by Garth Nix
The mountain was easy to spot. It was a great jumble of enormous gray stones shot through with silvery mica, piling up to form a small peak above the rest of the Crookback Range. It even did shine like silver when the sun caught it, though Mount Graystone would have been a more accurate name.
The Grand Projector was harder to make out, but there clearly was some sort of building on top of the mountain. A tower, perhaps seven or eight stories high—and light-colored, so it was hard to see against the sky.
Ella was staring at it, wrinkling her eyes against the sun, when Drum tapped her elbow and said, “Battery warning.”
“But I changed it only an hour ago!” exclaimed Ella, looking down at the red half-charge light flashing. “It was one of the spares, fully charged…. Ah…”
She looked back up at the distant tower on top of the mountain.
“The Grand Projector,” she said. “If it’s draining the batteries at this distance, we won’t have any power left at all when we get close.”
“I haven’t seen any creatures,” offered Drum, shrugging. “So it may not matter.”
“They’ll be there,” said Ella. “Somewhere. Come on.”
It was a hard slog up the access road. The ground rose more than a thousand feet from Vanson up to the ridge, in less than a mile of horizontal distance.
Probably only a ten-minute ride in the cable cars, thought Ella, as she crossed under the cables again, the shadow of one of the pylons giving her a temporary chill.
It was clear they’d only just make the top of the ridge by dusk and would have to seek shelter. The late-afternoon sun was already failing to deliver much heat, and the clouds were coming down. Mount Silverstone had already vanished into their wet, hidden depths, and the ridge would soon follow.
Ella knew that sitting clouds and no wind meant a warmer night than a clear sky and a chilling breeze. But every time they stopped for a rest, the air bit at her face and she felt colder than she ever had before, despite her ski clothes.
Finally the road leveled out on the ridge, sweeping around the cable-car station and a restaurant building to merge with a parking lot still occupied by four-wheel drives, a small bulldozer, and several bright-orange snowmobiles.
Beyond the parking lot, a boarded trail led off along the ridge, across boggy heather till it disappeared into cloud forty yards out. A sign at the trail-head read, MOUNT SILVERSTONE WALKING TRACK. THREE MILES. MEDIUM DIFFICULTY.
“We’d better find some shelter till morning,” panted Ella, leaning forward to massage the muscles at the front of her thighs. “Unless you think we should go on.”
“No,” said Drum, looking out at the befogged track, his breath steaming out in front of him. “I think we’d freeze—and we need a good rest. Better to get a fresh start tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” said Ella absently, noting the only two buildings on the desolate ridge—the cable-car station and a large, multiwindowed structure proclaiming itself AL PINE’S LOOKOUT RESTAURANT.
“Tomorrow,” she continued, still speaking as if trying to convince herself that it was possible. “Tomorrow we destroy the Grand Projector.”
MUSING—ROBERT INGMAN
So I was only fooling myself with the multiple-personality bit. You can’t peel off the unpleasant parts and call them something else.
I betrayed the only chance the children had.
That is the most awful of my many crimes.
If I have a soul, I fear it will not be judged lightly. I doubt that even a forgiving God would accept my sins….
Yet I am still here, and perhaps…perhaps there is some divinely granted chance for me to make amends….
Or else I am truly mad, and all that I know…and feel…now is just the last microseconds of thought surging through the Thinker….
I could have dodged that shot. I saw him lift it, analyzed the muscle patterns in his arm and hand…
But I didn’t.
So why am I still here?
And where is here?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Ninde and Gold-Eye had no idea how long they’d been in the cell when the white-clad Myrmidon Masters came to get them out. Judging by the meals delivered, it was at least thirty-six hours, maybe more. Ninde had a watch, but it had ceased working back on the railway bridge—perhaps from the shock of the grenade explosion.
They’d talked and slept for most of those hours but hadn’t even tried to make love. Desire had slipped away from them. And they felt watched all the time. Both also remembered Shade’s comment about breeding, too, though neither mentioned it.
It was enough to lie together on the bed. To talk about their early lives, the slight differences between their Dorms, the people who’d been important to them. Talk that somehow shared and lessened their unspoken fears without directly mentioning them.
Then the Myrmidon Masters were at the door, two of them filling the frame with their bulky forms. Ninde was in the small bathroom, washing her face, when she heard the door open. For a moment she thought they might take Gold-Eye by himself, and dashed back out, her face still dripping water.
But the Myrmidons wanted both of them, and propelled them out through many corridors and several doors, till they came to a set of double doors ornamented with heavy golden bosses.
Here they waited for a moment till the doors swung open. Beyond lay the Battle Room, with its seven Overlords sitting, lolling, and even sleeping on their thrones of lit stone. Above them scenes of mayhem shone in the domed ceiling, and the whisper of battle filled the room.
Gold-Eye and Ninde were pushed in. Heavy Myrmidon hands on their shoulders forced them to kneel.
“People,” whispered Gold-Eye, looking up at the thrones, up at the faces above the colorful robes. “Old people.”
