The Stolen Future Box Set

by Brian K. Lowe

  “You’re lying!” Maire screamed. “The Crystallen are our friends! They would never do that!”

  Farren stared blankly at her. “Really? And why would I lie?”

  There was, tragically, no answer to that.

  Sudden the little lordling seemed to remember himself. “Oh, it’s almost time for your friends to arrive. I must be getting ready to leave; I have things to do.”

  “You’ve outsmarted yourself, Farren,” Tofan Res announced. “When my Thorans get here, they will see me and know that you betrayed them.”

  I willed those words to be taken back with all my heart, but it was too late.

  Farren pointed at Tofan Res. “That one. Kill him.”

  “Now!” I shouted.

  Farren’s first mistake had been appearing in holographic form so that Vanu’A could not reach him. Conversely, as long as we kept our communications purely telepathic, he had no way of knowing that we were talking together, which we had been ever since Vanu’A alerted us to the possibility. We had made our plans and awaited only the moment to act…

  At my shout, we each fell down in place, grabbing at our discarded weapons while the slow-reacting zomon fired above our heads—except that Tofan Res, slower than we, was caught high in the shoulder and spun wildly around.

  “Father!” Vanu’A cried, and went to his aid. Meantime, Maire and I were returning the fire of the three zomon who were trying to adjust themselves to our dodge—three, because the fourth had no way to shoot while he maintained the double-handed death-grip on the Library that Farren had ordered him to hold onto no matter what.

  Two of our foes were down and melting glass was flying everywhere when Vanu’A abruptly looked up—and demonstrated the horrific consequences of Farren’s final error.

  “You!” she shrieked at the remaining zomon, the one who had shot Tofan Res. Her face was a rictus of rage and hatred—and I swear that her eyes glowed. The zomon made a small, high-pitched grunt, and toppled backward, dead before it fell. I jerked my attention to my the last survivor before it realized it could simply charge in and stomp on me…

  …but it lay dead as well.

  At that moment a door across the chamber slid open and a large crowd spilled through. I got a confused vision of Thorans, a Nuum, a gorilla!—and…klurath? Several of the Thorans were herding all of the others with guns, and when they realized the scene upon which they had stumbled, two came at a run, weapons ready.

  “What’s going on here? Who are you—Dr. Res?”

  “Please!” Vanu’A said. “My father needs help!”

  “Oh, gods,” said one Thoran. He handed his weapon to the other and knelt down where he could see Tofan Res. “Dr. Res.” A quick glance around had satisfied his immediate curiosity as to who had shot whom, if not why. “A medical robot is on its way, Dr. Res. It will be here soon.”

  I did not need to know this man to hear the truth in his voice, but even had medical assistance been on hand, it would likely have proven too late. Tofan Res had taken some sort of ray-blast high in the left chest and shoulder. His clothes were cinders—if that was his clothing and not his flesh. The retrieval bracelet on his arm had been reduced to soft-edged shards. His breath came in gasps, but his gaze was steady on the newcomer.

  “Farren betrayed us…” He took two quick breaths, trying to build up enough strength to say something. Vanu’A sobbed and begged him to sit quietly, but somehow he roused himself. “Clee,” he pointed at me, and I leaned in to hear him, but his words were for the Thoran. “Good man. Follow him…”

  And then he died.

  The Thoran helped Vanu’A place the doctor’s head gently on the floor, then stood, leaving her to her grief, although I could feel that he, too, was masking strong emotion. Maire and I stood as well.

  “Sir. I am Sala. I’m the captain of the Thoran forces. Do you have any orders, sir?”

  And just like that, I went from an admiral without a fleet to commanding general of the largest standing army on the face of the Earth.

  Chapter 50

  Race Through Hell

  One of the bitterest lessons I learned from being a front-line officer in France was that staff officers in the rear often made decisions based on what they thought conditions were like in the field—without ever bothering to check on the actual conditions in the field. It was clear to me that I had a lot of decisions to make, and very quickly, but without knowing what resources I could muster, I would likely cause more harm than good.

