The Eternal Enemy (22 page)

“Don't be. I don't want your pity—only your answer. You told me yes in the city, and I see you vacillating. Decide once and for all. Once I change you, there's no turning back.”

“But what if the crew doesn't go along? What if I'm the only one?”

“Yes or no, Straka.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she said bitterly, spitting the words.

“Even if they call you a traitor?”

“Yes!”

“Even if we have to turn around and leave them to die in the compound?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Leave them to die. What would you like me to do with them? Let a violent race wander over the planet? Give them the
Paladin
back? Keep them penned up? If they don't throw in with us, what good are they?”

Her men! Markos was talking like that about her men, her crew. They were human beings—not some group of unrelated objects. “You can't just let them starve, Markos.”

“I can't? All right. Then
you
decide what to do with them.”

“What are you doing this to me for? Why are you torturing me?” Straka whined.

“I'm not torturing you. I'm just letting you decide the fate of your men. That's what you wanted, isn't it?”

“I don't know, I don't know.”

“It's all part of the price, Straka. New loyalties demand new dividing lines.”

Straka was silent for a moment. She breathed deeply a few times, trying to get her mind clear enough to tackle the problem.

“We'll have to explain it to them,” Straka said. “They'll have to understand. They'll want to help. They're good men. I'll explain it to them and they'll understand.”

“I hope so,” Markos said. “I prefer having them with us, but you know I'll go either way.”

“McGowen should be easy to convince. He's already different from the others.”

Markos smiled. On him the smile was lopsided, a tight grimace. “I know. When Alpha touched him, he had to change him a little. His metabolism slowed down. He's about one one-hundredth along the way to total change.”

“He eats the grass.”

Markos nodded his misshapen head. “I know.”

“And he's still strong.”

“He should be. You can feel part of that same change within yourself. You should realize deep down that I'm capable of fulfilling my part of the bargain.”

“I've always believed you. That was never the problem.”

Straka felt a slight thump through the deck and assumed the ship had landed in the compound. “Are we there already?”

Markos nodded. “There are a few things I need to tell you, to make sure you really understand before you go out to talk to them.”

Straka braced herself by thinking of her pending immortality.

“As I promised, you'll be changed, but only physically. Assure the crew of this and you stand a much better chance of convincing them. After the first process—”

“First?”

“Yes. I'm breaking the conversion into two stages. The first stage will let you live for around a thousand years. This should give you and the crew plenty of time to deal with your aspect of the Hydran War. When you return—”

“If.”

“Right.
If
you return, successful or not, I'll make the final genetic alterations to give you immortality.”

“What's to stop us from figuring out what to change and doing that to each other? Aren't you afraid we'll do it ourselves?”

“Not at all,” Markos said. “I'm counting on your being too busy.”

The bay door started to open.

“That's about all for now. Are you ready?”

Straka shook her head. “No, I'm not, but I don't suppose that matters.”

She got to her feet and stood in the widening opening, flexing her fingers, listening to the joints pop, gritting her teeth, preparing herself for the worst. Before the bay door had stopped opening, she could see their gaunt, filthy faces. They stood in a ragged line, heads tilted back, eyes wild with desperation. One of them lay on the ground, rolled onto his side, curled into a fetal position. It was Maxwell.

Straka stared at the little man's back and sides, hoping for some sign of life, of breathing, but there was no motion there at all. He was either breathing very shallowly or he had already died.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and wheeled around. She'd forgotten Markos for a moment, surveying the pitiful sight of the crew.

“Go on,” Markos said. “I'll be here until you're ready to come back or until you need me down there.”

Straka turned back to her men. They looked dead on their feet, like prisoners did in the old films of war—unwashed, unfed, improperly clothed, waiting for death to creep up behind them. They all needed a long immersion in the geltanks. They stood defiantly as if waiting to be mowed down. She felt separated from them by more than physical distance. Her decision had made her future real, concrete, endless, while they still fought to remain in the present. Straka realized she no longer related to them as she had before. The camaraderie was gone as their situations changed.

She climbed down from the ship to the ground as if lowering herself into a leper colony.

They were on her in a second.

“The food, Cathy! Where's the food?”

They swarmed over and around her, leaning on her for support. They were so weak and fragile, she could have swept them away with a wave of her hand. Stick figures. Mockeries of what they had once been. The smell was overpowering, intensely human.

De Sola was knocked to the ground by the jostling and seemed unable to rise again. Kominski was gibbering, hanging onto McGowen's back. Wilhelm was smiling, warmth in his eyes, glad for Straka's safe return if nothing else.

They were injuring themselves in their desperation and excitement, and Straka realized she would have to get control of them and the situation immediately.

“Back off! All of you!”

They stopped the weak but frenzied clamoring and seemed to sag like marionettes with their strings loosened.

“Sit down. I have to talk to you.”

“We never thought you'd return,” Wilhelm said.

“We're glad you're back,” McGowen said, lowering Kominski to the ground. The others settled to the ground, wincing in pain.

“Did you bring food?” Jackson asked.

Food. Straka had completely forgotten the food. Food and water. My God, what was she going to say? When they found out she'd returned with a promise instead of what they craved most, they wouldn't listen at all.

“Food, food, food,” Kominski babbled. “Food, food, food.”

“Shut up, 'Minski,” Jackson growled. He hardly seemed strong enough to force him.

“I didn't bring food,” Straka said, lowering herself to sit before the crew.

“What?” Katawba wailed. “What?”

“Food,” Kominski said, playing in the ground, pushing blades of grass aside with his fingers, looking for tiny insects.

“They returned me, as they promised, and I've been unharmed. If you listen to what I have to say, you'll see they kept their promise to you too.”

“How? You brought no food with you,” Martinez said.

