Hunted, p.38
Hunted, page 38
“Maybe,” Festina admitted, “if you go out and look for them. But to do that, you have to invent the peaceful art of boat-building. And navigation. And cartography. And systems of government that hold your empire together when your queen is too far away to make every decision for you.” She shook her head. “Success in war always leads to the demands of peace, Admiral. Suppose tens of thousands of years ago, the Mandasars did have a subspecies one hundred percent devoted to fighting; that breed didn’t survive, did it? Either they killed each other in some prehistoric Armageddon, or they starved to death because the workers became too bored and stupid to plant crops properly. Modern Mandasars—Mandasar sapiens—came out on top because they weren’t one-trick ponies.”
She peered up intently at the glass-chested man on the battlements. “Glorify war if you want, Admiral York. A lot of people do, especially since the League has made armed conflict so rare. When no one’s seen combat for a long time, some folks get the idea they’re missing a primal source of energy. But fighting is only part of the story for any species, and the other parts are just as important.”
“Other parts only become important after the fighting stops,” my father retorted. “Kill or be killed, Ramos; that’s the fundamental issue, and everything else comes after, if you can spare the time. Don’t go writing poetry until you’re sitting on your enemies’ bones.”
He waved his hand out beyond us, toward the approaching Black Army. They’d reached the last canal now, the one surrounding the palace like a moat. Soon they’d be driving their way across, breaching the palisade and storming onto the palace grounds. My father smiled. “This is what it always comes down to, Ramos. Naked aggression: might against might. You can rhapsodize about art and science and anything else you think is a great accomplishment, but nature doesn’t respect that superficial crap. Death is the one reality our universe truly acknowledges. That’s why Sam and I chose to start a war; I’ve devoted myself to life’s one overwhelming imperative.”
“Killing those who threaten you?” Festina asked.
“Yes.”
“Eliminating those who are dangerous to you?”
“Right.”
“The strong subjugate the weak?”
“Correct.” He lifted his foot, then set it down on Plebon’s face again. “You have ten seconds to surrender or I’ll show you how ugly war can be.”
“I may have ten seconds,” Festina answered coldly, “but you don’t. You’re a dangerous non-sentient, threatening to kill a sentient being…and any nearby sentients have an absolute duty to stop you. You’re also a pompous jerk-off, Admiral, extolling the joys of conquest but failing to grasp the most important law of all: no matter how tough you are, there’s always someone who can beat the living shit out of you.” She clapped her hands once, sharp and loud. “Balrog!”
Like fire belching from a furnace, plumes of glowing red erupted from the stairwell. Crimson smoke, thick as a wall, exploded outward to sweep over my father and Dade, so fast the two men were coated with spores before they could react.
Dade shrieked and dropped his stunner, throwing his hands to his helmet. For ten long seconds, he tried to scrape his visor clear with his fingers, scrabbling at the dusty layer of moss that continued to thicken around him. Then some particularly hungry mass of spores managed to corrode through his tightsuit, down near his stomach where the front had been cut to expose the power circuits. Air puffed out from the suit’s belly, swirling the spores around like steam on a breeze. As the suit began to deflate, Dade howled and doubled over, like something was clawing at his gut. A moment later, he dropped out of sight behind die parapet wall, and his howling cut off dead.
As for my father—my son, my twin brother—he didn’t even have a tightsuit to protect him. In a single heartbeat, his head was enveloped by a spongy clot of moss: red wads of fuzz coating his hair, covering his eyes, clogging up his nose and mouth. I think he tried to scream, but the noise was muffled to an almost inaudible whine. He took two blind steps but couldn’t manage a third…more moss congealed around him every second, weighing down his legs, freezing him in place. His arms waved feebly till they became too heavy to move; already his body looked twice its original size, with still more spores accumulating all over, packing outward until the human shape was lost. Soon there was only a fuzzy red ball, man height and glowing as bright as a bonfire.
