I'd done some careful checking before coming to Mercury in order to make certain that Kane was not at his fortress. I'd been able to establish the fact that he was away visiting one of his robot onion farms on Venus. Secondly, I'd forged his name and official stamp on a faxdisc which gave me custody over Esma. I'm a fair hand at forgery; it's an asset in my business.
Creaking and groaning in authentic medieval fashion, the huge drawbridge began to lower itself. Down it came, slamming flush with the road edge. I walked across, radiating surly impatience.
Two of Kane's synthetics flanked the inside gate, weapons at the ready. "Your authority," demanded one of them.
I handed him the phony faxdisc. "I'm under orders to transfer the prisoner to our Deimos base," I rasped.
"Why weren't we informed beforehand?" The synthetic's eyes were beady with suspicion.
"This was a last-minute decision. That's why Kane gave me his personal disc. You can see that." I curled my lip, which was as close asked Smiley ever got to a smile. "Do you want trouble from Kane? If you do, I'll see that you get it."
That shook him. He handed back the disc and waved me past.
The heavy portcullis was raised and I entered the castle.
It was perfect to the smallest detail. Bronze Greek and Roman statues, magnificent hanging tapestries, great mounted scrolled shields, frescoed walls, wood mosaics … Kane had lavished a fortune here. Every item in the castle contributed to the total authenticity he demanded.
But which way was the South Tower? This is where Kid Smiley's info would have paid off. We all have lessons to learn — and I'd have to learn not to be so damn fast on the kill.
I turned to an impassive castle guard. He was outfitted in full medieval armor and carried a broadsword. I tapped on his visor. It opened.
"I'm here on Kane's business," I said. "I shall require an escort to the South Tower. Lead me there."
Simple. The armored guard clanked heavily off down a corridor without a word of argument.
So far, so good. My crazy plan might work after all.
And to hell with fire-breathing dragons!
We snake-trailed down endless stone hallways, under high and low arches, through a cobbled courtyard — in which several of Kane's castle guards were jousting with sword and lance — and climbed what must have amounted to a thousand stone steps. By the time we reached the massive iron-studded door to the South Tower room I was breathing hard and the muscles in my legs were aching. The synthetic, despite his heavy body armor, was calm and relaxed. "Here we are, at your declared destination. Do you wish me to wait for you?"
"No. Go back to your post," I told him.
His visor snapped shut and he clanked away down the twist of stone stairs.
I tried the door. It was barred. I banged on the wood with my fist. Waited. Banged again.
Was Esma alive in there?
Muffled sounds inside the room told me it was occupied. A lock rattled under a key; a heavy bolt slid back with a screech of metal. The door inched open and a bulky black synthetic filled the space, holding a belt-weapon.
"I'm here to take charge of the prisoner," I said.
"Under what authority?"
"Ronfoster Kane's personal directive." I showed him the faxdisc. He belted his weapon and allowed me to enter.
The room smelled of sweat and damp straw. Guttering candles supplied the only light. Esma was chained to the stone wall in a standing posture, totally nude, arms and legs spread. Her three heads were secured by wide metal neckbands which had been driven into the stone with spikes. Her eyes were all closed. And she'd been roughed: her body was bruised and dirt-caked.
"Release her," I ordered.
There were two other synthetics in the chamber and they hesitated.
"Unspike her! She goes with me."
The doorguard flicked his eyes, which was apparently a go-ahead, since the other two got busy on the chains.
"You're one of the three Loonies who brought her here," the door-guard said coldly. "I remember your face."
"That's right," I said.
"We were told that Kane wanted her retained in the Tower. What caused him to change plans?"
"That's not your worry," I rasped. "Just do your job and keep your yap shut."
He didn't like that much. His jaw tightened and his synthoeyes radiated black anger. But he kept his yap shut.
After a great deal of hammering the other two bozos had Esma out of her chains. She was limp in their arms as they carried her to a straw-covered bench.
I walked over and pinched several of her cheeks. Then I slapped two of her faces, hard, stinging slaps. I had to wake her up fast and get her moving.
