Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra (37 page)

“Excellent!” cried Tvrdy. “You have found them. I had forgotten about the blades.”

“The blades?” Treet stared at the vehicle. On either side of a narrow, open-aired passenger compartment, two long, thin runners swept down from the pointed nose to flare like curved sabers along the full length of the vehicle. The contraption looked more like a skinny, old-fashioned sleigh with its runners flattened and turned on edge than anything else Treet could think of.

There were three humps in the floor of the passenger compartment which corresponded to three, ball-shaped flexible wheels, which were made of overlapping metallic bands. The ungainly craft balanced precariously on these wheels, tilting back and forth on the runner-blades.

“Yes, you will need these,” Tvrdy was saying as he pointed to two other vehicles exactly like the first. All three showed signs of wear and tear—places where the paint was worn to the metal, scratches and dents, torn seat cushions. Obviously the machines had seen heavy use in their day—whenever that had been. “I had also forgotten the sand.”

“Sand?”

Calin spoke up. “There is a legend about a great sand sea between Empyrion and Fierra.”

“A desert. Of course. Just what we need.”

Calin, eyes turned inward, began reciting:

“On blades that race the sea is cut,
And scattered by the skimmer's wake.
On and on, the dune sea rolls
White gold in endless waves.”

She came out of her trance and explained, “Nho says it is from an old song.”

“Great,” Treet frumped. “Well, do we wait for those lovely lads out there to figure out a way to get in here, or do we make a graceful exit?”

In the skimmers they found an assortment of blue, red, and green singletons much like the ones they had been wearing when they arrived on Empyrion. Treet was the first to start stripping off his yos. Pizzle found one near his size and squirmed out of his yos too. “Come on, ladies. No time to be shy,” remarked Treet, stuffing a leg into the garment. “Get some real clothes on.” He flipped two of the smaller-sized jumpsuits to Calin and Yarden.

When they hesitated, he explained, “Look, I'm not much of an explorer, but I've been on a few excursions, and we don't know what kind of conditions we're likely to find out there. But whatever it is, we're better off dressed for the occasion. Okay?”

Yarden nodded and ducked behind a large louver panel. Calin shrugged and began pulling off her yos. Treet turned his back discreetly and met Tvrdy as he returned from making his check of the vehicles, carrying bubble helmets and atmosphere canisters under his arms.

“Aw, do we need those?” whined Pizzle.

“It is advisable.” Tvrdy handed helmets around. “We would not think to move outside the dome without a breather pack.”

“How long are these packs good for?” asked Treet. The helmets looked brand new and never used. Strange to think they were likely several thousand years old.

“Five hundred hours. I have put replacement canisters for each of you in the skimmer compartments.”

“That gives us—” Treet began calculating.

“Twenty days per canister,” said Pizzle.

“We ought to be able to find the lost tribes in forty days, eh?” It certainly seemed like a long enough time to be wandering around in the wilderness. He turned to Tvrdy. “What do we do when we come back? How do we get in touch with you?”

“Come back here to this entrance.” Tvrdy indicated the massive fibersteel doors before them. “There is a code lock on the outside. Press it and I will come to meet you or send someone.”

“Fine, but I don't know the code and neither do you.”

“It doesn't matter. All locks are monitored in Tanais Hage. When someone attempts an inappropriate code, a warning signal is tripped. We will know you are here.”

Treet looked at Tvrdy for a long time and then said, “You sure you wouldn't rather come with us? You might live longer.”

Tvrdy smiled grimly. “I'll survive. Once he knows that you have escaped, Jamrog will not persist on this course. I will bring charges against him before the other Directors, and he will deny them, and that will be that—for a while.”

“Whatever you say. We'll be back as soon as possible. I can't promise anything, but we'll do all we can to bring help.”

“We will await your return, Hageman Treet. Tanais priests will offer benefices to the outland spirits for your safety.” Tvrdy seemed about to say something else, but turned quickly away, donned a bubble helmet, and moved to a pedestal near the great curving door. He pulled off the cloth covering the pedestal and studied the mechanism.

