"Automatics are out. It's shut tight."
"Emergency circuits closed," added Mal. He raised the energy rifle. Four blasts knocked the right side of the armored doorway sufficiently askew for them to slip through. They went fast and gingerly, avoiding the hot edges.
The tiny harbor lay just ahead, down a slight slope. It was drizzling slightly, large warm drops. Visibility of the cove was poor, but sufficient.
It was a mess.
"Systematic's the word," murmured Mal. "It cut off all retreat first thing."
Docks and piers had been smashed straight down into the sand and water. Metal pilings and groinings were twisted like wise. Scraps of hoverafts and regular ships, as well as two or three hydrofoils and at least one helicoptertype were visible-including the pulverized remains of their own. The least damaged of the assorted vessels was one that had been torn neatly in half, like a piece of foil.
Dull explosions continued to sound behind them, spiced with an occasional faint reptilian scream. The slight slope and high trees prevented visual observation, a state of affairs none in the small group had any desire to rectify.
The humid mist was settling fast, but several islands were still visible. Except for the relatively empty equatorial seas, one was rarely out of sight of land on Repler.
They ran rapidly the rest of the way to the beach. Not so much to reach it as to get as far as possible from the thing behind them. On close inspection the wreckage was even less encouraging. The destruction had been careful and thorough. Nothing was left that could float anything larger than half a man.
Even to a group as hardened as the two officers and Hammurabi, the carelessly dismembered bodies of the few AAnn soldiers and harbor personnel were unnerving. There wasn't an intact corpse visible. Here and there one, could discern an arm, part of a torso, a leathertine boot with the leg still in it.
Some of the grisly debris had clearly been torn, while other pieces were sheared off as neatly as with a surgical laser.
Kitten looked back over her shoulder.
"I think I'll take my chances with the devil-fish. Maybe we can make it to that nearer island."
Porsupah was peering hard into the wet mist. "That may not be necessary. There is what appears to be a still intact craft of some sort floating free out there. It must have broken loose when the monster first attacked and drifted away unnoticed."
"So long as it floats," said Mal, stepping into the gentle surf.
"Don't be absurd," chided Porsupah. "Excuse me." The diminutive officer dove into the water and shot past Mal like a furred torpedo, his webbed feet frothing the sea behind him.
"Waiting makes me nervous, that's all," said Mal.
"Yes," Kitten muttered, staring back at the trees. At any moment she expected to see black hell pouring towards them over the palms. "We've got to get away to alert the Rectory, not to mention GalCenter on Terra and Hivehom. This is rather more than a local problem." She paused. "I wonder how Peet is coming with his electronic jigsaw?"
"I don't care about the Rectory, I don't particularly care about the pen-pushers at GalCenter, and I especially don't care about what that revived mummy expects to do about this thing. I expect he's outclassed. What I do care about is that for the first time in ten years I've got a bank account that's more than just healthy, and by hell and damn, I've every intention of sticking around to spend it!"
"Your mind is rotten with credit pollution!" she sneered in disgust.
"You question my motives without knowing a damn thing, and-"
A cough and rumble turned -their attention to the choppy water. The sound settled into a steady, low grumble. A moment later a boat appeared out of the mist, Porsupah at the left side of the peculiar double helm. It was only a small open powerboat, but it looked able to hold them all comfortably.
"Sorry it's not a raft," said Pots, "but it appears to be near full fuel-wise and not terribly difficult to operate. It -should suffice to get us elsewhere- our primary concern at the moment, I suspect."
"There might be an automated way-station nearby," suggested Kitten, "where we can either pick up something a little faster or else transmit cityside."
"Our scaly friends might pick up a distress signal this close by," said Mal thoughtfully.
"If there are any left. Please, let's argue about it elsewhere and elsewhen, hmmm?"
They boarded the tiny craft. At a respectable speed only a million kilometers or so too slow, they headed out of the cove. Only fog swallowed them up.
