Eloise

Chapter Thirteen

He was in a shaft three feet square, inching upwards with painful deliberation. Below him lay the bulk of Camolsaer, apparatus turned into cooling slag; containers ruptured, crystals shattered, severed cables still alive with sparkling energy. A conduit had led him to the foot of the shaft, a ventilator which narrowed as he climbed; blocked with grills which he had burned away while the lastorch held power, discarding it to use his knife when it had failed.

Now, supported only by the traction of his boots and hands, he climbed up to where a patch of light shone in the darkness.

Noise came through it; shouts, screams, the scent of burning, wisps of acrid smoke which caught at his lungs. Higher and he saw the grill, crossed bars set in a sturdy frame. He locked his fingers between them, moved his feet up behind him opposite to the grill, his body bent, cramped in the narrow space. He turned, the nape of his neck against the bars, the upper reaches of his shoulders and, with the full strength of his body, thrust his legs against the far wall.

For a moment the grill resisted and then, with a tearing of metal, it yielded; allowing his head and shoulders to pass through, hands to free themselves to grip the edges of the opening before the weight of his legs and hips could pull him back down the shaft.

A jerk and he was falling to the floor of a corridor, ten feet below.

A woman screamed at the sight of him, turning to bump into a man, the pair of them running down the passage in sudden panic. To one side a body lay in a pool of blood; the head crushed, splinters of glass from a shattered bottle lying in a carmine pool. The victim of someone who hoped to escape the Knelling, lying ignored, the desired constituents of his body going to waste. A sure sign of the disorganization of the Monitors, the disruption he had caused.

The pair had run from where smoke billowed at the mouth of a chamber. Dumarest headed towards it, saw a Monitor standing helplessly before a fuming mass of vegetation, caught a glimpse of a wild figure setting more tanks aflame.

"Eloise!"

"Earl!" She came running towards him, almost unrecognizable; her gown torn, face, arms and hands dark with soot, hair frizzled from too-near flame. "Earl! Thank God you made it!" Her arms wrapped around him, tight, demanding; the pressure of her body equaling that of her lips.

"Eloise." With an effort he pushed her away. "Where are the others?"

"In Adara's room, I guess." She stared at him, her eyes wide. "My God, you look a mess. Your clothes! Your face!" Her hand lifted to touch the spots of burn, the seared patches of skin. "Earl?"

"I'm all right." He coughed as smoke caught at his lungs. "Did they get the flying units?"

"I don't know. I've been busy." She gestured at the havoc she had caused. "I guess we've won. The Monitors don't seem to care."

For now, but not for long. They were self-motivated units capable of independent decisions; disorganized now only because of the lack of direct orders from Camolsaer. And even that wouldn't last. Already repair units must be at work on the machine.

"Look at them, Earl. Those damned machines don't know which way to turn. And look at the fires. I started them. I did it. This is the finest day of my life."

"It'll be the last, if you don't hurry."

"Fire," she said dreamily. "The poor man's friend. I heard someone say that once and didn't know what he was talking about. I know now. It's something I'll remember. Just a spark and everyone's equal. More than equal. A poor man has nothing to lose, nothing to go up in flames."

She was transported, almost in ecstasy, something cruel and primitive in her nature responding to the destruction. Coldly Dumarest slapped her cheek, streaks appearing on the sooted flesh. "Earl! You-"

"You're forgetting what this is all about." He gestured at the flames. "We've no time to waste while you gloat. We need food, clothes; a lot of things."

"Clothes?"

"You think you can travel like that?" He looked at her torn gown, the naked flesh it revealed. "The cold would kill you within minutes. And you could use a bath."

"Earl?"

"A cold bath," he snapped. "Maybe it will shock some sanity into you. Now let's get moving."

On the way he stopped at a terminal, resting his hand on the plate.

"Dumarest. What is the external weather?"

"Cold. Some wind. Snow expected."

"How soon?"

"Before dark."

"Direction of wind?"

"From the south."

Bad news; worse was the fact that Camolsaer still seemed to be functioning. At least it was answering questions in a precise manner. Dumarest tested it further.

"There is a dead man close to this terminal."

"Dead… dead… dead…" "Fires are spreading. Compartment 34 is flooded. A Monitor has been crushed in room 812."

A buzz came from the grill-the section of the mechanical brain dealing with variable factors was obviously inoperative.

Dumarest said, "Where is Dras?"

Again the buzz. Satisfied, he turned from the installation.

"What was that all about?" Eloise was puzzled. "I can understand you wanting to know about the weather, but why all the rest?"