  We did spend a little of our precious time on a hasty reunion, and Timash promised to regale me with the entire story of how he and the rest ended up miles underground accompanied by dozen klurath. Timash introduced me to Praja Waluu with expansive endorsements of his capabilities as an officer and a friend. Any friend of Timash’s is a friend of mine, and I told him so.

  As soon as it could be arranged, we sat down at a council of war with Sala and his top lieutenants: all of us save Vanu’A, who had elected to stay with her father. Maire gave me a look and privately asked: “Did you know?” to which I tersely replied, “Yes. Later.”

  I opened with a brief statement about my background, focusing on events since I had arrived in this era. Although these Thorans understood about time travel and had counted men from ancient times as their comrades until recently, I was reticent to disclose my own history, particularly as the klurath were unaware of it. I had worried that my Nuum-like appearance would present a problem, but Sala had informed me that my unreadable mental processes provided a sufficient passkey to their trust, after Tofan Res’s dying direction. I left off with discouraging news.

  “As we all know, Dr. Res was killed helping us fight Farren’s zomon. Unfortunately, his retrieval beacon was also destroyed, so we have no way of signaling the Moon for our return via matter transmission. And our efforts to contact them have failed. Apparently Farren disabled a lot of the control apparatus before he left.”

  Sala took over, briefing us all on his army’s capabilities, numbers, and organization, and confirming, as an aside, that his city really had been christened “Utopia.” Four thousand strong, his men commanded the same level of technology as had the Thorans on the Moon. Farren had been right for once; if I could bring them to the surface, they could overcome any resistance short of a complete unified counter-attack, a feat which I doubted the Nuum could achieve in any reasonable time frame. And if I could rouse the disparate local resistance groups to create diversionary emergencies, even that possibility would be extinguished. For all that they paraded their vaunted Council for show, the Nuum were so petty and selfish they would draw in their forces to defend themselves rather than risk their safety on behalf of their neighbors.

  Which begged the question: Could I get them to the surface? In fact, could we get out of here at all?

  “Farren mentioned that he had put his men in all of your rocket silos. How long would it take to make them operational?”

  Sala’s face was grim. “As soon as the Ancients disappeared, I sent men up to the silos. Unfortunately, it looks like after he took over, Farren had his men modify the hatches so that they could only be operated from the inside. Since there doesn’t appear to be anyone inside anymore, we can’t get in.”

  I sat back. “How did Farren manage to do so much in so little time?” I glanced at Maire. “He always struck me as rather useless.”

  “Don’t underestimate him. He’s had twenty years to work on his skills since you first met him,” she reminded me.

  “I’ve sent teams with cutting tools to the nearest silo,” Sala continued, “to see if we can break in. But so far there has been no progress.”

  I brooded for a moment. “Suggestions?” The lack of ideas was not encouraging.

  “We have ships.”

  I stared at Praja Waluu, uncomprehending.

  “We have ships,” he repeated. “I know Gaz Bronn would put them at your disposal.”

  “But—can you get to them? I mean—” I turned to Timash. “How
did you get here in the first place?”

  “We walked,” he replied dryly. “It was like a picnic.”

  Once they had all impressed upon me that Timash was not kidding, and that there really was a tunnel that could take us back to Jhal, I put Utopia on a war footing. Demolitions experts were dispatched to all rocket silos with instructions to do whatever it took to gain entrance. Sala was ordered to raise all troops to maximum alert status and review every man’s kit and weapons, awaiting their chance to deploy the moment the silos were breached. Maire, Vanu’A, and I joined the crew that had marched down from Jhal, intending to re-trace their steps as quickly as possible. Vanu’A was reluctant to leave her father behind, but I insisted that her help was critical to my plan, and after Sala solemnly promised to preserve his remains absolutely untouched until she could return, she relented.

