Pools of Yarah

by J Gurley

  She leaped to her feet. “You think to trick us while your ship escapes,” she yelled. “Our planes will follow and shoot it down. You disappoint me, Captain.”

  The room began to shake. Bits of ceiling cascaded to the floor. People panicked and threw themselves beneath the tables. Pachmarudhi stared in disbelief at the ceiling, and then leveled her gaze at Moore.

  “You did this,” she accused.

  Suddenly, the roof caved in, sending large pieces of metal and glass to the floor, scattering the diners. Moore smiled as the Baldry slowly settled on her landing jets. She looked small in the enormous cavern of a room, but she was big enough for him.

  Before the guards could react, he grabbed a knife from the table and wrapped his arm around Chancellor Pachmarudhi’s neck. “You will escort us to my ship or you will die slowly,” he whispered in the frightened ambassador’s ear. Pachmarudhi nodded, keenly aware of the knife at her throat. Using his whimpering hostage as a shield, he and Secord backed up the lowered ramp. The guards were too frightened to fire and risk hitting the chancellor. Once inside, he tossed Pachmarudhi aside and told an armed guard to watch him; then, rushed to the bridge.

  “Good job, Mr. Desmond. I had hoped you would have the wherewithal to trace my signal. The banquet room was a readymade landing bay.”

  Desmond smiled. “Yes, sir. I just set her down through the center of the dome. They’ll have to fix that leak before the next rain.” He laughed. “The planes tried to intercept us, but we fooled them by hopping straight to the dome. I don’t think we can fool them again.”

  “We have a hostage to keep their weapons silent. Even so, take her straight up hard and fast till we’re well out of their range.”

  He resumed his command chair. He had not proved much of a diplomat, but he did not care. The Guild had dealt with small-minded windbags like the Khan before. If, as he suspected, Pachmarudhi was the true power behind the throne, he was now in an extremely good bargaining position.

  Now, to find Lieutenant Lorst and the rest of my crew.

  30

  Prisoners

  After Two Clouds made it back to Grey Eagle with the story of their ruse, Grey Eagle realized the Marauders were able to move at will through the labyrinth of corridors, making it only a matter of time before they managed to flank his position. He decided to abandon the control center and locate Kena, Hramack, and the others. Then, they would find a way out of the mountain. “Come. Let’s leave this place. It’s time to go home.”

  Two Clouds led them to the infirmary. Grey Eagle’s heart sank when he saw the carnage left by the Marauders. “There is no blood, no sign of a struggle. I cannot believe the Marauders could have taken them without a fight.” Then he noticed a small discoloration on the surface of one of the otherwise pristine walls. He bent over to examine it more closely and discovered an A and an H scratched within a circle, and a K and a C, outside it.

  He smiled. “Hramack managed to leave us a message. The Marauders have captured him and Anderson, but Kena and Cathi Lorst are still free. The Marauders do not have them.”

  “What do we do?” Two Clouds asked.

  “We find and rescue Hramack,” he answered. “He would do no less for us.”

  “What of Kena and the woman?”

  “Kena is resourceful. He will find a place safe for the injured woman. We will search for Hramack. He is in the greatest danger.”

  The Marauders had not bothered to hide their trail. In addition, small discrete signs left by Hramack marked the way and indicated the band consisted of ten men. Not too many to take on once they caught up to them, Grey Eagle thought, but they must hurry before they joined with a larger party. Hramack had left one more sign for Grey Eagle, the sign for carelessness. With it, he communicated that the group had thrown caution to the wind as they marched through the corridors with their captives. They were not expecting trouble. Grey Eagle was certain that when he caught up with them, he could overpower them.

  Another kilometer farther, he changed his mind. They had come once again to the main entrance to the underground facility. Outside, another twenty Marauders sat in the shade of the mountain, resting. Such a large group would be too much for Grey Eagle’s small band to take on. There was no way around them. They would have to wait until they left before following Hramack. Their future looked bleak once again.

