Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall (38 page)

"The office is private," said the new DWP.

Thomas followed with, "And the desk is sacrosanct."

"Duly noted," Drakkar answered. "But the book is wonderful. Satire and mechanics in one. Well-used, too."

"It explains much of the old world," Gray said, as he came behind the desk and pulled up the enormous cane-backed chair that matched it. "Gentlemen, be seated."

Gray was a black man. Not a muted brown color like Stanhope or an even lighter shade, but a glorious brown-black like a raven's wing. His family as far back as could be remembered had never married outside their color, odd in the Seven Counties in these days, where survival was more important than color or racial background. The pink skin of his palms was just as vibrant as his darker pigment and he held his hands up now to get the attention of the two he'd brought to his office.

"Drakkar," and his dark eyes looked to the Mojavan. "I know you've gotten recent, multiple private messages. Normally I'd let them stay privy to you, but I can't allow that now."

Drakkar's crest flared immediately. "Diplomacy and the alliance—" he started, but Gray overrode him.

"Listen to what I have to say first. Then I think there will be no difficulty in revealing the information I've asked you to."

Thomas had sat quietly in one of the leather wing chairs diagonal to the desk, back to the wall, half-facing the office doors. "What is it, Gray?" he asked quietly.

"Several things. First, nester forces have taken advantage of certain rebellious elements in the Mojave and split Denethan's army in two."

"Army? When did Denethan mobilize and why?"

"Actually, that's probably the first thing." Gray shuffled some papers on the desk in front of him. "We have reports he began mobilizing about six weeks ago, in response to active raiding on his borders. But you knew things were getting tense there."

Blade nodded.

"All right. The information we have is that there is now an all-out range war proceeding on several fronts northeast and east of the Montclair-Claremont foothills where the Vaults were located."

"Right after we left the area."

"It appears so. The escalation has been gradual, though, Blade, so don't feel you missed anything."

Drakkar said nothing, but he stroked the soft leather of his cuffed gloves several times. He remained standing as if too restless to sit.

"Secondly, machinery of massive size and unknown origin has been operating in and about those areas for the last week or so."

Blade's gaze snapped back to Gray Walton. "From the Vaults? Could the dean have resurrected something?"

"That, we don't know. However, the actual escalation from raid to all out assault occurred about the same time."

"Shit." Blade shifted weight in the chair. "He thinks he can do it. What are you recommending?"

Gray pursed his lips in thought before saying, "I recommend you let me finish. Thomas . . . Judge Teal has sent me a handful of missives. Our cote is overflowing with his birds! But he had quite a story to tell." The DWP paused. "Young Watkins was found by a sheep-herder at the edge of his pastures, barely alive. He'd suffered a shoulder wound from a weapon we can't identify. He was feverish, barely abie to talk. But he did tell the healer and Judge Teal that the mapping party had been wiped out. He's the only survivor."

Drakkar sat down with a thud. "Wiped out?" he repeated.

"That's right. By nesters and the man known as the Dean of the College Vaults."

Blade said nothing, but his face lost color under his tan.

"Watty is pretty badly injured and they're not sure if he'll pull through or how accurate his story is. It appears that the mappers met an abyss they couldn't cross and they had decided to return home. They'd lost their healer, as well. In the run-in with the nesters, they encountered some sort of giant machine, possibly a vehicle, and weapons of great range and destruction. Watty managed to escape in the confusion. He doesn't really know how he got as far as Orange County." Gray reshuffled his papers. "Drakkar, I believe it's your turn."

The Mojavan lifted his chin defiantly. "I see no reason—"

Gray slammed his hand down on the desk. The thunder reverberated through the room. "If you can't see the importance of cooperating during a war, you young puppy, then perhaps I'd better send for a representative of your father who does!"

Blade looked at Gray in mild surprise. He held his tongue, thinking that perhaps he and Lady had manipulated far better than they could have imagined.

Drakkar's crest stayed half-erect, like angry hackles. He said stiffly, "My father could be dead by now."

"In which case, he could care less if you kept his secrets."

The struggle in Drakkar's face was obvious. He said sulkily, "Our range covers a broad area of the desert, areas you Countians find most inhospitable. Even the nesters rarely encroach upon it. About two weeks ago, there was a vast migration. Hundreds of nester warriors entered an area once known as Edwards Air Force Base."

"To fight?" asked Thomas.

Drakkar shook his head. His plumage rattled like quills.

"Then why?"

"Have you ever heard of a longship?"

The broad face of the DWP creased in puzzlement, but Thomas got to his feet. "Only once," he answered. "When Lady and I were taken into the College Vaults. They were spaceships, sent on epic voyages. Many of our genetic adaptations were supposedly developed for those ships."

"One came back."

Drakkar's words dropped like boulders into the room. Gray Walton cleared his throat before saying, "What the hell are you two talking about?"

"Space flight, Gray. We know they went to the moon and Mars. They wanted to go further, so they developed these longships . . . long-term flights. Generations to be born aboard the voyage. Hundreds of years for a round-trip. I don't know how many went out—I do know that the Dean of the College Vaults believed fervently one day they'd come back." Thomas paced a vigorous stride or two.

"They came back, didn't they?" he said to Drakkar.

"My father believes that one, at least, did. The dean went to meet it. And he believes that its technology and machinery and weaponry are now at the dean's disposal."

"Anybody who can go to space and return can't be that stupid," Gray said. "How can they take sides so easily?"

Drakkar's face whipped around toward him. "When's the last time you fought a lizard man and thought you were facing anything human?" he said bitterly, "I have half brothers and sisters who resemble an eel-snake more than they resemble me or my father."

