E. E. Doc Smith - D' Alembert 6 - The Purity plot
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THE PURITY PLOT
Volume six of The classic Family d'Alembert series
By E.E. 'Doc' Smith
With Stephen Goldin
Chapter 1
The Glasseye Gang
The planet Glasseye was named for its appearance from space. Tuan Ho, the
scoutship pilot who discovered it, remembered his initial impression in an interview with
Imperial Newsworks Reelzine: "I came out of subspace and there it was, staring straight
at me=a large blue green ball with that one dark continent in the center. It looked for all
the universe like a glass eye being displayed on a piece of black velvet, with the stars
as a background to lend effect to the scene."
Since that discovery in 2374, the planet had been well explored and colonized, and its
name took on an extra significance. The one major continent was found to contain rich
deposits of a fine silicate mineral called fargerite, after its discoverer-that occurred
nowhere else in the galaxy; furthermore, this silicate produced some of the finest glass
ever made. "Glasseye glass" became renowned throughout the Empire, and no one
with any pretensions to culture would feel his collection of objets d'art complete without
several pieces. Producing, blowing, and exporting the glass became the planet's
leading industries, and the entire world thrived, basking in the glow of its reputation. So
abundant was the fargerite that the Glasseyers even used it as a construction material
for building their cities. When combined and fired in the proper way, it became a
substance stronger than steel, with the added advantage that it was more easily
recyclable. If one tired of it in one form, one could melt it down and reshape it into
something else with a minimum of trouble.
Glasseye cities therefore looked like fairy towers of crystalline perfection. Glass needles
rose into the sky, their walls refracting the sunlight into a million rainbow patterns. Glass
latticeworks connected the city in a transportation system of small, high-speed shuttles
that whisked people wherever they chose to go in a matter of minutes. The cities
presented an ever-changing face, as old portions were constantly being melted down
and replaced with newer, more modern-looking sections. Transience became ingrained
into the planetary character of the Glasseyers themselves; there was a joke common
throughout the Empire about a starving Glasseyer who was given a bowl of apples,
pears, and grapes, but died before he ate any-he was not quite satisfied with the
arrangement of the fruit in the bowl!
Visitors flocked to Glasseye from all over the galaxy to observe the breathtaking beauty
of Glasseyer cities. Tourism was Glasseye's second largest industry; the planet
represented an almost perfect visual paradise. But even paradise has its problems.
The group of masked figures had little trouble breaking into the new Imperial Trade
Tower in Southbeach City. This tower, the latest in a series of new buildings to house
the local arm of the imperial administration, was not scheduled to open officially for
another week, during which final checks of the wiring and plumbing were completed.
There were only two guards stationed at the building's base, and they hadn't been
expecting any trouble. The party of invaders blasted them in cold blood, then continued
with their mission.
The leader checked the elevator tube and found it in workable condition. He and his
friends got in and rose quickly to the upper stories. The Imperial Trade Tower had been
designed like an enormous tulip about to blossom, with the bulb beginning a full thirty
stories above ground level. The intruders got off at the thirty-fourth floor and spread out.
Each of the eight team members planted his explosive charge in one of the offices
around the floor's perimeter, then returned to the central shaft. They went up the tube
four more floors. So far, everything had gone according to their plans, but now they ran
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into something they had not counted on: people.
As it happened, this brand-new building, a showcase of Glasseyer architecture and
design, had attracted the interest of Lord Hok Fu-Choy, nephew of Grand Duke TChen
who owned Sector Seventeen in which Glasseye was located. Lord Hok had requested
a personal inspection while he was here on Glasseye, and Baron William of
Southbeach was most happy to consent. During the day though, the building was still
swarming with construction workers, and it would be hard for Lord Hok to observe it in
its proper form. Also, the Baron promised, Lord Hok would get a splendid nighttime view
of the panorama of Southbeach City if he came up here after hours. Lord Hok agreed to
a nighttime tour.
Neither Baron William nor his guest had expected to encounter any trouble in an
uncompleted building during an unannounced visit. Each man only had one
escort-bodyguard with him-wholly inadequate, it turned out, for the situation they found
themselves facing.