  *

  The group bearing Anderson and Hramack marched for hours through the heat of the afternoon. Their urgency in getting their prisoners to their leader, Hardy, drove them to suffer the scorching heat. Neither Anderson nor he was given water. The sun beat down upon them with a fury he had not felt in weeks. His raging thirst became a demon to conquer. Each time he stumbled or slowed down, a sharp tug on the rope about his neck sent an urgent choking reminder to quicken his pace. He had hoped Grey Eagle would catch up, but perhaps it was too late. They had passed many groups of men since leaving the mountain, part of a well-trained army.

  After dusk, the group halted. Hramack, exhausted, collapsed immediately. This time there was no jerk on his rope. Anderson had passed out on his litter either from the heat. They made camp beneath a series of spires of red rock that seemed to pierce the sky, hoodoos, one of the men called them. Hramack watched them as they methodically set up camp and post guards. He no longer thought of them as Marauders. They were distinctly different from the Marauders that had attacked them before they reached Pueblo Nuevo, the savages that constantly attacked the village. Those Marauders were dirty, ragged, and poorly fed.

  This group was well armed, healthy, disciplined, and well organized. They wore clothing made from soft vegetable fibers dyed to match the colors of the desert – khaki, rust, brown, and buff. Their weapons were sharp and forged from good quality steel. A complex, organized society of weavers, metal smiths, farmers, and engineers were necessary to maintain such an army, a thriving society, not bands of wandering nomads.

  They finally brought water, but no food. He took a few sips and handed the canteen to Anderson, who drank deeply. Just after moonrise, one of his captors kicked him to arouse him for another forced march. He and Anderson received a meager meal of stale bread, dried fruit, and a few sips of water.

  By dawn, they had traveled several kilometers and had reached an area planted in groves of fruit-bearing trees and fields of plants irrigated by small pipes carrying water from much larger pipes buried underground. Thousands of square hectares of shading material suspended above the crops supported by thin metal rods protected the plants from the full fury of the sun. He saw groups of people working the fields and tending to cattle, sheep, and goats. Ponds, covered by thick membranes to prevent evaporation, dotted the slopes.

  “What are those?” he asked Juarez.

  Juarez seemed proud of the work. He answered, “Fish ponds. We raise many kinds of fish there. When we harvest a pond, we drain it and use the waste and mud from the bottom to fertilize our crops. Hardy taught us this.”

  “Who is Hardy?”

  “He is the man you will tell why you are here,” he answered in a threatening voice.

  The day wore on savagely. The heat pressed down on him like a heavy stone weight, forcing air almost too hot to breathe from his lungs. This time, even the soldiers grew weary from the forced march. A few hours before nightfall, Victor called a halt. Hramack felt certain they were nearing their destination. It was time he tried to escape. He knew Anderson would never make it far on his injured feet. It was clear Hardy wanted Anderson delivered in good health, but Hramack was not as sure of his status. Victor implied torture and death. Dying in the desert seemed a better alternative to that.

  He waited until the moon had risen before working his bonds loose. His captors did not expect him to try to escape and had not tied his hands too tightly. Twenty minutes of rubbing them on a sharp rock, and he was free. He had seen many soldiers along the way. It would be senseless to try to return to the mountain by the route they had taken. If he could retrieve his pack, he could use
his compass to find his way. He knew in which direction the pumping facility lay, and he had tried to recognize landmarks along the way. With luck, he would be able to find his way back and avoid recapture along the way.

  The road was in a valley sandwiched between two high ridges. One was very steep and ended against the flanks of a high mountain. The other rose at a manageable slope and dropped off into a series of washes and arroyos: a perfect place to avoid pursuit. It was also the first place they would search.

  He did not wake Anderson for fear he would demand to go with him. If he could find the others, they could free Anderson later. He found his pack stacked with several others. His canteen was still inside, but it held only a few mouthfuls of water. Only two guards patrolled the perimeter of the camp. It was a simple deed to reach the steep talus slope of loose dirt and rock covered the slope undetected. Ascending it silently proved difficult. He made small movements and searched for each handhold carefully to avoid either sliding back down the loose slope or precipitating a small landslide that would alert the guards.

