Trapped On Talonque: (A Sectors SF romance) (15 page)

Sarbordon couldn’t stop talking as he led the way upward through the various corridors, away from the healing chamber. He alternated between speculating with the two priestesses as to the exact nature of the marvels he’d soon be cataloging, repeating snatches of old myths, and telling Nate his impressions of the strategy at various points during the sapiche game.

“Man would make a good play-by-play announcer for the All Sectors Games,” Thom said as the ruler embarked on a long dissertation about how he’d handled the low five shot when he played sapiche as a boy. “He sure can talk.”

Nate stayed focused on what lay ahead, even though he had as yet only the vague outline of a plan based on Bithia’s quick briefing on the warehouse’s self-defense setup. He relied on Thom to unquestioningly follow whatever lead he set. After all their years of working missions together, he and his partner didn’t require much, if any, advance discussion. Atletl might be a help, might not. He certainly wouldn’t work against them.

Sarbordon must have been confident of the outcome of his conversation with Bithia. As Nate followed the ruler out of the palace through yet another exit he’d never seen before, a fleet of chariots were waiting with impatient, high-spirited quadrupeds stamping and snorting in the traces.

“This pile of rock has more doors than a Deebian thousand-valve clam,” Thom said, gazing behind him at the hulking palace. “I remember an old myth on Earth about the guy who invented the first blaster being afraid of the ghosts of all the people who were killed by it, so he kept building more and more additions onto his house.”

“Why?”
 

“So the ghosts couldn’t find him. Maybe the ruling family has the same kind of guilty conscience about all the people they’ve killed, so they keep adding doors and more doors to escape from the ghosts?”

“When we get home, you can apply for a job doing psych evals of new contact planets, okay? But right now—”

“You want to concentrate on the task at hand.” Thom laughed. “Same old Nate, never change.”

Sarbordon cut off the banter. “Warrior, you and the red-haired one will ride with me. Quickly now. The teams of kemat are fresh and pulling at the reins!”

The king opted to drive a chariot personally through the gathering gloom of sunset. Throngs of people, who were probably heading for the public square to attend the ritual of feeding the losing teams to the predators in the deep well and subsequent drunken orgy, scattered in the streets as the cavalcade thundered past. Nate peered through the choking dust clouds at the four chariots following theirs, carrying a complement of the black-robed priestesses, as well as soldiers. Atletl waved from the second chariot, squeezed in with Celixia and a guard.

Closing his eyes, Nate retraced the motions Bithia had implanted in his mind for opening the doors of this mysterious storage chamber. He wished this side trip wasn’t necessary, but saw no other way to accomplish his twin mission objectives of freeing Bithia and escaping.

“Not too many Special Forces guys can say they found an AO-like treasure cache and then tamely handed it over to the locals to plunder,” Thom said in wry Basic, leaning his head close to Nate’s left ear. “You don’t genuinely believe he’ll keep his word and let us ride away into the night?”

Nate shook his head. “No chance. Not the way his mind works.”

“So what’s our play? I’d like to get back to the ship and lift out of here. Bithia’s advice is right on target.”

“Will the ship fly? It wasn’t disabled in the crash?” Nate asked the crucial question he hadn’t dared to explore since the moment he had regained full consciousness as a captive in chains. At the time he’d been focused on moment-to-moment survival. The condition of the spaceship was a moot point.

Thom fiddled with the leather straps on the chariot rail. “Not sure. Before we were captured, Haranda thought it would be fine. Needed time planetside for the AI to carry out adjusting and compensating, he said.”

“This would be the late
cadet pilot
Haranda”—Nate laid extra emphasis on the title—“who was on his first real mission outside the home Sectors? He was sure, huh? What did you see?”

“I’m no flyboy,” Thom said, raising one hand in protest. “There were a few singe marks on the hull, no obvious penetration of anything vital.”

“Except we crashed. A crash usually indicates something about the condition of the ship.”

