PART B
(III) THE ISLE OF TYRANNY
The powerful foghorns of the Sunish Agate sounded a long final farewell and Sub Luftant Monica Talis broke from her usual impassive demeanor to cast a final eye out to the rusting Algerian freighter. The Agate had been at port less than a day, just long enough to complement her existing cargo of tropical fruits, wicker baskets, fuel oil, and hashish with several hundred bolts of exotic rubber-based cloth from the Isle of Tyranny. In accordance with Tyrantian law, she had stayed in port for less than a day and her crew remained aboard ship for the entirety of the loading process. Sub Luftant Talis had personally supervised the loading operation while also keeping a close eye on the millato crew of the pirate freighter to ensure that no contraband found its way onto the island.
In the world beyond the sun-washed oppression of Tyrantis, the slim raven-haired guard was known as Nina Blackstone. But she was amazed at how quickly any notion of objective reality had eroded during her two weeks on the island. Monica Talis had been a complete stranger to her on the first day of her arrivaljust a random name she had come up with during her interview on the 47th floor travel office. The customs agent saluted her upon arriving on the island when her card identified her as a junior officer of the Dredgard, the elite of the Tyrantian Defense Arman honor that had cost her an extra $4,000 over the basic admission price. Her attempt at returning the salute was almost ludicrous, despite being coached on the plane on the way out. But with each day she spent in the warm, stifling environment of Tyrantis, Sub Luftant Talis became more real and Nina Blackstone more distant. Now, after only two weeks in the absolutely stunning illusion that was the Isle of Tyranny, Nina Blackstone had to struggle to bear in mind just who she really was and why she had come.
The moaning of the foghorns was joined almost immediately by the peels of huge chimes, from the massive bell tower at the center of town.
"Seven o'clock, comrades," the foreman bellowed. "Another fine day of work is done, to the glory of Tyrantis. Now to political education hour!"
The twenty warehouse and dock workers arrayed about the floor beneath Monica's watchful eye didn't complain they didn't darebut instead froze in a silent collective moan and, after suppressing their anguish, they then began filing out through the small side doorways of the massive dock works to claim a seat at the "Patriot's Hall." There they would be lectured on the virtues of obedience, the inherent benefits of working to the good of the collective, and the evils of serving ones own selfish greed. The talk would be trying and dusty-dull, but the wait would be worth it, for at the end of the lecture one or more citizen's observed breaking the law would be publicly punished for his or her crimes. The punishments for misbehavior on the job were generally more entertaining to watch and less painful than those dolled out for civil or criminal activities, which were downright cruel and abusive. In fact, it lent a sense of community almost like fraternity hazing, since everyone who worked in Tyrantis for any length of time had endured the public dunkings, paddlings, and bindings for violating one or more of the countless workplace rules. Suffering under the heel of brutal and arbitrary authority was what the Isle of Tyranny was all about to most visitors. Except for those like Monica Talis, whose goal in life was to impose order, regardless of the human suffering inflicted in the process.
"You heard the Foreman, slack-jaws! The last man out of the warehouse joins the rest of the shitheads on the stage for public scourging!"
Sub Luftant Talis's command had great effect on the workers and they all bolted for the door towards Patriot Hall. True to her orders, the last straggler--a small mousy man trying desperately to force his way in front of a pregnant woman--was seized by two guards on the floor.
"Take that man to the Lictor. Tell Master Kruskiev that he assaulted a guard. Let him decide his punishment."
"Mercy, mighty guardian!" The man groveled. "The others, they tripped me!"
"Then perhaps the cut of the Lictor's lash will teach you to be more assertive comrade!"
With that, the guards dragged the small lumpy worker off to a happy night of torment. The man was a shameless masochisthe would be back to work in the morning with more energy than if he had gotten ten hours of sleep and a blowjob.
With the warehouse completely emptied, Talis's men busied themselves locking down the place for the night. The Dredgards never attended the indoctrination sessions with the general citizenry except in an official capacity. They received their instruction (and torment) from the Captain of the Guard starting at 5:00 every morning. By the time the normal citizens of Tyrantis had awoke, Sub Luftant Talis had already been called every name in the book and performed every known form of exercise to the brink of exhaustion. By quitting time she was eager to get to bed to rest up for the next morning's ordeal.
As soon as the guards had completed their rounds Monica Talis transferred her command to the officer in charge of the night watch and departed to wind her way wearily through town toward the military compound. The citizens she happened upon along the way sited her distinctive black jumpsuit and holstered pistol and gave her a wide berth. A Dredgard officer was authorized to dispense punishments at will, so her isolation gave Talis another opportunity to observe the sights of Tyrantis.
The architecture of the island was an exotic mix of Euro chic, tropical utility, and medieval paranoia, all designed to elicit a sense of awe toward the government and a feeling of insignificance in the individuals inhabiting the fortified cities. The high walls, guard towers and presidential palace were all made of dark unfinished stone quarried from the ancient lava flows that originally formed the island. The palace walls were lined with narrow window slots, many over 50 feet tall, and the upper peaks and turrets were lined with intricate carvings and life-like gargoyles. Tall imposing crimson banners bearing the black symbol of Tyrantis were hung at strategic pointsalong central walkways, beside the doorways into the national factories, flanking the archways at strategic choke pointsuneasily reminiscent of the days of Nazi occupation. The smaller structures were also made primarily of long slabs of volcanic basalt, with doors, window frames and other adornments made of a black resin that resembled dull plastic. The windows were of greenish slag glass that distorted images but was apparently a byproduct of the rubber production process. The large sections of the city that werent covered with solid modern-looking structures were neatly groomed community areas such as parks, parade grounds, combat training areas, and "correction squares" where the citizens of Tyrantis endured public punishment for violation of the islands dizzyingly complex and random laws. There were no business districts in the city, since all that was necessary for daily life was provided by what amounted to an industrial-strength maid service. The grueling schedule and frequent run-ins with the law ensured that the citizens had no time for casual shopping.
