Requiem for the Conqueror

by W. Michael Gear

  "Depends on the size of the adit they're drifting. The larger the bore—"

  "Minimum time for a small hole?"

  "Five hours at a guess." The young man shrugged helplessly, expression nervous. "Depends on if they're using a counter bore or a radial sectioning—"

  "Come on, we need an engineering crew. We've got to block the end of the tunnel leading into the Study Center. We've got to make it look real good, you hear?" Staffa left at a run.

  Commander Rysta Braktov paced angrily around Gyton's bridge. Her officers—intimates through the years, all of them—knew her posture, knew her ire. They kept their heads bowed to instruments, all except the first officer who slumped slackly in the command chair, worry-cap covering his head.

  The main bridge monitor framed Sinklar Fist's young face. In the background a mountain could be seen illuminated by spotlights and flares. The place looked eerie in the artificial light. Machinery could be heard through the pickup.

  "Why not let me blast that rock into powder?" Rysta growled. "Safer that way, no danger to our people."

  "Because we can't be sure of the final results and we won't get any prisoners," Sinklar told her, weird eyes leaving her with a spooky feeling.

  "What if this leader of theirs, this Bruen, is alive and healthy in Kaspa?

  What if there are more assassins like Arta Fera prowling the Empire? Minister Takka wants to break the Seddi and eliminate their threat. To do that, we need some of the ringleaders—like Bruen—who will divulge important information."

  "And for that you'll waste the lives of your troops in their warrens?"

  "I have a way to minimize risk. I want those caverns swept so none of the Seddi can possibly escape. The only way to make sure is to comb and sound every square inch of that rock to be sure none have hidden away with a mining machine that can bore out later."

  "Very well," Rysta acquiesced blandly. "I await further orders."

  She glared at the bridge comm after it went dead, her gnarly ringers tightening—as they might around a neck.

  "Why is he fooling around down there," Rysta grated to no one in particular.

  "One salvo of crust-busters, and that whole mountain would tumble in on top of them!" She smacked a chair back with a hard hand and glared at the screens,

  "As if Tybalt cared for prisoners!"

  "He's a madman," First Mykroft interjected from the side.

  Rysta gave him a hair-curling glare.

  "Oh," Mykroft promised. "I'll get him eventually. Jessant-de-lis or no. Tybalt himself may back him for the moment, but Sinklar Fist is too brash, too wild.

  He'll trap himself in the end . . . and my time will come."

  "Comm First?" Rysta asked, ignoring Mykroft's ranting. "You get that message off to fleet yet?"

  "Yes, Commander. Went top priority, direct to the Minister of Defense."

  "Top priority!" she hissed. "And that cheap cocksqueeze, Ily Takka, is halfway to Rega by now—and in my ship to boot!" She smacked the chair back again.

  "It's time I got out of this miserable job and got me some pretty boys to relax with on Rega. That black-haired bitch will have my throat cut before I know it."

  In the glaring white spotlights, MacRuder checked his troops: the finest of the First Division. He playfully pounded an anxious man on the back, then shot a quick joke at a grim-faced young woman as he worked his way down the line.

  Around them the night pressed down, a bitter chill in the air. Clouds had blotted out the stars, and the wind bore the damp scent of rain.

  In the background, the generators puttered and the grinding howl of the mining machine poured from the square hole that slanted into the mountain. A round tube that housed a mucking screw pumped crushed rock out into a tailings pile.

  Beyond that, the sound of heavy ordnance could be heard as other Sections of the First mauled the Seddi cliff below.

  Three Sections—almost six hundred men and women— flint-hard veterans of the Targan campaigns. One or two, like himself, dated back to that first drop.

  They had all become his responsibility. He alone would be inside during the last battle, linked to Sinklar by a slender cable for communications as they wound through the Seddi warren. Mac flushed with pride as he looked at his command where they stood shoulder to shoulder.in fresh new battle armor, polished helmets and blasters gleaming in the blinding lights.

  "Well, this is it, people," he told them as he finished his inspection. "We break the Seddi and we're off to Rega. You know the Minister of Internal Security thinks we're pretty hot stuff. Well, she's making sure the whole stinking Empire knows it!" / hope!

