by Paul Brandis
Inside the docking tunnel, there were more corpses, both pirate and Cult, around the Flyer, and some concussion damage inside the ship, but nothing major. Phil called for a couple of more men to come in and clean up the ship, and he and Dante continued into the Hole. There the carnage was greater.
The two men paused at the entrance of the tunnel. Corpses lay strewn around the cavern. Several floated in the center. After a moment, Phil shrugged. "There's nothing we can do." He turned to his friend for affirmation. "We sure can't bury them all."
Dante nodded and moved off toward the oxygen tanks. "I know. Let's get what we need, and get out of here. Turn off the reactors. No need to try to heat all of space."
"Should we check the greenhouses before turning off the heat?"
Dante did not turn around. "Would you eat anything that has been exposed to such a deadly bacteria?"
Phil did not argue that.
Finding the oxygen in the tanks clean, they supplied both ships, stowed the escape pod aboard the attack ship, and headed back to Terra. Phil flew the Cult's ship, Avenging Angel, and Jed commanded the Flyer, with Ray as second in command. The Flyer was faster, but the Angel could blow away anything that flew in its proximity, and Phil made sure that he stayed within the Angel's range.
Back at camp, after the initial elation at taking such a prize as a Cult attack ship subsided, discussions began on what to do with their newfound power.
"Well, we've got two good ships now. What's to keep us from filling them up with equally good men, and attacking Alpene?" Phil stood in front of the great fireplace in the lodge. He closely watched the faces of the clan surrounding him. Their expressions ranged from eagerness, through doubt and fear, to outright hostility.
He bore on. "From the men right here on Terra, we can recruit more than enough men to overcome the detachment of priests there. And once we control the temple, we can control the miners."
"Yeah," sneered Jed, "and I suppose the miners are just going to let you take over the temple without any trouble."
"Maybe not, but then, maybe they will, if approached right. Remember, they may be addicted, but they have no love for the Cult. With Thea, we have the power to talk them into joining us. And we'll start by offering them part ownership of the mines."
"And what do you think the rest of the Cult is going to do while one of their most productive mines is being stolen? They're going to fly in an attack ship and blast us, that's what."
"True. I expect them to counterattack, but I know the Cult, and I know temples. The Cult is totally paranoid. They're convinced that everyone is out to get them, and with good reason. They build great shelters deep under the temples. That's where we'll be if and when the attack ship comes. Let it blast away. But if the Cult wants its mine back, they'll have to land and fight. Then we'll have them. With the miners help, we can win."
"And where are the miners suppose to be while we're in the shelter under the temple? It can't hold us all."
"Of course not. They'll be in the best shelters of all, deep in their mines."
Jed shook his head in rejection. "Yeah, but the Cult has enough attacks to blow up the whole planet."
Eyes swung back to Phil. "Not really." He nodded to his friend sitting nearby in an easy chair. "Dante?"
Dante cleared his throat and stared at a spot in the middle of the floor. "I've been going over some of files in the computer of the Cult ship we captured. The Cult keeps one attack with a squadron of three pursuits to patrol a sector of its holdings. Any trouble in one of their mines, they first send a couple of pursuits, keeping one pursuit as protection to the attack. To quell a major revolt, the whole flotilla would be sent. In the case of a major outside attack, they might make a call to the next sector for its flotilla."
Phil nodded. "Right. And by that time we will have moved on to the next phase of our plan."
"And what," scoffed Jed, "could that be? You want to become head priest of your own Cult."
Phil ignored him. "And that will be going on to another mining outpost. That way we'll always stay ahead of them."
Jed rolled his eyes. "I don't believe this. You want us to take on the whole Cult Corporation?"
"Not the whole corporation, just one outpost at a time."
"And what's to prevent them from being at the next outpost waiting for us?"
"Which one?"
Jed frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Where will they be waiting?"
"Well, I don't know. Wherever you plan to attack."
