Tom Swift and the Asteroid Pirates (13 page)

Bud spoke up. "So where do you park the spaceship, the
Fanshen
?"

There was no answer from the suddenly grim Dr. Chemin de Fer. The five jet passengers boarded a waiting van and were driven up the road and into a walled courtyard. To the youths’ surprise, the two guards did not accompany them to the door. "They have other duties," explained Chemin de Fer. "From here on, boys, your every step will be watched by camera. One move, and twenty marksmen come running. And believe me, they truly couldn’t care less if you should choose to make me your hostage. We’re all quite expendable."

They were marched down a series of long hallways with walls unrepaired for centuries, the lights and roving cameras a sharp reminder of the twenty-first century.

Bud nudged Tom with his elbow and nodded toward a glass-fronted cabinet. Its shelves were crowded with rank upon row of the crystal cubes, the tiny cobras rearing to pounce. "Ingenious devices, aren’t they?" remarked their captor. "The nanocoding imprinted on the outer surface is undetectable by even such advanced instruments as your Swift Enterprises has available. It acts as a sort of printed circuit, a passive transponder producing a signal under pulsed microwaves."

Tom had again lapsed into silence.

They entered a cavernous high-vaulted, stone-flagged hall as big and broad as a ballroom. One wall, an outer wall of the fortress, was lined with a row of gauze-curtained windows that reached from floor to ceiling. Through the gauze the Shoptonians could make out the distant mountaintops, dappled with the orange light of sundown.

And some distance away, in the middle of the floor, stood the familiar figure of the Helmsman, scion of the Great Khan, emperor of the Dragon Throne. Lithe as a jungle cat, the top of his shaved head rose above the knot of men surrounding him.

An animated discussion was in progress. Glancing up, Li Ching nodded in the direction of the boys and mouthed
Hello
in a strangely avuncular way, as if his prisoners were expected guests.

Finally dismissing the others, and brusquely gesturing Dr. Chemin de Fer to join them, he strode confidently up to Tom and Bud, eyes glittering. "What does one say in such an awkward situation? ‘Welcome to the lair of the Black Cobra?’ The cliches of books and melodrama."

He stood unnervingly close to Tom, staring intensely into the young inventor’s eyes. "So perhaps I shall do something unexpected. Perhaps I shall slap you twice across the face, Tom—one slap for cheating me of the stealth drone, as I have finally deduced, and another for your intervention in Kabulistan, your outwitting of my poor fool of a servant Gursk. Ah!—but that is a surprise to you, is it?"

"Not really, Comrade-General," replied Tom evenly.

The man winked. "Nothing surprises you, does it, Tom." He turned slightly. "Bud, please unbunch those admirable young muscles of yours. I wouldn’t commit the
faux pas
of striking the great Tom Swift, and I urge you not to commit the greater
faux pas
of getting yourself suddenly killed. You’ll be dead soon enough."

"You’re known for your efficiency," stated Tom quietly. "You never waste a move. What does killing us get you? What does seizing Nestria get you?"

The Black Cobra backed away, pretending to muse. "A marvelous question indeed. What does it get me? What will be the result? You’ve seen my modest little film, I take it. My ultimate purpose is to reestablish the ancient Khanate. I shall honor my ancestors by inaugurating a reign of peace, virtue, and overaching order over this sad and disorderly world of ours. A fine purpose, don’t you think?"

"Yeah, if you’re a psycho!" Bud spat out.

"Perhaps you have a point, Bud," the man replied coolly. "As to the specifics, Tom, my immediate goal should be familiar to you—curiosity, experimentation, the search for knowledge. By creating my Great Wall around the asteroid, I have already proven the feasibility of using the matter-antimatter reaction to disrupt the world’s defense capabilities. And as a further benefit—there’s my efficiency for you!—I am able to utilize the isolated scientists, so familiar with Nestria and its wonders, to seek out and understand... certain unique things of interest. No doubt you grasp my allusion."

Tom nodded slightly.

"Now as to your other question," continued Li Ching, "killing you—your friend is just gravy—remains a matter of practical necessity. You eluded your death once, aboard your vessel the
Sea Charger
. Really now, I can’t have it happen again. You have made yourself an irritating obstacle, you and your implacable impudence. Those who choose not to respect me—well, you know,
blah blah
."