It would have been hard to say which side was more surprised at seeing the other
there, but the invaders who'd been prepared for anything that might happen-recovered
first. Being well armed, they drew their guns to kill the strangers, and they would have,
but the leader recognized the Baron and Lord Hok. Making a snap decision, he ordered
his followers to take them alive.
The escorts fought well, and managed to burn down two of their attackers, but they
were hopelessly outnumbered. In the end, they lay dead on the floor while the two
noblemen looked on, helpless. The saboteurs took their prisoners and set the
remainder of their explosive charges. Then, herding their captives into the elevator
tubes, they descended once more to the ground level and to the shuttle prepared for
their escape.
They pushed Lord Hok into the craft first. The young nobleman resented this brusque
treatment and, despite the guns that were trained on him, he began a brief struggle. His
attempt did not last long, as one of his captors hit him soundly across the face with the
butt of a blaster, but the minor scuffle did give Baron William a chance to break free of
the men who were holding him. Before any of the invaders knew quite what had
happened, the Baron was running down the transit tube into the darkness. A couple of
the men started after him, but they were called back by their leader. Their time was
running out; they dared not waste any by chasing the fleeing man. They still had one
captive after all, and a very important one at that. Headquarters would approve highly of
what they'd done; there was no need to endanger themselves further.
The shuttle with the six surviving invaders and their hostage sped away from the
Imperial Trade Tower at top speed. Baron William arrived back at the scene ten
minutes later, accompanied by a squad of police, but by that time it was too late. Within
another five minutes, the "bulb" of the tower blew apart, scattering shards of glass for
kilometers in all directions.
The Head of the Service of the Empire was greatly disturbed by this latest incident of
anti-imperialist terrorism. His organization was charged with the awesome task of
maintaining the security of an empire that was spread out over more than thirteen
hundred worlds. And that job, never an easy one under the best of circumstances, had
only been getting harder of late.
Maybe I'm starting to feel my age, he thought, but the last two years have really been
downhill.
Not that Zander von Wilmenhorst was that old; at just under fifty he was only now
reaching the absolute prime of his mental capacities. But the responsibility of his
position would age anyone quickly. And the more dedicated he became, the more
seriously he took his duties, which only made him feel older.
He had thought, many months ago, that the breakup of Banion's well-organized plot
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against the Empire would be the peak of his career, that everything following it would be
an anticlimax. To some extent that was true, but it was not the way he had expected.
Little things kept popping up, almost trivial in and of themselves, but they had been
taking unexpectedly large bites of the Service's time and energy. He had fought off the
wolf named Banion-mostly through the talents of his two most capable agents-but now
he found the Empire plagued by mosquitoes. And he could not help but recall that it
was mosquitoes that carried the germs of malaria.
Acts of terrorism were on the increase. The seeds of discontent were sprouting on
planets in every sector of the Empire, with a violence which was unexpectedly strong
considering the mild and peaceful reign of Emperor Stanley Ten. Everywhere, groups of
malcontents were springing up, chanting slogans for the abolition of the Empire and the
destruction of the nobility. For the most part, the groups were led by honest, sincere
people who believed in autonomy for their own planets without regard for the larger
picture of interstellar relations.
Von Wilmenhorst could not fault the people for their sincere, if misguided, patriotism;
the simple fact of the matter was that a strong, central concept such as the Empire of
Earth was necessary to prevent countless interplanetary wars between rival worlds, and
the deaths of untold trillions of human beings.
The localized insurrections themselves bothered him little, if at all; they were on a scale
that the planetary authorities could reasonably handle. But his shrewd mind detected a
pattern behind the sudden rise of these problems-and patterns were what he was most
suspicious of.
There's a pattern behind every major movement in the galaxy, he thought. Find the
pattern and you're halfway to finding the solution.
