Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome (59 page)

The meter-long splinter of crystal sliced by him and dug a furrow in the grass. Treet rolled to his knees to face his attacker, and his heart went cold with fear. Mrukk stood but three steps away, red-eyed, panting heavily, blood trickling at the comers of his mouth.

Treet took in Mrukk and his own discarded weapon in the same glance. He threw himself toward it, falling awkwardly over Jamrog's body, reaching the gun just as Mrukk scooped it up.

The Mors Ultima leveled the weapon at him, sneered wickedly, and said in a low, raspy voice, “You'll have to do better than that, Fieri, if you plan to take over Empyrion.”

Treet sat up slowly. “Look around you, Mrukk. It's finished. The Fieri have already taken over.” Treet wished he could have said the words with more conviction, but his heart was beating so fast, he was lucky to be able to speak at all.

Mrukk glowered at him, shook his head as if to clear it, and spoke again with pain. “You think that matters to me? Ask Jamrog.” He indicated the body beside Treet. “Now, Fieri, you will join him.”

With that he pressed the gun's pressure plate. Treet saw Mrukk's palm flatten and closed his eyes. There was a faint fizzling sound, and a plume of smoke issued from the throw-probe. That was all.

Mrukk shoved the useless thing barrel-first at Treet and then dove for him. Treet pitched forward and rolled to the side, landing once more on Jamrog. Mrukk's fingers were around his throat before he could squirm away.

He grasped Mrukk's hands and tried to dislodge them from his windpipe, but Mrukk's thumbs pressed down mercilessly. Treet tried to scream and could not; his air was cut off. His vision blurred, and he felt his mind growing fuzzy. It seemed as if he was drifting away from the scene, losing touch with his body— except for the fact that something hard was digging into his back, under his left shoulderblade.

Using all his strength, Treet shifted his weight and managed to slide off the hard thing a little so that it was only digging into his side. He could feel himself slipping, consciousness fading. But the thing jabbing him in the side was uncomfortable. With his good right hand he felt for the cause of his discomfort so as to pull it away.

His hand closed on the handle of Mrukk's knife.

Treet didn't know what happened next. His vision cleared, and he saw an extremely surprised Mrukk rise up and fall backward. Air rushed into Treet's lungs in long, raking gasps. He rolled off Jamrog's body and discovered the gun, his gun. He picked it up.

Mrukk squirmed on the ground, his hands clutching at the knife which had somehow become embedded in his left shoulder.

“That's enough,” wheezed Treet. “Lie still. I don't want to kill you.”

Mrukk cursed and looked up, saw the faulty weapon in Treet's hand, and laughed. The fog had lifted enough by now for Treet to realize that he'd made a very silly, yet very fatal mistake: the gun was a dud.

Mrukk laughed again, a short, sharp bark that brought tears to his eyes, and then flung himself at Treet's legs. Treet staggered backward, his right ankle firmly in Mrukk's grasp. He landed on his rump and the gun in his hand discharged, sending a blazing bolt skyward.

Mrukk stopped laughing.

Treet aimed the weapon carefully at Mrukk.

“Fun time's over,” rasped Treet. “We've got a lot to do, and I don't have time to mess around. You're going to cooperate, or you'll be one sorry buckaroo,
comprende?”

He edged close and plucked the knife from Mrukk's shoulder. A spasm of pain contorted the Mors Ultima's face. “Feel better now?” Treet asked, tucking the knife into the waistband of his yos.

Just then he heard a gravelly groan and noticed that the body lying next to Jamrog was moving. Keeping his eye on Mrukk, he rolled the body over with his foot. “Director Diltz, isn't it? Why yes, I remember you. Welcome to the party.”

Diltz moaned pitifully and cringed away from the gun.

“That's right,” said Treet. “I'm not too good with one of these things, so you'll want to go easy. We've all had enough excitement for one day.”

“What do you want?” asked Mrukk flatly.

“Stop the Invisibles,” stated Treet. “That'll do for starters. Then we're going to go down to Cavern level and open some cells. We're closing down the torture shops. Like I said, it's over. Kaput. Finis.”

“Kill me,” rasped Mrukk. “I won't do it.”

Evidently the Mors Ultima did not intimidate easily, and Mrukk had called Treet's bluff. He had no plan for stopping the assault of the Invisibles without Mrukk. They were deadlocked.

