CHRYSALIS Page 5

  He remembered her now, remembered her vividly. Both sets of memories remembered her, in differing ways. Tal Avenger remembered the auburn haired Marianna, remembered her by his side in danger and in love, and he held her tightly and whispered “Marianna”. The other set of memories, the Simon Pure memories, remembered her as well. The same arms were holding her tight, the same lips were kissing her, but the memories were different. “Hello, Marykate,” Simon whispered.

  14

  She sat in the dark, as always, and alone, as almost always. Her name was Dorothea, and she was medusa. She didn’t know how long she had been medusa, but she knew it had been a very long time indeed. She knew there were other things she didn’t know, and she knew there were other things she didn’t clearly understand, but she did know she was looking for someone, someone she had once been in love with, a handsome young man whose name she could not recall. Everything was all so vague anymore. She sighed and rose from her chair. “A cup of tea will be just the thing,” she thought.

  Later, the teacup growing cool on the small table beside the chair, she thought of Sariot Kosh, and the power she had bent to his bidding. She wondered if perhaps she hadn’t made a mistake. Certainly he’d reminded her greatly of her long lost beloved, at least at first, but of late she’d begun to feel she was doomed to another bitter disappointment. There had been so much disappointment over the years, and she had lately begun to experience fleeting moments of unwelcome thought, the first faint wisps of doubt that she would ever see her beloved whoever it was again.

  She pushed these thoughts away, submerged them, and thought once again of Sariot Kosh, and the love he had given her, and the love she had given him. Particularly the love she had given him, for it is only through love, deep and sensual, that one can enter into another's soul. She had done that, had enveloped him in her love, had penetrated deeper and deeper with each occasion of love, until she had gradually come to know the inner recesses of his very being, and had found only emptiness and cruelty. She had thought, when first they met, that the handsome Sariot Kosh might be her long lost love. He had swept her off her feet, and she had rewarded him handsomely, but the years had done their usual toll on the dreams of youth. No, she thought sadly, he was not her love, her handsome young man, anymore than the hundreds of others before him had been. She sighed again and took her now cold teacup into the kitchen.

  15

  Slowly, like the languorous awakening from a misty dream, his surroundings came into focus. He could almost see the room around him, could almost feel the floor under him, could almost see the comic books, the dresser with the model airplanes, the picture of the young marine killed on that lonely mountaintop nearly a lifetime ago.

  “My name is Simon,” he said aloud. “I’m in a room in an old house in Cleveland, Ohio.”

  He seemed to be floating upwards through a misty dream, though he knew he was still firmly anchored to the floor. He didn’t move, nor open his eyes, nor change his breathing. Such things were beyond him. He felt a presence, a warmth and pressure, as of a hand upon his cheek, and he knew whose hand it was. She had come for him, and his mind formed the sound Marykate. Behind the word, unbidden, came the metronome, drowning out the presence and the warmth. Fifty-one...fifty-two...fifty-three. “No,” he said, again aloud, for he knew there was no hand, no Marykate, and he was alone in the steadily darkening mist.

  The mist cleared, and he heard Neal Hernandez say, “How long after you crossed the river?”

  “I had no warning,” Simon said. “I crossed the river at very low altitude, long after moonset, so I could not have been seen visually. My shields were up and working perfectly, so I couldn’t have been seen on instruments.”

  “Have you any idea where you were when the shoot down occurred?” Hernandez asked.

  “Within ten minutes of crossing the Illinois frontier.”

  “Sounds like they were waiting for you.”

  “Possibly. But that supposes an information source. I’m not prepared to think about that.”

  “Nor am I,” the Colonel agreed, “but it’s a possibility we can’t ignore. Have you any idea what brought you down? An aircar? Ground defenses?”

  “Ground defense is my best guess, though I saw no sign anyone was shooting at me. As near as my instruments could tell, there wasn’t another aircar within thirty miles of me, and no ground radar had detected me.”

  “Describe the hit.”

  “A flash and a bang, a sudden explosion in the back of the aircar. I had the distinct impression it was inside the car. I landed hard in a cornfield and started walking west, toward the river, but didn’t get very far.”

