Starhammer (26 page)

In the city center, in the Fernica cavern, were the alleys of the equipment dealers. Around the city perimeter, clustered at the gates, were the garages that leased transport. Between them and the various banking and investing sectors traveled a constant stream of rickshaw traffic, pedaled by the lean, pale urban people who called themselves the Quiz.

However, to reach the street of gun sellers they simply strolled a few blocks down the Grand Levee, which bisected the huge Fernica cavern. It was aswirl with a throng of great diversity.

Long-neck mutants with blue eyes and black skins, from the interior, mingled with pale urban hustlers and peddlers. Pureblood Japanese dwarfs ran hither and thither through the crowds carrying packages on their heads.

There was a constant roar of exclamations, imprecations and bawled curses. In the central strip a constant jam of bicycles, rickshaws, and motor drays added a mechanical hum to it all.

Jon soon noticed that nobody got anywhere very quickly in ancient Quism.

The levee split into two and swept round a gigantic rock that sat in the middle of the cavern. Cut into the rock were tunnels and dozens of windows with balconies.

From the windows hung the faces of children and eldsters. The sounds of amplified music, with a curious skittering rhythm, echoed from the stone walls. Pungent smells of cooking and sewage filled the air. At the Alley Salteem they turned inside and entered a world of dim illumination and countless small shops.

A few meters farther in brought them to a section where dozens of weapons dealers kept shops and warehouses. They proceeded down several alleys, each narrower than the last with a lower ceiling of rock, and after consultations they selected the House of Blaas and pushed open its natural wood door.

It was a small space, with a counter of polished wood under a pair of fiber optic lights that gave everything a brown and aged tone. Antique handweapons were arrayed on the walls in glass cases. Behind the counter stood a tubby, hairless man who introduced himself as Blaas. On hearing their request he brought out well-worn catalogs. Jon asked to see certain items to check them for weight and feel. Blaas ordered them up from a cellar below.

Eventually Jon selected six high-powered rifles, a pair of long-range grenade launchers, a dozen bomb packs, and a set of locally made handguns that fired shotgun charges rather than bullets and were designed for nonexpert users.

For himself he bought a Taw Taw longbarrel, a monstrous .35 recoilless that fired a variety of ammunitions. Jon had always been good with handguns, but with Taw Taw longbarrels he'd been the best in the Mass Murder Squad, achieving an accuracy close to that of good rifle marksmen.

But when Owlcurl Dahn saw the price tag she nearly fainted. "Sixteen
thousand
units!"

"I doubt that you will regret them once we are under the eyes of the cannibal tribes."

She paid over the notes without further comment.

They packed the weapons and the salesman hailed a pair of burly mutants with ridged skin, thick and wattled, to haul the packs for them. Jon observed the dullness in the mutants' eyes. Blaas noted his interest.

"Those are just glass, I don't like the sight of empty sockets. I always have these mutants blinded as well as gelded, it's a big help in keeping them docile. These are Hardscabbies, deep-desert mutants of an intractable nature normally. But I've been very successful with this pair. I feed them by hand sometimes."

With many cautious glances around them they returned to the fortresslike hotel without incident.

Other groups had not been so fortunate. Officer Bergen and Captain Hawkstone had been robbed at knifepoint in the clothiers' bazaar. Bergen had almost been dragged off herself by the robbers, but her screams had drawn just slightly too much attention and the robbers had finally desisted.

Hawkstone was priming himself with distillate at the bar, Bergen was semihysterical in the lounge. Eblis Bey had disappeared on a mysterious errand but was expected back soon.

Jon called everyone else together and demonstrated the weapons and then distributed them.

They ate together and then retired to sleep. Eblis Bey had still not returned when Jon finally drifted off after taking apart the Taw Taw longbarrel, cleaning it, and putting it back together.

When he finally got to his bed, Jon fell into the sleep of true exhaustion, too deep for dreams. He never heard his door creak open. The first warning came from a sudden weight that shook the bed as something huge knelt on it. He came awake, still groggy, to find enormous hands around his throat. While he tried to claw them away, someone stuck a syrette into his arm and not long after that he went back to sleep.

