Deathsport

by William Hughes

  But his pursuers had been too anxious about their own safety to notice this sudden change in tactics. The first Enforcer reached the top of the mound and flew in the air, roaring over him and landing far beyond before roaring forward down the path without a backward glance.

  In quick succession, Polna and Ankar Moor also flew well above his head and roared on. Now there was only the last man and Kaz was determined to even up the odds, determined that Ankar Moor would be called upon to fulfil the challenge that Kaz Oshay had given to him in the torture chamber of Helix City.

  The final Enforcer was trailing slightly on his companions, but at last the roar of his machine came to Kaz. He waited tensely. The man appeared at the top of the mound and, at the very moment his machine took to the air to sail over him, Kaz pressed the blaster button and the odds were reduced to three to one as the hapless Enforcer disappeared into the atmosphere in mid air and mid shriek.

  Immediately, Kaz lifted up his machine, restarted it and scrambled back to the top of the rise before coming off down the far side and away from his three remaining pursuers.

  Ankar Moor heard the blaster explosion behind him and slid his machine to a halt, calling through the microphone for the two men ahead of him to do the same. He shouted:

  “He’s tricked us. Come on, he’s heading back the other way. We must catch him.”

  Having shouted, he turned his machine and zoomed back, unaware that Polna and the remaining Enforcer also turned, but with noticeably less enthusiasm for the chase than their master.

  Kaz dodged the boulders and scrub that dotted the area in which he was fleeing and finally burst out into the flat sandy plain that was the centre of the canyon. Once there, he turned up the canyon and started to go full throttle in the same general direction that Deneer had taken—towards the City of Triton.

  Ahead of him and out of sight of the fleeing Guide, Marcus clung desperately to Deneer’s waist as he sat on the back of the roaring machine, just as Karissa hung on like grim death to the front console. They had reached the end of the canyon and were now rumbling up the narrow pass. Beyond that, Deneer knew, lay the long open plain that would bring them to their destination.

  Marcus’s wounded leg was bleeding profusely, but the loss of blood was not affecting him as badly as the poison of the Mutants that was now beginning to course through his system. He felt dizzy and nauseous, as if his senses were slowly seeping away from him. He called out weakly, but loud enough for Deneer to hear:

  “I don’t know how much longer I can hang on.” He paused to get his breath, then went on, his tone even more panic-stricken: “All the way up my right side—I cannot feel anything, my arm is going now.”

  Deneer frowned. She knew the power of the poison, knew the real trouble her passenger was in.

  “Hold on, Marcus. We just have to get through this pass. Triton is not far across the plain beyond. Just a short distance. With the help of the consciousness, we will make it.”

  Marcus was strangely comforted by her words and the sureness with which she delivered them. He clung even harder to her as she roared on, gunning her machine to exceed what she thought would be its top speed.

  Ankar Moor and the others had finally emerged from the area of scrub and boulders and were roaring over the open sand of the canyon after Kaz Oshay. The latter was just far enough ahead to be safe, but close enough to provide a tantalising target for his pursuers.

  At length he thought to vary the conditions of the chase and veered to one side of the canyon, where the ground rose in a series of gently undulating dunes of sand. He started across them, leading his pursuers on, up over each crest and down into the valleys that separated one crest from the next, like an enormous natural rollercoaster.

  When he was ready to make his next move, he had reached the crest of a dune and now accelerated as he went down the far side, hitting the flat, then zooming up the next, higher dune beyond. Ankar Moor and the others were hard on his heels, moving faster themselves as he put on speed and moved away from them.

  It was only then that Ankar Moor realised that he was chasing one lone Guide and rapped into the microphone:

  “What has happened to the Stateman and the other Guide?”

  Polna answered gruffly: “He was alone.”

  Ankar Moor swore in his frustration.

  “Damn him. He’s been acting as a decoy, just leading us on. Hurry, we must get him.”

  Kaz arrived at the top of the next dune and braked hard. Far down and ahead of him lay the flatness of the plain that was the last area to be crossed before the City of Triton would be reached. He looked forward and there, far out on the desert sand, stood Triton, a jewel in the middle of the wastelands. It was a City far more beautiful to look upon in the sunlight than Helix had been, and surrounded by the signs of experimental cultivation that was taking place as its citizens tried to emerge from their nine hundred years of hiding to move out across the face of the earth again in an effort of renewal.

  There was something else to make Kaz Oshay smile as well. Far below and ahead of him on the gleaming open plain, a cloud of dust was being kicked up, and, in the centre of it, his sharp eyes could see Deneer’s machine, the two extra passengers still clinging to it. In a little while they would be safe and he could concentrate on his coming battle with Ankar Moor.

  Down on the plain, Marcus was marshalling every ounce of strength that was still left within him to cling on. He was looking around Deneer as he saw Triton take shape in front of his blurring vision.

  “We made it.”

  Deneer laughed, her voice firmer than before. For her, their safety was in truth a miracle. She had had her doubts during the journey.

  “Yes, just as I said we should.”

  “You have worked a miracle, Deneer.”

  “It was but the will of the consciousness.”

