The Cosmic City

by Brian K. Lowe

  A dozen men skittered to a halt in front of us, weapons trained in our direction. I sucked in my final breath.

  ““Hold! Hold fire!” One of the figures darted forward, but between the black spots before my eyes and the blood, I could not see who it might be. “My lady! Are you hurt?”

  “Captain Lobok!” I heard Maire say. “You’re just in time.”

  I blinked and managed to wipe away enough blood that I could see him better. It was indeed the same Captain Lobok who had nearly executed Sanya and Gaz Bronn, and would have done for me as well had the Council of Nobles not held other plans. He was also the same who had chased the klurath back to their lair, only to find me awaiting them with a suicidal checkmate. I had gotten the distinct impression that my way of ending the war, which had not involved decimating the enemy fleet, had never quite met with his complete approval.

  “It’s Commodore Lobok now, my lady,” he said. He flicked a look my way but said nothing. “We entered the building when we received a distress call from Dr. Wilner. So far we have not encountered any resistance.” He did not say, But apparently you have. His men, at least, had absorbed the situation. Two pair of them had taken off in opposite directions, presumably to secure the ends of the main corridor. “Is the director safe?”

  But Maire was not to be distracted, nor had she missed his sidelong glance at me.

  “We can discuss why you’re here later. Right now, Captain, my husband is bleeding.”

  In a flash, two of his men were supporting me on either side while a third opened a small white box carried at his waist. I hoped he was a medic, because he applied a small white tube to the side of my head, and the gash that I had just begun to appreciate was there went numb, along with half my skull. From somewhere he produced a small glob that I recognized as a plasm bandage and placed it carefully over the cut.

  With the bleeding stopped, he examined my throat and checked my pupils with the same age-old pencil flashlight a doctor back home would have used. Then he gave me a pill to swallow (“For your throat”), stepped back, and all three rejoined their fellows. The whole operation had taken perhaps a minute, but I felt better already.

  Commodore Lobok looked as though even a minute lost was more than he liked.

  “Now that your wounded have been tended to, my lady, may I ask what happened here?”

  They shared a glance for the four figures supine on the floor, none of whom had moved. I had doubts that the man Maire had taken off me ever would.

  “We were speaking to Dr. Wilner when we saw these men following us. They attacked us. We don’t know why,” Maire offered with a minimum of courtesy. My injuries had provoked her worst instincts, and Lobok seemed to go out of his way to poke that fire.

  “What were you talking to Dr. Wilner about?” Lobok asked.

  Maire glared at him for a second, then stalked back to the door behind which we had left the Institute’s director.

  “You can ask him yourself, Commodore, but maybe you should be more concerned with the men disguised as guards upstairs.”

  Lobok started. “There are more?”

  “Some of the guards upstairs looked strange,” I supplied quickly. “You should send some men up—”

  My words were cut off by the unmistakable sound of high-tech weapons fire and the screaming of wounded men.

  Chapter 7

  Assault in the Darkness

  As much as I disliked the man, Lobok knew his business. He dispatched two more men to the other end of the hall to ensure his flank was protected, then paused for a moment, eyes half-closed. I knew from his look that he was accessing the datasphere, probably sending a status report back to his ship and ordering reinforcements.

  “Give us some guns!” Maire demanded. One look at her, and Lobok complied, nodding to two of his men to lend us sidearms.

  “What about Timash?” I asked.

  Lobok shook his head. “He’s not Nuum,” he snapped. “Thorans don’t carry weapons.”

  With a wordless cry, I tossed my pistol to my friend, who caught it neatly. Anyone who wanted to enforce Lobok’s edict was welcome to try.

  “I still need one,” I said. One of the troops stepped up and handed me a pistol without waiting for orders. His nameplate said “Lecaudia” and he had several stripes down his sleeve. I took a second to note his name for future reference.

  “Fine,” Lobok said. “But you stay behind us.” He and his men moved out without a visible signal.