He had on his desk a series of charts, correlating the growth of terrorist movements. If
this had been a medical situation, he would have called it an epidemic. So far, 647
worlds had anti-imperial, terrorist gangs of serious strength, and there was no telling
how many more were in the process of formation as he sat and considered the
problem. It would be more understandable if Stanley Ten were a harsh, tyrannical ruler,
as some of his predecessors had been; people had a natural tendency, after a while, to
rebel against such oppression. But, on the contrary, Stanley Ten's reign had been one
of the most enlightened since the Empire was formed and, after forty-six years, would
soon be coming to a close anyway. While it was not generally known, Stanley Ten
planned to abdicate in six months in favor of his daughter Edna ...
With that thought, a major piece of the jigsaw puzzle fell into place in his mind. Stanley
Ten was not the target. Whoever was masterminding this operation was biding his time,
building his power slowly, sapping the Empire's strength with a million tiny brush fires.
The real conflagration would come during the changeover, when everyone was in a
natural state of confusion anyway. The Empire would be in the hands of a young
woman who, while possessing many of the strengths that so characterized her father,
was not as experienced as he at dealing with crises. There was more possibility that
she, through simple inexperience, would make the fatal slip that would bring about the
downfall of the Stanley reign, and possibly of the entire Empire.
With the concept of nefarious conspiracies, his thoughts naturally turned to Lady A, the
mysterious woman who seemed to be lurking behind so many of them. She had
managed to infiltrate the Service itself, and von Wilmenhorst still did not know how. She
was a guiding force behind the insidious humanoid robots; two of which had already
come too close to wreaking their havoc on the Empire. She'd managed the planet
Sanctuary, building up a constituency of the best criminal talent in the galaxy. She was
involved with a gang of space pirates and was amassing a space fleet for purposes
unknown. And she'd come within a hairbreadth of pulling off the galaxy's most daring
coup, at the wedding of Crown Princess Edna.
All of her plans, with the exception of the leak from within the Service itself, had been
thwarted by the timely actions of his agents, but that did not make the Head feel any
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more secure. We've stopped all of her plans that we know about, he corrected himself.
How many more machinations are developing that we may not discover until too late?
Lady A is a very busy woman.
Along with the incidents of terrorism, space piracy had also been on the rise in the last
year or so; Lady A had already demonstrated one connection with that, and there might
be others. Somewhere, there had to be a weapons stockpile, some central source
supplying these various groups with the arms they needed to conduct their battles.
Somewhere, two more-at least-of those deadly robots were engaged in their missions
of undermining the Empire. Somewhere, lurking even further in the background, was
the person known only as C, the still more enigmatic partner of the mysterious Lady A.
Somewhere ...
Zander von Wilmenhorst ran a hand over his smooth-shaven scalp in frustration. There
were mysteries within mysteries, and so little time to unravel them all. His insight that
events would culminate at the coronation of Edna as Empress Stanley Eleven gave him
a target date to shoot for-but it was so soon. And the enemy had the natural advantage
of knowing his plans as well as its own.
Somewhere, a clock was ticking off the seconds left to the Empire, and unless he could
think of something, those seconds would be pitifully few in number.
With a massive effort of will, the Head pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.
Despite the fact of the larger plots against the throne, there were still the everyday
details of imperial security that needed tending. At present, the kidnaping of Lord Hok
by the rebels on Glasseye was primary.
Turning on his own private subcom set, he punched in the secret identity number that
was known to only a few select people in the entire galaxy. Within just a few minutes, a
face appeared within the three-dimensional communicator screen-the face of von
Wilmenhorst's old friend, Duke Etienne d'Alembert.
Etienne was obviously glad to see his comrade, but at the same time his expression
was one of serious concern. The Head of SOTE rarely had the time to make purely
social calls, particularly to the secret subcom number. There was bound to be trouble
somewhere. "Bonjour, mon ami," he said. "What's the problem?"
Briefly, the Head explained the circumstances surrounding the capture of Lord Hok by
terrorists on Glasseye the previous night. "It doesn't appear to have been a planned
event," he said, "but you can bet the rebels will make use of it nonetheless. We're
expecting a list of demands momentarily."
"All of them impossible, no doubt."
"Even if they only asked twenty kopeks, the price would be too high. It would be a signal
to the entire galaxy for a new escalation of these terrorist attacks. I'm already certain
there's an Empire-wide conspiracy linking them all together; if this kidnaping tactic,
accidental though it was this first time, should succeed, no nobleman or political official
will ever be safe. We've got to crush this threat so thoroughly, and with such
determination, that it won't be tried again."
