“Well, what do we do now?” said Treet. He was tired. The exertion was beginning to tell on him. He felt limp and wrung out. “We can’t go that way.”
“We’ll have to go around, but keep working toward the river.” She raised a hand to his damp forehead. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. Lead on,” said Treet as he fell into step.
When they reached the first of the dwelling blocks, Treet gave a quick backward glance to see the dark shapes of Invisibles once again on course behind them. Although he didn’t count them, it appeared that the original eight had picked up a few reinforcements along the way. From the way the Invisibles were approaching—slow and deliberate with a lot of side-to-side movement—Treet guessed they had not yet discovered them, but were stalking. “Our friends with the crummy sense of humor are back,” whispered Treet.
He and Ernina ducked into the nearest entrance, a covered gallery leading into the interior of the block. The tunnel curved sharply to the right, and after passing dozens of kraams, each sealed with opaqued unidors, the gallery terminated at a plaza formed by the backs of the Hageblocks. In the center of the plaza, yellow lights blazing, sat another Nilokerus checkpoint.
Treet took one look at the booth, and his heart sank. There were five Nilokerus at attention talking to three Invisibles; each of the Invisibles wore the shimmery black yos of the Mors Ultima. “It doesn’t take them long to—”
“Shh!” Ernina said sharply. “Listen.”
In the distance came the pattering of footsteps in the gallery.
“We’re in it now,” Treet said. “Trapped.”
“Perhaps we could work our way around the plaza.”
“Not with the men in black out there.”
The footsteps in the tunnel behind them grew louder.
“We’ve got to do something,” Ernina pointed out.
“How many of those goofballs have you got left?”
“The anesthetic?”
“Yeah, how many?”
Ernina dug into the pouch and brought out a handful. “Not many. Two or three handfuls.”
“That might do it. Give me a handful, and you take the rest.”
“What are you going to do?”
“See if we can burn these bozos three times with one match.”
Treet pointed Ernina back down the tunnel. “Scatter them evenly and then come back here.” She nodded once and hurried away.
Treet crept to the mouth of the gallery and laid down the pellets one-by-one just inside the entrance. Then, stepping through the carefully arranged trap, he took a deep breath and stepped out into the plaza.
Treet proceeded along the side of the Hageblock. To his dismay, none of the Nilokerus or their Mors Ultima helpers saw him. A few steps ahead he saw a stack of metal rods leaning against the wall. Treet put his foot against the stack and shoved. The rods clattered to the ground and rolled.
Treet jumped back and looked surprised. The heads of the Nilokerus swiveled around. The Mors Ultima were already racing toward him. Treet pretended indecision and then flew back to the gallery and disappeared inside. He rounded the curve of the tunnel and nearly collided with Ernina. “Put this on,” she said, thrusting the mask into his hands.
Pulling the mask on, Treet felt his stomach tighten into a hard lump—as if he’d swallowed a cast-iron grapefruit. Either his plan would work or they’d be captured right here. They waited.
There were a few sharp coughs, some gasps and a moan or two, and then silence.
“It worked!” Treet shouted, the mask garbling his voice.
They ran back to the plaza entrance to find bodies sprawled helter-skelter just inside. “Uh oh,” said Treet, “there’s one missing.”
Ernina confirmed his body count as she stooped to retrieve several untrampled pellets. “Five Nilokerus and two Invisibles.”
“The other Invisible’s still out there someplace.” Treet peered out into the plaza. “I don’t see him anywhere.”
“Maybe he went to signal the others.”
“We can only hope.” Treet paused and considered the alternatives and then shrugged. “Well, we can’t stay here.”
They picked up two of the Nilokerus weapons and left the tunnel, reaching the other side of the plaza moments later. There was still no sign of the missing Invisible, so they hurried on into the warrens of the Hageblocks, making their way to the river.
The Saecaraz Hageblocks were old and had been allowed to spread over the centuries as kraam was added to kraam and building thrust upon building until they resembled nothing so much as the ancient gypsy ghettos Treet had once visited in old Budapest. Picking their way through the narrow, winding streets and meandering boulevards crowded with kraams and market stalls and kiosks was slow work. Treet felt his strength going; he was lightheaded and woozy.
