Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome (18 page)

“I know this probably sounds dopey to you, but for the first time in my life I love my life.”

He was silent for a moment, then sniffed and continued. “This—” He waved a hand to take in all Empyrion. “All this just overwhelmed me is all. I know it can't last, but ... you don't know how much I wish it
could
last.”

“It
will
last,” said Starla softly. “It will last forever.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“Believe it, Asquith. It's true.”

“Yeah.”

“Why do you doubt?”

Pizzle lifted his shoulders heavily. “You don't know how much I'd like to believe.” He sighed heavily. “If I thought it could be true ...”

“What you felt tonight was the voice of the Searcher calling you to Him, as He calls each of us. The Gatherer is reaching out for you, Asquith. Go to Him. Accept Him.”

“I wish I could,” Pizzle said sincerely. “There's just so much I have to sort out first.”

“I understand,” Starla said and snuggled closer. They talked of the approaching journey and the preparations to be made. Then they grew silent and simply drank in one another's company. At last they rose and made their way back down to their waiting evees, kissed good-night, and parted. The melancholy which lay heavily on Pizzle's heart stayed with him through the night. He went to his room at Liamoge and sat staring out at the deep, star-flecked water for a long time before slipping off into a light, restless sleep.

“Hladik's ashes and those
of his hagemate will be entombed in the Hall of Directors in Nilokerus Hage,” Jamrog said stiffly. His expression was bland and unreadable; his eyes shifted continually around the ring of Directors. The Threl took the news of Hladik's death in shocked silence. There was not a man among them who believed Jamrog's story of the incident. But the Supreme Director pushed the charade further, saying, “Subdirector Fertig will be apprehended. Even now the Invisibles are closing on his trail. He will face justice, Hage Leaders. This abominable deed will not go long unpunished, I can assure you.”

Threl High Chambers were silent; each Director had understood Jamrog's implicit message: do not interfere with my plans or you will suffer the same fate as Hladik.

Into this tense silence came the tapping of a bhuj on the floor. “You wish to offer condolences, Rumon?” asked Jamrog sweetly.

“Condolences, yes,” said Cejka. “But I would also ask the other members of the Threl to note our leader's remarkable fortitude in the face of this unimaginable tragedy. Hladik was, I believe, your closest friend and ally, was he not?”

There was nothing but innocence in Cejka's tone. Still, Jamrog watched him suspiciously, his eyes flicking between Tvrdy and Cejka. “It is true, I am deeply grieved by Director Hladik's unfortunate death,” said Jamrog. “He was my friend and the ally of us all. To be sure, we will all feel the loss.”

“Most unfortunate,” agreed Chryse Director Dey. “I am saddened and outraged.”

“As are we all,” put in Bouc, offering a doleful smile of sympathy.

“Murder,” said Tvrdy sternly, “is always a cause for outrage.”

There were murmurs of assent all around. “May I suggest that Subdirector Fertig stand before the Threl and answer for his crimes?” added Cejka. “I, for one, would hear his confession from his own lips.”

The others tapped their bhujes on the floor in agreement.

“Thank you, Directors, for your concern and sympathy,” said Jamrog tersely. “I will give the order that Fertig is not to be harmed. He will be made to stand before this body and give his confession.” He stood abruptly and slammed his bhuj down. “This emergency assembly is dismissed. I am in mourning.”

With that Jamrog fled the chambers, his face set in a fierce scowl. When he had gone, the others left quietly, avoiding one another's eyes. Tvrdy passed a secret signal to Cejka as they filed from the room. They met a little while later in one of the disused corridors of the Threl meeting place.

“That was a dangerous game you were playing,” said Tvrdy once their guides were positioned to afford them privacy. “Why did you do it?”

“The monster!” Cejka blurted. “I could not sit there and hear him speak his lies any longer. I wanted the others to know I did not fear him.”

“You would risk all our work for a show of bravado? Everyone knows what happened last night.”

“Bouc and Dey—they make my stomach turn. Did you see them? Even after what happened to Hladik, they still try to worm their way into Jamrog's confidence.” Cejka made a face of gross distaste.

“Forget them; they have chosen their destruction. I have news.”

