Interstellar

by Bob Mayer

  A Nagil standing watch called out. To the far north, on top of the ridgeline was a thick plume of smoke.

  “What is that?” Moroi asked.

  “The beacons of Atlantis have been lit,” Arcturus said. “This has not happened for a long time. The Airlia are summoning the Hegemony to send its army.”

  “The odds grow longer against us,” Orlock said.

  “Odds can be changed,” Arcturus said.

  “It means the Airlia are afraid,” Bren said. “They call out for help. It will take the Hegemony time to assemble their army and for it to complete the march to Atlantis. This is a good sign.”

  Orlock and Moroi exchanged a glance.

  “Her optimism doesn’t seem contagious,” Arcturus noted.

  Orlock suddenly held up a fist and all the Nagil scattered, taking up defensive positions, facing north. Bren drew her sword. Then Orlock pointed up and to the left, opening his hand. The Nagil relaxed as a stone slid open and a Nagil in a mottled grey and brown cloak appeared out of a tunnel. The door closed behind as the Nagil ran to Moroi and Orlock and knelt in front of them.

  “Elders,” the Nagil said. “There was an execution during the night on the cross on top of the Sphinx.” He described the man and the event.

  “The person your partner Markus was to meet, was he not?” Arcturus asked Bren.

  She nodded.

  “He never made it out of Atlantis,” Arcturus said. “And gave up the time and location of the meeting before being put on the cross.”

  “What else?” Moroi prompted the spy.

  “There is much activity. The wargs are assembling. Word has gone into the Wilds that Shakur and any others who fight for money are welcome. Generous bonuses are being offered along with the usual hints of the Grail.” He gestured over his shoulder. “As you can see, the beacons summon the Hegemony.”

  “The Airlia are preparing for the Great Alliance,” Bren said. “Do you know what strength they muster in Atlantis?”

  “This is my man,” Moroi said.

  “Pardon,” Bren said, bowing in apology.

  “Continue,” Moroi said.

  “Two elements have already departed Atlantis, marching south. The first, two hundred wargs, is heading for West Ridge and the Rift. The other, four hundred wargs and a thousand Shakur march for the North Wall to ready it for defense in preparation for a large army that is assembling.” The spy looked up. “The first force is to search for the Nagil with orders to kill all. They expect us to be in the Rift.”

  Orlock laughed. “Two hundred wargs?”

  “As noted,” Arcturus said, “the Airlia have no clue as to your true numbers.”

  The spy spoke. “The word is Horus will lead the advance force to the North Wall. Anubis will fly a talon for support once the main force arrives at the wall. They plan on waking another of their kind to man the Citadel-Tower while they are gone.”

  “How do you know all this?” Bren asked, earning a sharp look from Arcturus.

  Moroi answered. “The walls have ears in the Citadel-Tower.”

  “There is something else,” the spy said, dropping his eyes, reluctant to finish his report.

  “Speak,” Moroi ordered.

  The spy looked at Orlock. “Your daughter is dead, prince. She attempted to kill Anubis while the latest acolytes were being converted. She got close, but Horus shot her.”

  Orlock closed his eyes for several seconds. Then he nodded. “Is that all?”

  “Yes, prince.”

  “Rejoin your unit.”

  The spy walked away.

  “I am sorry,” Moroi said to Orlock.

  “My condolences,” Arcturus said. “I remember when she was just a young girl. A great loss.”

  “She acted without orders,” Orlock said, but there was no power to his words.

  “She must have thought she had a chance,” Moroi said. “It was within the scope of her mission if she had the opportunity.”

  Orlock nodded, but didn’t reply.

  A strange sound echoed down the valley, a howl from a Nagil scout on high ground sounding a warning.

  “A sky-chariot comes,” Moroi said. She raised her hand and signaled. The Nagil scattered into the forest and rocks. “Come,” she said to Arcturus and Bren.

  She led them to a narrow space between boulders, with a view of Wormehill Tower. A disc-shaped Airlia ship came to a hover above the Tower, waiting for some sign from the raiding party.

