Under the Eye of God (29 page)

“Slop field!” Finn cursed. “The goddamn Regency does that shit!”

“Regency colors—” Lee spat. He carried one of the heavy-duty cannons. He anchored it on the ground and started to take aim, but just as he locked onto his target, Ota came barreling into him. The bioform leapt and kicked, missing Lee, but hurling the weapon halfway across the yard. Lee started to turn to the creature, a curse forming on his lips, when abruptly a beam spat out from the approaching shuttlecraft and speared the weapon in mid-air, splattering it in a puddle of blazing light. The colors echoed in the air.

“They got us,” said Finn. “I don't have the strength to run anymore.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I give up.”

“I don't believe you,” said Lee, spitting his disgust.

Finn started to say, “You don't know—” And then he collapsed across the ground. Sawyer grabbed for him, barely catching him before he sprawled face down like a drunken sailor.

The boat circled the camp once, its lower guns, swiveling to keep them in sight while it scanned the rest of the buildings. The slop field warbled even louder then, making them too weak to resist. They exchanged unhappy looks, but they all got the message. They tossed their weapons aside and held their hands up in the air.

The boat came drifting down to the ground as gently as a bubble. The slop field began to ebb as the rear access door to the vessel popped open. A female android and a high-gravity dwarf sprang out, weapons held at the ready. Both wore armor. They advanced carefully. Behind them, the gun turrets of the shuttlecraft swung around to focus on the small band of escapees. A heavy-metal robot came down the ramp next. He had a heavy-equipment harness slung from his shoulders to help him support the high-powered cannon he carried. He wore a power-cell on his back, and had enough firepower to level the whole villa just from where he stood.

Ota walked slowly forward. “I've seen better timing,” it said with wry amusement. “These people here have already secured the installation and killed all of the Phaestor here. The battle ended some time ago.”

“What?” screamed an angry female voice, amplified through the shuttleboat's speakers. A moment later, a furious Captain Campbell came striding down the ramp. “What the hell do you mean winning the battle before we arrive?”

“My apologies,” said Ota, remembering itself quickly. “I appreciate your rescue. I promise you, next time I will wait for your full participation.”

Behind the bioform, the humans exchanged confused glances. “Excuse me?” Sawyer called. He straightened up slowly, leaving Finn sitting weakly on the ground. “This shuttleboat wears Regency colors—”

“Only until we get out of here,” snapped Campbell. “Thank these people and get aboard, Ota. EDNA says a Dragon-boat has just launched from MesaPort.”

“Wait a minute!” said Lee. He approached Captain Campbell quickly. “Will you accept a contract to deliver the TimeBinder of Thoska-Roole to the Gathering?”

Campbell scratched her sideburn thoughtfully. It took her less than a second to decide. “I need to break orbit and get out of here fast. I've got Dragons after me.”

“So have we,” said Lee. “Can you give me twelve hours?”

“If we can avoid the prowling Marauders, we can.”

“You can hide your boat in any of the canyons in the badlands. The Marauders won't go there. Something keeps shooting them down.”

“I'll need a guide—”

“I can do that,” said Arl-N. “I grew up in the badlands.”

“All right. Deal,” said Campbell. “Robin, give this man a coded signaler.” To Lee, she said, “I had to leave thirty-three metric tons of industrial-grade three month pfingle eggs on Burihatin. We pick them up first, deliver them, and then we'll take you to your gathering. If we hurry, we can deliver them before they turn into six-week eggs.”

“Pfingle eggs?” Lee looked astonished. “You want to carry pfingle eggs?”

Captain Campbell shrugged. “Why not? Somebody has to do it. At 3500 calories of pure protein per egg, this cargo has a Class-Double-A profitability rating.”

Lee shook his head in disbelief. “And I wondered if you had the courage for this job. You do—”

“Enough talk. Load your people,” said Campbell. “We've got to move!” Captain Campbell began herding the group toward the shuttleboat.

Sawyer went back to Finn. “We have to help Lee—”

Finn nodded his agreement. “I know.” He levered himself weakly to his feet. “Come on. We'll need a couple of antigrav sleds—”

The Dragon Lord belched uncomfortably and picked at his teeth with a hardened claw. He peered down at the display table with dispassionate interest. A stereo map showed the terrain south of MesaPort. The image rolled slowly across the surface of the table, pouring off the edge and disappearing. Two ruby-red dots moved across the center of it.

