Jack Chalker: Charon: A Dragon at the Gate

We started moving once again, but we were all ready for it now. We inside the circle kept a clear line of fire, though, not only because of the threat of more hall attacks but also because we’d have to pass some of the gun stations and offices. From that close, a man could physically hurl himself into the circle.

Nobody did, though. We reached an abandoned gun platform at the base of a wide set of stairs. Wide—but not wide enough to accommodate a circle our size, and steep enough so that we couldn’t really see much of anything on the next floor. Whoever designed this place had put a lot of thought into it.

I reached into my pack and brought out four small silvery globes, each with a thin metal band around its middle. Almost as if on an unspoken command, the circle broke and the sores took up the defensive positions at the end of the hall which, until a few moments ago, had been occupied by troopers—in some cases they had to push still smoldering bodies out of the way. At almost the same moment a trooper came down the stairs, opening fire. I heard some yells, but Kira acted with blinding speed and sliced the man almost in two. He collapsed in a bloody heap and fell to the base of the stairs.

Without looking back at casualties, I rushed to the bottom of the stairs, twisted the ring on the first globe, and threw it underhanded to the top. Without waiting, I did the same for the second. The first went off before I could manage the third. It produced such a bang and shock wave I was almost knocked over. I took no chances, throwing number three before the second went off, and number four immediately after I’d regained my balance. Only then did I look around.

Class 1 sores or not, they were human beings and they had been startled and surprised by the gunman. Kaigh was certainly dead, and Krugar was clutching her bloody side near her right hip. Now we were seven—down to four good sores, but what the hell else could we do?

We had already delayed too long for the concussion grenades to be one hundred percent effective, and we had to press on. It was Kira, who started the run up the stairs, and we had no choice but to abandon Krugar and charge up behind her, all weapons drawn. The only optimistic thing I could think about at this point was, well, at least the place wasn’t sealed enough to permit a gas trap.

I half expected Kira to be gone by the time I made the next floor, but there she was, two more dead troopers at her feet. We were still theoretically three floors from Aeo-lia Mature— if she was there at all—but we were now beyond the security cordon and into the offices, living quarters, and labs of the Synod and top bureaucrats.

The eleventh floor resembled a hotel complex with all the doors shut tight. Nice, modern, comfortable—and because these were offices and quarters, it wasn’t really possible to tell what was what. They changed a lot, as would be expected.

Koril paused to take a breather. “Krugar is in good enough shape to try some self-repair and maybe hold off anybody coming at us from below,” he said between puffs. “Whew! I’m not as young as I used to be, that’s for sure.” He sighed. “Well, I’m not worried about troopers anymore. I think we can probably walk straight down this hall with no problems—but shoot anything that moves anyway.”

“You don’t think they’ll make any more attempts?” I asked him worriedly.

He shook his head. “They know that anybody who can get this far is no slouch. No. Any members of the Synod here will have retreated to the thirteenth floor reception area. They’ll be waiting for us there.”

I looked at the others. “Are you and the other three enough?”

He shrugged. “Depends on how many are there and who they are. We’ve been damned lucky so far. Let’s hope our luck holds out.”

It was preparedness, the training of the sores, and a lot of inside information as well as skill and brass that had brought us this far, but in the end Koril was right. We had been lucky, too. He was certainly right, also, about the rest of the way. None of those doors opened, and we were unobstructed in our walk to the eleventh and twelfth floors. We could all hear, though, the floors below being occupied as soon as we left They had the lift system, after all. They just didn’t, want to shoot up the official quarters. The troopers had already failed—now it was up to their bosses. In one sense, I suspected that the troopers, particularly the officers, were now very much on our side. If we failed, their own failures would have to be accounted for to those very same bosses. No, I decided, for that reason more than any other, they’d stay out of the rest of this fight.

Koril paused at the bottom of the stairway to the thirteenth level. “All right—Ku, Kuril, Kindel, stick close to me.You know what you must do. The rest of you follow us up, but stay out of it. None of your weapons will mean much now.”

We understood what he meant. Our part was at least theoretically finished. All we could do was needlessly guard the back door.

Koril took in a deep breath, let it out slowly, then turned and started slowly up the stairs. One by one the sores followed him, then Kira, Darva, and myself. I don’t know what I was expecting to see at the top, but it wasn’t a sumptuously furnished empty room.

The large chamber was entirely crimson. The ancient-looking chairs upholstered in some silken material were ornamented with metal studs of a bright golden color that were inlaid in the dark native woods; the tables were equally antique and polished to a mirror like sheen. The carpet, too, was crimson, although of some thick, plush hair that the wa said was not native to Charon. In the center was a golden path, marked by two golden stripes of colored cloth woven into the rest and leading up to a raised platform. The platform itself was almost like a stage, with a huge wooden throne in the center of the same polished material and upholstered in the same deep red, but this time encrusted with what looked like—and turned out to be—enormous precious stones from all over the known galaxy. Two slightly smaller and more recessed but similar chairs flanked the big one. Behind the whole thing, eleven similar chairs were arranged in a permanent semi-circle. The entire stage area was decorated with gold-embroidered crimson drapes, hanging loosely around the back and tied back at the front.

We all stood there gazing about the room. I couldn’t suppress a low whistle. “Like something out of an ancient fairy tale,” I remarked.

Koril looked around, his eyes ablaze. “More power than those ancient Icings had is represented here,” he responded seriously. “This is the seat of Charon’s government I used to sit on that throne, remember. I know.” That wistful, almost dreamlike quality left his voice. “She’s redecorated since I left, though. In a way it’s too bad. I had some great works of art looted from the Confederacy’s top museums on those draped walls. Still, all in all, it’s a nice touch.”

“Skip the ulterior decoration comments,” Kira broke in. “Where the hell’s the enemy?”

At that moment I detected slight movement behind the thrones, and I saw Kira’s laser pistol come up. Koril quickly forced her hand down. “No use in burning the place down—unless you have to,” he told her. “You can’t harm these with that toy.”

From behind the chairs five shapes emerged. All wore gold-embroidered robes of that same crimson as the room, and all wore scarlet hoods as well. They looked eerie and impressive, as they were supposed to.

Koril smiled a bit and with a flick of the wrist beckoned his three associate sores together in line, hands linked.

The figures walked out to the front of the stage and stood there, also in a line but not touching one another. Three of the five were women. One was Korman I saw—the only familiar face. None looked particularly worried.