  “How long will it remain?” Bren asked Arcturus.

  “However long the pilot wants,” he responded. “If it is being flown by the guardian, then however long it was programmed to wait. Regardless, it will not land unless it is given the correct signal by the wargs.”

  “Why didn’t the Airlia send it further south, to North Stone?” Bren wondered. “Seems that would have been easier.”

  Orlock answered. “The Airlia are afraid of losing a ship. Either a scout or a talon. They will not land unless it is safe. And they will not land in Southren.”

  “Why?” Bren asked.

  Moroi looked at her. “You are full of questions for someone who has been on this planet so long.”

  “She slept most of that time,” Arcturus said. “You have been awake longer than her. Tell the Walker how many years you’ve seen,” he prompted Moroi.

  “Two hundred and sixty-years,” Moroi said.

  “And that is without any deep sleep,” Arcturus added.

  “How can that be?” Bren asked, but she knew the answer. “Your Airlia blood. You have some of the immortality of the Grail. And you are part Airlia, who naturally live longer.”

  “Phhw,” Arcturus snorted. “It’s not magic, nor is it the power of a god. Didn’t your people learn that? Nanites, tiny machines, in the blood is what gives them very, very long lives. That is one of the gifts of the Grail. But neither they or the Airlia are immortal.”

  “They didn’t send a ship to land farther south,” Orlock said, “because while you were sleeping about eighty years ago, with Arcturus’s assistance, we captured a scout ship and disabled its guardian link. The Airlia have no clue what happened to it, only that it disappeared. They don’t want to take the chance of a re-occurrence.”

  Bren tapped the ka around her neck. “I need to get to my ship.”

  “Yes. And bring your companion back to life,” Arcturus said. “But there is much else going on that we must decide about, since you started this Great Alliance.”

  “When will your army get here?” Moroi asked Bren.

  Orlock intervened. “If they get here. If Anubis flies the talon, it will blast them before reaching the North Wall. They’ll be lucky if any make it. What remains, if they still persist in coming this way, will easily be defeated and end up on crosses.”

  “Not if they take the ancient paths,” Arcturus said. He looked at Moroi and Orlock, waiting.

  “It is not our war,” Moroi said.

  “It is our war,” Orlock disagreed. “We have blood vested in it.”

  “You speak from grief,” Moroi said. “That is understandable. But we cannot defeat the Airlia. We must do what we can to survive. We have lived this long by not bringing attention to ourselves.”

  “But you have Horus’s and Anubis’s attention now,” Arcturus pointed out.

  “We will show the Alliance the ancient paths,” Orlock said.

  “I suggest,” Arcturus said, “that Orlock accompany Bren to her ship. He can get her to where it is hidden in Hegemony much quicker than if she goes on her own.”

  “Is this your war?” Moroi asked the old man.

  “I am not an advocate of war,” Arcturus said.

  “Then why are you involved?” Moroi asked.

  “Because what is happening will happen whether I am involved or not,” Arcturus said. “Things must play out.”

  “’Play out’?” Orlock said. “What does that mean? People are dying.”

  “There is death everywhere in the universe,” Arcturus sai
d. “But there has been a great shift in the forces of life.”

  “What are you talking about?” Moroi asked. “What shift? Where?”

  Arcturus shook his head. “What is unfolding is much larger than any of us.”

  “You speak in riddles,” Orlock said. “As is your wont.”

  “It is a not a riddle to be perplexed by things we do not understand,” Arcturus said. “But time will make all clear.”

  “Look.” Orlock pointed.

  The Airlia scout ship was moving to the west and disappeared over the ridge.

  “We will do as you request,” Moroi said to Arcturus. “You saved us and have always been correct over the years.” She issued orders. “Orlock, will you accompany Bren? I will send guides south to meet this Great Alliance and show them the ancient paths.” She looked at Bren. “Humans fear us as shadows in the night. As monsters. They will need something from you in order to gain an audience with King Cetic and for him to believe them. Strange as it might seem, he might not be willing to trust us.”

  “I know what to write,” Bren said. “There is one with the army, a woman named Drusa, who they should first bring word to. She is All-Life. Her mind is more open.”

