Return - Book III of the Five Worlds Trilogy (22 page)

On the Screen, Killaney’s face turned from dour to angry. “So what do we do now, Shatz? How do we fight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dammit, Shatz, that’s not good enough! My men want to take the Martians on again—now!”

“So do I, Kill, more than anything—but if we do now, we’ll be wiped away like so many bugs off a windshield.”

“Damn-it—”

Red anger flared on Shatz Abel’s face. “Yes, dammit, Kill! I want to fight as much as you do I want to squeeze the life out of Prime Cornelian more than any of you! But if we charge in there now, it’ll be suicide, and we’ll be doing no good for King Shar. For now, we wait for word from the ground!”

“If there ever is word from the ground—”

Angrily, he blanked the Screen and stood before it with his fists balled. He wanted to hit something. He turned to see Captain Weens lovingly laying the broken parts of his pilot and navigator into a storage locker, laid out like a casket on the ground.

A casket…

We’ll all be in caskets soon
, he thought.

Anger draining, he went to the cargo port and stared at yellow-blue Venus, hanging like a ball in space, surrounded by the tiny black beads of Prime Cornelian’s plasma soldier generators. The generators all seemed to be converging on one spot.

Unless they do something on the ground …

Chapter 27

A
mixture of feelings: joy, triumph, anger … fear?

Swaddled thickly like an infant, Prime Cornelian sat before the open window of his transplanted sandstone residence and surveyed a planet that nearly belonged to him utterly. In the far distance, over the low mountain range to the right of Sacajawea Patera, at the limits of his tepid vision, was a bright rod of light, as if a thousand suns had drilled their beams from the sky to the surface of Venus at once. This, he knew, was the plasma soldier generators at work. Surely, it could only be a matter of days now, if not hours. Now that word had come that the Earthlings had played their hand and lost, the day that Prime Cornelian had waited for for so long, when all of the worlds bowed down before him in subjugation, was nearly at hand. He could feel his fingers closing around it, in what would be an iron grip.

And yet, he felt … angry.

Afraid.

For, now that it was here, the day he had so long schemed for, how long would he live to enjoy it?

Deep within the blankets, his shrinking, deformed body answered him, as the Puppet Death gave his limbs another vicious twist, like a blade turned as it was run into its victim. A gasp of breath escaped his contorted mouth, and his weak eyes clouded until the spasm passed.

How long would he live?

Weeks?

Days?

Hours?

The doctors, some of whom he had had executed, could give him no answer. But he knew in his cold heart that it would not be long. He had known that when Sam-Sei had transferred his essence into the metal carapace so many years ago.

And now! Now that he was on the verge of accomplishing everything he had set out to do, here he was, on the verge of … death!

Absurd!

Terrifying!

Unless, of course.

Once again the Puppet Death took his failing body in its grip, making it tremble and shiver within his blankets.

When the episode passed, he shouted hoarsely, barely a whisper, but his voice was amplified by the slim oval device that hovered close by to pick up his commands.

“Hon-Tet! Come here!”

Instantly, the fat adjutant appeared, trailed by his ever-present hookah on wheels. For some reason, whenever the High Leader saw the hookah, it brought back pleasant memories, which explained Hon-Tet’s continued presence, since he was otherwise useless.

How the High Leader almost missed Pynthas Rei.

“Has there … been any … news …” the High Leader breathed into the amplifier. The words came out loud yet still labored.

Hon-Tet removed the hookah’s stem from his mouth, letting out a puff of fragrant pink smoke. “Always, High Leader!” he smiled.

“… of… Sam-Sei …”

Instantly, Hon-Tet’s fat face clouded over. “No further word on the Machine Master, High Leader. We are all convinced that he is alive and well, though!” Again, the fat smile, and the adjutant replaced the stem in his mouth.

The High Leader’s flinty eyes turned from the window to regard the hookah.

“I … used one of those in … my other … incarnation …”

“And will use one again soon, no doubt!”

The High Leader waited for Hon-Tet to click his heels together, such was his demeanor.

“What …”

Hon-Tet waited, beaming, smoke curling from out of the corners of his mouth.

The oval amplifier followed as the High Leader’s head moved to look out the window again. “… report …” he said.

“Certainly, High Leader!” Hon-Tet beamed. “The Earth dogs are on the run, here and in orbit. Within forty-eight hours the Earthlings will be a subject fit only for the glorious Martian history books!”

