The Empty Warrior (72 page)

“How did you know about my plan?” O’Keefe asked, aloud now, as he was slightly uncomfortable with the mental communication of the canines.

The pack listens
, Regulus thought, without further elaboration.

As O’Keefe opened his eyes and once again became aware of his surroundings, one of the pack leaders separated himself from the semicircle of canines and approached. He sat behind the alpha of Alphas and waited patiently. Presently Regulus took notice of him, turned his head to face him, and then turned back to O’Keefe.
He is quite right,
Regulus thought.
I have become engulfed in the bonding, forgetting that we have important business to attend to. Allow me to introduce Pherkad, sired by Metallah and born of Alya.

The dog approached and lowered his head, O’Keefe dutifully scratching him behind the ears. Pherkad was slightly smaller than Regulus, but with a thicker, longer coat. He was largely obsidian in color as well, except his face and legs were a tawny amber. The lighter part of his coat framed his eyes in the half-light, while a four pointed white star adorned him just below the throat. Even through the dirt and dust of Ashawzut, he was a beautiful animal.

He will bring the weapon to you now,
O’Keefe sensed Regulus thinking, and Pherkad turned and trotted away. He was back in only moments. As he approached O’Keefe for the second time, the Earther could see that held between his jaws was the scorched leather holster of his forty-five caliber, the Colt itself still securely strapped within. O’Keefe took it from the dog and quickly checked the action and the clip while Pherkad retreated to sit with the other Alphas. The gun was not in good shape. Not only had it been submerged in the water of his lake, it had been sitting for months without care, the last few in Ashawzut, where the dust that coated everything in the colony had managed to worm its way into even the deepest recesses of the weapon. O’Keefe replaced it in the holster and set it on the floor next to Regulus. “I don’t think it will fire,” he said. “It’s in too bad a shape.”

Then we must repair it.

“How?” O’Keefe asked forlornly. “The damn thing’s rusty and full of dirt. At the very least I’d need oil, solvent, and a long-handled brush that would fit down the barrel. Plus another brush for the outside parts and some clean, soft fabric. That is not to mention needing free time, preferably with good light and in a place where none of the other prisoners could see. Where I am going to find all that on this rock?”

Oil, solvent, and clean rags may be found in abundance in the dragons’ maintenance bay. You will need to fabricate the brush, as our appendages are not suited to such work. But I feel certain that we will be able to provide you with the materials necessary. Perhaps a brush from the quarters of one of the Slayer’s minions can be purloined. They have often been observed cleaning their teeth with handled brushes. It should not be altogether difficult to procure a thin, steel shaft to attach such a thing to. After all, we found a hooked shaft to fish your weapon from its haven easily enough. As for light, we are already in the possession of battery operated lamps that we have liberated from the Dominion. Sometimes even our keen eyes need assistance in this dark place. The time you will need must come after the lights go down, and the space you require will be here. The pack will bring you here when we have obtained all that you require. As for your barracks mates, they will be watched. Should any of them show signs of a loose tongue concerning your absences, we will silence them.
Regulus canted his head slightly, as if motioning toward the body of the dead trusty.

“Well, damn right,” breathed O’Keefe, amazed at the competence and guile of his newest friend and ally.

Regulus ignored the gun lying next to him, but Pherkad came forward to retrieve the weapon and slink away with it into the depths of the catacomb that was the animals’ den. Regulus continued.
But there is yet another reason why we chose this night for the bonding. Yours is not the only plan that has been hatched for escape. Another plot is coming to fruition. Their plan relies strictly on numbers, and they recruit more men every day. But with each recruit their scheme comes nearer to attracting the attention of the Slayer and, if implemented will, we believe, lead only to their deaths rather than their freedom. It may also frighten the Slayer into even more security precautions, making your stratagem more difficult, perhaps impossible, to carry out.

“Exactly what do they mean to do,” O’Keefe asked.

Their plan is simple. They think that the Slayer, her machine, the dragons, and we Guardians simply cannot stand against the unified might of many thousands of prisoners acting in concert. When they feel they have sufficient numbers, they intend to set a date, and then launch a general revolt as soon as the lights come up in the morning. This plan does offer a small chance of success, but only if the Slayer were to stand and fight. We, however, do not believe that she will seek an outright victory. At the first sign of any uprising, it seems clear that she would simply retreat to her quarters, if she were not already there. Although none of the pack has ever accompanied her to her surface abode, we believe that if she were to escape to it—which we would be hard pressed to prevent considering her shielding, the battle machine, and the fact that your brethren would consider us enemies and impede any expedient that we might employ to prevent it—she would be impregnable, at least for a time, against any assault that we or the prisoners might muster. Well long enough for her to call for assistance.

O’Keefe waited for a moment to see if any further information was forthcoming before he gave Regulus the bad news. “I don’t mean to rain on your parade, but if Elorak gets back to her quarters, we’re dead. You’ve probably noticed she is a just a tad bit ruthless,” he said sarcastically. “She’ll just shut down the life support systems and a few hours later she won’t need any help. And even if we do nail her, we have to assume that the Vazileks will still be on their way here in short order. My friend Bart tells me their computer technology is formidable. I suspect that, Elorak or no Elorak, an automated distress drone would be sent out almost immediately, long before we could be in any position to stop it. That being the case, our little revolt will have to be carried out only when there are enough ships already docked here to carry us all to safety. There will be no time to wait for any new arrivals. Then our only hope is to get Elorak and her robot, do away with the guards, and trust to luck that Bart, who is a real mad-scientist type, can hack into their network and gain control of the hangar doors. Then we steal the freighters and get the hell out of here before the Vazileks show up. In short, a whole lot of things are going to have to go right before any of us live through this.”