Esma began to come round, groggily blinking her six eyes.
"C'mon, wake up, sister," I snapped. "We've got to go for a little ride, you and me."
"Just where are you taking her?" the big boy at the door wanted to know.
"Callisto," I said.
There was an ominous silence.
"That's not the right answer."
I swung toward him. "What the hell do you mean?"
"I mean you told the gate watch you were taking her to Deimos base. I know because that information was vidphoned to us here in the Tower."
"I can explain that," I said, walking over to him. When I got close enough I slammed a hard right into his stomach.
Which was a mistake. Synthetics don't have stomachs. Instead of doubling over he swung a crushing fist into my face. I staggered back as he reached for his belt-weapon to finish me. The other two guards were also going for their weapons.
I snapped the .38 out of my coat and knocked the pair of them down with my first two shots; my third missed the doorguard who had lunged sideways and dropped behind the table.
His beltgun blazed and a section of wall just above my head exploded into stone fragments.
I didn't give him a second chance to kill me; my next shot ripped into his chest and he flopped back, the gun spilling from his dead hand.
I holstered my .38 and turned to Esma. She was wide awake by now, and terrified. "Are you going to kill me? Did Kane send you to kill me?"
I knelt beside here and used my normal voice. "Listen to me, Miss Umani. I'm Sam Space, the operative you hired on Mars. I had a plasto give me this face in order to penetrate the castle. I've come to take you out of here. Are you strong enough to walk?"
"Yes, yes I think so." She gave me a warm triple smile. "Your nose is all crooked."
I felt it. She was right. The doorguard's fist had knocked it cockeyed. I'd been warned by Zaadar not to get hit in the kisser. Damn! This made things worse for us.
"Forget my nose," I said. "Can you make it?"
"I'm sure I can."
"Good. Let's start — because right now we're smack in the middle of the lion's mouth and I want to get us out before the jaws close."
Fifteen
Usually, when you make a run for it, you wait until dark. But it was no use waiting for dark in this case, since Mercury's day is twice as long as its year. We'd have to chance a sunlight run.
No alarms had gone off or the place would have been swimming in guards, so we still had a fair shot at clearing the castle before anybody discovered the three stiffed synthos.
I used the heavy brass key from the doorguard's belt to lock up behind us as we left. A locked door might buy us some extra time.
Esma was wobbling, leaning on the wall for support. But she managed the steps down okay. I'd found a guardsman's silk cloak for her to wear and she looked regal in it. Esma was a beautiful example of Venusian womanhood but this wasn't the time or place for me to do anything about it.
I was reminded of the lewd Venusian joke which was taglined: "and that's why three heads are better than one." I was nine the first time I'd heard it, on Earth, and it didn't mean much back then. Now I chuckled, remembering it.
"What's funny?" Esma wanted to know.
"Nothing," I told her. "Keep moving."
On the floor of the castle, with the steps safely behind us, I realized we were lost. "How do we find our way back to the gate?"
"Didn't you just come from there?"
"Sure" I said. "But a tin soldier led me. I sent him packing."
"Ask another guard to help us. They don't know anything's wrong."
"Can't," I said. "Not with this crooked beak. They'd begin to ask questions I wouldn't be able to answer. I'll try and retrace the way back."
"Do you think you'll be able to?"
"I've gotta try. Let's go."
We began moving through more of the castle's endless arched hallways. I thought the ones we were taking seemed familiar but I couldn't be sure since each stone hallway looked just like every other one in this damned place.
"I think we're doing all right," said Esma. "I remember they took me through here. I'm sure we're headed for the gate."
She was steadier now and had regained much of her strength and spirit; tripleheads are a tough breed.
Then I spotted the courtyard just ahead.
"Our luck is holding," I told her. "I remember how to go from the courtyard."
We crossed it quickly. Most of the jousting guards had drifted off and only a half dozen remained, banging at each other with battle axes which rang like bells against the guards' bronze shields.
"They're too busy to notice us," whispered Esma's nearest head.