Etienne d'Alembert nodded. "And that, I suppose, is where the circus comes in?"
"Exactly. Ordinarily I would consider something like this inside the jurisdiction of local
police officials, with the Service sending along a liaison officer as an observer. But
Grand Duke T'Chen is as cantankerous as ever, and he's been screaming for SOTE to
get his nephew out of there. As a grand duke he is entitled to such considerations. Also,
as I said, I want to make an example of this for the rest of the terrorists to note, so I
want to unleash my top weapon at them: you and your family."
Duke Etienne smiled at the compliment. "How thorough an example should I create?"
The Head returned the smile. "Lord Hok must be returned to his uncle alive and as
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unharmed as the rebels have left him. Anything beyond that, I'll leave to your own
discretion."
"Ah. I am nothing if not discreet." The Duke's smile broadened into a positively
carnivorous expression. "I suppose, though, it would be prudent to leave a few of the
scum in a condition to answer further questions."
"Yes, please."
"Time will be a bit of a problem. I'm on Dorlan at the moment. Even breaking off our
next three days' engagements and altering our schedule, it would stilt take us about five
days to reach Glasseye-and once we're there, it'll take a little time to develop our battle
plans."
Von Wilmenhorst nodded. "I know. I've instructed our local chief to stall, play along with
them, pretend to consider their demands until he hears from you. He knows he's to give
you his fullest cooperation once you arrive, so you should have no problems. And I'll
beam you further reports on the situation as it develops while you're en route."
"We're on our way," Duke Etienne said curtly, and the screen on the subcom set went
blank as he broke the connection. The Head smiled confidently. It felt good to be able
to do something positive, and handing a problem to a d'Alembert was as good as
solving it.
He turned back to the stacks of material cluttering his desk. They were in neat piles of
varying degrees of urgency. Unfortunately, the "very urgent" pile was still entirely too
high for his liking. With a sigh, he reached for the next report from the top of that stack.
It happened to be a summary of the situation on the planet Purity, reported by Marask
Kantana, one of his ablest aides. As he read, it became increasingly clear to him that
his need for d'Alembert help was far from over.
Chapter 2
The Silent Sortie
The Circus of the Galaxy was one of the Empire's top attractions, wherever it played.
Even in an era of sophisticated electronic communications, there was something so
elemental about the circus's appeal that it always drew vast throngs to its
performances. It was basic entertainment-people executing unbelievable feats with
seemingly effortless abandon. Audiences never ceased to marvel at the wonders
performed before their eyes.
Duke Etienne d'Alembert, manager of the Empire's premier attraction, never allowed his
acts to be filmed, televised or recorded for sensable shows. In this way, he created an
aura of mystery and originality about his troupe that no one else had been able to
duplicate. He relied heavily on word-of-mouth advertising to bring the crowds, and he
was seldom disappointed at the results.
But there was another, deeper reason why the crafty duke refused all offers to
broadcast his show to the multitudes, despite the phenomenal amounts of money
offered. The Circus of the Galaxy-meaning, in essence, the Family d'Alembert-was one
of SOTE's strongest and most secret weapons. The talents of this remarkable family, all
originally from the heavy-grav world of DesPlaines, had been called upon time and
again for secret missions, much like the one that now took them to Glasseye. Making
the faces Aid names of the d'Alembert clan members easily recognizable by the general
public would end their ability to do the Empire's work in secret.
Duke Etienne had long cultivated a reputation for eccentricity. He was likely to cancel
the circus's appearances at a moment's notice to play at some other distant planet
halfway across the Empire, and yet, the circus was so popular that it was always
welcome, no matter how strange were the whims of its manager.
Thus, no one was particularly surprised when the circus abruptly pulled up its stakes
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from its successful appearance on Dorlan, canceled its last three days' shows, and took
off for Glasseye. Dorlan's loss was Glasseye's gain, as far as most of the citizens of
either planet ever knew.