“The AI was working after the crash, which is a good sign. Those courier ships are built tough. My guess is we’re good to go.”

“Not until we rescue the lady.” Nate shook his head emphatically as Sarbordon whipped the kemat “horses” to greater effort. “We’re not leaving her here.” He didn’t dare utter Bithia’s name while standing elbow to elbow with his enemy in the chariot, even though the ruler was paying no attention to their whispered conversation.
I’m not taking any chances from here on out
.

“Your personal mission objective may not be possible,” Thom said. “I’ll back any play you make, but don’t get your hopes too high is all I’m asking. So many things could go wrong. This ain’t exactly been a smooth-running mission from day one. Even winning the sapiche game was damn ugly, what with Faric playing against us on our own team.”

“I’m concentrating on this next task we’ve been set to accomplish and not thinking any further.” Nate clenched his hand on the chariot’s top rail as Sarbordon took a curve so fast the offside wheel left the ground for a moment. “None of this was in the orders of the day. Our original set of orders got rewritten when Jurgens panicked, decided to go into hyperspeed next to a blue giant and took us off all the known charts.”

Thom cleared his throat. “Been meaning to talk to you about that.”

“You saying it didn’t happen that way? This planet sure doesn’t match the description of the world where we were assigned to go Mawreg hunting.”

“I think Haranda was at the helm when it happened.”

Nate briefly considered the implications of who’d been piloting during the disastrous set of maneuvers. “Then Jurgens was an even bigger fool than I believed to let a fresh-out cadet fly us into the goddamn corridor,” he said.

“Figured you’d want the report to be accurate,” Thom answered.

“Seven hells, you know damn well if we ever get back to file a report, I’ll make sure both Jurgens and Haranda come out heroes. Whatever happened and whichever one of them got us into this mess, both paid the dues.”

Nate surveyed the rapidly darkening sky, scanning for the welcome stars. Inhaling a deep breath of the fresh air, he said, “Sure is good to be outside and not playing everlasting sapiche.”

“Here I dreamed we’d make our fortunes by introducing sapiche in the Sectors when we get back. Create a league, the whole deal.”
 

“Have to change the rules for the losers,” Nate said. “I think we’re almost there.” He got a better grip on the chariot’s rail as the team slowed to navigate a steep, winding paved grade. Sarbordon wielded his whip with abandon, apparently not willing to accept delays in reaching his long-sought treasure now that he had a proven messenger from the gods to unlock it for him. The health of his prized racing kemat was a secondary consideration tonight.

The road came to an end on the plateau. A miniature step pyramid stood at the far end, its contours softened by unimaginable passage of time since Bithia’s father had constructed it. Vines, trees and other forms of nature’s green demolition experts had done their best for uncounted centuries to insert roots between the tightly fitted blocks and pull the place apart.

The tired kemat brought the chariots to within a few yards of the structure before halting. After handing the reins to a spare driver, who came running from the tail of their caravan, the king strode eagerly to the pyramid. Nate and Thom matched him stride for stride on the well-worn path to the front of the structure. Nate noticed Celixia stayed close to Atletl. Murrax and the guards kept a wary eye on Nate and Thom, confirming his estimation of their basically unchanged status as prisoners.

The pyramid was constructed from massive blocks of local stone, in a style similar to what he’d seen in older portions of the palace and the sapiche stadium.

Thom whistled. “Look at the heaps of stuff on the stairs.”
 

As Nate walked closer, he saw offerings ranging from simple candles to food, flowers, strings of cheap beads, toys, feathers and other small items piled along the steps of the structure.

“People still believe in the power of Fr’taray, I guess.” Bending over, Thom picked up a small wooden carving of a tolokon sitting next to a lush but wilted bouquet. He examined the figurine and gently set it down. “Wonder what the person hoped for?”

“No telling.” Nate shook his head, dismissing the subject as he surveyed what lay ahead of them.