  “Could it have been a bomb?” Hernandez said. “A timed device?”

  “I don't want to think about that one either,” Simon said, “but it's possible.”

  “If it is, we have a traitor inside Tal Mercury.”

  “I know. That's why I don't want to think about it.”

  “All right,” Hernandez said, “how long after you made it down were you picked up?”

  “Not more than ten minutes.”

  They were silent for a time, the stillness broken only by the sound of Marianna refilling the coffee cups.

  “Yes,” the Colonel said finally, “it sounds like they were waiting for you.”

  “Sure does.”

  “Fortunately,” Hernandez continued, “we had a pretty good idea of your whereabouts ourselves. We sent out a search and rescue team. They didn't find you, you’d been picked up long before they arrived, but we were confident you’d be taken to Cicero. We laid on a rescue mission. Jimmy Shallcross and Jack Pearlman volunteered, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “Did the search team find the wreckage?”

  “They did, just after daybreak, but it was deemed not safe to land. We inserted a team by land the following night, but the car was gone.”

  “So we'll never know what hit me,” Simon said.

  “What about the informant who said Old Bo was buried in the New Jersey lava field?” Marianna said. “What do we know about him?”

  “Or her,” Neal said. “We know only the informant is someone high in the Director’s councils. Previous information had been accurate. But previous information could’ve been a setup, establishing trust for a future betrayal.”

  “Possibly,” Simon said. “But just because they picked me up within ten minutes doesn't mean they knew my flight plan and when the explosion would occur, assuming it was a bomb. But it’s food for thought.”

  “Speaking of food,” Marianna said, “will you stay to dinner, Colonel?”

  “Thanks, Marianna,” Hernandez smiled. “I'll have to take a raincheck. Too much work, too little time.”

  “The motto of Airbase Tal Mercury,” Marianna said. “Some other time then.”

  “Some other time,” Hernandez said, and looked away quickly.

  “What now, boss?” Neal said, heading for the door.

  “We try again,” Simon said. “Old Bo is still imprisoned in the lava fields. I have to get him.”

  “Which they know, which is why they put him in the hole in the first place.”

  “Of course. Nonetheless, I have to go. But this time the only people who know how and when will be you, Shallcross, Pearlman, and Marianna. In the meantime, dig into records. Find out who knew the how and when of my last flight, and who might have had the opportunity to put a bomb in the car.”

  “That part of it has been underway since the shoot down. An awful lot of people had the opportunity, and we're trying to match those names up with the people who knew the how and when. I can’t believe we have a traitor, but we have to go on that assumption until proven otherwise.”

  He left, and Simon pressed Marianna’s warm, fragrant body tight against him. “Thought he’d never leave, babe. Why don’t we postpone dinner?”

  “Sounds good. Incidentally, a message came an hour ago. From Gaeton Thon. I didn't tell Neal.”

  “Why not?”


  “I don't know. I'm uneasy. The way he looks at me, like he’s undressing me. Gives me the creeps.”

  “We’ll have to get him some leave. What did Thon want?”

  “He said the Director is in a rage because he let you get away. He says he’s in hiding from the Director, and his only chance of staying alive is to come with us. He said Old Bo was still in the Jersey lava field, and the Director expects you to make another try at freeing him. He wants to meet you there. He says he’ll take care of the guards, but it must be done tonight. He’s added some detail. Bo is by a big lake, near an aspen tree.”

  “A big lake, eh? Did he have a name for this lake?”

  “Union Lake, just north of a place called Millville.”

  “That’s good. We’ll be able to get in and out quick, without having to search for him with the emerald.”

  “Don't go, Simon,” she whispered. “I don’t trust him.”

  He held her tight and said, “I must.”

  His memories were complete now, he could feel the emerald under his blouse, warm against his skin, its cool green power surging through him. He knew what he had to do. He was no longer what he was, he was no longer simply Simon Pure. He was much more than that. He was Tal Avenger.

