by Jean Kilczer
Chancey and I pulled the rifles inside.
“You brought us weapons!” another Cleocean said.
I looked around and squinted. It seemed the dark hovel was full of violet eyes. “How many are you?” I asked.
“Four adults, and two new fry.”
Damn. Kids complicated things.
In the end, they decided that the only female would stay with the fry, and the other three adults would engage the enemy at Sarge's signal.
“Man, they got eyes!” Chancey whispered to me as he untied a batch of rifles.
“Chancey!” I shook my head at his insult to their customs.
“Yeah, yeah,” he retorted. “Listen, tags. You don't beam nobody wearing this.” He pulled on his leather vest.
We moved to the next hovel, where three Denebrians lay asleep, nestled together. They are a placid, agricultural people, but when we told them why we were there, they proved grateful for the chance to kill their torturers and return to their homeworld.
The BEMs were more than pleased to kill guards, and Mack's men, should they show up, and begged for more rifles. Chancey told them that our supply was limited and they must retrieve the rifles of the fallen.
The tall, rat-like Vermakt people of planet Fartherland were made for war, and were bored when there was peace.
“Do these tags crap in here?” Chancey whispered in my ear as we entered their foul-smelling hovel.
“I don't know, Chancey!”
The Vermakts' snouts twitched and whiskers bristled as we explained the plan to the four tall, bulky inhabitants of the hovel.
“We need four rifles,” one hissed and showed long front teeth.
“We can't afford four,” I said. “You'll have to retrieve the ones…”
The largest of the group, a hulking male, took four rifles and distributed them among his comrades. “You are the slayer of General Rowdinth. Are you not?” he asked me.
I hadn't killed their insane leader myself, but I knew they wouldn't make that distinction. “He destroyed himself from his obsession with power,” I said. “Your people were happy to be rid of him.”
“Not all.” He waved a rat-like claw toward the entrance. “You can go now.”
I looked at Chancey, who was also familiar with this arrogant race.
He shrugged. “I ain't arguing. These tags will be worth twenty Kubraens when the fireworks start.”
Speaking of which. It was still dark when the alarms sounded throughout the compound, a loud wail that heralded Danger! Under Attack! I guess the absence of the dead patrol's report was finally noticed. Frightened horses and ponies whinnied from the stables.
I took a deep breath. “Here we go,” I said to Chancey as Sarge's air beetle, the signal packed with explosives, whined by overhead, and erupted like Fourth of July fireworks above the guards' quarters in the tower complex. We grabbed a rifle each and shoved the remaining three into a hovel. I saw Chancey cross himself.
“Great Mind be with me,” I murmured, “and with Ganswythe, the venerable Kubraen. He only does what he must. I ask you to treat his kwaii with kindness. And take care of Chancey, Sophia, Huff, Joe and Bat. Blessed be Great Mind. Oh, and Sarge, and –”
“I hate to interrupt,” Chancey said, “but there's a battle raging out there!”
Around us slaves charged out of their hovels, shrilling, howling, chattering, squeaking, according to their race, and charged the guards, who were mounted and on foot. The guards raced for the protection of the compound and their quarters, firing back as they went. If they made it there, they would slaughter the slaves from cover.
Dawn was parting the veils of night as Chancey and I ran to the cover of water barrels. I heard a series of thunderous explosions and threw myself to the ground behind the barrels. Chancey sprawled beside me. We covered our heads as four air beetles with their complement of explosives smashed into the complex surrounding the tower, before the guards ever reached it. Clay and fibrin rained down. “Sarge must've seen the guards' rush!” I shouted as pieces of clay bounced off my back. I was glad to see the tower still standing, with the slaves on the roof, but the flimsy prison cells, the kitchens, the storehouse, the guards' quarters, were reduced to rubble.
“Good going, Sarge!” I jumped up and ran to the stone retaining wall paralleling the polluted stream, closer to the fray, but Chancey didn't follow. “C'mon!” I called back and ducked behind the wall, then I looked over the top and realized that he wasn't moving. A large chunk of clay lay beside his head. “Oh my God!” I jumped the wall, ran back, and slid down beside him as a hot beam flashed behind me. “Chancey!” Another beam from the rubble raked the barrels. I heard water pour out.
