Return To Kaldak rb-36

by Джеффри Лорд

  Blade wasn’t so sure about that, but there was no time to argue. «All right. Follow me.»

  So Blade wound up being a public hero for the third time since his return to Kaldak.

  He and Ezarn went up the ravine, then crawled to within grenade-throwing distance of the Doimari without being detected. The Doimari were concentrating on doing as much damage to the apparently helpless Kaldakans below, and forgot about their flanks and rear. It was an old mistake, and just as fatal as usual when the grenades started bursting about their ears.

  One of the grenades set off a rocket warhead, and it touched off several more rockets. When the smoke cleared away the rocket launcher was scrap metal and its crew mincemeat. Blade and Ezarn jumped up and waded into the survivors with their rifles, fists, and boots. Blade worked off a lot of anger and frustration on the surviving Doimari and Tribesmen.

  When other Kaldakans finally joined them, twenty bodies were lying around. Another twenty Doimari and Tribesmen were running off in all directions, chased by the survivors of Blade’s platoon. Blade himself was kneeling beside a badly wounded Doimari woman, apparently a technician, trying to give her first aid. She was too badly hurt to save, though, so he held her hand and pretended to be her father while she died.

  Then he looked up to find the commander of the Fourth Battalion staring down at him. Blade realized he must be a fairly gruesome sight, his face black with smoke and dirt and most of his clothing soaked in blood.

  «It’s not my blood, sir,» he said hastily.

  The commander laughed. «Good. Then you’ll live to get what you deserve. A promotion to Squad Leader at least, and whatever else High Commander Sidas thinks right.»

  «Sidas?» said Blade.

  «That’s right, you’re the fellow who lost his memory.» He explained who Sidas was and how Blade was going to be sent to Kaldak to be honored by the High Commander himself. When the battalion commander finished, he looked at Blade again.

  «Meeting the High Commander doesn’t make you nervous, does it?»

  Not usually, would have been Blade’s honest answer. But when he’s someone who might recognize me and expose the Dimension X secret, it’s another matter.

  Aloud, he said, «No sir. Or at least not more than fighting the Doimari.»

  Chapter 11

  Blade got a fresh uniform and boots and was told to tidy himself up to make a good appearance before Commander Sidas. He didn’t have to shave off his beard; otherwise he would have seriously considered deserting. If Sidas recognized him or even got suspicious, he would almost certainly go under the truthseer. As it was, Blade boarded the lifter for Kaldak with a positively piratical black beard. Few people will recognize a bearded man they’ve last seen clean-shaven thirty years ago. Blade was willing to gamble that Sidas wasn’t one of them, in the hope of finding out more about what was going on in this Dimension. Even if nothing came of it for the Project, Blade was curious about what had come of his work.

  A few friends in high places would also do Blade no harm in the eyes of Chyatho’s friends.

  The lifter spiraled down to a landing at what Blade christened «Kaldak, Municipal Airport.» It was six acres of rough asphalt, surrounded by hangars, wooden repair shops, and what had to be stables.

  Teamsters led out a long cart drawn by twelve oxen. The lifter rose again, then settled onto the cart. The teamsters cracked their whips, and the oxen hauled the lifter off toward one of the hangars.

  Blade shook his head as he watched them go. The combination of the far future and the Middle Ages in this Dimension still held a few surprises for him.

  The airport was so close to the city that Blade’s party walked the rest of the way. That was one advantage of antigravity-you didn’t need to put the airports halfway into the next county to give the planes room for landing and taking off. Theoretically you could land a lifter right in the middle of the city. However, if the generators failed, lifters didn’t glide. They came down like falling bricks. It was better to have them digging holes in farmers’ fields than in the roofs of apartment buildings.

  The road was crowded with traffic moving both ways in a fog of dust. Blade saw munfans-the kangaroo-like animals he had witnessed last visit oxen, animals whose remote unmutated ancestors might have been something like horses, and lots of human porters. Every so often a Fighting Machine came whining along, making the dust worse and driving everyone to the edge of the road as it wavered past.