"That's right; you don't know. And neither will they. By the time they get the word, we'll be in, and they'll be out. The miners will be part owners of their own mines, and with our help--we'll leave a cadre of officers to lead them--ready to defend their own property."
"Oh yeah? And who will be the other part-owners?"
Phil grinned deviously. "That's the beauty of the plan. We will be the other part-owners." He turned in triumph to the clan. "That's the whole point of this effort. To the victor goes the spoils. We'll all be rich; as rich as any corporation. There'll be no more running, no more hiding. We'll all be shareholders. Like I said, it's a big gamble," his grin spread, "but it has an even bigger reward."
"I have a question," said Kim.
Phil nodded.
"You say you're taking Thea--maybe she can help you convince the miners. What's to prevent her from returning to the Cult if she gets a chance? From what we can tell, she had everything done for her in the temple. They waited on her hand and foot. She might just revert and go back to them. That's the only life she's ever known, you know."
He thought, then said, "She might, but I don't think so. I think she's been enjoying herself here; all the work you've done with her. But I don't know. We'll just have to see."
In the end, and over Jed's objections, the men of the clan agreed to the scheme. They had lived on the ragged edge of survival long enough. They wanted to be winners for a change.
A planet-wide recruiting effort commenced, and soon a small army clustered in the fields around the lodge. As Phil figured, a lot of farm boys were eager for adventure, and many older hands harbored bitter memories of treatment at the hands of the Cult.
It was a ragtag army, but they all had two things in common: an eagerness to fight; and the infamous Terran knife, a long, single-edged knife with a curved, double-edged tip.
"Used," a big, red-necked lad said with an evil grin, "for skinnin' steers, or anything else we get our hands on."
Jed overcame his reluctance by awarding himself the rank of General, and was soon drilling the raw recruits into obedience. Observing him dressing down a young trooper whose hands bent more easily around the wheel of a tractor than the blaster on his shoulder, Ray remarked, "After General Jug-head there, the Cult'll be child's play to these boys."
Phil nodded. "That's the idea."
Dust billowed as the new company drilled over what had once been a plowed field. Ray shook his head. "Seems like a waste of good energy and good ground."
"I don't think so." The two men turned and strolled back to the lodge. "What we're growing here is more important than food; it's freedom."
Ray did not look at him. "You ever been without food?"
Phil smiled in chagrin. "No, I guess not."
"Well, if this scheme don't work out, a lot of these boys will find themselves in one of the Cult's religious retreats, and the Cult isn't known for its generosity. There you work until you starve--if you're lucky. The really bad boys end up in the Inquisition. Now there's really a nasty way of dying."
Phil's mouth tightened. "I know all that."
Ray glanced at him. "Oh yeah, I was forgetting. You know how the Cult works. Knowing what you do, it's a wonder you let yourself get involved in all this."
Phil's face twisted with hate. "It's because I know, that I'm doing it."
CHAPTER 15
Letters zipped across the monitor. Phil smiled. "Good, they bought it. They've given us permission to land." He tu
rned to Jed. "As soon as we touch down, you head for the guard barracks and I'll take the headquarters. If things get tough, I'll radio Ray in the Flyer."
Jed nodded intensely. "I know, I know. We've been over this a hundred times." He paced the control room. "Just make sure he lands as soon as possible and helps with the moping up. I still don't like having his troops in reserve."
Phil tried to be patient. "Look, you know we've got to keep men back to see which way things'll go. Then we'll commit them." He smiled encouragingly. "Right, General?"
The big man's head bobbed rapidly in agreement.
"Good. Now you'd better get down to the exit bay and take charge of your troops. Good luck. We're all depending on you."
Jed rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot. That really makes me feel better."
Phil laughed. "Don't worry, you'll do fine. And I'll be right behind you to make sure you do."
"Yeah?" He spun around and headed for the door. "Just keep out of my way." He barked at a couple of bodyguards standing nearby, and the three swept from the room.
