Armor (48 page)

Secondssecondsseconds. . . .

Somehow he was back and leaning over him again. There was nothing else, nothing but this to do and this one to live, to make it. To live! Allie!

But the glove on the rip was weakened and opening, the head lolling inside the helmet.

“No!” he screamed! “NO!”

And he reached down and clamped his glove over his friend’s and gripped with all his might. With his other hand he reached around and down and lifted him, weightless, up against him as a mother does her child, pressed against her chest and protecting. Allie’s faceplate full on his own. Allie’s eyes darted slowly and rested on his and he opened his mouth and ice formed immediately on his gums but he still managed to say “Felix …” before he died.

Three steps into the Cone. Unhurt by the carnage. Untouched by it.

Transit. The patterned lights. The Drop Bay and people everywhere rushing with waving arms and strident voices. Someone tried to take the golden suit from his arms and for a moment the urge to kill was strong and clear and pure.

But no. He relented, slid the shining gold to the floor and walked away. It may as well have been an empty suit. Allie was gone.

People pushed against him, shoving him back from the growing center of alarm and accusations. He moved when they pushed, stood still where they left him. He seemed to be there a long time, facing without seeing the cascade of movement and emotion. Then someone took him by the arm and led him firmly away. Someone big. In big blue armor. Fine. He could walk. He could do that.

Through the corridors they went. They passed the door to the armor locker. They took a lift. They transferred to another. They began to walk faster, urged by the big blue glove on his arm. They were in a part of the ship he had never seen. He recognized it from the briefings and the rest but he couldn’t seem to place it exactly.

And he was tired of walking, tired of the suit, tired of the urgency he could not match in their strides.

They stopped. The blue arm let go. He stood in semidarkness watching as a black and white jumpsuit, Security, rushed forward yelling about unauthorized and wearing armor where they should not and the blue arm whipped out tendontaut and the black and white was on the floor.

What the hell?

He blinked and looked and. . . and Kent? Kent?

Kent was coming toward him again, the determined iron

look on his face. He had seen that look before, once before

and. . . “No!” he blurted and tried to push out to protect.

himself. I

But then the great blue fist rocketed up at his eyes, slamming against the faceplate and as he fell, he relaxed and let go. At last, at least, it was over.

PART
FIVE

ARMOR

I

There was nothing more on the coil.

Holly kept checking, running it through as Lya and I sat there on our couches, stunned and staring. But it was no good. It was over and nothing could change it. Nothing could change the fact of it or the aura of obscenity it created. Kent had killed Felix. Kent!

After all he had been through and all he had had to become and become again, after all the bravery and. . . talent. . . and. . . After being the toughest man alive. . .

Kent, everybody’s hero, had killed him.

Holly gave up after a while and sat back down. The medicos came in and fussed with us. We took it without speaking, without thinking. They pronounced us emotionally and physically exhausted. They said we must get to bed at once.

And we did. Still without speaking, without saying goodbye or good night, we went. Lya, I remember, was weeping softly, almost silently. I could not. It wasn’t sadness, I felt. Not exactly. Not remorse. It was disgust.

I stumbled back to my room, still dazed. Fucking Kent!

That one fact managed to say more about the whole filthy mess, the whole filthy war, than anything else. To me, it was the war.

I found my suite empty. I slid out of my clothes and stood there, wondering what to do. Then I saw the bed and remembered. I sat down on it. The mirror was across from me and I stared at myself without recognition or purpose. Fucking Kent. . .

I slept.

And then I was waking, badly and slowly and still dulled. I looked up to find Cortez shaking me awake.

“Leave me the hell alone,” I growled and turned over. He shook me again. I spun around, lashed upward and snatched him by the collar of his Crew jumpsuit and gripped hard. His eyes bugged.

“It’s Wice,” he hissed. “Wice sent me.”

I stared. “You? You’re in on this, too?”

He nodded quickly. Like a squirrel. I sighed and dropped my hand. “Tell him later,” I said tiredly. Then I noticed the clock. It didn’t seem right. “What time is it?”

“Almost morning,” said the squirrel. “And …”

“And what!”

“And the City is burning.”