  They roared on towards their destination and their hopes of safety.

  Kaz Oshay gunned the huge Death Machine and charged down the side of the dune and on to the plain for his final run.

  Ankar Moor, Polna and the other Enforcer arrived at the top of the dune only seconds after he had quit the spot. They looked out across the waste and saw the City of Triton gleaming up at them, teasing them like a jewel they would never steal.

  It took a second to realise the shock that they had lost their gamble of chase. Below them, Kaz Oshay had stopped on the plain and had turned his machine so that he could stare back up over the great distance at Ankar Moor, his eyes flashing the challenge of the code.

  Over the enormous distance their eyes met and Ankar Moor knew that the moment of challenge had come. First he tore his gaze away and turned to face Polna.

  “Truth needs no introduction. When the sun rises there is no necessity to announce it. When the moon reflects there is no need to point it out. Clearly, we have lost.”

  Polna shook his head sadly. In spite of the fear he held for his master, he felt sorry for him now, feeling also that he had let the other man down.

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Ankar Moor pointed at Kaz, waiting for him below.

  “Look at him.” The voice was filled with hatred.

  Polna nodded. “He grows arrogant with success.”

  Ankar Moor absorbed this insight into his assistant’s mind. Perhaps the man was not so much of a dolt as he had always thought. When he spoke to Polna it was with a new respect.

  “You two should go back to Helix City. There is nothing for you to gain by coming with me.”

  Polna felt a twinge of guilt. “I serve you, Ankar Moor.”

  “Then I tell you to return, out of danger.”

  Polna bowed his head in acceptance and appreciation. The two men were, for a moment, closer than they had been. Whatever else he had thought of his master, Polna had never had any reason to doubt the ex-Guide’s courage.

  Ankar Moor stared at Kaz Oshay again, then looked back at his lieutenant.

  “Man is like a candle. He must rad
iate life by burning himself. I have an old score to settle.”

  Polna nodded. “Be powerful, Ankar Moor.” Out of respect, he spoke in the terms of the Guides.

  Ankar Moor answered him in kind.

  “I will be as powerful as I need to be.”

  The three of them shared a final salute to the courage of each other, then Polna and the other Enforcer turned their machines and, without further pause, roared away, back to Helix City and their future. In his mind, Polna already knew that things would have changed there beyond recognition. Perhaps the rule of the Lord Zirpola and Ankar Moor had been wrong. If he still had his position, he would help to change all that, make Helix an open City, as were the others of the plain, free and with true justice for its citizens.

  Ankar Moor watched them go down the side of the dune, then up the next, until they were out of sight. Only then did he turn, gun his machine and start down on to the plain and towards what he knew was his fate, win or lose, against his enemy.

  Kaz waited patiently, then watched him come, moving slowly towards him, first down the slope and then on the flat beyond. The huge man, with his frightening leather mask that covered the damage that the Lady Oshay had done to his face when she had forced him to be banished from the Guides forever, stopped his machine just outside blaster range from Kaz Oshay’s own.

  There was a moment of silence as the two men allowed their eyes to meet, both showing hatred and challenge. Then Kaz Oshay shouted strongly across the intervening space: “Now we will have our duel.”

  Ankar Moor nodded, a formality.

  “I agree.”

  “With the machines or without?”

  Ankar Moor’s answer was to switch off his machine and dismount before shouting, “Without.”

  Kaz nodded and he too stopped the great throbbing machine, dismounting and resting it on its stand.

  “I agree.”

  The two men stood, each with his legs planted astride, each studying the physique of the other, then Kaz asked, “With blasters?”

  Ankar Moor’s answer was to throw his to the ground. Inwardly, Kaz breathed a sigh of relief for he had no such weapon. That had been his most difficult moment. Ankar Moor shouted, “No blasters!”

  Kaz nodded.

  “With Whistlers, then?”

  Ankar Moor nodded:

  “With Whistlers. Just like the day that I met your mother Oshay in our battle.”

  Ankar Moor took a pace forward and threw aside his cloak, revealing that he too carried the scabbard of one of the great Whistlers of the Guides. He unsnapped the cloak so that it fell to the earth behind him and drew the great fused carbon blade that flashed in the sunlight. Kaz Oshay did the same.

  With infinite slowness and caution the two men approached each other, both crouching slightly, balancing on the balls of their feet as they moved like the great warriors of ancient civilisations coming at each other, ready with force, each to test the weaknesses and strengths of the other in an effort to find the point that would give them victory and the death of their opponent.

  At exactly the same instant, both men held their blades up in a two-handed gesture, frozen, poised, in position for their first strikes. Locked eye to eye they stood, unmoving and unyielding, both filled with the tension of their concentration, both of them fuelling the hatred that was the dynamic of their battle.

  The manner of the fugitives’ entry to the City of Triton was an obvious contrast to the manner of control that was exercised for those visiting the City of Helix. Triton too had its Enforcers, but their uniforms and small hand weapons were reassuring rather than frightening and served only to single them out as officials, rather than the civilians it was their duty to help.

