Under the Eye of God (28 page)

Kask looked at Ibaka, astonished. “You defended me—why did you do that?”

Ibaka stared back at Kask in anger and annoyance that the big Dragon would even have to ask.

The alarm still shrilled. Now, in the sudden silence in the hall, its noise became intolerable. Lee went prowling through the service bays behind the decorative screens, looking for the main data-console. After a moment, the alarm choked off, but when he came back into the room, he wore a grim expression.

“What?” Sawyer asked.

“I think the attack triggered a remote alarm. We don't have the all-clear code. That means that we can expect a squadron of Dragon-Guards and Vampires any time now. We've got to get out of here.”

“No,” said Finn. “Let's find a way to defend ourselves. This place has armor and guns.”

“And if we don't find them, they'll pick us off like stink-bugs.”

“They'll do that anyway. You saw the countryside around here. Where can we hide?”

Harry spoke up then, “I saw transports and flyers out back. We could use one of those to escape.”

“I like that idea best,” said Lee.

“We can't take a flyer. They'll shoot us down.”

“One of the trucks then,” said Lee. He headed for the door with Harry and the others following. “We'll head out into the badlands. We can use the summer-tunnels.”
³⁹

“Come on, pup,” Sawyer came around the edge of the table, and carefully guided Ibaka toward the door and away from the cloth-covered lump.

Finn gave Kask a heavy shove. “You too, lizard. I don't think you'll have many friends among the Phaestor after today.”

“I don't want friends among the Phaestor,” Kask rumbled. “They have no honor.” He let Finn push him toward the door.

The largest of the transports rested in a shallow pit, like a giant nesting tortoise. It looked like a fat red pumpkin seed. Harry came around the back of it and stopped abruptly. Lee and Kask came up beside him quickly. The others followed—

Several bioforms sat disconsolately in the back of the sealed truck. They looked sad and desperate. They sat with their heads in their hands or curled up in fetal positions.

Lee said an oath in some unfamiliar language and began unlocking the rear hatch. He climbed into the truck and went to the largest of the bioforms, a familiar-looking LIX. He put his hands on its muzzle and tilted its face upward to look at him. “Now, do you understand, Ota? Now, do you see? This struggle has your name on it too. No one may claim neutrality when the Vampire wants to feed.”

Ota didn't answer. The creature barely even recognized Lee. It stared at him, almost unseeing, almost as if its eyes had lost their ability to focus and its brain had lost the power to resolve.

“Drugged?” asked Harry.

“No. Vampires don't like the flavor. Probably just traumatized. I don't know if it can recover.”

Ibaka pushed forward, hopefully. “My brothers? He scrambled into the back of the truck, looking around. “Ujama?”

“Sorry, kid,” said Lee. “No dog-children here. We've got to go.”

“What about these poor creatures?” asked Harry. “We can't leave them here—”

“We'll take them with. Everybody get in.”

“No!” shouted Ibaka. “My brothers. We can't go without my brothers. I have to find my brothers!” He ran out toward the dome-shaped barns on the other side of the villa.

“Uh-oh,” said Finn.

“We have to have certainty—” Sawyer said with resignation, and headed out after Ibaka. The others followed.

Ibaka called out names as he ran, “Ujama! Ibaka! Ribaba! Can you hear me?” He ran pell-mell from one building to the next. He dashed into the gaping doors of the largest barn—

The others heard a yelp. And then silence.

Finn looked knowingly to Sawyer. “Your turn to take the point.”

Sawyer entered the barn cautiously. He took slow careful steps and scanned the lofts above as well as the stalls on either side of the entrance. Heavy chains and metal cages and various pieces of restraining gear filled several of the stalls; Sawyer didn't recognize some of the other devices, but none of them looked like they served a noble purpose. Above, the lofts groaned with the weight of many sacks of dry meal—another indictment. The grain served as evidence that the Vampires brought their prey here to fatten it before they fed upon it.

The place smelled bad. Sour and dank—like something decaying. He knew this smell, but he couldn't remember where he had first known it. The memory had unpleasant associations, and he could feel a shudder starting to creep up his spine.