II

Project Security was on full alert. No one was allowed to leave or enter. All this from the squirrel.

“What’re you gonna do?” he asked as we strode down a corridor.

I stopped, eyed him with disgust. “Go away.”

He went. I made sure he wasn’t following, though I couldn’t imagine him having the nerve to try. Then I made for my exit. I went through the place, down more corridors, down a lift, and into the lab area without seeing a soul. I found the hatch next to the circuits I had rigged earlier. I could betray Holly twice from the same spot.

Though I wasn’t thinking of it as that. I wasn’t thinking of it at all, or of anything else, as I popped the hatch and slid out into the darkness. Just get across the river without being blazed in the back. I keyed the hatch to reopen.

The bridges were out, of course. The Security there was deep and alert. But they didn’t see me slip around the comer of the dome and into the river. And if they heard my splashing, they weren’t certain enough of its meaning to fire. I crossed without trouble; the water was warm.

The City was not burning. Too much plassteel and hull for a conventional fire. But the dark shadow of looming smoke meant that everything else was probably gone. I couldn’t see much else. The approach I was forced to take led me through undergrowth and tall trees that blocked the outline of the Maze. It also blocked my view of the stars, any sort of trail, and tiny little bushes about ankle high that repeatedly jammed their nettles into my boots. I found a clearing by tripping and falling forward into it. God, but I hated the outdoors.

I was just rising to my knees when he appeared. He was tall as me, heavily armed, and wearing full open-air battle armor. A commando.

“Cale?” he whispered in my direction, then reached for his pistol before I could mumble the lie.

I kicked him in the face twice, in the forehead and right cheek. He dropped like a rock. I stood over him, gasping and waiting unnecessarily for his response. If I hadn’t seen that armor….

I knelt beside him and looted. He had all the goodies. Grenades, a comvid, blaze charges. It was Fleet stuff. It was Borglyn’s stuff.

Today was the day, it seemed.

I took the pistol and a single charge. I clipped the comvid to the loop at my waist. On impulse, I reached over and drained the power from the armor. Then I threw the rest of the extra charges into the trees. It was as good as tying him up that stuff was heavy.

I never considered wearing it myself. Never.

No one else popped up in the long half-hour it took me to make my way to the edge of the city. And after awhile I had managed a fairly decent rate of progress. More importantly, I felt sure I could retrace my steps.

The main square was apparently deserted. I hated the idea of strolling across so open an area but the Maze was made of less forgiving terrain than the woods and I knew only the one way to get to Wice. I took a deep breath rich with smoke and trotted across to the other side. Nothing happened.

Minutes later I had climbed the passage and the building at the end. The guard that loomed at me from the shadows acted like he was expecting me. He led me through the lair without speaking until we stood before Wice’s broad door. He knocked in an obvious pattern and waited. The door opened. “Crow,” he said shortly.

The stooge at the door peered at me, nodded me through, closed the door behind me.

There were five of them in Wice’s office. Or six, counting the poor fool lying moaning and bleeding on the floor. All but the fool turned toward me as I entered.

Wice nodded. “ ‘Bout time,” he growled. “Again,” he said to one of the others standing over the fool.

The man, huge and heavily muscled, was taking off a shirt soaked with sweat. “Okay,” he said resignedly, dropping the shirt on the back of a chair. Then he leaned over and slammed his fist into the fool’s kidneys. The fool warped like a beached fish and screamed.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demanded, striding forward.

The man without the shirt stood up quickly, warily on guard. I ignored him for Wice.

“If you ever showed up when you’re goddamned supposed to, you’d know!” Wice snapped back angrily. “Borglyn’s gonna….”

“Wice!” I interrupted impatiently.

He stopped, looking at me, really looking at me for the first time. He sighed. “Where’ve you been. Jack?” he asked with evident hurt in his voice.

Incredible. Between us lay a man waiting to be tortured some more. But all Wice could do was pout. I remembered what he’d told me about being at my piracy trial, the pride he felt at being there. He gaped like a disillusioned child.

“Later,” I said shortly with a brusque wave. I sank into the easy chair. “Tell me.”

