by Paul Brandis
Dante stooped and picked up the filmy drawing. The tingling at the touch faded quickly.
"When you want to destroy the rendering," Sighter said, "simply tear off a corner, which will break the molecular cohesion.
Phil wanted to return to the problems at hand. "Thanks, but how about it? Are there any other entrances besides the tunnel and terrace?"
"Our records show none."
"So that means the terrace. Sleds could make it without too much problem."
Dante shook his head. "Have you forgotten about the armament and artillery?" He addressed the hologram. "Do you have any schematics of the fortress's defense emplacements?"
"We have no pictures or diagrams, but in analyzing their equipment purchases, and the terrain, we have created a diagram of the logical placings." A map appeared showing the surrounding mountains with guns and fields of fire drawn in. "As you can see, there is much overlap of fire. Penetration while weapons' systems are operable would seem impossible."
Studying the schematic, Dante nodded. "So it seems."
Phil leaned forward. "What do you mean, when operable? Is there some way we can make it, uh, inoperable?"
The schematic faded, and Sighter's visage appeared. He recited in a monotone. "As stated within the parameters of our agreement, we can only supply you with information. We cannot suggest policy."
Dante returned to his chair throwing Phil a silencing glance. "Well then, can you give us more data about the fortress?"
"I will talk about the weather."
Phil grimaced, and flopped back on the couch.
"In the Terran summer, the fortress is blessed with quite benign weather, though occasionally overcast with clouds. In the winter, as could be expected being high in the mountains, it is deeply inundated with snow."
Phil sighed heavily.
"In the late autumn," Sighter continued, "and now, in the early spring, the fortress is often struck by severe thunderstorms--with lightning."
Dante leaned forward. "Did you say with lightning?"
"I did."
"How do they ground the strikes?"
"The monastery show in their records, purchase orders for a number of lightning rods that are capable of taking strikes up to thirty million volts at a hundred thousand amperes."
Dante squinted. "That's a pretty high tolerance. What would happen if the grounding device received a much higher voltage strike? Could it disrupt the power supply?"
"Since it is solar-charged batteries, a voltage overload could burn out the primary power supply, yes."
Phil sat up. "But don't forget. They have nuclear, and gas powered generators to back it up."
Dante's eyes remained on Sighter. "I'm not forgetting anything." He continued with the minister, "With the equipment that they have, how long before their power supply could come back on line?"
"Household requirements are backed up by chemical batteries. In the fortress's exits and corridors they would come on immediately; overall fortress power, longer. The security and armament equipment, whose backup is supplied by nuclear generators, would take a few moments to make crossover connections."
"A few moments? Can you be more precise?"
"Four minutes and ninety-seven Terran seconds."
Phil looked disgusted. "So the artillery is out for five minutes. We couldn't fly sleds in in just five minutes."
Dante shook his head. "Let's be precise. Four and ninety-seven seconds. I wouldn't want to lose my life for only three seconds." Back to Sighter. "And what if the grounding devices were struck by another strong lightning strike?"
"Any damage to the nuclear connections, and the power demands would be shifted to the fossil fuel generators."
"And how long would the shift take? Precisely?"
"Somewhat longer; eight minutes and thirty-two seconds."
Phil sighed. "Great. But we can't wait around for the fortress to be hit by lightning bolts big enough to knock out the power supplies. And what about the satellite during all this? Even if the power supply was out, it would laser anything that tried to sneak in."
Dante's face remained blank. "Thank you very much for the information, Minister Sighter." He flicked a finger at Phil's black tube.
Phil nodded. "Yeah, thanks, Sighter. Talk to you later," and extinguished the picture. He faced Dante. "Well, how about it?"
Dante spoke slowly. "It'll take split-second timing, and good communications, but I think I can get us in. It'll be up to you to get us out."
"What do you mean us, white man? I thought you were opposed to violence."
"I am," he said grimly, "but this is business."