  Near the top of the slope, a narrow goat path clung to the steep, rocky cliff. He followed it into the deep shadows. It was a difficult climb in his condition, but he hoped to avoid detection. Two days’ forced march in the heat of the day with little food or water had weakened him, but his determination to reach the others drove him upward. Centimeter by centimeter, from one precarious handhold to the next, he climbed. An hour had passed before he heard a commotion in the camp below. They had finally discovered his absence.

  If they first searched the obvious route, it would give him time to make good his escape. In the moonlight, following his tracks would not be easy. Kena had taught him the art of hiding his tracks when he was much younger. Such skills seem forgotten until called upon in times of need. His need was now great. He rested several times on small ledges to catch his breath and ease the cramp in his bleeding fingers. Too soon, he heard men climbing below him. They had discovered his ruse. He fought his growing despair. He would have to work hard keep ahead of them. If any of the soldiers had ropes and skills at rock climbing, he would be in trouble.

  Dawn burst upon him with the fury of an enraged beast. He had no food and no more water. The open cliff face offered no shelter from the sun’s fierce heat. He was certain he stood out against the side of the mountain like a black tick on a white goat. If his pursuers had spotted him, they were too involved in their own climbing to waste energy shouting.

  He estimated that he had climbed a thousand meters, but the top was another 500 meters above him, and the path had petered out, offering few handholds. He would have to traverse laterally across naked rock to find a better way up.

  Small ledges and cracks in the rock barely large enough for his fingers allowed him to go another 200 meters before suddenly ending in a sheer blank wall. A section of rock had broken free and slid down the face of the mountain, scouring it like sandpaper. He was trapped.

  He faced two choices, neither of which pleased him – return and give up, or try to climb back down and search for another path. He was trying to decide when the first arrow bounced off the stone less than an arm’s length from his head. He looked down and saw a man armed with a bow leaning backwards into space secured by a rope around his waist held by two other men. If he did not descend, eventually an arrow would find him.

  “Aai!” he yelled to those below. “I give up. I’m coming down.”

  Descending took less time than climbing up had. When he reached the ridge top, several angry soldiers began to beat and kick him. A shout from below stopped them. They tied his feet and wrists securely and lowered him like a pack to the valley floor by rope. Sharp rocks sliced into his back, and judging from the laughter coming from below, it seemed that they purposefully banged his head and limbs into large boulders for pleasure.

  When he finally reached the bottom, Victor Juarez stood over him rubbing his finger along the edge of the blade of his knife. “I think I should kill you now and save time.”

  With one eye bruised and swollen shut and his lips bleeding from his rough handling, Hramack summoned his courage and answered defiantly, “If you wanted me dead, you would have simply fired arrows until one struck the mark. No, you want me alive for Hardy. Now, give me water, or I’ll die before we reach your den of vipers.” He grinned to show his disdain for his captors.

  Juarez cursed but sent a man to fetch water.

  After Hramack had drunk his fill, Juarez ordered, “Make a litter for this one and tie him to it. We must be off.”

  He remained bound hand and foot as they marched. At night, a guard remained beside him and Anderson. They were not allowed to speak to one another. They received no food and only a few sips of water. After two more days of uncomfortable swaying in the litter, they rounded a large hill and came upon the ruins of Denver Dome spread out across a vast, flat plain. From Arun Kane’s journal, he knew that the dome once was home to two million people, an unimaginable number. It towered almost a thousand meters into the sky and covered an area over sixty kilometers in diameter. People from as far north as Canada, as far south as Mexico, as far east as Missouri, and as far west as Washington state had come to the dome when Earth had become almost uninhabitable because of the ever increasing heat and solar radiation. Six of the Great Domes were in America – L.A. Dome, New York-Boston Dome, Atlanta Dome, Chicago Dome, Juneau-British Columbian Dome, and Denver Dome. Only Denver Dome had come through the wars and the Upheaval intact. Arun Kane had unleashed the terrible fury of the orbiting defense satellite on the dome in hopes of forcing the Elite rulers to allow man to walk once again on the land and to repair the damage caused by both man and nature.

