Requiem for the Conqueror

Chapter 31

Staffa kar Therma listened to the sound of his steps in the narrow confines of the stone stairway that led down into the depths of Makarta. Grit whispered under the soles of his boots, his heels clicking eerily. How old was this passage? Hollows had been worn into the stone by eons of feet walking it.

Staffa stepped into the alcove. It looked the same as the last time he'd been here. The Mag Comm shot patterns of light across the room from where it dominated the far wall. The insistent red light blinked, calling for Bruen. The recliner waited impotently before the holder with the golden helmet that allowed mental linkage to the alien machine. Staffa felt the lure of the helmet, beckoning tendrils of its mystery reaching out for his mind. For long moments Staffa considered the machine and the rhythmic flash of the signal light.

/ don't have time for this. Too much remains to be done. Nevertheless, he stared at it, pulling absently at his shining black beard. "What are you? Who made you? Why are you here and why have you taken a hand in the affairs of humankind?" And how much of the responsibility for the Targan disaster can be laid at your doorstep

Staffa glared at the machine, remembering Bruen's assertion that the Mag Comm had given the orders that plunged Targa into revolt. The machine had coordinated the desperate gamble to trap and kill the Lord Commander in an attempt to save humanity.

"Was that it?" Staffa stepped closer to the machine. "Did you fear me that much? Why? Even as the Star Butcher, would I have been that much of a threat to you? Do you really care about human beings? Or did I represent a different sort of threat? If so, machine, you were right to fear

me. But you miscalculated. You couldn't know that I had a weakness. Emotion is a chemical aspect of the brain — one alien to your quantum electron functions."

The lights on the huge bank flickered. The dull red glow which functioned as Magister Bruen's sigal to communicate blared louder than a siren.

Almost without thought, Staffa walked over, fingers tracing the golden helmet. "And you don't like the concept of religion," Staffa mused, noting the alien texture of the helmet wire. "Why do you fear the notion of God? What difference does it make to you?"

His eyes searched the machine as it rose metallic and repellent before him. The very lines of it reeked of nonhuman origins. "What are you?" Staffa wondered, fingers still caressing the helmet, aware of a field of energy probing, seeking.

The response came involuntarily as he lifted the helmet high over his head; the eerie prickle ran along his scalp— almost as if the thick shock of hair over his left shoulder would stand on its own. Arms straight, he held it high, feeling the pulses of energy.

"What are you?" Staffa asked again, eyes looking into the hollow ball he held. "What is your purpose?"

The tickling fingers of energy picked at his thoughts, trying unsuccessfully to establish a hold.

"Most interesting," Staffa whispered. "I should fear you, but I don't. We are brothers, you and I. Manufactured things. Perhaps both of our purposes are alien." He began to lower the helmet slowly, an intensity growing in his mind, warm, engulfing, a melding.

"Staffa!"

He had a vague awareness of tan robes as she flew across the room, ripping the helmet from his grip, placing it back on the rack as she stared at him with wide and horrified eyes. Her breasts heaved under her robes, as she shook her head in disbelief.

"What are you doing?" Kaylla demanded, grabbing him by the soulders and shaking him. "Damn you! The last thing I need is to have you incapacitated by that. that…"

He raised a hand calmly, stilling her, turning back to the machine. "It will not incapacitate me. I can. feel it."

"Of course you can!" she hissed. "That helmet is a mind link. The machine, it invades your mind, takes over. Only Bruen was ever strong enough to maintain

his integrity, to block out parts of his mind, his identity! The others. they. " She shivered, looking away, rubbing her hands nervously up and down her arms.

"Go on. The others?"

Kaylla glared in hatred at the Mag Comm. "When the machine came to life years ago, it took over the Seddi. They became tools of the machine. and Bruen — he was an Initiate then — watched and saw the Seddi changing, becoming pawns. The old Magisters, they lost their identity, their ability to think. Ask one a question, and he'd simply parrot the machine's mantra. The policies they initiated were the machine's policies, not their own."

"Your Magister Bruen doesn't remind me of a pawn." Staffa coolly walked up to the Mag Comm and ran fingers over the red beacon that called to the missing Magister. They'd left him to his sleep — and no one had time for the machine during this latest crisis.

"Bruen and Hyde, they established a secret movement. Removed the machine's pawns until they were gone, dead, whatever."

"And then?" Staffa bent to study the odd material— was it ceramic or a sort of metal — fascinated by the workmanship.