Unlike the white, fake marble of the temple's facade, the landing compound behind the temple was made of grey cement block. As the geodesic dome doors closed over the ship, shutting out the subzero temperature, Phil settled his ship near the loading dock. Before the dust cleared, the ship's bay door opened, and a double file of Gabriels, Jed leading, marched off. Unfortunately, the long, black robes were not long enough to conceal the clod-battered boots of the Terran farm boys.
A chubby priest, the loading dock foreman, squinted and called out, pointing. Jed's pistol whipped up and blasted him dead on the spot.
Before the guards around the dock could raise their blasters, they were mowed down by guns from the attack ship.
Jed tore off his robe, screamed, "Follow me," and dashed up the ramp to the temple's back doors. His men clustered behind him, doffing their robes, and firing at anything that looked like a target.
Wedging through the doors, they ran towards the priests' barracks section. Their helmets contained video cameras, and Dante directed the Terrans from the ship's control room.
As soon as he saw that Jed and his men had found the guard quarters and were embroiled in a firefight, he turned to Phil. "They've set up a barricade. Time for you to get going too."
Phil stood. "Right. You've got the controls. Call in the Flyer, and keep me posted."
He switched on his helmet camera, and checked it against a monitor on the console. "Wish us luck."
His friend's face did not change. "Okay—luck ."
Phil smiled. "Your concern is touching," he said, and headed for the door.
In the disembark bay his men shuffled in impatient nervousness. Phil strode in, his voice booming. "Well, what are you waiting for? Let's blast some ass," and he tore out the bay door, his men roaring behind him.
Inside the temple, Phil and his men turned in the opposite direction from Jed; their objective the communication and administration centers. Firing as they ran, they tossed concussion grenades in each doorway they passed.
Skidding to a stop at a corridor intersection, Phil peeped around the corner. A squad of priest guards rushed towards him. He pulled back and barked over his shoulder, "Grenades." Several men jumped forward and hurled their charges down the hall.
As Phil ducked back out of the way of the blast, he picked up his call letters from Dante. "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy here?"
The explosion drowned out the message, and Phil cupped his hands over his throat mike. "Say again your last."
"I said," came the thin, mechanical voice, "that they just got off a transmission calling for help." He paused, "Wait one; I'm receiving a reply. I'll patch it into you."
As Phil charged up the hall, garbled static hissed in his ear. "What is that?" he panted, trotting over fallen and moaning priests.
"Mm. Oh yes. It's in code. I'll get back to you."
Phil started up a stairwell, but blasts from above tore chunks of dust and debris from the cement wall. He ducked back and called for a grenade launcher.
Again Dante's voice hummed in his ears. "I got it. A Cult attack ship received the message and is coming fast."
Sweating inside his helmet as he doubled up the stairs into the rubble left by the grenade explosion, Phil yelled angrily, "Did they say when they'd get here?"
Dante remained imperturbable. "Didn't say. I'll keep you posted."
At the top of the stairs, Phil peered around the corner. In front of the communication section, a portable titanium barricade stretched across the corridor and rounds streaked out at him from its eyeholes.
Phil fired, and shrank back. He grabbed the nearest man. "Quick, toss a grenade before they do." Then he called down his line. "Rocket launcher; on the double."
Shrapnel had not settled from the grenade before Phil shoved the rocket team into the hall. The horrendous explosion deafened them all, but Phil did not wait to assess the damage. He leaped into the corridor with a shout, and his men, screaming in the red-hot ecstasy of combat, bounded after him.
Trampling over the flattened barricade, Phil paused at the comm room door, holstered his handgun and drew out his murderous Terran knife. He wanted the operators disabled, not the equipment.
Tearing off his helmet and howling at the top of his lungs, he charged into the room, knife blade flashing. Faced with a screaming, crazed berserker, the panic-stricken operators dropped all thoughts of defense. One fainted, and the rest cowered to the floor.
Calmly Phil turned to one of his men. "Keep them covered," he said, and slid into a chair at the console. Keying Dante's frequency, he raised him on a monitor. "What's happening? How's Jed doing against the barracks?"
