Bloodhype (25 page)

“I can’t follow all this,” said Kitten as they backed towards the portal.

“Something’s scared them,” whispered Mal. “Badly. Something’s running awry and they’re scared. For a change, I concur with an AAnn situation evaluation. I’m scared too.”

Another explosion shook the building. It was weaker and they kept their feet this time, slowly backing towards the doorway.

“Awry seems kind of a homogenized word for it,” said Kitten, pointing.

Down on the beach, still visible through the transparent walls, a mass the color of space rose fifty meters into the china-blue sky. It towered above the control center and the tallest trees. The sun flashed silver on the malevolent bulk for the first time, as though strands of some bright metal ran in streaks just under the outer skin. Pieces of masonry and duralloy beaming, twisted and dangling like string, fell from the smooth sides. The thing moved purposefully from side to side, swaying slightly.

Most of it was hidden from view.

Its intelligence was no longer a matter for discussion.

Mal and Kitten carried the energy rifles. Being AAnn-size, they bulked a bit too large for Porsupah to handle comfortably. The Tolian did borrow a dart pistol from one of the guards. He led them down the stairs, again shunning the elevator, his hypersensitive hearing and sense of smell a better detection package than any artificial sensors.

Tortured screams from stone and metal followed them as they raced through turns and down corridors. The occasional AAnn they encountered was too stunned to contest their free passage and too scared to do anything about it anyway.

Still, now and then an armed guard or tech would realize they weren’t where they ought to be and try to do something about it. The result was a series of brief running battles through the maze of structures. The first time she’d fired the unfamiliar weapon, Kitten had taken a bolt close enough to singe her left side painfully. Mal limped slightly on his right leg, where a shard from an explosive shell had penetrated. It was slight, but because he couldn’t pause, the tiny trickle of blood from beneath the rough bandaging was continuous.

The monster was tearing the island down around their ears, and incongruously enough all Mal could think about for several minutes was that his companion was really splendidly constructed. Not merely athletic, but damned attractive. A burst of heat warmed his face. There was a short scream from a far corner where a guard had dropped. Kitten turned to look over her shoulder.

“Well done, anthropoid! You almost caught that one. I’m getting tired of nursemaiding you.”

Well, at least it put his mind back on business.

“Any idea of how far we are from the harbor?” Mal yelled to Porsupah.

“Not yet. The thing seems to have moved inland with ease. So it’s not restricted to the aquasphere. For all we know, it may be flexible enough to surround the entire island.” The Tolian jumped over an AAnn in scientist’s smock. The reptile’s head had been split by a collapsed lighting fixture. Another crash sounded from behind them and a shudder ran down the hallway they were running along.

“That could have been the Tower going over,” shouted Mal. “The thing’s systematic enough to do that.”

“Peot was right after all,” said Kitten. “This thing’s as nasty as he described it. Wonder how the good Commander is making out?”

“Let’s wonder about it over brandy and pastry . . . and an honest-to-gee steak . . . at your Rectory,” said Mal. “And concentrate on practicalities now.” He slowed up.

There was a double door at the end of the corridor. Damp, gray sky and green ocean were visible through the glassite material. Porsupah ran up to it, stopped, and hurried back. His comment was perfunctory.

“Automatics are out. It’s shut tight.”

“Emergency circuits closed,” added Mal. He raised the energy rifle. Four blasts knocked the right side of the armored doorway sufficiently askew for them to slip through. They went fast and gingerly, avoiding the hot edges.

The tiny harbor lay just ahead, down a slight slope. It was drizzling slightly, large warm drops. Visibility of the cove was poor, but sufficient.

It was a mess.

“Systematic’s the word,” murmured Mal. “It cut off all retreat first thing.”

Docks and piers had been smashed straight down into the sand and water. Metal pilings and groinings were twisted like wire. Scraps of hoverafts and regular ships, as well as two or three hydrofoils and at least one helicopter-type were visible—including the pulverized remains of their own. The least damaged of the assorted vessels was one that had been torn neatly in half, like a piece of foil.

