Robert E Mills, page 13
directly outside in the antechamber were buried beneath the great bronze doors, blown down in the throes of Ylang's ecstasy. But that was not important; there were more where they came from.
My master summons and his servant attends, Quaarg telepathed timidly, his brainwaves wobbling like a hal-'
lucination on an oscilloscope.
Yes, my boy, the Devourer answered gently, by-passing the pleasures of intimidation for the reassur-ance of clarity. I desire you to perform a little errandfor me.
Master, ask the impossible-ask the unthinkable-and I will do it gladly! For mighty Ylang, I would enter into the jaws of Death himself. . . and return with his grinding teeth.
That's another thing, the Devourer thought privately. This youngling has the gift of eloquence. Had Blorg attempted lines like those, he would have strangled to death on his own tongue. And Quaarg has a wit as sharp and sure as an executioner's blade. That is something that Blorg never possessed.
Yes, sweet Quaarg, the Devourer purred mellowly, flicking out a dark tendril from the lower part of its mass and tickling the soles of the prostrate reptiloid's feet with a teaser of unholy ecstasy. Quaarg shivered uncon-trollably, his body-armor rapping on the stones like the drum-roll that accompanies a march to the gallows.
Ylang knew how to motivate its employees when it chose to.
Here is what I wish you to do, my little night-crawler A star-burst exploded in Quaarg's mind and melted over the corridors of his consciousness with the sticky and cloying sweetness of a bomb made of candy. Images flashed onto the screen of his setience, and Ylang was the projector.
He saw the vast realms of the Dark Empire-starting with the central point of Flaigon and the Morde galaxy telescope out and dissolve into different galactic seg-ments, as the mental star-chart shifted its co-ordinates before his mind's eye. Each realm was marked by an overlay of shadow and the spiked-star insignia, both designations of imperial ownership. All the star-seas Quaarg viewed were marked in this fashion but one. . .
and that was the one that suddenly zoomed into sharp focus in his mind.
See this place, sweet Quaarg? That is where you shall go . . . to deliver a little message for your father.
Holy Ylang, Quaarg blurted out telepathically, with the impulsiveness of youth, this galaxy sits like a lone island in the otherwise unbroken sea of your possessions. It does not bear your stamp. Why does it remain free, my lord?
You are quick in your perceptions, youngling, Ylang replied admiringly, and your talents do not pass un-noticed. But that is more rhan you need to know at present. It is not relevant to your mission, so lct your attention be directed elsewhere.
I am the incarnation of Ylang's will, Quaarg replied humbly, impressing the tyrant with his attention to
court etiquette.
That is good, my child. Very good. You will go to the place you have just seen and address the beings to whom I send the message I am about to imprint upon your consciousness.
The Hazard, or rather the replica of that good ship counterfeited by Ylang- Ylang's arts, was the first craft to lift off from Yahwoo as Operation Havanal began.
Commander Ozain had granted this signal honor to the heroes of Primula in the interests of morale and liaison as the expedition lifted-off from a dozen worlds in Taylos. After all, Rian and his crew were all Taylians, and to represent the galaxy ofPrimula, Garthane, Dann Oryzon, and the lady Nila of Aurea Solis were present as well. The joint-strategy of the League and the Fellowship was about to be implemented for the third time, as the bright ships took to the air. Watching the Hazard streak off, Supreme Commander Ozain and Brother Camenarpo, Garthane's second-in-command, nodded to each other and smiled.
"Two minutes to hyperspace entry," a computer-voice intoned monotonously throughout the Hazard.
Garthane sat beside Dann, his features composed in their accustomed expression of serenity. Red Rian leaned back in the pilot's seat and looked over his shoulder at the High Master.
"No trance this time, Garthane?" he asked. "Think we're gonna take HavanaI that easily?"
Garthane stared at Rian, ahaIf-smile on his lips. "The trance will come later, Captain Rian." He noticed that Purpur darted a surprise look at him. Nila swivelled around in her seat to fact him, and Dann turned as well.
Rian left the controls to the felinoid, and spun his chair around in Garthane's direction. "That's too bad,"
he said, a strange, faraway look coming into his eyes.
"Somewhat unexpected," Nila added. Garthane turned to look at her, and saw the same cold look in her eyes. He looked into his son's eyes.