Just, as Kirsten Alexis had told her, Tyrantis was a huge experiment in kinky social conditioning. The laws of the land were unlivable so people had to form subcultures in order to survive. The subcultures themselves took on endless variations, though their basic nature was always the same: oppressor, resistor, enabler, or victim. In Ninas first week she had participated in the crushing of a resistance movement resembling urban youth gangs, complete with secret signs, internal dialect, military organization, and a black market slave trade. In a matter of days the leaders were captured and the sophisticated social system wiped outmany of the leaders were still in custody for "questioning." But no sociologist mourned the passing of the group, since a new and even more innovative rebel group would inevitably rise to take their place. As long as the unchanging forces of oppression and injustice continued their work, the social pot would continue to stir. It was this dangerous and tense game of resistance, insurrection and suppression, played out on the eerie stage of the high-tech tropical island amongst the backdrop of a thousand non-combatants that made Tyrnatis so tantalizing. Everywhere there was the feeling of barely-concealed rebellion: everyone was a potential rebel or government informant. The very real possibility of broad-based rebellion was the greatest hope of many, and the greatest fear of the rest.
Just outside the military compound Sub Luftant Talis came upon the Traitors Square, the place where several of the more extreme public punishments were administered under the watchful eye of the Dredgard. Two men from the recently smashed gang ring were still lashed to the blades of a spinning wheel. At its lowest point the heads of the victims were shallowly submerged in water heated by the tropical sun. They wore only rubber loin clothes and their bodies showed deep irritation from their bonds, though ample sun block had been applied to keep them from getting seriously burned by the sun. Another man was also undergoing punishment for speaking ill of the Prime Sinister. He too wore only a rubber loincloth, doubled over on all fours with his hands and feet embedded in a shallow tank of hardened rubber. The rubber had completely enveloped his extremities and he was forced to remain in bear-crawl position while baking under the hot sun and enduring occasional lashings until he managed to free himself. Monica noticed that he had managed to free one foot at last. With luck he would escape by morning and report to the infirmary to recover from the dehydration that allowed him to pull his shriveled limbs from the flat plate of black goo.
Then there was the Hanging Lady, almost certainly one of the unwilling prisoners Kirsten had mentioned who were forced to suffer for the entertainment of others. They called her Morgan, a rebel Captain who was captured on a raid against the port facility. She hung some 15 feet in the air spread eagle between two bondage poles, completely covered by a rubber sweat suit. The only openings in the suit were at the mouth and crotch. The mouth opening was filled with a tube that presumably gave her air as well as ample water, which she sweated by the gallon as she hung in the tropical sun. The crotch opening was more of an elastic orifice that all but disappeared unless she was wearing some type of punitive dildo. Morgan currently wore a broad leather belt with a single steel chain threaded tightly through her crotch. No woman could walk past such a sight without feeling at least a pang of sympathy for the rebel, whatever her crime.
Walking past the Hanging Lady, Sub Luftant Talis presented her ID card to the sentry at the gate and was admitted with a sharp salute, which she now returned naturally and without hesitation. The compound was laid out with a military precision that characterized the entire island. At the center of the area was the drill pad, where they met every morning for grueling calisthenics and abuse. To the north were the general barracks, large airy domes of tightly stretched rubber interconnected with a maze of passageways. To the south was officers country, small single-person tent dwellings set end-to-end like teeth of a black plastic saw. At the far end of the row of tents she could see the armory for her unit. The weapons they normally carried fired only stun darts, not unlike the weapon Nina carried as the Silk Specter. But in the armory was supposedly a huge cache of heavy military weaponry. If any actual insurrection was to get started, the Dredgards had authority to put it down with lethal force. After all, Tyrantis was technically a sovereign territory far beyond the influence of other countries. Anything could happen out here, and an individual had no recourse other than ineffective diplomatic appeals that would only fall on deaf ears. Utter vulnerability to the whims and pleasures of one of Eastern Europes most sinister strong men was another of Tyrantiss great appeals.
OOOOOOOWAHHHHH! Sub Luftant Talis heard a horn far off in the distance, it could only be from a ship. But the Sunish Agate would be miles away by now, and her horns had a scratchy old-fashioned quality to them. These sounded new and powerful, and not so far away. Could it be another ship? Monica stopped and quickly reviewed the port docket in her nearly photographic memory, scanning the names of all scheduled inbound and outbound shipping. No other vessels were expected for day and a half, so this latest arrival, if a ship it was, was strictly off the record. Her heart picked up its pace as she realized that this could be the break she was waiting for.
Nina had booked a two-week "tour" on the island hoping to catch site of the Silver Seal and gather more information on the Prime Sinisters activities. Kirstens warning about international law enforcement and Vlads own easy willingness to destroy most of downtown Oceana to keep the police from investigating his dead Dangergirls suggested that he was up to something big. But the line between reality and illusion was difficult to discern on the Isle of Tyranny, even for a woman who had made a living in magic, so she had been reluctant to make any move using Kirstens access card without some clear indication of intrigue afoot. But she never caught sight of the Seal or the Iron Lung, though she did get a glimpse of Prime Sinister holding court escorted by two beautiful women in vinyl catsuits that she assumed must be Dangergirls. This mysterious ship was the first clear hint of clandestine activity that she had picked up on since her arrival. And with her planned departure time rapidly approaching, she would have to make her move now or never.