  Halfway to the city they crossed a bridge over a canal which hadn’t been there on Blade’s first visit. He watched munfans and oxen pulling barge-loads of grain and timber along it. To the right of the bridge a gang of slaves was reinforcing the canal bank with slabs of stone. Blade caught their rank smell and heard the curses and whipcracks of the overseers. From the number of mutants among the slaves, they were probably Tribesmen.

  Ezarn took Blade’s preoccupation with all the sights and sounds of the new Kaldak for nervousness. «I know how you must be feelin’,» he said cheerfully. «Me, too. Damned commanders can mess you up bad as Doimari, but you can’t fight back. Leastways, if you shoot a commander, it makes a big fart.»

  Kaldak itself was still centered around the three towers Blade remembered, with eighteen streets radiating from them. Most of the buildings along the streets were the same, although cleaner. Some showed signs of repair with metal and cement instead of wood or stone.

  A fringe of Newtec buildings surrounded the towers, rising to nearly half their height, One was still under construction-Blade saw a steam-powered crane hauling a metal beam aloft. Three of the eighteen streets were now public gardens and one was a market with shops and covered booths along both sides.

  A fifth was now the parade ground for the army units quartered in Kaldak. Barracks, warehouses, and garages for the Fighting Machines jostled each other for room on either side. Blade’s party went up this street to the headquarters of the High Commander in the tower at the far end.

  Sidas had been a well-built, good-looking young warrior. He was still physically impressive, although his brown face was lined and his black hair was turning gray. He’d grown a bushy mustache and added a few pounds from sitting too long behind desks. He’d also added a shrewd, penetrating stare. The stare said plainly that he’d seen practically everything and it wasn’t wise to try keeping secrets from him.

  For someone in Blade’s position, that stare was almost as unpleasant as the Doimari rocket barrage. He would have liked to think the stare was an act, but doubted it. Sidas had been one of the quickest learners among the warriors of Kaldak and must have stayed that way. Otherwise Kareena wouldn’t have married him. Now he had all his natural intelligence plus thirty more years of experience. If anyone was likely to pierce the secret of Blade’s identity, it would be Sidas.

  Sidas walked up and down in front of Blade, Ezarn, and the other four men receiving medals today. He wore a plain green coverall, but his boots were leatherworkers’ masterpieces, polished until they shone like glass. They also squeaked like angry mice with every step, until Blade was ready to grit his teeth.

  Finally Sidas stopped in front of Blade. His eyes showed no sign of recognition as he pulled a small box out of his belt pouch. «You know the Intelligence people want your hide now?» he said conversationally.

  «No, sir. I didn’t know.»

  «No reason for you to, either. It’s secret, and stays that way.» He fixed everyone in the room with a glare which promised death by slow torture for anyone with a loose tongue.

  «We didn’t learn anything from those Doimari you grabbed. Not an unLawful thing! Two of them didn’t know anything, and the other died under the truthseer.»

  Some sort of hypnotic compulsion, probably, thought Blade. The Doimari must really think their secret weapon is worth protecting. Aloud, he said, «I’m sorry about that, sir.»

  «No way you could have known, Voros. No way at all. And that’s what I’ve told the Intelligence people, and if they say anything more I’ll throw the
m all into a pile of munfan dung! So you get the Star of Honor. Here.» He handed the box to Blade. «For heroism, courage, and so on. You and your comrades know how well you did, and I’ll leave the pretty words to someone else.» He moved on to the next soldier.

  Blade opened the box and saw a seven-pointed bronze star with «Honor» on it in Kaldakan script. He hung it around his neck, glad to have the High Commander’s attention turned elsewhere for the moment. The less Sidas saw of him, the happier he would feel.

  Right now Blade felt frustrated to the point of anger. He’d suspected that the Doimari might have some protection against interrogation. He’d even thought of mentioning the suspicion to the officers. But the company commander wouldn’t have listened. The Intelligence people might have wondered how Private Voros came by this knowledge. Once again, he couldn’t do half as good a job as he wanted to, because of the bloody be damned Dimension X secret!

