by Rose Estes
He wanted to know the man who was the father of his father, felt his heart race at the thought. Were there others of his blood as well? Questions whirled inside his head, so many questions that he had failed to ask.
But he could not discount the matter of his enemies who now appeared to be more numerous than he had imagined and the reason for his imprisonment all the more dangerous. They would not feel safe until he was dead, nor would they have risked submitting him to the arena unless they felt safe from discovery. Which meant what he already knew: that he had few allies and slim hope of survival.
Just how much of a chance depended heavily on the woman Lomi and her compatriots, although it seemed clear that they, too, were operating against the odds. Well, so be it, Braldt thought with a grim smile. The odds had improved greatly in just the span of a single night and if he had not had reason to hate the Thanes before, he certainly had cause now.
Septua was practically hopping up and down, dancing from foot to foot, unable to contain his excitement. “See, I told ya it were true! ’E set me up to ’elp ’em! I knew it were a real plot! Mebbe we can do it again! An’ it’ll work this time! All we gotta do is get the chance! When we get outta ’ere, we’ll show ’em they can’t push us around!”
Braldt stopped listening after a time and gave up trying to convince the dwarf to be still, for it was an impossible situation. Whatever the plan might have been on Valhalla, it was unlikely that such a plot would work here and now.
The woman had said that she would speak to those who were allied to their cause immediately upon her return and set in motion whatever events were necessary to free them. She had promised that Jorund would speak to them himself before the day began and all of them anxiously awaited his arrival. Even Braldt felt a thrill of anticipation with every new footstep in the corridor.
But the sun rose over the edge of the distant horizon and the guards arrived to herd them from their cells, beginning the long day’s routine. Septua lagged behind and looked about desperately as though somehow imagining that Jorund might be hiding in the shadows. Braldt felt a chill of premonition. Something had gone wrong. The woman had seemed so certain, so determined to help. Despite his strength, Braldt felt a moment of deep despair for he had allowed himself to hope, to believe. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Randi turned and looked at him and he could see his own bleak thoughts reflected in her eyes. He could not even offer her a smile of hope.
The day was like all others, but because of its very ordinariness when they had hoped for so much more, it seemed to have no end. There was only one unexpected occurrence during the day—an alien being, stranger than any they had encountered as yet attacked the guards. The thing stood more than seven feet tall and was deep blue in color. It was squarish in shape and no thicker than Braldt’s hand. It propelled itself through the air by a curious rippling which appeared along its lower edge and took it in whatever direction it aimed. It was capable of reversing itself instantly, with its edges fluttering in both directions, then flowing all together at once. Hands or some form of appendages appeared wherever they were needed along any of the edges or even growing out of the main body if it were necessary; they were as short or as long as required. The thing did not appear to have a head and even though it was impossibly thin, it was incredibly strong.
The guards had never been able to make the thing do anything they wanted it to do. Nor were they able to communicate with it despite the silver disc which had been attached to the upper left quadrant of its body. Perhaps it had no language. It took no nourishment that anyone could discover and had no apparent needs. Its cell was next to Braldt’s and at night it merely rolled itself up into a tight cylinder and lay still and unmoving until morning. Nor would it fight.
The guards grew increasingly frustrated with their lack of ability to control it, and on this particular morning had begun to beat the creature and prod it with the points of their spears, all to no effect. One of the guards, more aggravated than the others, lost control and plunged his spear completely through the thin, blue body. All around the arena, guards and prisoners alike stopped to watch the strange conflict.
For a long moment nothing seemed to happen. The arena fell silent. The guard looked around, uncertain what to do, for while the guards were there to guard the prisoners, and violence was always implicit, the blue being had done nothing to warrant the severity of his action. Yet all wondered just what if anything it would do.
The blue alien stood unmoving, the spear sticking out of its body. The guard, feeling the weight of eyes upon him, felt it imperative to pretend that he had intended his action. He swaggered forward, and bracing his foot on the body of the creature, made as if to pull his spear free. Instead, his foot slowly sank, drawn inexorably inward as the guard stared at his entrapped limb in horrified disbelief. And then he began to scream.
At the sound of his voice, everyone rushed toward him. Some of his friends grabbed him around the upper body and began to pull backward, trying to free him, but it was hopeless. Inch by screaming, struggling inch, he was pulled forward, sucked in, absorbed by the impossibly thin, blue body. No sign of him appeared on the other side, nor did the blue square grow any larger. Several of the guards began hacking at the blue being with swords, knives, clubs, and even the metal lightning arcs; nothing seemed to affect it. The blades merely penetrated its thin body, emerging on the other side. Clubs and blunt weapons bounced off and the blue arc of light sizzled along the edges without seeming to bother the being in the slightest. But in the end, despite all his friends’ efforts, the guard was taken, every single bit of him, leather, metal, flesh, and bone, until he was completely gone.
