by Paul Brandis
As Thea slowly awoke, she became increasingly restless, then querulous.
Padding her arms with the furs, the men tried to get her to sit up, but she fell whining back into the bunk. Even lying down disturbed her, and she rolled back and forth trying to find comfort.
Thoughtfully Bazin watched her unrest. "Obviously something's bothering her. Is this the largest planet you've been on with this girl?"
"Yes. Why?"
"You know, I don't think she's ever experienced any kind of gravity before. This could be more difficult than I thought. Let's let her stay in bed until we get to shore." He turned to the big man. "Pole the ship to shore, please."
The guard did not react, but in a minute Phil felt the little ship slowly moving through the water. Apparently, Bazin's commands were transmitted among the warriors by circuitry in their armor or helmets.
When the escape ship nudged into the wooden dock on the shore, Phil and the guard handed Thea like a big parcel out the hatch to waiting arms below.
A small crowd had gathered around the dock, and a wave of excitement passed through it at the sight of Thea's long-legged beauty. The people were dressed mostly in leather, grey or black, or homespun tan linen.
As guards carried Thea up the broad path to the city, she continued to whimper with pain. They passed through a tunnel in the high wall, and Phil examined its masonry. It was constructed of large, green rock, artfully fitted without mortar. Like flint, the stone contained fine grains of a quartz that sparkled in the light of the little sun.
Phil turned to Bazin. "I've never seen such a beautiful stone."
"Yes, it's a marvelous building material. There's a small mountain of it nearby. We may not have nuclear power, but fortunately the batteries on our tools are solar."
Bazin placed Thea in the care of several women in a small infirmary deep in the bowels of the dungeon. He ordered a large fan be directed onto her, and although it did nothing to alleviate the oppressive pull of gravity that plagued her, the breeze and constant humming seemed to comfort her somewhat.
In contrast, Phil was given a room high in a tower of the castle. He stepped to a window. Below, the narrow, blue lake lapped the shore. Across the lake stretched grassy fields, woods, and in the far distance, dark, brooding mountains.
Bazin entered, followed by a young woman carrying a steaming tray of food. The doctor indicated a table, and she set it down. "I thought you might want something to eat that wasn't preserved," he said. "The vegetables are familiar, but I'm sure the meat isn't. It's quite edible though. I hope you'll like it."
At the scent of the non-synthetics, Phil's stomach leaped with anticipation, and he pulled up a hand-carved, wooden chair. The food tasted delicious. Munching away, he asked, "You said your nuclear engines don't work. Does that mean I'm stuck here too?"
The girl left, giving Phil a quiet look of speculation.
"Well, I don't know. Our ship was sent out here by Oron to establish a mining colony. When we crashed, our rocket engines were pretty well destroyed, and so were quite a few of our people. We still had a number of nuclear generators, but they kept burning out, and by the time we figured out why, we'd lost most of them.
“Now, your ship wasn't particularly damaged. I'll have my men go over it to see if it can be re-ignited. What usually happens is that, with burnout, the nuclear fuel nozzles are destroyed, and we can't reconstruct them. But we'll see."
The next morning Phil woke and strolled to his window. Far below he saw that his pod had been pulled up onto the lake bank next to the dock. The scorched cowling had been stripped off and leaned against the side of the ship, and several men were up to their armpits in the engines. Even from his high vantage point he could see fire and smoke damage in the engine compartment. He hurried downstairs.
As he approached the dock, he saw Bazin had had a low platform built next to the ship's engine compartment, and now sat above the men supervising. Spying Phil, he waved and gestured him up.
Phil climbed the ladder and leaned over the pole railing to observe the damage. "How bad is it?"
Bazin stood and stepped next to him. "Too early to tell. So far it doesn't look too bad. What's critical are the fuel drive connections. They're the ones that go first, and we can't tool them. They're a super-dense porcelain."
It did not take Phil long to see that the men knew what they were doing. After a time he turned to Bazin. "I'm going in to get something to eat. Let me know how your men make out. I'd like to know if I'm going to be able to get off this planet or not."
