07. Ghost of the Well of Souls (33 page)

The kid was pretty good at this, they had to admit. Rehearsed or not, it was the proper response.

"I am Kobilo, High Lord of the Tusarch, invader. These are our lands and no other, not Sanafean nor foreign. We kept to our lands and demanded nothing of you or yours. You are the invader here. You must turn back or we must destroy you."

"We have no fight with the Tusarch," the lieutenant responded. "We regret that we must pass through and disturb their lands. It is necessary, but only to reach the Paugoth. We know of no other way to get there. Will you permit us passage over your lands to theirs?"

"Paugoth?
Paugoth
?" The clan leader seemed insulted. "What would you want with the likes
of them
!"

"We wish to challenge for the Trophy. They have it, you do not."

That forced the old ray to think a moment. "What makes you think you could beat them?
We
couldn't, last games, nor could anybody else. And you'll need more than that fancy armor and smart parading to take them, too. Why, I don't even believe you can take
us
."

"We will fight you if we must, for there is no honorable way to do otherwise, but we do not wish to do it, and it might harm our strength even if we do prevail here, so that the Paugoth may well win because of the demands of the Tusarch. This is your choice. We fight here, now, and the survivors either press on, if it is us, or turn back, if it is you who prevails. But you must be told that the Chalidang can neither give nor accept quarter. Even if you win, how long will it be before there are enough Tusarch again to seriously challenge other clans? Let us pass and, win or lose, it will be the Paugoth who will have this problem."

That was a wrinkle the old boy hadn't thought of. In a no-quarter fight, he was outnumbered here, and facing a foe he didn't know with weapons he was unsure of. If he lost, and he might, he'd just been told that the fight wouldn't be like a clan fight; these aliens would kill all. If they were the suicidal fighter type—and they looked the part—then even winning would be very costly. He also noted the black shape that was closing in on that released buoy on the surface. If they had surface ship support, it could get really ugly and maybe even mess up the coral.

By the twenty-nine Hells, let 'em mess up
Paugoth's
coral!

"All right," the Elder said at last. "I'll give you passage in to Paugoth. But if you're pulling a fast one, if you do not fight them, then we will join with other clans and ensure that you have a far bigger fight. Understood?"

"Yes. The terms are acceptable. We can go on our own, but we would appreciate a guide to smooth things through to the Paugoth, and who would also ensure that we do not somehow trespass on your property nor do it harm."

The Elder seemed impressed, and even Ari and Ming were giving even more respect to the General's scouting and homework.

Two Sanafean warriors, sons of the elder, were delegated to escort them through without delay. It appeared that the clan boundaries weren't all that big, and that the next one over was where they wanted to be. More good scouting from the General.

Mochida was in fact very pleased by it all. He drifted back to them and said, "Well, we got by
that
one. Had I not gotten all this force here surreptitiously, we'd have had to fight for every millimeter of ground. As it is, we're going to be where we want to be with no losses and no problems in under two more hours. Right about midday, 1 would say."

"He sure caved fast when he saw that ship up there," Ari commented.

"Oh, it wasn't the ship. Remember, they only just gave their word that they would get us to the lands of the Clan Paugoth without interference and let us fight them. They didn't say anything about letting us back
out
."

Alkazar—Quislon Border

IT WAS ONE OF THE LARGEST ELEVATORS ANYONE HAD EVER
conceived to build, and it went up inside the great granite mountain from the near-sea-level jungles, not to the top of the great mountain peaks, but to a point where it was practical to bore in an exit tunnel.

The ride itself was surprisingly smooth, with just a little bit of vibration, although there was no question that they were moving, and that someone or something was actually driving the tractor-trailer-sized car, because you could feel it slow down and then speed up again. When it finally slowed for good, eardrums of those who had them had popped several times, but, more interesting, the pressure inside also seemed to be varied.

