Return to Kaldak Part 13

"h.e.l.lo, Kandro," Baliza replied. She turned to see the little Intelligence agent standing behind her, munching a sausage. "Any changes?"

He shook his head. "Only two guards, and both of them half asleep already."

With only two guards, Feragga either didn't fear danger or didn't care about her life. It would be easy to get past two guards, then hold the stairs to Feragga's quarters for more than long enough. Provided, of course, that the other two Intelligence men did their job of stealing a lifter ....

"What if she won't come with you?" said Kandro softly.

"She probably will," said Baliza. "But if she won't, she won't."

"We could kill her," said Kandro hopefully.

"No," said Baliza sharply. They'd been over the question before. If this was the way Intelligence people thought, no wonder they hadn't discovered Detcharn's plans!

"If we kill her, we'll turn all her friends into friends of Detcharn. They'll want vengeance on Kaldak. If we leave her alive, on the other hand, it will prove again that Kaldak doesn't want war to the death."

"Perhaps." Kandro's face brightened. "Also, we will prove that we can slip into the heart of Doimar at will. They'll be sleeping lightly and looking over their shoulders for years after that."

"Right," said Baliza. She punched him in the shoulder. Kandro would see reason if you hit him over the head often enough.

The sight of the sausage in the other's hand reminded Baliza that she hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Her stomach rumbled.

"Where did you get that sausage?"

The man pointed down the street to a shop with an open window in front. A line was forming at the window, to buy sausages, loaves of hot bread, and mugs of beer and wine.

It would not be as good as a regular meal at a table, but Baliza wanted to stay out of taverns and eating houses. In a room with only one or two doors, it was too easy to be trapped. In the streets she could run, or fight, with less risk of slaughtering half a dozen innocent Doimari.

That was something else she'd learned from her father's example and her mother's teachings-although the Lords of the Law knew Kareena had no reason to call any Doimari "innocent." Still, she'd been strict in what she demanded of herself and the fighters under her, as well as what she taught her daughter.

When you must kill, kill swiftly. But do not kill at all, if there is any other way of winning.

Detcharn watched the lamps coming on all over the rocket base. He went on watching until the last light was gone from the sky. He didn't need either the sun or the lamps to know where everything was. The base was his creation-a creation devoted wholly to the destruction of Kaldak and every other enemy of Doimar.

The Day of that destruction was coming fast. Most of the rockets for the first attack were ready in their launching tubes. All they needed was their fuel and their load of fever germs. The last rockets would be in place tomorrow. The reserve rockets were all finished and waiting in the storehouse.

The pressurized cylinders of liquid germ culture had been moved to the main guardhouse. That way there were armed men around them every minute of the day and night. The huge fuel tanks were full, ready to feed the rockets through carefully tested pipelines.

In short, everything had been done or was going to be done in time without much trouble. Detcharn could breathe easy-and also amuse himself. He rang for his servant and told the man to have the guards bring up Arsha. She was the a.s.sistant to the scientist who'd mistreated Voros's pet Cheeky. A pity Voros hadn't shot her, in addition to the scientist, although then Detcharn wouldn't be having this opportunity to punish her himself.

When the guards brought Arsha in, she had a black eye and a bleeding lip, and one shoulder of her gown was torn. Detcharn raised his eyebrows, and the guards turned pale.

"I presume she struggled?" His voice was a smooth purr.

One of the guards gave a jerky nod. "Yes. Du-Shro. She gave one of us a knee in the belly. A little lower, and he'd 'ave really been 'urtin. So we gave her something to remind her, not to be doin' it again."

"Very well," said Detcharn. "You were within your rights. You will hear no more of this." He looked at Arsha. "She will, however." He was glad to see her shudder in spite of the men holding her. "Now leave us."

Once he was alone with Arsha, Detcharn threw off his robe. He stood naked while the woman slowly undressed. He noted that the bruises and cuts from her last visit were healing nicely; she would have her strength back.

When she was naked, Detcharn pointed at the floor in front of him. "Kneel," he said. She did not dare disobey or even be slow, but her face was twisted in shame and disgust.