For just a bare moment, he had the eeriest feeling of
deja vu
—

He felt it before he saw it. The ground shook underfoot. He turned, bringing his weapon up before him. Murdock came charging out of the darkness, wielding a club twice her own height. Sawyer groaned, “Oh, no!” and leapt sideways. He felt the impact of the air as the tip of the club missed him by a whisker. He leapt backwards again, stumbling to keep from falling. Murdock swung the club around over her head and prepared to bring it down again.

Sawyer fired. The beam splattered off her armor, throwing molten specks in all direction. He kept firing—and the beam caught the base of the club near her meaty paw. He flung himself to one side, falling and rolling. The club thumped the ground next to him. He knew she had missed on purpose. The bitch liked to play with her food! Finn had guessed right. She
did
like him.

Sawyer aimed at her eyes, but her visor protected her from the blast. “I've. Had. Enough. Of. You!” she grunted. She towered over him. “Time to die.”

“I agree!” said Sawyer. He fired again—not at Murdock this time, but at the beams above her, the ones holding up the loft. The first one splattered. The second one exploded. The third one crunched and broke. The loft began to sag. Murdock hesitated. She looked up, alarmed. She lifted her club up over her head as if to stop the imminent collapse of the upper story of the barn. Sawyer scrambled back in panic, rolling and kicking.

And then the whole thing came down in a great rush. The beams cracked and shattered. The sacks of meal split and poured. All the weight came roaring down on top of Murdock. She stood for an impossible moment against this avalanche, longer than Sawyer would have believed possible . . . and then, at last, she began to weaken. The bags of meal slid down on top of her, one after the other, pummeling her about the head and shoulders, finally knocking her down with their repeated poundings. She sagged and toppled. She took forever to fall. She screamed in anger, a pitiful sound, like some enormous prehistoric beast wailing out its doom as it sank inexorably beneath the tar. Murdock struggled vainly against her collapse, but still the sacks of grain came tumbling down, smacking her heavily in the chest or in the face. They pinned her great white body to the ground. She looked like a beached leviathan. The debris of the loft continued to pile up around her, pouring down in a dusty stream, covering her, until at last she disappeared for the last time beneath the rubble and the beams and the growing heaps of grain. The dust rose up in yellow clouds.

“Do you need any help?” came Finn's voice from the other side.

“No. I don't think so,” Sawyer called back sarcastically. “I've got everything under control now.”

The others entered the barn slowly, picking their way carefully around the edges of the collapse. One of the beams cracked. Another gave way suddenly. A final sack of grain came toppling down from above, punctuating its impact with a grunt from something deep within the pile.

“You didn't kill her, did you?” Finn said. “Remember, we can still collect the bounty—”

“You would think of the money first,” Sawyer rasped, trying to catch his breath. “She nearly killed me.”

“But she didn't. I told you, she liked you.”

“Please—do me a favor. Let the next one like you.”

“We'll need chains—”

Sawyer pointed. “In the stalls.” He studied the problem skeptically. “We'll need Kask's help. We'll have to start by getting her armor off of her—” He shuddered. He didn't even like thinking about the logistics of this problem.

“You realize what we have here, don't you?”

“What?” Sawyer circled around the great mound warily.

“Proof,” Finn said with disgust. “Proof that the Vampires have repeatedly violated the charter. Murdock supplied them with bioforms and slaves and runaways, all the creatures nobody would miss. They all ended up here. And the Vampires hunted them down for sport and ate them alive.”

“You can't fight your genetic history,” Sawyer muttered.
⁴⁰

“From the looks of this place, they never even tried.”

“Let's find the puppy.” Finn headed deeper into the barn. Sawyer reluctantly followed after—not because he didn't want to find Ibaka. He feared what
else
he might find. Darkness filled this dome; what other nasty surprises lurked in the darkness?

Finn called out loudly, “Ibaka!”