She was right. We made it across without incident.
"I'm starved," sighed Esma, as we neared the great dining hall of the castle. "Couldn't we take a detour in there?"
"I could use some grub myself," I said.
The dining hall was deserted. The long table was stocked with bowls of ripe, tempting fruit. While Esma packed apples and pears into the flared pockets of her cape I filled two fat crystal goblets from the wine barrel near the end of the table.
"Drink hearty!" I grinned.
Hurriedly, our eyes on the entrance, we ate and drank. The wine was bracing and the pears were delicious. Robogardens and pseudovine-yards paid off for Kane and, at the moment, I was glad that he enjoyed the finer things in life.
We kept moving.
More hallways. Corridors. Rooms with medieval furniture, with paintings of dukes and earls and kings. Italian nearmarble floors. Stone fireplaces with stuffed boars' heads mounted above them.
And, finally, the outer portcullis.
To shield my displaced nose I pretended to be blowing it. I kept my head down as we were passed through; the drawbridge was lowered and we crossed over.
"Sam, we made it!" exclaimed Esma, as the drawbridge was raised behind us.
"Not quite," I said. "Look what's around the bend."
Kane's fire-breathing dragon was sleeping soundly in the road. His huge scaly body filled the road's entire width; there was a sheer drop on either side and no room to wriggle past.
We were effectively blocked.
"That's one hell of a place to take a snooze," I said.
"He won't like it if we disturb him," Esma said. "What are we going to do?"
I was trying to figure an answer to that question when the castle alarm blared: Waaaaa-eeee-waaaaa! Waaaaa-waaaaa!
"Jig's up!" I said. "They must have found our three stiffs in the Tower." I jerked out my .38 and handed it to Esma. "Take this. You'll be needing it."
The drawbridge was beginning to swing down, which meant that the castle guards would be streaming across it at our backs while Kane's pet continued to block the road down to the village.
I figured he must have had a hard night because he was still snoozing despite the siren shrill of the alarm.
"Watch the dragon!" I told Esma. "Yell if he wakes up."
I left her there and scrambled up the road to its edge, hauled out the sawed-off flexbarrel .60-20 laserbeam and took a sight on the half-lowered drawbridge.
I pressed the release stud — and a bright beam sliced into the bridge like a knife through warm cheese. Within moments I'd cut the bridge in half. The two pieces tumbled down into the boiling lava.
Which fixed the castle guards. They could no longer reach us.
Now all I had to worry about was the fire-dragon and the rest of the soldiers in the village below us. Even if we could slip by the dragon how could -
"Sam! Sam, he's waking up!" Esma yelled. "You'd better come quick."
I did just that, and by the time I reached Esma the big scaly devil was up on his feet and plenty mad. It was a cinch he didn't like sirens and falling drawbridges and private ops disturbing his afternoon nap. His boulder-big red-flecked eyes glared down at us, and his long spiked tail swung back and forth like an Earth crane.
"Get back," I warned Esma. "I think he's going to —"
He did.
The huge mouth gaped open like hell's own furnace and a long gout of yellow-white flame lashed out. It seared and blackened the road in front of us.
"I guess he's still a little sleepy," I said. "His aim's off. Missed by a good three feet."
"Oh, Sam, he'll incinerate both of us!"
"No, he won't," I told her. I had the laserbeam and felt confident. If it could slice through a drawbridge it should be able to clobber a dragon.
I aimed at the massive pebbled head and pressed the stud.
Nothing!
I tried again. Still nothing. The gun had jammed on me just when I needed it most.
I tossed the damn thing aside and pulled out the Kid's .20-40 Vickers, a toy next to the laser, but all I had.
Before I could squeeze off a shot another long blast of flame flashed out of the dragon's mouth and I leaped back, stumbling. My left foot struck a rock and twisted under me. I fell, and the Vickers was knocked from my hand. It tumbled over the edge of the road, gone.
The angry dragon reared above me, tall as a rocket, all green and purple scales and glittering pebbled skin and monstrous fire-flecked eyes. Smoke streamed from its cave-wide nostrils.
