She brought the skimmer down to the ground, and bumped it once. Leo took the controls. "Marina. Come with me."
The skimmer touched down for a moment, and the door swung open. Marina looked back at Aubry, face taut.
"Looks like you don't get to watch me die."
"Maybe later." She looked as if she were on the verge of saying something more, and then changed her mind. She turned to Promise. "Good luck. Both of you."
And she was gone. Leo touched them off again, and the skimmer danced away as the black disk of a Gorgon ship loomed up behind them.
Aubry watched them on the screen. They were too damned fast, and too damned powerful.
"Up there." Bloodeagle pointed. "There's a ranger station ahead. If we can make it there—"
"Quint won't back off. He'll kill them all if he has to."
"Then—"
The lights in the skimmer went off. The jets died, the electronic servos and governors failed. The skimmer plunged toward the ground.
Promise threw her body over Leslie, her only thought, Goddess, Goddess—I've killed my child—
Three seconds before the skimmer would have hit, the power resumed, and Leo took enough control, wrenching at the controls, to guide them in to a landing.
"Out, out, everybody out!" Aubry screamed. He snatched up one of the rifles.
Bloodeagle grabbed his arm. "Forget it, Aubry. They've got enough firepower to turn this ship to slag. You're dead if you try to shoot."
"What then?"
"They might take a challenge. Ibumi is crazy for hand-to-hand combat."
For a moment Aubry's body was unnaturally tense. Then he relaxed, and even grinned. "All right then. I'll give him a show he won't believe."
The skimmer crashed in landing, and Promise fell away from Leslie. The child grinned up at her. "You are crying. You are weak, after all."
Promise bit her lip, and tried not to cry out loud. Nothing. All for nothing . . .
Aubry grabbed her from behind. "Come on. We need to get Leslie outside, where they can see him."
"Her," she said, sniffing back a tear.
"Oh, cut it out." Aubry turned to the child strapped to the table. "Boy, I hope you're mine. If you aren't, I'm sure in a lot of trouble for nothing."
"I hope you die well," Leslie said.
"Great."
Two of the Gorgon vehicles were saucer/skimmers, and the heat of their backwash blistered the ground. The others were helicopters, black against the morning sky, and hovering like bumblebees.
Bloodeagle, Promise, Aubry, and Leo stood in the clear, under the rise of rocks, as if in a natural amphitheater. Their weapons were stacked neatly on the ground. Next to them, strapped to the cot, was Leslie.
The lead saucer touched down with barely a whisper of sound.
The door slid open. Two men stood framed in the opening. They were of equal size, and both were gigantic. Aubry knew immediately that they were his height, if not a little taller. They walked down a gangplank as if joined at the hip, each carrying what looked like a combination automatic rifle and grenade launcher. One dropped to a knee, and swept the area, peering through a night scope.
A red dot slid across the ground, and one settled on each of the four adults, anchoring directly on the forehead.
Promise stood perfectly still. Sweat drooled down her face.
Leo's hands quivered, and Aubry's eyes flickered over to him. "Cool down."
"They're going to kill us?"
"Then they will. There's a chance if we don't panic."
"There's no chance . . . there's—"
Leo lost his nerve, bleated and bolted for the ship. He made it as far as the gangplank. One of the two leather-suited figures laughed, and raised his rifle.
What seemed like pulses of liquid light flamed from the barrel of the rifle, and the Ephesus skimmer was aflame instantly. Leo's scream was horrific. He staggered back out of the ship as it exploded behind him. Flaming plastic coated his body.
He was a charred mass of tissue before he hit the ground.
Leslie watched unemotionally. "A bad death," he said.
Promise choked back her anger and grief. The wrong move, the wrong twitch now would kill them all.
The two men came the rest of the way down the gangplank, followed by five others, all of them wearing the identical leather garb and the black masks. They came up to stand only a few meters away from Aubry.
The one to the left hitched his faceplate up. Ibumi. His face looked as if it had taken the perfect meld of features from mixed parentage. One could see whatever one wanted in that face. Caucasian and Negro and Oriental, and odd bits of Indian and maybe Eskimo. There was infinite strength and intelligence. He looked like the ultimate distillation ot humanity, and he was huge.
