“Stop there.”
Obediently she stood still between the flickering holographs with the rows of hanging bodies behind her. The chamber was very warm, making her sweat beneath her tunic. The stench of ripening flesh filled her nostrils, sickening her.
It came as a sharp blow between the eyes, numbing her just before she seemed to be wrenched in half. And then she was spinning through a void, nowhere and everywhere, parted and together, nothing and all things.
“Welcome,” said a deep, resonant voice.
Costa twitched, suddenly realizing she was standing with her arms hugged tightly about herself and her eyes clenched shut. The horrible stench was gone, and the muggy heat had been replaced by the sere breath of the desert. Slowly, not yet willing to face whatever might be before her, she opened her eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
“I am Ephemeron, coordinator of the maze of Hosahkt. Is it correct that you have been sent here by the Gerend, Phobis and Tumult?”
Costa slowly turned, trying to locate the source of the voice in the shadows. She was standing in an alcove of stone, one of many ringing a circular chamber lit by guttering flambeaux. “Yes,” she said, and her voice echoed loudly.
“You are the subject which has excited them, the subject which has recovered unaided from the effects of Omcri injection?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Please step down from the transender.”
Costa obeyed, only to start, reaching for the weapon she did not carry, as an enormous Omcri robed in scarlet glided into the chamber toward her.
“Do not fear! Do not flee! I am coordinator. It is not my function to attack.”
It took a moment for Costa’s thudding heart to slow down. She straightened, wincing, from her crouch and stared at the Omcri. Unlike the others of its kind, this one displayed faint, pulsating patterns in the cloudiness beneath its bright cowl. She frowned, aware of a slight pressure against her mind. The other Omcris, she realized, were simply directed tools. But this one was far different.
“Yes, you indicate understanding of higher functions,” said Ephemeron. “Good. The Gerend were right. You adapt and assimilate very quickly. Hosahkt will be intrigued. Please follow.”
Costa obeyed as the Omcri turned and glided from the chamber, noting how the flambeaux nearly flickered out as the devil-thing passed yet flared high at her approach. The air was very dry, and reeked of sulphur and other noxious gases that made her nostrils burn. Her eyes burned too, but from mounting anger. Was Ephemeron the thing which intended to conquer all that she knew? She would not serve something like it! No human ever could!
“Phobis warned us of your arrogance,” said Ephemeron, startling her. The Omcri glided smoothly on as her footsteps faltered.
For a moment she knew despair. How could she ever manage to escape if these creatures read every thought? “I don’t intend to be your slave, mind-slasher,” she retorted.
Ephemeron stopped. “Be very careful, human,” he said, geniality vanishing from his voice. “You amuse for a moment, but that can quickly change.”
The passageway through which they were walking widened to a long, rectangular chamber lined with stone benches that had crumbled with sheer age into rubble heaps. Interspersed between them were obscene statues possessing living eyes that watched her pass. Reptilian life forms slithered everywhere, pausing to peer at her with red, glowing eyes that were disturbingly mesmerizing. She hastened on after the Omcri, beginning to pant a little from the heat, her throat dry and parched, the skin over her cheekbones stretching uncomfortably.
Beyond the chamber lay another crooked passageway lined with tiny cells. Each held a prisoner, most of them human or of species she recognized. Her heart began to drum. Her eyes flickered rapidly into each cell, searching.
Abruptly she stopped. “Commander!”
Janal sat slumped on the dusty floor, his uniform torn, his hands bloody. He gave no sign of hearing her.
She moved to the doorway of the cell, caution making her wonder what undetectable force served in the stead of sonic bars. Her keen ears picked up no hum of an energy barrier.
“Commander!” She reached out her hand, ready to flinch back. But nothing stopped it. Her breath eagerly caught in her throat. They must guard minds here, not bodies. Once again hope lifted within her, which she hastily tried to crush down lest Ephemeron sense it. “Commander Janal!”