CHAPTER 25
The sliver of white appeared on the golden horizon and flashed over the great, multicolored canyon scarring the ground for miles across. As the white ship banked and settled for a landing on hard sandstone next to the Frisco Flyer, Phil, Kim, and Dante rose from chairs on a small covered pavilion near the canyon's rim, and strolled over to the ship.
Its seamless side opened, and Sighter and Golden rode the escalator down.
Phil turned to introduce Dante to the two tall aliens, and paused. His friend had flushed a deep, burning red.
Phil leaned nearer to him. "Are you all right?"
Dante could not tear his eyes from the lithe, golden girl.
"Dante?" Phil said louder.
Dante's round face turned to him in confusion. "What?"
"I want you to meet Minister Sighter and his daughter. I call her Golden."
Dante frowned. "No."
"No? What do you mean, no?"
"Uh, no, that's not it." He smiled shyly at the girl. "I mean her name isn't Golden. She told it to me as she came down the ramp."
Phil's gaze jumped from Dante to the girl, and back. "Then what is her name?"
"Her name is--" He frowned. "I can't tell you."
"What is it, a secret?"
"No--well, yes, in a way it is. Actually it's untranslatable. But I think I know."
As Dante and the tall girl smiled at each other again, Phil groaned. "Terrific. In any event, until you can come up with a better name, we'll call her Golden. And this is her father, Minister Sighter."
Dante straightened up and seriously thrust out his hand. "I'm very honored to finally meet you in person, Minister. I want to thank you for finding me and telling me that my friend here was still alive and not too much the worse for wear."
Phil drew himself up. "Hey, I'll make the speeches around here."
Kim elbowed him. "Yes, and you'll get us all in trouble again, too."
"Well, anyway, Minister," said Phil, "come on over, and have something to eat. I'm glad you could make it. I wanted to ask you a few more questions."
Later that evening, Phil and Sighter huddled over a diagram on the table in Phil's quarters. Phil straightened. "Well, you've seen Dante's plan, what do you think our chances are?"
Sighter faced him. "Is that a specific question?"
"Uh, sure."
Sighter aimed his black tube, and grasped and pulled down the schematic that appeared in the air. "As you can see, this shows the probability of success at each step of your plan."
Phil stared at the readout. "You mean, you computed our chances already?"
"As you explained it, the computer assessed it."
"Oh. And?"
Sighter stared at him, and then at the diagram.
Phil remained patient. "Minister, I can't understand your symbols. Are those numbers?"
The tall man paused, smiled, then for the first time, laughed out loud, a slow, deep rumbling in his chest. "I'm sorry. Look." He pointed at at an overlapping of color ranging from yellow to orange to red. "On this graph you can see how the color darkens after you have begun the operation. By and large, your chances diminish as you go on. The symbols underneath could be translated roughly into what you call percentage points, though they carry much more data."
"Fine, but what does it mean? I see quite a bit of red. Is that bad?" He p
ointed at a tiny break in the line. "And what's this?"
Sighter shook his head. "You must remember, we can make assessments only from what has gone before in our long history. There may be a slight possibility of a strange occurrence, unpredictable due to its unprecedence, happening sometime in this time frame. In order to live up to the dictates of our agreement, we felt you should know about it."
Phil peered intently at the diagram. "What do you mean by strange occurrence?"
"If we knew, we would tell you. But, as you can see, it only affects you for the briefest of moments."
Phil studied the diagram, then turned to the alien. "The briefest of moments, huh? Do you know how long it takes to pull a trigger?"
CHAPTER 26
The battered steel truck trundled up the dusty road and jolted to a stop at the top of the grassy mountain slope. An old man slipped out of the cab and held the door as a sharp-eyed little collie leaped down and ran excitedly to the back of the truck. The man followed and pulled down a worn wooden ramp. As soon as the doors opened, the collie dashed up the ramp and onto the backs of the spongy-coated sheep who jostled to get away and down the ramp. Once in the mountain meadow, the sheep meandered down the hill, nuzzling the grass, the shepherd and his dog watchfully following.
