‘Gregory, dearest of all my friends, you are too valuable to be lost to such a risky adventure.’
‘Aye, I know, but I’m sure ye could struggle along without me, somehow.’
‘Gregory Cameron, on reaching Segrana, the Zyradin must be given to the Keeper of Segrana, to Catriona Macreadie. There will be changes, alterations.’
Taken aback, Greg gave the Sentinel a narrow look. ‘What kind of alterations?’ he said, thinking of Chel’s Seer eyes.
‘Unknown. She is Human.’
‘C’mon, you’ve got to give me more than that!’
SHE IS THE KEEPER OF SEGRANA SHE IS THE TRUE VOICE AND EYES OF SEGRANA THROUGH HER I CAN REACH EVERY PART OF SEGRANA
‘Which still doesn’t explain how I’m supposed to get through the Brolt defences,’ he said.
I CAN PROTECT YOU I CAN PROVIDE YOU WITH AN ENCLOSING ARMOUR
‘Is this feasible?’ Greg said to the Sentinel.
‘The Zyradin are powerful entities with a wide range of abilities.’ She turned to the sealed container. ‘Would you care to give a demonstration?’
WITH PLEASURE
The cylinder’s lid lifted slightly and slid off. A pale blue radiance bloomed at the opening, then a few glowing motes drifted up into view, then some more, then many more. Greg stared in the excitement of recognition – the bright points surrounded by a corona that had a tail when in motion, just as he’d seen repeatedly on walls all over the Uvovo temple site for years.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Fancy meeting you here. Must admit, your pictures and carvings don’t do you justice.’
I HAVE SEEN SIMILAR DEPICTIONS IN THIS PLACE ALSO MAKE YOURSELF READY
‘Ready for …’
Before he could speak further, the cloud of glowing blue motes swooped to surround him. Startled, he staggered back, seeing everything through a veil of glowing points. Then some of them settled onto his bare hands and began to sink into his skin.
‘Now, wait a second, what is it doing?’ he said, panic rising.
THIS MERGING IS ONLY TEMPORARY BUT SERVES TWO FUNCTIONS IT PROVIDES THE PROTECTION YOU NEED IT ALSO ALLOWS ME TO DERIVE ENERGY FROM YOUR OWN RESOURCES
‘And there’s no permanent side effects, then?’
OTHER THAN CONTINUING TO LIVE THERE ARE NONE
Greg gazed at his hands and down at his body. The bright motes seemed to cling to his form, passing in and out of his clothing as if it wasn’t there, meandering around like a restless nimbus. He glanced at the Sentinel. ‘So, all I have to do is get to the warpwell chamber and you’ll do the rest.’
‘I shall be there when you arrive.’
‘Okay,’ Greg said. ‘Let’s go gatecrash Kuros’s party.’
It took twenty minutes to organise the team he wanted, and get Varstrand over to the blustery eastern slope in the Har. In the company of Alexei, Maclean and Bessonov, they waited in the windy downwash while a rope ladder came snaking down from the dirigible. While there was fascination over Greg’s blue glow, there was also a disconsolate feeling; Rory’s absence was being sorely felt. Maclean and Bessonov pointed torches upwards for Varstrand’s benefit and soon mooring lines were coming down as well, caught by accompanying helpers.
‘Hey, Mr Cameron,’ yelled the Finnish pilot. ‘If we are going on the night trip, it is usually a secret reason or a crazy reason. Which one, do you say?’
‘Both,’ Greg shouted back as he clambered into the gondola.
At the Zyradin’s insistence, he was carrying the cylinder in a webbed harness strapped to his back, over his padded combat jacket. Weapon bundles were heaved in next, followed by the others. Last was Bessonov but before he could close the hatch another figure appeared and hauled his brawny frame inside. Vashutkin grinned and nodded at everyone then reached outside and dragged in a long object, a Brolturan beam rifle.
‘Alexandr,’ Greg said. ‘My great and dear friend, have you lost your mind? This could well be a one-way trip – nae votes in it.’
Vashutkin dogged the hatch and gave the thumbs-up to Varstrand, then came and sat across the aisle from Greg.
‘Very true, Gregory, very true, but the greater truth is that if you fail because I was not there, how do you think that will make me feel, eh? Apart from probably being dead when this Legion of Avatars overruns the planet. So I decided to throw all my dice along with yours. After all, you’ve been pretty lucky so far.’