  They belted out a cheer.

  "All right, we're going into the hole. That racket you hear is our friends and comrades in arms battering the outside tunnels, soaking up Seddi attention.

  They've been pounding the mountain pretty hard to keep the enemy's thoughts elsewhere while we cut the tunnel.

  "Now, listen, you scum, comm won't work thugh solid rock. We've only got line-of-sight except for the cable, you hear? So keep cool if your set suddenly goes silent. It doesn't mean you're the only living being left on the planet. Now, the next thing is to. . . ."

  Mac stopped as a whisper ran through the ranks, elbows jabbing, heads turning.

  A hot bellow of rage died on Mac's lips as he followed their stares, seeing the familiar skinny figure of Sinklar Fist walking toward them, head back as if to view the ominous heavens, mop of black hair tossing in the night breeze.

  The gimlet-eyed cocky stare of his troops had changed to one of eager anticipation. Like children they gaped, wideeyed, cheeks flushing with color.

  Mac took a breath and nodded, knowing the feeling. Sinklar walked closer, eyes still raised, his concentration evident under the white-hot glare of the spots. He seemed so small—almost gawky—but an aura of power seemed to radiate from that narrow-boned frame.

  Mac's mouth went dry. Could this really be the fumbly kid he'd made the Kaspa drop with that night so long ago? What had happened to that doe-eyed undernourished youth? Here, before them, walked a hero.

  Sinklar stopped and looked around as if he'd just noticed them. And the mystical awe vanished from the eyes of the troops as backs stiffened, stomachs tightened, and eyes stared straight forward. They were warriors now, every inch, every drop of blood in their veins—professionals.

  Mac had seen it before: men and women changed by a simple glance from Sinklar.

  What strange power in those eyes—one yellow, one gray—to mold and inspire like that.

  Sinklar nodded absently, a tired smiSe on his lips as he looked at them. His high voice carried in the night, most uncommanding—yet it held them pinned in place. "We dropped here to stop a rebellion by the Seddi." He turned sideways to the light and stamped his foot. "Well, my friends, we have them!"

  A shift of breeze moved through the ranks.

  "We all loved Gretta Artina. She fought with us, bled with us, stumbled under the load with us," Sinklars voice lanced them with pain and a feeling of injustice. "Except Gretta wasn't the only one, was she? No, each and every one of you have watched a friend, a lover, a companion die in fear and pain. We've been exploded with blasters, sliced with lasers, and torn with pulse fire.

  We've died in flames and darkness, gravity flux, and by the knife. Yet we still

  stand, and the evil that brought us here awaits the final conflict."

  He stepped up to a young man who quivered at his proximity, eyes shining in the actinic glare. "So we go now . . . go to finish this before we return to Rega." Sinklar patted the flushed young man. "Down there," he cried, "you will be alone in the blackness. Alone in the Seddi tunnels with your tormentors!" His voice dropped. "You know what to do, my veterans."

  Sinklar paced down the line, hands locked behind his back. "But I promise you this! Each and every one of you will be accounted for before we leave this godforsaken rock! Accounted for if I have to turn this planet upside down—

  becaus
e I want you alive. I ... I need you all." His voice grew husky. "I'm so proud of you all." Sinklar turned then and walked away into the darkness.

  For several seconds they watched him disappearing back toward his LC. The cheer came spontaneously, rattling the very rocks. MacRuder barely realized his own voice had oined the swell of sound.

  Mac bit back a knot in his throat and wiped at the burning in his eyes. By the Holy Rotted Gods, here was a man to follow!

  "All right, people!" he thundered, overcoming their bright enthusiasm. "Come on! We got a job to finish here!"

  Mac motioned with his hand, seeing First Section trot toward the narrow gash the mining machine had cut into the mountain.

  "IR!" Mac growled.

  They flicked on the infrared units on their helmets as they moved to the hole.

  Along the right wall, the mucking pipe and the water line ran. IR showed the remaining hot spots in the rock.

  Mac started forward, heart stuttering at the bottom of his throat. "You all know the drill, follow me."