Immediately upon landing on Glasseye, while the majority of his people set about their
routine tasks of putting the show together, Duke Etienne received a briefing from the
planetary chief of SOTE on the situation regarding the kidnappers. Duke Etienne wore
a disguise while meeting with the chief, a man named Bergen, so that he could not be
positively identified; if Bergen bothered to correlate the arrival of this special agent with
the arrival of the circus on Glasseye, he was discreet enough never to mention it to
anyone.
The past four and a half days had been ones of strident demands from the terrorist
organization and seemingly abject capitulation on the part of the authorities. Only by
looking closely could it be seen that the planetary officials had not given anything away,
but were merely stalling for time. The rebels demanded that imperial taxes be
distributed to impoverished citizens of Glasseye; very well, said the officials, just give us
a little time to convert it into cash. The rebels demanded that imperial military installa-
tions be removed from the planet; very well, the officials said, but the movement of so
much equipment and personnel required time and involved orders. The rebels
demanded that the Empire pay "reparations" for all the harm it had cost Glasseye
during the tyranny; very well, the officials said, it will just take a little time to total up the
cost.
The rebels demanded, the officials promised. And always the fulfillment of the promise
was just a little way over the horizon.
In the meantime, the local arm of SOTE had been doing some work of its own. One
member of the terrorist force, who had been hit and left for dead during the attack on
the Imperial Trade Tower, had managed to survive, and was taken to a hospital and
given the best medical treatment Glasseye's doctors could provide. His name was
Peaks and, the instant the doctors pronounced him fit enough, he was placed under
intensive interrogation by the local SOTE experts. Using every trick at their disposal
short of nitrobarb-which his system would not have been able to stand-they pried from
him all the information he knew about where the gang made its headquarters, how
many people were stationed there, and what the defensive setup was like. The local
Service officers took no action themselves, though; they waited, as they'd been ordered
to do, for the arrival of the special force.
Now that the promised reinforcements had arrived, Bergen had a complete breakdown
all prepared. The rebels were camped in a largely uninhabited section of the continent,
a dense, tropical jungle near a small mountain range. There was only one way into the
camp; mountains protected its back and one flank, while a swift-flowing river guarded
the other side. The one way in was constantly guarded by foot patrols at irregular
intervals. In addition, automatic sensors scanned the area for indications of metal or
high energy sources, such as powered blasters. All told, there were better than a
hundred people within the camp, and most of them would now be on the alert. They
knew SOTE would make some kind of attempt to get the hostage back, and the rebels
would be ready.
Peaks had not been back to the camp since the night of the raid, so he had no way of
knowing whether any special precautions had been instituted for the situation, nor did
he know where the prisoner was being kept. The SOTE strategical officers hazarded a
guess that Lord Hok might be in the' central headquarters hut, but nothing could be said
for certain. The attack forces would have to find that out for themselves once they'd
penetrated their target.
Etienne thanked Bergen for all his help and advice, then returned to the circus for a
strategy meeting with his brother Marcel. Between them, these two experienced agents
came up with what they hoped was a successful plan to smash the rebel base and get
the hostage out alive.
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The Phase I attack group consisted of ten people. Eight of them were members of the
aerialist team that performed death-defying acrobatics under the big tent several times
a day. The ninth was Jean d'Alembert, a cocky-looking man with a black moustache,
long sideburns tinged with gray, and a knowing leer on his face. He was the circus's
knife thrower, and one of its more outspoken, flamboyant members-but, like all the
d'Alemberts, he could be counted on in a fight.
The leader of the team was to be Luise deForrest, Duke Etienne's niece, who had done
such a superb job of leading an assault group against Rimskor Castle on Kolokov.
Luise was one of the circus's most promising young clowns and was blessed with an
agile body and incisive mind. She had her long, black hair tied up in braids for this
mission, and, like the others in the group, she wore a dark, forest green jump suit to
help her blend in better with the jungle foliage around the rebel camp. She carried a
small wicker cage strapped to her back; around her waist was a utility belt which, like
the belts on the rest of her party, contained various handy nonmetallic tools. They
carried nothing that would attract the attention of the metal detectors scanning the
entrance to the camp.