Thomas paused, then said, "Faced with that—Stefan may well have attacked the dean and his party. He always was a hothead. He never felt we should have let the dean go after what happened at the Vaults. If he'd ran across them or surprised them. ..."

"We can't know that."

"No. Is that all, Drakkar?"

"Yes," the young man said, but his eyes flickered and Thomas knew he was lying. He also knew that the young man had no intention of saying anything further.

He looked to Gray. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," answered the DWP wearily. "I was hoping you'd have an idea."

"Good, because I do. I'd intended to go out and parlay with the nesters. I still do. I may have to wade through some bodies first." Blade gave a grim smile. "Drakkar, you're coming with me."

"Me? Why?"

"Because I don't have time to go on horseback. If I know Denethan, he's got a catapult base in operation close to here. We'll need wind raiders and we'll need them tonight while we still have a strong inshore flow. The thermals should be enough to carry us over the basin and the Angeles Crest. If the dean is getting ready to face the Mojavans, I have a pretty good idea where he's based. The only way we can get there in decent time is by flying in. Well?"

Drakkar had gone pale. He looked from face to face, then, finally shrugged. "All right," he said. "But it may be too late already. My father's last message indicated that rebel forces had broken through and attacked the longship party in force. If they're human, old-time human, it may be too late to convince them there's humanity in us."

Goldstone was whistling as he worked in the lab. Dusty gagged as she entered and made an effort to breathe through her mouth so the odor of the rapidly decaying body didn't affect her.

"Incredible," he said as he opened up the chest cavity.

"You're sure it's human?"

"Fairly sure. There's a pile of them out back of the shuttle if you want to take a look for yourself." He pointed with the cutting drill, its head spinning red drops about the dissecting table. His wife looked up and her eyes met Dusty's. Colby cleared her throat. He looked up. "Sorry," he said. "I get carried away."

"From the looks of this, it's a wonder you weren't carried off." Dusty forced herself to look at the corpse. The shuttle had survived a savage attack by these lizardlike beasts while the hover was out making its recon flight.

"Easy as pie. All we had to do was shut our doors and toss some sonic bombs out the window every once in a

while."

She shook her head. The scaled hands were talon-tipped and, unless she missed her guess, the pouches in the wattled throat were poison for the too sharp incisors the dead lips had curled back to expose. "Are they ail like this?"

"Yes and no. It's my guess the reptilian engineering was for the Mars colonization efforts. Big lung capacity, hibernation capabilities, thicker skin—who knows." Goldstone stopped. He sighed. "I don't even know if it thought it was human," he admitted.

Dusty shuddered. It was cold in the lab. She looked about. "I'll bet you wish you were in Noah's Ark."

"Don't I though. The work I could do in there!" Goldstone put his hand drill back into place, slicing with all the delicacy of a neurosurgeon. Noah's Ark was the self-contained main lab of the
Challenger.
Not only was it completely outfitted, but all the seeds of life they could bring from the earth were frozen and stored in it, saved for the day when it would be launched as the core of a new colony.

It had everything needed to bring a world to life. It might even have everything needed to bring this world back to life.

Dusty rubbed her forearms as a sudden chill swept her. She waved a little good-bye to Colby standing quietly by her husband and assisting with the procedures.

She was tired. Sitting in the observation lounge sounded like a good idea.

Willem Marshall was already sitting there, looking out the window. She pulled up his arm and snuggled under the crook of it, feet tucked under her. They had been lovers once. Now she sat as though a child of his. He'd left a wife and child aboard the
Challenger
to come on the Away Team.

"You're thinking," she said.

"Right about that one. I talked to Sun early tonight. He's agreed that we have little choice but to ally ourselves with the dean, for the moment. At least they were civilized enough to talk first. But I don't like it, Dusty. These . . . people . . . literally went through hell to adapt and survive. Who are we to pass judgments on the remnants of civilization?"

"Is that what we're doing?"

"I think so," said Marshall heavily. "I'm afraid so." He turned toward her suddenly. "I think we've got enough fuel to get back. It'd be a one-time shot—"

"Told anybody yet?"

"No."

She gave a tired smile. "It'll be one hell of a bounce if it doesn't work."

"Ummmm. I know that."

"Is that what you're sitting here thinking about? Getting back to the
Challenger?"

"Umm-hmm." He snugged her in under his arm again. "What are you thinking about?"

"I don't like to give up."

"I hear that." Marshall was staring out the observation window again. "But I don't think we're wanted here."

A dull boom sounded. "What's that?"

He waited a moment, before answering, "Thunder, I suppose. You tell me."

She realized that, ship-born, he'd never heard thunder before. She sat up. The observation window reflected a stab of lightning. "Look! And listen, it'll sound again."

Another muffled drum roll.

"Rain?" asked the commander.

"Yeah. And lots of it, according to the dean. It'll all wash away." Dusty walked to the window. Her heart ached for the sound of raindrops on the insulated pane. "God. I haven't heard rain in two hundred and fifty years. I don't think I want to try to leave."

"I don't think we have much choice."

The rain came pounding down before she could respond. She felt like a kid again as it splattered the window in front of her face. Dusty stood there and watched it for a long, long time.

The bat-winged wind raider rode the forefront of the storm as he would bodysurf a wave. It bucked and fought the rudder under him, but Drakkar threw himself on it and kept it steady.

Blade didn't like flying much. He'd only done it once or twice in his career as a Protector and both times in desperation. Though barely motored, once launched properly, the raider could glide over the major part of the L.A. basin.