He stepped away and made an imperious gesture toward a man who stood at the far end of the room. The man approached—and kept coming! He was revealed to be huge, at least seven feet tall, very thickly built. His Asiatic features disclosed no trace of feeling or interest.

"This is Bao," the Helmsman stated. "If that name means nothing to you two, it shows how little you Americans pay attention to the remoter parts of our Earth. Bao is a celebrity in Manchuria, a champion in a native variety of the martial arts, sadly unknown elsewhere, called
Ni-Jao
. Played to its ultimate conclusion, the idea is to flip your opponent into a somersault so as to break his neck as he comes down. It is considered falling short if you merely break the spine. You lose points."

Tom stepped forward, touching Bud’s forearm gently to restrain him. "Sir, this won’t accomplish what― "

The Black Cobra interrupted sharply. "Now now, Tom, no last-minute pleading and wheedling. I dislike crybabies. Show your manly virtues, Tom, and I promise to send a very nice letter to your family. I may even make you Top Brick on my Wall of Contemplation."

He nodded toward Bao, and the martial artist backed into the middle of the floor. "You first, Bud," Li ordered. "As Tom loves the pursuit of knowledge, I want him to objectively observe what he is soon to experience."

Bud gave Tom a long look, gray eyes locked upon blue, then walked to the center of the room with unhesitating stride.

The Cobra called out: "Please resist, won’t you? Give your special friend something to— briefly— remember."

Bud’s muttered response was barely audible. "I’ll do my best."

Bao came near, arms relaxed at his side. Suddenly the arms darted out like snakes and Bud was spun to the floor. Tom gasped.

But the black-haired Californian was only slightly bruised. He scrambled to his feet and charged, attacking with his fists. In an instant he was on the floor again. This time he rose unsteadily, with crimson on his face.

The two circled one another. Slightly bent over, Bao drew closer, then closer still. Bud attempted a head-butt. The attempt was futile, even laughable: Bao shrugged him off without a trace of effort.

There was more dancing, more brutal throws, more thuds against the floorstones—and more blood. Tom wanted to look away, but did not. It seemed he owed his best friend his full attention. They would share these moments as they had shared the others.

In their circling the two opponents had edged closer to the row of windows. It was hard to see Bud Barclay’s final charge—Bao’s wide back blocked the view.

But the outcome was clear to sight. In a smooth motion, an arc, the man swung Bud up off his feet and hurled him like a javelin through the window!

TOM SWIFT was horrorstruck and sickened, but had little time to feel. Bud’s trajectory had burst open the twinned window panels but had not shattered the glass; the filmy curtains blew inward in the breeze of the high mountain pass. Whenever they parted Tom had a glimpse of the violet sky, a few stars, and the distant floor of the valley. He knew that this side of the fortress overhung the steep, jagged mountainside. There would have been nothing beyond the window to break Bud’s fall—nothing for hundreds of feet. And then, rocks.

"I’m waiting," said Li Ching.

Tom walked slowly to the center of the room, where Bao awaited him, massively. They began to circle. Tom had no plan, no fire, little will to resist.
Get it over with!
was his only thought.

As Bao leaned close, a thick but quiet voice emerged from nowhere. "
Just listen to me!
"

Tom was dumbstruck! Who was speaking?

"
Do as I say. Keep circling. Follow my lead.
"

Eyes focused on the Asian’s face, Tom saw a slight quiver on the man’s lips. Ventriloquism!

His back to the watching Black Cobra, Tom whispered, "What’s going on? What do you want me to do?"

They half circled. "
Toward the window, the same one. I will start to reach for you. Charge me at top speed. I will be in control. Keep your hands ahead of you.
"

Another half circle, bringing them closer to the window and its cold breeze. "I understand."

"
When you pass through the curtain, reach out forward. You will touch something soft and smooth. Try to grasp it with your arms as you slide down, to slow yourself. When you hit bottom, run a ways. Then wait.
"

It all happened with unbelievable quickness. Tom cannonballed through the air. He brushed the curtains aside. One ankle slammed painfully against a pane-frame. His outstretched palms encountered something thin and yielding, like plastic sheeting. Even as he managed to embrace it, he was sliding downward, the fitted stones of the fortress wall flashing past him.