The party was driven in large trucks to the approximate area, as close as they dared
take motorized vehicles without risking discovery. They were still a good seven
kilometers from the camp's reported position.
There they got out of the trucks and mounted a group of trained marponies. These were
equine animals from the planet Zachari, smaller, faster, smarter and less
temperamental than horses. The dense underbrush hampered the marponies'
movements considerably, but they still made good time and carried their riders to a spot
less than a kilometer from the terrorist base in half an hour. The d'Alemberts tied and
muzzled their mounts and continued the rest of the way on their own.
Traveling along the ground would be dangerous here. According to Peaks' information,
this area was patrolled at irregular intervals, making it impossible to be sure of escaping
detection. The whole point of this mission was utter secrecy; if so much as a single
warning of their existence were to reach the terrorists, Lord Hok's life would be forfeit.
Therefore, the d'Alemberts scorned the ground and took instead to the treetops. In the
dim, late-evening light they scrambled from tree to tree with an agility that would have
put monkeys to shame. The density of the jungle was now an asset, because it assured
them of adequate holds for getting between the trees. Only on two occasions was there
any gap not bridged sufficiently by tree branches; in those cases, ropes were thrown
across the gulf and used as high wires. Not once during the passage did a d'Alembert
foot touch the ground.
Luise and Jean were less adept at tree-walking than were the other eight, and they
slowed the party down a bit. Speed was not the absolute requirement in this mission,
however; stealth counted more heavily. The specialized talents of the two would be
useful later, and their more agile relatives tolerated their comparative clumsiness.
Three times, guard patrols of two to five people passed beneath their position. During
those moments, the d'Alemberts held perfectly still, waiting for the patrols to move on.
They could easily have overpowered the guards if they'd chosen, but Luise decided
against that course of action. If even one guard should escape, of merely cry out in
alarm, the whole mission would be a failure. Similarly, if any of the patrols were missed
by their comrades, the d'Alemberts' job would become much harder. It was better to
show restraint now than to regret it later.
After an hour's careful treetop march, they came to the small clearing where the
enemy's camp was located. Crude, wooden huts had been set up as living quarters for
most of the rebels, with one large shack in the central area serving as their planning
headquarters. In addition, three large caves had been dug into the sides of the
mountains against which the camp was built. These caves, according to Peaks, were
used mainly for storing supplies, to keep them dry from the periodic heavy rains.
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Luise had a choice. The local SOTE chief thought it most probable that Lord Hok was
being kept in the central headquarters building, but Luise could not completely rule out
the possibility that the young nobleman was being housed in one of the caves, which
would be more easily guarded. There were two people stationed in front of each of the
caves, while six surrounded the headquarters building. There was no easy way to make
the choice.
After a moment's consideration Luise decided to investigate the caves first because
they would, in some ways, be the easiest to check. She whispered her plans to her
colleagues, and the group moved around the perimeter of the camp through the trees,
to the point closest to the cave entrances.
At this point, the mission's success rested with Jean d'Alembert. As the knife thrower,
he was the only one of the group to bring along any large supply of weapons. A few of
the knives he had were plastic, but most were hastily improvised wooden ones. They
were all, however, extremely sharp.
His task would not be an easy one. He had six targets, six guards at the cave
entrances. The nearest were five meters away, the furthest almost twenty-five. He had
to put each one out of commission without allowing any of them to make a noise-which
meant a knife to the throat of each one, in rapid succession. It was now early evening,
with only the light from various campfires to illuminate his targets. The knives he would
be throwing were not the ones he was used to, and the balance would be a little
different. All these were factors he had to allow for.
If Jean d'Alembert was nervous, he did not show it. He was a natural-born
grandstander, and he was used to having lives riding on the accuracy of his aim: the
target models in his act were his own wife, Bernadette, and his children Jacques and
Marie. He was not accustomed to missing.
He was now the picture of concentration as he crouched on the tree branch, looking
down on the peaceful scene in the camp. One knife was in his right hand, five more
held in readiness in his left. With a seemingly effortless flick of his wrist, he released the
blade toward its target and, as part of the same motion, he flipped another blade from
his left to his right hand, ready to throw again. One after another, the knives flashed out
from the trees, a smooth operation performed with machine precision. In a matter of
five seconds, all six guards lay dead, without a sound to mark their passing but the
gentle whoosh of Jean d'Alembert's knives slicing air.
