Fire On the Sand Read online

  "I do what I must for my friends." Mr. Phibuli's voice sounded matter-of-fact in spite of the awful pressure on his body.

  With these words his tail lifted. Gemstone eyes glittered as he looked at Adena and Greg. "Goodbye, my friends," he said, "and cover your eyes."

  Adena grabbed for her goggles and lowered them over her eyes in one swift, practiced motion. Uncomprehending but with a sense of dread, Greg squeezed his eyes shut. A bright flare raised green and purple afterimages in spite of his closed eyelids. A rising scream hurt his ears, and he gasped in pain as the scream rose up the scale, terminating in a gurgle that sounded worse than anything he'd heard in his life.

  Something crashed into the parapet. Adena cried, "No!"

  Greg opened his eyes. The silver lady and Mr. Phibuli were gone.

  Adena stood staring down into the darkness that yawned beneath the bridge. Greg staggered to his feet and went to join her. A distant crash echoed from far below. Adena turned to bury her face in his chest, and Greg put his arm around her, seeking comfort for them both.

  "How did the parrot do it?" he asked.

  "Mr. Phibuli has some form of energy inside him. He...he dumped it on the creature's head. I had my goggles on and saw it all. The thing just screamed then died. They went over the edge together. I...don't think Mr. Phibuli was alive when they fell. His eyes weren't glowing. Oh, Greg! He...he sacrificed himself to save us."

  Greg held Adena tight and stared at the void. I guess that's the first time in history a rampaging alien has ever been killed by a parrot crapping on its head.

  "We'll get him back. Maybe there's something we can do to revive him," Greg suggested.

  Adena sniffed then nodded. "We owe him that much. It won't be easy, but we'll try."

  They stood, arms around each other, and stared into the void.

  Chapter 13

  "We've got to save him." Adena strode down the tunnel toward the airship wharf, her lantern creating a golden nimbus around her and Greg.

  Greg followed, his ears still ringing from the violence of their encounter with the silver alien. The stump of his right forearm tingled although it no longer hurt, and he favored it, cradling it with his other hand against chance knocks and blows. "Adena, seriously — will there be anything left of Mr. Phibuli? What's at the bottom of that huge hole? If it's rock, he'll be smashed to pieces."

  She shook her head with impatience. "It's not rock. If my memory serves there's a deep pool of water, deep enough for him to survive the plunge."

  "How far down is it?"

  "About a mile."

  "Well, crud."

  "He'll be all right."

  Greg couldn't detect any trace of doubt in her voice. If Adena had doubts and fears, she hid them well.

  He looked at the bandages on his forearm. "I wish I could help, but I don't know how much use I'll be with this. Mr. Phibuli did something to it, and it doesn't hurt, but a one-armed man won't get you very far."

  She barely glanced at his wound. "You'll be fine in a day or so."

  He squinted at her. "You're implying my arm will grow back?"

  She shrugged. "I've known Mr. Phibuli to treat worse. You need to eat. Your body will need the resources to heal."

  Greg couldn't get his mind around such a concept as regeneration. His engineering training took over, guiding his thoughts to practical matters. "If he's in water, can we get to him? I've snorkeled in Florida, but this will take a whole different approach."

  Adena glanced at him. "I've no idea what snorkeled is, or of this Florida you speak of, but we can and will rescue him. Mr. Phibuli might be alive, he might not, but we must try." Her dark eyes searched his face. "Are you with me, or not?"

  "With. That much is a given. How do we get down though? Is there a way into that abyss?"

  "There is, but we'll need help. No one's been to those lower levels for decades." She paused, a telling moment in Greg's mind. "It could be dangerous."

  "Then count me in. I owe that fool parrot my life as much as you do."

  Adena cracked a smile. Greg smiled back, pleased to see his friend — and, in future, maybe more than a friend — looking better.

  They reached the wharf. The airship Oculus Nightingale hung suspended from her moorings, her gondola's lights creating a pool of welcome humanity after their bruising experience. Two of her crew stood guard at the brow leading up to the entryway. Their shouts brought First Officer Jake Dyer to the door. He leaned out with both hands on the door frame and peered at Adena and Greg as they emerged from the gloom of the tunnel.

