Джеффри Лорд - Return To Kaldak

«You be still, or I shoot your friend. Same goes the other way, too.» He pointed the gun at Blade. «Now you go and take the controls. Then fly us where I tell you?»

«To Detcharn?»

The arm tightened around Moshra's neck. «Just fly. Don't talk.»

Blade decided this was the wrong time to try anything to subdue the disloyal soldier. He'd wait and find his opportunity when Moshra would have a better chance. Keeping his hands in clear view, he put his pistol on the seat. Then he started toward the empty copilot's seat.

«Soldier,» said Moshra. «If Feragga isn't paying you enough-ehhhkkkk!» as the arm tightened around her throat.

«She can't pay enough to bring back my father. The damned Kaldakans killed him. She can't keep Detcharn's hands off my wife and baby, either.»

«If it's Detcharn worrying you-«began Blade, but the soldier's reply was snarled.

«Fly, curse you, or she dies slow. Guts burned out, breasts burned off. Fly!»

Blade turned back to the controls. They were a standard set. With a little practice he knew he could tilt the lifter sharply. That would throw the soldier off-balance. No tricks now, though. The soldier sounded taut-nerved and much too ready to kill.

Moshra must have thought the same thing, but felt she had less to lose. The soldier backed toward the rear of the cabin, still gripping her tightly. As they came opposite the open door, Moshra went limp. At the same time she rammed her elbows wildly backward.

By pure luck one elbow caught the soldier in his groin. He howled and fired. His aim was wild, and he only hit the control panel. He fired again, and the beam scorched Blade's cheek.

Then Moshra's full weight came on the soldier. He lurched backward, lost his balance, and went out the door. Unfortunately he clutched Moshra's gown as he went, and dragged her with him.

Blade knew he wouldn't forget his daughter's scream as she fell, not if he lived to be a thousand years old.

He got to the door just as Moshra and the soldier vanished into the darkness below. He clung numbly to the door frame, until he heard Cheeky's cries and felt the lifter starting to wander all over the sky. Then he clamped an iron lid on what he felt and turned back to business.

The pilot was mercifully dead, and both sets of controls hopelessly wrecked. The pilot's parachute was also too badly burned to be used safely. Fortunately the copilot's chute was intact in its rack under the seat. Blade pulled it out and buckled it on. Then he took all the spare rope he could find in the cabin and tied Cheeky to the harness across his chest. The feather-monkey wasn't going to be comfortable, but he'd be safe, and Blade would have both hands free to control his parachute lines.

Cheeky made no protest. He sensed that the woman Moshra whom he'd never liked had meant something to his master and friend. He did not want to anger his master when he felt grief and loss. Also, he sensed even more strongly that there was danger coming, and his master was trying to save both of them from it. He wouldn't do anything to interfere with that, either. He'd lost Blade once, then found him again in a way he still didn't understand. He would go through almost anything rather than lose Blade again.

When Cheeky was securely tied in place, Blade pried open the floor plate which gave access to the main power cable to the lift-field generator. With a quick blast of his laser, he fused the cable. The generator died with a rumble and a screech, and the lifter nosed down for its final dive. As it did, Blade clutched the ripcord of his parachute and hurled himself through the door.

There was enough wind at ground level to take Blade on a merry ride as his chute dragged him across the ground. He finally spilled the air from it just as he reached the edge of a ravine and slid down it into a marsh. He got out of it as fast as he'd got in, but not fast enough to keep himself and Cheeky dry. Both of them were soaked to the skin in filthy, stinking water.

Cheeky ran around, jumping up and down to dry himself and raking the slimy mud out of his feathers with his paws. Blade sent him a mental message to be quiet, but otherwise ignored him.

Blade wanted to laugh, because he knew he might weep if he didn't laugh. Except that if he started laughing he might not be able to stop …. Finally he squatted on the ground and considered what to do next.

This return to Kaldak was breaking all records for danger and confusion. Things were likely to get worse before they got better, too, if they ever did get better. He didn't dare think about Moshra's death, but apart from that, he was stranded in probably hostile territory, a long way from the Kaldakan border. He wasn't even completely sure how to get there! If he took too long, Detcharn's «Day» might come before he could warn Kaldak. If he ran hostile Tribesmen, he and his warning might never reach Kaldak at all.

Things could be worse, however. He had the serum formula on him. The lifter's wreck would probably look like a normal crash. Finally, the soldier seemed to have been acting on his own, hoping for Detcharn's reward. There was a reasonable chance that Detcharn did not know and would not learn of Feragga's scheme until it was too late.

He'd have to move fast, though. That meant no searching for Moshra's body. She would have to lie out in the wind and the rain. His daughter would be a prey to scavengers until she rotted. His daughter-

A spasm of dreadful rage knotted Blade's stomach, and he vomited himself empty. When he'd wiped his mouth, he stood up and called Cheeky to him. The feather-monkey jumped up onto Blade's shoulder in silence. He sensed even more strongly than before that his master was not at peace with the world.

As he set off, it occurred to Blade that he had one more card to play if he had to. If he found a Tribe who didn't shoot first and ask questions afterward, he could claim to be an enemy of Doimar. That might win him a safe-conduct through their lands, although he doubted if they would take him all the way to Kaldak. New enemies didn't always wipe out the memory of old wars.

And he'd certainly be telling the truth! He was an enemy of Doimar-above all, of one particular Doimari. If he'd known that he was going to die the next minute, Blade would have gone gladly if he could have spent his last moments killing his monstrous son.

Indeed, that goal might even be achieved if Blade could persuade, if not the Kaldakans then at least the Tribes, that they must take action against their enemy. Someone-anyone-had to see to it that every last rocket of Detcharn-and Detcharn himself-was destroyed.

Shangbari was the best hunter of the Red Cat Tribe. Others beside himself said this was so, and the sacred four-legged Red Cats gave no signs against it. So he was willing to believe it.

This meant he had to appear invincible in battle, always successful in finding game for the cooking fires of the Tribe, and afraid of nothing at all. Most of the time he succeeded, and he was able to hide the times he did not. Also, after the Doimar sky-killers came recently and slew so many of the Red Cats, Ikhnan the Chief forbade challenges and duels among the warriors.

«We have hardly the strength to keep the Red Cats from becoming a dead Tribe, like the Salamanders, the Grass Eaters, and the Tree Folk,» Ikhnan said. «We have none to waste in fighting battles over small things.»

«My reputation is not a small thing,» Shangbari replied.

«It certainly will be very small, if you fight any duels over it,» said Ikhnan. «I will see to that.»

Shangbari took the threat seriously. Although Ikhnan was no more than twenty-one hunting seasons old, he was wise as a Grandfather and fearless as a Death Pig. What he promised, he would do, or die trying-and if Shangbari caused Ikhnan's death, he would not live to gain anything by it. The very women and children of the Tribe would tear his flesh from his bones and feed it to the sacred Red Cats, if the beasts did not turn up their black noses at it.