The Vom paused in its work and considered the destruction it had wrought. It was full-fleshed, unhungry, sated on life-force, for the first time in memory. It could detect a last pocket of high-quality force on the island. It was buried in a strong chamber deep within the island itself. Content as it was; the Vom decided, after some thought, not to trouble this last group just now.
It relaxed, flowed out to a comfortable configuration, and listened. The Guardian still retained its ancient ability to blur its whereabouts. Strain as it might, the Vom had not yet rebuilt to the point where it could penetrate that mindweb. Leaving the search for the Enemy, it let its perception roam, out, free, open, for the first time since awakening, testing its revitalized neural complex.
Tiny bits of life-force impinged here, there, on its fluid consciousness. Were recorded and stored for future sorting and analysis. Great clusters of lesser intelligences flowed in the seas about the island. Not as exciting, but still suitable for assimilation and fueling.
To the north, however, there was a really respectable body of strong life-force, by far the greatest within the Vom's range of detection. It would be enough to stimulate the Vom to full, pulsating awareness. To a state of elemental power. Perhaps the Guardian would also ,realize this, and go there to defend. Perhaps it would not, electing to put off a confrontation still longer. Either way, it was a destination, a reason for moving. The Vom considered. It decided.
It went.
Philip was at the landing to greet them as they pulled into Wetplace. He was fairly dancing with impatience and concern as they went through the brief but necessary tying-down procedure. They'd borrowed an emergency raft from the sailor's station they'd found. Humid fog was as thick here as it had been on the open sea. Limpid drops rolled sinuously around Kitten's thighs as she stepped out of the raft. The black tower loomed indistinctly in the feather-soft drizzle.
"Kitten, Captain Hammurabi! How pleasurable to see you again! I was worried. And I have such things to tell you."
"And I have a story or two for you, lad!" said Mal. Together they headed for the tower.
As they entered the now-familiar elevator, Mal recounted quickly most of what had occurred since their departing. The young engineer was quiet throughout, listening attentively. In fact, by the time Mal finished the youngster seemed downright grim.
"It all fits," he said.
"Glad to hear it," Mal replied. "What fits?"
"With what Peot said."
"And what has he said?" asked Kitten.
"That the creature's power and strength grows in minutes arid hours, not days. That it soon may be strong enough to resist anything Pent and the Machine can throw at it. In which case the only alternative to catastrophe on a galaxy-wide scale will be planetary sterilization."
"Whew! You said that calmly enough. Does he realize how much chance we'd have of getting Council-Chancellor approval for that?" Kitten said.
"He'd be included under such a program too, of course," Mal added.
"The concept of death in all its manifestations and aspects is one he's more than familiar with. He doubts the actuality would be more than merely anticlimactic. The possibility does not concern him. As for the other, he has some inkling of how slowly even the best non-totalitarian bureaucracy moves. He only suggests what he believes may work."
"Cheery prognosis from a potential savior," Kitten murmured.
"Still, everything is future tense.' Where's your friend?"
"Pors? He's taken another ship and go
ne into the city to help the Major organize things at the Rectory. And to give a first-hand report. Does Peot think the monster will continue the kind of destruction we observed at the Enclave?"
"Not for a while, it seems..."
"Haw!" Mal snorted.
"... at least until it has located and reckoned with Peat himself. It knows of the Tar-Aiym's presence on Repler, and..."
"Tar-Aiym?" interrupted Kitten. "I know that word. Pent claims to be a Tar-Aiym?" But Philip ignored her.
"... until the Guardian is destroyed, the Vom knows it will always be in danger. It is a highly logical organism and will always bow to priorities. Finding and eliminating Peot is first. Destruction of puny humanx resistance falls considerably lower on the fist."
"And if it locates our resurrected madman, naturally it will come directly here."
"I should suppose so."-
"Naturally Chatham has not been told of this."
"Naturally not."
Kitten sighed. "Well, I hope it takes its time. I'm not sure I could take another sight of that thing without a few days to blot it out of my mind."
