Only two things marred this progress: the loss of all contact with the Namul-Ashaph, the mech factory, and the complete lack of response to his priority signal from either Hegemony or Brolturan listening posts. For the former, it was possible that the comms crash critically damaged the autofactory’s systems, while for the latter he was for the time being assuming that, somehow, the Spiralists were jamming extraplanetary communications.
And while all of this was going on, the investigation into the warpwell had proceeded in leaps and bounds. According to the Chief Scientist, almost the entirety of the warpwell’s upper layer had been successfully analysed, with more than half the energy pattern pathways now subverted and working for the Hegemony technicians. With these pathways, they had prepared an elaborate trap for the guardian entity, an array of sensor clusters preset to pinpoint the entity’s originating substrate then flood it with disrupting energy, effectively erasing the guardian from the warpwell and thereby unlocking its secrets. All they were waiting for was a visit from the entity, the Sentinel.
Kuros leaned back, smiling in the certainty that he could hold out at Giant’s Shoulder almost indefinitely. When Hegemony forces finally arrived and took possession of the orbits and skies of Darien, assault brigades would be sent down to scour away the Spiral zealot filth. And when the Overcommander and his accompanying Tri-Advocate stepped down onto Giant’s Shoulder, he, Utavess Kuros, would be able to unveil the fruit of tireless labours carried out beneath his aegis. In the light of such self-evidently illustrious expertise, not to mention his aura of modest dignity, the bestowal of honours and promotion would practically be a necessity …
He was suddenly aware of Gratach’s presence off to the side, standing with his back to the blank, as yet unpowered holowall. His AI mind-brother’s opaque figure stood spear-straight, garbed in segmented gold and red armour, his arms crossed, his head bare, his fierce face regarding Kuros.
‘You have a visitor, one of those prating technologists, the chief one. He is agitated.’
‘He is always agitated over some minor detail or other.’
Gratach gave a grin that was half a snarl.
‘This does not concern a mere detail.’
Kuros shrugged. ‘Admit him.’
The doors to his chamber slid open and Chief Scientist Tabri hurried in. At the edge of Kuros’s field of vision the still-grinning Gratach faded away.
Tabri was attired in a high-collared, dark blue and crimson robe whose high-status shoulder insignia were somewhat negated by the virulent yellow chemical splashes adorning its lower folds.
‘Chief Scientist, what brings you—’
‘Most High Monitor,’ Tabri cut in. ‘Esteemed Ambassador, pray tell me why we are being punished.’
Startled, Kuros straightened in his chair. ‘Punished? What do you mean?’
‘Please! – do not play with me! I refer to the order for all my personnel to cease their activities and prepare to depart from the facility immediately, an order received from you not fifteen minutes ago!’
‘I have issued no such order,’ Kuros said. ‘Clearly, there has been a gross administrative error …’
The Chief Scientist’s expression was sour. ‘Ah, of course, Ambassador – errors, minor faults, misunderstandings, the usual regalia of courtly intrigue! Let me be blunt – if you wish some favour or gift from me, say what it is so that I may return to my work …’
‘I gave no such order,’ Kuros repeated angrily, rising from his chair. ‘And I require no favours from you or any …’
Then the door opened and the slender, black-garbed figure of the Clarified Teshak entered.
‘Is there a problem with your orders, Chief Scientist?’ Teshak said pleasantly.
Tabri looked round in surprise. ‘You are aware of them, high one?’
‘Indeed – the ambassador discussed them with me earlier. You’re not thinking of questioning them, are you?’
‘No, ah…’ Tabri met Teshak’s icy gaze for a moment and seemed to shrink visibly. ‘If these are the orders, I must … carry them out. I shall see to my staff, without delay.’ Looking miserable, he then left.
Kuros had tried to interject but found that his voice was dead, his throat soundless. The moment the door closed behind Tabri his voice returned. And his mind-brother General Gratach appeared right beside him. For a moment Kuros’s gaze flicked between Gratach and Teshak.
‘Was it you who issued that order to my scientists, your Clarity?’
