Scorpio Invasion

by Alan Burt Akers

  “There,” said Loptyg, pointing, and he nosed the flier down.

  In a regular circular shape a patch of bright green showed ahead among the trees. The two vollers curved sweetly down and landed in the center.

  “I,” quoth Ornol, “with your permission, jis, will step overside. By Vox! I need to stretch my legs.”

  This was understandable, for he’d flown all the livelong way from Vallia.

  “Blotto!” rapped out Loptyg. I killed my instinctive smile. Blotto, which is Kregish for ditto, I always find amusing.

  The two guardsmen jumped down and started to sprint about and turn, running and high-stepping, getting the cramps out of their muscles. The rascals in the other voller hopped over and did likewise. I turned to Rollo.

  He said: “Can I open my eyes now?”

  I said: “We are safely on good old Kregen.”

  He gave a shudder and opened his eyes, staring at me. His face began to resume its natural bright color. “By Hlo-Hli! What an experience!”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  He looked over the side. At once a remarkable change came over him. He stiffened up, staring, eyes wide. Then: “No! No! Tell them, get back at once! Hurry! Bratch!”

  Now my lads of the emperor’s jurukkers are not infants at war and battle. So they were running about and getting the stiffness out of their limbs. They did not neglect elementary precautions. We might have spotted not a single sign of life among the trees or in the open. That did not mean that danger might not erupt upon us from the trees. After all, we were on Kregen, where immediate peril is a daily fact of life.

  A fellow — I did not know his name — from First Emperor’s Zorca Bows had his compound reflex bow strung and an arrow nocked as he exercised. Other guardsmen were clearly ready instantly to form a battle line if attacked. There was, as far as I could see, no sign of danger.

  “Hurry!” screamed Rollo. “Come back! Come back as you value your lives!”

  Ornol and the others heard. They looked toward the airboat.

  I shouted in that old foretop hailing voice: “Back aboard! All of you.At once.Bratch!”

  They clumped over and Ornol, out of that sense of duty that seems to ingrain itself in the officers of the Guard Corps, shoved the others on ahead. He would go last. If there was danger, then it was his duty to confront it as the folk under his command scrambled to safety.

  He nearly made it.

  A sound as of gruel slopping in a bowl, a sucking slobbering noise as of dregs running down a plughole burst up with a disgusting stench. The ground beneath Ornol caved in. At once he was engulfed to his thighs.

  “It’s a shuckerchun!” Rollo looked distressed. “It will suck us all down!”

  As in any seafaring ship, there were coils of rope aboard the voller. I seized one up and hurled it at Ornol. He bighted a loop around his waist and immediately waist and line were sucked down. “Heave!” I shouted.

  We tailed on and hauled. With gruesome sucking sounds Ornol started to lift, and then fell back.

  “The shuckerchun will drag us all down!” Rollo was more than distressed now. His face was gaunt with the terror of his knowledge. “They can creep under houses and engulf them. We’re done for!”

  “Loptyg! Get to the controls. Lift off!”

  He didn’t bother with a Quidang. He jumped for the levers and slammed the lift control over. The voller lurched. I could see the brilliant treacherous green flowing up the side of the other voller like a tide.

  “Lift off!” I bellowed.

  Loptyg thrust the lever over all the way. The airboat shuddered. She quivered like an exhausted stallion. Ornol’s head was going under.

  “Come on! Come on!”

  With a sound not quite like a cork coming out of a bottle, or that sound magnified and added to by a sloshing sucking, the voller leaped skywards.

  Ornol dangled below, his powerful hands gripping the line, looking up.

  “By Vox!” he said, and spat. “It tastes worse than a dopa den’s floor at chucking out time.”

  Rollo sagged back. He saw me looking at him.

  “I was sure we were all done for. No one can escape a shuckerchun.”

  “Unless they fly.”

  “Unless they fly.”

  Ornol was hauled in over the side. He stank.

  “For the sweet sake of Opaz,” he said, spitting overside. “Find a river.” Then he said: “I give you thanks.” To him, the peril was over and now he wanted to clean up. Hard, the men of my juruk.