"A test. The weather report must be on a different circuit. The main thing is that Camolsaer no longer knows what is going on in the city."

"You wrecked it, Earl."

"Not wrecked, it was too big for that; but I managed to damage it a little. Let's hope the damage will last long enough."

"Long enough?"

"For us to leave the city."

* * * * *

Arbush had been busy. He was surrounded by a mass of clothing; soft furs, garments of warm fabric, boots, hats, an assortment which Adara had gathered from a dozen rooms. Now the man stood at the ledge before the serving hatch.

"Eloise!" He turned as she entered the room, his face brightening, some of the shadows lifting from his eyes. "My dear, I thought you were hurt I wanted to look for you but-"

"I wouldn't let him," interrupted Arbush. "Not until we had everything ready. It's good to see you, Earl. Success?"

"Of a kind." Dumarest looked at the clothes, then pushed the woman towards the bathroom. "Strip and get washed. Dirt is a poor insulator against the cold."

"You'll join me, Earl?"

He ignored the invitation, turning to stare at the minstrel where he sat, his face hard.

"Why didn't you get the units?"

"We tried, Earl. Three times. Once we managed to get a wedge started against the lock, but a Monitor arrived and brushed us away. I tried to distract it with fire, but it was no good. The damned thing was still there when we left." Arbush shrugged, glancing at Adara. "So I thought it best to do what we could."

"I failed," said Adara. "I did my best, but it wasn't good enough. Arbush is being kind."

"What are you doing?"

"Ordering food." The minstrel waved to where bundles stood close to the door. "Meats, pastes, oils, food and things to provide fuel. Some wine; they didn't have brandy."

"The means to start a fire?"

Arbush lifted a can tied to a thong, smoke oozing from ragged holes punched in the metal.

"Burning rag," he explained. "Give it a swing and it will flare to life. A thing I learned on Falfard."

As Dumarest had learned it long ago; a primitive method of transporting fire, simple, cheap, effective.

"We'd better carry one each," he said. "And ropes? Did you make some rope?"

Arbush had been thorough. Strips of fabric had been plaited into tough cords, the cords again plaited to form lengths of rope. Dumarest tested one, frowning. They were too short to give real aid if they had to climb, but they would serve to join one to the other. An essential piece of equipment in case of emergency. And a length of rope had many uses.

Adara said, wonderingly, "Earl, all these preparations. I thought we were going to fly over the ice, not walk."

"We may have to do both."

"But the units-"

"We haven't got them yet." Dumarest softened his tone a little; the man couldn't help being what he was. "We've traveled over the ice, you haven't. The units could fail, anything; and only a fool doesn't plan for an emergency. Eloise!"

"Coming, Earl!"

She was naked, unabashed, her skin dusted with powder, fresh paint on her lips and nails; the upper lids of her eyes thick with a blue shadow flecked with silver. More silver bound her hair.

Arbush sucked in his breath. "My lady, you are beautiful!"

She smiled at the compliment, her eyes on Dumarest.

"You wanted me, darling?"

"Get dressed." He was curt, seeing the look in Adara's eyes, knowing the danger of a man who could have lost the wish and will to live. "Adara, help her. Plenty of layers, topped with the thickest furs you can find. Never mind about appearance. Just cover her up so as to keep her warm. Yourself also. We must all get ready."

When finished they looked grotesque; shapes padded and tied almost beyond recognition, faces narrowed beneath enclosing hoods.

Sweating, Arbush distributed the bundles; tying his own, with the neck of the gilyre protruding, to his belt. They were ready to go, but one thing remained to be done.

"Adara, listen to me." Dumarest faced the man, holding his eyes. "There's one thing you've got to remember. You can't lose. Always bear that in mind. If you haven't realized it yet, you're as good as dead. No matter what you do now you can't make things worse. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Earl. Arbush has already explained all that."

"I'm not asking if you know it. I want to know if you accept it. In here." Dumarest rested a finger over the man's heart. "In your guts. You've got to want to survive."

The instinct which in him was so strong, in others so unaccountably weak. He had seen it on a dozen worlds; men sentenced to execution, waiting patiently while watched by a handful of guards. They could have attacked, snatched weapons, died doing it, perhaps; but at least they would have tried. And they would have lost nothing.

"Adara?"

"Yes, Earl. I understand."

Dumarest wasn't so sure. The eyes were still dull, the face lax, resigned. A man moving because of external influences, not because of internal decision. A weakness which could cost them all their lives.

And then, seeing the shift of his eyes as the woman moved, Dumarest knew both the reason and the answer.