At one point Ernina stopped beneath a yellow glow globe, turned to him, and placed her fingertips against the side of his throat. “Your pulse is fast.” She gazed deeply into his eyes. “Treet, are you all right?”
“I’m a little tired,” he admitted.
“Here—” The physician reached into her yos and pulled out a flat, puck-shaped biscuit. “Eat this—it’ll give you strength.”
Treet raised the biscuit to his mouth and nibbled. It was dry and tasted of herbs. “What is it?”
“It’s a stimulant.”
Treet chewed slowly, wishing he had something cold and wet to wash it down. Ernina watched him for a moment and then said, “The river is just beyond here, I think. Saecaraz is very logical—not like Chryse or Rumon—and I’ve been here often enough on health inspections.”
“And then?”
“There are boats along the waterfront.”
“I wouldn’t mind a ride.”
They moved off, and Treet did begin to feel revived. The stimulant worked, but he wondered how long he could keep going. The deeper into the warren they went, the more twisted and convoluted their path became until it seemed as if they were following a meandering creek bed through stone canyons. They passed beneath towering cliffs of jumbled kraams and Hageworks stacked layer upon layer. Whenever there was a choice of direction, Ernina took the route that moved them closer to the river. Winding through the empty byways made Treet think of touring the bombed out shell of a city: any one of a dozen or so Irani-Syrian-Lebanese settlements gutted during the Middle East holocaust of the last century.
But these streets were empty, whereas any other city on Earth, no matter how desolated, literally crawled with life—beggars and scavengers certainly, wandering armies of orphan pickpockets usually, packs of yapping dogs and vermin if nothing else. In Saecaraz at least, the citizens were sealed tightly in their kraams until dawn’s early light.
“It sure is empty,” said Treet as they paused at a deserted crossroads to consider the best direction. “I’ve never seen a city shut down so completely.”
Ernina raised her finger to her lips and looked around.
Treet heard the scuffle of a footfall. It stopped abruptly.
“Our tail is showing,” said Treet.
“The missing Invisible,” replied Ernina. “But the waterfront is just down there.” She pointed through an open archway overgrown with hanging vines, orange in the light of a single globe. A stone pathway angled down through the arch into the darkness beyond.
They struck off for the arch, and the footsteps started again. At the arch Treet paused to listen; the shuffling steps paused, too. Treet ducked under the archway and stepped to the side. Ernina took up a position on the other side, and they waited. Treet did not intend on ambushing the Invisible—he doubted whether he could go hand-to-hand with one even if he were in peak condition, and he was far from being in the best of shape. He merely hoped that by hiding among the hanging vines they could throw the Invisible off their trail long enough to find a boat.
Long moments passed. Then, as Treet was about to risk peering around the corner to see what had become of their tracker, he heard the
soft scuffing footfall again, closer. He froze.
The Invisible came through the arch and then hesitated. He stopped and looked around as if perplexed. Treet noticed that the Invisible was a good deal shorter than he was and slighter of build. Also, he wore the banded silver of the Saecaraz.
This was no Invisible. Treet decided to take a chance.
The man was only a step and a half away, and, even granted the element of surprise, Treet nearly lost him.
Treet stepped from his hiding place, and the vines rustled. The Saecaraz turned at the same instant, saw him, and bolted away. Treet stretched after him, snagged the corner of his yos, and held on. The grab yanked the stranger off his feet, and he landed with a thump and a whimper on the pavement where he squirmed, throwing his hands over his head to protect himself.
Ernina ran up and took one look at the Hageman cringing at Treet’s feet and said, “Get up!” Her tone was authority itself, and the man jolted as if he’d been struck. But he lowered his hands and peered fearfully up at the two standing over him. A look of recognition lit Ernina’s eyes.
Treet saw it and remarked, “You know this clown?”
