The Omega Cage (18 page)

"Only forty kilometers. Why don't we do it backwards, just to make it interesting?"

Nobody acknowledged Chameleon's sarcasm. Maro was tired, and he knew the others were also. A forty-kilometer walk across a desert was not something to look forward to. The choices were limited at this point, however—it was that or go back to the Cage.

He looked at Juete and smiled. It would be worse on her than the others, even with the sunblock. He would have to try to figure out a way to cover her.

He stiffened suddenly. At the edge of his sight he caught Sandoz staring at Juete.

Maro knew the look well enough. The man wanted her. Fortunately, he had better control of himself than most. Maro didn't want to think about what would happen if Sandoz lost that control. He could probably kill all of them without working up a major sweat. Worse, he still had the flare pistol, their only weapon.

Maro hadn't asked for it back, and Sandoz hadn't offered it.

They moved, shoving aside the thick brush, wrapped in the heat and stink of the swamp. Right now, the desert would seem almost a relief.

Right now…

Chapter Nineteen

"Report," Stark said. He leaned forward in his chair.

The voice from the holoproj image sounded hot and tired. "Nothing, Warden," the leader of the search said. "We've spread-and-pinched for a hundred klicks from the flitter. No sign of 'em."

Stark stared at the man's image, thinking quickly. "Could they have gotten some other form of transport onto the flitter with them? A cycle, or maybe another one of those jury-rigged repellor plates?"

"None of the cycles are missing, sir. It's possible they might have been able to stack a plate, but I don't think so. They couldn't have known they'd have mechanical failure."

He was right, Stark knew. "All right, then you've missed them. They didn't take a direct path to the port. Maybe they didn't know the right way to go."

"The flitter's laser-compass was missing—"

"Or maybe they went in another direction to throw us off. Sweep the main track again, then fan out from the flitter. Maybe they planned to move at angles before cutting back."

"Yessir. Discom."

Stark felt a flutter in his belly, a roiling like some small creature having a nightmare. It had been almost two full days since the escape, and his men should have found them by now. So far, he'd managed to keep the break confined to his own people, but within a few days Karnaaj was going to come storming in here, regulations or not, and then there would be the devil to pay. What could he do?

They hadn't found any bodies, and Stark was certain that the escapees were still alive.

He would find them. He
had
to find them.

In the late afternoon they came to the end of the swamp. The mire didn't thin out—it simply stopped. They could see the edge of it a few hundred meters ahead, almost knife-sharp. Dead trees stuck up through sand drifts, some of which were twenty meters high. The swamp had swallowed what it could of the desert, but in the end, Juete thought, it had choked.

"Let's rest here for a while," Dain said. "Sleep if we can. It makes a lot more sense to try the desert at night."

Juete collapsed gratefully, leaning back against the rough bark of a tree. Sleep?

She could sleep for a week!

"A night crossing might not be a good idea," Sandoz said. "The sand will cool, and we'll stand out like bugs under a scope if they come looking for us."

Scanner shook his head. "There are hot spots; rocks buried under the sand, and like that. They'll have to check them all if they bother looking in this direction.

During the day they can see us, but at night all they'll have are doppler and heatscopes. Better odds."

Dain said, "Besides, we only have three bottles of water. With the sun baking us, we won't be able to make forty klicks. If we push, we can cover twenty-five or thirty tonight, maybe more. Come morning, we can do the rest of it before it gets too hot."

Chameleon asked, "You really think we can walk that fast in sand?"

Dain looked at the metamorph. "We can try."

"What about animals?" That from Raze, who was brushing scum back from a small pond; after a moment, she began to dip and fill the water bottles. The bottles gurgled and bubbled in the green pool.

"No way to tell," Dain said.

"At least we can see them coming," Sandoz added.

"That won't do us much good if what's coming is a dragonbat."

Juete shifted against the tree, looking for a softer spot. There wasn't one. She felt her nerves begin to unknot ever so slightly. Two hours ago, something large had rattled the bushes not five meters away from them. Sandoz had snapped that flare pistol out so fast she wasn't sure she'd seen him move, and fired two shots.

