Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome (23 page)

The beast lumbering into the clearing below had a smooth, almost hairless hide, thick and blubbery, bulging around its sturdy limbs and around its neck and the hump of his massive shoulders. It walked on four legs—the first two a good deal shorter than the thick-muscled rear limbs—and held a horn-plated, knob-ended fleshy tail out almost perpendicular to the ground as it moved. Its head, balanced by the knobby tail at the other end, lolled this way and that, showing the tiny glints of black eyes squeezed nearly shut by the puffy flesh surrounding them. The head was round with the tag ends of ears sticking out oddly atop the expansive hillock of a cranium.

The animal moved slowly, slogging forward in an absurd rolling gait—an earthquake in motion. The behemoth was a mottled two-tone: a dusty reddish color above, gray-brown below. Much of its pitted hide was slick with greasy effluence. There were scars criss-crossing its back, pink and new, attesting to its contentious nature. It paused as it came directly into the center of the clearing, filling the closed space with its bulk.

Crocker shrank back. It was almost close enough to touch.

The creature snuffled the ground and, to the man's horror, reared back on its tremendous hind legs and raised its head, eyeing the tree hungrily. The monstrous face was split in half by two hanging lip-flaps beneath wavering nostrils like convulsing tunnels. The gross flaps spread as the jaws opened to reveal flat-crowned, green-stained teeth and a prodigious, questing tongue. The stench of rotting meat and vegetation filled the air.

The man's heart thumped wildly in his chest. Above him, the cat tensed. The grotesque head wobbled closer, nudging leaves, then drawing a whole branch into its sinkhole of a mouth with the prehensile tongue to be crushed to pulp by the grinding teeth. The tree shook as the branch snapped off. The wevicat teetered, claws digging for a better hold.

The next bite nearly yanked the man out of the tree. The beast seized the very branch Crocker was hanging on to with his free hand, causing him to drop the spear and scrabble for a new handhold. The spear fell, slid into the animal's terrific maw, lodged sideways.

The monster worked its mouth up and down in an effort to dislodge the irritant, but succeeded only in wedging the spear further. Crocker struggled for a better handhold, slipped and plunged, catching himself at the last instant to scramble higher into the tree.

The behemoth just below heard the commotion caused by the man's fall and stopped. The head came up slowly until its eye was staring right into Crocker's terrified face.

The beast let out
a snort that nearly blew Crocker out of the tree. Then, as the man fought to regain his foothold, the great elastic tongue thrust out and wrapped itself around his thigh, yanking him closer to the cavernous mouth.

Tightening his grip on the branch, he felt his arm and shoulder muscles stretch as his leg was wrenched and pulled closer to the behemoth's grinding stumps of teeth. One hand gave way. Crocker screamed.

The monstrous tongue pulled him closer. The lip flaps parted to receive him. Crocker shrieked as, with a jerk of the beast's head, his hand was torn from the branch and he swung into the creature's mouth.

The teeth ground together, and Crocker felt himself crushed between them. The air rushed from his body. But something prevented the teeth from closing on him completely. He looked and saw his spear sticking into the side of the animal's fleshy jaw.

Twisting his body sideways, he squirmed to the spear. The teeth came down again. He cried out as the tremendous pressure ground into his bones. His hands closed on the spear, and he held on.

The teeth parted again. Crocker thrust the spear up, jamming the weapon further into the soft tissue. The behemoth grunted. The spear bent, splintered, snapped in two.

Crocker felt himself sliding into the tremendous gullet. The huge teeth came down over him.

Just then he heard a sound that jellied the marrow in his bones: the blood-thinning battle cry of an enraged cat. The wevicat leaped from its perch in the upper branches straight for the behemoth's face, claws extended like curved steel scimitars. One swipe of its massive paw and the behemoth lost an eye.

The startled beast roared with fright, and Crocker felt himself momentarily free. The animal's mouth opened and he was expelled, falling to the ground, where he landed on the rocks beneath the tree.

Bruised, bleeding, slimy with the beast's saliva, the man scrambled for safety among the rocks as the fight commenced above him, the cat spitting, raking its lethal claws at will over its enemy's head as the monster lurched ineffectually here and there, trying to dislodge the angry wevicat, bellowing with a sound that shook the very stones in the ground.