I was in trouble. In another second I'd be cooked meat; even a groggy dragon couldn't miss three times out of three.
"Sam … here!" yelled Esma. She had retreated to the bend in the road, watching the struggle. Now she sprinted toward me, waving the .38.
"Throw it!" I shouted to her. "Toss it to me!"
She did, and I caught it neatly, swinging to face my scaly friend. I took another split-second to aim; if I missed there wouldn't be another chance. I was convinced of that.
I went for the eyes. Two shots, spaced just far enough apart for me to swing the barrel from left eye to right. One wouldn't do it; I had to shatter them both.
A roar of pain. A trumpeting of anger and surprise. The great blind head swiveled fiercely. Flame roared from the angry upturned mouth.
Now I had the advantage. I fired again — two, three, four times, putting my shots into the head. Until the .38 clicked empty.
The big boy staggered, roaring. His forked tongue danced like a kite. His feet smashed boulders as he stamped out his fury. Smoke was pouring from his eyes and nose.
"You got him, Sam!" enthused Esma, helping me stand up. My left ankle was sprained; walking would be murder.
Above us, the giant's body quaked. He wobbled, tail lashing fitfully. We ducked as it swished over our heads.
"Back!" I warned. "He's about to go!"
Like a falling granite mountain the green and purple giant crashed down into the road, expiring in a great hiss of steam. The tail lashed in a final, convulsive movement. And was still.
We approached him. A spreading pool of black was darkening the road around the mountainous carcass.
"Blood!" gasped Esma, putting a hand to one of her mouths.
"No," I said. "Oil."
"You mean he was —"
"A robot, what else? Kane's pet robot dragon. I just ruptured his crankcase."
"Amazing!" exclaimed Esma in hushed admiration. "What a truly amazing creation."
"They don't call Kane the Robot King for laughs," I said. "He knows how to put the wh
eels and cogs together. I'm sure he designed this baby himself."
Esma peered into one of the shattered eye cavities. "Gears," she said. "I see gears in there. And pipes. Long pipes and hoses."
"For the fire and smoke," I said.
"I just can't get over how lifelike he was!"
"Well, you'd better," I said. "We've got company."
I pulled Esma down behind the dragon's smoking head as a horde of hornet-mad synthetics boiled up the road toward us.
"Can you stop them?"
I sighed. "My ankle's on the fritz. The Kid's gun is gone. My .38's empty. And the laserbeam's jammed. I hate to tell you, sister, but right now the only thing that's gonna save us is a miracle."
Sixteen
We got one. A miracle, that is. At least that's what I thought it was at the time.
One second we were there, crouched behind the leaky robot dragon, with maybe two hundred of Kane's armed guards piling in on us, and the next second we were not there at all.
We were sitting on the floor of Nathan Oliver's lab under the Chicago Art Institute with old Nate dancing a circle around us and clapping his fat pink hands in delight.
"Did it! Did it! Did it! Oh, boy, it worked! It really worked!"
"What worked?" I asked him.
"My timesnapper," Nate told me. "I've been puttering for months trying to get the bugs out of it. Works on the snap-beam principal. You snap-beam things back and forth in time. I snapped a turtle into 3028,give or take a year, but I lost him. The future's pretty foggy. Then I tried to snap up a cop on a horse from Times Square back when cops still rode horses. Well, I got the horse but a 42nd St. wino was riding him. So I gave him a drink and sent him back."
"The horse?" asked Esma.
"No, the wino. I kept the horse."
"Listen, Nate …" I stood up; my ankle throbbed but it was easier to walk on. "How the hell did you know where we were and what was happening to us? How did you know we needed to be snap-beamed out of there?"
"That's not easy to explain in layman's terms."
"Try," I said.
"First," he declared, helping Esma to her feet, "I'm going to fix a drink for this charming young creature." He hesitated, jowls quivering."Or … or should I fix you three drinks?"
Space For Hire (Seven For Space) Page 8