by Douglas Hill
Keill, accompanied by Glr, had twice encountered agents of the Warlord since he had left the Overseers' base. He had learned that the best of these agents formed an elite force, called the Deathwing
– led by the Warlord's chief lieutenant, known only as 'The One'. Deathwing agents were powerful, skilled and ruthlessly dedicated to the Warlord's purposes. They were also the most likely source of the information Keill needed to locate and identify the Warlord.
So despite the danger – and despite the tact that the Deathwing had soon learned of his existence and the threat he posed to them – Keill knew that he had to pursue these agents of his enemy, relentlessly, until either the Deathwing or he himself was finished.
Now, as he came to his feet above the pit where his ship lay, and stared across the desolate landscape of Rilyn, he felt the hairs on his neck lift and bristle. Intuitively, he knew what was out there.
Somewhere on Rilyn – somewhere near – the Deathwing waited for him.
CHAPTER THREE
So you have come tip for air at last.
The laughter in Glr’s voice bubbled, with no trace of the nervousness that she had shown underground. Keill peered up at the overcast sky, and spotted her, a dark speck against the flat grey cloud, wheeling and dipping with the joy of stretching her wings.
'Can you see anything?’ he asked her.
A great deal of ugly rock and green stuff,Glr said, and something of a haze in the distance.
Keill nodded to himself. The haze might be part of the heavy overcast, or a distortion caused by the suppressor field. It didn't matter. Whether or not Glr’s bright eyes could see into the distance, it was a distance that Keill's earth-bound feet would have to cross.
He moved away at a jogging pace, settling into easy strides that he could maintain tirelessly for kilometre after kilometre. Both the moss-like plant growth and the bare red soil were firm underfoot, and the air was fresh and cool, full of the pleasantly acrid odour of the short-stemmed shrubbery that clung so closely to ground level. As he ran, only the light thudding of his boots interrupted the silence of the desolate land.
Animal life on this planet seems inclined to dwell underground,Glr said, distaste obvious in her voice. You are the only moving thing l can see.
'Be sure that you're not too visible’he told Glr. 'Anyone watching will be put on guard by seeing a winged creature on this planet.’
Anyone watching on this planet, mudhead,Glr replied mockingly, will have more sense than to look at the sky. They will be looking for a ground-crawler like you.
Keill chuckled. 'Then reconnoitre ahead. Tell me what I’m going to ground-crawl into.'
I am yours to command,Glr laughed. Keill glanced up – without slackening his pace, and saw the dark speck soar away, dwindling to vanishing point.
He loped steadily onwards, picking his way through the more open areas that divided the flattened promontories of rock, moving in the same direction that his ship had been travelling in before the suppressor field had halted it.
If not for that field, and his intuitions, he would have been convinced that the planet was uninhabited. And everything he knew about the planet – from information supplied by the Overseers –
said that it should have been. Yet humanity had colonised less hospitable worlds. At least Rilyn had a breathable atmosphere, and plant life that proved the presence of water, probably in underground wells and streams. This land mass had a mostly temperate climate – and Keill did not doubt that hard-working colonists could make the heavy red soil fertile, and perhaps find minerals in the seamed and ancient rocks.
Once, Keill knew, there had been a colony. During the centuries of the Scattering a starship reaching this solar system had been delighted to find two planets able to support human life. They named one Jitrell and one Rilyn, and planted colonies on both, which began to thrive.
The people of Rilyn even gloated a little when they heard tales of aggressive alien beasts that made life uncomfortable, at first, on Jitrell. Rilyn, its colonists boasted, was more kind, It kept all its animal life tucked safely away underground, in the caves and tunnels that honeycombed parts of the main land masses.
None of the colonists stopped to wonder why the creatures of Rilyn lived underground. In any case it was unlikely that they would have guessed – until the time came when the reason became clear, in a terrifying way.