Greg uttered a low whistle. ‘Would ye credit it! So that’s what I’ve been feeling since I got up this morning – lucky!’
The others chuckled, then grasped their seats as the dirigible surged forward and up. Minutes later the dirij levelled off, course set for Giant’s Shoulder.
‘What’s with the extra artillery?’ Greg said, indicating the Brolt weapon Vashutkin had carried aboard.
The Rus shrugged. ‘Insurance. No such thing as too many guns on an operation like this. What about you, Gregory, what’s your weapon of choice?’
It was Gregory’s turn to shrug. ‘Usually a Gustav handgun …’
YOU WILL NOT REQUIRE ANY OF THESE WEAPONS MY ABILITIES WILL PROTECT YOU
He laughed, ignoring Vashutkin’s puzzled look, and leaned on a crooked arm, wishing for a good stiff shot of whisky. Outside a nearby grimy oval window, he could see a vast expanse of the Forest of Arawn’s eastern marches, a sea of treetop foliage, details rendered ashen in the meagre light from the night sky’s starmist, yet brightened here and there by ulby roots. His thoughts turned inward, thoughts dwelling on those he loved and those who might be lost in one way or another. Chel, Rory, Catriona, Uncle Theo, and what of Kao Chih and his mission to save his people? He sighed, held up one blue-veiled hand, turned it, studied it. He had never imagined that this conflict could widen so radically and become so complex and at times bizarre.
Our enemies seem to multiply and get stronger, he thought. While our abilities seem to shrink …
ACCIDENTS ARE INEVITABLE THE COSMOS DEPENDS ON THEM
You’re hearing my thoughts … aren’t you? No chance of privacy in my own head, then!
YOUR ANXIETY OVER THE MACROCONFLICT WAS CLEARLY STATED
And you said that accidents are inevitable – what’s that supposed to mean?
SIMPLY THAT THE GREATER THE POWERS EXERCISED BY THOSE OPPOSED TO LIFE, THE GREATER THE UNFORESEEN CONSEQUENCES IN GATHERING POWER TO THEMSELVES THEY MAKE THEMSELVES THE FOCUS OF ACCIDENTAL OUTCOMES USUALLY THESE OUTCOMES ARE NOT WHAT THEY WANT
Well, that’s all very pretty and mystical, he thought. Don’t see how it helps, though.
I SEEK TO PROVIDE PERSPECTIVE ACCIDENTS ARE ANTICIPATED
Greg gave a mental shrug and tried to settle into a comfortable position while keeping the canister strapped to his back. Twenty minutes later, and about three-quarters of an hour from the vicinity of Giant’s Shoulder, he heard Varstrand calling to him from the cockpit.
‘For you,’ said the pilot, holding out his headset. ‘Someone urgently asking for Mr Cameron …’
Puzzled, Greg lurched up to the cockpit, accepted the frail-looking headset and put it on.
‘Greg Cameron here – who’s this?’
‘Finally! – I was getting a wee bit worried there, chief!’
‘Rory?!’ he cried out in relief. There was a commotion back along the gondola as the others heard him.
‘Naw, it’s William Wallace calling up for a blini home delivery – aye, it’s me! Look, I’m here wi’ Chel but he’s not doing too good. Are you in that dirij that’s heading west?’
‘Aye, where are you?’
‘About three mile north of ye, on a hilltop, ye canna miss it …’
Vashutkin crouched down next to Greg, his face serious.
‘How did he escape the droids? – ask him …’
‘That Vashutkin?’ said Rory.
‘Aye,’ Greg said, turning the headphone outward for all to hear. ‘So how did you get away?’
‘Pure chance. Two of they big combat machines were carrying us a
way from some robot camp when they both started shaking and fell over. I got free then dealt wi’ Chel’s bonds, and that was us. We got tae this hill then found there’s droid patrols to the south and west – we could head north but Chel’s not looking so great. So, are yiz coming to get us, then?’
‘Yeah, Rory, just hold on.’ Greg looked at Varstrand. ‘Head north and watch out for a hill.’
‘I know the one, I think,’ the Finn said, changing direction.
But Vashutkin shook his head and Greg covered the headset stalk-mic.
‘I don’t believe they could escape,’ Vashutkin said. ‘In fact, I don’t even believe it’s him. Sorry.’
