Had cyborgs broken through the outer asteroid belt? Was this a nuclear missile taking out a Kresh stronghold? No one else noticed or ran screaming in panic.
Even so, he expected missiles to loft or beams to fire, intercepting the thing. But that didn’t happen. Soon, the speck became a large round object and it slowed, with shimmers or heat waves before it. A minute later the object floated, still headed straight for the city.
Cyrus looked around. The streets were deserted. Where had everyone gone and why? They’d disappeared without screams or panicked movement. How the populace had accomplished the disappearance without their noticing it didn’t matter. He needed to keep calm and keep his wits.
“We have to hide,” he said.
Jana looked around. “The people—”
“Have done a bunk,” he said.
She stared at him.
“They’re hiding for some reason. Maybe we should hide, too,” he said.
Jana dragged him to a niche between what seemed to be two sheds. As he craned his head, watching the thing, Cyrus began to ponder the odds. This was as long a shot as there was. It was crazy, but he was the Tracker. He was supposed to find and free the Anointed One. They had wondered how to get into space. Maybe this was the ticket, the descending vehicle.
Cyrus took a deep breath as he composed himself.
“What’s wrong?” Jana asked. “You seem tense.”
“Just a minute,” he whispered.
Maybe she heard the urgency in his voice. She said no more, letting him concentrate.
With his fingers splayed apart and touching his head, he strove for calm. He wanted to do this quickly but thoroughly. This was their chance, and maybe this was their gift.
Skar, bring the rover. Come into the middle of the city. When you see a lander, something that can go up and down from space, capture it. You have to come now.
Cyrus exhaled and rebuilt the null. He forced himself into a calm state and stared at nothing. The ground shook under his feet and a strange odor roiled over him. He didn’t look up to check; he strove for the ultimate null. When the Bo Taw mentally began searching—he felt a whispering mind and then nothing.
Finally, Cyrus looked up and found that Jana was at the edge of the alcove peering around a corner. He tiptoed to her.
“What are you looking at?” he asked.
“Demons,” she said. “Demons came out of the spaceship. You can see the last one entering that spire over there.”
Cyrus peered around the corner. He saw the ship. It was a circular craft almost completely filling a plaza, resting on stone tiles. Two glass buildings surrounded the spacecraft. The ship appeared to have several decks inside. He couldn’t believe anyone would have tried to squeeze such a vessel down between the buildings. In some places, only ten feet separated the craft’s hull from a glass wall. The craft had a ramp coming down out of its belly, touching the plaza. The Kresh must have exited the ship from the ramp. Behind the last Kresh followed a squad of Vomags. The group entered the nearest spire, the tallest he’d seen, with a greater girth than the other towers. The spire was half a block beyond the glass buildings surrounding the plaza and three blocks from Cyrus and Jana.
“Why are they going into the spire?” Jana asked.
Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. When the seeker had been alive, she’d said they had to move fast. Time was critical. If the aliens had the Anointed One, would they realize whom they held? Maybe. Would they want to study the human in detail?
Cyrus Gant nodded. “I think we know where they’re holding Klane.”
“In the spire?” Jana asked.
“Yeah. It’s the tallest, seems the most important.”
Cyrus squinted. He counted several Vomag soldiers up there on terraces. Why hadn’t he noticed them earlier? Maybe because he hadn’t been looking up. The terraces looked artificial, as if they’d been glued to the spire. The Vomags there held long-barreled rifles that might have scopes. Were they sharpshooters?
“Did you get through to the others?” Jana asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not that good at telepathy. I sent a message. We have to hope it went through and that no one else caught it.”
Jana searched his face. “Do you really think we’re the ones the prophecies foretold?”
“That’s hard to know,” Cyrus said. “We’re here, though, and we have to do something.”
“What?”
“Come on, follow me,” Cyrus said, heading onto the street. No one else was outside. Maybe this was the perfect moment to make their move.