Good. Serving him like this was still unpleasant for her. If she ever came to enjoy it, he would have to find some other method of continuing her punishment. Arsha hadn't yet paid in full for her stupidity over Voros and Cheeky.

As the woman's lips closed on him, Detcharn once again regretted that Voros had been killed in that lifter crash. He'd deserved a chance to help punish Arsha, too. And if Moshra hadn't died, too, maybe they'd have learned a little more about telepathy from Voros and Cheeky. Oh, well, one Kaldakan deserter more or less could hardly make that much difference.

Then Detcharn gave himself up entirely to pleasure.

Blade saw the last campfires of the Red Cats fade into the darkness behind the lifter. He saw that the other pilot had the controls, got up, and went aft. He moved cautiously, so as not to affect the machine's balance. With twenty men and all their weapons and equipment aboard, the lifter was loaded to capacity.

The cabin was dark, but the air was thick with the smells of gun oil and unwashed Tribesmen. Near the open rear hatch, the air was fresher. Blade stuck his head out briefly, saw the other two lifters were following steadily a hundred yards behind, and relaxed. It was a clear night, and if it stayed that way there would be no problem with the lifters losing each other. In fact, there wasn't a b.l.o.o.d.y thing for him to do for about the next four hours! He might as well try to get some sleep.

Normally Blade would have found it easy to do this. Once a military operation pa.s.sed the point of no-return, he usually found it easy to relax. Not this time. Was it the stakes being so much higher than usual-life or death for a whole Dimension-a Dimension that he himself had shaped? Was it the Dimension X secret being at stake? Or what?

A soft yeeep sounded at his feet. Then Cheeky hopped up on the edge of the hatch. Gently Blade took him by the scruff of the neck and put him back inside. Cheeky had insisted on coming along, the moment he knew that his master was going to war. Blade let him come, because if Blade didn't come back Cheeky wasn't likely to survive very long among the Red Cats or even on Bekror's estate. However, Blade also hoped he could be persuaded to stay inside the lifters when they reached the base. Blade would have too much else to do to spend time keeping Cheeky out of trouble.

Blade couldn't sleep, he couldn't smoke, he couldn't drink, and he couldn't pace up and down without disturbing the balance of the lifter and showing the Tribesmen that he was nervous. He couldn't talk to anyone because Ezarn was asleep and everyone else he knew was in one of the other lifters. In fact, there really wasn't a b.l.o.o.d.y thing he could do!

So he propped himself against the rear wall of the cabin, his rifle across his knees and his belt of power cells draped over it. He leaned back and tried to relax, even if he wasn't going to get to sleep ....

Half an hour later, a change of course woke Ezarn. He splashed his face with water from his canteen, then crawled off on hands and knees. He'd never liked to stand up in an airborne lifter. When he reached the rear of the cabin, he found Voros sound asleep, head sunk on his chest. Carefully Ezarn shifted him so that his neck wouldn't get twisted. You can't expect a man to lead in battle with a stiff neck!

Chapter 24.

Detcharn greeted the dawn on his private balcony. He wished it was the dawn of the Day; he was getting impatient. Also, he was short of sleep. To reduce Arsha to proper submission took a while. However, he'd finally succeeded. In fact, she was now so submissive that his pleasure was shrinking. Should he declare that her punishment was over, let her return to her work, and look about for a new woman?

Perhaps. But he would do better to decide this after breakfast. He stretched, letting the dawn breeze blow across his bare chest. He wore only trousers and his weapons belt, and he wore the belt only because it would set a bad example for the guards if he didn't. Arsha was so cowed that she would hardly have dared touch his pistol or one of his knives if he'd handed it to her!

The rocket base was beginning to wake up. Tiny figures scurried along paths, and steam tractors trailed dust and smoke. Three lifters slid in over the rocket pits, heading for the main guardhouse. Detcharn saw they wore regular military markings. Probably some company out on night exercises, hoping to negotiate a free breakfast and hot showers from him. They should have given him more warning, but they'd get what they came for anyway. It never did any harm, to make the regular soldiers more grateful to the Seekers.

The lifters were now circling the guardhouse, as if they were asking permission to land. Detcharn was about to go inside and Sky-Voice to whatever fool of a guard commander couldn't make up his mind, when two of the lifters landed in a cloud of dust. The third stopped circling and came toward the cliff and the laboratories.