"As an old pilot, I'd say they slowly pressurized us to the exit pressure before they started," Genghis O'Leary noted. "Or, at least, they did most of it then, and gradually lessened it still more as we rose. It's pretty slick."

"Makes you wonder why they didn't build it at Kolznar, though, and save all the upriver shipping and jungle transit," Har Shamish put in.

"They probably took advantage of some ancient caves and lengthy cracks or faults," O'Leary surmised. "I think they put it where the engineers said they had to. More to the point is why they wouldn't run a railroad or good automated shipping road from the port to here." He sighed. "Well, I suppose they had good reasons. Anybody who can design
this
would have better reasons than
I
could come up with for doing most anything!"

That thought was disquieting to all three of them, for they didn't like this hex one bit, and, bribes and favors or not, it didn't like them much, either. It was a reminder that the whole society was very much like the appearance of the natives: it looked small, weak, insignificant, often comical, but it masked a very nasty reality.

Unlike below, where the passengers walked, there was enough distance above that some kind of transport was needed. What the Alkazarians had built was a kind of small train sized for Alkazarians. Still, by kneeling, Jaysu managed to get uncomfortably ensconced aboard one of the small, spartan, open-air cars all to herself, while the two Pyrons were able to share another. The crew in yellow were busy shepherding the containers off, then hooking up small motors of some sort to them so they floated along the grooved path paralleling the train, driven by just one of the creatures per container. The rest, apparently, awaited a new shipment to bring back down.

There had been an exit station, and, like the one down at the bottom, this one took another blood sample and comprehensive picture and apparently compared it to what it already had. At least they managed to pass through fairly quickly, although Har Shamish wondered how, if there were any hitches, he was going to bribe a machine.

Although the train was fairly fast, it was bouncy and things were not well-lit. More than once, Jaysu, in a miserable crouching position, felt as if she were going to be flung off. She would have screamed at the train driver except there didn't seem to be one. It was all automated.

Just when she was so cramped and bruised she felt she couldn't stay on the little train a moment longer, it burst into the open, revealing the interior of Alkazar spread out before them.

It was as ugly as sin itself. Vast regions were covered with industrial complexes belching all sorts of gases into the air; dreary buildings were covered in soot, and even the new ones were painted drab colors; and the whole thing reflected against the clouds like a vision of Hell from almost any religion.

At the small platform where the train ended, two Alkazarians in black with gold trim awaited, their sleeves sporting an emblem resembling crossed lightning bolts. They were clearly waiting for them.

She needed some help getting out and to her feet, and the waiting creatures moved not at all to help her. It was left to one of the Pyrons to offer a tentacle and a pull.

Har Shamish went up to the nearer of the two officials. "I am the Pyron vice-consul," he said, "and this is Citizen O'Leary, in the service of the king, and Jaysu, an Amboran who is under our diplomatic umbrella. I assume there are no problems in clearing us to the border as quickly as possible?"

For a moment the Alkazarians said nothing, just standing there staring at them. Finally, the first one said, "You may follow us. We are going to put you on a night train as soon as possible. You will come with us and make no comments, nor stop, nor deviate from the route. If you need to ask anything, ask now." It was not lost on any of them that he did not introduce himself, even by title.

"The lady has not eaten," Har Shamish told him.

"Indeed? What does she eat?"

"Fruits, vegetables, anything not of flesh."

"Then she will not find much here and we would waste time trying. You will be at the border in a few hours and you can find something there. We are not equipped for visitors, you see." He seemed to think a minute, then added, "I might be able to find some water, nothing more."

"No, let us go," she responded, feeling the coldness of this pair. "I have fasted far longer than a mere day." She also wasn't sure whether the water in this loathsome, smelly place would be drinkable anyway.

"Do you have any recording or photographic equipment?" the official demanded. "Such things are forbidden here."

"You've examined us all the way down to our gullets," Shamish noted. "You should know better
than
we that we have nothing of the sort, nor weapons, nor anything else on the forbidden list. Our only interest is in expeditiously traveling to Quislon."

