Iceblood

by James Axler

  A massive heap of huge bones lay on the littered floor, and they were forced to pick their way around them. A huge skull, displaying fangs like six-inch daggers, grinned at them as they walked by. Domi gazed at the scattering of bones apprehensively, noting that just one of the ribs was almost the size of her entire body.

  "What kind of animal is that?" she murmured. "Mutie? What kind of animal chilled it, ate it?"

  Brigid's chuckle sounded forced. "It's the skeleton of a tyrannosaurus, a carnivorous dinosaur. Whatever killed it has been dead for at least eighty million years, so don't worry that we'll meet up with it."

  They passed exhibit after exhibit, the litter of treasures from every possible time, the stuff of myth and legend.

  The four people turned into an open archway and traversed yet another broad hall lined on either side by all varieties of animals, faces and bodies frozen forever. Many of the beasts were posed within dioramas that portrayed them in their natural habitats.

  Lions crouched, antelope frolicked, elephants lifted their trunks to trumpet, a mountain gorilla rose from African foliage to drum on its chest.

  All of them had seen pix at one time or another of most of the animals on display. Brigid in particular retained a vivid memory of the collection of preserved and mounted beasts in the archives of Cobaltville's Historical Division.

  Bleakly, Kane thought of the astonishing variety of wildlife that had existed in the world before the nukecaust, although he had been taught that many species were only years away from extinction before the first bomb detonated.

  The mutant descendants of some of these animals had very limited life spans and most, if not all, of these were extinct now, too. He wondered absently if a giant mutie variety of gorilla might not live still in the forested vastness of Africa. He couldn't help but smile at the possibility.

  The hall ended at a flight of wide steps that pitched downward into a darkness the illumination provided by the skylights could not reach. A gargantuan, streamlined shape, nearly a hundred feet long, blocked the center of the stairwell. By looking up, they saw the giant fluked tail anchored to a steel cable stretching down from an eyebolt in the ceiling.

  "What the hell is this thing?" Grant asked, his eyes running from its blunt snout and up along its pale blue surface.

  "A blue whale," Brigid replied. "The largest mammal on Earth — a long time ago."

  Kane observed where the cable supports had snapped on the leviathan, so it hung down at a ninety-degree angle. "What must a mutie version of it been like?" he murmured in awe.

  With a touch of bitterness, Brigid answered, "I imagine they were extinct before the nukecaust. Maybe they were the lucky ones."

  The four people sidled around the whale's suspended body, Kane assuming the point. The image enhancer mounted above his helmet's visor lit up his path, amplifying the beams from Brigid's and Domi's microlights and thus dispelling some of the gloom.

  "Where to now?" Domi asked.

  "The Morgan Memorial Hall of Minerals and Gems," Brigid replied. "It's the most likely place in the museum to find the stone."

  They reached the foot of the stairs and waited as Brigid glanced around, trying to get her bearings. Suddenly, they were galvanized by a sound ahead of them, a faint but distinct scraping. Grant and Kane automatically dropped into crouches, Sin Eaters aimed at the shadows. The noise came again, this time overlaid by the jangle of breaking glass.

  The two men moved forward, walking heel to toe, carefully placing their feet so as to not raise rustles from the debris on the floor. Brigid and Domi followed them, allowing the men's armor to act as a protective buffer.

  As they turned a corner in the corridor, hugging the wall, they saw a white spike of light piercing the darkness. They could hear the murmur of voices, but couldn't make out the words.

  Ahead of them lay a maze of tables, display cases and platforms. The sweeping beam of the flashlight struck brief, glittering highlights from the collection of stone, gems, geodes and crystals that filled the large room. They were dizzying in number, of all shapes, sizes and colors, far too much to absorb in a single glance.

  A man's voice echoed in the shadow-shrouded semidarkness, an exclamation of excited triumph. Kane didn't recognize the language, but it sounded familiar.

  "Russian," Brigid breathed from behind him. "He said, 'Here, this must be it.'"

  Kane knew she spoke Russian, so he wasn't surprised by her translation. He was more surprised that they had encountered Russians. "What the hell are they doing here?" he whispered to no one in particular.

