He typed: MORE SUGGESTIONS?
POSSIBLY FURTHER REPROCESSING NEEDED. NEED MORE RAM.
“Damn. It's asking for more memory space, but I don't have it to give."
NO CAN DO, Jeremy said.
CAN DUMP TO DISK. ERASE EXISTING TEXT AND BACKUP FILES?
SURE, GO AHEAD, Jeremy answered.
“It's just clearing off a little disk space. There's nothing there but junk, anyway."
“Wonderful. Will that help?"
“I don't know."
CONTINUE RUN? the computer asked.
GO AHEAD.
NEED I SAY THE OBVIOUS?
“What? Oh, yeah."
Jeremy pressed the Return key.
Nothing much happened, except that the floor, which had continued to vibrate slightly even with the stabilization spell operating, now settled down completely.
“Even better than before,” Linda said. “But still no portal."
“Now what?"
“Let's keep moving. There're probably people hurt. We might be able to do something."
The zones of instability, both forward and rear, receded as they walked.
“Things are looking up,” Linda said.
“It's not my computer,” Jeremy said.
“How do you know?"
“I just know, somehow. But let me check."
Jeremy typed, PROGRAM STILL RUNNING?
DISTURBANCE BEING AMELIORATED BY OUTSIDE INFLUENCE.
“Yeah, it's something else."
Linda emitted a little squeal. “Lord Incarnadine!"
Jeremy looked up from the readout screen to see His Majesty emerging from a shadowy alcove.
“Hi, Linda,” Incarnadine said.
“Oh, are we glad to see you!” Linda said, throwing her arms around him.
Incarnadine smiled at Jeremy over Linda's shoulder. “Mr. Hochstader! Just the man I wanted to see."
“Me, sir?” Jeremy said.
Incarnadine gave Linda a few more squeezes and let her go. “Yes, you. And you, too, Linda. I need your help."
“You need us?” Linda asked, astounded.
“Sure do, to straighten out this little problem we seem to be having. You have noticed that we're having a problem?” He glanced about. “Although things seem to be fine right here."
“That's Jeremy's doing. His magic computer."
“Of course! The very talent I wish to tap."
“I didn't do it all,” Jeremy said.
“No, you didn't,” Incarnadine agreed. “I have a stabilization spell of my own working. It'll buy us time, but not much. We have about ten hours. Then the quantum uncertainties will start arriving in huge waves, and the castle will cease to exist."
Linda blanched. “Is it that bad?"
“It's that bad. But we can still save the day, if we act now. Feel in a heroic mood?"
“Sure,” Linda said. “I guess."
“How're your magical muscles? Toned up, firm? No ectoplasmic cellulite?"
“Just feel that,” Linda told him, flexing her right biceps.
“Nice."
Jeremy shook his head, confused. “Sir, what exactly is it that you want us to do?"
“Jeremy, I need your skills as a computer programmer and operator. We're going to run one monster of a spell, using the castle's mainframe."
“A mainframe? Here? But I've never worked with a mainframe—"
“I'll train you. It will be a huge challenge, but I have every confidence in you, my boy. You have an enormous creative talent."
Jeremy's throat had gone dry. He swallowed hard, then said, “Thank you, sir. I'll ... I'll try."
Incarnadine laid a firm hand on Jeremy's shoulder. “I know you will."
Jeremy returned the King's warm smile.
“And I'll need your conjuring skills, Linda."
“You got ‘em."
“Good. Follow me, I know a shortcut."
Incarnadine led them into the alcove, where an elevator waited.
“I've never been able to magic one up that worked,” Linda said admiringly. “This is great."
“Well, as long as you leave out most of the mechanical parts, it's fine. This one works by levitation, no cables."
They boarded the elevator, and the doors closed. Magical artifact or not, the inside of the thing looked like the genuine article, panel of floor stops and all.
But the King pressed no buttons. “Eightieth floor,” he commanded into the air.
