Sam began to croak an answer, was flung from his feet and tossed against the hull, smashed back to the deck of the scaffold. A beam had caught his arm, leaving a four-inch wound. The gouge was an inch deep along his biceps. Blood gurgled out, matted in his shirt. Pain throbbed through every nerve and erupted nova-like into his brain. “I’m all right,” he managed to hiss to Coro. “Go on. Hurry!”
Coro turned back to the portal, strained at the wheel to move it the last few crucial inches.
Lotus and Crazy had used all the darts in their own guns just as the door swung open with a sigh. Slugs were clambering up the ramp while others stood on the deck below firing a murderous barrage that pitted metal and singed clothing and skin.
“Go ahead,” Crazy bellowed, grabbing Coro’s unused rifle. “I’ll hold them off a few more seconds, then leap in after you.”
Coro pulled Lotus — she was reluctant to go before Crazy — to the portal and shoved her through, jumped for Sam and helped him in. A hail of beams chipped at the rim of the hatch.
Crazy fired wildly, his hair bouncing.
Coro turned, opened his mouth to call; his mouth stayed open — in a scream. A beam caught Crazy in the chest, tore him open to the crotch and spilled his insides all over the scaffolding. For a split instant the boyish face looked surprised. Then the eyes fluttered shut. He swayed and toppled over the edge of the scaffold, hooves kicking.
XI
Like a needle sinking through a jar of Stygian syrup, the starship slid silently through the thickness of hyperspace, set on a course for Hope. Lotus lay huddled on a bunk, her wings crumpled carelessly beneath her, her cheeks stained with tears. It had taken both of them to hold her down and hypo enough c.c.’s of sedatives into her to put her to sleep. She wanted to leap out onto the platform, get Crazy back inside — even though he was dead. Dead. A word she couldn’t connect with Crazy, a word distant and unreal. Now, at last, she slept.
Sam stretched out on a bunk, anxious to catch a little nap before they reached Hope and the trouble ahead. A little nap, perhaps, before the longest nap…
Blackness… Blackness…
Concussion! Brilliance! A rectangle of nova-light!
The door had burst open, and the shadow-clad figure of a man stood there, framed in the doorway against the burning background of light. His eyes gleamed madly in darkness. Slowly he advanced.
Who are you?
There was no answer from the shadow-man.
Who are you!
There was a guttural, awful snarling from the man, the snarls of an animal. He was large as an ox, shoulders as wide as an ax handle, hands like chiseled rocks.
Desperately, Sam palmed the light switch, heart thumping like the heart of a bird. Light fired the room — but the flickering light of a strobe. On… off… on… off. The approaching giant was a pulsating, cardboard-like creature in the weird light.
On, off, on, off…
His face was a twisting mass of shadows.
The face of… of…
Who are you?
The face of Buronto! Black Jack Buronto! A leer split the all too familiar face. Hands reached out to grab, tear, strangle.
Don’t touch me! Please, please, don’t touch me!
On, off, on, off, the strobe threw flickering blacknesses and sporadic waves of yellow light over the snarling colossus. The hands fidgeted as they reached out for his throat and…
… and then Buronto wasn’t Buronto any longer. Buronto was a slug, segmented and pulpy. There was a laser weapon in his pseudopods. Slithering, hissing, he moved toward the bed and…
… and then the slug was Buronto once more, leering and…
… and then it was the slug, slithering…
Buronto-slug-Buronto-slug-on-off-on-off—
He woke, squeals of terror stuck in his throat, squirming to pass the constricted muscles in his neck and emerge as full-bodied screams. But he knew! He knew how they could fight the Central Being even though they were not violent men. He had the whole goddammed answer!
“Sam!” Coro was saying, shaking him.
With more than a little effort, he forced the grogginess from his mind, sat up. “Andy, I’ve got it! I know how we can stop the Central Being! I know just exactly what we can do!”
“I hope you do,” Coro said. “ ‘Cause I just picked them up on our screens. They’ll reach Hope about two hours after we do.”