Whatever it was didn't like that much, for it crashed away from them, making a lot of noise in the process. It hadn't come back.

Raze dropped several of the water purification fizzies into the now-filled bottles.

The liquid hissed. Juete did not care for the sterilized water—it had a strong chemical odor and tasted like chlorine—but it was better than risking whatever microscopic denizens normally inhabited it.

Dain turned away to look at the distant walls of sand. When he did, Juete felt Sandoz shift toward her. He dropped one hand and gently dragged his fingers along the side of her neck. Juete looked up, and Sandoz smiled at her. She dropped her gaze and saw that the front of his coverall bulged slightly at the crotch.

Trouble brewing.

He moved his hand away, deliberately but not hurriedly, as Dain turned back to face the others. There was no way that Dain could have missed Sandoz's touching her. He didn't say anything about it, though. Instead, he said, "We've got a few hours before it gets dark. We should take turns on watch while everybody else sleeps."

"Sounds good," Sandoz said. His voice had a sexual edge to it, something Juete recognized from long experience. "I'll take the first watch."

"Fine. Half an hour, then wake Chameleon. Give him the flare gun."

Sandoz's grin was lazy. "Sure."

To Chameleon, Dain said, "You wake Raze; Juete spells her, and I'll take the last one, if that's okay."

Nobody seemed to care. They spread the blankets out and everybody but Sandoz found a place. Juete curled up between Raze and Dain, and in a few minutes, despite this new situation to worry about, was asleep.

She had a dream. In it, she lay naked under Sandoz. Behind him Dain stood, fists clenched, but unable to move—his feet were covered with squirming vines that reached halfway up to his knees—as Sandoz pumped away in violent, driving strokes. She couldn't move either. Sandoz's pelvis pinned her hips, and Stark held one of her hands pressed to the swampy ground, while Berque held the other one. In the background, she heard the squealing of the myriad killer denizens of Omega, and the flutter of a million wings.

The horror of it was not what they were doing.

The horror of it was that she
enjoyed
it.

Maro watched through slitted lids the transfer of the flare gun from Sandoz to Chameleon. Sandoz knew what Maro was up to, that was all to obvious from the grin he had flashed earlier.
Why did I offer to take the last watch? Why, so I
would wind up with the flare pistol when we started moving again
. Not that it mattered all that much; Sandoz was a lot deadlier without the weapon than Maro was with it. Still, there was no point in shading the odds in Sandoz's favor. A 12mm actinic-thermal flare in the eyes might swing things his way, if it came to that. And it might, it just might. Sandoz was used to being in control, inside the Cage and out. Juete was a spur, but not the only thing driving the assassin.

Sooner or later he would feel compelled to take over. It was Maro's hope that it wouldn't happen until they reached the port, but that might be too much to wish for.

He finally dozed, but the sleep was not deep enough for dreams or real rest. It was bad enough that they had the warden and his guards and a killer planet to contend with; now, they had to worry about each other as well.

So much for honor among thieves.

Stark stood on the wall next to the south tower and the main gate. The sun was going down behind the opposite wall of the prison, giving view to another of the bright evening skies that on a civilized world would have been called beautiful.

The rain had stopped, and it had come late enough to cool the air without turning to heavy vapor.

He looked to the south, past the M&T compound from which the prisoners had stolen the flitter. They were all going to die for this, he told himself. Except Juete. And she would pay dearly. Before he was done, she would kiss the ground he walked upon, and be happy for the privilege.

The intercom bell chimed softly from the tower. Stark did not turn. After a moment, the tower guard coughed behind him.

"Yes?"

"That was Reader in Communications, Warden. They've got the main transceiver repaired."

"Tell him to continue com silence."

"… Yessir."

Stark turned back to stare over the Zonn construct into the jungle. He hated this world, he hated this goddamned job, and he hated Karnaaj. But more than all of it, he hated the prisoners who had escaped. He could cover it, if he caught them.