“Chancey.” I rolled him to his back. His eyes were closed but he was breathing. Blood ran from a deep cut on his forehead. “Oh shit!” I pressed both hands over it to stop the flow. Without water in the fibrin barrels, they afforded us no protection. “Chancey! C'mon, man. Come out of it.”
The central stanchion-mounted laser was swinging to aim at the slaves.
“Spread out!” I shouted to them, and wiped my wet, bloody hands on my shirt. “Take cover!” I screamed, braced my rifle on the top of a barrel and aimed at the high, narrow neck of the pyramid-shaped stanchion and fired a continuous beam at a row of rocks.
A ferocious desire for revenge turned the advancing slaves into a mob. They're going to get slaughtered! I thought as they ran toward the tower. I concentrated on a few key stones, and burned them with a continuous beam. They began to bubble and burst. “Come on. Come on!” I muttered, waiting for them to fail. The rocks turned molten. They flowed down the stanchion like lava pouring from a volcano.
The weakened peak of the stanchion, with the cannon, broke away. The cannon tumbled down, bouncing off stone with deafening reverberations. The two guards who had manned it rolled and bounced off the broken pyramid. Their screams died before they hit the ground.
Slaves cheered and rushed the retreating guards, who found no cover in the rubble and ran for the tower. I turned to Chancey and pressed the wound again, but blood just seeped now. “Chancey?”
His eyes fluttered and he moaned. I didn't want to leave him there, but if the guards made it to the cover of the tower, they could pick off attackers at will. The two roof-mounted lasers had swung toward the fray and were only awaiting the guards rush into the tower before sweeping the slaves with their powerful beams.
“I'll be back for you, buddy,” I whispered.
His eyes opened to slits and he nodded. “Go get 'em, Super…” But then he was out again.
“Ah, Chancey!”
One of the guard's horses trotted by, wild-eyed, running from the battle. I grabbed his trailing reins and mounted him. With my head low over his shoulder, I raced to the perimeter of the mob. “Don't let them get through the portal,” I shouted. "Destroy the portal. The high window was still lit.
Two men dressed in leathers moved among the advancing slaves. Had Sarge decided to send in his soldiers? Then, with a start, I realized they were Mack's men, disguised as Big Sarge's warriors. One fired at the back of a slave and dropped him in his tracks where others didn't notice.
“You motherless slimeshit!” I muttered. I leaned around my horse's neck and fired my stingler from under it.
I felt a primal satisfaction as the renegade's body dropped, with blood spurting out of his headless neck. Kwaiis were fleeing torn bodies all around me. I threw up my shields at this inner onslaught of frenzied souls looking for an anchor in the void.
Perhaps thirty guards were left when they made it through the portal of the high tower. The cannon laser tilted down and aimed at the slaves, who were bunched together like turkeys.
“Spread out, damn you!” I shouted to them.
But there was no order to the slaves' rush to kill their torturers. The mob mentality had taken over.
Sarge's men fired at the base of the tower from outside the fence, but with so many slaves in the way, they had little chance of hitting the
portal.
I heard a whoosh overhead. Our big gun! The missile slammed into the tower just below the roof. I felt sick at heart as I jumped off the horse. How many slaves, tied to the ramparts, were killed as the roof exploded? The rising dust was thick around the tower. It blocked out the morning sky with dirty gray clouds of crushed stone and bits of fibrin. Bodies of slaves and guards littered the ground as the slaves reached the tower. But Slade's office window was still lit. The croteshit must've had Satan on his side because the missile didn't shatter his office floor.
I ran behind the fallen cannon. “Spread out and take cover,” I shouted to the slaves, who were milling around the tower, looking for a way in.
I ducked low as hot blue flashes sprayed off the cannon and over it. The guards were definitely targeting my ass.
The portal was open, but death waited for anyone foolish enough to follow the guards through it. Others were burned with beams fired from tower grills. Both sides had taken heavy losses. The wounded were screaming and kicking where they lay in their own blood. A dead Cleocean and a Denebrian were sprawled about ten feet away, their skulls crushed flat by the rolling cannon.
