To Reign in Hell: The Exile of Khan Noonien Singh (32 page)

Several meters away, Zuleika caught Karyn Ericsson and her daughter trying to escape the gorge, along with Juliette Savine and some of the other Exile children.

“Forget it, girls,” the Amazonian supermodel announced, blocking the pass out of the canyon. She had discarded her headcloth and visor, revealing braided dreadlocks, but threatened the fleeing Exiles with a pair of matching bronze
sai
s. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Please, Zuleika,” Karyn begged from the forefront of
the deserters, defending Astrid and the other youngsters with a crude spear. “We don’t have to fight. Just let us by—for the children’s sake!”

“So you can raise another generation of terrorists and thieves?” Zuleika asked mockingly. She jabbed the air between them with the sharpened points of her
sai
s. “No way!”

Seeing no other choice, Karyn lunged at Zuleika with her spear. Zuleika deftly evaded the thrust by spinning to one side. Laughing, she came back at Karyn, her
sai
s flashing in the torchlight.

It was a short battle. Zuleika was an ex-assassin, trained in armed and unarmed combat. Karyn Ericsson, although hardened by over a decade on Ceti Alpha V, was a former professor of linguistics.

The outcome was never in doubt.

Catching hold of Karyn’s spear with one
sai
, Zuleika disarmed the other woman with one expert move. Her right leg slammed in Karyn’s stomach, knocking Ericsson’s wife onto the ground. Zuleika stood astride Karyn’s sprawled form, staring down at her in contempt.

“Surrender,” she growled, “and I won’t have to kill you in front of your daughter.” Zuleika raised her eyes to shoot a warning glance at Savine, who cowered a few meters away, clutching her ten-year-old son. “Khan’s not much interested in taking prisoners, but he might be willing to make an exception where the kids are concerned.”

A rock came whizzing through the air, striking Zuleika in the temple. Stunned, she raised a hand to her head and was surprised to see blood dripping from her fingertips. She tottered unsteadily upon her feet. Blurry eyes spotted little Astrid Ericsson standing a few meters away, a leather sling in her hand. “You…?” Zuleika whispered in disbelief.

“Leave my mother alone!” the girl shouted. Fury blazed in her pale blue eyes. She let fly another rock.

The second missile struck Zuleika squarely between the eyes. The dazed Amazon toppled over, hitting the ground with a crash. Astrid sprang forward, drawing the tusk of a long-dead sabertooth from the folds of her small burnoose….

Moments later, Karyn and Savine hustled Astrid and the other children out of the gorge into the darkened desert beyond. Astrid clutched the bloodstained tusk like a favorite toy.

Khan was drawing his sword from the belly of a fallen Exile when he heard footsteps closing on him from behind. He spun around to see Paul Austin swinging a battle-axe at his head. The crazed American was naked from the waist up, exposing a lean torso liberally embellished with tattoos. “Die!” he yelled as the blade of the axe came slashing through the air. “
Sic semper tyrannis!
”

The speed of the attack tested even Khan’s superhuman reflexes. He was still reaching for his gun, unsure whether he could draw the Colt in time, when the butt of a rifle suddenly struck Austin in the side of the head, staggering him. “Do not fear, Your Excellency!” Joaquin shouted from the other end of the rifle.

Your timely assistance is much appreciated, my friend,
Khan thought.
I can always count on you to watch my back
.

The massive axe slipped from Austin’s fingers. Joaquin raised his rifle again, as though to deliver a killing blow, but Khan had other plans. “Wait!” he forestalled the eager bodyguard. “Hold the cur instead!”

Shouldering his rifle, Joaquin obediently grabbed on to Austin, twisting the other man’s arms behind his back. The
tattooed Exile struggled to free himself, but could not escape Joaquin’s unbreakable hold. Austin’s efforts left him panting, a consequence, perhaps, of too much smoking over the course of his unworthy life.

Khan stepped forward to confront the prisoner.

“Where is your master, renegade?” he demanded, his face only centimeters from Austin’s. “Where is Ericsson?”

Austin spit in Khan’s face. “Go to hell!”

“Why this is hell,” Khan snarled mordantly, “nor am I out of it.” He pressed the point of his sword against Austin’s throat, determined to wring the truth from the man, one way or another. “Where?” he repeated. The tip of the blade broke the skin, drawing a single drop of blood. “Where is Ericsson?”

