Chapter Eighteen

 

 

Ryan and his friends were accompanied back to Helskel by a jubilant crowd. There was no sound reason for their good humor, though the sight of blood and violence had obviously started their day on a high note.

 

Back in his room at the saloon, Mildred bathed, disinfected and examined Ryan's wounds, pronouncing them superficial. Only the shallow knife slash on his shoulder blade warranted stitches.

 

Ryan stoically sat through the operation.

 

Watching Mildred's deft movements with the needle and surgical thread she had taken from the first-aid kit, Jak asked, "What you tell him?"

 

The one-eyed man started to shrug, but a sharp spasm if pain made him turn it into a short nod. "I told him yes. He wants us downstairs by noon for the swearing-in ceremony."

 

Krysty winced. "I hope he doesn't intend to carve X's on our foreheads."

 

Mildred snorted. "Ryan's got so many scars already, one more won't make much difference."

 

"Hellstrom won't want to mark us as Family," Ryan said. "If we're captured in the Anthill, we're not supposed to have visible connections to Helskel."

 

When Mildred was done, Ryan put on a new shirt, his last one. "We better request that our other clothes are laundered, or I'll be wandering around buck-ass naked soon."

 

"Who'd notice in this place?" J.B. asked dourly.

 

"Maybe a clothing allowance is one of the warlord's perks," Mildred suggested.

 

At noon a sec man fetched them. He ordered them to leave their blasters behind, since the theme of the ceremony was one of trust. Reluctantly they did as he said, trooping downstairs to the barroom. There were twenty-seven sec men standing in sloppy "parade rest" postures aligned across the far wall. They were all gazing stone-faced toward Hellstrom. None of them appeared to be armed.

 

Hellstrom greeted Ryan warmly and bade him to stand on the left side of his chair. In a whisper, Hellstrom said, "Since our time is short, we'll dispense with the public ceremony and the ritual marking."

 

Ryan didn't ask why the time was limited; he figured Hellstrom would tell him sooner than later.

 

In a ringing voicethe same powerful, persuasive tone he had used at Zadfrak's cremationHellstrom announced, "This is Ryan Cawdor, a warrior of superior abilities. He has performed splendidly in the service of Helskel, in the service of our lord Charlie. As patriarch, as keeper of the sacred prophecies of Helter Skelter, I name him a scion of the Family. I further name him warlord, the master of all of you. His every command is to be obeyed without question, without hesitation."

 

A murmuring broke out among the ranks of the sec men. For a moment Ryan thought they were voicing their discontent, but he realized they were muttering, "Helter Skelter has come down."

 

Still, a few pairs of gimlet-hard eyes bored defiantly into his. One pair belonged to Phil.

 

"It is done," Hellstrom declared. "You are dismissed. Be happy, be loving, and remember the watchwordsvigilance is survival. Go forth and work for our world. Charlie's world."

 

As the sec men filed out, Hellstrom called, "Phil, Clem, wait."

 

"Painless enough," Ryan commented. "Now what?"

 

"Now I'll brief you on the plan. We lost precious time because of that idiocy last night and the track stand today."

 

At a gesture from Hellstrom, the pair of sec men lifted the wicker chair and carried it toward the saloon doors. "Follow me, warlord and company."

 

They followed Hellstrom and the sec men down the street to the eatery. A hand-scrawled Closed sign hung in the dust-streaked window, but the door was unlocked.

 

Hellstrom was carried to the largest table. After they placed him at its head, the sec men took up sentry positions before the door. Ryan and his friends took seats around the table. Krysty was gazing at Hellstrom distrustfully, her sentient hair lying tight to her nape.

 

From inside his white blazer, Hellstrom produced a large folded square of paper and spread it open on the tabletop. It was hand-drawn map, and Ryan could tell that an experienced hand had made the drawings. When he saw a dotted line leading west from a hilly area labeled MT. PIG, he realized the map depicted the region around Mount Rushmore.

 

Hellstrom began talking quickly, without wasting a word. "I have no idea what lies inside of Mount Rushmore, the layout of the Anthill complex or even how big it is. However" his finger traced the dotted line that terminated in a series of wavy lines, "the cave where we pick up our trade goods is here. The distance between the nose and the cave is 2.3 miles, so there has to be a tunnel system."

 

"I thought you said there was just a single-destination receptor unit in the cave," J.B. said.

 

"I've always assumed it's one way because there are no control consoles there," Hellstrom replied. "However, the station has to get its power from somewhere, and it's reasonable to assume the gateway is connected to an energy conduit. Unfortunately we can't search the cave for it because of the beetles. The only way into the complex is through the nose. Once someone gains entrance, the gateway controls can be located and used to transport an assault force inside."