"Then someone had to deal with the machine. Bruen believed himself the strongest. He took the seat and Hyde placed the helmet on his head. Oh, they monitored him well. Tried others — all of whom ouldn't keep their minds. Bruen could withstand it. He could keep his secrets by following the mantra."

"The mantra?"

She nodded, clearly uncomfortable. "A mnemonic series of phrases provided by the Mag Comm. A teaching device for meditation to keep us on the Right Path, the True Way, according to the machine. Ironically, the mantra can also block out — hide — certain thought processes when Bruen talks to the machine." She backed away slowly, unconsciously wiping her fingers on her robe. "I don't like talking about it here. Come."

She turned and left, climbing up the narrow passageway.

Staffa paused for a second at the tunnel. "I shall return after this is finished. Then, machine, we shall see which of us is the stronger. Then we'll talk about the Forbidden Borders."

"First?" Mhitshul's voice penetrated Sinklar's concentration as he studied the holo before him. Since Mac's capture he hadn't been able to sleep. Worry, like a thing alive, sank cruel talons into Sinklar's soul. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a way to get Mac and his Section out. alive.

All I have to do is find it. Think, Sinklar! You can't let them die in there! Think, curse you!

"Yes?" he hated it when his voice cracked like that.

"A cup of stassa, sir. I'm worried. You've been at this too long. You should rest. You'l get them out. I know you will."

The tension burst. Sinkar leapt from the chair, knocking it over in the process, glaring up at a disbelieving Mhitshul. "You all think I'm a god! Well, I'm not! Quit fawning over me like some sort of personal idol! Leave me alone!"

Mhitshul nodded, mouth open. He turned, fumbling, spilling the cup of stassa as he bolted from the room.

Sinklar stood with every muscle rigid as he stared at the door slapping back and forth, unlatched in Mhitshul's haste.

He pressed his eyes shut, jaws locked, and bowed his head. He jammed fists against his ears to shut out the world around him.

What's happening to me? Why is it all coming apart? This Seddi and I, we are stalemated. One moves, the other counters. Brilliant, yes. as brilliant as I am. Is this Bruen? Can I defeat him? Can I.

He took a ragged breath to stretch his weary lungs, aware of a blinding headache pounding behind his eyes. "Mac? I can't lose you! I won't. God, but I promised you all!"

If only Gretta were here to soothe him, to put it all in perspective.

He suffered a sense of desperation he'd never known before. A knot pulled tight in his chest as he looked at the haunting green mountain that filled his holo monitor. The

ruby red passages of the Seddi seemed to pulse — veins and arteries of Seddi blood. Daunting, mocking.

Staffa had come to dislike rock walls. To the Seddi they might provide a sense of security, but to him, the cramped quarters in a starship didn't

place the same weight on the sou!. True, there might be less space aboard ship, but you could peer out at the stars and the endless vacuum of space. A starship moved — an artificial human environment heading someplace. In Makarta, he felt buried.

Staffa rubbed his eyes. The first tendrils of fatigue had begun to wind familiar paths through his brain. He glanced up at Kaylla where she stared down at the map from the opposite side of the table. The walls around them were studded with monitors, and the overhead lights seemed much too bright.

"Lord Commander?" An Initiate's face formed on one of the inset monitors. "We've got vibrations from all directions."

Staffa turned to nod at the man. "Very good. I'll need a plot on the maps. If we can determine what Fist is up to, we can counter." He turned to another monitor. "Wilm? They're driling. Be ready for another strike." To Kaylla, he added gently, "You might want to wake the Magister."

Kayla nodded and left as information began filling the monitors, plotting locations around the mountain.

Staffa moved to yet another monitor and flipped a button. "Hello, Regans. How are things in the darkness?"

"Who's this?" A suspicious voice asked.

"Your captor."

"Oh, well, let me cue you in on something, pal. You're caught between a rock and a hard spot, 'cause Sink is up there, and he's got more than enough power to rip this whole mountain apart. You up for five more Divisions, Seddi?"

"Your name is?" Staffa inquired, thinking about those other five Divisions. Rysta's no doubt. The ones Fist had decapitated.

"First MacRuder of the Second Targan Assault Division.

You know, you still have the option to surrender. No more need to die."

"That's right," Staffa agreed. "All your Fist needs to do is promise us transport off the planet and to let us go in peace."

