Starhammer (32 page)

Jon turned to Gesme. "No thanks from them, eh?"

"They are a strange pair. Truly they are not popular with the rest of us."

While the Elchites tended the wounded and guarded the entrance, Jon and then Gesme siphoned fuel from the mutants' vehicles and loaded it onto a captured hovercraft, an older vehicle called a turtle, with seats for six people and storage trunks at front and rear.

With reserves of fuel and ammunition taken from the Hardscabbies, the expedition regrouped around the pair of surviving mantids and the turtle.

There was a long moment as Eblis Bey inspected Finn M'Nee and Chacks. They stared back impassively.

"For some reason you have lied to me and committed a most dangerous crime." Neither moved to protest. They stared straight ahead, unseeing.

"Unfortunately, we haven't the time to hold a hearing to investigate the matter now; it will have to wait. However, should there be any repetition of these problems we will have to resort to summary methods. All personal dislikes and feuds will be forgotten as of now! Is that understood?"

M'Nee's head bobbed in a barely perceptible nod.

"All right. M'Nee and Chacks will ride in the turtle with the Orners. Jon Iehard will take Yondon's place in the lead mantid. Everybody to your places, we must hurry."

The Bey turned to the other survivors of the Hardscabby larder. "We have no spare equipment for you. I suggest, however, that you ransack this place for supplies and try and make your way to Fort Pinshon. You are about thirty kilometers south and west of the fort. I would suggest these vehicles here as your best method of transport to safety."

A gaunt man in the tatters of a surface suit pointed to the few surviving mutants lying facedown by the entrance. "What about them? Will you kill them or leave them to us?"

The Bey looked at the shuddering mutants with revulsion. "Cannibalism is a disgusting atavism. Perhaps it would be better to kill these creatures. On the other hand, mercy is one of the greatest of human characteristics. We will leave them to you, and I would suggest that time is more valuable to you than the joy of revenge." The Bey turned away and strode toward the entrance.

The escapees from the larder searched for weapons with chilling little cries.

Jon found Owlcurl Dahn staring at him. "You came back for us," she whispered. "M'Nee lied."

"Yes," he said simply. She noticed the blood on his shoulder, the cut on his cheek.

"You are wounded!" She reached out to examine the damage. Officer Bergen joined them then went to the turtle and returned with a first aid kit. Owlcurl Dahn applied antiseptic and a medipack to the gouges.

"The question that gnaws at me," Jon confessed, "is why does M'Nee risk our mission for such personal hatreds?"

She shrugged. "I do not know, but I am glad to see you again and to have those charges against you disproved." The dressing was completed. She gave him a little kiss on the cheek as he pulled his desert suit back over his shoulder. They parted and she climbed into the turtle, which started up with a roar of engines and moved out through the front entrance of the larder. Jon followed, trotting to catch up with Eblis Bey.

The party of four hovercraft, three crouched, black mantids, and the lumbering turtle regained the Oolite trail without further molestation by the Hardscabbies.

They headed for Fort Pinshon, to renew supplies and to obtain a new guide before heading south. The winds had died down somewhat, the dust had thinned. They drove across a flat plain of shimmering sequins, the hulks of ancient machines on either side in perfectly spaced multitudes stretching into the smoking distance. Light dust whipped from the dunes into the heatscatter of the sun.

Eblis Bey was consumed with anxiety. The decades-old plan for contact was in ruins. He had panicked in Quism and run too soon. Ulip Sehngrohn had been unable to arrange a firm meeting site. All the Bey knew was that Sehngrohn would be in the south. If not at Fort Pinshon then at Bengo's in the Boneyards, or at Guillotine Rock. He had not been at Fort Pinshon and now the Bey had lost half a day or more in freeing the Ornholme people.

He trembled at the cost in time, the deadly delay. The Buro had been very close. He could not fail now! Not when success was so near.

But he knew well that a surface guide was a necessity for their journey. They were unversed in the myriad perils of the vast, dried-up ocean beds. Out there, in the winds of the equatorial dusts, the land changed shape frequently. Groundquakes and volcanism were just one aspect; others were the crustal pits, a unique geological aspect of Baraf, where the land gave way abruptly to holes several kilometers deep and wide, with sheer cliff walls.

