But de Tomas had already decided that.
"My leader, that one's a viper," Herten Gorman warned.
"I know. Did you see her eyeing that knife?" De Tomas laughed.
"I'd best warn you to keep sharp instruments away from her," Gorman said.
"She's the one, Herten," de Tomas said enthusiastically. "Let her sit around Castle Hurse for a day or two, then haul her back up here. Yes, yes, yes! Good work, Herten! She's just the type I want."
"Yes, my leader!" Gorman was excited at the prospect of Comfort alone with de Tomas. First, it meant that Gelli was off the hook as a possible candidate; better still, Gorman had no doubt this violent young woman would cut de Tomas's throat at the first opportunity and save him the trouble.
"Oh, Herten, call off the search. And as for the other candidates, execute them. They're nice girls, but get rid of them."
"Yes, my leader."
"In time, Herten, I'll bring her around. In time, I'll fuck her good."
Yes, Herten Gorman thought, and in time, she'll fuck you good.
Barracks Chief Patti's eyes fairly bulged out of their sockets when she saw Comfort. "Well, 9639," she shouted, tapping her truncheon against a calf, "you smell like a whore, you look like a whore, so you must be one." Comfort had arrived after evening roll call, as the prisoners trooped back listlessly from their evening meal. "Look at her, girls," Patti shouted. "All dolled up! You thought you were somebody special, getting out of here, huh? But you're back now, aren't you? And you're mine now, you little bitch!"
Patti was vastly disappointed Comfort had not been executed. Her mangled earlobe was a constant and painful reminder that Comfort had defied her and gotten away with it. It also meant that Comfort was now a possible rival for barracks chief. When Comfort was called away, she'd breathed a sigh of relief. Now...
The other women stared at Comfort in disbelief. Never before, even in the memory of the prisoners who'd been at Castle Hurse the longest, had another prisoner ever been treated so generously. Some of the women had had illicit affairs with the guards and other staff members, gotten themselves choice work assignments thereby, but no prisoner had actually made it outside the prison walls to return in such a glorious state.
Patti abruptly lunged forward, grabbed the front of Comfort's dress, and ripped it half off. "Get into your prison rags!" she yelled.
"Leave me alone!" Comfort yelled back. She saw the truncheon coming and hunched over in time to take it on her shoulders. Still, Patti was a big woman and she put all her weight behind the blow. Comfort collapsed to her knees. The next blow struck her in the kidneys, sending her sprawling. Patti jumped on her back and began banging her head on the floor. The last thing that went through Comfort's mind before she lost consciousness was that the other women did nothing to help her.
Chapter 25
It started to rain on the morning of the second day, making travel very slow and tedious that night. Bass considered that a good thing, however, because the storm gave them additional cover and the assurance that patrols would not be out in the bad weather. But they became more and more miserable as they slogged along. Bass called a halt early so they could get under some cover and avoid hypothermia. "If I'd known it would be this bad," he told Zechariah, "I'd have joined the Marines!"
They found a deep ravine on one side of the highway and camped in some trees high up on the slope to avoid the runoff along the bottom. It was the best cover he could find in the dark and the rain.
It was Colleen who gave their position away. She awoke from a fitful sleep long after daybreak with a powerful demand to relieve herself. Not wanting to bother the others, she eased out from under her ground sheet and quietly worked her way toward the rim of the gorge. Without thinking, she stepped out onto the shoulder of the road. Not fifty meters away Raipur's old platoon was forted up for the night. They never knew they were there and probably would not have discovered them if it hadn't been for Colleen's carelessness. She froze. A few meters away, just on the other side of the road, Lieutenant Ben Loman stood, calmly relieving himself. His eyes went wide with surprise and his mouth formed into a small black circle as he stood there dumbly holding onto himself.
Colleen scuttled back down into the gorge. Behind her, Loman was shouting, but in the wind she couldn't make out the words. She didn't have to because seconds later the lieutenant appeared over the rim of the gorge, weapon in hand, followed by his men in various states of disarray, but all armed.
