Requiem for the Conqueror

  The Lord Commander looked down, a thin lifeless smile on his lips. "Grace, Magister?"

  "Perhaps, Lord Commander." Bruen winced. "I'm too old for revolution. Hyde and I should have known better." He looked up from under the patch. "Why didn't they just seal us in here like rats?"

  "Any indication of Makarta from the surface?"

  "None. All the openings are in the outcrops overlooking the valley."

  Staffa plucked the old man from the floor, awed by how little he actually weighed. "Then they didn't know quite what they were shooting at. Three main escape tunnels, right? The first shot was seismic. Beforehand, they'd dropped geophones. After the seismic shot, they had the

  precise locations of the three tunnels plotted. Knowing that, it took one shot apiece to cave them in. They won't hit the main caverns until they know what they're dealing with."

  Bruen frowned. "And that might mean they want Makarta intact for some reason."

  Staffa's expression went grim. "Most likely captives. If they can take someone like you alive, the probes and Mytol will uncover all of the Seddi secrets.

  They'll be able to crush your spy network. Round up people like Tyklat. Make sure they wipe out the Seddi once and for all. "

  Following Bruen's directions, Staffa stepped out into an atrium where hanging ferns obscured sunlight. He blinked, squinting in the light after the intense darkness. The cliff overhung the place and a low railing bordered the flagstones before the sheer rock fell away to the valley below. People crowded the tunnel behind them, afraid to step out into the open.

  Staffa peered around, hearing the whistle of LCs in the distance. He left Bruen in the care of a young woman and crawled up next to a man with field scopes. "What's out there?"

  "Must be three hundred Regan troops advancing through the valley," the man said in an anxious voice. As he spoke, a herd of horses bolted, running in panic toward the head of the valley. At a grove of trees, they shied, pounding sideways and splitting, some racing for the valley head, the others flying back down the way they had come.

  "More there," Staffa observed. "You can bet if this Sinklar Fist is as good as everyone believes, he's got the mountain above us under control, too."

  "So what do we do?" A young woman asked from behind them.

  Staffa scanned their faces. "Have any of you fought Fist before?"

  A young man in Initiate's robes crawled up. "I have, sir. He's different. "

  "How does he set up his Sections?" "He doesn't," Bruen called gruffly.

  Staffa turned, looking back to where the old man sat up, a lump over one eye.

  "Fist has revolutionized warfare the way you yourself once did, Lord Commander." There came a general inrush

  of breath. Evidently not everyone knew he'd come to Makarta. Cautious whispers passed back and forth.

  "Fist uses small independent Groups, each pursuing its own initiative to achieve a goal. The Section shares a series of goals which in turn act in concert with the needs of the Division. Unlike the Regan system, Fist's commander's are in the field and are allowed to use their initiative. The result is a great deal of flexibility and the ability to adapt to changing battlefield situations. And Fist, unlike his commanders, will not hesitate to replace an incompetent with a capable officer. Advancement is by merit."

  "Just like the Companions." Staffa shrugged. "But are they as well trained?"

  "They whipped five veteran Divisions," a somber-eyed youth reminded.

  Staffa ducked as a heavy-duty blaster ripped the mountainside just above them.

  "Get everyone back!" he ordered. "They've picked up IR from body heat in here." People-wasted no time retreating into the darkness.

  "Are the other exits under fire?" Staffa asked.

  "There are two more," Bruen sighed. "Both are like this one, and they're probably full of people generating body heat, too. Someone find out. And order them to stay back so they don't draw fire."

  A young woman ran into the darkness.

  Staffa frowned as he organized his thoughts. "The Mag Comm controls Makarta?

  The shocks must have damaged it." He stood as another blaster bolt ripped at the entrance, pitching dust and rock across the screening vegetation. "I need comm to the other entrances. Magister, send a runner through. I need to have the best-armed veterans ready to hold the'entrances. "

  Bruen waved to a boy who left at a run. "And then what, Lord Commander? We could send teams to work on the blocked tunnels. We can hold the entrances, but what about another orbital strike? Will the mountain take it?"

