Interstellar

by Bob Mayer

  Arcturus was looking about. “This was once a wonderful place. Full of knowledge. Hope.”

  “When was that?”

  “A long, long time ago,” Arcturus said.

  “How many years have you lived, Arcturus?” Moroi asked. “We first met when you helped Orlock and I escape Atlantis as youngsters. Unless you have partaken of the grail, it is not possible for you to still be alive.”

  Arcturus turned to her and smiled. “And you never asked. Until now.”

  “I assumed you had tasted the grail,” Moroi said, “and have in your blood, what I have in mine. Perhaps purer.”

  “Have you stopped assuming that?”

  “You knew we’d been following you and Bren for a while, before you lit your pipe. We stayed well behind Isengrim, of course. Lighting your pipe was simply a way of having us show ourselves and informing Isengrim to let us pass. Where is she, by the way?”

  “She is about.”

  Moroi continued. “I heard you talking to the Walker. Questioning her and teasing with vague answers. You told her this tower wasn’t built by the Airlia and now speak of it as if you were in it then. And you bring me here. So perhaps finally be forthright and speak your truth?”

  “A valid point,” Arcturus said. “It would be easier if I showed you why we’re here. Come.” He led the way to opposite wall from the stairs. “When one sees a tower they automatically look up. But as you know, it is easier to hide below.” He placed his hand on the wall.

  Something clicked and a section of floor dropped three inches and then slid aside, revealing dark stairs descending in the same circular manner as those going up. “All the years the wargs occupied the tower, they never found this. Not that they could have opened it. I was one of the few authorized.”

  Moroi followed as Arcturus descended into the darkness. When they were both clear, the stone slid back into place, plunging them into absolute darkness. A slight green glow came alive from a narrow tube a half inch in diameter running along the top of the descending passage, curving along the wall. It grew brighter until Arcturus waved his hand, stopping it. For a human the line was barely visible.

  “Is this too much?” he asked Moroi. “I can dim it back.”

  “I’m fine. Can you see?”

  In response, Arcturus took the stairs. They descended into the rock base underneath the tower, a wall on either side.

  “I did not know there was a way below the Tower,” Moroi said, her low voice echoing. “Does it link up with the ancient paths?”

  “Yes,” Arcturus said, “but the lock is set for only a select few. I am the only one left.”

  “What happened to the others?”

  “Dust to dust as all must end.”

  The only sound as they went down was Arcturus’s muted footfalls on the stone steps. Moroi was absolutely silent, the leather shoes bound to her feet touching lightly.

  The spiral stairs came to an end in a landing that extended at the same level, curving around.

  Moroi put her hand on the outer wall. “This is the same stone as the tower.” She faced inward. “The tower was built this far down into the rock? Why? What is inside? We must be four hundred feet below the surface.”

  “Four hundred and eighty feet.” Arcturus continued along the corridor, until they were on the far side from where the stairs had terminated. He turned inward and put his hand on the wall. A section of the stone, seven feet high by four-wide pushed forward and then slid to the side.

  “If the wargs never found this place, did the Airlia?” Moroi asked.

  “No.”

  “Then the moving doors aren’t of Airlia construction?”

  “The Airlia use something similar,” Arcturus said.

  “Who designed these?”

  “The people who built the tower.”

  “You speak in circles,” Moroi complained.

  “The Ancients.”

  “Of whom you’ve spoken, but never specify,” Moroi said.

  “Humans from a long time ago,” Arcturus said.

  Rows of vertical green tubes along the wall lit up. The circular room was the same size as the entry room on the main level, but it appeared that floor was the ceiling of this room as the vertical lights extended far above their heads. In the center was an eighteen-inch diameter pole made of silver metal that went from floor to the ceiling four hundred and eighty feet above.

  There were tables and consoles on the floor, some holding devices. There were seven vertical containers, similar to deep sleep tubes, standing upright along the outer wall.

  “What is this?” Moroi asked.

  “A laboratory,” Arcturus said.

  Moroi indicated the tubes. “Do you come here to sleep? Like the Walkers return to their ship?”

  “No. Quite the opposite.”

  “Ah!” Moroi said. “You shift from body to body, like the Walkers, via a ka. That explains your long life.”

  Arcturus didn’t respond, continuing further into the room. Next to the pole was a wood table holding a two-foot high equilateral pyramid. Its surface was smooth black.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” Arcturus said. He put his hands on the surface of the pyramid. It glimmered with light, turning silver. He closed his eyes and became perfectly still. Five seconds later he let go, the silver returned to black.

  “What is—” Moroi begin, but Arcturus shook his head for silence. He still had his eyes closed. He remained still for almost a minute, then opened his eyes. “It takes a while to sort what I learn.”

  “I don’t understand any of this,” Moroi said. “Is that thing some kind of guardian?”

  “I supposed you could call it that.” He nodded. “Yes. It is time. They are coming.”

  “Who?”

  “You’ll know when they arrive,” Arcturus said. “Wargs are going south, scouring this side of the ridge, searching every cave they find. They do not know of the doorways, but they will find some of the old tunnels. You use some of those for storage, do you not? They’re ultimately headed, of course, for the Rift.”