"Halt!" he screamed, leveling his weapon at her. Colleen stopped, turned around and held up her arms. "Don't move!" Loman yelled. "Get up here!" he shouted, contradicting himself.
"You want me to stay here or come up there?" Colleen hollered back.
"Come up here! Keep your hands where I can see them!"
Chet emerged from the bushes, causing Loman to scream even louder. He raised his hands and came to stand beside Colleen. Raipur emerged from the dripping foliage next. Loman gasped. "You!" he screamed.
"Good morning, Acolyte," Raipur smiled, raising his hands slowly.
"Gentlemen," Bass said from the roadway behind the small group, "there is no need for those drawn weapons." He had doubled back down the ravine and come up behind Ben Loman and his men. They whirled in astonishment. Bass stood there, his shot rifle casually slung barrel down over one shoulder, a fierce grin on his face. "If we were a threat to you, you'd all be dead now," he said calmly.
Ben Loman glanced fearfully at the four people standing on the slope below him and then back at Bass. "Who are you?" he shouted at Bass. Loman's men had lowered their own weapons and stood about their lieutenant nervously, not sure what to do.
"I am Charles Bass of the Confederation embassy in International City, and these people are refugees. I am accompanying them back to the city of Haven. And who are you, sir?" It was a small, inspired lie but one Bass could live with.
"I-I-I'm supposed to be asking the questions here! And—And, what are you doing out here?"
"I was captured by the devils but I escaped. Well, I told you who I am. Now you tell me who you are."
"I'm First Aco—Lieutenant Ben Loman," Loman stuttered.
"He's commander of the first platoon of the Recon Company of the Second Regiment, my old outfit," Raipur said, stepping up onto the shoulder of the road. "How you doing, Lieutenant?"
Several of the enlisted men standing around nodded affably at Raipur.
"We thought you were dead!" one of them said.
"Good to see you again, Sword," another volunteered.
"This man is a deserter!" Loman shouted, pointing at Raipur.
"No, he is not, Lieutenant," Bass said. "Now, I want you to take us to your company commander. I have important information for your commanding general and the Confederation ambassador."
"I will do no such thing!" Loman shouted. "You are my prisoners! Drop your arms! If you resist I will have you all shot!"
"Like you did those villagers, Lieutenant?" Raipur asked mildly. He made no move to divest himself of his weapon.
"Drop your weapons! All of you! Did your hear me?" Loman screamed. "Seize them!" he ordered his men, but none of them made a move.
"He's our sword," one of the men admonished Loman, nodding in Raipur's direction. "What happened, Sword?" He meant during the attack on the New Salem defenses.
"Moron over there put a round into my engine and I lost my gunner and my driver," Raipur answered, nodding at the man who had commanded the second reconnaissance car. It was a small distortion, but just then the literal truth about what had happened that night at New Salem would not have benefited him or his companions.
"Hey, Sword! We were shooting at the demons! That round was just too low!" the commander of the second car protested.
"Silence!" Loman shouted. "Arrest these people!"
Bass stepped closer to Loman. "Did you hear me, Lieutenant? I require your assistance to get to the city of Haven. Will you give me your cooperation?"
"No! Now you see here, Mr. Whatsyourname�
��"
Bass's uppercut struck Loman just under the tip of his jaw so hard that everyone could hear the officer's teeth slam together with a loud crack! His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed like a wet sack to the ground.
Suddenly, Bass was almost overcome with a rush of déjà vu. He had fought like this once before! In that Elneal place, a desert somewhere, he and another man. They had fought with knives. The memory flooded his consciousness. It had been hot, and they'd gone to the ground, and the other man had cut him but he had—he had killed his opponent! Bass could remember plunging the knife into the other man's—
"Charles? Are you all right?" Zechariah asked.
"Uh?" Bass returned to the present. "Oh, yes, yes. I'm fine." he protested. The men of the first platoon were looking at him in shocked silence for striking the lieutenant. Then one of them laughed. "Not very respectful," Bass chided.
"Well, Charles, he's a prize asshole," Raipur said.