Captain Lax-Varney pointed with a green finger of light. “They've made a very bad tactical mistake. They've entered a canyon called
the gullet
. They'll have to run the whole length of it. Fifty kilometers. We'll wait here and we'll catch them when they come out. They have no other exit.”

The Dragon Lord grunted and studied his Captain skeptically. “Do you really believe that you'll catch them that easily?”

Lax-Varney bowed respectfully. “My lord, the sleds have tracers. Wherever they go, we'll catch them.”

“Yes, you do believe it,” said the Dragon Lord. “You have all the wisdom of your predecessor. Let us hope that you have better luck.” He swung his tail out of the way, turned, and studied the desolate red landscape scrolling away beneath the airboat. “This planet has too many places to hide,” he cursed. “The wise Dragon believes nothing until after it has happened.”

Lax-Varney felt troubled by his lord's ruminations. He wondered if the old lizard had fallen senile. He knew he couldn't challenge him—not yet. He hoped the Dragon Lord had the strength to survive a while longer while he built up his strength. He thought for a moment. It might take as long as ten or twenty years. He would have to make sure that the warrior-lizard did not fall until he wanted him to fall. He pretended to study the display again, making a great show of it.

To all outward appearances, the Dragon Lord might have fallen asleep. His smoldering eyes had drifted shut. His huge mouth had parted slightly, and his breath came out in slow and heavy gusts. But only the great lizard's body rested; his mind raced through corridors of thought, examining possibilities, considering them, discarding them, and moving on.

Too much had happened here recently—and too much of it had involved Lady Zillabar and behaviors best left undiscussed. The question of honor loomed large in the Dragon Lord's mind. Honor meant loyalty—but loyalty to what? The Phaestor? The Zashti family? Zillabar? Or the intangible concept called the Charter of the Regency? It troubled him—a little. He knew too much. Not only that, he ate too much—too much of the wrong things. He shared the Vampires' shame.

The standards of honor demanded that he remain clear about his duty. But the question stood out in his head? Duty to who? And what?

Above all, he knew, stood duty to power. Without power, nothing followed.

And power brings perks. Why shouldn't it? Along with the responsibilities came privileges. He had his own little pleasures. A Dragon Lord could afford to have a habit or two, if he maintained discretion. But in that, he knew, his honor remained no better than that of the Vampires.

Nevertheless, he consoled himself, when you achieve the rank of ruler, you no longer follow the rules—you
make
them.

So he sighed to himself and allowed himself a pang of remorse for his deviations, knowing full well that the next time the opportunity presented itself, he would enjoy himself fully. He could justify it to himself, and his opinion had become the only one that mattered when he became the Dragon Lord.

Besides, if he really needed a justification . . . he knew all too well that if he did not maintain the status quo, he would not maintain his authority either. He knew his history. Dragon Lords didn't simply retire. And he had no illusions how long he would last if Lady Zillabar chose to have him replaced. Not replaced. Assassinated. And if not from above, then certainly from below. Lax-Varney, for instance. The Captain of his personal guards had already demonstrated both his ambition and his stupidity.

The Dragon Lord hadn't decided yet how to kill the dimwitted lizard, but something would occur to him sooner or later. If nothing else, he could always send him out to patrol the badlands and let the rebels take care of his little problem. He liked that idea. It had honor. Always let your enemies weaken themselves fighting each other before you let them fight you.

He settled himself happily in his stall and waited for the airboat to land at the nether orifice of
the gullet
. The Dragon Lord snorted happily at the realization. He had a vulgar sense of humor.

The desert smoked. Great rolling clouds of it obscured the horizon. The red sun poured through it like a glaze, until everything turned as gloomy as the inside of a Vampire's heart. The Dragon Lord allowed himself a smile of pleasure; he liked the gloom. He called it
hunting weather
. He liked to prowl through the darkness, following only his noise, seeking out criminals or prey—it didn't matter which; in the darkness, he could eat without witnesses and without guilt.