The solar system of Rilyn and Jitrell also contained a small 'rogue’ planet. This body had a highly erratic orbit, which swung it tar out from the system's sun, and then back in – at irregular intervals, about every thirty years. And its path, as it approached the sun, brought it among the other planets of the system.
Most especially, its orbit brought it calamitously close to Rilyn.
It never came near enough to threaten a collision, even with its erratic orbit. But its passage, the presence of its gravitational field, was near enough to cause a slight wobble in Rilyn's movement round its axis. And that created an enormous turbulence in Rilyn's atmosphere. The turbulence, on the planet's surface, took the form of a wind – of titanic destructive force.
Many of the Inhabited Worlds had their share of hurricanes and tornadoes. But the wind that blew on Rilyn, every thirty years or so, made such storms seem like the gentlest of spring breezes.
So the time came when Rilyn's human colonists learned why the planet's animals had adapted to underground life. Why the plants grew low and flat, clinging to the soil with wide, sturdy root systems.
And why the rocks were flattened, crushed and scoured bare.
The wind left almost nothing on the surface. The homes and buildings of the colonists were simply erased – their foundations filled in and smoothed over by the dense red soil and crushed rock driven by the wind as if it were powder. Most of the colonists themselves were never seen again. Even their starship – a huge, solid old veteran that had weathered every kind of storm and obstacle that deep space could throw at it – had been smashed into ten thousand fragments and scattered over half a continent When the rogue planet went on its way and the monstrous subsided, the Jitrellians sent a ship.
They found a handful of human survivors – who had been sensible enough, as the wind rose, to seek refuge in deep caves. The Jitrellians took the survivors away, while their scientists went to work plotting the orbital path of the rogue planet. Soon Jitrell learned the dismal truth. Rilyn could never support human life, because it had to suffer regularly, every generation or so, the immeasurable force that people on Jitrell had begun to call the Starwind.
---
Since then Rilyn had remained uninhabited in all its barren bleakness. Or so it seemed – until the Overseers’ monitors gathered some strange information from that solar system.
Reports of unexplained violence on Jitrell, culminating in a savage attack on the main spaceport, concerned the Overseers. Jitrell was a peaceful planet, which did not even have true armed forces – just a civil-control police force and a smaller militia with mostly ceremonial duties. The Overseers were disturbed that anyone should attack such a planet, and with such a high degree of military precision and skill.
As their suspicions grew, the Overseers sent out more monitoring devices – each self-propelled and equipped with the standard interplanetary drive called 'Overlight’, that could leap across light-years in mere seconds. Soon the extra monitors detected something that should not have existed – the presence of technological activity, which meant a human presence, on Rilyn. The Overseers promptly passed on these facts, and their suspicions, to Glr – whose telepathic reach had no limits in space.
All of which had led to Keill Randor moving in an easy lope across Rilyn's rolling terrain, towards the area pinpointed by the Overseers as the centre of the mysterious activity.
But as he ran, Glr broke unexpectedly into his thoughts, every scrap of laughter erased from her inner voice. Keill – move to your right and find cover. Quickly.
Instantly Keill changed direction, Increasing hi
s speed, running in a low crouch, finding a narrow path among the ragged rocks would hide him from anything except an observer in the air.
' What is it?’ he asked tautly.
Two groups of armed humans. Widely separated, but on converging paths.
A mental image formed in Keill's mind, like a three-dimensional aerial photograph. Glr was projecting an image of the terrain as she was seeing it.
He saw the creased and flattened rocks, and himself moving among them like a scurrying insect.
He saw, several kilometres away, a group of other insect-shapes, moving very slowly. And he saw a second group, moving much more swiftly in a direction that would have brought Keill face to face with them without Glr’s warning.
The swift ones,Glr said, are riding some sort of vehicle. How can that be, in a suppressor field?
Another mental picture formed, and Keill recognised the shape of an old-fashioned skimmer –
little more than a rounded platform, almost boat-shaped, with two open seats. It hovered on a down-draught of expelled gases, produced by a chemical combustion engine.