  16

  They left Air Base Tal Mercury after dark, observed only by the ground crew and the duty officer. The swift flying, black painted aircar, its crew Simon, Marianna, Jimmy Shallcross and Jack Pearlman, flew low over New Mexico and Texas, heading south for the Gulf of Mexico, keeping well west of the Mississippi and Federation eyes and ears. Over water, they dropped down even lower, so low Pearlman said his feet were wet. Through the Strait of Florida they flew, on course and on time, deep into the black of night, enemy Miami brightly lit to the north, enemy Cuba dark and brooding to the south.

  They slipped through the strait unobserved and swung far out to sea, skirting the Bahamas before heading north for what was once New Jersey. The Garden State was now a bright yellow, sulfurous wasteland, riven with lava flows, punished by Kosh for daring to question his authority. The lesson had been well learned, for no one else had dared raise a voice or a hand against him. New Jersey was an object lesson, and showed that power is meaningful, if the holder of the power is willing to use it.

  “Twenty minutes,” Pearlman said.

  The yellow glow on the northern horizon announced the approach of New Jersey.

  “Sulfur cones quite active tonight,” Simon said.

  “Might make our job easier, sir,” Shallcross offered. “A little light on the subject is a useful thing.”

  “I'll take her in from here,” Marianna said.

  Jack Pearlman said, “Yes, ma’am,” and put the ship on automatic pilot before unstrapping himself from the pilot's seat. Marianna squeezed in after him, strapped herself in, and checked the instruments.

  “Landfall in twelve minutes!” she said firmly. “I’ll put you down as close to Old Bo as I can without risking the aircar!”

  They came in low, the dark ocean heaving just below them, the yellow sky of New Jersey close ahead. Cape May lighthouse loomed before them, silhouetted against the sulfur glow. Marianna swung the ship and headed up Delaware Bay, looking for the Maurice River.

  Simon took no part in the flying activities, made no further comment. He sat in his contour seat, eyes closed, feeling the emerald against his chest grow warmer as they neared the aura of Old Bo.

  “Egg Island Point dead ahead,” Marianna called, “Maurice River coming up!”

  “Nothing here,” Jack Pearlman said, looking out the window. “Was kind of hoping Old Bo might be standing on the beach, waving at us.”

  “Follow the river to the lake, Marianna,” Simon directed. “Thon said Old Bo is by the lake shore.”

  “We're going to run out of dark soon,” Marianna said. “Make it fast, guys.”

  Sulfur cones rose high above them, Kosh-made yellow hills spread randomly across the landscape. Glowing red runnels of basaltic lava crisscrossed the lemon colored hills, molten rock foaming out the tops of the cones at irregular intervals, like gushing vomit. The aircar heaved unsteadily in the turbulent air.

  “Damn things are belching sulfur,” Marianna said disgustedly. “Nothing but yellow clouds visible for miles in all directions, and we’re expected to find an aspen tree!”

  Molten red lava wound sinuously down the steep yellow slopes of the sulfur cones, spreading lazily across the flatland, stopping only at the land's natural barriers. The Maurice was one of those barriers. The once clear waters of the placid river flowed darkly between the yellow earth on either side. Streams of molten lava hissed at the water's edge, sending masses of dirty white steam rising into the sulfur-laden air.

  They flew inland, at low altitude, skimming the surface of the river, heading for Union Lake. Ahead of them rose the remains of an abandoned mill town, houses desolate, factories crumbling, smokestacks black and stark against the yellow sky. Beyond the town sat the lake, dark and still.

  Sulfur cones ringed the lake, standing some distance from the lakeshore, leaving a strip of land between the cones and the water, clear of sulfur, good South Jersey farmland. Fingers of hardened basalt crisscrossed the open land, the lava piling up at the lakeshore, making mounds of steaming hills.

  “He's here, Marianna,” Simon said softly. “I can feel him! Come east, easy now!” He squeezed the emerald tightly, the green glow clearly visible through his fist. “Here! Put her down!”

  Marianna cut the engines and the aircar hovered in place, swaying slightly. The vector thrusters cut in, lowering them gently to the earth.

