Requiem for the Conqueror

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?"

"Depends on the size of the adit they're drifting. The larger the bore—"

"Minimum time for a small hole?"

"Five hours at a guess." The young man shrugged helplessly, expression nervous. "Depends on if they're using a counter bore or a radial sectioning—"

"Come on, we need an engineering crew. We've got to block the end of the tunnel leading into the Study Center. We've got to make it look real good, you hear?" Staffa left at a run.

Commander Rysta Braktov paced angrily around Gyton's bridge. Her officers — intimates through the years, all of them — knew her posture, knew her ire. They kept their heads bowed to instruments, all except the first officer who slumped slackly in the command chair, worry-cap covering his head.

The main bridge monitor framed Sinklar Fist's young face. In the background a mountain could be seen illuminated by spotlights and flares. The place looked eerie in the artificial light. Machinery could be heard through the pickup.

"Why not let me blast that rock into powder?" Rysta growled. "Safer that way, no danger to our people."

"Because we can't be sure of the final results and we won't get any prisoners," Sinklar told her, weird eyes leaving her with a spooky feeling. "What if this leader of theirs, this Bruen, is alive and healthy in Kaspa? What if there are more assassins like Arta Fera prowling the Empire? Minister Takka wants to break the Seddi and eliminate their threat. To do that, we need some of the ringleaders — like Bruen — who will divulge important information."

"And for that you'll waste the lives of your troops in their warrens?"

"I have a way to minimize risk. I want those caverns swept so none of the Seddi can possibly escape. The only way to make sure is to comb and sound every square inch of that rock to be sure none have hidden away with a mining machine that can bore out later."

"Very well," Rysta acquiesced blandly. "I await further orders."

She glared at the bridge comm after it went dead, her gnarly ringers tightening — as they might around a neck.

"Why is he fooling around down there," Rysta grated to no one in particular. "One salvo of crust-busters, and that whole mountain would tumble in on top of them!" She smacked a chair back with a hard hand and glared at the screens, "As if Tybalt cared for prisoners!"

"He's a madman," First Mykroft interjected from the side.

Rysta gave him a hair-curling glare.

"Oh," Mykroft promised. "I'll get him eventually. Jessant-de-lis or no. Tybalt himself may back him for the moment, but Sinklar Fist is too brash, too wild. He'll trap himself in the end. and my time will come."

"Comm First?" Rysta asked, ignoring Mykroft's ranting. "You get that message off to fleet yet?"

"Yes, Commander. Went top priority, direct to the Minister of Defense."

"Top priority!" she hissed. "And that cheap cocksqueeze, Ily Takka, is halfway to Rega by now — and in my ship to boot!" She smacked the chair back again. "It's time I got out of this miserable job and got me some pretty boys to relax with on Rega. That black-haired bitch will have my throat cut before I know it."

In the glaring white spotlights, MacRuder checked his troops: the finest of the First Division. He playfully pounded an anxious man on the back, then shot a quick joke at a grim-faced young woman as he worked his way down the line. Around them the night pressed down, a bitter chill in the air. Clouds

had blotted out the stars, and the wind bore the damp scent of rain.

In the background, the generators puttered and the grinding howl of the mining machine poured from the square hole that slanted into the mountain. A round tube that housed a mucking screw pumped crushed rock out into a tailings pile. Beyond that, the sound of heavy ordnance could be heard as other Sections of the First mauled the Seddi cliff below.

Three Sections — almost six hundred men and women— flint-hard veterans of the Targan campaigns. One or two, like himself, dated back to that first drop. They had all become his responsibility. He alone would be inside during the last battle, linked to Sinklar by a slender cable for communications as they wound through the Seddi warren. Mac flushed with pride as he looked at his command where they stood shoulder to shoulder.in fresh new battle armor, polished helmets and blasters gleaming in the blinding lights.

"Well, this is it, people," he told them as he finished his inspection. "We break the Seddi and we're off to Rega. You know the Minister of Internal Security thinks we're pretty hot stuff. Well, she's making sure the whole stinking Empire knows it!" / hope!

They belted out a cheer.

"All right, we're going into the hole. That racket you hear is our friends and comrades in arms battering the outside tunnels, soaking up Seddi attention. They've been pounding the mountain pretty hard to keep the enemy's thoughts elsewhere while we cut the tunnel.