  As for Rollo, he was only too pleased to be flying through thin air.

  Chapter eight

  I, Dray Prescot, Lord of Strombor and Krozair of Zy, have led a rackety picaresque life on Kregen. This has been forced on me not entirely through the machinations of the Star Lords. Duty, inclination, self-interest, have led me from country to country and continent to continent. I have made many friends and many enemies on that gorgeous and horrendous world four hundred light years from the planet of my birth. My own true inclination is to settle down with Delia in Esser Rarioch, our palace home in Valka. Well, perhaps one day that ambition may be fulfilled. As it is, the Everoinye put tasks into my hands that, for the good of Paz, must be fulfilled.

  Once the Star Lords had regained contact with me — and the concept that they didn’t know where I was on Kregen came as an intriguing supposition, as a shock, by Krun! — they’d hoick me up out of wherever I happened to be and dump me down somewhere else to get on with my destiny.

  That damnfool Scorpion had dropped me. Well, to be fair, he’d been unsettled by the acrid green thrusts of Ahrinye. All the same, I regarded with a somewhat leery anticipation my next jaunt with the phantom blue Scorpion.

  For the moment we got on with what we had to do here. Ornol Skobog cleaned himself up in a pretty little stream running between a fine stand of trees. We dug out the provisions they’d brought, and the archer of 1EZB, Nath the Dorvenfull, brought down a fine deer. We all ate prodigiously.

  Then I went at Ornol and the others with a fine old spate of authority.

  During that emotional wrangle I sent Rollo off out of it. I told him to go into lupu and contact his old tutor, Gal-ag-Foroming, and give him my sincere thanks for passing on the message. This was not just to keep Rollo out of the argument with my lads. I felt it needful to thank the Wizard of Loh. After all, I’d been pretty sharp with him.

  By the time those rascals of my Guard Corps were convinced I must fly on down south alone, Rollo had not returned from the woods. So I went off after him, suddenly uneasy that he might have run into more trouble.

  I found him in a small natural clearing. He was sitting down comfortably with his back against a tree. He looked up as I approached.

  “Ah, Dray! I thought you would be along soon.”

  The voice was not that of Rollo the Runner. I knew that wheezy voice.

  “Deb-Lu!”

  Rollo sat there, at ease, and Deb-Lu-Quienyin spoke to me through the lad.

  He told me that there had been a right old furore. The two Air Service pilots were bruised but unharmed, and mighty rueful over their folly. All Vondium was buzzing with the business. “But, Jak, I do not think you will be over pleased about the outcome.”

  “I can guess,” I groaned.

  “Yes. They have been most insistent. The emperor has ordered that all of your Guard Corps who wish may volunteer.”

  “That means the whole flaming lot!”

  “Of course.” The cracked old voice, speaking to me over the miles and miles from distant Vallia, sparked with amusement.

  Deb-Lu told me that Drak was content to keep his own guards. The name changes were insignificant. The PMSW — the Prince Majister’s Sword Watch — would remain as a regiment for Drak’s son — when he was born. The guardsmen forming the current PMSW had all volunteered into the new emperor’s regiment, First Emperor’s Red Jackets. At least, that solved some of the problems.

  Deb-Lu went on to fill in some
of the details I needed to know concerning the state of play in those parts of Kregen of immediate interest. The problem of Pandahem was being dealt with, as you shall hear in due time. My good comrade Gloag, who ran Strombor for me, hailed from the island of Mehzta. That island was under savage attack from the Shanks. Gloag, although fully assimilated into Strombor, felt he ought to take an expeditionary force to help out his birthplace. I could understand that.

  “Tell Gloag to take what he wants from Strombor, always remembering to leave forces enough at home. He can contact Hap Loder. He’ll lap up a chance like this. And the Clansmen ought to scare the Shanks!”

  “Very well. I have no news of Delia. Seg and Inch are about affairs of state, Turko is thinking of marrying—”

  “One day!”

