On the whole Blade was pleased. He now had a bargaining point where he had lacked one before. But it did nothing to solve his immediate problems.
He called Sart and Sybelline into the bunker and explained to them and to Wilf what must be done.
CHAPTER 13
There was plenty of food and canned liquids in the bunker. Blade took a supply with him, also two fresh torches. It was a calculated risk, leaving the three of them behind, but there was little else he could do. Sart was a cipher and he was setting Wilf and Sybelline to watch each other. Both wanted power and the good life, and both still needed him to help them to those things.
He found the ramp and began the climb. Mole rats lurked after him but did not attack. Now and again he saw the glistening bones of a mole rat that had been eaten by its brethren. The heat was worse than the mole rats; it left him weak, dehydrated and giddy. He stopped often to rest.
The ramp ended in a long corridor of darkness and when he saw the first iron door he knew where he was-at the five-mile level. One of the doors was ajar and Blade pushed it with his foot. On the floor a skeleton had crumbled to dust. Blade swept his torch around the tiny chamber and saw the tubes through which food and drink were dropped to keep the prisoner alive, in total darkness, so long as he could stand it. Blade stood for a moment in deep thought. He had never underestimated Jantor, and now he began to grasp the iron will of the Gnomen chief. To survive in one of these pits, to be at the edge of blindness, and yet to come back, to keep sanity, that was an awesome achievement.
He rested and consulted the map. Wilf had marked the way with a red stylus. It was a circuitous route, slow and difficult, leading through a maze of long disused tunnels and ending far from the inhabited sewers. This did not please Blade. It would take him hours to make the ascent and even when he reached the city level he would be far from the center of action. He was tempted to ignore the map and seek a shortcut but decided against it. It would be easy to get lost down here. He could wander forever, or until he died or was snatched back by the computer. And his mission would be unfulfilled.
The mission-the secret of how rock dust was converted into power and how that power was transmitted through space. At the moment it looked hopeless; he was no nearer to the secret than he had been on first awakening in this Dimension X. Sybelline could not help him, nor Wilf. Certainly not Jantor. That left the Morphi elders, the ruling clique, or possibly the Selenes. Blade wiped at his sweat and combed out his beard with filthy fingers. It might come to that. Onta, the Selene Chief of Brain Secrets, might know the answer. But how in the hell was he-
The crystal in his brain, as though on cue, began to feed him thoughts. Lord Leighton was sending brain waves.
Time short here in HD as computer return phase upcoming-if miss this phase will mean long wait to recover you-urgent you discover how rock dust converted to power-crystal function perfect, am following you, noting all information as fed.
Blade, sweating in the stygian depths, emitted a few choice HD words and began to climb again.
As he made his way through passage after passage, tunnel after tunnel, the heat began to decrease. He started to feel better. But now he faced the added burden of a time limit. There had been no head pains yet, so his return was not imminent, but he did not want to miss the return phase and stay on in this DX. He still had no real concept of Morphi or Gnomen time, and in any case did not want to risk it.
Blade came to a ladder set into a wall-it was marked on Wilf's map-and climbed a hundred feet into another passage. While on the ladder he made a confession to himself-he was becoming something of a coward after so many trips into DX. He was not as bold as he had been earlier, or perhaps not so foolish. He did not really know which it was.
He toiled on. The air grew better as the heat decreased. He came to a short tunnel that led into a sewer-very nearly walking into danger like a fool. As he was about to leave the cover of the tunnel, he heard Gnomen voices and ducked back just in time. He stomped out his torches, leaving him for the moment in total darkness.
Blade ran softly back to the mouth of the tunnel and saw torches coming toward him. He retreated a few steps and threw himself on his belly, watching as a procession of Gnomen women, with now and then a guard, filed past the slot-like opening of the tunnel. The women were laughing and talking among themselves. The guards, carrying spear bars, were sullen and kept urging them along. As the last of the women vanished from view, Blade moved closer to the tunnel entrance.
A single Gnomen guard was bringing up the rear. For some reason, he had fallen behind and was making no effort to catch up. He carried a torch and was trailing his spear bar along behind him in a casual manner, mumbling to himself as he passed the tunnel where Blade lurked.
It was over in seconds. Blade reached with the hook end of his bar, caught the man's denim breeches, pulled him into the tunnel mouth, tripped him and put the sharp end of the bar to his throat. He swept up the fallen torch and thrust it close to the astounded man's face.
«No sound,» said Blake, «or I'll have your throat out. You know who I am?»
The guard nodded. He was typically Gnomen, bald and hairy, squat and muscular. He did not show fear nor was he inclined to make a fight of it. He stared up at Blade with dull brown eyes and nodded. «I know. You are the man Blade.»
«Right,» said Blade. «Do you want to die?»
The guard made the sign of the fylfot on his bald head. And answered calmly enough. «Not if it can be avoided.»
Blade held the torch so it revealed his face. He smiled. «It can-if you answer me truthfully and cause no trouble. Who are those women? Why are they guarded and where do they go?»
To his surprise the Gnoman chuckled. «You of all people have a right to know that, man Blade. They are the women who have missed their bloody time. Or so Jantor says. They are with child, or so Jantor believes, and he sends them far down for protection and safety. So whatever happens they will have their babies and the Gnomen race will go on.»
«I believe that,» said Blade. «But why? What is it that threatens them and the children they may have?»
«There is much activity on the Moon,» said the guard. «Jantor fears that they will invade or drop a destroy bomb. He is not sure of this, but he takes precautions. It is hard to tell about the orbfolk-they may do nothing.»
«That,» said Blade aloud, but to himself, «is all I need now, an invasion by the Selenes.»
The Gnoman was silent. Blade punched the spear bar a bit into his throat. «Where is Jantor now?»
«Up in the city of the Morphi. All the best warriors are. I, curse it, was not chosen. Instead I have to guard women. I am missing everything, the killing and the rape. All my life I have dreamed of having a beautiful Morphi woman even when it meant the pits to even think so. Now when there are thousands of sleepers ready for the taking I will miss it. I swear by every damned fylfot that it is unfair.»
Blade knew a momentary sickness in his guts. But this was Dimension X. He had seen worse. He made his voice casual. «Jantor gives his consent to this?»
The Gnoman shook his head. «No. Not to the rape. But what of that? Jantor cannot be everywhere. As for the killing of the Morphi males, he has ordered it in person-not all, of course. We Gnomen will need slaves when we take over.»
Jantor would have his hands full, Blade thought. He remembered thousands upon thousands of Morphi women up there in the city, all lovely and helpless sleepers. No wonder Jantor had forbidden rape. How could you keep an army together and under discipline in such circumstances?