Trying to act nonchalant, Sub Luftant Talis continued her disciplined march to her quarters and disappeared inside. Within the rubber-walled tent, her accommodations seemed high-tech and almost inviting. She had a single living area with a small kitchenette and bathroom set behind a rubber screen. A spongy blown-rubber mat served as the carpeting underneath her boots and the sparse furnishings were a mix of black plastic, chrome, glass and rubber derivatives. European light fixtures consisting of stacked disks of greenish glass hung from above and lit the small room, and cool air circulated briskly from a vent in the floor. Her bed was also of a soft spongy rubber with a single blanket made of a synthetic material with the feel of velvet. Her entire Tyrantian wardrobethree close-fitting uniforms, boots, lycra underwear and a spun rubber bodysuit that served as her civilian dress (minimal clothing was encouraged in the blasting tropical heat)hung in a small wardrobe. All of her possessions from the outside world had been confiscated by just prior to her boarding the plane for the Isle of Tyranny.
"That is, almost all," she grinned to herself, careful not to say too much aloud given the thin fabric of the tent compound. The walls literally did have ears.
After securing her door and listening carefully for any signs of nearby habitation, Nina peeled back a portion of the mat covering her floor to reveal her Silk Specter costume, pressed unnaturally flat by the constant pressure. Of necessity she had brought her lightest-weight outfit and a minimum of miscellaneous equipment. Her thin flexible mask was pressed up against a sheet of adhesive backing and her utility belt was largely disassembled to minimize any lumps in the floor.
"Baby, am I glad to see you," She whispered. "All this rubber is nice, but its hell on personal hygiene."
Nina slipped out of the skin-tight uniform and into her equally skin-tight but much slinkier fighting togs, breathing a sigh of pleasure as she slipped into her imported translucent tights, and raised the back zipper of the silky custom-tailored body suit. Then came her gloves, boots, cape, and close-fitting utility belt. Her military pistol served as an adequate substitute for her Glok as its comforting weight settled low on her left hip. Finally, Nina peeled her eye mask from its backing and pressed it skillfully over her face. Any remnants of Monica Talis still rattling around Ninas consciousness were quickly consumed by her true alter egothe daring and quick-thinking Silk Specter.
Once the decision to move was made, the Specter wasted no timespot inspections and evening hazing were common in the Dredgard so her little room provided almost no protection. She crept out of the room in time with the changing of the guards, which she had closely monitored for the past 11 nights. The web of sentries was ruthlessly efficient at surveiling the area, but Nina had identified several small windows of opportunity where a quick shadow could escape the compound without being detected. Once certain the guards were out of sight, she worked her way with relaxed urgency from shadow to shadow until she was near the base of the wall encircling the compound. She held her breath until the bright spotlight of the wall sentry swept past, then sprang from her hiding place, fired a drag line at a steel rod supporting the barbed wire atop the wall, and scurried over with the poise of a circus acrobat. By the time the light swept by 35 seconds later, she was on the other side and had pulled her only line over with her.
Once free of the secured compound it was a simple matter to work her way through the shadows of the deserted city until she reached the warehouse where she normally worked. The ship had not sounded its horn again, so either it had recognized its foolish mistake and continued its entry silently, or it was merely passing by the island with a jaunty honk, in which case Nina was blowing her cover and risking her very life for nothing. Kirstens warnings about the enigmatic Princes Carolyn set her body tingling at the thought of the stakes she had riding on this particular mission, but the raven-haired teenager put the matter from her mind. Her lot was cast and she would either find the evidence she was looking for or be forced to flee the island empty-handed.
And she knew just the place to look. Near the back of the warehouse was a series of doors that had been off limits for the duration of her visit. She had been told it led to "impound" facilities, where contraband was stored prior to shipment off the island. But Nina had seen the locked doors opened once: that same day by two women who looked a lot like the menacing female bodyguards of the Prime Sinister. As an isolated event, the presence of the bodyguards made sensethey would quite likely be involved in the confiscation of illegal material from the island. But their visit in concert with the possible arrival of the mystery ship indicated that something larger could be afoot.
After waiting for a moment in the darkness of the warehouse, the Silk Specter withdrew the ID chip from her utility belt and tried it on the rear doors. They opened with a soft gratifying click and Nina slipped inside. The room beyond was a smaller warehouse subdivided into sections with chained link fencing. All of the fenced areas were empty. However, a flat bead truck was parked directly in front of her, loaded with rough-looking wooden crates.
"'UN International Aid Agency'", Nina whispered in the darkness as she read the sides of the crates. "'Perishable relief supplies. Destination: Moldavia.' Thats the Prime Sinisters native country. Why would the Prime Sinister be sending relief supplies to the same country that kicked him out."
After looking about for any signs of a guard, the Specter climbed up onto the flatbed to have a look at the boxes. They had all the look of relief supplies, just as the writing on the boxes suggested. She even opened one of the larger, refrigerator-sized crates and confirmed that it did, indeed, contain large bags of rice. But just as she was about to replace the lid, she heard the loud rumble of a rising overhead door. Someone, it seemed, had come to collect his supplies.