Governor Washburn was very upset. He'd been forced out of his beloved daily schedule. The Governor was a most punctual person. This awkward diversion had already forced him to miss at least one address to a local assemblage of parents of school-age children-voters all. Not to mention the unveiling of the new seafood processing plant on Isle de Rais.
He'd accepted the chair offered by Orvenalix only to hop out of it almost immediately and commence pacing in the small office like a target in a shooting gallery. Porsupah was an interested spectator.
"The thing is bloody preposterous! Alien monsters indeed! That's work for infantile minds. And for that you draw me from my official duties! For-"
"I've seen the thing, Governor," said Porsupah quietly. "It is far from insubstantial."
"So I've been told." Washburn waved a hand diffidently. "Understand me, Lieutenant. It's not your powers of observation I question. Merely the preciseness of your description. An understandable penchant for exaggeration induced by excitable circumstances . . ."
"It is not impossible that certain details have been slightly exaggerated. The creature may have left a survivor or two."
"Surely now, the weaponry we stock, even though designed for dealing with devil-fish and subsand crawlers and the like, is sufficient to handle your `monster."'
"A point by way of information, your Governorship," countered Porsupah. "Two well-equipped submersibles from this city, fitted out with precisely that sort of equipment and manned by able men thoroughly familiar with it, were destroyed by this creature as though they were no more than dreamsmoke. I saw it. I observed gelite torpedoes and armor-piercing projectiles utilized against it. They might as well have tried to annihilate it with feathers. And the crew of the submersible that escaped does not desire a second encounter."
The Governor had another ready reply, but this time Orvenalix broke in. He waved a sheaf of faxed reports at the fuming executive.
"Perchance, has the Governor found the time to scan any of these reportings. Which have been flowing in with distressing frequency for the past two days now?"
Washburn cocked an eye at the sheets.
"I receive innumerable reports daily. Which are these?"
Orvenalix thumbed through the sheets, his pincers moving easily from one to the next.
"A minor consortium of four fishing vessels returned to the same place where per deuce-week, for the past year and a half, they have caught between four and five thousand kilos of edible seafood. Their take this last time barely was worth weighing in ... The jet skiff Lady Laughing with a family of four on board outbound from Repler Harbor disappeared while headed south-southeast at latitu .... well, that doesn't matter. They've not been sighted or heard from since ... Two trawling submersibles disappear in a fog off Isle Ellison ... undersea garden of Hon. Yaphet McKnight Luttu, retired, is devastated in a single night ... shoal of migrating stoneskippers hurl themselves ashore at Isle Royal and suffocate ... dozens of similar sightings, reports, remarks from reliable, frightened sources, Governor. At first the tone was one of curiosity. Not now. Word gets around. Fear shows."
"On a planet as recently settled and relatively unexplored as Repler, disasters and strange occurrences take place daily, by the bushelful," the Governor replied.
"Mind, I'm not saying that your monster might not be responsible for one or two ..."
Thranx numbered among their virtues phenomenal patience. Under exceptional, rare circumstances, it could be lost.
"Governor, semantic evasion of a problem will never eliminate it! In fact, if I may delicately point out, if you do not squarely confront this situation, it will confront you!"
"I do not understand, Major."
"I'll try and make it as simple as possible, your Governorship," Orvenalix pushed a laminated sheet of irradiated plastic across the desk. Tiny yellow dots glowed within the three-dimensional map.
"All disaster reports and sightings have been plotted on this chart. Both confirmed and suspected. Excluding those obviously the product of hysteria, they form a rough, zig-zagging path from the AAnn Concession towards Repler City. Since our agents escaped from there, by the way, we haven't been able to raise a signal from it, vidcast, radio-nothing. Should the line continue at its current pace, Governor, whatever is at this end of it will be here in three days. At which point you will have the opportunity to debate a question that has become purely academic!"