Twenty seconds of hold-your-breath silence. Then the top of that red-shining ball began to flatten in. Moment by moment, more of the ball sank away, spores sloughing off onto the stone parapet; and there was nothing underneath. No man. No bones. Nothing but solid moss. I could smell an overpowering buttered-toast odor on the wind that blew through the hole in our glass cube…and it made me think of a smugly satisfied predator that’s just eaten a nice meal.
As the ball of moss continued to dissolve, I could see that the glass chest plate hadn’t been consumed—it must have been indigestible. Also untouched was the tiny glass container that had once nesded in the man’s intestines. The container floated atop the mass of moss, like a bottle bobbing on a calm lake, while spores kept falling away. Within a minute, the ball that had once been my father shrank to nothing but a flat sheen of red on the parapet’s stone. For a moment more, the glass container remained motionless on that mossy bed…and I could just make out the tiny dot of scarlet inside, the Balrog spore my father had imprisoned.
The surrounding moss suddenly flared a brilliant burning neon: bright enough to blind me for a second. When I could see again, the container was gone—vaporized, dissolved—and the once-captive spore was now just one among a million others glimmering silently in the darkness.
Mission accomplished for the Balrog…the prisoner freed. But the rescue hadn’t happened till after Dad’s clone had been eaten alive. My father’s other copies—Mr. Clear Chest on Celestia, and Alexander York, Admiral of the Gold, on New Earth—must have stayed mentally linked with the dying man through the whole ordeal: must have felt every millisecond of the devouring as if it was happening to them.
I wondered what it would do to you…feeling yourself being eaten alive. The Balrog could surely tell me—if it was telepathic, it must have heard my father’s silent screams—but I decided I didn’t want to know.
Festina was already scaling the rope, hand over hand toward the top of our glass cube. As she climbed, she called to Tobit, “Have you figured out how to fly this thing yet?”
“Almost,” he answered. “Provided there aren’t any built-in security checks. If the onboard computer wants me to type a password or something, we’re screwed.”
“Cross your fingers that doesn’t happen,” Festina told him. “If we can’t stop the attacking army, this cube is our only way out of the city.”
The moment she clambered onto the cube’s glass roof, I grabbed the rope and headed up too. No point me staying in the cube: I couldn’t help Tobit with the controls, and I couldn’t help Innocence either. Sometime in the past two minutes, while I was watching my dad get eaten, Innocence had quietly passed out. Maybe that was a good sign—Mandasars shut down like that when their metabolisms shift into a full-out healing state—but it could also mean she was too broken inside to keep herself awake. We needed to get Innocence to the infirmary…but she wouldn’t be safe till we stopped the Black Army.
Outside the cube, the air had curdled with the smell of buttered toast—eau de Balrog, so thick the night breeze couldn’t dissipate it. From this angle, I could see how much of the parapet was covered with glowing red: a bulgy patch where my father had been, a Dade-shaped mound nearby, a light dusting everywhere else. Plebon and the Mandasars had been pelted with their share of spores when the Balrog exploded from the stairwell, but they weren’t coated solidly…just a sprinkle of specks, like gleaming freckles all over their bodies.
Festina turned toward me as I joined her. She stood at the edge of the cube, where it nuzzled the top of the parapet wall. No spores had fallen on the cube itself; but if Festina took another step forward, she’d be walking on moss dust.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Is it going to eat us?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It sure likes pretending it wants to eat us…but that might be its idea of a joke. Jumping out and going, ‘Boo!’ at the lower species. If the Balrog really wanted to have us for supper, it could have done that long ago.”
“Maybe it’s just following its own code of ethics,” Festina suggested. “Can’t eat anyone who keeps a respectful distance, but if you actually step on a spore, you’re fair game.”
She had a point. Maybe if you stepped on a bunch of moss, it actually hurt the spores—I’d get hurt if someone walked all over me. In that case, the Balrog might feel perfectly justified in biting your feet.
I glanced back at the palace’s palisade. Outside, the Black Army was massing for its final assault, with ramps and battering rams and siege .towers. Even worse, four Laughing Larries had taken up positions just inside one section of wall; by the look of it, they’d soon open fire, slaughtering nearby guards as the attackers began smashing their way in.
