The Omega Cage

by Steve Perry

  "Unless you've got a better idea."

  Berque looked at the others. "Yeah, I have a better idea! We go back! So we have to do some time in the hole, that's better than dying! Stark isn't so bad—"

  Raze was covering the shattered window with a seat cushion. She easily twisted a thick piece of metal frame out of the way so it could fit, jammed it into place, then turned and smiled at Berque. "Shut up," she said softly.

  Berque shut up.

  To Maro, Raze said, "Can we make it on foot?"

  Maro said, "Scanner has the map."

  Scanner tapped his head and grinned. "Right in here."

  Maro looked at the others. "Anybody else want to go back? It's true that we might die on the surface. It's a risk."

  Chameleon shook his head; Juete hers; Sandoz only grinned. Maro said, "Scanner?"

  "I'm with you."

  Maro nodded. "Okay, we go. You can stay with the flitter when we put down if you want, Berque. I expect they'll find you quickly enough."

  Berque licked his lips. "Ah, maybe I'd better stay with you."

  Maro turned back to Scanner. "Okay, see how long you can keep this crippled bird up."

  "Copy that."

  Slowly, the wounded flitter flew on through the night.

  Stark was filled with both rage and fear. He held himself as calmly as he could as he listened to the reports pouring from all over the prison.

  "Lepto is dead, shot…"

  "Your personal flitter is gone, but we've got positive indications of a fuel leak…"

  "Radar is showing funny signals, and doppler is worse…"

  "The main transceiver is down, and we don't know why…"

  "Enough," Stark said. "Put cycles in the air, standard search grid. They've got some kind of jammer—triangulate on the interference. I want ground cars out, headed toward Omega City and the mines. Start up the infrared. Put a hound on the flitter's fuel."

  A guard appeared on the flatscreen monitor. "What about a messenger to the city? Cut 'em off on the other end."

  "No. We take care of our own problems here. Discom."

  Stark severed the com link, then stood and paced to the window. The last thing he wanted to do was let anybody in the city know about the escape. That would be all Karnaaj would need, some indication of ineptitude. As it stood, so long as the radio was out, nobody would be running any shuttles to the Cage from Omega City. That would keep Karnaaj off his back for a couple of days. Of course, they would eventually send a messenger out to see what was going on, but Stark could put a hold on him too, in the interests of prison security. A few days was all he needed; by then he'd have the escapees back.

  "Computer, list the prisoners missing from their cells."

  Obediently, the computer lit with the names. Eight of them, he saw, counting the one Lepto got at the M&T yard.

  And Juete.

  Their escape didn't frighten him; what did was the worry that by the time his men got to them, there might not be much left of those seven fools who had hopped the wall. Omega was as dangerous as an Earth-class planet could be, even to people armed with state-of-the-art technology. If their ship was damaged, they would have to land, and for a handful of ill-equipped prisoners on foot, Omega would provide a fast grave.

  He didn't need that. He had to save Juete. The bitch! How could she have done this to him? Hadn't he done everything for her? She'd be sorry when he caught her.

  And Maro. If Karnaaj was pissed about being kept away for a few days, it would be nothing compared to what he would feel if Maro died a hundred klicks away from the Cage. No, he had to get them back, and fast.

  If worse came to worse, there was the Juggernaut. He didn't want to use it unless he had to—it was his final ace, and once it was played there would be hell to pay. He was not supposed to have the thing. Aside from being paid for out of stolen funds, he had bought the military machine from black market sources. The Confed would burn his shadow into a wall if they found out about the Juggernaut.

  Still, it was there if he had to use it, and the thought gave him some comfort, however small.

  Far better, however, that his men should catch up to the escapees on their own. And quickly.

  Juete turned away from the other passengers in the flitter to stare through the polarized window at the desolate landscape. The dawn spread its reddish glow over the terrain, illuminating a vast expanse of desert. Far to the south and below them, she thought she saw a dragonbat gliding.

