Satan's Forge (Star Sojourner Book 5) (23 page)

The portal was open, but death waited for anyone foolish enough to follow the guards through it. Others were burned with beams fired from tower grills. Both sides had taken heavy losses. The wounded were screaming and kicking where they lay in their own blood. A dead Cleocean and a Denebrian were sprawled about ten feet away, their skulls crushed flat by the rolling cannon.

I saw the second tag from Mack's renegades trying to get up with a shattered leg. A Kubraen tried to help him. He lifted his stingler and at point blank he shot the Kubraen in his face.

“You bastard!” I muttered. I aimed my rifle over the cannon and sent him into the forgiving arms of Great Mind. The slaves had finally taken cover wherever they could. I rolled to my back and stared at the gray clouds of dust drifting under a pink sky. If this wasn't Hell, I don't know what was.

We were at a standoff. We had no weapons left that could destroy the tower. The guards had none left except hand weapons to fight the slaves. There might be escape tunnels under the tower. Perhaps Boss Slade was already gone.

Chancey… I was targeted and couldn't get back to him. “I'm sorry, Chance.” The screams of the wounded were like whip lashes against my spirit. You couldn't tell the wounded guards from the slaves by their anguished cries, like animals in pain.

Big Sarge had opted to keep his soldiers out of the battle. Probably a good thing. Fourteen more on our side wouldn't have made a big difference.

But what now? How long can an Altairian hold out without food or water? They had evolved from reptilian forms on their homeworld and it was possible that they could go for long periods without both. If there were tunnels, that might be a moot point. I rubbed my eyes. Sarge wasn't stupid, though. He would spread his men throughout the woods to watch for guards that emerged from hidden tunnel exits.

A Mexican standoff, Chancey would call this situation, if he survived without medical aid. “Chance.” Would we be pinned down until night? He'd always been there for me. Even with all his bantering, I knew he'd lay down his life to save me. I studied the dead Cleocean.

My turn.

I crawled to the body. I might throw up before I finished this work, but I took out my knife and skinned his white back until I had a piece of hide about the size of a small towel. I retched as I scraped the inner portion free of blood and tissue, then burned a hole through it, and tied the hide to a branch I burned off a small bush. With my grotesque white flag in hand, I crawled back to the safety of the cannon.

I was shaking and my knees felt weak as I lifted my “flag” over the cannon and waved it. Would the guards heed my petition to talk to their leader? Or drop me when I stood up? Well, at least they didn't beam my flag.

The firing ceased. Silence was an invisible shroud as the slaves and the guards realized what I was doing.

I didn't want to stand up. I wanted to dig a hole and cover myself with dirt. I grimaced as I realized that might be my future after all. My heart beat like a bird fluttering to be let out of my rib cage. My throat was so tight I didn't know if I could talk, even if given the chance. My hands shook as I got to my knees. My survival wiring said
Stay down, you idiot!

I used the smooth black barrel of the cannon for support as I lifted myself to my feet and waved my grisly white flag. I unstrapped my holster and let it drop, then raised that hand too above my head. Well, I was still alive.

The tension was thick enough to slice with a butter knife as I slid over the cannon and approached the tower. I saw the high window lift up. A bulky figure peered out. Slade.

“Lord Jules!” a Denebrian shouted. “Where are you going, brother? You will be killed! Wait! I'll attend you.” He stood up.

“No. Don't!” I yelled as a blue flash from the tower cut him down.

“Stay under cover!” I ordered the slaves and walked on trembling legs, around two Vermakt bodies, and almost slipped on their blood as I made my way to the shadowy portal.

When I reached it, I stopped. My eyes hadn't adjusted yet to a dark hallway. “I'm here under a white flag,” I called through the door.

“What do you want?” someone called back in the metallic Altairian tone.

“I want to talk peace with your leader.”

I heard a whispered conversation, probably a comlink message to Slade. An Altairian came out of the gloom and patted me down for weapons. “Go to your left and climb the stairs. Hareg Slade awaits you, pritcull!”

I lowered my hands.

It was a long climb to Slade's office. Two armed guards were posted on either side of his door. One opened it as I approached. I took a deep breath, straightened, and walked inside. The guards followed and locked the door.