Without turning, the High Leader whispered, “The girl, Visid Sneaden …”

The attaché’s florid face nearly glowed. “I was saving that as a surprise, High Leader!” Hon-Tet removed the hookah’s stem from his lips, blowing out a mass of odorous smoke along with his revelation: “She is captured! Her anti-plasma soldier weapons proved to be useful toys for the Earthlings. But in the end light soldiers have overwhelmed them! We will have King Shar before too long, also!”

“I want her … brought here … alive.”

Now Hon-Tet did click his heels together. “As you so order, High Leader!”

Prime Cornelian painfully turned his head; the amplifier followed, centimeters in front of his twisted oval mouth.

“I will … have you eviscerated … before me … if she is not brought here … alive. And I may … have you eviscerated anyway… for not … telling me … immediately of her … capture …”

Hon-Tet’s fat face collapsed, then rebuilt itself. “As you wish, High Leader! And I am sorry, High Leader!”

“She is the … only one besides Sam-Sei who can attend to me at this … time.” He looked briefly at the miniature metal carapace that had been unpacked and stood nearby, its newly enlarged brain pan hinged open and waiting. The cold eyes in its insect face looked empty but expectant.

Hon-Tet regarded the mechanism also. “It was fortunate that the brain cavity could be replaced with your own!”

“… yes … if those … idiots from the Martian Marine … Engineering Corp … had been able to … repair it properly. She will … know what to … do …”

“Visid Sneaden will be brought before you whole and complete!”

The High Leader continued to stare at the miniature of his former metal body. “And later … perhaps … a new body … larger than my original … before I kill her …”

“If you would like, High Leader, I will attend that evisceration myself!” Hon-Tet chuckled.

“… yes …”

“Will there by anything else, High Leader?”

“Yes …”

 Hon-Tet clicked his heels together again. “Give me your wish, High Leader!”

“… get … out …”

Hon-Tet stood puzzled for a moment, smoke tendrils leaking from his open mouth. “High Leader?”

“I wish … for you to … get… out …” The words were harsh, amplified, hoarse.

“Yes, High Leader! I will let you know the second Visid Sneaden has arrived!”

“… get … out!”

“Immediately, High Leader!”

Trailing his hookah, Hon-Tet withdrew.

Prime Cornelian removed his gaze from the metal carapace and turned his attention once more to the window. In the far distance, over the low mountain range to the right of Sacajawea Patera, the bright bar of light continued to flare, as his plasma soldiers battled Dalin Shar to the nearing end.

The fear was gone.

It was nearly over.

Tomorrow, he would rule all of the worlds.

And he would live.

Deep in his swaddle of blankets, the Puppet Death thrust another hot knife of pain into Prime Cornelian, and twisted.

He cried out, his voice amplified by the oval device in front of his ruined mouth.

Tomorrow.

Chapter 28

A
fter twenty hours, Dalin Shar knew they were beaten. Their mountain retreat, with Visid Sneaden still in it, had been surrounded and taken; most of their positions in and around Arabia Terra had been overrun. Only Dalin’s present position, overlooking a mountain pass into which squads of plasma soldiers kept marching like robots, to be neutralized by the weapons Benel Kran had mounted in the canyon walls, was still free. But it was only a matter of time before Dalin and his small army was surrounded by Martian Marines and overrun.

Benel Kran, studying his portable Screen, reported, “Martian Marines have taken the other ridge, Sire. Erik Peese has been killed.”

The king shook his head grimly. “He was a good man.”

A Martian skim copter flew low over their position, making them instinctively duck even though they had the cover of a cave opening. The craft hovered, turned like a red hummingbird with its needle snout pointed at them.

“They know exactly where we are—” Dalin began.

A flurry of raser fire from the king’s men hidden in crevices above them fell on the copter; it darted back, out of range, and turned to fly off.

A raser cannon shot hit it broadside, sending it cascading in bright pieces to the canyon floor below.

“No doubt they called in our position,” Benel said, studying his Screen. “Yes, they did. And they’re sending some big guns our way.”

The physicist moved aside to let Dalin see the troop carriers steaming their way, flanking the two sides of the canyon, peppering the walls with hot raser fire as they proceeded.

“Where are they now?” the king inquired.