"You have not harmed the child. Good."
"Why would we want to?"
The man on the right lifted his faceplate. Aubry recognized him—Quint, with the face of a Jesus atop the body of a god. There was something utterly chilling about his eyes. They seemed dead, moving as if pulled by a string in the back of the sockets. They were shockingly blue. They examined Aubry as if dissecting an insect. "Your kind never needs reasons." He faced Bloodeagle. "You betrayed your own kind—for these?"
"He saved my entire cadre. I had to help him find his child."
Quint turned his head almost mechanically, nodding. Then his right arm blurred like an arrow released from the bow. It smashed against Bloodeagle's jaw with a sound like a bag of rocks hitting wet planks.
Miles hit the sand and twitched once.
"He tried to repay a debt of honor. He will be tried."
He stood before Aubry again. "You are Aubry Knight., I have heard of you."
A smaller man, the smallest Gorgon in the group, spoke loudly. "He killed Diego."
For the first time, something sparkled in the back of those dead eyes. "You killed Diego Mirabal in a fair fight? Impressive. I have seen Nullboxers. They can be interesting. Limited, but interesting. You can die, or you can fight for your life."
"And the woman, and Bloodeagle, and the child."
"You, and the woman. Bloodeagle and the child are ours."
Aubry looked over at Promise, who shook her head desperately. He swallowed hard.
"All right, Quint. Let's get it on."
The eyes went dead again. "1 have no interest in killing you. I just want to watch. You will fight one of our combat men. Sawa!"
One of the helicopters landed, and the door opened. A stocky man in leathers jumped down, and Promise felt Aubry tense.
Leslie grinned. "Sawa is not Quint, or Ibumi, but he is good. My 'father' wins his death."
"You want him to die? Why?"
Leslie was silent.
Promise watched Aubry strip away his gear until he stood in dungarees and boots and torn sweatshirt. His muscles gleamed and rolled as he carefully stretched them, preparing for action.
Sawa was muscled like a gymnast, bulky without being tight. Promise felt her stomach sour.
Sawa turned to the man who stepped down from the helicopter with him, and they kissed wetly. He turned, grinning, and pulled a knife from his belt. Grinning, he tossed it to the ground.
Sawa balled his fists, and Promise could see that they were oversized, probably horned with calluses. Knees bent, Sawa inched forward until he was five feet from Aubry.
Suddenly he blurred, and his rear hand speared out in an incredibly quick traditional karate reverse punch.
Aubry leaned out of the way, and Sawa's follow-up punch grazed his head. Sawa's momentum carried him a step past Aubry. He pivoted, his breathing quick. He feinted with the front hand and lunged in again with the punch.
Aubry dropped to the ground with perfect timing and speared the heel of his foot into Sawa's rib cage. The kick caught the Japanese solidly, and jolted him back into the air. The armor of muscle around the midsection was enough to absorb the shock, and the man grunted as he rolled to his feet.
&nbs
p; Next to Promise, Leslie hissed, and slapped his bound hands against his leg.
The Japanese circled Aubry cautiously. The Nullboxer stood quietly watching.
Waiting for what? What was he doing?
Sawa feinted with his right front hand, then a left punch, and then followed through with a lashing right round kick. Aubry went under the kick, caught it, and twisted the knee savagely. Sawa howled in pain, tried to roll out but couldn't get free.
His other foot swept up, heel catching Aubry in the head, narrowly missing the temple. Aubry held onto that leg, rolling Sawa onto his back. He pivoted on his heel so that his back was to the prone man, yanked up and stomped back into the groin.
Sawa's scream was hideous. Leslie squealed with pleasure.
Ibumi smiled. "Most instructive. Again?"
Aubry glared at him.
"Morris."
Sawa's lover stepped forward and picked up the knife that Sawa had dropped. He was white, very pale, with a thin knife wound bisecting his face. He edged in, feinting with the blade.
Aubry backed up, took a step, and stumbled. Morris came in quickly, and Aubry scuttled back, crablike, then swept his feet around, clipping at Morris's ankles.