"Fat chance!" the voice in the darkness exploded. "After what you did to Gretta? After the way you made a machine out of that Arta Pera?"

"Who?" Staffa noted that Bruen had entered, going stiff at the name.

"Your assassin, Seddi. The one who killed Gretta. I saw the tapes of her body after your Arta was through. And I can tell you for a fact, friend. I'll die before I let monsters like you walk out of this rock."

"So much for your assertion that no one else needs to die," Staffa responded caustically. "You should be running low on water. The IR batteries must be getting weak, too. Be careful. You've been trying to blow your way out with blasters. Keep an eye on the cracks in the rock overhead. You're in the part of the caverns which suffered quite a bit of damage in the orbital assault."

"Yeah, well listen," MacRuder's voice came firmly. "We're the best Sinklar Fist has. and we don't surrender! We'll be here, waiting to clean your polluted—"

"Enjoy the darkness." Staffa flicked the comm off. He turned to Bruen, eyebrows lifted. "Arta Fera? Once more, your assassin raises her ugly head. She must have really angered them."

Bruen's bruise-mottled face went glum, showing his misery. "Yes, she had certain psychological behavioral implants." He sank into a chair and leaned thin elbows on the table. "A very dear girl, our Arta. We bred her specifically for you. Trained her, adapted her, did everything in our power to tailor her for you. Except the quanta shorted the whole thing and turned our success into tragedy, our enemies into allies. Everything worked out wrong."

Staffa's eyes slitted. "Another human construct, Magister? Another piece of God molded to a specific purpose? Smacks of a high order of humanity, don't you think?"

Bruen lifted a stooped shoulder in reply. "What would it be worth to save our species Lord Commander? When you

don't deal in fleets and interstellar firepower, you must deal in deceit and subterfuge."

He shook his head slowly, raising watery eyes to meet Staffa's. "I — like you — live in a hell of my own making, Lord Commander. I'm no pristine innocent. I go

to my grave with Arta's dear face forever before me. The horror she lives is mine until she dies — which, hopefully Fist has attended to by this time. Last we heard, he was going to execute her. The fact that Ily showed up, and we are under siege, proves they didn't dispatch her until they milked her dry."

"No poison capsule hidden on her body?"

Bruen shook his head. "With a psychological trigger, you can't trust your agent to act in the manner you hope. At a man's first touch, she might have self-destructed before she accomplished her mission."

Staff a paced the narrow room, tapping his knuckles on the chair backs. "Ily can make a rock talk. She knows everything your assassin knows. And if there's any possible advantage to keeping Fera alive, Ily will do it. If I was to make a bet, I'd say Ily has Arta in the collar now. Satisfied?"

Bruen's eyes hardened. He countered with, "The damn things come from your factories."

A cold wave washed through Staff a as, furious, he turned on the old man. "Don't get righteous with me, Magister! I can't even dicker a way out of here because Fist and MacRuder have been so alienated by Seddi politics that they'd slit their wrists before they'd let you out of here alive!"

"And blame is meaningless here!" Kaylla interjected as she walked into the room and slapped the table. "The problem we face, gentlemen, is there, on the comm. Those vibration sources. I suggest we leave recriminations until another time."

No man could look into those hard tan eyes without feeling foolish. Staffa shot her a measuring glance and jerked a nod.

Kaylla's mouth twitched. "We had better consider the source. Fist has us. We can't break him. We know those are the facts. We're fighting for leverage — to save as many lives as possible here." She gestured. "In the future, we

have to remember that. If we begin bickering, each argument is another rock tossed on all our graves." Bruen chuckled dryly. "Ah, Kaylla, you were always the brightest of my students. Why did you ever have to be so foolish as to fall in love and run off with that daring young ' man?"

"The time for that is past too, Magister." She couldn't help shooting a quick glance in Staffa's direction. "Now, let's get back to work, shall we?"

The Initiate's face formed on the screen again, a slight confusion on his features. "Sir, not all the vibrations are mining equipment. Some are drills."

"And what would Sinklar Fist use a drill for?" Staffa asked, brow furrowed, ready to change the subject — to escape into the impossible present.

Bruen's voice came gruffly, "Core samples to investigate subsurface deposits, tap a water supply, access geothermal energy, ventilation, seismic shots—"

"As in placing a subsurface charge?" Staffa interrupted.

"My God!" Bruen gasped, putting a thin hand to his chest. "They could mine the entire mountain, detonate it bit by bit. Blow strategic tunnels to isolate us."