Bass just nodded. "I think I may have run across one or two of those in my time. Now men," Bass said, flexing his fist, "you police up your lieutenant and stow him in one of your vehicles. When I see your commanding general I'll get citations for all of you. Now, Sergeant Raipur. You take command. I believe you are the senior ranking man here now? And in the immortal words of someone famous, ‘Take me to your leader.’"
"You assaulted one of my officers," Captain Dieter said, but it was not an accusation, just a statement of fact. He had sized Bass up immediately upon his entry into his command post: a man of authority, a man used to exercising that authority and accustomed to being obeyed.
"Well, he gave me a ration of shit, Skipper. I must see the Confederation ambassador. I asked him for his help, he refused, I had to take direct action. I apologize."
Skipper? Where had he heard that term before? Dieter wondered. He gestured that Bass should be seated. "Mr. Bass, may I inquire as to the nature of your mission?"
"Yessir. Your Special Group men—I believe that's what they're called—assaulted the village these people—the people who came with me—lived in, and kidnapped a certain young lady, after killing many harmless people. I am going to report this incident to the Confederation ambassador, get that young woman back, and punish the men responsible." He then went on to explain how the assault on New Salem took place, starting with Ben Loman's ill-fated probe. "I am sorry about your men, but they attacked us for no reason, Captain. We had to defend ourselves."
Dieter nodded. "How does Raipur fit into this mission you're on now?"
"Captain, he's a damned good man, a fine NCO. I'd like to ask you to let him come with us. I think I'll be able to use him."
"I never believed Ben Loman's report that he'd run up against demons. And those Special Group people? They aren't ‘mine,’ Mr. Bass. And anything you can do to bring those bastards to justice, I'll help you any way I can. I am going to give Raipur the first platoon and get him commissioned, but yes, sir, he's on loan to you as of right now." He stood and extended his hand. "You're going up against some ruthless men."
"Captain, with all due respect, I don't think they're so tough. I've been told that during your war with the devils they stayed aloof and all they ever did anyway was arrest people and torture them. No wonder you hate them. I think when they run up against some really tough opposition, they'll fold like the bullies they are. And I am going to get that opposition, even if I have to assault their goddamned fortress by myself."
Dieter looked intensely at Bass, then said, "I'll get you to Interstellar City, Mr. Bass. I'll have my operations officer arrange for a Hopper. But first," he turned to the entrance and called, "Lieutenant?"
Dieter's operations officer stepped into the CP. "Yessir?"
"Get Ben Loman in here right away. I want to talk to that sonofabitch."
"Those are some nasty bumps and scratches you have there," de Tomas observed as Gelli Alois led Comfort into his office.
"She was beaten up by her barracks chief at Castle Hurse, my leader," Gelli volunteered. "We did our best to clean her up." She bowed and left them alone.
"Please be seated, Miss Brattle. Do you wish me to punish the people or the person who beat you up?"
"No."
De Tomas nodded. "I admire you for that. Evidently, among your many sterling qualities, you are not a vengeful person."
"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Comfort replied as she sat down. But de Tomas's tone of voice was solicitous. She appreciated anyone being solicitous of her welfare after Castle Hurse.
De Tomas smiled. "I have decided it is you I want as my companion. Are you feeling well enough to visit with me for a while?"
"Thank you, but I do not want to be your companion. May I return to prison now?"
De Tomas laughed outright. "Not only no, Miss Brattle, but ‘Hell no!’"
"I am already married," she lied.
"I don't care. You will be mine, Miss Brattle, your soul first and then your body."
"Never!" Comfort shouted, half rising out of her chair, face flushed with anger.
"Yes, I assure you," de Tomas answered calmly.
"Never," she repeated, this time calmly but with determination. "You killed my people. I hate you. You are the Antichrist, I recognize you now."
"Tut tut. That's a little beyond my capabilities." He spread his arms. "Look, I am only flesh and blood. Lonely flesh and blood, at that. Being at the top of any pile is a lonely place. I breathe, I eat, I shit just like any other man."