  "Captain? Greg?"

  Adena headed up the gangplank. "As you were, Mr. Dyer. We've lost Mr. Phibuli, but we're going to get him back."

  Jake blinked in reaction to her news, then looked beyond Greg to the opening of the tunnel that led to the heart of the mesa. "What of that thing?"

  "It's dead. Mr. Phibuli killed it, but he fell into the abyss."

  "Well, he’s a tough old bird," Jake said, nodding to Greg as he followed Adena into the gondola.

  "Have you seen Zared?" she asked.

  Jake's expression hardened. "No, Skipper. If I had I would've shot the guy."

  "So, he's still out there." Adena glanced back through the door. "Let him freeze. Call in the sentries. There's no need for them to suffer the cold out there."

  Jake called to the guards. They trotted up the gangplank and closed the door behind them. Greg sighed with relief as welcome warmth began to seep into his flesh after the prolonged chill of the caverns.

  Adena led the way to the lounge, the biggest room on the ship, and sat down on the bench. She sighed and propped her booted feet up on the table. Greg and Jake took seats and waited for Adena to utter her thoughts. Conner emerged from the direction of the galley with a tray of tea things and sandwiches, which he passed around. Greg seized upon both with a grateful smile for the efficient steward. Conner nodded and smiled in return before slipping away.

  She waited until Conner had departed before speaking. "Greg and I will head down into the depths to see if we can find and recover Mr. Phibuli. We'll need at least one other for the shore party."

  "I volunteer, Skipper," Jake interjected.

  Adena shook her head. "I appreciate it, Jake, but I can't spare you."

  "You could let me go in your stead. Really, there's only one of you, and your job is to command the Nightingale." Jake shrugged. "I'm expendable."

  She regarded him for a long moment before shaking her head. "No, Jake. Assemble the crew here and I'll ask for a volunteer. We have good people aboard. Although there's a couple I'd choose like a shot, I won't force anyone to go on this expedition. Please see to it."

  He nodded, got up and left the lounge. Greg leaned back in his seat. "What do we face down there?"

  Adena took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "There may be murriks. We had to clear out a nest of them when we first established this base."

  Greg shuddered to think of the anthropomorphic winged black flying creatures that had attacked the airship as it flew over the City of Night. "I thought they only hung around the City."

  She gave a quick shake of her head. "No such luck. They're all over Dark Side. They hate close confines though. It cramps their ability to fly."

  Something niggled at Greg. Little hints and suggestions he'd gathered over the time he'd known Adena implied she was a lot older than she looked. He squinted at her.

  "How long ago was it when you established this place?"

  Her lips quirked. "Why Greg! Are you so gentlemanly as to ask a lady her age in such a circumspect way?"

  "I must admit I'm curious."

  She leaned forward and fixed him with her gaze. "I'll tell you before the crew assembles, although I suspect they know. I told you I'm a QuadSang, Greg. We tend to be long-lived. Not as long as our Pure Blood relatives, but long by human standards. I'm over eighty years old according to your calendar."

  Greg felt his jaw drop open like a fool and closed it with a snap. "
You... you certainly don't look it."

  "Thank you. I'm glad you like older women." She grinned, showing the points of her canine teeth, which were longer than any human would feel comfortable looking at. Greg shivered. Although he'd seen Adena's teeth before, it still gave him a little shock to see clear proof that she wasn't entirely human.

  The crew began to file into the lounge, and Adena sat back with a twinkle in her eye. Greg's mind struggled with the concept of the attractive, dark-skinned woman sitting near him being as old as his grandmother.

  Jake saluted her. "All crew present and correct, Captain."

  "Thank you, Number One." She stood, leaning on the table to address them. "You've probably learned by now that the... creature that held us hostage has been destroyed by Mr. Phibuli." A ripple of relief ran through the dozen crew-members and smiles broke out here and there.

  Adena continued. "Unfortunately, we lost Mr. Phibuli in the process. He fell into the abyss at the heart of this mesa, and I plan on getting him back." She let that settle in for a few seconds. "I need one volunteer to accompany me and Mr. Cole on an expedition to do just that."