XII
The Inferno was just as he remembered it. It assaulted the senses like a thousand pile drivers pounding concrete. It washed, slithered, scraped, chipped, sanded, sheared the mind, split the senses open to an expanded, brighter awareness. Letting the atmosphere of the place pick them and carry them like flotsam in the winds of eternity, they moved along the wall toward an empty table. A clown in an imagi-color suit that was purple to Sam, green to Coro, and blue to Lotus, sprang from the floor, wiggled insanely large plastic ears, and popped out of sight just as an ebony and silver cloud passed with two naked acrobats performing a complicated series of head-, hand-, and shoulderstands.
“Here,” Sam said, raising his voice above the music, and squinting through the perfumed clouds. He pulled out a chair for Lotus. She was wide-eyed, taking in the wonders of the bar. She had forced herself to recover — externally, at least — from Crazy’s death, and she seemed a bit more like her old self. If old selves can be resurrected from the ashes of pain and change. Sam and Coro sat down also.
“What—” Coro began.
“Drinks first,” Sam said, holding up his hand.
“We only have two hours,” Coro said. “Less than two!”
“And drinks will relax our nerves, which are, as you bear testimony to, nearly ready to snap.” He took their orders and punched the robotender for them, depositing the correct change. He also pressed the button requesting a human waiter’s attention. A few moments later, a thin man with eyes like those of an eagle and a long nose pointing to a longer chin, came to their table. “I would like you to find someone for me,” Sam said.
“Sir?”
“Buronto.”
“Who is—”
“Black Jack Buronto. Is he here?”
“Yes,” the waiter said reluctantly, and suspiciously.
“I’d like to see him. Would you tell him that, please?” He placed a bill on the table and shoved it toward the waiter.
“Look, Buronto isn’t just a tourist attraction, mister. He’s—”
“I know all about him. I once knocked him out in a fight.”
The waiter drew back, started to say something, grabbed the bill, and scurried away through the crowd.
“What was that all about?” Coro asked. “Who is this Buronto?”
Sam explained the nature of the man they were after. There was no police force on Hope, no army, no navy, air force, or marines. No fighting force at all and absolutely no possibility of putting one together. But there was the masochist killer, Buronto. Wasn’t he their only chance?
“And you knocked him out in a fight?” Lotus said. Her eyes pierced him as if they were electronic knives, cutting into his bone marrow, flipping through each cell of his mind.
“I was… more or less… under hypnosis at the time. Delirious, really.”
“And this is the killer,” Coro said, visibly shivering.
Buronto was shoving his way through the crowded room, heedless of whether men fell off chairs when he passed or not. He was still the giant Sam remembered, eyes wild and flaming as they had been in the dream, huge jaw set grimly, hands constantly clenching and unclenching.
“His voice,” Sam said swiftly, suddenly realizing these two knew nothing of the anachronism, not wanting a scene like the last one he could remember in the Inferno. “It’s… well, girlish. Don’t laugh. He’d just as soon kill you as let you laugh at him.”
“Oh now, just for laughing—” Coro began.
“I mean it. He would kill. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
“You wanted to see me?” Buronto ask
ed, stepping next to their table, fists balled and rammed against his hips. “What do you—” He paused, his eyes widening, his nostrils dilating. “I know you!” He coughed with rage, choking on his own gall. “You’re the damned punk who—”
“Sit down. Sit down. That’s over and done with. I have a proposition for you now.”
“You’re the squirt who—”
“Sit down and talk this instant or I’ll kill you on the spot!” Sam hissed.
The big man looked startled. It was a long gamble, but he didn’t know that Sam had been hypnotized. As far as Buronto was concerned, this was a killer, like himself, a man who fought back harder and better than he could. He sat.
“That’s better,” Sam said. “Now, I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”
Buronto laughed, still playing the role of the man who is too big to be bought, too powerful to want to bargain, too awesome to shove.
“Shut up,” Sam said evenly. He had to impress Buronto with the arrangement of things the way he saw them. That was: Sam as the boss, Buronto as the loyal sidekick. Never for a single moment could the giant get the idea that he was more powerful than Sam. That would be dangerous. That would be deadly.