Reacting quickly, the Specter slipped into the crate she had just opened and nestled her back against the rice bags, creating just enough room to allow her to close the lid. She could hear voices outside, but the words were lost as the trucks engine suddenly rumbled to life. While Nina tried to improve her uncomfortable niche, the truck eased out of the warehouse and onto the docks. The trip was rough and bouncy, sandwiched as she was between rough wood and scratchy burlap bags, and Nina for a moment actually missed her tough, sexy military uniform. As the truck squeaked to a stop the Maid of Mystery wondered if any further sudden movements might not cause her to inadvertently bump the lid off the container. Struck with an idea, the Silk Specter pulled a blade from her belt and cut open the bags of rice. As the sea of tiny grains redistributed itself about the crate, she could feel herself sinking back and away from the lid. It was now almost like lying on a giant beanbag chair, except that the air was dense with rice dust. At least she was in a better position to hold the lid of the box.
And it came not a moment too soon. No sooner had the masked vigilante nestled into her rice bed and seized the lid with her gloved hands then the crate lurched violently as a fork lift sank its steel fangs into the narrow slots at its base. Nina again experienced the unsettling sensation of motion as her crate was transferred with rough jerks from the truck to some unknown location, the tines of the forklift withdrawing with a dry wheeze of metal against wood. But the ride wasnt over yet. Nina still felt that she was swaying gently and, on some unseen cue, the crate ascended slowly skyward. The perpetual swinging conspired with sporadic linear heaves, bumps, and jostles to make Nina feel suddenly seasick. But with a final lurch the crate came to merciful halt, still bearing its plucky occupant safely ensconced in a dusty cocoon of rice.
On the ship, the teenage avenger mused to herself with glee. I must be on the ship, down in the hold.
All was quite outside, so Nina decided to brave a little light. She reached for the small flashlight in her utility belt and flicked it on. The hard splintery wood of the inner surface of the crate was just inches from her face. On all sides was dried rice, and crude bags of burlap. And there was something hard and sharp just under the small of her back. With difficulty she worked her arm behind her back and fished out the uncomfortable object. It was a dagger, with a hilt of intricately carved solid gold, wrapped with gold wire. The scabbard was leather covered with a fine gold foil and crusted with jewels. Set in its center was an ovular disk of creamy ceramic, on which was painted the bust of a beautiful girl in impossibly thin brush strokes.
"And I was happy when I got a book of lick-on tattoos in my cereal box," the Specter whispered.
Her small size and great flexibility came in valuable here, allowing her to slice open some of the other rice bags without disturbing the lid. Each contained a priceless treasure; masterfully wrought jewelry, ornamental weapons, religious relics, jeweled tapestries, solid gold statuary. All of objects--many almost certainly acquired by the Prime Sinisters Dangergirls at grave risk--were now crated up disguised as relief supplies bound for the land of their origin. Or at least to a point closer to their point of origin then they had been in hundreds of years. If the other crates contained similar treasures the shipment was easily worth tens of millions of dollars. Just what was the Prime Sinister up to? Surely he didnt think he could buy them offhe was one of the most universally hated men in the land.
There was only one way to find out. The area outside her crate had been silent for some time so the Silk Specter decided it was safe to risk sneaking out of the relative safety of the treasure-laden box. Just as she expected she was now in a deep hold within the belly of the mystery freighter. Its steel sides were ribbed with heavy girders painted dark gray. Dim hold lights were still on to keep the rats in hiding, providing just enough hazy illumination for the Specter to survey her situation. The aid boxes from Tyrantis were now mixed among an entire sea of crates all apparently containing relief supplies and bound for Moldavia. The chance of the antiquities being detected as they passed through customs was minute, mixed as it was among so much bulk cargo.
The Specter paused a moment to beat the rice dust out of the silky folds of her cape. She spotted a heavy steel hatchway along one bulkhead and opted to make her exit. With most of the guards likely to be out on the wharf, doing a quick search of the rest of the ship should be a snap.
"Quite a war chest you got there, Vlad, all national treasures," she mused as she worked the pressure wheel to release the waterproof door. "Only question is, just what are you going to do with it?"
The Silk Specter slipped into the next hold and shouldered the heavy door shut, but then gasped in surprise. Tanks. High-tech models in two neat rows bristling with guns and antennas, their barrels covered by leather sleeves. The tanks gave way to self-propelled howitzers, tracked vehicles bearing quad-mounted 40mm cannons, and four suits of high-tech combat armor attached to their diesel tender vehicles. At the far end of the dimly lit hold was an A-10 attack jet, wings removed and engines capped with plastic lids. Packed among the vehicles were crates of ammunition and 50-gallon drums of fuel. All the vehicles were painted a deep forest green and bore the screaming bird insignia of Tyrantis. Hardly the kind of hardware one needed to control a small island resort.
"My god," the Specter whispered. "Im in trouble."
"Very perceptive, Silk Specter." Looming on the deck of a T-80 tank the dull lights of the Iron Lung glowed with orangish menace. "But a bit of an understatement, Im afraid."
The armored antiquity raised his arm and his built-in minigun, the stream of bright tracers looked like a laser beam in the murky hold. But the Specter moved quickly, leaping for the fender of the nearest T-80, then disappeared in the tightly packed maze of ammunition crates.
"Hold your fire, you filthy oaf!" Came a commanding feminine voice. "This entire hold is full of ammunition! Our little ship rat wants to play. Ladies, lets flush her out."
As that single voice trailed off, the Specter heard nothing that would betray just how many others were in the hold with her. Whoever was accompanying the Iron Lung, they were far from amateurs. She moved fast along a row of boxes with her heart racing, hoping she could find an escape before her enemies could organize an effective dragnet. But the crates were packed tight and she hit upon frequent dead ends. Finally, to her despair, she arrived at the end of a box canyon (no pun intended) formed by the crates and the tread of a self-propelled howitzer. No choice but to go up and over.