In the small compartment hidden in the front of the truck, two young men directed their equipment across the desert valley, past the walled monastery at the base of a narrow canyon and up to the top of the mountains in the hazy blue distance. Other equipment was aimed in the opposite direction, to the Frisco Flyer laying in wait over the horizon and out of sight of the satellite hanging above the mountains. Then everyone sat back and waited for nature to unfold.
Throughout the day, the young, spring sun beat down on the moist plain, and soon turbulent clouds grew, boiling up into great, seething mushrooms. With the cool of the night, sharp winds from the desert caught them and hurled them up the narrow, mountain valleys where they collided against the peaks.
Inside the narrow cubicle, a young man studied his screens, then pressed a key. "Stand by. I think we got some action."
Aboard the Frisco Flyer, Ray called one of his ship's laser batteries. "Are you locked on?"
"Right."
"You'd better be. As soon as there's a strike, it'll fire."
Soon, lightning slashed through the clouds and into the forest, exploding the crown of a tall tree in steam and splinters, and tearing a great rent down its length. Gale winds thrust the clouds on, until they churned black and lethal above the mountain tops. Now no tree rose to provide a ground for the electrical fury of the storm, only the peaks—and the fortress.
A jagged streak of blue-white light cracked from the roiling mass and struck a tall, metal rod perched on the tip of the fortress's slate roof that rose above the rock. The pinpoint photocell in the truck aimed at the lightning rod picked up the strike, and instantaneously fired the Flyer's laser cannon, which smashed the satellite above the fortress, sending it spinning into space.
Immediately the Flyer's idling rockets roared, thrusting it into the night. Within a split second it dropped a sled over the valley and dashed above the storm clouds, seeding them with a thick mist of positive ions. Then it disappeared over the horizon.
Attempting to overcome the vast unbalance of charge from sky to ground, great slashes of lightning streaked out of the storm, shattering to rubble exposed rock. As a huge, screaming bolt struck the fortress's rod, all lights flickered out.
Sitting behind Phil, Dante watched a gauge. They wore tight, black, waterproof jumpsuits and close-fitting helmets with videos and sensors. Dante keyed his mike. "Radar off. Let's go."
Phil shoved the throttle forward, and the sled, its rockets muffled by baffles, leaped forward. Hugging the base of the seething clouds, he soared over the monastery and up the valley. He had just dodged a low-lying peak, when Dante's voice whispered in his ear. "Radar's coming on again. Get down!"
Phil dove out of the clouds into the gully of a turbulent stream, skimmed above the froth, and ducked into the forest. There they hovered, hidden by the great trees.
All around them the night blazed with lightning flashes, followed at once by the rumbling crash of thunder.
Suddenly the dripping, black world of the forest exploded, and the little sled slewed sideways. Warning lights erupted on the console as Phil fought to steady the craft. Then like a great, green claw, a severed tree top crashed down on them. Its branches tore at the sled, trying to rake it to the ground.
Phil had to accelerate to gain control of the skewing sled. He zigzagged around two tree trunks and had nearly wrestled the sled into submission, when Dante called again. "Let's get out of here."
"Don't worry. Everything's under control."
"That's not it. The radar's off again. We've got to make the fortress on this try."
Phil kicked in the throttle again and fishtailed out of the woods. Streaking up the gully, he yanked the stick hard back and they shot straight up the cliff face.
Rain streamed down the cliff like a waterfall, and the buffeting winds nearly hurled them into the naked rock.
Then they tore past the terrace of the fortress, and Phil cracked the sled hard over and swooped in for a landing.
As the sled settled gently, Phil activated the canopy, and the full force of the storm struck them, instantly drenching the narrow cabin. As they unbuckled and jumped out, the wind tore at the men, shoving them towards the edge of the terrace. Phil grabbed Dante and pulled him into the sheltered doorway.
They peered in through glass doors. Nothing moved inside the darkened room. Phil tried the door. Surprisingly it slid open.