“Killing you would be too easy, too quick,” said Treet. “Get on your feet. We're all going for a little stroll.”

Treet felt no hope of getting back before the fighting resumed, but there was no better option but to return to the Old Section and force the Invisibles to stop the battle or forfeit their leader's life. Keeping the gun on Mrukk he shouted, “Diltz, get up. Take off your yos and tear it into strips. Hurry! We don't want to miss the opening credits.”

Diltz stripped off his yos and began tearing it. When he had a few long strips, Treet said, “That's enough. Wrap one of those around his shoulder so he doesn't bleed to death before I've had my fun. Then tie his hands.” He waved the weapon at Mrukk. “Tie them good, because I'm going to check your work.”

The Nilokerus did as he was told, bandaging the bleeding shoulder and binding Mrukk's hands behind him while the Mors Ultima glared death and cursed. Treet was saved from having to figure out how to tie Diltz's hands without taking the gun off Mrukk by the sound of balon engines droning nearer.

He looked up to see the huge red sphere of the Fieri craft gliding over them. He fired another blast into the air as a signal, and a moment later the airship spun on its axis and began its descent. The balon landed in the center of the garden, bouncing lightly as it kissed the earth. Before the craft had settled, before the ramp was fully down, there was Yarden, running toward him, with Pizzle a close second, and Jaire, Preben, and Talus scarcely a step behind.

Yarden took in the situation at a glance. “We saw your signal and came as quickly as possible. Are you okay?”

Treet nodded, his throat suddenly constricted by a very big lump. “I'm fine.”

“How can we help?”
Yarden asked, her eyes straying to Jamrog's whitened corpse. “It looks like this situation is under control.”

“I promised these boys a ride in the balon if they behaved,” said Treet, handing the knife to Preben. “Watch the big one—he's got an attitude problem.” He turned to Pizzle. “You'd better tie up Diltz there. He's bound to think of trying something slick.”

Talus said, “Tell us what you want us to do.”

“Gladly. But first things first; we've got a pressing engagement elsewhere. I'll explain on the way.”

They arrived in the Old Section a few minutes later and landed on the battlefield in the midst of a handful of very distracted Invisibles. Treet pushed Mrukk down the ramp ahead of him and called to them. “We have your commander. Throw down your weapons.”

The Invisibles glanced uneasily at one another. Despite the shock of seeing a Fieri holding their commander prisoner, they made no move to disarm themselves. “Tell them, Mrukk,” insisted Treet. “No more killing.”

Mrukk steadfastly refused to open his mouth. “Jamrog is dead,” Treet continued, calling to the Invisibles. “Dome is under new management. You are ordered to throw down yours weapons and surrender.”

The Invisibles paid no attention to his speech, and instead began advancing slowly toward him. Treet wished he had thought of a better plan.

“Halt!” The word was raw, but forceful.

Treet turned his head to see Tvrdy, Cejka, and Kopetch coming around the near side of the balon. Behind them were thirty disgruntled rebels, each with a weapon trained on an enemy. The Invisibles needed no more convincing. Hardware clattered to the ground, and the rebels wasted no time gathering it up.

Tvrdy approached, his eyes full of questions, looking at Treet as if seeing him for the first time. “I don't know how this has happened,” he said in a voice that sounded as if he had been gargling acid, “but I think you are responsible.” He embraced Treet with the arm that wasn't holding a weapon.

“Thank you for saving our lives,” said Cejka in a rough whisper.

Treet beamed at them both. “I was afraid I wouldn't get back here in time.” He glanced at Mrukk—who was currently wearing the classic expression of a man who has suddenly remembered an important appointment elsewhere—and told Tvrdy, “Here, I brought you a present. Maybe you can think of a way to make him talk.”

“What do you want him to say?” asked Tvrdy, squinting with pain as he spoke.

“He has a lot of people locked up. How about letting him talk about that?”

“Good,” Tvrdy said. “Anything else?”

“Take Diltz here to the Archives. If I'm not mistaken, the magicians are up to some funny business there. He'll want to help you all he can, I'm sure. Pizzle, you go with him.”

“Right, Chief,” said Pizzle.

“I'll see to it,” promised Cejka.

Treet turned and waved to the balon.

Inside the airship, Yarden saw him and said, “There's his signal. It's over!”