Washburn considered the map, considered the stocky insect across from him, considered the befurred officer sitting placidly in a corner. He slumped slightly. A good deal of hot air disappeared along with the bravado.
"I see. Yes, well, you do make some strong points, Major. Strong. Perhaps ... perhaps some few precautionary measures-nothing extreme or alarming to the populace, you understand-ought to be carried out?" He looked hopeful.
Orvenaiix sighed.
"Yes Governor. With your permission I believe I can-"
"Yes, yes, Major! Very good, excellent! I can leave the matter in your hands, then?"
"Yes sir." Orvenalix made a point of glancing at his desk chronometer. "In fact, sir, if you hurry, I think you can still make the unveiling of that new processing plant. I've taken the liberty of having a skopter made ready for you. Second deck-level. The pilot is already warmed up. If you hurry, you should make it with minutes to polish your speech."
"Why that's very thoughtful of you, Major!" Washburn relaxed, beamed. "I'll remember it, you can be sure. And now, gentlebeings..."
Orvenalix and Porsupah stood as the Governor left the room. When the door had snapped shut behind the planet's chief executive, both eased back into their seats.
"It is not in my crop to be angry at the man. He is one of those who refuse to recognize the possibility of their own impotence."
Porsupah looked at his superior curiously. "Do you think you can do anything, Major?"
Orvenalix swiveled and depressed several studs on a panel set flush into the desk. The triangular head turned slightly, compound eyes faceting the light.
"No more than I think our good Governor will make his unveiling. That chronometer is set forty minutes slow. Two things, Lieutenant. Firstly, while I believed your report, I confess to having some hesitation ..."
"But sir, we ...!"
"Relax, Lieutenant, relax. Understand my position. Visitations by alien monstrosities are not common in our well-organized universe. But then I received these . . .
He pushed a sheaf of reports across the table, over the map. "Following all those disaster claims, I decided to try and obtain visual corroboration. I ordered a pair of aircraft to imago the AAnn station, agreement or not. Such proof would also provide backing for any action I felt required to take-with or without his Governorship's permission. But it's better this way ... Apparently some of the automatic weapons there are still in operation, because the two planes were fired upon. However, i
magos and frozepix of the island were obtained. The devastation is incredible. Not a structure left standing, half the vegetation flattened, great gaping holes in the ground- utter chaos ...
The second thing is this. On returning, the two pilots were ordered to crisscross the undersea route the creature is believed to be taking. Even if the thing stuck to deep water, it was hoped they might get a glimpse of it ... Only one plane returned. The pilot was completely catatonic. When he didn't respond, the controllers took over and landed the plane on automatics. The healer's can't do a thing for him. That's where he is now, in the Rectory hospital. I'm told he may never recover .
Something burned out his brain, Lieutenant. Too much input. Cerebral overload."
The speaker set into the desk at the Major's right crackled, formed words.
"Your straight-line call is now being put through, sir. Channels have been cleared. There will be a normal delay." Something beeped and the voice went away.
"Priority call?" queried Porsupah, interested.
"The nearest task force of respectable size, Lieutenant, is based on Tundra V. Further off than I'd like, but there's no reason for anything closer. And I'm not going to fool around asking for a cruiser from here, a korvette there. This requires action at the fleet level, and I intend that we shall have it!"
"A task force? But our resurrected advisor claims that any physical attack on our part will only provoke the monster to action."
"I've heard of this other. Be that as it may," said Orvenalix softly, "what else am I to do? Should I fail to defend my nest post I would be forever barred from it. I am nest-mother here by proxy. I will not sit idly by while this thing approaches and not prepare to meet it. Warning or not." There was a second beep, highpitched, from the speaker.
Speaker and vidscreen cleared together. An elderly thranx, with curved-in antennae and chiton aged a tyrolean purple, gazed out at them. There was no hint of age in his voice, though. Although it was hazy from being bounced through at least a dozen relay stations.
"Ashvenarya here."
"Orvenalix, Major, commanding Rectory, Repler III.
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