by Джеффри Лорд
Meanwhile, the dimension door was forming, just as Silora had described it. A great milky sphere appeared in the air a hundred yards beyond the door machine, as its power was focused. The sphere seemed to wobble and pulsate, as though it were a balloon tied to the earth by a cord, and glowed with an inner light. It looked both beautiful and monstrous, but Blade remembered from Silora’s description that it would be some time before the door was open between Tharn and Konis.
The rattle of mercenary rifles broke into his thoughts. He turned and saw half a dozen figures in the open door of the command machine, all blazing away. Blade picked up the grenade launcher and was loading it again when several of the people got in their blows first. Trailing smoke, their grenades sailed through the air, two of them straight into the command machine’s door. Smoke and flame erupted half a dozen times in as many seconds and bodies and pieces of bodies fell smoking out of the murk. Then people and Peace Lords together were running frantically toward the command machine. Blade leaped from the chariot and joined them in time to be only a few seconds behind the leaders in reaching the machine.
The battle in the dark, smoke-filled corridors of the command machine was still another butchery. Blade remembered guns roaring in his ears, strangling one mercenary with his bare hands, stamping on the chest of another until the ribs caved in, being grazed by pellets in half a dozen places. But that was all he remembered between the moment he entered the machine and the moment he stood looking, down at an open locker. In that locker lay another atomic bomb.
Calculations dashed through Blade’s mind like the people’s charging cavalry. Here was a weapon to destroy the dimension door and perhaps even destroy the mercenaries on the other side of it, in Konis. Blade had given up hope of doing that for a while. Now he felt his heart leap up at this new chance. Silora was beyond help, but not beyond vengeance, and this was the best vengeance he could offer to her valiant memory.
He grabbed one of the people and shouted in his ear. «Run outside, take the signal baton from my chariot, and signal one of our war machines to come here. Run!»
He would have to move fast, before the door opened completely and more mercenaries perhaps came streaming into Tharn through it, or the people in the door machine realized what he was doing. He knelt to inspect the bomb, then ran outside, shouting for a dozen strong men. As fighters crowded around him, he noticed three of the captured Looter machines floating in above the chariots. The fourth was just landing almost beside the command machine. The hatch opened and Chara scrambled out. Good, sensible Chara. The four machines should keep the mercenaries at a safe distance while he finished the job.
There were crushed feet and broken arms as they hustled the bomb outside, but in five minutes it was safely inside Chara’s machine. Again Blade knelt beside it, working furiously but carefully to arm it. He set the fuse for ten minutes from the moment the timer began counting, then ran a length of teksin cord from the fuse to the inside handle of the hatch. Now if anyone opened the hatch all the way, the cord would pull tight, setting off the bomb instantly. That was his insurance against curious mercenaries in Konis.
After setting the booby-trap he stuck his head out through the hatch for a moment. Good. The other three machines had already lifted out, Peace Lords jammed shoulder to shoulder on the platforms and clinging to the turrets as well. Others were scrambling into chariots and some of the more athletic were climbing up behind the cavalrymen on their horses. As fast as each chariot or horse was loaded, the driver or rider turned it about and headed away across the plain as fast as it would go. Chara stood on the machine’s platform, urging everybody on with shouts and yells. In one hand she waved the Principal Technician of War’s jeweled belt, in the other she waved a Looter rifle. She waved it so wildly that Blade ducked back inside in case she accidentally fired it off. As he did, he saw two men loading Silora’s body into a chariot.
Chara sprang down to the ground at a word from Blade. He lifted the machine into the air and turned it until the shimmering milky sphere that was the dimension door was centered in the forward screen. Then he gave it a small amount of forward speed, ducked through the half-open hatch, then closed it solidly behind him. He took a final careful look at the dimension door. At least he would be able to tell Lord Leighton what the damned thing looked like. The machine was perfectly on course. Then he took a quick look at the ground slipping past ten feet below, swung himself over the railing, and dropped.
He landed harder than one ankle could really take. But he closed his mind to the stab of pain and sprinted toward the chariots. His own was there, one of only half a dozen left. All the cavalry was gone, and so were all the Peace Lords. He leaped in just as his ankle gave up the struggle, sprawling on his face on the floor of the chariot. The driver needed no orders, but whipped up the horses. The chariot swung about and began to roll.
As Blade pulled himself to his feet he saw a Looter war machine sail low overhead. It was heading for the dimension door. As Blade watched, the door ceased to be shimmering and milky, and showed a clear view of rocks and grass and buildings rising beyond the grass. The door was open and through it he was looking into Konis. Among the buildings Blade saw a polished metal oval gleaming-the machine that kept open the door from the other end.
The first Looter war machine plunged through the door while Blade’s bomb-carrier was still a hundred yards away. Blade’s wobbled in the disturbed air behind the other and swung off course. For a moment it looked as if it would slide past the door. Then some force flowing from the door itself caught it, steadied it, guided it smoothly and surely through the door. Blade mentally uncrossed his fingers. Now his work was done, and there was nothing left but to wish for good luck and fast horses to get clear in a hurry. The bomb could be no more than five minutes from going off, less if the mercenaries in Konis got curious.
