The strike was set for dawn. The waking call was an hour before. Keilin was hurrying towards his preassigned position, well out of the fighting—now he had other troops, Cap was taking no chances with any of his telepaths being hurt—when a worried Beywulf came up. "S'kith. You seen him?"
Keilin shook his head.
"Hell. He said he had some plan in mind. I'd better get Cap." Bey hurried away.
Minutes later that worthy came up, grim and angry. "Your bloody Morkth friend. Has he run, or has he betrayed us?" He shook Keilin violently.
"He'd never go back to the Morkth. It's his worst fear, sir."
Cap was slightly mollified. "Let the bastard run then. He won't get far."
"Sir? I've an idea, sir."
"Talk, boy. Make it good. I haven't time."
"He may be trying to reach the core sections, by himself. Let me touch a core section . . ."
Cap's eyes narrowed. "He's run. But we might as well make sure the things are still here. Might get some more leads now." He took out Keilin's pendant.
Touching the cool surface, Keilin felt a wave of joy. Putting it in his mouth he knew S'kith had not only tried to reach the core sections, but had also succeeded.
"He's in the hive."
"Bloody traitor."
Keilin shook his head.
He knew now what S'kith had done. In the predawn he had slipped from the camp, his head new-shaven, dressed in the black Morkth-man warrior uniform he had had a nimble-fingered tailor make for him. He'd joined the night field crew by the simple expedient of killing one of their guards and replacing him. He had marched past the sophisticated detectors and into the hive. The human cockroach had come home. He'd slipped off into the familiar venting ducts and gone down. Down, down into the lavender and badger smelly heart of the hive. There he knew exactly where he was heading: the most secure and most guarded section of the deep hive. The queen section.
Only killing and speed could get him into this part of the hive. There were no other possibilities. He had used the skills picked up and honed in his time among wild-humans. He used swordsmanship against which the Morkth-man guards had no defense, after he had shot down the two Morkth warriors. That had given him entry into the queen section. But not without the alarm having been given.
The queen section was the holy of holies. Its passages were defended by Morkth warriors. No human ever came here. So S'kith had used the poison Keilin had discovered to tip his arrows. And the fire that Morkth instinctively feared. S'kith's smoke bombs had stirred chaos.
He had reached the core sections where they lay in an unguarded laboratory. He had taken them. But there were now at least a thousand Morkth warrior-primes between him and the way he had come in. He could not have gone back that way. However, he was not planning on retreat. He went on instead . . . to the power and comms nexus.
Here S'kith had been wounded. But not before chopping the comms control boards into electronic spaghetti-trash. He had broken through to the generator room. It had an armored door, which he had managed to close and barricade. The standby emergency generator he'd managed to render unworkable. But the huge main generator was not so easy to incapacitate. Even the output cable was too shielded to be damaged in the time or with the tools that he had to hand. And S'kith had known this before he went in. He had wrapped his body around the cable. And now he waited. He was glad his friend had contacted him. He must tell Cap to wait—at all costs to wait.
Keilin took the wet core section out of his mouth. "He has the core sections. He's destroyed their communications system. He says to wait. He is in the generator room."
"The hell with him. He's dead soon anyway. Beywulf. Sound the advance." He snatched the core section from Keilin's hand.
The minute Cap left, Keilin reached for the ring in his ankle pouch. By the way that Shael was reaching into her bag she too had a similar idea. They huddled together in the guardpost they'd been sent to, and reached out with their minds across the distance.
The happiness greeted them again. They were using heavy energy weapons on the door. It could not last much longer. He was so glad to feel . . . friends. He did not want to die alone.
Keilin realized the strange and lightheaded feelings he was experiencing were S'kith's. The pain of the wounds was seeping past his bioblocks. Death was indeed close.
S'kith knew it would be soon too. He just hoped the bomb would be powerful enough . . .
With shock Keilin understood. The bomb in S'kith's belly. He was planning to use that explosive force to cut the power cable.
Keilin could actually see the heavy armored door through S'kith's pain blurred eyes. He saw the coils of greasy smoke and the sudden arc light. The door was being physically cut away . . . any moment now . . .