"Do we have drills capable of countering theirs?"

"One or two," the Initiate called back. "Makarta wasn't a mine. We can't stop them all."

Staffa studied the layout of Makarta again. "We'll have to decrease our area of defense. At the same time, we can use our units to counter drill. If we can place a charge and explode it, we should be able to damage their drill stem. They'd have to start a new hoe, wouldn't they?"

"They'll do the same to us," the Initiate countered.

Staffa glanced up. "But we're the target. We don't have to drill as far. We can set our charges first, closer to the caverns. We can surely slow them down, buy more time. Do it."

"Yes, sir." The monitor went dead.

"And what then?" Bruen asked. "Suppose you draw back — leave us with a tiny sphere to defend. We're still losing!"

Staffa tilted his head back. "True, but we've made the best bargain possible. On the other hand, we have the ability to bleed this Sinklar Fist. If we can hurt him badly

enough in the process, he might be more willing to compromise."

Kaylla studied the sensor data the Initiates were collecting. "From the looks

of things, he'll be able to tunnel down and free his people within a week. We have that long before we lose our bargaining chip."

Using a spotting scope, Sinklar studied the mountainside from the top of his LC. Each of the rigs was working, the drilling machines boring into the heart of Makarta, the horde of mining machines eating tunnels into the mountainside. Occasionally, one stopped as the Seddi detonated a counter charge, but they had too many for the Seddi to stop them all. In time, he would bleed them dry.

Below him in the valley, the total remaining manpower of Rysta's Divisions and his own, along with the Targan loyalists, practiced maneuvers and assault techniques.

Mhitshul — still subdued from the day before — coughed respectfully at the hatch.

"Yes?" Sinklar offered lamely, shamed by his previous emotional outburst.

"Comm, sir. It's comingout of Mac's line, so we only have audio. The Seddi Commander, sir. He wants to talk about Mac."

Sinklar followed Mhitshul down to the sally entrance and picked up the headphones. "Go ahead, Seddi."

"We're becoming concerned about your trapped Division. MacRuder is worthy of our respect and trust. He's attempting to hold out down there, but they've been out of water for some time. By now they've begun to lose power for their IR visors. We also suspect that within a couple of hours their oxygen will be depleted. To be sure, they have a reasonable space down there, but six hundred people produce a lot of CO. I think they'll be getting hungry, too."

"Then feed them, Seddi." Damn it, Mac! Sink's gut twisted and his fists knotted into balls.

"Not our responsibility. We've got more than enough to do with your drills and mining machines. Wonderful surprises are in store for your people."

Why did he have to sound so damn smug? "Our own surprises will more than make up for yours, I'm sure."

"There is another way."

Sink cocked his head, wary of the coming trap. "Go ahead."

"Let us leave. I give you my word that every man and woman in Makarta will leave the Regan Empire — and never return."

"Just like that? You think Sassa will take your kind?"

"I wasn't thinking of Sassa. Call the Companions, see if they'll take the Seddi. Ask for Skyla Lyma, the Wing Commander. Tell her an old friend from Etarus makes the request."

"I'm not a fool, Seddi. You're trapped, seeking to buy time. And why would I want your kind loose among the Companions? They'll be trouble enough without your agitation to spur them on."

"I'm trying to stop the bloodshed!"

"They why did you wait until now to seek a peaceful solution? No, I'm sorry, it's too late for you. too late for the Seddi."

The controlled voice on the other end replied, "You're sure you won't just let us leave? Allow me to place a call to my transport? It would be so much easier all the way around. No one need die — let alone your six hundred down here who continue to extol your virtues and honors."

Sinklar bit his lip, while his soul screamed — thank the Blessed Gods this wasn't visual. "As if you had a fleet. I'm sorry, but I've sworn on my honor to end your threat for once and for all. The way you die depends on your treatment of MacRuder's people. Harm them and—"

"Their treatment is in your hands," the man returned easily. "We'd hate to think what would happen if you invaded and we were forced to retaliate."

Sinklar paused, playing for time. "Who are you?"

"That, as I told you, is unimportant."

"I don't like dealing with faceless, nameless voices in the dark, Seddi. Are you the infamous Bruen?"

"No, I'm not the Magister. Call me… Tuff," came the reply. "A name I earned the hard way. And another thing. Allow me to make a point, Sinklar Fist. If you leave us in desperate straits, we'll have to take desperate measures to

ptect ourselves. Keep in mind, the most deadly enemy is the one that has

nothing left to lose."