As he explained the skimmer to Glr, Keill let one hand stray across the flat plastic of the grenades at his belt. If the suppressor field allowed combustion, it would allow – as he had thought – other kinds of chemical explosion. He would not confront these strangers bare-handed.
But he would not confront them at all if he kept moving away from them. He stopped and turned.
What are you doing?came Glr’s anxious voice. The humans on the skimmers are less than a kilometre away. And they are sweeping back and forth, as if searching for something.
'I want a look at them,’Keill said. 'To find out what they're up to.’
I can tell you that,Glr scolded. They are no doubt searching for you, or for the ship. And they will certainly find you unless you move further away.
Keill nodded, but even so doubled back along his previous route, slipping silently as a wraith among the rocks.
'If they're looking for the ship,’he told Glr, 'It means they don't have a fix on where it came down. Maybe the suppressor field distorts their detectors. And they aren't likely to find the ship, in a pit under a pile of rubble. Nor are they going to spot me. Tell me what you can see of them.
Very well,Glr sighed. There are ten of them, on the vehicles, less than a kilometre away.
They are male humans, fairly ordinary looking – if humans can ever be said to look ordinary. A ghost of a giggle, vanishing at once. They are wearing uniforms of some sort, and have band weapons on their belts. Anything more?
'What about the others?'Keill asked.
There are eight of those, also male, also ordinary. They too wear uniforms) of a different sort, and carry weapons of the rifle type, and heavy packs on their backs. They are walking very slowly, and from their postures they are not enjoying themselves.
Keill smiled. 'Fine. We'll have a look at them later. How close are the ones on the skimmers?'
Too close,Glr scolded. When they see you, and shoot you, do not forget that I told you so.
Keill grinned. 'I’ll remember to wave goodbye.’
He ran easily up a nearby slope, flung himself at full length and wedged his body into a narrow crevice from which he could peer with little more than an eye showing. Beyond his hiding place he could see a swathe of open ground, green with vegetation.
The skimmers moved into view with a mutter of engines, sweeping along in a disciplined, fan-shaped search pattern. Motionless, unblinking, Keill watched as they drew near.
The men on the skimmers all seemed young, well-built, athletic in their movements. Their uniforms were single-piece jump suits, of a dark and shiny red, as functional and plain as battledress –
except for small insignia on their collars, like numbers, though Keill could not see them clearly. Aside from the holstered weapons at their hips, they were carrying nothing else – no provisions or forms of survival gear.
Which meant that they had come out from a base of some sort, and would return there when their search was completed.
Keill prepared his mind to inform Glr, so that she could follow the uniformed men, and examine their base. But the words were never formed.
The lead skimmer had curved near where Keill was lying, close enough for him to see the face of the driver. And what he saw nearly stopped his heart with shock.
It was a face he knew – but more than that.
It was the face of a legionary of Moros.
Miclas. A legendary figure in his own rime, even on Moros. One who had become a Strike Group Overleader at the age of twenty. One who had been overall victor four times in succession at the Martial Games of Moros – a feat no other legionary had ever matched, not even Keill Randor, who had himself won the Games twice.
But what Keill had seen was impossible. Because Miclas had been of the same generation as Keill’s grandfather. The last time Keill had seen him, he had seen an old man – still lean and straight of back, but with thinning white hair and a wrinkled, furrowed face.
While the red-uniformed man on the skimmer had a thatch of thick dark hair, a smooth brow, and could be no more than thirty years old.
CHAPTER FOUR
The shock that Keill felt, seeing the impossible, did not affect his trained legionary caution. Many moments went by before he slid stealthily from his hiding place. But the broad patch of green was empty – no outriders, no one swinging back on the searchers' path. Keill relaxed, and as Glr's questioning voice reached into his mind, told her what he had seen.
What can it mean?she wondered. Did your Miclas have a son, or a son's son?