"Everybody seems to want to go to Quislon all of a sudden. Once you've seen it, you will not want to go there again. Very well, come with us."

They didn't take them far, for which all were grateful. Not only was the air quite thin, affecting the two Pyrons more than Jaysu, but it was also paradoxically thick, not in density, but with odors most foul. It was getting near dark, but Jaysu swore she could see clouds of yellow, purple, pink, and much worse hanging over the miserable, densely packed region. She couldn't comprehend how anyone could live in a place like this, let alone survive for long.

They were bundled into the back of a strange wheeled vehicle. Two armed guards with nasty-looking rifles hung off each side of the tailgate, and two more rode on the running boards on either side of the driver's central cubicle. The truck itself was open, like the crawler's had been below. Never had she felt so much like a prisoner.

The two Pyrons seemed lethargic, as if drained of much of their energy. She was sure it wasn't the air, which was thinner than at the surface but not debilitatingly so, and she decided it must be the chill. It was cold up here, and the vast tablelands on the other side of the Wall were also of high elevation. There was no snow on the ground, but there were patches of white not far above them on the mountainsides and in the high passes, and there was a crispness to the air that she found at first bracing but, as the wind blew and the sun set, began to feel raw and numbing to her exposed face and body. This was definitely not fun.

Making things worse were the silent but menacing guards, ard the sights that they passed as well: groups of people, each with their own uniform combinations and armbands and funny hats and the like, all going here or there, all silently, without any sense of joy or relief that one would expect at the end of the day, nor even bantering bad jokes or light-hearted insults as coworkers often did. They were dull-eyed and had gray souls, without life or sparkle, without any sense of more than existence. They seemed like the road crews below; prison inmates, even if they had no evident guards.

Of course, the omnipresent stalks with their tiny pencil-thin cameras and all the rest were as good as any guards. She saw few females about, and, above or below, it struck her that she'd seen no children. The oppressiveness of the place almost overwhelmed her. What a sad little race this was, so bereft of joy or any other feeling that made life worth living. With all their ingenuity and technology, they hadn't paused to enjoy what they had made, nor let their great machines take the heavy work away, but instead they'd become like the machines they used.

It wasn't the frozen land that was so bad, but the frozen hearts within.

At least she didn't sense that Har Shamish was worried about their situation. If she'd sensed that, she might have been close to figuring how to get out of this situation. As it was, she nervously allowed the little creatures to drive them to their train.

It was an even more unusual train than it had been a ride on the truck. It was fairly wide, but had no wheels or crawler treads or anything else that she could see in the well-lit station area. Instead it seemed to wrap itself around a single thick rail or post and just sit there.

Like everything else in this Heaven-forsaken place, it was painted a dull gunmetal-gray and had few markings on it. There was an engine, of sorts, then a passenger car in back, then what appeared to be several enclosed cars used for freight or animals, and, finally, a series of cars that were sealed tightly, contents or purpose unknown.

As soon as their truck stopped, the guards jumped down and took a protective stance around it and finally them, as if they expected an attempt on their life. It clearly didn't seem directed at them, except perhaps to impress them with their importance.

The officer came around to the back and barked, "You will all get out now! The train cannot be held for you and it is due to depart in seven minutes!"

Slowly, groaning, the two Pyrons managed to get down. She jumped down, involuntarily flexing her wings to cushion the jump as she did so. This caused the guards to suddenly whirl about as one and point their rifles menacingly in her direction, but she folded the wings and stared at them and they backed off.

"Follow me!" the officer ordered, and they walked behind him toward the waiting train. As they did, another train from the other direction approached, and she marveled that it seemed to make no sound at all. That didn't seem right. Even feet made noise when they were put to work.

Har Shamish, in the lead as always, started for the open, warm-looking and well-lit passenger car, but a rear guard snapped something and the officer held up a hand, stopping them. "No, not
that
car," he said. "
This
car!" He pointed to the freight car behind the passenger one.