Jana hurried beside him, whispering, “What’s your plan? Do we follow the Kresh into the building?”
Cyrus blinked twice as he strode purposefully down the street, mulling that over. Could he and Jana defeat unknown numbers of Vomags, Bo Taw, and Kresh? Did the aliens have precise protocol or metal detectors in the building? The more he thought about it, the less this seemed like a good idea, just barging into the tower. But if that wouldn’t work, what would?
While chewing his lower lip, Cyrus thought furiously. He remembered the first time he’d seen an alien aboard Teleship Discovery. He’d used psi-power against it, but the Kresh had worn a device, blocking him. The aliens were unbeatable, raptor-like dinosaurs with ultralogical minds.
Two people couldn’t rescue the Anointed One here in a high-security area, at least not while using regular commando tactics. For a commando operation to work, they needed overwhelming surprise and fierce firepower at the concentrated point. What he hoped to do here would be like a Latin King figuring he could travel all the way up to Level 1 Milan and kidnap the city governor. For a Latin King to do that, he’d have to do something utterly original. That meant Cyrus had to do something original here.
Cyrus noticed prowling Vomags near the targeted building’s entrance. They couldn’t go through the front door, not brazen as could be. His step slowed.
“What’s wrong?” Jana whispered.
Inspiration came, but Cyrus rejected the idea even as he thought it—too crazy and insanely wild. Yet what other chance did they have?
He was stuck on an alien moon, two hundred and thirty light years from Earth. Everyone he’d known from Earth was dead or captured. The aliens had psionic wizards and supersoldiers. He had a gun and a knife and the most beautiful woman anywhere. If the Kresh captured them, the result would be torture for Jana and him for the rest of their short lives.
A Latin King would do something crazy. That was better than dying, right? He nodded, and he turned to Jana. “We’re heading for the lander,” he whispered out of the side of his mouth.
“But the Anointed One is in the building,” she whispered back.
“Yeah, and we’re not going to get in now, are we? Do you see those soldiers? No! Don’t stare. Do you see them near the entrance?”
“Yes,” she said.
“We’re going to hijack the lander,” Cyrus said. “Then we’re going to lift off and get our friends.”
“We can’t leave the Anointed One behind.”
“We’re not going to,” Cyrus said. “Once I have Yang and Skar aboard, we’re going in.”
“Going in how?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
Jana stared at him.
Cyrus ignored her, because he saw out of the corner of his eye the soldiers studying him. He had a crazy impulse to wave, but he held it at bay. Letting his shoulders slump a little more, he headed for the plaza with the lander. The open ramp had given him the idea. No one stood on guard there. Why should they? No one would dare enter a master’s lander.
He tried to settle his nerves, but his stomach roiled with butterflies. This was just crazy stupid, but then, he was from Level 40 Milan. Everyone in the city knew that Latin Kings were the wild men of the slums. You didn’t want to mess with them, because you never knew what insane
stunt they would pull to take revenge.
“It’s go time, baby,” Cyrus whispered under his breath.
“We hunt,” Jana whispered.
Cyrus squinted. He could hardly feel a thing, emotionally speaking. He felt numb. When in doubt, brazen it out. He was a Latin King, the lord of the streets and alleyways. Now the aliens were going to find out the hard way that they shouldn’t have messed with an Earth ship.
Cyrus’s booted foot stepped onto the ramp. Keeping his stride steady, he went up, with Jana beside him. Inside the craft, he spied a mechanic by his coveralls. The man carried a toolbox, or what looked like a toolbox.
“Wait a minute,” Cyrus called.
The man stopped and turned around, regarding him.
“Where’s the control room?” Cyrus asked.
“Did the Revered One send you?” the mechanic asked.
“That’s right. He wants you to show me the control room.”
“He?” the mechanic asked.
“Oh yeah,” Cyrus said, wondering how he’d screwed up like that. “I mean the Revered One.”
The mechanic shook his head. “Our Revered One is female.”