When Regulus’ thoughts came back to O’Keefe the dog was troubled, and disbelieving.
The pack understands that there are many hurdles to be cleared. But I must disagree with your assessment of the Slayer. I do not think that even she would resort to murder on a scale such as you suggest. What of her dragons and her minions? They would be out in the complex among us. Surely she would not destroy them as well.

“Oh, yes she would. In a skinny minute she would,” O’Keefe stated with finality. “Trust me on that one.” Regulus dropped his muzzle toward the floor, and O’Keefe could feel a sense of pain and confusion emanating from the dog, but there was no concrete reply.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “She’s the kind that gives the rest of us humans a bad name.” A silent communion ensued between man and beast as each groped for understanding. After a time, O’Keefe spoke again. “How close are the others to implementing their plan?” he asked.

Very close
, came the reply.

“We must stop them.”

They continue to plot even as we speak. I can take you to them now, if you so desire it.

“Yes,” O’Keefe said forcefully. “We’ve got to convince them to cool it before they do something rash and screw everything up.”

Regulus lifted his head and turned back to the assembled pack leaders, obviously issuing commands that O’Keefe could not sense, something he now found oddly disconcerting. The chamber was filled with guttural growls and snarls as the dogs communed. The assemblage quickly broke up and the Alphas trotted away, each setting off in a different direction. Within moments the warren transformed from a quiet, sleepy den of drowsing canines to a bustling hive of frenetic activity as the dogs prepared to escort O’Keefe out into the tunnels. They dashed away into the corridors in twos and threes, their claws scraping and skittering over the stone floor at every turn. A pack of twenty some dogs mustered behind Regulus; waiting with eyes wide, ears cocked, and noses up; sniffing at the stale air.

Out path is clear
, Regulus asserted.
Come. We will take you to the conspirators
. O’Keefe got to his feet, barely able to stand erect under the oppressively low ceiling, and followed Regulus out of the warren and into the corridors. Once out of the canines’ den, their escorts scattered through the tunnels both before and behind them, for fear that the patrols sent out previously had missed some hidden danger. They proceeded at a brisk walk, never stopping; Regulus sure of the way and confident in the safety of the route.

The way is long, Achilles,
he thought.
It would hasten our arrival if I were to bear you.

“No,” O’Keefe whispered. “I need time to think. And my name is Hill, not Achilles.”

Do not abjure that which has been bestowed upon you by your forebears. I have sensed the given name Achilles in your mind, and I know that it belongs to you.

“Yeah, well, nobody calls me that. It sounds funny. I don’t like it.”

But I do. I have also sensed that it is a great name, an ancient name, an enduring name synonymous with strength and ability. It is a name connotative of vanity and pride, but also gallantry. It is a heroic name, and it suits you well. Therefore I shall always call you Achilles.

“Great,” O’Keefe sighed.

After a quarter hour trek, Regulus suddenly came to a halt.
The barracks of the plot leaders lies just ahead. They know not of our coming, but soon will as we close on their position. They too are careful to post sentries. How shall we approach them?

Show me the way, and I’ll go to them alone
, O’Keefe thought.

No
, Regulus responded firmly.
For the welfare of the pack, myself, and the memory of beloved Tibon, you shall not risk yourself in such a manner. A minimum of myself and five others shall accompany you.

O’Keefe could sense from the obdurate feel of the dog’s thoughts how deeply Regulus was committed to not allowing him to go on alone. It was imprinted throughout the layers of the dog’s consciousness. And judging from the numbers the Guardians had mobilized to escort him now that he was bonded, it was clear the other dogs felt the same way. There was no sense in arguing. “All right, pick your five and let’s go,” he said, bemused at the dog’s overprotectiveness. Two hours ago he had been convinced that two dogs meant to drag him away to his death, and now he felt safer in the midst of dozens of them than he had felt at any moment since he had first stepped into Ashawzut.

Regulus intruded into his mind.
All is prepared. Five of my strongest will escort us, while the rest will guard the approaches. But we must not tarry, Achilles. The dragons, while even more vacuous and lethargic in the darkness than they are by day, still move about the colony complex with some regularity. We must not remain in any one place for too long.

Well no kidding
, O’Keefe thought.
But I’m not the one screwing around here; I just don’t know where the hell we’re going.

Yes, quite right,
Regulus thought, chastened.
Follow at my side
. Regulus started off down the corridor at what was a plodding pace for him but a nearly a full run for O’Keefe. Three of their escorts prowled forward while the two others followed, stopping and turning periodically to listen and assess the scents in the air, then loping back to within a few yards of O’Keefe and Regulus. A few moments later the dogs in front abruptly slowed and then, one by one, entered an opening cut into the right side of the corridor. O’Keefe followed, with Regulus directly behind. The last two of the animals remained in the passageway, taking positions on either side of the entry.

The room was dark and silent as a charnel house. O’Keefe stood unmoving while his eyes adjusted to the faint light bleeding in from the corridor, while the dogs sank to their haunches. They flanked him, two to a side, with Regulus directly on his right. As his pupils slowly widened, he could see that the room was a near duplicate of his own barracks. He and the dogs were in the open area up front, with the latrine to their left, while the stacks of bunks projected toward them in columns from the rear wall.

But the silence made this room much different from barracks 121; here it was unbroken, and unnerving. There was not a snore or a snort nor even a gasp of breath. No tossing, turning, or movement of any kind was betrayed by the raspy racket the straw mattresses normally sent forth from even the smallest change in a sleeper’s position.

They’re all awake, aren’t they
, O’Keefe thought.

And terrified
, Regulus replied.
The air is thick with the scent of their dread.