"We hadn't planned on that," Dann told him, his eyes now as empty as those of his companions.
"I don't understand," Garthanereplied. "What does my entering into a mind-lock have to do with your. . .
plans?" As he said this, Dann smiled a smile as cold and cruel as a shipwreck in an arctic sea.
"Because, Garthane," Red Rian answered, "It would have been much simpler to ice you in that state."
The High Master saw the pirate's hand move at his side, and when he looked down he was staring into the black mouth of a zapper.
He glanced at the others, and saw the same grim sight.
"What are you going to do?" he asked, in level, measured tones.
His eyes as cold as the grave, Red Rian grinned the most evil grin that Garthane had ever seen. "We're going to kill you. . . ""Commander Ozain," the co-pilot shouted in the League's flagship, "Look at the screens! We're losing contact with Captain Rian' s ship!
BOO-WHOOO-O-OOOSH! The Scourge's outer-plating flared like an incendiary-rocket as the starship burst into the atmosphere of X-8 at maximum entry speed. Scramber! Scramber! The word rang out and repeated over and over in Blorg's mind like a shout in an echo-chamber. Damn the light, damn the day! Blorg swore, hissing with anxiety as he activated the long-range scanners. Rian was space-scum and a hairy, humanoid ape, but he was no fool. What if he did activate the device that had once enabled him to slip through the massive security force that guarded Flaigon? What if he had been able to simulate that great explosion and crash-land on X-8? What if he and Nila and Dann Oryzon and all the others were still alive?
Womp! Blorg smashed his black-gloved fist down on the control console, causing the reptiloid who sat beside him to straighten up like a shot. The Devastator had just given the order to activate the metal-detectors when his co-pilot spoke up.
Two starships approaching, my lord. They just lifted-offfrom X-8, and are headed right for us.
Haaass! Could one of them be the Hazard? Blorg doubted it. It had been days since he shot the starship down, and if Rian had been at all able, he would have long since limped back to League Headquarters on Yahwoo. But Blorg's Taylian spies had reported nothing of the sort. Only the cloned doubles were there, having been "rescued" when the counterfeit Hazard was spotted.
And they should have completed their mission afew minutes ago, the lord of the Ysss thought, shortly after the invasion force left for Havanal. That old fool, Garthane, should be dead by now. . .
Blorg watched the two blips enter the grid of the naviscren. Activate I.D. scanner, he ordered, and give me the details on those two ships.
The co-pilot nodded and depressed a series of keys on the console. An amber flash lit up one of the screens before him as the identity read-outs appeared on the lines of its grid.
Blorg leaned over and depressed the keys that activated the Scourge's force-field. He looked out the front window-panel and watched as the silver nimbus, faint now in the harsh light of X-8's glaring sun, began to spread over the bow of his starship. He didn't know who the intruders were, but he intended to waste little time disposing of them.
The lord of the Yss felt the cold thoughts of his co-pilot slither into his mind. Two ships-of-the-line, my lord. Of old Taylian make, from sector nine of that galaxy. Well-armed and well-shielded. Probably of Valsing manufacture.
Womp! Blorg's fist slammed down on the console again. Valsings! he thought, in a fit of annoyance. How in the name of the pit can those be Valsing ships? he barked mentally. I destroyed them all when I irradiated their homeworld. This made him think of the order he gave to irradiate Urgel . . . Red Rian's homeworld.
That is positive identification, Lord Blorg, the co-pilot informed him. The two blips had almost reached
the center of the screen.
Decelerate to Mach one-point-five, Blorg ordered.
He switched on the Scourge's intercom and transmitted his thoughts. Stand by, all hands. Enemy approaching off the starboard bow. I don't have time to play with these fools, so hit them with everything you've got.
Once they have been destroyed, we will go down to X-8
From the edge pf the clearing, Red Rian watched the Scourge blow the first Valsing ship out of the sky. He scowled as he turned to face Ordlar. "Damn it! I told you not to engage that ship. That's Blorg, all right, and he's come back looking for the Hazard."