He did not stir, and she was about to step inside when Ephemeron said:
“Do not interfere, subject.”
Green lights glowed fiercely through the swirling patterns beneath the Omcri’s cowl, and Costa hastily moved back.
“He is known to me. He is my—”
“He has been designated. When the time comes for his use, he will be reactivated.”
Chilled, Costa opened her mouth, then shut it with her questions unasked. She dared push no further right now.
Two cells down, they passed Duval, slumped and lifeless as Janal was. Her heart leapt, but she said nothing and gave no sign of seeing him. The cell opposite Duval’s held the black Zethian, who lay curled on his side, twitching convulsively. They ascended crumbling steps, Costa’s boots scuffing quietly over the stone. Here, the cells became cleaner and larger. Only three were occupied: One held a figure in the royal livery of Rigel, the second held someone in Fleet uniform, and the third held the Kublai of the United Worlds of Drugh. His Supreme Glory reclined on a gilded couch, attired in face paint and scarlet robes. He was the first prisoner Costa had seen awake. Smiling vacantly with dreamy fascination, he watched the pouched serpents undulating languidly around his couch, their eyes glowing into his.
Ephemeron paused here. “Hosahkt is very pleased with this one. It met all his greatest expectations.”
“In what way?” asked Costa, half-afraid to hear the answer.
“It is naturally in the best interests of Hosahkt not to war with a galaxy he wishes to assimilate. There is less damage done when certain key figures can be persuaded to assist in the conquest.”
“And the Kublai has agreed?” asked Costa, cold inside. She thought of Drugh, centrally located, controlling vital space lanes, economically superior to so many other, poorer worlds which depended upon the Kublai’s wealth for survival.
“The Kublai,” said Ephemeron with amusement, “thinks it has found complete unification with its deity Kanta. The Kublai is willing to do anything to maintain its blissful state.”
“You are tricking him!” said Costa angrily.
“So shall we deal with the mighty Zethian empire through the assistance of a wellborn child. So shall we deal with the Directors of your planet, subject, when they are brought to us by you, the subject Janal, and the subject Duval.”
“Never!” whispered Costa, the word sticking in her throat.
“Come,” said Ephemeron and glided on.
At the end of the passageway rose a pair of massive stone-banded portals. The Gerend stood guard there, jackal faces turned suspiciously toward Costa as she followed Ephemeron between them into what lay beyond.
“Hosahkt!” Ephemeron’s deep, resonant voice boomed with reverence.
The chamber was cavern-sized, so vast Costa could not see the walls. Flaring torches stuck everywhere flamed and smoked in myriad colors, contrasting and mixing all the bands of light. The floor was polished to the sheen of glass, its hue blood-purple obsidian. Serpents, these magnificent cousins to the lesser reptiles in the dusty chambers behind, glided everywhere. Most were larger than Costa and banded in brilliant shades of green and magenta and black-speckled silver. Their hissing breaths expelled sulphur and dioxides. Eyes the size of Costa’s head glowed at her with spellbinding fascination, never blinking, beautiful colors swirling in their unwavering depths as they mesmerized her, making her breath shorten until the flesh of her thighs and arms tingled. She swayed as they swayed, became dizzy as two circled her more closely, turning so that eyes met eyes without interruption.
And then some in
stinct of preservation within Costa snapped to life. She shut her eyes, forcing herself to stand still as a part of her longed to continue with them.
“The Gerend were right. It possesses a remarkable independence of will. Are you certain it is human, Ephemeron?” The voice was liquid purity, rushing thunderously yet gentle. Underlying each word were other words half-spoken, half-heard like distant echoes of multiple languages all blending in a harmony that made Costa shiver.
“Aside from certain adaptations in the genetic structure, yes, Hosahkt.”
Not yet daring to open her eyes as she listened to the serpents slithering around her, Costa heard a sharp intake of breath.