“Everybody ready?” said Treet. Pizzle, Calin, and Yarden stood lined up behind him. All were wearing singletons and had their helmets under their arms with breather packs attached. “Okay, let's get 'em on.”

Helmets in place, Treet gave Tvrdy a signal, and the Director punched a button on the console. Nothing happened. He tapped it again, but the door did not budge. Without a word, Calin went to the pedestal and placed her hands on it. A moment later the doors ground into motion on huge, complaining rollers, sliding apart slowly, ponderously.

Treet went to the nearest vehicle and climbed on, settling himself in the driver's seat. There was a joystick affair for steering and two pedals on the floor which could not be reached with his feet unless he stood. He puzzled over this arrangement for a moment before realizing that passengers were intended to straddle the central humps and ride the skimmers like camel jockeys. Portions of the long cushioned seat flipped up for backrests. With joystick in hand, the driver pressed the pedals with his knees—though what the pedals did, Treet had yet to discover.

Pizzle stood close and pointed to the panel under the stubby windscreen. “They're electric,” he said. “With solid-fuel assist generators.”

“I can read,” Treet pointed out. “Get ready. You and Yarden take that one; Calin and I will take this one.” He indicated the sleek blue-and-black skimmer nearby. “And you better let Yarden drive.” Pizzle flapped his arms in protest, but Treet cut him short, saying, “You don't have your glasses, remember?” Pizzle snorted, but climbed on the vehicle behind Yarden.

Pale, watery light spilled in from the widening crack as the doors inched apart. Treet pressed the ignition plate, and the machine trembled to life beneath him with a sound like the whine of a ramjet turbine. Calin scrambled up behind Treet and pulled a strap across her hips, raising two handgrips into position near her arms. Treet nodded and gave a thumbs-up signal to Yarden, who acknowledged it with a wave.

The doors slid slowly open and as Treet eased back on the joystick, inching the skimmer forward, he glanced up just in time to see black shapes boiling in through the gap. He saw Tvrdy rush forward. Someone shouted.

Treet jerked the joystick back and the skimmer lurched forward, stuttered, and died.

The black shapes swarmed around them, cutting off their only escape. Treet cursed and hit the ignition plate. Nothing. A hand snaked out and grabbed him by the wrist before he could hit it again.

Treet wrenched his arm
away, but it was held fast. With his heart thumping triple time, he yelled for help, cutting his cry short in mid-yelp, for he witnessed a strange thing: Tvrdy running forward and embracing one of the attackers. Traitor! thought Treet. He has sold us out!

But no, they turned and came toward him together, Tvrdy slapping the side of his helmet. Treet found the radio switch on the neck and tapped it. A squawk of static burst in his ears, and out of the noise Tvrdy's voice emerged saying, “Cejka could not reach us. He and his men have been waiting for us outside.”

Relief washed over Treet as the meaning of Tvrdy's words broke upon him.

“Crocker!” Pizzle leaped from his skimmer and ran to where Rumon Hagemen escorted a lanky figure through the door.

The pilot leaned heavily on those supporting him as he shuffled into the Archives. “Crocker, can you hear me?” asked Treet, throwing himself from the skimmer and rushing forward. “You okay?”

Crocker's voice sounded thin and wheezy in Treet's helmet. “I've been better.” The Captain laughed, and the laugh lapsed into a dry cough. “I was afraid you were thinking of taking off without me.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” replied Treet. “But are you sure? I mean—”

“You're
not
leaving me behind. I can make it.” Treet heard desperation in the Captain's voice.

Treet glanced at Pizzle, who only stared noncommittally into space, and back to Crocker. “You're sure?”

Crocker nodded. “Please, I'll be fine.”

“You may not thank me for this,” said Treet. “But all right—if that's what you want, I won't stop you.”

“It may be for the best.” Tvrdy spoke up. “If Jamrog discovered he remained behind, his life would be in danger.”