Bohm flipped a switch on the panel before him and said, “All balon pilots: you are free to land. Begin establishing aid stations in the designated areas.”

At his word, the Fieri balons began descending into the ruins. The siege of Dome was over.

Giloon
Bogney saw the balon coming toward him; he gathered up his bhuj and strode toward the alien craft purposefully. The last few hours had been extremely trying for him. Leading an exodus of eleven thousand Dhogs out of Dome wasn't as easy as he thought it would be.

In getting to the old exit, it had proven all but impossible to keep the families together. There were stragglers among the elder members, and children slowed the procession down so that it took much longer than he had planned just to reach the old airlock.

The airlock was set in the great, curving wall of the Old Section's outer rim. It was huge, and although they had known about it for hundreds of years, the Dhogs had never attempted to use it. But Bogney was determined to use it now.

He had the Dhogs gather before the outer door—the inner door of the lock had long since been dismantled and carried off for scrap—and with great ceremony lifted his bhuj into the air and waved it in a circle over his head. Two dozen of the bulkier Dhogs fell upon the opening mechanism at once. The ancient works resisted their best attempts; so the Dhogs took up long fibersteel struts and began levering the door open.

They worked themselves into a sweat with the effort, and in time heard a great sigh as the door's brittle seals cracked and gave way. The portal fell outward with a tremendous crash, its upper wheels sheared off.

What happened next could only be described as disaster. The Dhogs were treated to a rude revelation as they met Empyrion's volatile atmosphere. For Bogney it was doubly worse, for not only was it excruciatingly painful, but rolling around on the ground made him lose dignity in front of his people, not that anyone noticed.

Eventually the effects of the nasty surprise wore off. And no sooner had they regained their composure than they heard a most unsettling sound: an ominous, droning thunder which seemed to pervade all of Dome. Frightened and still groggy, the Dhogs scooped up their belongings and hustled through the portal out into the green hills of Empyrion.

They had not trooped far, however, when they were arrested by the sight of the Fieri fleet circling high above them, skimming the uppermost peaks of the crystal mountain range. That, combined with the fact that they actually had ventured outside and lived to tell about it, and the mind-boggling reality of unlimited vistas and far-distant horizons, combined to halt the exodus. They were overcome.

The Dhogs stood flabbergasted and watched the colored balons circle, their engines roaring with power, thunder booming down to them from crystal canyons.

Then it happened. Dome collapsed.

There was a horrific cracking sound and terrible rifts appeared, streaking down from the topmost peaks and mounds. The entire edifice wobbled for an instant, and then plunged inward upon itself.

The Dhogs' first reaction was to run back into Dome, which was familiar to them. But Bogney was successful in preventing this; he forbade them entrance to the crumbling bubble, turning them instead to the valleys beyond, where they watched the destruction from a safe distance. When it was over, they crept from their hiding places to look upon the shattered remains of their former home.

Bogney was at a loss to explain what had happened, but figured that the mysterious airships had to be of Fierran origin. He called the family heads together and explained to them that they no longer had any need to walk to Fierra. He pointed to the hovering spheres and declared, “Fieri be coming for Dhogs. We now be going to Fierra.”

The Dhogs accepted this as reasonable, and they all went back to explain to their families, whereupon the multitude sat down and waited for the second stage for their exodus.

That was how the balon found them, sitting with their bundled belongings and livestock, ready and waiting to be taken to Fierra.

Bogney approached the craft as the ramp slid down. He stationed himself at the foot of the ramp to greet the Fieri. When the pilot appeared, Bogney held up his bhuj and said, “We being great glad to see you, Fieri man. Big thanks you coming here for us to get us. Dhogs ready. Let's go.”

Tvrdy
and a contingent of armed Tanais conducted Mrukk to Nilokerus Hage and proceeded to the Cavern level security cells. The groggy Nilokerus stared in disbelief at Mrukk and his captors. One word from Tvrdy, however, and they began opening the cells and setting their prisoners free.

“Now then,” said Tvrdy, pushing Mrukk toward the communication console, “you're going to contact all those interrogation kraams of yours. Tell your men it's over. Any attempted reprisals will bring death.”

Mrukk stood immobile. “Tell them!” yelled Tvrdy. “Tell them now, or I'll turn you over to your own prisoners.”