I paused, shocked. It looked like a business meeting, with Ja Darr, CEO of Lithium Love Mine, according to the plaque set before him, at the head of the long table, with six Altairian officers, I assumed, seated on either side of him. And there, at the foot, was Boss Slade.

The ceiling was cracked. One edge hung down precariously. The floor was littered with pieces of fibrin sheetrock. I had to smile. They must have been holding a conference when we attacked, and now they were stuck in the tower.

The odor of bitterroot was heavy in the small, crowded room. I wondered if Altairians sweat. I know I was feeling the drip of perspiration down my temples. I didn't wipe it.

“Sit down, Mister Rammis.” Ja Darr's voice quavered as he motioned me to an empty chair beside him, and showed pointy teeth in a tight smile. “You're perfectly safe here. We are all unarmed.” He spread his clawed green hands.

Except the guards, who were flanking me,
I thought.

“Like you,” Darr said, “we also wish to negotiate a peace treaty.”

“Good.” I took the chair. “Let the slaves walk away from the mine. Then we can talk about closing down your other two slave camps on New Lithnia.” I leaned forward. “Have you ever considered
paid
employees?” My anger showed in my tone.

Darr looked around and leaned back. His flat green snout twitched. “You see,” he tapped his fingers on a folder, “that is exactly our problem. We don't perceive our employees as slaves. We refer to them as residents.”

“Refer to them any way you want,” I said. “Just let them walk out the gate, agree not to kidnap any more, in ink, close down your mines, or hire willing employees, and I'll tell my forces to withdraw.”

He chortled softly. “What we're trying to impress on you, is that they
are
free to come and go as they please.” He spread his hands. “That is why we fail to understand your unwarranted attack on a legal enterprise.” His hands curled into fists.

“You're wasting my time.” I started to get up. The two guards put their hands on their holstered weapons. I sat back down.

“We hope not, Mister Rammis, and we hope that you're not wasting our time, either. This has been a rather, uh, traumatic visit for us.” The officers nodded and stared at me. I never could read an Altairian's face for expression, but I doubted that theirs showed any semblance of friendship.

“Uh, a cup of liquid?” Darr asked shakily. “We have Earthbrew.”

I smiled. “Sounds good.” I could play this game of
let's defuse the opponent's defenses. Make friends.
Become buddies with the devil.
I glanced at Slade. His back was to the open window. No use attempting a tel-link to force the bastard to jump out the window. I could make it look like suicide, but he was a sensitive and would be aware of my link. He couldn't stop me on a psychic level, but the two guards beside me could cut short my send.

An officer went to a sous unit, poured a cup of brew and set it before me. He retreated quickly back to his chair.

I relaxed and sipped the brew. Given an opportunity to reach him, could I manage to shove Slade out the window? What if he grabbed me and I had to go with him? Was I capable of doing that? I stared into the cup. I have hated few beings with the intense disgust I felt for Slade. There had been Sye Kor, the Loranth driven insane by his obsessive desire for revenge on Terrans; the Dream Czar, who would rape Halcyon itself to satisfy his greed; General Rowdinth, the crazed Vermakt leader of planet Fartherland, in love with power and glory, and the overpopulated BEMs with their sick willingness to use others as a food source.

I smiled. “Good brew.”

“Why, thank you.” Darr returned a broad grin that crinkled the plates of his lips. “It's premium.”

“By the way.” I sipped it. “I'm here under a white flag.”

“Ah, yes.” He glanced at his colleagues and chortled nervously. “Quite a flag! But the reality, Mister Rammis, is that you are a criminal who has willfully attacked a legal enterprise. It tends to negate all rights.” He tapped the folder with a claw.

“Who establishes laws, Ja Darr,” I asked, “that allow people of the Alliance worlds to be kidnapped, tortured, and worked to death?”

“He's wasting our time!” Slade hit the table with a fist.

“Hareg,” Darr said without looking up, “I'll inform you when this conference is at an end.”

Slade lowered his head and clacked respectfully.