The burly Valsing tugged at his beard, deep in thought. "Zeif!" he called out, suddenly raising his head. His wife emerged from the Hazard and ran to his side. "Here is what we must do, Zeif Ysss-killer, Ordlarsaid. "This is a rare chance to avenge our people and settle the blood-debt in full. Blorg is up there. He has come to pay Red-beard a little visit. He shall find him." The Valsing grinned wickedly. "And you shall find him, my love. . . and send him on a one-way trip to the depths."
Zeifs pale blue eyes glittered like ice floes in the sunlight; she nodded and smiled the bloodthirsty smile of the Valsings.
"You will take a quarter of the crew," Ordlar told her, and prepare a fitting welcome for the scaly beast."
Rian noticed that Zeif was breathing heavily; it looked as if she were becoming physically aroused by the thought of blood. "I will take the others," Ordlar went on, "and, using the boy's scrambler-device, escape from Azitlin." Zeifnodded again, still smiling that cruel smile.
"And then I will make my last voyage. . . to Flaigon," Ordlar told her. "Where I will bring the Dark Emperor's walls down on his head."
Oh, brother, Rian thought, shaking his head. Are you in for a surprise!
Ordlar turned away from Zeif and pointed a finger up at Purpur. "And you-Tenoxatli ," he growled, sneering the Valsings' highly-developed sneer of contempt.
"You must excuse me if I beg off from our schedule engagement, but I have more pressing business.
Perhaps in another life. . . "
Tenoxatli snarled at him. But he, too, had other fish to fry. Rian sighed with relief. Facing Blorg is bad enough, he thought, without having to waste precious time disposing of this death-oriented goon.
Ordlar turned to his wife and hugged her. Then they kissed as tenderly as young lovers. And when they had parted from their embrace, Ordlar said, "We will meet, on the other side of the stars."
Humanoid nature is the damnedest thing, Rian philosophized. It even allows butchers to get romantic every now and then.
Ordlar turned to Rian and held out his hand. The two men clasped forearms, Valsing-style. "You're on your own, Red-beard. Go back and liberate Havanal after Zeifpresents you with a snake-skin."
Not if I see Blorg first, Rian thought, grinning at the couple. "Good luck, kids," he said, as they hurried off.
"And good hunting!"
"Death will work overtime this day," Zeif yelled back over her shoulder. just before she and Ordlar ducked into the Valsing ship. Overhead, the Scourge sent the second ship down in flames.
Rian grabbed Purpur's arm and pulled him in the direction of the Hazard. "Wow," he said. "You'dthink those two were getting set to go to a birthday banquet."
Purpur growled at the thought of Ordlar, and shook his leonine mane. "Save it for old bonehead,"Rian told him as they entered the Hazard.
"Ween! Ween Leever!" Rian bellowed, as soon as he was inside the ship. Ween's frizzy blond head popped-up from behind the control-console. "Weenie-boy,"
the pirate said, "how soon can you ~et us shipshape?"
Blorg watched the blip that represented Ordlar's ship enter the screen. His four fists thundered down on the console with the sound of a demented storm-god's drum. Damn it! How many of them must I blast out of the skies before I can land this stinking ship? They must be using theftlthy place as a hide-out. The delay had put the Devastator in a foul mood.
That's the last scanner reading I get, Lord Blorg, the co-pilot replied.
What about the detectors?
Two possibles, but I'm not even sure they're s.tarships. Could be ore-formations or slag-heaps. It's hard to say.
One of them may be an ore formation, the lord of the Ysss replied. But the other one'has to be the Hazard-I'm sure of that! He studied the blip on the screen before him. Prepare to engage! He leaned over and squinted into the master-gunsight for the bow-section and lined up the enemy in its cross-hairs.
Haaa-aa-aaass! Suddenly the electronic image disappeared. The read-outs are going haywire! the co-pilot exclaimed, his thought-voice strident in Blorg's mind.
Scramblers! Scramblers! The lord of the Ysss hissed like a three-G cooker. There's only one ship they could have got a scrambler from-the Hazard's got to be down there!
Maybe the Valsings killed Rian, the co-pilot ventured, and all that's left down there are his bones. .
Well, I want them for my walls! Blorg shouted telepathically, slapping the co-pilot on the side of his helmet. And I'll drink my wine out of his skull tonight, if that's the case. Take us down-now!
"The Hazard's gone, sir," Ozain's co-pilot told him.
"Captain Rianjust scrambled and took off. I've lost all trace of the ship."