  At last Sidas returned to Blade. «Voros,» he said abruptly. «You can go to the Commander’s School if you want to. You’ve got a commander’s head on your shoulders. You’re a damned fine private, but you’ll be better leading a platoon. Even a Company, maybe, before long, if the Tribesmen think Doimari weapons will let them go on fighting us. What do you say?»

  «Sir, I’m honored. I accept.»

  «I was hoping you’d say that.» They shook hands, and Sidas moved on again. Blade heard him offering equally generous rewards to the other men. One, who’d been badly wounded and was still on crutches, accepted early retirement on full pension. Another wanted a transfer to the Fighting Machine battalion of the City Regiment and got it. Ezarn asked for enough money so that his mother and sister could keep their farm.

  Blade knew that he would be in the public eye as an officer cadet, still more as an officer leading troops. However, he was there already, thanks to his insisting on being a hero! Also, he’d passed the test with Sidas. Nobody else in Kaldak was as likely to recognize him. He wasn’t safe by a long shot, but he could breathe a little easier.

  He also had to admit that he wanted the greater freedom of action which would come with being an officer. As an officer, he wouldn’t have to let Doimari take their secrets to the grave because he didn’t dare speak up. And he wanted to help find out what the Doimari were up to. If he could help Kaldak without danger to the Dimension X secret, he would do it.

  Ezarn came up to Blade outside Sidas’s office and gave an exaggerated salute. «Sir, do I have permission to speak, sir?»

  «Next time you ask my permission to speak, I won’t give it.» Blade growled. His voice was harsher than he’d intended. He’d rather looked forward to having Ezarn’s rough comradeship while he was in Kaldak. Now he was going to be all alone again inevitable, perhaps, but even the inevitable can get a little wearing if it happens too often!

  «All right. Thing is, this is the first time you and I can hit the taverns together. Also gonna be the last time, without some mother-raping Law-sucker kicking me for it. So let’s get some of the boys together and move out.»

  «You won’t have to drag me, Ezarn.»

  A long night of drinking sounded like a good idea. Blade wondered if Kaldakan liquor had improved any in the last thirty years. Even if it hadn’t, it would let him forget about the Dimension X secret for a few hours.

  Chapter 12

  The soldiers’ tavern was like others Blade had seen in many Dimensions. It was overcrowded, hot, noisy, and smoky. Here in Kaldak the smoke came from something burned in brass pots hung from the ceiling on chains. To Blade it smelled like old rubber tires, but the Kaldakans didn’t seem to mind it. He wondered if it was a narcotic, an aphrodisiac, or simply intended to make people get drunk faster so they wouldn’t have to go on smelling it!

  The brass pots hung so low that Blade had to duck his head to get under most of them. Many of the Kaldakans were short enough not to have this problem, but Ezarn had already knocked himself out. Now he lay snoring quietly in one corner. A comrade mounted guard over him, to keep people from robbing, trampling, or vomiting on him.

  Blade had put down several large jugs of beer. The dark-haired girl on his lap kept trying to make him drink hard liquor. He kept refusing. Kaldakan liquor was bad enough straight. Taking it on top of beer-well, he didn’t want to show up for his first day at the Commander’s School with a history-making hangover.

  After a while the girl started to plaster herself against Blade. She was pleasantly curved and felt warm and comfortable against him. It helped that her blouse was now open and her skirt hiked up to mid-thigh, and she wasn’t wearing any underclothes.

  As her blouse slipped down off her shoulders, Blade saw tattoos on the upper slopes of both breasts. He prodded them with a forefinger.

  «Tribe?» he said.

  The girl wouldn’t meet his eyes. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her head gently until she did. «Yes,» she said finally. «I was taken when I was fourteen. The son of the farmer who bought me freed me when I was twenty. But what could I do with the freedom, except come here?» Blade caught the note of desperate defiance in her voice. She’d swallowed her pride enough to let her earn a living as a tavern whore, but it was still there.

  Blade decided to make the Tribal girl’s evening profitable and his own a little more enjoyable. He ran a hand up her leg to the edge of her skirt. When she didn’t protest he ran it up farther. As he stroked the inside of her thigh, she opened his shirt and ran her hand over his bare chest.

