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Thrush punched in a three-digit number on a keypad
in the frame, and it swung silently inward. Brigid and
Grant hesitated on the threshold, staring.
"I only visited here once, many years ago," La-
kesh murmured. "I never cared to come again."
They looked into a large chamber with a domed
ceiling from which dim blue light shone down. The
walls were of a dull green, the floor white. There
were only three objects in the room. A stone pillar
rose some four feet in height from the center of the
floor. Atop of it rested a box of hammered silver, its
hinged lid thrown back.
Beyond that was a pale gray man-shape seated on
a raised dais. They stared aghast, first in surprise,
then in recognition. The naked figure was very short,
barely four feet tall and excessively slender. His high,
domed cranium narrowed to an elongated chin. His
skin bore a faint grayish-pink cast, stretched drum-
tight over a structure of facial bones that seemed all
cheek and brow, with little in between a vestigial
nose and a small compressed slit of a mouth. Six
long, spidery fingers, all nearly the same length rested
on his crossed knees. .The two huge up-slanting eyes
were closed as if in sleep.
"Balam," Grant said hoarsely.
The blue-veined lids parted and the big obsidian
stared at him, then at all of them, finally focusing on
Field Marshal Thrush.
Voice purring with amusement, Thrush nudged
Brigid in the small of the back with the bore of his
pistol. "Go on in and meet the true father of the
master race."
Chapter 25
Kane flopped onto his side, swallowing the bile rising
up his throat in an acidic column. Pain radiated in
throbbing waves from his groin as he lay doubled up
on the floor.
Salvo kicked him on the thigh. "Are you just go-
ing to lie there, you traitorous bastard? Get up."
Blinking back the tear-haze swimming in his eyes,
Kane saw his Sin Eater lying on the deck ten feet
away, where Salvo had kicked it.
"Get up!" Salvo roared, kicking him again.
Kane looked up at him. Blood soaked Salvo's right
trouser leg. A crimson streak painted his left hand
and knuckles from another wound tom in his bicep.
"Fucking Roamers nearly beat us," he hissed be-
tween clenched teeth, his voice so thick with outrage
it was nearly incomprehensible. " Us, the elite of the
Reich. Sixteen of the Battle Class dead! Over half
the squad!"
He stamped hard on Kane's thigh. "You did it!
How can I face the field marshal now?"
Kane waited until he was certain he wasn't going
to throw up before saying, "You don't have to face
him."
"What the fuck do you mean?" Salvo's eyes
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blazed with a wild, crazed light.
"Do what a solider and a knight would do. Put a
blaster to your head and pull the trigger."
Salvo hawked up from deep in his throat and spit
on him. "That's what you'd do, right?" he asked
scornfully.
"Yes, if I failed as miserably as you. And against
Roamers and outlanders no less. It's the only hon-
orable thing to do."
Kane paused and forced a taunting smile onto his
face, though it caused the claw-inflicted gouges to
sting. "But I keep forgetting, you're not honorable.
That's why I'm the knight and get all the perks, and
you get the rank but have to live in my shadow."
He watched and waited for Salvo's reaction. It was
not long in coming. His facial muscles twitched in a
nervous tic, his entire body trembled as if he were in
a seizure and his hands clenched so tightly around
the Sturmgewher the metal creaked.
Then, with a full-throated bellow of insane rage
erupting from his throat, from the roots of his soul,
Salvo lifted the rifle over his head, preparing to batter
him to death.
Kane had gambled if he struck enough nerves,
Salvo's ego-fueled fury would blind him to the
easiest and most reasonable option-simply shoot
him dead while he lay on the deck.
But Salvo was too consumed with the mindless,
savage desire to beat him until he died or begged for
it.
As Salvo whipped up the rifle, Kane's upper body
catapulted from the floor, driving the crown of his
head between Salvo's legs. He felt the testicle sac
grind against the pelvic bone and he almost muttered,
"Quid pro quo."
The butt of the rifle crashed against his back, be-
tween the shoulder blades, but it felt less like a blow
than if Salvo had merely dropped the weapon on him.
A choked, keening wail burst from Salvo's lips as
he jackknifed at the waist. Kane lunged up again,
using the back of his head as a battering ram. Salvo
fell down against a jump seat, lower lip split and
spurting blood. He tried to kick him, but Kane made
a dive for Salvo's neck and got both hands around
it.
For a second, their bloody, sweat-sheened faces
were only inches apart. Through gritted teeth, Kane
hissed, "This is what I should have done to you that
night in Mesa Verde Canyon."
He squeezed and pressed down with his thumbs
with all this strength. Salvo clawed at him madly, his
nails tearing at his face, trying to gouge out his eyes.
He struggled and thrashed, his tongue protruding.
A shudder ran the length of the compartment, then
the deck dropped out from underneath them. Kane
had only the briefest impression of Dent gazing over
the back of his chair; one hand resting on the ramp
controls.
The OGRE was traveling at a fairly good clip, and
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