Ozain bent over and cupped his head in his hands.
Here we are, he thought, on our way to liberate an occupied galaxy and all of a sudden the Hazard disappears taking Rian and Garthane with it, at the time we need them most.
He tumedto the man with the face of a serene hawk.
"Camenarpo," he growled, in a deep voice that rasped like sandpaper on the bottom of a barrel, "What the hell is going on here?"
Flying low over the stone pyramids, the Scourge opened fire with its laser-cannon, blasting the priests off the high alters and scattering the crowds on the ground below. Blorg stared at the forward vidscreen and watched the panic-stricken inhabitants of Azitlin bolt for the cover of the rain forest.
I've spotted a ship, the co-pilot told him, and it looks like the Hazard, my lord. Over there, off to the side of the pyramids.
Haaass! Blorg sat up in his seat. Take her down now, he ordered. Touch down at the opposite end of that row of pyramids. We're going hunting. . . "
Quaarg paced the quarter-deck on his starship, the Malice, driven by a metabolism accelerated by the elec-tricty of ambition. He ducked through the hatch on his left, and turned to enter his cabin. Once inside, he, walked over to the far wall and stood before a large, black locker. Its door swung open when Quaarg interrupted its photo-beam lock with a wave of his hand. A large lumi-mirror on the inside of the door activiated and Quaarg stepped back to admire himself in it, all four arms akimbo as he struck a haughty pose.
Taller than Blorg, he thought. Handsomer than Blorg. Trimmer than Blorg. Younger-much
younger-than Blorg. He studied his reflection for a moment, then saluted smartly and bowed. When he straightened up, Quaarg was hissing with satisfaction.
He was much impressed with himself, and fully aware as his ship sped toward the mysterious galaxy of the signal honor accorded him by the Dark Emperor. It meant that Ylang was grooming him to be Blorg's eventual successor. . . the new lord of all the Y sss.
Quaarg shivered as he recalled the dark whisper of ecstasy Ylang had touched him with back in the lair. He looked forward eagerly to the murderous delirium that would one day be his by right. It would take some time before it was his, but he could wait. Reptiloids were very good at waiting.
However, if Blorg realized what Ylang had in mind, he would never rest until his rival was out of the way.
But I am under the Devourer's protection, Quaarg thought confidently, and Blorg will not find out. . .
until it is too late.
The future looked bright. Quaarg was so happy at that moment he could have drunk cold blood instead of warming it in the proper Y sss fashion.
But one thing puzzled the young reptiloid: Why was Ylang- Ylang so secretive concerning the unknown beings who ruled the strange galaxy? How did they ever remain free-a lone island in the vast sea of imperial domination? And what was the Great Devourer's relationship to these mysterious entities?
No sense worrying about that, now, Quaarg thought.
I'll have more input soon enough. He raised his lower left arm and looked at the intergalactic metrochronome-ter on his wrist, the pressure of his attention illuminat-
ing the read-outs on its face. Hmmm. It won't be long before our star fleet engages the ships of the League on the rim of Havanal. . .
After the first wave of Death Legion commandos had debarked and formed a defense perimeter around the ship, Blorg thundered down the Scourge's flexiladder.
In his upper hands he held a high-gamma laser-rifle of magnum caliber; holstered at his sides were two huge zappers, safeties off and set at maxi-blast. He paced back and forth impatiently as the rest of his party filed out of the ship and formed into ranks on the edge of the clearing. His eyes travelled over the long row of stone pyramids that stretched out before him. There was no sign of activity whatsoever. He turned around and peered into the thick underbrush of the rain forest.
From a reptiloid' s point of view, it was a good place to go hunting.
All present and accountedfor, my lord, the Y sss who was his second-in-command told him. Blorg turned and surveyed the ranks. Five hundred Death Legion commandos, mostly animaloid and insectoid, and five Ysss officers: more than sufficient to hunt down Rian and his-companions. He anticipated no difficulty whatever in dealing with the runty humanoid savages who inhabited the straw huts and primitive masonry buildings that stood behind the far end of the row of pyramids.
The ones we miss on the ground, he thought, I will order wiped out from the air. Two low-yield missiles-the dirty ones with theftfty-year half-Life-should do the job nicely.