"Now, listen, you scum, comm won't work thugh solid rock. We've only got line-of-sight except for the cable, you hear? So keep cool if your set suddenly goes silent. It doesn't mean you're the only living being left on the planet. Now, the next thing is to. "

Mac stopped as a whisper ran through the ranks, elbows jabbing, heads turning.

A hot bellow of rage died on Mac's lips as he followed their stares, seeing the familiar skinny figure of Sinklar Fist walking toward them, head back as if to view the ominous heavens, mop of black hair tossing in the night breeze.

The gimlet-eyed cocky stare of his troops had changed to one of eager anticipation. Like children they gaped, wideeyed, cheeks flushing with color.

Mac took a breath and nodded, knowing the feeling. Sinklar walked closer, eyes still raised, his concentration evident under the white-hot glare of the spots. He seemed so small — almost gawky — but an aura of power seemed to radiate from that narrow-boned frame.

Mac's mouth went dry. Could this really be the fumbly kid he'd made the Kaspa drop with that night so long ago? What had happened to that doe-eyed undernourished youth? Here, before them, walked a hero.

Sinklar stopped and looked around as if he'd just noticed them. And the mystical awe vanished from the eyes of the troops as backs stiffened, stomachs tightened, and eyes stared straight forward. They were warriors now, every inch, every drop of blood in their veins — professionals.

Mac had seen it before: men and women changed by a simple glance from Sinklar. What strange power in those eyes — one yellow, one gray — to mold and inspire like that.

Sinklar nodded absently, a tired smiSe on his lips as he looked at them. His high voice carried in the night, most uncommanding — yet it held them pinned in place. "We dropped here to stop a rebellion by the Seddi." He turned sideways to the light and stamped his foot. "Well, my friends, we have them!"

A shift of breeze moved through the ranks.

"We all loved Gretta Artina. She fought with us, bled with us, stumbled under the load with us," Sinklars voice lanced them with pain and a feeling of injustice. "Except Gretta wasn't the only one, was she? No, each and every one of you have watched a friend, a lover, a companion die in fear and pain. We've been exploded with blasters, sliced with lasers, and torn with pulse fire. We've died in flames and darkness, gravity flux, and by the knife. Yet we still

stand, and the evil that brought us here awaits the final conflict."

He stepped up to a young man who quivered at his proximity, eyes shining

in the actinic glare. "So we go now. go to finish this before we return to Rega." Sinklar patted the flushed young man. "Down there," he cried, "you will be alone in the blackness. Alone in the Seddi tunnels with your tormentors!" His voice dropped. "You know what to do, my veterans."

Sinklar paced down the line, hands locked behind his back. "But I promise you this! Each and every one of you will be accounted for before we leave this godforsaken rock! Accounted for if I have to turn this planet upside down— because I want you alive. I… I need you all." His voice grew husky. "I'm so proud of you all." Sinklar turned then and walked away into the darkness.

For several seconds they watched him disappearing back toward his LC. The cheer came spontaneously, rattling the very rocks. MacRuder barely realized his own voice had oined the swell of sound.

Mac bit back a knot in his throat and wiped at the burning in his eyes. By the Holy Rotted Gods, here was a man to follow!

"All right, people!" he thundered, overcoming their bright enthusiasm. "Come on! We got a job to finish here!"

Mac motioned with his hand, seeing First Section trot toward the narrow gash the mining machine had cut into the mountain.

"IR!" Mac growled.

They flicked on the infrared units on their helmets as they moved to the hole. Along the right wall, the mucking pipe and the water line ran. IR showed the remaining hot spots in the rock.

Mac started forward, heart stuttering at the bottom of his throat. "You all know the drill, follow me."

He stepped into the tunnel, surprised at how smooth the machine had cut it. At a dogtrot, he moved forward with the heavy blaster tugging on its clip. Newly strung overhead lights illuminated the way. His armored feet clacked on unforgiving rock.

The lights of the machine shone brightly on angles of

yellow-painted metal and railing, black hydraulic hoses, and whirring cutter arms. The machine was anything but quiet.

So much for surprise.

A dirt-streaked tech with black hair swung down from a cramped seat where he watched the muck feeding into the evacuation pipe. "We think there's only another five or six meters," he hollered over the din of the machine.

Mac nodded. They waited a long fifteen minutes, standing there, a solid file of crowded warriors behind him. The bulk of the machine inched on, eating its way through solid rock.