  Deneer drove her machine to the main entry gate of the City, through an aisle of palm trees, a tribute to the re-irrigation of the land around the City after nine hundred years of decay and radioactive death. She stopped her machine and, to the surprise of all three passengers, the great door ahead of them slid open at once.

  Men rushed forward to welcome them and to help them inside and, with a groan that told of the combination of pain and numbness he felt, Marcus slid to the ground.

  At once, men appeared with a trolley on to which they silently placed the stricken man. One of their number, who wore a white coat similar to the one that Doctor Karl had always worn, approached Deneer and bowed.

  “Do you know his trouble?”

  Deneer said quickly, “I fear he is dying. He was bitten by a Mutant. Can you save him?”

  The man bowed again.

  “It is not hard. There is no danger.”

  Leaving Karissa for a moment, Deneer dismounted and ran over to where Marcus was lying on the trolley. She looked down at him and smiled, gently, fondly.

  “Be powerful, Marcus. I wish you well.”

  Marcus managed to bring his eyes into focus, blinking hard.

  “Deneer . . . I don’t know how to thank you . . . And Kaz.”

  The doctor gave an order, smiling an apology at Deneer at the same time, and Marcus was wheeled away for treatment.

  Deneer turned to one of the guards.

  “I must see your President. I carry a warning of war.”

  The man paled at the word, but looking round, he breathed a sigh and pointed at a middle-aged, upright, calm man who was coming towards them.

  “He comes now.”

  Deneer was amazed that the ruler of a City should walk out unprotected like this. Deneer went towards him.

  “My Lord, I carry a warning from Helix. That City plans to wage war upon you and your people.”

  The man nodded.

  “There is no need of such formality. You are Deneer of the Guides?”

  “Yes.”

  “We have heard of you and the good you do in the wastelands.”

  She frowned. “You must become prepared. They will attack soon.”

  He shook his head.

  “We owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude for the dangers you have faced in coming to us, but we have heard by video communication from Helix. The Lord Zirpola is dead and the people have risen against his rule. Their new leaders have asked to enter the Federation.”

  “And what is your reply?”

  “We have given our acceptance. Our technicians are already working on a plan to get fuel to them.”

  “You are truly forgiving, Lord of Triton.”

  He raised up her head, gently but firmly.

  “We owe you a tremendous debt.”

  A moment later, Karissa ran forward and, as the man put out his hand, she took it with warmth and trust. A guard ran forward.

  “Sir, a duel, Sir, my men have seen it out on the plain. You can see it from the tower.”

  Deneer sucked in her breath in shock and the President quickly turned to her.

  “It is the legendary Kaz Oshay?”

  She nodded numbly, then, “Yes, My Lord. Our Union is one. I live or die with him.”

  “Then you should watch. Come with me.”

  Still holding Karissa by the hand, he led them into the first main building and thus, by an open public elevator, to the tower that overlooked the plain.

  The two men had stood, crouching slightly and facing one another, for an eternity of motionless time, each willing the other man to be the first to make his move.

  It was Ankar Moor who broke first, less patient than his opponent, more fuelled by the pure hatred of revenge. He leapt forward with two quick paces and slashed wildly at Kaz. The latter jumped back a step and parried with an arc of his whistling blade, causing Ankar Moor to leap up and back to avoid its swift movement.

  Immediately, they spun and charged in at each other. With a loud crash their blades met just above the hand guards, sparking off each other, the spark visible even in the bright sunlight. Eye to eye, face to face, they struggled to balance each other’s power and force and Ankar Moor, seeking any advantage he could snatch, rasped, “You are not as good as your mother.”

&nb
sp; Between clenched teeth, Kaz Oshay, the son of Oshay, forced out his response: “But I will prove myself far better than you.”

  With that the two men broke, thrusting each other back. Kaz was the first to recover and slash forward but, as his Whistler shrieked through the air, Ankar Moor parried strongly, then scrambled aside from the oncoming enemy.

  Again the two men circled, each looking for some opening, some weakness in the other, their eyes unblinkingly showing their hatred, one of the other. With a wild war cry, Kaz Oshay was the first to lunge in this exchange and the blades of the two men again crashed together, the gleaming diamond-like constitution of them flashing in the sun, like the sparkle of the jewels they resembled in all but their ability to kill and maim.

  With a sudden duck and twist, Ankar Moor was behind his opponent, and turned to slash, but the other man leapt hard in time and though the blade of the big man slashed his cloak to the waist, the Guide landed unharmed and untouched.

  They whirled and faced each other again, then both of these superhuman Range Guides had the same thought of attack at the same moment and leapt high into the air at each other, their blades whistling with the scream of death.

  But, as they fell to the earth, it was Ankar Moor’s head, cut cleanly from his shoulders, that rolled away into the dust of the desert to which all, be they Guide or Stateman or Mutant, must at length return, cut clean by the blade of the great and legendary Kaz Oshay.

  Kaz landed from his leap, even his mind not at first able to contemplate the miracle that had brought him through unscathed. The head of his enemy lay on the pure white sand behind him. He turned and looked at it, as the useless body fell nearby. His mind and body were drained of all emotion as he stared at it.