“All right, Mister Rammis,” Ja Darr said and sighed. I sensed his weariness. “We are willing to extend ourselves for the sake of peace and commerce.” He laid his hands over the folder. “I'll be forthright with you. We're prepared to offer you shares in our highly successful production.” He waved toward the window. “I'm talking profitability. The results being that you would never need to work again, and all things a Terran could desire would be yours for the taking, so to speak. Your life would be an endless vacation. It's a state sought after by multitudes.” He opened the folder, lifted out a paper, unclipped an old-fashioned pen and extended the paper to me. His teeth showed their edges as he drew back lips. “Mister Rammis? If you would?”

Sign my name,
I thought,
and sell my soul.
How easy the descent to Satan's forge.

Darr wiggled the pen when I hesitated.

“I always wanted a yacht.” I took the pen.

“Then a yacht it shall be, my colleague and friend!” He wiped an unsteady hand across his forehead.

“With dancing girls?” I asked.

He looked around and chortled. His shoulders lowered as he relaxed. “If that is your desire.”

The paper was a contract. I wrote along the client signature line and handed it back to him.

He looked at my words and his smile faded, His teeth clacked. “Is this some sort of a joke?”

“A joke?” I asked. “Here, let me see that.”

He shoved the contract at me.

I picked it up. “Let's see…” I read my words aloud: “When Boss Slade and the rest of you pritculls are in your cold graves.” I slid it back to him. “No joke. That sounds about right.” I sat back. “If I don't walk out of here unharmed, Ja Darr, your former slaves will make a suicide assault on the tower. I can promise you that.” Actually, I thought it was a bluff at the time.

Some of the officers were trembling.

That gave me confidence and I played my ace. “I doubt if they'll draw a distinction,” I said casually, “between guards and the officers of your detested Lithium Love Mine.”

Shouts and screams suddenly echoed from the stairs. The slaves really had breached the portal in a suicide charge. Lone footsteps tramped up the steps, louder as they got close.

Only one being was heavy enough to make the glass droplets on the chandelier jiggle as he walked on hind legs.

The officers stood up and backed away from the door.

“What is that?” one asked another breathlessly.

“Guards!” Slade threw aside his chair.

The two guards unholstered their weapons and moved closer to the door. Ja Darr's brow knitted as he stared at the swaying chandelier. His mouth was fixed open. He seemed frozen to the chair, his shoulders hunched, his hands clasped in his lap. He looked more like a trapped animal than a confident CEO as foam dripped from the edges of his eyes.

I slid my chair back and gripped the table as a thunderous crash cracked the fibrin door. It slammed open and swayed from broken hinges.

“Watch out!” Slade called as I flung myself at the guards and dragged them to the floor with me.

A great roar filled the room as Huff leaped in on all fours, looked around, and threw himself at a guard who was lifting his stingler. I heard bones snap as Huff gripped the guard's neck with predatory teeth and shook him like prey. The guard went limp.

I yanked the stingler from the other guard's hand, spun it to stun setting, zapped him and rolled, the gun pointed at Slade's chair. But Slade was gone, not with the rest of them as they clawed each other to squeeze out the door, all but Ja Darr. From where he had sat, Slade couldn't have made it to the door that fast.

Ja Darr swayed in his chair. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the floor in a faint.

I took his comlink from his vest pocket, crawled under the table and felt around on the fibrin floor. There it was! The edges of a trap door. I slid my fingers into a depression under the door and lifted.

Darkness there.

With my stingler set on wide beam, I flashed it through the black opening. A spiral metal staircase and the echoing clang of fading footsteps.

I spun the ring to hot, slid through the opening and padded softly down the steps, gripping the handrails and feeling my way in darkness. If this led to Slade's safehouse, it probably contained arms. Then so be it.
I'll follow you to the Gates of Perdition,
I sent, though I knew he couldn't answer my send.

I paused as I turned on the comlink. “Sarge?” I whispered into it. “It's Jules. Are you there?”

“Jules! For Christ's – This is Joe! Are you all right?”

“I'm OK, Joe. I'm going after Slade, but –”

“Where are you?”

“Listen! Chancey's hurt. He needs help.”

“Is he with you?”

“No. He's behind the broken water barrels near the stream. I think he's in bad shape, Joe. Can you get a medic to him?”

“Hold on.”

I heard him talk to someone near him. “Jules. Bat and Ty volunteered to go in with a couple of Sarge's men in a vehicle to pick him up.”