He went first to the infirmary. Thea, her thin face pale and shadowed, slept uneasily in her fur sling. Tubes snaked out of her mouth and arm, and for one distasteful moment, Phil recalled the vision of a truncated monster in a cloudy tank.
He paused at the desk nearby where a blocky woman with short, grey hair watched. "How is she?"
The middle-aged woman shook her head with quiet despair. "She hasn't responded to the nutrients. I'm sorry, but I just don't know what to do. She really should be returned to a lighter gravity."
“Well, please do the best you can,” he said grimly. Silently he added, She’s worth a half-a-million to me alive; my life if she’s dead.
Phil sat eating at one of the long tables that extended along the walls of the dining hall, when Bazin walked in. High on the wall above the center table hung a large portrait of a handsome, full-breasted woman.
Dropping into a chair across from Phil, Bazin tossed several charred objects the size of hollow marbles onto the table. A couple of them shattered on contact. "Well, there are your nozzles. Either we find more of them, or you're stuck here, and our isolation continues."
"Maybe there are some replacements aboard my ship."
Bazin shook his head. "We already looked."
"Could there be any somewhere else on your planet? I saw other cities when I was flying in."
Bazin made a wry expression. "Well, there might be, but we don't always get along with the other cities. The walls around here aren't just for looks. But I'll send out the word. Maybe someone saved the nozzles from our ship." He leaned forward. "I noticed your ship has only the most rudimentary navigational equipment. Did you try to find this planet, or was it just luck?"
"Probably both. Actually, navigation is one of the few skills I have. Everything else is just a case of doing the best with what I've got to work with."
***
A week later, he stopped by the infirmary and learned that the goddess’s condition had stabilized somewhat, but she had lost a lot of weight and could not seem to gain it back. He had just turned from speaking with the nurse, when Bazin hurried in.
“I need to talk to you.” He preceded Phil out, but turned to him as soon as he had shut the door. "We've just received word. A smuggler has several of our old ship's nozzles. He also has something we want very badly: Healthy cells from a woman's ovary. He'll meet you in Luma City. The place is highly radioactive and deserted, but it's the only place he'd agree to. It's a long run, and dangerous. Let's hope it'll be worth it."
Phil paused. "What do you mean, run?"
"Have you forgotten? There is no other way to get around on this planet. But don't worry, we'll fix you up so that you'll have a chance. It won't be easy." He shrugged. "But you might make it. One thing though—"
"Now what?"
"Beware of Ghosts." He was not smiling.
Before leaving, Phil stopped by at the infirmary one last time. The nurse's drawn face showed the strain of long hours on duty. "I'm afraid she's declining. She's upset about something, I don't know what, and she just doesn't have enough strength to fight her fears. I wish I could get her to sleep naturally." She glanced at his augmented body. "Hurry back before..." She bit her lip and turned away.
CHAPTER 9
Phil raced across the shimmering phosphorus desert, his electrolegs a blur. No weapon hampered his electronically augmented body. Sweat glistened his skin and leather.
He had been running for days
, and the warning lights in his helmet nagged about his weariness. He had switched off the lead to his brain and felt no pain, but death from exhaustion could strike at any moment.
His eyes locked on the low row of hills surrounding the stark desert. Too far, cried the numbers flickering on the corner of his face shield. At the present rate of energy use, he would never reach it.
Suddenly white light flashed across the surrounding hills, and the warning lights on his face shield screamed a sharp temperature rise. He glanced over his shoulder. The sun's scalding rays had detonated the volatile sand, and a huge, star-spray eruption fountained into the sky, growing outward in a tidal wave of fire. Shock waves slammed into his back, and a clap of explosion cracked his ears.
His skin smoked, and new numbers burst on his screen: too much heat; too much speed; too much energy use. He must stop or die--he must accelerate or die. He lunged to flank speed.
