat...” He looked at the next. “Retreat...” Then he crushed the dispatches in his hand.r />
  Shaman’s mood was less than cheerful. He faced Crispin grimly. “On behalf of the Privy Council I demand to be released. Why am I being held a prisoner?”

  “Not a prisoner, sir,” replied the young adjutant. “Protective custody. Old man’s orders.”

  Shaman angrily moved forward; Aladdin stepped between the dying councilman and the soldier. “Why have you brought us these dispatches?”

  “Legion Commander Rufio’s request. He needs you, Aladdin. Won’t admit it, but he needs you.” He lowered his gaze. “We all do.”

  “The bloody fool!” growled Shaman. “His strike force instigated this action. Now Tamerlane’s retaliating.”

  “Free Damian and the rest and I’ll do whatever you say,” said Aladdin.

  Crispin shook his head calmly. “Can’t, old boy. I sympathise totally, but you heard Rufio. Martial law’s been declared. Whole city’s under special directive. Special powers, you see.”

  As Shaman protested this unprecedented action, Aladdin looked about him in consternation. The ballroom was empty new, save for the few guards and sentries standing duty outside the doors. Damian and the rest of his Council had been sequestered in the top chambers of the Pavilion. Why he and Christóbal were not taken away, as well, he hadn’t understood — until now.

  “What is it you want?” he asked.

  Crispin mopped his brow. The glowcubes dimmed, then brightened. Since all available power had been diverted to the military effort, Cinnabar was operating under emergency power.

  “I’ll be truthful with you,” said Crispin, not looking directly at Aladdin, but at the darktime sky from the veranda. There was few lights to be seen anywhere in the city below. “The enemy assault has been of great magnitude. Our forces were brilliantly outflanked in almost every zone. Even our home-guard positions are in potential danger of falling.” He lowered his voice and locked gazes with the surface visitor. “I needn’t tell you what that could mean.”

  “Invasion under our protective umbrella,” said Shara. The girl stood beside Aladdin with a defiant look on her face. She’d been trying in a losing battle, not to cry.

  “What about Rufio’s strike force aiming for the Hellixian bubble?” asked Aladdin.

  Without questioning how Aladdin had heard of the top secret manoeuvre, Crispin said openly, “Halted at least for the time being. Look here, the locks and canals are jammed with transports trying to relay reinforcements to the battle zones. We can deal with the Amphibs, no question about it.”

  Christóbal, his massive hands on his massive hips, glared down at the puny soldier. “Yes? Then why are you here?”

  Crispin ignored the imperious sarcasm in his tone. “Because there’s been an added complication.” He shuffled his feet, chewed his lip. “I’d rather say it in private...”

  “Nothing doing. Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Shara and her father.”

  The young adjutant hesitated, then nodded. “All right, then. There’s been a reported strike on the Outland.”

  Shaman gasped. “The Outland? Then the fish men are attacking by the land route?”

  “They are — in full strength. They’ve overrun the Outland locks. There’s a bloody fight going on, Aladdin. Sky hunters are riddling our besieged forces. We need to break through, regain the Outland and, at least, retake the locks, which are our only safety valve between Cinnabar and the rest of the Two Plates.”

  Aladdin understood fully. The situation was more desperate than he dared believe. Give Tamerlane credit for being a formidable tactician. He’d struck deeply and boldly, opened up a land war that had never been expected. And attacked on all sides. Cinnabar was struggling just to hold its primary Inner Circle defences in the sea, and this added burden could sound the death knell. He could come at Cinnabar from within, and burst the air umbrella the same way.

  “So,” said Christóbal, almost gloating, “Rufio sees he needs me and the capitán after all.”

  Crispin nodded. “Do what you came here to do. We’re not adept at fighting land wars; our battles have always been in the sea. Legion Commander Rufio requests that you undertake a foray for us into the Outland. Win it back — one way or another — but win it back.” A hint of desperation was traceable in his voice.

  Aladdin glanced at his oversized friend. Though he damned Rufio for his stupidity in provoking this outburst of hostilities, loathed Damian and Shaman and all the rest of the politicians for their backward-looking stubbornness and arrogance, he found himself cornered. There was no option but to acquiesce.

  “Do you think you can stop them?” Crispin asked hopefully.

  “Better pray we can,” answered Aladdin. “We’ll need as many men as you can find — full strength, battle-hardened men.”

  “There’s a battalion already being mustered. Some of our best, waiting for your orders.”

  “Good. Gear them up in wet suits and tanks.”