“Here I am, Khan!” a sardonic voice called out. Khan looked away from Austin, his blood racing at the sound.
At last!
he thought savagely.

Harulf Ericsson stood at the far end of the gorge, at the foot of the southern barricade. Steam rose from a bubbling hot spring directly behind Ericsson, giving him the look of a demon making a far-too-theatrical entrance. No kaffiyeh concealed his hateful countenance.

To his horror, Khan saw that the rebel leader was not alone. Suzette Ling was caught in Ericsson’s grasp, with one arm around her waist and a Colt pistol aimed at her head. Blood streamed from a bullet wound in her left shoulder.

An anguished grunt escaped Joaquin as he saw his wife in the enemy’s hands.

“I am sorry, Joaquin, Lord Khan!” Ling blurted. Shock and pain showed on her ashen face. “I wasn’t expecting the gun!”

“Quiet!” Ericsson barked at his hostage. Khan guessed that the revolver had been captured from one of the guards murdered when the Exiles seized the gorge. “Throw down your weapons,” the Norseman shouted at Khan and Joaquin.

Khan wavered. Ordinarily, he would not hesitate to sacrifice a soldier or two in pursuit of victory, but Joaquin was his oldest and most faithful supporter. Khan still felt the pain of Marla’s death. How could he ask Joaquin to endure the same torment?

He cast a sideways glance at Joaquin, who was maintaining his hold on Austin, seemingly frozen in place. Although Joaquin’s expression remained as stony as ever, Khan glimpsed the agony in his friend’s eyes.

Khan threw down his sword and gun.

“The chakrams, too,” Ericsson ordered. “And tell your musclebound stooge to let go of Austin.”

But Joaquin made his own decision. Forced to choose between Khan and the mother of his son, the huge bodyguard chose the leader to whom he had devoted his life. Bellowing like an enraged bull, Joaquin flung Paul Austin aside and charged at Ericsson. His big hands grabbed for the rifle strapped to his shoulder.

What happened next took only heartbeats:

“
Milde Makter!
” Ericsson exclaimed in surprise. His gun fired, taking off the top of Suzette Ling’s skull. The security chief’s body crumpled to the ground like cannon fodder even as Ericsson rapidly turned the gun on Joaquin as well. Multiple shots slammed into the bodyguard’s chest, but Joaquin kept on coming, driven by momentum and pure animal determination.

Khan took advantage of the distraction to draw another
chakram from his arm. The gleaming bronze ring flew from his hand, heading straight for Ericsson, who let out a horrified wail as the spinning chakram sliced off his gun hand at the wrist.

A flicker of movement to his right alerted Khan that Austin was scrambling for the discarded Colt. Annoyed at having to deal with an underling while the greater foe awaited, Khan reached out and administered a vicious nerve pinch to a pressure point at the base of the American’s neck, which just happened to be adorned with the tattooed image of a black widow spider.

Austin dropped unconscious to the floor of the canyon.

Khan immediately turned his attention back to Ericsson. For a second, it looked as though Joaquin was going to reach the traitorous Norseman first, but not even the mighty Israeli could ignore Ericsson’s bullets for long. His strength gave out less than a meter away from his target, and he collapsed to earth, landing in a heap not far from the body of his murdered wife.

Joachim had just become an orphan.

Khan felt a pang of grief for both loyal followers, but now was not the time for mourning.
Vengeance comes first,
Khan thought, as he advanced on Ericsson.
Vengeance long delayed
.

Clutching the spurting stump where his left hand had once been, the rebel leader backed into the rocky barricade behind him. Fear showed through a shaggy beard that was now more gray than gold. Khan was surprised at how much older the man looked.

“Well,” Ericsson said with a toothy grin. “Here we are at last.” He grimaced in pain, his sunbaked features growing whiter by the second. His voice, although grown hoarser
with age, was just as insolent as it had been when he challenged Khan long ago, on the day they first set foot on Ceti Alpha V. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in pleading for mercy?”

Khan did not deign to answer so ridiculous a query. Ericsson’s severed hand, still gripping the stolen revolver, lay upon the gravel between Khan and his quarry. He kicked it out of his path as he drew nearer to Ericsson. The spray from the nearby hot spring stung his face.

A cruel smile came to Khan’s lips. He took hold of Ericsson with both hands and lifted him physically off the ground. Weak from blood loss, the Exile leader had no strength to resist.

