Earthblood (19 page)

Henry Dread stepped back into the vault, came out holding a second box in his hands. He tucked it under one arm.

"Raise your right hand, Lieutenant Cornay," he said . . . Roan stared into the mirror. The narrow-cut, silver-corded black trousers fitted without a wrinkle into the brightly polished ship boots. Over the white silk shirt, the short tunic was a swirl of braid, a gleam of silver buttons against royal blue. A bright-plated ebony-gripped ceremonial side arm winked at each hip against the broad, woven-silver belt with the big, square buckle adorned by the carved TER. IMP. and bird symbol. He turned to Henry Dread. "I've got about a milliard questions, Henry. You know what they are . . ."

Henry Dread laughed again. "Sure, I know." He eyed a mike, snapped out an order for a bottle and glasses. "Sit down, Lieutenant. I think you can forget about Geeks for a few minutes now while I tell you a few things . . ." Iron Robert stirred as Roan called to him. His heavy feet scraped the rusted deck plates; chains clashed in the gloom and his green eyes winked open.

"What you want, Roan," the heavy voice growled. "You wake Iron Robert from dream of youth and females and hot sun of home-world . . ."

"I . . . just came to see how you are," Roan said. "I've been busy lately; I guess I haven't gotten down to see you as often as I'd like. Is there anything you need?"

"Just need to know you well and happy, Roan. I think now you and Henry Dread friends, you have good time, not be so sad like before." Roan gripped the two-inch chromalloy bars of Iron Robert's cell. "It's not just a good time, Iron Robert. I'm doing something: I'm helping to put the Terran Empire back together. I know, it's not much—just one ship, cruising space, looking for Terrans, or rumors of Terrans, and collecting funds for the Navy, gathering intelligence to use when we're ready to launch our counterattack—"

"Counterattack against who, Roan? You already attack all Gooks and Geeks you find, take all guns and fuel and money—"

"You have to understand, Iron Robert! We're not just looting. We need those things! We're cruising according to official Navy orders, hitting every world in our assigned sector. Captain Dread's already been out twelve years. Two more years, and we finish the sweep, and report back to Rim Headquarters—"

"Just so you happy, Roan; have good time, live to full, eat good, drink good, have plenty fight, plenty women."

"Damn it, is that all living means to you? Don't you understand what it is to try to build something bigger than you are, something worth giving everything that's in you for?"

"Sure, Roan. Iron Robert understand big dreams of youth. All beings young once—"

"This isn't just a dream! The Terran Empire ruled this Galaxy once and could rule it again! Haven't you seen enough suffering and torture and death and indifference and ruins and greed and hate and hopelessness to understand how it is to want to change all that? The Empire will bring back peace and order. If we left it to the damned Geeks it would go on like this forever, only worse!"

"Maybe true, Roan." Iron Robert's voice was a soft rumble. "Fine thing, build towers up into sunlight, squirt water, make pretty sounds—"

"Don't make fun of my garden! I shouldn't have told you about it! I might have known a Geek couldn't understand!"

"Hard thing for Geek to understand, Roan. What place Geeks have in Terry Empire? Geeks get to walk in pretty garden, too?"

"The Geeks will have their own worlds," Roan said sullenly. "They'll have their own gardens."

"Iron Robert have garden once too, Roan. Fine black stones, and pools of soft mud to lie in, and hot, stinky water come up out of ground. But I think Roan not like my garden. I think hard thing for Roan and Iron Robert to walk in garden together, talk over old times. Maybe better have no garden, just be together, friends."

Roan leaned his head against the cold bars. "Iron Robert, I didn't mean—I mean . . . We'll always be friends, no matter what! I know you're locked in here because of me. Listen, Iron Robert, I'm going to tell Henry Dread—"

"Roan not tell Henry Dread anything! Iron Robert made deal with pirate; Geek keep word as good as Man—"

"I didn't mean it when I called you a Geek, Iron Robert—"

"Just word, Roan. Iron Robert and Roan friends, few angry words nothing. Iron Robert not 'shamed to be a Geek. Fine thing to be royal ferrous strain and have friend like Roan. Human flame burn short but burn hot, warm old stone heart of being like Iron Robert."

"I'm going to get you out of there—"

"No, Roan. Where else I go? Not like Terry cabin, too small, too weak chair. And only cause trouble. Henry Dread right. Crew not like see Iron Robert free being. Better wait here, be near Roan, and some day maybe we make planetfall together. Meantime, you got destiny to work out with Henry Dread. You go ahead, chase dream of ancient glories. Iron Robert be here by and by."