Sinklar closed his eyes. / remember warning Mykroft to avoid just such an impasse. I could blast this thrice-cursed rock. if only Mac and my people weren't down there!

"I think this conversation is over," Sinklar whispered.

"Remember, Sinklar, each action will cost you. Every meter you advance into Makarta will be on rock slippery with Regan blood. As they read the casualty figures to you, ask yourself if it's worth it."

The line went dead.

At Mhitshul's signal, Sinklar ordered, "I want you to send a section of that tape — where he identifies himself as 'Tuff'—to Commander Braktov. See if she can ID it. Send a duplicate to Ily. Her resources should pin the rascal down. If we know who he is, we might be able to find a weak point." Please, Blessed Gods, let me find that weak point— before Mac has to pay the price!

"Sir? First?" a tech called. "I just got word from rig three. The Seddi must have drilled a counter-bore and detonated a charge. Rig three lost their laser bit and twenty meters of stem."

"We have more stem and bits." Sinklar turned to Mhitshul. "Begin plotting where they defend. Keep track of our geophones. You might need to shut down operations periodically, but if we can hear where they're working, we can play their game. Surely their resources are more limited than ours."

Mhitshul nodded, pain in his eyes.

"And Mhitshul…" Sink smiled wearily as he placed a gentle hand on his aide's shoulder. "I'm sorry about yesterday."

Mhitshul sighed and smiled. "I know, sir. We're all worried sick about Mac."

But all those lives aren't your responsibility. Sink dropped his head into his hands, imagining Mac and the rest down there in the darkness.

"He wants me to find out whose voice is on the tape?" Rysta cried incredulously, shaking fists over her head.

"Hell! That could take weeks! Insipid little bastard! I wanted to be out of here two days ago, but no, he loses half his command and can't get them out without blasting the whole of Makarta open. Fine job, this, Sinklar Fist!"

She stormed around the bridge, noting to her satisfaction that even the fop, Mykroft, stayed out of her way. "Well, let's play that thrice-cursed tape!"

The Communications First accessed the transmission and Sinklar's dicing with the mysterious Seddi who called himself Tuff echoed across the bridge.

Rysta stopped her tirade, listening. "Rotted Gods," she mumbled to herself. "That voice does have a familiar ring to it."

"The miners are ready to break through in Gamma Three, Lord Fist," a tech reported.

Sinklar was in the portable office the mining engineers had set up. In the center of the room, the holograph projected a spectral model of Makarta. Various threads of light indicated the tunnels and drill holes creeping into the guts of the mountain. Around the computer-laden walls, techs sat in squeaking seats, headphones on, eyes glued to monitors as they followed the attack on Makarta's geology.

"Kap?" Sinklar called. "Move in. Blow the wall — and take your time. Bit by bit. Secure your sally and let us know what's happening."

"Got you, Sink." Kap's voice called. "They're placing the charges now. Hang on."

Minutes dragged by as Sinklar stared at the screen, seeing Kap's three Sections waiting by the bore as the mining machine exited and turned away on its clumsy tracks.

"Shooting!" Kap called. From the monitor, there was no evidence of the blast, but Kap's people began moving in a Group at a time. They went cautiously, wary of any possible traps.

"First?" A sergeant's voice came through the system.

"Here," Kap returned.

"We're inside. Uh, looks deserted. Kind of a funny odor in the air."

"Fan out, see what you can find. Be careful. Don't bunch up," Kap ordered.

Minutes passed with Groups checking in. More and more of Kap's units entered the tunnel.

"Everything's quiet," the sergeant reported. "Not a peep out of the phones except for the drilling to the south of us."

"Yeah," Kap agreed. "That's rig twelve."

More silence.

"We've got a barricade here." A pause. "Looks like some kind of containers piled up. I'm not picking up any IR readings. If there's anything alive, it's stone cold."

"Stand by, I'll pull in some support. Hold on." Kap's voice sounded tired. They all sounded tired.

Sinklar watched through gritty eyes as more of Kap's people trotted into the square hole drilled into the mountain. No resistance? Not a shot fired? Why? Sink's heart began to pound, sweat breaking out on his brow.

"Kap?" Sinklar accessed comm. "Hold on. I smell a trap here. They won't let us have it that easy. Your people are ready for cave-in? Maybe the Seddi planted antipersonnel mines before they pulled out? Have you considered every eventuality?"