The elevator obeyed. It gave a slight jerk, then began to rise.
“Good thing you hung on to that laptop of yours,” Incarnadine said. “We can use it as a dumb terminal."
“Yeah, sure,” Jeremy said, looking down at the Toshiba, which he cradled in his left arm. He happened to glance at the readout screen.
It read, DUMB TERMINAL, EH? KISS MY PARALLEL PORT.
Hills
If only the Umoi had been a more belligerent race.
But the Umoi had given up war centuries before their demise. Consequently, when Gene had asked Zond about weapons, Zond had trouble grasping the concept. Gene remembered the conversation.
“Weapons,” Gene repeated. “Guns, bombs, nasty stuff like that?"
“Well, this may sound strange, Gene, but I think we've hit a subject that's in one of my interdicted files."
“What are those?"
“Subject areas that may or may not contain data, but which cannot be accessed except by special permission from the Chief of Library Services."
“Who's been dead for fifty centuries."
“Precisely."
“You do know generically what a weapon is, though, don't you?"
“Well, yes. But I'm specifically prohibited from discussing the subject, in any way, under any circumstances. The ban is very comprehensive. I couldn't if I wanted to. Do you understand?"
“Sure."
So universal was the Umoi proscription against violence, offensive or defensive, that Gene had had no recourse but to drive the rover over a cliff to escape the hundak, the six-legged bulldozer he had run into on the way to Annau. The rover had not possessed the capacity to harm a microbe, much less the hundak.
If only the Umoi had been a tad more irascible, just a jot less peace-loving. Maybe then Gene would have been able to procure a high-tech weapon.
“One would sure come in handy right now."
“Did you speak, husband?"
Gene hadn't realized he was thinking aloud. “It's nothing, Vaya."
“You seem troubled."
Gene turned in his saddle and looked at the long line behind him. The whole tribe was on the move, following their Queen to a place they had never dreamed of going near, much less taking up residence in: an Umoi city. Some of the older folks had rejected the scheme out of hand and had stayed behind, preferring certain death in the desert to the condign punishment they would receive for committing unforgivable sacrilege.
The rest of them had required some major persuading. But they had pulled up stakes and tagged along. Why so, Gene wasn't sure.
The whole idea had been out of the question until Vaya had her visitation. She woke up one morning with the news that one of her ancestors, a woman (naturally, as this society was an ironclad matriarchy), had dropped in by way of a dream, telling her that her First Husband, the stranger, spoke truth, and that she should order her people to move into the abode of the Old Gods.
Whoever the old crone had been, Gene was grateful to her. He, for one, was tired of gnawing tough, charred meat and scratching at fleas. He was looking forward to sleeping in a warm bed and having a civilized meal for a change.
He had his thoat, his Martian princess, now all he needed was one of those Thrilling Wonder Stories Art Deco futuristic cities to live in, and he'd have it all.
That is, if Annau was still functioning.
He still was intent on searching for the interdimensional device. He had not forgotten Castle Perilous, nor could he. He had been here in New Barsoom for about a year,
close as he could reckon. It had been fun, but was wearing rather thin. He wanted to get back to Perilous. That was his home. He'd be sure to look into stabilizing this world's portal, though. He'd want to come back now and then to see how the yalim were faring.
He looked over at Vaya. She rode bestride and with a noble seat, erect and regal. Queenlike.
Yes, he loved her. That was the one complication. He couldn't leave her, and she couldn't very well abdicate and follow him to Perilous.
He knew he would be coming back here on a more regular basis than “now and then."
Could he leave her at all? He wondered.
He was having second thoughts about Annau. It was an unknown quantity. No telling what he'd find there. He would have his hands full in any event trying to calm a mob of frightened primitives. Perhaps going back to Zond would be the best idea. Once things were running smoothly, Zond could whip up another rover for him and he could...
No, the thought of undertaking another cross-world trek didn't appeal to him. Too dangerous. Perhaps he should just forget about the interdimensional device altogether.
