‘I remember watching it plunge past less than half a mile away, with the hawsers trailing in its smoky wake and the veils of snow swirling and eddying in the force of its passing. Ever since I have been aware at all times what our lives hang from.’ The Gomedran grinned. ‘I was an anxious cub who became an anxious adult. But a surfeit of time passes for those who tarry, Seeker Horst – I must return to my shop to make further eye-way enquiries after our wayward Bargalil.’
Bows were exchanged and after Ku-Baar left the observatory Robert waited a minute or two before retracing his own steps back to the Artisans Deck, closing the D-shaped hatch on the icy winds. Inside it was cold and dim. This level of Malgovastek consisted of six main floors and innumerable refurbished and retailored subsections, silos and chambers. Lighting was intermittent, bioglobes and battery strips mainly, and the air had a dank, fetid quality. A busy stairwell led up to a curved passage of entrances leading into the top balcony of the Swaydrome. There were a few locals about, mostly Keklir, a bipedal race with short, powerful limbs and faces dominated by a wide, tapering snout with two mouthlike openings. Other species included Gomedrans, a few Hodralog, and the occasional Pozu.
Pushing through heavy curtains, he entered the deafening cacophony of the Swaydrome, a full-throated roar that surged along in time to a heavy, metallic hammering coming from down on the drome floor. The upper balcony was a U-shape of seating carrels, then rows of ordinary benches and bucketchairs, then crowded shadows dotted with the lamps of gaming tables and the amber glows of the kiosks and stalls that lined the back wall. Out of curiosity Robert sidled through to the front of the balcony and peered down through the bowed layers of netting. A large, tracked mech was holding down a spindly droid with one articulated claw while pounding its armoured midsection with the other. Bright spotbeams picked out the two combatants while spectators chanted and howled. Just as the underdog’s plating gave way in a burst of sparks, Robert felt a touch on his shoulder, and a voice.
‘Daddy!’
It was Rosa, his daughter, or as good as. His wife had sent him a holosim projector of their dead daughter before he came to Darien as Earthsphere’s special ambassador. But when intrigue, deadly peril and chance encounters led him down into hyper-space, to a strange citadel called the Garden of the Machines, he could not have predicted what was to come. His daughter returned to life as a simulant based on the holosim’s data, and his own physical form rejuvenated by decades. But the Construct, the AI ruler of the Garden of the Machines, had also removed Harry, his AI implant, then given it free imperatives before releasing it into the tiernet, the omnipresent interstellar infoweb. Amazed and gratified by Rosa’s new existence, he had agreed to help the Construct establish contact with the Godhead, hence the necessity to meet the intermediary known as Sunflow Oscillant.
‘Where’s Reski Emantes?’ he said loudly, above the crowd noise. ‘I would have thought it would be interested.’
‘It says that if it wanted to see dumb objects hitting each other, it could go and watch an autoforge stamp out cutlery for half an hour.’
Robert nodded. ‘Understandable.’
By now they were away from the mass of spectators and gamblers, strolling along the line of stalls from which he caught an occasional appetising whiff. Then Rosa stopped him, hand on his arm.
‘You’re not exactly bursting with news so I guess that good old Ku-Baar had nothing to report.’
‘Same as before, my sweet, no sign of our mysterious mystic, although Ku-Baar insists that he still has other enquiries to make.’
‘Perhaps we should engage the services of someone else from Mirapesh’s coterie, assuming there’s any still alive,’ said the droid Reski Emantes, which floated into view with a netbag of packages slung beneath it. The droid resembled an inverted isosceles pyramid, narrow and elongated, less than a metre high with spheroid studs at each vertex and a small trigonal dome on its upper surface. ‘Or hire some fists and go searching for the mystic ourselves. He is a Bargalil, after all; a large, six-legged, barrel-chested sophont would be difficult to conceal, I should think.’
‘The undertanks are a risky territory,’ Robert said. ‘Ku-Baar promised that he would vigorously query his other contacts, so we give him another day and a half, after which we shall consider our options. In the meantime, how goes the shopping?’
