One wall had been filled with a nest of screens, like those they'd found in the Overseer's House in the plantation. His gunfire had destroyed a number of them, but more than three-quarters were still functioning. He had the briefest glimpse of various scenes, showing that fighting was still going on throughout the fortress, and then the screens went dead, the overhead lights fading.
He turned, listening for noises in the corridor, then turned back, knowing his only hope was to find the controls that operated the doors and let his men into this level.
He scanned the panels quickly, cursing the damage he'd done to them, then put his gun down beside a keyboard inset into the central panel. Maybe this was it.
The keyboard was unresponsive to his touch. The screen stayed blank. Overhead a red light began to flash. Karr grabbed his gun and backed out. Just in time. A moment later a metal screen fell into place, sealing off the doorway.
What now?
Karr turned, looking to his left. It was the only way. But did it lead anywhere? Suddenly he had a vision of DeVore sitting somewhere, watching him, laughing as he made his way deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he had built; knowing that all of these tunnels led nowhere. Nowhere but into the cold, stone heart of the mountain.
He shuddered. The left side of his tunic was sodden now, the whole of his left side warm, numb yet tingling, and he was beginning to feel lightheaded. He had lost a lot of blood and his body was suffering from shock, but he had to go on. It was too late now to back off.
He went on, grunting with pain at every step, knowing he was close to physical collapse. Every movement pained him, yet he forced himself to keep alert, moving his head from side to side, his whole body tensed against a sudden counterattack.
Again his luck held. The long corridor was empty, the rooms leading off deserted. But did it go anywhere?
Karr slowed. Up ahead the wall lighting stopped abruptly, but the tunnel went on, into the darkness.
He turned, looking back, thinking he'd heard something, but there was nothing. No one was following him. But how long would it be before someone came? He had to keep going on.
Had to.
He thpw off4iis mask, pulled the heat-sensitive glasses down over his eyes, and went on\
After a while the tunnel began to slope downward. He stumbled over the first of the steps and banged his damaged shoulder against the wall. For a moment he crouched there, groaning softly, letting the pain ease, then went on, more careful now, pressing close to the right-hand wall in case he fell.
At first they were not so much steps as broad ledges cut into the rocky floor, but soon that changed as the tunnel began to slope more steeply. He went on, conscious of the sharp hiss of his breathing in the silent darkness.
Partway down he stopped, certain he had made a mistake. The wall beside him was rough, as if crudely hacked from the rock. Moreover, the dank, musty smell of the place made him think that it was an old tunnel, cut long before DeVore's time. For what reason he couldn't guess, but it would explain the lack of lighting, the very crudeness of its construction.
He went on, slower now, each step an effort, until, finally, he could go no further. He sat, shivering, his gun set down beside him in the darkness.
So this was it? He laughed painfully. It was not how he had expected to end his days—in the cold, dank darkness at the heart of a mountain, half his shoulder shot away—but if this was what the gods had fated, then who was he to argue? After all, he could have died ten years ago, had Tolonen not bought out his contract; and they had been good years. The very best of years.
Even so, he felt a bitter regret wash over him. Why now? Now that he had found Marie. It made no sense. As if the gods were punishing him. And for what? For arrogance? For being bom the way he was? No ... it made no sense. Unless the gods were cruel by nature.
He pulled the heat-sensitive glasses off, then leaned back a little, seeking some posture in which the pain would ease; but it was no good. However he sat, the same fierce, burning ache seized him again after a few moments, making him feel feverish, irrational.
What then? Go back? Or go on, ever down?
The question was answered for him. Far below he heard a heavy rustling noise, then the sharp squeal of an unoiled door being pushed back. Light spilled into the tunnel. Someone was coming up, hurriedly, as if pursued.
He reached beside him for his gun, then sat back, the gun lying across his lap, its barrel facing down toward the light.
It was too late now to put his glasses back on, but what the hell? Whoever it was, he had the light behind him, while Karr sat in total darkness. Moreover, he knew someone was coming, while the other man had no idea Karr was there. The advantages were all his. Even so, his hand was trembling so badly now that he wondered if he could even pull the trigger.
Partway up the steps the figure stopped, moving closer to the right-hand wall.
There was a moment's banging, then it stopped, the figure turning toward him again. It sniffed the air, then began to climb the steps, slower now, more cautiously, as if it sensed his presence. Up it came, closer and closer, until he could hear the steady pant of its breath, not twenty ch'i below.
New.' he thought, but his fingers were dead, the gun a heavy weight in his lap.
He closed his eyes, awaiting the end, knowing it was only a matter of time. Then he heard it. The figure had stopped; now it was moving back down the steps. He heard it try the lock again and opened his eyes.
For a moment his head swam, then, even as his eyes focused, the door below creaked open, spilling light into the dimly lit passageway.
Karr caught his breath, praying the other wouldn't turn and see him there. Yet even as the figure disappeared within, he recognized the profile.
DeVore. It had been DeVore.
CHAPTER NINE
The Temple of Heaven
THE TOWER was built into the side of the mountain; a small, round two-story building, dominated by a smooth, gray overhang of rock. Beneath it only the outlines of ancient walls remained, huge rectangles laid out in staggered steps down the mountainside, the low brickwork overgrown with rough grasses and alpine flowers.
Lehmann stood at the edge of the ruins, looking out across the broad valley toward the east. There was nothing human here; nothing but the sunlit mountains and, far below, the broad stretch of the untended meadows cut by a slow-moving river. Looking at it, he could imagine it remaining so a thousand years, while the world beyond the mountains tore itself apart.
And so it would be. Once the disease of humanity had run its course.
He looked across. On the far side of the valley bare rock fell half a li to the green of the valley floor, as if a giant had cut a crude path through the mountains. Dark stands of pine crested the vast wall of rock; then as the eye traveled upward, that, too, gave way—to snow and ice and, finally, to the clear, bright blue of the sky.
He shivered. It was beautiful. So beautiful it took his breath away. All else—all art, however fine—was mere distraction compared to this. This was real. Was like a temple. A temple to the old gods. A temple of rock and ice, of tree and stream, thrown up into the heavens.
He turned, looking back at Reid. The man was standing by the tower, hunched into himself, his furs drawn tight about him as if unaware of the vast mystery that surrounded him. Lehmann shook his head, then went across.
It was only a hunch, but when he had seen the Security craft clustered on the slopes, his first thought had been of the old tunnel. He'll be there, he'd thought. Now, an hour later, he wasn't quite so sure.
"What are we doing?" Reid asked anxiously. He, too, had seen the extent of the Security operation; had seen the rows of corpses stretched out in the snow.