Then there was a terrible searing brightness . . . and a last image of Beywulf and his son putting their spoons into the bowl . . . laughter beat away the pain, and then even that disappeared like morning mist into the clear white light.
Keilin huddled in his corner with the tears streaming down his face.
The vanguard wings had crept into the fields as silently as mice. All had been well until they'd come within three-quarters of a mile of the low walls. Suddenly the ripping sear of concentrated laser bursts tore into them.
"Shit!" Cap swore as he saw the secrecy of his attack shattered. "Fire the Brunhildes."
From the ridge came the wump of the catapults, flinging their cargoes of black powder kegs. Seven of them were blown apart in flight, but the eighth, by pure luck, exploded on the edge of the tower from which they'd drawn fire. And the Gene-spliced charged forward again.
Into withering fire. The alpha-Morkth engineering and ordnance were designed to survive a Beta attack, with far more serious threats than a hundredweight of black powder. It would have been infinitely worse if the comms network had been functioning. "Hell and damnation! Sound the retreat. They're not even going to make the walls!" Cap said disgustedly.
But, as he said that, the lasers fell silent. If he'd gone to check on his two psis he would have found them stunned and sobbing.
Down on the battlefield Beywulf raised his head in the sudden silence. He understood. The man had kept his word. Bey stood up and turned to face his fellows.
His voice cut through the newly won quiet. "S'kith, the Morkth-man, promised to silence their guns. He has done it. Come on! Forward!"
He turned, and with a cry of "S'kith!" began to lumber toward the hive. In a wave the Gene-spliced joined him, the Morkth-man's name echoing across the plain. And not as much as an arrow cut at them, as they poured forward up scaling ladders, and onto the walls.
Here they did meet what could vaguely be called resistance. It was more of a case of the death threshings of a dangerous but now headless beast. For there were no Morkth officers, no communications, and no orders. But there was a grumbling, and then a thunderous rumble from deep within the hive. As if some great monster was stirring. It caused momentary panic among the invaders.
Then Cap was there, shouting. "Into the hive. They're trying to flee."
Keilin and Shael, with no memory of how their fingers had so twisted together, saw the Morkth lander, a huge craft, vintage of the original Alpha-Beta split, erupt from what had been the plowed fields of FirstHive, rise on a column of steam and smoke . . . and run north.
They stood in silence for a minute. Then Keilin spoke up quietly. "We've got to go down. S'kith expected us to come and fetch the core sections."
"Won't the explosion have destroyed them too?" Shael surveyed the disturbed ants' nest below with trepidation.
Keilin shook his head. "Diamond won't scratch them. And no furnace will melt them. That much I've gathered. Besides, I could still feel them calling. It will take the Gene-spliced time to find their way through the queen maze. But if we go the way S'kith went we can avoid trouble."
They went down to the fortress. There they saw Beywulf directing operations, organizing torches, as well as a shield path that led the endless stream of confused, unresisting Morkth-men out onto the plain. "They won't attack unless they are attacked," he said grimly. "And most of them seem to be these brainless field-workers. Like human sheep."
"I need a torch or three, Bey. We're going to follow S'kith's route down," said Keilin.
"Hell, Keil, why don't you just ask me for hen's teeth? Every one needs them and I've got to ration 'em. Cap's already down there heading for the queen section. But . . . any chance that S'kith's still okay?" There was concern and hope in his voice.
Keilin shook his head, trying to get his voice to work. Finally he said, thickly, "No. He's dead, Bey. He died laughing at his joke. He used the bomb in his own body to blow the power cable."
The broad man turned away. He shouted at the party of Gene-spliced going down past the frightened stream of Morkth-men. "Remember, I'll have the guts out of any of you that injures a woman or child! Bring them up, and bring them up careful!" He turned to the captain next to him. "Diarma. This has become a debt of honor. That Morkth-man died to save my kid . . . all of our kids. I gave my promise. I'm responsible to see the kids especially don't get hurt. That they get looked after. Pass the word down the communication lines, will you?"
The Gene-spliced have the strength and speed and dexterity of their spliced-in ancestors. They are also an emotional people. Perhaps the human source material was like that. Or perhaps it was a lingering trace from the chimpanzee and kodiak lines. These folk were close-knit and clannish, and they cared. Keilin should not have been surprised at the ready tears on both broad faces. Bey handed Keilin a bag of pitch-pine knots. "See if you can find him. He'll have a hero's grave on the Moss. I'll stay here and see that his wishes are carried out."
