Journey - Book II of the Five Worlds Trilogy (25 page)

The crowd ahhhed, and Cornelian said, “Glorious! They come to proclaim my rule!”

“That is what I must speak to you about,” the Machine Master said; the High Leader was annoyed to see that the man had not regained his stool, and furthermore refused to look at the grand sight in the sky.

Peevishness finally overcoming his good humor, the High Leader rotated his head around to glare at the Machine Master.

“What is it, then? What is so important to you that you must interrupt these festivities—partly for your benefit, by the way!”

“The comets …” the Machine Master began. But now the High Leader saw that Sam-Sei was truly upset, not merely dour. For a moment a true bolt of alarm went through Cornelian, to see the Machine Master as he had never seen him before: frightened.

“What about them?” the High Leader snapped, if only to refuse to give in to fear himself.

“They will …” Sam-Sei began; but once again he was unable to continue.

“They will
what?”
the High Leader screamed, his voice echoing through the suddenly still Olympic Stadium.

“They are heading for our planet, all three of them,” the Machine Master said. “And in nine months’ time they will strike, and destroy, Mars.”

Chapter 29

O
ne morning Dalin Shar awoke to find Earth filling his window.

He did not know how to react. At first he thought perhaps it was a dream—for the planet looked different, somehow, less … blue. He also thought it might be a dream because he couldn’t believe that he was finally here.

Finally home.

“Believe it, Sire,” Shatz Abel said, joining him as he gaped through one of the hold’s picture windows. The pirate held out a huge hand and pointed at what Dalin thought was Afrasia. “You can see the blast marks where Cornelian dropped those newfangled bombs of his. There’s no more Cairo, I’m afraid. Calcutta’s gone, too. Wiped right off the planet.”

As Dalin looked down in realization and shock, Shatz Abel’s grim voice went on. “Looks like he dropped a bomb anywhere he had a question about.” The pirate frowned, indicating a strip of bombarded area off the track of settled Afrasian territory. “I don’t quite understand him doing away with part of the Lost Lands, though.”

After a moment, Dalin said, “That’s where my supporters would have been.”

The pirate gave a long sigh. “I suppose it doesn’t matter where we land, then.”

“I should have been here with them,” Dalin said, his voice filled with self-recrimination.

“Don’t talk nonsense, Dalin. Did you have a choice in the matter?”

“Yes, in the beginning I did. I could have stayed. Instead of running away.”

“You didn’t run, boy. And if you’d stayed you would have died. And if you’d died you wouldn’t be here now.”

“To do what?” Dalin said angrily. “Crawl home to a ruined planet?” He glared down at the wreckage below. “There’s nothing left to fight for! The fight’s over—and I wasn’t here!”

“Well …” Shatz Abel said.

“Halloo, Yer Majesty!” Enry called cheerfully from the hold’s doorway. “There’s someone on th’ Screen for yer!”

“What?” Dalin asked.

Enry jerked a thumb toward the front of the ship. “On the line, Yer Majesty! Someone who don’ b’lieve yer wif us!”

Dalin followed Enry to the front cabin, where Ralf was arguing with someone on the Screen.

“No, no! I tells you, mate, ‘e’s ‘ere wif us now!” Enry pushed Dalin in front of the Screen, where a man he did not recognize went silent, studying him. “You say you’re Dalin Shar, son of Sarat Shar, ruler of Earth?” the man said finally.

“I am,” Dalin said. “And who are you?”

“Never mind,” the man said. “If you follow our instructions, we’ll clear this up soon enough. If you don’t,” he added, “we’ll destroy your ship.”

“Wha’!” Ralf cried.

“There are three raser cannons trained on you at the moment. If I tell them to fire, they will fire.”

“Don’ do that, mate!” Ralf beseeched. “We’ll do as you say, we will!”

“I hope so,” the man said. “Stay on this line for landing instructions.”

Dalin looked at Enry and Ralf, and at Shatz Abel, who had entered the cabin and had monitored the conversation.

“We do as he says,” Shatz Abel said, to which Enry shrugged and said, “Ri’!”

