Robert E Mills, page 12
Ylang's still sitting tight in Flaigon, Ozain thought, so we'll take advantage of his inactivity and liberate another galaxy. Garthane's postponed the initiation of all the new members of the Fellowship on account of the Hazard's accident, but if our luck holds a little longer, it looks as though we won't need them this time out. And a few months of more training on Palos won't hurt them any, either.
His face lit up as he recalled the morning's launching of the latest wave of probes. The scramblers on those things are working like a dream, he noted with satisfaction. Not only have we saturated Havanal, but we've even managed to infiltrate ten galaxies beyond it. As he entered the conference room, the guards at the door snapped to attention and presented amlS. Ifwe canjust stir up the captive populations in half those-star-seas, the Dark Emperor had better hang on to his throne for
dear life.
"Gentlemen. Ladies," the Supreme Commander of the League of Free Worlds said, as he sat down at the head of the long table, "Havanal awaits us. . . "
Quaarg saluted smartly, did an about-face, and marched out of the conference room, followed by the rest of the Yss on the general staff. Blorg remained in his seat, watching his brother-reptiloids file out of the chamber. Deep in thought, he toyed with the reptiloid skull that sat on the black, micalite surface of the conference table. The thing represented the Devastator's one concession to sentimentality: it was the skull of the first higher life-form he had ever killed. Blorg kept it as a souvenir, a grisly memento of his initiation into the dark mysteries of death. It was the skull of the Y ssswho had fathered him.
There will be a warm welcome in storefor the League when we swoop down on them after they come out of hyperspace in Havanal, he soliloquized telepathically.
My Greeban agents have done their work well. This is the first time I have ever had the precise exit coordinates of an enemy starfleet.
The lord of the Ysss rose from his chair and, tossing the skull in the air and catching it in his lower right hand, strolled out of the conference room. He turned and walked down the corridor that led to the Great Devourer's lair.
My flotilla will contain only five thousand ships when we engage the enemy. . . but a thousand of them will be invincible. We will burn the ships of the League to ashes, and then scatter those ashes across the void. . .
Ylang's force-field consoles, expensive and difficult to produce as they are, are certainly worth waiting for.
The unshielded ships I shall use as decoys, in order to whet the enemy's appetite for combat. Later in the engagement, we will interlock our force-fields and go streaking toward them, butchering the scum until the stars glow red with the color of blood.
Haaass-aaass-aaassss! The Blorg spluttered into the ghastly laughter of the Ysss, rocking from side to side as he walked. Tomorrow will be such a glorious day, he gloated, as he entered the lair. Not only will the League of Free Worlds be dealt a terrible blow, but the Fellowship of Light will suddenly find itself leaderless at the same time. The doubles aboard the counterfeit Hazard have been programmed to assassinate that old fool, Garthane, before the battle is joined. Then my revenge will be complete. All that will remain to be done after that is to await the production of more consoles, so we can go into Taylos and Primula and put an end to these upstarts once andfor all.
Blorg was as happy as a humanoid child on its birthday. He prostrated himself before his lord and master, and gave the Dark Emperor the latest details of his battle-plan. When he arose, the lord of the Ysss was in such high spirits that he mentally (and unconsciously) hummed the great death-anthem of Sserp, the one reserved for the rarest and most dreadful of occasions.
My son's joy fills the throne-room, the Devourer
boomed. What fine horrors has he planned for the survivors of tomorrow's battle?
There should be thousands of prisoners, O Lord of the Universe, Blorg replied cheerfully, hissing his snaky chuckle as he did. I propose to bring them all before you at once and conduct afestival of torment in your honor. The energies liberated thereby should provide great Ylang with the finest banquet it has had in aeons.
The gluttonous Ylang flashed and burbled with excitement as it anticipated the feast. My lord is so unself-ish and sharing that he warms my heart. I consider myself fortunate above all creatures to have a son so dedicated to the pleasure and well-being of his old father. The tyrant was in a sentimental mood. Ask anything of me, sweet Blorg -anything at all in the whole of the starry firmament -and it shall be yours.