  "Only one, Skipper?" Hsu-Li Oliphant the navigator spoke up, sounding surprised.

  Adena nodded. "Yes, three should be enough to keep watch and help with carrying the gear and rappelling when needed. There were some difficult spots to cross the last time I was down there, which was quite a while back." She glanced at Greg. "We need to reach the floor of the abyss and return. It'll take three or four days, all being well. So, who's with us?"

  After spending so much time in the confines of the gondola with them, Greg knew enough of the Occulus Nightingale's crew to not be surprised when most of them stepped forward. Jake stood off to one side, as far as he could in the crowded room, marking his exemption in a pointed fashion. Other key personnel, like the engineer, and Hsu-Li seemed to know they wouldn't be accepted, so they also stood back.

  One of those who stepped forward was Penny the ventral gunner. Greg had seen her formidable skills in action against the murriks over the City, although she'd faded into the background when not in action.

  He took a good look at her. She was a large, well-proportioned woman with short strawberry-blond hair and a dusting of freckles across a pleasant face. Like most of the crew, her gear seemed to consist of leather and metal and looked snug-fitting, presumably so it wouldn't snag on anything in action. All in all, she gave off an aura of competence and confidence. She saw Greg eyeing her and gave him the ghost of a wink.

  Adena looked at her with approval. "Penny, I hoped you'd step forward."

  Penny smiled. "Well, I figure you wouldn't need a ventral gunner here in dock, and I've gotten kinda bored since we left the City."

  She spoke with a slow drawl which Greg pinned down as originating somewhere in Oklahoma. He'd never heard her speak until now. His pulse quickened and his ears pricked up. "You're from Earth?"

  Penny shrugged. "A long time ago, Mr. Cole. Fifteen years by your reckonin'."

  Questions filled his mind, but he knew it wasn't the right time to ask them. Penny must have sensed his dilemma, for she gave him a quick nod and a look of understanding, which seemed to imply later.

  Adena pointed at her. "You're hired. Draw a carbine and ammunition from the magazine. Conner? Prepare camping gear and enough rations for three people for four days. I want a reserve in case we're delayed." She clapped her hands. "Dismissed, and hurry it along, people. We've got a parrot to rescue."

  Chapter 14

  Adena led them out the next morning, the gangplank echoing beneath their boots as they walked down to the wharf. Greg looked dazed. She noticed Conner had changed the dressing on Greg's forearm, and it looked longer than the previous evening. Adena hid a smile at Greg's confusion.

  Mr. Phibuli works his magic yet again. Damn, but I miss that silly bird!

  Penny stood with her carbine slung over her left shoulder, looking solid and competent. Her habitual fawn-colored padded leather gunner's cap covered her head, a sheathed short-sword sat on her generous hip, balanced by a canteen on the other side. Like the others, she carried a backpack stuffed with rations and camping gear, topped with a bedroll. A coil of rope with a grapnel fixed to one end of it was strapped to the pack.

  Greg carried a spare coil of rope and a cluster of pitons. Since he was unable to use a carbine, he'd opted for a revolver that sat in a holster on his right hip. It was secured to the Sam Browne belt so he could draw it left-handed at need. A sheathed heavy combat knife sat on his other hip.

  Adena smiled. Knowing what Mr. Phibuli is capable of, Greg won't be troubled by being one-handed for much longer.

  Most of the crew followed them down, with two peeling off at Jake's command to check the tunnel leading to the abyss. Their lantern light diminished as they passed down the tunnel. Catching Adena's eye, Jake shook his head. There'd been no sign of the crazed Zared in the ship's night.

  Adena frowned. Jake thinks Zared’s lying dead of exposure somewhere in the mesa's caverns. I suspect our former supercargo will cause trouble yet.

  The three of them checked each other's gear, tightening straps and buckles where necessary. Greg needed more help. Adena felt sympathy for the wounded hero when she saw the expression of frustration he tried to hide. The crew watched from a short distance as if the trio had already departed from their close-knit circle.