He passed the foundation and a bit of mountain—then hit ground, hard. Disoriented, he staggered up on his legs, and then began to run down a rocky slope, darting around tree trunks and crashing through underbrush.

"Skipper!
Here
!" Bud was a dark silhouette in the remnants of sunset.

Tom scrambled close—and a huge heavy something thudded down almost in his path! Bao had used the draped length of plastic like a rope, swinging as far away from the mountainside as he could manage.

He landed in a crouch. As he stood and the plastic shank fell back, Tom’s scientific brain made itself a note.
It’s that same light-distorting plastic sheathing Li’s used before!
he thought.
You’d hardly be able to see it from a distance!

"Follow close," Bao commanded. "We must reach better cover before they start shooting from the window. It will take them a moment—they are startled, eh?"

They reached denser trees just as gunfire began popping from high up behind them. It stopped in a moment.

A chainlink fence, ten feet high and rimmed with barbed wire, loomed up. "Stay back!" ordered Bao. They followed him along the fence for twenty long and frantic steps to a spot where a cord, ending in a loop, had been affixed to the fence. Bao pulled on the cord and a flap of cut fence opened wide. He pushed the loop down onto an angled stake in the ground. "Right through the middle, boys. The fence is electrified. For God’s sake don’t stumble!"

They made it through, alive.

The next hour was a wordless ordeal, a downward run amongst moon-shadows toward the river. As they approached its banks they again heard ragged gunfire and the grumble of an outboard motor. A gust of night wind carried a confused, raucous babble of voice to the boys’ ears. Gunshots rang out, ricocheting from scattered points. "They’re shooting at shadows!" Bud muttered.

"Don’t talk!" hissed Bao.

Soon a searchlight beam stabbed through the darkness as the sounds came closer. A motorboat appeared on the river, moving slowly along, playing its light from side to side as a half-dozen men brandished their rifles.

A tree bough splintered two feet above Bud’s head. "Let’s keep moving!" he gasped.

For long hours they zig-zagged their way along, mostly in sight of the little river. They left the valley and made their way through the hills, downward. At last, panting and aching, Tom and Bud halted in the shadow of a boulder. "Rest now," Bao said.

They flopped down gratefully.

It was Bao himself who broke the silence some minutes later. "I’ll try to explain what has happened. I had to injure Bud, to make the ruse convincing."

"You just banged me up a little," Bud declared. "Meanwhile, Tom, he was telling me what to do."

"As I did with Tom," continued the man. "I prepared everything in advance, anchoring the plastic to the eaves above the window just minutes before Li came in with the others, the ones he calls his Righthands. I knew it would be all but impossible to see from below."

Tom said, "You knew we had been captured and were on our way, obviously."

Bao nodded. "We have infiltrated the Black Cobra’s ‘Khanate,’ as he calls it, and can get messages back and forth, at least sometimes."

"I take it you work for some sort of organized group," pronounced Tom.

"You were to meet one member of our group, the man known as Sheong-Lo Fun. The identity cube he was to give you would not have betrayed you."

Bud snorted. "Sounds like it was Mr. Fun who got betrayed."

"Yes. His efficient secretary Miss Tung proved a bit more efficient, and a good deal less loyal, than he expected. He was dispatched while you were on the way to the building—that was the reason they put such an obvious tail on you, to divert and slow you a bit, in case the job in the office ran long."

Tom grasped the outlines of the plot. "Then you, like the late Mr. Fun, the real one, are working with Collections against the Cobra."

"Not precisely. Let us say that our respective governments have certain common interests, and have chosen to work cooperatively in this matter. Fun’s replacement had to appear to be carrying out the plan our organizations devised, lest when you checked back with your ‘Taxman’ contact the deception would be revealed." Bao continued that John Tsu had been one of his fellow infiltrators. He had inadvertently aroused suspicion, and when he had fled to deliver his message to Tom, the Cobra’s men had followed him.

"What was his message?" asked Tom.

"He had learned certain technical details concerning Li’s ‘Great Wall’ in space, details he’d had no opportunity to share with the rest of us without exposing himself."