Doomsday Warrior 13 - American Paradise (7 page)

“That’s Leilani again, Rock,” Murf said. “You know, the feathery one that likes your hair?”

The saronged beauty squatted down in front of Rockson on the colorful blankets, amidst the fruit and meat plates. She smiled and started feeding him pieces of sweet-baked breadfruit.

“Leilani,” encouraged Murf, “is just your type, don’t you think, Rock?”

Rock’s heart pounded as he stared. The legs were the same. She had brushed back that tangle of black hair into a silky bun, tied with sea fronds, and removed the feather coat. He beheld true beauty, beauty which didn’t stop at the figure, like most of the island girls. Leilani had a beautiful
face,
too!

He took a morsel of meat from her tan outstretched fingers, and she smiled a perfect white-toothed grin.

“Gonna be fun for you tonight,” Chen said, mockingly.

Rock nodded, mesmerized by the dark doe-eyes of the island woman.

Seven

M
urf told him he could expect the beautiful Leilani’s visit, but Rock, to his great surprise, had a night of uninterrupted sleep in his small hut. Over a breakfast of ship’s-store coffee and fried breadfruit, the other men boasted of various nocturnal pleasure visits by the island girls. Rock was silent.

Detroit called him aside, explaining, “Rock, your girl Leilani—she’s—well, I found out she’s a high-priestess . . .”

“So?”

“So she’s—a
virgin,
Rock. And has to
remain
so. Don’t mess with the local customs, that’s Century City’s prime order you know.”

Rock frowned but nodded. So that was it!

Detroit said, “Murf tells me the chief wants us to wait for the propitious day tomorrow before talking business. Today we’re supposed to enjoy.”

Leilani showed up to “help Rock eat” lunch, and then they went down to a lonely part of the beach to swim. They stripped off their clothing and stood looking out at the waves. Leilani had on a bikini-type bottom of some sort, made with beads and shells, and nothing else. Rock was very turned on. She said, “Surf not high on this side of island—and water no shark.”

He wanted to hold her to him but would not try. There was a very gentle childlike feeling coming from Leilani—not a sexual feeling. She was so damned innocent, he wouldn’t push it—yet. He brushed her hair back and said, “You shouldn’t hide your beauty.” He stared at her dark eyes and high-cheekboned Polynesian features. She pulled away, laughing, running into the crystal-clear water. “Want to get pretty shells,” she implored, “then you follow me! We make necklace at my hut.”

“Sounds good,” Rockson said, imagining seclusion with Leilani. Eagerly he dove into the lapping surf beside her.

They pushed down below the surface into a silent beautiful world of shimmering colored, mirror fish and corals. The bottom looked like a fantasy realm, too: beautiful mother-of-pearl, lustrous shells, castlelike coral. An undersea paradise.

She touched his arm and directed Rock’s attention to a particular bed of seashells. Oysters—large, colored-shelled oysters. They gathered some and broke for air, then gathered again, each time depositing their booty in a net bag that she tied to a driftwood log on the beach.

Once they had gathered enough, they went ashore. Rock broke open several oysters and slavered them down.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, biting into something hard. He pulled a black pearl—worth maybe ten thousand dollars—from his mouth.

“Throw away,” she said, “it
bad.
Most these oysters good taste but have bad things in them! Only thing black things good for is girl use for necklace.” She spat one out, making a face.

“Leilani,” Rock asked, “are there little black things like this in
all
these oysters?”

“So? Who need them, ’cept for necklaces. Coral make more pretty color necklace and bracelets—not so common!”

“These are rare and expensive in the outside world,” Rockson said. But after a while he too spat them out like Leilani did, leaving them on the pristine sands of the paradise beach.

Rockson was hot for Leilani, and he saw the same look in her eyes; but he was worried about the consequences for the mission if he let his control go.

Later, Rockson tracked down Murf at the chief’s house. “Take a walk with me,” he urged. As they walked on a jungle path Rock asked, “What else do you know about Leilani?”

Murf said, “Leilani is the priestess of the Cult of the Gnaa—a virgin chosen from one ‘pure’ family line. By pure I think they mean psychic. Leilani
has to
remain pure. Don’t push her, Rockson. She is one of the keys to getting help from the native chief. These natives are friendly,
if
you don’t abuse their beliefs and gods.”

