Asgard's Conquerors (29 page)

My
memory of subsequent events is
understandably a little hazy. The fever didn't make me delirious in the sense
that I was afflicted by crazy dreams, but it did put such pressure on my brain
that I suffered continual lapses into semicoma.

They tried to ask me more questions, and I tried to answer them, but I
wasn't terribly articulate and I don't suppose they got much joy out of it. I
wasn't taken back to my cell, but was instead removed to some kind of isolation
unit. All of a sudden, everybody that touched me was wearing rubber gloves and
surgical masks. Even in my dilapidated state I knew that they were locking the
stable door with the horse long gone. Since I slugged my first invader I'd been
manhandled by an awful lot of soldier boys. The disease would be peacefully
incubating away in a great many bodies by now. If the Tetrax really had planted
a biological time-bomb inside me—and I didn't doubt it—they'd made sure it had
a nice long fuse, so it wouldn't show up too early. I was still cursing myself
for not having realised how perfidious they were.

Tetron biotech makes for very good medicine, and a weapon like this one
would have been useless even against the likes of human beings. The invaders,
by contrast, could do very little even to treat the symptoms. And I, poor
hapless weapon, had to suffer alongside them.

I must have lain in my new bed suffering the ravages of the fever for
several days. At first, I didn't even notice when they wheeled in the other
patients, and the realisation dawned on me only by degrees that there was only
one person I knew who possessed a shock of bright blonde hair like that
adorning the head which was tossing and turning on the pillow five metres away.

There had been no need to worry about betraying Susarma Lear to the
invaders. She'd already been betrayed—probably by order of the Tetrax, so that
she could start the serious business of spreading her germs far and wide.

I remember thinking to myself, not altogether coherently, that it was
a great pity, because now there was no U.S. Cavalry out there to ride to my
rescue.

At some stage I must have been able to take a good look at the other
two people who'd also been moved in, because by the time I became
compos
mentis
again I knew who they were.

They were Sergeant Serne and Trooper John Finn.

I would like to report that I was tough enough to recover before anyone
else did from the ravages of the sickness, but I wasn't. Truth to tell, I was
still very much under the weather when the others were beginning to recover,
and it took a lot of effort on the colonel's part to get me to pay proper
attention when she woke me up in the middle of the night.

"Come on, damn you," she said, shaking me in a most unkind
manner.

"Just leave me to die," I told her in a croaky voice.

"You're not going to die, you stupid bastard. Would you rather I
slapped your face or poured cold water over you?"

"Neither," I told her aggrievedly.

"Then you'd better pull yourself together, hadn't you?" She
still had a grip on the collar of the nightshirt our hosts had provided, and she
was bouncing my head around, apparently in the hope of shaking some sense into
it.

"For Christ's sake stop it!" I told her. She did, and the
relief was very welcome.

She'd switched on a bedside lamp in order to see what she was doing,
and she pointed its tiny light straight at my face to check that I was present
and paying attention.

"Okay now?" she said. "Seme's still out for the count,
but it looks as if he and that rat Finn will live. Did they tell you that they
think the Tetrax used us to carry the virus into the city?"

"I was there when they reached the conclusion," I told her.

"Is it true?"

"You know as much as I do," I assured her. "But I
believe it. Don't you?"

"Is this place bugged?"

"Jesus, Susarma, I haven't a clue. Alex Sovorov reckons they aren't
clever enough, but he doesn't know his arse from his elbow. They don't know
English anyway—don't be so bloody melodramatic! Have we any secrets left?"

"Only one," she said. "Before we left the solar system,
I was told to investigate the possibility of making a deal with the invaders,
to support them against the Tetrax, if that looked like a better deal than the
Tetrax were offering. If they really did use us to start a bio-war, I'm
inclined to wonder seriously which side we should be on."

"What I feel just now," I told her, "seems to me to be
evidence that it's not a good idea to take on the Tetrax. The invaders are not
going to win this war, even if there are twenty billion of them."

"The Salamandrans tried tricks like this all the time," she
assured me. "We learned to cope. If you know what you're up against, it's
not so difficult. Maybe the invaders could win—if they had our help."

"Not against the Tetrax," I told her. "It could have
been worse. It's flu, not bubonic plague—it may be a dirty trick, but they
could have played even dirtier. They've aimed to incapacitate, not to
kill."

"You think it was intended to be a warning shot across the bows—to
let the invaders know how far outclassed they are?"

"Who cares?" I complained. I wondered whether she'd just
woken me up for a friendly chat, or whether she had something important to
discuss. My body felt as heavy as lead, and my head hurt.

She must have seen that I wasn't in a good mood, because she got to the
point. "We were shipped straight in here," she told me. "We
didn't see much on the latter part of the journey, either. How much did you
see? What are the chances of getting out of here?"

I managed a hollow laugh. In retrospect, I guess it would have been
difficult to manage any other kind.

"They don't keep much of a watch on the doorways," I told
her. "We could walk right out. Trouble is, the atmosphere outside has no
free oxygen. Even if we had suits, there's nowhere to go but the shaft we came
down. Beyond the shaft—invaders by the million."

She didn't seem particularly daunted by this news. "If we can pass
for invaders . . ." she began. She left the sentence hanging. Then she
said: "How many other humans are down here?"

"Only Alex Sovorov," I told her. "And he's next to
useless. Anyhow, he's scheduled to get very sick in a day or two— we were
sharing a cell. He's never going to forgive me."

