World Killers Page 2

  Like ours, a Garudan's body is composed of about ten quadrillion animal cells and another one hundred quadrillion bacterial cells. But the range of microorganic activity and variety is far greater, and the interaction of the symbionts far more complex.

  The upshot is that a Human who is exposed to Garudan atmosphere is like a pocket calculator plugged into a mainframe: it is not designed for it and will quickly burn out. Perhaps unsurprisingly, in light of recent research, the Garudans have a simple explanation for the extraordinary nature of their planet's ecosystem: "Haydon wished it so."

  Cabell, A Pedagogue Abroad: Notes on the Sentinels Campaign

  Vince Grant's hand covered Lisa Hunter's forehead and then some. He drew it back, moist

  with her perspiration. "She's still feverish." He struggled with himself for a moment, not sure if he could or should say what else he was thinking.

  Jean, Vince's wife, nodded slightly. The patients were all that way: Rick and Lisa, Karen Penn and Miriya Sterling. They were comatose and failing fast, as a result of their exposure to the Garudan atmosphere. They were tied down on gurneys to help control their intermittent seizures.

  The shuttlecraft's deckplates vibrated under Vince's boot soles. "Jean, what if Veidt's wrong, or the Invid double-cross us?"

  Somebody had to ask the question. The fate of worlds was riding on what the Sentinels would do. Moralists would say that the lives of four individuals were as important as the life of a planet or the outcome of a war, but Vince didn't have the luxury of dealing with the abstract.

  He wiped the perspiration from Lisa's brow with a cloth and pulled the blanket back up under her chin. He looked at the other stricken Sentinels.

  Here were four lives that would come to an end unless the virtually miraculous Haydonian healing crafts were brought to bear. But what might the survival of the Hunters and the others cost?

  The Invid sounded so accommodating-it could only be some sort of trick. Vince drew a breath and smoothed out his uniform tunic. Given his size, no one-least of all, an XT-was likely to notice the bulge of the Badger assault pistols he was wearing in shoulder rigs under each armpit. If this was a trap, the Regent's hordes would find out how expensive a pricetag such a seemingly simple skirmish could carry.

  Vince was not particularly afraid of death. He had long since figured out his attitude about dying, and other people sensed his inner calm. As the shuttle started to cut into Haydon IV's atmosphere, Max Sterling appeared in the hatch, knotting his fingers together, and looked to Vince.

  Max had left his place at the controls, permitting Wolff to take over, and come aft to check on his wife yet again. "Veidt's gotten final landing approval," Max told them. He hesitated, then added, "They'll keep their word, don't you think? The Invid, I mean?"

  Jean Grant, attending her patients, avoided eye contact with Max; she didn't want to lie, and she didn't want to voice her doubts. Secretly, she thought it was only a fifty-fifty possibility that Miriya or any of them would be cured-or that anybody on the shuttle would survive the visit to Haydon IV.

  Vince turned to Max and said, "they'd better."

  The shuttle came in low over Glike, the principal Haydonite population center. The city looked like something out of the Arabian Nights-so fabulous that they momentarily forgot their fears. Some of the architectural styles had been borrowed from other worlds-Tiresian columns and friezes; Spherisian crystal palaces; Praxian statuary and totems. But most of Glike was uniquely Haydonite: slender minarets and spires, fantastic white-frost gingerbread mansions, lacy elfin halls that seemed to shine with an inner light.

  Besides flying craft like Veidt's, there were machines from the various worlds that traded with Haydon IV, and different forms of Haydonite ship. Jean spotted one, on a scope, that reminded her of a pilot whale with great, flipperlike wings-all curves and a bulging transparent passenger compartment.

  There were also flying carpets, or what looked enough like them to make her think of Scheherazade.

  Just then Veidt and Sarna appeared from the flight deck, where they had been guiding Wolff in his landing approach. They looked as unearthly and remote as ever, robed and floating a few inches off the deck, their faces as featureless as those of unfinished mannequins.

  "We'll be landing soon," Veidt said in that weird, whispery, processed-sounding voice. "I think you would do well to prepare yourselves and your patients."

  Max returned to the pilot's seat and handled the touchdown with an assist from Colonel Wolff. Cabell and Sarna looked on. Haydon Control had directed them to a landing stage in the middle of the city, one of a number of platforms of smoky blue glass sprouting from a central tower.

  A reception committee had already appeared to meet them, standing together on a flying carpet that hovered a few yards above the landing surface. As Vince, Max, and Wolff opened the hatch, the carpet floated toward them and stopped a foot or so off the platform.

  As had been agreed, Veidt and Sarna went first to greet the half-dozen Haydonites waiting on the carpet-or, more precisely, floating just off it. Jonathan Wolff took advantage of the moment to look the flying carpet over.

  The carpet was thicker than the ones from the tales. It resembled an undulating judo mat, yet it was textured and decorated with exotic, iridescent patterns. It was vaguely rectangular, but he could see that it tended to shift and change conformation. Moreover, the other carpets, sailing around over the city came in many shapes and dimensions, from one-passenger welcome mats to dance-floor-size.