  Sala outfitted each of us, and the eagerness with which the klurath accepted what I would have guessed were “forbidden” guns made me wonder exactly what kind of “picnic” Timash had been describing, particularly when several of the klurath, and Sanja, took up long lances besides all their other gear. What, I wondered, was the purpose of those?

  Within a matter of hours, I was to find out.

  There had been no question that Praja Waluu must take command of our little expedition, and he drove us like any drill sergeant. We double-timed through an abandoned access tunnel until we were stopped by a locked door, which I was bade to open. I had no idea how, but it parted for me upon my approach, and judging from the reaction of the rest of the party, this had been expected. I shrugged and let Praja Waluu pass.

  “Now it gets dangerous,” he told Maire and me. “Stay with the group no matter what happens, and watch the ceiling.”

  I had had a close call with the things living on the ceiling of the cave of Jhal; a shiver ran down my spine, and I re-checked my weapon.

  “Ready,” I reported.

  Timash snorted. “No, you’re not.”

  He will likely never get tired of reminding me of that. I barely had time to adjust my lamp when a shot flashed from the right side of our group, and I dimly perceived something long and scaly scuttling into the shadows with a clicking like a thousand tap dancers. Someone shoved me as Praja Waluu shouted orders and we were moving.

  Before us rose a natural bridge of stone over a placid dark lake, our path unimpeded and clear as far as I could see, but Timash made a point of lowering one great hairy arm in front of me, and I was shocked to see Skull restrain Maire by actually grasping her shoulder.

  “We need to make sure it’s clear first,” he said, and it was a tribute to her trust that he did not dispute his touch. I looked around. Clear of what?

  Praja Waluu took two of his men up the slope, each carrying a short, wide-mouthed tube. I had seen Sala bring them and the brief discussion the two held, but no one had bothered to explain them to me and I had no time to inquire. Now it appeared my questions would be answered.

  The klurath vanished over the arch of the bridge and a few moments later we witnessed several bright gouts of fire billow and disappear in succession. Disappear, yes, but not so soon that I could not see what the klurath were clearing away.

  Everywhere bright lines of fire were rising swiftly into the air, tiny flames running upward as though chasing the horrific shapes that fled the brightness and the heat. Cave spiders—but what spiders! Easily half-again the size of the one that had nearly killed me in the cavern above—and hundreds of them.

  One of the klurath scurried back into view. “Now! Come on! We don’t know how long we can hold them off!”

  We needed no more encouragement. In single file, each mindful of the fellow in front of him, we quick-marched to the apex of the bridge, where we could see Praja Waluu and his men fighting as courageous as covering action as it has ever been my privilege to witness. Two maintained the flame-throwers, but now they must be pointed away from the bridge so that we could pass, and those evil black multi-legged fanged monsters were only too happy to try to drop directly from above onto their prey, and it was the job of the last klurath to pick them off as they came too close.

  Then one fell onto the bridge itself, alive. Apparently its line had been severed but it was unharmed, and as it shook itself we could see that it might immediately take down any of our defenders, with catastrophic results to us all. It hopped to its many feet—

  —and Sanja drove a long lance through it with a screaming war cry! In almost the same motion, she lifted it on the end of her lance and flicked the twitching demon far out into the lake, where I heard it land with a splash. There followed a rush of water, but I could not see what caused it. I do not doubt I sleep better for not knowing.

  “Come on!” she cried, but this time we were unified. The main group moved just far enough down the bridge that the klurath were able to follow close behind, and we took turns sharpshooting spiders while our friends retreated—and watched out that none of made a misstep that would land us in the company of whatever nightmare lurked below. With these precautions, we reached the end of the bridge with our company intact.

  Of the remainder of the journey, none reached the heights of danger of that stretch. Those who had been here before warned us of the dangers from the ceiling, but such was our haste and the brightness of the lamps with which Sala had equipped us that if there were any predators in our path, they wisely fled. I did not know what to expect, but Timash told me later that he was surprised when we reached the end of the tunnel and the lights of Jhal shone in the distance.