Whatever we needed to do, we’d better do it fast. Time to try a trick. “Give me a second,” I told Festina. Then I closed my eyes and thought of pheromones.
Here are the pheromones I’d made: the lust scent that got Festina talking about judo mats; the “don’t be scared” smell I’d used to comfort Counselor; the royal pheromone that screamed, “Obey me now!” Some of those chemicals worked on humans, some worked on Mandasars. I didn’t know if I could make something to work on Balrogs…but Balrogs could “taste” pheromones so maybe the darned moss could be affected too.
Back on the orbital I’d tried to make a Balrog repellant and Kaisho had got real mad: Stop it, Edward, before you produce something deadly. Okay—maybe it was dangerous, trying to make the Balrog go away…but what if I made it nice?
I pictured a different sort of royal pheromone: not one to subdue peasants, but one that spoke to rulers. A scent that said, Some people end up in positions of power; and if you’re the one who comes out on top, you have to be good about it. You have to do the right thing, and never ever act like a jerk.
It wasn’t a fancy sentiment, and any philosopher would nitpick it to pieces…but the Balrog and me, we had things in common. If we really wanted, we could both run roughshod over normal folks; so we had to take special care not to. Do the right thing and don’t act like a jerk. That was a rule I wanted to follow myself, and I wanted the Balrog to follow it too. I tried to make a pheromone that would stir some sense of scruples in a bunch of glowing alien spores…
…and as I stood there on the edge of the ramparts, the spores just drifted away—slid silendy off Plebon and the Mandasars, sifted over the parapet stones, and drew back to the stairwell. Ten seconds later, Dade was still covered in fuzz but the rest of the area was absolutely clear.
“Holy shit,” Festina whispered. “Did you do that?”
“Um. Maybe.”
“With pheromones?”
“Maybe.”
She shuddered. “Makes me glad I’m wearing this tight-suit. If you can drive off the Balrog, you probably smell like the rear end of something whose front end is dead.”
“No,” I said. “I smell like conscience.” Then I stepped over the rampart wall and onto the parapet.
Fast as we could, we heaved Plebon and the Mandasars onto the top of the glass cube. The unconscious Zeeleepull took a ton of work and when we were finished, his shell had a bunch of new dents and scratches…but at least we got everybody safely onto the cube’s upper surface. No way we could get them all inside—it would take a heavy-duty winch to lower Zeeleepull through that hole in the roof—but if Tobit could hold the cube level as it flew, our friends would be safe where they were.
Provided Tobit could fly the cube at all.
“Ready to go?” Tobit yelled up through the hole.
Festina looked back at the parapet. Kaisho and her wheelchair still sat in the mouth of the stairwell. The admiral paused a moment longer, then sighed. “Hold on a minute, Phylar. One more passenger to pick up.”
I was already hopping onto the parapet one last time. The main mass of Balrog had retreated a bit down the ramp, leaving Kaisho sitting out on her own. She’d slumped good and limp when Dade shot her with the stunner; but as we grabbed the arms of her chair, she lifted her head. “That won’t be necessary,” she whispered.
Festina jerked in surprise. She let go of the chair and balled her hands into fists; but after a second she let her hands relax. “You recover amazingly fast from being stunned,” she told Kaisho. “Most organisms stay unconscious for six hours.”
“Only if they have conventional nervous systems,” Kaisho replied. “I’ve gone a bit beyond that.”
“Were you unconscious at all?”
“Part of me,” she admitted. “As for the other part…it’s thrilled not to be linked with Alexander York.”
“There are still versions of him on Celestia and New Earth,” Festina said.
“Not in working condition,” Kaisho replied. “When the Balrog retrieved that gizmo from the clone’s gullet, we used it to send a shot of feedback along the line. One good focused pulse of psychic energy…and the containers inside the other two Admiral Yorks suffered rather spectacular meltdowns. At the time, the New Earth version of the bastard was sitting with the entire High Council at Admiralty HQ. His death made quite a splash. Consider it a windfall for the other admirals’ dry cleaners.” She turned to me. “Should I offer my condolences or my congratulations?”
“Um.”