A black shadow descended from above even as the Specter slinked across the deck of the armored gun, heading for the relative safety of the crate maze beyond. Instinctively the Maid of Mystery swept out with a leg, but the figure leapt over it and attempted to pin her leg with a stomp that would have shattered Nina's knee. The Specter twisted her leg so that her knee bent naturally with the stomp reducing what would have been a devastating injury to a simple charley horse. This arrogant all-or-nothing move left the Specter's opponent vulnerable, and with a twist of her pelvis, the masked vigilante brought her other leg through, hurling her attacker against the armored housing of the gun. The move was not a knockout blow, but Nina was more than happy to oblige, springing quickly to her feet and ramming her attacker headfirst into housing. Nina was not surprised to find that her attacker was a female, dressed in a black, tight-fitting catsuit with a utility belt, high boots and a silken mask that covered the lower part of her face. A blonde ponytail ran down the girl's back. Dredgard assassin.
But the masked fury had no time to celebrate her victory, for a dart struck the wall of the gun just inches from her head. Responding solely on instinct, Nina did a flip up and over the gun housing, concealing herself briefly from the unseen shooter. But rather than using the cover to catch her breath, she immediately leapt for the wall of ammunition crates on the far side of the howitzer and vaulted to the top. The shooter was visible, dimly lit by the starry night on the other side of the canyon formed by the sea of crates surrounding the lower silhouette of the self-propelled gun. Nina drew her own dart pistol with blinding speed and dropped the other assassin with a well-placed shot to the chest. But then her own legs were kicked out from under her by a completely silent assailant. Her heavy pistol plummeted down into the canyon and clattered along the deck of the self-propelled gun.
"So the intruder is just a girl." The Specter leapt to her feet to confront a slim compact oriental man who also wore the uniform of a Dredgard colonel. Like the others his face was partially concealed behind a tight mask like a modern ninja and the oriental sword slung over his back completed the look. "Time to die, little girl." The sword appeared in his hands, a living tendril of razor sharp steel.
The ninja blocked Ninas escape across the top of the crates and a quick glance confirmed that the woman she had just defeated on the howitzer was back on her feet, gazing up from the gun deck and raising some sort of weapon. She had no choice but to press the attack against the ninja or risk remaining in the gunwomans line of site. A flash pellet from her belt gave just enough distraction to allow her a quick move against the oriental shadow, striking him just below the chin with both feet and bowling him over. Then she was on top of him, one hand on his thick wrist and one dug into sensitive nerve points on his neck. Again the Prime Sinister's troops had underestimated her, and now the leader found himself disarmed at close quarters.
But the ninja was no stranger to combat. Despite losing his sword, the slippery man managed to break free from the Specters grip and easily deflect a series of blows from the attacking heroine. On the last punch he caught Ninas arm and, holding her at full extension, neatly drove a knee into her abdomen. After two more hard knee blows, the ninja deftly positioned her arm in a wrist-breaker hold then back into a half nelson. Nina broke the dangerous mans grip by driving her head hard against his nose, but it was clear that the teenage avenger was hopelessly outclassed in hand-to-hand combat. Cheap shots and stall tactics would only save her for so long.
The Specter fought the master assassin with great courage, and received quite a beating in exchange. He landed blow after staggering blow and Nina seemed completely unable to prevent it. Her attacks on the other hand were met with a constantly fluid blur of arms and legs. Repeatedly he threw her to the ground and could easily have delivered a killing blow, but instead he let her get up to continue the fight. It was clear that the man was playing with her, and the other assassins were enjoying the sport. The colonel meant to make an example of her before his troops, and even if she managed to defeat the deadly ninja, she was still within easy pistol shot of half a dozen Dredgards.
Time blurred for the green-eyed vigilante as the beating progressed like a slow, brutal dance that she dared not stop. Her ears rang and blood was flowing liberally from her nose and split lip; the world was spinning and she could only regain her feet with ever-increasing effort. Then her hands were in the iron grip of the Dredgard leader, two sets of finger's splayed wide almost to the breaking point with wrists forced painfully back like a playground game of mercy. The natural force of the hold was pushing her down to her knees, but even as she descended he would kick upward firmly against her lower abdomen, working over his masked opponent like a punching bag. Finally he tired of the cruel game and brought his knee up explosively under Ninas chin: a knockout blow. The Silk Specter felt like a prizefighter about to take a final dive as her chin exploded in pain and the world spun crazily around her; the crates, the tanks, the twinkling stars and the almost benevolent-looking colonel watching her final descent to the ground. She was helpless to stop herself as she swooned, staggered, then pitched over the edge of the crates, plummeting 20 feet to the steel deck below.
"Constance, Riccardo, please retrieve our new guest. The Prime Sinister might want a word with her before the execution." With a sense of deep satisfaction over a job well done, the Dredgard leader found his sword and slipped it back into its sheath. She had been good, this mysterious intruder. He hadn't been struck in many years, much less disarmed in combat. With the proper training and counsel the young girl could have been a spectacular combatant. AS it was, some aspiring international espionage agency must have discovered her as a natural prodigy and prematurely thrown her into the high stakes game of international intrigue. Such a pity that she had to die.
"Master Lee, she's gone!"
"Gone? Impossible!" Lee scaled the pile of crates like a spider and reached the other two Dredgard assassins accompanied by the Iron Lung, searching the walkway between the rows of boxes and vehicles for the defeated intruder.
"This cannot be. Iron Lung, scan the area with infrared. She must be hiding from her fate."
The lumbering cyborg complied, as attested to by the clacking and humming of his optical implants.