Septua watched the entire happening with wide eyes. When it was over, he gave a long, low whistle of appreciation. “Whew, wotta we ’ave to do to get that guy on our side, I wonder! Wotta technique! I never seen nothin’ like it! Did you see the way it just sort’ slurped ’im in, I mean it was nothin’ short of amazin’! Oh, sorry, Randi, ’ere, lemme ’elp you sit down!”
Randi gave Septua a black look, and deftly avoided his hand which had already inched upward from her waist to the side of her breast. “You’re disgusting! A man was just killed and all you can think about is the technique!”
“Well, ’ey, better ’im than us!” Septua exclaimed in his own defense, placing his hand on his breast and trying to look offended.
“Enough,” said Braldt as he stepped between the two. “Much as I hate to admit it, Septua is right. It was an amazing technique. Think about it,” he said to Randi. “When else has anyone ever been able to stand up to the guards? Never. Many have tried and some of them have been very good warriors indeed, but no one has ever succeeded. How does one speak to this being? Has anyone ever tried?”
His question went unanswered because the day was brought to an abrupt halt as they were herded back to their cells and locked down without food or water. There was none of the banter and casual talk that normally accompanied this procedure. It was clear that the guards were badly shaken. No further action was taken against the blue alien who returned to his cell, coiled itself tightly, and promptly went to sleep, or whatever it was that it did at such times.
Braldt sat down as near as he could get to the creature and studied it, pondering how they could persuade such a thing to help them in their fight for freedom.
Lomi struggled back to consciousness and fought off the waves of darkness that threatened to envelope her by sheer strength of will. Her flagging body infuriated her. She could not, would not die now, now that she was needed! She rose from her bed, and using the walls for assistance, made her way out into the hall. The corridors were thronged as always; so many people hurrying about their business, everything so very important. So many people, but who among them could be trusted? Despite her resolve, she felt her knees weaken, and still clinging to the doorframe, slid gently to the floor.
Before she could struggle upright, a crowd had gathered around her, murmuring sounds of concern. A
grim-looking, take-charge sort of fellow leaned over and peered into her eyes, then listened to her hesitant heart. Guards shouted orders. She tried to speak, to tell them it wasn’t necessary, but somehow, her voice never quite left her lips, or if it did, it went unheard. She felt herself lifted by efficient hands and carried down the corridor. She had led such a quiet life, it seemed odd to have such a fuss made over her. It was quite nice, actually. A pity one had to nearly die to have it happen.
Lights streamed past and fragments of conversation came to her. It seemed that they did not think she would live to reach the infirmary. She closed her eyes and smiled. She would live long enough to do what was needed, but she wished she could stay around to see what would follow. Quite irreverently she wondered if there weren’t someone you could complain to. It was like having a mystery novel taken away at the last chapter. As the darkness closed in again, she wondered why life had to be so unfair.
19
There was trouble. Something was wrong. Even Keri could feel it. It was in the air. Batta Flor had been pacing back and forth all morning from one end of the cell to the other, pounding on the bars of the door and shaking them violently. No guards came to yell threats or strike his fingers with their clubs and that in itself was odd. They had seen no guards other than a small guard that had raced through the cellblock early that morning. They had been fully armed.
They were supposed to have fought this morning, but as yet there were no sounds to indicate that a game day had begun. No blaring of horns, no pounding of drums, no sound of the crowds. Batta Flor’s constant motion was making her nervous; she wanted to scream at him to stop, but she was afraid to. More and more she felt fear. The way he looked at her now frightened her. She was certain that he had lost all memory of their past existence, their friendship. The look in his eyes was quite different now. A cunning look and something else as well, a look of ownership.
He had begun to lash out at the lupebeast pup whenever it came too close. But Beast was now the only thing that kept her sane, a link with Braldt and what had been, and she was not about to relinquish him to Batta Flor’s moodiness. She did her best to keep him by her at all times, even sleeping beside him at night. She hugged him to her now and felt the tension in his body. She drew her legs up under her and huddled against the coarse-furred pup. Hot tears pricked behind her eyelids and she closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of Batta Flor pacing off the steps of their captivity.
Young Leif Arndtson, a Thaneson of the first circle, had hoped to make a name for himself on this mission. He had hoped to acquit himself well enough so that he could erase the memory of the shameful manner in which he had disgraced himself during the skirmish on the captive freighter. It had been his first real fight. No one was more surprised than he to find that he could not stomach the sights and sounds of battle. Before he could strike a single blow, he became hopelessly nauseous and spent the rest of the brief affair emptying his stomach of its contents. Although there had been a few awkward attempts at joking about the situation, even his men had been embarrassed over his behavior and not anxious to remain under his command. Most had transferred out within the month that followed.
He had hoped to remedy that blot on his career by following his instructions to the letter, winning the commendation of his superiors and making his father proud. It hadn’t seemed so much to wish for, but now he would settle for escaping with his life, or at the very least, the chance to kill himself and avoid dishonor and betrayal. A bitter taste filled his mouth as he began to realize how slender were his chances of doing even that.