It was less. The chariots had gone no more than another two hundred yards when the heat and the light of the sun itself seemed to burst into Tharn. For one split second white incandescence gushed through the dimension door. Then the door died, leaving only a fire that now had no beginning and seemingly no end.
The flame licked out and caught the dimension door machine. The metal blackened and buckled and peeled. Something exploded inside and the vast machine heaved itself into the air. It rose high enough to turn end over end before it came down, trailing smoke and flame. It came down squarely on the cargo machine, crumpling it inward. How much ammunition was left in that machine Blade didn’t know. He only knew the size of the explosion that followed, as a sheet of flame blotted out the whole scene behind him.
Bits of metal scythed down two of the chariot horses. They screamed and fell, tangling the other two. Blade clung to the chariot as it leaped into the air with a corkscrewing motion. It was still in the air when the blast wave hit. Blade’s grip on the chariot failed, and he spun helplessly through the air, to crash down on the ground and smash himself into blackness.
The first things Blade saw when he could see again were two faces bending over him, both wearing concerned expressions. One face was Chara’s, disfigured by a massive bruise that covered most of one cheek. The other was his son’s. King Rikard’s red gold hair was matted with blood, sweat, and the filth of a long day’s battle. But he and Chara both smiled as they saw Blade’s eyes flicker open.
«Have we won?» was the first question that came to Blade.
The others both nodded. «We could not have won much more thoroughly than we have,» said the king. «When the explosions came, it seemed that the mercenaries lost their courage. Many of them tried to surrender or run. They did not succeed. Others, who still had ammunition for their weapons, turned their weapons on themselves. Most of the mercenaries are dead by now, and those who are not dead now will mostly be dead before darkness comes.»
«How long have I been out?» was Blade’s next question. He was taking an inventory of his aches and pains as he did so. His ankle was swelling, his head ached, he was bruised and scra
ped all over, and his chest felt as though a ballet troupe had been dancing on it in logging boots. Also there were gaps where two teeth had been.
«Nearly three hours,» said King Rikard. «If you had not been breathing we would have thought you dead, and that would have been a grief to all of us. We have already lost many of the people this day, for the mercenaries fought well until they lost their courage. More than six hundred of the people will not see tomorrow’s sun rise, and some of those hurt will not see many more. Anyara is among the dead.»
«I join you in mourning her. Tharn owes her much.»
«Yes. There is another whom Tharn owes much, also.»
«Silora?»
«Yes. Her body is safe in the same tent where Anyara already lies.» He hesitated. «Father, I speak in this for all those who doubted Silora, including myself. It is a grief to me that I doubted her, and a greater grief to me now that I cannot apologize to her. But there is something that may still be done. Will you accept that she lie in the same tomb with the Beloved Zulekia?»
For a moment Blade felt his eyes watering with more than fatigue and dust. Then he nodded. «I accept that; I accept it gladly.» He sat up, realized that his bones would not fall apart if he moved, and stood up. For a moment he had to brace himself on his son’s shoulder, then stood alone.
«Let us get back to our people.»
As King Rikard predicted, the last of the fighting died down before nightfall. There was not a live mercenary anywhere in sight, and cavalry patrols armed with captured guns were on the prowl to make sure that those who had run away kept on running until they dropped dead.
More than two hundred thoroughly confused and frightened Peace Lords were prisoners-or guests. They weren’t quite sure which, even after Blade assured them that they would be welcome in Tharn and find good homes, freedom, and useful work there. No doubt he looked like one more dusty and blood-spattered barbarian to them. He could hardly tell them of his real origins, however.
But Blade knew the Peace Lords would come around in time, and be a valuable aid to Tharn in its groping back to civilization. There would be problems getting them settled in, but nothing that his son and the council could not solve. What Tharn needed Mazda for had been done this day, and would not have to be done again.
Blade spent some time in the tent where Anyara and Silora lay. They had washed Silora’s face and then bound and covered her so that her wounds and mutilations did not show. The pale face with the long eyelashes might have been sunk in sleep. Yes, it was a good thought his son had, letting Silora lie in the same tomb with Zulekia. Whatever happened in Konis now, Silora would never go home. But at least she would not be forgotten here in Tharn, among the people she had fought for and died helping to save.
After a while Blade went out again into the camp. One of the rare plains thunderstorms was moving in from the west. The stars were vanishing overhead, and lightning flickered eerily along the horizon.
Some of the younger men and women who still had the strength were dancing among the tents. Why not? thought Blade. They are alive; the Looters are destroyed; Tharn is safe. Enough reason for anyone to celebrate. Then he saw who was leading the line of dancers as it snaked in and out among the tents.
It was Chara, wearing nothing but the technician’s jeweled belt around her waist. The jewels sparkled and her bare oiled skin seemed to glow in the light from the campfires. She was magnificent, and suddenly completely irresistible.