"I see nothing, though there is much interference."
"Well fan out, she could not possibly have gone"
Master Lee's thought was suddenly interrupted by a loud hydraulic hissthe sound of one of the combat suits being lowered from its support vehicle. They all turned to stare at the mirrored, faceless head of the black armored power suit. As the 3,000-pound monster suddenly surged toward them with a powerful stride, they didn't need to ask who was at the controls.
The Dredgards scattered like ghosts, leaving the Iron Lung to take the brunt of the Specter's attack. With all weapons removed and no operational experience with prototype combat armor, the teenage avenger could do little but ram the Eastern Block nightmare at full speed, and that's exactly what she did. The two armored chassis struck each other with a seismic thud and they toppled over together in a graceless heap. But the way was now clear. If Nina could just reach the bulkhead she could almost certainly tear through it using her newfound war machine. She raised awkwardly to her feet and the power suit responded. Just a short jaunt to freedom
But suddenly a vast cargo net descended on her from above, tangling her legs and toppling her over onto her back. Overhead, she could see the huge cargo crane had been positioned over the hold. Some unseen operator had apparently maneuvered the net directly overhead while she fought the Dredgard colonel.
The Iron Lung got to his feet and smiled malevolently at the sight of huge armored robot struggling within the strands of the inch-thick steel reinforced netting.
"Welcome to our little trap, Silk Specter. I thought you might try to stop our invasion, so I arranged for a little top cover. I also brought along a few special attachments."
He raised his heavy, industrial-composite arm and fired a heavy grapple, trailing a thick black cable, into the entangled power suit. The lead secured itself firmly to the chest of the robot, then sparked and sizzled with electricity. As intended, the electric field overrode Nina's control of the suit. The combat robot fell to the deck, actuators firing randomly as if in some sort of electronic seizure.
"It's done," the Iron Lung pronounced. "The power pack is destroyed and she is now trapped within the suit."
"Well done, Iron Lung. It seems your careful planning was not in vane."
"I had my suspicions, Master Lee. But the Silk Specter will not escape this time."
"You have orders with respect to this one?"
"No, just a personal score to settle. Lower the chains and attach them to the power suit. Careful not to touch it, the surface is still highly charged."
The unseen crane operator lowered a chain from the long boom and the Dredgards wrapped it around the mounting brackets of the power suit. The mirrored surface of the helmet made it impossible to see the Specter now trapped within the powerless steel prison but they could almost taste the mounting desperation of their doomed foe. At the command of Master Lee the crane was raised until the suit was hanging a foot off the ground. The Iron Lung rotated the robot around until he could remove the transit power cell from its backpack. With the power cell removed there was no possibility that Nina could reactivate the suit, so he removed his debilitating electrode.
"Without the transit power pack the suit is a prison. The hatches cannot even be opened. Only the ventilation holes prevent the suit from being airtight." He leaned close to the mirrored face of the armored suit. "Any number of fates could befall someone trapped inside."
The men paused for a moment. It was easy to envision the horror of the young girl trapped inside, completely helpless in the stifling interior of the suit.
"Let us lower her over the side," the Iron Lungs words were icy. "Sixty seconds under water, sixty seconds above the water. I think things will become very uncomfortable for our uninvited guest."
"As you wish, Iron Lung. But I would advise a simple lethal dunking over prolonged execution. We gain nothing from her suffering."
"Thank you for your candor, Master Lee. Now let us proceed with the dunking."
The crane lifted the combat suit ponderously into the air, while the Dredgards and the Iron Lung climbed up onto the main deck. The Iron Lung was in charge of the sinister ceremony.
"Swing her out over the water." The operator complied. "Excellent. By now, I imagine she is beginning to catch on. Now stop the crane." His order was apparently missed, for the crane continued to swing back toward the docks. "I SAID STOP!" The order was again ignored. The suit swung past the dock works over towards the high wall that guarded the perimeter of the port. "IMBECILE! STOP NOW!" The robot leveled his minigun on the cab of the crane. The lax operator was one moment from death.
Finally, the crane halted with a jerk that set the power suit swinging in a broad arc. But rather than trying to correct the mistake and position the suit back over the water, the operator suddenly released the winches on the crane. The expensive combat unit plummeted earthward, landing with a crash in the jungle beyond the port.
"FOOL! I said over the water! I will extract the cost of repairs to that combat unit from your hide personally."
"Sorry, Iron Lung. My doctor always told me not to operate heavy machinery due to my prescription." The Silk Specter darted from the cab of the crane out onto its long extended arm. The Iron Lung spotted her thin, dark form only as she reached the very end of the crane.
"Nooooo! It cannot be!" He raised his cannon-arm and sprayed the night air with 20mm rounds, but he was a moment too late. The Silk Specter seized hold of the chains and slid like a ghost down into the trackless jungle beyond the walled city.
The Silk Specter was jubilant as her feet contacted the head of the combat suit. Of course, she had slipped out of the suit the moment after standing it up after the collision with the Iron Lung. Giving the audience a decoy to associate with the magician was a common trick and would generally fool even the most astute observers. She had been completely free to sneak up the crane cab, surprise the unwary operator, and take over. And now she had critical evidence she could use against the Prime Sinister. Once the Navy took control of that freighter, the Prime Sinister would be revealed as an international thug with aspirations to incite global conflicts. Despite the terrible beating she had received by Master Lee, it seemed she was going to get the last laugh.
"Good evening, Silk Specter. Nice of you to drop by."