  "Evidently, the same as what we're doing," Brigid replied evenly.

  Grant grunted softly in disgust. Although he had learned like the rest of them that Russia was only indirectly responsible for the nukecaust, the prejudices of a lifetime weren't easily cast aside.

  "So the thief came from Russia," he said slowly. "Not from the Peredelinko unit, or we could have traced the jump line. There must be another unindexed gateway somewhere in the country."

  Brigid knew scientists had built on Project Cerberus technology and created their own project called Szvezda, but she didn't mention it. "We can't let them take the stone back to Russia," she stated.

  Kane nodded curtly in silent agreement. Their prior visit to that country some five months before had scarcely been a pleasure jaunt. To Grant, he whispered, "Flank 'em. I go right, you go left."

  "Right."

  They bent over in crouches, bodies tensed. Kane murmured, "Set."

  "Go," Grant responded.

  The two men moved out into the hall, drawing on their long years of service together and their shared heritage as Magistrates. They crept forward slowly to avoid stepping on pieces of glass, alternating their attention from the floor to the wavering glow of the flashlight.

  Kane heard two voices now, exchanging words in Russian. He pictured a squad of AK-toting Internal Security Network troopers wearing dun-colored greatcoats, jodhpurs and fur caps with silver disks pinned to them.

  Circling a long display table, Kane duck-walked at an oblique angle toward the mutter of voices. He stopped at its corner, eyes widening behind the visor. He saw four figures standing before the shattered remains of a glass case, and they were nothing like the images his imagination had supplied.

  All of them were garbed in shaggy fur coats and vests, high boots laced with colorful strips of cloth. One man was short and rather stout, with a shaved head and swart Asian features smeared with soot. Like the corpse they had found on the street, a crudely fashioned, key-shaped cudgel hung from his waist. He held a flashlight in his right hand.

  A woman — a girl, really — stood near him. A bright red scarf was wound about her neck, contrasting sharply with tumbles of glossy black hair. The cast of her eyes, and the fullness of her lips put him in mind of Beth-Li, though this woman wasn't as slender.

  A man wearing a high black turban of dark leather spoke in a lilting, whispering voice, and Kane felt a cold hand of fearful recognition stroke his spine. His build was slight, graceful and his face seemed to consist primarily of delicate brow arches, prominent cheekbones and a very long, pointed chin. The large eyes behind the round-framed spectacles were jet-black. Although the eyes were slanted, they didn't possess the Asian epicanthic fold. The fingers loosely holding an AK-47 looked excessively, almost inhumanly long.

  Kane did not recognize the turbaned man as an individual, but as a type. Although he was more darkly complexioned than others Kane had seen, Kane was certain the man was a hybrid, a mixture of human and Archon genetic material. He noted the bloodred baldric extending across his torso from left shoulder to right hip and the short, curving sword hanging from it.

  The third man commanded most of his attention for a number of reasons. He was a head taller than his companions, topping even the black turban by several inches. His black hair fell to his shoulders and bore a wide streak of white. His lean body was clothed from neck to ankle in a long fur coat.

  He stood m
otionless, holding a chunk of stone resembling onyx in both hands. His deep-set eyes seemed to gleam with lights that floated up slowly through pools of darkness.

  His aquiline profile rang a distant chord of familiarity within Kane. He was sure he had seen the man before, but he wasn't sure of when or where.

  The man cupped the stone in his hands, head bowed over it, as if he were drinking some liquid force that flowed from it. The turbaned man spoke to him in an impatient, challenging tone.

  With one hand, he reached for the black stone, but the Russian checked his movement with harsh, peremptory words. The bespectacled man turned, handing the autorifle to the girl.

  In the brief of tick of time between the girl firmly gripping the weapon and the man relinquishing his hold on it, Kane swiftly rose to his feet.

  "Freeze!" he roared, using his well-practiced Mag voice at a volume that intimidated malefactors and broke violent momentum. He knew he should have apprised Grant over the helmet comm-link of what he was doing, but there wasn't time.

