Chapter 9: “Beneath the Pleasure Dome”
The palace keep, hundreds of feet below the Temple of Listra, represented the height of Listrong technical sophistication. Constructed in lost antiquity and re-discovered only three generations ago during the Rockrat Renaissance, these labyrinthine catacombs served as the last tactical resort of the Holy Command. It was the heart of this defense that Valkarr’s elite strike group sought to penetrate.
The bunkers were designed and equipped to sustain the Holybody indefinitely in the event of invasion or insurrection. As far as Valkarr was concerned, this would be a great place to dump the unwanted captive whose house this was.
Access would be easy. Throughout the palace evacuation tubeshafts were provided to accommodate house staff, current lay priestesses, and favored pleasure-givers, male and female.
The shuttle had landed within the main level of the largest harem bathhouse, which sensors indicated as having one of the few still functioning vactubes. The dust from Kelmaran’s blast was still settling when he certified the cavernous chamber “clear.”
Hatch-locks hissed as the Galguans led the debarkation, followed by Valkarr and Cara. Bel-Haggel was again called upon to carry his High Priestess.
Kelmaran, having set the stand-time for auto-orbit, stepped down last, behind Sufa, who remarked that the anesthesia rating was dropping rapidly. Even so, slumbering temple “virgins,” in various stages of undress, were lying along the edges of the vast bathing pool.
The hack-warriors, orienting toward the targeted alcove a short sprint away, moved quickly across the open floor while the company regulars poised for advance at the base of their charred craft. Within seconds the mercenaries disabled the lam-tube’s intruder alarm and surveillance system. With silent efficiency, their trademark and nature, the Galguans opened the tube door and signaled safe passage to their waiting cohorts.
Bel-Haggel and his cargo were the first to follow; the Journeyman and Helper were next.
Running beside Cara, Valkarr noted the floor’s colorful tiles seemed to be fading to white. When he reached the lift, an ankle deep mist had formed throughout the hall. The phaserous compound, reverting to its inert state, had begun condensation. By the time Kelmaran and Sufa made the crossing, vapor trails swirled in their wake.
When the strike-team members had gathered in the tubecar, Valkarr authorized Nee-Yool to administer the phaserous antidote. The first to be fixed, he called up the bunker layout on his wrist-calc display.
The tech-hack completed substation override and made the data-siph connection for Sufa, who proceeded with the interface adjustments. Accessing the palace security network, he double-checked Bel-Haggel’s details. Indications were that they were very close.
On Valkarr’s nod the door closed with a “swoosh.”
The Journeyman gave his assessment:
“The next chamber is basically a buffer; nothing much, really…not as big as the bathhouse here. We’ll be close to the final lair. Watch your sequencers closely. This is going to be tight, and it’s gotta be right. Move at pace, but don’t hurry. If we get there before our back-detail, we’re looking at state funerals instead of state dinners when we get home.”
The raiders tuned their pulsars to include the computer recommended lead time, and Valkarr, having confirmed all coordinates, used the “homing-shuttle—Grasp connection” in a final arcing, initiating sync with the distant, racing X9.
Again Valkarr’s signal was simply a nod.
There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness as the vactube’s car began its drop. Un-strapping his four remaining gas grenades, Valkarr handed one to each of the Galguans. The probabilities had all been covered. There was tension now.
Valkarr was detecting worry in the unflappable Cara.
Truly she was struggling with her thoughts. His first instinct was to cast about for external intervention, to see if she were under psychic assault. No, it was something else.
He exercised reserve in his speculation, seeking to avoid a damaging intrusion. Rarely did she wear her guard in his presence, and then it was always in play. She would not consciously resist him. Her, he would not press.
What concerned her was not that which lay ahead; this much he knew. It was new information that had gotten hold of her. Something she had learned only moments before; during landing, perhaps. Still, her screen remained and she was unreadable.
As she sensed the cautious intensity of his probe for the first time, the lovely Nee-Yool drove through the conflicting images and yielded what little she knew:
“Your Holybody is pregnant,” she said, chidingly, behind a half-serious smile.
“That is impossible!” cried Bel-Haggel.
Having placed the Holybody against the car’s rear wall, he moved curiously toward the couple at center of the circular chamber.
Valkarr and Cara, now engaged in total mind’s-eye-transference, were oblivious to the others.
The young Helper from Ny-Komtura had been selected to train as a Sortian when only thirteen, so great were her powers of engrammatic empathy.
At sixteen, against the initial wishes of her parents, she chose to devote herself to the Craft—and Valkarr’s First Consort of that time. It was the generous terms of the lease, and the continuing dividends, that eventually won Bellran favor with her family.
While registered as one of his concubines, the two didn’t work or travel together all that often. Still, rumors of their bond served to fuel lurid gossip among the likes of low-scale laymen; most of which were disgruntled monogamists.
Sufa was ready to stun the Holybody’s guard when he first began his approach, but the manservant stopped in questioning observance as the communers stood still, their expressions locked.
In moments it was over. What she knew, he knew.
The empath was challenged by his memories…the slime sea, the council chamber, the seduction and expulsion.
Releasing as she was let go, Cara looked at the other woman, then at her Journeyman. Slowly shaking her head, she broke into one of her best comely smiles.
For Valkarr the revelations were beyond immediate evaluation. Upon disconnect he did a quick scan of the Karaoolians—the man, and the now semi-conscious woman. Glancing at his wrist-calc’s timer, he commanded Bel-Haggel to back off.
Kelmaran and Sufa, obviously relieved, resumed their positions behind the hack-warriors.
The Galguans, having not once taken their eyes from the tube door, were engaged in wraith-psych. Their unison breathing was becoming slowly audible. Ominous and foreboding, the rhythmic droning began to cast its power onto the company employees.
The separate energies of the attack-squad members were forged into common readiness by the strange, infectious, dirge-like tempo that emanated from the smoke-seasoned lungs of these awesome dragoons.
With motion resembling ritual and routine, the hack-warriors each bit off a fresh chunk of their addicting Cyncor rope as the sync-diodes on their Galguan headgear began to softly pulsate with the final countdown.