“What’s this Gnaa?”

“That’s actually their name for the crystal weapon, Rockson. The natives worshipped it. Leilani was the priestess that performed rites at its site.”

“I see,” Rock said, thinking that Leilani could be a source of information about the crystal that he had to plumb.

Rock spent the evening with Leilani—hands off—attempting to draw her out about the Gnaa crystal. They spoke little, creating a silent empathy. They had an uncanny ability to sense one another’s thoughts. Rock had some ESP ability and was sure hers was far stronger. He could feel her
desire,
too, her warm femininity. He wished to hell she wasn’t a virgin priestess!

Rockson and Leilani walked the beautiful orchid-laden paths of the island, communing while the others repaired the
Muscle Beach
with the aid of the natives. He asked many questions.

Leilani explained her ESP. “I have what the island people call ‘knowing-of-what-is.’ My duties to the Gnaa were the pouring of ablutions on the set of shrines on Mother and Father Fire mountains.”

“Mother and Father Fire—oh, the volcanos.”

“Yes, the volcanos.”

“I want to see where the crystal—the Gnaa god—was located,” Rockson asked her. Her wide pupils shrank in fear.

“No, that place is taboo. Only I go to the sacred temple area. No man, no girl, can go there—taboo. Only Leilani go there—at round moon—and I then think on crystal, sit still, smell flowers. Then after hour, the power comes, the ‘knowing-of-what-is’ in my head—no explain possible. My mind of pure crystal glow like blue moonstone. The island rejoice, for I have power. I high priestess, I
power-woman!”

Stopping, he held her arm. “Leilani, we can get the Gnaa god back—if you help. But I
must
go to where it was located before Killalowee came.”

After a long time, she sighed. “Killalowee already break taboo. Okay, you will see—but after purity water. You bathe in sacred fountain first, and I give you cowrie shells to adorn your head like Leilani has.”

Rock found himself being led to and immersed in a bubbling, warm blue lagoon under the full moon. She placed the cowrie crown on his black locks, and she smiled. “Now you sacred, too. Come to temple with me, Priest of Gnaa.”

He couldn’t help it. He moved to kiss her, and she obliged. “I like this thing you call
kiss
men do with other girls! I wish to lay down with you, too, but I am the Gnaa priestess. Pure . . .” She looked sad.
“Come. Come.”

They set out for Mother Mountain in the moonlight, having dressed in white robes. Rockson, as they climbed, felt the gentle touch of Leilani’s mind on his. She climbed rapidly ahead, then waited for him, silhouetted in the windswept gossamer gown against the yellow moon—a vision glowing with untouched sensuality.

They were soon lost in the white mists of the barren pumice slope.

They reached a ledge about fifty feet wide. “The volcano is quiet now,” she said. “She likes you—accepts you.” She laughed as the Father Mountain belched a plume of smoke. “The Father-of-mine is less sure of you. Look—” She pointed to the lava flowing red on the far mountain. “He will see you good,” Leilani encouraged and pulled him onward, even higher. Rock hoped she knew the path very well, for he could hardly see to walk.

They then came to an area with huge totemlike poles; the mossy terrain here was scarred with huge truck-tire gouges.

“This was sacred, beautiful,” she said, “but now much destruction.”

They moved on to a flagstoned area, and Rock stumbled on a copper cable. He found that it issued from the ground itself and ran to a circular, raised area of concrete. There he found more torn cables. It was just like in Murf’s sketch. Something big had been in the center of those clipped cables!

“This is where Gnaa—you call crystal—stood,” she lamented.

Rockson examined the cables. Where had the power come from? The ground— Of course! Geothermal source.

“Where’s the blockhouse, Leilani?”

“Over there.” She pointed higher. He saw a square shape silhouetted against the stars. “I’ll look at it next.”

“Wait, Rockson,” she pleaded. “Show me the kiss again, and I tell you something important.”

“I’m willing to be bribed,” he said, “for information.” He kissed her long and hard.

“Well?”

She smiled, “I can tell you where the Gnaa went!”

“Where?”

“Far—over there.” She pointed at the sea. “I have a feeling for crystal.” She stood, her hair streaming in the wind, her bare feet secure on the pumice. “It calls to me from that direction.”