T
wenty minutes later they were landing deep in the Lost Lands, in a part that was not even segregated on any map anymore. Through the ship’s front window, Dalin watched the scorched ground rise up to meet them; it looked brown and barren, the only water they passed over a tepid line of yellow-looking river that fed into a sickly orange-brown lake. Dalin searched vainly for any sign of life, a village or encampment, but saw nothing at all indicative of life, animal or vegetable.

The ship touched down, and, as instructed, they waited, watching the sun sink into a hazy, smoggy horizon; by the time Sol disappeared, its color was that of sludge. The night did not so much rise around them as creep up above them; the sulfurous fog that arose blocked out the stars and most of the surrounding scenery—in a way this was a blessing. There were not even night noises to soothe them, only an eerie moan of wind that rattled the dead trees outside.

“This is creepy, mate,” Ralf said.

“Yeah, I mean, no’ even a bat or wolf to serenade us!” Enry added.

“I don’t like it myself,” Shatz Abel said, his grip constant on one of the ship’s few hand rasers.

“If they’d wanted to blow us apart they would have done it by now,” Dalin said, trying to sound positive.

“Then again,” Enry said, peering into the muck outside the front port, “they could still do it, I suppose.”

“Ri’!” Ralf added nervously. “Or wait till morning.”

“It looks like a long night ahead,” Shatz Abel said. “But they did tell us to wait. So we’ll wait.”

“No problem there, mate!” Ralf said. “No way you gets me out into that eeriness, no wise.”

“Ri’!” his friend said.

“Why don’t we take shifts?” Dalin offered. “Say, four hours?”

“Talk all you want about shifts,” Shatz Abel said seriously, his grip on his weapon tightening. “But I’ll stay awake all night anyway.”

“Suit yourself, then,” Dalin said, and settled himself down in one corner, with his arm for a pillow, while the pirate continued to stare glumly through the front port and Enry and Ralf settled down to a game of cards, cheating one another.

D
alin awoke with light in his eyes and Shatz Abel saying, “We’ve got visitors, Sire.”

Stretching, the king stood up to see yellow fog floating four or five feet above the ground, and a contingent of feet marching below it, the upper bodies of the marchers hidden in the mist. Dalin counted at least a dozen figures.

There came a loud knock on the hold of the ship; Enry looked to Shatz Abel, who nodded.

“Let them in,” the pirate said, positioning himself to the side of the lock; Enry activated it and the lock opened to let in a foul stench and yellow roiling fog.

Too late, Shatz Abel realized that they had been gassed; he shouted “Down!” and fired out into the fog as he dropped to the deck.

Dalin dropped, too; but the gas was fast-acting and clung to the floor as well as the ceiling, and in a few moments Dalin was swooning toward unconsciousness and watched his three companions falter along with him.

He saw two sets of boots approach him, then nothing.

H
e awoke with a headache, aware of being under the influence of some sort of transportation.

When his wits had fairly cleared, he realized that he had been trussed and hung on a pole, like any hunter’s catch. For a moment he thought of a deer or elk, and wondered if indeed they had fallen into the province of mutant hunters or, worse, cannibals. But a further clearing of his head as well as his vision brought his face into close proximity with that of a happy-looking young man, no more than twelve or thirteen, who was not, at least, dressed as any cannibal, but rather in a mishmash of military gear; his boots did not match but looked sturdy enough, and the cap he wore on his head was reminiscent of that worn by Dalin’s own palace guards at one time: a tall, red, tasseled thing with a chin strap.

“Awake!” the boy cried with glee; Dalin now saw that the boy was one of four bearers of Dalin’s pole, which was affixed with cross struts at either end.

“Thank God!” came a voice from the other side of the pole-bearing contraption. “Now he can walk on his own!”

Dalin was lowered to the ground and cut loose. In a moment he was being roughly helped to his feet and prodded along by something hard in his back, which on inspection turned out to be a raser rifle, borne by another smiling soldier, this one somewhat older than the first.

Behind their little caravan were three other bearing parties; Enry and Ralf were still borne, while Shatz Abel, surrounded by six unsmiling looking guards, plodded along, holding his head.

The soldier with the raser rifle prodded the king again. “Along you go, then,” he said, and the march continued.