He had stepped through the transmission chamber with a contingent of twelve men, fully armed and ready and willing to do his bidding. He had also been entrusted with the safety of two tectonic specialists, the men who would set the charges that would cause the planet known as K7 to self-destruct in a manner that would seem entirely natural. He had been assured that there would be more than ample time for him and his men to return in safety.
At no time had there been any mention of crazed natives and swarms of hostile, armed Madrelli, which was what they had found waiting for them…. Now there would be no honor, nothing but ignominious death at the hands of primitives.
Leif Arndtson closed his eyes and sighed, closing his mind against the pain of his tightly bound wrists and ankles, trying to think of what they might have done to have prevented this debacle from happening.
He had known about the Madrelli of course, for he had often organized new shipments of the shaggy, cloned workers to replace those killed in the mines. But the Madrelli had always been a placid, abiding race and it had never occurred to him to fear them. One merely ordered them to do something and they did it. Only these Madrelli didn’t.
They had emerged from the transmission chamber in the ruined control room on K7, astonished at the degree of destruction they found. Pipes and ceiling panels, ductwork and bits of machinery were strewn all over. There were watermarks all along the edges of the walls indicating the depth of the water as the river poured through the chamber.
The Madrelli had done this; this Leif and his men had been told. But they had thought it had been the work of a few rogues who were themselves killed in the fierce deluge they had caused. Or so they had been told. There were several robots lying about as well, violently disassembled. This should have given them a clue what to expect, but instead, they had merely been horrified at the waste and cost of replacement.
Leif and his men made their way through the maze of broken and semi-collapsed tunnels following the carefully drawn schematics which would bring them to the heart of the mountain where they would set their charges.
They had met no one on the way in and that was unfortunate, for in the tangled mass of fallen debris that clogged the corridors, some of them might have escaped. The mountain had rumbled continuously and bits of rock and broken panels rained down on them incessantly which made them increasingly nervous. Occasionally, the mountain would shake so hard that they would be unable to keep their footing. Several of the men had been injured and their lights lost or broken.
The thunderous rumble that accompanied these shakings was even more terrifying, for all of them were aware of the vast mountain of rock above them. It was all too easy to picture a sideways slip of rock or the collapse of an already weakened corridor, crushing the life out of them as easily as one might swat an annoying insect. Many had wanted to turn back, and even though Leif Arndtson had held them in place, in his heart he had wanted to flee as well.
Would that they had. He could have reported to his superiors that interior damage had prevented him from reaching his goal. They might even have believed him.
Instead, fearing that he would forever be branded a coward, he had pressed on and had led his men unerringly to the throat of the volcano. The fiery maw had yawned beneath them, churning, boiling, spitting out chunks of flaming rock that leaped high into the air above them only to return and be swallowed by the crimson flood once again. Here, the shaking and rumbling roar had been constant, the noise too loud for them to be heard even if they shouted. They crept from place to place, clinging to every knob and projection, holding their bodies flat against the heated ground to avoid being thrown into the flaming cauldron. They made their needs known by signs though they feared letting go long enough to do so. At last, the technicians set their charges and they were free to go, which they did with all possible speed.
It was then that the disaster happened. The mountain growled and shook itself—a mere twitch really compared to some of the tremors that had gone before—but it was enough to bring down the roof of the tunnel. Four of the men were killed outright, several others badly injured. There was no hope of digging through the fall, for it appeared to be solid rock and they had no equipment. They discussed setting a charge but the thought of all that unstable rock just waiting to be dislodged dissuaded them, for they could not be certain that they could control a fall once it had started.
Even more frightening w
as the thought of the charge behind them, already activated and ticking down toward total annihilation. They had backtracked and found another tunnel, one that seemed to lead in the direction they needed to go, but they had been wrong. They took several turns, none of which appeared on the schematic and then the ground opened beneath their feet with no warning and they fell into the stifling darkness, crashing into hidden rocks, breaking bones, splitting skulls, and losing lights and crucial life-saving equipment.
Then there were but five of the original party left alive and all of the survivors were injured in one way or another. They had but a single light left among them and even though they could see another light burning on the slope above them, no one had the courage to retrieve it.
Their map was gone as well. They staggered along, helping one another until they came to the bottom of the rock fall and found the outer wall of another corridor. They had used rocks to batter their way through it, terrified all the while that their light would fail and they would be left in the dark until the final blossom of light that would accompany the moment of their deaths.
The joy they felt at breeching the wall was only surpassed by that with which they greeted the sight of the dim, flickering light and the flow of fresh air. They had forced their way through the hole in the wall and literally stampeded forward without any thought for formation or their years of training, so great was their desire to be out of the treacherous tunnels. Turning a sharp corner, they had run headlong into a large party of natives, all of them armed to the teeth.
So totally were they taken unaware that they were surrounded before they could even think of defense, had they still possessed the weaponry and the wits to do so, which was doubtful.
The natives, a dark-skinned, handsome people, were led by a hideously deformed man whose skin was ruched and eroded as though it had melted and hardened not once but several times. He had no hair on his head or face and the shiny skin on his eyelids was stretched taut, giving him an ominous, sleepy look.