  Deb-Lu laughed. “Thinking of marrying off some of his people—”

  “Oh!”

  There was other news. Presently I said: “And, Deb-Lu — what of Khe-Hi and Ling-Li? I heard about the twins.”

  “They thrive. Khe-Hi is busy on a scheme we are concocting. I’ll keep you informed. Communication has Substantially Eased.”

  There was a little more gossip. I finished by saying: “This bright rapscallion, Ra-Lu-Quonling — he calls himself Rollo the Runner — flunked his exams. Would you take him on?”

  “With pleasure. I sense in him great potential. He just needs — as you would claim they say in Clishdrin — To Get His Act Together.”

  “Thank you, Deb-Lu. I think he’ll turn out all right.”

  Rollo the Runner shifted, let out a breath, and stretched.

  “You have finished, Drajak, satisfactorily?”

  “Thank you, Rollo. That was courteous of you.” I told him what was proposed for his future. “Deb-Lu is a fine man and a very potent sorcerer. You couldn’t do better.”

  “As to that, I’d rather go adventuring with you as a Bowman of Loh.”

  “You as well!” I sighed. “It’s not on, lad. Where I’m going is highly unhealthy.”

  For, as I’m sure you have already anticipated, I knew what my next steps must be and where I was going. And, by Krun, unhealthy it was!

  “I don’t see why,” he began rebelliously. All that condescension I’d detected in him when we’d first met broke through again. “After all, I did save all your skins through my knowledge, did I not?”

  “You did and we all give you thanks. But what lies ahead is—”

  “Worse than a shuckerchun?”

  “Far worse.”

  He remained silent.

  A hint of his earlier disdain still persisted as, after a space, he said: “It does not need a genius to guess you are going up against these Shanks. I have heard the rumors. Are the Fish Heads, then, so terrible?”

  I fixed him with my eye. “Yes.”

  He caught his breath. People who live far inland have to be educated where the sea and sailormen’s ways are concerned. Once they have been indoctrinated with sea lore they can form navies as competent as an island’s. The vast distances involved between what Rollo had known and the seaborne terror of the Shanks had, as I have said, inflated their reputations rather than the opposite. In all his youthful arrogance, fostered by the learning taught in Whonban, Rollo had understood that. He’d minimized the stories. Now I was coldly resurrecting all those hideous stories as facts.

  “All the same,” he said rebelliously, “I would still—”

  “You have what is probably the most splendid opportunity afforded any apprentice Wizard of Loh to study with Deb-Lu. Vallia is marvelous. You will like it there.”

  “More study!”

  “If you wish to advance.”

  “That’s the rote cry. Is advancement then the only criterion?”

  “Trying to make the happiest life you can for yourself and those around you is, I suppose, the main criterion. And getting on in life generally helps that ambition. But, no, you are right. There are many other factors involved, and the more advanced you get on, the unhappier you become.”

  “Well, then!”

  I started to move off back to the fliers. “You’ll just have to face the needle, Rollo. Look, give Deb-Lu a couple of seasons. See how you go.”

  “Oh, yes! That means you get rid of me now.”

  “Don’t make it harder on yourself.”

  After that we walked in silence between the trees back to the vollers. My thoughts centered on what the confounded Star Lords were up to.

  Somehow or other, after all my experience on Kregen, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe the Everoinye did not know where I was. They might have not the slightest interest in what I was doing, and had no intention of employing me in the immediate future; they kept themselves informed of my whereabouts. Their messenger and spy, the gorgeous gold and scarlet raptor called the Gdoinye, would fly over and cast his beady eye upon me and my doings. Or a little reddish brown scorpion would waddle out, waving his stinger arrogantly, and tell me my fortune in picturesque terms.

  Certainly, as it seemed to me, both Ahrinye and Zena Iztar must know where I was, for they’d cushioned my fall. At least, that was my supposition. Zena Iztar, possibly the most mysterious of all these superhuman folk, had her own designs. I felt strongly she was a friend. Ahrinye probably would not tell the Star Lords out of spite or contrariness. So — I was still running, still my own man, still free to follow my own plans.