“Take it easy and I'll explain.”

Straka waited a moment to see if they were too intent on complaining to listen. They were angry and bitter—that much was obvious—not the best attitude to face under these circumstances, but it was what she had to work with. There was no other choice.

“Where is the food?” Kominski asked like a three-year-old. Straka saw that his lips were swollen and split and his cheeks were freshly bruised.

“Help?” De Sola asked. “How?”

“Are they going to let us go?” Wilhelm asked. “Did you straighten this mess out? Do they understand we mean them no harm?”

“Give me a second, both of you. What about Maxwell? Is he dead?”

“Very,” McGowen said.

“When?”

“About an hour after you left.”

She sighed. “I'm sorry. Really sorry. But there's nothing we can do for him now. I'm more concerned about all of you. We've got some decisions to make.”

“Another great Master Plan, Straka?” Jackson asked.

“Slow down, Jack.”

“Give her a chance,” Wilhelm said.

Kominski was lying on his back, staring up at the ever-changing sky. “They're going to kill us,” he said in a singsong.

“Give it a break, Kominski,” Jackson said.

“Let me lay this out for you quickly. They took me to see Markos. He offered to give us all back our health, our freedom, and our ship, and something very intriguing if we agree to help him.”

“Help him what?” Jackson asked.

“Fight a war. The Habers are being innocently slaughtered by a race called the Hydrans. These creatures are expansionists. No one seems to know why they're doing what they're doing, but Markos doesn't really care. He needs fighters.”

“The pay?” Jackson asked.

“All I've told you, plus immortality. Immortality at a price, that is.”

The crew remained silent for a long, tense moment.

“Food, food, food,” Kominski said.

“Are you going for the deal?” Katawba asked.

Straka nodded.

“I'm not sure I understand. We fight for Markos and the Habers? And in payment we get to live forever?” De Sola asked.

“Basically,” Straka said. “He will have to make some alterations to our bodies, but he assures me that our minds won't be affected.”

“And you
believe
this cretin?” Jackson asked.

“Yes. I believe him. He needs our minds more than anything else. We offer him the fighting edge he can't get with his Habers or his mutant offspring.”

“Where do I sign up?” De Sola asked.

“You're serious?” Straka asked.

“Goddamned right I'm serious. I'm not crazy. I don't want to sit here and die slowly like this. I don't want to die at all. If you're not putting me on, I'm with you all the way.”

Thank God, Straka thought. “What about the rest of you?”

The others remained silent.

“Katawba?” Straka asked.

“I don't know,” Katawba said. “I'm not up for fighting a war, if you know what I mean. Especially for some furry creatures who can't fight for themselves. What are these Hydrans like?”

Straka shrugged. “I didn't even think to ask. It doesn't matter to me if they're four meters tall and built out of permaplast. I'd rather go like that than sitting in this pen.”

“I take it, then, that this is the real choice?” Wilhelm asked. “Remain here or join up with him?”

Straka nodded.

“Count me in,” Katawba said.

“Me too,” Wilhelm said. “Whatever awaits us out there can't be worse than this.”

“Don't bet on it,” Jackson said. “Especially if Cathy had something to do with it. She got us into this in the first place.”

“Count me in, too,” McGowen said.

“They're going to kill us, aren't they?” Kominski asked, sounding very sane and rational for a moment.

“No! But if you keep that up, I will!” Jackson shouted.

“Markos can fix Kominski, too. He'll straighten out his head and give him a good, strong, healthy body,” Straka said.

“Well, Martinez? What about it, kid?” De Sola asked.

Martinez shrugged. “Sure. Why not. What the hell do I have to lose?”

“Jackson?” Straka asked.

“What?”

“You're the last one.”

“So?”

“Are you joining us?”

“I guess I have to. No way I'm staying in this place by myself.”

Straka smiled. “All right, then. There's no time to lose. Markos is waiting in the ship for us. He'll take us out of here to the city and fix us up.”

“You mean change us around,” Jackson said.

“Yes. Change us.”

Straka rose to her feet. She felt a great burden lift from her shoulders. She bent over to help them to their feet, one at a time. They made a ragged procession to the nearby ship. Straka turned around and noticed that McGowen was still seated on the grass.

“What's wrong?” she asked.

“Maxwell,” McGowen said. “I don't know what Markos is planning on changing us into, but right now we're still human beings. We ought at least to bury the poor bastard.”

Straka looked over at Maxwell's form.

Markos appeared in the doorway.

“Fine. Let's bury him,” Straka said.

18

After Maxwell had been buried, Markos helped the crew onto the ship. As he touched each one, lifting them up, guiding them to the deck, he healed them a little, taking away some of their hunger and pain, giving them a little better outlook on the future. They commented on their newfound strength to each other noisily while Markos sat on the deck and waited for their takeoff.

Jackson broke away from the group of chattering men and approached Markos, standing defiantly before him, hands clenched into fists. “Just what do you intend to change?” he asked.

“Your entire body. I promise you won't be disappointed, Jackson. You'll be stronger, live longer—far longer than you'd previously imagined possible.”

“What will I look like, though?”

“Like nothing you've ever seen before.”

“Just make sure I don't look like you.”

The bay fell silent.

“You won't,” Markos said.

“I had better not.”

Markos's eyes glowed stronger, throbbed in time with some unseen heart. “Just sit down and don't make trouble. We need each other. Don't let your feelings of strength and health go to your head. I can reverse it without even touching you.”

Jackson bit off his reply, shifted his weight, then returned to the group.

“What were you trying to prove?” Wilhelm asked him.

“Forget it, Wilhelm. You'd never understand,” Jackson said. “You'd do anything he said, wouldn't you? You let him get away on Gandji.”