  «Old scars,» she murmured. «Not from the battle we’ve all heard about. Where did you get them, Voros?»

  «I wish I knew,» he said. «I know I was a soldier, because I remember everything about how to fight. I don’t remember where I fought.»

  «Hmmmm,» she said, laying her lips against Blade’s bare skin. «Couldn’t you have them truthsee you?»

  «I suppose I could,» said Blade, more casually than he felt. «But what if something happened to me to make me lose my memory? Something so horrible that I had to forget it or go mad? Would I gain anything by remembering it now?»

  «I understand,» the girl murmured. «If I could forget the night they took our village. .»

  A gong sounded from the end of the room. «Fill up, fill up, my friends,» shouted the tavern owner. «Fill up, and do justice to Rokhana, the unique, wonderful, exquisite Rokhana. You can’t see any of her anywhere else but you can see all of her here tonight and every night at the Defenders’ Rest!»

  He repeated this announcement several times in a whiskey baritone, beating the gong all the while. The tavern girls circulated with bottles and pitchers, filling everybody’s cups and glasses, dancing out of the way of any man who grabbed at them. Some didn’t-they’d «brought their own» in the form of a female comrade. Blade saw two of the women soldiers leading their men toward the stairs to the upper floors of the tavern. Up there were forty or so «sleeping rooms»; sometimes they really were used for sleeping.

  The tavern owner went on beating the gong until Blade felt a strong desire to stuff the padded stick he was using down his gullet. A drummer and a horn player came out from behind the bar and sat under the gong. The drummer started pounding a steady beat in time with the gong, while the horn player tuned his instrument. At least Blade supposed he was tuning it; one dying-cow blast sounded very much like another.

  Finally the band was ready. At a signal from the tavern keeper the girls pulled back half a dozen tables to make a clear space in the middle of the floor. The horn player blew such a long blast that Blade wondered where he got the breath for it. Then the curtain over the door to the stairs flew aside and the long-awaited Rokhana pranced into the room.

  She was a tall, well-built blonde, who moved in a way both erotic and graceful at the same time. Everything she wore was in a shade of green which went well with her hair-cloak, hat, jacket, blouse under the jacket, calf-length skirt, and boots so floppy Blade wondered how she was going to dance in them.

  A moment later, Blade found out. Rokhana simpl
y swayed and wiggled in time to the musicians’ beat where she stood. With most women that would have been unimaginative or even boring. With Rokhana it was exciting by itself, and gave promise of better things to come.

  After a minute she undid the clasps of her cloak and shrugged it free of first one shoulder, then the other. She caught it before it hit the floor, without missing a beat. Then, still in time with the musicians, she threw it accurately onto the sleeping Ezarn. Blade joined in the roar of laughter.

  The hat followed. It passed so close to Blade that he could have caught it without the girl on his lap. Then Rokhana kicked high twice, sending her boots sailing over the bar. Somehow she managed the high kicks without showing anyone what she wore under the skirt. She did show off long, elegant legs. Laughter turned into bawdy shouts.

  Now Rokhana could move freely about the floor. Her bare feet seemed to twinkle-or was it the beer and the smoke making Blade’s vision uncertain? All he knew was that suddenly the jacket was flying toward him, draping itself over the girl on his lap. There was something ugly in the laughter this time. Blade thought he heard the girl curse in her Tribal tongue.

  By the time Blade got his girl untangled, Rokhana was undoing her blouse a hutton at a time. It didn’t really matter that much, since she was wearing something under it. The cheers and the handclapping still swelled until they began to drown out the musicians. The musicians played louder, and the din hammered at Blade’s ears.

  Rokhana’s blouse had buttons at the wrists as well as down the front. She undid the wrist buttons with her teeth, while holding the free hand modestly in front of her gaping blouse. Then she started wriggling her shoulders and torso. Slowly the blouse slid down, while an inch at a time she pulled it out of the waist of her skirt. She had to stand still while she was doing this, but nobody would have been watching her feet in any case.