The Chronicles of Riddick - Alan Dean Foster [108]
As the technician adjusted the flow, a wall screen displayed the lensor’s final recordings. A Necromonger handler was shown walking down a corridor in the company of a subofficer, both of them with their backs to the lensor. Entering a darkened alcove, they turned to face one another. Seeing the face of the subofficer in profile, the Lord Marshal sucked in his breath imperceptibly.
There was a brief exchange of questions. Then the scene turned chaotic as Riddick, in the guise of a Necromonger subofficer, attacked in a blur of motion. The screen went dark, as had the lensor.
The Lord Marshal ripped the umbilical out of its socket. “Commander Toal . . .”
Toal was already at his leader’s side, anticipating. “Don’t worry, Lord Marshal. He won’t escape twice.” He gestured freely. “This time, there’s no place for him to go. If he seeks to flee again via one of the landing support struts, this time my men will be there to help him step outside.” His expression was mirthless. “It will be a longer step, this time.”
Whirling, Toal mobilized his subordinates. Shouts and orders were exchanged. The commander known as Scalp-Taker began relaying instructions to the subofficers in charge of the Elites.
Indifferent to the rising frenzy of preparation, the Lord Marshal stood staring at the connection cord he still held in his hand. Then, very deliberately, he wound it securely around his palm, the action coming naturally to him, as if he had done something very similar once before.
If Riddick was half the trouble he appeared to be, it would take time to hunt him down. Meanwhile, there remained the little matter of a stern lesson to be delivered to the intractable population of Helion Prime. Idly, he moved to the balcony that overlooked the reaches of Necropolis. A mass of new converts, drawn from the world below, was shuffling across the floor on their way to the First Stage of Education. The sight was pleasing and relaxed him a little. But it did not change his mind.
Protocol needed to be followed.
Behind him, the officer in charge of lesson deliverance methodically opened the three heads of the fateful icon control. Visible via the floor port, on monitors throughout the Basilica and the rest of the armada, and from the surface of Helion itself, the three heads atop the conquest icon that impaled the surface of the planet began to bow. A gigantic maw appeared between them, its dark interior now open to the sky. From within, something belched skyward. A swirling, rotating mass of multicolored energy, in appearance and shape it was not unlike the gravitational weapons that had been used against massed Helion foot soldiers and their reinforced installations. There was only one significant difference.
This one was much, much bigger.
Rising like a ring of flashing, lightning-imbued cloud, it expanded in diameter until its outermost fringes shadowed the farthest reaches of the capital. It hung there; ominous, growling, alight with foreboding. Waiting for a command.
The command to deliver a lesson.
XVII
Under Toal’s personal direction, a special squad of soldiers and lensors rushed through the most significant portions of the Basilica, all senses on high alert, searching for one subofficer who shouldn’t be there. Among the militarily sensitive sites they scanned and cleared was the dark grotto of the Quasi-Dead. Finding it empty, as expected, the search team moved on.
In doing so, the otherwise alert commander just missed seeing one Quasi sliding out of its protective hollow. There was nothing unusual about this. When they were not in full sleep, curious Quasis sometimes moved about on their own. What was unusual was the presence on the Quasi’s torso of a live person. One hand covered the Quasi’s mouth while the other gripped the dagger that was plunged into the creature’s heart, visible indication that one Quasi-Dead had recently and unwillingly been promoted to Full Dead. Whether out of ignorance of what had taken place or out of fear of knowing that it had, the remaining Quasis