The Last Protector

by Daniel C. Starr

  Another flicker of light caught his eye, and for a moment he thought he saw something moving on the lake, near the island. He blinked, and it was gone. A quick scan with the spotter-scope revealed nothing. Probably just that light reflecting off a wave.

  Knowing Jape would want to get an early start, he decided to get breakfast going. At the very bottom of the backpack, he found a small package, tightly wrapped in brown paper and still nicely cold. It contained a dozen fresh eggs, a wedge of cheese and a chunk of ham that he'd kept hidden since purchasing it at the trading post. Omelets today, he thought, allowing a smug grin to cross his face. They'll be expecting that survival crap.

  As he unwrapped the package and placed a little kindling on the remains of the campfire, he got the tiniest whiff of a strange and unpleasant odor. He sniffed more deeply and raised a wet finger, detecting a slight breeze blowing from inside the crater. The breeze became a strong wind, carrying with it the revolting stench of the outhouse at a chili cook-off, spiked with the sickly-sweet aroma of a cheap distillery. Seconds later, a dragon, a big one—no, an enormous one—soared over the cliff, grazing the tree-tops and heading straight toward him, claws extended, open mouth showing a huge row of teeth. With an unearthly shriek, the monster spat a stream of fire straight at him.

  "Crap!” he shouted, diving to escape the flames. So much for Jape's reassuring words about delicate ornamental dragons: this thing could carry the three of them away with ease. Shouting a few curses in his native tongue, he drew Ol’ Red and prepared to do battle with the monster.

  The noise awoke both Nalia and Jape, who crawled from their tents just in time to watch helplessly as the dragon sank its claws into the shoulder-guards of Scrornuck's jacket and lifted him into the air. Within a minute the beast was hundreds of feet above the crater rim and climbing steadily.

  "Carry me away like some fair maiden,” Scrornuck muttered, “we'll see about that, colon-breath!” Forming Ol’ Red's blade into a narrow shaft, he plunged it into the thick wing muscle of the dragon's chest. The beast shook and screeched as the flexible blade worked its way into its flesh and split into a thousand tiny hooks that wrapped around bones and tendons. “Oh, no, you don't,” he shouted as the dragon released its grip and tried to drop him, “you wanted me, you got me!"

  The beast stopped climbing and began spiraling down. Blood, a lot of it, ran over Scrornuck's hands and down his arms; he'd severed one of the dragon's arteries. Good, he thought, that'll weaken it and it'll have to land. Another part of his mind was less optimistic. Yeah, it'll fall out of the sky like a brick.

  The dragon kicked and scratched at him, tearing at the hem of his kilt and opening bloody gashes in his arms and legs. “Two can play this game, buster,” Scrornuck muttered, swinging around to deliver some kicks of his own. The first hit only air, but the second struck the beast's ribcage with a satisfying crack, and the dragon descended more rapidly.

  As the wounded dragon came in low over the trees, Scrornuck shifted his grip on Ol’ Red and yanked hard on the animal's wing muscle. The creature instinctively pulled back into something resembling a landing flare. At that moment Scrornuck shifted his grip again, releasing the fibersword's hold on the dragon. He hit the ground hard, the boosters in his boots absorbing the impact with a loud, angry sound, and rolled some distance, bouncing off rocks and trees before he stopped. It's a good landing if you can walk away from it, he thought, as he got slowly to his feet. He was going to hurt, a lot, later on.

  Trailing a steady stream of blood, barely able to stay aloft, the dragon swooped down for another attack. “What part of 'die, die, DIE!' don't you understand?” Scrornuck cried, as he launched himself at the beast. This time, he got Ol’ Red right into the dragon's breadbasket, slicing its torso open end-to-end, spilling its guts—and bursting its gas-bladder. The monster exploded in a foul-smelling fireball. Blinded by smoke, Scrornuck fell, bouncing off tree limbs and tumbling end-over-end. The last thing he heard was a sickening crack from his left leg as he hit the ground.

  "Mister Saughblade!” Jape's voice brought Scrornuck back to reality. Reality hurt. He let out a loud groan as he tried to push himself up to a sitting position, and saw that his leg was bent at an angle not found in nature. Moaning softly, he collapsed.

