by Eric Thomson
“You really are the last romantic, Decker.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“At least I didn’t lose my supper after only ten minutes riding a critter.”
“Don’t remind me.” Talyn grimaced. “Damn thing sways more than a sloop caught in an ionic storm. It must be those six legs moving without any sort of coordination.”
The pink of sunrise was starting to paint the far horizon and Decker got up, shaking the sand from his robes.
“Time to crawl into the tent. It’ll start getting hot soon, and we’re no camelots, able to sit there and bake.”
She pulled herself up wearily, thighs and buttocks sore from the ten hours they’d spent in the saddle.
“I could use a good massage just about now.”
“Sorry, toots, the Zack Decker Pleasure Palace and Spa isn’t open right now.”
“Then I’m faced with a miracle: you not interested in sex and not even complaining about the lack of cold beer.”
“Take a whiff of yourself, princess. A day of sweating while riding on a camelot sort of takes the appeal out of naked time.”
Talyn grunted, then dropped to her knees and crawled into the low Targi tent, just about big enough for the two of them, and likely the most high tech item the nomads carried. Not bothering to strip, they sprawled out and quickly fell asleep to the soft song of the wind and the less appealing snorts of over two dozen six-legged beasts dozing away.
Their tent shook as a voice called out, and Decker’s eyes snapped open. Daylight was fading, which meant he’d slept for a long time, more than any night in recent months. The ride had tired him out and, lying here in the great desert where few dared go, he’d felt incongruously safe. He nudged Hera until she reluctantly stirred.
“Time to get up, eat, pack this thing and start moving again.”
“Can’t I just walk? The thought of climbing back on a camelot gives me the dry heaves.”
“Cry baby.” He opened the tent flap and crawled out. “I should have figured Navy pukes can’t handle ground operations.”
She made an obscene gesture in response.
“Not until you’ve had a shower,” Zack replied, laughing.
The old man came to sit by their fire while they ate a frugal meal of boiled grains and dried meat.
“Have you thought of my proposal, Decker? It is not only you that has a feud with the off-worlder shayk who stole Nippur oasis from the desert people.”
“I have, and my mind remains as it was, Idriss. I don’t wish to see your family destroyed, which it will if you attempt to storm Amali’s compound. Your jezails are no match for the modern weapons carried by the guards.”
“And yet you intend to attack alone.”
He spat into the fire, to show his disapproval.
“I intend to use stealth, not open combat.”
“Then perhaps you can use stealth to open his doors so we can enter like djinns of legend and cut every throat in the accursed fortress.”
When Zack had translated for Talyn’s benefit, she laid a hand on his arm.
“It might be useful to have a backup and even more helpful to blur the trail of evidence through the involvement of Targi tribesmen with a known grudge against Amali.”
Her eyes challenged him to deny the truth of her words, and so he just nodded.
“Very well.”
Turning to the chieftain, he bowed his head.
“So it shall be done. We will take Nippur together, but under my orders, that is not negotiable.”
“Agreed.” Idriss rose to his feet in a motion that belied his advanced age. “We will arrive at the oasis tomorrow and hide in the Cave of Winds while you make your plan of attack. If any of the off-world shayk’s men try to dislodge us, they will die.”
As she watched him return to his pack animal, Talyn remarked, “They do hold a grudge around here, don’t they.”
“Yep.” Decker kicked sand over the flaming dung to douse the fire in preparation for departure. “Apparently some feuds in the Nabhka backcountry date to when their ancestors still lived on Earth, so it’s not a good idea to get on their bad side.”
The following dawn saw them come up to a large stone outcrop a short distance from Nippur and Amali’s fortress. Their approach had been mostly covered by the dunes and the moonless night, though as they filed through a crack in the granite and entered the cold darkness of the Cave of Winds, the customary pink light on the horizon turned to gray. Sniffing the air, the old man hurried them out of the open and into confined quarters where the stench of the camelots came to dominate within moments.