I CONCUR
Greg agonised over these similar judgements, all too aware of the doubt in the eyes of the others.
‘And what if you’re wrong?’ he said.
Vashutkin got up and leaned on the backs of the seats on either side of the aisle. ‘You will lose two good friends,’ he said. ‘If you are wrong, perhaps we die or they capture us and kill us, or turn us into slaves. And all of this is for nothing.’
‘I’ve got to know,’ Greg said. ‘If there’s a chance …’
‘We are getting near the hill,’ said Varstrand.
‘Can you hover over the top, about a hundred feet up?’ he said.
‘Maybe could go higher. It is breezy tonight.’
‘Okay, do that.’ He uncovered the microphone. ‘Rory, we’re nearly there …’
‘We can hear ye! – and so can them droids. Ye’ll have to come in low …’
‘Can’t do that, Rory. We’ll send down ropes with body slings,’ he said, making encouraging gestures to the others.
‘No, listen, Greg, ye gotta come down …’
The gondola cabin was a whirl of activity as Alexei and Maclean, going with Varstrand’s directions, dug lengths of rope out of a locker along with a body sling. At the same time, Bessonov and Vashutkin were opening the hatch, securing it as Alexei lashed one end of the rescue rope to a hull stanchion, then gave the okay. A turbulent gusting added to the noise of the dirigible’s engines and Greg had to yell into the headset mic.
‘Okay, that’s the rope going down now. Ye see it?’
‘See something – it’s too high, come lower …’
‘Is it long enough to reach the ground?’ Greg yelled to Alexei. ‘It should be, but difficult to see,’ Alexei came back. ‘It’s shadowy and bushy down there …’
SOMETHING IS BENEATH US
‘Come lower, Greg, come lower,’ said Rory’s voice.
Varstrand shook his head. ‘Too dangerous.’
‘Rory, we can’t …’
Suddenly the gondola jolted and the rope hanging out of the hatch snapped taut.
‘Rory, was that you?’ Greg yelled. ‘Have you got the body sling?’
‘Lower, Greg, come lower …’
WE MUST LEAVE THINGS ARE GATHERING BENEATH US
They did get him after all, Greg thought brokenly, just as the entire dirigible lurched downwards.
Everyone cried out while Varstrand, wrestling with the control column, shrieked, ‘Cut the rope! Cut it!’
Bessonov snatched a hatchet from clips over the hatch but before he could chop the hawser, a thing like a segmented silver snake lunged up from outside and fastened its jaws on his shoulder. Next to him, Vashutkin grabbed his Brolt rifle, swung it round to press the muzzle against the thing’s head, and fired off a short burst. Instead of the expected explosion of deadly shrapnel, the machine slackened its jaws and fell limply to the floor where it was kicked out of the hatch by Maclean. As he did so he looked down.
‘My God, the place is alive with them!’
But Greg had tossed aside the headset and dived for the hatchet, with which he attacked the rope. There was a loud bang as it gave way, the severed end whiplashing against the side of the hatch. At once, the dirigible surged upwards. Varstrand gave a triumphant bellow as he gunned the engines, and for a second it seemed that they were in the clear. Then something struck the rear of the gondola and it swung drunkenly, tilting up. Knocked off his feet, Greg slid towards the rear, halting himself by grabbing at a seat rest. There was the slam of an impact against the stern, and another. The wood-and-composite hull cracked and split and a taloned metal hand punched through then ripped a ragged gap across.
Then some major seams just parted like cardboard and most of the stern was torn aside, exposing the interior and everyone to the horrifying machine that was weighing down the aft.
In the meagre cabin light, framed against the night-shadowed forest, it resembled some grotesque machine-hybrid of tiger and gorilla, serrated talons, armoured limbs and chest, back and shoulders sprouting clusters of black vanes. Greg could feel the heat on his face. And there was a faint, strange aura, a flickering layer of hexagonal patterning.
FASCINATING
As the beastlike droid tossed away the wrecked chunk of hull, the others were yelling at Greg to hit the deck and give them a clear shot. Instead Greg’s glowing hands came up, seemingly of their own accord, stretched out towards the brutal machine as it dragged itself further inside and in his direction.
‘What … what are you doing?’ he gasped.
