Her father nodded. "So it's over. Finished with."
For a moment longer she held herself there, tensed against the news, afraid to believe him. Then, suddenly, she laughed, relief flooding her. She shivered, looking away from her father. Gone. Hans was gone. Again she laughed, but then the laughter died. She looked up suddenly, remembering.
"He told me to stay there. He was coming for me."
She shivered again, more violently this time, her arm tightening about her father's waist, her hands gripping him hard. She looked up fiercely into his face.
"He would have killed me."
"I know," he said, pulling her face down against his neck, his arms wrapped tightly about her. His voice was anxious now, filled with sorrow and regret. "I was wrong, my love. So very wrong. Gods forgive me, Jelka, I didn't know. I just didn't know . . ."
THAT NIGHT Jelka dreamed. The sky pressed down upon her head, solid and impenetrable. Voices clawed at her with hands of ragged metal, screeching their elemental anger. It was dark; a darkness laced with purple. She was alone on the tilted, broken land, the storm raging at every comer of the earth.
Each time the lightning struck, she felt a tremor pass through her from head to toe, as sharp as splintered ice. And when the thunder growled it sounded in her bones, exploding with a suddenness that made her shudder.
Through the dark, its progress marked in searing flashes of sudden light, came the tower, its eyes like shattered panes of glass, its wooden spider limbs folding and stretching inexorably, bringing it closer.
She stood there, unable to move, watching it come. It seemed malefic, evil, its dark mouth crammed with splintered bone. She could hear it grunt and wheeze as it dragged its weight across the jagged, uneven ground. Closer it came, climbing the hill on which she stood, picking its way through the darkness.
In the sudden light she saw it, close now and laughing horribly, its crooked mouth smiling greedily at her. Its breath was foul, rolling up the hill to where she stood. The scent of rottenness itself.
As the darkness enfolded her again she cried out, knowing she was lost. Her cry rang out, louder than the storm, and for a moment afterward there was silence. Light leaked slowly into that silence, as if her cry had cracked the darkness open at its seams.
Things took a shadowy form. The tower had stopped. It stood there, not far below her. She could hear its wheezing, scraping voice as it whispered to itself. Her sudden cry had startled it. Then, as she stared into the half-dark, the earth between her and the tower cracked and split. For a moment the land was still and silent, and then something small and dark crawled from the dark mouth of the earth. A stooped little creature with eyes that burned like coals. Its wet, dark skin shone with an inner light and its limbs were short but strong, as though it had dug its way to the surface. As she watched, it climbed up onto its legs and stood facing the tower. In one hand it held a circle of glass backed with silver. Holding it up before it, it advanced.
Light flashed from the circle and where it touched the tower small leaves of bright red flame blossomed. The tower shrieked and stumbled backward, but the small, dark creature kept advancing, light flashing from the circle in its hand, the tiny fires spreading, taking hold.
Screeching, the tower turned and began to run, its thin legs pumping awkwardly. Thick black smoke billowed up into the air above it, gathering in a dense layer beneath the solid sky. The noise of the tower burning, splitting, was fierce. Great cracks and pops filled the bright-lit silence.
The creature turned, looking at her, the glass lowered now. Its fiery eyes seemed both kind and sad. They seemed to see right through her, to the bone and the darkness beneath the bone.
She stared back at it as the darkness slowly returned, filling the space between the sky and the cracked and shattered land, until all she could see was the fallen tower, blazing in the distance, and, so close she could feel their warmth, two jewels of fire set into the soft and lambent flesh of the creature.
As she watched, it smiled and bowed its head to her. Then, its movements quick and fluid, it returned to the open crack and slipped down into the darkness of the earth.
FOR eighteen HOURS DeVore hadn't settled, but had moved on constantly, as if he knew that his only salvation lay in flight. His disguises had been tenuous at best and he had cashed in old friendships at a frightening rate; but all the while Karr had kept close on his tail. Then, suddenly, Karr had lost him. That was in Danzig. It might have ended there, but DeVore got careless. For the second time that day he doubled up on an identity.
As backup, Karr had programmed the Security pass computer to "tag" all past known aliases of DeVore—eight in all—with special priority "screamers." If DeVore used any of them, alarm bells would ring. It was the slimmest of chances and no one expected it to work, but for once it did. A day after Karr had lost the trail, DeVore gave himself away. A screamer sounded on one Joseph Ganz, who had moved up-level in one of the Amsterdam stacks. A random Security patrol had checked on his ID and passed him through, unaware of the tag, Karr was there in less than an hour. Chen was waiting for him, with a full Security battalion. He had sealed off all the surrounding stacks and put Security guards at every entrance to the transit lifts. The fast-track bolts were shut down, and they were ready to go in.
There was no possibility that DeVore had gone far. All the local Security posts had been alerted at once. If DeVore was coming out, it would be by force this time, not guile. He had worn his last disguise.
Karr smiled fiercely and rubbed his big hands together. "I have you now, old ghost. You won't slip away this time."
There were five decks to check out. Chen planned to move through them carefully, one at a time, from the bottom up—fifty levels in all—but Karr knew already where he would find DeVore. At the very top of the City. He left Chen in charge of the sweep and went on up, alone, taking the transit to the uppermost deck.
He was an impressive sight, coming out of the transit; a seven-ch'i giant, in full combat dress and carrying a fearsome array of weaponry. He walked slowly, searching faces, but knowing that he wouldn't find DeVore there, in the corridors. His quarry would be higher up, holed up somewhere in one of the penthouse apartments. With an old friend, perhaps.
Karr lowered his visor and pressed out a code into his wrist comset. Onto the transparent visor came a readout. He thumbed it through as he walked, until he came upon a name he knew. Steven Cherkassky. An old associate of DeVore's and a retired Security officer. Karr checked habitation details, moving toward the inter-level lifts. Cherkassky's apartment was on the far side of the deck and at the highest level. Just as he'd thought. DeVore would be there.
Karr took a deep breath, considering. It would not be easy. DeVore was one of the best. He had been an excellent Security Major. In time he would have been General. But he'd had more ambitious plans than that. Karr had studied his file carefully and viewed training films of him in action. Karr respected few men, but DeVore demanded respect. Speed, size, and age were on Karr's side, but DeVore was cunning. And strong too. A fox with the strength of a tiger.
People moved hurriedly out of Karr's way as he strode along. The lift emptied at his bark of command and he went up. He thumbed for a map, then thumbed again for Cherkassky's service record. The man might have retired, but he could still be dangerous. It did not pay to make assumptions.
Cherkassky, Steven. The file extract appeared after a two-second delay. He took in the details at a glance, then cleared his visor and stopped.
He hadn't realized . . . This gave things a new complexion. The old man had been specially trained. Like Karr, he was an assassin.
Karr checked his guns, all the while staring down the wide, deserted corridor. He was less than a hundred ch'i from Cherkassky's apartment now. If they were being careful—and there was no reason to expect otherwise—they would know he was coming. There would have been an "eye" close by the transit; someone to report back at once.