  “There are two hundred?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long until they reach the Rift?”

  “You have time,” Arcturus said.

  “How can that thing tell you this?” Moroi asked.

  “Magic?” Arcturus said.

  “I am not a human to be trifled with,” Moroi said, voice edged with anger. “Nor a Walker.”

  “No, you are not,” Arcturus agreed. “This pyramid is a guardian and can tap into the Airlia’s master guardian on top of the Citadel-Tower. Not control it, that can only be done via Excalibur or Anubis’s Staff. But I can learn things. More than the Airlia can.”

  “How did it come to be here if the Airlia never learned of this place?”

  “We built it,” Arcturus said. “Myself and my comrades. A long time ago.”

  “The more you tell me, the more confused I get,” Moroi admitted.

  “You saw things when you were a youngster in the Duats under the Citadel-Tower. Terrible things. Your level of knowledge about the Airlia is much the same as that of the two Walkers, who are from another world like this.” Arcturus pointed up. “The Airlia came here a long, long time ago. Established the Citadel-Tower as their base. Dispersed humans all around the planet. Over time the number of Airlia stationed here lessened as they were needed elsewhere in their empire. Their mothership was an older model, redesigned for this mission without weapons. They only have two talons remaining, instead of the usual complement of twelve for a mothership. One talon doesn’t fly anymore.”

  “The one at the amphitheater on First Wall,” Moroi said.

  “Yes. They used the other a long time ago to position it there as part of the defensive scheme and to cannibalize parts. They made the moving and emplacement part of their religious lore.”

  “All have heard of it,” Moroi acknowledged.

  Arcturus continued. “However, their means of communication with the Empire still
works. It’s on Isis. Osiris is in charge of it. Exiled there with the transmitter. I imagine he’s in deep sleep most of the time other than scheduled maintenance. But they’ve lost contact with their Sentinels, a warning system around this star system to detect any ships transitioning from faster than light travel. Which means they’d have little warning if a Swarm Battle Core shows up. Not that a warning would help other than give time to prepare for reaping. They also lost contact with their Msats, small satellites in the sky above us that were their surface surveillance. That is a big factor in why they’ve retreated back to Atlantis and rarely venture forth. They don’t know what’s going on, except for Anubis’s spies. They have neither the expertise nor, I believe, the willingness to do the work to regain control or even discover what is wrong with many of their systems.”

  “How did these machines fail?” Moroi asked, trying to process this deluge of information.

  Arcturus indicated the black pyramid. “I made them apparently malfunction in such a way that the Airlia think they are beyond repair.”

  “’Apparently’? Are they?”

  “No. They are under my control.”

  “Why?” Moroi asked.

  Arcturus smiled. “I’ve known you a long time my friend and your why is not about the satellites or Sentinels, is it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I can’t tell you much more than it is time. Let us focus on the tasks at hand.”

  “Why have you told me all this? I don’t even understand half of what you are saying.”

  “To give you hope,” Arcturus said, “and for you to spread that hope. We are more powerful than most imagine.”

  “’We’?” Moroi repeated. “What place will the Nagil have if the humans win? They think of us as monsters who lurk in the dark and drink blood.”

  “You do, don’t you?”

  “Not the blood of innocents. And only rarely. We live on what we can grow in the crevices of the ridge and the livestock we keep.”

  “You will have a place,” Arcturus said. “All must have a place or there is no point.” He gestured. “Come.”

  He led her out of the lab to the outside circular corridor. He traveled a seventh of the way around, before stopping and opening an outward door. He pointed. “Go that way. It will link up with a feeder tunnel to your Mainline. You will know where you are then and can go to the Rift.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Prepare.”

  “What?”

  “For what I have been waiting for.”

  Moroi paused in the entrance. “You have not told me who you really are. How you can do all the things you’ve just told me.”

  “All will be revealed shortly,” Arcturus said. “Prepare your people in the Rift. Consider what you will do when the Great Alliance draws close. There will be war. Whether you want to or not, your people will have a role in it. And watch over Orlock. He grieves deeper than he will show.”

  LIONS HEAD, ATLANTIS, EARTH15

  Horus grabbed Excalibur’s hilt and drew it from the crystal stone and sheath. The interior of the sphere flickered with various images, then settled on an image from the far side of the larger moon, Isis.

  A large dish, three thousand meters across, was dug into the surface of the moon. There were three, fifteen-hundred-meter-high pylons evenly spaced about the perimeter of the dish. Each one curved inward slightly. From the top of each strut, cables stretched inward, meeting at a mesh holding a two-meter diameter green crystal above the center of the dish.

  Nearby, in an underground base, was the control center for the FTL transmitter. Since all systems showed positive, Horus saw no need to wake Osiris from his deep slumber. Osiris hadn’t been particularly capable before Isis’s mistake and afterward he’d been barely functional.