‘Ah yes,’ said Reski Emantes. ‘I found an itinerant Pozu selling urmig eggs, and then chanced upon some tubers that may suit your Human palate …’
The mech was interrupted by another mass-roar from the arena followed by rhythmic shouting and stamping.
‘Another hapless bot reduced to scrap?’ said Robert.
‘Worse, it’s the Force Fate event,’ the droid said. ‘The drome organisers select a mech from the bottom level to go up against their resident armoured thug, probably some oversized, rockchewing rustbucket with the hardmem substrate of a floor polisher. The unfortunate dupe should appear on the monitors …’
‘Yes, there it is,’ Rosa began, then paused and pointed at a wallscreen several metres away. ‘Reski, it’s you … I mean, at first it was another droid, for a second, then it switched to you!’
The wallscreen showed them standing near Reski Emantes, staring off to the side, while the surrounding crowd guffawed and hooted. Robert looked around to where the sneak-cam had to be but could see nothing in the dark texture of the ceiling.
‘You’re right, I’ve just rerun it!’ Reski Emantes said. ‘I’ve got to see the judges …’
But the eager onlookers were hemming them in as they started for the exit. Then the mob parted and two Keklir in red stewards’ uniforms rushed straight at Reski Emantes and tossed a shining loop over it.
‘I’m not finding this in the least bit amusing,’ the droid said. ‘Get your idio-idio-idio-idididididi …’
The loop sprang into a taut circle and a pulsing blue field flickered on, rendering Reski Emantes motionless. Before Robert could react, one of the Keklir produced an oval-snouted sidearm and made discouraging motions with it while his companion steered the immobilised droid over to the front of the balcony and pitched it over the side. The roar of the crowd was thunderous.
Robert and Rosa reached the balcony edge in time to see the helpless droid land on the arena floor and rebound, cushioned by the blue field. Another Keklir dashed over, affixed a small object to Reski Emantes’s plating, then hastily jumped into an open hatch at ringside, which slammed shut. Then, in a cupola-pulpit overlooking the arena, a ridged cowl began folding back into the wall, revealing a gleaming, golden insectoid creature with three mandibles, jutting limbs and three pairs of black faceted eyes along the length of its narrow head, which reminded Robert of a horse skull.
Then the golden master of ceremonies extended one spiny forelimb and pointed at the floating, unresponsive Reski. A harsh, amplified syllable cut through the crowd noise and a moment later the blue restraint field winked out, allowing the droid freedom of movement.
‘This is an outrage!’ it began. ‘How dare …’
The insectoid master of ceremonies drowned out Reski Emantes with its grating, booming speech for a brief moment before a much more familiar voice filled the arena: ‘… probably some oversized, rock-chewing rustbucket with the hardmem substrate of a floor-polisher …’
Spotbeams swept the crowded tiers and angry shouts broke out as translations filtered around the drome. As the fury stoked itself, the golden insectoid raised its gleaming forelimbs.
‘Words to the designated challenger – projectile and energy weapons are forbidden, also anti-cognitory fields are forbidden. The attached inhibitor enforces. What words from the designated challenger?’
For a moment there was a cessation of the clamour, and Robert hoped that Reski Emantes would opt for a response with a decent courtesy content. It was a forlorn hope.
‘Your louts broke my urmig eggs, you preposterous bug! …’
In its pulpit the master of ceremonies made a dipping motion wit
h one limb. Directly below, an arched metal door slammed aside and a large, dark green spidery mech emerged. Its torso was a flattened spheroid roughly five metres across with four articulated, armoured legs spaced around the midline. Faceted sensors were dotted over its battered cowling, which bore innumerable dents and scratches, the legacy of past bouts.
Without warning, Reski Emantes suddenly launched itself at the big mech, ducking a parrying limb and striking the top of one of the legs where its armoured joint emerged from the plating. There was an immense clang and sparks flew as Reski rebounded from the impact and tumbled away. The large mech turned and sprang after it.