“Now look here,” Buronto said, though more hurt than angry.
“I don’t want to have to get forceful, Jack,” Sam said, placing a ridiculously small hand on the enormous shoulder. He could feel the man’s muscles looped like cables of steel beneath the shirt. “Don’t force me to get aggressive. No need for that at all, Jack. There’s something in this for you — something that I’m sure you’ll enjoy, something that will easily make it worth your time and effort.”
“I don’t need money,” Buronto said, staring around the table, his eyes fastening on Lotus and looking up and down her tiny form, his gaze lingering on her pert breasts, her slim shoulders, the graceful curve of her neck, full lips, deep, deep eyes. But he got hung up in the eyes and looked quickly away.
“It isn’t money,” Sam said, hunching over in a more conspiratorial manner. “It’s something you will really enjoy.” He dropped his voice even lower. “It’s the only thing that money can’t buy any more.”
Buronto looked at him. Their eyes met and held like magnets. Sam could feel the hatred boiling in those eyes, frothing and foaming, held back only by curiosity and willpower. “The only thing I would truly enjoy at this moment,” Buronto growled through clenched teeth, “would be gutting you and ripping out your heart.”
Lotus gasped and Coro made a choking sound. Buronto looked at them, grinned at their weakness, his broad, perfect teeth almost carnivorous.
Sam laughed. It wasn’t easy, and he was afraid it sounded a bit forced. But he laughed anyway. He brought his hand down on Buronto’s shoulder with every bit of force he could muster, trying to make it seem casual. The friendly slap jolted the giant, and he looked at Sam with fear in his eyes as well as hatred. Good. As long as he fears me, Sam thought, as long as he misunderstands my abilities and powers, some sort of order can be maintained. But if he only knew how my hand stings! “I’m sure you would like to kill me, Jack. Oh, I’m just positive of that.” His gorge was rising. Vomit stung the back of his throat. With great concentration, he forced it back down, but the bitter taste remained in his mouth. “But don’t try it unless you count on the tables being reversed and your death being the main attraction.”
Lotus swallowed half her drink in a single gulp, batted her eyelashes to hold back tears as the strong liquor burned down her throat.
“But you hit it partly right, Jack. I can give you the chance to kill. Not me, of course. Others. Others who—”
Buronto’s eyes narrowed, and he grabbed one fist in the other as if cracking a large nut. “You’re crazy!”
“Hardly.”
“Impossible.”
“No.”
Buronto looked at the three of them, searching for some sign that it was a put-on, a ruse to make fun of an Unnatural. It wasn’t entirely comforting not to find such a sign. His voice rose an octave with the excitement. “The medics would narco-dart me and keep me in drug stupor the rest of my natural life!”
“No, they wouldn’t.”
Silence a moment.
“Okay,” Buronto said at length. “You have me hooked. What the hell is the deal?”
Sam explanied. Several times, he had to threaten Buronto to keep him still and quiet enough to listen. The giant refused, at first, to believe it. Extra-galactics. Slug-forms. Raceship. Too much for him and his limited concepts. But after much cajoling and a mass of detailed testimony, he was more willing to believe though still somewhat skeptical. “Well, anyway,” Sam said, “you’ll see for yourself in—” he looked at his watch. “You’ll see for yourself in less than ten minutes.”
“That soon?” Coro asked, his eyes popping open wide.
“You said two hours,” Sam replied. “That gives us just eight minutes.”
“Purgatory is supposed to be longer than that,” Lotus joked. But it wasn’t particularly funny.
Then, abruptly, there was a fierce booming, a whine of metal cooling, and the street outside was alive with a gush of crimson flame. Centuries-old walls cracked open and tumbled before the onslaught.
“They’re early,” Sam said.
Buronto was on his feet, moving toward the door. They followed. The room had suddenly become a place of panic and not a place of entertainment. People shoved and kicked to be the first outside, the first to break for an escape from whatever terrible business was occurring. Buronto stepped aside and let them rush out, aware — as they were not — that it was a great deal safer in the Inferno than on a street where fire ate the asphalt and buildings dissolved in deafening roars.