“Bogney?”

Tvrdy nodded. “He has lived up to his word.”

“Amazing.”

“We are to send more men and supplies as soon as possible. When can you be ready?”

Cejka smiled. “I am ready now. They will leave tonight.”

“Good. I am ready, too. The sooner we join them, the better.” Tvrdy looked at the Tanais bhuj in his hand. “The day has come when it is too dangerous to hold one of these.” He let the ceremonial weapon clatter to the floor where it lay among broken bits of tile.

“You think there will be a Purge?”

“Cejka, open your eyes. The Purge has begun!”

The
machinery ground into operation, and the wires suspending Treet in the conditioning tank tightened. Skank watched as the body was slowly lifted, adjusting the levers to swing it over the tank's rim and drop it to the floor where it lay limp in a puddle of reeking fluid.

“Unstrap him,” said the Nilokerus officer, pointing at the unmoving body. “Get him out of here.”

“Unstrap him yourself,” replied Skank, spitting on the floor. “I received no such order.”

“Hladik is dead. Killed in his sleep last night by Subdirector Fertig. Now I am responsible for Cavern level, and I will not answer for this.”

“And I received no order for his release!”

“Shut up! Don't you understand? There is no Threl authorization. This was another of Hladik's secrets. Who knows what the Director intended? There will be a new Hage Leader selected soon. What if the new Director finds out I kept one of Hladik's experiments? How am I to explain? What if the Threl finds out? I would be held responsible, and I will not sacrifice myself for Hladik's memory.”

“Ahh,” said Skank, winking slyly, “what if they find out you released him?”

“With Hladik's death he disappears. That's all I know.”

Skank spat. “Take him then. I never saw him.” He turned and lumbered away.

The Nilokerus stood looking at the huddled mass of inert flesh before him, then stooped and began tugging at the straps and wires, freeing Hladik's last captive.

Treet
felt nothing. No sensation of movement signaled his release. Cut off from all external stimulation, his senses had long ago ceased to function, his muscles to respond. In his mind he floated, drifting on endless waves or through endless corridors of empty space.

The fearful hallucinations had diminished along with his own dwindling consciousness. Until the last, he had kept up his effort to contact the alien intelligence he had attracted with his mental experiments. Each time he tried, the contact was stronger than the last. Although no thoughts were exchanged directly, Treet had the distinct impression that the entity allowed itself to be brought nearer, revealed more of itself to him. Treet had begun to suspect that in some way the mysterious presence had initiated the contact in the first place.

Treet's concentration waned as his mental energies depleted themselves. He lapsed into unconsciousness for longer periods, emerging only with great effort. The last time he regained awareness, the presence had been there with him, waiting for him. Treet had wanted very much to reach out to the entity—he sensed it was somehow very close to him—but it was all he could do to keep from sliding back into oblivion.

So he had merely held himself out to it, allowing the entity to behold him in whatever way it could. Here I am, Treet thought. I'm yours. To Treet's amazement, the presence had entered his mental space—simply merging with his awareness, but without violating him in any way. The effect was intensely comforting to Treet, who could not have prevented such an invasion in any case.

The exhilaration Treet felt when the entity entered his consciousness was electric. It inundated him, swallowed him, overwhelmed him like a tidal wave washing over a pebble on a storm-tossed beach. Even so, he sensed that the entity was holding back so that he would not receive the full force of the contact.

Treet accepted this and derived comfort from it, though he did not try to understand. There was something there with him, close to him, comforting him—that's all he understood. That, and that this entity was many times more immense than he could imagine.

These had been among Orion Treet's last conscious thoughts. Soon after the contact he had slipped into unconsciousness—though not before he had received a very strong sensation of calmness and assurance from the alien intelligence, a sensation designed to tell him that there was nothing to fear—a strange concept to communicate since there was certainly any number of things to fear, and with more than ample reason.

Treet accepted this offered assurance in the same way that he accepted the fact of the alien entity's existence—simply and without question. He did not have the strength for questions.

Treet had succumbed then, and the clouds he had labored to hold off descended, covered him, and bore him away.