“Of course,” Cyrus said. “Now take me to the control room.”
The mechanic made a strange face, opened his mouth as if to protest, and then shrugged. Maybe he was thinking things through. “This way,” the man said.
“Is the crew still on duty?” Cyrus asked.
“The Revered One ordered them to stand by,” the mechanic said. “You should know that if she sent you.”
“Hurry,” Cyrus said.
“I’ve never seen you before,” the mechanic said, finally looking suspicious.
Cyrus drew his gun and jammed the barrel against the mechanic’s ribs. “Do I have to kill you?”
The mechanic looked at him blankly.
“Show me the control room,” Cyrus said, shoving the barrel hard into the man’s flesh.
The mechanic stumbled and dropped his toolbox, making it clang on the floor and things rattle inside it. Raising an arm, he pointed down a corridor. Cyrus shoved him in that direction. Then the three of them hurried, the mechanic tight-lipped, Cyrus with his free hand on the man’s collar, and Jana bringing up the rear, her gun out, too.
A door swished open for them. Cyrus pushed the mechanic through and to the floor and strode in after him. Four uniformed men and women turned around at their stations.
“Who are you?” the oldest woman asked. She wore a cap and had stars on her shoulder boards.
“I’m taking over this ship,” Cyrus said.
“I don’t think so,” the woman said.
Cyrus was out of time and had decided to revert to Latin King methods. He shot the woman point-blank, her chest exploding as she toppled out of her chair.
“Does anyone else wish to die?” Cyrus asked, brutally. “If so, tell me now to save time.”
The remaining men and woman stared at the dead woman and then at Cyrus Gant.
“How can we serve you?” a trembling man asked.
“You will take the ship up,” Cyrus said.
“And go where?” the man asked.
“That way,” Cyrus said, pointing with his gun in the direction of the puffer fields.
“The Revered Ones will destroy us,” the man said.
“Look at her!” Cyrus shouted, rushing the man, aiming the gun in his face. “I am your Revered One. Obey me or die. The choice is yours. I’m done asking.”
“We will obey,” the man said. The others nodded.
“Then take this thing up and follow my directions,” Cyrus shouted. “How many other people are aboard?”
“Us, him . . .” the man looked questioningly at the mechanic still lying on the floor.
“The others went to the kiosk for iridium,” the mechanic said. “They won’t be back until—it’s only me.”
“Just us,” the temporary captain told Cyrus. “This is just a shuttle.”
“Yeah,” Cyrus said, “fine.” For a shuttle, this thing was huge. But maybe that’s how Kresh looked at such things. “I want you to take us into the air, but not too high. We have some passengers to pick up.” He grinned. They would pick up the Berserkers. After the others were aboard, they would attack the tower.
The captain or pilot gave him a funny look before applying himself to his panel. “We will do what he says and tell the Revered Ones later he forced us. Our master will understand.”
“Shut up,” Cyrus said. “You talk only if I give you leave. Now let’s go.”
33
Mentalist Niens staggered away from the reality field, having interviewed the test subject for an extended length of time through his pay girl ghost. The techs stood at attention at their stations, while the Bo Taw with his smug superiority watched from the back of the chamber.
Two lesser-ranked Revered Ones stood with Zama Dee. They served her in an apprenticeship, and were smaller Kresh. Lining the chamber walls stood several squads of Vomags with two seniors present. Each of the seniors wore red shoulder boards.
Niens found that intimidating. What did Zama Dee expect? This wasn’t a war zone, but a laboratory. Did she fear the test subject? That seemed absurd.
I love the Kresh. I love the Kresh.
The Bo Taw’s smug smile grew.
“Mentalist Niens,” Zama Dee said. “Approach me and make your report.”
Niens rubbed his forehead. He felt off, and strange, while odd thoughts tumbled inside his brain. He was supposed to remember something. Klane had said . . . something.