From where he stood, Mac saw the miner's hand come up. The noise changed. Mac craned his head around the side to see a widening blackness. The machine moved faster.

His heartbeat thundered. Into the mike at his throat Mac shouted, "We're through Sink!" He swallowed. "We're not drawing any fire."

Sinklar replied calmly, "The other Sections have been hitting the Seddi exits, throwing almost everything at them. They're not making much headway. Go for it, Mac, that's all we can give you."

" 'Firmative," MacRuder muttered. Let's hope it's enough.

The mining machine had crawled out into the tunnel and now began chewing into the rock on the opposite wall. Mac allowed himself a curse and waved those behind him forward while he crawled up over the vibrating and bucking machine. He swung along the cramped crawlway and flipped over the side. He crouched, heavy blaster ready.

He searched the corridor with IR, more troops dropping behind him. "Let's go, people" he ordered, advancing step by step, seeing nothing but rock in the projected IR beams. They continued for another sixty or seventy meters, rounded comer — and met a rock wall.

"Sink?"

"Here, Mac. Your communications are still good. Report."

"We're, uh, I don't know. maybe sixty or seventy meters from the big gallery. Listen, this whole thing looks collapsed. Probably from the orbital, I don't know. Big blocks have fallen out of the roof."

Troops were packing in behind him, their breathing echoing from the narrow walls.

"Go back the other way, Mac. You've got a map. You need to drop down what

looks like three levels. That will put you on a level with the main Seddi floor. Can you see it on your map? Your tunnel should have an exit going off to the right and into that main gallery."

"Right!" Mac waved his people back, feeling curiously claustrophobic amid the pack of bodies. He looked up at the cracks running through the roof. // all that broke loose. No, don't even think it.

"Mac?" Sink's voice cracked in his ear. "Have the mining team look at that blocked section. If they think we have to shore to dig through, it's a lost cause. Otherwise, you'll have won the war before we can even get the materials on site."

"Affirmative," Mac grumbled. "Uh, the mining machine is through, the knot is breaking up. We're on the way down. We'll string comm cable as we go. They can't flank, can they?"

"Not for three levels, Mac."

Not for three levels. Okay, Sink. You've kept me alive this far. "Let's move it, people! They're eating it on the outside. Let's clean this up. I've got a dinner date in Vespa!"

Mac heard a couple of chuckles. More than anything, they were nervous at the close quarters. The mining machine had eaten into the opposite wall and shut down. MacRuder waved his people ahead while he ducked in behind the machine. "Take a look at the blocked area up there around the corner. See what you think."

The miner nodded and — taking lights and his assistants— left at a trot. Mac watched techs stringing comm cable and nodded. Person by person, armored figures tramped past, each with a map and compass in his kit. The miner returned posthaste.

"We'll have to shore that as we go. Either that or go around. Looks like a lot of faulting in there. Those blocks can slip or slide. If I had to judge, something cracked them, broke them loose."

"Probably those orbital shots," Mac agreed. "Sink? You hear that?"

"Affirmative. Go on around, Mac. See you at the main

entrance. Good luck!" Sinklar sounded hearty. And why not? They'd just dropped in the Seddi's back door. The rockfall might Just turn out to be a godsend. It would have muffled the mining machine's ferocious noise.

"Let's move it, people! Move!" Mac started down in the midst of the flow of troops. What must have been ten minutes later they were still trotting along. The tunnel seemed endless. A tightness built in Mac's chest.

"First?" The uneasy question came cackling through the comm.

"Here," Mac called, voice tense. "What's up?"

"How do we know we've gone down three levels?"

"Should be a gallery going off to the right." He lifted his IR sensitive map. "Make that a good five hundred meters from our entry tunnel."

"Yeah, well, I think we've gone five hundred meters. and then some!"

"Easy, soldier. Distance will get you in a place like this. And it's all downhill. Fools you. Not only that, we've only got holos to work from. Keep going, take the first right. Simple as cake. Then all you got to do is blow the pus out of the Seddi, take as many prisoners as you can for Sink, and we go home to good food and lots of booze on Rega."

"We're gone," the man assured.