I saw the second tag from Mack's renegades trying to get up with a shattered leg. A Kubraen tried to help him. He lifted his stingler and at point blank he shot the Kubraen in his face.
“You bastard!” I muttered. I aimed my rifle over the cannon and sent him into the forgiving arms of Great Mind. The slaves had finally taken cover wherever they could. I rolled to my back and stared at the gray clouds of dust drifting under a pink sky. If this wasn't Hell, I don't know what was.
We were at a standoff. We had no weapons left that could destroy the tower. The guards had none left except hand weapons to fight the slaves. There might be escape tunnels under the tower. Perhaps Boss Slade was already gone.
Chancey… I was targeted and couldn't get back to him. “I'm sorry, Chance.” The screams of the wounded were like whip lashes against my spirit. You couldn't tell the wounded guards from the slaves by their anguished cries, like animals in pain.
Big Sarge had opted to keep his soldiers out of the battle. Probably a good thing. Fourteen more on our side wouldn't have made a big difference.
But what now? How long can an Altairian hold out without food or water? They had evolved from reptilian forms on their homeworld and it was possible that they could go for long periods without both. If there were tunnels, that might be a moot point. I rubbed my eyes. Sarge wasn't stupid, though. He would spread his men throughout the woods to watch for guards that emerged from hidden tunnel exits.
A Mexican standoff, Chancey would call this situation, if he survived without medical aid. “Chance.” Would we be pinned down until night? He'd always been there for me. Even with all his bantering, I knew he'd lay down his life to save me. I studied the dead Cleocean.
My turn.
I crawled to the body. I might throw up before I finished this work, but I took out my knife and skinned his white back until I had a piece of hide about the size of a small towel. I retched as I scraped the inner portion free of blood and tissue, then burned a hole through it, and tied the hide to a branch I burned off a small bush. With my grotesque white flag in hand, I crawled back to the safety of the cannon.
I was shaking and my knees felt weak as I lifted my “flag” over the cannon and waved it. Would the guards heed my petition to talk to their leader? Or drop me when I stood up? Well, at least they didn't beam my flag.
The firing ceased. Silence was an invisible shroud as the slaves and the guards realized what I was doing.
I didn't want to stand up. I wanted to dig a hole and cover myself with dirt. I grimaced as I realized that might be my future after all. My heart beat like a bird fluttering to be let out of my rib cage. My throat was so tight I didn't know if I could talk, even if given the chance. My hands shook as I got to my knees. My survival wiring said Stay down, you idiot!
I used the smooth black barrel of the cannon for support as I lifted myself to my feet and waved my grisly white flag. I unstrapped my holster and let it drop, then raised that hand too above my head. Well, I was still alive.
The tension was thick enough to slice with a butter knife as I slid over the cannon and approached the tower. I saw the high window lift up. A bulky figure peered out. Slade.
“Lord Jules!” a Denebrian shouted. “Where are you going, brother? You will be killed! Wait! I'll attend you.” He stood up.
“No. Don't!” I yelled as a blue flash from the tower cut him down.
“Stay under cover!” I ordered the slaves and walked on trembling legs, around two Vermakt bodies, and almost slipped on their blood as I made my way to the shadowy portal.
When I reached it, I stopped. My eyes hadn't adjusted yet to a dark hallway. “I'm here under a white flag,” I called through the door.
“What do you want?” someone called back in the metallic Altairian tone.
“I want to talk peace with your leader.”
I heard a whispered conversation, probably a comlink message to Slade. An Altairian came out of the gloom and patted me down for weapons. “Go to your left and climb the stairs. Hareg Slade awaits you, pritcull!”
I lowered my hands.
It was a long climb to Slade's office. Two armed guards were posted on either side of his door. One opened it as I approached. I took a deep breath, straightened, and walked inside. The guards followed and locked the door.
I paused, shocked. It looked like a business meeting, with Ja Darr, CEO of Lithium Love Mine, according to the plaque set before him, at the head of the long table, with six Altairian officers, I assumed, seated on either side of him. And there, at the foot, was Boss Slade.
The ceiling was cracked. One edge hung down precariously. The floor was littered with pieces of fibrin sheetrock. I had to smile. They must have been holding a conference when we attacked, and now they were stuck in the tower.