Blade stepped forward and reached out to take her free hand. Her eyes met his, with a light in them showing that she shared his thoughts. Together they would seek out warmth and life, drive away the day’s memories of death and all the ghosts that still seemed to be hanging over the battlefield. She drifted away from the dance, and hand in hand they started for his tent.
The first drops of rain spattered down on the camp as they ducked into the tent. As Blade took the belt in both hands, to draw it off from Chara’s waist, thunder exploded outside, as loud as any of the battle noises that day.
In the same moment Blade felt pain and another sort of thunder explode inside his head. He staggered, partly with the pain, partly with surprise at the realization of what was happening. Lord Leighton’s computer was calling him back across the unknown, back to England. His hands tightened on the belt. He saw Chara’s eyes widen, heard her say, «Mazda, are you-?» Then the thunder in his ears and the thunder in his head drowned her out. She faded from view, the tent followed, then there was nothing around him but a vast dim grayness and a steep slope plunging endlessly down into the grayness.
He ran fast down the slope-he had to run, or fall down head over heels. He ran so fast that it was a while before he noticed that the surface under his feet was level. He slowed down. As he slowed, he saw two lights in the grayness ahead. They became brighter, took shape, became Lord Leighton and J. He slowed to a walk and strode toward them, holding the belt in one hand. He raised it high, as though saluting them, and spoke.
«I returned to Tharn. I saw my son, King of Tharn.»
His voice faded away. So did Lord Leighton and J. Then the grayness itself turned black.
Chapter 26
Richard Blade was walking along Westminster Embankment. A London fog swirled around him, but within his mind there was total clarity. He was running his mind back over what had happened since his return from Tharn.
Lord Leighton had managed to contain himself until he heard the full story of Blade’s adventures in Tharn. Then he exploded. A return to a previously visited dimension! A people who could travel at will and regularly from one dimension to another, almost as easily as a London businessman going home to the suburbs! A people who also had antigravity, incredibly advanced power sources, at least half a dozen astounding weapons, and much else! But how much information had Blade brought back about any of these breakthroughs, other than the fact of their existence?
Nothing.
At least it was nothing from Lord Leighton’s viewpoint, and as usual that was the only one the scientist would consider. Lord Leighton was a man who would maintain his views in the face of God Almighty, let alone Blade or even J. Nor would he be very tactful about how he set them out. He certainly hadn’t been so this time. In fact he had set some sort of a record, for all the years Blade had watched the scientist in action.
About the return to Tharn itself there wasn’t much Blade could have done, admittedly. He couldn’t have expected it and it happened too fast. But the Looters, with all their marvelous scientific gifts-now that was another matter.
«What was I supposed to do?» was Blade’s question.
And Lord Leighton had shrugged his shoulders and replied, «You could have always joined the Looters and found out as much about them as you could before returning home.»
A silence came down in J’s apartment when Lord Leighton said that. It was the deadest, coldest silence that Blade had ever heard. He took advantage of the silence to excuse himself and leave, leave so fast that he forgot his hat and umbrella. But he knew he had to leave. If he stayed around, he would say things to Lord Leighton that might make it hard for them to work together in the future. That would be bad for the project and for England. But that didn’t alter the fact that he had never been so angry in his life. In some less civilized dimensions, he would probably have snatched the scientist out of his chair and dashed out his brains against the nearest wall.
But J was no doubt calming Lord Leighton down, and the long walk in the bitter foggy air had done the same for Blade. He could now admit that Lord Leighton was perfectly within his rights in being half-wild with frustration and annoyance. Half a dozen of his cherished dreams had been handed to him practically on a silver platter, and nothing would come of them because Blade had been too damned busy saving the people!
Possibly Lord Leighton was even partly right. No, Lord Leighton was entirely right-for some other dimension. In any other dimension there would have been a point beyond which Blade owed the project more than he owed the loca
l people. In no other dimension but Tharn would he have genuinely neglected his duties to the project-to England-by being so wholeheartedly on the side of the local people that he threw aside all the opportunities for scientific discoveries.
But Tharn was different. Tharn was the land of the people he had helped create, ruled by his son, his own son. He could not have left one stone unturned to aid them, or sacrificed one of them for any number of scientific discoveries. He knew this; J knew this, and no doubt in time Lord Leighton would calm down enough to realize it also. Meanwhile the best thing he could do was stay away from the scientist and remember what he had seen and done in Tharn this time.
It was a memory that he knew would cast a warm light down all the years of his life to come, however many they might be. He might have no son that the world knew about, but there was more than one world.
Who could be sure? Perhaps the next word about Tharn would come when someone from Tharn passed through into Home Dimension! The Peace Lords might prove a very interesting addition to Tharn-very interesting indeed.
But that was for a future Blade was quite sure he would not live to see. No matter-he had seen and done enough in Tharn, for Tharn, for the people-for his son.
He buttoned up his Burberry the rest of the way against the chill, turned, and began to walk back the way he had come.
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