'No,'Keill said. 'He had one daughter, who was killed in combat and who bore no children.'
An enticing puzzle.Glr's voice was bright with curiosity.
'To be solved when we learn more,'Keill suggested. 'Can you keep watch on the skimmers, without being spotted? See where they go and what they do?'
To hear is to obey,Glr teased. While you no doubt will go and strive to be shot by the other humans.
'Not exactly,'Keill said with a smile, as he loped away towards the area where she had spotted the second group of armed men.
The day was wearing on – with a slight darkening of the cloud cover and a gathering of light mist in the deeper gullies -by the time Keill settled himself behind an outcrop. The second group was rounding a rocky corner towards him, with almost no soldierly caution. Their boots clumped and grated on the rocks, metal rattled in their packs, and their voices had been audible nearly half a kilometre away – full of querulous grumbling, tinged with nervousness.
Keill shook his head. If this sloppy, undisciplined group ran into those dangerous-looking men on the skimmers...
As Glr had said, there were eight of them, wearing sky blue uniforms decorated with white trim and plenty of bright insignia. They were very young, some barely into their twenties, all with the fresh-faced look of the entirely inexperienced. Keill smiled wryly as they straggled past, no more than three strides from him but totally oblivious to their surroundings. These youths were no danger to anyone but themselves – all the more so when the bulky laser rifles they carried would be useless in the suppressor field.
Calmly Keill stepped out from behind the rock, into full view.
The eight men whirled in unison, panic in their eyes. The two nearest to Keill swung their rifles towards him, thumbs jammed on to the firing studs.
Nothing, of course, happened. Except that Keill had in that instant crossed the space between them and grasped the muzzles of the two rifles. His wrists seemed to twist only slightly, yet the rifles were whipped from the astonished youths' grip and flung clatteringly away.
'Do you always shoot on sight and ask questions after?’ he said sharply.
The two youths stepped back, alarmed and shaken. And another of the group shouldered between them to face Keill. He was short, stocky and round-faced, and there was a trace of anger as well as nervousness in his bright blue eyes.<
br />
'Who are you and what are you doing here?' he demanded, in a fair imitation of an officer's bark.
'Oddly,' Keill said, 'that was just what I was going to ask you.'
The blue eyes blazed, and the young man stepped to one side, gesturing to the others. 'Hold him and seek out his weapons,’ he ordered. 'Do not hurt him too much.’
The seven moved purposefully towards Keill, who shook his head. 'You don't really want to do that,' he said quietly.
They ignored him, lunging forward, hands reaching out to grasp.
Not one of these hands reached its target. Swaying and twisting among the seven men, he struck each of them with such eye-baffling speed that it seemed as if all the blows landed at once. Yet they were all delicately judged – a half-weighted chop, a fingertip jab, a shoulder block, and so on – all aimed at fleshy areas where they would be briefly painful but not disabling.
The eighth man's blue eyes widened at the sight of the other seven suddenly sitting or lying on the ground clutching bruised bellies or shoulders, rubbing numb arms or legs.
Keill was still again, standing quietly relaxed. 'My name is Keill Randor,' he said, 'and I am here for good reasons that are my own. Your turn.’
The stocky youth looked around nervously, then drew himself up. 'I am Under-Commander Tamanaikl Re Saddeti of the Jitrellian Militia.'
Keill nodded encouragingly. 'And you are on Rilyn to find if the men who raided your spaceport are based here. But your ship came down when it hit a suppressor field, your guns and communications don't work, and you haven't the faintest idea what to do next.’
'Yes... no!' the boy scowled, confused. 'How do you know all that?'
Keill smiled. 'I’m not one of the raiders. Like you I’m here to find out who is on this planet.' He glanced at the other young men, getting to their feet with many angry mutterings and black looks.
'Under-Commander, if you can keep your young heroes from declaring war on me again, perhaps we can sit down somewhere and compare notes.’