‘What kind of machine is that?’ Robert murmured.
‘A dock drone of some kind, Daddy,’ Rosa said unexpectedly. ‘A midrange assembler, possibly a positioner.’ She met his gaze. ‘I learned a lot from the Construct’s archives before we left.’
Interesting, Robert thought, his fond smile fading a little as he regarded the fight below.
Reski Emantes now seemed to be getting the worst of it. His narrow, pyramidal torso was bent and two of its corner studs were missing. The big mech had it pinned to the floor with a clamp effector while all around the crowd’s roaring approval came in waves.
‘Reski can’t survive this much longer,’ Robert said. ‘We should go down and protest …’
‘Don’t worry, Daddy. Just watch.’
A moment later Reski had somehow managed to slide his wide upper section a short way out from under the clamp. Before the mech could reposition its effector, Reski Emantes thrust upwards, levered itself free and shot away, looking somewhat wobbly in flight. Robert thought it was going to stay at a safe distance but instead it swooped in again … and was sideswiped by another of those armoured yet lithe articulated legs, whipping up to swat it like a fly.
But instead of spinning away, Reski was clinging to the armoured limb’s lower section with thin, cable extensors. The big mech tried to shake it off but Reski doggedly held on and made its way up to the segmented shoulder junction. Robert could just see Reski wrapping its cable extensors tightly around the top of the articulated leg. The droid gave a sharp tug, then another, and the leg came away.
The big machine quickly shifted one leg forward to compensate but Reski had already hopped to the next shoulder junction. A moment later the second leg was wrenched off, and the mech crashed to the floor. With contemptuous ease, Reski Emantes dodged the two remaining limbs as it darted in to finish the job. The Swaydrome crowd stared in stunned silence as the last heavy armoured leg landed on the big mech’s hull with a clang.
‘Calculator,’ the droid Reski Emantes said to its opponent.
In its cupola-pulpit, the golden insectoid sapient raised one angular limb and pointed its spiny tip at the Construct droid.
‘Force-Fate bout … to the challenger!’ And at once the inhibitor device detached from Reski’s cowling and fell to the arena floor.
This provoked a mass chorus of hisses, clacking, hooting and less than complimentary (not to say improbable) observations as to Reski Emantes’s origins, as well as surreal suggestions on what to do with a variety of power tools.
‘Thank you, thank you, dearest of all my fans,’ Reski said as it slowly rose towards the top balcony. ‘Your incoherent, hate-filled grunts say more than real words ever could.’ Below, attendants were dragging off pieces of the dismembered mech.
Robert and Rosa stood back as the Construct droid floated up and over the balcony netting. The crowd of onlookers and patrons offered only glowering, unfriendly looks as they moved away, so Robert decided that a burst of applause might be unwise.
‘You don’t look too bad,’ said Rosa.
Up close, Robert could see the damage in detail, a disconcerting collection of dents, scuffs, gouges and cracks, as well as the bend two-thirds of the way down its tapered carapace. All four corner studs were missing, too.
‘You look terrible,’ said Robert.
‘Looks can be deceiving, Robert Horst,’ the droid said. ‘Some repairs are already under way and will accelerate once my internal builders replace the micromolbots I used to deal with that cretin’s legs.’
Robert stared. ‘Was that … cheating?’
‘You heard the list of forbidden tactics,’ Reski Emantes said. ‘Micromolecular toolbots weren’t mentioned.’
‘It may be advisable to return to the ship,’ Rosa said. ‘We still don’t know why the challenger image switched from that other droid to you.’
‘It may be nothing more than picking on the stranger,’ the droid said. ‘But before we go, I want to buy some more urmig eggs …’
Just then, Robert felt a tap on his elbow and turned to see the Gomedran, Ku-Baar, standing there.
‘Captain Ku-Baar – a pleasant surprise meeting you here. Did you happen to see the last bout?’