Some time later, Treet
became aware of a pressure on his chest and, of all places, his left cheek. He put up with the annoyance as long as he could and then squirmed. The shock of his hand smacking against a solid surface sent spasms rippling through his long-neglected muscles. The seizure left him exhausted, but simply aware that his environment had been altered; it now had hard surfaces.

This discovery roused Treet slightly. Light streamed into his brain, and he realized his eyes were open. He could see! The hideous wax mask was gone, and he could see. The pressure in his lungs reminded him that he could also breathe. He took a breath and immediately choked. Green liquid came gushing out of his nose and mouth. He vomited the vile stuff, aspirated it, and choked again.

When his lungs and stomach were finally empty, he drew a ragged breath and felt the cool air sear like a firebrand into the tissues. The pain brought him around. He perceived himself to be lying on the floor of one of the cells, more dead than alive. But alive nonetheless.

For that he was thankful, though he still wondered a little ungratefully what his next torture would be. Not eager to find out, Treet closed his eyes again and devoted himself to the luxury of sleep—a luxury soon interrupted by the arrival of a Nilokerus guard with a harsh voice that boomed in his sensory-deprived brain like the report of a cannon.

Throwing his hands over his ears, Treet writhed on the floor, then felt hands on him, lifting him, jerking him roughly upright.

“Get these on,” the guard said, shoving a bundle at him. Treet's eyes fluttered in his head, and his skull vibrated with the noise of the guard's proximity. The room bucked and swayed. “Make it quick if you want to get out of here.”

Treet could make no sense of the words. The man's mouth moved, his voice grated inside Treet's brain, but the words were gibberish.

The guard stared at Treet and then turned around and stomped out. Treet staggered back, collapsed against the wall of his cell, and slid to the floor, still clutching the package that had been thrust into his hands.

Moments later the guard came back with another dressed in the red and white of the Nilokerus. “We'll have to dress him. He doesn't know where he is,” the first explained.

“Can he walk?” asked his companion doubtfully.

“No, we'll have to drag him.”

“Why can't we just leave him here?”

“Uri wants him gone right away. You heard about Hladik?”

The other said nothing, but frowned and nodded.

“That's why we've got to get rid of him.”

“What'll we do with him?”

“I've got an idea. You'll see.”

They pulled the yos over Treet's head and stuffed his legs into the trousers. “I'll get an em—it will be quicker that way,” said the first guard. “Wait here.”

The Nilokerus looked at Treet distastefully, as if he were a hunk of meat that had spoiled. Treet closed his eyes again and tried to marshal his meager resources. If only they would leave me alone, he thought, and recognized that it was a coherent thought. The brain cells were starting to warm up again.

A few minutes later the other guard was back, and Treet was pulled up and slung between them and dragged out into the corridor where he tried to swim to the waiting em, swinging his arms and legs in random order. The Nilokerus barked at him to be still and dumped him in the back of the vehicle.

Treet's next impression was of speeding through a snaking pipeline: rising, twisting, turning, falling, looping around and around and around endlessly until at last they came to a halt. Treet was hauled from the back of the em and dragged across an empty expanse. His head happened to flop back, and he saw stars gleaming through the transparent panes of Dome's crystal roof far above.

He was propelled up a short flight of steps by the guards, who were by now cursing their duty, and at last flung down before an arched doorway. He heard his captors exchange a few mumbled words and then the sound of their footsteps retreating back down the steps and across the empty square. He was left alone, whimpering, limbs quivering, bewildered brain buzzing with sensory overload.

That was how two third-order Nilokerus physicians found him a few hours later.

The
big cat had followed Crocker for several days, padding along on huge, silent paws, a dark, fluid wave in motion. At first this unnerved the man, but he soon grew accustomed to glancing back over his shoulder and seeing the enormous feline creature a few meters behind him on the trail.

After their shared meal, Crocker had slept and then crept away, leaving the wevicat stretched out beside the carcass. When he happened to stop along the trail an hour or so later, he realized he was being followed. It was near sundown, the dense green of the forest was deepening to indigo all around, and the trails were becoming shadowed canyons. The cat was difficult to see, but Crocker knew it was there. His voice told him,
The cat's still back there. Go slowly. It has eaten, so it is not hunting. The creature is just curious.