by Douglas Hill
Gun in hand, he sprang through the door and moved away along the narrow passage.
There had been no one in the passage – and as Keill came to its junction with the wide outer corridor, and peered carefully round the corner, there was still no one in sight. No doubt most of the remaining men were collected at the other end of the dome, near the airlocks, as Jiker had said. All their attention would be on the spaceship – with its Legion markings – guarding the dome’s entrance. The last thing they would expect would be one man attacking them from within.
And, because that one man was an armed legionary of Moros, in full fighting readiness and with a good many scores to settle, it was all too likely that it would be the last thing they would expect.
Keill turned into the corridor and moved swiftly and silently along it, hugging the inner wall. His movements seemed to have eased the pain from his strained and tortured muscles, and he moved as lightly and fluidly as he ever did. He slowed his pace as he neared the opening of another connecting passage. A careful glance round – and again no one. But soon, he was certain, the curving main corridor would reveal the opening of the airlock at the dome’s entrance...
And there it was; and two men in space suits, with guns in their hands – energy guns. They hesitated only for a second, astonished at the sight of him, then jerked up their guns and fired.
Keill dived full length straight ahead. His left hand slapped on the smooth metal floor to break his fall, as the beams from the others’ guns sizzled above his head. Then he was sliding a few paces, full length on the floor, but his own gun was rocksteady in his right hand, blazing out its deadliness.
The two men dropped with a clatter, and Keill was up again. To the left of the spacesuited bodies, a doorway that had to be the end chamber where the others were gathered. Three left now, besides the giant.
He flattened against the wall, swiftly glanced round the edge of the door and drew back. Energy beams hissed past, biting into the doorframe, the metal sliding and dripping as it melted. Two of them, waiting, hidden behind metal cases in what must be the equipment room. He could hear their voices, high-pitched and nervous in the face of this unexpected attack.
Beyond them, he had seen in that lightning glance, had been another doorway. And somewhere there was a third man...
He moved quietly away from the door. The two inside the equipment room would keep for a moment –
they were not likely to move. But the third man was probably trying to circle, to get behind Keill. Would he use the nearest connecting passage, the one Keill had just come past?
Apparently he would. Keill waited at the corner of the passage, ears straining, and caught the muffled slide of boots on metal as the man crept forward. Listening carefully, Keill waited – not a muscle moving, hardly breathing, as if he were carved in stone.
Another soft shuffle of a foot – nearer now. Carefully Keill weighed the distance and the timing, poising himself, silently shifting his gun to his left hand...
Then the other man put his head round the corner, and met the axe-edge of Keill’s hand across his throat.
Keill caught the body as it collapsed, easing it soundlessly to the floor, ignoring the purple-black of the face as the man died swiftly from a crushed larynx. Silent as before, he drifted along the narrow connecting passage, rounded the corner, then let his boots ring solidly on the metal as he stepped through the doorway into the chamber behind the last two men who waited, watching nervously in the wrong direction.
They swung round in panic, wildly trying to bring their guns to bear, and Keill dropped them with one shot apiece.
And now there was only Thr’un.
A quick but careful survey of the remainder of the dome’s lower level confirmed what Jiker had said.
The giant was certainly on the upper level – where he had no doubt gone to look out at the Legion ship that lay in wait at the dome’s entrance.
Keill paused at the bottom of the stairs that led to the upper level, staring up at the curving wall, with a patch of stars glinting through the plastiglass at the crest of the dome. One set of stairs, which emerged through the floor of the top level, so that at the top Keill would be in full view of the waiting Thr’un.
He ghosted up a few steps in total silence, then halted, crouching, and projected a call. ‘Glr – another diversion. Fire a blast over the dome, as close as you can’
At your service,came the cheerful reply.
The plastiglass flared with eerie light as the narrow beam of energy blazed past overhead. In the same instant Keill sprang up the remaining stairs, dived and rolled.
Another, narrower beam flashed centimetres away from where he had been, burning deep into the floor.