Kap checked with his Groups; they all reported being strung out throughout the caverns. No one seemed exposed.

"We're all right Sink." Kap sounded slightly uneasy. "Sergeant? Fire a grenade into that barrier and duck."

Sinklar waited, gaze darting from the holo to the screen that monitored the sally. Seconds passed.

"Rotted Gods, no!" a hysterical voice called. Someone eise screamed. More screams overloaded the system.

"Kap! Status report! Kap!" Sinklar bellowed into the cornm. His eyes were welded on the tunnel entrance as a searing fountain of flame erupted, scattering the waiting troops like dolls. The fireball rolled up into the sky, rounded and menacing.

"Kap! Kap!" Sinklar hollered.

"Rotted Gods, Sink," Kap called hoarsely. "Think it burned my lungs out! Half my face is fried."

"How many this time?" Sinklar asked.

"Sent in five Groups, Sink," Kap replied, stunned. "Don't know what that stuff was, but it sure burned. They've all gotta be crisped in there. Thank the Blessed

Gods you caught on in time. I'd a had the whole command inside!"

"Yeah," Sinklar whispered to himself, a hollowness under his heart. He took off the mike, eyes unseeing as the gout of fire continued to pour from the tunnel.

Meter by blood-soaked meter, the Seddi had said.

"If you just weren't down there, Mac." He bit off the rest, turning, pacing along the deck, head bowed.

Ily Takka looked down at the continental masses of Rega. Home, at last. She chewed her lip, knowing the stakes now at hand. Here she faced her own battlefield. Sinklar might be a master of troops and tactical combat, but here her cunning and skills were unsurpassed. Treachery, bribery, and threats, the tools of power,awaited her master's touch.

"Subspace," the commander called out. "Personal to you, Minister, from Orbital Command on Targa. Rysta says she was asked by Sinklar Fist to forward this for ID. A report is attached. "

Arta Fera's eyes gleamed where she lay bound to a narrow cot. Through the entire transit, Fera had watched, missing no smallest detail. Reticent, talking only when spoken to, or for the barest necessities of her survival.

Ily took the transmission and played it, curious at Sinklar's request. As the dialogue repeated, she tensed. Impossible! No, indeed, it was!

Ily scanned the request for ID. This was the voice of the Seddi commander inside Makarta?

"This time, Staffa, I have you!" Her black eyes shimmered as her lips curled in gleeful triumph.

An Initiate stared into space, hands pressing geophones to a sheer-cut wall of rock. He nodded suddenly, pulling his phones from the cold rock and scrambling back through the freshly cut tunnel to the waiting party who crouched in the halo of headlamps. The air remained hot from the cutting of the tunnel and had gone sour from lack of ventilation.

"Five degrees left and seven down," the Seddi listener said. "We're close. They just started up again. They're getting as regular as clockwork. They stick to an average thirty minute work period, then they shut down to listen for us."

"How far?" a gray-haired man with one eye asked from the rear of the knot of Seddi warriors.

"I'd make it less than a meter."

They waited, hearing the grinding, feeling the vibrations through the rock as the heavy mining machine chewed its way forward.

"Poor bastards," someone whispered in the dark. "Poor us," another gritted.

"It's all in the dance of the quanta." Minutes dragged.

"All right," the Initiate with the phones called. "They're past the sally. Let's drill it."

They lifted a hand-held unit and powered the laser bit into the wall, pulling it back every ten centimeters to check the depth.

"One point one five," the driller remarked, his umber robes stained and smeared. He inserted the bit again and leaned into it. "Hold it, feels like we're through." He pulled the heavy unit out to peek into the hole. "Light."

The Initiate nodded, telescoping a thin periscope into the hole. "Nobody there but the…. Wait a minute. Must be a Group back there. What are-" He jerked back. "Run! Get out of here!"

They didn't have time to react as the wall exploded. Those nearest the blast were pulped immediately. The contorted bodies of the others were slammed into the opposite wall in a rain of rock and dust.

Ears ringing, stunned, the one-eyed man stumbled to the rear, finding the black box. He tried to pick it up with one hand but failed. He blinked tears from his eye and stared, noticing for the first time how many fingers he was missing, how his lacerated hand streamed blood.

A blaster bolt whipped by his head as he pitched forward, clawing at the box with his good hand. He curled over the box, hugging it fetally, aware of armored troops leaping over him as he found the button and pushed.