None of the Overlords paid them any attention. Apart from Gray Crescent, who was asleep, all were focused on the images above them. Gold-Eye looked too and saw that it was about ten in the morning, the sun bright and the shadows short.
Still no one paid them any attention, and they seemed to kneel for at least half an hour before a bell chimed and the battle images faded. At the same time, white-clad Drones entered the room, carrying trays loaded with a great variety of food. These trays were delivered to the Overlords, who finally gazed down at the two captives.
None of them spoke aloud, but there were gestures between them that suggested dialogue, and Gold-Eye noticed the muscles in their throats moved.
Then another Drone entered the room and stood in front of the children, its pale, noseless face devoid of any expression. Slowly it raised the medallion of a mind-call to its forehead and cleared its throat.
“I speak with the voice of Red Diamond,” it said, voice slow and partly swallowed, as if it couldn’t control its tongue. “I require you to demonstrate your power of invisibility.”
With the word invisibility, the Myrmidon behind Ninde tightened its grip on her shoulder, and she yelped with the sudden pain. A grunt from Gold-Eye confirmed he was getting the same treatment.
“It wasn’t anything to do with us,” protested Ninde. “Shade made the Deceptors. I don’t know how they worked.”
“If you do not demonstrate this invisibility, you will be punished,” the Drone continued, ignoring Ninde’s interruption. “This punishment will continue until you do as I ask. If you persist, you will be—”
The Drone stopped in mid sentence as all the Overlords suddenly looked up, responding to something only they could hear or feel.
Gold-Eye and Ninde looked up too, to see a holographic scene swirling into view, filling the whole ceiling of the dome.
“Ella and Drum!” exclaimed Ninde, indescribable joy rising in her as the two familiar faces swam into focus. They were wearing strange clothes and seemed to be on a mountaintop where it was very windy—and next to a pale-gray wall of some kind. Not just to shelter from the wind, because they were running their hands along a crack—no, the faint outline of a door—and then both were looking
down at their belt pouches, doing something…and Ella disappeared, followed a moment later by Drum. They hadn’t moved. They’d just vanished out of the picture.
Ella checked the new battery, then turned her attention back to the slightly indented line that possibly marked a doorframe.
“I have no idea how it opens,” she said despairingly. They were down to their last batteries now. Even a fully charged one lasted only ten minutes this close to the Grand Projector. When the one she had just put on was exhausted, they would be easy prey to any passing Wingers.
“We need those explosives!” Ella shouted in frustration, slapping the concrete. Though secretly she doubted there would have been enough to cut through the door anyway.
The tower that housed the Grand Projector was a fortress—a massive reinforced-concrete structure in the shape of an obelisk. Six stories. No windows. Only the faint outline of a door in one side hinting there was any way in at all.
Ironically, it had clearly been built by humans, not creatures. A faded sign nearby gave the details of the architect and builders, describing it as a “religious temple” constructed for the Church of the Overlords. The builders could never have known what they were constructing: housing for the evil machine that would destroy them and their children.
“This has to open somehow,” said Drum, once again trying to force his pinch bar into the tiniest of cracks—and failing.
“Too late to go back,” murmured Ella, looking up at the concrete tower, fleetingly wondering if they could climb it—and dismissing the idea even as it came.
“Much too late,” said Drum. Something in his tone made her turn around. She followed his gaze and saw the tiny black dots—nine of them—down in the valley near Vanson. Wingers, climbing up toward them.
At the same time, her battery started flashing. Half charge, after only four minutes. Four minutes left till she would be visible to Winger eyes.
As Ella and Drum vanished out of the image, leaving only a windswept mountain and a concrete wall, the Overlords suddenly sprang into action. Red Diamond and Black Banner jumped down from their thrones and ran to another door, which slid open before them. There Drones waited, holding armor open for them to step into. Gold Claw, Blue Star, Emerald Crown, and Gray Crescent started tapping at maps and control boards with their light pens, while battles ceased overhead and Myrmidon Masters stood to receive new orders.
Silver Sun stepped down from its throne and approached Gold-Eye and Ninde, who were still kneeling and flanked by the Myrmidon Masters.
As Silver Sun got closer, Gold-Eye realized the Overlord was a woman. A pretty woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties, with light, straw-colored hair cut short and lacquered back.
As she approached, the Drone Red Diamond had used as his mouthpiece turned away, and Silver Sun spoke directly to them.
“So. You are the ones the machine-mind called Gold-Eye and Ninde.”
Her voice was rich and musical, though she spoke English with a strange inflection. It was too good a voice for someone who was responsible for destroying ninety-eight percent of the human race, someone who now preyed upon captive children.
“And you say this…invisibility…that we have just seen demonstrated by your friends is something the machine-mind created?” she continued. “Red Diamond really was precipitous in destroying it.”
“Shade?” asked Gold-Eye. “Shade…dead?”
“Absolutely,” replied Silver Sun. She smiled, showing teeth filed to points, her eyes remaining dead and cold. “Now, while my colleagues rush off to deal with your pathetic friends, we shall go and have a private…chat? I do speak your language well, don’t I? Such a fascinating means of communication. So dreadfully slow. But quite sophisticated for an animal race.”