But Keill had found refuge behind a heap of discarded cases, and lay there, listening carefully, looking over his surroundings.
Clearly Thr’un’s men had seen no need to be tidy-minded in their occupancy of the dome. Nor had the scientific group who had first used the structure been any more inclined to neatness when they left. The upper level, which was one large chamber with the dome itself as ceiling, was filled with clutter and rubble.
There were discarded cases and containers of every size and shape, scattered and heaped at random.
There were what seemed to be stacks of spare parts for machinery, and segments of scientific equipment, probably damaged and thrown aside as irrepairable. There were even a few mounds of rock – no doubt samples from the surface of the moon, left behind after examination.
It all meant useful cover, for anyone wishing to keep hidden in the wide chamber. But it was cover for Thr’un as much as Keill.
Then Keill saw that there was a considerable cleared space along one side of the chamber – a space that was dominated by a tall bank of equipment, apparently in working order.
Communications equipment, without doubt. Perhaps for Thr’un to maintain contact with his ‘Master’?
A faint rustle to Keill’s left. The giant was circling, stalking, seeking a chance for another shot with his beam-gun.
Keep moving, Keill told himself, edging soundlessly away to his right. It was his only direction – yet he regretted it, for he was being driven away from the stairs, being cut off from the only way out. No matter, he thought. If he’d been sensible, he would never have climbed the stairs – but merely have gone out to his ship and blasted the dome to cinders. But somehow he had wanted to face the giant this way. And there was always the chance that more useful information might be forthcoming.
The energy beam hissed past him, and a metal canister on a heap of rubbish fell away, a gaping hole melted into its surface. Keill ducked, moving swiftly – and as he did so, the rich bass voice of Thr’un echoed musically through the chamber.
‘Welcome, legionary. You seem amazingly difficult to kill – but I promise you, you will not leave here alive.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Keill did not reply, but took advantage of the sound of the resonant voice to move more swiftly. Only a few strides now, and he would be behind the heavy bank of equipment that was some complex form of communicator. There was a chance that Thr’un would not wish to burn through that, to reach him.
‘As close-mouthed as ever, Randor?’ called the giant. He, too, had moved, as the direction of his voice showed. ‘I would have thought you would have a few last words.’
Again, covered by the rolling echoes of Thr’un’s voice, Keill moved. For an instant he was fully exposed in the cleared area, but his speed saved him. He felt the blistering heat of the energy beam just above his head as he dived and rolled, coming to rest behind the communicator cabinet. Its metal bulk rose comfortingly above him, nearly his own height.
‘You are mistaken,’ Thr’un said, ’if you think that will protect you.’ To underline the words, the energy beam bit at the corner of the communicator. Molten metal hissed and dripped.
‘And you are mistaken,’ Keill shouted, ’if you think killing me will save you. My... companion i
n the ship still has you trapped.’
‘Yes, that was clever of you,’ Thr’un mocked. His voice indicated that he was moving slowly closer. ‘I had not imagined that there was someone in your ship – you were alone, were you not, on Saltrenius?
Who is it out there, another legionary?’
‘As full of questions as ever, Thr’un?’ Keill said, mimicking the giant’s earlier words. ‘Still intending to report dutifully to your Master?’
Keill was aware that the giant wanted to keep him talking, to put him off-guard when the final attack came. But the trick might work in reverse. Certainly Thr’un seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice...
‘I do not report to the Master,’ Thr’un sneered. ‘Only the One reports.’
Keill sat up at that. More intriguing hints and mysteries. Could he jolt more information out of the giant –
providing he had time to do so?
‘And the "One" would be the head of your group that you nearly told me about?’
‘Clever again,’ Thr’un growled. He was even closer now. His energy gun crackled again, and a corner of the communicator sagged, something within it bursting briefly into flame. Keill paid scant attention.
‘Is he as insane as you, or your cowardly Master?’ he called.
‘You prattle of things beyond your knowledge!’ Thr’un replied, voice rumbling deep with anger.