Dull explosions continued to sound behind them, spiced with an occasional faint reptilian scream. The slight slope and high trees prevented visual observation, a state of affairs none in the small group had any desire to rectify.

The humid mist was settling fast, but several islands were still visible. Except for the relatively empty equatorial seas, one was rarely out of sight of land on Repler.

They ran rapidly the rest of the way to the beach. Not so much to reach it as to get as far as possible from the thing behind them. On close inspection the wreckage was even less encouraging. The destruction had been careful and thorough. Nothing was left that could float anything larger than half a man.

Even to a group as hardened as the two officers and Hammurabi, the carelessly dismembered bodies of the few AAnn soldiers and harbor personnel were unnerving. There wasn’t an intact corpse visible. Here and there one could discern an arm, part of a torso, a leathertine boot with the leg still in it.

Some of the grisly debris had clearly been torn, while other pieces were sheared off as neatly as with a surgical laser.

Kitten looked back over her shoulder.

“I think I’ll take my chances with the devil-fish. Maybe we can make it to that nearer island.”

Porsupah was peering hard into the wet mist. “That may not be necessary. There is what appears to be a still-intact craft of some sort floating free out there. It must have broken loose when the monster first attacked and drifted away unnoticed.”

“So long as it floats,” said Mal, stepping into the gentle surf.

“Don’t be absurd,” chided Porsupah. “Excuse me.” The diminutive officer dove into the water and shot past Mal like a furred torpedo, his webbed feet frothing the sea behind him.

“Waiting makes me nervous, that’s all,” said Mal.

“Yes,” Kitten muttered, staring back at the trees. At any moment she expected to see black hell pouring towards them over the palms. “We’ve got to get away to alert the Rectory, not to mention GalCenter on Terra and Hivehom. This is rather more than a local problem.” She paused. “I wonder how Peot is coming with his electronic jigsaw?”

“I don’t care about the Rectory, I don’t particularly care about the pen-pushers at GalCenter, and I especially don’t care about what that revived mummy expects to do about this thing. I expect he’s outclassed. What I do care about is that for the first time in ten years I’ve got a bank account that’s more than just healthy, and by hell and damn, I’ve every intention of sticking around to spend it!”

“Your mind is rotten with credit pollution!” she sneered in disgust.

“You question my motives without knowing a damn thing, and—”

A cough and rumble turned their attention to the choppy water. The sound settled into a steady, low grumble. A moment later a boat appeared out of the mist, Porsupah at the left side of the peculiar double helm. It was only a small open powerboat, but it looked able to hold them all comfortably.

“Sorry it’s not a raft,” said Pors, “but it appears to be near full fuel-wise and not terribly difficult to operate. It should suffice to get us elsewhere—our primary concern at the moment, I suspect.”

“There might be an automated way-station nearby,” suggested Kitten, “where we can either pick up something a little faster or else transmit cityside.”

“Our scaly friends might pick up a distress signal this close by,” said Mal thoughtfully.

“If there are any left. Please, let’s argue about it elsewhere and elsewhen, hmmm?”

They boarded the tiny craft. At a respectable speed only a million kilometers or so too slow, they headed out of the cove. Only fog swallowed them up.

The Vom paused in its work and considered the destruction it had wrought. It was full-fleshed, unhungry, sated on life-force, for the first time in memory. It could detect a last pocket of high-quality force on the island. It was buried in a strong chamber deep within the island itself. Content as it was, the Vom decided, after some thought, not to trouble this last group just now.

It relaxed, flowed out to a comfortable configuration, and listened. The Guardian still retained its ancient ability to blur its whereabouts. Strain as it might, the Vom had not yet rebuilt to the point where it could penetrate that mindweb. Leaving the search for the Enemy, it let its perception roam, out, free, open, for the first time since awakening, testing its revitalized neural complex.

Tiny bits of life-force impinged here, there, on its fluid consciousness. Were recorded and stored for future sorting and analysis. Great clusters of lesser intelligences flowed in the seas about the island. Not as exciting, but still suitable for assimilation and fueling.