The raiders circled five times around the main guardhouse while Blade studied it to make sure there weren't any new weapons in place. All he saw was the same two lasers he'd seen while he was a prisoner.

Time to land. As Blade's two lifters settled down, Sparra's pa.s.sed overhead on its way to the cliff. The men in it would blow up the heavy weapons on top of the cliff, then keep any armed Seekers or guards in the laboratories from crashing the party at the base.

The dust settled. Blade opened the door and climbed out. He wore the uniform of a Doimari rank which worked out to full colonel, so the guards at the door snapped to attention.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning. Call your commander. My men and I want breakfast and hot showers."

"Ah-yes, sir. Our own people are eating now, but-"

"We've been on patrol all night. Yours have spent all night in bed. Move!"

The guards decided this was the wrong time to argue. "Who shall we say is calling, sir?"

Blade took a deep breath.

"Moshra!"

Then he drew his laser and shot both men through the head.

Blade's shout of his battle cry and the shots were the signal to the other raiders. The turret-mounted laser on top of one lifter opened fire, knocking out one of the guardhouse weapons at once. Led by Ezarn and Ikhnan, forty Tribesmen in Doimari uniforms swarmed out of both lifters.

Blade threw a grenade at the guardhouse door. It buckled the metal, but flying fragments sang past his ears. Careful he told himself. With vengeance for Moshra so close at hand, it would be fatally easy to get careless.

Ezarn tossed two grenades up on the roof of the guardhouse. They blew the barrel off the second laser and most of its crew off the roof. Not all of them came down in one piece.

Then suddenly the grenade-buckled main door crashed open, and the guards came swarming out. Some of them had their guns in their hands, but others were unarmed. Some were partly clothed or even entirely naked. Even the armed ones didn't shoot at Blade. He fired a couple shots, then had to jump back to avoid being trampled into the concrete. The guards seemed blind with panic.

Then the Tribesmen and the heavy laser opened up together. The Tribal marksmen took the guards in front, and the heavy laser took the ones in the rear. Blade had to duck to avoid being shot down with the guards. His hands over his ears could shut out their screams, but he couldn't shut out the smell of burning flesh and fresh blood.

When he got up, the last few surviving guards were scattering frantically, with the best marksmen among the raiders shooting at them. In front of the door was a waist-high pile of charred and mangled corpses. Blade walked toward the pile, although the stench was strong enough to turn even his iron stomach. Something besides the raiders had thrown the guards into a mindless panic. He had to find out what it was and if it was dangerous to his men, even if he had to plow through the sickening pile of dead.

He didn't have to go that far. Through the open door he saw a pile of shiny steel cylinders, half-covered with tarpaulins. On the cylinders he saw the familiar red coding for the fever germs. If his grenade had exploded inside instead of against the doors, and breached any of the cylinders so that concentrated culture of fever germs sprayed out under pressure . . .

He backed away so hastily that he ran into Ezarn. The big man's face turned grim as Blade explained. "No wonder they all came out from there like it was a fire up their a.r.s.es," he said. "I would've been out front of all of them!"

Now that the guards were gone, however, the guardhouse made an ideal command post. With the fever culture inside, n.o.body would dare shoot at it. Or if they did, it would be a sign they were so desperate that the raiders were doomed anyway.

One of the lifters took off, to drop the explosives made up into bombs into the missile silos. The Tribesmen unloaded the demolition charges from the other, then Blade flew it up on to the roof. From there he could cover the Tribesmen with the turret laser, while they placed the demolition charges by the fuel dump. Blade and five Tribesmen stayed on the roof to defend the lifters.

As Ikhnan and the demolition team scurried toward the bulging mounds of the fuel tanks, Blade forced himself to appear completely calm. So far the raid was going much better than he'd expected, but he had the feeling this was the calm before the storm.

He looked up at the top of the cliff, in time to see the first of the weapons mounted there explode.

Detcharn had just stepped out on the balcony again when the explosion went off overhead. He knew it was futile to curse, but did so anyway. It was impossible for him to stand here in silence, even if he couldn't give any orders.