But he couldn't. He had to get back to Perilous, if only to let everyone know he was all right. He owed Sheila and Linda that much.
“Do you feel them, too, husband?"
Gene came out of his brown study. “Hm? Sorry. What did you say?"
“Do you feel eyes crawling on your skin?"
“Eyes crawling ...? Oh.” Gene looked right and left, running his gaze along the ridges above. “Yeah, I do. Been getting a being-watched feeling for some time now. You, too?"
“Yes."
Gene took a deep breath, then searched the heights once again. “Haven't seen a thing, but I sure feel something. It's probably just paranoia on my part, but how sure are we that there aren't any hrunt here?"
“Who can be sure?"
Of course. For travel information, all the tribe had to rely on was oral tradition. Gene doubted that it would be of any value.
“There may be yalim, however,” Vaya said.
“Hostile?"
“All tribes like to fight. It is the yalim nature."
“We don't bother anybody,” Gene said.
“There are not many to bother."
She was right. The yalim were dying out.
Gene said, “Well, anyway, I'm not concerned about yalim. If we can beat the hrunt, we shouldn't let a few bandits worry us."
“The sun creeps low,” Vaya said. “Soon it will seek its burrow in the earth."
“Yeah. Nice metaphor, there. You want to make camp, my Queen?"
“You pick the site, husband."
“Right. Well, I don't like being at the bottom of these cliffs, but I don't see any way to get up into them. This wide area coming up is as good a place as any."
“Then that is where we shall make trail camp."
“Yeah. The Sheraton is booked solid, I hear."
That night, Gene had trouble sleeping. He got up and walked the camp's perimeter several times, but saw nothing but desert darkness and one dozing guard. He had the guard flogged, then returned to the royal tent.
“You rest uneasy, husband."
“Sorry. Did I wake you up?"
“No. Come close."
They embraced. Outside, the sound of a drear wind masked a greater silence. Gene drew the bedclothes up.
“It's cold out there."
“You are warm, my husband."
“I just got hotter, Queenie."
“Make another child in me."
“Yeah, that'd be ... Another?"
“The first one will come in eight cycles of the Night Watcher."
“Uh."
“Are you not proud?"
“Uh."
“I am sure it is yours. I have forsaken the others."
“This is kind of new to me. Never thought I'd be a father."
“She will be the next Queen."
“Oh. You're sure about that, are you?"
“Yes. The Ancestor told me."
“Did a sonogram, no doubt."
“You speak strangely again. Sometimes I think that you are one of the Old Ones, come to lead us to the Castle of the Gods."
Passion suddenly leaving him, Gene rolled over on his back. “This is very interesting. Tell me more."
“The old legends say that the gods live in a great fortress of stone, far away. One day the gods will return and take all the yalim away to live there. There will be happiness forever."
Gene put his hands behind his head and stared off into darkness. “Fascinating, Captain. The natives seemed to have developed a strangely prescient mythology."
“Do you speak again to your spirit?"
“No, to Jim Kirk. Nothing. Just dreaming.” Gene gave a huge yawn.
“You have no desire, husband?"
“Tired, I guess, more than I realized."
Vaya got to her knees and straddled him.
“Then I will do all the work,” she said.
“Noblesse oblige, I always say."
The attack came just before dawn.
Shouts roused Gene from fitful sleep. He bolted upright. A woman screamed somewhere near the edge of the campsite. Then another, closer.
Vaya was quicker to spring out of bed, quick enough to get her dagger into the strange yalim warrior who burst into the tent with sword raised for a quick kill. Gene finished him off, then dashed outside.
The camp had erupted into a melee. Apparently the attackers had gotten past the guards on the eastern perimeter and had already butchered dozens of sleeping tribesmen.
Two attackers rushed him. He beheaded one immediately and sent the other away eviscerated. He rushed out into the camp, yelling orders. Another attacking warrior jumped him, and this one took more time to dispatch. When Gene had finished with him, there were two more ready to try their turn.
