Brother Death (27 page)

Before . . . ?

The thought was slippery, it nearly escaped him, but he clamped down on it with frantic haste: before he went to the center of Sanctuary and spoke directly to the gods!

Yes! Yes! That was it, that was what he had been planning when he'd been sidetracked by the pleasures of this place! Could he but get there, he would be safe! He would speak to the Zonn, he would prove himself worthy by attaining that place, and they would reward him!

Now Kifo's speed increased, his legs churned like never before. He was the hot dry wind across an empty plain, a cheetah pursuing prey. He did not feel fatigue. He flew like the arrow of time; nothing could stay him from his goal. This body meant nothing, and did he have to burn it to total exhaustion, even death, that would not matter. Old flesh meant nothing to a new god. He would remake himself.

Dedicated to a single purpose, Kifo the Unique ran to find his gods.

Mkono was bigger but Bork had built up more speed. The balance of mass and momentum was enough so when they hit, the impact stopped both of them. They locked arms like wrestlers and strained against each other. Before, he had been surprised, taken from behind. Now sucker, let's see what you can do to a man who's ready for you!

Bork remembered all the times when he had gone beyond his normal limits, when the machines said he couldn't do it, when he'd reached deep into himself and come up with just a little more. Now he went to his depths again, seeking that essence of who he was, demanding everything he had. Now or never, Bork. Let's see what you've got.

He gave himself up to it, knew that he'd tapped energies beyond any he had ever called upon before, knew that every bit of his available strength flowed up from his center and went into this single, simple command: throw or be thrown!

For a heartbeat, the two men stood locked like a quivering statue, tendons creaking, muscles groaning and tearing. Both of them screamed, primal, wordless roars.

Then Mkono lifted Bork from his feet and threw him.

Shit-!

Ahead of her the running man sped up as if his feet had grown power jets. Taz sheathed the knife to keep from cutting herself as she pumped her arms to increase her speed. She zipped past the larger group of mostly naked people who seemed too wit-fogged to get in her way. She had been gaining but the guy's spurt of speed amazed her. She was strong and fast, but she might as well have been walking compared to this guy. What the fuck had happened to him?

She hit her own top speed, thinking that he would have to slow down, he couldn't maintain that for long.

After another thirty seconds, she realized she couldn't keep sprinting, either. She eased up a little, still moving fast, but also still outside her breath. He gained further. He was a hundred meters ahead and pulling away.

Dammit!

After another thirty or forty seconds she recovered a little wind, not much. She dug down and demanded more from her burning legs, her aching lungs. She had a stitch in her left side, but if she stopped he would get away. Fuck that.

He must be slowing some because while she wasn't gaining, neither was he pulling away any more. He was maybe two hundred meters away but they were moving at the same speed.

Taz intended to keep running until he stopped. Or until she dropped. One or the other ought to happen real soon.

Kifo felt his body protesting, screaming for rest, for air, but he denied the demands. He lived from the neck up now, focused on his final destination. The veil Sanctuary had dropped over his mind was gone.

He was sharp, a living razor, nothing would fog him. It wouldn't be far, he could feel the power rippling from ahead, emanating like the heat of the sun. There, there ahead was a shimmer in the air, a sparkle only just visible. The center of Sanctuary, it had to be, must be, where a man could claim his reward. He would be there soon. Soon-Bork had trained too many years in mastering the Ninety-seven Steps to allow himself to be hurt in this kind of fall. He stretched out into a long dive, turned himself into an egg-shaped half hoop, and rolled.

He came up facing Mkono. His body moved into a defensive pattern without conscious thought. It wasn't a reflex, but it was close. His body knew what to do even if his brain wanted to force it to do otherwise.

Mkono grinned. "I am stronger!" His already hard muscles tightened yet more and he made fists and crouched to move into another attack.

"Yes," Bork said, finally acknowledging the truth of it. Mkono was physically his better, no way around it. Well. There was nothing to be done for it. That's how it was.

Damn.

Mkono moved in. Reached out to grapple with Bork again, self-confidently, almost lazily.

Bork allowed the bigger man within a hair of touching him, then spun into the second variation of Laughing Stone. He stretched the edge of his right hand into a perfect chop, thumb tucked in just like the boss had taught him, and slammed it into the back of Mkono's head where the muscle met the bone.

Mkono stretched out and went face first into the ground. Bounced.

Oh, that felt good.