“Revered One,” the Bo Taw said, sharply. “The mentalist has been compromised.”
Zama Dee pressed a clicker. The soldiers along the walls drew their sidearms, aiming them at Niens.
“Explain,” the Kresh said.
“I sense foreign brain patterns in him,” the Bo Taw said. “I believe the test subject has suborned the mentalist in some manner.”
“Impossible,” a different Kresh said. “The reality field nullifies psionic activity.”
“No,” Zama Dee said.
Torture, Niens thought.
“The Resisters claimed magical powers to their Anointed One,” Zama Dee said. “The Resisters were most insistent, increasingly so under painful stimulation. They are awaiting a new day and expect our test subject to deliver them from what they term . . .” The Kresh lashed her tail, glancing about the room at the humans.
Niens rubbed his forehead. He needed to acquire a pistol. Once he had one . . .
“Assassination, Revered One,” the Bo Taw said. “The test subject has rewired the mentalist’s thought patterns. Perhaps he has even imprinted his own on the mentalist.”
“Has the test subject’s consciousness moved into Niens?” Zama Dee asked.
The Bo Taw shook his bald head. “I do not think so, Revered One.”
The 73rd studied Niens. Finally, she motioned to the Vomags, and the soldiers holstered their weapons. “How is it that a mentalist of your stature allowed a test subject to dominate your intellect?”
Niens cocked his head. Is that what happened? He felt fine. No, he wasn’t fine. He was in peril. “Revered One, I implore you to reconsider. The test subject has amazingly vital news for you. He is our friend.”
“Indeed,” Zama Dee said.
“He wishes to trade the news for his freedom,” Niens added.
“That is ludicrous,” the 73rd said.
“His consciousness went to several interesting locales at odds with Kresh interests.”
“Does the test subject believe himself a slave?” Zama Dee asked.
“In truth, he considers you demons,” Niens said.
The three Revered Ones lashed their tails in agitation.
“If he believes that,” Zama Dee said, “why w
ould he warn us?”
“Because he has found greater dangers than you Kresh,” Niens said.
“Remember your place, mentalist,” Zama Dee warned.
“You Revered Ones,” Niens hastened to add.
“I suspect the test subject has corrupted our mentalist,” Zama Dee told the other two Kresh. “That shows the test subject has hidden talents. It would be a waste to destroy such a specimen. Yet . . . logic now dictates the wisdom of such a policy.”
“But he is a mere human,” one of the other Kresh said. “He is a wild. Surely, such a being cannot hold any danger to Kresh society.”
“A reasonable thesis,” Zama Dee said. “I also find myself intrigued by him. I begin to wonder, however, if the reality field is the best place for the test subject. I think we should rewire his brain and put him in a submersion tank.”
“That would risk his health, his longevity, and his brain,” the other Kresh said.
Zama Dee hissed, “I have no desire to grant him long life. I want to know what process has given him these extra psionic abilities. It is most strange.”
“Revered One,” the Bo Taw said.
Zama Dee lashed her tail, and she took her time turning toward the tall humanoid. “Niens appears placid. Are the test subject’s thought patterns still evident in him?”
“Please forgive the interruption, Revered One,” the Bo Taw said. “I just detected a foreign psionic presence. It has vanished, but it was near. I think it homed in on my thoughts.”
“This is certain?” Zama Dee asked.
“I know what I felt, Revered One,” the Bo Taw said. “The mind came from outside the building.”
Zama Dee lashed her tail. “Recommendations?” she asked the other two Kresh.
Before anyone could answer, the three Kresh turned toward the north wall. Loud swish-swish antigrav plate sounds grew tremendously in volume. Then the wall exploded inward and everything in the chamber heaved violently.
34
The shock of collision threw Cyrus against his restraining straps. From outside he heard explosive metallic scraping, crashes, bangs, and thuds, and breathing became impossible. He slammed back against the cushioned couch, his head ringing. It was difficult to hold the null under these conditions.
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