  She tried to maintain her calm. Long ago, the albino Exotics had discovered that becoming excited only made them more desirable; it stirred hormones and sent out potent signals. Already she could feel the lust focusing upon her from the others in the confines of the small craft. Berque was the most open about it, but it also came in various degrees from all the others, even Dain.

  Given the circumstances, it was impossible to meditate, to achieve that single-pointedness that helped to cool her normal pheromonic heat; still, watching the sand and scrub pass close beneath her helped somewhat.

  Berque moved to stand next to her seat. He rubbed his palms against his coveralls, leaving damp sweat tracks. "Hey, what say you and I go in the back for a few minutes?"

  She turned to look up at him. "No."

  "Come on." His voice was hoarse. "You're an Exotic, you like it."

  "I choose my partners."

  "What's wrong with me?"

  "Have you got a few hours for a basic list?"

  "Berque." The summons came from Maro, who turned from where he squatted next to Scanner. The fat man glanced at the smuggler. "Yeah?"

  "Go sit down." His voice was flat, yet somehow frightening.

  For a beat, it looked as if Berque might protest. Whatever he thought, however, he kept to himself, turned and moved back to his seat.

  Juete smiled at Maro, who nodded slightly and returned to whatever he and Scanner had been discussing. The albino woman leaned back against her seat and stared through the window. The thought of being with Dain made her heart begin to race, and she didn't want to start producing chemical signals that might excite the others. The trick was to keep those who wanted her from becoming so possessive that they would be willing to kill to keep her. Or even to kill her to keep others from having her. Berque was disgusting, but she had been with worse and survived. If he had a weapon, she would do as he wished, to keep him from killing her or the others.

  Fortunately, he was not in charge. It was always a value decision, and sex per se was not worth much to her compared to respect, compared to love. Now that she had that, she could be choosier.

  The flitter seemed to cough. It bucked once, slowed, then picked up speed again. Juete looked at Scanner.

  Without looking away from the bug-streaked windscreen, Scanner said, "We've got about twenty minutes of fuel left. I'm going to look for a place to land."

  Outside, the desert came to an end. Just beyond stood a small range of hills, and past that a deep, wide crevasse split the ground, running toward the horizon until it disappeared into a thin line. Scanner found a passage through the hills without climbing. Once they passed over the crevasse the terrain changed abruptly, turning, as if by some mad terraformer's design, into a swamp. Tall trees reared up from boggy ground and large patches of scummy water were broken up by clumps of vegetation in a dozen shades of green.

  "I can't understand how the geology of this place functions," she heard Dain mutter to Scanner. The circuit-rider replied. "Neither does anyone else. They think it has to do with some planetary engineering conducted by the Zonn."

  For another fifteen minutes they cruised at just above treetop height over the swamp. Then the flitter started to cough again, sputtering and shuddering this time.

  "I don't want to cut it too close," Scanner said. "There's a clear patch just ahead that's big enough to set down in but not so big as to be real obvious to a search from the air. "Strap in."

  Juete pulled her seat harness tight and locked the plastic snaps together. Dain
moved down the aisle and sat next to her. He put his own harness on, then caught her hand in his own, squeezing it lightly. She smiled nervously at him.

  "It'll be okay," he said.

  "I know. Thank you."

  * * *

  Scanner did a slick job putting the flitter down. The engines cut out again when they had almost landed, perhaps a meter up, and the craft hit the boggy ground solidly, but not hard enough to do more than jar everybody.

  "Welcome to the scenic Omega wetlands," Scanner said. "Please keep off the grass and do not feed the animals."

  "Funny," Chameleon said. "You should be on the vids."

  Maro stood. "Okay, we need to gather whatever supplies this thing has and get moving."

  Raze stood in a finely tuned athletic motion. "Should we cover the flitter with branches or something?"

  Scanner laughed. "If they get close enough to see the ship, they'll pick up the heat shadow on their scopes. Might as well save ourselves some work. Besides, who cares if they find the flitter? They won't know which way we went."

  "They'll know where we started," Sandoz said. "They'll grid from here."

  "Why don't we blow it up?" Berque said.