They were in country little different from that they had landed in; the ground underfoot was sparsely covered with dried grass and there was no life to speak of. The fog had dispersed; but the sky was not much more of a pleasant color, the Sun a wan yellow blot marking its path past noon. There was a faint, insidious odor like burned meat, and Dalin’s mouth was unnaturally dry.

“May I have a drink of water?” he asked.

His four guards laughed. “Water? You must be joking.”

“How ‘bout a swim in the lake?” another asked, and again there was general levity.

“I take it you don’t have fresh water,” Dalin asked.

“Perhaps later,” the young guard answered. “If the hunt is successful.”

“You have people out hunting for water?” Dalin asked.

“Never you mind,” the guard with the rifle said, prodding him onward.

T
hey stopped, separated from the other groups, and rested while the Sun was still up. Dalin was given something that looked like a dried brown root; only when the others began to chew it voraciously did he sample it himself.

It proved to be dry on the outside but providing of moisture in the center; in a few moments Dalin was devouring it with appetite.

Only when he had finished it completely did he notice his four sentinels staring at him expectantly, with grins on their faces.

“Have I done something to make you laugh?” Dahn said.

The four broke out in laughter, and the one with the rifle said, “I’ll say!”

“Feel anything … interesting?” the boy with the funny hat asked.

“Not really …” Dalin said, but then he did feel a rumbling in his belly.

Now he noticed that the others had not consumed their roots but only chewed on them, drawing out moisture, before spitting out the pieces.

“Oh, Lord,” Dalin said, as his bowels flipped over.

One of his guards followed him a short ways off while he voided himself in relative privacy, while the others laughed uproariously.

“How … long will this … last?” Dalin gasped, between bouts.

“Not long. An hour or two.”

Dalin said, “Next … time I’ll just … chew…”

His companion laughed and said, “I’ll bet you will at that.”

There came a sudden far-off, deep-seated thudding sound; the guard’s demeanor instantly turned wary and listening, his face tight and grim.

“What was that?” Dalin asked.

The thud was gone as quickly as it had come; and there was silence.

“Never mind,” the guard said.

T
hey resumed their march, with Dalin stopping the line every once in a while to relieve himself; eventually, though, the bouts lessened and, as promised, were gone in a couple of hours. When offered another root as they walked, he gladly accepted it but carefully avoided swallowing any of the pieces.

Darkness overcame them, and with it the sky cleared somewhat; they paused as another distant thud sounded, farther away than the first; and then, suddenly, they reached their destination.

Dalin was aware of abruptly being surrounded by a multitude. He heard before he saw them: a rustle that deepened as they walked on and eventually became a murmur of voices. In the darkness he could not make out his surroundings but deduced that they were a little lusher than what they had been traveling through; twice he bumped into foliage that did not splinter into decay at his touch but rather gave back with a springiness that indicated life. Then a single tent turned into a row of tents and then a city of tents; he was in a clearing circled by shanties and huts of semi-permanent nature; a few fires burned beneath high lean-tos, which covered them and dissipated their smoke.

“Cornelian’s satellites can pick up our fires if we don’t hide them,” said a voice that Dalin thought he knew. “Two of our other encampments were destroyed by concussion bombs when they got careless. By now, the ship you arrived in has been destroyed, also.”

“We heard the hit an hour ago,” Dalin’s young guard reported.

“So did we.”

From nearby, cries of dismay went up from Enry and Ralf.

A face drew near in the weak firelight, peered into Dalin’s own.

“Yes,
it’s him,” Erik proclaimed, quietly and firmly. “A bit older, a bit rougher around the edges, hopefully a bit more mature and without his eyelids—but yes, it’s him.”

Erik took his hand firmly, and looked into his eyes. “At least you’re not wearing women’s clothing as you were the last time we met.” He smiled warmly. “Welcome home, Sire.”

A great cheer went up nearby; it swelled and spread and Dalin was aware that he was in a very large encampment indeed.

Someone cried, “All hail to Dalin, King Shar, rightful heir to the throne of Sarat Shar and ruler of Earth!”

“Hail!” the mighty multitude shouted, in one gleeful, boisterous voice.

Twice more they repeated the cry.

Silence fell like an ax, and Dalin, nearly overcome with the reception, said quietly, “It’s … good to be here. To be home.”