Even as Nina's boots touched the jungle undergrowth she was hit with floodlights from all directions. The lights came from atop a circle of eight tanks, all manned and ready to decimate her at the slightest command. She could hear the restless clicking of a hundred rifles as bullets slid into chambers. Though she could see no one, the Specter assumed all those guns were trained on her.
"I was wondering what had become of you, since you found some clever way to escape my little bomb trap in Oceana. Hands up where I can see them."
The Silk Specter raised her hands. Resistance or belligerence at this point was not only futile but suicidal.
"Well, I've prepared a few surprises for you here on Tyrantis. And you can trust me when I tell you, you won't be escaping again."
"Ahhhh! MMHHHHH!" Ninas cries echoed throughout the dark, foreboding expanse of the Prime Sinisters audience chamber, mixed with the powerful zap of electricity and the deep humming of huge electrical transformers. "Noooo! AHHHHHHHH!"
The Silk Specter was bound in an upright crucifix position in the midst of massive black iron ring some nine feet in diameter. The sinister ring was backed with a mesh of rusted wires like a shallow ashtray and lined with bizarre glass insulators shaped to represent the signs of the zodiac. Heavy cylinders of dingy red ceramic completely enveloped the young vigilantes hands and feet. The massive torture machine was bolted firmly to an iron pedestal atop a low stone stage that provided for clear viewing from anywhere in the room. Flanking the device to either side was rack after rack of ancient looking electrical equipment connected to the ring base by means of cloth-wrapped cables as thick as a mans arm. On the floor nearby was a bank of huge electrical transformers that was the source of the powerful humming that was felt more than it was heard. Huge paintings of the brooding Flemish style looked stared down from the lofty walls, each busy with images of martyrdom, torture, and demonic possession. The heavy chandeliers overhead cast very little light over the grim scene. Clear images were only visible during the moments when the device was activated, as electric current arced blue across impossibly wide spark gaps and monstrous vacuum tubes took on a deep red glow. The fruit bats in the invisible rafters overhead skittered about in response to Ninas tortured cries.
The Specters costume had been removed with the exception of her mask and replaced with a sleeveless halter-top bodysuit of glossy black rubber with a thong crotch. Though her hands and feet were lost in the ceramic insulators, it was clear that she was heavily and intricately bound. A stout leather belt encircled the teenage avengers waist, secured to the grim electrified ring by two heavy chains and two thick black cables. Similar electrified cuffs were secured around her upper thighs and forearms. A steel collar with smaller cables encircled her throat like a choker, and a complex headgear of leather straps and buckles held an array of electrodes firmly against her skull. Ninas luxurious mane of raven hair was pulled tightly behind her head in an immaculate French braid. The swelling on her face from the beating she endured at the hands of Master Lee had gone down in the three days since her capture, and expertly applied makeup concealed her matching raccoon black eyes, split lip, and deep bruises. Even so, a week of fist beatings would be infinitely preferable to her inhuman interrogation on the Leyden Cross. Sweat poured from her body, collecting in a pool beneath the antique monstrosity, while Nina suffered all but lost in a haze of pain, fear, and sleep deprivation.
"So this is the American superheroine! I expected someone a littlefiercer." A ghostly thin girl in a rubber sheath dress joined the small group assembled at the foot of the stage. The girl was perhaps 25, with dark hair, ivory skin, and haunting gray eyes. She took the arm of the Prime Sinister--looking resplendent in a black neat uniform with rubber appointments--who was overseeing Ninas interrogation. The woman eyed the shapely teenager with a disturbing intensity.
"Yes, this is the Silk Specter, a most resourceful and dangerous enemy."
"Really, but shes such a doll!" Princess Carolyn ascended the stage for a closer look. "Why didnt you tell me she was here?"
"II didnt want to trouble you." The Prime Sinisters tone clearly conveyed that he was dealing with a spoiled but somehow dangerous child. "Forgive me my oversight."
Nina locked a defiant gaze on the "princess" but Carolyn dismissed her insolence as if Nina were a rebellious child. Carolyns eyed were cold and disturbing as she knelt closer to examine the American vigilante.
"Princess please, not so close to the Leyden Cross"
Carolyn shot him a look of disgust. "Really Vlad, you mustnt dote on me so. The Iron Lung has been letting me extract confessions from rebels. Gloves."
Even the Prime Sinister seemed hesitant to challenge the authority of the strange woman as a technician pulled heavy rubber gauntlets down over her small hands. And Carolyn seemed to only have eyes for Nina. The Maid of Mystery could tell by the look of fascination, glee, and lust in the girls eyes that she was perhaps even more dangerous than the Prime Sinister.
"The Cross has many secrets, my dear, beyond the mere delivery of powerful static shocks. The operation we are undertaking is very delicate. The slightest miscalculation and our pretty intruder will be prematurely dispatched."
"HMMM, I see shes all the way up to Pisces, how exciting. And still she hasnt broken?"
"She is a stubborn one, your highness, but not invulnerable. Its taken 16 hours, but we have almost everything we need to know."
"Youyou must be Princess Carolyn," Nina forced out.
"My, but you are a tough one--Ive never heard anything but blubbering from a person on the Leyden Cross. That's right, Silk Specter, direct descendant of Cragar the Soul Harvester and sole heir to the throne of Moldavia. Soon to be Queen."
"Queen?"
"Yes," the Prime Sinister joined Princess Carolyn up on the stage. "Tyrantis has been a very profitable and satisfying exercise, but I long to return to my homeland. At the same time my homeland needs a return to order, a rebirth of pride in their heritage, and a figurehead on whom to focus their adoration and love. In short, they need a queen."
"But the Slavic nobilitywere some of the most viscous and bloodthirstytyrants ever to rule under the mockery of divine right."