 

"Won't the Commander become suspicious if he sees an armed squad hanging around the cave?" Ryan asked. "You can't just sit around waiting and hoping that the gateway controls will eventually be under the control of your people."

 

"Of course not," Hellstrom responded. "I'll be in contact with the scouts who enter through the nose. I have an excellent electronic communications system at my disposal."

 

"Have comms?" Jak asked.

 

"Small but exceptionally powerful radios. They can transmit voice or electronic signals over a five-mile radius. Still, there will be a time lag to put the assault force in position, so they'll need to remain out of the scanning range of the beetles."

 

"You stated you were unsure of the range of the beetles," Doc pointed out. "It could be less than five miles, or as much as ten."

 

"Part of the risk, Doctor."

 

J.B. shook his head in disapproval. "Since you don't have a damn germ of information about what's up there, how do you figure your scouts will survive long enough to signal the assault force? Hell, for all you know, there's a legion of sec droids just waiting for a stupe to crawl up the nose."

 

Hellstrom squinted at him. "Sec droids?"

 

"Hunter androids," Ryan answered, "programmed to chill intruders."

 

"Take care of any you might meet in the Anthill, and you'll have nothing to worry about."

 

"How do you expect to get up the nose in the first place?" Krysty asked.

 

Hellstrom stood. "Come with me."

 

They followed the man through the dining area, into the kitchen and to a heavy door sheathed in aluminum. Grasping the lever handle, he popped the latch and swung open the door. Mist and an icy draft wafted over them. Breathing the very cold air was difficult and dried out their mucous membranes. Hellstrom marched into the meat locker, pushing a path through the sides of beef swinging from hooks. He paused by a pair of large metal containers. They were about four feet deep and five feet long, three wide. They resembled utilitarian coffins.

 

He waited until everyone was clustered around, and he raised the lid of one of the airtight oblong boxes. He waved away the cloud of vapors rising from it. Protected by transparent plastic wrappings, lying on beds of dry ice, were various human organs hearts, livers, a set of lungs, even a pair of eyeballs.

 

Krysty made a gagging sound and turned away. Even Ryan felt a quiver of nausea.

 

Smiling, Hellstrom shut the lid. "The other box contains what's left of the redskins we became acquainted with the other night. Since the freezies are expecting this shipment, you'll be able to gain entrance into the Anthill with a minimum of fuss."

 

"How is anybody supposed to breathe in there?" Jak demanded.

 

"You'll be equipped with small oxygen tanks and the proper cold-resistant clothing."

 

"How many of these containers do you intend to ship?" Mildred asked.

 

"Just these two. Normally each container carries four organ trays stacked on top of one another. If two are removed from each box, then we've made sufficient room for a pair of you, one to a box."

 

Reaching behind the container, Hellstrom made an adjustment and the entire back panel lifted upward, connected by small hinges on the inside of the container.

 

"There's a latch on the inside. A quick and easy way to get in and out." He shivered in the freezing temperature and turned to leave. "Let's go."

 

As they followed him out of the locker, J.B. said, "Only two, you said. Are you planning for the ones who don't go up the nose to be your assault force?"

 

Hellstrom waited until everyone had filed out and he had shut the door before answering. "No."

 

Ryan exchanged quick, disconcerted glances with his friends, then they fell into step behind Hellstrom as he returned to the dining room.

 

As the man took his seat, he said, "Obviously, Cawdor, you will be in one of the containers. You'll be supplied with weapons and whatever ordnance you might need. I'll leave it up to you to pick your partner."

 

"What about rest?" Jak demanded.

 

"Oh, that's been covered," Hellstrom replied airily. "You'll remain here, in Helskel. As my hostages."

 

Ryan and his friends reacted immediately, reaching for blasters that weren't there. At the same time, Clem and Phil snapped up compact Tec-10 machine pistols that had been hidden beneath their clothing.

 

Ryan stood there in baffled rage, fists balled, teeth clenched. "What kind of lousy deal is this, Lars?"

 

Hellstrom steepled his fingers at his chin. "The only deal is that there is no deal. We reached no agreements, came to no terms."

 

The corner of his mouth lifted in a disdainful smile. "Did you truly expect me to trust you? You had to be coerced to accept the honor I bestowed upon you. Even without a psi-scan, I knew you were only playing along, waiting for your chance to escape. In any event, I wouldn't allow all of you to get inside the Anthill. You know too much about us and could make your own deal with the Commander."

 

"I still could," Ryan bit out.

