"These?" asked the woman.
"Worker-brood," said Keilin shortly. "According to S'kith they're so stupid they can barely do more than eat and be bred."
The officer held a torch to the grill. Piteous whimpering came from inside. A blow with a heavy hand-axe shattered the lock. A naked, vast, pregnant and blubber-rolling filth-smeared body lay there, blinking myopically in the unfamiliar light. Slack-jawed she looked at them, and then, with a hopeless grunt, turned her jowl-face away and began licking a spigot on the back wall. She made no attempt to move toward the open door, and showed no curiosity about the strangers.
Several of the troop were retching as Keilin led them further down. The cells on the next level were no different. But here there was no whimpering. Instead the air was abuzz with whispered speech. Keilin paused. He owed his friend this triumph. His voice didn't even shake as he called out "S'KITH 235!" with all the volume he could muster.
There was silence. Then pandemonium broke loose. "Let us out! Let us out!" Joyful, hopeful, frantically happy yells echoing in the passage. And S'kith's name was repeated endlessly in a paean of triumph. No resting place of grandeur, none of the poignant legends that the gene-spliced would build about him, would ever honor his friend as those voices did.
A lifetime in a cell too small to stand in does not equip you well for the outside world. Yet these were no beached whales that they set free into that passage. Calisthenics and determination had maintained their bodies. They were naked, yes. But not filthy. And they were organized. They'd never known when this day would come. But they had believed and prepared for it.
The first question they all asked was, Where was S'kith? By the predatory look in the eyes of the enquirers even his legendary stamina might have been tried right there. "He's dead. He destroyed the power system so that we could succeed in our attack." A great sigh echoed down the passages. They had mourned him long ago. They would mourn him again. But not yet.
"Then where is the fighting? We must kill Morkth." The leader was a hard-eyed woman with long dark hair, plainly pregnant, about thirty-five. Keilin remembered what S'kith had told him. Probably, after this baby, she would have been killed and eaten.
"The Morkth have fled in one of their big flying craft. There is no more fighting really. Just confused Morkth-men."
"So it is true then. There can only be one reason they would flee. They have been trying to hormonally alter both frozen workers and volunteer warriors. They must have succeeded. They have a queen egg to protect."
Before the enormity of this statement could sink in, Keilin felt a calling.
A desperate, urgent calling. A feeling that he must make contact. He touched his ankle, fingers dipping into the pouch, touched the core section.
"I need to get to the surface, fast. She needs me."
Twenty-eight levels of twisting spiral ramps was still a long, long way to run. Keilin knew he could never be there in time, but he ran until his lungs were on fire. Eventually he burst past the confused files of empty-eyed workers, out into the morning sunlight.
It was bedlam up there. The shield path had been scattered. Now confused Morkth-men surged all over in little knots. In the center of the hive roof stood a stunned group of the Gene-spliced. Keilin rushed over to them. On the ground between them lay Beywulf, his head in Wolfgang's lap. He didn't have legs any more. And through his shirt oozed a sluggish trickle of blood. Someone had tied tourniquets on the leg stumps, but Bey's normally ruddy face was spook-white.
Wolfgang's voice cracked. "My father tried to stop him. He wasn't even armed. Cap cut him down when he turned away. Just like that. Dad must've seen him out of the corner of his eye. He jumped. The blade cut through his thighs instead of his midriff. Cap stabbed him in the chest as he fell. Then he took the girls into the Morkth platecraft he'd summoned from the desert . . . or that is what Cap said. The young one fought and he hit her." Wolfgang shook his head in disbelief, his eyes full of the tears he refused to let fall. "My father has served him faithfully for nearly ten years. Now he's dying. Why? Why did Cap do this?" he screamed.
Keilin closed his eyes, bit his lips, summoned all his determination. His voice when it came out had the unmistakable ring of command. He was slight, nearly seventeen years old. And there wasn't a man on that roof who wasn't going to do exactly what he told them to, immediately. He pointed to two of the officers. "You. And you. Clear this roof. Anyone still on it in two minutes from now will be killed. Leave Bey. Get all the Gene-spliced below. At least five levels. Now!"
Only Wolfgang didn't move. "I'm staying with my father. What are you going to do?"