“Marla once taught me an old Klingon saying—that revenge is a dish that is best served cold.” Khan’s smile faded as the memory of his wife’s tragic end returned with full force. “In your case, however, I am inclined to make an exception!”

Before Ericsson could say another word, Khan hurled Marla’s killer into the seething hot spring. The Norseman’s screams echoed off the walls of the canyon as the boiling water scalded the flesh from his bones.

Khan savored every moment of Ericsson’s demise.

The battle itself died shortly thereafter. With their leader gone, the remaining Exiles—mostly striplings no older than Joachim—surrendered to Khan and his forces. Weapons were confiscated, the wounded given varying degrees of treatment, and the dead laid out for disposal.

As the sun rose over Azar Gorge, casting a sickly yellow radiance over the blood-soaked canyon, Khan was left to contemplate the awful price of victory. The gorge had been reclaimed, yes, and his enemies routed, but at what cost?

Joaquin, Ling, Zuleika, and many others, all lost to death. In the end, his own forces had suffered a half-dozen fatalities, while the overwhelmed Exiles had lost seven adults and almost an equal number of youngsters.
There is not even a doctor to attend to the injured,
Khan realized morosely,
not since Gideon Hawkins met his end in the eel pit
.

Ceti Alpha V was now without a physician.

Khan wandered numbly through the battle-scarred gorge. The stink of death and gunpowder assailed his
nostrils. Even the canyon itself, he saw, had become a casualty of war. The rampant flames and explosion had destroyed whatever vegetation had once thrived in the gorge, the hardy cacti and other succulents. It would be many years before anything grew here again, if anything ever did.

A terrible weariness descended upon Khan. With Ericsson dead at last, he felt as though he had lost his reason to live. What remained to him now, except to preside over the slow extinction of the planet?

“Your Excellency!” A loyalist, whose name Khan vaguely remembered was Yolanda Aponte, hurried to catch up with him. Once a minor lieutenant, Aponte had received a battlefield promotion when Khan placed her in charge of the clean-up operation. “The prisoners await your justice.”

The news brought no joy. He raised his gaze to consider the surviving Exiles, who had been chained together upon the floor of the ravine. Khan spotted Paul Austin among them, along with Amy Katzel, who was currently having her bandaged skull inspected by her brother Daniel. Armed warriors from Fatalis stood watch over the dispirited captives, despite their own assorted injuries.

“That is all of them?” he asked.

“All that are accounted for, Your Excellency.” A frown appeared on Aponte’s soot-stained face. “Ericsson’s wife and daughter are missing, I’m afraid. There are reports that they, along with a handful of others, escaped the canyon during the fighting.”

Khan’s spirits plunged ever deeper.
After all this bloodshed,
he lamented,
it seems the seeds of future conflict remain
. Although broken and leaderless, might not the Exiles someday rise to oppose him once more?

“We shall hear from them again,” he prophesied. His voice held a bitter edge.

Aponte tried to lift his mood. “A few stray fugitives, Lord Khan. Nothing to be concerned about.” She gestured toward the assembled prisoners. “In the meantime, there’s those vermin to deal with. What is your command?”

What was to be done with the rebels? Deep in his heart, Khan had already decided their fates. The adults would be put to death, with the possible exception of Amy Katzel, whom he might pardon in payment for her brother’s loyal service. Life at Fatalis was too precarious to risk to risk adding a hostile underclass to the equation. The children, however, would be spared, to protect the genetic diversity of the entire colony.

They will have to be watched carefully,
he cautioned himself,
perhaps for years to come. But they are still young enough to learn better of their parents’ ways
.

“Leave me,” he dismissed Aponte. He knew what had to be done, but found he had no stomach for the task at present. “I shall deal with the prisoners in my own time.”

“As you say, Your Excellency,” the woman replied, a slightly puzzled look upon her face. Respecting his desire for privacy, she left him to his thoughts, which grew steadily darker as he looked beyond today’s “victory” to the long years ahead.
Why go on?
he asked himself.
My wife and closest friend are dead, and my youthful dreams of empire have come down to this: ruling over a paucity of ragged castaways on a moribund planet.

His hand fell to the pistol on his hip, reclaimed after he sent Ericsson to his eternal damnation. It would be easy, he realized, to end his torturous journey here in this desolate gorge, with a single bullet through his skull.