“Sandstorm,” he announced when Decker looked at him questioningly. “It was the will of God that we accompanied you here. A sandstorm in the open Erg is a dangerous thing. The caves will protect us and our beasts.”
“Will it last long?”
Idriss shrugged with the fatalism of all nomads.
“Only God knows, and he’ll tell us when it ends.”
They soon discovered why their refuge had been so named when the tempest was directly overhead. A deep thrumming resonance, coming from the gale passing through the rocky spires, filled the air. Though it sounded menacing, they were well protected from the blinding wall of sand.
Zack went back to the opening, to get a glimpse of nature’s fury and when he returned, Talyn looked up from her dismantled weapons.
“So?”
“I couldn’t see a damn thing. Put a piece of starship hull out there and it’ll be stripped down to the bare metal in seconds. I’m glad we got here when we did, but we’re stuck until it stops.”
“It is kind of cozy once you get used to the smell.”
Twenty-Eight
Amali stared out at his compound, unable to see anything beyond the swirling sand and dust driven by a howling gale. No one would be able to get in or out while it lasted, giving him a few hours or even days of peace before the deadly game resumed.
The relief patrol had returned from Assur the previous evening, confirming the worst. Apart from the skimmer, nothing remained of the vanished men and no one in town was willing to talk. If it weren’t for the abandoned vehicle, the two mercenaries might never have existed. While the desert nomads and indeed the townspeople themselves resented him and his men, they had so far taken no concrete action which meant someone else could be in play.
“Are you out there, Mister Decker?” He murmured. “Or am I just being overly paranoid?”
The storm made him feel as if he was no longer in control of his destiny, an uncomfortable thought for a man used to being obeyed by all, if not exactly liked by many. His compound was secure, of course. Even Decker wasn’t crazy enough to try anything while nature raged outside and perhaps if he was very, very lucky, the damned Marine would have been caught far from shelter and was even now being flayed alive. That is if he was anywhere near the desert.
There was still a small chance the contractors had killed him and preferred to be far away before reporting in, lest anyone in authority intercept a message that might hint at murder. But there was still the matter of the missing guards in Assur, though bandits might be responsible, or the men themselves might have violated a taboo or other in their dealings with the locals and paid for it with their lives.
A few hours earlier, during the darkest part of the night when spirits were at their lowest ebb and fears took up free residence in his soul, he had almost ordered his shuttle made ready for departure. Being on the move seemed infinitely preferable to waiting for his pursuer, even though it would only prolong the inevitable. With the appearance of daylight, such as it was, logic had retaken its rightful place, especially with the display of raw power descending on the Great Erg.
“Sir,” Lyle stuck his head through the doorway, “breakfast is ready.”
A dull flash of light tried to fight its way through the dust-laden air, followed by a loud thunderclap that managed to drown out the wind’s howl. Amali sighed, both awed and annoyed by the majesty of nat
ure’s fury, then followed his aide to the dining room where his meal awaited.
“You may inform Shayk Hysan that I’m ready to see him about the proposal. He may come once the storm has lifted.”
At least he still had control over his business dealings.
*
“That was fun,” Talyn commented after the rolling thunder had finished shaking their subterranean refuge.
“What would really be fun,” Decker replied, pacing the cavern as he fought with his impatience, “would be a company’s worth of armored troops. Heck, just a full suit for you and I, and we could infiltrate the place while everyone’s hunkering down. Their sensor net is probably useless right now.”
Idriss asked Zack to translate what he’d just said and when the Marine had done so, he scratched his white beard, eyes narrowed as he contemplated the wailing of the wind and the hissing sound of tiny grains rubbing against stone.
“When the worst of the storm has lifted, we can put on our sand masks and venture out while there’s still enough dust in the air to hide us from their magic eyes.”
“Sand mask?”