When he was brought round he found himself in a dark room, naked and trussed firmly at wrist and ankle. A gag had been stuffed in his mouth. A heavyset figure leaned over him in a reek of smelling salts. Someone else stood in the background. A conversation about him was in progress.

"Leave him whole, why don't you? I can get a good buyer, laowon Mercantile notes. The female blues are always looking for good human slaves." The speaker had a strange singsong accent.

Then he heard Finn M'Nee reply in a voice that chilled him. "Before he is sold he is to be castrated, blinded, and his tongue cut out. In addition he must only be sold to a human owner. Remember, I speak as a brother of the lodge. Vengeance will be visited upon you if you transgress."

"Sell him to some bandit group from the interior. Get him out of the city," another voice said. It was Gelgo Chacks.

"Little use he'll be to them. What would they want with such a useless slave?"

"We do not care. Sell him as I say or you will hear from us again!"

The menace in Chacks' tone was unmistakable.

"Remember, handle him with care. He's dangerous as a spiny pfister."

"What the hell's that?"

"Don't ask questions. Castrate and blind him and then sell him."

"Cut out his tongue. Remember, we will be watching."

They were gone, Jon was left alone. After what seemed an hour or more had passed, the door opened and the heavyset owner of the singsong accent returned. He was accompanied by a dimly visible figure. A sickly sweet perfume entered the room.

The fat man held an electric torch that he kept in Jon's eyes while he pulled him around. "See, he's perfectly good for anyone's bed. He has his parts."

"So I see," said a nasal female voice.

"Good proportions in most features. He's not bad-looking."

"I doubt, Bompipi, that you are the best judge of these things."

"Why, madam, I am partial to either sex."

She laughed throatily, then asked, "Why do you think they wanted castration?"

"Elchites! Who knows what the reasons are for Elchite outrages? Perhaps he crossed their path in the street on a holy day, perhaps betrayed them to the laowon. Who can tell? Whatever the cause, he must be blinded and his tongue cut out. As to his organs, I must say it makes an old slaver's heart quiver to waste anything so useful as good parts on a slave."

"Yes, excellent parts. In truth, there's no understanding Elchitism. Weren't they responsible for bombing the Church of St. Anarch?"

"Yes, madam, I believe they were."

"Hundreds killed and for what? There was never an explanation."

"None that I recall, madam."

"Well. Take his eyes and tongue if you must, but leave the parts, and deliver him to my apartment."

"Certainly, madam. And may I assure you that the House of Haal will employ a reputable surgeon for the operations. Would you prefer natural-looking artificial eyes or plain glass balls?"

"Why don't you send round a catalog? I'll review your range."

"Of course, madam."

They left and Jon tested his bonds. There was no likelihood of his breaking them. As far as he could tell his fate was assured. He would be blinded and sold to the old woman.

The expedition would go on without him; they would not be able to afford the luxury of time to find him. Finn M'Nee would doubtless claim that Iehard had betrayed them anyway, and in a while they would believe him.

He returned his attention to his bonds.

The homeworld of the laowon was Lao the Golden, in a system almost two kiloparsecs distant from Nocanicus and Pleione. On Laogolden there had been climate control and strict population regulations for seven thousand years. Only one hundred million privileged laowon were allowed to reside there in the fabulously restored cities of the mythic past, Rashtria, Klummersk, Golg of Gold, Shubbui.

The seat of the Imperial Family was in Rashtria as it had been in the mythic era of the First Emperors and the beginnings of the space age.

In the fabled tower called Egon's Finger, a conference racked by anxiety was in progress.

Magnawl Ahx, Chief Executive Officer of the Superior Buro, placed a data module in the computer slot.

Watching him with uneasy eyes were the ruling group of the aristocracy. The Urall of Blue Seygfan, the Urall of Silver Seygfan, Grand Admiral Sneem, and both the Prime Minister of the Mathematica, Walwan Gao, and the High Minker of the Cult.

Viewing the proceedings with suspicious eyes were the opposition, the Morgooze of Red Seygfan, the Morgooze of Green Seygfan, and the Shgalon of the Cult.

The doors opened and the Heir Apparent entered.