"I will never, never give in to you," Comfort whispered. She was verging on tears of anger and frustration.
"Good! That's the spirit! That's just why I picked you. May I offer you some refreshments?"
"No."
De Tomas was so engaging, Comfort found her anger cooling, in spite of the fact that the man who sat opposite her was a cold-blooded murderer. But he was handsome, suave! His years as Dean of the Collegium, all the crimes he'd committed in his rise to ultimate power, had not marked him outwardly. She glanced around the room, at the books, the furniture, the maps and paintings, the rich carpets and drapes. It was the study of an educated, cultured gentleman, a man who loved and appreciated good things. And he was treating her now like—like her uncle, not a slobbering beast! She tried hard to steel herself by concentrating on Charles, her mother, her father, the people of New Salem, but all that tragedy seemed so long ago. She realized, deep inside, that in time de Tomas's overpowering will would break down her barriers. As morally strong as she knew she was, he was far more dangerous than anyone she'd ever met, even the vicious inmates and guards who ran Castle Hurse. They would only destroy a person's body. It was her soul de Tomas was after.
"I might like some wine now?" Comfort said in a small voice.
"And you shall have it, my dear." He poured her a glass and she sipped at it. Then de Tomas reached across the table between them. "Give me your hand, please?" She extended her right hand. He took it in his own. His hand was smooth and warm to the touch. Again Comfort was surprised. Was it the hand of a killer? "You have done some hard work with these hands, haven't you? Not just hard work in prison, but hard work at home. I can feel the calluses. Yes, you lived primitively in your village and your people were farmers and artisans. You are no society girl, Miss Brattle. You are like me. I once worked with my hands, when I was much younger." He patted the back of her hand gently and let it go.
"Please, I am very tired. May I rest for a while?"
De Tomas smiled gently. "Yes, you have earned that. I'll have someone show you to your quarters immediately. I'll have you awakened for supper. Miss Brattle—may I call you Comfort? What a delightful name! Your accommodations are ready and you will find them more than adequate. You are my honored guest here at Wayvelsberg Castle. All I want is your complete loyalty. I shall have it! And then, my dear Comfort, you will stand beside me and share my glory."
Her room was luxurious. It even had its own bath. But the door to the hall was locked. Comfort lay on the bed but could
not sleep. De Tomas's last words kept ringing through her brain. She wished she were in prison. She had never felt farther from God than she did in these sumptuous surroundings; Wayvelsberg Castle was Hell. She closed her eyes and prayed and prayed, and finally she slept.
The spot she had picked to give birth to her male child proved to be an excellent hiding place. The stream there flowed slowly and deep and the water was full of crustaceanlike creatures that were good to eat. There was plenty of foliage for concealment and the mud was deep and comfortable, reminding her of Home. She longed for Home and others of her kind, but she knew she would never see either again. She was on her own, and her only focus in life was the child. He was growing fast on the nourishing food; she had even taught him to swim in the calm, clear water that flowed outside their hiding place.
Best of all, the spot was far away from those Earthmen and the disturbances they caused. She would never understand those strange creatures. Her own people were warlike, yes, but with them the military virtues were an important aspect of their culture, which was also refined and ancient. Besides, it was ordained by the gods that civilization should rule over savagery, and the skinny, ugly Earthmen were little more than animals with deadly technology. The only thing the Earthmen seemed to want to do was destroy everything about them.
She missed the wonderful rituals that governed the lives of her people. Often, when her child slept and homesickness was upon her, she swam in the stream, sometimes following its current several kilometers, drowning her sorrow in the pleasure of exercise before turning back to her lair. When, after several months her child—whom she named Jedo, after his father, a great warrior—had grown sufficiently that he could forage for his own meals, she increased the distance of her explorations. She discovered that the stream emptied eventually into a river, and curious about its destination—river deltas were great places to live—she swam out into the water and allowed herself to drift along on the current. Going back upstream would require some effort, she realized, but she felt strong and confident that morning. Jedo could take care of himself while she was gone.
Lazarus Rising Page 27