"He's holding his own, but that's not the problem. The temple comm section just called the mines and told the miners that a raider is in the temple stealing their drugs and girls. You better get outside and set up some sort of a defense. Those miners are going to be coming after you, and there are twice as many of them as us."
Phil groaned. "Tell me something I don't know. Okay, call in the Flyer. Tell them to use sleds."
Leaving a fire team to hold the comm section, Phil yelled to the rest of his men to fall in behind him, and began a cautious jog to the front of the temple.
Danger lurked at every doorway. Priests lunged out desperately firing to slow Phil's advance. Shots ricocheted down the corridor, and men fell twitching to the floor.
Finally Phil entered the back of the darkened stage. A heavy black curtain separated it from the auditorium. As Phil led the way through the wings, a movement in a darkened corner caught his eye, and he spun, blaster up. A pair of ropy, hollow-faced Holy Angels screamed and raised their hands.
"Don't shoot," one of the women cried. "We got no guns." Soiled strips of cloth barely covered their nakedness.
Phil moved closer, motioning them to drop their hands. "Don't worry. We're here to free you, not shoot you."
They tried to focus with drugged, listless eyes. "We heard shooting. What's going on?"
"We're taking over the temple."
They edged closer, desperation in their faces. "Does that mean we won't get our medicine?"
He bit his lip. "Don't worry. You'll be taken care of." He nodded to the steps down to a nearby doorway where other thin faces peered up. "Now, get on down there, and stay out of the way. We don't know how this thing is going to come out yet."
He returned to the curtain and thrust his way through one of the openings in the folds, openings that provided the priests with their stealthy entrances and exits from the Cult ceremony.
The black carpeted stage jutted out high above the large auditorium. The cloying scent of narcotic incense hung heavily in the air.
A wide-windowed control booth projected high on the back wall out of sight from the seats below. Phil squinted at the dimly lit booth. Turning to the man beside him, he pointed. "Take a couple of men and secure that booth. It controls every part of the ceremony, includi
ng the opening of the front gate. Keep that gate closed. We don't want the miners in until we can get more men down here. Understand?"
Turning back to the curtain, he waved to the men to follow. "Come on; we can't get down to the auditorium floor from here. There's a door along the side."
As the men trotted up the side aisle, shots streaked through the gloom from the auditorium's lobby.
Ducking behind seats, the men returned fire, until Phil's rocket launchers blasted the lightly armed guards lurking around the temple entrance. Then he led the charge through the front doors onto the broad, pillared porch outside. The guards that were scrambling away in retreat were felled by sweeping automatic fire.
A wide marble walkway, gleaming in the false light of the geodesic dome, ran to the wall and wrought iron gates. A mob of men in shabby grey outfits had surged from the mines shafts several hundred yards away, and were hanging on the gates. Seeing Phil and his men, their gaunt faces twisted into desperation, and they began screaming, brandishing hammers and clubs. Their sheer weight broke the locks and forced open the gates, and they rushed headlong down the walkway.
A fusillade of fire from Phil's platoon forced them back, leaving dead and wounded to smear the white flagstones bloodred.
Phil yelled into his mike. "Where's the Flyer? I want those sleds in the sky now. And what's happening with that detail I sent to the control booth? We've got to get these gates shut."
Dante's voice crackled in his ear. "No word from the control booth detail, but the Flyer should be landing any moment--like now."
A white, bright explosion of rockets lit the black sky as the ship descended and hovered above the top of the dome. Sleds with pilots heavily suited against the freezing air, swooped out of the open bay door and immediately bored holes in the plastic sheeting. Knifing through the narrow openings, they dove at the heads of the miners, strafing with concussion rounds and wreaking confusion and chaos.
With the holes in the dome, the temperature dropped instantly, and the air thinned. An alarm cried out, and a little robot service vehicle chugged out, and indifferent to the melee below, began patching the tears in the dome.