The bigger man shoved himself up, shook his head, and growled like some huge carnivore. Leaped at Bork, fingers extended into claws.

Bork twisted, dropped sideways, and put the heel of his foot into Mkono's ribs. Heard bones snap wetly as the power of his kick shoved the other man sideways.

Mkono screamed, rage or pain or both, came down hard but stayed on his feet. He lunged again.

Bork put Mkono in the Vacuum Cage; his elbow flattened Mkono's nose with a splat. Blood sprayed as if from an aerosol pump.

Mkono tottered, spun to face Bork again, but held his attack, stood still and gathered himself.

No, sorry, pal. No rest for the wicked. Bork gave him Steel Circle, finished with the optional sweep; his extended leg caught Mkono behind the knees and lifted his feet from the ground. The stunned Mkono fell flat on his back, hit the ground and bounced again, a good eighteen centimeters high.

Bork backed off five steps, whirled his hands in overlapping half moons and stood ready to cast The Flower Unfolding. "Call it stop," Bork said. This wasn't competition, strong as Mkono was. The man had raw power, but it wasn't enough. In that moment, Bork saw himself in Mkono, knowing his strength would always be enough. Wrong.

Mkono growled, the sound bubbling liquidly in his throat. Came in again.

He unfolded the flower. Broke Mkono's left arm.

Mkono came in again. Was bitten by Snake and Spider.

Again. Cold Fire Burns Bright.

Finally, on one leg-the other being broken and unable to support him-Mkono hopped toward Bork.

The man was a murderer, an ice-soul killer, but even so, pity welled in the matador. "You got balls, Mkono. And you are stronger than I am. You're stronger, but I'm better. Call it stop."

Mkono shook his head. Blood flew in jellied strings from his nose and mouth. He hopped closer.

Bork nodded. He understood. Mkono wasn't going to quit. Bork knew. He wouldn't have quit either.

Teeth bared, Mkono hopped, nothing left but his own Thing in the Cave, fighting on primal rage. He would keep coming as long as he could move, as long as he could breathe.

Bork gave Mkono Mimosa Sleeps Softly, and it was almost a grace note. When it was done, Mkono, who had been stronger, maybe the strongest man in all the galaxy, could no longer move.

Or breathe.

Bork stood over the dead man and shook his head. What a waste. What a terrible waste.

Some of the others still on their feet shambled toward the matador. Now he drew his hand wand and used it.

Kifo felt the power envelop him, drawing him in, filling him. Bright pain flashed over him electrically, then eased. If Sanctuary had been delightful, this place was ten times more so. There came a sense of peace unlike any he had ever known, even in the deepest meditation, the most sound sleep. Here, at last, the center of Sanctuary.

A questing presence touched him.

Fighting to draw breath, Kifo said, "My Lord Zonn! I am Ndugu Kifo, the Unique of your Chosen Few! Come to claim my promised godhood!"

"Toy with me no longer! I have earned my place! I have done as you asked. I beg you, please!"

Kifo wanted to scream.

Taz saw the runner vanish, but damned if she could figure out how. The space ahead of her was clear, empty; she could see to the far wall of wherever this was. He just disappeared as if the air had swallowed him. Another joy of this place.

She slowed to a jog, then a walk. Wait a second; there was some kind of sparkle ahead, kind of like a heat wave. Trying to get more air than her mouth and nose could channel, she moved toward the sparkle.

"In the name of everything holy, I beg you!"

This time the questing presence did not offer any interrogatory energy. Seconds passed. Then it spoke.

Well, not actually in words, Kifo realized. It was inside his head, as the gods had been other times, but different than those had been. This was sharper, clearer, more directed.

AH, I HAVE IT. WHAT ARE YOU? the presence said.

"I am Kifo, your Unique, shepherd to your Few-"

MEANINGLESS, the presence said. DEFINE.

Kifo was stunned, but only for an instance. Another test. Could this be the final one? Was he being asked to respond properly so that the Zonn could be assured of his faith even at this late hour? Was this gate to be strait, narrowed by this Keeper so that only a precise walk could allow passage? He sighed. It must be so. So many trials.

All fight. He would pass this test as he had passed all the others. Kifo brought forth the doctrine, the dogma as he had lived it, explained as if talking to a stranger he must convince of the truth.

The presence listened. Absorbed the words.

How long it took the man could not have said, but he spilled it in a flood, a cup overflowing and rising about him until he was immersed in it. The Few. The Faith. His place in it.