  Jape and Nalia arrived a moment later. She went white and turned away at the sight of Scrornuck, battered, scorched and drenched in blood. “It's not as bad as it looks,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Most of the blood's from the other guy."

  The Ranger was all business. “Did it to yourself again, I see. Good thing I brought one of these.” He calmly removed a small packet from a pocket of his cape.

  "What's that?” Nalia asked.

  "Internal bone splint. Mister Saughblade has a habit of breaking things, so we never travel without one.” He grabbed Scrornuck's foot. “This is going to hurt. Sorry."

  Scrornuck clamped his jaws together and struggled not to cry out as Jape pulled the leg straight. Tears filled his eyes, but only a small whimper escaped his lips.

  Jape opened the packet and took out a fabric cuff lined with tiny metal clips and wires. Pushing Scrornuck's kilt up a little, he carefully wrapped the internal splint around the break and hooked his finger through a small ring on the cuff. “Ready?"

  "No.” Scrornuck clenched his fists and hung on.

  Jape pulled the ring. Hundreds of fibers burrowed into Scrornuck's leg, pulling metal wires and clips after them, encircling the bone ends, drawing them together, building a support structure around them. Despite his best effort Scrornuck howled, drawing a reply from a distant wolf. After a minute that seemed a lot longer, the splint finished its work. “Well, how is it?” Jape asked.

  With some help, Scrornuck got to his feet and gently put a little weight on the leg. “I think it's okay.” He took a few cautious steps, followed by a few more confident steps. “Now where the hell's my sword..."

  A few minutes’ search located Ol’ Red, not far from where the dragon's head lay, mostly upright and leaning against a fallen tree. “Stop looking at me,” Scrornuck muttered, as he gently closed the dragon's huge green eye. “This one's good and fresh,” he said, extending the sword's blade. “I'm finally going to get my carbuncle."

  "How many times do I have to tell you, carbuncles are mythical,” Jape began, and then paused thoughtfully. “Still, in this case, it might be worth a look."

  With one grand stroke, Scrornuck sliced off the top of the dragon's skull, exposing a mass of bloody gray tissue that steamed in the cool morning air. He removed his jacket, pulled his hair back into a long ponytail, and plunged his hands into the dragon's skull. Blood and tissue and unrecognizable black-and-gray stuff floated to the surface and dribbled down the dragon's face as he groped around, pulling blood vessels, running his fingers along the inside of the skull, searching for something hard and sharp-edged. Soon he had both arms buried in the dragon's head well up above the elbows, methodically stirring through the bloody tissue, still finding nothing. The sticky, slimy gore soaked the front of his shirt and burned fiendishly when it got into the cuts on his arms.

  Frustrated at finding nothing, he plunged his right arm into the dragon's head, up above the shoulder this time, until his face was barely an inch above the foul-smelling glop—and his fingers closed on something solid. He wriggled and pulled. It resisted. “C'mon,” he muttered, feeling his fingers slip, “come on, you dirty bitch!” Something snapped inside the dragon's skull and his arm jerked up, launching a shower of blood and tissue that sent Jape and Nalia ducking.

  "Ta-daa!” he said, displaying a blood-covered device with several strings attached to it. “Finally got one!” He found a clean corner of his shirt and wiped the object clean, revealing a translucent purple crystal whose insides sparkled with a network of golden veils.

  Jape waved his rings close to the crystal and watched them flash their code. “Hmm. It identifies itself as a ContRobotics Corporation Series 36C Dynamic Biomanager, whatever that i
s."

  "It's just another gadget?” Scrornuck let the crystal fall into Jape's hand. “Crap."

  Jape examined the device and dropped it into a pocket of his cape. “Still, it's information.” He made a note on his softscroll. “We'll see what it tells us.” Putting the scroll back in his cape, he climbed over a fallen tree to look at the remains of the dragon's torso. “I want a tissue sample.” He held two fingers about an inch apart. “About this big, from the wing muscle. Let's see what makes this thing so strong."

  Scrornuck formed Ol’ Red's blade into a sharp-edged tube and jammed it into the dragon's chest. “How's this?” He held up an inch-long plug of gritty tissue.