‘I issued that order to all personnel on Giant’s Shoulder,’ said the Clarified Teshak. ‘Several transports will be landing on the pad shortly.’
Stunned, Kuros sank back into his chair. ‘What could possibly justify abandoning this place, just when we are making such excellent progress with the warpwell?’
‘The reasoning is quite straightforward,’ said Teshak. ‘The failure of this mission and the subsequent disastrous military clash with an Imisil Mergence fleet – they’ve been assembling it under conditions of extreme secrecy but every secret can find an ear – will lead to the downfall of the Hegemony’s governing faction and a crisis of policy and authority. The Clarified will then step forward, in league with certain traditionalist groups, to propose a new direction for the Hegemony, one less hampered by consideration for the feelings of half-hearted allies.’
Gratach grunted in agreement, smiling.
‘What will happen to this facility?’ Kuros said.
‘Several groups want to gain control of it,’ said Teshak. ‘Some want to wreck the warpwell, others to unleash its powers against enemies. Hostilities will ensue, turmoil and killing that will only serve our cause by blackening the governing policy, whose representative is, of course, you.’
‘But you would sacrifice something that might give the Hegemony a crucial advantage …’
‘Many such possibilities have been explored by Hegemony officials in recent centuries, and usually they turn out to be a waste of effort and a drain on financial resources. We Clarified are confident that our vision of the future will bring tangible and long-lasting benefit to the Hegemony, as well as widening our dominance of the greater region.’
Kuros felt fear quivering in his chest and his limbs.
‘If you’re telling me this, you must be planning to have me executed.’
‘Oh, Kuros, how dramatic! That would be a waste, in more ways than one.’ The Clarified Teshak strolled across the room, hands locked behind his back. ‘We need you to carry out the tasks allotted to you. This is how it will be explained – surrounded by enemies and under pressure from your own feelings of inadequacy, your nerve broke and you ordered a full evacuation of Giant’s Shoulder. Later, after relocating to the northern camp, your sense of shame was so great that you decided to atone for your craven cowardice by choosing the path of clarification. By giving your spirit into the hands of Voloasti you allowed your mind-brother, Gratach, to ascend to full sentience, thereby furthering the aims and glory of the Sendrukan Hegemony.’
Kuros glanced uneasily at the opaque image of his mind-brother, Gratach, scarcely able to believe that it would turn against him. And when he made to speak once again his vocal cords were silent. When he tried to turn his head, to move his hands, even to stand, he found he was locked in position, every muscle unresponsive, his body an impervious block.
‘Clarification is an intricate process,’ said Teshak. ‘Therefore, we’ll need to ensure that your role is played without flaws or risky notions of sabotage.’
Off to the side, Gratach’s image faded, melted away. When it was wholly gone, Kuros’s hands drew back to the edge of his desk, pushing as he stood up. The Clarified Teshak came into view, smiling as he indicated the door.
And not one movement, not a single muscle, was controlled by Kuros. His body had become a cage.
GREG
NO SIGN OF OCCUPANCY AND NO ENERGY SIGNATURES NO POWER IS BEING GENERATED AND NO DATASTREAMS ARE BEING RELAYED FROM THE TELEMETRY POINTS I ADVISE CAUTION
‘Ay
e, that sounds sensible,’ said Greg, peering through the gloom towards Giant’s Shoulder.
‘What did it say?’ said Alexei.
Greg repeated the Zyradin’s comments and Alexei chuckled.
‘A trap,’ he said. Maclean and Bessonov nodded but Vashutkin was puzzled.
‘No signs of anyone at all? Why would they abandon such a place – it makes not any sense.’
‘The fortifications are not patrolled,’ said Varstrand, handing his binoculars to the big Rus. ‘See it for yourself.’
They were in the ice-cold gondola of the Har, Varstrand’s dirigible, hovering low over dark ridges and wooded gullies a mile to the west of Giant’s Shoulder. The hill where they’d been ambushed was half an hour behind them but a force of about forty enemy machines was in hot pursuit and would be arriving in less than twenty minutes, by the Zyradin’s reckoning.