I didn’t like my father. I didn’t like my sister either, not once I learned all the awful things she’d been doing. It seemed really dumb to be sad they were gone.
But then, I’ve always been dumb, haven’t I?
47
PUSHING BACK THE ENEMY
A booming thud hit the palace’s west gate: the first slam of a battering ram. “No more time,” Festina snapped.
“Hang on, Kaisho, you’re coming with us.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere the Black Army isn’t.” She pointed to the hoverchair’s controls. “Fire up your engines and let’s go.”
“No need,” Kaisho said. “We’re safe here.”
Another boom smashed the gates. The Black Army’s Laughing Larries spun into a full hyena cackle, their whoops echoing off the palace’s stonework. Any second they’d open fire.
“Hear that?” Festina asked. “Nobody’s safe, not tonight. Even your precious Balrog should worry. Those troops are surely prepared to burn every speck of moss they see. No matter how fast spores can eat through an enemy’s shell, fire works faster.”
“There is no enemy,” Kaisho replied. “Not anymore. We’ve dealt with Admiral York, and everybody left is just an innocent pawn.”
“Those pawns have been ordered to kill, and there’s no one to call them off.”
“They’ll call themselves off, (tear Festina…if we demonstrate there are forces in the universe that lesser species shouldn’t fuck with.”
“Uh-oh,” Festina said. “You aren’t going to…remember, you just called them innocent pawns.”
“Of course,” Kaisho answered sweetly. “But as Teelu told you a few minutes ago, the Balrog loves jumping out and going, ‘Boo!’“
Another boom banged above the Larries’ howl. The noise was followed by a heavy crunching sound…but the crunch didn’t come from the army at the palace gates. I looked toward the front of the palace, out where the moss was thickest. It had blazed up bright and angry, a furious fuzzy crimson all over the stonework queen’s head and her four claws.
One of the claws was trying to wrench itself off its foundations.
Slowly, ponderously, the claw crunched back and forth, as if it was stuck in a bit of mud and just needed to be teased loose. The moss on the wriggling claw flared another notch brighter…and suddenly the claw was moving freely, a building wing four stories tall, lifting into the air.
The claw flexed once, as if it was stiff from lying immobile for so long. Mortar crackled and dust showered out from between cracks in the stone, but the whole thing held together somehow: from the sheer telekinetic force of a trillion Balrog spores showing off their strength.
Without a pause, another claw began to work itself free.
“If I were you,” Kaisho told Festina, “I’d hop onto that glass cube and head a hundred meters straight up.”
“It’s going to get dangerous down here?”
“No, the Balrog won’t hurt anybody. But you’re going to kick yourself if you don’t go high enough to get a good view.”
She caught Festina’s gloved hand and pulled it to her lips for a kiss. As she did, the hair covering her face slid aside; with a squirm in my stomach, I saw crimson moss now coated her cheeks, her forehead, even bristly wads over her eyes. There was no way she could possibly see through that glowing fuzz…but I guess Kaisho had reached the point where the moss did her seeing for her.
“Go,” she said to Festina: a single word, spoken in a real human voice, not her usual whisper.
Then Kaisho turned to me and held out her hand. A bit reluctantly, I came forward and took it. She clasped both hands around mine and drew me in gently, so I was forced to crouch up close to her. “Teelu,” she whispered, her breath brushing my cheek, “a pity we won’t be working together. I would have enjoyed touching my mind to yours. But you’ve persuaded the Balrog not to embrace you as its own. Others have prior claim on you.”
“Who?” I asked.
She gave me a littie kiss on the nose. “Your people,” she whispered, “as you know full well. You still consider yourself unintelligent, Teelu, it’s charming, but you’ll have to grow out of it. Kings need confidence.”
Before I could answer, she put her finger to my mouth to stop me from speaking. Next thing I knew, her voice was talking right inside my head. “Sometime in the next eighteen years, Teelu, I’ll visit you, wherever you are. The Balrog believes it would be amusing for you and me to have a child: mostly human, but with your control of pheromones and my enhanced mental abilities. Apparently, this is why the Balrog fused with me in the first place; and for twenty-five years, it’s been transforming my body chemistry to make such a pregnancy possible. A few more years, and I’ll be ready.” She leaned forward and kissed me with her moss-covered lips. “It’s a bitch dealing with precognitive races. But if everything I’ve gone through is gearing me up for a night with you…well, life has its compensations, doesn’t it?”