Then there were the far-desert mutants. The Zun people and the Outer Hardscabbies. In the Boneyard sections of the trail there were a thousand other perils to beware of. There was no getting away from it, they had to have a guide.

They were about ten kilometers outside the fort when they became aware of a heavy, repetitive drumming sound coming from the west. It grew louder.

The Elchite driver, Aul, said, "Hardscabby wardrums, I think. They have found our handiwork."

The drum sounds were enormous, triumphing over the wind, electronically amplified, distorted noise, broadcast via groups of enormous speakerhorns that brayed into the wind.

"What will they do?" Jon asked.

"They will probably attack Fort Pinshon. It happens every so often. The mutants swarm in and sometimes they even capture one. They take everybody for meat, burn what's left, and depart."

"And within days new proprietors are installed on the sites, rebuilding furiously," Gesme added. "The forts are very profitable to operate."

"Why do they not take over the forts more permanently?" Jon wondered aloud.

"Few travelers would willingly risk the mutant forms of hospitality," said Aul with a grin. Gesme guffawed. Jon noticed the Bey's worried frown, however.

"If the fort is besieged, though, we will be trapped there. We have to go south immediately. Is there any other trail?"

"We need water, we're low on food as well," Aul said. "Superior Buro has most certainly divined our presence here by now."

"I found them filming departing expeditions," John said. "They had been to the hotel. They may have established a presence in the fort."

"We can't go there, then," Aul said.

"Look," Jon cried, "up ahead."

Down the trail from Fort Pinshon came another pair of mantids, at full speed, heading south. From the numerous nicks and pockmarks on roof and side panels, Jon recognized the leading machine as Braunt's.

As they came closer they slowed down. Figures climbed out and waved. Aul brought the mantid to a stop.

Braunt approached, braving the blinding light and wind.

Aul opened a window. The cab filled with dust and the sound of the wind moaning across the dunes.

Braunt brought bad news. "You won't want to get into Fort Pinshon. The laowon military are there. They're landing equipment directly from space. Whole place is in an uproar. We barely got out."

Braunt was joined by the trail guide Angle Umpuk. They clambered into the mantid, bringing more crystal grains that winked in polychromatic glory whenever the sunlight caught them.

"This is unprecedented. Laowon military, dropping straight from orbit! They came in by the hundred. Killed dozens in the outer yard. You've never seen anything like these cyborg shock troops of theirs." Umpuk recognized Jon. They shook hands.

"Braunt and I happened to be on the apron, exchanging engine components, when it started. That's how we got away."

"Hawkstone?" the Bey said, gripping Braunt's hand suddenly.

"He's with me. I was going to take him to Quism—he said he had money. Seemed a better idea than leaving him there for the mutants."

There was a short silence. Then the Bey said, "We are faced with a dilemma."

"Indeed we are," Angle Umpuk said. "I heard the drums start up. The Hardscabbies have gone on the trail of blood."

"They are coming up the trail from the south. To the north lies the fort and the laowon military. What lies on the east and west?"

"West of here is all Hardscabby territory. They'd track you easily. East their control fades out as you get into the continental interior. It's pretty empty, but it's also out of your way. Braunt said you were going south, deep south."

"Mr. Umpuk, are you offering your services as a guide?" the Bey inquired silkily.

"Looks like I don't have that much choice."

The Bey paused a moment. It seemed a heaven-sent opportunity. In the Book of Elchis, the Great Prophet was quoted frequently on the subject of seizing opportunities, on taking care so the deity would take care of one, and so on. If ever a time had come for marrying Elchis to the moment, this had to be it.

And yet he strained to perceive the webs of the Superior Buro. That feeling which had never left him that he worked within their machinations and was anticipated and guided all the way. It was impossible to believe in this fantasy. He, a mere schoolteacher, in late middle years, to defeat the laowon Imperiom! How had he gone so far? Escaped their nets so often? He had never believed it possible, not at the beginning, especially not after the events on Earth. In his heart the Bey had felt that their efforts were doomed. But somehow his people had overcome each trial in their path. This suggested to him that his passage had been prepared most carefully all the way by the Buro, which simply sought to find the man with half a head. If they could put Eblis Bey and Sehngrohn together, they would have both latitude and longitude for the position of the machine thirty years ago.