He reached and bolted up the first hill. Feet churning in loose gravel, he slipped, struck rock, and drove upward. If he could top the hill, he had a chance.
He had nearly reached the summit, his legs flailing in the burning air--when he died.
His legs beat the last few strides, then froze. Headlong he hurtled over the top, and into space.
Paralyzed, he spun slowly down, his brain registering the sky, the dark cliff face, the purple lake below.
He smashed into the lake's surface and sank like a stone. Deeper and deeper he plunged. Above, the flaming phosphorus cascaded down the cliff into the lake, churning it into a boiling caldron. Tiny rivulets of the blistering chemical burrowed through the water after him.
Finally he settled on the murky bottom. He flashed a command to his legs. Nothing. His face shield was bereft of data.
In moments his vision tunneled from air starvation. Then a green cursor blinked on in his face shield, quickly followed by a red one. The water had cooled his circuits and he could move, but he needed oxygen fast.
No kidding.
Desperately he kicked towards the surface, searching for a patch of water clear of flames. Spying one, he thrust his head out, gulped a breath of the searing, poisonous air, and dove for safer depths.
Porpoising under the burning water, he reached the far end of the lake where the fire had yet to spread. As he splashed from the lake, the fiery air boiled the water on his skin to steam.
Spotting a stream, he sprinted north along its bank heading towards a high plateau; the stream's source.
Gaining the darkening plateau, he sped across it, guided by infrared, radar, and black-light telemetry diagramed on his face shield.
The planet's incline kept the upper pole in constant darkness. And because of Ghosts, these regions were rarely penetrated.
At the rim of the plateau, he paused. From the depths of the Dark Zone, like a white flare in the night, glowed the abandoned Luma City.
Soon Phil crept along a blinding white street, his face shield so darkened it was nearly black.
The street rumbled underfoot, and the scream of a generator gone berserk pierced the air. Attacked by radioactivity, his face shield blurred with scriggly red lines, and angry static buzzed in his earphones.
Suddenly a red dot sharpened on his screen. Instinctively, his muscles tightened, and he paused at the mouth of an alley.
He sent out a message. "Are you there?"
The reply whispered through the static, "I am here."
He stalked in, guided by touching the wall. Finally the red dot enlarged into a man's wavering silhouette. It was the best his equipment could do in tracing a Shade.
He thrust his hand out and it dipped up to the wrist in the Shade's body.
"Do you have the cells and the nozzles?" Phil asked.
"Do you have the card?" came the hissing reply.
Phil slipped the Shade the credit card, and the smuggler handed him a large ring and a small leather bag. Phil held them up close to his goggles. The ring was capped by a signet. "What's this?"
"The cells are in the ring, fool," the Shade sneered.
Phil pried open the bag, checked the three porcelain nozzles, and slipped the ring and the bag into his waistband. Then he turned, and without another word, headed for the mouth of the alley. But after several paces, he heard a sound and sensed danger.
He dodged sideways, and a dart glance off the back of his helmet. He keyed a button on his chest, and the credit card exploded.
He broke into a run. Bazin had told him that Shades, like Ghosts, were impossible to kill, and Phil wanted to be gone when it recovered. Besides, the city's radioactivity was killing him.
Luma City reflected off his back as he trotted across a dusky plain. His planned return route was now a phosphorous inferno, and he had to find a new way back.
His path led into the Badlands, a maze of rocky hills and meandering canyons where an average warrior could get lost. He could only hope his sense of direction would lead him.
But the Badlands hid Ghosts.
Soon the low fingers of hills stretched into the plain. He scanned ahead but dared not probe too far for fear Ghosts would pick up his waves. He also took a spore reading. Ghosts were odorless, but silverfish ate nearly anything, and the stench of their feces, once encountered, was never forgotten.
Loping up a narrow canyon, he soon encountered the thick, flat puddles of a silverfish's droppings. They were nearly eight feet in diameter.
A shot of fear ran up Phil's back. What Bazin said must be true. Silverfish were huge. They would have to be to drop so much offal. And they were probably as deadly as Bazin said. The smell alone was enough to knock a man out.
