Was Once a Hero (22 page)

“Beaten
to death with books,” Fenaday said in disbelief.
 
“They can’t be that heavy.”

“No,
they aren’t,” Mourner agreed.
 
“I found a
lot of fractures, indicating heavy blows.
 
I doubt an Enshari could inflict them using such an implement.
 
It would take someone quite powerful.”

“Or
mad, crazed on some drug or something?” he asked.

The
doctor shook her head.
 
“Enshari
physiology doesn’t work like human.
 
There is no adrenaline, no hysterical strength
mechanism.
 
They evolved with a low rate
of predation, so they’re long-lived and with slow reproduction.
 
Enshari maintain the same level of vitality
for most of their lives.”

“This
makes less sense the more we work on it,” Shasti complained.

Telisan
leaned out of the computer room, ducking because of the low opening.
 
His face lit with excitement.
 
“Everyone come in.
 
We have the computer up and have found
something.”

Mourner
quickly followed Shasti and Fenaday into the computer room.
 
The screen cast an eerie glow in the room,
turning Duna’s face into an animal-like mask.
 
He stared, unblinking, at the monitor’s flat screen.
 
Fenaday edged behind Duna to get a better
look.

On
the screen he saw the image of a male Enshari.
 
The small, alien face filled the screen; it seemed to speak
urgently.
 
Smoke drifted in the
background.
 
Flickering flames lit the
area erratically.
 
Duna slumped in his
chair, speaking a few soft words in a low tone to himself.

Fenaday
looked at Telisan impatiently.
 
“I don’t
speak Enshari.”

Without
looking up, the old Enshari stirred, tapping the curiously shaped keypad.
 
The image reset to start and began
speaking.
 
A computerized voice came out
of the speakers, in the same cold uninflected Terran their own comps used.
 
The voice overplayed the Enshari’s own.

“Duna,
are you there, Duna?
 
This is Creda.
 
Everyone’s dead.
 
It’s killed them all.
 
The whole world is on fire.
 
Everyone’s dying.
 
What have we done?

“We
unearthed ancient machinery in the Barjan Deep.
 
We didn’t know.
 
They were just
legends, just old tales.
 
Legends like
the ones you taught.
 
Stories to frighten
children.
 
We thought it was dead.
 
It came back, drew on the power sources.
 
Then came the manifestations.
 
You kill them, but there are always more.

“We
thought we could control it.
 
We were
fools.

“Duna!
 
The power is going.
 
Can you hear me?
 
Duna!”

On
the screen, the Enshari’s eyes turned from the monitor and beheld some
horror.
 
“No.
 
No, go away,” came the mechanical translation.
 
It did not convey the terror in the Enshari’s
voice.
 
The terrified squeaking of its
native voice offered a chilling counterpoint.
 
Creda fled the monitor.
 
They
heard a shriek, the dull, meaty impacts of blows, followed by the sound of
objects falling to a hard floor.
 
Then,
only silence and the snapping sound of fire burning.
 
The screen faded automatically, and the
message began to cycle.

They
stayed silent for a few seconds.

Duna
spoke slowly.
 
“Creda is…was a student of
mine at the university.
 
He became a full
professor some time ago.
 
We used to talk
history until the early morning hours.
 
Medu would get cross with him for keeping me up so late.”

“I am
sorry, Belwin,” Telisan said.

“I
think you may have a connection problem,” Shasti said.
 
“I’m getting a burning electrical smell.”

Dr.
Mourner shrieked.
 
They whirled at the
sound.

A
monstrous figure filled the doorway, lurching toward them.
 
Fenaday’s brain refused to process the
image.
 
It’s made of books,
he thought,
books
in the shape of a man.
 
What’s holding it
together?

The
thing flung itself at the knot of paralyzed explorers.
 
Even Shasti was too stunned to get off a
shot.
 
It knocked her and Telisan flying
as it charged.
 
Mourner stood
paralyzed.
 
Duna dove under the computer
table.
 
The thing crashed into
Fenaday.
 
Years of martial arts reflexes
triggered, though his conscious brain refused to work.
  
Heavy blows fell on him.
 
He blocked, rolling away from the worst.
 

Fenaday
hit back with all his strength, then grappled, trying to tie up the thing’s
arms.
 
Its substance was more than just
books and tapes.
 
It felt as if there was
some thick gel around the physical material.
 
He could see nothing other than the paper and debris making it up, but
he felt a cold weight, like the body of a heavy snake.
 
As he grappled with it, a consciousness
seemed to invade him, inchoate, hungry, and angry.
 
He felt a sense of age, desperation, a
longing for past strength.
 
More
sensations ate into him, and his mind grew numb under their weight.

Fenaday’s
reflexes slowed, and this saved him.
 
The
thing batted Fenaday from its path.
 
Arms
made from books, tapes and paperweights slammed into him, cutting through the
tough fabric of his leather uniform jacket.
 
Fenaday hit the wall, sliding down limply.
 
He looked up, numb and stunned, sure the
creature would finish him, unable to even attempt to draw his laser.
 
Instead, it turned and lurched toward Duna,
who stared at the oncoming nightmare with huge eyes.
 
The sense of rage in Fenaday’s mind flamed,
driving out all other thought.

Shasti
and Telisan’s guns filled the room with flash and roar.
 
Books, tapes, paperweights, the gel holding
it together, flew into pieces.
 
Abruptly,
the hate in Fenaday’s mind became an image of age, feebleness and despair.
 