  "Crib up portions of the tunnels which your geologists tell you are the most stable," Staffa ordered. "It's a chance. In the meantime, I need to coordinate our defensive capabilities. From the looks of things out there, any sally would be an invitation to disaster."

  Bruen sighed heavily. "So much for your maneuverability."

  Staffa chuckled dryly. "Yes, so much for that. We're bottled for the moment.

  If we try and—"

  He threw himself flat as rock, fire, and dust erupted from • the entrance, concussion blasting through the tunnel. In the • aftermath, grit and pebbles cascaded, light blotted by swirl-;

  ing dust,

  "Looks like they got the range," a woman remarked, puling herself up to dab at a cut on her face.

  Staffa coughed the dust from his lungs and nodded. "That's why we can't take them head on." He pulled himself to his feet, darting further into the darkness. Three men were passing out shoulder blasters and partial suits of armor.

  Staffa inspected Bruen critically. "If you're up to it, I need to see a schematic of Makarta. If they've covered the, holes, perhaps we can make a new one where they don't expect it."

  They took off down the passage, following a man with a light bar. Halfway to the meeting rooms, the lights flickered and began glowing. From somewhere, air began moving, bowing the dust toward the outside. ;

  "Looks like the Mag Comm is on the job again," Bruen said dryly. "In spite of our troubles, I enjoyed a momentary relief believing it was dead."

  Staffa nodded, turning to the nearest wall comm. "Get'. me the entrances."

  One by one they checked in. "This is Wilm. They've been hitting each of the escape routes with heavy fire. Softening us up, I'd guess."

  Staffa nodded. "Watch out. They'll try and take you by force in a concerted rush." Or would they?

  He turned. "Magister, I need a schematic of the tunnels. Your Fist is no one's fool. He's on a mining planet." -

  "Of course, Targa's a mining planet. We have equipment here ourselves. I just sent most of it off to clear the tunnels." Bruen muttered. A dark blue bruise swelled ugly over one eye." He looked up. "What are you thinking?" ;

  "Were I Fist, I wouldn't try the entrances. Too good a way to get people killed. No, I'd soak-off there. Tie up the defenders. While they fought to hold the entrances, I'd use

  mining equipment to drive a new bore into an abandoned section of Makarta."

  Buen gave him a quizzical inspection. "How did you think of that?"

  "I'm making assumptions based on what your people were telling me about his tactics. If he's no smarter than any other Regan officer, Rysta's people would have cut him to chowder. Given that, how would you break Makarta without bleeding yourself dry in the process? I'll bet he's going to do exactly what I would." Staffa shook his head, eyes narrowed. "If I'm wrong, we'll be out of here in a couple of days. If I'm right . . . this could be very interesting, Bruen."

  "Quick," Bruen snapped at one of the Initiates. "Get details with geophones into the areas closest to the surface." He turned to comm. "Kaskel? Drud?

  Fricks? Get our equipment back here!"

  Staffa bent over a monitor and frowned as he studied the layout of Makarta. A faint concussion shivered through the mountain. "Very well, Sinklar Fist," he whispered absently, feeling his opponent's presence through the rock. "Was that an attack? Or a ruse to use seismic exploration on our rabbit warren?"

  K
aylla appeared at the corridr. She pushed through the press wearing armor, eyes grim, a blaster in one hand.

  "Make room!" she called, "I want Masters only in here. In the meantime, we've got cribbing details. Give the crews a hand with the mining machinery! Someone needs to establish a medical detail. Someone else needs to see to the preparation and rationing of food. Lets go, people!"

  Staffa barey heard her, his eyes on the rock overhead. Another faint concussion sounded.

  "What is it, Staffa?" Kaylla asked, moving up beside him.

  "Like Sylene," he whispered. "We'll fight like they did on Sylene. Mining machine against mining machine, cutng and counter-cutting. But we also have to hold tose thee entrances—he'll try and flank anytime we show weakness."

  She stepped close and lowered her voice. "But we still an't win."

  "No," he replied gently. "We can't win. Not this time."

  Bitterness rose in her. "Everything I've ever believed in is here."

  "We aren't dead yet," Bruen chided. "Staffa will think of something."