Reaching into the large pouch at his waist, the chieftain pulled out a canvas hood with glass ports for the eyes and a filter for the nose and mouth. He put it on, transforming his wizened appearance into a nightmarish apparition that, if seen coming out of the tempest, would frighten even the bravest of men.
“It is what we wear when we cannot find shelter.” His voice sounded muffled. “I’m surprised a man of your learning didn’t know about them.”
Decker acknowledged the comment with a quick tilt of the head.
“We all have our failings.”
Face uncovered once more, the old man handed his mask to Zack, who put it on with a certain amount of trepidation, but it smelled no worse than anything else in the cavern.
“You have spares?”
“Certainly.”
He shouted a few words at the knot of Targi chatting quietly in the far corner and was quickly handed two more masks taken from the caravan’s common holdings.
A shiver of excitement began to radiate from the base of Zack’s spine as he thought about the possibilities offered by this simple, primitive implement. If they could move into the oasis under cover of the storm’s tail end...
*
A wrinkled hand shook Decker out of a light slumber and as his eyes snapped open, he saw that the ghostly glow of the muted sun had gone, leaving the mouth of the cave in darkness.
“The storm has weakened enough that it will be safe for us to venture out. Come. I will take you to the off-world shayk’s castle.”
Idriss pulled on his sand mask and, jezail in hand, waved towards the outside.
The Targi chieftain moved like a ghost in the dusty gloom, stopping every few steps to make sure Decker and Talyn were still behind him. They, carrying the weapons stolen from Amali’s patrol in Assur, struggled to keep up even as Zack consulted his small hand-held sensor frequently, trying to pinpoint the surveillance gear he knew had to be planted around the perimeter.
The dust particles appeared to be highly charged, distorting his readings and presumably those of the enemy as well. If there ever was a right moment to attack, this was it, provided they could find a way inside a compound that would be tightly battened down against the storm.
Suddenly the dark mass of the walls appeared out of the gloom, and he could just about see the main entrance to his left, recessed into an alcove rapidly filling with sand. He briefly thought of the poor bastard who was going to be on clean-up duty when this was over. Amali should have invested the extra money to dome the place, but it was probably cheaper to get a couple of shovels and send out the hired help for the few times a year they got hit this bad. Then, an idea struck him. He tugged on Idriss’ sleeve and put his mask-covered mouth against the side of the chieftain’s hood.
“I think that once the storm is over, they’ll open up to do some cleaning. That might be our chance, provided we can hide right near the gate and rush in.”
Instead of answering, the Targi chief wiggled around vigorously and in the space of less than a minute, had vanished, hidden by the sand. Sensors would spot them, but if Amali’s security had no reason to scan the ground immediately by the main gate, it might just work. He looked at Talyn, her face hidden behind the hideous mask. She nodded, then made the signal to turn around and head back to the caves.
“How long do you reckon until the storm peters out?” Zack asked Idriss once they were back under shelter and had removed their hoods.
The old man shrugged.
“A few hours. Perhaps at dawn. Best we go soon. Once daylight comes, they’ll see us even through the dust.”
“You sure you want to do this?” He put his hand on the Targi’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “It could get nasty very quickly.”
“Life is hard, Decker, and the off-world shayk made it harder by denying us the waters of Nippur. If we don’t fight now, then off-worlders will take all the oases. Perhaps God brought you to us for this purpose. We are warriors and can fight, but you are a soldier who knows how to lead warriors to victory. We go.”
With those words, Idriss went off to collect the fighting men of his clan, each armed with his jezail and wearing a hideous mask. An hour later, Decker, Talyn, and twenty-five Targi tribesmen were hidden in the sand at the base of Amali’s compound, ready to storm the gate.
As the last to dig in, Decker examined the area in the growing orange glow of dawn and saw no trace of the fighters. He placed one of their two sensors beneath a flat rock, leaving just enough room to allow it visual contact with the gate and linked it to the other, which he would hold in front of his mask’s glass ports once he dug in.