I need nothing else, Father Ylang, the lord of the Y sss replied, since all good things comefrom your dark embrace. . . and I have been blessed with that already.
Blorg groped for a further compliment, but it eluded him. Flowery speech was never one of his strong points. Suddenly he grew serious, as he thought of a request. Mighty Ylang, I would ask one small thing of you: the answer to a question that has been troubling me for a long time, now.
And what is that, my son?
The time when the late Captain Rian . . . (here Blorg paused to emit a series of hissing chuckles) and the other humanoid garbage had the temerity to come here after the late lady Nila . . . how were they able to pass through Atmospheric Security undetected when they fled? . . . I know that the old ape, Garthane, used the Fellowship of Light's powers of mind to slip his vessle in and out of our air-space unheeded. . . But how was it possible for the Hazard to escape from here?
Ylang- Ylang' s plusating mass dimmed slightly while the star-tyrant thought for a moment, searching the near-infinite associative nexuses of its vast memory-banks. The young humanoid, it answered, named Ween Leever invented an ingenious device known as a scrambler, which allowed the Hazard to escape detection.
How did this device work, great Ylang?
To put it in the simplest terms, dear Blorg, the device literally scrambled the input of all scanning equipment on our vessels and then lost itself, transferring the Hazard's signals to a range well beyond those picked up on existing mechanisms.
Haaass! Blorg recoiled as he remembered the erratic behavior of the Scourge's readout screens the day he shot down the Hazard.
That is how it works in principle,Ylang continued.
For some unknown reason, the young humanoid's mind blurred the technical details, and] did not have time to pry them out. . . Sweet Blorg, you are distrubed. What troubles you?
Father Ylang, the lord of the Ysss replied,] think that I must return to Taylos immediately, and make a brief visit to the waste world known as X-8, Because] am not
What? Ylang interrupted, glowing like the heart of a volcano. And miss the great battle?
This is even more important to me, Father Ylang. . .
Chapter 8
A Day Of Deadly Surprises
Cries of On to Havana!! and Free Havana!! went up in the air of a dozen worlds, as the liberation forces based in the Taylos galaxy made their way to the spaceports, where the silver starships waited. The next stage of the long, hardjoumey to Flaigon had begun. Flags waved in the breeze, helmets gleamed in the sunlight; armies marched and crowds cheered; and the great host drawn from the star-fields of two galaxies held its hopes as high as its proud banners.
Insectoid crowds cheered: humming, buzzing, and droning as the sound of marching bands rose above the wide boulevards and dinned to the skies. Animaloid crowds cheered: yowling, howling, and bellowing as the machines of the ground forces lumbered and rumbled on their way to the startransports. Humanoid crowds cheered: roaring, hollering, and whistling as the bright armies riled into the starships.
The League of Free Worlds had never been in better shape. Volunteers from Taylos swelled it ranks, and the production of war-materials in Primula surpassed all forecast and expectations. In addition to this, an enormous amount of Dark Empire atmospheric craft, weapons, and equipment had fallen to the rebellious Taylians, and most of it had been converted to serve the ends of the liberators. .
Morale was never higher. The myth of imperial invincibility had been shattered, blunting the psychological edge of the enemy's sword. The Primulans, with many successful encounters and two galactic victories under their belts, had become seasoned veterans; and the Taylians (never a bunch to be called peaceful, even in the best of times) were up in arms and spoiling for a fight with anything that wore Ylang-Ylang's colors.
So off they went: bold, assured, and prepared; armed with the might of two powerful galaxies, and armored in the knowledge of the tactics and weaknesses of the enemy. Confidence hung in the air of those worlds with a density equal to that of their atmospheres. They were off and rolling; and the word was out that the slave legions and the hissing brood who served Ylang had better run for cover, because the free people of the allied worlds were on their way to liberate another galaxy!
Needless to say, Garthane's words of caution had about as much effect in the midst of all this tumult as harp notes in a crescendo at the finale of a symphony.