  She put them down near the lake, in a narrow band of soft earth, between high banks of lava on either side, holding the aircar steady just above the ground. Shallcross and Pearlman leapt out, carrying shovels. Simon paused in the doorway, turning to catch her eye.

  “Be careful,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her above the roar of the thrusters.

  He grinned, mouthed the words “I love you,” and jumped.

  Marianna instantly reversed the thrusters and kicked in the main engine, heading quickly upward and away.

  The three men gave not a glance to the retreating Marianna, for they must act swiftly or all was lost.

  “Let's go,” Simon said. The heavy gold chain sat easily and comfortably under his blouse. The emerald grew warmer against his skin, reacting to the aura of Old Bo, gaining strength as they approached the burial site of the faithful hound.

  “He's still alive,” Simon whispered. “Come on, this way!”

  They clambered over a chest high lava runnel and into a narrow furrow of soft earth, untouched by the sulfur dust, still free of lava flow.

  “Quickly!” Simon hissed. “This furrow could fill with lava at any moment!”

  They pressed forward through the oppressive heat and sulfur fumes.

  “There's the tree,” Simon said. “Thon said he'd meet us there.”

  “Do you trust him, sir?” Pearlman asked.

  “No I don’t, Corporal, but I trust the emerald and I trust Old Bo.” He did not, however, entirely trust Thon’s information, for Gaeton Thon was a thin reed upon which to entrust their lives, no matter how believable the Director's wrath and how urgent Thon's peril assuredly was.

  A mound of freshly dug earth loomed before them. Pearlman and Shallcross attacked it with savage energy, the dirt flying as the hole grew larger and deeper.

  “There's something here,” Shallcross called up, “something solid.”

  “Careful now,” simon said, “dig around with your hands, see if you can feel him.”

  “He’s in a box,” Pearlman called up, after a few moments. “He's in a box! Stand back! I’m gonna open her up!”

  Shallcross scrambled out of the hole, and Pearlman jammed his shovel into the crack between the top and sides of the box. The screech of withdrawing nails filled the silence.

  “We're here, Bo,” Simon said softly. The emerald flared h
ot against his chest.

  “Top's off, boss,” Pearlman cried, clambering up out of the hole. “Do the honors and let's get out of here!”

  Simon leaped into the hole and knelt by the open box. The terrible odor of putrefaction assailed him. His stomach heaved as the nauseating stench enveloped him. In the dim light of the open grave he saw a form, covered with a muddy square of rumpled, heavy cloth. He tore off the cloth and a new wave of nauseating stench rose up, overpowering, forcing him to stand. As he drew in agonized breaths of stench-laden air, he saw Pearlman and Shallcross sink slowly to their knees.

  He watched, dream-like, as they slid slowly toward the open pit. A glowing red cloud rose from the box, enveloping him, and he too sank slowly to his knees. He grasped the sides of the box, trying to remain upright, and to his horror he saw the bloated, rotting, naked body of Gaeton Thon, the mouth twisted in a slyboots grin, as if it were all a joke. Thon’s eyes were open and staring, the snow-white hair framing a face no longer pink but gray, decaying and putrescent. On his chest, sinking of its own weight into the putrefying flesh, lay a glowing red ruby, beckoning him, calling to him, a false, Kosh-made aura of the faithful hound.

  The brilliant red glow filled the grave with ruby light, binding him tightly. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He tried to call on the emerald, but without Old Bo the emerald was far too weak to combat the force of Dr. Kosh. He felt himself losing consciousness, powerless to resist. His head fell forward into the box, onto the mortifying remains of Gaeton Thon, the force of the blow releasing clouds of gaseous stench that rose slowly out of the festering body to hang thickly within the narrow confines of the grave. The last thing he saw was a vast army of white worms, disturbed, slithering out the open mouth, covering the face with a moving, undulating layer of maggots.

  He didn’t hear the low roar of the silver aircars, didn’t hear the laughing voices of the red uniformed men. Relieved of weapons, bound and helpless, trussed like so many sacks of grain, the three men were tossed unceremoniously into the belly of an aircar.