Dark Foundations (60 page)

“I can hardly take the concept in.”

“It's a useful reminder that we're playing for very high stakes.” Vero sighed. “Anyway that's where things are.”

As Vero started to rise, Merral said quickly, “Vero, there's one other thing. Tinternli knows about the identity disk. I think she suspects whose name is on it.”

“Ah.” There was no disguising the look of alarm on Vero's face. “Th-that is something I was afraid of. I'll bet she is thinking in terms of this great adversary superstition. You'd better watch yourself.”

“But we don't believe it, do we?”

Vero smiled. “That you are the great defender of the Assembly? A new Lucas Ringell returned at this most dark time?” His smile broadened. “Oddly enough, I'm not sure I disbelieve it. What did Brenito say to me about you? ‘I'm glad you found yourself a warrior.'”

“Vero, I am a reluctant warrior at best. I am not some mythic figure. It's so ridiculous as to be almost funny!”

“Very well. But if on the field of battle that rumor strikes fear into our enemies, then it may serve some good.” Vero bounded to his feet. “But I really must go. Keep safe, my friend. The hour comes.” He paused. “Two extra things: Don't use the underground passageways at night until I tell you to. And when you pray tonight, pray especially for me and my team. We are hoping for a late night.”

“Meaning?”

“Ah. It's a secret, Commander.” Vero walked away.

“Still no news?” Vero asked.

The five people studying screens and listening to signals in the basement command center gave five negative answers.

Still nothing! The trap is ready, but they aren't walking into it.

Vero twisted his fingers in frustration. Just after dark there had been signs of unusual activity at the Langerstrand base. It was now just past midnight and other than a report of odd noises at Tezekal Ridge, there had been no confirmation that a Krallen pack was on its way. Yet there was still an air of expectancy in the warm stuffy room, and the sporadic chatter was terse and nervous.

Vero tried to distract his own tense thoughts by looking around. His attention was caught by Azeras, who sat with his back to the wall, staring impassively at a wallscreen. The sarudar was immobile apart from his hands, which seemed to continuously slide up and down his thighs.

Although Azeras had put on weight since they found him on Ilakuma, there was still something gaunt, even haggard about him. That appearance was not just biological, but was linked to a disturbed psychology. Among those who knew who he was, Azeras had made no friends nor, it seemed, wanted any. He stayed formal and aloof, was always Azeras or Sarudar, and seemed to prefer to dwell alone with his troubles.

Suddenly, someone shouted, “Mr. V.! We have them on screen!”

Vero swung around to see the screen the man was pointing at. Blurred gray forms pounded over rough rocks, weaving and swaying but somehow managing to stay synchronized. “I-I'm having trouble counting.”

“It's a full pack. A column of six—two abreast.”

“W-where?”

“Just five kilometers west of the Walderand Bridge. They're fast.”

“H-how fast?”

“Twenty kilometers an hour minimum,” said a voice to his right.

Vero turned to Azeras. “As you expected?”

“Yeah.” It came over as a grunt. “As expected. Recon party. Be grateful they aren't carrying weapons. It's going to be tough enough anyway.”

“Thanks.”

“Mr. V,” another team member said, in an agitated voice, “there's a sentry on the Walderand Bridge. We could alert him, if we're quick.”

Vero felt a sick twisting of his stomach.

The room fell silent and Vero realized everyone was looking at him. He closed his eyes.
I had been hoping I would not face this. Lord, give me grace and wisdom.
He made his decision.
And forgiveness.

As he opened his eyes he was aware his hands were shaking. “I-I'm s-sorry w-we can't do it. If they suspect, it would jeopardize everything. . . . H-he must take his chance.”

There were stiff nods and silence.

I wish Perena were here.
Vero looked away from the screens in utter misery hoping that no one could see his face.
How long does the sentry have to live? Ten minutes?

He caught sight of Azeras. His head was shaking softly, his eyes seeming to focus light-years away. Azeras suddenly looked up at Vero, and then beckoned him over.

Vero walked to him, his feet unsteady, and knelt at his side.

“It's war,” Azeras whispered in his ear. Vero heard a roughness in his voice. “You have to make decisions like this some times. . . . I know. Oh,
how
I know. . . . But, Sentinel, you must keep on. Don't let it shake you. Don't freeze.” He gestured clumsily at the screen. “This has got to work. Okay? . . . Now get back to running the show.”

Vero shook himself and sat down.
He's been here
;
he knows what it's like.
He swallowed and gave an order to the team at the screens. “Make sure the team in the trapping hall are ready. They need to be silent soon. Tell them our visitors are on their way.”

A quarter of an hour later, they watched the Krallen pack race up a streambed leading to an old drainage tunnel beneath Isterrane.