  We stayed in the middle of the pack, lacking any choice in the matter. Lobok’s flankers ran up to cover our backs while we made our way down the corridor briskly but without dangerous haste. We could see more of our men at the foot of the stairs, occasionally firing upward. One of them was down; his fellows had pulled him out of the line of fire but had no time to tend to him. I heard a telepathic murmur and my medic broke ranks and hurried to his side.

  “Prepare to storm the stairs,” Lobok ordered, and his men took up positions flanking their objective. Two jumped into the open, pouring as much fire as they could up through the opening while their fellows scrambled underneath the covering fire.

  And it was then, with all of our attention focused on our goal, that we were attacked from behind.

  Apparently Lobok had thought his rearguard had eliminated the possibility of enemy attack, because he had formed them up with the rest for the stairway assault. They were grouped, stationary, and sitting ducks for the long-range weapons in the hands of the men behind us. Two went down before we realized our danger.

  “Disperse!” Lobok ordered, and his men broke ranks seeking cover—leaving their comrades on the stairs with none. I could hear them firing their own weapons, unsure if they should advance or retreat, but I could not see them to help. At least the men who had pinned us down from the rear could not see them either, but we were all pinned down, and the troops on the stairs had seconds to live.

  I had traveled 867,000 years after cheating death in a dark cave no one had suspected existed, to die in a windowless corridor of a laboratory that was not supposed to be there.

  Wait—a windowless corridor?

  Some things had changed immeasurably in 900,000 years, and some had not. Human beings still needed lighted their way with lamps in the ceiling… I aimed carefully and shot out the nearest illuminated panel. Future technology or not, it had never been made to be shot at, and it went out. The difference was noticeable.

  “What are you doing?” Lobok hissed. “They’ll be able to see us against the stairway opening when we charge!”

  “Another thing that’s never changed,” I muttered. “Generals who think blind charges solve everything. Look, if we shoot out the lights, they won’t be able to target us. We can work out way back down the corridor and come to grips with them.”

  Even in the dim light I could see his exasperation. “Are you crazy? They’ll hear our thoughts and know we’re coming. They’ll mow us down.”

  I pushed my face into his. “Can you hear my thoughts?”

  I saw the whites of his eyes. “That’s right! I forgot! You’re a ghost!” he whispered, half in awe, half in fear.

  “Timash and I can reach them,” I said quickly. We did not want time for more questions. “I have taught him some tricks. But I need those lights out.”

  He nodded. “Lecaudia! You’re quick to volunteer. Scoot out there and shoot out as many ceiling lights as you can.”

  My new friend was paying for his earlier kindness now, but Maire and I provided cover fire while he slid to a position where he could see down the corridor. One by one, three more light panels crashed and went out. We were practically invisible now.

  “That’s the best I can do,” the lad reported when he had returned to relative safety. Meantime, the survivors on the stairs had retreated as best they could into the darkness we had caused, and the enemy on the next floor, perhaps suspecting that something was going on, had stopped firing.

  I found Timash by his thoughts and tugged on his
arm; he, of course, could not follow my thoughts any better than anyone else. We slipped back into the hallway, hugging the wall. He understood the risk he was taking; I had never taught him how to shield his thoughts. That was just a lie to cover my actions to Lobok. Truthfully, I was gambling that the men down there with rifles could no more track us telepathically than I could have when I first arrived.

  If I was wrong, I had condemned my best friend to death.

  I made sure Timash stayed behind me; if anyone was going to be shot, it should be me. If I went down, it might give him an opportunity either to charge or to escape. But as we crept up on the enemy position, none of my worries came true. In fact, although we approached as close as we dared, we saw no one at the end of the corridor.

  Had they fled?

  As cautiously as I had ever entered No-Man’s-Land, I stuck my head out until I could see the entire landing and the stairs beyond. They were empty. I ducked back to tell Timash.