  He bellowed in English, so he wasn't sure if any of the four people would understand him, but they did freeze in midmotion. They stared at the black-armored apparition in silent surmise, and Kane couldn't help but feel impressed by their rigid self-control.

  The tall man's lips curved in a smile. In English, with only the slightest trace of an accent, he said, "I am afraid the museum is closed for renovation."

  17

  Kane's eyes swiftly swept his surroundings, searching for Grant. His partner's disgruntled voice filtered through the helmet comm-link into his ear. "I'm not in position. Keep them covered."

  The four people continued to regard Kane with a bonechilling calm. They didn't move, but the Russian asked, "What do you intend to do?"

  Kane didn't respond to the question. Instead, he ordered, "Tell the girl to drop the blaster."

  The Russian spoke to her in an indecipherable conglomeration of consonants, and she carefully laid the AK down on the floor.

  Kane said, "I've seen you somewhere before."

  The Russian's eyes flickered with surprise. "I confess your voice has a familiar ring, and since I've only met three Americans in my life, by a process of elimination you must be one of them." He paused for a second, as if ransacking his memory. "You were dressed less formally when I last saw you, but I believe your name is Kane."

  Kane's mind provided a silver-disked cap, a greatcoat and gave the man's long locks a shearing. He bit back a curse of surprise. He was one of Colonel Sverdlovosk's District Twelve troopers who had accompanied them on the flight from Russia to the base in Mongolia.

  "The colonel didn't make introductions," Kane said. "What's your name?"

  The man inclined his head in a short bow. "My name is Grigori Zakat, once a major in the ISN. I now go by the title of Tsyansis Khan-po. As far as I am aware, I am the only survivor of the massacre of the Black Gobi garrison. Do you know Colonel Sverdlovosk's fate?"

  "He'd dead." Kane waggled the barrel of his Sin Eater. "I chilled him with this blaster."

  Zakat's eyebrows rose as if he were impressed. "Ah. And the Tushe Gun?"

  "He'd dead, too," Grant rumbled from behind him, his Sin Eater on a direct line with the back of the Russian's head. "I chilled him with this blaster."

  Zakat didn't even glance in his direction, nor did his companions. They maintained a steady gaze upon Kane. "Our paths haven't crossed again by mere happenstance."

  "Very perceptive," Kane replied. "It appears we have the same goal."

  Zakat's lips quirked in a smile. "Which is?"

  "That chunk of rock in your hands."

  The black-turbaned man said in a sibilant voice, "I represent its true owners. We are returning it to where it belongs."

  "Who are you?" Kane demanded.

  The man squared his shoulders, raising his chin, cocking his head at a defiant angle. "I am Gyatso Chohan, direct descendant of the Maha Chohan, first ambassador from the nation of Agartha and keeper of the key."

  "And this," Zakat offered mildly, pointing to the woman, "is Trai."

  "And the guy in blackface?" Grant asked.

  "Shu," replied Zakat.

  "Is that a name," Grant growled, "or a sneeze?"

  Zakat chuckled. He was the only one who did.

  Impatiently, Kane declared, "Ownership issues can be worked out later. Right now I want you to put the rock on the floor and kick it over to me."

  "No!" Gyatso's voice hit a high note of outrage. "It is not yours, outlander dog!"

  "Calling me an outlander dog when we're in my own country is a pretty piss-poor insult. Do as I say, Zakat."

  The Russian did not move, but continued to cup the stone in his hands. "What do you know of this stone? Why do you need it?"

  "My business," Kane grated. "Do it and live, Zakat, or don't do it and die. Your choice."

  Zakat continued to stare expressionlessly. Kane's finger hovered over the trigger of his pistol, lightly brushing it.

  The sound of the shot was an explosive, ear-knocking crack! For an irrational half instant, Kane thought he had unintentionally fired the Sin Eater. He jumped and he heard Grant cursing. Reflexively his head jerked around to where the sound had come. He recognized the report as made by Domi's Combat Master.

  "Kane!" Brigid's trans-comm accurately transmitted her fear into his ear. "We've got company Has to be scalies."

  "How many?" he asked into the transceiver built into the jaw guard of his helmet.

  "A lot. At a bare minimum, a dozen. Probably more."