“Why do you kill us?” asked Ninde, looking up at the still-smiling face, the teeth hidden behind soft lips, the bright hair so glossy with lacquer. “Why do you…do any of it?”
Silver Sun looked down at her, head tilted to one side as if she didn’t understand. Then she smiled more broadly, teeth glittering, and said, “That’s what you’re there for. It’s the way things are meant to be. You animals really are so stupid.”
When she finished speaking, her throat twitched, sending some message to the Myrmidon Masters. They lurched into action, dragging Gold-Eye and Ninde to their feet and pushing them out the door.
“They’ll be here soon,” said Ella, watching the Wingers beating furiously to gain height, still only halfway up Mount Silverstone. “I suppose…I suppose it was foolish to think we could…”
“Not foolish,” said Drum. “If Shade hadn’t betrayed us, we might have done something…”
“But he did,” interrupted Ella bleakly. “And no one’s going to follow us, are they? Children will still escape from the Dorms, but they’ll live only short, wild lives. No one will train them, guide them…. No one will know about the Projectors…and the Overlords will just…keep on for a thousand years. A hundred children a day for a thousand years…”
“No they won’t, Ella,” said a voice behind them.
It was the voice of Shade.
MISQUOTATION—ROBERT INGMAN
I was Shade. I was responsible for everything that happened. For all the rescues of lost children, the saving of escapees from the Dorms. Their education to help them survive—and to be human beings. But I was responsible…I am responsible for all the deaths, too, as I spent the children in what I thought was a…a war for the greater good.
Somewhere I got confused. Intellectual curiosity grew to the point where I had to know, even when it wasn’t important—and children died for the increase of my knowledge.
And the information I did need I didn’t seek hard enough.
Then when I did get it, I failed to use it properly.
But perhaps I am not too late.
There comes a tide in the affairs of men, that if taken at the flood…or something like that. There is still a chance, a very slight chance.
Perhaps I can redeem myself after all….
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Myrmidons didn’t take them back to the cell. Instead, they left the house and walked down to the beach, passing through a guardhouse in the wall manned by several more white-armored Myrmidon Masters. It seemed the Overlords only trusted the superior variety to look after their own security.
“Where are you taking us?” asked Ninde, unable to see Silver Sun behind her but still hearing her soft shuffle in the sand, in between the Myrmidons’ heavy scuffling.
“I think I’ll drown one of you till the other answers my questions,” replied Silver Sun calmly. “You see, I have much more experience with animals than Red Diamond does. I spent several years here during our initial reconnaissance and did most of the work setting up the Transfer. So I know there is some psychosexual bond between you that can be exploited. Alternatively, I may just drown you both. After all, we will have the other two for questioning, and they have actually demonstrated this invisibility technique.”
“We will too,” said Gold-Eye quickly, looking at Ninde’s white face and then the sea. Its waves crashed in with a regularity that cared nothing for who might be pushed under them. “But we need equipment.”
“Our packs and equipment belts,” added Ninde hastily. “We’ll show you. But it only works for Change-enhanced vision…like in your creatures.”
“I see,” said Silver Sun. “I will have it fetched.”
That sounded as if she would wait for a demonstration of the Deceptors, and Gold-Eye let out a small sigh of relief. But the Myrmidons kept on marching them down into the sea. As the wash from the waves touched their boots, they stopped—then marched forward again, till the water washed around their knees, well above the thighs of Gold-Eye and Ninde.
“Then again—I think you might be better drowned,” said Silver Sun from somewhere behind them on the sand.
As she spoke, the Myrmidons clasped the children’s heads with their heavy hands and pushed them facedown in
to the ocean.
Ella turned around, the pistol drawn, finger taking up the first pressure on the trigger. But there was no crystal-bodied spider robot there.
Just a hologram, so faded she could see the concrete wall through it. Shade—but a Shade somewhat different from the image he had always portrayed before. Shorter and less muscular. Eyes not piercing blue but a sort of muddy gray. And teeth no longer blindingly white and even.
Enough of a difference for Ella to put her pistol back and ask, “Shade?”
“Sort of,” said the hologram nervously, running his hand through hair much thinner and browner than it had been before. “But more like Robert Ingman, I think. The man I originally was.”
“What are you doing here?” asked Drum suspiciously, one eye still on the approaching Wingers. “How are you here?”
“Well, it’s sort of complicated,” muttered Shade/Robert. “The Overlords destroyed the Thinker that housed my personality, but I had already worked out how to spread myself…or the bits that I wanted…through the Projector network. So I can pretty well be anywhere there’s Projector power…oh…and I came here to apologize I guess, and…uh…help.”
“How?” snapped Drum. The Wingers were directly below now, banking up for a spiraling climb. At the top of that climb…in about a minute…they would swoop down…
“Well, there is a manual method of opening the door from the inside,” explained Robert. “I thought if I showed Drum where it is and what it looks like, he could use his—”
“Okay, okay!” interrupted Ella urgently. “Show him!”
Robert nodded and quickly sketched in the air with his finger—and a hologram formed against the wall, showing a short lever under a panel with a red and green light.