No, not "if."
When
he caught them. But that nagging voice in his head kept asking the question he did not want to hear: What if you
don't
catch them? What will the Confed do to the man who let somebody escape from the Cage? Even if they die out there, unless you can prove it, you are as doomed as they are. What then, Officer Commander Warden? What then?

"Dain?"

Maro sat up suddenly, disoriented. Juete kneeled nearby, one hand extended to touch him on the shoulder. He looked around. Dusk was fading into night, though it was still light enough to see clearly. The stink of decay seemed less; maybe it was the presence of all that clean, hot sand so close by. Scanner, Chameleon, Raze and Sandoz all appeared to be sleeping.

Maro moved carefully to avoid waking the others. He and Juete walked ten meters away, at which point she handed him the flare pistol.

"Are we going soon?" she asked.

"Another hour or so."

She glanced at the others, then back at Maro. "I don't think I can get back to sleep. Can I stay here with you?"

"Sure."

He was very aware of her sitting next to him, felt her call to him on a basic, primal level. Chemical, he knew, but also something more. He put one arm around her shoulders, and she pressed against him as though she had been doing it all her life. The contact felt comfortable, and more relaxed in that moment than it had with any woman he'd ever before been with.

"Dain?"

"Hmm?"

"There's a clear spot over there, behind those bushes."

He felt the heat rising from within, hotter than the damp air around them. "Yes."

They stood and moved out of sight of the others.

She kissed him, and Maro knew then that he had never felt this kind of power with any other lover. Her mouth was like fire on his, her tongue changing from soft to hard and back as she clutched at his back. He opened her coverall, bent and kissed her bright pink nipple. It hardened under his tongue. She moaned softly.

Lying on their clothes, sticky with humidity and sweat, they made love, touching, stroking, kissing, kneading each other's bodies. She was beautiful, as he had known she would be. Her pubic hair was snowy and soft, and when he kissed her mons, she tasted like salty honey. She came twice in that many minutes as he sucked and nibbled on her.

He managed to last all of three strokes the first time. He entered her, felt that incredible heat and tightness around him, and could not hold back.

The second time for him took longer and was even more intense. When he climaxed, he heard her whisper, "I love you!" and he could only nod, not trusting his voice.

Later, they sat up, slapping at the insects that had found bare patches in the repellent. They laughed softly together, smiling as they looked at each other.

"We'd better get dressed and wake them up," he finally said.

"I know. I love you. Thank you."

He laughed quietly. "Thank me? You got it wrong, lady. I'm the one who's grateful."

"Even trade, then?"

"No way. I got the best of the deal. Come on."

They stood and dressed, and went back to where the others slept. The night had claimed the tropics, and the stars and two of the three moons were peering out, casting their cold light into the darkness. Despite everything, despite all the danger and risk and exhaustion, Maro had never felt better in his life. Somehow, they might just make it. And if not, at least he had made a connection unlike any he had ever made before. That was worth the trip in itself.

Chapter Twenty

Compared to slogging through the swamp, the sand wasn't so bad. It was so different as to be almost pleasurable initially, walking and sinking in dryness.

The sand got drier the further they got from the swamp, and for a while Juete liked the sound their feet made, almost a musical noise as the billions of tiny sand fragments rubbed against each other and the feet of the walkers.

It tired a whole new set of muscles, though. After an hour or so, her calves were cramping. Scanner took sightings with the laser-compass every few minutes, because they were walking around the tallest dunes and getting off their course.

The last of the three moons was up, and it was easy enough to see in the washed out light.

It was an eerie trek. There was a little wind, making the air almost chilly. Aside from the occasional wraithlike plumes of sand that the breeze stirred, nothing moved on the desert except the six of them. There were short, clumpy plants now and then, fleshy-looking things about the size of a dinner plate that looked something like starfish. Then, two hours after they'd started, Sandoz, in the lead, suddenly said "Everybody down!"

They were just cresting a short rise. Juete dropped, as did the others. Dain slithered up to where Sandoz lay. The others, including Juete, also centimetered their way toward the top of the dune.