The High Master had persistently warned the allies that Ylang was due to make its next move; but, since no one except Garthane really understood the true nature of the Dark Emperor, no one took his warnings to heart.
Garthane was still disturbed about the strange incident
concerning the H,azard and all aboard her; and he was far from certain that Ylang- Ylang could be discounted so easily. . .
The brazen war-trumpets of the Death Legion brayed -
their savage music of death and destruction in tones as cold and hard as Blorg the Devastator's heart. Jack-boots pounded on the stones of Kordor, as the grim force garrisoned there made its way to the spaceport that had risen to the surface of the black planet. Officers roared their orders throughout the basalt corridors; and the MordJing clones, locked securely away in their vaults, shrieked back at them with the stupefying voices of a chorus of fiends. Hisses shot through the artificial atmosphere like arrows from the bow of the god of vengeance, as the Ysss overlords double-timed their way through the Forbidden City; and when the mute reptiloids issued their telepathic commands, the air rang with the cries of minds as well as voices.
Alone in its lair, the Great Devourer smouldered fitfully, pondering the course of future events like an indecisive god in a long-abandoned temple. Immortality is no guarantee of sound judgment, and the Dark Emperor had its doubts. The latest move in the great galactic game had been a long time coming by the standards of mortal creatures, but to-an entity that stares out over the seas of eternity, it was hardly more than the time it takes to blink an eye. Ylang trafficked in ages and aeons: millennia were days, centuries hours, and years mere seconds. Althought the Devourer lived in the here-and-now, part of it dwelt in the realm of eternity as well. And if on-the-spot decision concerning important matters are rarely easy for mortals, imagine the discomfort such things are capable of inflicting upon the superhuman.
The reek of brimstone permeated the lair as the Lord of Life and Death sputtered and belched like the belly of a dying volcano, its nervous system wracked by the flatulence of indecision. On one hand, the tyrant looked forward to the Havanal encounter with high anticipation, anxious to pluck the fruits of its labors and savor the sweet juices of its confirmed wisdom; on the other, it felt a constant gnawing inside, as the thousand sharp teeth of anxiety nibbled away at the magic mushroom of confidence. Although Ylang regard,ed its imperial designs as a game, the game was far from child's play even for a being as awesome as itself-and the stakes were high.
If the Devourer overplayed its hand, so to speak, all resistance would crumble immediately; and the spectre of cosmic boredom that haunted the Dark Emperor's dreams and whistled behind its throne like a draft through a crack in the window of eternity would be free to descend on its brilliance with all the squalor of sunset over a strip-mine. But if the hand were underplayed, and the current move proved insufficient to retard the progress of the enemy, the result would be still another insult to the imperial presence and an open incitement to further rebellion,
The men and starships of the League of Free Worlds were as nothing to Ylang-mere cannon-fodder and beasts to be led to the slaughter, but the star-tyrant was genuinely distrubed when it appraised the role of the Fellowship of Light. After all, the wee, impudent mannikin who led the order had actually violated the sanctity of the lair, and lived to tell the tale-as jabbering humanoid primates will, the filthy , boastful little beasts!
Garthane's move had been bold and incredibly coura.
geous, the Great Devourer was forced to admit that.
But, on the other hand, his action was also the equivalent of a monkey emptying its bowels on the high altar of a god. . . and Ylang could not permit such a flagrant act of disrespect to go unpunished.
The emperor, by virtue of information received from Blorg's Taylian agents, knew what the Fellowship of Light was up to on the surface of things. It knew that Garthane had recruited furiously, in an attempt to multiply the effect of the order's powers of mind. It knew that the great initiation-ceremony had been postponed when Garthane went back to Yahwoo. And it knew that the substitution of the doubles and the replicated Hazard would throw the High Master's timetable even farther off schedule. . . Knowing all that, Ylang still worried about Garthane and his fellows.
Those two hundred old Primulans may have shattered the armada to smithereens, the tyrant thought, but they'll have to shake down the very walls of the Infinite before they can penetrate the interlocked force-fields of my starships! And yet. . .
