Steelheart (37 page)

George Maras stepped forward, offered his hand, and pulled Mary to her feet. "I told her
everything.
How you came for her and how I betrayed you. All of it."

Mary looked into his eyes, saw the pain there, and started to speak. Maras shook his head. "Thanks, Mary, but we don't have much time. Take Corley and the mutimal. You'll find food in the saddlebags. Run and keep running. All the way to Hat Top. Tell them what's coming. Who knows? Maybe they can survive."

Corley frowned and bit her lower lip. "What about you, Daddy? The Church will get mad,
real
mad, and try to hurt you.
Please
come with us."

Maras smiled and stroked the side of her face.
"I-will
come, honey .. . but there's something I must do first. Something important."

Mary looked into her ex-husband's eyes, admired what she saw there, and gave a nod. "Thank you, George. Thank you for everything. We shall never forget."

The roboticist placed her left foot in a stirrup and hoisted her right leg over the saddle. Maras kissed the top of his daughter's head, boosted her behind, and forced a smile. "Take care, you two! See you at Flat Top!"

With that, he slapped the mutimal's hindquarters and watched them ride away. The counselor waited until his family was safely out of sight before turning toward the cathedral. It was a twenty-minute hike—and speed was of the essence. The church services were spaced about one hour apart. Just enough time to clean the floors, renew the candles, and otherwise prepare for the next horde of worshipers.

Maras needed as much of that time as he could get. The semifrozen slush crunched under his boots.

The spy watched for a moment, and allowed his subject to lead the way. As with all of his kind, he found the shadows to his liking and stayed to them whenever he could. Darkness was his friend.

 

Doon watched the latest batch of churchgoers shuffle their way out, gave thanks for the upcoming break, and checked his surroundings. No one was watching, not from the front anyway, which meant it was time to flex his muscles.

Thanks to the fact that the clay had been applied back in Riftwall, and subjected to the rigors of the road, stress fractures had developed within. By flexing his servo-driven musculature, the android hoped to exploit the cracks and eventually break free.

He figured it was only a matter of time before the Zid removed his old shell and built a new one around him. The key was to shatter the clay
before
that day came—but not in the middle of a church service.

Repetition was the key, or so he theorized, and the synthetic went to work. Contract-push-relax. Contract-push-relax. Contract-push-relax. He did it over and over with machinelike persistence.

Doon had been at it for exactly nine minutes and sixteen seconds when Maras entered. He was famous by now—and maintenance workers hurried out of his way.

The synthetic recognized Maras immediately, and was surprised when the human started in his direction. There was a bag in his hand, similar in size and shape to the ones that Zid stonemasons favored, and his expression was grim.

Bystanders watched with open curiosity as the newly named counselor strode across the floor and approached the Devil's altar. Maras found the android's eyes, smiled reassuringly, and opened the bag. "Some chance is better than none ... that's the way I figure it, anyway. Help me free your friend, then run like hell. Don't bother with the others. None of them are sentient."

So saying, Maras removed a hammer from the bag, struck the clay over Doon's shoulder, and watched it crumble.

 

Jantz, exhausted by the effects of his heart condition, remained in his chair. The spy, who had run the last half mile through the corridors, was badly out of breath. He was a Zid, one of a number the human had managed to suborn, and dressed in rags. His gills pulsed as he fought for air. The human knew the way that felt. He waited for the male to speak.

"The counselor—gasp—sent for one of the females— gasp—put her on a mutimal—gasp—and allowed her to escape."

"And his daughter? Did she run as well?"

"Yes!" the spy answered, astonished by the extent to which the bishop could read his mind. "That's exactly what happened."

Jantz shook his head in amazement. So Maras had balls after all. Who'd have thought it? "And then?"

"He stopped for a tool bag and entered the cathedral. That's when I came for you."

"A tool bag? You're sure?"

"Yes, holy one."

"Take my arm. Help me up. We must hurry."