At the top of five wide steps was a small, houselike structure that lacked windows. A single, elaborately carved and polished bronzelike metal door was set flush into the face of the building. Twice as tall as Nate, the panel was surprisingly narrow. Bright enamel in riotous colors outlined the symbols, undimmed by thousands of years of exposure to the planet’s weather and the reverent touch of countless pilgrims and supplicants. The collection of symbols resembled those in Bithia’s chamber and on the outer, whitewashed portal to her part of the labyrinth beneath the palace. Nate recognized quite a few, especially those painted at the edges of the portal.

Sarbordon coughed.

Nate found the ruler staring expectantly at him. He pointed at the door with his coiled whip. “It’ll be dark soon, and the three moons don’t rise early this night. I’ve no desire to conduct this entire operation by torchlight.”

Nate nodded. Before he could go forward, Celixia worked her way through the small crowd to stand beside him. She pulled on his left arm. “I have to speak to you first.”
 

“What’s the delay now, priestess?” Sarbordon frowned. “Why couldn’t you speak to him before this moment? And what must you tell him, eh?”

“We were in separate chariots by your order, my lord,” Celixia answered mildly, her tone gentle and placating. Knowing how much the woman must hate him, Nate gave her high marks for self-control, as well as acting skills.

“What is it?” he asked, leading her away and wrapping her more closely in her elaborately beaded, lined cloak against the early night air as they strolled. Watched by the suspicious king and the hostile, nervous guards, Nate drew them to a standstill, using the pretext of gallantly fastening her cloak to turn his back to them all. Subtly, Thom shifted his stance, further blocking a clear view of Nate and Celixia.

“I know you plan to try to free her.” Celixia’s whisper was urgent. “There are things inside that I’ll require to bring her safely out of her sleep.”
 

“You can’t go in there, not possible.”

Taking him by surprise, she said dismissively, “I know. My family’s hard-guarded knowledge makes the stuff of ordinary people’s legends. I know the truths in the myths.”

“We waste the light,” Sarbordon called from behind them. “No more conversation.”

Nate ignored the increasingly impatient ruler. “Tell me.”
 

“All I know is the need for a red box. You must find it if you wish her to live.”

“Why didn’t she tell me this herself?”
 

“Perhaps she no longer believes anyone can rescue her. Maybe her father didn’t bother to tell her the contents of the red box were necessary, since it was the task of the first Hialar to provide them.”

“I’ll add this box to my shopping list, I promise.” Squeezing her arm gently, he escorted her to where Thom and the king lingered.

“What does she want?” demanded the latter.

“A particular trinket from the trove inside to wear to prove to her rival priestesses that Fr’taray’s treasures do indeed wait within.” Nate lied with a wink.

The ruler rubbed his chin and gnawed his fleshy lip for a moment before guffawing. “These petty jealousies between the factions never cease. I must select pieces for Lolanta as well, or I won’t hear the end of it.” He narrowed his eyes. “I get first claim on all items within this place of your god.”

“Of course.” Nate bowed, ignoring Thom rolling his eyes off to the side.

“Can we proceed?” Thom said.

“We’ve delayed long enough.” Bounding up the five steps, the ruler swept everything out of his path that had been so carefully set in place by supplicants and pilgrims. The pitiful offerings fell in a jumbled, crashing mess to the base of the stairs. Celixia cried out against the sacrilege.

Resting a calming hand on her shoulder, Nate rebuked Sarbordon. “For one who came seeking the treasure of Fr’taray, a modicum of respect for what his worshipers left him would be advisable.”

Even in the gathering gloom, he appreciated and took satisfaction from the way his enemy’s face reddened.
He’s probably never been spoken to like that
.
Better not get too carried away. Balance of power’s on his side for a few more minutes.
“Step aside and give me room. It’s my job to open this place, not yours.”

Obviously reluctant but with as much dignity as he could command, Sarbordon descended, taking a childish swipe at one last stack of candles on the bottom stair, his glare challenging Nate and Celixia alike to protest. Neither did.