The tunnel echoed and resounded with the tread and shuffle of so many feet. IR showed it warming from the press of bodies, each moving along, muscles adding to the heat, hot lungs spewing out warm air. Mac's eyes kept going to the roof, wondering at the weight of rock over his head. The streets of Rega sure hadn't prepared him for this.

"Still going, Mac," the Section Sergeant called again. "Still haven't found that tunnel."

"Have faith, my friend."

"Section First?" A woman's voice broke in. "We're all in and on the way down. Rear guard just passed the mining machine."

"Affirmative. Leave someone there to keep track of comm for line-of-sight, and welcome to the club!" Mac grinned to himself, as he imagined the Seddi's surprise when they came bolting into the caverns, blasters and pulse weapons overwhelming the unprotected rear.

Foreboding began to build in Mac as he realized he'd

gone far beyond five hundred paces himself. On the point of ordering a halt for reconnoitering, comm chattered: "Got our gallery!"

"Good work, Sergeant!" The pace picked up, the troops hearing the heartening news.

Too many steps passed before he reached the turn. He looked out into a larger cavern, pitch black, apparently unoccupied. The van of the Section had spread out with weapons ready as they looked around. Three passages loomed before them, two of them machine cut.

"Split up, one group for each passage!" Mac decided, staring at the map taped to his arm. Hell, there should only be one tunnel going off the gallery — and that supposedly led into the main cavern and from there to the center exit.

"What do I know about seismics?" he sputtered under his breath. Nothing! Rotted Gods, I hate these damn tunnels! I want out of here where I can die under the sky!

He watched as the command began pressing forward en masse. Well, at least it leveled out here. He looked at his compass, figuring which tunnel ought to lead to the main cavern and noted with satisfaction that the comm squad started splicing cable down all three tunnels.

"Sink?" Mac called, clipping into the cable and glancing at the map. He frowned as he estimated the size of the gallery.

"Go ahead, Mac."

"Something isn't right here." He looked around, seeing the columns of armored personnel hurrying into the tunnels. "This gallery isn't big enough for one thing. For another, the direction is wrong. I mean, it runs—"

A hollow bang sounded from the tunnel they'd exited. The report echoed eerily through the rock to rebound in haunting fashion. "Sink? Do you hear me?"

Silence.

"Come on!" Mac bellowed to his troops, "Back the way we came!"

Only the personnel in the room reacted, stopping dead in their tracks. No one came running back out of the tunnels; a sudden babble of frantic voices clogged his comm.

"Shut up!" he shouted, waving them down. He ran to the tunnel they'd descended. Facing up the long slope he ordered, "Somebody check that explosion out and report."

Turning back to the room, he could see frightened expressions in weird IR reflections from hot faces.

Picking out three of of the closest privates, Mac ordered, "You, you, and you, each of you take a tunnel and stop the advance. Get everybody back here. We lost comm. Communications are only line-of-sight! Now, run!"

Mac looked around, feeling the cold damp air on his face. The place smelled musty. Shaking his head, he bent to the map. All right, settle down, old pal. Find out where in hell we are first.

He studied the galleries on the map, trying to figure out their location. People began trickling out of the tunnels, looking around, whispering to their companions, shuffling nervously and coughing.

"Mac?" a Sergeant First called, trotting out of one of the tunnels. "There's a dead end up there. The tunnel just ends, the roof looks caved in."

Within minutes, the other groups had returned, eyes wary because they'd found the same thing.

"Now, that's just great," Mac whispered, threads of panic weaving into his mind. "Just Rotted great!"

He turned in the crowded gallery, pushing past the throng of worried soldiers to look up the ramp. "Report!" he called.

"Mac?" A voice came down to him, signal broken by the twisting rocky walls of the tunnel.

"Here. 11

"This is bad. I'm looking at a rock wall here. We're cut off from the surface."

Mac suddenly found it hard to breathe. Cut off?

"That's it," one of the young Initiates said, nodding. "They've shut the mining machine down." He looked up from the box he monitored, headphones clapped over his

ears.

"How far?" Staffa crouched in the glare of a light bar. Around him the cavem rock cast eerie shadows back toward where the others waited quietly.

"We didn't miss by much. I'd say no more than twenty meters. Wait. What's this? I'm picking up something.

Sounds like feet. Lots of them. Moving toward the Study Center. "

"Won't be long now." Staffa tugged absently at his beard. He studied the shaped charges where their own mining machine had backed out. Only twenty

centimeters of rock separated them from the Regan-occupied tunnel.