 

After Maras struck the blow, the rest was easy. The clay fractured into large chunks, exploded against the floor, and scattered in every direction. Doon felt the weight drop away, brought his aggressor systems on-line, and flexed his shoulders. More of the hardened earth broke away from his body as he stepped down onto the floor.

A maintenance worker screamed and another ran for help as the android ran across the nave. He struck a blow with his fist, saw a crack zigzag down through the clay that encased Amy's chest, and did the same thing again. More of the stuff fell away, and an arm came loose.

Amy felt a wonderful sense of freedom as she rid herself of more clay and entered the circle of Doon's arms.

The embrace was brief but wonderful. It was the first time she had felt anything like what human females described as "love." A profound sense of warmth, belonging, and trust. Was there more?
Could
there be more? Amy didn't know and doubted that she would live long enough to find out.

"Doon grabbed Amy's hand and pulled her away. "Maras! Where's Mary?"

"Gone with Corley," the counselor answered. "They're headed for Flat Top."

"Good. Come on, let's get going."

The human shook his head. "No, I'll be fine. There are mutimals tethered outside. Take them and ride."

The android looked at the human, saw he was serious, and headed for the door.

A pair of Reapers appeared and were framed by the entrance. Both were armed, but their weapons hung on slings. Understandable, given where they were—but unfortunate for them. Doon had been born with an in-depth preconditioned knowledge of six martial arts.

The first Zid fell to a lightning-fast series of blows, the last of which left him unconscious.

The second Reaper had more time, landed a roundhouse right, and winced as the Devil machine took hold of his arm. Bone cracked; the Zid screamed and went to his knees.

Doon bent over his first victim, removed a knife from his belt sheath, and cut the assault weapon free.

"Harley! Behind you!"

The android spun, spotted the Reapers, and touched the trigger twice. They staggered and fell. Battle axes clattered to the floor and slid away.

"This way!" Amy shouted. "Hurry!"

The synthetic ran for the door as Amy kicked a Reaper in the chest and then struggled with a second. Doon fired from the hip, saw the assailant fall away, and grabbed the other android's wrist.

More than a dozen mutimals were tied to a rail. The android freed all but two, hoped there was something useful in the bags slung across their backs, and boosted Amy into a saddle. She had acquired a weapon of her own somewhere along the line, and now she fired two rounds into the air. The mutimals panicked, turned, and galloped away. Doon saw the direction they had chosen, shouted, "Follow me!" and took off in pursuit.

Maras listened to the firing, hoped it meant what he thought it did, and turned his back on the door. The platforms looked strangely empty. It seemed as if his feet had minds of their own. Clay crunched as he walked. The Devil's altar made a good place to sit... and that's where Lictor, Jantz, and a half dozen Reapers found him.

The counselor smiled wearily. "Fancy meeting you here.... Don't tell me, let me guess. Something's missing."

 

 

 

29

 

a tone' ment
/ n / reparation for an offense or injury

 

 

The sky was miraculously clear, and the sun rose like an omen of gold. Its rays melted some of the slush and sent rivulets of water gurgling in every direction—water that added to the muddy morass that surrounded the camp.

But no amount of mud could dampen Solly's spirits, not with the sun on his back, and the sure knowledge that they were leaving. Not for home, as he had hoped, but as part of the holy crusade.

It
sounded
glorious, but, as Solly had learned over the last ninety days, things that
sound
good often aren't. He also questioned the wisdom of such a trek, especially when food supplies were dwindling and the harvests were poor. Even Crono agreed, not directly of course, but by implication. There was very little doubt who "those idiots" were, or what he meant by "damned foolishness."

Still, Solly felt lucky in two respects, first to escape the cathedral and its muddy environs, and second to do so in company with Dara, a continual source of joy. Even the large clumps of mud that clung to Solly's boots couldn't slow the youngster's stride as he made his way between the shelters, spotted the female on the far side of the assembly area, and hurried to join her.

Voices yelled orders as tents were struck, a hammer rang on metal, a hordu issued a series of grunts, a prayer caller sang his song, the odor of hot tromeal hung in the air, and a squad of would-be Reapers marched back and forth. It was stimulating, but Solly still yearned for home.