"Oh, really," Vlad withdrew a long steel wand from a metal tube mounted on the side of an equipment rack and handed it to the ghostly youngster. "I hadn't noticed. I suppose then that Queen Carolyn will be in need of a Grand Vizier to help maintain order."
"Oh this looks lovely!" Carolyn grinned at the wand, which was glowing a dim blue in the presence of the fierce electromagnetic field generated by the Leyden Cross. "Do I strike her with it?"
"No, no, no, that will hardly be necessary. Her entire body is charged with energies at all of her critical life frequencies. You merely need to approach her body at the appropriate chakra points." He pointed to a ancient chart hanging on the wall, showing a life-sized figure of a woman dotted with a dense array of numbered dots and stars. A scribe was marking through the dots with red paint as the treatment was administered. "The cross interrupts the flow of her basic life force at strategic points, literally threatening to pull her soul from her body and dangling her over the Dark Void. The pain is gratifying, but I assure you it is the least of our pretty Americans concerns at the moment."
Taking Carolyn's hands in his, Vlad moved the wand toward Nina's body at the precise point indicated by the chart. The Specter whimpered and struggled as the air around her body took on a bluish glow. Her whimper became a long haunted moan until the Prime Sinister finally withdrew the wand and Nina's cries faded. She went slack in her restraints once more as the scribe marked through the point with bloody paint.
"That looked wonderful, you never told the Leyden Cross was so diabolical!" Carolyn's eyes glowed. "Lets do another!"
"In good time. Perhaps, Ms Blackstone, you would be willing to tell us a bit more about the chip given to you by Lieutenant Commander Alexis. As Ive told you, there is no need to protect her, since she was executed by her own countrymen for treason."
"Information for information, Koskov. Quid pro quo."
Vlad was taken aback. Negotiating with a dead woman on the Leyden Cross? Preposterous, but it could save him hours of interrogation time, and the settings of the cross were dangerously close to fatal levels. If he werent careful, this remarkable vigilante could well take her few remaining secrets with her to the grave. "Very well. Quid pro quo."
"So just why would Moldavia give itself over to aqueen like you. Surely you can't expect to take it by force." Nina asked between deep breaths.
"Why for protection, little fool. My romantic countrymen will flock to the red standard of House of Villinovich when I come riding in at the head of an avenging army to free them for our ancient oppressor, Slovakia."
As if innocently testing, Carolyn allowed the wand to stray toward Ninas intricately bound body. The gentle tug at her essence was almost as horrifying as a full treatment. The sequential death and rebirth of various aspects of her life force had been more brutal than any punishment she had thought the Prime Sinister capable of. Still, the Maid of Mystery had to bargain with Carolyn before Vlad hurled her permanently into Dark Void she had dangled over for the last many hours. She could tell that Vlad clearly intended to kill her.
"Butbut Slovakia is peaceful and prosperous. And Moldavia is free."
"Ahhh yes," The Prime Sinister smiled evilly. "We'll have to take care of that, won't we?"
Nina's eyes opened wide. "The art! It's all art stolen from Slovakia! You plan to smuggle it all into Moldavia as relief supplies."
"When the Slovakians discover that Moldavia--my dear homeland--is financing its teetering government with stolen Slovakian treasures, they will be quite outraged."
"But outraged enough to invade?"
"Don't worry," Carolyn ran a gloved hand across Nina's sweat-soaked cheek. They again locked eyes. "Slovakia will invade. We've seen to it."
"Because you have highly placed plants in the Slovakian government. Plants that you brainwashed during their frequent trips to the Isle of Tyranny."
"You know, you are a clever one, Silk Specter. Perhaps the most intelligent woman I have ever spiritually dissected on the Leyden Cross. Now, the chip."
"Commander Alexis gave it to me. It was hidden in her costume and you gave it back to her when you dressed her to die on the bomb."
The Prime Sinister noted the heightening level of interest Carolyn was taking in the fiery American spy. The fact that the Silk Specter could think coherently and unravel their plans while being tortured was as unnerving to Vlad as it was arousing to Carolyn. He had to get rid of her now. "Well Princess, I think the interrogation is at an end. Dr. Dietrich, please blindfold and gag our plucky little friend. Charge the capacitors for the Gemini settingcomplete separation of body and soul. Im afraid we must give the Silk Specter some room, dear Carolyn. Its time for her to become a true specter, and its quite a spectacular show.
The technicians complied, adding a large rubber ball gag to Nina's facial harness and effectively terminating the conversation. Carolyn handed the wand over to the Master Inquisitor and watched in rapt fascination as Nina continued staring at her defiantly until the moment the rubber blindfold was secured into place. The ever-present hum of the transformers took on a new, even more sinister tone and the Specter began twisting in her restraints. The light of the spark gaps danced off the rubber costume covering Ninas muscular, hourglass body and filled Carolyns cold eyes like a strobe lamp. The whole of the iron ring began to glow an insidious lavender, like some gateway to an unknown domain of torment. At the epicenter of the glowing sphere, the mute, sightless Silk Specter struggled and twisted desperately in her intricate bondage, a she began her final descent into the black void of death.
CAN IT POSSIBLY GET MORE DIRE FOR THE SILK SPECTER? WHAT TRICKERY COULD POSSIBLY DELIVER OUR STAR-CROSSED HEROINE FROM HER HORRIFYING DEMISE? DON'T TOUCH THAT BROWSER, TRUE BELIEVERS, ONLY THE MIND OF THE CLIFFHANGER CONTAINS ALL THE AGONIZING ANSWERS!
To Be Continued