The huge cat dug in and held on. The behemoth shook its head ponderously and flailed with its knob-ended tail, tearing great gaping rents in the earth and flinging clumps of soil skyward with its feet. In desperation the behemoth drove straight toward the tree where the man was hiding.

Crocker flung himself to the side as the tree groaned, leaning toward him. The cat leaped lightly onto the monster's back, sinking its fearsome teeth into the bulging shoulder hump.

The behemoth bawled as the pain fought to its brain. The clublike tail smashed limbs from the tree as the beast whirled in torment. It lowered its head and lurched toward the tree.

There was a popping sound deep in the earth as roots snapped. The tree tilted and fell, black roots showering dirt into the air. The wevicat sprang with compact grace from the behemoth's back. Landing on its feet, it spun and reared, ears flat against its skull, paws spread wide. The behemoth lowered its huge ugly head, and, with a roar that rattled Crocker's teeth, whirled, whipping its thick tail through the air with surprising speed.

The wevicat was faster, leaping straight up into the air. The horn-plated tail struck the earth, carving a deep slash in the turf. The cat came down snarling and slashing the behemoth's blubbery hide, laying open the skin in ragged pink gashes. Blood bubbled from the horrendous wounds. The cat was covered with it.

Twice more the behemoth's tail plowed the ground, to no avail. The agile cat moved like caged lightning, always just out of range of the deadly tail. Crocker hunkered behind the fallen tree, shivering with shock and fright, breath coming in shallow gasps, pulse pounding in his ears.

Then, just as the behemoth's tail recoiled for another strike, the beast turned and staggered away, leaving the field to the victorious wevicat. As the crashing, thrashing sounds of the behemoth's retreat died away, Crocker crept from his hiding place and went to the cat. Its fur was spiked and sticky with blood, but it was unharmed.

The man put his hand on the cat's back; the cat snarled, jumped up, and spun toward him, then recognized him and sat down.
The cat has saved your life,
Crocker's internal voice told him.

“Saved my life,” Crocker repeated aloud, his voice small in the clearing where the sounds of ferocious battle still hung in the air. He went to the animal and put his arms around his neck, hugging the creature as it calmly began licking its fur. Then, dusk swallowing the forest clearing, both man and cat rose and padded silently back to their lair.

“Well,
let's have it,” said Tvrdy. “I can see by your expression that it isn't good.”

“Not good at all,” said Cejka. “Covol says Jamrog is offering five thousand shares for information leading to our capture.”

Tvrdy nodded, frowning.

“Five thousand,” Piipo snorted. “The fool.”

“There's more. The Nilokerus are setting up checkpoints in every Hage—all entry and exit points, as well as internal junctions. They are to be manned day and night.”

“This is sooner than I expected. I did not think Jamrog would act to control Hage movement so quickly. What do they check?”

“Poak—for now. Covol believes they will soon issue identity cards and travel writs.”

“Messy,” said Tvrdy unhappily. “This could cut our supply lines completely.”

“Director, if I may—” began Kopetch. He had been silent during the briefing.

“Yes, speak freely.”

With a nod of deference to his superiors, he said, “I believe this unfortunate circumstance could work in our favor. Once these cards and writs are issued we can obtain them, alter them, or duplicate them. We can then travel at will without fear of discovery—with the proper precautions, of course. They will come to rely on the documents and not on their own eyes and ears. As long as we hold the documents, we will not be suspected.”

“An ingenious suggestion worthy of a master strategist!” Tvrdy smiled with approval. It was the first time he'd smiled in many days. His escape from the Hage had been much sooner than he'd planned, and although it had been accomplished without incident, he was still anxious over the way he'd left his organization. And despite Cejka's repeated assurances and messages from Danelka that the escape had caused no unforeseen repercussions, the Tanais leader remained uneasy, feeling that some detail had been overlooked.

Now he relaxed a little. Men like Kopetch—and his organization was built on such—could be counted on. Somehow, they would find a way to meet each new challenge as it presented itself. “Pradim could not have done better himself,” Tvrdy said.

“Excellent!” Cejka beamed. “We can issue our own cards and writs. If we could get a poak imprinter, we could even create identities for the Dhogs. Why, there's no limit to what we could do. Think of it! Think of the confusion we could cause.”