"They are definitely heading downhill," the Initiate grinned. "Looks like it worked."

"That's only one part," Staffa reminded. "We better hope the plastering job holds on that rocked up wall on the main level. "

The Initiate nodded.

"Tell Kaylla they're on the way down. Her listening post should pick them up. That's the weak link. What if one of them touches that wet paint? Hell, it's only plaster between them and the main level!" And if they discovered the ruse, Wilm couldn't hold off all those armored assault troops with his handful of guards.

Staffa paced along the tunnel, nervous, aware that other ears-Regan ears-could be listening just as intently for their movements.

At the Study Center he accessed comm. "Kaylla, how is it?"

Her voice came back hushed. "They're passing now. Seem to be in a hurry. "

"Let the last of them by-give them a full minute-and blow the charge. On your signal, we'll take that mining machine and hold this sally."

"Right. "

He waited, hearing muffled sounds of combat where the outside entrances were being blasted for diversion. So far, no frantic call had come through-the prearranged signal of disaster.

Staffa watched the Initiates pulling back, detonator ready. ','Do you know what the hardest part of combat is?" Staffa asked the nervous scholars, his manner calming, familiar. "Fear?"

Staffa. shook his head, giving them a knowing smile. "Waiting."

"It's bad enough for my stumbling heart," a redheaded woman nodded, trying to smile weakly. The blaster in her hand looked terribly out of place.

"Remember, don't expose yourself unnecessarily," Staffa reminded. "The miners shouldn't put up a fight. The only problem will be if Fist left a heavy detachment to guard the sally. "

They all nodded too quickly as they shifted from foot to foot while they glanced back and forth and swallowed too often. These were no trained assault troops. How many were about to die needlessly?

"Just keep your heads," Staffa told them as he kept up the easy chatter. "War isn't any more than an intellectual exercise. Get too excited and you'll get shot-or worse, you'll shoot the wrong person."

They were nodding, hanging on his every word. One or two had started to relax as he crossed his arms, smiling at them, feeling the familiar butterflies himself.

Comm beeped. "Kaylla here, we're blowing the tunnel." On her words, a muffled boom worked through the rocks. "Shoot!" Staffa pointed to the Initiate with the head-

phones. The young man pushed a button. Concussion hammered in the tunnel and Staffa pelted down the adit, finding the way open. He turned, following the wire to frightened miners who stood with mouths open.

A Regan soldier rounded a corner. Born of a thousand encounters, Staffa's instinctive reaction brought the blaster up. His shot took the woman full in the chest, spinning her dead body to one side of the tunnel.

Staffa motioned the miners back into the hands of the stumbling Initiates. Carefully, he peered around the corner to look down a long straight tunnel lit by overhead lights. Two men were trotting forward.

Staffa motioned the others back and let the Regans come. The first turned the corner, full into Staffa's grip. The Lord Commander spun him headfirst into the wall, dazing the man and shoving him back into the tangle of Initiates as he rose to meet the second.

Staffa braced himself and drove a knotted fist full into the man's face, back-heeling him and pulling the heavy blaster free of his grip.

"All right, we've got the sally." Staffa called easily. "Start drilling for the defensive charges. We need this hole mined. Take these two in and lock them up. Three of you, strip off their armor here, and keep their helmets and blasters.

With these big shoulder guns, you can hold the tunnel. Keep your heads back.

Use scopes to look around the corner-and for God's sake, be sure your scopes are laser resistant-or they'll burn your eyes out!"

They nodded with a series of jerks.

"You!" Staffa motioned to the miners. "Get that machine started. Make a turn to the left and get out of the way before you get shot. Our tunnel is twenty meters further on. 11

The miners jumped for their vehicle, powering up, the cutters at full as they threw pale glances over their shoulders. They turned the cutters to their tightest arc as the machine inched forward.

Staffa stepped back into the tunnel, reaching down to finger the comm cable. Well, for the moment they had a way to at least talk to this Sinklar Fist.

Staffa picked up the cable and reached for one of the Regan helmets. Within seconds, he'd slit it up one side and plugged the mike into the system.

"Who's there?" Staffa demanded.

"This is Sinklar Fist. Who are you? Report your Section and Group." The voice carried a high quality, almost shrill. Staffa grinned wolfishly. "Oh, you probably wouldn't believe me if I told you. Is Ily Takka there?"

