Interstellar

by Bob Mayer

  “You were right,” Bren allowed. “There’s no way they could have gotten here before us as the Lion’s Road takes twists and turns in the forest.” She pulled out her disk, checked it. The arrow angled south. “They are coming though.” Bren sat in the small widening of the ancient trail where Arcturus had decided to halt.

  Arcturus drank from a wood canteen he removed from his pack. “Who built the tower?”

  “Another question where you know the answer,” Bren said. “The white stone is like nothing I’ve seen on the planet.”

  “You assume the Airlia built the tower? Correct?”

  “Certainly,” Bren said. “Why wouldn’t I? They built Atlantis. Or did that exist, like you, prior to them arriving?”

  “The Airlia built Atlantis,” Arcturus acknowledged. “You had a Citadel-Tower like it on your world, did you not?”

  “We did.”

  “How did you destroy it?”

  “From within. While the shield wall is very effective at stopping an attack from outside, if one can infiltrate the tunnels underneath and detonate one of the atomic weapons they keep there, the shield wall contains the blast. Nothing is left.”

  “That is what you hoped your spy in Atlantis would help you do here, correct? Did you corrupt an acolyte? Bend him or her to your cause?”

  Bren didn’t answer. “Why don’t you fill me in on what I don’t know instead of dragging me through the burning coals of my ignorance?”

  “I want you to see that your assumptions have skewed your knowledge,” Arcturus said. “And your actions. You know the Airlia are an alien race. You know they brought humans to this world to breed them for the Tally. To fight in their war against the Swarm, although who is to say they haven’t used humans in their other wars? There are more Scale species than just Airlia, humans and Swarm among the stars.”

  “Yet you say you were here before the Airlia,” Bren said. She pointed to the valley. “I know the North Wall and East Tower were built by human slaves as directed by wedjat and wargs.” From Wormehill Tower, which was on a spur a quarter mile up on the west ridge, a fifteen-foot-high stone wall stretched across the valley to a smaller tower on the east ridge. That tower was built of local, gray stone. As was the wall. The wall was in varying states of degradation, breached in several spots.

  “How did you drop the Shakur?” Arcturus asked. “Your nose has stopped bleeding, but whatever you did caused your body to react.”

  “A person has to have her secrets,” Bren said.

  “Why have secrets now?” Arcturus wondered. “I know who you are. Where you came from. I know where your ship is hidden.”

  Bren’s hand went to her dagger. “How do you know that?”

  “You were followed during one of the few times you were not sleeping, waiting for weapons to develop that never did.”

  “You? And I never saw you?”

  “Not by me.”

  “Who?”

  “I was told it was not hard.” Arcturus tapped the stone beneath them. “Others know these paths.” He smiled. “You’re already thinking where to move your ship. That would be more dangerous than leaving it in place. Especially since I’ve known the location for a long time and done nothing.”

  “Was it Isengrim?” She looked about. “Is she close?”

  “Close enough,” Arcturus said.

  Bren slapped her knee in frustration. “I don’t understand you or what you’re doing with me. I’ve told you the truth about where I’m from and why I’m here. You’ve told me nothing.”

  Arcturus disagreed. “I’ve told and given you a great deal. Most importantly, I’ve gotten you here before those who have what you want.” He pointed at her. “You have something in your head, Bren the Walker. Something you can use in emergencies. I felt a taste of it from where I was watching when you activated it.”

  “From where you were spying.”

  “I suspect it’s not organic,” Arcturus said. “An implant makes the most sense. Perhaps like the thing you took out of Markus’s brain and have in your pocket? But it needs an energy source. From the blood and how stunned you were after using it, I suspect it used your brain’s natural electricity. A dangerous tool. I imagine you can’t use it often without suffering serious damage. You could probably suicide with it if pressed in the extreme.”

  Bren didn’t reply.

