Strontium-90 (9 page)

The elevator slowed. They stopped. The doors opened.

“Hurry,” said Vogel, pushing her out.

They ran in an underground garage, a vast concrete affair with harsh lights above. They passed squat vehicles with outrageous balloon tires.

“We’re being watched,” she whispered, looking around. “They know we’re down here.”

“This way!” shouted Vogel. The trick was to keep her moving.

He pulled her to a small vehicle, shoved her into a seat. He slid in beside her. As his foot tromped on the accelerator, Security people in black suits shouted from opening elevators.

Daisy Thirteen clutched his arm.

Fear washed through Doctor Vogel. It twisted his stomach, wrenched his heart and tasted like bile. Her telepathic strength was incredible.

“Hold on!” he shouted, gripping the steering wheel.

They whizzed past huge parked vehicles, mammoth things.

“We’ll never make it!” she shouted.

He spun the wheel hard, trying to zip between two parked vehicles. They skidded and slammed against a giant craft. They tumbled out and Daisy hit her head against the floor.

Doctor Vogel knew a moment of panic. If she was damaged…

“Ohhh,” she moaned, clutching her head.

He helped her up, opened a hatch to a digger and propelled her through. They staggered down a short corridor and burst into a control chamber. Vogel helped her into a padded seat. A bruise had already appeared where she had bumped her forehead. He should have stocked crash helmets in the runabout.

“I’m fine.” She stared at him strangely. “Just get us outside. Let me see the sun again.”

He tore his gaze from the bruise and strapped her in. Then he slid to the control seat.

“Digger on,” he said.

Engines whirred into life. The vehicle shook.

A communicator blared, “Stop! You’re in violation of the law!”

Vogel flipped a toggle and the voice died. He grinned at her, gave her a thumbs up. Then he grabbed the controls and the huge digger lurched into motion.

***

They rumbled down a tunnel, passed lights and drove into darkness. Doctor Vogel ordered headlamps on. The glare through the window showed jagged tunnel rocks and a gravel road.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Underground.” Vogel scanned the locator. “Drill on,” he said.

Their vehicle shuddered and the noise level rose.

“Put this on!” shouted Vogel. He handed her earmuffs, put a set over his ears. Then he turned the digger into solid rock.

A teeth-aching whine made it impossible to talk.

Her features became chalky. The digger lurched and slewed side to side. She squeezed her eyes closed and rubbed her head. An explosion shook the digger. She gripped the restraints.

Vogel smiled encouragement, but he didn’t dare climb out of his padded chair. The digger was too unstable for either of them to walk around. That was the point.

She bit her lip and glanced at him every several seconds. She appeared thoughtful, troubled perhaps.
The ride strained her. Poor thing. She had wanted to escape for a long time. Now she was doing it, and it was every bit as dangerous as she must have imagined.

He mouthed words: “I’ll get you out of here.”

She gave him a brave smile, nodded, and hope shined in her luminous eyes. That twisted his gut.

After a time, the digger’s whine changed pitch. There was a great lurch. Then the ride smoothed out and the noise cycled down.

“Drill off!” Vogel shouted. He pulled off his earmuffs.

Gingerly, she took hers off.

“My head aches,” she said. “The noise… I hope we don’t have to do that again.”

“Don’t worry.” He checked the locator. “Here’s where we get out.” He shut off the digger and began to unbuckle.

***

They exited the rock-dinged digger and ran down an old tunnel. Vogel used a flashlight to guide them. An air car waited. It was a two-seater with a bubble dome. Vogel lifted off and guided them through a huge tunnel. Soon they shot into sunlight.

Tears glistened in Daisy Thirteen’s eyes. “The sun,” she whispered.

“I don’t dare take us high. Hang on!”

He took them around rock formations and over two hundred foot pines. He maneuvered like a jet jock. The entire time, she pressed against the dome, watching the passing landscape.

“It’s heating up,” Vogel said later. “I’m going to land on that ledge.”

They were in the mountains now, far from the city and far from the communications grid. He landed with a thump and shut off the engine.

In the silence, Daisy Thirteen climbed out. They were on a ledge with a panoramic view of farmland in the valley. Spruces grew behind them on the slope, wafting a pine-needle scent.

Daisy wore overalls instead of the towel. Barefoot, walking across cool grass, she strolled near the edge.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

Doctor Vogel followed close behind, shielding his thoughts.

Daisy turned, smiled and lifted thin arms. “I’m free!” She hugged herself, and she thumped down, leaning back on her hands. She laughed quietly, and then she turned him a puzzled glance.