She peered up intently at the glass-chested man on the battlements. “Glorify war if you want, Admiral York. A lot of people do, especially since the League has made armed conflict so rare. When no one’s seen combat for a long time, some folks get the idea they’re missing a primal source of energy. But fighting is only part of the story for any species, and the other parts are just as important.”
“Other parts only become important after the fighting stops,” my father retorted. “Kill or be killed, Ramos; that’s the fundamental issue, and everything else comes after, if you can spare the time. Don’t go writing poetry until you’re sitting on your enemies’ bones.”
He waved his hand out beyond us, toward the approaching Black Army. They’d reached the last canal now, the one surrounding the palace like a moat. Soon they’d be driving their way across, breaching the palisade and storming onto the palace grounds. My father smiled. “This is what it always comes down to, Ramos. Naked aggression: might against might. You can rhapsodize about art and science and anything else you think is a great accomplishment, but nature doesn’t respect that superficial crap. Death is the one reality our universe truly acknowledges. That’s why Sam and I chose to start a war; I’ve devoted myself to life’s one overwhelming imperative.”
“Killing those who threaten you?” Festina asked.
“Yes.”
“Eliminating those who are dangerous to you?”
“Right.”
“The strong subjugate the weak?”
“Correct.” He lifted his foot, then set it down on Plebon’s face again. “You have ten seconds to surrender or I’ll show you how ugly war can be.”
“I may have ten seconds,” Festina answered coldly, “but you don’t. You’re a dangerous non-sentient, threatening to kill a sentient being…and any nearby sentients have an absolute duty to stop you. You’re also a pompous jerk-off, Admiral, extolling the joys of conquest but failing to grasp the most important law of all: no matter how tough you are, there’s always someone who can beat the living shit out of you.” She clapped her hands once, sharp and loud. “Balrog!”
Like fire belching from a furnace, plumes of glowing red erupted from the stairwell. Crimson smoke, thick as a wall, exploded outward to sweep over my father and Dade, so fast the two men were coated with spores before they could react.
Dade shrieked and dropped his stunner, throwing his hands to his helmet. For ten long seconds, he tried to scrape his visor clear with his fingers, scrabbling at the dusty layer of moss that continued to thicken around him. Then some particularly hungry mass of spores managed to corrode through his tightsuit, down near his stomach where the front had been cut to expose the power circuits. Air puffed out from the suit’s belly, swirling the spores around like steam on a breeze. As the suit began to deflate, Dade howled and doubled over, like something was clawing at his gut. A moment later, he dropped out of sight behind die parapet wall, and his howling cut off dead.
As for my father—my son, my twin brother—he didn’t even have a tightsuit to protect him. In a single heartbeat, his head was enveloped by a spongy clot of moss: red wads of fuzz coating his hair, covering his eyes, clogging up his nose and mouth. I think he tried to scream, but the noise was muffled to an almost inaudible whine. He took two blind steps but couldn’t manage a third…more moss congealed around him every second, weighing down his legs, freezing him in place. His arms waved feebly till they became too heavy to move; already his body looked twice its original size, with still more spores accumulating all over, packing outward until the human shape was lost. Soon there was only a fuzzy red ball, man height and glowing as bright as a bonfire.
Twenty seconds of hold-your-breath silence. Then the top of that red-shining ball began to flatten in. Moment by moment, more of the ball sank away, spores sloughing off onto the stone parapet; and there was nothing underneath. No man. No bones. Nothing but solid moss. I could smell an overpowering buttered-toast odor on the wind that blew through the hole in our glass cube…and it made me think of a smugly satisfied predator that’s just eaten a nice meal.