No more than an hour had passed by the time the storm weakened and finally died away, revealing a brilliant sun that twinkled off the piles of sand wedged everywhere in and around the small fort. Decker’s limbs felt almost painfully stiff, and he worried that they wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough to seize the open gate, giving the defenders just enough time to shut it in their faces. They’d get one chance and one only. After that, Amali would likely bugger off in his shuttle.
After what seemed like an eternity since the last wisps of dust had settled, the sensor’s small screen flickered and he tensed. The gate was grinding open to reveal the clean-up crew. He was about to rise and give the signal to attack when he caught a small dot speeding towards them on the edge of the screen. It quickly resolved into a fancy skimmer throwing up clouds of freshly settled grit with its antigrav repulsers.
Even better. Decker smiled to himself.
The moment the skimmer passed through the gate, he pushed himself up and bellowed a Targi battle cry Idriss had taught him. Within a fraction of a second, the smooth desert sand on either side of the archway sprouted nightmarish creatures in flowing desert robes, with huge glassy eyes and thick muzzles, brandishing long, home-made plasma rifles.
The startled guards froze, staring in disbelief at the apparitions until weapons coughed. They fell to the ground almost in unison, smoking holes punched into battledress tunics.
Like silent ghosts, the attack force streamed through the gate with Idriss leading the charge. He found the security station and before the men inside could react, burst through the door, shooting from the hip.
Decker and Talyn, with a half-dozen Targi on their heels, broke off from the main group and followed the skimmer through an open door into a well-lit hangar.
“Secure the shuttle,” he shouted at Hera, pointing to the far end of the expansive space where a sleek extra-orbital craft sat in apparent readiness to lift.
Ignoring the well-dressed Nabhkan climbing out of the vehicle, Decker rushed towards the obvious off-worlder standing by the inner door, evidently there to greet the new arrival.
He recognized Amali’s aide, Lyle, from the intelligence report and stuck his blaster in the man’s face. The aide crumpled to the ground in a dead fain
t at the sight of the ghastly, enormous thing coming to kill him.
It had been less than thirty seconds since Decker had given the signal to attack and as of yet, no alarm sounded, but it wouldn’t last. Even now, he heard the cough of plasma fire from the inner courtyard, punctuated by shouts in Nabhkan as the tribesmen systematically eliminated any guards foolish enough to challenge them.
The inner door opened at his touch and, followed by three of the Targi, he walked into a world of cool, clean air that spoke of wealth and luxury here on the edge of one of the deadliest deserts in human space.
He pointed at two of the tribesmen and then down the right-hand corridor, sending them to clear the mansion from that direction. Taking the other one as his wingman, he went left, cautiously checking every room until he found a door that opened onto a large, tastefully appointed space with a row of outward-facing windows.
A man stood by one of them, holding a blaster while anxiously peering outside. At the sound of the intruders, he whirled around, ready to fire. Upon seeing the masked men, his face turned ashen with fright and his first shot went wide. Before he could try again, the sight of a jezail and a large bore blaster pointed at his head made him drop his gun and fall to his knees.
Decker tore off his hood and walked up to the man until he stood a bare meter away, towering over the quivering creature.
“Harmon Amali, I presume. I’m Chief Warrant Officer Zachary T. Decker, Commonwealth Marine Corps, at your service.”
The wretch looked up into his hard face and, like his aide, he fainted.
*
“Now what?” Talyn asked jutting her chin towards their bound and gagged prisoner. “You’re like the dog that caught the skimmer and doesn’t know what to do with it. Simply executing Amali isn’t your style, Zack, no matter how much you think you want blood for blood.”
He nodded wearily, feeling the full weight of the past year push down on him, now that the adrenaline of the raid had worn off.
“You’re probably right. Killing him isn’t like killing the pirates on Tortuga station. Their lives were forfeit in any decent civilization.” He sat on the edge of the desk and stared at his prisoner. “You know, it took me a long time to stop getting nightmares from the way his cousin died.”