“You never told me. What was I in?”

“A telepathic enhancer.” He shoved his hands in his lab pockets.

She shook her head.

This was it, the last time for him. Maybe she deserved the truth, the little good it would do her.

“You have a twin,” he said.

Her luminous eyes widened. “Yes! That’s right. I remember. Where is she?”

“Rigel Ten,” Vogel said.

“Where?”

“A planet thirty-one light-years away.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I shouldn’t expect you would. You’ve been on a hi-octane diet of inhibitors, enhancers, stimulants and narcotics.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“It isn’t nice, no,” he said.

Her gaze pierced him. “Can you tell me why?”

Doctor Vogel looked away. How could he explain it? “The… the Empire has trillions of people on hundreds of planets. We’re been expanding through our spiral arm of the galaxy.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It’s a matter of distance and time. Jumpgates and hyperspace lets us travel a light-year in a day. The Empire is hundreds of light-years in size. It takes over a year to go from one end to the other.”

“So?”

“So that’s as fast as anyone can communicate: a messenger in a jumpship. But that’s too slow to keep an empire together. Or maybe it’s just too inefficient.” He faced her.

“I don’t understand.”

“Twins and telepathy,” Vogel said slowly. “You and your twin thirty-one light-years away can ‘talk’ to one another instantaneously. No one else can do that, just telepathic twins. It takes special drugs, special equipment and an environment helpful to deep thought.”

“That tubular prison?” she whispered.

Vogel nodded as perspiration made his forehead shiny. “Out of trillions of citizens, there are one hundred and fifty-seven sets of telepathic twins. That’s not much to build an empire-wide communications net, but it’s the best we have. Without you… the Empire breaks down. This world is one of the communication hubs.”

“Why don’t I remember any of this?”

Doctor Vogel looked away.

“You know,” she said. “I can sense it.”

Vogel squeezed his eyes shut. This was so unethical, but he was an old man. He wanted that pension. He had to retire, get out of this horrible business.

An air car shrieked overhead.

“Is that them?” Daisy shouted, scrambling up.

Vogel hurried to her. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and tried to touch her arm with a pneumospray hypo. Instead, he froze.

She whirled around. Her features had hardened. She plucked the hypo from his weakened grasp.

He tried to speak, but couldn’t.

She pressed the hypo against his neck. It hissed. He crumpled onto the grass as his muscles relaxed. It became hard to think.

She bent over him. “You’re strong,” she whispered, “hard to read. I’ve been trying ever since the knock on my head. I have strange memories.” She released her telepathic grip.

Vogel forced words past his numb lips. “…No. You’ve never remembered before.”

“Before?” she said.

“Escape therapy,” he whispered. “You… you shut down sometimes. Escaping gets it out of your system. Drugs… drugs help you to forget.”

She rose.

“No,” he whispered. “Come back.”

He tried to lift his hand, but he was too sluggish now. He blinked, blinked again. The air car lifted. His eyelids felt so heavy.

***

Doctor Vogel awoke with a gasp. Hands gripped him. Something wet touched his feet. He realized that a mask covered his face. The tube! Men lowered him into the blue glop.

A tall man in a white lab coat regarded him.

Doctor Vogel tried to speak.

The tall doctor spoke fast. “We don’t have time for that, Vogel. The girl got away and the line to 70 Ophiuchi is still down. You imprinted with her, and you’re the next best telepath we have on the planet.”

Vogel shook his head.

“It isn’t optimum, certainly,” the tall doctor said. “We might have five percent capacity, but that’s better than nothing. Now don’t complain. There’s a good fellow.” The doctor signaled someone out of sight.

Vogel tried to resist, but a cocktail of drugs soothed him. Cables attached to his skin. He sank into the blue solution. They closed the hatch. The telecable attached to his forehead.
Soon it seemed as if someone from faraway called to him.

***

The holographic woman reappeared before Lord Ramos in his mansion overlooking the Sardis River.

“Yes?” he asked.

“We’re sorry for the delay, Lord. Communications have been reestablished with 70 Ophiuchi.”

“It took long enough.”

“Unfortunately, the link isn’t as complete as before.”

“What’s this?” asked Ramos.

“Technical difficulties,” the woman said. “You may be pleased to know, however, that I’m authorized to give you a ten percent discount.”

“Barely acceptable,” Ramos said, although he nodded.

The holographic image vanished.

Soon Lord Ramos studied the new figures. Ah, together with the discount… yes, if he shifted the black flour to Deneb…

The Oath

The knightrix gambled her soul in the caverns of the Abyss.
Flames roared around her. Tormented shadows writhed on the walls. Above, stalactites threatened like swords of Damocles. Drifting fumes exuded a sulfurous stench.