  “They must have run when they saw we were preparing a counter-attack. Whatever they were after, they might still be looking for it. Go back and tell Lobok to get upstairs. We can still stop them!”

  Timash did not move. “And what are you going to do?”

  I gestured ahead. “I will sneak upstairs and see if I can spy them out. Tell Lobok to make some noise. That will distract them.”

  He still would not move. “And what if you run into somebody up there?”

  I clapped his hairy shoulder. “Then I will scream like a girl and you can rescue me. Now get moving—and watch Maire.”

  Darting around the corner before he had a chance to make another objection, I inched my way up the stairs, stopping often to listen. The floor above was quiet, but after several moments I heard a low rumble of voices from far away, and I smiled with self-satisfaction to know that Lobok’s men were following my orders, providing the distraction I had asked for to occupy the enemy’s attention.

  Which is why it came as a complete but not unwarranted surprise when I reached the top of the stairs and was immediately tackled.

  Chapter 8

  Taken

  From the moment I was dragged down by my unseen attackers, I knew I was in serious jeopardy. These were not Thorans, whom I could toss around as though they were children, nor even Nuum, who might present a challenge but were almost universally inferior in a fight. No, these men were my physical equals; I was in a bar fight, and I was heavily outnumbered.

  But I was also as invisible to them as they were to me. After a few seconds of frenzied struggle, I fell to the floor, where I focused my efforts on escaping my captors’ grasp and wriggling into the knot surrounding me as much as I could. Suddenly I was one among many, and none of the others knew friend from foe. I had no such difficulty, since everyone was my foe. On the other hand, if I began to strike out indiscriminately, I would reveal myself by my actions as thoroughly as if I had shouted my name.

  So rather than attempt an obvious escape, I turned my attentions inward and began pummeling the poor devil whose grasp I had just escaped. Mobs will follow any leader so long as it eliminates any need to think independently, and my vigorous punching lent an imprimatur to my fellows’ doing the same. Any port in a storm, and any victim in the dark.

  Which worked well until someone turned on a light.

  “Hey! That’s not the guy!”

  I waited no longer. As I was still on the floor, I twisted about and hit the nearest man in the nearest and most sensitive spot I could reach, which doubled him over and caused him to care less about what I did next, which was to push off of him and run. I was outnumbered at least six-to-one, and I had no illusions about my chances. I also had no reservations about opening my mouth to, as I had put it to Timash, “scream like a girl.” Which I did—or least tried to do.

  The men who had gang-tackled me were more nimble than I had thought, and I was seized from behind before I took a full step. By chance or design, one got a sweating hand over my mouth, stifling my shout—physically, at least, but not telepathically.

  It had taken me some time, when I was first learning, to tone down my telepathic communications—not to “shout,” as it was put to me. But now I uncorked the loudest “shout” I could muster, and I am surprised that the men holding me could not hear it, because I am told it echoed throughout the entire building. But apparently they could not, for they dragged me roughly backward, oblivious to their peril until my rescuers were almost upon them—but it was not Maire and Timash leading that charge, it was Skull and the crew of The Dark Lady!

  What had happened to Maire and the others I could not say, but Skull came to a crashing halt when he saw me being brandished as both a hostage and a shield, and he signaled his me to do the same.

  “Let him go!” he demanded, and the array of firepower his men presented actually gave me hope that my captors would accede.

  “Stay where you are!” someone shouted almost in my ear. “If you come any closer, we’ll kill him.” They began to retreat, hauling me with them.

  “He is lying!” I shouted. I could smell a lie, and this one was unmistakable—which astounded me. Why were they so set on keeping me alive?

  “Shut up!” the man hissed in my ear, and he—or someone—cuffed me with a gun butt or some object, because suddenly my head spun and I saw stars. I sagged and was pulled up, and hefted like a sack of flour. “You idiot! Now we’ll have to carry him!”