  He stepped into the tunnel, surprised at how smooth the machine had cut it. At a dogtrot, he moved forward with the heavy blaster tugging on its clip. Newly strung overhead lights illuminated the way. His armored feet clacked on unforgiving rock.

  The lights of the machine shone brightly on angles of yellow-painted metal and railing, black hydraulic hoses, and whirring cutter arms. The machine was anything but quiet.

  So much for surprise.

  A dirt-streaked tech with black hair swung down from a cramped seat where he watched the muck feeding into the evacuation pipe. "We think there's only another five or six meters," he hollered over the din of the machine.

  Mac nodded. They waited a long fifteen minutes, standing there, a solid file of crowded warriors behind him. The bulk of the machine inched on, eating its way through solid rock.

  From where he stood, Mac saw the miner's hand come up. The noise changed. Mac craned his head around the side to see a widening blackness. The machine moved faster.

  His heartbeat thundered. Into the mike at his throat Mac shouted, "We're through Sink!" He swallowed. "We're not drawing any fire."

  Sinklar replied calmly, "The other Sections have been hitting the Seddi exits, throwing almost everything at them. They're not making much headway. Go for it, Mac, that's all we can give you."

  " 'Firmative," MacRuder muttered. Let's hope it's enough.

  The mining machine had crawled out into the tunnel and now began chewing into the rock on the opposite wall. Mac allowed himself a curse and waved those behind him forward while he crawled up over the vibrating and bucking machine.

  He swung along the cramped crawlway and flipped over the side. He crouched, heavy blaster ready.

  He searched the corridor with IR, more troops dropping behind him. "Let's go, people" he ordered, advancing step by step, seeing nothing but rock in the projected IR beams. They continued for another sixty or seventy meters, rounded comer—and met a rock wall.

  "Sink?"

  "Here, Mac. Your communications are still good. Report."

  "We're, uh, I don't know . . . maybe sixty or seventy meters from the big gallery. Listen, this whole thing looks collapsed. Probably from the orbital, I don't know. Big blocks have fallen out of the roof."

  Troops were packing in behind him, their breathing echoing from the narrow walls.

  "Go back the other way, Mac. You've got a map. You need to drop down what looks like three levels. That will put you on a level with the main Seddi floor. Can you see it on your map? Your tunnel should have an exit going off to the right and into that main gallery."

  "Right!" Mac waved his people back, feeling curiously claustrophobic amid the pack of bodies. He looked up at the cracks running through the roof. // all that broke loose. . . . No, don't even think it.

  "Mac?" Sink's voice cracked in his ear. "Have the mining team look at that blocked section. If they think we have to shore to dig through, it's a lost cause. Otherwise, you'll have won the war before we can even get the materials on site."

  "Affirmative," Mac grumbled. "Uh, the mining machine is through, the knot is breaking up. We're on the way down. We'll string comm cable as we go. They can't flank, can they?"

  "Not for three levels, Mac."

  Not for three levels. Okay, Sink. You've kept me alive this far. "Let's move it, people! They're eating it on the outside. Let's clean this up. I've got a dinner date in Vespa!"

  Mac heard a couple of chuckles. More than anything, they were nervous at the close quarters. The mining machine had eaten into the opposite wall and shut down. MacRuder waved his people ahead while he ducked in behind the machine.

  "Take a look at the blocked area up there around the corner. See what you think."

  The miner nodded and—taking lights and his assistants— left at a trot. Mac watched techs stringing comm cable and nodded. Person by person, armored figures tramped past, each with a map and compass in his kit. The miner returned posthaste.

  "We'll have to shore that as we go. Either that or go around. Looks like a lot of faulting in there. Those blocks can slip or slide. If I had to judge, something cracked them, broke them loose."

  "Probably those orbital shots," Mac agreed. "Sink? You hear that?"

  "Affirmative. Go on around, Mac. See you at the main entrance. Good luck!" Sinklar sounded hearty. And why not? They'd just dropped in the Seddi's back door. The rockfall might Just turn out to be a godsend. It would have muffled the mining machine's ferocious noise.