  Veidt and Sarna exchanged ritualistic and dignified bows with their people. Since Haydonites lacked arms as well as faces-and legs too, Wolff supposed (although nobody he knew of had ever gotten a look under those hovering robe hems to find out what was underneath them)-the whole ceremony had a reserved, inhuman look to it.

  Wolff found that he could tell the males and females apart. The Haydonite men's faces had angular planes, and saucer-size, gemlike things displayed on their robes.

  The leader of the welcoming committee was a male, taller and more slender than Veidt. He had a bulging cranium and a deep coppery tone to his skin. A shimmering symbol like a star sapphire's light shone from the center of his forehead. "So, Veidt, you return to bring your disturbances among us yet again?"

  But it was Sarna who answered. "You know better than that, Vowad! Our friends are gravely ill, and only Haydonite science can save them! You know the Law; we're obligated to help."

  The one called Vowad made an irritated sound. "Yes, yes-and if it hadn't been this excuse, it would have been some other, eh?"

  The others behind Vowad shifted uneasily, and one of them intervened. "Enough! If lives are in jeopardy, it is best the healing begin at once."

  Wolff wasn't so sure he liked what he had heard, and he didn't know if he wanted to stake his life on the Haydonites' good graces, but it was too late to back out. He surreptitiously made sure the conventional weapons he had concealed under his clothes were secure, and regretted that it was impossible to carry Protoculture weapons due to these planetary defenses everybody kept talking about.

  Sarna turned to the humans waiting by the foot of the shuttle's ramp. "Bring them forth. We go to the Halls of Healing immediately!"

  Jean Grant operated a small remote unit. The automated med gurneys on which Rick and the others had been secured rolled forth. Vince was going to ask how the wheeled gurneys were going to get up onto the flying carpet when a part of it extended like an upholstered tongue, at a gentle incline, like a ramp. Max walked at his wife's side.

  Once Vince had secured the ship, he joined Wolff, Jean, and the rest on the flying carpet. It didn't give under his considerable weight and felt stable. More like a flying cloud than a flying carpet, he thought.

  At some invisible command, it rose and wafted away over the city. Though there was no fairing or windshield, the humans felt only a vague stirring of air-despite the fact that the carpet was traveling quite rapidly.

&nbs
p; They looked down on a city busy with commerce and trade. As Veidt and Sarna had explained it, Glike was similar to the old-time Hong Kong. It was a place of enforced truce, immune to the military conflicts that had raged around it.

  As the others gazed, enraptured, at the soaring beauty and exquisite elegance of Glike, Sarna went over to Max. "You look tired, Maximilian. You must rest. Won't you be seated?"

  He looked around as she gestured with a nod of her head, and saw that the carpet's surface had bunched up to make a kind of lounge chair just his size. He had no idea how she had done that.

  Heaven knew he was exhausted, but all he could think of was Miriya; he refused to leave her side. Max gestured toward Veidt and the other Haydonites, now deep in conversation with Cabell, no doubt discussing medical procedures.

  "That guy-what's his name, Vowad? Why's he so angry at Veidt?"

  Sarna looked at them. "Vowad believes, as many do, that we can coexist with the Invid indefinitely. That any concession we make, any appeasement, is worth it. You already know how my husband and I feel. When Veidt insisted on making his opinions known, the Invid managed to kidnap us both."

  Max felt sudden misgiving. "But-the Invid can't attack you here, isn't that what you told us? The planet's defenses would react."

  Sarna inclined her head, a strange gesture from one who had no eyes and only contours where a face should be. "Indeed. But there are other ways to bring pressure to bear-the threat of a blockade, or strikes against our trading partners and customers. And, the Invid have attained great influence over some of our folk-with economic leverage and other things."

  She moved closer, spoke more quietly. "Vowad is perhaps the single most powerful Haydonite, and I think that it was with his cooperation that Tesla kidnapped Veidt and me. We must be wary of him."

  As if he had heard, Vowad turned toward Sarna and called out, "Come, give us your opinion of Cabell's proposed treatment regimen. Surely, my daughter has much to say? You always did when you were younger."

  "Yes, Father," Sarna said, and floated back to the group, to leave Max slack-jawed with surprise.

  Lieutenant Isle was no Rick Hunter or Max Sterling, but he handled the Alpha with cool deftness, making the most of its brute power and amazing performance, as the hounds gave chase.

  Ghost Riders flying patrol between SDF-3 and Tirol, hampered by the fact that Minmei was aboard the quarry, found themselves at a profound disadvantage. Minmei's rescuer fired warning bursts that didn't miss by much, making it plain that he was at no great pains to spare anybody who pressed him too hard.

  The sentries yielded, but as the armored Alpha plunged for Tiresia more bogeys appeared on the screens, scrambled from SDF-3. Minmei could hear Isle's breath rasp. "I thought Edwards would be distracted getting the pursuit of the Zentraedi under way," he admitted. "Thought we'd have a little more lead time."