  In the shadow of the rubble of Denver Dome, Hramack saw new buildings under construction. These were simple two and three-story buildings built of salvaged brick and stone, but they had a beauty and symmetry of their own. Many bore paints of bright colors that reminded Hramack of wildflowers or the sky. He saw windmill generators, streetlights, and fountains of water. If Hardy was responsible for the revitalization of the area, perhaps he was a man with whom Hramack could reason.

  A crowd gathered as the group approached. By their looks, they were as afraid of him as he was of them. He must try to overcome the mistrust and the misunderstanding. They each had what the other needed and now, with the return of the Scattered Ones, they would need to work together to ensure that they, not men from the stars, retained possession of the Earth.

  At last, they came upon a group of stolid-looking men standing outside a large building. The men carrying Anderson’s litter lowered him gently to the ground. With Hramack, they simply dropped his litter.

  “Give them water,” a voice said. A jug of water was produced and someone poured water down his throat, almost choking him. “Release him,” the voice ordered.

  Hramack leaned onto his side as someone cut his bonds. He fought back the urge to scream as the circulation in his arms and legs returned. He stood, but his legs were still wobbly from heat exhaustion and lack of water. He reeled and almost fainted. A man in his early forties stood before him. He was slightly shorter than Hramack, but carried himself with an aloof presence that made him seem taller. Hramack surmised that he must be Hardy, the leader.

  As if the stranger had heard his thoughts, he announced, “I am George Washington Hardy, leader of this Alliance. You,” he pointed to Anderson, “you are one of the Scattered Ones returned to us?” Anderson nodded. He turned to Hramack. “You are one of the southern invaders. Why have you brought war to our country? Where are the others who came with you?”

  Hramack ignored the pain in his legs, stood straight, and faced Hardy. As he spoke, he massaged his cut and swollen lip. “We are not invaders. We came to find the source of the water that feeds our villages and return its flow. Your people attacked us without warning. We simply fought back.”

  Hardy smiled. “Rather successfully from what I hear.”

  “Grey Eagle’s people have lea
rned to fight from decades of attacks by Marauders.” He paused and stared at Hardy. “But you aren’t Marauders, are you?”

  “Marauders? Ah, yes, our southern and eastern allies can be somewhat . . . overzealous, at times. They protect our borders and owe loose allegiance to me, but they still cling to their old ways.”

  “We are not your enemy. I see you have knowledge of electricity and irrigation. You grow food and raise animals. You try to survive, as do we. Together, our two peoples could do much to rebuild the Earth. It’s a pity we are fighting.”

  “Your words make sense, young one, but your actions speak louder. I have lost many men to you and your companions.”

  “We fought only to defend ourselves.”

  Anderson spoke up. “What he says is true. From what I have learned of these people, they are not bloodthirsty, but decent, honorable men. They have committed themselves to me and to my companion’s protection. Your men attacked from ambush without warning. My companion came in peace, and we wish to leave in peace, but I will not allow you to kill this man.”

  Hardy walked over to Anderson. He stood above him and said, “Very bravely spoken, but you are in no position to dictate to me. Just why have you come here, Star Man? To rescue us? I think not.” He waved his hand in the air. “You want something from Earth and think to take it from us.” Hardy clenched his fist and narrowed his eyes. “Be warned. I have more in common with this southerner than I do with you. Your people abandoned our world after stripping it of its resources before fleeing to the stars, leaving those of us who remained to fight over the scraps you left behind, like starving dogs over a bone. Once, our people soared through the skies and made wondrous machines that supplied us with light, food, and water at the touch of a finger. Now, we scratch at the earth and pick through the garbage heaps of our world like beggars. Do not come here and expect us to greet you like gods or even as long lost brothers. You have long ago forfeited your right to this world.”