  “I also suspect the implant has a cutoff switch of some sort,” Arcturus said. “One that will stop mental probing, such as if you were forced to make physical contact with a Guardian computer. The problem for your friend, Markus, is that he won’t have the cut off if his ka is attached directly to the Guardian. They won’t get into his brain but they will get his last upload.”

  “Which is why we are here,” Bren said. “To make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “It’s ‘we’ now?” Arcturus chuckled. “Over the years it was noted that the two of you rarely traveled together. That was to ensure one of you could do what you are now if the other met an untimely death: Recover the other’s ka, take it back to your ship, and download the essence into another body. I assume you have some sort of machine that grows a clone of your bodies on board? Puts the implant in? Bodies with blank minds that are prepared to host an upload.”

  Bren stood and leaned on a boulder, looking over it to the south. “How soon before the raiding party gets here?”

  “I don’t know how fast they’re moving, so how can I answer that? What do you plan on doing when they arrive? There are many Shakur. If my counting in the dark and subtraction after Markus’s fight and your ambush is correct, eighteen. And two wargs. Going to battle them by yourself? Or use what is in your head to knock them out?”

  “What is in my head is for life-saving emergencies,” Bren said. “And dangerous as you note. But this is a life-saving situation if there is no other way.” She met his gaze. “Since you claim to already know where our ship is, I want to ask something of you.”

  Arcturus raised an eyebrow, waiting. He took a puff on his pipe and blew out the smoke.

  “I will kill the two wargs first, then activate my device. It should knock out all the Shakur for long enough for you to do what needs be. To knock out that many, I must use it to the maximum; beyond the maximum. It will most likely kill me. At the very least, I will be severely incapacitated. Either way, make sure I am dead, take my ka and Markus’s ka back to our ship. As you suspected, there are fresh bodies ready to be uploaded. It is a simple—” she stopped as Arcturus raised his hand.

  “Stop, please,” he said. “No need for such drama. We’ve only just met and you want me to hold your life, and your companion’s life, in my hands? Literally? Besides. It’s a stupid plan.”

  “Do you have a better one? We should have gone down there in the dark like I said.”

  “I’ll think on a plan.”

  “You’ll think on it? Certainly. That gives me great comfort.” Bren turned the other way and looked at the tower. “Who made it?”

  “The Ancients,” Arcturus said. “The people who were here and gone long before the Airlia arrived.”

  “Your people.”

  “No. Before my people. This tower was old when my people walked the planet. And my people were also gone long before the Airlia arrived. The universe is beyond age. Civilizations rise and fall and have no idea what went before. Entire solar systems evolve and are destroyed. Stars born and burnt out. The one constant is change.”

  “What happened to your people?”

  “Swallowed by their own hubris,” Arcturus said. “They thought they were better than they were.”

  “More riddles.”

  “Riddles can be solved if one works at them.”

  “Did the Airlia make these Ancients?”

  “No.”

  “Humans are a species of natural origin?”

  Arcturus didn’t answer.

  Bren thought it through. “If that’s true, then we were conquered by the Airlia?”

  “Humans were
conquered by themselves long before the Airlia arrived in this part of the universe.”

  “You speak nonsense.”

  “And if it isn’t nonsense?” Arcturus asked. “What does that do to your beliefs?”

  “It doesn’t change the fact the Airlia have enslaved us and need to be overthrown.” Bren glanced up. “It will be day-shade soon. You said they’ll be meeting a sky-chariot at the Tower. How do you know this?”

  “I heard.”

  “Who?”

  “Some of the Shakur,” Arcturus said. “Speaking among themselves. After they killed Markus. There are still eighteen Shakur and two wargs. How do you propose getting the sword and ka from them without exploding your brain?”

  “You told me you were thinking about it. Nothing come to you?”

  “A thought or two but it’s only been a minute,” Arcturus said, “Plus, I wanted to give you the opportunity since you claim to be a warrior.”

  “Can you fight?” Bren asked.

  “I am old and carry but a staff.”

  “What about Isengrim?”

  “I can’t make that decision for her.” Arcturus shook his head. “Two against twenty? I do not like those odds.”

