Close Up the Sky

by James L. Ferrell

  Next he tried his feet, but they were securely bound. He thought about the small, surgically sharp knife in one of the pockets of the utility belt, but with his hands bound behind his back there was no way to reach it. For some reason they had not yet tampered with the belt. He decided not to draw attention to it by trying to get at the knife. Besides, the Morruks were undoubtedly watching him, so even if he could retrieve the knife there would be no opportunity to use it. Resolved that he could do nothing toward gaining his freedom under the present circumstances, he remained quiet and tried to relax.

  He listened to the sounds of their movements and heard their voices speaking in a language he did not understand. The conversation went on for several minutes, rising and falling in argumentative tones, but they soon fell silent. It was quiet for a while, then he heard footsteps approaching. Pain shot through his ribs as someone kicked him in the side. Another man stuck a foot under his shoulder and rolled him over. He looked up to see Hanik and Nessif standing over him. Nessif's nose looked even more enormous when seen from below. His dark eyes gleamed above it like two pieces of smooth onyx. They glared down at him with the most intense vehemence he had ever seen.

  "So we meet again, eh?" he said in Egyptian. Leahy was alarmed to see the pistol in his hand. He held it by the barrel, like a club.

  Hanik and another man lifted him by the shoulders and propped him against a boulder. Dirt clung to his left eyelid and his head ached from the kick he had received during the fight. He wondered how many more blows his head could take before his brains were permanently scrambled. There was a foul taste in his mouth and he wanted water.

  Nessif squatted beside him and grinned. It made the tip of his nose drop below the top of his upper lip. In spite of the gravity of the situation, the Morruk's expression struck Leahy as comical, and he could not suppress a small chuckle.

  Nessif's face brightened. "Ah, it is good to see that you are not seriously injured. I would have regretted that immensely."

  Leahy shifted to a more comfortable position against the rock. "Your concern is touching," he replied dryly.

  "Now perhaps we can continue with our earlier conversation. The one you so rudely interrupted with this." Nessif held up the pistol. "You may begin by explaining what it is, and how you made thunder with it."

  The rest of the men squatted nearby watching the exchange. One man glared at him more intensely than the rest. A crooked scar ran across his face and he had a swollen nose. Leahy recognized him as the one he had kicked in the face during their earlier encounter. The scar was old, but the broken nose was new. He wondered if that particular Morruk had been the one who had landed the kick to his head. If so, he hoped his nose hurt like hell.

  He saw his pack lying a little way beyond the cluster of men. They had dumped the contents out and pilfered them, but other than the walkie-talkie the pack contained nothing that might arouse their interest. However, the utility belt around his waist was another thing. Feigning a cough, he glanced down at it, and was relieved to see that all the pockets were still fastened.

  Nessif grew impatient at the delay. He put his hand under Leahy's chin and jerked his head up. "Speak!" he commanded.

  Leahy licked his dry lips and said, "First some water."

  The Morruk hesitated for an instant, then smiled. "Of course." He turned and spoke sharply in the unknown dialect to one of the men.

  The man hurried forward and took a water skin from around his neck. Nessif pulled the stopper and spurted water into Leahy's mouth. It was warm and had an alkaline flavor, but it washed away the dryness from the fight. Nessif handed it back to the man then brandished the pistol in Leahy's face. "Now speak!” he ordered.

  Leahy settled back and fixed a steely gaze on the Morruk. There were still twelve rounds in the gun's magazine, with two more full magazines in reserve. That was enough modern magic to give Nessif's gang of cutthroats the ability to rob and plunder wherever or whomever they pleased. He had no intention of teaching Nessif how to use the pistol if he could avoid it, but he was subject to whatever methods they might decide to use on him. If he refused to tell him how to use the gun, they would probably kill him; or worse, torture him beyond endurance. He had no doubt that the Morruk chief and his men were capable of anything. He decided to stall for time, hoping that an opportunity for escape might present itself. "Untie my hands and I will show you," he said.

  Nessif's face split into a wide grin and he laughed in Leahy's face. His men followed suit, laughing and poking each other as though someone had told a hilarious joke.

  "Do not toy with me or take me for a fool, my friend," Nessif said. "Instruct me with words and I will do the rest."

  "I cannot tell you," Leahy replied. "I must show you. If it is mishandled you will die."

  Nessif regarded him suspiciously. Leahy could almost see the wheels turning behind the beady eyes. Then a snarl twisted the Morruk's lips. He drew his hand back and slapped Leahy across the face. Next he grabbed the front of the L-suit with sausage-like fingers and shook him viciously. "I will not ask you again. Teach me how to use this, or I will kill you."

  Leahy tasted blood in his mouth. He spat and glared at Nessif. "Go to hell, you stinking coward," he said in English.

  Nessif did not have to understand the language to perceive the meaning of the remark. The Morruk started to hit him again, but hesitated. A slow smile spread across his face. He released his grip on the L-suit and shoved Leahy back against the rock. He nodded, put his face within inches of Leahy’s, and said softly, "I think very soon you will tell me what I want to know."