As the ball of moss continued to dissolve, I could see that the glass chest plate hadn’t been consumed—it must have been indigestible. Also untouched was the tiny glass container that had once nesded in the man’s intestines. The container floated atop the mass of moss, like a bottle bobbing on a calm lake, while spores kept falling away. Within a minute, the ball that had once been my father shrank to nothing but a flat sheen of red on the parapet’s stone. For a moment more, the glass container remained motionless on that mossy bed…and I could just make out the tiny dot of scarlet inside, the Balrog spore my father had imprisoned.
The surrounding moss suddenly flared a brilliant burning neon: bright enough to blind me for a second. When I could see again, the container was gone—vaporized, dissolved—and the once-captive spore was now just one among a million others glimmering silently in the darkness.
Mission accomplished for the Balrog…the prisoner freed. But the rescue hadn’t happened till after Dad’s clone had been eaten alive. My father’s other copies—Mr. Clear Chest on Celestia, and Alexander York, Admiral of the Gold, on New Earth—must have stayed mentally linked with the dying man through the whole ordeal: must have felt every millisecond of the devouring as if it was happening to them.
I wondered what it would do to you…feeling yourself being eaten alive. The Balrog could surely tell me—if it was telepathic, it must have heard my father’s silent screams—but I decided I didn’t want to know.
Festina was already scaling the rope, hand over hand toward the top of our glass cube. As she climbed, she called to Tobit, “Have you figured out how to fly this thing yet?”
“Almost,” he answered. “Provided there aren’t any built-in security checks. If the onboard computer wants me to type a password or something, we’re screwed.”
“Cross your fingers that doesn’t happen,” Festina told him. “If we can’t stop the attacking army, this cube is our only way out of the city.”
The moment she clambered onto the cube’s glass roof, I grabbed the rope and headed up too. No point me staying in the cube: I couldn’t help Tobit with the controls, and I couldn’t help Innocence either. Sometime in the past two minutes, while I was watching my dad get eaten, Innocence had quietly passed out. Maybe that was a good sign—Mandasars shut down like that when their metabolisms shift into a full-out healing state—but it could also mean she was too broken inside to keep herself awake. We needed to get Innocence to the infirmary…but she wouldn’t be safe till we stopped the Black Army.
Outside the cube, the air had curdled with the smell of buttered toast—eau de Balrog, so thick the night breeze couldn’t dissipate it. From this angle, I could see how much of the parapet was covered with glowing red: a bulgy patch where my father had been, a Dade-shaped mound nearby, a light dusting everywhere else. Plebon and the Mandasars had been pelted with their share of spores when the Balrog exploded from the stairwell, but they weren’t coated solidly…just a sprinkle of specks, like gleaming freckles all over their bodies.
Festina turned toward me as I joined her. She stood at the edge of the cube, where it nuzzled the top of the parapet wall. No spores had fallen on the cube itself; but if Festina took another step forward, she’d be walking on moss dust.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Is it going to eat us?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It sure likes pretending it wants to eat us…but that might be its idea of a joke. Jumping out and going, ‘Boo!’ at the lower species. If the Balrog really wanted to have us for supper, it could have done that long ago.”
“Maybe it’s just following its own code of ethics,” Festina suggested. “Can’t eat anyone who keeps a respectful distance, but if you actually step on a spore, you’re fair game.”
She had a point. Maybe if you stepped on a bunch of moss, it actually hurt the spores—I’d get hurt if someone walked all over me. In that case, the Balrog might feel perfectly justified in biting your feet.
I glanced back at the palace’s palisade. Outside, the Black Army was massing for its final assault, with ramps and battering rams and siege .towers. Even worse, four Laughing Larries had taken up positions just inside one section of wall; by the look of it, they’d soon open fire, slaughtering nearby guards as the attackers began smashing their way in.
Whatever we needed to do, we’d better do it fast. Time to try a trick. “Give me a second,” I told Festina. Then I closed my eyes and thought of pheromones.
Here are the pheromones I’d made: the lust scent that got Festina talking about judo mats; the “don’t be scared” smell I’d used to comfort Counselor; the royal pheromone that screamed, “Obey me now!” Some of those chemicals worked on humans, some worked on Mandasars. I didn’t know if I could make something to work on Balrogs…but Balrogs could “taste” pheromones so maybe the darned moss could be affected too.