  “I yield to your age and wisdom,” Bren said. “Do you have any suggestion?”

  “We could ask them for help.” Arcturus pointed with his pipe.

  Bren whirled about, hand going to the hilt of her sword. Five tall, dark-cloaked figures loomed on the rocks above them on both side of the trail. Two more were on the trail. Their faces were hidden by hoods. On their belts were sheaths holding weapons unlike any Bren had seen: short, double-edged, somewhere between a dagger and a true sword.

  “It is rare for you to be out in the day time, Moroi,” Arcturus said. He nodded at the other one. “Orlock. It’s been a while.”

  “It is rare for you to walk through my realm and not allow us to pay respect, Arcturus,” the figure on the trail to the left, whom he’d addressed as Moroi, replied. She pulled her hood back, revealing pale skin, short red hair, and a wide black cloth wrapped around her head, covering her eyes. “Who is this?” She pointed at Bren.

  “One of the Walkers,” Arcturus said. “Her companion is dead and we go after his sword.”

  “Who are they?” Bren said to Arcturus, hand still on the sword, but she didn’t draw it. “How does she know me? Why is she blindfolded?”

  “We’ve talked about you, Bren the Walker,” Moroi said. “Your travels do not go un-noticed among those who notice.”

  “Are they the Ancients?” Bren asked.

  “No,” Arcturus said.

  The other figure, Orlock, pulled his hood back. He was very similar in appearance to Moroi, his hair slightly shorter. He also had a black cloth wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

  “Who are they?” Bren asked once more.

  “We can hear you,” Moroi said.

  “Forgiveness,” Bren said. “Who are you?”

  “Moroi. And this is my brother Orlock.”

  “Why do you cover your eyes?”

  “The sun bothers us.” Moroi turned to Arcturus. “You did not tell her whose land she traipses through?”

  “No,” Arcturus said.

  “But you summoned us,” Orlock said.

  Arcturus held up the pipe. “That I did.”

  Moroi smiled, revealing smooth, very white, teeth, with overly large incisors. “It’s been a while, Arcturus, our old friend.” She waved a hand and the five on the rocks leapt out of sight. “There is traffic traveling north along the Lion’s Road. Eighteen Shakur and two wargs. Do they have what you seek?”

  “Yes,” Bren replied. “You can see through the cloth?”

  “I can see.” Moroi walked past her, past Arcturus and looked to the north. “With more than my eyes. There is trouble in Atlantis. Great unease.”

  “I know,” Arcturus said.

  “Of course, you would,” Moroi said.

  “How are you aware of what happens in Atlantis?” Bren addressed the question to both Moroi and Arcturus.

  Moroi put a hand on the stone. “The earth speaks to us.”

  Orlock laughed. “I like that, sister. Very ominous and mysterious.”

  Bren cut to the quick. “Will you help us?” she asked Moroi. Then to Orlock. “Please?”

  Orlock looked at Arcturus. “’Us’? You are with her?”

  “We were just discussing that,” Arcturus said. “She seems to believe that because I guided her here, that I am embroiled in her predicament.”

  Orlock smiled. “She has a point, old man. You have a knack for involving yourself in the affairs of others.”

  “Not often,” Arcturus said. “And my involvement is usually for the better, is it not?”

  Orlock nodded. “It is.”

  “How far away are they?” Bren asked Moroi.

  “Two miles south on the road,” Moroi replied.

  “Is there a way to get down there?” Bren asked.

  “Yes.” Moroi replied. She pointed. “You can step over the edge. Gravity will do the rest.”

  Bren slapped the hilt of her sword in frustration. “Is there a safe way?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you show me?”

  “Why?” Moroi asked. “The troubles below don’t concern my people.”

  Orlock gave her a sharp glance and appeared about to say something, but didn’t. Then he looked at Arcturus. “Is that true, our old friend?”