Vero stared at them, noticing no diminution in the slightest in their speed. He also saw they were keeping to the left-hand side of the ditch. “Why are they doing that, Sarudar?

“To avoid leaving tracks. There's no mud up there.”

I must remember
that these things are smart
.

They vanished off the screen and in seconds, a new image came up, of a large grille in a stone wall.

Vero, fascinated and appalled, stared as the six ranks of Krallen came to a sudden, disciplined, halt. Two cautiously paced forward, their heads moving this way and that as they examined the grille. Vero could make out the red pinpricks of their eyes. In a single sudden movement the remaining ten turned and faced outward in a defensive arc.

“Gotta admire them,” said a voice behind him and Vero turned to see who it was.

“Anya,” he said. “I didn't know you were here.”

“I asked to be called when the incursion was definite.” Her eyes didn't leave the screen.

“Are they as
you
expected?”

“Hmm. I hadn't imagined them to be so fluid in their actions. And they look much more powerful than . . . our friend.” The existence of Betafor, who was safely locked away in a screened room under armed guard two floors below, remained a closely guarded secret.

On the screen the two Krallen twisted the screws on the grille.
They have enormous strength in the fingers.
I wonder if we've taken that into account
.

The grille was lifted down. The other ten Krallen turned in a moment of perfect synchronization and ran inside the tunnel, leaving the other two to pull the grille carefully shut behind them. All twelve soon disappeared from sight.

Vero looked up at another wallscreen, which showed a schematic map of the upper levels. On it six pairs of red dots moved down a corridor.

All being well, they will turn left
.

Everyone seemed to hold his or her breath.

The twelve dots swung left. “At this rate, less than a minute,” said someone.

Unless they realize it's a trap.

On the screen the dots moved forward, turning successively right and left, but all the time gradually drawing nearer to a section of corridor marked in green.

The first red dots entered the green zone. “R-ready,” said Vero.

Suddenly, with ten of them inside the section, the line came to a halt.

“Uh-oh, they suspect something!” someone cried.

I must decide.
Merral would do this better
. “
Now!”
Vero snapped.

“Blast doors are down,” said a calm female voice.

On the screen, the green corridor was marked off at either end. Within it five pair of dots could be seen moving around rapidly.

“Cameras on,” said the same calm voice.

On the wall, half a dozen screens came on with six different images. It took a second or so for Vero to understand what they showed, but it was immediately clear that he had been only just in time in letting the blast doors drop.

Two Krallen were crushed beneath them. The remaining ten were trapped in the hundred-meter section and could be seen in pairs examining the walls and the single sealed side entrance.

Ten functional Krallen. But we haven't caught them yet.
“Open the adhesive vents.”

The screen showed jets of transparent fluid squirting onto the floor. Two Krallen were caught by the liquid and in seconds were writhing in a futile attempt to free their feet from the glistening floor. The remaining eight climbed the walls, somehow maintaining their hold on the almost smooth surface.

“I'm impressed,” Anya said.

“I warned you!” rasped Azeras. “They can get a grip on anything rougher than glass.”

Two Krallen moved to the vents and suddenly twisted and bent the pipes closed.

A doglike gray face with red glowing eyes approached one camera and peered into it. Metal fingers moved forward, joined together, stabbed forward, and the image died. One by one the four remaining cameras followed it into darkness.

Vero rose. “As expected. T-time to go to the trapping hall.”

Five minutes later, Vero stood on the balcony of what had once been a sports hall. The balcony had once been open, but Vero had had it covered in armored glass with a protective steel mesh overlay.

Two dozen large men waited below, their bulk enhanced by the prototype suits of new armor. Some held steel nets on poles, others a variety of weapons, including shotguns. Behind them was a door marked with ominous red stripes.

Vero slid open the balcony window.

“You have eight K-Krallen out there,” he said. “It's not going to be easy. They may try and come out one at a time or you may have to go in and get them. Remember, if you have to, shoot them, but we want to do all we can to take them in a functional state. A l-lot of lives may depend on us getting this right.” He hesitated. “The Lamb be with you all.”

Hands rose in acknowledgment and then the men turned and lined up in a semicircle around the red door.

Vero closed the glass. “Open the door!”

The door slid sideways. Vero heard the sound of strange, eerie whistles like the wind blowing over open metal tubes.

Without warning two Krallen raced out.

Nets exploded over them. Two more Krallen bounded out, leaped high up in the air as if they were molten metal, then twisted in midair and dived at the men. As the men reeled back, the remaining four Krallen shot out, one pair going left against the wall, the other pair—with perfect symmetry—to the right.

There were shouts and yells and in seconds the floor of the hall was a chaotic melee of men, nets, and flying, tireless gray forms.