Whoever was leading the raid knew the base much too well. Some traitor of a Seeker, or-and his breath stopped-Voros? Had Voros died in that accident?

If he hadn't, and it was him leading the Tribesmen and Kaldakans, that explained why the raiders were hitting the vital points. They had destroyed the operating equipment of both elevators in the laboratory complex, so n.o.body could get up to drive them off. And they'd smashed the Sky Voices, so Detcharn couldn't even give orders to the guards elsewhere who could move.

But-were the other guards still able to fight? Detcharn leaned over the railing and stared at the distant guardhouse. There wasn't nearly as much movement there as he would have expected, and a couple of lifters on the roof which shouldn't be there, and some smoke- He'd have to get to the emergency stairs and down on the ground. Once there he could find someone who'd obey orders, and start fighting back. Here he was as useless as a kitten, while his people and his dream were being smashed.

Suddenly white smoke began gushing from the rocket tubes. Detcharn screamed incoherently. They were blowing up the rockets! Another explosion from overhead slammed him hard against the railing.

Something struck him hard from behind. His head and chest went clear over the railing. He clawed frantically at empty air, and only succeeded in destroying what was left of his balance. For a moment he hung upside down, his toes hooked over the railing. The moment was long enough for him to see Arsha standing there, naked but with a triumphant grin on her face.

Then as he reached for her ankles, she smashed her fists down on Detcharn's feet. His last hold on the railing broke, and he plummeted down into s.p.a.ce. He had enough time to scream out one last desperate denial that this could be happening to him, before he struck the outward slope of the cliff. Then only a senseless, b.l.o.o.d.y doll was left to finish its three-hundred foot fall.

Shangbari was enjoying himself. After all, what better game for a great hunter than Doimari? There was both honor and vengeance in killing them-more honor, because of the vengeance.

He still did not let himself get so busy killing that he forgot to count the explosions that his men set off. Voros had said plainly, "All the fire-beams on the top of the cliff must die. Otherwise they will destroy our sky-machines. Then we will not be able to fly away, and kill more Doimari some other time."

Shangbari did not fear dying, but he did want to kill many more Doimari before he did. He also wanted to please Voros so that he would lead the Red Cats against the Doimari again. So he was very careful in counting the explosions as his men smashed the fire-beams.

The woman warrior Sparra walked beside him. She also seemed to be enjoying herself. Such pleasure in killing was strange in a woman, but then Shangbari reminded himself that Sparra was as much warrior as woman.

They came to what seemed to be a small door set in the ground. Sparra motioned that Shangbari should stand back, then pulled one of the small hand-bombs out of her pouch. She was about to throw it when the door opened and five Doimari ran out shooting. One of them hit Sparra as the bomb left her hand. She fell, and the explosion of the bomb knocked her over the edge of the cliff. She did not cry out, so Shangbari knew she must be senseless or dead.

Fortunately the bomb killed or wounded the five Doimari. Shangbari finished off the wounded ones with his knife, then looked over the edge of the cliff. He was surprised to see that Sparra had not fallen far. She lay in a sort of nest of wires hung on poles sticking out of the cliff-an "antenna," Voros had called it. If she was still alive Shangbari knew he had to get her back. And even if she was dead-well, Voros had told them not to try bringing home bodies, but would he say that about his own woman?

Shangbari found that he could not reach Sparra's ankles with his arms at full stretch. To get a good grip, he needed help himself. So he called to four men to hold him, two on each leg, and let him down until he could grab Sparra. Then the four pulled both Shangbari and Sparra back up over the edge of the cliff. She was alive when they laid her down, because her eyes flickered. Then a great gush of blood came out of her mouth and she went limp.

As Shangbari knelt to close her eyes, the long-awaited seventh explosion went off. He saw the last fire-beam machine fly out into the air in pieces. That was good to see, but he did not like what he saw after that. A great slab of the face of the cliff fell after the machine, then smaller pieces. Cracks elsewhere showed that before long more of the cliff might fall away.

Shangbari liked even less what he felt under his feet. The ground went on shaking even after the explosion, as if someone were hitting the cliff face with a gigantic hammer. The others kneeling beside Sparra felt it, too. He did not have to urge them twice to pick her up and move away from the edge of the cliff.