Rockson carefully noted where she pointed. To the west, down the atoll’s reef. “Another island?”

“I feel yes,” she said, hesitantly. “It—the Gnaa—misses me.”

“This blockhouse—” Rock said again, “I must go in it and see what I can learn from any writings from the past inside. It could help me understand the Gnaa and its power.”

She nodded. “That is place of your race—not mine,” she said. “You go alone.
That
place taboo even for me. I wait.”

Eight

R
ockson climbed toward the rectangular blockhouse. At first it was easy, as there was a gouged path made by many booted feet. He soon came to many rows of warrior graves marked with long staffs of hardwood carved into elongated likenesses of nature gods. These noble natives had fallen fighting the well-armed KGB soldiers. Then he came upon a rusting military half-track. Rock brushed the volcanic ash off its door and found what he expected, the red skull and crossed swords emblem of Killov! The vehicle was standing half on its side, its track twisted off. He pulled the door open. There was a skeleton inside, wearing rotting military garb. The uniform was black, high collar—definitely KGB.

Where does Killov get his volunteers, Rock wondered. Why do they follow a man such as he? Perhaps the promise of glory . . . No:
power
. . . that’s his recruitment bait.

A worm inched out of a round eye socket and fell onto the boney fingers, found a bit of flesh and began to eat it.

With disgust, Rockson slammed the door on the dead man and made the last part of the climb.

The blockhouse was windowless, its walls pitted and eroded by over a century’s weathering. It was covered with vines. He had to grope around two sides until he found an
open
door.

Killov’s men had been in there! The door had been blown off by a grenade or shell. Rock feared that they had taken what he so needed to find—a record of what the crystal weapon was and how it worked.

He entered, found a Soviet chem-flash on the floor and tried the switch. It worked. Rock shined the beam around, over rusting file cabinets, old smashed desks, collapsed shelving and smashed, ancient, radio equipment.

He pulled a few file drawers open—nothing but rotted fragments of paper, disintegrating at his touch. His heart sank until he spotted the video screen in the corner. At first he thought it was a TV. Then he realized it was an old-style monitor. For a computer! And computer meant disk memory. Frantically he searched for a disk.

On a nearby desk, Rockson found a broken-open strong box marked SECRET.

The disks were in Killov’s possession.

He despaired, again, until he saw a rusting metal door—leading to a cellar? He broke it open and, flashlight in hand, went down several twisting steps. Rats hastened away; a snake slithered into a recess. Rock was undeterred. His boots were tough and his mutant skin more impervious to such things as rat and snake bites.

He entered a low-ceilinged dank cellar. Gingerly, he opened the dank, crumbling file cabinets, looking for a duplicate hard copy of the missing disks.

He found a plastic-sheathed copy of a report labelled “President’s Eye’s Only,” and snatched it up. He broke an ancient seal and saw the heading ULTRA TOP SECRET. PROJECT ZILCH. Was that the name of the installation—or the weapon?

As he sat on a rock outside the building, reading each plastic-sealed page, Rockson felt like he was prying into a forbidden part of history. He’d often had that queasy feeling when some new and precious document relating to the final war was in his hands. More than a superb fighter for America, he had become an avid historian—especially since his trip back along an alternate time path.

The crystal, he learned, was part of a larger plan called S.D.I.

S.D.I. involved, it seemed from his reading, ground- and sky-based weapons for focusing the gathered energy of geothermal power and then using it on an enemy. The ZILCH crystal was such a gatherer and focuser of power. It was to beam its power to a space-deployed mirror called SATMOS-5. The space mirror hovered over the Pacific at 23,500 miles high. The weapon could zap anyplace on earth with the power of a hundred nuke bombs!

He put down the document halfway through. Would the mirror satellite still work? Yes. There is no decay in space!

Rockson read on.

There were codes in the book for moving the mirror satellite into position, but that page was partly eaten away by the years. Damn! If only Killov’s stolen computer disk had such a flaw in it!

But it didn’t. Killov wouldn’t have bothered to load the giant crystal weapon on a ship and lug it away if he didn’t have the activation codes. The crystal had to be found and destroyed, or awesome destruction would be unleashed—destruction that would make Killov the dictator of the world!