  He stood and barked some orders to his men. In response they began scurrying around the area pulling up pieces of the sparse brush that dotted the ground. Leahy watched as Nessif directed them to place it in a pile a few yards from where he lay. When they finished with the brush, two of them set to work digging a pit near the pile. While they worked, Nessif came over again and squatted in front of him. He regarded Leahy through half-closed eyes for a moment then said, "Tell me again the name by which you are called."

  "Julius Caesar," Leahy replied in a surly tone. He could feel his upper lip swelling from Nessif's blow.

  Nessif scratched his beard and looked thoughtful. "I do not think that is the name you used before."

  Leahy decided to try a different tact. If there was the slightest possibility that he could improve his situation, it was worth trying. "A god may have many names," he said.

  "A god!" Nessif ejaculated. "No, Julius Caesar, or whatever your name is. One thing I know, you are no god. I admit that when you made the thunder we fled in fear. But later, when we returned and watched you stumble through the desert, we realized that you were only a man. Still, you possessed this." He waved the pistol in front of him. "For that reason I sent Hanik to lead you into our trap. Besides, gods do not lose fights with mortals.” He reached out and wiped a drop of blood from Leahy's lip with his finger. “Nor do they bleed."

  One of the men engaged in the digging called out to Nessif. He got up, walked over to the pit, and inspected it. After some conversation, two of them detached themselves from the group and came over to Leahy. They picked him up by the arms, drug him to the pit, and lowered him in feet first. Dirt was then pushed in around him until only his head and shoulders were above ground. Two of the Morruks stomped the dirt around him until it was tightly packed.

  Nessif knelt in front of him and smiled. "Very soon I intend to roast you like a pig. The pain will begin slowly, but as the skin begins to blister you will beg for mercy. The flames will scorch your eyes long before you die, so you will go to your death in darkness. The stench of your burning flesh will fill your nostrils and your lips will swell and burst. Of the thousand deaths a man can suffer, fire is the most painful." He paused for a moment to let those comments have an effect on Leahy's imagination, then continued. "But there is no need for you to die in such agony. In time I will discover the secret to this device on my own, so your death will be meaningless. T
ell me what I ask and I will release you. I will give you food and water, and you may go your way unharmed."

  Leahy knew the Morruk's embellished description of his impending death was designed to frighten him into talking, but the truth of his words was undeniable. Death by fire was the worst possible way to die. But he also knew that revealing how to use the pistol would not save his life. Either way he was going to die; it was just a matter of when and how.

  "I will give you some time to consider," Nessif offered when Leahy did not immediately respond. He looked up at the darkening sky. The sun had gone down while they were digging the pit, and the first faint stars were beginning to appear above the eastern horizon. "We will speak again soon." He walked to where his men sat in a circle and joined them.

  Leahy tilted his head back and let out a breath. Only a short while ago he had been relatively safe in his own time, secure in his knowledge of the world around him, but now he was lost in an exotic and hostile land, friendless and alone, physically drained, facing death at the hands of men whose language he could not even speak. Right now, on the other side of the world, on a continent men would someday call America, there was only a forbidding wilderness that stretched from sea-to-sea. Twenty-seven centuries from now, Columbus would set sail for that land and put into motion the events that would eventually create the most powerful nation on earth. But here, now, that world existed only in his thoughts, ephemeral and ghostly. He knew that if he died this night at the hands of the Morruks, his bones would have turned to sand three thousand years before anyone who might cry for him or mourn his passing even existed.

  And what of Taylor and the others? Having assumed he was dead, were they continuing the search for his brother and the stellarite, or had they turned back and allowed the time portal to close forever? The thought of their having returned to their own time, his own time, deepened the feeling of alienation and loneliness creeping into his soul. He allowed himself to wallow in self-pity for a little while, then, with courage born of utter helplessness, a cold rage began to rise within him. He strained at the bonds around his wrists, but they held tight. He could touch the bottom of the utility belt with his thumbs, but the dirt packed around him would not allow him to rotate it around his body to reach the pouch containing the knife. After a few exhausting attempts to move it, he decided to give up and save his strength.

  He looked at the circle of men sitting a few yards away. They had built a small fire and were huddled around it, talking, and drinking from a skin they were passing around. Occasionally, they would laugh as though someone had told a good joke. Leahy spotted Nessif on the far side of the circle, examining the gun in the firelight. He rotated it over and over, stroking it, pecking on it with his finger, trying in vain to figure out the mechanism. One of the men reached out to take it from him and was shoved away. The others laughed and passed the skin around the circle. He watched Nessif lift the gun above his head and peer into the bore as though the secret of its power might lie hidden within the dark hole.

  As Leahy watched him, a plan began to form in his mind. He did not delude himself with thoughts of escape, but he might at least exact a price for his death. And the thought of ridding the world of a sadistic maniac like Nessif had enormous appeal. However, whatever else he might be, he knew Nessif was no fool. If the plan were to be successful he would have to handle its execution very carefully. He continued to watch the Morruk while he formulated exactly how it could be done.