‘Knowledge?’ Keill said. He sensed that the moment of attack was near, and spoke quickly, hardly thinking about what he was saying. ‘I know what you are, and who you serve. I know your Master is the destroyer of my world and my people. And I know that he has a madman’s dream of wrecking the galaxy with warfare, and ruling over its ruins!’
Surprise joined the anger in Thr’un’s voice. ‘You know more than you should, legionary. More than I imagined. The Master will be interested.’
Again his beam-gun blazed, and there was a flash and a muffled explosion deep in the bowels of the bank of equipment. Keill drew back slightly as the metal that sheltered him grew hot to the touch. But he moved by reflex, hardly aware – for his mind was dazedly trying to assimilate what had just been said.
He had hurled his wild accusations, based on the story old Talis had told, in order to provoke Thr’un into revealing the true nature of the ‘Master’ who directed him. He had not imagined for a moment...
But it had happened. Thr’un had confirmed the fantastic things Keill had said.
Which meant that the Overseers’ story about the Warlord... was true.
As true as Talis’s statement about the bones of Keill’s body.
He shook his head, trying to clear it, to re-orient himself. Think about it later, he told himself savagely, or you won’t live to think at all.
Thr’un’s voice had last come from a point that must be on, or near, the edge of the cleared area. Silently Keill eased his way to the right, crouching at the corner of the communicator, concentrating, focusing energy and power into his legs. Make him speak again, he thought. Pinpoint his position.
‘Your Master won’t be pleased at what has happened here, Thr’un,’ he called. ‘A failure is executed –
isn’t that the way of the Warlord?’
‘Warlord, you call him?’ Thr’un rumbled. ‘An apt name. Yes, he has his way with failure. But I have not failed, legionary. I was sent here to complete the task I began – to clear the galaxy of your Legions. And I will complete it!’
The implication of the words struck Keill at once, and the hatred and rage that rose in him seemed to fill his veins with fire. ‘You? You are the destroyer?’
‘It was I,’ the giant gloated, ’who sent the radiation capsules into the atmosphere of Moros. A laughably simple task. Miniature capsules, made by the genius of the Master, hidden in an innocent shipment of grain. Your Legions suspected nothing. And then, on the signal, the chain reaction...’
But Keill did not let him finish. Fury reinforced his strength as he exploded into a surging leap – not sideways round the corner of the communicator, but straight up, in a mighty standing jump.
He was firing as he leaped, firing as his feet struck the top of the melting, blackened machine, firing still as he sprang without pause out across the cleared area, at the throat of his enemy.
The giant had flung himself to one side to dodge the deluge of energy blasts, and that movement and Keill’s speed threw his own aim off. Energy beams sizzled past Keill as he charged – and then scalding pain bit deep into his right shoulder as one of the erratic beams found him, spinning him off-balance, hurling him to the floor.
His gun fell and slid out of reach – and then the giant, moving with his own astonishing speed, was towering over him, gun levelled at Keill’s face.
Keill waited for the death shot, but Thr’un did nothing, except let a cruel smile of satisfaction grow across his face.
‘You see?’ he said. ‘I have not failed, after all.’
Keill looked at him with contempt. ‘You won’t have long to gloat. My companion will know the moment I am dead – and will destroy the dome with you in it.’
‘Indeed? I doubt if he will know so quickly. No, I will have no trouble in burning my way out of the rear of the dome and dealing with your companion – after I have dealt with you.’
He widened his mocking smile, then glanced down at Keill’s shoulder, where blood seeped steadily through the seared flesh.
‘You are injured, which is a shame,’ Thr’un said. ‘Yet you have proved a dangerous and resourceful opponent, and so you can still be deemed worthy.’
To Keill’s astonishment, Thr’un stepped back, and tossed his beam-gun aside. ‘Come, Randor, let me show you what I know to be true – that the much-admired skill of the Legions is nothing to the power of the Deathwing!’
Keill rose slowly to his feet, hardly able to believe what was happening. ‘Deathwing?’