The thing came apart, and the detritus of its
body tumbled to the ground, inanimate.

They
stood frozen, staring at the debris.
 
Mourner’s harsh tearing sobs were the only sound.
 
Telisan, covering the mass on the floor with
his laser, reached out and shook her.
 
Hard.
 
Shasti rushed over to the
cut and dazed Fenaday, seizing his shoulders, looking into his face.

She is beautiful,
he thought, distracted
and confused.

Shasti
took his chin in her hand and searched his eyes for signs of concussion.
 
Her touch seemed to break the fog clouding
his brain.

“I’m
all right,” he said.
 
“The... the
thing... it was in my mind.”

“Can
you stand?” she asked, concentrating on the essential.

“What
was in your mind?” Duna demanded.
 
“What
did it tell you?”

“Later,”
Shasti snapped.

“Yes,
later.”
 
Fenaday struggled to his
feet.
 
The thing had struck him harder
blows than he had ever felt in any tournament or fight.
 
He felt bruised to the bone.

Gunnar
and the trouble team burst through the door, followed by Mmok, Rigg, two ASATs
and the HCR Cobalt.
 
Fenaday realized the
fight had taken only seconds.
 
His
connection to the thing made it seem longer.

“It’s
all right,” he said as their guns searched everywhere for targets.
  
Mmok, Rigg and the HCR covered Shasti and
him.
 
Connery and Gunnar targeted the
Confed agents.
 
Li eyed Telisan.

“Put
your weapons up,” Fenaday ordered.
 
“Now,
God Damn it.”

Fenaday
flicked on his mike.
 
Karass’ and Fury’s
voices immediately spilled out, calling for instructions.
 
He schooled his voice to calm.
 
“This is Command One.
 
Clear the net.
 
All personnel fall back into defensive
perimeter on the shuttles.”

In
the background, Fenaday heard Shasti and Telisan explaining the nature of their
attacker to the others.
 
He saw
disbelieving looks, even as Duna and Mourner confirmed it.

“Rask,”
called Fenaday, “acknowledge.”

“Here
Captain,” Rask replied.

“Keep
the area from the house to the shuttles secure.
 
Fire on anything that moves.
 
Mmok
will back you up.”
 
He looked at the
cyborg,
who
nodded and disappeared.
 
Mourner and Duna were running their
instruments over the mass on the floor, taking samples.

“Drop
those,” he said, “something knows we are here.
 
We’re going to break contact with this area and disappear.
 
It might be able to follow a piece of what
was itself.”
 
They looked as if they
might argue until they caught the glare in his eyes.

“Take
every record and recording you can,” he continued.
 
“Duna, download that computer disk.
 
We’re getting out of here.
 
Gunnar, cover that mess on the floor; if it
stirs, blast it.
 
Mourner, get back to
the ship.
 
Li, take her there.”

“Mother
of God,” Connery said, “it’s like the Shellycoats of my grandfather’s old
stories.”

“What?”
Fenaday asked.
 
Connery, a former
Shamrock employee, was a native of New Eire.
 
What he said triggered a memory in Fenaday as well.

“Ah,
you’ve forgotten that one,” Connery said, “of the Sidhe; there were Drows,
Pookas, Banshees and Shellycoats.
 
Shellycoats were spirits, manifesting as creatures of rock, shell and
wood.
 
Anything you might find in a
stream.”

“We
have such legends too,” called Duna, from the computer.

“Shellycoats,”
Fenaday repeated, remembering the legend.
 
Enshar’s nemesis now had a name.
 
“Are you through, Duna?”

The
Enshari nodded, picking up his case.

“Let’s
get out of here,” Fenaday said.
 
They
left the room with Shasti and Connery bringing up the rear, racing down
undersized stairs and out the front door.

The
sky above them darkened as the wind began to strengthen.
 
Telisan and Fenaday exchanged worried
looks.
 
“This is more than coincidence,”
Telisan said.

“Remember
the port,” Shasti called over the gusts, “the blast damage.
 
Can the thing call down storms?”

“God
knows,” Fenaday said, as they neared the shuttles.
 
“Let’s think about it after we’re airborne.”

They
raced aboard
Pooka
as the first
raindrops began to pelt them.
 
The other
shuttles had already sealed their hatches.
 
Fenaday hurried up to the control deck.
 
“Take her up,” he ordered Fury, “head out to sea.
 
I want to find a nice, uninhabited island at
least two hundred kilometers from here.”

Telisan
reached past him to flick on a screen.
 
As the shuttles drove up and sped away, they could see lightning begin
to flash around the home of Belwin Duna.

Chapter Eleven

The
shuttles climbed to five thousand meters over the weather, heading out to sea
at four hundred knots.
 
On the flight
deck, Fenaday tried to calm his speeding heart.
 
Mourner came up and made him sit while she used a regenerator to close
the cuts on his face and reduce the worst of the bruising.
 
Fury cast him sidelong glances as they
climbed for altitude.

“Bernard,”
Fenaday said, turning to the radio operator after Mourner finished, “call
Sidhe.
 
Find out how widespread the storms over both Gigor and Duna’s home are.”

“Aye,
sir.”
 
She called up to the ship.
 
The answer came back in seconds.
 
“Both storms were small, sudden and very
local.
 
The one at Gigor dissipated
shortly after we left.
 
The one at Duna’s
continues.”

“I
see,” he said grimly.
 
“Call Mr. Duna up
to the cockpit.”

The
old Enshari appeared, quickly flanked by a worried Telisan.