"We'll be at Rim HQ soon—in a year or two. I'll make them give me a ship of my own then—and you'll be my second-in-command!"

"Sure, Roan. Good plan. Till then, Iron Robert wait patient—and Roan not worry."

Roan stood up, stretched, rubbed his eyes, drained the mug of bitter brown coffee, clattered the empty cup down on the chart table.

"I'm tired, Henry. Over thirty-six hours we've been hanging over the screens, and we've seen nothing. Let's admit it's another wild-goose chase and turn in."

"They're close, Roan," Henry snapped. His face was grayish and hollow in the lights of the panel. "I've chased the Niss for forty years; another forty minutes and maybe I'll see them in my sights."

"Or another forty days—or forty years, or a thousand, for all we know. Those clodhoppers back on Ebar probably just gave us the story to get rid of us before the boys got bored and started shooting the town up again."

"They're out there. We'll close with them this time."

"And if they are—what about it? We're on a recruiting and fund-raising mission, aren't we? What's that got to do with launching one-man attacks against Niss warships—if there is any ship, and it really is Niss."

"They're there, I said! And we're a fleet boat of the Navy! It's always our job to seek out and destroy the enemy!"

"Henry, give it up. We don't know their capabilities. I know we've got special long-range indetectable radar gear, but they may still blast us out of space like they did that Mandevoy scout a few years ago, before we even get close—"

Henry Dread whirled, stared up at Roan from his seat. "Scared, Lieutenant?" Roan's tired face smiled humorlessly. "Sure, I'm scared, if that's what you want to hear. Or maybe I've just got common sense enough not to want to see all you've worked for—all we've worked for—destroyed just because you've got the itch to fire those big batteries you've been keeping primed all these years."

Henry Dread came to his feet. "That's enough out of you, Mister! I'm still in charge aboard this tub! Now get on that screen until I give the order to leave your post!"

"Slow down, Henry—"

"Commander Dread to you, Mister!" Henry's face was close to Roan's, his square jaw, marred by a slight sagging of the jowls, thrust out. Roan straightened, settled his gun belt on his hips. He was an inch taller than Dread now, and almost as heavy through the shoulders. He looked the older man steadily in the eye.

"We're just nine months out of Rim Headquarters, Henry. Let's see if we can't get there in one piece—both of us . . ."

Henry Dread's hand went to his gun. He half drew it, looking into Roan's eyes, his teeth set in a snarl.

"I gave you an order!"

"You're a big enough man to take an order back, when you see it's a mistake," Roan said flatly. "We both need rest. I know a couple of crewmen who'd like to see the pair of us out on our feet." He turned away. Henry Dread's gun cleared the holster.

"Stop right there, Mister—"

A clanging alarm shattered the stillness into jagged fragments. Roan spun; his eyes leaped to the long-range screen. A bright point of blue light glowed near the lower left corner. He jumped to the panel, twisted knobs; the image centered. He read figures from a ground-glass plate.

"Mass, five point seven million standard tons; velocity, point oh-nine light, absolute; nine-eighty MPH relative!"

"By the Nine Devils, that's it!" Henry Dread's voice choked. He stared across at Roan, then grabbed up the command mike, bawled into it:

"All hands, battle stations! Secure for action! All batteries, full-arm and countdown! Power section, stand by for maximum drain!" A startled voice acknowledged as he tossed the mike aside, looked across at Roan. His eyes were wide, bright.

"This is it, Roan! That's a Niss ship of the line, as sure as I'm Henry Dread!" His eyes went on the screen. "Look at him! Look at the size of that devil!

But we'll take him out! We'll take him out!" He holstered his gun, drew a breath, turned to Roan.

"For the first time in five thousand years, a ship of the Imperial Navy is engaging the enemy! This is the hour I've lived for, Roan! We'll smash them like a ripe fruit . . . !" He raised his clenched fist. ". . . and then nothing will stop us! Are you with me, boy?"

Roan's eyes held the long shape growing on the screen. "Let's break it off, Henry. We've established that we can get in range, and we have them located. When we reach Rim Headquarters, we can . . ."