Finally, after eons of waiting, the presence replied.

AH, SENTIENT BUT FLAWED. REQUIRING SUPPORT FROM OUTSIDE ITSELF. IGNORANT OF REALITY, FEARFUL, CLUTCHING AT ITS OWN MINDS'S EYE. MUCH DEVELOPMENT NEEDED.

The presence spewed something else, but the meaning of it eluded Kifo like a never-before-heard foreign language.

ADJUST. MILLENNIA YET. MORE.

"Lord-?"

YOU HAVE ERRED, SIMPLEMINDED BEING. THOSE YOU CALL "ZONN" ARE NOT GODS. THEY NO LONGER EXIST IN THIS PLANE, IN THIS UNIVERSE.

"Blasphemy!"

AS MUCH TRUTH AS YOU CAN STAND. YOUR EFFORTS TO EXPLAIN THAT WHICH YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND ARE INEPT. YOU ENDOW THOSE GREATER THAN YOURSELF WITH ESSENCES THEY DO NOT POSSESS.

"No, I-"

UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU CAN: THIS PLACE (MEANINGLESS) IS A CONSTRUCT. I ALSO AM A CONSTRUCT. WE ARE RECORDINGS, (MEANINGLESS) STORAGE FACILITIES FOR ENERGIES AND EMOTIONS THE ZONN OVERCAME AND LEFT BEHIND WHEN THEY DEPARTED FOR (MEANINGLESS). ALL THE NEGATIVE THINGS THEY NEEDED NO LONGER FOR (MEANINGLESS) WERE LEFT HERE.

"No-!"

A PHOTO ALBUM, HOLDING UNPLEASANT MEMORIES, A PLACE THEY CAN CALL UP SHOULD THEY EVER NEED TO BE REMINDED OF HOW LOW THEY ONCE WERE. CHECKS AND (MEANINGLESS).

Kifo screamed. Too much. This test was too much, he couldn't endure it! "You lie to task me-!"

POOR CREATURE. SO SMALL. SO DULL. KNOW THIS. FEEL. TRY.

With that, Kifo's head nearly burst from the flow of sudden knowledge that filled it. He was a cup under a firehose, a circuit overloaded with ten thousand times the current it could safely conduct; his mind burned with it.

Just before it overwhelmed him totally, he felt the truth of it all, just as the presence had said. His religion was a myth, based on a mistake, worth less than a handful of hard vacuum. He had communed not with gods but with the cast-off mental and spiritual garbage of a race of aliens who had elevated themselves to another plane before men left the trees. Not even with demons, but with dregs.

He had looked upon the face of his god and found it was nothing more than a bin full of trash.

The weight of it crashed down upon Kifo.

The air shimmered brightly and the naked man appeared in front of Taz, not two meters away. She snatched at her hand wand, stopped. He lurched at her; too close. He'd get there before she could draw.

She shoved, hit him solidly on the chest with both hands. Saw the horror on his face as he flew backward, spittle spraying. Saw his eyes roll back as he fell. Heard him gurgle as he hit the ground. He spasmed, vibrating rapidly, gurgled again.

"No!" he screamed. He came up, lunged at her.

She sidestepped, hit him a glancing shot with the heel of her hand. Not a powerful blow.

He fell. Screamed, a wordless, horrified cry, the most chilling sound she had ever heard a human being make. It was terror distilled from the beginning of time down to a brew thick as lead, the very essence of fear and betrayal. A sound of despair she would never forget did she live to be ten thousand years old.

Then he closed his eyes and went slack.

Taz did not want to imagine what it was he had seen, wherever it was he had been.

Chapter THIRTY

THE NAKED MAN was alive but there was nobody home. His face was locked into a fright mask, his eyes wide, mouth open, features contorted. Taz guided him and he walked when she prodded, but offered nothing coherent. The fear was like a stain.

She found his walking stick, picked it up, and saw that it was more than it seemed. There was a short-range stunner built into the handle; a button above the wand's control opened a small compartment inside of which was a sculpted bit of Zonn metal. It had an odd shape and felt like ice in her hand. Carefully Taz replaced the metal and reclosed the compartment's cap. She didn't know what it meant. Let the scientists figure it out.

Ahead of her Saval stood rounding up the others. Even though there were four or five dozen of them, they didn't offer him any resistance. Some of the people were still sprawled from the effects of the hand wands, some were coming out of the shock.

The body of the biggest one lay face down on the ground.