"You love her," he said quietly. "You cannot imagine life without her. And you think you have lost her. You haven't. Once we reach safety, she will be yours. I promise that I will not take her with me. She will be yours."

A lie, perhaps; no one could demand that another subjugate personal desires, but at least a part of it was the truth. He repeated it, watching Adara's eyes.

"I shall not take her with me. If you live, you will have all you think necessary for happiness."

Adara brightened, a man in love eager to hear reassurance. "You promise, Earl? You will not take her from me?"

"I promise."

It had to be enough, there was no time for more; already they had lingered too long.

* * * * *

The air at the north gate was clear; the area deserted, aside from a Monitor which stood close to the store which was their target. Too close to suit Dumarest's plan. He walked towards it, hands behind him, the hammers gripped in his fingers, halting well beyond reach of the arms.

"Move!" he snapped. "You're wanted on the upper levels."

"Man Dumarest, you will leave this place." The head turned, glowing lenses registering the presence of the others. "None of you should be here. You will leave immediately."

"No." Dumarest edged forward, moving sidewise, occupying the thing's attention, "You will obey. Go at once to the upper level."

Behind the Monitor he caught sight of movement. Arbush creeping close, one end of the length of rope in his hands; the other held by Adara, the strand taut between them. The Monitor had turned, but was still too close to the store, the locked door they had to force open. Barely three feet of space between its shoulder and the wall-it had to be enough.

"Now!"

Eloise screamed; a high, nerve-stopping sound, shocking in its raw implication of agony. The Monitor glanced towards her, taking one step in her direction and, as the gap widened, Arbush moved.

He lunged like a furred ball, the rope in his hands; thrusting his bulk between the Monitor and the wall, past the tall, metallic figure. As the rope tightened Dumarest sprang, taking three steps forward; lifting his feet as he flung himself at the Monitor, his boots slamming with the full weight of his body against the upper torso. Thrown back by the impact the thing hit the rope, blow and drag working in opposite directions, levers which sent it off-balance to crash to the ground.

Then Dumarest was on it, hammers lifting, falling; smashing the lenses, the elbows, the joints of the legs.

"Quick!" Eloise was at the door, a wedge rammed into the point above the lock. "Hurry, Earl!"

He was already at work, the hammer a blur as he slammed it down, a tool too light for the job; its lack of mass having to be compensated by the muscles of his arms, back and shoulders. Above the sound of the blows, he heard the minstrel's snarl.

"Another of the damned things. Remember, Adara; hold the rope tight, catch its legs and pull."

A plan hastily improvised, depending on shrewd teamwork, the will to survive.

A crash and another Monitor was down; Arbush yelling as he wielded the other hammer, aiming for the electronic eyes.

"Earl!"

"The bar." He threw the hammer into her hands and snatched the strip of metal. The flattened end slipped into the gap he had made with the wedge, now knocked free. Gripping the far end, he heaved.

"Arbush!" The bar was too short, his strength insufficient. "To me! Eloise, take the rope and work with Adara. Move!"

Dumarest sucked in his breath as the minstrel joined him, plump hands locking over his own.

"On the word. Get ready. Now!"

Again he heaved, legs straddled, back arched, blood darkening his fingernails. Arbush added his strength, pushing, breath rasping, boots clamped against the floor. The bar yielded a little.

"Earl!"

Eloise, her voice high, rising above the drone of an approaching Monitor; but there was no time to look.

"Damn it!" gasped Arbush. "So near-"

He lunged forward as something broke with a rip of metal; his weight hit Dumarest, sending him staggering back, the bar still in his hand. Beyond the rounded figure he could see the woman and Adara, the rope between them looped around the legs of a Monitor; another was advancing, hands extended.

The bar left his hand, hurtling across the fifty feet of space between them to slam its length against the painted face, the glowing eyes.

"The units!" The door of the store was open wide, Arbush delving inside where compact mechanisms hung on brackets; smoothly rounded and shaped metal fitted with an elaborate harness. "We've got them-but there's no time."

Dumarest thrust him aside. In a row, held in clips, stood a line of squat cylinders fitted with grips, a movable projection. He snatched one, saw the orifice at one end, the sights on the barrel and found the release. A weapon which, of necessity, would be rendered harmless before being stored. Unloaded, perhaps, certainly uncocked. He dragged at the projection, felt it slide, heard a soft click.

"Down!" he shouted. "All of you, down!"

He hit the floor as they obeyed, cradling the weapon, aiming it at the Monitor who had fallen and was now regaining its feet; closing his finger on the trigger as the sights came into line. A thread of fire spat from the muzzle reaching towards the torso, to dissolve in a gush of flame, a roaring explosion.