Shael and Keilin walked across to the air duct S'kith had followed down. The cover was still pulled aside. It was a narrow hole leading down for thirty levels. It was dark, and they could just see that it went . . . down. Keilin took out of his pocket a pebble he'd sucked to ease his thirst while they'd marched from the Moss, and dropped it. Counted. It was many seconds before the faint "plink" came up from the hive water supply.
"I can't!" Shael said. Keilin felt that way himself. The narrow darkness was already making him feel tight-chested. "My arms won't last twenty-seven levels," she added, looking into the darkness.
It was true enough. She was far stronger now than she had been when she'd been a pampered Princess, but . . . Keilin sighed. He felt that it was vital to go down that terrible hole. At least it was not angrily sucking air the way it had during S'kith's descent. But yet he was afraid of leaving Shael. Foreboding hung about that choice. He compromised. "I'll go. You stay with Bey. Don't leave him. Please." His voice was full of care and he leaned forward and kissed her. "See you." And he lowered himself down into the claustrophobic shaft.
There was no way one could carry a lighted torch and climb. So he had to do it in complete darkness, moving on memories garnered from those moments of close contact with S'kith, and faith. His fear of closed-in spaces clutched at him, but still he went down. After all, S'kith had come down here, somehow beating his fear of returning to the hive. Keilin felt he could do no less.
At last he came to the side shaft. The only side shaft. Only the queen level had an emergency air off-take. Keilin followed it. Finally he came to where the air line went into the filtration plant. No poison could reach the queen chambers, and as a side-effect, neither could a human cockroach. So Keilin had to leave the air duct and emerge, before the great queen door. Keilin found he didn't need the torches here. At this, the most crucial level of the hive, every fourth light still gleamed with a dull phosphorescence. Obviously this was some failsafe should disaster strike the hive's heart.
The great golden doors hung open. Bodies were strewn around. Some had obviously been trampled by storming rivers of Morkth feet. Keilin went on, past the now empty laboratory, into the wrecked comms room. The burned door of the power generator room still stood. When the power cable was severed, power for the arc cutters was cut. The hole surrounded by cooled runnels of titanium steel was still too small for a Morkth . . . or most adults. Without more ado Keilin began thrusting his slim sinew-and-muscle boy's body through the sharp-edged hole. Not for the first time he cursed the growing process.
There was not much left of his friend. What the explosion hadn't ripped apart, high voltage had cremated. But a force drew him to the far corner of the room. There, severed, but still clutching, was S'kith's hand. He had to force the rigor-set fingers apart to expose the five core sections. Their familiar blackness and oil-swirl patterns called to him. He touched them, and knew that Shael, hand on her bracelet stone, had been waiting for him to do so. He also knew that the remaining sections lay in the Beta-Morkth's technofortress. The conquest of this hive had been a child's game, compared to what that would take.
Once S'kith's barricade had been removed it was easy enough to open the door. Using a coil of wire from the laboratory Keilin set out into the queen's maze. Here he needed the torches in the bag. It was perhaps fifteen minutes later that he encountered a Hansel-and-Gretel trail of scraps. Off down a further twisting corridor he could hear Cap's voice. He called Cap's party back to where he stood.
Cap eyed him with disfavor. "I should have known you'd turn up where you're not supposed to be. What do you want?"
For an answer Keilin held the wire. "This'll lead you through the maze to where the core sections are."
"Hmph. Why didn't you just bring them with you?" demanded Cap roughly.
"Because I want you to see what you did to my friend. The man you called a traitor. The damn things are still in his hand," said Keilin fiercely, blindly.
"Watch your tongue, boy. This is for the human race. It's more important than one worthless Morkth-man. This wire'll take us there, you say?" he said, taking the strand from Keilin's limp hand.
A Gene-spliced officer took Keilin by the shoulder. "Word has come down from the top about what he did," she said quietly. "Bey wants the women he says are called the Warrior brood-sows found and freed. Can you help us?"