  Arcturus retrieved a scroll of paper with pen and ink from his pack and handed them to Bren. “Here.”

  As she wrote, the old man walked off with Orlock, an arm around his shoulder. “I am sorry about your daughter. Did you send her there or did Moroi?”

  “We both agreed to her request to serve,” Orlock said. “It is dangerous duty to keep eyes and ears on the Airlia and she felt she had to do her part. She did have the latitude, if there was a good opportunity, to kill one or both of the Airlia.”

  “Understandable,” Arcturus said. “There has been too much death and I fear there will be more. I need you to go with Bren. You can get her there quickly.” He lowered his voice so the others could not hear. “And there are some things you must do then.” He quickly whispered the plan to the elder Nagil. When he was done, Orlock nodded. They returned to the others as Bren handed what she had written to Moroi.

  “Come,” Orlock said to Bren. He pointed at a narrow trail that ran to the southeast. “That way. Go ahead.”

  Bren shouldered her bed roll and began down the path. Behind her Orlock kept his back to Moroi and Arcturus. He brought the sleeves of his black cloak to his face and wiped away a tear tinged with red.

  Then he followed her.

  *****

  Inside the MDAC, Anubis had not been surprised that there was no sign of the raiding party. Horus had been the one to decree not flying south of North Wall after the loss of an MDAC years ago, but Anubis knew it was time for more drastic measures. While Horus mucked about with his wargs and Shakur to prepare to do battle, something that enthralled him, she took this opportunity to move things along.

  Six warg sat inside the MDAC. They didn’t marvel at the fact that the floor was transparent and they could see the ground flitting by below. Those whose mind had been altered, marveled at nothing. They were automatons whose will had been completely subsumed. The six wore black cloaks over generic armor and were heavily armed, having discarded their fine armor of the Tower Guard.

  Anubis flew the MDAC west, over that high ridgeline and then south. She accelerated, eating up distance and then crossed back over the ridge to Southren. She brought the craft to a hover over a small field. She waited until a woman came out of the treeline and was peering up, eyes full of fear. Anubis set the craft down, ordering the wargs to lead the way. They exited the top hatch, weapons drawn, making a semi-circle around her.

  “Goddess!” the woman cried out, lying face down in the mud. “I never believed I would have the honor to be—”

  “Shut up,” Anubis snapped, standing on the sloping deck of the craft. “Where is this Great Alliance?”

  The woman kept her head down and pointed. “On the Lion’s Road, Goddess. Seven miles in that direction. They move north, gathering strength. They approach North Stone.”

  “Tell me what this Cetic looks like,” Anubis ordered. “Pay attention,” she told the wargs. “This is one whom you will kill.”

  The woman described the leader of the Great Alliance.

  “He should not be hard to find,” Anubis said as the woman finished with a detailed listing of his many tattoos. “Who is next in command?”

  “Most likely his son, Goddess. Par-rom.”

  “Describe him.”

  The woman did so.

  “He is to die also,” Anubis told the wargs.

  The woman dared to hold up a hand. “Goddess?”

  “Yes?”

  “Par-rom is against the army marching north, Goddess.”

  Anubis considered that. “Do not kill this Par-rom,” she amended to the wargs. She shifted to the woman. “If Cetic is dead, who would be the most powerful who would advocate for the army to continue north?”

  The woman was silent for a few moments. “A blue cloak named Drusa, Goddess.”

  Anubis was surprised. “An All-Life? They abhor war.”

  “She has convinced many of the leaders to follow Cetic. Not for war she says, but to learn the correct questions.”

  “What? What does that mean? To learn questions? You make no sense.”

  “I only say what I saw, Goddess, and heard what I heard.”

  “Do you know what happened to the raiding party?”

  “No, Goddess. As instructed when I left Atlantis, I am here to meet a courier to give my report. I never dreamed you would--”

  “Speak only when I ask you something,” Anubis snapped. “Do you know of the Archaic?”

  “Only rumors, Goddess. I’ve never met anyone who has actually seen him.”