  "And leave a nice bright beacon leading to us?" Sandoz replied. "No. Maro is right. Let's just get the hell out of here."

  Maro had already moved to the supply locker, which he opened. Not too bad. There was an emergency radio transceiver, a week's worth of concentrates for three people, an electromagnetic compass/line-of-sight distance laser, a four-shot flare pistol with a dozen signal flares, three bottles of water and a blister pack of purification tabs; a first-aid kit, three blankets and three bottles of insect repellent, and a fat tube of sunblock cream. All of it would fit neatly into two back packs, which had been thoughtfully included. It could be far worse. Pity there were no weapons save for the flare gun—but it was better than nothing. Maro stuck it in his pocket, along with the extra flares, and began to load the other supplies into the packs.

  "Heysoo, it's hot already out there!" That from Chameleon, who stood in the doorway as the hatch gulled upward. "Makes the Cage seem air conditioned!"

  "Get used to it," Scanner said. "This swamp goes on for at least another thirty klicks in any direction you pick."

  "Great," Chameleon replied. "I wonder if I can turn into a lizard?"

  "How would we know if you did?" Raze said, smiling.

  "Oh, funny. You and Scanner, you should form a comedy team. Beauty and the beast, and you can pick which is which."

  Maro tossed the sunblock to Juete and one of the bottles of insect repellant to Sandoz. "Let's move, people. Coat up with bug cream. There's lots of shade, but we won't be able to hide from the insects like we can the sunshine." He shouldered one of the packs and handed the other to Raze. He smiled at Juete, who was rubbing the sunblock onto her skin with practiced motions, and then walked to the door. He stepped out into the hard shade of the tropical swamp, and the heat fell on him like a wet sheet. The air was alive with the hum of insects, and a slight breeze carried more damp heat and the stench of rotting vegetation.

  Something unseen chittered angrily behind a screen of man-high bushes a dozen meters to his left. It was not a landscape he had ever experienced before, but now there was no choice. Maro stepped down onto the ground, sinking a centimeter into the springy humus, and turned to look at the others gathering in the doorway of the flitter.

  "Come on," he said. "It isn't going to get any better if you wait."

  Silently, they all filed out into the swamp.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The beasts of the swamp were not so much large and dangerous as they were everywhere. The operative mode of the animals seemed to be that, if they saw something larger than themselves, they ran; if it was smaller than they were, they ate it. If there were any plant eaters—and there had to be—Maro hadn't seen them.

  "Here come the birds!" Sandoz said.

  Maro pulled the flare pistol and squatted. The others dropped to the mushy ground as a flock of screeching bloodbirds fluttered through the trees. Twice before, this or a similar collection had dived at the escapees. The bloodbirds weren't very big; their wingspan was about the size of a man's hands, but they carried a lot of tiny sharp teeth in their bills. The first pass had resulted in several small but painful bites for Maro, Berque and Chameleon. The second time, the flock had occupied a tree for a minute before diving. This time, Maro was going to be ready.

  The bloodbirds settled into a tree just ahead. Before they could gather themselves for their attack, Maro raised the flare pistol and fired one of the star-burst flares at the tree.

  He aimed at the trunk, high up, so the flare wouldn't sail past harmlessly.

  The flare hit the tree and stuck just below a major bifurcation. A couple of the bloodbirds took wing, a few more shifted a little, but the rest took no apparent notice as the small red fire bumed brightly against the tree. Then, suddenly, the flare burst, sending a hot red shower through the branches of the bloodbirds' haven, hundreds of tiny spears lancing through the leaves.

  It was a gratifying sight. Dozens of leaves caught fire, and a handful of bloodbirds left smoking trails as the flock scattered in primal fear, screaming. If there remained any interest in feeding on the seven below, there was no evidence of it.

  Sandoz laughed. "Nice shot. The little fuckers won't bother us for a while, I'd guess."

  "Owch! Shit!"

