Майкл Гир - Requiem for the Conqueror

The air was heavy, charged by the energy rippling through it. Death crouched in the dark corners, leering over the bleeding corpses strewn through the

dimly lit tunnels.

Huddled low in a reading carrel, Staffa settled his blaster, waiting. The Regan shifted position in the narrow rocky nook to take another shot. Staffa's bolt hit home with a solid pulpy sound, catching the corner of the man's shoulder where it protruded. Staffa's follow-up shot blew the man in two as he fell screaming. Across the tunnel, Wilm's blaster fired as he saw a target.

A concussion echoed hollowly in the darkness from somewhere behind the Regan position as another remote fragmentation bomb exploded. Someone screamed horribly. The racket of combat was deafening in the close confines of the tunnels.

The dead lay awkwardly sprawled, sightless eyes staring among exploded body parts and bits of sodden red meat. They called to Staffa like the ghouls in his dreams, promising the horror to come.

He blinked, shaking his head to clear it of the image.

Two more Regan assault troops sprinted into Staffa's sights, tumbling into the knot of bodies as seeking threads of violet blew them apart. A woman kicked gruesomely— head missing above the neck — and went still.

Veils of smoke choked the corridor, vying with the smell of bued human meat. Blood pooled slickly across the polished stone floor.

"Pull back!" someone bellowed from the pungent darkness. "All Groups, pull back! Evacuate! Now! Double time."

Firing began to break into isolated rips and detonations. Staffa caught a glimpse of a Regan dashing madly for the rear. Sporadic shots and pulse hums died to be replaced by the patter of running armored feet as they left the tunnels to the silent and the dead.

"Now what?" Wilm wondered from his position across the hall.

Staffa grunted, pulling himself up. He peered hesitantly around the corner, finding nothing but the fragmented corpses. From somewhere in the pile of bodies, a casualty moaned faintly.

"Fist is cutting it awfully close," Staffa decided, glancing down at his chronometer. "Blow the renegade tunnel to the surface. Maybe Rysta isn't as punctual as I remember her to be. Let's see if we can't get a couple of people out of here. Go! Hurry!"

Wilm's broad-boned dark face reflected his hopelessness. "Hope you were right about MacRuder's Regans." He left at a run.

"They ought to be docile," Staffa decided, taking a flying leap to safety behind a pockmarked pillar of stone. He turned, sprinting down the passage until he found a functioning comm unit. Punching in, he waited.

Kaylla's face formed, soot-streaked, haggard. "The fighting stopped. Why?"

"They're ready to use the heavy stuff from space." Staffa raised an eyebrow. "And MacRuder's people?"

Hard tan eyes met his. "They're coming out, one at a time. So far, no cheats. They seem willing to take their chances on getting out of here."

"Wilm is blowing the renegade tunnel. Maybe some of us can get clear in time. Even so, the grav-effect will be severe-probably lethal, no matter what."

She nodded. "What about Bruen?"

"Wilm is seeing to him. He'll be taken out after the scouting party determines how safe the escape tunnel is. I'm on my way."

"Staffa," she asked tensely, "there isn't much chance, is there?"

"There's always a …… Seeing the glint in her eye, he sighed. "No, there is very little chance. You've seen orbital capabilities firsthand. Rysta will be thorough."

MacRuder hurried along the line of waiting men and women, surprised that the Seddi ignored them for the most part. Grim faces met his glance everywhere. What a blessing it was to squint in the bright lights, to breathe air that put

zip back in the lungs-even if it carried the pungent sting of death and blaster ozone. His head began to ache wretchedly.

Moving along the ranks, Mac winked at a grim face, patted a sagging back, cheered a forlorn expression as he worked forward. Then the tan-eyed woman in brown robes caught his eye. A blaster poked his way, slung level at the

hip by a shoulder strap. She noted his shoulder insignia, eyes narrowing.

"You're MacRuder?" she asked in a knowing contralto, eyes coldly hostile.

"I am." He straightened, studying her. In any other place and time, she'd have made any man look twice.

"Kaylla Dawn." Her voice was clipped. "We've sent a party to blow the escape tunnel. Might I have a word with you?"

MacRuder nodded and followed her to one side.

She appraised him, searching his face as if to read his soul. "I'll be honest, MacRuder. The chances are not good. Fist's Divisions have withdrawn. We don't know how long we have left, but from Staffa's estimation, not long enough."

"I see."

"I hope you do," she said. "For one thing, we've got one narrow tunnel out of here. The Regans, blasted the others during their retreat. For another, we can't take the time to guard all of your people and carry out a fast evacuation. If fighting breaks out…. Well, consider it. Are you willing to cooperate… or should we all die?"

"We'll cooperate." Hell, I didn't even have to think about that, lady!

"Good," she stated flatly. "Please inform your comanders. "

M "Just a minute." Mac raised a hand, stopping her. "How bad are our chances?"

She lifted one of her broad shoulders expressively, face tight. "Ask Sinklar Fist. From what Staffa says, there is no real hope. The orbital bombardment will no doubt encompass this entire area. How far and how fast can all these people go on foot in mountainous terrain?"

Mac filled his lungs and nodded. "We won't have to die in the dark. That's something, at least."

A shuffling began at the front of the line, men and women moving forward, eyes flickering this way and that, aware escape lay just ahead.

What a fragile thought. Who am I kidding? I know what those ships up there can do.

A ripple moved through the crowd as a big man dressed in stained gray combat armor — now charred and hardened — pushed through. Mac recognized the brownish stains. Spattered blood. The big man had been in the thick of it.

The man's long black hair had been gathered over his left shoulder in a ponytail. He had a curiously handsome face, brow high, nose long and straight over tight bloodless lips. Piercing gray eyes pinned Mac's as the big man approached. But when the gray warrior looked at Kaylla, regret welled, dulling the sharpness.

Then those gray eyes were pricking at Mac's soul again. The voice carried a tenor of command. "You're MacRuder? Do you have a portable battle comm?"

"We do. Or did. We left it back in the hole," Mac heard himself responding automatically. This guy might have even more charisma than Sinklar, Mac admitted to himself. Then the voice clicked in his memory: Staffa!

"Get it. If we open a line to Fist, we may be able to stall, gain time so some of us can make it away."

"It'll take two people. The thing's heavy."

Staffa turned. "Kaylla, see to getting everyone out. Don't leave anyone behind. If nothing else, the gravitational pulse will be merciful. and quick."

The Lord Commander pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully back toward the caverns. Mac followed, issuing orders to his sergeants along the way.

He cringed at the thought of going back into that stygian blackness. In the darkness overhead, stone shifted and grit trickled to patter on the rock flooring.

"Sink," he prayed under his breath. "Don't cut loose yet. Just a little longer, Sink. Kill us outside! Please? Just a little longer!"

Rysta looked up from the targeting comm. as Sinklar Fist walked onto the bridge. Indeed, what a different man he

was. His incredible magnetism drew every eye on the bridge. From the perspective of years, Rysta studied him, noting the haggard tightness of those odd gray and yellow eyes, the set of exhaustion in his face. A glittering desperation possessed him now. He was a man driven and hounded — a dangerous man.