  Those plans, as you are aware, called for a simple next step leading to horror.

  Down south in Makilorn we’d pushed Leone off the throne so that Kirsty might be queen, as the Everoinye desired. The way of doing it was beside the immediate point. Could the practical success of that plot have been enough to ensure that what the Star Lords wished to happen in the future would now take place? Their plans matured over many years. I had rescued folk for them so that those peoples’ children could strut the stage of history. Why I’d saved quite a few of the men and women I had saved remained a mystery; no doubt in the years to come the reasoning of the Star Lords regarding them would come clear in some world-shaking catastrophe, or new religion, the death of a dynasty or a simple person being in the right place at the right time to influence world events.

  Here and now there was no time to wait for those sweeping world movements. Here and now the Shanks were in Tarankar, and up to deviltry, and, like a canker, if they weren’t stopped soon they’d spread to engulf the lands about them, and so spread further. And large though Loh might be, who would be bold enough to say when the Fish Heads would stop?

  If the Star Lords couldn’t see that then they must truly be senile.

  Unless, of course, the whole damned shambles was just a game for them.

  “By Vox, jis!” exclaimed Ornol as we reached the vollers. “You look as though you’ve eaten something that griped your guts rotten.”

  “Not eaten, Ornol. Thought.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said, wisely, nodding. “Quite so.”

  And Rollo laughed.

  “This young scamp is going back to Vallia. Try to see he doesn’t fall out of the voller. At least, over land.”

  “Quidang!”

  The few preparations necessary were soon made. Everyone went aboard one of the fliers and I commanded the other in splendid isolation.

  A delay occurred in the other voller and I heard a few shouts and a few by Voxs! Loptyg yelled: “The Kendur said you was coming with us!” and Rollo’s clear young voice, sharp with condescension: “I have decided not to go. I have things to do here.” And Ornol, heavy and matter-of-fact: “You might have things to do, my lad. The Kendur gave an order and that order will be obeyed.” And Coram the Flatch, a dwa-Hikdar from 2ESW: “Aye, laddie. Obeyed to the death.”

  This affair had best be left to my lads to sort out. Some more uproar followed, and a quantity of appeals to gods, saints and devils of various persuasions, succeeded by an uncanny silence. Shortly thereafter the voller lifted off. A row of heads appeared over the gunwale and a gale of remberees gusted down. I holle
red the remberees back and the flier shot up into the clear sky of Kregen, dwindled to a dot in the north and vanished. I sighed. They’d be home in Vallia in no time.

  Resolutely, I turned my face to the south. A touch on the controls and I was aloft.

  Chapter nine

  I have said it before and, if the flint sickle of Kranlil the Reaper spares me, I shall certainly say it again. Ah! To speed through the sweet air of Kregen with the breeze in your hair and the radiance of the Suns all about! Now that is living!

  On and on I urged the airboat in the sheer joy of flying. South the course headed, south to perils and horrors and death around every corner.

  When I felt peckish — well, more than peckish, ravenous — I looped the bight of cord around the controls, keeping the voller on an even course and speed, and went off to rummage in the provisions aboard. My lads had done me proud. There were hampers of food, and bottles, and very soon I had the fire going on its slate bed. One has to be careful of fires aboard ships either of the seas or the air. Thinking of past adventures with Seg, I was meticulous and the voller did not catch alight.

  The delicious aroma of cooking wafted up. I licked my lips. This was going to be a gargantuan meal, since it might be the last I’d get for some time. So everything went in and the succulent aromas filled the voller.

  A plaintive voice said: “I declare my insides have betrayed me.”

  I did not turn around.

  “There is a plate and eating irons,” I said. “Help yourself to a bottle.”

  “My insides thank you, even if I find it difficult.”

  He sat down nursing his bottle. I said: “How did you elude my guards?” The moment the words were out of my mouth I recognized the fatuity of the question.

  With all his old condescension in full spate he said: “You forget. I am a Wizard of Walfarg.”