Red and Green Seygfan exchanged glances. Both had heard of the discomfit of Blue Seygfan and the subsequent Imperial rage, and rage was clearly apparent on the Heir's features.

The Heir Apparent strode to the table, a space opened for him instantly.

Magnawl Ahx swallowed. "Your Highness, all the Elchites we captured on Earth have now been brainstripped. From three of them we extracted the same tale. They speak of a weapon, a hidden weapon that will be powerful enough to upset the natural order of sentient life and end the empire."

"What kind of weapon is this?"

"I have some projections here, your Highness. The truth is we do not know enough, but the Elchites were proved correct on the matter of the pirate battleship. The hidden weapon and the Testamenter ship were also linked together in the memories of these Elchites."

The Heir was young and fiery. His eyes blazed at Grand Admiral Sneem.

"The ship which the fleet allowed to escape!" he hissed.

"We will recapture them. They cannot evade our fleets for long." Sneem's anxiety was plain.

The Heir held up a receiver and ostentatiously placed it to his ear. "I have listened to my Imperial wavelength for thirty hours now and I have yet to hear anything from that miserable wretch Booeej. How you could have entrusted something as important as this to a blundering fool like that, I cannot imagine!"

"Your Highness—"

"Silence! Booeej will expiate as soon as he can be brought here. My fraternal blood brother, the Morgooze of Blue Seygfan, has requested both the hot pincers and the freezing skewers. They shall be applied."

Sneem sighed. There was no help for it. Booeej was doomed.

"Now." The Heir whirled upon Magnawl Ahx. "Show me your projections and tell me what you propose to do about finding these accursed Elchite terrorists!"

Jon didn't have time to do much more than reflect on how hard it was going to be to get out of his shackles when the fat man with the singsong accent returned, this time accompanied by a giant, a mutant of gross and unattractive feature that stood seven feet tall and was built like a bear.

The smaller man, Bompipi, had on a richly embroidered robe and carried a light shock rod, which he slapped smartly on Jon's cheek. The power was low, the shock mild.

"Awake, my friend, your life is about to take a great change of direction. There is no help for it, surrender to the process. I am Bompipi, the best slaver in Quism. I take good care of my property, so you may rest assured that your mutilations will take place in a properly equipped medical facility. They will even use anesthetics! So you see how well we treat you!"

Bompipi's fat face curled into a weirdly affable smile.

"Og Uk here will carry you to your fate like a baby, resting in his arms. Think of it as one last chance to use your eyes. Isn't that a thought to focus your attention! Concentrate on the colors and shapes, the shades and textures. Store away these impressions so you will have them to console you in your later years."

Jon looked around desperately. There was no escape. Bompipi read the horror in his face.

"Come," he exclaimed. "You have a comfortable enough future ahead of you. Selected for the bed chamber by a most wealthy lady! Indeed, blindness should prove a positively blessed aspect of the life ahead of you since the lady is very old, although still possessed of strong, ah, appetites."

He motioned to Og Uk, who picked Iehard up and cradled him in his arms like a child.

Through the crowded thoroughfare Og Uk strode with Bompipi the slaver behind. Around them hundreds of people went about their business without paying the slightest interest to his plight. The sight was common enough, some poor fool taken by the slavers.

Jon looked about in desperation. Was he to be blinded, silenced, and sold into a numbing slavery, while fellow human beings stood by and ignored this evil? He tried to shift his legs about, to disturb Og Uk in any way, but was unable to. Og Uk simply clamped him more firmly. The gag was tight in the back of his mouth, there was no way even to call for help. They entered a white-tiled hallway where bright mirrors mocked him with images of his own helplessness.

Og Uk held him down on a hospital couch while a pasty-faced youth in a white suit strapped him to it.

Then Og Uk left the room. Jon dimly heard a conversation in progress down the hallway.

A tray of probes, scalpels, and other tools was placed over his chest. Anesthesia equipment was pushed into place.

The attendant in white removed his gag and helped him rinse out his mouth with a little water.

"Thanks," said Jon at last.

"I hear you're to be blinded," the attendant said in a cheerful high-pitched voice.