BWOA-A-A-A-AAARP! The Devourer belched its distress, filling the immense stone chamber with swirl-ing clouds of black and sulphurous smoke. Acid shock-waves broke over the walls, flaking the living rock and showering a hail of sparks and ashes on the floor. Ylang suffered from atomic indigestion as well as cosmic boredom.
If a mere two hundred of those old monkeys could summon up a tidal wave from the dark heart of the Infinite itself, the ruler of the Dark Empire thought nervously, what would ten or twenty times their number be capable of doing?
Thunder reverberated throughout the vast chamber and the air crackled and flashed like a thousand high-tension cables shorting-out, as the tyrant felt the first twinge of fear it had known in untold ages, an emotion as rare among immortals as teeth in the mouth of birds.
Mortals believe that gods make their own luck; but Ylang, devoted gambler and student of the strange and mysterious ways of the Infinite, knew better. The old Mordling proverb summed up his feeling on the matter: He who pins his hopes on luck often winds up with the point through his heart.
Ylang- Ylang was afraid. . . and it enjoyed the feeling thoroughly. And as fear ate its way into the Devourer's soul, Ylang exploded into a mushroom-cloud of ecstasy.
BAR-R-R-ROOOO-OOO-OOOOM! Ylang's great
anxiety-explosion blew down the bronze doors of the lair and halted all preparation for war in the Forbidden
City. Every living thing in Kordor was knocked to the ground by the blast. And not a soul rose after it had passed, so sure were the inhabitants that Doomsday had corne. Even the dreadful Mordlings stopped howling milli-seconds before they fell flat on their faces, thumping and bumping on the stone floors, smacking the ground with the sound of a barrel of dropped whales. Humanoids stopped breathing. Animaloids stopped breathing. Insectoids stopped breathing. Even the Yss stopped hissing.
Finally, boiling with annoyance like a crucible of radioactive isotopes, the Dark Emperor itself had to order the frightened souls of Kordor back to work.
Silence fell like a shroud over the dead face of the Forbidden City as the trembling legions resumed their activities. The Ysss hissed as softly as new-born snakelets; and for once the horrendous Mordlings choked back their interminable nightmare screams. The center of the Dark Empire grew as quiet as the con.
science of a robot.
Even the star-tyrant was quiet, startled into silence by the ferocious combustion of its ecstasies. It was several minutes before the Devourer dared to resume the flow of its thoughts.
How delightful! How horrible! How incredibly satisfying! Ylang thought. Such a cosmic sensation! . . . I know of nothing to compare with it-murder, torture, domination, conquest. Ylang howled with rapture.
When the after-effects of Its ecstasy had evaporated, Ylang returned to the problem at hand. What if the Fellowship of Light is not crushed this time? What if those overweening little lumps of excrement actually manage to come to Flaigon once again? As far as I know -as far as I can tell-I am immortal. I ndestruc-tible . . . But what if -just what if-those mewling, puking little gobs of corruption could. . . hurt me?
What if they could? . . . I forget what pain is like, but I remember that I never cared for it at all!
Quaarg! Quaarg! Come here-immediately! the Devourer called frantically, regretting that Blorg had just departed on his anxious mission to X-8. But Quaarg would do. The young reptiloid had recently caught the emperor's attention, and impressed it with a glimpse of his potential. Quaarg represented the new breed. He was taller (the young ones all seemed taller to the emperor these days), bolder, stronger, faster, and sharper of mind than the older Ysss. He was a new twig on the branch of the reptiloids' accelerated evolution. Quaarg was worth watching, worth developing. Of course, if Blorg ever got wind of the youngling's potential, that twig would be snapped in two abruptly. But Blorg wouldn't last forever. And when he began to show signs of slowing down. . . Well, there is no such thing as an old Ysss. So . . .
Shuddering like gelatin on a vibrator-belt, all four hands covering his visored face, Quaarg stumbled hastily into the lair and fell prostrate before his lord and master. Absent-mindedly, Ylang realized why the young reptiloid had come into the throneroom unan-nounced; all of the mind-raped heralds who stood
