"It may be so. My fortress overrun, my men slain."

  The round, obsidian eyes of the Gray Fox's mask glimmered in the light. A free arm swung to a panel on the wall. The chamber doors slammed shut, much to the surprise of the arresting party. Several tubes protruded from the walls and made soft hisses.

  "Those... vents!" Cecil flung his sword on one of the outlet pipes. "Gas. Stop those pipes from filling this place."

  "I will not lose so long as I stand!" The Gray Fox walked behind two of his riflemen as he scrambled to find cover.

  The Duke of Alberta's weapon lodged deep into the wall, splitting the pipe ends, but it was not enough to block the flow of heavy gas. Soldiers lobbed grenades, traded shots, and wounded a few of the syndicate leader's aides. Cecil pulled out a second sword from his shield and charged at the escaping party.

  A green atmosphere took the space in minutes; some of the vents were destroyed, but these efforts were not enough to prevent the chemical trap. His shield slid to the floor when he drove his remaining blade through a nearby vent. The general grabbed one of the masked aides by the face, but the malicious cloud seeped through his helm's seals. A bitter taste filled his mouth, and strength slowly, but surely, leaving his limbs no matter how much he fought the gas' effects. There had to be something else he could do. He was on his knees; the last of his strength was enough to throw the struggling aide to the ground. Cecil von Schild slumped to the ground, defeated by the effects of the chemical.

  "I cannot hope to match you with the sword, but I still have the upper hand." A triumphant Gray Fox toggled a few buttons on the wall panel. A trapdoor that led underground opened behind him. "Take the commander with us. I will have good use for a man of his prowess."

  The Gray Fox looked at the large sword and even bigger shield the defeated commander carried. He looked at the remaining sides before saying:

  "Leave those. They will only slow us down."

  The two aides slung their guns and hastily dragged the general to the secret stairway. The masked scientist was the last to descend; the doors to the passage closed after the three vacated the gassed room.

  Meanwhile, resistance outside was thinning away. Most of the fortress defenders had fallen to the Albertan force; those who survived opted to surrender to the attackers rather than share the fate of their slain cohorts. The remaining defenders were lined up; weapons were thrown in a pile while the Albertans bound their arms.

  The entire fortress compound was cleared of opposition, except the fifth building, where soldiers gathered around and expected their commander to return with a captured Gray Fox or with the crime lord's corpse. Minutes passed, and neither Cecil von Schild nor the men who were with him emerged from the open doorway. One of the captains finally decided not to wait for them.

  "You there-" an officer spoke to a band of riflemen. "Come with... what in the Creator's name...!?" There was a chain of seven explosions, followed by the collapse of the entire fifth building. The surrounding parties were swallowed by a great cloud of dust and debris.

  ????

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  The soft grumbling of the earth assured The Gray Fox that he could not be followed by any relief force that would be sent to intercept his escape. He estimated the leveled fortress building had sealed the trapdoor to the escape tunnel and that the chaos the explosion generated would shake off the soldiers' focus on pursuing him. Dust and bits of rock that were dislodged from the blast fell on the crime lord and the remaining two aides who were carrying the still-unconscious commander.

  A heavy iron scent of ages-old mold and slime pierced through the scientists' mask filters as the gritty air hung around and settled, clouding their eye-shielding, which annoyed the leader to the extent that he fanned his arms in a vain effort to drive off the dusty atmosphere. Purplish, partial darkness clung to their white gowns, which were now mottled with brown specks of fine, compacted earth. Their pace was greatly slowed down by the heavy load The Gray Fox's assistants were burdened with; soft squeaks made with the trampling of boots over slime-laden ground echoed and were twice louder than they should be.

  The escape tunnel spanned more than three-fourths of a kilometer. Its walls were marked with flickering lamps that crackled and fizzed; whatever was the last of the energy, the lighting system was soon to be spent. The Gray Fox imagined the Albertan contingent had taken over the generator rooms and shut down the power plants for good. General von Schild's hulking mass proved to be more of a challenge for his assistants to lift or even drag as they found it hard to keep up with their leader (and keep their rifle barrels from hitting their heads), even with the partly slippery path could not help much with their load. No attention was given to their slow progress - there was no hurry to flee the place when the enemy could not find them. How refreshing a hot bath would be once he leaves this place, the crime lord thought.

  He unscrewed the filters, for there was no reason to breathe in the odor once he boarded the escape vessel. Heavy filter sponges landed in three dull thuds, half-submerged in a stagnant puddle. The Gray Fox drew new filter wool and screwed the mask's filter case shut. He somehow thanked that pungent, repulsive chemical; he would rather bear with the odor shortly than to be hauled in chains by the Empire's men. There was a scent of cavern slime that crawled inside the breathing mask

  The leader saw a small group of men, around two dozen, scattered all over what looked to be a subterranean port. Clouds of thick white steam rose from a dorsal fin-like projection attached to an aquatic vehicle that resembled an upturned spoon. The sleek vessel lacked masts; only the smooth slope resembling a tower or bridge was seen apart from thin, angled steel that broke the sleekness of the vessel. One might mistake it for a capsized ship ready to sink. Anyone who would be ready to take to the water would see that only a third of the vessel was surfaced, and its real hull was underwater. Men in green coats rushed to the two now-weary assistants and carried the captured commander to the vehicle's interior. Fizzling debris and rumbling rock urged the group to flee the doomed facility.

  Explosions were ongoing above where they stood; some made loud blasts and caused the ceiling to shake.

  The Gray Fox was second to the last to enter the vehicle through a hatch placed not too far from the triangular-shaped exhaust. One of the green coats in charge of loosening the vessel's restraints closed the circular door with a soft clang. Fins located on the dorsal attachment's back prevented the vehicle from letting out steam. Water moved and splashed from the vessel as it broke away from its moorings and went farther from the port. The hull gradually sank and took in more water until the vehicle vanished when it entered the open sea.

  "Let the Empire choke on the dust and ash of my stronghold. No matter, I have what I need to continue my work elsewhere. It should take a while before those dogs pick up my scent again."

  He looked at the doomed fortress from the nearest window. All the equipment and personnel lost this day would take a while to recover, but it did not matter. Precious data was saved, and he was confident that the explosives had burned all his research evidence beyond anyone's recognition. The Imperial commander slept somewhere in the ship's belly, oblivious of what the enemy had planned for him. Nothing but water could be seen; the thin pillars of brightness that gave the seawater its sheen were being dissolved by the depths. Even the sight of the blue sea was gradually swallowed in darkness as the vehicle cruised past the doomed fortress, past the Imperial ships shelling the island, and into the deeper reaches of the Arentz.

  talk, to an audience?