She looked round at the other beds. "How far can we

trust
him?" she asked, nodding toward Finn.

"About as far as you can throw a feather into a headwind," I
told her. "He probably already told the invaders everything he knew, and
they probably sent him down here with us to make regular reports back. They may
not understand bugs, but with Finn around they don't need to. Turncoat
through and through."

The expression that crossed her face was one I'd seen before—determination
mixed with disgust. Then she looked at me again, and I was surprised to see the
expression change. It wasn't exactly a friendly expression—she didn't have one
of those in her repertoire—but it showed traces of concern for my welfare.

"Get some sleep," she said, sounding very tired herself.
"In the morning, play dead. I don't want them to know that we're
recovering."

I didn't think it would be very difficult to pretend to be ill. I
hadn't much faith, yet, that I was recovering.

In the morning, though, I really did feel a lot better. I woke up to a
welcome absence of pain and disorientation. I can't say that I was brimful of
joie de
vivre,
but I no longer felt as if I'd been through a
document-shredder. I felt almost capable of coherent thought, and began to
notice things.

I noticed for the first time the nurse who spoon-fed me breakfast, and
with a gently practised hand tipped water on to my tongue for me to sip. She
wasn't an invader—she belonged to one of the other Asagardian humanoid species,
as did most of the prison's menial workers. She didn't say a word, though she
must have noticed that I was paying attention for once. It was unlikely that
she spoke any parole, although she seemed to understand when I thanked her for
her help with the food.

I noticed the doctor, too, when he gave me my morning examination—taking
note of my temperature and pulse-rate before lifting my eyelid to shine a light
at my pupil. I did the best I could to be ill, but I guess my body couldn't
lie, because as soon as the doctor went out, Sigor Dyan came in. He barely
glanced at the colonel before drawing up a chair to the side of my bed.

"I'm glad you're recovering," he said flatly.

"Thanks," I said weakly.

"It gives me hope that our own people will recover. The virus is
already decimating the troops in the City. I am beginning to feel the effects
myself. In two days, I will be in that bed, or one like it."

"Where will I be?" I asked.

He shook his head to indicate that he hadn't quite decided that yet.

"We didn't know," I told him. "If the Tetrax really did send
us down here just to start an epidemic, they did it without our
knowledge."

"I would like to believe that," he told me. "But I
cannot be completely sure. If our people begin to die. . . ."

I could see his point.

"We would like to strike back," he said. "We are very
angry about what has been done, and if you are telling the truth, you must be
just as angry. If you want to redeem yourselves in our eyes, you must tell us
how to attack the Tetrax."

I could understand his attitude. In all probability, I could understand
it better than the Tetrax could. When they had planned this strike they would
have thought of it not only as a way to facilitate a counter-coup in Skychain
City, but also as a way to make the invaders see reason and acknowledge the
inevitability of coming to terms. That wasn't too bright. The Tetrax were
always jeering at the stupidities of barbarians, but when it came to
calculating the way those so-called barbarians might react to circumstances,
they weren't very clever at all.

On the other hand, understanding his attitude wasn't quite the same
thing as agreeing with him. It wasn't going to do anyone any good to start
taking reprisals against Tetron prisoners, or trying to slaughter the Tetrax in
the city.

"That's not such a good idea," I told him. "You fired
the first shot, remember. Why not call it quits now? They're not going to let
you ignore them. This is a matter of pride for them too. If you lash out at
them, there's every possibility that they'll crush you. They may talk a lot
about the joys of peace and harmony, but that's because they know full well
that they have nothing to fear from violent opposition."

He looked at me bleakly. I could tell from the sweat on his brow that
he wasn't feeling too good. Maybe his judgment was distorted. But an empire of
twenty billion people spanning fifty levels is quite some juggernaut, and I
could see why he might think that the idea of surrendering to a few thousand
Tetrax wasn't too appealing.

"Mr. Rousseau," he said. "You had better decide whose
side you are on. And you had better be prepared to show it. There will be no
surrender."

After he left, I looked across at Susarma Lear. She pulled herself up
on to her elbow, and stared at me pensively. Behind her blue eyes, there was a
lot of hard thinking going on.

"If we're not careful," I said, "we'll be caught like a
handful of corn between two millstones."

"You have to play from where you stand," she said. "We
may have to look as if we're on their side. But we're on nobody's side but our
own."

It was the only possible point of view. She would get no argument from
me.

A little later, the nurse came back with another cup of water. I sat up
to drink it—there didn't seem to be any further point in play-acting. She
stood patiently by the bedside, waiting. She had bluish skin and big eyes,
with pointed ears and a cap of mousy fur where humans and invaders have hair.
She seemed to me to have a friendly kind of face, and she also seemed to be the
one person around from whom I had absolutely nothing to fear. I gave her a
smile of gratitude and a respectful nod as I passed the cup back to her.

When she took it, she switched it for a folded flimsy. I blinked in
surprise, but had sufficient presence of mind to clutch it in my fist and put
my hand under the blanket. I unfolded it carefully and covertly, without having
the least idea what to expect.

The message was simple enough. It said:
Four suits and a homing device will be in airlock nine
_y
three
periods after the lights go out. Someone will come for you. Two Tetrax will be
with you. Do exactly as you are told, and all will be well.

It wasn't signed.

That was hardly surprising.

What was surprising was that it was written in English.

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