Ernina bent to help the man to his feet. An expression of relief erased the fear from his pinched face. “I know him,” said Ernina. “It’s Nilokerus Subdirector Fertig!”
THIRTY-EIGHT
“I am Fertig,” the Hageman replied, “but no longer Subdirector.”
“I gather there’s a lot of that going around,” offered Treet. “So what are you doing following us?”
“I have been hiding—many days it is now—trying to find the Old Section.” He spread his hands wide. “But I can’t find it. There is no entrance in Saecaraz—perhaps at one time, but it no longer exists. I decided to wait and watch for Dhogs to come into Hage and then follow them.”
“You thought we were Dhogs?”
“No.” Fertig shook his head, a wisp of a smile on his lips. “I knew you were not Dhogs, but when I saw the Invisibles chasing you, I guessed Jamrog was up to something. I decided to follow you.”
“Can you get us out of here?”
“It depends on where you are going.”
“Chryse,” explained Ernina. “The entrance to the Old Section is in Chryse on the Jamuna border.” To Fertig’s look, she replied, “A physician of many years learns many things; not all concern medicine. Now we will need a boat.”
Fertig shook his head. “An em would be better. Faster.”
“Great! Where can we get one of those?” asked Treet.
“Rohee had many of them placed around the Hage. It fell to Hladik to maintain them. It is one of the things I was responsible for—making certain they were always ready. If Jamrog hasn’t moved them …” He stared out into the mottled darkness, eyes scanning the shadowed jumble of the waterfront before them. Kyan lapped the pilings and riffled in the shallows. “This way,” said Fertig, starting away. “I think there is one near here.”
Treet and Ernina followed the former Subdirector along the waterfront and came to the Saecaraz dockyard. Row upon row of boats chained for the night to fibersteel rings set in the dock let Treet know that they would have had a very difficult time getting a boat here. But Fertig led them away from the dock, turning back toward the Hageblocks for a short distance until he came to a flat-roofed building with a double-wide unidor.
Fertig went to the door and pressed the code into the lighted tabs. The unidor snapped off with a crack as an interior light blinked on. There before them was a silver em with two rear seats. “Our spirit guides are with us tonight,” called Fertig as he leaped into the driver seat. “This one Rohee used to take him to and from his boat.”
The em rolled out of its nook on squashy tires. Ernina climbed into the seat beside Fertig, and Treet piled into the one behind. “Home, James,” he said.
“Can you get us to Chryse?” asked Ernina.
“Yes. We could follow the Riverwalk, but I know a better way.”
“What about checkpoints? The Nilokerus have been alerted; they will be looking for us by now.”
“Don’t worry. There will be no checkpoints.”
The em jerked away and they were off, rolling soundlessly along the Riverwalk. Treet watched the blurred shapes of trees ripple past and the occasional light across the river dance over the silent water. The air in his face felt good; he slid down in the seat and closed his eyes.
He awoke again as the em jolted to a stop. They were sitting in a narrow street with tiered kraams pressing in on either side. Ahead was a deserted arcade with a few empty kiosks. The place had a gritty, stained appearance. Clearly, they were no longer in Saecaraz. “What is it?” asked Treet, his voice hoarse with sleep.
“Invisibles,” whispered Fertig. “I saw three of them cross just ahead of us.”
“Where are we?” He turned his head around. The dome overhead showed dull charcoal, and there were few stars showing. He had slept a good while then, but it seemed only an instant and he was still exhausted.
“We’re in Jamuna Hage,” replied Ernina, “near the border of Chryse. It’s only a little way now.”
Treet sat in the back and rubbed his face. He felt as if he had been pulled apart and reassembled backwards, every joint out of place and wrong. They waited a few minutes, and then Fertig said, “I think we can go now.”
The em rolled out into the arcade and headed for a street angling off into deep Hage. They reached the street and heard the shout simultaneously. A split second later a portion of the pavement sprouted flame, and rock splinters scattered. Fertig raced ahead and turned off the street at first opportunity. Treet, white-knuckling the handgrips and watching their rear, saw two Invisibles appear in the street behind them, raise weapons—and then they were taken from sight by Fertig’s quick turn.