  Horus took Excalibur to a console and slid the blade into a slot on the side, activating it. Hexagonal panels were lit from within, marked with high runes. He noted that there were unread messages spooled. It appeared Osiris had not seen to his duties in a while. However, it always seemed there were messages waiting to be decrypted, most the usual bureaucratic nonsense. First things first.

  He activated the FTL transmitter. The green crystal in the center of the array powered up.

  *****

  As Arcturus prepared to leave the lab deep under Wormehill Tower, the pyramid flashed. He returned and placed his hands on the surface.

  *****

  Horus typed out his message requesting assistance. Once the message was finished, he encrypted it, then hit transmit.

  The green crystal in the center of the array on Isis pulsed and the short burst was sent to a distant relay where it would be redirected to Fleet HQ.

  Horus then scanned the list of incoming and their priorities. Almost all were routine, something he could leave for the next shift to deal with or Osiris when he stirred. If he’d looked closely, he would have noticed by the dates, that the shift before had done the same. As had the shift before them. That Osiris had ignored his duties for far too long.

  What did catch his eye was the flashing orange message, indicating the highest priority. It was recent. He pulled it off the spool, engaged the decryption in Excalibur and read the content as it played across the console.

  *****

  Arcturus read the incoming message faster than Horus. Then he read the one the Airlia had just sent, requesting aid. He removed his hands and the pyramid went dark. He departed, retracing his steps to the surface.

  *****

  One hundred meters below the Great Hall of the Citadel-Tower and extending outward to the edge of the shield, were the Roads of Rostau. These tunnels led to the six divisions of the duat, the standard underground base for an Airlia supervisory force. The shield wall penetrated far into the ground, protecting this Airlia lair.

  Anubis was in one of the duats, standing between what appeared to be two coffins. There were several dozen similar tubes in the chamber. Each was seven feet in length by three wide on a waist high pedestal. Inside each was a body. At the head was a panel with glowing hexagonals, a control similar to what Horus had used.

  Anubis tapped on the panel and the lid of one of the tubes lifted. Inside was a Nagil. The body was corpulent, muscles atrophied. The arms and legs were skin covering bone, not having moved in many years. The chest slowly rose and fell, the only sign of life. The eyes were covered with black patches as there was no need to see inside the darkness of the tube.

  All that was important was the blood running through the host’s arteries and veins. The blood kept the host alive despite this horrendous situation. A tube dripped nutrition directly into the body to be processed. The slurry six inches deep surrounding the body was drained on a regular schedule to wash away waste products.

  Anubis was focused on the line coming out of the neck, going through a filter, and dripping from it into a flask. The filter strained the blood, leaving just the nanites that had reproduced since the human was injected. This was a pittance compared to the amount of blood strained. It was an excruciatingly slow process, as nanites regenerated very, very slowly. Every tube in this chamber had a Nagil in it performing the same task. It was the only way to produce more nanites; the grail was programmed to inject a certain amount in each individual and would not repeat the process on the same person. Thus, this farm of Nagil humans. The number and their function were strictly proscribed according to the number of Airlia on station and limited to this duat.

  She turned a knob, stopping the drip, and removed the flask. Drank deeply. Felt the resurgence of energy that was as much psychological as physical. She replaced the flask and turned the tap back on. She went to another tube and went through the same procedure and took the full one with her.

  She left the duat and walked down the tunnel carved into the stone. She entered another duat that resembled the previous one, except the tubes were larger and they held Airlia. These were deep sleep tubes and put the occupant in a form of suspended animation for however long they were programmed or
until someone interrupted. There were over two hundred tubes, but most were empty. The Tallies over the years had not only taken humans. Every so often orders had accompanied the Tally, taking this or that Airlia away to another assignment. Replacements were fewer than those removed.

  Now there were just fourteen Airlia on Earth15 and Osiris on his sister’s moon.

  Anubis felt a certain degree of satisfaction as she typed in the override awake command for Amun. It would take a while for the system to return his body to consciousness. As she waited, Horus entered. He eyed the flask and she held it out to him.

  He drained it quickly.

  “There was a priority message,” he told his sister when done. “A Battle Core appeared at Orion Fleet Headquarters.”

  Anubis closed her eyes briefly in despair. “Then we are cut off?”

  “No,” Horus said. “Fleet made the decision to fight. They had our Tally accumulated and finally deployed the Teardrops.” He paused.

  “And?” Anubis said.

  “The conflict was in doubt even though some Fleet reinforcements had arrived, but the Battle Core suddenly changed course and FTLed, taking the humans with them. Fleet believes it worked. There were multiple nuclear detonations recorded inside the Core. That had to be from Teardrop. Fleet is certain some of the humans got through.” He gave a tired smile. “There might be a medal or two in store for us since those were our Tallies.”

  “What happened exactly?” Anubis asked.

  “Since the Core FTLed, they don’t know for certain. The best guess is that the humans breached something important inside the Core. Intelligence estimates the Core retreated in order to deal with the threat and repair the damage and not have to battle off Fleet at the same time. Perhaps the Core was so badly crippled the Swarm feared it would lose the battle. It might have been fatally damaged and they departed rather than let the Core be captured.”