The odor of bitterroot was heavy in the small, crowded room. I wondered if Altairians sweat. I know I was feeling the drip of perspiration down my temples. I didn't wipe it.
“Sit down, Mister Rammis.” Ja Darr's voice quavered as he motioned me to an empty chair beside him, and showed pointy teeth in a tight smile. “You're perfectly safe here. We are all unarmed.” He spread his clawed green hands.
Except the guards, who were flanking me, I thought.
“Like you,” Darr said, “we also wish to negotiate a peace treaty.”
“Good.” I took the chair. “Let the slaves walk away from the mine. Then we can talk about closing down your other two slave camps on New Lithnia.” I leaned forward. “Have you ever considered paid employees?” My anger showed in my tone.
Darr looked around and leaned back. His flat green snout twitched. “You see,” he tapped his fingers on a folder, “that is exactly our problem. We don't perceive our employees as slaves. We refer to them as residents.”
“Refer to them any way you want,” I said. “Just let them walk out the gate, agree not to kidnap any more, in ink, close down your mines, or hire willing employees, and I'll tell my forces to withdraw.”
He chortled softly. “What we're trying to impress on you, is that they are free to come and go as they please.” He spread his hands. “That is why we fail to understand your unwarranted attack on a legal enterprise.” His hands curled into fists.
“You're wasting my time.” I started to get up. The two guards put their hands on their holstered weapons. I sat back down.
“We hope not, Mister Rammis, and we hope that you're not wasting our time, either. This has been a rather, uh, traumatic visit for us.” The officers nodded and stared at me. I never could read an Altairian's face for expression, but I doubted that theirs showed any semblance of friendship.
“Uh, a cup of liquid?” Darr asked shakily. “We have Earthbrew.”
I smiled. “Sounds good.” I could play this game of let's defuse the opponent's defenses. Make friends. Become buddies with the d
evil. I glanced at Slade. His back was to the open window. No use attempting a tel-link to force the bastard to jump out the window. I could make it look like suicide, but he was a sensitive and would be aware of my link. He couldn't stop me on a psychic level, but the two guards beside me could cut short my send.
An officer went to a sous unit, poured a cup of brew and set it before me. He retreated quickly back to his chair.
I relaxed and sipped the brew. Given an opportunity to reach him, could I manage to shove Slade out the window? What if he grabbed me and I had to go with him? Was I capable of doing that? I stared into the cup. I have hated few beings with the intense disgust I felt for Slade. There had been Sye Kor, the Loranth driven insane by his obsessive desire for revenge on Terrans; the Dream Czar, who would rape Halcyon itself to satisfy his greed; General Rowdinth, the crazed Vermakt leader of planet Fartherland, in love with power and glory, and the overpopulated BEMs with their sick willingness to use others as a food source.
I smiled. “Good brew.”
“Why, thank you.” Darr returned a broad grin that crinkled the plates of his lips. “It's premium.”
“By the way.” I sipped it. “I'm here under a white flag.”
“Ah, yes.” He glanced at his colleagues and chortled nervously. “Quite a flag! But the reality, Mister Rammis, is that you are a criminal who has willfully attacked a legal enterprise. It tends to negate all rights.” He tapped the folder with a claw.
“Who establishes laws, Ja Darr,” I asked, “that allow people of the Alliance worlds to be kidnapped, tortured, and worked to death?”
“He's wasting our time!” Slade hit the table with a fist.
“Hareg,” Darr said without looking up, “I'll inform you when this conference is at an end.”
Slade lowered his head and clacked respectfully.
“All right, Mister Rammis,” Ja Darr said and sighed. I sensed his weariness. “We are willing to extend ourselves for the sake of peace and commerce.” He laid his hands over the folder. “I'll be forthright with you. We're prepared to offer you shares in our highly successful production.” He waved toward the window. “I'm talking profitability. The results being that you would never need to work again, and all things a Terran could desire would be yours for the taking, so to speak. Your life would be an endless vacation. It's a state sought after by multitudes.” He opened the folder, lifted out a paper, unclipped an old-fashioned pen and extended the paper to me. His teeth showed their edges as he drew back lips. “Mister Rammis? If you would?”