An answering whimper came back weakly. “Here—”

The brothers found Ibaka cowering in a cage. Murdock had trapped him and shoved him hastily into a restraining jacket. He lay in the dirt, unable to move his arms or legs. He couldn't even wriggle, he could barely breathe. Sawyer scooped him up and looked for the release, turning the little bundle over and over a couple of times before he found it. He unsnapped the catch and Ibaka tumbled out, gasping and panting. He yelped in dismay.

Remembering his age and all that had happened to him, Sawyer scooped him up in his arms and held the little child carefully. “Easy, fella. Easy. Murdock can't hurt you anymore. No one can.” But Ibaka continued to scream and struggle, trying desperately to get away. Finally Sawyer had to ask, “What? What—?”

Ibaka pointed in fear—he could see something up above. Sawyer turned around to see what had caught the dog-child's attention. He almost dropped the pup in startlement.

Five little cocoons hung from a beam across the rafters of the barn.

Wordlessly, Finn started lowering the cocoons to the ground. Before Sawyer could grab him and hold him back, Ibaka attacked them furiously, calling out the names of his brothers and futilely trying to peel them out of the spider-silk pods. He sobbed and wailed piteously, his voice rising in a hideous screech. He scratched and at the webbing with his little sharp claws. “Ujama! Ujama! Ribaba! No! No! No! Don't die! Don't die! I've come back to save you! Please, please—” He looked around helplessly at the humans.

Sawyer went down on his knees beside Ibaka, not sure whether to help him or hold him back. Each of the tiny shrouds still felt soft and warm to the touch.

Lee and Harry approached silently, guns at the ready. They wore their horror on their faces. Kask lumbered up behind.

“Shit,” said Lee.

The others looked at him.

He looked away unhappily, then brought his eyes back to the others. “After a Vampire catches his prey,” he explained, “he cocoons it. He injects it with a poison to keep it paralyzed and alive for days, so he can feed on it at his leisure. You don't want to know the rest.”

Kask made a decision. He grabbed the frantic dog-child in one great claw, scooped him up, and carried him screaming out of the barn. Ibaka snapped and bit and shrieked all the way.

Sawyer looked to Lee. He gathered the cocoons before him, straightening them gently as if the puppies within could feel and hear everything that happened around them. “Do they still live?”

Lee nodded grimly.

“Can we . . . do anything?”

Lee hesitated. He shook his head slowly. “No. Not now. Maybe, if we'd gotten here sooner—I don't know.”

“Can they hear us . . . ?”

Lee shrugged. “Nobody has ever come back to report.” He stared into Sawyer and Finn's eyes. “Do what you have to do.” Then he turned and left.

Harry waited only a moment longer, his lips moving silently. “A prayer for their little souls,” he acknowledged. Then he too exited.

Sawyer stood up unhappily. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, he didn't know why. He'd never let himself feel anything like this before. He backed away from the silken cocoons without looking at them. He reset the controls on his weapon, and—still without looking—pointed it in the general direction of the five little objects.

He squeezed the trigger and the tiny pods burst into flame. He squeezed the trigger again and they turned white-hot. Once more, and they disintegrated in powdery flashes. In the distance, they could still hear Ibaka shrieking in the Dragon's arms.

Sawyer turned and looked at Finn. “We've gotten into a very shitty business here.”

Finn grunted. He looked uncomfortable and weak. He waved a hand to hold Sawyer off. “I can manage—for a while longer anyway.”

“Listen, Finn?”

“What?”

“If you ever find me wrapped up like . . . like that, will you—you know?”

Finn nodded. “Yeah, I will. Me too.” He met his brother's eyes. “Please?”

Sawyer realized abruptly what Finn had asked. In his brother's case, the request had a terrifying immediacy.

“Finn—that won't happen!”

“You know as well as I what will happen! Just promise me.” He grabbed Sawyer's arm.

“Please, don't make me—” Sawyer couldn't say it. He gave in to his brother's insistent stare. “All right. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the sound of an airboat came from outside the barn. They both broke and ran for the door—

The airboat came bobbing up over the hills like an arrow, radiating a high-pitched electronic whine. The sound shivered up their spines and then back down again, leaving them shaking and nauseous.