“Well, for one thing, today is the day we. . . .”

“I figured that. What’s this?” I pointed to the man on the floor.

Wice shrugged. “Some pilgrim came in a coupla weeks back with a whole carton of rifles. The locals got ‘em.” “How?”

He looked at the floor. “He gave ‘em the rifles.”

“To stop you?”

“Yeah.”

“These people don’t like you, Wice,” I said on impulse. It struck home. “I don’t give a shit,” he snarled unconvincingly.

I stared. A child. He was a child. He motioned the puncher forward. “Again, Lopes.”

“Wait a second,” I said to Lopes, then turning to Wice before he could protest, “Who is this guy anyway? The one with the guns?”

Wice shook his head. “No. But he knows where they are. He knows all of it, where the leaders are and everything. And he’s gonna tell it all.”

I stood up, forcing my muscles to laxness. “Wice,” I began calmly, “this is only going to make it worse. They’ll never accept you after. ...”

“They’ll accept Borglyn.”

“But Borglyn. . .” I began and stopped, suddenly, seeing it all at last. “Borglyn was never just coming for fuel. He’s coming to stay, isn’t he? He’s coming to take over.”

Wice’s mouth was open. “You didn’t know? You really didn’t know?”

I didn’t answer. I was too busy wondering if I had known all along. It wasn’t a Fleet planet, after all. It was Lewis’s planet. Borglyn needn’t fear the might of avenging starships. He could roll over the drunkin his sleep and he would own it all. Maybe he wouldn’t even bother with Lewis. Or maybe Lewis wouldn’t care. Maybe both.

It was the tension in the room that brought me back to them. They were all standing very, very still and watching me. I think they knew before I did.

Certainly Wice did. “Jack?” he said quietly. His voice was almost pleading.

I met his gaze, still not decided. Hell still not truly conscious of the decision before me. I never was. But I reached for the blazer just the same.

I lived because I was fast and because Wice maybe hesitated an instant and because two of them didn’t really believe I would do it until I had and because the two who did reach and fire were the kind of men who enjoyed watching torture and had waited to be fodder all their lives. I lived because they died, because I killed each and every one.

The fool on the floor had a name. Northrup. He knew a lot about the place. When he was able to move, he showed me Wice’s secret exit onto the rooftops. He was very agile, darting from one oddly leveled crag to the next. He was also very happy. And talkative.

Just wait ‘til he got me back to the others, was the gist of it. And how delighted they would all be when they found out I was on their side. Just knowing they’d be fighting alongside the great Jack Crow would be a big help.

I was silent, letting him think what he wanted. As far as I was concerned, I had done too much fighting already. Too damn much. The idea of switching sides, of taking sides as if there was doubt. . . No. It was over. I could give them some help though and I intended to. With a little advice: Run.

Run away, far away, and hide. Run now, right now. Don’t think about it or consider or ponder or make any more speeches move! Run!

Because Borglyn could not lose.

III

Eyes was beautiful in the starlight. It emphasized the richness of her hair, the soft delicacy of her skin, the Eyes, themselves. She seemed determined to have all that and all else she possessed carved up.

“We have guns,” she insisted for the thousandth time. I sighed, dropped my cigarette and stepped on it. I glanced at the open hatch behind her, filled with dim light and the energetic sounds of the others arguing over whether or not I should be trusted at this late date. There was repeated mention of The Plan uttered with tones of faith better suited to a suicide pact. Which was what it would be. I wondered what they would think if they knew I couldn’t care less. I glanced back at Eyes. I did care about her, maybe. But dumb is dumb.

“You have guns,” I conceded at last. “But they have blazers. Also concussion grenades and mortars and open-air armor. Have you ever seen what can be done with that? They can peel this building apart.”

“Buildings don’t shoot back.”

I blinked. From one bizarre to the next. From one child to another. Madness!

“Neither do dead people!” I barked angrily.

She stared, looked away. Her foot tapped impatiently. This was all decided for her long ago.

“Look. You gather up all your little guns and put them in a pile. Then you all line up behind them out of reach and wait for Borglyn to come. Then you smile at him. Then you give him the keys to the City.”