Keilin nodded. S'kith would have wanted that. "A floor down. S'kith told me about it. I'll lead you." They set off out of the maze and down the awkward stairs, not designed for human tread. Soon they were passing tiny lightless cells.
"These?" asked the woman.
"Worker-brood," said Keilin shortly. "According to S'kith they're so stupid they can barely do more than eat and be bred."
The officer held a torch to the grill. Piteous whimpering came from inside. A blow with a heavy hand-axe shattered the lock. A naked, vast, pregnant and blubber-rolling filth-smeared body lay there, blinking myopically in the unfamiliar light. Slack-jawed she looked at them, and then, with a hopeless grunt, turned her jowl-face away and began licking a spigot on the back wall. She made no attempt to move toward the open door, and showed no curiosity about the strangers.
Several of the troop were retching as Keilin led them further down. The cells on the next level were no different. But here there was no whimpering. Instead the air was abuzz with whispered speech. Keilin paused. He owed his friend this triumph. His voice didn't even shake as he called out "S'KITH 235!" with all the volume he could muster.
There was silence. Then pandemonium broke loose. "Let us out! Let us out!" Joyful, hopeful, frantically happy yells echoing in the passage. And S'kith's name was repeated endlessly in a paean of triumph. No resting place of grandeur, none of the poignant legends that the gene-spliced would build about him, would ever honor his friend as those voices did.
A lifetime in a cell too small to stand in does not equip you well for the outside world. Yet these were no beached whales that they set free into that passage. Calisthenics and determination had maintained their bodies. They were naked, yes. But not filthy. And they were organized. They'd never known when this day would come. But they had believed and prepared for it.
The first question they all asked was, Where was S'kith? By the predatory look in the eyes of the enquirers even his legendary stamina might have been tried right there. "He's dead. He destroyed the power system so that we could succeed in our attack." A great sigh echoed down the passages. They had mourned him long ago. They would mourn him again. But not yet.
"Then where is the fighting? We must kill Morkth." The leader was a hard-eyed woman with long dark hair, plainly pregnant, about thirty-five. Keilin remembered what S'kith had told him. Probably, after this baby, she would have been killed and eaten.
"The Morkth have fled in one of their big flying craft. There is no more fighting really. Just confused Morkth-men."
"So it is true then. There can only be one reason they would flee. They have been trying to hormonally alter both frozen workers and volunteer warriors. They must have succeeded. They have a queen egg to protect."
Before the enormity of this statement could sink in, Keilin felt a calling.
A desperate, urgent calling. A feeling that he must make contact. He touched his ankle, fingers dipping into the pouch, touched the core section.
"I need to get to the surface, fast. She needs me."
Twenty-eight levels of twisting spiral ramps was still a long, long way to run. Keilin knew he could never be there in time, but he ran until his lungs were on fire. Eventually he burst past the confused files of empty-eyed workers, out into the morning sunlight.
It was bedlam up there. The shield path had been scattered. Now confused Morkth-men surged all over in little knots. In the center of the hive roof stood a stunned group of the Gene-spliced. Keilin rushed over to them. On the ground between them lay Beywulf, his head in Wolfgang's lap. He didn't have legs any more. And through his shirt oozed a sluggish trickle of blood. Someone had tied tourniquets on the leg stumps, but Bey's normally ruddy face was spook-white.
Wolfgang's voice cracked. "My father tried to stop him. He wasn't even armed. Cap cut him down when he turned away. Just like that. Dad must've seen him out of the corner of his eye. He jumped. The blade cut through his thighs instead of his midriff. Cap stabbed him in the chest as he fell. Then he took the girls into the Morkth platecraft he'd summoned from the desert . . . or that is what Cap said. The young one fought and he hit her." Wolfgang shook his head in disbelief, his eyes full of the tears he refused to let fall. "My father has served him faithfully for nearly ten years. Now he's dying. Why? Why did Cap do this?" he screamed.
Keilin closed his eyes, bit his lips, summoned all his determination. His voice when it came out had the unmistakable ring of command. He was slight, nearly seventeen years old. And there wasn't a man on that roof who wasn't going to do exactly what he told them to, immediately. He pointed to two of the officers. "You. And you. Clear this roof. Anyone still on it in two minutes from now will be killed. Leave Bey. Get all the Gene-spliced below. At least five levels. Now!"