‘Looks deserted,’ said a frowning Vashutkin, who then prodded Greg with his forefinger. ‘But time is running out – decide what to do. I say we go in fast and low, tie up at one of those sentry towers, then you and I make the dash for the big building – the way to this chamber must go through there.’
‘How come we have to wait behind?’ said Maclean.
‘Because I have my special gun and Gregory has his special friend. You guys will be our eyes and ears, watching for when those crazy-mad machines come into view, then you sound alarm and get away with Varstrand.’
‘And no heroics,’ Greg added. ‘Don’t hang about – just get in the air.’
Vashutkin regarded Greg. ‘So, you like my plan?’
Greg gave a half-shrug. ‘It’s good enough.’
‘What does your silent partner say?’
A RASH AND RISKY PROPOSAL IT CORRESPONDS CLOSELY WITH MY OWN THOUGHTS ON THE MATTER
‘He likes it.’
The next ten minutes went unnervingly according to plan. The Har glided smoothly in over a squat, square sentry tower where everyone disembarked. Before Greg and Vashutkin left, Bessonov gave everyone a small two-way with a stubby antenna. They nodded and stowed the transceivers away.
Large, Sendrukan-scale steps led down from the tower roof to ground level. This far from the foliage of the forest, the shadows were dark and impenetrable, especially with no artificial light from the tower-mounted lamps. But the Zyradin’s aura gave him an enhanced view of his surroundings as they hurried through the concrete barriers towards the large, slope-sided building. Vashutkin seemed to have no problem adjusting to the darkness.
As they approached the main building, Greg saw that none of the ancient Uvovo temple ruins remained – the Brolturans had cleared them all away. He was appalled and furious. This was a wanton, criminal demolition of irreplaceable artefacts. Every stone and carving and potsherd was like a syllable in the language by which the past could speak to the present. And now the past had been struck dumb by heedless destruction.
A large landing pad lay between them and the building’s darkened main entrance. The doors, predictably, were locked. They were also heavily armoured.
‘I might be able to burn off the hinges,’ said Vashutkin.
‘Take too long,’ said Greg.
I CAN SEE THE LOCKING MECHANISM PLACE YOUR HANDS AGAINST THE SURFACE
But before he could do so, panicky voices came from the twoway, wedged into a chest pocket.
‘Hostiles! – they’re here, now! – we need backup …’
A volley of shots came from the two-way, overlaid by the actual sound from a hundred or so yards away, then a crunching impact, and an awful, throat-tearing scream. Greg and Vashutkin took one look at each other and turned to dash back to the sentry tower … and saw heading their way two heavy biped-type droids similar to the one Greg and his team had confronted in the shadows beneath the hill-covered tree.
‘I’ll take the one on the left,’ Vashutkin said, bringing up the Brolturan rifle. ‘The hard one …’
‘Aye, keep telling yerself that,’ Greg said, unsure of what to do next.
MOVE QUICKLY TO YOUR RIGHT IGNORE ANY WEAPONSFIRE
He followed the Zyradin’s directions but when one of the droid pair veered off towards him and began firing he instinctively quailed and turned his back. There was a cluster of curious thuds and he felt a wave of heat across his side.
YOU MUST TURN AND RAISE YOUR ARMS AS IF TO GRASP ITS ARMS YOU WILL COME TO NO HARM
Greg obeyed, keeping his eyes open as the armoured machine rushed towards him, taloned limbs extended for a simultaneous heart strike and decapitation. Suddenly it was upon him … and he was savagely thrown backwards by a cushioned impact, which he hardly felt. The Zyradin’s blue aura had expanded to enfold the droid’s upper limbs. Greg almost laughed as the droid tried to shake him off, then began battering him against the ground. Yet Greg felt no motion sickness or sensations of collision, although his heart was racing and sweat made his neck and chest slick.