A second shot and the other Monitor joined the first, lying in broken wreckage; shattered plates blasted open to reveal inner mechanisms, the freed liquids of a crystal container, the pulped mass of the residual brain.

"God!" Eloise rose, hands clamped to her ears, a bit of blood showing at one nostril. "That was close, Earl. You damned near burst my eardrums."

"You'll live. Get into one of the units."

"What?" She had forgotten the hands at her ears. Dropping them, she came towards him. Irritably Dumarest gestured her aside.

"Don't stand in the line of fire. It won't take long for more Monitors to get here. Now get into one of those flying units. Adara! You know how they are used. Instruct us."

Basically they were simple; a power-pack activating anti-gravity plates, straps which went over the shoulders, around the torso, up between the thighs. The lift was from the base of the pack, controlled by a simple switch. Direction was governed by movements of the body.

"First you lift," said Adara. "When you get high enough, you throw your head and upper body forward. There are automatic compensating plates so that you don't fall. If you can manage to remain straight, with your head in the direction you want to go, you'll get maximum velocity."

"And if you want to twist, face back in the direction from which you came?"

"You can do it, Earl. You'll have to adjust the lift, of course; otherwise you'll keep rising." Adara made a helpless gesture. "Mostly it's a matter of practice."

Which the Monitors had and they did not. And there was no time to do more than test, to see if the units held power.

Already the Monitors were arriving, tall shapes glinting as they strode down the corridors leading to the gate. From the store Dumarest handed each one a gun, tucking another beneath his harness. Adara looked blankly at the one in his hands.

"What do I do with it, Earl?"

"You cock it, so. Then you point it at what you want to hit and squeeze that trigger. Now outside, all of you!"

The last to go, he paused at the door; turning, the weapon leveled in his hands. The Monitors were close; fragments whined, striking the wall to one side, smoke and flame tainting the air as he blasted them to ruin. Again he fired, sending missiles into the open store, filling it with destruction; explosions occurred as the contents erupted in a burst of energy which sent metal running in a molten tide.

The other units ruined, the weapons; time gained as they got away.

Outside the cold struck like a knife, numbing exposed cheeks, hands and fingers. Dumarest donned thick gloves and hit the control, rising with the others, passing them, slowing as he made an adjustment.

"Arbush, stay close!"

The minstrel was high and drifting to one side. With a jerk he twisted in mid-air, legs lifting as he leveled out in an upward-sloping glide. Eloise, with her dancer's agility, had quickly mastered the elementary system of control. She reached for the plump shape, caught at a strap and brought him into line. Adara was far to the south.

"Catch him!" Dumarest caught up with the others and gripped the woman's arm, nodding towards Adara. "Keep up with him. Hold his hand, but don't let him get away. We have to stay together."

She twisted, smiling.

"Let him go, Earl. We don't need him."

"He needs us."

"I didn't mean forget him. We just don't need what he can teach us. These things are easy to handle."

For her, perhaps, but not for the minstrel. He darted from side to side; over-compensating, dipping to rise, to twist. Dumarest passed over him, gripped his other arm.

"We'll hold him between us, Eloise. Now let's get Adara."

He had slowed and was waiting. Together, like a flock of ungainly birds, hands clasped for mutual aid, they rose up and flew away from the city.

Eloise laughed as she saw it shrink, to dwindle and lose itself in the wilderness.

"The end, Earl. Five years of hell and now I'm free. Free. And I owe it all to you."

"We're not clear yet, Eloise."

"We will be," she said confidently. "And when we are, I'll show you what gratitude really means. What a woman in love can do for her man. When we're alone I'll-"

A gust of wind drowned the rest of her words and Dumarest was glad of it. Adara would be listening, but more important was the woman's attitude of mind. While she dreamed of the future, she would tend to ignore the dangers of the present.

Releasing his grip Dumarest turned and looked towards the rear, seeing nothing. As he resumed his former position Arbush muttered, "Earl, it's damned cold."

It was freezing. The wind was against them, a frigid blast which robbed their bodies of heat. Flying took little physical effort and they were inviting hypothermia, despite the muffling garments.

"Well land after a while," said Dumarest. "Walk on for a time and warm ourselves up."

"When?"

"Soon." It would have to be soon. Adara was hunched, trembling; Eloise now silent, her face a deathly white. Softened by the city, they were ill-suited to rigor. "In an hour."

An hour of flight; then twenty minutes in which they stumbled over the ice, beating numbed hands, generating heat by the activity of their bodies; then into the air again always into the wind, always heading towards the south.

And, at dusk, came the snow.