With the sentries out of the way, Luise dropped to the ground, followed by the rest of
her group. They approached the first cave cautiously. Jean retrieved his knives from the
two sentries who'd been keeping watch here, then led the way inside. Luise was barely
half a step behind him. Four of the aerialists accompanied them, while the other four
stood guard outside in case of trouble.
There were three more of the rebels sitting around a fire inside the cave, but they barely
had time to look up and see the approaching force before the d'Alemberts were upon
them. Jean finished two of them off with quick flicks of his knives; Luise got the third by
wrapping a cord around his neck and twisting it, garrote fashion. The rest of the cave
merely held crates of provisions for the hundred-person camp. With a shrug, Luise led
her team outside to try again.
The other two caves proved to be virtual repeats of the first-a couple of people
stationed inside each guarding supplies of various sorts, but no sign of Lord Hok. The
initial estimate, then, was probably right. Luise led her team back outside and up into
the trees once more. They would try their next attack against the headquarters building.
This time speed was a vital factor. It was only a matter of time before the dead cave
sentries were discovered, and then the general alarm would be raised. There could be
no wasted motions now; Lord Hok must be found and freed immediately.
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There were six men stationed around the headquarters shack, some on the opposite
side of the building, thus making it impossible for even Jean to get all of them. The rest
of the assault team, having waited patiently while their relatives stole the show, now
had their own chance to get into the act. While Jean eliminated the nearest two guards
with his knives, the gymnastic team was flying through the air with a precision that had
made them all famous throughout the galaxy. They landed lightly on their feet and
continued their motion toward their preassigned targets. They outnumbered the
remaining guards two to one, which, for d'Alemberts, were laughable odds. They took
the sentries out easily, and again, they were so efficient that there was no sound to
alert the camp. Luise took a deep breath. It had been easy, so far; from this point on,
things would move a lot faster.
Knife in hand, she walked boldly up to the door and knocked. "Who's there?" a voice
asked from inside. Luise spoke in a low tone, slurring her words so the person inside
could not understand her. "Just a minute," the voice said.
Luise could hear the rasping sound of the lock, and a moment later the door swung
inward just a crack. That was enough for her. She pushed forward against the door,
shoving it completely open. The man who'd opened it was pushed backward, a startled
expression on his face. The expression was frozen there permanently as Luise's knife
came up under his ribs and he fell, dead, to the floor.
Behind her, Jean also rushed in, knives in hand. As he gave a quick glance around the
room and sized up the situation, his blades flashed through the air, and three more of
the terrorists lay dead on the floor. And still there had not been enough noise to arouse
the concern of anyone in the adjacent rooms.
They could not expect their luck to hold much longer. Taking this building room by room
would be an arduous and risky project; instead, they would split up and try to hit the
entire building simultaneously.
This entry room opened into a hallway that ran the length of the building, with five other
rooms further down. The rest of her team entered the shack and, at her whispered
command, glided softly down the corridor. When they were all in position, two to each
door, Luise signaled and they burst into their target rooms.
The action was short and silent. Once more, surprise had worked in their favor, and
they were able to finish off their opponents without any harm to themselves. Lord Hok
was found tied to a chair in the third room down. He'd been badly beaten and drugged,
but he was alive and had apparently suffered no permanent damage.
Had she the time, Luise would have let out a great sigh of relief. But Lord Hok was in no
condition to go swinging through the treetops with them, and they couldn't risk carrying
him. Fortunately, Duke Etienne's plans had allowed for such a contingency; rather than
going out the way they had come in, Luise inaugurated Phase II of the battle plan.
From the tiny wicker cage strapped to her back, Luise took a small, white bird with red
speckles. She walked to a window, opened it, and tossed the bird out into the night.