Only Wolfgang didn't move. "I'm staying with my father. What are you going to do?"
Keilin turned to look at him. "I'm going after them. And I'm taking Bey to the only place that might be able to save his life. I'm going to summon transportation too. And that'll bring the Beta-Morkth. Your father wants you to live. Now go. Go on. Get down at least five levels."
He was met with a long, flat stare. Then Wolfgang shouted, "Johann, Gerda, Hamesh, Sula." Four young Gene-spliced turned from harrying people back down into the hive. "I need some help to carry my father. And to avenge him."
Keilin didn't even see them any more. He had his hand in the bulging ankle pouch. He allowed the fear and desperation to surface. He allowed his suppressed feelings about Shael to flow. He wanted transport. To Compcontrol at the South Pole.
He expected a flying carpet. Or a giant bird. Or a Morkth antigrav plate. But he must have had Beywulf's condition in mind. What he got was a long white flyer, with a big red cross on the front and sides. The back opened, and a wheeled stretcher rolled out. A mechanical, toneless voice said, "Mechambulance unit 16. Load the patient."
They were flying high and fast. Bey was in a metal cocoon. Wires and tubes attached to him were superstitiously eyed by the five Gene-spliced and the three stark-naked women who had come wandering out onto the roof just as they were loading Beywulf onto the stretcher unit. There seemed little choice but to take them along. Keilin himself however viewed the entire setup with mere acceptance, and nothing more than a desire for haste. He hoped that the Beta-Morkth response had not killed too many people. He had no way of knowing that the response he expected hadn't occurred. All he knew was that the land below had dwindled rapidly and then changed to a blue sheet of sea. Surely soon they must be there?
Finally, Wolf's questions pulled Keilin out of his reverie. "We're bound for a mountain on the South Pole. I don't know much about it, except that it is very cold. Full of snow and ice. No, I don't think Cap has joined the Morkth. He's just using the craft of a few that were killed, by me and my partner."
He looked at the three naked girls who were shivering on one of the empty stretchers. "We'd better contrive some kind of clothes for you ladies. The outside world is not temperature-controlled like the hive."
Wolf nodded. "Yeah. I looked around in here. There are some blankets in there." He pointed to a drawer. He was his father's son however. "Shame to spoil the view, though." He turned for a last look at it. And turned away rapidly. Two of them were touching each other. Quite intimately. "You . . . you can't do that here!"
"Why not?" asked one of the three.
"What is wrong with what we are doing?" another asked with genuine puzzlement.
With a quiet smile, Keilin went to the drawer and left the five young Gene-spliced to their explanations. Despite Beywulf's situation, the whole thing was not without humor. The folk of Dublin Moss had thought their morals the most flexible in the world. All the same they were failing dismally in their attempt to explain sexual taboos to the three girls, at least one of whom was showing a distinctly rounded belly. He snorted a chuckle to himself. Hell, he'd grown old in the last couple of years. Most of the words the Gene-spliced were using were beyond the hive girls. Well, at least it would keep young Wolf from worrying about his father for a while.
He intervened with three rough ponchos a few minutes later. "I'm sure Wolf and one of his companions will be delighted to give you a demonstration of what they mean by normal sex . . . some other time. But before you get to the practicals you so badly want, I think you should try these. You are turning blue. I agree it is lovely to be able to see each other, but the blue makes you look like Morkth."
They couldn't have donned those ponchos any faster if they had known just what they were supposed to do with them.
When they were dressed, one of Wolf's companions, Sula, began to laugh. "How many of you," she paused delicately, "warrior brood sows are there?
"Thirty-seven thousand three hundred and twenty-two . . . if you count us," said the girl who called herself Faime.
Looking at her companions with a broad smile, Sula continued, "Do you realize what will be happening back at the hive? The Gene-spliced trying to cope with that mess . . . and thirty-seven thousand three hundred and nineteen like these wandering around looking for a feel-up." She raised her eyes heavenward.
The thickset Johann sighed. "To think I'm here where the ratio is a lousy 4:5 when I could be there at a happy 1:10. Wolf, you no-good bum!"