They had no sooner stepped in and closed the sliding door, when Sighter spoke in Phil's ear. "The radar defenses just came on."
Phil keyed his mike. "But as you can see, power to the fortress still seems to be off."
Phil's transmission, condensed in his helmet and sent out in a burst of scrambled waves sounding like lightning static, was relayed by the truck.
Sighter's calm voice returned. "Remember, the household back-up power is chemical battery. The fuse bar could be thrown and lights come on at any time."
They hurried across the large, carpeted room and paused at a paneled door. Slowly Phil opened it and peered out. Nothing moved in the wide, shadowy hallway. A stairwell at the end of the hall glowed dimly, illuminated by a faint light from below.
The two men crept across the granite hall floor to a set of double doors. Phil listened, heard nothing, and moved past. Nearer the stairway, they came to another door.
Sighter spoke. "Phil, we just picked up something on your vital signs. Did you just receive a feeling of warmth, like affection?"
"Is that what it was?" he whispered. "Yeah, I guess so."
"I think you'll find that the girl, Thea is behind that door."
Phil tried it, and it opened.
There, in the corner of the room, lit by the pale light of a battery lamp, Thea crouched on her bed, clutching her blanket to her chin. Seeing the helmeted men, she shrank back.
Phil called jubilantly, "Sighter, you're right. We've found her."
Sighter answered, but Phil was listening. He tore his helmet off so that Thea could recognize him.
Seeing him, she leaped from her bed and threw her arms around him.
Finally disengaging her strong arms from his neck, he examined her closely. She appeared thinner, and the wane light accented deep hollows under her eyes.
He held her shoulders. "Are you all right?"
Her eyes dropped.
Phil's jaw hardened. "What'd he do to you?"
Silence.
He cursed. "I wish you could talk."
Sighter's voice rumbled in his ear. "Let me talk to her."
Phil frowned. "Now, what does he want?" he grumbled to himself, and started to take out his earplug, then paused, and turned to Dante. "You give her yours. I want to hear this."
As she watched Phil with wide, qu
estioning eyes, Dante
doffed his helmet and inserted his earplug into Thea's ear. When it was in place, Phil spoke softly, "All right, Sighter, she's listening. Say what you have to say, but make it fast. I want to find Slen and get out of here."
Sighter's voice came over calmly. "Are you listening, Thea?"
Still looking at Phil, she nodded.
Suddenly, a high-pitched frequency squealed, straining Phil's ears to the pain level. Words, sentences, ideas, syntax, all flashed into his mind, tumbling over and around, but somehow righting themselves as pinpoints of instruction sped in after them.
Thea bent over, and dropped to the edge of her bed, her head in her hands.
Abruptly the sound ceased, and Sighter said, "All right, Thea, say hello to Phil."
She looked up dazedly. "Hello, Phil."
Phil stared at Dante, and they both sat down next to the girl on the bed.
She looked at him uncertainly. "Did I say it right?"
He took her hand. "Oh, honey. You said it perfectly."
She smiled, reassured.
Phil peered deep into her haggard eyes. "But tell me, are you all right? Did Slen do anything to you?"
She shuddered and looked down. "I don't want to talk about it."
Dante stood. "Great. She just learned to talk, and now she doesn't want to. I'll leave it to you to figure it out."
Phil wrapped an arm around the girl. "Quiet. Can't you see she's hurting? Can you get up, baby? We've got to keep moving."
The girl nodded numbly.
Standing, Phil called Sighter. "Thanks, Minister, you did a good job." He glanced around. Seeing a door next to her bed, he spoke into his mike. "What are the chances that the side door leads to the room Slen is in?"
Thea spoke with a shudder, "Yes, he is in there." She gave a little smile at her ability to answer.
He hugged her shoulders. "Oh, baby, am I glad you can talk. Is he alone?"
She frowned. "No, there's a nurse with him."
Phil winked. "No problem." He wedged his helmet on, and jerked a thumb to Dante. "Let's get in there and get this over with."