The larger he grew, the hungrier he became. For years, hunger had travelled constantly at his side. Perhaps if the great clouds of dust would roll this way, blanketing the remainder of the day, he could indulge himself again. What would happen if the criminals accidentally shook off their bonds? Why, then he would have to demonstrate just how he had earned his great rank, wouldn't he? He would have to go after them in person—and who knew what could happen in the darkness?

Already, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. He waddled heavily around to where six gunners sat behind their cannons, waiting for the antigrav sleds to come slicing out of
the gullet
. “Listen to me,” he said. “When they exit the canyon, the Regency override signal will cut in and the power to their sleds will fail. We have blocked their access to the plain. They cannot get by. They will not even try. So don't fire unless I tell you to. I want to catch this human vermin alive. If you disobey—if you fire without my command, I will eat your livers. Do you understand?”

Both of the Dragons nodded quickly. “Yes, my lord. Yes, sir.”

“Sir?” Captain Lax-Varney called. “We have them in range. We should hear them any moment now—”

“Lax-Varney, you don't listen very well. For the past three minutes, the sound of their sleds has echoed in my ears.”

“Sir—?”

The Dragon Lord held up a hand for silence. In the red gloom of the morning, the desert had an eerie stillness. He felt as if he could hear for light years. He felt pleased with himself; Captain Lax-Varney might have his doubts about another Dragon's ability to hear the distant sleds, but he wouldn't doubt his Lord's word. The great Dragon had deliberately installed a seed of fear and doubt in the heart of his ambitious underling. Whatever plans Lax-Varney might have brewing, now he would also have to consider that his Lord could see and hear him in ways he had never considered. The danger remained, of course, that the Captain would only grow more cautious, not more respectful—but at this point, the Dragon Lord did not expect his Captain to live long enough to develop into a real threat.

Now, very faintly in the distance, the heterodyning hum of two antigrav sleds began to rise. “They come,” he said satisfied, and turned to glare at the gunners. Quickly, they removed their hands from their fire controls.

The sounds of the sleds grew louder, warbling unevenly as the sleds maneuvered their way through the narrow twisting canyon. The sound rose and fell; it splashed and broke in a torrent confusing echoes that dopplered and reflected and ultimately rolled out of
the gullet
as a river of electronic noise. The whine of the sleds grew louder and louder. Suddenly, they appeared at the far end of the canyon—both of them, very close together.

The Dragon Lord frowned.

The sleds looked harnessed together. They moved in unison, bobbing and swerving like two stallions caught in a trap and racing to break free. They roared down the canyon toward the waiting cannons. Something big hung between them, like an angry side of beef.

Abruptly, the Regency override signal cut in and the power to both sleds failed. The hum of their engines warbled downward and they began slowing and lowering to their skids. They came sliding the rest of the way out of the canyon, stopping only meters in front of the Dragon Lord.

Murdock lay stretched between the two sleds, tied by her own chains. Dirt and rage streaked her face. A heavy tag hung around her neck. The Dragon Lord approached cautiously. He lifted the tag with one talon and read it with growing rage.

The Markham brothers had attached their bill.

Posted Criminal Warrant #M21-S filled. Contract completed. Bonding agency notified. Please credit Markham trust account 131-534 at First Interstellar Bank. Reimbursement fees for lost and damaged equipment included in total; expense report filed. Also note additional charges for ancillary terminations of Murdock's employers, as per contract. Details on request, only to authorized parties
.

Employers—?

The Dragon Lord ripped the tag from Murdock's neck and threw it to one side. Lax-Varney rushed to pick it up.

The Dragon Lord growled, a deep disturbing rumble of frustration. The audacity of the Markham brothers' stunt only annoyed him. On one level, he could even admire their style. But the tag around Murdock's neck—the bill for services—represented a much more serious matter. Not for what it said, but for what it implied. The potential for real disaster here troubled him much more than he dared show. And the Markhams had to know that too. He hated the humans for pushing him into this situation. If the knowledge of Murdock's crimes became public, that she had supplied bioforms and slaves for secret Vampire feasts, riots would break out in every city on Thoska-Roole. The Vampires wouldn't suffer. They had the means to escape. No, the Dragons would bear the brunt of the attacks.