  Crispin scratched his head. “Sir? Wet suits for a land war?”

  “We’re not going in by land,” Aladdin replied calmly. “We’ll go in by sea. Through the locks — the same way that Tamerlane’s forces broke through.”

  “Aye,” growled Christóbal. “And attack the fish men from behind. Route them before they can break loose upon Cinnabar.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Maintain silent running,” said Aladdin to the executive officer.

  In complete silence, the convoy of seven transport submersibles traversed the black waters around the plateau of the Two Plates. Aladdin could see the occasional flash of a torpedo in the distance, as it struck some enemy base. Terrible battles continued across the length and breadth of the sea, he knew, with vast death and destruction on both sides, as each fought for supreme advantage. Here, though, amid the murk and swift undercurrent, were nothing but the quiet, contemplative thoughts of men waiting to begin their own battle.

  “Approaching the locks at five knots,” muttered the executive officer. His face was dim in the red shadows of the flagship submersible’s emergency light.

  Christóbal, bedecked in a wet suit, with a tank strapped to his back, leaned over the control panel and observed the indicators. The convoy had travelled a perilous course of diversionary zig zagging away from the Inner Circle, sometimes skirting the seabed and sometimes ascending it, all in the hope of remaining out of sight of Amphib Plate patrols. One misstep or chance encounter could mean surprise counter-strike would be null and void before they even caught sight of the dark canals. Utilising every possible precautionary procedure, Aladdin had safely led his small task force into these black waters. But now, with the locks themselves coming into sight, it was only a matter of time before some passing enemy troops would sight them. It would not take much military training for even a lowly swimmer to realise what was underfoot — and duly alert his superiors.

  “Three thousand meters to the entry canal,” muttered the exec, without emotion.

  Aladdin turned to the group of officers standing stiffly behind him. Silent running had meant limited air flow into the submersible, and the ship was growing uncomfortably hot. “Give the orders to tank up,” he said.

  The first ensign saluted and moved to the intercom. “Battle stations,” he called.

  The lower deck flurried with activity.

  Through the aft porthole, Christóbal glanced out at the water, so black and lightless there was no way of being sure the rest of the convoy was still directly behind.

  Aladdin swung his own tank onto his back, adjusted its straps, and put his goggles firmly into place. He looked again at the note he was carrying in his hand, Rufio’s official command before departure.

  Firmly and without fail, close the gap through which the enemy is crossing the Outland. Surround him and destroy him. Hold your position under all circumstances. There can be no retreat. Counterattack, if necessary, until the last man falls. The Outland must not be taken.

  - Rufio, Legion Commander

  Aladdin clenched his teeth
and sucked in air. He could feel his heartbeat quicken. Although Rufio’s orders were in line with his own military instincts, he was fully aware of the dangerously exposed position he was being put into. Even if the offensive should prove successful and the canal and locks regained, his force was too pitifully small to recover an area as large and dangerous as the Outland. Sky hunters had already decimated the initial defenders, he remembered Crispin telling him. And with this air assault added to the land attack by hordes of Tamerlane’s fish men, Aladdin knew he would be hard-put, indeed, to accomplish his orders.

  “Sir,” came the voice of the exec.

  Aladdin snapped out of his thoughts. “Yes?”

  “Contact ahead. Enemy swimmers at four o’clock.” The adventurer strained at the windshield to see. Nothing was visible to the naked eye, only the blips appearing on the exec’s terminal screen.

  “They mustn’t see us,” he snapped. “At least not until we’re within striking distance of the first canal.”

  Nothing, if he could help it, was going to spoil his surprise for the Amphib guards.

  “Aye aye, sir,” said the exec. Turning to his junior officer, he said, “Descend.”

  The transport jolted with the brief surge of power that sent the craft dropping like a leaden weight. Water poured from the bilges. The transport stabilized some fifty fathoms lower, where it skimmed the sheer walls of the looming mountains, and continued to move in toward its unsuspecting prey.

  “Canal directly ahead, sir,” said the co-pilot of the agile transport. Aladdin peered through the frontal screen and was able to make out a huge black orifice in the face of the mountain wall, dark and forbidding.

  A light flickered on the instrument panel. “We’re picking up an obstruction,” said the exec. “Tunnel seems to be blocked.”

  “I don’t see anything,” said Christóbal.

  “Enemy nets, sir,” answered the exec knowingly.

  Aladdin clenched his fists and cursed. He remembered all too well his previous encounter with the nets. “Can this ship punch its way through?” he asked.