Back on the orbital I’d tried to make a Balrog repellant and Kaisho had got real mad: Stop it, Edward, before you produce something deadly. Okay—maybe it was dangerous, trying to make the Balrog go away…but what if I made it nice?
I pictured a different sort of royal pheromone: not one to subdue peasants, but one that spoke to rulers. A scent that said, Some people end up in positions of power; and if you’re the one who comes out on top, you have to be good about it. You have to do the right thing, and never ever act like a jerk.
It wasn’t a fancy sentiment, and any philosopher would nitpick it to pieces…but the Balrog and me, we had things in common. If we really wanted, we could both run roughshod over normal folks; so we had to take special care not to. Do the right thing and don’t act like a jerk. That was a rule I wanted to follow myself, and I wanted the Balrog to follow it too. I tried to make a pheromone that would stir some sense of scruples in a bunch of glowing alien spores…
…and as I stood there on the edge of the ramparts, the spores just drifted away—slid silendy off Plebon and the Mandasars, sifted over the parapet stones, and drew back to the stairwell. Ten seconds later, Dade was still covered in fuzz but the rest of the area was absolutely clear.
“Holy shit,” Festina whispered. “Did you do that?”
“Um. Maybe.”
“With pheromones?”
“Maybe.”
She shuddered. “Makes me glad I’m wearing this tight-suit. If you can drive off the Balrog, you probably smell like the rear end of something whose front end is dead.”
“No,” I said. “I smell like conscience.” Then I stepped over the rampart wall and onto the parapet.
Fast as we could, we heaved Plebon and the Mandasars onto the top of the glass cube. The unconscious Zeeleepull took a ton of work and when we were finished, his shell had a bunch of new dents and scratches…but at least we got everybody safely onto the cube’s upper surface. No way we could get them all inside—it would take a heavy-duty winch to lower Zeeleepull through that hole in the roof—but if Tobit could hold the cube level as it flew, our friends would be safe where they were.
Provided Tobit could fly the cube at all.
“Ready to go?” Tobit yelled up through the hole.
Festina looked back at the parapet. Kaisho and her wheelchair still sat in the mouth of the stairwell. The admiral paused a moment longer, then sighed. “Hold on a minute, Phylar. One more passenger to pick up.”
I was already hopping onto the parapet one last time. The main mass of Balrog had retreated a bit down the ramp, leaving Kaisho sitting out on her own. She’d slumped good and limp when Dade shot her with the stunner; but as we grabbed the arms of her chair, she lifted her head. “That won’t be necessary,” she whispered.
Festina jerked in surprise. She let go of the chair and balled her hands into fists; but after a second she let her hands relax. “You recover amazingly fast from being stunned,” she told Kaisho. “Most organisms stay unconscious for six hours.”
“Only if they have conventional nervous systems,” Kaisho replied. “I’ve gone a bit beyond that.”
“Were you unconscious at all?”
“Part of me,” she admitted. “As for the other part…it’s thrilled not to be linked with Alexander York.”
“There are still versions of him on Celestia and New Earth,” Festina said.
“Not in working condition,” Kaisho replied. “When the Balrog retrieved that gizmo from the clone’s gullet, we used it to send a shot of feedback along the line. One good focused pulse of psychic energy…and the containers inside the other two Admiral Yorks suffered rather spectacular meltdowns. At the time, the New Earth version of the bastard was sitting with the entire High Council at Admiralty HQ. His death made quite a splash. Consider it a windfall for the other admirals’ dry cleaners.” She turned to me. “Should I offer my condolences or my congratulations?”
“Um.”
I didn’t like my father. I didn’t like my sister either, not once I learned all the awful things she’d been doing. It seemed really dumb to be sad they were gone.
But then, I’ve always been dumb, haven’t I?
47
PUSHING BACK THE ENEMY
A booming thud hit the palace’s west gate: the first slam of a battering ram. “No more time,” Festina snapped.