The bird, a sporinger, flapped its wings in confusion a couple of times, stretching and
exercising them after its long confinement. Then, testing its newfound freedom, it
soared upward into the darkened sky. Within seconds it was gone from Luise's view,
but she could imagine it with wings outstretched, floating on a convenient updraft,
spiraling above the camp in ever-widening circles. The sporinger's keen nose would be
sniffing the air, searching for some scent of its mate. Sporingers were animals that
mated for life, and their sense of smell was so acute that they were able to detect their
mates at distances of up to fifteen kilometers. Once this sporinger caught wind of its
mate, which was back with the rest of the d'Alembert assault team, it would fly directly
there, signaling to the others a beginning for Phase II.
With the sporinger gone, there was nothing left for the primary team to do but wait.
Luise assigned four of her relatives to stay with Lord Hok, guarding him against any
intrusion, while she and the rest of the team spread out through the building, in case of
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trouble.
Five minutes passed, then five more. Outside, the camp was still miraculously quiet.
She could hear the sounds of laughter and arguments in the barracks a few dozen
meters away, and the occasional voices of people calling to one another across the
compound. The d'Alembert luck held; no one had yet discovered the bodies of the
guards the family had killed on their way in.
Then, however, a new sound began to make itself known, like a sudden, strong wind
springing up from nowhere. From far away, it suddenly hit the camp like a hurricane,
rattling the ramshackle buildings and scattering small, loose objects around the
clearing. The sky, which had been clear, suddenly darkened as an enormous shape
blotted out the stars. Then it seemed as though a three-story building landed on the
camp.
In actuality, it was a roc. The name of the giant, mythical Arabian bird had been given to
these creatures from the planet Bahrein, and it was certainly a title well deserved. The
roc were the largest flying animals ever discovered in the galaxy, averaging ten meters
long with a wingspan of nearly sixty. They were covered with a tough, bluish skin, and
possessed four sets of talons and a sharp, rending beak that could tear apart
something the size of a rhinoceros without difficulty. They were surprisingly lightweight
for their size-only four hundred and fifty kilos-but had been known to carry off prey that
was more than half their own weight.
Rocs were rarely seen in captivity. There were only fifty-seven scattered throughout the
major zoos in the Empire. The circus had only acquired this specimen two years ago,
after many years of bargaining with the Duke of Bahrein. It had gone immediately into
the care of the circus's prime animal trainer, the petite-for a DesPlainian-Jeanne
d'Alembert. The frail-looking -eighteen-year-old Jeanne was totally dwarfed by her
charge. Yet, her aura of calm and her psychic attunement to animals of all sorts was
such that she had slowly worked even this monstrous creature under her spell. While it
was not yet domesticated enough to make it part of the show, it was quite able to
understand Jeanne's simple commands to fly to a given place and take off again. That
was really all they needed in this situation.
None of the Glasseye rebels were at all prepared for this creature out of legend
descending upon their camp. Not a one of them had ever seen a live roc before, and
even those who had seen pictures did not have the presence of mind to connect the
abstract concept with this thing they now faced. All they knew was that some monster,
bigger than any animal had a right to be, was attacking their camp from out of the
nighttime sky. They were not cowards; they would have faced an army of imperial
troops without flinching. But this was the stuff of which nightmares are made. Giving no
thought at all to their weapons, they began running at top speed away from the roc, as it
settled gently in the center of the clearing.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Luise and her party sped outside, carrying the
unconscious Lord Hok with them. Luise waved up at Jeanne, who sat astride the roc's
short, stubby neck, then helped strap their charge into the makeshift sling that had been
rigged to carry him out of here. The roc was very nervous, first at having so many
people screaming and running all around it and then having the d'Alembert party
figdeting with the strange device around its neck.
Jeanne was projecting soothing emotions and talking to the roc in gentle tones, but
keeping the large creature under control required her fullest concentration. At last, when
Lord Hok was safely strapped into his carrying harness, Luise gave the animal trainer
the "all smooth" signal, and Jeanne commanded her mount into the air once more. The
roc barely had room to spread its wings fully in the small clearing, but a couple of
mighty flaps brought it quickly above treetop level, after which it had much more
freedom of motion.
The d'Alembert party remaining on the ground, strong though they were, were bowled
over by the winds left by the roc's takeoff. They waited until the gusts had subsided,
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