Numb and dying, he barely felt the concussion as the

roof fragmented, tons of angular blasted rock falling in the darkness. Somewhere a Regan screamed.

Staffa sipped at a cold cup of stassa as he studied the worn map that lay spread over the wooden table. The conference room had been turned into war ops. By the hour, Staffa and Kaylla monitored the progress of their slow defeat.

"Another party gone." Staffa marked the map with a stylus. "At least we saved the mining machine. Sinklar's people seem to be keeping to small tunnels. Less chance of fire trap that way. More chance of mines exploding under their feet. "

Kaylla rubbed red eyes. "I don't like allowing them inside. I don't like working so close to our caverns. I don't like our people dying like that."

Staffa blinked, fighting back sleep. How long had it been? "Our only chance is to hurt them, make them bleed. Our only bargaining leverage is based on the number of casualties we can inflict."

"I know. I just wish it didn't have to be." She filled her lungs and exhaled wearily. "We do have our backs to the wall." She made a smacking noise with her mouth. "Listen. Get some sleep. You need it. You haven't been off your feet since they hit us with orbital."

He nodded and staggered off to one of the little cells down the hallway. He entered the alcove and collapsed on the hard pallet.

Sinklar blinked, trying to rid his eyes of the gravelly feel. His mouth tasted stale. A numbness of the soul battled with the fatigue in his mind and body. Every muscle ached. Despite his exhaustion, fear crept through his very veins as he stared at the comm monitor in the command center in his LC. Stacks of flimsies covered the little fold-down table behind him. The monitors surrounding him displayed the diagrams of Makarta. Sinklar thought he knew the place by heart.

"We're inside," Kitmon reported through the comm. "We backtracked, fooled one of their, listening posts. Anyhow, this time we killed them before they could blow the roof. We're there, Sink! It's only a matter of time now!"

"Be careful," Sinklar warned, his gut churning.

"Yeah, my net tells me they know we're in. My people are drawing fire. This time it's for real," Kitmon sounded ecstatic.

Skyla smiled at him, her face almost shimmery with beauty. He reached for

her, drew her near, entwined her in his arms as he hugged her close. Her body pressed warm and firm against him, her breasts full on his chest. He pulled back, staring into eyes as blue as an Ashtan sky.

"Staffa!" Kaylla called to him, changing Skyla's eyes from cerulean blue to tan, Skyla's classic features blending into the Maikan woman's high-cheekboned severity.

"Staffa!" Kaylla insisted. "Wake up, damn it! They've broken through! "

His eyes came open to a dim gray room with rock walls and cumbersome wooden furniture. He blinked, forcing himself to sit up. "Where?"

"Level Two, just back of the distillery." Kaylla stared at him, face bleak, lips pursed.

"Withdraw everyone from Levels One and Two. Shoot the mines under the Novice quarters. What happened to our team in there?"

"We don't know. They were trying to set up the tunneling there. Something must have gone wrong. The Regans caught them. Someone didn't get to the switch. I don't know."

He pulled her close, seeing defeat in her eyes. "We still have the renegade hole. Maybe, somehow, that will work." She looked up at him, tan eyes filmed with tears. "Yes," she mumbled, voice unsteady. "Maybe it will."

He left her, running for the upper levels, hearing a cacophony of explosions. His body roused to the old battlesharpness. People rushed frantically through the hallways,

faces grim, the despair of defeat in their eyes. Staffa charged up the steps, taking them three at a time. He rounded the corner into the main hallway on Level Two. The sounds of combat filled the air.

The ubiquitous Wilm was crouched behind a sharp spur of rock, blaster ready, covering the Novice quarters. "What happened?" Staffa asked as he threw himself down and crawled forward.

"Broke through. They're still organizing. Damn, there's a lot of them!" Wilm shook his head, white dust incongruous on his black skin. "Got me as to how they managed it."

"Are our people out of the upper level?"

"Yeah, they skedaddled down our first trap tunnel." "Shoot the mines."

"But what about all of our equipment? We'll lose half our counterstrike ability!"

"Wilm, we can't get it back!" Staffa gritted. "Why leave it for Sinklar Fist to use against us? Evacuate to Level Three and blow it!"

Wilm let out a series of curses and jerked his head in a nod. He fired a string of shots into the darkness beyond, waving his people back. Blaster bolts strobed the air in actinic violet as Initiates and partially armored Seddi retreated. Staffa recognized the redhead from the sally tunnel a half-second before a blaster bolt caught her in the hips. The blast tossed her torso in one direction, her legs in another.