 

Hellstrom shook his head. "No, I think you'd rather do anything than put the lives of the friends you leave behind in jeopardy."

 

"And what if we're captured or killed? What happens to them?"

 

"Then we'll turn them over to the freezies upon demand. I'll state I heard of the plan to breach their stronghold and imprisoned them."

 

"They won't buy that," J.B. snapped. "Not if they learn that two us were smuggled inside their complex by hiding in merchandise boxes."

 

"I'll have a Family patsy ready," Hellstrom replied smoothly. "Fleur is a good choicedisenfranchised, stripped of her rank, embittered. She'll be the perfect scapegoat to pin it all on."

 

"Plausible deniability," Mildred muttered.

 

"What if they still won't believe you?" Krysty asked.

 

"I'm not under the delusion that they won't be suspicious, but as long as some culprits are caught and punished, they'll be too worried about losing their organ shipments to cut off their trade entirely."

 

"Got all figured out," Jak said bitterly. "Big plans for big man. No matter how big, you can still die."

 

"Of course," said Hellstrom with a patronizing smile. "I trust you are aware of the reverse."

 

Turning toward Ryan, he said, "We leave tomorrow morning at first light. You have until then to choose with whom of your gallant crew you wish to share the dangers."

 

Hellstrom pointed toward the door. "Be ready tomorrow at dawn. Don't make me come looking for you."

 

The six people marched back to the saloon in such a fury that no one dared speak to them. None of them reacted with much surprise when they reached their rooms and found their blasters missing. They assumed the heavy weapons they had stowed inside the Land Rover had also been confiscated, such as Ryan's Steyr SSG-70 rifle and J.B.'s M-4000 shotgun.

 

Ryan sat on the windowsill and surveyed his five friends. "Guess I waited too long to find that ace on the line."

 

"That's because Hellstrom is holding them all," Krysty said gloomily. "We should have expected a double cross."

 

"Not that it matters," Doc said, "but I certainly did. However, let us not dwell on past 'should haves.' Ryan, my dear fellow, I volunteer to accompany you into the lion's den, even though Daniel had only his faith to sustain him. I am, after all, your greatest liability and therefore the most expendable."

 

"You?" J.B.'s tone was incredulous. "Sure you're up to a challenge like that?"

 

Before Doc could retort, Ryan said, "J.B.'s right, Doc. This smells like a fireblasted hellground, and I'm afraid the pace will be too intense for you. I appreciate the offer, though."

 

Squaring his shoulders beneath his frock coat, Doc said stiffly, "You forget that I have knowledge of the technology in use."

 

"Superficial layman's knowledge, not hands-on experience," Mildred reminded him. "Whoever goes with Ryan will need a grounding in cryonic science."

 

She pasted a false shy smile on her face and batted her long eyelashes. "I wonder who, out of the five of us, has those qualifications?"

 

"Noway, Millie!" J.B. exclaimed hotly.

 

"I agree," Krysty said. "I can sense danger, and that's more of a necessity than knowing about predark freezie tech."

 

As an aside to Mildred, she added, "No offense."

 

That was the cue for a general bickering session to commence, with everyone talking and arguing at once. Ryan inserted two fingers into his mouth and produced an ear-splitting whistle. When everyone fell silent, he said calmly, "This is too critical, too important for me to make a snap decision. Give me some time to think, all right?"

 

Krysty shooed everyone out of the room, but not before they grumbled and cursed a bit. Ryan eased down on the bed, gingerly shifting so he wasn't applying pressure to his shoulder wound. Krysty sat beside him and ran her fingers through his hair.

 

"I'm bastard tired," he said.

 

"I'm not surprised. You've had a strenuous last few days."

 

"No, not that kind of tired. Weary, I guess is the word. Weary of chill or be chilled. Weary of never knowing which one of us will be the next one to board the last train West."

 

"That's life, lover," she said softly.

 

"Is it? Is life supposed to be this way?"

 

Krysty sensed his mood and bent over to kiss him. Feeling the warmth of her face against his lips, he could also feel the heat of her firm body through his clothes. He was desperate to feel more of that heat, so he peeled first his, then her clothes away.

 

They pressed together in a full, naked embrace. Lying down on the bed as afternoon shadows gathered outside the window, they clung to each other. They didn't talk. There wasn't time or the desire for conversation. As Krysty gasped beneath him, he thrust deep inside of her, relishing the passion she invoked in him and the sweet release of their union.

 

Afterward, they lay together, holding each other tightly. For a long time, neither one spoke. Then Ryan said, in a whisper, "I've made my choice."