In moments the bar was empty, save for the four of them. They stood in the doorway, watching the black magno-sleds that cruised above the street and between the spires of Hope. There were four slugs per sled, one to steer, one to man the heavy-duty laser cannon, and two to fire laser rifles. They swept down the long avenue, burning down the masses of fleeing people.
“You see?” Sam said.
Buronto’s mouth hung open. “They… they’re killing!”
“And you can kill their Central Being and get your kicks while still playing it legal. Up and up. No sweat. What do you say?”
Buronto turned, stared, eyes flaming with desire that had washed away most of the fear and hatred. “But why don’t you do it? You kill. Why not save the kicks for yourself?”
Sam had anticipated that question ever since he had begun their conversation. At first it had thrown him, the possibility of the giant asking that. He had gone through a dozen answers, considering each and the effect it would bring about, finally rejecting eleven of them. It was no use trying to fake the giant. No sense in putting him on. If Buronto thought for one moment that he was being used, and realized that Sam was afraid and unable to kill, he would turn on them and the end would be swifter and bloodier than anything the slugs could manage. “Because,” he said, smiling what he hoped was rather an evil and superior smile, “it is dangerous. You may have to fight your way from Ship’s Core. The Central Being may be ten times more powerful than we can imagine. Your chances in a battle with It are probably no better than fifty-fifty. I like to kill sure. But not enough to risk dying for the pleasure.” But you, Sam thought, are willing to die for that pleasure. Or risk fifty-fifty odds for it. Fool that you are, you’ve swallowed the slimy bait, and you’re ready to run to hell and back with the line.
A blue explosion tore four floors from the middle of a nearby office complex. The top part wiggled, fell. Stone crashed down on the streets, huge hunks of it smashing into the surging crowds that were trying to run from the slugs. Truck-sized plastic mortar blocks tore off heads, ripped limbs free, crushed others beyond identification. Sam saw one man split down the middle by a sliver-like portion of a steel beam. Blood fountained up and gushed over the sidewalk as the man fell forward — one half slightly to the left, the
other half slightly to the right, organs spread in between. The people were like animals in panic. Mindlessly, they fled first one direction, then the other. The slugs were moving down both ends of the avenue, cutting them down in a murderous crossfire that would insure total annihilation.
Bodies piled up at a frightening rate, torn and mangled, charred unrecognizable or, when struck directly by a sizzling beam, burned down to the bones with a few pieces of black raggedy flesh clinging to the skull and ribs.
“Okay,” Buronto said. “I’ll do it.”
It was certainly not patriotic fervor that drove him to the decision. He seemed thrilled by the carnage outside. Every eruption of gore seemed to set his eye adance with new flames until they glowed almost like the eyes of a cat at night. Or was that his imagination? Sam wondered. The giant actually seemed to ooze violence.
“Good.” Sam smiled, holding his stomach in check. “Now is there any way out of here besides the front door? That looks particularly unhealthy at the moment.”
“Yes,” Buronto said. “Wait just a minute.” He leaped from the doorway into the turmoil of the street.
“Come back!” Sam shouted convulsively.
“You’ll be killed!” Coro bellowed even louder.
But the roar of the one-sided battle outside had smothered their protests.
A sled was landing a hundred feet from the Inferno, and the slugs were starting to debark, rifles hanging from pseudopods, to search the buildings for those who had had the presence of mind to stay inside and hide. Buronto reached the sled before the slugs could set tail to ground. He brought a boulder fist down on the dome-segment head of the nearest slug as it tried futilely to bring its rifle around. The fist crushed cartilage, smashed in on brain tissue. Orange blood spouted through Buronto’s fingers. As quickly as he could, he grabbed the falling slug, using him as a shield, and wrenched the rifle from its already limp pseudopod. A blast from another alien’s rifle caught the dead slug instead of Buronto, ripped a deep hole in it. And by that time the giant had the stolen gun under control.
Fear That Man Page 13