  “I am afraid not,” Arcturus said to Orlock and Moroi, surprising Bren. “An army will be coming north to fight. They should lose, as they always do. But the Airlia seem to be getting, shall we say, unpredictable? As you said: losing their grip. The Tallies are coming closer together. Something is going on that is larger than this small world.”

  “Are the stars speaking to you, Arcturus?” Moroi asked.

  “They are,” Arcturus said.

  “Then I suppose we should listen to them,” Moroi said.

  “It will be day-shade soon,” Orlock said to Moroi.

  “I can see Isis rising, brother. You think we should help?” she asked him.

  “Fresh blood,” Orlock said.

  Moroi smiled. “Of course. Fresh blood, but Shakur. Dirty people.” She turned to Arcturus. “Do you truly think we should? We will do whatever you wish as we are your eternal debt.”

  Arcturus nodded. “Yes.”

  “Come.” Moroi led the way.

  Arcturus followed, with Bren behind him. Orlock fell in at the rear. They backtracked fifty feet and Moroi suddenly made a right, slipping into a crack in the ridge wall that Bren hadn’t noticed when they came through at the run. She had to adjust her blanket roll to pass through the tight opening. They entered a cave, the only light from the crack behind them.

  Bren was startled when Orlock whispered in her ear. “Take my hand.”

  Bren glanced at him and in the dim light saw he had removed the cloth over his eyes. They were red on red with vertical pupils, cat-like. She drew her sword, stepping back. “You are Airlia!”

  Arcturus shoved himself between the two. “They are not. They are my friends.”

  “The eyes!” Bren said. “They are Airlia.”

  “Our hearts are human,” Moroi said. She held up a hand, spreading five fingers. “If not for the eyes, you would have no idea.”

  “The hair and pale skin doesn’t help,” Orlock added.

  “I don’t understand,” Bren said.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Arcturus said. “We can explain it later. They are Nagil and I vouch for them. Do you want their help or not?”

  Bren sheathed her sword.

  Orlock’s hand closed over hers, the skin cool and dry. A door rumbled open in the rock and darkness beckoned. Moroi led, holding Arcturus’s hand. Bren followed, allowing Orlock to guide her in the six-foot-wide tunnel. Arcturus did not light his staff.

  Bren could see nothing, but the floor was smooth. She could tell she was descending
but beyond that was uncertain about direction as they seemed to turn every so often. It wasn’t just disorienting but also frightening because they moved swiftly in the pitch black.

  LION’S HEAD, ATLANTIS, EARTH15

  In the Great Hall, on the ground level of the Citadel-Tower, three hundred humans waited in line, closely guarded by a company of warrior-guides. A cluster of wedjats in red robes fringed with black stood on a balcony, supervising. The humans in line wore the white robes of acolytes, hoods covering their heads. Two wedjats stood next to the acolyte at the front of the line. The normal amount of time spent in supplication at the acolyte level inside second wall was five years, but had recently been reduced to four years and today, those with three and a half were being promoted to wedjat.

  This was their first time inside the Citadel-Tower and despite the strict discipline imposed, many were trying to sneak glances at the impressive architecture, although the hoods limited their vision. The Hall was over half a mile in circumference with a ceiling that arced overhead, reaching an opening two hundred feet above them. The walls and ceiling were of black metal, the alloy of the Airlia, the same used for the skin of the mothership. There was an opening in the apex that extended the height of the tower. If one stood directly in the center and looked up, the control sphere would be visible three thousand feet over their heads. Above it, blocked from view, was the master guardian.

  The ceremony had been delayed for hours while the events in the courtyard played out. Now, the control sphere retracted to one side and the master guardian floated down. The acolytes watched in awe, having never seen this before. The high wedjats and wargs watched the acolytes. The guardian settled on the floor of the Great Hall, in the exact center.

  A door opened at the rear of a slightly higher balcony on the far side of the chamber from the high wedjat.

  A wedjat on the floor spotted Anubis and called out. “All kneel!”

  The wargs remained standing, on alert, a recent change to their standing operating procedures, while everyone else knelt, head bowed.