  That blow had indeed been harder than it looked. Neither my enemies’ escape nor my friends’ efforts to succor me interested me for the next several minutes, as I drifted in and out of awareness. I knew time was passing and that I was being hustled down a corridor—but it could have been a minute or an hour, a dozen yards or a mile for all I could tell. My head hurt and they took no care not to jiggle it.

  There was a blast of cold air and someone said, “Block that door!” Even in my addled state I could deduce we had emerged from the Institute; the cold air was good for my headache and acted as a tonic to my senses. With growing awareness, I could feel that while I was being supported, I was not in any real sense being restrained. They had turned me around, letting my heels drag. Through slitted eyelids, I looked for an opportunity to escape.

  We were indeed outside of the Institute, apparently on a wide balcony or patio. One plan was dashed; I could not simply run for the shelter of The Dark Lady. The door we had exited through had been scarred and melted by a weapon, even if my friends could cut through it from the other side, I could not hope to open it bare-handed. The rest of the patio was bare as far as I could see.

  I heard a whirring behind me, as of an engine coming to life. Most of the Nuum craft with which I was familiar operated silently, so this was another mystery, but not an urgent one. The urgency came from knowing that I was about to be put on that ship and wherever it went, I was bound. I had to escape—but to where?

  Perhaps there was another balcony below this one I could leap to. Perhaps I could simply hang on the side and force them to haul me up, delaying them for precious seconds. Perhaps there was something I could used as a weapon… And then I realized that there was.

  When cornered, do the unexpected. The men dragging me did not expect me suddenly to lift both feet off the ground, pulling them down with my unexpected weight, then pull myself forward. Breaking free, I dashed for the waist-high wall at the edge of the patio. If all I could do was find a corner where I could defend myself better, I would be in a better position than I was.

  But I never reached it. Within a few steps, the blackness had risen in front of my eyes and there was a pounding in my ears. I felt the cut on the back of my head begin to bleed. I stumbled, and was seized once more. I realized I probably had a concussion.

  They threw me onto the cold metal floor of their ship, where I lay trying to stay conscious. As long as I was awake, I could still fight, or at least plan. It was hard; my head hurt, and there was a pain now in my right leg, sharp and unyielding, as if I were lying on a rock.

&
nbsp; A rock…or a ball. Hope washed the cobwebs from my brain like a cold spray. I was fully alert, calculating, my aching head a minor concern. How long I could force my body to do my bidding, I had no idea, but if it would last another minute, I could let go. Win or lose, it would all be over.

  Carefully, I looked up. No one, so far as I could tell, was paying any attention to me. I sent out a telepathic whisper to my only hope.

  Librarian, have you scanned this ship? Normally, I simply spoke to him, but the Nuum were largely telepathic, so naturally he could communicate that way.

  Of course. An unusual design, but not unfamiliar.

  Someday I was going to speak to him severely about his insistence on maintaining composure in any situation.

  Can you control it?

  Unfortunately, the controls are coded, and I lack the proper subroutines to break the code.

  Damn. I felt the blackness returning as my hopes were dashed.

  I could, however, temporarily overload the ship’s systems. It might cause us to crash. He paused for a moment, whether for effect or to allow me time, I did not know. There is a dataport six feet to your left.

  When in doubt, do the unexpected. I reached carefully into my pocket, shielding my movement with my body. Then I reared up. There was a man sitting directly in front of the port I needed. I hit him with my left fist while I rammed the Library home with my right hand.

  They had barely gotten a firm grip on me when the ship tilted crazily to the right and I felt the floor drop out from under my feet. I tried to ignore the shouting and find a place to hang on, but we must not have been very high because I was suddenly thrown into a knot of men who barely cushioned my body at the cost of breaking their own.

  Thanks to my concussion, I hardly felt worse that I already had when I retrieved the Library and crawled out of the wreckage. Whether any of the others had survived I did not know. I rose up and in the light of the setting sun through the cracked windshield I saw I was on the river plain. I smiled. The wreckage should be visible for miles. I could rest: The Dark Lady and Commodore Lobok would be here soon…