Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [122]
Jackson, in his pressure suit, ambled along beside the file of prisoners, trying to look nonchalant. He could see the entrance to the transport shaft up ahead. He knew that even the big lift cars of the Bazaar would be able to carry only half the prisoners at a time. His greatest fear was that something would disrupt the escape attempt while half the humans still were standing around waiting for the elevator.
The screech that suddenly penetrated the street of the Bazaar was not so much a sound as a subsonic wave. It came from an unseen source and struck like a physical attack. The prisoners staggered and, to the last man and woman, tumbled to the deck. Many of the civilians and merchants on either side of the avenue also were knocked off their feet, and those who were still standing bolted from their stalls, vanishing into the depths of the station.
Jackson, too, was lying on the deck. He recognized that sensation from his first meeting with Tezlac Catal and was not surprised to see an approaching phalanx of Eluoi commandos.
In the middle of the formation stood the savant himself.
Tezlac Catal was there.
Twenty-three: The Lazarus Plan
Jackson recognized that hawklike visage with the beaked nose, high cheekbones, and terrifyingly dark eyes that looked black but, if one dared to stare into them, proved to be a very sinister shade of green. Tezlac Catal stalked toward the escaping prisoners, all of whom still lay prone where they had been felled by the sheer power of his unnatural voice. The savant’s face was contorted by rage, and he shouted again, the excruciating power of his mind spearing into his listeners’ skulls, turning muscles to jelly and paralyzing minds with unreasoning fear.
Catal was accompanied by the same wiry little man the SEALS had observed earlier, the fellow with an ornate series of gold braids gracing the shoulders and arms of his tunic. This was the mijar, the LT remembered: a lackey who spoke for the savant, because the sound of the great leader’s voice was excruciatingly painful to friend and foe alike. Both of the leaders, in their immaculate white uniforms, were surrounded by rank upon rank of elite Eluoi commandos, every one of them armed with a plasma cutter, marching in lockstep as the savant ordered them forward. They wore armored helmets with closed facial visors, and alone among those on this level of the station they seemed unaffected by Catal’s psychic power.
Others of the Eluoi emerged from the far end of the street, and Jackson realized that the whole complement of humans had walked right into a trap. Apparently, the savant or his agents had been watching the prisoners with unseen monitoring gear. As soon as the escape had begun, the leader of the Eluoi had been able to set the encirclement into motion.
“Foolish humans!” the mijar squawked in a high-pitched, nasal voice. “You dare to challenge the might of an Eluoi savant! You dare to challenge the authority of Tezlac Catal! For this you will feel his wrath!”
“This is the sound of my wrath!” the savant roared, his words a physical assault on the humans on the ground. Some of the prisoners cried out in pain, and others sobbed softly. The sound of Catal’s voice was, as Jackson once had described it, like spikes being driven into one’s brain. Those who suffered from its effects could neither move nor speak.
“Did you think you could flee us?” It was the mijar, thankfully, who spoke next, his words a taunt. “You are indeed fools! You have been brought here from your ship because you are useful bargaining chips for the Eluoi Empire. The savant in his wisdom determined that your worth is greater than that of your miserable companions aboard the starship that brought you all here. Those who remain aboard the ship are destined for the slave markets, but you, exalted humans, have more worth than that!
“And this is how you return my master’s beneficence?” The mijar gestured to Jackson, who lay on his back at the edge of the column of immobilized prisoners. “By letting this ragged soldier, this saboteur, thug,