  “Do any of those rumors give a place he might be found, if he were real?”

  “I have heard nothing, Goddess.”

  Anubis turned to the wargs. “Kill Cetic,” she ordered. “Kill the blue-cloak Drusa. Do not kill Par-rom. If you learn of the Archaic, and he exists, track him down and kill him.”

  Without question or reaction, the six headed into the forest. Anubis left her spy lying in the mud as she boarded the MDAC and flew north at top speed and high altitude.

  SWARM BATTLE CORE, INTERSTELLAR, FASTER THAN LIGHT TRANSIT

  Kray moved with the rest of the humans still alive from the Teardrops. He carried the injured woman cradled in his arms. She was squirming, the Swarm parasite trying to make her move even though she was heading in the correct direction; wherever that was.

  All he could see, since he had no control over his eyes, were the black suits of the humans all around him. They were in a very wide tunnel with white walls. He had no idea how long they’d been going down it, but it seemed like hours. With peripheral vision he became aware as the walls and ceiling expanded outward until he couldn’t see them anymore.

  There was a strange sound ahead. It took several seconds to process, before he realized it was humans screaming. His first thought was to wonder how they could do that if the parasite was still controlling them, since he couldn’t speak, never mind scream. Also, it meant the people had taken their helmets off.

  Since he was taller than average, he could see over the helmets of most of those in front of him. There was a strange ripple in the crowd in the distance.

  The woman was beginning to be a burden in his arms, but he didn’t consider dropping her, even though he’d almost fallen twice when his feet hit bodies. The parasite managed to keep him upright, but it wasn’t doing a very good job with anticipating or stepping over such obstacles.

  As he got closer, he realized the ripple was where the forward edge of the mass of humanity was disappearing abruptly from sight. The screaming was emanating from whatever was beyond, which was a comfort because it meant they weren’t falling to their deaths.

  Of course, it also meant they were falling into something that caused them to scream in terror.

  “Travel on through All-Life with joy in your soul,
” Kray whispered.

  PRAYERS FOR THE DYING

  WORMEHILL TOWER, NORTH VALLEY, EARTH15

  “Do you trust the Walkers?” Moroi asked Arcturus as they walked across the narrow stone bridge.

  Below them, water surged and roared through a moat that had been designed by diverting a powerful stream coming down the West Ridge. The stream reached the tower, split in two and poured into the moat, going around either side of the tower, before rejoining, cascading over a waterfall and continuing on its way. Anyone trying to swim the moat would be swept away before they were halfway across.

  The tall twin gates had been blasted open a long time ago and the left one was in splinters on the ground. The right one still hung on twisted hinges, a testament to long dead craftsmen. They paused inside the gate. A forty-foot-wide courtyard ran in a circle between the outer wall and the tower.

  “You did not answer,” Moroi said.

  “Trust?” Arcturus chuckled. “Humans can’t be trusted. They are irrational. They are ruled by emotion. Trust would require consistency. Very few humans are consistent.”

  “Thus, we should not trust you?”

  “That is your choice based on your knowledge of me.”

  “You’re the one being inconsistent now,” Moroi said. “Asking us to get involved in the human’s pathetic battle against the Airlia. It can end only one way. In death.”

  “Your optimism underwhelms,” Arcturus said.

  “But we have trusted you in the past,” Moroi continued. “You brought us out of Atlantis. Helped the All-Life midwives smuggle us.”

  “They paid for it with their lives,” Arcturus said. “But they would have been killed anyway after having been allowed into the Citadel-Tower. Or worse, converted. That would be a terrible thing for an All-Life. I’m not even sure if they could be converted by the guardian. It is an experiment I hope is never attempted.” He led the way to the wide steps leading to the entrance to the tower.

  “What are we doing here?” Moroi asked as they walked up. “There is much I should be readying to defend my people.”

  “You must do more than defend,” Arcturus said as they walked through the open door into Wormehill Tower’s ground level. It was sixty feet in circumference, the old wood floor littered with debris. On the outer wall, a set of steps made of the same white stone curved along the wall, entering the next level.