‘Indeed I did, Seeker Horst.’ The Gomedran gave a polite tilt of the head towards the Construct droid. ‘Congratulations on your victory, Seeker Reski, a notable event that I suspect may be connected to the reason for my presence here.’
‘Which is?’ Robert said, feeling a prickle of anticipation.
‘A short while ago, I was contacted by the mystic Sunflow Oscillant, directly, by voiceline.’ The Gomedran regarded their expectant faces. ‘He has agreed to meet with you.’
Robert and Rosa exchanged smiles.
‘When and where, Captain?’ Robert said.
‘Tomorrow, at the outset of the Bright Bell, at your vessel. He said that all of you must await him on the bridge, else your quest will be at an end.’
CHELUVAHAR
In the middle of their first night’s sleep inside Tusk Mountain, Cheluvahar, scholar and seer, awoke suddenly, senses quivering with the certainty that something was watching them. Ever since yesterday, while his three Artificer scholars and Pilot Yash were clearing the rubble from the entrance, his husked senses gave him the distinct feeling that the ancient Uvovo sanctuary held some other presence. A brief survey of the mountainside entrance and the surrounding rock turned up nothing, however, so the debris clearance had continued.
Chel and Yash and the others had come to Tusk Mountain with the permission of the elder Listeners, to search for an old Uvovo bastion long rumoured to be buried somewhere on its shattered, boulder-strewn slopes. Chel’s new eyes, piercing the veil of likelihoods and past echoes, found it in a matter of hours. And going by the good condition of the interior, it would make a formidable new home for the Human–Uvovo resistance.
Now, Cheluvahar, scholar and seer, lay back down with all of his eyes tightly shut. Lying here on the chamber’s chilling stone floor, enclosed by stone, it was an effort to remind himself that the Uvovo of ancient times had been as skilled in the shaping of stone, and even metal, as their descendants were in the care of Segrana. Ten thousand years ago, the Segrana-That-Was had encompassed both planet and moon, suffused with a might and a purpose that made it the mainstay in the War of the Long Night, a struggle against destroyer machines called the Dreamless. It took the decimation of ancient allies, the Ghost Gods, and the sacrifice of Segrana’s greater strength to defeat those pitiless machine minds. But still the world Umara suffered partial incineration, all the splendour of its vast and teeming forests consumed by fire, their smoke filling the skies, ashes choking the rivers. Chel had witnessed it all in the vivid, unforgettable visions of a husking ceremony. But rather than transforming him into a Listener, the taller, gaunter form of Uvovo, the ritual gave him four new eyes which, when opened in certain combinations, could reveal things from the past as well as possible futures.
Now, in the darkness, he sighed and sat up again and brooded. Umara, cradle of Segrana-That-Was, had become Darien, home to a colony of fractious, flawed, fascinating Humans who seemed to draw in enemies and adversity the way sun-fermented emels attracted insects. Yet if Humans had not come to settle here, the Uvovo would never have been able to cross from the moon to their ancient home and there would have been no resis
tance to the Hegemony and possibly no knowledge of Umara’s existence spread among the stars.
And little real good have the Humans brought about, responded his inner arguer. Half the stars in the sky seem to know of our plight yet none come to our aid. Knowledge is clearly of little value to them.
We cannot see all that is happening so we cannot know what will happen, he countered. Bare ground hides many seeds.
But his arguer was not done. So how long will you wait for your forest to grow out of that dry, dusty soil?
Chel smiled and gazed around him at the dimness, broken only by a Human oil lantern set to give off a feeble amber glow. The unseen watcher was still there, he was sure. He raised one hand to the cloth strip covering his Seer eyes and was on the verge of opening the outer pair when one of the prone shapes nearby stirred and sat up.
‘So – can’t sleep?’ muttered a voice in accented Noranglic.
‘It’s the stone, Pilot Yash,’ he whispered back. ‘I find I cannot fully relax here.’
‘What about them cave recesses back at Tayowal? They’re cut into rock but you didn’t have trouble sleeping there.’
The Orphaned Worlds Page 5