  Jape handed him a small plastic tube. “Perfect. Put it in here for now. I'll take a look at it later.” Scrornuck did this, and Jape stashed the sample in a pocket of his cape.

  "Yuck, this stuff's disgusting,” Scrornuck said, picking at the bloody mess clinging to his arms. With a little help from Nalia, taking great pains to keep his hair out of the muck, he delicately peeled off his shirt and scrubbed his arms. It stung, it made a mess of the shirt, and when he was done a fair amount of the smelly glop still clung to him. With a sigh, he slipped his jacket on, and the three headed for camp.

  When they arrived, they found the dragon's attack had done serious damage: the spotter-scope was destroyed, its lens shattered, the image-array scratched and burned, circuitry in pieces strewn from camp to cliff. “Well, that's junk,” Jape said, kicking a broken piece over the edge.

  "So's our breakfast,” Scrornuck said. The ham and cheese had fallen into the fire and were now little more than pleasant-smelling lumps of carbon, while the eggs were scattered and broken. “So much for omelets,” he sighed, pulling a plastic bag of survival rations from the pack. “I guess we have to eat this crap, after all.” He broke off several pieces of the tough, brown jerky and passed them around.

  "This stuff's gross,” Nalia said, half-heartedly chewing.

  "Enh,” Scrornuck said. “At least it doesn't wriggle on the way down.” He picked up the water-skin. It was nearly empty, so he took only a small sip, just enough to soften the mystery meat a little, and passed it on to Nalia.

  They spent the next several minutes miserably chewing the stringy, tasteless sludge, trying to soften it up enough to swallow it. Scrornuck passed around his container of spice blend. It didn't help much.

  With a bob of her head and an audible gulp, Nalia forced down the last of her drab breakfast. She pointed to the gouges that the dragon had made in Scrornuck's arms and legs. “You still need to do something about that."

  "Just scratches. They'll heal in a few days."

  "Don't play tough-guy,” Jape said, getting up to fetch the medical kit.

  "I don't need..."

  "Mister Saughblade, that's an order! Now lift that skirt and let's take care of this.” He took out a tube of antiseptic goo. “Nalia, could you squirt a bit of this into the wounds?"

  Scrornuck jumped and yelped as she did. “Hey! That stuff hurts!"

  "Not as much as an infection.” Jape pulled the edges of the wound together and secured them with clear tape.

  Scrornuck picked at the dried dragon-gore stuck to his arms. “This stuff itches."

  "Well, the sooner we get down to the lake, the sooner you can wash it off."

  "Yeah, and maybe catch some fish for a proper breakfast,” Nalia said hopefully.

  * * * *

  "No fishing,” Scrornuck said, standing on the stony beach and gazing across the blue-white expanse of ice. They'd spent three hours following a narrow, crumbling trail down the sheer cliff, several times coming close to falling. At the bottom of the trail, they found that Alpine Lake was frozen, a skating rink a mile across.

  "Well, we know why they call this place a winter sports area,” Jape said.

  "Yeah.” Scrornuck took a running start and slid gracefully across the ice, as though he had skates on. “Wow, it's perfect. How do they—” His feet slid out from under him and he fell. The tape tore off a wound in his leg, and he left a bright-red trail of blood across the blue-white ice as he slid to a stop. “How do they keep it so slick?"

  "I think those machines do it,” Jape said, pointing to some dark specks moving methodically back and forth in the distance. “They look like ice polishers."

  Nalia walked gingerly onto the ice, testing her traction. “It's not going to be easy to walk all the way to the island on this stuff,” she said. She picked up a couple handfuls of sand from the shore. Sprinkling them in her path, she walked out to join Scrornuck.

  "I don't think we can carry enough sand to make a path to the island,” Jape said. “And if we tried, I suspect those machines would just sweep it up."

  "Should've brought skates,” Scrornuck said.

  "Well, we didn't,” Jape said, sitting on a boulder. “Let me think about it.” He closed his eyes, concentrating on the puzzle.

  Scrornuck scratched at the dried crud on his leg. “While you're thinking, I'm going to clean off this crap. Where there's ice, there's water!” Ol’ Red's blade sparkled, chips of ice flew, and the frozen lake beneath their feet quivered as the fibersword opened a hole about two feet across.

