Part 8 (1/2)
”Up!” snapped one guard. Blade rose swiftly. He wanted to appear frightened and submissive, to make the guards less alert.
Another guard bent over the dying woman and shook his head. ”She won't last the day.” He drew his revolver and shot the woman in the head. At least it was a more merciful death than being left alone in her last delirium.
The four guards made a square around Blade and marched into the corridor. Blade realized they were probably taking him somewhere else to experiment on him. Down the whitewashed corridor to an elevator, up what seemed like three or four floors, then out into another corridor. This one was brightly lit and hummed with activity behind closed doors of polished metal. It reminded Blade rather of the main corridor in the Project's Complex One.
At the end of the corridor a door led out onto a metal-railed balcony. Beyond the railing a cliff dropped off more than three hundred feet, to the plain where the missile station lay. Blade recognized the gantry, saw a.s.sembly buildings, radar stations, and warehouses, as well as humped shapes which might be blockhouses or fuel tanks. He also saw brightly polished construction robots at work on a number of what looked like missile silos.
In daylight, it was easy to see this wasn't just a research facility. It was also Doimar's main missile base. When the ”Day” came, the germ warheads would be launched from those silos. And a fat lot of good this knowledge was likely to do Richard Blade!
The guards hustled Blade along the terrace toward the door at the far end. As they did, he thought he heard someone calling his name, so faint and far off he couldn't be sure he'd even heard anything aloud. Who would be calling him here? n.o.body. He decided he was imagining things. Then as they reached the door the call came again.
This time Blade was sure he'd heard it, but not aloud. He'd heard it in his mind.
Who in this Dimension would be calling him mentally, even if they knew his name?
Cheeky?
Blade nearly said it out loud. Then he nearly said ”Impossible,” normally an obscene word in his vocabulary. Instead he thought his name as strongly as he could, while also holding a mental image of himself as he'd been in Home Dimension.
The reply came. It was a reply, no mistake about it. But it still might, just might, be a Doimari telepath.
Cheeky.
He thought the feather-monkey's name just as hard as his own, and projected Cheeky's image as clearly as he'd projected his own. Two of the guards looked at him suspiciously while the other two fumbled with the door.
Then suddenly pandemonium broke loose. An explosion roared above. Blade heard gla.s.s smash and saw smoke gush out of a window carved in the cliff two stories above the terrace. Then a small shape sailed out the window.
Even at a distance Blade recognized Cheeky. He held his breath as the feather-monkey slid a good way down the cliff. Even Cheeky might not be able to find a firm grip, and it would be just too much to lose him now!
But Cheeky's fingers and toes were as sure as ever. He stopped his slide and began to crawl like a fly along the face of the cliff toward the terrace.
One of the guards followed Blade's eyes and saw Cheeky. He raised his pistol and sighted on the feather-monkey. To do this he had to turn his back on Blade. He seemed confident that the other three guards were enough to keep Blade out of trouble.
That was his last mistake. As his finger tightened on the trigger, Blade caught him by the hair with one hand and chopped him across the throat with the other. The guard died choking and Blade caught his pistol as it dropped from limp fingers. Blade put his back against the wall and covered the other three guards.
A moment later Cheeky reached the railing, balanced on it, then made a flying leap clear across the terrace onto Blade's shoulder. He was yeeping hysterically with joy and excitement. His thoughts were so jumbled that Blade didn't even try to follow them.
He also didn't try to understand how this miracle of Cheeky's return had come about. For now, it was enough that Cheeky was back.
Chapter 15.
The three surviving guards weren't going to drop their guns, not with a comrade to avenge. On the other hand, they weren't quite crazy enough to draw as long as Blade had the drop on them.
They could go for their pistols the minute he blinked, though. How long could he keep from blinking?
Then a thought struck Blade. He filled his mind with a picture of Cheeky going around to the three guards and taking their pistols. He held the picture until he sensed that Cheeky was getting it, thinking it over, and beginning to calm down.
At last Cheeky gave a small yeeep, and threw his arms around Blade's head. For a moment Blade was afraid his vision would be blocked and the guards would take advantage of that fact. Then Cheeky jumped down from Blade's shoulder and trotted over to the first guard.
”Give him your pistol,” said Blade. The guard stared at Blade, then at Cheeky, obviously wondering who was crazy. ”You've got until I count four,” said Blade. ”One, two-”
At ”three” the guard decided that obeying Blade was his only chance of staying alive until he could figure out what was happening. He dropped his pistol onto the terrace, and Cheeky picked it up. The other two guards did the same, and Cheeky returned to Blade with one pistol in each hand and dragging the third with his tail.