Yet if they knew of the machine, knew that it was there, why hadn't they scoured the planet months before, when they first got word through the treachery of the diktats on Earth?

Once again he came to that question mark that had lain over his mission since the beginning. The laowon had most certainly brainwiped the Diktat of Sumatra. Yet they had not discovered the secret. Did that mean the diktat committed suicide? Or had they killed him? A sudden heart attack? A stroke during the interrogation? It would be typical of Superior Buro arrogance. To put that weak old man through a harsh interrogation that killed him before they wrested the vital aspects of the secret from him.

If the diktat had died before giving up all he knew, then the laowon knew no more than the Diktats of Los Angeles could have given them—and
they
had only a few scraps. Nothing substantial, just what they had squeezed from the poor men and women who were at the disastrous meeting where the secret was first brought to Earth. Thus the laowon were still following
him
and, somehow, this quixotic adventure by a frail old teacher retained a chance of succeeding.

Now here was a guide. Could he be Superior Buro? The possibility existed, yet there was no choice. Swallowing his misgivings, he turned to Umpuk. "What would you suggest we do right now, then?"

"Go to the ziggurat machines, climb the farthest, and wait for the Hardscabbies to go by. They will attack the fort. While they do that we will run south and hope they miss us."

"Won't the laowon just obliterate them?" said Jon.

"Possibly, but you shouldn't underestimate the Hardscabbies. They will employ many tricks, they will have pops and snaps. If the laowon underestimate them, they may be in for a nasty surprise."

Eblis Bey nodded and committed himself. If he was wrong he would have to move against this Umpuk very quickly. Extra vigilance was required, as if he wasn't tired enough already! The thought brought him an image of the temple schoolroom in L.A., with his students in rapt attention to his historical expositions. It faded into an image of a woman, Aleya, his lovely long-dead wife, the only woman he had ever loved. He tried to blot out the rest of it, the last moments inside the machine. He shivered involuntarily as he recalled her scream. Eblis Bey shook his head to clear the nightmare and headed for the mantids.

The expedition turned and moved off the trail and across the dunes on an angle south and east. Umpuk led them in his dark-green mantid, threading through the machine park toward a distant line of pyramidal structures, which slowly resolved into two-hundred-meter-high circular ziggurats. They might easily have been the tips of gigantic screws thrust from the depths of the landmass.

They cruised onto the ramplike surface and began to climb. The ramp was ten meters wide at the base but narrowed to less than three after two turns and finally came down to two meters, too narrow for the turtle, which had to stop before reaching the flat circular summit.

The mantids reached the top and parked. Jon got out and took binoculars to examine the Oolite trail, which ran past, seven kilometers distant. The fort was out of sight, lost in the dust twenty kilometers north.

Jon scanned the southern part of the trail. The dust obscured everything, however. He was about to give up in disgust when he saw the first black specks charging up the trail.

He called to the Bey, who left the shelter of the mantid and joined him. The wind was fierce at that elevation.

They watched as a pack of forty or more black vehicles rolled up the trail toward Fort Pinshon. Jon noticed that the big balloon tires kicked up relatively little dust; from a distance it would be hard to tell their trail from the normal dust clouds of the belt.

The Hardscabbies went north to punish the normals in the fort and to take fresh meat for the larders. The drum sounds died away with them after a while. Atop the ziggurat they waited, uneasy, with frequent glances northward.

An hour went by and the winds died down. The dust lessened and an ominous hush settled in the north. Midafternoon came and went and abruptly very bright flashes of light sparked from the region of the fort. Soon afterward, appallingly loud explosions cracked across the land.

Angle Umpuk joined them.

More very bright flashes, followed by terrifyingly loud blasts seemed to rock the planet.

"If those are nuclear weapons, do you think we should move?"