“So the humans begin experiments in that area! Interesting! There must be more such as this one—”
“Many more,” said Costa, keeping her eyes firmly shut against the temptations beating against her. “We are called adapts.”
“How original. I wonder if the taste will be altered. Approach us, subject.”
Warily Costa permitted one eye to squint open and saw the serpents moving away from her. In relief she strode forward, tired of tests and mysteries and ready to find a way to blast herself out of this place.
The dais rising before her was backed by a semicircle of twisted pillars fashioned from smoky quartz with tiny, spidery creatures imprisoned forever inside them. Torches blazed unsteady flickers of green and purple light. Braziers wrought in the shape of serpent skulls burned bones like incense. Scaled things, narrow and furtive, slithered into the warm shadows or coiled arrogantly in her path. And other things gathered here as well, furred things, or hairless ones, humans, and suffering Merriads from the cold ice system of Thanos. Delicate crystals shone with gemlike splendor from atop short pedestals lining Costa’s path, now and then flashing brilliantly in the torchlight. At the jewel-studded steps leading to the dais, Costa stopped to gaze at the sight enthroned beyond the ring of Omcri guards standing motionless in robes of bronze and amethyst, deadly wands pointed at her. Tith crouched there, his fur wet and matted and his eyes closed. He was chained to the throne as a pet would be.
“Come to us, subject,” said Hosahkt.
Costa swallowed against the intense heat, longing for water. Whatever hideous monstrosity she had expected to find, Costa realized she had never imagined anything that came close to the vision of Hosahkt himself. A face that shone with pure beauty, as delicately etched as a woman’s and radiant as though light emanated from within, lifted itself to gaze at Costa. It was not a human face, being both alien and indescribable. Such beauty so near absolute perfection was frightening to behold. The radiance poured over Costa as she stood there stunned, warming her until she writhed against the urge to kneel.
I am food to it, she thought grimly and pulled herself back from the precipice of worship.
“Yes, very strong of will,” said Hosahkt.
The feeling of interest washed over Costa, swaying her with its intensity. Beads of perspiration trickled down her forehead as panic seized her. How could she hope to cling to her own identity against such a forceful personality? It wanted to crush her, to absorb her, to make her feel as it did and to feed on her emotions in turn. Desperately Costa shook her head, stepping back in readiness to flee.
Hosahkt rose from his throne, gracefully unfolding a slender shape that glistened in shades of palest mauve and gold. Enormous, gossamer-thin wings spread out from his back, lifting him up with an ease that belied their fragile loveliness. He had neither arms nor legs. He did not need them. He had legions to serve him.
“Costa,” he said in the voice that rushed and babbled like mountain streams. “Our servants have spoken to you of the importance of conquering your galaxy by quiet agreement. Your area of origin is rich in resources, containing many varieties whose nutrients will bring a high price. Damage must be minimized. We have Drugh to serve us in this matter. We have the Directors of Playworld…as soon as you and your fellow subjects bring them to us. We require only the cooperation of the Fleet. The subject called Haufren has closed itself to the probes of Ephemeron and other servants. It releases no information. It has long been our enemy, but still we would not desire its flesh to be baked in the ovens of Kahnjoor if it would be persuaded to cooperate.”
A chill broke out over Costa. Some of her awe faded. This was no god! Hosahkt was nothing but a meat merchant, haggling over condition and price like the skin-sellers in the Beros slums.
“My legions have many weapons,” continued Hosahkt. “Unfortunately their power is so great that nothing of your resources would remain. This is to be avoided. We might destroy only the Rangers, but they are a rare, priceless delicacy. The flesh of warriors is usually tough and unpalatable, but there is something unique about the radiation on their asteroids which makes them tender. We do not wish to destroy those asteroids; therefore, we seek the defense keys which Haufren can provide us. Settle must be maintained. We can grow many varieties there, reaping outstanding prices for flesh which does not age or wither. You, subject, will persuade him to assist us.”
“No!” Whirling, Costa started off the dais, but the Omcri guards faced her, closing off her path.