For the moment, the immediate danger from the three guards was past. Blade suspected the next move was up to someone else.
Meanwhile, thick and greasy smoke kept pouring out the broken window. Blade wondered what Cheeky had done to escape. He got a reply in the form of a mental picture-Cheeky das.h.i.+ng around a laboratory, upsetting everything in sight until some chemicals finally spilled on a live wire. The feather-monkey also projected a picture of people in laboratory smocks running around screaming, their hair and clothing on fire. He seemed rather happy about their fate.
For the first time Blade noticed that Cheeky was so gaunt his ribs were showing. Some of his feathers had been singed off, and bare skin showed where others had been deliberately plucked out. He'd been treated as an experimental animal, and not too well-treated at that! If so, then it seemed to Blade that the Doimari Seekers were getting just about what they deserved.
The guards became more nervous as the uproar from the laboratory grew. They looked about ready to jump Blade, when suddenly the door flew open. A man in a smoke-grimed laboratory coat ran out, followed by a young woman. The man took one look at Cheeky on Blade's shoulder, then cursed.
”What are you doing with that little monster?” he snarled. ”Give him back or-”
Blade showed the scientist the muzzle of his pistol. ”First, you tell me where you found him and what you've been-”
”Who are you to ask me?” the scientist bl.u.s.tered, ignoring the pistol.
”Erhon, don't be foolish,” said the woman. ”Blue Boy might have been that man's pet. He could tell-”
The scientist ignored his a.s.sistant just as thoroughly as he had ignored the pistol, and he plunged a hand into his pocket. Blade couldn't wait to find what might be in there. He put a bullet into the scientist's chest, then another as the man seemed slow to go down. The second shot slammed him up against the railing. He slid down into a sitting position as his coat turned red. A small laser fell out of his pocket as he rolled over on his side.
Blade picked up a second pistol, since there was no way to reload the one he had. The young woman was staring wildly at everything without focusing on anything.
”I'm sorry I had to shoot him,” said Blade quietly. ”But he shouldn't have tried to draw on me. Now, will you calm down and go tell whoever's in charge here that I want to talk to him? Blue Boy was mine. I lost him a long time ago, and thought I'd never find him again. If you'll let both of us go free, you may learn something useful.” The girl hesitated, her mouth quivering. ”Go on,” said Blade sharply. ”You can have hysterics later!”
The girl ran back into the laboratory complex without closing the door behind her. Blade settled down to wait. He hoped she would get word to somebody sensible before somebody stupid decided to snipe Blade with a laser rifle. He s.h.i.+fted so that he could cover the guards and look around at the same time, but knew that precaution wouldn't help much. A laser rifle or even a gunpowder one would far outrange his pistols.
Instead of a laser's whipcrack, the next thing Blade heard was the whine of a lifter's propellers. Then a shadow pa.s.sed overhead, and a disembodied voice boomed over the terrace.
”Commander Voros! You asked for whoever's in charge, I am he. Put down your pistols; and I give you my word of honor as a Seeker that no harm will come to you.”
”Tell those guards to move to the end of the terrace first,” shouted Blade. ”I don't trust them.” He didn't trust the voice coming from the lifters either, but there was nothing he could do about that. And Blue Boy doesn't get hurt, either.” Cheeky yeeeped in agreement.
”All right. Move, you idiots!”
The guards jumped at the voice as if Blade had finally shot them. Then they scurried to the far end of the terrace, as the small lifter swept in. A laser jutted from its nose, and a pilot and a pa.s.senger sat in the c.o.c.kpit. Ten feet above the terrace the pa.s.senger opened the door, and five feet up he jumped out without waiting for the machine to land.
He came down on his feet with catlike grace, not even going to his knees. He'd called himself a Seeker but to Blade he looked more like a rather sinister sort of soldier. He wore a black coverall, black boots, and a close-fitting black helmet. The only color on him anywhere was the dark red plastic b.u.t.t of a heavy laser pistol in a black leather shoulder holster. His hair and eyes were also black.
He stepped up to Blade. He was about the same height but slimmer. ”I am Detcharn, First Seeker and Du-Shro of Doimar.” That meant he was not only chief of scientific research but something like chief of staff of the armed forces. A man in charge indeed, thought Blade.
”I am honored,” he said.
”That remains to be seen,” replied Detcharn. ”Tell me your story.”