The knightrix wore an enclosed helm with silver wings and she wore silver mail. A leather-clad maiden named Brenna trembled behind her. Brenna’s whitened fingers clutched a crossbow.

“Don’t do it,” Brenna whispered. “He’s sure to trick you.”

“No tricks,” the master of this fiery realm growled. He dwarfed them both, a massive man-thing with gorilla-like shoulders. He wore a coarse robe with a shadowy cowl. From his sleeve came a brief hint of clawed fingers as dice tumbled onto the floor. The bone dice had pips the color of spilled blood.

“Forget your vengeance,” Brenna whispered. “Please! We must leave this place while we still can.”

The knightrix turned and patted one of Brenna’s hands. Then, with a clink of mail, she sat cross-legged before the dice.

A loud sigh emanated from the cowl of the massive man-thing. “You’re a bold gambler. I admire that.”

The knightrix reached for the dice.

Brenna moaned as she bit her lower lip.

The man-thing with his coarse robe grew still, perhaps with anticipation.

The knightrix hesitated then. She pulled back her hand.

The opening of the man-thing’s cowl rose up. Two hellish motes flared into existence, eyes perhaps.

The knightrix pulled off her leather gauntlets finger by finger. When both gloves rested on her lap, she twisted off her enclosed helm. Sweaty hair lay against her scalp. She had lean features and was surprisingly youthful. Her name was Razoress.

“I sought you out because of your reputation for powerful magic,” Razoress said.

Behind the man-thing, a vent hissed with fire, a crackling sound. Shadows retreated because of it, while beads of perspiration prickled Razoress’s cheeks.

“My reputation is well deserved,” he said.

Razoress nodded. “I’ve heard, too, that you follow your bargains with unerring precision.”

“Words are like wine or like people even,” he said. “Something to be savored.”

A fierce emotion glinted in Razoress’s eyes. “I mean no disrespect, but you also have an unsavory reputation for trickery.”

“Nor am I known for my patience.”

The faintest of smiles might have played upon Razoress’s lips. “I will be brief and to the point then. I desire magical power.”

“This vengeance your friend spoke about?”

“My enemy is one of the living dead, the most powerful of its kind. I’m determined to see it destroyed for wicked crimes committed against me and mine.”

“Yes?”

“I want a magic item powerful enough to obliterate the Ancient of Bones,” Razoress said.

“…You don’t desire riches perhaps, enough to hire sorcerers for this task?”

“The Ancient of Bones is immune to most spells.”

“That makes what you ask… difficult.”

“I wouldn’t have come here if it was easy,” Razoress said.

“You’ve obviously thought this through. What kind of magical item do you desire?”

Razoress stroked her leather gloves. “What would you suggest?”

A wisp of smoke issued from the cowl. The motes that must have been eyes flamed brighter. “What about a gauntlet?”

Razoress nodded slowly.

“A dark gauntlet,” the man-thing said. “It would fuel itself… from your life-force, the tap opened by fear or rage. Yes. Given your powerful constitution, it could shatter mountains or the Ancient of Bones—to use its oldest title. Of course, some would think such a gauntlet as a cursed item. Shortcuts in magic are an illusion. The price for power must always be paid.”

Razoress mopped her face with her sleeve. She knew all about paying the price.

“Your soul staked against a dark gauntlet,” he said. “We’ll let the dice decide, eh?”

Razoress’s throat tightened until she remembered her sister, her mother and father, her entire village turned into aftergangers. They no longer marched in the undead horde. Razoress had officered in the army that had hacked every afterganger to pieces. She had carted squirming chunks of undead flesh into the fires that had turned her former sister and mother into greasy ash. What she’d failed to do was find the lair of the Ancient of Bones.

Razoress took a deep breath and almost choked on the sulfurous stench. “The gauntlet would need to be immune to spells.”

“Alas,” he said. “An anti-magic item is greater than even I can forge.”

“Not anti-magic,” she said, “but reflective perhaps.”

“Like a mirror?” He sounded dubious.

“I’m thinking more like water. A flat stone skipped across a river. Spells would skip across the glove.”

“Ah, I see. Yes. It would difficult, but possible.”

“That’s the item I want,” she said.

“That’s the item you wish to gamble for,” he corrected.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely.

Tension eased from his gorilla-like shoulders. “I’m known for precise bargains.” He spoke in a businesslike tone now. “You must vow not to fight in my caverns or you will forfeit your soul.”