  She gave a scornful laugh, shaking her head wearily. "You think T. R. Edwards is going to go after Breetai personally! And take a chance that things here will get away from him? You've got a lot to learn, Lieutenant."

  The kind of thing I've learned the hard way, she thought. "So, what now?"

  He wasn't sure; the decision to help her escape Edwards's sadism had come rather on the spur of the moment. "We'll get you to REF Base Tirol, to Lang's bailiwick, for a start."

  "Why? So The Great General has an excuse to kill Lang? Why don't you save everybody the trouble and just drop me off right here?"

  He felt at a loss, but brought the fighter onto course for Base Tirol anyway, for want of anything better to do. One plan had been to try to link up with Breetai, but the Valivarre, the hijacked Zentraedi mining op ship loaded with the all-important monopole ore, was already beyond the VT's range.

  "Stop feeling sorry for yourself," he said in an odd monotone. "It never does anybody any good. Now, tell me what you want."

  "I-I want Jonathan." She was trying to hold back more tears, because she knew he was right about feeling sorry. "Jonathan Wolff! Just to be with him!"

  "So." The word had a hollow, final sound, the way he said it. "Getting to Lang and the council is still a first step. Hang on." He increased power again.

  "Y-you still haven't told me why you're doing this," she strained to get out, as the mecha thundered under her.

  She didn't have a flight helmet, so she could still only hear him over his own helmet's tinny

  external speaker. "I don't like seeing people pushed around, Minmei."

  Just when he should have been enjoying his triumph, Edwards had to suffer the galling news of Minmei's escape.

  At first he had thought it was just another of her temper tantrums, set off by news that he had permission to send a contingent after the fleeing Zentraedi and their stolen ore. He realized now, though, that she still thought she loved that idiot Jonathan Wolff.

  The half of T. R. Edwards's face that wasn't hidden under his gleaming metal cowl burned red. She was his property, and he had no intention of losing her-not to Wolff and not to anyone else.

  Of course, it was out of the question to admit publicly that she had left him. The word was put out, to a limited number of key people, that she had been kidnapped. Minutes later, news reached him of the chase after the armored Alpha.

  Apparently the pilot, whoever he was, was neither a Ghost Rider nor some rogue Skull, but rather one of the detached-duty fliers serving the R&D people and council-liaison offices. That hadn't kept him from knocking out several crewmembers and stealing a VT. Edwards looked forward to exacting a fearsome revenge.

  But he had no time to waste monitoring the pursuit of the Alpha. There was his flotilla to put into motion, and every second counted, since Breetai was already under way. The ore the Zentraedi had taken with them was the key to a fleet that would let Edwards return to Earth in glory and conquer it.

  Once the Zentraedi had been eliminated, it would be time to do away with the bothersome Sentinels. And soon, Minmei would be his wife and rule at his side, an empress over whole planets but his own obedient chattel.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The place was called Haydon IV, but nobody was able to explain why. It was the third planet out from its primary, so that explanation was null and void. There was no record or myth that gave a clue.

  Odd, though; it was the fourth planet the Sentinels were to fight on-Tirol being an REF show.

  Oh well. Coincidences were for the scientists; we troopies were just there to shoot V salute.

  Susan Graham, from the narration to her documentary film, Protoculture's Privateers: SDF-3, Farrago, Ark Angel, Sentinels, and the REF

  Like schools of deadly fish, the fiery defensive vortices of Haydon IV plastered themselves to the Veri-tech, glowing brighter and brighter, burning fiercely at the fighter's shields.

  "They mean to roast us alive!" Bela said grimly; Jack knew that tone in her voice, the one she took when she had her hand on her sword hilt.

  He doubted that the energy defenses would actually do that, though; once the shields went down, the end would be rather swift and spectacular. Even now, the VTs were beginning to lose power; the final fall would be soon.

  "Jan, can you spot any large bodies of water downstairs?" Maybe a swan dive into a lake or ocean would short-circuit the vortices, or something.

  But she was replying, "Negative. Jack, I'm losing flight control. My instruments say these things are melding with the shields, becoming part of them and making them rigid. Control surfaces are becoming immovable."

  It was happening to him, too, and to Learna's ship. The energy was forming a shell, and

  unless they could break it...

  Then he yelped as a last, desperate solution occurred to him. "Listen up, everybody! Separate fighters and go to Guardian-correction! Go to Battloid mode, I say again, separate fighters and go to Battloid mode! Maybe we can hatch outta these energy shells!"

  The fighters were beginning to tumble and wobble; the mere act of separa
ting them under these conditions bordered on the suicidal. But Kami followed Jack's countdown from her place in the Beta's pilot-seat and at his mark they disengaged. The drubbing they got from the atmosphere almost smashed the two ships into each other, but Jack and Kami fought their controls, imaged through their thinking caps, and managed to get clear.

  The fighters fought a terrible battle against the cocooning energy fields-like chicks trying to break through their shells. The ships strained to mechamorphose, to follow that central and perhaps most amazing trait of Robotechnology.