“Hang on, Kaisho, you’re coming with us.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere the Black Army isn’t.” She pointed to the hoverchair’s controls. “Fire up your engines and let’s go.”
“No need,” Kaisho said. “We’re safe here.”
Another boom smashed the gates. The Black Army’s Laughing Larries spun into a full hyena cackle, their whoops echoing off the palace’s stonework. Any second they’d open fire.
“Hear that?” Festina asked. “Nobody’s safe, not tonight. Even your precious Balrog should worry. Those troops are surely prepared to burn every speck of moss they see. No matter how fast spores can eat through an enemy’s shell, fire works faster.”
“There is no enemy,” Kaisho replied. “Not anymore. We’ve dealt with Admiral York, and everybody left is just an innocent pawn.”
“Those pawns have been ordered to kill, and there’s no one to call them off.”
“They’ll call themselves off, (tear Festina…if we demonstrate there are forces in the universe that lesser species shouldn’t fuck with.”
“Uh-oh,” Festina said. “You aren’t going to…remember, you just called them innocent pawns.”
“Of course,” Kaisho answered sweetly. “But as Teelu told you a few minutes ago, the Balrog loves jumping out and going, ‘Boo!’“
Another boom banged above the Larries’ howl. The noise was followed by a heavy crunching sound…but the crunch didn’t come from the army at the palace gates. I looked toward the front of the palace, out where the moss was thickest. It had blazed up bright and angry, a furious fuzzy crimson all over the stonework queen’s head and her four claws.
One of the claws was trying to wrench itself off its foundations.
Slowly, ponderously, the claw crunched back and forth, as if it was stuck in a bit of mud and just needed to be teased loose. The moss on the wriggling claw flared another notch brighter…and suddenly the claw was moving freely, a building wing four stories tall, lifting into the air.
The claw flexed once, as if it was stiff from lying immobile for so long. Mortar crackled and dust showered out from between cracks in the stone, but the whole thing held together somehow: from the sheer telekinetic force of a trillion Balrog spores showing off their strength.
Without a pause, another claw began to work itself free.
“If I were you,” Kaisho told Festina, “I’d hop onto that glass cube and head a hundred meters straight up.”
“It’s going to get dangerous down here?”
“No, the Balrog won’t hurt anybody. But you’re going to kick yourself if you don’t go high enough to get a good view.”
She caught Festina’s gloved hand and pulled it to her lips for a kiss. As she did, the hair covering her face slid aside; with a squirm in my stomach, I saw crimson moss now coated her cheeks, her forehead, even bristly wads over her eyes. There was no way she could possibly see through that glowing fuzz…but I guess Kaisho had reached the point where the moss did her seeing for her.
“Go,” she said to Festina: a single word, spoken in a real human voice, not her usual whisper.
Then Kaisho turned to me and held out her hand. A bit reluctantly, I came forward and took it. She clasped both hands around mine and drew me in gently, so I was forced to crouch up close to her. “Teelu,” she whispered, her breath brushing my cheek, “a pity we won’t be working together. I would have enjoyed touching my mind to yours. But you’ve persuaded the Balrog not to embrace you as its own. Others have prior claim on you.”
“Who?” I asked.
She gave me a littie kiss on the nose. “Your people,” she whispered, “as you know full well. You still consider yourself unintelligent, Teelu, it’s charming, but you’ll have to grow out of it. Kings need confidence.”
Before I could answer, she put her finger to my mouth to stop me from speaking. Next thing I knew, her voice was talking right inside my head. “Sometime in the next eighteen years, Teelu, I’ll visit you, wherever you are. The Balrog believes it would be amusing for you and me to have a child: mostly human, but with your control of pheromones and my enhanced mental abilities. Apparently, this is why the Balrog fused with me in the first place; and for twenty-five years, it’s been transforming my body chemistry to make such a pregnancy possible. A few more years, and I’ll be ready.” She leaned forward and kissed me with her moss-covered lips. “It’s a bitch dealing with precognitive races. But if everything I’ve gone through is gearing me up for a night with you…well, life has its compensations, doesn’t it?”