He veered from the valley floor up the rocky hillside. Bazin claimed a silverfish could clamber up a cliff, but Phil felt more secure on high ground. Jogging just below the skyline, he worked his way along a ridge.
He crested a hilltop and looked out over a sea of deadly green stretching across the valley: acid weed.
A wide path snaked out of the canyon below and across the green plain of death. Scrambling down the hillside, Phil began a full-speed gallop along the path's hard, dusty surface. As he raced past, the poisonous plants, writhing with hunger, stretched their tube-like tendrils onto the roadway.
He was nearing the far side of the valley when he roared around a bend--and nearly ran up the tail of a giant silverfish. Several of the grey monsters, big as land tanks, stood on the road grazing on acid weed. And just behind the scaly head of each, perched a shimmering, caped ghost.
Phil dove headlong into the acid weed.
At the sound, the silverfish whirled around, dust swirling up from the twin rows of their pumping legs. But the weed had already oozed over Phil's back, seeking to devour.
Phil's sensors began furiously blinking damage reports. His electronics could not take the voracious plant's acidic juices for long. And even with his nerve cables turned off, his skin crawled from imagining the corrosion burning his body.
Finally he took a chance and poked his head up. All three of the giants were peering right at him. Their antennal eyes waved in agitation and their horny mandibles ground greedily. On their backs, glowing like teletransmissions slightly out of focus, stared the Ghosts.
Phil leaped up. He would have to run for it. Silverfish were the fastest creatures on Serena, but he had no choice.
He feinted left. The insects zigged with him. He was about to cut right, when a huge, fiery orb blasted out of the sky, smashing through the fish like a giant scythe and scattering the molecules of the Ghosts. Slamming into the ground, it careened up the road and plowed to a stop after several hundred paces.
The concussion knocked Phil flat on his back in the acid weeds. He was up in a flash.
Dashing through the smoking, crumpled ectoskeletons, he dodged the ghost's clouds, and raced to the missile. Closer, he saw that it was a small ship. Toxic fumes leaked from a long tear in its underbelly.
As he skidded to a stop, a hatch in the ship opened and a small, bird-like probe flew ou
t, its weapon aimed at him. He froze.
The probe circled him, then darted down the road and swooped in and out of the Ghosts who quivered with rage. Then it zipped back to the ship.
After a moment, an elevator cage lifted out of the ship. To his amazement, it contained a tall, beautiful girl with long, black hair. Though clad from shoulder to thigh only in tight black leather, she was loaded with weaponry: a pistol holstered on her hip, a heavy shoulder weapon strapped to her back, and a light shoulder weapon--pointed right at him. Her black eyes never wavered.
A mechanical arm extended the elevator to the road, and the girl stepped out. The probe hung protectively above her head.
"Do you understand my speech?" she asked slowly.
Phil glanced over his shoulder at the Ghosts. Their clouds of photons were coalescing. But worse, a column of ghost-mounted silverfish thundered out of the hills. He nodded. "I can understand you."
"Are you human, android, or what?"
"Human."
Her eyes narrowed. "You don't look human." Her weapon did not move.
"I'll explain later." He pointed at her ship. "Can that still fly?"
Her disgust was obvious. "If it could, I would."
"Terrific," he groaned. He pointed at her weapon. "You got any firepower beside lasers?"
She leaned forward. "They'll slice you in half without any trouble."
He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "They won't do much good against them."
She spied the galloping silverfish and her face hardened. "What are they?"
"Mutated insects. Lasers will cut them down, but not the Ghosts on their backs." He started to move closer, but the probed buzzed angrily between them, its laser nozzle aimed at the center of his face shield.
He nodded at the probe. "Call off this chrome buzzard, and do what I tell you, or we'll both end up as lunch for one of those monsters."
She stared at him, then at the long, scaly insects charging up the road. Finally she lowered her weapon, and the probe flitted back to above her head. "You got a plan?"