  "Let's move it, people! Move!" Mac started down in the midst of the flow of troops. What must have been ten minutes later they were still trotting along.

  The tunnel seemed endless. A tightness built in Mac's chest.

  "First?" The uneasy question came cackling through the comm.

  "Here," Mac called, voice tense. "What's up?"

  "How do we know we've gone down three levels?"

  "Should be a gallery going off to the right." He lifted his IR sensitive map.

  "Make that a good five hundred meters from our entry tunnel."

  "Yeah, well, I think we've gone five hundred meters . . . and then some!"

  "Easy, soldier. Distance will get you in a place like this. And it's all downhill. Fools you. Not only that, we've only got holos to work from. Keep going, take the first right. Simple as cake. Then all you got to do is blow the pus out of the Seddi, take as many prisoners as you can for Sink, and we go home to good food and lots of booze on Rega."

  "We're gone," the man assured.

  The tunnel echoed and resounded with the tread and shuffle of so many feet. IR

  showed it warming from the press of bodies, each moving along, muscles adding to the heat, hot lungs spewing out warm air. Mac's eyes kept going to the roof, wondering at the weight of rock over his head. The streets of Rega sure hadn't prepared him for this.

  "Still going, Mac," the Section Sergeant called again. "Still haven't found that tunnel."

  "Have faith, my friend."

  "Section First?" A woman's voice broke in. "We're all in and on the way down.

  Rear guard just passed the mining machine."

  "Affirmative. Leave someone there to keep track of comm for line-of-sight, and welcome to the club!" Mac grinned to himself, as he imagined the Seddi's surprise when they came bolting into the caverns, blasters and pulse weapons overwhelming the unprotected rear.

  Foreboding began to build in Mac as he realized he'd gone far beyond five hundred paces himself. On the point of ordering a halt for reconnoitering, comm chattered: "Got our gallery!"

  "Good work, Sergeant!" The pace picked up, the troops hearing the heartening news.

  Too many steps passed before he reached the turn. He looked out into a larger cavern, pitch black, apparently unoccupied. The van of the Section had spread out with weapons ready as they looked around. Three passages loomed before them, two of them machine cut.

  "Split up, one group for each passage!" Mac decided, stari
ng at the map taped to his arm. Hell, there should only be one tunnel going off the gallery—and that supposedly led into the main cavern and from there to the center exit.

  "What do I know about seismics?" he sputtered under his breath. Nothing!

  Rotted Gods, I hate these damn tunnels! I want out of here where I can die under the sky!

  He watched as the command began pressing forward en masse. Well, at least it leveled out here. He looked at his compass, figuring which tunnel ought to lead to the main cavern and noted with satisfaction that the comm squad started splicing cable down all three tunnels.

  "Sink?" Mac called, clipping into the cable and glancing at the map. He frowned as he estimated the size of the gallery.

  "Go ahead, Mac."

  "Something isn't right here." He looked around, seeing the columns of armored personnel hurrying into the tunnels. "This gallery isn't big enough for one thing. For another, the direction is wrong. I mean, it runs—"

  A hollow bang sounded from the tunnel they'd exited. The report echoed eerily through the rock to rebound in haunting fashion. "Sink? Do you hear me?"

  Silence.

  "Come on!" Mac bellowed to his troops, "Back the way we came!"

  Only the personnel in the room reacted, stopping dead in their tracks. No one came running back out of the tunnels; a sudden babble of frantic voices clogged his comm.

  "Shut up!" he shouted, waving them down. He ran to the tunnel they'd descended. Facing up the long slope he ordered, "Somebody check that explosion out and report."

  Turning back to the room, he could see frightened expressions in weird IR

  reflections from hot faces.

  Picking out three of of the closest privates, Mac ordered, "You, you, and you, each of you take a tunnel and stop the advance. Get everybody back here. We lost comm. Communications are only line-of-sight! Now, run!"

  Mac looked around, feeling the cold damp air on his face. The place smelled musty. Shaking his head, he bent to the map. All right, settle down, old pal.

  Find out where in hell we are first.

  He studied the galleries on the map, trying to figure out their location.