“Tell Covol to obtain the documents as soon as possible—and any machinery necessary to duplicate or alter them.” Tvrdy paused, his expression soured momentarily. “There is one other thing. Bogney insists that he be allowed to attend the briefing sessions. I think we must agree, although I see nothing but trouble from it.”

“I don't like it any more than you, Tvrdy,” Piipo said, “but we must begin treating the Dhogs as equals. Soon we will be asking them to die for us.”

“I might suggest maintaining our nightly briefings in secret,” put in Kopetch. “Bogney and one or two of his men could attend a morning session.”

“Two briefings.” Cejka chuckled. “Tvrdy, I think we have found Pradim's successor.”

“Is there anything else tonight? No? All right. I will inform Bogney of our decision to have him join the briefing sessions. We will set the first for tomorrow morning before drills, but will meet together as usual tomorrow night—no, make that one hour later from now on.”

With that Tvrdy dismissed the meeting, and they all filed out of the fire-gutted building which had been hastily designated as a meeting place, occupying as it did a central location within the Blazedon district of the Old Section, overlooking a flat, rectangular desolation formerly known as Moscow Square.

Tvrdy returned to his rooms in the Tanais Hageblock and entered to find Giloon Bogney waiting for him. “Is courtesy not observed in a man's absence?” he asked, confronting the Dhog leader directly.

Bogney waved the objection aside with an impatient flick of the bhuj. “Giloon not liking Director talking big plans and him not hearing.” He glared acidly at the Tanais Director, defying him to push the point.

Instead Tvrdy replied, “I understand. That is why I have decided to ask you to join us. The briefings are becoming too important not to have the leader of the Dhogs present. Will you join us?”

Bogney stroked his greasy mat of a beard, satisfaction gleaming in his bright little eyes. “So? Giloon joining Directors, seh?”

“I think it best.”

“Giloon be joining. Night meetings?”

“No. Tomorrow morning at first light. Bring one or two of your men with you, but you must warn them: the matters discussed are to remain secret. If we discover any leaks—”

“Be saving your threats, Tanais. Dhogs knowing how to keep secrets.”

“I'm sure you do.” Tvrdy looked at the disgusting creature before him. “Was there anything else?”

“Giloon talking it tomorrow.” Bogney screwed up his face into a grotesque smile. “Giloon being Director soon.”

“You think it will be easy, do you?”

“We fight. We win.”

“There will be fighting, yes—but not for a good long time, I hope. We're not ready yet. We don't have the supplies necessary to sustain a prolonged battle against Jamrog's Invisibles, much less win one. But the time will come.”

“Giloon being there tomorrow.” He gathered his cloak—the cloak Tvrdy had given him—around his sloping shoulders and waddled from the room.

Tvrdy restrained the impulse to slam the door after him, but the relic would probably have shattered into glassy fragments. He looked around the room, but nothing had been touched. He went to a ramshackle table that had been put in one corner, scanned the orderly rows of reports he had collected since his arrival in the Old Section, and, picking up a nearby reader, retired to his bed, popped the cartridge into the reader, and began to scan the contents.

With any luck at all, and no further interruptions, he'd finish before morning, and have an hour or two for a nap.

Treet swayed as the
floor tilted up under his feet. He pitched forward, toward the bed, but the physician's hands held him up. “You're doing well,” coaxed the young man. “Don't stop now.”

“I—uh ...” Treet puffed. “I—need to ... lie down ...”

“Just a little more and you can rest. You need to move your legs.”

“Ohhhhhh!” Treet groaned. “Let me die in peace!”

“Die is just what you will not do.” Treet glanced up as Ernina swept in with a tray in her hands. She had a habit of showing up when least expected.

“Just a little sickroom humor,” offered Treet. “Nothing against my wonderful nursemaid here.” He grimaced at the first-order physician and painfully kept moving. He completed one more circuit around the bed and then collapsed gratefully upon it. The suspension bed bounced in the air with his weight, righted itself, and hung steady. “Ahhh, that's better.”

“That
is
better,” replied Ernina. “Better in every way. You'll be able to move about on your own soon.” She handed Treet a cup of steaming liquid and told him to sip it, then signaled to the physician, indicating that she wished to be left with the patient. When they were alone she said, “I think you are well enough now to talk.”