  They turned to see Chameleon dancing around, rubbing at one arm. Several small punctures on the flesh were already red and swelling. Maro glanced down to see an innocuous plant that the face-dancer had crushed when he'd dropped to avoid the bloodbirds. A sharp and bitter scent filled the air.

  "Some kind of poison," Raze said.

  Maro already had the first-aid kit out. He pulled the small flatscreen from its niche and punched in a description of the plant. After a few seconds the screen lit with a picture, name and short biological background on it. A stinging nettle of some sort, painful but not fatal. Maro read the treatment, selected a popper from the kit and pressed the compressed-gas hypo against Chameleon's shoulder. The single shot unit popped and injected the chem into the muscle.

  "Damn, it itches!"

  "Supposed to," Maro said. "It'll neutralize the poison. Says here it takes a day for the swelling to subside, but you'll be okay."

  "Maybe we ought to spend a few minutes reading that thing," Juete said, pointing at the flatscreen.

  "Tonight," Maro replied. "For now, let's keep moving and be careful not to touch anything we don't know for sure is safe."

  "That doesn't leave much," Berque said, rubbing at one of the bird bites on his shoulder.

  "Like I said, we move carefully."

  "Which way?" Sandoz asked.

  Maro lifted the laser-compass. "The port is that way." He pointed to his left.

  "How far is it?" Raze asked.

  "Only about five hundred and fifty kilometers," Scanner said. "Give or take fifty."

  "Great," Chameleon said. "A walk in the country."

  "Let's move," Maro said. He started to walk.

  "Hold it," Sandoz said. "You said the port is that way." He pointed at a right angle to Maro's intended direction of travel.

  "Right. But they'll be looking for us in that direction."

  "How the hell else are we supposed to get off this goddamned planet if we don't go to the port?" Berque cut in.

  "Oh, we're going to the port. Eventually. But there's a stop we need to make first."

  With that cryptic statement hanging in the air, Maro moved off through the swamp. After a moment, the others followed.

  "Show me," Stark said into his transceiver.

  The airhounds were man-sized cylinders, rounded on the front and tapered to a set of vertical fins and a wide fluke at the rear. Mounted amidships on each was a sensor package that included a photomutable gel camera set to scan from UV to infrared; a specific-molecule sensor that could be locked onto any of a hund
red target scents; and a shotgun bundle microphone sensitive enough to pick up a man's cough at two klicks. The repellor motors gave the things fair speed, and it had only taken seven hours for the first pair to locate the stolen flitter.

  Stark saw the camera feed from the hound on his monitor. In the background, the second hound floated sedately, bobbing slightly as the repellor field adjusted itself for heat and local field fluctuation. In the foreground squatted the warden's personal flitter, sunk slightly into the soft ground.

  "Set the hounds for the scent and turn them loose," Stark ordered.

  Came the voice of the new head guard: "We tried that, Warden. They just whirr and click a few times, and nothing happens."

  Stark clenched his fists but kept his face as emotionless as he could for the camera projecting his image to the men in the swamp. Damn, that had to be Scanner's doing. Had he tampered with the hounds before the escape? Or did he have some kind of jammer with him?

  "All right, there's a malfunction. Have maintenance work on them. Meanwhile, set up a cone grid on a straight line to the mining port. Twenty degrees, squeeze at two klicks, and repeat."

  "Copy that, Warden."

  "And put a cycle on zig-zag on the remaining three-forty for a fifty-klick back line."

  In the background, Stark saw a tech approach the hound. The man lifted a cover plate on the unit and began examining circuitry.

  "Uh, begging your pardon, Warden, but that'll take forever. Besides, if they ain't headed toward the port, they won't last more'n a week—"

  "That's the point. I want them alive."

  The sound of shotguns reached him then, five or six blasts on full auto. "What was that?"

  "Nothing. A pack of shrats nosing around."

  "Get moving," Stark said. "They're only four or five hours ahead. On foot, in that swamp, they can't be more than ten or fifteen kilometers from you."

  The tech working on the hound cut into the circuit. "I think I found the problem," he said. "There's a wire that doesn't belong here, and I think it's shorting out the organic molecule reader."