  He ground his teeth, thinking of the hopelessness of the situation. An inevitable defeat awaited him here. "Ily is with Fist. Our deaths will be painful if we surrender."

  "I'll die here with a blaster!" Kaylla gritted.

  "There can be no thought of surrender," Bruen seconded. "To do so would condemn every Seddi alive out there. So what do we do Lord Commander?"

  Staffa relished the burning anticipation in his chest. "Make them bleed for it, Magister. Staffa kar Therma does not sell his life cheaply."

  "Fist always has orbital at his beck and call," Kaylla reminded. "If we hurt them too badly, Fist may simply decide to bury us. How many of those gravitational pulses can we take?"

  "Two, maybe three. After that, enough of Makarta will fall in that those who aren't crused will be trapped."

  CHAPTER 30

  Sinklar paced up and down before the seismic computer readout. Here and there, white-coated mining techs huddled over glowing monitors. Sink had brought them in from the major mining companies working on Targa, and with them, he'd commandeered their best equipment. He looked out the open door of the portable field office to where the bulk of Makarta Mountain shimmered in the light of the noonday sun. Around him banks of computer equipment processed information from the geophones his LCs had strewn over the mountain.

  "How much longer?"

  As if in response, the portable comm began emitting a soft beep. The techs muttered to each other and one looked up. "We'll project it in the holo tank, sir."

  Sinklar turned. The holo 'projector flickered slightly in red and green hues before a 3-D image formed and stabilized. The familiar outlines of Makarta Mountain hid a series of tunnels, all of which interlaced in a maze. The mountain itself projected greenly. The tunnels and shafts were portrayed in ruby red.

  "Good," Sinklar praised, leaning forward to see better. "So, here, here, and here are their only surface entrances. How about the collapsed portions of their escape tunnels?"

  "We have a three kilometer block in the Kaspa line," a tech told him. "A section six point five k long has fallen in the Vespa line while almost nine k is blocked heading to the Decker complex."

  Sinklar studied the holo and considered his options. "Then they won't be getting out anytime soon?"

  "I doubt it, sir." One of the engineers from 6-J Mining Cop. scratched his head. "That's all loose roof-fall—you'd have to crib and shore as you went or it would all fall in."

  Sinklar enjoyed a flush of success as he turned back to the battle comm. "Mac, you there?"

  "Here, Sink," Mac's voice returned.

  "Any movement?"

  "None. We haven't even drawn a shot. Pretty confident, aren't they?"

  Sinklar rapped his knuckles on the door frame as he considered Makarta Mountain. "Maybe. Let's draw a response, see whether they're confident or demoralized. Have three Sections hammer the entrances and make an advance.

  Remind them to be careful, Mac. Pull the rest of our people up on that shoulder of the mountain. From here, it looks like that's the best bet for a quick and easy tunnel in. We'll establish a camp there."

  "Affirmative. We're on the way Sink."

  Sinklar turned to the mining tech. "That would be your recommendation, wouldn't it?"

  The man came over to the holo. He indicated a spot close to the one Sinklar was considering. "We can drift right through here." He looked over his shoulder. "Pahl, show us the geology."

  Varicolored images rippled into existence in the holo. "What you see here,"

  the tech explained, "is the actual geologic structure of the mountain. Yellow represents faults, while the deeper greens are solid portions of the native rock. The blue lobes are intrusive basalts. From where you want to enter, we won't have any trouble. See? There are no unstable stretches which will need shoring and it's only about fifty meters into their upper gallery."

  "That's a pretty good sized space," Sinklar stepped around the image and indicated a lower gallery. "How about here? This little tunnel off to the side? Less chance of our stumbling into anyone. Not only that, but my people can split up. This route leads down as well as up into the main gallery."

  The tech bent his head around to peer at the image as his trained eye read the structure of the mountain. "Sure, we'll change the angle, bypass this fault here, wouldn't want any gouge—uh, loose stuff—shifting into the drift. No problem, it's only a hundred meters."

  "How long will it take?"