  When all was ready, Adena turned to Jake. "You have command until we return, Number One. If we don't return within five days, you're clear to move out with Nightingale and return to Penumbra City."

  Jake's face was somber. "We'll look for you, Skipper."

  Adena knew when to make a small concession. "Look for us after four days, then, but search for no more than a day." Stepping back, she looked him square in the eye. "You have your orders, Mr. Dyer. Carry on."

  He saluted. Adena returned the salute then looked to the others. "Ready?" They nodded. "Then let's move out."

  * * *

  They entered the tunnel leading to the abyss that lay at the heart of the mesa like the hollow interior of an upturned vase. The two crew members who'd gone ahead stood guard at the end of the tunnel, their own lanterns casting a glow around them. They turned as the small party approached.

  "Nothing to report, Skipper," one said.

  Adena nodded. "Right. Thank you. Return to the ship."

  The man hesitated. "The gods go with you, Skipper."

  Her throat felt tight at his obvious concern. She coughed. "And also with you."

  The tunnel emerged onto the broad lip of basalt that formed a natural walkway around the abyss. A waist-high stone wall guarded walkers from the unpleasant drop into the void. Adena remembered how the feature had been improved over months of steady labor. A multitude of hammers and chisels had woken the echoes until the whole cavern rang like a bell, their work lit by massive flares that kept the light-hating murriks at bay. They'd posted armed guards around the periphery against those creatures which didn't fear the light and noise.

  Ahead, the bridge across the abyss leaped out into the darkness. Only the first few yards, where Mr. Phibuli had fallen, were visible in their lantern light.

  Now that took some doing to build. She reflected on the past, saddened to see the once-thriving way station abandoned. Maybe we could open it again. I'm sure I can find some justification.

  Adena emerged from her reverie to see the others looking at her expectantly. Embarrassed, she blinked away her thoughts. "Memories, gang. Too many memories of this place." She pointed off to the right. "We'll head that way. There's a ramp that marks the beginning of the path to the lower levels."

  They walked, footsteps echoing, enclosed by a bubble of light. Soon the light enclosed their entire world, the walkway appearing and receding under their feet like a moving belt. She counted off the paces, and after a hundred she began looking at the wall to their right. The others followed her with dutiful tread. They do trust me.

  At last an archway appea
red in the wall. "Here it is," she said, walking through it. She gestured at the head of the ramp that sloped down and around the slight left-hand curve. "And here's the ramp. It spirals around the interior of the mesa. It'll take us all the way down to the bottom."

  Greg whistled softly. "This all took quite a feat of engineering."

  "So it did."

  A steady cold breeze blew upward, ruffling their hair. As they descended into a tunnel, the breeze grew stronger, bringing with it a musty scent of dampness. After a hundred yards or so, an archway opened in the left wall, and they could see a walkway much like the first. Adena kept going. "That's the last open walkway we'll see. From here on down it's just tunnel to about halfway to the bottom."

  Greg trudged alongside her. "Is there any place to rest down here? It could be difficult camping out on this slope."

  "There are storerooms and such here and there. If I recall correctly, there's a rest area about where the tunnel ends. Beyond that, we'll have to rely upon the ropes."

  "Why did you not complete the tunnel?"

  "There was no point. The upper levels were all we needed. Besides, we encountered... problems lower down."

  "I don't like that pause." He gave her a quizzical look. "It suggests the problems aren't easy to overcome."

  "They weren't, but that was many years ago." She shook her head. "They may not exist anymore. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

  They trudged down and around the slow spiral for hours, taking a break every hour, until at last they came to a wide chamber where the tunnel ended. Greg felt relief when Adena announced a halt. His feet had begun aching hours before as he walked over the hard rock.

  He saw two openings cut into the right-hand wall, presumably the storerooms Adena had spoken of. Between them was a hearth with an iron grate scabbed with rust. A wide arch in the left-hand wall was sealed with a rusting iron double gate with spiked bars. A chain and padlock held it closed. Judging by the corrosion on both, Greg wondered if they would withstand a sharp tug. Beyond the gate the arch opened onto a black void that seemed to suck up the light. The air smelled damp and musty.