"Go," Staffa motioned to Wilm. "Get to the switch. I'll cover. "

The Master gave Staffa a hard look, biting his lip. "No, Lord Commander. You stay out of the way. You're more important than I am. I'll cover and you flip the switch. Just blow these damn Regans apart."

The rock behind which they crouched shuddered and snapped, sharp fragments spattering around while dust filtered down with a brimstone odor.

Staffa slapped Wilm on the back and ran. Fear iced his veins. He found the jury-rigged switch, waiting as men and women pelted by, some wounded, others burned. Wilm came running, nodding as he passed.

Staffa pushed the switch. Concussion slammed the floor.

Somewhere behind him rock fell. The very mountain shook as tons of stone tore loose. This time, there could be no escape. Not as they were pushed further and further into the bowels ofTarga.

Sinklar had shoved himself into the corner of the acceleration couch in the LC's command module. He continued to glare at the comm display across from

him. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes. The weightless sensation of falling hovered at the edges of his senses. Periodically his vision blurred and he'd jerk upright as his head bobbed with fatigue.

"I wish you'd get some sleep, sir," Mhitshul told him. "Soon as we get Mac out."

He could see Mayz start in the bright sunlight and look up at the comm pickup where she monitored the latest sally. Then the LC shook while a muffled rumble rolled across the land.

"Sink?" Mayz called.

"Here. What the pus was that?"

"They've blown half the mountain down. It's crazy. They could have killed everyone." Mayz shook her head, dark features tense and worried.

"What do the engineers say?" Sinklar rasped hoarsely. His heart dropped like a sodden weight. Mac? Damn it! Mayz filled her lungs and shrugged. "It's all loose in

there. No way to excavate it without strip mining the mountain.'

"We don't have that kind of time. What do the seismic people say about Mac's position? Did they survive?" His heart stopped dead in his chest as a terrible dread sucked at his soul.

"They report the cavem is still intact down there." Mayz looked relieved.

"Thanks for the update. Continue tunneling from the other side." More dead. Another Section gone. Sinklar hung his head, physically ill.

Mayz turned back to her duties.

Mhitshul disappeared through the hatch, eyes averted. Sink filled his lungs and rubbed his face with a tired hand.

What if he agreed? He could let the Seddi go. Get it over with instead of bleeding his force down to dregs. Was Mac's life worth it? Or Mayz's, or Shik's? All he had to do was.

A light flashed as one of the monitors lit with the features of Rysta Braktov.

"Sinklar Fist?" No honorific, this didn't bode well, but somehow, he couldn't bolster the energy to care. "I have just had confirmation from Rega. We have an ID on your mysterious 'Tuff.' Her smile cut like a scythe. "Your antagonist down there is the Lord Commander of the Companions. Staffa kar Therma."

Sinklar straightened, blinking and shaking his head. Had he heard right? "Staffa kar Therma? The Star Butcher?"

Rysta crossed her arms. "The very same."

"Holy Rotted Gods!" Sinklar smacked a fist against his knee. "If I'd only known!" He immediately began to recall the Lord Commander's strategies, the devious and intricate ways he'd smashed defenses just as impregnable as Makarta Mountain. The key lay just beyond his grasp, but it would come to him now.

"But you didn't." Rysta's eye narrowed to a squint. She didn't look pleased. "Nor did I. His presence here is a mystery. and it appears it will continue to be."

"Why?"

Rysta hesitated and gave him a sour look. "Because you are to evacuate Makarta in preparation for orbital gravitational flux bombardment."

"Impossible!" Sinklar shot to his feet, glaring at the monitor. "I've got six hundred people inside that mountain!"

He could see Mhitshul leaning in the hatch, eyes wide. The LC had gone deathly silent.

"I am aware of that, First. But I have an order from Tybalt the Imperial Seventh. It appears that he considers your six hundred well worth the price to detroy the Lord Commander. My orders are to destroy the Seddi fortress. and I will do so. Get your people clear of the area, Sinklar."

"How ong?" Sinklar asked, voice hoarse.

"One Targan day," Rysta told him succinctly.

"But I—"

"One Targan day, Sinklar Fist. Take an azimuth because at this very time tomorrow, I'm blowing that mountain down there into dust!" Rysta smiled again and the monitor flicked off.