“We have five minutes. And nowhere to go; the other end of the canyon--”Benel switched views; the Screen showed Martian positions fortifying their rear”--is sealed off.” He tried a weak smile. “Can we go up?”

Dalin shook his head. “In fact, it’s time to tell Shatz to leave.”

Nodding, Benel called up the fleet on his Screen.

Before the angry-looking pirate could say anything, Dalin ordered, “I want you to make your way to the moon colony on Callisto, as we planned. If we can somehow get out, we’ll meet you there—”

“We’re coming in to get you, Sire!” Shatz Abel growled.

“You’re not. If you do, there’ll be nothing left of you by the time you land. And we’ll be in Prime Cornelian’s hands by then anyway. That’s a direct order, Shatz Abel.”

Painfully, he cut off the transmission, and the pirate’s oaths.

“I do believe—” Benel Kran said, turning away from his Screen in surprise.

Dalin turned also, to meet the contingent of Martian Marines entering the cave.

S
hatz Abel was angry enough to tear his own hair out.

“I want to hit something!” he shouted, turning away from his Screen.

A doleful Captain Weens called from the pilot’s seat, “Ye may get your chance.”

The pirate joined him and contemplated what he saw on the pilot’s Screen: an armada of ships heading for them at a fast speed.

“They’re coming from the outer planets, and they ain’t Martian, Shatz …” Weens said, furrowing his brow.

“Then what in hellation—”

Shatz Abel covered his ears. “I bring you a big hello from me!”

Weens’s mouth dropped open. “That’s …”

“It can’t be …” Shatz Abel said. Adjusting the Screen to bounce the transmission channel back, he shouted: “Wrath-Pei?”

There came a loud cackle of laughter, and Wrath-Pei’s ruined and painted face suddenly appeared on the Screen. “Shatz Abel? Is that you, old sod? Why, it’ll be a double pleasure to plow right through your little junk heap on my way to visit Prime Cornelian!”

“Wrath-Pei, what in—”

Shatz Abel was drowned out in a cacophony of wild laughter. “Why, I’m just paying a visit is all! Delivering Cornelian’s genetic girlfriend back to him, and a little extra besides!”

“You have Tabrel Kris with you?” Shatz Abel exclaimed in disbelief.

“Of course! Wanna say hi?”

On the Screen Tabrel Kris, bound within a weak containment field, was pushed into view by two black-clad soldiers; within the field, which was shaped like a soft egg, she kicked and swore, trying to get at her captors.

“Cute, ain’t she?” Wrath-Pei laughed. From his gyro-chair he reached out the toe of one boot to push at the containment field, which toppled over lazily, like a huge soap bubble, taking Tabrel Kris with it. She struggled to rise but was prevented by the soft field and lay there, panting and furious.

“Wrath-Pei--” Shatz Abel began.

“Sorry, Shatz, no time for talk! Got a lot to do! Bye-bye!”

The Screen went blank, giving them back their readings; almost immediately, Captain Weens announced, “They’re heading straight for the middle of us; they’ve already started firing their port rasers—”

“Tell everyone to spread out!” Shatz Abel pushed himself out of the cabin, and headed for the weapons storage locker. “You’re sure you didn’t sell that ’roo?”

“I told ye, Shatz, nobody wanted it! Too dangerous up here …” Weens’s face showed comprehension. “You’re not going to—”

“Yes, I am,” Shatz Abel said, pulling the ’roo out of its case and looking it over. “Little Visid said it could be done, and I’m going to do it.”

“Shatz! Ye can’t! You’ll end up jumping yourself right into the middle of vacuum!”

The pirate was shrugging his bearlike frame into his space suit. “If I do, I won’t die. At least not right away.”

“But it’s still madness!”

“Then I’m mad!” the pirate growled. “I’m mad as you can get! I’ve got two scores to settle, one for king Shar and one for myself—and I’m not going to pass this chance up!”

He zipped the suit up, began to fit on the clear helmet.

Moaning in apprehension, Weens alternated his gaze between the Screen, the front shield, and the pirate. “They’re blazing away, Shatz!” he reported. “They’ll be through us any second!”

“Then that’s when I go!” Shatz Abel said, fumbling with the ’roo in his gloves. He lumbered up front, gazing out the front shield in the direction Weens indicated. There was a hole in Shatz Abel’s fleet, into which Wrath-Pei’s armada was about to bore at great speed, lines of green raser fire blazing. Shatz zeroed in on the front ship.