The man hopped back and Aubry lunged up to his feet like a coiled spring. Aubry feinted with his left—and threw a handful of sand with his right.
Morris blocked his eyes with his hand. As Aubry moved in, Morris's knife blade, spring-propelled, leapt out from the handle. Aubry spun sideways as the knife tore a shallow groove along the side of his neck.
He slapped his hand there, grimacing. Morris caught him in the chest with both feet.
The two men went down in a tangle, Aubry bleeding from the side of his neck. The Gorgon was riding Aubry in the dust, snaking his hands under Aubry's arms until the fingers linked behind the Nullboxer's head. A classic neck-breaking hold. Aubry linked his fingers together at his forehead and scissored his elbows back, pushed back with all of the immense power in his neck. Morris's face reddened as his grip broke.
Blood was drooling down Aubry's face now, smeared into the dirt and dust around him. Too much blood. Promise's heart trip-hammered. . . .
Aubry's head snapped back, missed contact. They were both standing now, and the Gorgon punched Aubry in the kidney. His knees buckled, and the full nelson went on again, Aubry's head bent inexorably toward his chest.
Desperately, Aubry stomped Morris on the instep, twice. He kicked back until he caught the knee, scraped savagely down the shin, and stomped the instep again. Morris roared with pain, and Aubry reached back, grabbed a double handful of hair, and dropped to one knee. Morris sailed over Aubry's shoulder? In midair Aubry torqued arms and shoulders somehow so that Morris's whole body whiplashed an instant before the back of his head hammered into the ground.
Morris's body arched, and his eyes rolled white, blood foaming from a bitten tongue. He spasmed uncontrollably, making thick-throated, inarticulate sounds. Two Gorgons hauled the dreadfully wounded man away.
Aubry stood uncertainly. His neck was bleeding profusely.
Leslie watched him with huge eyes.
Quint looked at him and nodded. "You have earned your freedom. Take your woman and go. What a waste."
"I want Bloodeagle, and the child."
"They are ours."
"Then I challenge you for them."
Ibumi and Quint laughed uproariously. Once again the life flared in Quint's eyes, and then died. "You can barely stand. You amuse me. Come back to us after you' healed. The Gorgons need men like you."
Blood coated Aubry's face, drooled from the side of h neck, but his eyes were blazing. "God damn you!"
Aubry lunged at Quint, and caught the Gorgon leader was possible that nothing human could have evaded t first strike, so swift was it.
Ibumi was on Aubry in an instant. And now, Prom., saw Aubry exert himself fully. He was gone from Ibumi's grip, and on Ibumi again. But the first moment of sh was over. The leader of Gorgon curled into a ball as Aubry was at him like a cat. Ibumi suddenly uncoiled, his el leading the way.
Aubry's head jolted back and Ibumi had him. Au went down as the two torqued him into a knot with little effort.
"This becomes more and more interesting," Quint said breathing a little hard but smiling now, those awful, dead eyes totally alive. "All of you are returning to the camp with me."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Tribal Council
Wednesday, June 28
Aubry regained consciousness slowly. He could see a vaulted ceiling above him, sunlight canting in from angled windows. From the echoing voices, he knew that the room was large.
There were perhaps a dozen seats in front of him. Half of them were filled with black-suited Gorgons, and the other half, by Winters and his coterie. No ordinary humans were there, it seemed. All of them were the enormous NewMen. He craned his head, but Bloodeagle was nowhere to be seen. Was he even alive? Alter that terrific clout to the head . . . [ Aubry's hands were tied behind him. His neck wound had been bandaged. Whatever was to follow, it was clear (hat they didn't want him to bleed to death.
There were two daises in the front of the room. Winters stood at one of them, and Quint at the other. Behind and to the left of Quint stood Ibumi, watching the room like Quint's spare set of eyes.
Until that instant, Aubry hadn't fully appreciated the Impact of Ibumi's personality.
The man was too large, taller than Aubry by almost three inches. Impossibly large, and his movements were Inhumanly precise. For precious instants, Aubry was frozen in something close to terror.