  At last Nessif rose from the circle and came over to him. The rest of the men followed. They clustered behind him, ready to watch and enjoy the torture. The Morruk chief knelt in front of him and blew out a breath reeking of strong wine.

  "Well, my friend," he said. "What is it to be? Have you decided to live or die?"

  For a few seconds Leahy did not answer. He kept his head bowed as though giving final consideration to Nessif's ultimatum. Finally, he looked up and said, "You will keep your promise and release me?"

  Nessif spread his arms wide and looked incredulous that Leahy could doubt his veracity. "Of course!" he replied with exuberance. "Killing you would serve no purpose. I want only the secret of the device. You have my word that I will set you free and give you food and water sufficient to reach your destination, wherever that may be."

  "Very well," Leahy replied. "Will you free my hands so that I can show you?" He had no delusions that Nessif would untie him.

  Nessif laughed. "Instruction will suffice. I will follow your words."

  Leahy nodded. He was careful to show no sign of disappointment.

  "Where is the pistol?"

  Nessif's eyebrows went up. "A pistol," he mused. "So that is what you call it." He took the gun out of his robe and examined it closely for a few seconds. "Teach me its use!" His voice was charged with excitement. In only a matter of moments he expected his power and prestige among the desert tribes to rise tremendously.

  "You must follow my instructions exactly, or you will die," Leahy said in an ominous voice.

  For a few seconds Nessif gazed at his prisoner with intense scrutiny, then said, "I will follow your words. Proceed."

  "Hold the pistol where I can see it."

  Nessif complied.

  "There is a small lever on the side." Leahy referred to the safety catch. "Move it upward until you see a red dot." He watched Nessif's fingers find the safety and flip it off. "Now place your thumb on the protrusion behind the red dot. No.......yes, there." The Morruk positioned his thumb on the hammer. "Push it backward until it stops. Good. Now you must be very careful and follow my words exactly." Leahy was barely breathing, every muscle in his body tense.

  The rest of the men pushed in closer, watching in breathless anticipation. Nessif looked at them over his shoulder and grinned. The nose dipped below his upper lip again, but this time Leahy found no humor in it.

  "Grasp the short handle with your right hand," he continued. He watched Nessif's fingers curl around the butt. "Yes, that is correct. Now turn it so that you can see into the little hole. Very good. Look at the curved lever inside the metal circle near your thumb." Nessif raised the gun and found the trigger with his eyes. "Now slip your thumb inside the metal circle, but do not touch the lever." Carefully Nessif eased his big thumb into the trigger guard. He was now holding the pistol backward with his thumb a hair's breadth away from the trigger. "Inside the hole is the secret to the thunder," Leahy assured him. "Look inside and press your thumb against the lever. Remember to watch closely, as the secret will appear only for an instant."

  He held his breath as Nessif looked into the bore. His men crouched close behind him. One of them, Hanik, crowded closer than the rest. He was looking directly over his chief's right shoulder, trying to see into the bore. Nessif's thumb touched the trigger.

  For what seemed like an eternity nothing happened. Leahy saw the Morruk move his head ever so slightly away from the bore. A deafening explosion split the air as the hammer fell. A spear of orange flame lit Nessif's face like a flash bulb as the bullet ripped through the flesh along his cheek and struck Hanik in the mouth. The Morruk's ratty face exploded in a cloud of blood and pulverized flesh as the bullet tore through his skull. The shock knocked him backwards, and he fell directly behind his chief.

  Nessif shrieked in terror and dropped the pistol as he fell back against Hanik's legs. He reached out for balance and his hand sank into the gelatinous muck that had been Hanik's face. Pandemonium erupted among the rest of the Morruks, and they fled screaming into the night. Nessif struggled to his feet and ran after them. Within a matter of seconds Leahy found himself completely alone. He could see the pistol lying a few feet away.

  With tremendous effort he twisted his shoulders and tried to lift his knees against the weight of the dirt. He was able to move his legs slightly, but not enough to loosen the packed earth. He knew that within minutes the Morruks would recover from their shock and return, and if he had not affected his escape by then, they would kill him without hesitation. He twisted a
gain and again, arching his back against the hard earth, but it held fast. "God, help me! Please help me," he pleaded. He fought with all his strength until exhaustion overcame him. He slumped over and remained still for a while, breathing heavily.

  The darkness deepened. He raised his head and looked around. He could see the outline of Hanik's body a few feet from him, the unfortunate victim of a bullet meant for his chief. But Leahy felt no remorse. Justice was blind, and Hanik had undoubtedly committed enough crimes in his lifetime to deserve the fate he had accidentally received.

  He tried again to loosen the dirt around him by twisting and rocking his body, but to no avail. Then the sound of stealthy movements came to him from out of the gloom. After a few seconds several shapes materialized and stooped over Hanik's body. One of them knelt and examined it. There was an exclamation of surprise followed by several sharp intakes of breath. The kneeling figure rose and moved to stand over Leahy. He did not have to see his face to know it was Nessif. The Morruk chief stooped, grasped him roughly by the hair, and jerked his head backward. Something wet dripped onto the front of the L-suit.