  Nalia looked at the drab, greenish-black liquid that filled the hole. “Doesn't look all that inviting."

  "It's just dark down there.” Tossing boots, belt, sword, sporran and jacket aside, Scrornuck stripped down to his kilt, took a deep breath and jumped in, making a strangely dead splash. The water felt oddly slippery, and as a little leaked past his lips he tasted something sickly-sweet. He saw a blurry circle of greenish light above him, and then his eyes began to burn horribly. As he squeezed them shut, he realized this stuff wasn't water at all. It was some kind of cooling fluid that circulated below the ice. Crap, he thought, kicking and stretching his arms, I'm gonna be even grosser when I get out.

  As his hands groped for the edge of the hole, he felt something wrap around his ankle, trying to pull him back down. He struggled to the surface, managing to shout, “Something's got me!” before it pulled him under again.

  He opened his eyes, and got a glimpse of tentacles, four or five of them, covered with silvery scales. One had wrapped around his right ankle and drew him steadily toward a round, dark mouth surrounded by bright lights. As the stinging fluid forced him to close his eyes, his left foot hit the edge of the mouth. It felt cold, hard and slippery, more like metal than anything living. His right hand gripped something hard and slippery, and he braced himself against the pull of the tentacle.

  Running out of air, seeing colored spots before his tightly shut eyes, he fought the urge to breathe as desperately as he fought the lake monster. A second tentacle wrapped around his right wrist, yanking it from its tenuous hold, and he was pulled into darkness. His ears popped painfully as a sudden, deafening blast of cold air forced the fluid away. He took a cautious breath and opened his eyes to find he was not in the stomach of a monster, but inside a transparent plastic bubble surrounded by machinery. Through the cloudy green liquid of the lake he could see the hole he'd made, framing the blurred faces of Jape and Nalia. He wondered if they could see him.

  He pounded on the hard plastic of the bubble, struggling to escape. The machine's tentacles methodically deposited new ice around the edges of the hole until it was closed. Then the machine turned and began moving in what seemed like a purposeful manner. Scrornuck couldn't tell for sure where the machine was headed, but he suspected it was taking him to the island.

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  Chapter Seventeen

  "The Instrument of His Justice"

  After a long, cold journey beneath the ice, the machine passed through a dark tunnel, surfaced in a small, sunlit lagoon, and docked against a concrete pier. The plastic bubble opened and Scrornuck climbed out. Shivering badly and dripping sticky green refrigerant, he hauled himself up a short ladder, out of the cold fog that clung to the lagoon's surface, and sprawled on the pier, letting the sun warm hi
m.

  He simply lay there, not entirely awake, until the worst of his chill had passed. Then he rolled onto his back and saw a bright-red light flashing, directly overhead, atop a tall metal antenna tower. Funny, he thought, why didn't we see that last night? He got to his feet and made his way down the pier to a small brick building whose flat roof bristled with antennas and camera mounts. The door protested, but with some effort it opened, revealing a dark office about thirty feet square. Panels in the ceiling lit up as he stepped inside. The lights illuminated a small desk, a few swivel chairs, and two small couches whose cushions were still wrapped in plastic. A moment later, video screens covering one wall flickered to life, displaying surveillance-camera views of the crater.

  Jape's not kidding, he thought, these guys built stuff to last. This gave him an idea, and after a brief search, he found a small, windowless bathroom. He tried the sink's spigot. It resisted. He tried a little harder, and with a loud creak the handle turned. Air hissed from the faucet for several seconds, followed by a splash of rusty brown mud, then glorious, clear water. He drank his fill, stripped off his filthy kilt and happily rinsed away the dragon-gore, refrigerant and blood.

  He was midway through rinsing the crud from his kilt when he heard voices and the sound of feet outside—many feet. Bad, he thought, quickly wrapping the kilt around his waist. Not wanting to be trapped in the bathroom, he hurried back into the main office, searching for something he might use as a weapon. Finding a coat rack that would make a serviceable club, he retreated onto the pier and waited.

  The wait was short. Within a minute the door swing open and a dozen soldiers marched onto the pier. All had their swords drawn, and most were wearing the plastic armor he'd seen at the Executive Palace. Worse.