To the north, however, there was a really respectable body of strong life-force, by far the greatest within the Vom’s range of detection. It would be enough to stimulate the Vom to full, pulsating awareness. To a state of elemental power. Perhaps the Guardian would also realize this, and go there to defend. Perhaps it would not, electing to put off a confrontation still longer. Either way, it was a destination, a reason for moving. The Vom considered. It decided.

It went.

Philip was at the landing to greet them as they pulled into Wetplace. He was fairly dancing with impatience and concern as they went through the brief but necessary tying-down procedure. They’d borrowed an emergency raft from the sailor’s station they’d found. Humid fog was as thick here as it had been on the open sea. Limpid drops rolled sinuously around Kitten’s thighs as she stepped out of the raft. The black tower loomed indistinctly in the feather-soft drizzle.

“Kitten, Captain Hammurabi! How pleasurable to see you again! I was worried. And I have such things to tell you.”

“And I have a story or two for
you,
lad!” said Mal. Together they headed for the tower.

As they entered the now-familiar elevator, Mal recounted quickly most of what had occurred since their departing. The young engineer was quiet throughout, listening attentively. In fact, by the time Mal finished the youngster seemed downright grim.

“It all fits,” he said.

“Glad to hear it,” Mal replied. “What fits?”

“With what Peot said.”

“And what has he said?” asked Kitten.

“That the creature’s power and strength grows in minutes and hours, not days. That it soon may be strong enough to resist anything Peot and the Machine can throw at it. In which case the only alternative to catastrophe on a galaxy-wide scale will be planetary sterilization.”

“Whew! You said that calmly enough. Does he realize how much chance we’d have of getting Council-Chancellor approval for that?” Kitten said.

“He’d be included under such a program too, of course,” Mal added.

“The concept of death in all its manifestations and aspects is one he’s more than familiar with. He doubts the actuality would be more than merely anticlimactic. The possibility does not concern him. As for the other, he has some inkling of how slowly even the best non-totalitarian bureaucracy moves. He only suggests what he believes may work.”

“Cheery prognosis from a potential savior,” Kitten murmured.

“Still, everything is future tense. Where’s your friend?”

“Pors? He’s taken another ship and gone into the city to help the Major organize things at the Rectory. And to give a first-hand report. Does Peot think the monster will continue the kind of destruction we observed at the Enclave?”

“Not for a while, it seems . . .”

“Haw!” Mal snorted.

“ . . . at least until it has located and reckoned with Peot himself. It knows of the Tar-Aiym’s presence on Repler, and . . .”

“Tar-Aiym?” interrupted Kitten. “I know that word. Peot claims to be a Tar-Aiym?” But Philip ignored her.

“ . . . until the Guardian is destroyed, the Vom knows it will always be in danger. It is a highly logical organism and will always bow to priorities. Finding and eliminating Peot is first. Destruction of puny humanx resistance falls considerably lower on the list.”

“And if it locates our resurrected madman, naturally it will come directly here.”

“I should suppose so.”

“Naturally Chatham has not been told of this.”

“Naturally not.”

Kitten sighed. “Well, I hope it takes its time. I’m not sure I could take another sight of that thing without a few days to blot it out of my mind.”

Governor Washburn was very upset. He’d been forced out of his beloved daily schedule. The Governor was a most punctual person. This awkward diversion had already forced him to miss at least one address to a local assemblage of parents of school-age children—voters all. Not to mention the unveiling of the new seafood processing plant on Isle de Rais.

He’d accepted the chair offered by Orvenalix only to hop out of it almost immediately and commence pacing in the small office like a target in a shooting gallery. Porsupah was an interested spectator.

“The thing is bloody preposterous! Alien monsters indeed! That’s work for infantile minds. And for that you draw me from my official duties! For—”

“I’ve seen the thing, Governor,” said Porsupah quietly. “It is far from insubstantial.”

“So I’ve been told.” Washburn waved a hand diffidently. “Understand me, Lieutenant. It’s not your powers of observation I question. Merely the preciseness of your description. An understandable penchant for exaggeration induced by excitable circumstances . . .”

“It is not impossible that certain details have been slightly exaggerated. The creature
may
have left a survivor or two.”