The next few minutes seemed like days. The screaming came from men, women, and children alike and never seemed to stop. Gene fought as he never had before, losing count of how many attackers he killed. But it was all useless. The attackers had used surprise to their advantage. Gene soon realized that he was one of few survivors still putting up a fight, and that soon he would be overwhelmed and killed. He had to make it back to the Queen's tent, get Vaya, and somehow make a break for it.
He severed his opponent's sword arm at the wrist, saw an opening in the wall of attackers closing in, and bolted.
As he rounded the supply tent, something tripped him up and he went flying into the dirt.
He rolled over and looked up.
Yerga was standing over him, grinning wickedly, battle-ax raised. Now Gene knew how they had gotten past the guards.
A dagger blossomed in Yerga's throat, and he staggered back and fell.
After retrieving his sword, Gene sprang to his feet. Suddenly Vaya was above him, mounted on a voort, holding out her hand. He jumped up and mounted behind her, and they rode off.
En route they trampled one attacker, and Gene split the skull of another. Then, finally, they were outside the camp, riding blindly into the darkness, sounds of pain and despair at their backs.
When the light of the campfires had finally died in the distance, Vaya pulled up on the reins and stopped. She dismounted.
“Take the voort,” she commanded, handing him the reins.
“Vaya ... I'm sorry. It was my fault."
“Ride to Annau. You belong there, as you are of the gods. I will return to my people."
“My Queen, your people are lost. No, wait, hold on just a minute. Most of them will not die. They will be absorbed into another tribe. There's nothing you can do for them."
“A High Mistress belongs to her tribe. I will go back."
“No! Their Queen will simply have you executed."
“Then so be it."
“Bullshit. I'm taking you with me to Annau."
“I forbid it."
Gene rummaged through the saddle sack and came up with a length of braided leathe
r cord, then jumped down and stalked toward her. “Look, honey, where I come from, men give the orders. I'm not saying it's an enlightened system, but it does simplify things a bit."
“Husband! I command you—"
She fought like a lioness, but Gene eventually got her hands tied behind her. He tripped her up and trussed her feet with his belt. She stopped struggling and fell into a sullen silence.
He lifted her up and slung her facedown over the saddle, mounted behind her, and rode off.
She did not beg to be let go. They rode until the sun came up, whereupon he halted and took her down.
“You can untie me,” she said.
“You won't run away?"
“No."
“It's over, Vaya. Your days as High Mistress are through."
“This I know."
“I'm sorry."
“Please..."
Gene cut her bonds. “I don't blame you for hating me. I'll take you to the Castle of the Gods, then let you go. You'll find a new life there, just as the legends say. And you won't have to have anything to do with me."
She brought her gaze round to him, and he saw the tears welling.
He held out his arms. She fell into them and cried out her pain, her loss.
Sea
Dawn brought a sky of slate-gray clouds and a snowfall of volcanic ash, huge flakes of it that floated for an instant like dirty water lilies before dissolving. The makeshift cabin on board the raft made for poor shelter, but eventually they passed out of the heavy fallout zone, and the skies cleared.
The volcano brooded on the horizon like an angry god. The wind bore its fumes to them, making them choke and gag. Throats raw, they rigged the sail to catch the full force of the wind; before long they were far enough away to be out of danger of asphyxiation.
“We made it,” Sheila said, gasping.
“Not yet, I'm afraid."
“Is the wind shifting?"
“No, it's just that I have a funny feeling."
“Oh. I don't like funny feelings when I get them."
“You wouldn't like this one, either. Let's eat. We may not get a chance later."
They ate a silent meal of raw fish and breadfruit, washing it down with a few swallows of water.
After checking the rigging again, Trent sat back down under the canopy, doing so just in time to escape being splashed as a huge boulder hit water a few yards from the raft. The impact tossed the craft about like a paper boat, and a few coconut-canteens rolled overboard.
Castle Kidnapped Page 13