He watched Quint again. For all of the man's imposing stature, something was wrong. There was a curious vacancy in Quint's eyes. He was like a man only partially alive.
The calm, admonitory voice of Winters snapped him from his trance.
"I'm telling you that this struggle can be resolved peacefully."
"You're dreaming." Quint slurred the words as a dream® might. "We can stop this madness before it begins. Sterling DeLacourte cannot win the Democratic nomination but he could split the party. My sources"—and here hi glanced at Ibumi, who smiled and beamed at him with love and admiration—"tell me that the deal has been cut. That in exchange for DeLacourte's support, Harris is prepared to denounce us."
Ibumi spoke, and when he did, Quint paused to listen "DeLacourte is a monster. We kill him now, or he kills us later. It is as simple as that. He has sworn it on public record!"
"The President—"
Quint cut Winters off. "Roland Harris is a good man, straights go. But he's pure politics. He'd sell his soul It another four years in Washington."
He looked out at them. "You've all seen the plan, circumstances are good. The arrangements are good, security excellent. I say that we go ahead."
"No!" Winters screamed. "That isn't what we about. Not now. Not ever. We can't sink to their level
"Your sack has dried, old man," Quint said, looking him pityingly. "Where is the man who fought the United States Supreme Court to establish the Nation we love?"
"Right here, dammit. And I won't bow to your theatrics."
"No?" Ibumi said, speaking for the first time. "Then will you remember your oath to uphold the security of our Nation at any cost? Blood, or love, or loss of life? Remember the oath, Winters?"
Winters seemed lost in a memory, trying to dredge up some forgotten piece of himself. When he spoke a he did look old, and lost. "... Remember," he whispered.
"Then honor it!" "I cannot sanction the killing of an American presidential candidate."
"Then step down and let younger men do this job for you."
Winters bowed his head. "I . . . cannot."
Quint screamed at him now, spit flying from his mouth, streaking the golden beard. "Then, by God, fight me! You are a NewMan! We have articles of personal combat. What in the hell—"
Winters shook his head. "Quint, this thing is wrong. It will destroy us—"
"It will save us!"
; Ibumi said something in a foreign language, a sharp, nasty word filled with harsh consonant sounds, and Quint reacted instantly.
With a single flicker of movement, Quint drew and threw a knife. It flashed through the air between them and buried itself in Winters's throat before anyone could move.
Winters's hands flew to his throat. His wide, astonished eyes fixed on Quint as he gripped the hilt, and began to pull, blood gushing over his fingers.
Slowly, he slid to the floor.
The room exploded into pandemonium. As if he were a magician performing a card trick, Ibumi produced a machine pistol, and released its safety loudly.
"Silence!" the gigantic Gorgon screamed. "This was no treason. Winters refused to act. He refused to step down. This is war! DeLacourte must die!"
The two dozen Gorgons and NewMen, frozen in shock from the events, began to mutter.
"This is our land," Quint said. "We have been driven tin enough, and I am ready to fight and die for what we Imve built. If there is anyone here who will confront me on tin Articles of Combat, raise your voice."
Aubry struggled to his feet. "I'll take you, Quint—or maybe Ibumi. It's obvious who the real power is here. How long did it take you to screw your way up the ladder, Ibumi? Where are you from, anyway? Who are you really Working for ... ?"
"You aren't a NewMan," Ibumi said calmly. "Too bad. I would love the opportunity to pull your spine out."
"I'm as good as a NewMan, and you know it. Physically? I've taken your best. Ethics? If it weren't for me, every NewMan in Los Angeles would be dead. I have no love for DeLacourte. His people chased me, killed my friends, tried to kill me, and God dammit, I want my say!" His eyes narrowed. "I want my freedom, and the same for Promise, and our kid, and Miles Bloodeagle. And I'll do anything I have to do to earn it."
The other Gorgons conferred while Ibumi and Quint watched wordlessly. The small Gorgon spoke, with an accent that Aubry guessed to be something Middle Eastern. "This is our decision, Ibumi. Aubry Knight has earned the right to test—not for NewMan, he cannot. But presidential decree, which you swore to abide by, says that any American citizen may test for Gorgon."
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