  "Hold them off," he told her. "Stand by."

  Grant demanded, "What the hell's going on back there?"

  "Scalies," Kane replied grimly. "The bastards tracked us here."

  Zakat shifted his feet slightly. "We encountered a group of them. Shu's brother Chu was killed. I feared they would lay in wait for us."

  Kane didn't respond, mind racing over dozens of plans and discarding most of them.

  In a bland, colorless tone, the Russian said, "I submit we have no choice but to agree to a truce, an alliance of convenience — at least until we have dealt with the most immediate threat. As you said, issues of ownership can be worked out later."

  Kane examined the man's proposal from several angles and realized it was the only short-term solution that made sense. "Agreed," he stated.

  Zakat made two swift motions with his hands. He slid the chunk of rock into a voluminous inner pocket of his coat while simultaneously drawing a stubby Tokarev automatic from his belt. He spoke to Trai, and she bent down to pick up the AK. Shu removed the key-shaped cudgel from his waist, holding it by its leather thong. Gyatso unsheathed his sword with a rasp of steel against leather.

  "Stay here with them," Kane said to Grant as he stepped into the murk.

  He retraced his path through the display cases and tables, reaching Brigid and Domi at the corner. Both women had their blasters in hand and peered anxiously down the corridor. Faintly, he heard the shuffling of feet, the clatter of claws on the floor.

  "Do you know another way out of here?" he asked Brigid.

  She shook her head. "I memorized only the way to the Hall of Minerals and Gems."

  Kane set his teeth on a groan. "It's a safe bet the scalies know their way around this place. Come on."

  Domi and Brigid followed him back to the others. Kane didn't waste time on introductions. He stabbed a hand toward the farthest end of the exhibit hall. "That way."

  No one questioned his choice of routes, since it stretched in the opposite direction from the way the scalies had to come. Due to the broken glass carpeting the floor, stealth wasn't an option, but the muties knew where they were anyway.

  The hall of minerals ended on a wide transverse corridor, running to the right and to the left. On impulse, Kane chose the right. The glow from the Nighthawks and the flashlight in Shu's hand cast an eerie twilight over the passageway.

  Narrow arches opened occasionally on either side, but they kept to the c
orridor. A worry that they had taken the wrong branch grew in Kane. Though the silence seemed absolute, his pointman's sixth sense told him they were not alone. More than once, passing one of the dark arches, he felt the glare of unseen eyes. He suspected they were being played with, herded into a trap.

  Ahead of him in the darkness sounded scuffings and slidings not made by human feet. Gesturing sharply behind him, Kane came to a halt. Far too late, he sensed the rush of bodies. At that second, scalies poured from the doorways on both sides of the corridor behind them, toe claws clicking like castanets, giving tongue to guttural yowls.

  Kane instantly realized the mechanics of the trap: while one small group of muties pursued them through the hall of minerals, a far larger group lay waiting in adjacent chambers and ahead of them. He had blithely led everyone right into the ambush.

  There wasn't time to make a head count. The scalies rushed like shadows, affording Kane only nightmarish glimpses of them. He raised his Sin Eater and pressed the trigger. Flame wreathed the muzzle, smearing the gloom, casting an unearthly strobing effect on the inhuman faces snarling before him. The corridor became a babel of shouts and screams, punctuated by the stuttering roar of the Sin Eater. He heard Grant open up with his own blaster, and Zakat's Tokarev snapped out steady, hand-clapping bangs.

  Bodies slammed into Kane, nearly bowling him off his feet, fetching him up hard against the wall. The quarters were too confined to safely hose bullets around without hitting one of his own people, so he used the Sin Eater as a bludgeon, clubbing away taloned hands clawing for the unprotected portion of his face.

  Lit by the Nighthawk microlights, the battle in the corridor took on an unreal, almost hallucinatory quality.

  The scalies were armed with crude spears made of sharpened steel rods, poleaxes and daggers forged from metal shards. They stabbed and thrust at the human interlopers, howling and hissing in liquid fury. Kane felt the impacts on the breastplate of his armor as if multiple fingers poked him repeatedly.