  Chapter 51

  A Contentious Briefing

  “Furious” is perhaps the only word that I can utilize to do justice to the welcome Gaz Bronn gave us on our return—although “astonishment” describes his reaction at seeing Maire and me among the returning campaigners.

  “I was afraid I’d lost them all,” he said when we managed a quiet moment, “but you—!” He threw up his claws. “Why am I even surprised? You always show up where you aren’t expected.”

  “That is exactly my plan, but I need your help to pull it off.”

  “Anything, my friend. Anything.”

  “I need one of your airships. And a pilot,” I added.

  “I’ll have to charge you extra for that,” he said dryly.

  I smiled. “Last time I had the Librarian piloting. But this time we might not be coming back—at least, not the same way we went up.”

  When klurath are non-plussed, they have a habit of blinking very slowly and staring at you with their heads extended forward. Gaz Bronn had exactly this expression.

  “I’m not going to ask,” he said at length. “Like I said, I shouldn’t be surprised. We’ll take my ship.”

  “Your ship? It could be dangerous. You have no idea what is happening.”

  He blinked. “So you can tell me on the way to wherever it is we’re going.”

  There being no profit in arguing with him, I ceased trying.

  Emerging from my meeting with Gaz Bronn, I found only Maire waiting for me. Gaz Bronn trotted off to have his ship readied. The rest of our party had scattered.

  “I’m sure they’re not far,” Maire said, but it still irritated me that they were not waiting to hang on my every word, given the urgency of the situation.

  “Maybe that’s why they wanted to get away for a little while,” my wife advised me. She has always been quicker on the uptake than I, as was soon evident.

  I floated a silent call for Vanu’A, she being the most sensitive and thus most likely to pick up on me without my having to resort to shouting. Her soft response came after a short pause, assuring me not only of her attendance, but Kyle Zachary’s as well. Maire smirked.

  They met us at the entrance of the conference room set aside for our use, and the stragglers arrived in singles and pairs—I came up short. Pairs, I thought, or couples? I had thought there might be friction between Sanja and Skull when Kyle was introduced into the mix, but when the former walked in arm-in-arm, Kyle ap
peared to take no notice at all, albeit he was taking much notice of Vanu’A’s every move.

  “It looks like people have been busy since we left,” Maire said to me in an aside. “But Zachary Kyle isn’t letting any grass grow under his feet, either.”

  “But he has to go back to his own time when this is all over.”

  Maire squeezed my arm and sat back so I could start the briefing. Timash and Praja Waluu were now present. Our second war council would feature fewer Thorans and klurath, but ironically, more moving parts.

  “I have arranged for an airship; Gaz Bronn has offered to pilot it himself.” Praja Waluu looked unhappy but had no one to whom he could appeal or object. “Vanu’A and I will be flying with him. Maire—”

  “—is going wherever you are.”

  I sighed. She had “spoken” privately and replied in kind. “No. You have a job. You and Timash are going to take The Dark Lady and try to warn the council about Farren and Lobok. No one else can get their attention.”

  “The Council? And what good is that going to do? Even if they believe me, who’s going to lead the defense?”

  “You, of course.”

  Maire laughed in my face. What the rest thought of my unorthodox briefing style was a question from which my mind shied away.

  “Me? I don’t mean to undermine your leadership, Keryl, but let me spell it out for you: The Council put Lobok in charge of the Procyon over my objections. Now I’m going to go to them and say he’s commandeered the ship, imprisoned half the crew, and tried to have us killed so that Farren could wipe out the council. Who’s going to believe me? The Crystallen? Farren’s friends? The half of the Council that wants you dead anyway?

  “I’m sorry, my love, but the only way to stop Lobok is to get the Procyon back. And if I know you, that’s where you’re going. And so am I.” She crossed her arms and stared at me. “And if you think you won’t need my help to take over a ship with a crew of 300, then either you’re insane or you’ve got a better plan than I think you do.”