The flight continued. They devised leggings for the girls, and bound strips of blanket around their feet. They also solved the toilet arrangements for a party of nine, three of whom had never had to learn bladder control. Bey stayed warm, his heart beating, as fluids ran into him. The chest and stomach wounds had been cleaned by little metallic arms. Keilin suspected the machine had drugged him, as his friend lay so still. Time passed, and talk continued. Keilin had to tell his side of the story. He had his entire audience sniffing and then openly weeping at his recital of S'kith's defeat of the hive. They ate some of the smoked beef and journey biscuits that the fear-of-starvation Gene-spliced had inevitably carried into battle. The expression on the hive girls' faces as they tasted the food filled Keilin with nostalgia, remembering S'kith in earlier days. Below now was a gray sea occasionally dotted with white gleaming shapes. The craft was undoubtably losing height.
An alarm screamed out from a speaker above their heads. A mechanical voice squawked. "Secure all personnel. Emergency status. Mechambulance unit 16 under attack. Taking evasive action."
They had barely time to grab for handholds. The craft banked viciously then dropped like a stone. They hurtled along, inches above the gray wave chop and were abruptly flung upward. They skimmed over the gleaming edge of a white floating mountain. And sheered away, jinking between more vast bergs. Behind them a burst of incandescence shattered the ice. The speaker squawked, constantly. Stuff about "Rules of war; non-combatants; medical personnel; prohibited weaponry and nuclear-free zones," until Keilin wished he had a free hand to shove a pillow over the thing and suffocate it.
Then there was another burst of incandescence, in midair this time. The mechambulance began to regain height. "Personnel. Emergency status cancel. Compcontrol defenses have nullified attack craft. Landing two minutes." The speaker continued in its flat mechanical tones. The mountain looked just as it had in Keilin's vision from the desert. Except bigger. And colder.
As the craft dropped towards an opening in the rock, Keilin had a brief view of a huge, dark wreck on the far shoulder of the mountain. Spilling from it was what looked like a river of ants. Then the mechambulance zoomed into the rocky tunnel. Behind them steel doors slid shut. The craft slowed. Then it stopped, pushed its tail end into a brightly lit bay and opened the back hatch. Beywulf's entire bed section began to roll out.
A man in green clothing was waiting. He shook his head at them. "Don't come out here. Only the patient can go in through the sterilizer unit. This is the sterile zone. I'll be with you as soon as I've seen to the patient. Unit 16, take them round to reception."
The speaker bleeped. "Please stand clear. Rear entry closing." Before the stunned group could respond, it had closed. The craft moved off slowly, despite their pounding on the door. Then the hatch opened again.
This time there was a broad set of stairs in front of them, leading to a well lit hall with hundreds of chairs in it. Above the door a glowing sign read:
MORNINGSTAR II GENERAL MEDICAL
HOSPITAL
CASUALTY RECEPTION
They stepped out. Keilin looked at the pain-wrung face of one of the hive girls. She cradled her arm. By the angle, Keilin was sure it was broken. It must have been during the "evasive action." He helped her up the stairs and through the glass doors.
As the door closed a three-foot-high metal cylinder on wheels scooted up to them. "Doctor says he will be with you presently," the mechanical voice chirped.
"This girl is also injured," Keilin braved, while the others felt for weapons.
"What is the nature of the injury?" the thing chirped back.
Mutely, Keilin pointed to the cradled arm. A metal proboscis followed his hand. A brief whirr and click. "A simple fracture of the radius and ulna. Unnecessary to disturb the doctor. Follow me to dressing room three and I will deal with it."
Because there seemed little alternative they followed the cylinder to a room full of neat implements and painted cupboards. They persuaded Sandi to place her arm on the metal plate where a white gleaming cover slid over it.
"The pain. It's gone." With wonderment in her voice, she tried to pull her arm out.
"Don't move. Ultrasonic manipulation in progress," chirped the little cylinder sternly. "Just another few minutes."
They walked out of the room, Sandi peering in wonder at her arm, now encased in a hard sheath of transparent webbing.
The green-clad man was waiting for them.
"Just what," he asked, slapping his stripped-off powdered gloves against his other hand, "is going on?"