“I’ll fight if attacked,” Razoress said warily.

“…Yes, if you’re attacked, you may fight, otherwise not.”

“I don’t like this,” Brenna whispered.

Razoress stroked her chin. “I agree.”

“Make the vow,” he said.

“I agree provided you swear not to attack or otherwise harm me,” Razoress said. “You may not poison me with fumes, drink or cause sirens to sing. All your servitors, allies and merchant partners must let me pass in peace.”

“…Only for this day,” he said.

“For as long as it takes me to leave the Abyss.”

“Provided you go after we’ve completed our transaction,” he said.

Razoress nodded.

“Then make the oath,” he said.

She did, conditioning it on his oath.

“Yessss, good.” The man-thing spoke a binding vow patterned off her conditions.

After carefully listening to it, Razoress wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword. With a
hiss
of steel, she drew the curved blade. She passed the sword over the dice.

The man-thing shouted in outrage. “You vowed not to fight!”

“I’m not fighting,” Razoress said.

He leaned nearer. “Where did you get that blade
? It’s been lost for centuries.”

Razoress knew about shortcuts. The sword doomed the bearer to a quick life. But quick and true did the blade cut, as she now cut any spells binding the dice to their maker.

Thus, with the cursed sword in one hand and the hot dice in the other, Razoress gambled her soul. She rattled the bones. She threw them onto the obsidian floor.

The massive man-thing, Razoress and Brenna all leaned forward as the dice rolled to a halt.

“—You cheated!” he hissed.

Razoress shook her head as she trembled. “My dark gauntlet, if you please.”

The hidden eyes become fiery. Then he turned toward the depths. His feet made leathery sliding sounds. Soon there came the ring of a hammer and harshly chanted syllables.

“You did it,” Brenna said.

“So far,” Razoress said. “We’re not done yet.”

In time, he returned. “You’re clever, aren’t you
? Catch.”

Razoress used both hands to snatch a metallic gauntlet out of the air.

The massive man-thing moved fast then. He shuffled near Brenna and shoved. Brenna screamed. Her fingers twitched. The crossbow’s steel string snapped. The magical bolt hissed in flight and exploded against a cavern wall. Fragments showered onto the floor, pelting it.

Razoress turned in surprise.

A strange portal opened in midair. Brenna stumbled through into a gargantuan bone talon. The talon closed around her, removing Brenna from view. Then a beastly skull lowered into sight, peering through the ghostly portal. The eye-sockets burned like flax fires. They flickered from Razoress to the man-thing.

“There is the gift you sought,” the man-thing said.

“No gift,” the Ancient of Bones rumbled, “but my price for a sack of enchanted bones.”

“I would prefer that you remained quiet concerning our trade,” the man-thing said.

“As you will,” the Ancient of Bones said.

Brenna wailed from somewhere just out of sight.

Razoress’s face twisted with rage. She donned the black gauntlet and reached for her sword.

“Now, now,” the man-thing said softly. “Remember your oath. Fight in the caverns and you are mine.”

Razoress hesitated.

“You have done me a service, mortal,” the Ancient of Bones told
Razoress. “Your companion… her blood shall awaken the Old Ones. Your journey to the Abyss has thus repaid me your former harm to my aftergangers. I shan’t thank you, but I believe it is fitting. No?”

Razoress whirled around, faced the man-thing.

“There is equity,” he said softly. His eyes glittered. “We’ve both been duped today—unless, of course, you wish to draw your sword and vent your rage upon me.”

“Not vent,” Razoress said, as she slid out her curved sword. “But salute you, master of deceit. I knew you couldn’t stand to be cheated. Your reputation is well known. The one thing I lacked was the whereabouts of the Ancient of Bones.”

So saying, Razoress sprang for the portal, tried to take them both unawares.

The Ancient of Bones raised a talon and waved it, as a wizard might. Brenna shouted as the
ghostly portal began to close upon air.

Razoress moved with desperate speed, aided by her sword. She dove, and
she shot her dark gauntlet into the nearly collapsed portal. Rage at the undead monster powered the cursed item. Her fingers jabbed into the portal as it almost snapped out of existence. Under normal conditions, that would have sheered off her fingers. Instead, the magic skipped off the gauntlet. Razoress shouted, and yanked, and opened the portal wider.

“Goodbye!” Razoress shouted to the man-thing. She yanked once more and uttered her battle cry. Then she jumped through the portal to slay the Ancient of Bones with her terrible new gauntlet. First, however, she let go of the portal, which snapped shut behind her. She was thus free of the Abyss and her oath against fighting in the man-thing’s fiery realm.