“We’re at the border,” said Fertig as they raced down narrow, twisting streets. “There is a checkpoint just ahead—”
“Go right on through,” said Treet. “Don’t even slow down.”
“But—”
“They know we’re here now. And it’s close to dawn. We’ve got to find that entrance soon. I say run the checkpoint.”
Fertig nodded and grimly pressed his foot to the floor. The em was not built for speed, and with three passengers it would never set any land speed records, but Fertig coaxed the little vehicle to a respectable pace and they whisked through the empty Jamuna streets and out into a section of terraced fields of brown sludge overset with dingy towers. “Oohh! Smell that,” said Treet, tears rising to his eyes. “Ammonia!”
Past the fields rose a wall of stone brick topped by a high curtain of fibersteel panels. A great arch was cut in the wall allowing the road to pass through. Directly ahead was a Nilokerus checkpoint with a gate. Two Nilokerus stood by the gate and one inside the booth, all three apparently asleep on their feet.
The em whizzed toward the gate and the oblivious guards. The fugitives were barely ten meters away before the first guard awoke and sounded the alarm. The em crashed through the gate, shoving it into the booth as the two gate guards stood gaping. They yelled and then ran after the em, but it was too fast, and they stopped. As an afterthought they pulled out their weapons to fire halfheartedly at the receding vehicle.
“We did it!” crowed Treet. Fertig grinned glassily, his hands tight on the steering bar. “Masterful job, Fertig old stick! We’re rolling now.”
They were rolling, but not for long. The entire front end of the em started rattling, and then vibrating, and then shaking as if it would fly to pieces. Fertig allowed the machine to coast to a stop, got out, and stared at the left front tire.
“I knew it was too good to last,” sighed Treet as he surveyed the flat tire. “We must have picked up part of the gate.”
“It doesn’t matter,” replied Ernina gazing at the landscape. “The entrance is near.”
Treet followed her gaze. Chryse was as different from Jamuna and Saecaraz as Fierra from Dome. Even in the gloom Treet could see tha
t Hage Chryse had a symmetry of design that set it apart. He remembered his last and only visit to the Hage when Calin, his magician guide, had brought him here. A double-barbed pang of guilt and grief pierced him at the thought.
“We should get this thing off the road,” said Treet.
Fertig climbed back in and drove away, limping down the hillside to a clump of droopy-limbed trees. He drove the em into the trees and emerged a moment later, hurrying back up to the road. Ernina strode away in the opposite direction, climbing the nearest hill. Treet and Fertig followed, and soon they were walking parallel to the towering border wall.
The dome above grew lighter, graying with the sunrise. The hills of outer Chryse took on shape and definition; color seeped into the landscape. White moundlike structures emerged out of the murk away to the left. On the right, green hemispheres of hills met the wall, which stretched in a long, slow curve toward deep Hage.
Ernina pressed ahead at a nimble pace, and soon they came to a place where the sculptured hills ended and Chryse Hageworks began. Picking their way among the scattered structures, the three paused often to allow Ernina to study their position. “They say there is an old air conduit beneath a broadcast antenna—from before the Old Section was abandoned,” she said, gazing around her at the huddled conglomeration of buildings crammed together in the carved-out bowl of the hillside.
“Why was the Old Section abandoned?” wondered Treet.
“No one knows,” said Ernina. “It was many Supreme Directors ago.”
“Some say it was destroyed long ago and no longer exists,” offered Fertig. “Others say it was taken over by the Fieri and they sealed it. They were left alone, and no one went there after that.”
“Hmmm,” Treet said. Doubtless there was something in what Fertig said, although most likely he had it reversed. The Fieri were probably driven back or quarantined in the Old Section and the section sealed to prevent their escape or to keep them separated from the rest. Then again, the Old Section may have had some lingering bad associations with the Red Death and had become psychologically uninhabitable. “Are you sure this is the place? I don’t see any antenna.”
Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome Page 23