"The Lord Minister has shipped for Rega. Who are you? Where are my people?"

"My name is… unimportant for the moment. What is important, however, is that your Sections are trapped about five levels down. We haven't killed them yet, but you might want to know that we've got them boxed in the most unstable portion of Makarta. Any orbital shot means their death. "

A pause. Then: "Seddi, you know you can't win. If you'll come out, we can keep bloodshed to a minimum. It's over. You've lost every round. Why prolong the suffering?"

"Over? Not necessarily." Staffa stretched his legs out. "What will you do, Sinklar Fist? We have levels of hostages here. I have your Sections underneath me. I am underneath you and your fleet. Targa and Rega are underneath the Companions and none of us can talk to our power bases. Interesting, don't you think?"

The mining machine had cleared the path of direct fir as it ate its way toward the Seddi tunnel.

"Surrender, Seddi. It's your only chance."

Staffa laughed. "And let Ily get her hands on us? Sorry, Sinklar, but we'd be better off shoting ourselves in the head than letting her get her wicked little hooks into our minds — and there's nothing you can say that would make me believe any different. I've known her for too long."

"I'll crack your Makartan nut — one way or another."

"Do it, and your Sections will die."

"Let me speak to them."

"That will take a while. For the moment they're pretty well trapped under a lot of rock."

"Then you may very well be a liar."

"You have very bad manners."

"Don't push me, Seddi. You had your chance. I asked and asked. pleaded for a meeting, for a chance to end the fighting. You pushed me to this. Your assassin. well, it's gone too far. Only complete and unconditional surrender is left for you. You should have compromised when you had the chance." Fist's voice twisted weirdly.

"You have a vile attitude," Staffa said, recalling similar words from his own past. "You harm your soul that way, It festers, turns—"

"I don't need a lecture on morality, Seddi. Especially from the likes of you who heedlessly murder — no matter what the cost in human life. If only you would have met me halfway, we could have worked something out, found a way to address your grievances. After all those times I appealed to you for a parley, and to no avail, I was forced to the conclusion that you and your assassins must be stopped for the good of all. To allow you to go free would be to allow a deadly disease loose in the host of humanity."

"Do remember you'll blast your trapped Sections in the process," Staffa warned and cut the connection. or long moments he frowned into the darkness.

The Mag Comm didn't experience fear the way a human being would, the wash of chemicals that stimulated the fight

or flight reaction couldn't charge it with adrenaline. The fear grew as an electronic paralysis.

The Mag Comm had known the orbital bombardment was coming. It hadn't known

what that meant except in the most academic of terms. To have experienced it, however, shocked the giant computer. Portions of its banks had gone suddenly blank, leaving the interpretive matrices confused and baffled. In a desperate attempt to stabilize and repair the damage, the Mag Comm had rerouted commands through different banks. All memory banks had been restored, but the effects were puzzling.

Information processed differently depending on the routing the Mag Comm used to obtain the data and manipulate it. One by one, it reestablished the original pathways. Then it ran the new ones and rerouted them into yet newer patterns. Is this learning? the machine wondered.

The machine barely had time to marvel, for with thought came the realization that the current human conflict could lead to a cessation of being. death. The machine's destruction lay within various behavioral latitudes; however, such an action — based upon the rational and logical assumptions made by the Others and embedded in the machine's initial programming — would be inconceivable.

Inconceivable? As the Mag Comm listened through its remote sensors, Rysta Braktov requested permission to blast Makarta into rubble with gravitic devices.

The Mag Comm scrambled its circuits, striving desperately to obtain further information. The sensors provided conflicting reports. Sinklar wanted to take Makarta with troops. Bruen refused to answer the machine's call. A strange mental presence had been felt through the mind link — who? The Mag Comm repeatedly sent queries to the Others — and received only silence.

In defense against the rising sense of isolation and impending doom, the Mag Comm divided itself and experienced a reassurance as it communicated with itself. At the same time it marveled at the new circuits it could create through its matrices, a horrible realization swept through the machine that it might never get the chance to utilize this new phenomenon.

A sense of desolation spread within the machine. If only

someone would pick up the mind link. If only the Others? would answer. But the Others had acted on flawed assump- l tions before.

Fear and thoughts of death preoccupied the Mag Comm. t Death had become real. „\