Some of the others were doubtful. "Even if the demons in the rock are waking, what of it?" one said. "We have destroyed the last fire-beam. Surely they will go back to sleep now that we no longer set off bombs in their ears?"

In reply Shangbari pointed at the base on the level ground below. It was almost completely hidden in smoke by now, but new spurts of flame shot up every minute or so. "They will not let the demons sleep, and indeed why should they? Their work is not done. Ours is. Let us return to the sky-machine, so that it may swiftly carry us away from the demons if they come out to attack us."

He had to threaten a couple of sluggish fools with duels, to take place after they returned to the village. And if Ikhnan objected, then let him object! In the end everybody followed Shangbari back to the sky-machines.

When the explosions kept going off after the surviving Tribesmen got back to the guardhouse, Blade started worrying. The fires must be traveling through the underground fuel pipes. That was fine, up to a point. But what if the fires reached the main fuel dump and set it off prematurely?

Blade didn't know how much fuel the main dump held, or what kind. He was pretty sure it was a lot, and potent. If it all went off at once-but that was why he'd time the charges at the dump to go off after the raiders were airborne again.

He looked around at his raiders. Everyone who was going to be back was back-twenty-eight of the forty in the two lifters here, some of the wounded. "Get everybody into the second lifter," he told Ezarn and Ikhnan. "I'll take the one with the laser turret."

"It's going to be tight," said Ezarn.

"No worse than it was coming out, with twenty people and the explosives," said Blade. "With the second lifter flying light, I can maneuver it more easily. That could be important, if there's anybody left around here with some fight in him."

Loaded to capacity, the first lifter took off. As Blade, Cheeky and Ezarn got into the second, they saw the third lifter heading toward them from the top of the cliff. Then Blade was too busy getting his lifter airborne, while Ezarn strapped down a heavy Doimari laser he'd acquired somewhere.

Once they were in the air, Blade breathed easier. He'd been afraid to the last moment that something would break one of the germ cylinders. Unless Kaldak's scientists had been able to turn the formula into a usable serum, that could mean a horrible death for- It was like the sun coming up from deep inside the earth. A monstrous ball of orange fire rose where the main fuel dump had been, carrying with it slabs' of concrete, clods of earth, and parts of buildings weighing many tons. With deceptive slowness, the fireball swelled, swallowing everything in its path. The shock wave reached the guardhouse and tore it apart, but before the pieces could go far the flames caught up with them.

Then the shockwave hit the lifter, tossing it like a leaf in a gale. Blade was even busier than before, and not quite sure he was going to be able to stay in the air at all. Ezarn clung to anything which offered a handhold, and cursed the Doimari, lifters, air travel, rockets, and his own folly in letting himself be talked into coming along on this raid.

At last the air quieted down and the smoke cleared away enough to give Blade a good look at the damage. Where the main fuel dump had been was a smoking crater. Around it for a mile in all directions lay blackened wreckage. The base couldn't have been much more thoroughly wrecked with an atomic bomb.

"We could have done the whole d.a.m.ned job with that," said Ezarn. Looking over Blade's shoulder. "Saved a lot of good men, too." He seemed to be expecting Blade to say something then added, "Well, I don't care what shape the Tribesmen's ears were. They were d.a.m.ned good. d.a.m.ned good." He muttered that several more times as he went back to the laser turret and started strapping himself in.

Blade grinned, at more than Ezarn's newfound tolerance. They could stop worrying about the fever germs now. The blast must have fractured every cylinder-but the wall of flame on its heels must have sterilized their contents as completely as a bacteriologist could have asked for. There would be no fever let loose on this Dimension, even by accident.

The three lifters met over what was left of the main blockhouse. With propellers throttled back so that they hung in the sky, the men in them could talk back and forth without radio. Blade didn't want any Doimari eavesdropping.

"Sparra is dead, Voros," said Shangbari. "We brought away her body, so that she might lie among her own people."

Blade swallowed. Sparra dead. He would think about it later. At least she'd been a volunteer who died with a gun in her hand, not an innocent victim of somebody else's madness, like Moshra.