"DAMN Rim Headquarters!" Henry Dread roared. "This is MY action! I tracked that filthy blot on the human sky halfway across the Eastern Arm, and now I'm going to burn it clean—"

"You're out of your mind, Henry," Roan snapped. "The damned thing outweighs us a hundred to one—"

"Crazy, am I? I'll show you how a crazy Man deals with the scum that challenged Terran power at its peak—"

Roan gripped Henry's shoulders, eyes on the screen. "It's not just you and me, Henry! We've got eighty crewmen below! They trust in you—"

"To hell with those Gooks! This is what I was born for—" He broke off. A tremor rattled the coffee mug on the table. There was a sudden sense of pressure, of impending violence—

The deck rose up and struck Roan a mighty blow. Instrument faces burst from the panel, screens exploded in smoke and white light. He had a glimpse of Henry Dread, spinning past him. A thunderous blast rolled endlessly, and then it drained away and Roan was whirling in echoing silence.

He was on the floor, looking up at a soot-smeared figure in rags, bleeding from a hundred cuts, hunched in the command chair, square fists clamped on the fire-control levers. Roan coughed, raised himself on one elbow, got to his hands and knees. The walls spun dizzily.

"How bad are we hit?" he choked.

"Filthy, sneaking Niss," Henry Dread chanted. "Let 'em have another broadside! Burn the devils out of the sky . . . !"

Roan's eyes swept over the shattered panel, the smashed instruments, fixed on the controls in Henry Dread's hands. They hung slack and useless from broken mountings.

"Henry—let's get out of here—the lifeboats . . ."

"Maximum beam," Henry Dread shouted. "Forward batteries, fire! Fire, damn you!"

"We've got to get out," Roan staggered to his feet, grasped Henry's shoulder, pulling him away from the devastated control console. "Give the order—"

Wild eyes in a white face stared up at him. "Are you a fighting man of the Empire or a dirty Geek-loving spy?" Henry tore himself free, lunged for the command mike, dangling from its socket.

"All hands! We're closing with the enemy! Prepare to board—" Roan tore the mike from Henry's hands.

"Abandon ship!" he shouted—and threw the dead mike from him as Henry yelled, swung a wild blow. He leaned aside, caught the other's wrists.

"Listen to me, Henry! We've got to get to the boats! We can survive to fight again!"

Henry stared into Roan's eyes, breathing hard. Swelling blisters puffed the left side of his face. His hair was singed to curled stubble. There was blood at the corner of his mouth. Quite suddenly, the wildness went out of his eyes. His arms relaxed; he staggered, caught himself.

"Two boats," he mumbled. "I've fitted 'em out as raiders; armor, an infinite repeater each, two torpedoes . . ." He pulled free of Roan's grip, pushed past him toward the lift doors, stumbling over the debris littering the deck.

"We're not beaten yet," he was shouting again. "Slip through their screens—hit 'em in close . . ." Smoke swirled from the lift as the doors clashed open. Henry Dread lurched inside, and Roan followed. On the boat deck, a dense-packed mob of shouting, struggling crewmen fought for position at the two escape locks.

"It's Captain Dread!" someone yelled.

"Here's the Terry swine now!"

"Open up!"

"Get the boats clear!"

Henry slammed his way through the press, gun in hand. He smashed it down over the skull of a horned bruiser in blackened sheepskin, whirled to face the mob. Behind them, the glare of raging fires danced against the bulkhead visible at the end of the long corridor.

"Listen to me, you swabs," Henry roared. "There's room in the two boats for every gutter-spawned rascal here—but by the nine tails of the fire devil, you'll form up and board in a shipshape fashion or fry where you are! You there! Gungle! Let him be! Get back there! Askor! Take number one port!" The pirate chief bellowed his orders, and the frantic crewmen broke off their struggles, moved back, taking places in two ragged lines.

Roan pushed through them, coughing, blinking through the smoke.

"Here, where do you think you're going!" Henry Dread bellowed after him. But Roan was clear of the press, into the transverse corridor now; the smoke was less here. He ran, bounded down a companionway, leaped the crumpled form of a Minid with a short knife standing in his back; someone's grudge settled, Roan thought as he dashed along the cargo level way. He skidded to a halt at Iron Robert's cell. Through the layered smoke, he made out the massive figure, seated stolidly on the steel-slab bench.

"Iron Robert! I'll get you out! The keys are in Henry's cabin—"

"Just minute, Roan," the rumbling voice said calmly. "What happen? Iron Robert wake, hear engines dead, plenty smoke in room—"