Cejka agreed. “It would be safer for everyone.”

“You mean the chase will be off once we've disappeared.” Treet nodded. “Okay, we'll take the other skimmer too. Calin, you're going to have to drive. Can you handle it?”

The magician nodded inside her helmet. “It won't be difficult.”

“Good. Let's get going. As soon as we're out of here, we'll all feel a whole lot better.” Cejka's men helped Crocker to Calin's skimmer, made him comfortable, and strapped him in. Treet climbed up into the driver's seat once again and pressed the ignition plate, heard the muffled whine of the engine, felt the throb of mechanical life. When everyone was ready, he eased back the joystick and the skimmer scraped forward slowly, bumped over the outer doorseal, and pulled itself along under the superstructure of the landing platform—a dark forest of fibersteel pylons and beams.

The blade-runners carved through the bare earth beneath the platform, knifing a twin track in the dirt. Treet pulled the joystick back further and speed increased, stabilizing the tipsy craft somewhat. The wheels, flattened with the weight of the skimmer and its passengers, bit into the soil and churned them forward.

Now Treet cleared the edge of the platform and plunged into long grass, which dragged at the skimmer, swishing and hissing as the vehicle sliced through. He drove toward the rise of a low hill directly in front of him and glanced back to see how the others were navigating. “Everybody getting the hang of it?”

His question went unanswered. Just as he turned to look back, an explosion ripped the earth not five meters in front of him. “Look out!” screamed Pizzle, his voice sharp inside the helmet. Another explosion rocked the skimmer as a crater blossomed in the grass nearby. Chunks of smoking dirt rattled on the cowling of the skimmer as Treet hunched over the joystick, urging the machine faster.

“They're on the platform!” cried Treet, stealing a glance behind him as the vehicle plunged forward. Both Calin and Yarden had cleared the platform and were racing out over the grass. “Spread out! You're too close together.”

Treet gained the top of the hill and slowed to look back. Calin had split off to one side, and Yarden had fallen behind somewhat. A brilliant flash leaped from the platform, and a sheet of flame engulfed the trailing skimmer.

“Yarden!” screamed Treet. His breath caught in his throat, and he threw the joystick forward.

“Keep moving!” cried Crocker. “Don't stop!”

Treet spun around and saw Yarden's skimmer come shooting out of a wall of boiling smoke and dust, the nose of her vehicle scorched black. “I—I'm okay … I think,” she said into her helmet mike.

Three more fireballs exploded around them, but the skimmers reached the crest of the hill, plowed over the top, and were cut off from the direct line of fire of those on the platform. Treet leaned to the side, and the skimmer carved a graceful arc along the slope. “Hey, it's easy!” he said. “Like steering a sled—just lean into it.”

The others followed his lead and they swept down the hillside, keeping themselves out of sight of the Invisibles on the platform. At the bottom of the hill, Treet turned to glide into a shallow valley between two hills. The valley flattened out after only two hundred meters, and once again they came into view from the platform. A volley of thunderbolts strafed the ground, throwing charred landscape into steaming spires. The skimmers sped forward, sliding through the grass.

Desperate to get more speed out of the machine, Treet yanked the joystick all the way back. The action threw him momentarily off balance, raising his knees off the pedals. Instantly the skimmer streaked ahead—and arrow released from the bowstring—as the blades raised up.

Treet understood at once what had happened and informed the other drivers of his discovery. “On turf the blades drag; they're used only for steering. Raise up on the pedals and decrease the drag,” he explained, and immediately the three were rocketing over the hills, rapidly outdistancing the hostile fire.

“Whee! This is fantastic!” chirped Pizzle. “Next best thing to flying.”

Crocker spoke up. “If I remember the scan we took before landing, there was a minus eight dry land reading off to the southeast of the colony.”

“Minus eight dry land. That would be a desert?”

“Think Sahara—that's minus eight.”

“I caught a glimpse of it on one of our passes,” said Pizzle. “I saw a river too.”