“You reactivated yourself, subject,” said Hosahkt, and his voice thundered at her with such force the floor shook and some of the torches extinguished. “But remember that you can be deactivated permanently! Serve us, or go to the ovens!”
Costa shut her eyes a moment, seeking to master her rage and revulsion. She had no weapon yet; she must calm down; she must wait for her chance. Somewhere inside she found the old discipline and forced it into place. Then she turned to look back at that glowing face with an accompanying Omcri cloud floating beside it as a familiar.
“Where is Haufren?” she asked.
When she saw him she thought he was dead. He lay sprawled on a slab of dusty stone in a hot, airless cell where the stinking torch was busy burning what little oxygen seemed to exist. His hair had dried in tousled strings, and his face was bloodless gray. She started to touch his shoulder, then drew back in remembrance of Duval’s eyes.
“Activate him,” she said to her Omcri guide.
“Activation completed previously,” it replied. Lifting a hand, it glided out.
Costa gave him a slight shake. “Haufren!” she said, glancing involuntarily over her shoulder. She wondered how many unseen eyes, ears, and minds were scanning them. “Haufren, wake up!”
He groaned, and his eyes flickered partially open. They remained blue, but were clouded over as though he floated half in and half out of Omcri possession. Alarm gripped her. Not Haufren, too! She had been hoping he had the means to protect himself.
“Haufren!” she said again. She started to pull him upright to a sitting position, then some instinct made her leave him as he was. “Haufren, it’s Costa. Can you hear me?”
His mouth worked. “Affirmative.”
She frowned, seizing on her training in rescue and revival. “All right. You can hear me. Who am I?”
He mumbled, his face growing slack again. She shook him.
“Haufren! You must wake up. We have to get out of here. Come on, Major, take grip!”
He blinked, trying to lift a hand to his head. “Who…”
“Costa. Do you understand? It’s Costa.” Keep talking, she told herself. Say something he’ll start to pick up on and follow. Get his brain working. “You came after me, didn’t you? You and Duval? He would not believe me. I guess you convinced him.” She felt the bitterness coming through her voice and squelched it. Puce would know how to cure Duval, if she could only get him out of here. “Did you leave Puce behind? He gets shaky around the Omcris. No one hates them more. Come on, Major, talk back! How did you find me?”
He was trying. She could see the effort behind those glazed eyes. “Street of Souls—” Abruptly he coughed, spitting up blood.
“Easy!” She held his shoulders, despair welling up through her. He was probably dying; he should be left to rest. But she dared not. She had to ha
ve his help if any of them were to get out of here.
Drawing an unsteady breath, she tried again. “Major, how many men did you bring with you? I have seen Duval. Was there a big Zethian?”
“Silta.” For an instant his eyes cleared. “Need him.”
“He is insane.” She watched the frown of dawning comprehension come, and winced at the raw pain in his face. “I’m sorry. I’m not good at saying things gently.”
Haufren made an effort at sitting up and failed. “Must get him back to Settle…cure…”
“The radiation there?” she asked, holding her breath. She had never heard of any such thing as Hosahkt spoke about. With all of her information so eagerly gleaned over the years regarding the Rangers, she had not even come across a rumor. “You mean you don’t age?”
He frowned at her. “Of course we do! Don’t be absurd!”
“Hosahkt believes otherwise. He—”
“Who?”
“Haven’t you been questioned yet?” It was her turn to frown.
Haufren expelled a ragged breath. “Yes. I think so.”
His voice quavered, and she gripped his arm, willing him to hang on.
“Listen to me,” she said in a low, rapid voice. She knelt beside the slab to put her lips on a level with his ear. “Hosahkt is the one in charge here. The one you’ve been trying to keep out of our galaxy. He wants to sell us—humans, everyone—for meat. Do you understand?”
Her tone got through. Haufren’s mouth tightened.
“Affirmative,” he said.
The Omcri Matrix Page 20