YOU SHOULD THROW YOURSELF TO THE FLOOR IN ABOUT THREE SECONDS
Tiny glittering points burst from his outflung hands and splashed across the front of the oncoming monster.
NOW
Greg spun away, diving towards the deck, arms wrapped about his head.
A deafening chorus of weaponsfire filled the cabin. He craned his neck to glance back and saw the beast machine holed and battered by an onslaught of volleys, one of which reduced its outstretched, bulky arm to a punctured, torn wreck shorn of its taloned grab. Another ferocious volley hit, and lights went out in its squat head, in the chest and arms, and it toppled backwards out of the gaping stern.
As Vashutkin and Maclean hauled Greg to his feet he stared at his hands, at the blue glowing motes just visibly moving beneath the skin.
‘What was that?’ said Vashutkin.
‘The Zyradin … did something, I don’t know what,’ he said, slightly dazed. ‘How about you – what did you shoot that snake thing with?’
Vashutkin grinned and patted the big Brolturan beam weapon, which was resting across two seat backs.
‘This is a variant on the usual design,’ he said. ‘This one fires some kind of emp bolt, blows out their nasty, evil circuits …’
‘My ship!’ wailed Varstrand from his cockpit. ‘You see? This is the crazy trip!’
‘We need more height,’ Vashutkin told the pilot, then glanced at Greg. ‘And back on course to Giant’s Shoulder.’
They exchanged a slight but definite nod. Greg then sidled towards the stern, trying to ignore the icy, whistling gusts whipping through the opening. Holding on to an overhead stanchion he peered out at the receding hill, thinking about Rory and contemplating another addition to his burden of grief and loss. And then, for a moment, he saw a number of gleaming shapes appear in a gap in the hillside foliage, fast-moving and in pursuit.
‘What can you see?’ said someone.
‘Hellhounds on our trail, boys,’ he said. ‘Looks like it’s gonna get ugly.’
KUROS
Uvovo Ambassador Utavess Kuros had intended to fly north to Trond to inspect the remnants of the surviving units. He wanted to study their officers’ summaries, set their tactical and strategic objectives, and get an accurate sense of the readiness of the remaining airworthy craft before returning to Giant’s Shoulder. But recent reports confirmed that yet another horde of Spiralist fanatics had closed in from the south and were attempting to fight their way up to the ridge, part of the pincer movement that now had the promontory as its focus. And they were armed to the teeth, including a variety of portable missile launchers more than capable of bringing down Brolturan vehicles, as they had already discovered to their cost. In addition, the chaotic valleys to the west were swarming with renegades and insurgen
ts of every kind, all eager to take pot-shots at anything in the air, thus making flights in or out too hazardous.
He thought morosely on these matters while seated in what passed for personal chambers in the science facility. Now fully built and functioning, it sat over the huge access trench he had ordered cut into the promontory soon after his forces had taken possession just a few weeks ago. Below lay the chamber with the Forerunner warpwell, now being exhaustively probed, measured and fussed over by a frequently incomprehensible coterie of scientists whose babble often threatened the underpinnings of his sanity. Yet even their jargon and occasional lapses in manners were preferable to the cold and deadly presence of the Clarified Teshak.
Ever since the destruction of the Purifier, the Clarified One had devoted himself wholly to the defences of Giant’s Shoulder, the newly installed tactical barriers, the squat towers providing crossfire on the approach from the ridge, the fortified emplacements guarding the gullies and ravines to north and south, and the beam cannon battery. This left matters relating to the warpwell in Kuros’s hands, as well as coordination of the Brolturan remnant units. Without the Purifier, the communications network had fallen apart and calls for tactical support never got through. The first twenty-four hours after the death of the Purifier were a chaotic whirlwind of violence and retribution, and by the time partially secure stopgap comms were operational the Spiral fanatics were landing in their thousands.
Now, nearly three days later, the outlook was much improved, despite the Spiralists’ successes. A couple of mobile builder drones were retrieved from the Lochiel depot before it was overrun, lifted to Giant’s Shoulder and put to work. Almost all Brolturan troops had rejoined their own units, or formed into patchwork ones. The Trond encampment was well dug in and equipped with power and supplies, and would soon be in a position to move against Spiralist elements who had occupied several towns south of Trond. And his comms technicians were working to reestablish contact with their sensor satellites, which would provide the kind of strategic overview that had been sorely missed.
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