  "You know how big a tunnel you want?" The tech looked at him and spread his arms wide. "The bigger the bore, the longer it takes. That's a lot of rock to melt, cut, and muck. Also, bigger means less stable if you're planning on shooting in there."

  "And smaller means disadvantages tactically," Sinklar reminded. "You're the expert, what do you recommend?"

  The man rubbed the back of his neck, face lined with a frown. "One and a half meters wide by two meters tall?" He lifted an eyebrow.

  "Two meters by two meters," Sinklar countered, nervous at the restrictions.

  "How long?"

  The engineer looked over his shoulder again.

  Pahl had already fed the data into the poable computer. "Seven hours," he called back.

  "Go!" Sinklar ordered.

  He studied the mountain warren of the Seddi again as the techs bent over their machines. Outside the portable office, a whining sound commenced as one of the heavy mining machines began crawling its way to the mountain shelf.

  He turned and waked out to stare at the blood-red rays of the setting sun. His scalp prickled, as though he could feel Gretta's loving blue eyes staring down at him.

  * * *

  "Then you think there's a chance?" Kaylla looked up from where she, Staffa, and Bruen poured over a planview of Makarta. The air in the small room practically crackled with tension and the irregular rock walls pressed down upon Staffa. The light overhead illuminated motes of dust that drifted up from the wooden table and the map that covered it. The wooden furniture surrounding the table showed evidence of years of use. A crowd of Initiates hovered around the peripheries, listening anxiously.

  Staffa pulled at his beard, gray eyes on the schematic. "It depends. I think it's a way to keep them from using orbital to knock us out. Provided we can get them into the right circumstances." He began to outline his ideas.

  "Praise God," Bruen mumbled. He settled into a chair, obviously exhausted. The hideous gash on his forehead made Kaylla wince.

  "You should go rest, Magister," Kaylla murmured. To several Initiates, she added, "Put the Magister on antigrav and take him someplace safe."

  "I'm fine!" Bruen rasped, trying to pull his head up and look alert.

  Staffa turned, a sympathetic smile on his lips. "You've done enough for now, Magister. All that's left is to await their next move. We will need your mind keen for that. Go. I'll make sure you're apprised of any developments."

  Bruen glanced back and forth between Kaylla and Staffa, and
saw no give. "Oh, all right." And he allowed the Initiates to take him away.

  Staffa sighed, shaking his head as the old man disappeared down the passage.

  "I pray I'm so vigorous at his age."

  "Do I hear a certain softness in your voice, Lord Commander?" Kaylla asked gently.

  He shook himself and looked around. "He's quite a leader. I wish I'd known him before now. Getting back to business, what about deep space comm? Can we get communications to Itreata or Rega from Makarta?"

  "No, that link was cut when the Kaspa tunnel was bombed. What did you have in mind?"

  Staffa settled himself at the table, hugging himself as he thought. "I had hoped to get a message to Skyla. I've been worried about the Companions. I'd hate to have them surprised by Rega. If I could get a message to the Itreatic Asteroids, Skyla would. . . ."

  Her image flooded him. If only he could hold her, look into those magnificent blue eyes again, and feel her arms around him. His soul had felt whole during that one short moment in the warehouse in Etarus. Now death stared at him from every shadow in this mountain trap, and that one moment of tenderness would have to last him forever. Skyla, Skyla. . . .

  "What's wrong, you look like hell," Kaylla recalled him dryly.

  "Thinking of Skyla. I've been so busy . . . haven't had time to—"

  "Lord Commander?" an Initiate—a blond young man—

  called as he ran into the room. "Lord Commander! We've got them. They're drilling, sir. Tunneling!"

  "Where?"

  Kaylla pulled out a large flimsy. The youth looked at it, tracing the tunnels on the diagram before jamming his finger down on a spot. "That's where we picked up the first vibrations. Looks like they're headed for this little side tunnel."

  Staff a ran his fingers along the route. If they hit the tunnel, one way would take them into a large gallery marked Study Center. The second direction led down into the bowels of the complex. Staffa traced out each of the lower accesses.

  "Perfect. Sinklar Fist, you and I do think alike." Staffa turned, looking at the young man. "How long until they breach that tunnel?"