Thr’un laughed expansively. ‘You have not heard the name? It is the Master’s select force – his chosen lieutenants, who serve his will throughout the galaxy. Men like myself, Randor, from the altered worlds.
Men to whom the Master has given skills, and strengths, and power, beyond anything dreamed of by a puny legionary!’ He raised his arms at his sides, muscles rolling under the naked bronze skin. ‘See, Randor! See how your death will come!’
Keill’s eyes widened with amazement and horror. The weird, ridged markings on the giant’s body were moving again. Writhing, swelling – opening...
From beneath the skin, where the ridges encircled Thr’un’s body, erupted growths. Swiftly they extended, upwards and downwards, flaring, fanning out. They were like slabs of thick and heavy leather, solid linked plates of a dark, unpleasantly muddy colour. And they protected the giant like armour.
From the band around the neck they spread out to cover the throat and the base of the skull, reaching down over the upper chest and back. Below, the abdominal armour extended to cover the loins, the belly and the kidneys, stretching up over the solar plexus and the lower ribs.
All the weaker points on the human body – from neck to thigh – were, on Thr’un, protected from harm.
Keill had backed away a step, involuntarily. But he saw the sadistic light in the giant’s eyes, and fought to bring his shock and revulsion under control – willing his aching, wounded body into the poised relaxation of combat readiness. His right shoulder felt as if naked flame was still eating at his flesh. But it was not a crippling wound, he knew. Beyond the pain, he still had the use of the arm.
Yet he let it dangle limply, as if the shoulder was shattered. Over-confidence might be the only weakness that Thr’un would show.
Then the giant attacked, without warning.
Keill was nearly trapped by the speed and power of the rush. But he managed to dodge one blow, block another, and spin away out of reach. Instantly Thr’un was upon him again – and again Keill evaded the attack, twisting away.
It became the pattern of the fight. Keill remained on the defensi
ve – dodging, blocking, circling, relying on his balance and speed of reflexes to preserve him. But it was a dangerous game. With his injury and loss of blood, and the after-effects of the jangler, he was likely to tire and weaken before Thr’un did.
And he was still persisting in using only his left arm to defend himself.
Also, Thr’un was swift, immensely strong, and considerably skilled. Not, for all his boasting, up to Legion standards, Keill had soon realized. Thr’un’s combat skills were a little too orthodox, a little too predictable and unimaginative.
But that offered small advantage – when the uncanny body armour protected him so well.
And Keill soon found out how well. Knowing that he could not last in a prolonged battle, he took the fight to Thr’un more and more, counter-attacking out of defence. But he found that striking the armour was like hitting a padded wall. The thick, leathery substance seemed to give slightly under any blow, absorbing its power, so that Thr’un was hardly troubled, Keill had to look for targets on the head or legs
– and the giant, knowing he could leave his torso virtually undefended, could more easily block or evade, preventing Keill from landing an effective blow.
So they fought on, Keill still circling, defending, probing for an opening that seemed never to come – the giant still aggressive, confident. Each attack was a flurry of blows and counters, a blur of weaving, swaying bodies. The giant feinting with a straight right-hand slash at the belly, the left hand whipping across to chop at the neck – Keill sliding inside the blow, heel of the left hand driving up – Thr’un blocking and striking for the face in the same fluid motion – Keill dropping almost to one knee, a foot lashing out at a kneecap – Thr’un swivelling away from the kick, his own foot countering to smash at Keill’s jaw – Keill rolling away, coming to his feet, fingers flickering out in a stab at the eyes as the giant leaped again, huge hands clutching...
Weariness began to seep into Keill’s limbs, and his breathing grew heavier. His time was running out.
Now the giant was reaching him more often, as Keill’s energy flagged. Time and again only desperate reflex turned a crushing elbow-smash from Thr’un into a glancing graze, only reflex dragged his thigh around to deflect a hurtling kick to the groin. And each of these times Keill staggered, and a little more strength drained from his weary, damaged body.