They couldn't embrace, not publicly anyway, but no one could object to eye contact. Thoughts, ideas, and emotions jumped the gap between the youngsters and brought smiles to their faces.

"Good morning, Solly."

"Good morning, Dara."

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Why no, how 'bout you?"

"Not yet. Would you care to join me?"

"Why yes, that would be nice."

They laughed at the parody and left for the mess tent. Some villagers subsisted on one meal a day. The crusaders ate three.

Dr. Suti Canova scanned the room to ensure that no one was watching, took the second position, and moved to an arabesque. She was free! Free to move as she pleased... and it felt wonderful!

There was work to do, however, important work that had nothing to do with the so-called "gift" of ballet. The synthetic giggled, dropped the pose, and went to work.

The makeshift surgery was located somewhere within the cathedral and was packed with illicit medical equipment. There were sets of old-fashioned instruments, an autoclave in which to sterilize them, packages of surgical drapes, an operating table, lights, basins, a nonsentient anesthetist, a cupboard packed with drugs, and a fully operational nano farm.

All the android was required to do was operate on the human, repair the damage to his heart, and renew his nano. Then she'd go free. That's what Jantz had promised—and that's what Canova wanted to believe. But
could
she believe it? And, more than that,
should
she believe it?

 

The trap had been well and carefully laid. Thanks to updates provided by Michael, the synthetics had not only managed to escape from the cathedral but had made excellent progress as well. They were no more than a half day behind Mary and Corley Maras. Now, as the Reapers closed in, Doon had plans to dissuade them.

The synthetic left Amy to guard the mutimals and picked his way up through a pile of randomly placed boulders to the very top. The sunlight had melted the frost and left a wet spot behind.

Doon lay on his anterior surface, checked the assault weapon to ensure its readiness, and moved the fire selector to S for "single." With that accomplished, he lowered the barrel-mounted bipod into the proper position, ejected the 1.5X6 sight from the top-mounted receiver bay, and dry-snapped the trigger. There were three levels of sensitivity to choose from, and he selected number two.

His own vision, which was very nearly as good as that provided by the telescopic sight, detected movement on the edge of the horizon. "Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Are those Reapers off to the east?"
 

" 'Fraid so."
 

"Roger that."

It was another ten minutes before it was worth peeking through the sight, and another fifteen before the riders came within range. Part assault weapon, and part sniper's rifle, the Spatz fired a 7.62mm round with a muzzle velocity of eight hundred fifty feet per second. Not too bad ... if the ammo was good.

The Reapers had ridden their animals hard, and the creatures were lathered with sweat. Doon watched their leader float through his sight, and allowed the crosshairs to caress the male's chest. The Zid didn't know it yet... but he was going to heaven.

 

Maras, adorned by nothing more than a loincloth, and a sign that read "heretic," put his weight against the leather straps. They cut deeply into his already raw shoulders as his body accepted the full weight of the sled. It was loaded with the symbols of his guilt: a pile of jumbled droid parts, his vestments, and the tools confiscated from Mary. He pulled with all his strength, the sled slithered over the mud, and the crowd roared their hatred.

Maras accepted the emotion as his due, as the price that needed to be paid, knowing the ordeal would soon be over. After all, it was he who had brought the crusade to life, had taken it from concept to plan, and written the master schedule—a schedule so well conceived that it allowed time for a "sacrifice" or similar entertainment just prior to departure. Little did he know who would provide it!

Maras laughed, and some of the onlookers stepped back.

Solly, who knew better than to share his innermost feelings with anyone other than Dara, felt sorry for the human. He remembered how the same male had been welcomed only days before, and marveled at the manner in which his fortunes had been reversed. Life was exceedingly strange.

Crono watched the display with something verging on disgust. He felt nothing but contempt for the traitorous human, the hierarchy that had been stupid enough to trust him, and the manner in which so many innocents would soon lose their lives.