Then the mech began to fire its weapons, all of them, and that was absolutely the worst thing it could have done. Instead of a hail of energy bolts and explosive shells pouring into the Zyradin’s nimbus, it was all confined by the mech’s own force shield, with which the Zyradin had meddled. Destructive incandescence wreathed the droid’s upper torso; Greg saw armour twist and crack, cables flare into ash, and processor substrate melt and run. In seconds the unleashed fury reached the main power matrix and the force shield abruptly vanished, spilling forth mangled, smoking wreckage onto the landing pad.
Breathing heavily, Greg stepped back, amazed and exhilarated. That was … incredible! he thought. So this is what Catriona’s got to look forward to!
ATTEND TO THE BATTLE
He looked around in time to see a weaponless Vashutkin execute a balletic duck and roll to avoid the raking sweep of metal talons. As he did so, one hand stabbed out to slap a small charge on the mech’s midsection. Coming out of the roll he lunged at the big Brolt rifle, lying off to the side, and came up with it in one hand as the other thumbed a small, boxy trigger unit. The charge went off with a bright flash that made the mech stagger but not fall. At the same time, the machine’s force field scrambled and pulsed for a couple of seconds, which was all Vashutkin needed. Without even aiming he brought up the rifle and directed a string of emp rounds into the unprotected carapace. Electromagnetic disruption tore into the mech’s vitals. Deranged datastreams burnt out control nodes and overloads raced through the gyro-motile systems. Wrecked from within, the droid fell to the ground, a shuddering, jerking ruin from which threads of smoke rose.
Backing away, Vashutkin glanced over at Greg, who nodded and jabbed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the sentry tower. The Rus grinned.
YOU SHOULD TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO ENTER THE BUILDING AND LOCATE THE WARPWELL CHAMBER
I can’t abandon my friends, he thought as he ran towards the tower, just ahead of Vashutkin. I hope you can deal with more than one of these things at a time.
THEIR SHIELD PATTERNS ARE TRANSPARENT TO ME HOWEVER, THE NEEDS OF BATTLE WILL PUT A STRAIN ON YOUR PHYSICAL RESOURCES BE AWARE OF THIS
I’ll do what has to be done.
There were another seven mechs at the sentry tower, three trying to break open the ground-floor entrance, three firing rounds in through upper-floor weapon slots, while another was going after Varstrand who had fled up onto the Har’s gasbags. In the gloom, sparks flew from the clash of metal claws on stone. In the Zyradin’s enhanced vision, Greg saw them all clearly.
Then they saw him. Torso- and shoulder-mounted weapons opened fire. Trusting to the Zyradin, Greg had his hands raised and outstretched as a storm of energy bolts, explosive slugs and minirockets converged on him … and time seemed to slow as the missiles entered the blue radiant nimbus of the Zyradin.
THE ENERGY FROM THE BEAM WEAPONS CAN BE ABSORBED AND REUSED THE SOLID-MATTER MISSILES CAN BE OVERLAID WITH A TRANSIENT FIELD MATCHING THEIR SHIELD PATTERNS THEN RETURNED TO THEIR POINTS OF ORIGIN OBSERVE
In an eyeblink, explosions
flared on the three mechs’ upper torsos. The chest and right arm of one burst into flame while the left arm and claw swept up and tore its own head off before swivelling to attack one of its companions. As the second one fended off the flailing blows, the third launched another wave of ordnance as it leaped forward.
It was barely able to take two strides before its own reflected volley punched through its armour and wrought destructive havoc within the chest cavity. As it keeled over, the headless droid was being hammered and bludgeoned to the ground when something inside gave way. A dazzling explosion engulfed the decapitated mech and the machine attacking it, a white-hot eruption that left several twisted, blackened lumps of metal scattered across the concrete.
That got the attention of the other four, who, recognising a genuine threat, lost interest in those trapped in the tower and descended to the ground. The droid hunting Varstrand likewise dropped onto the tower roof and quickly reached ground level. Greg began backing away in the direction of the promontory’s southern edge, drawing them away from the tower.
‘Guys, time you were leaving,’ he said into the two-way. ‘How are ye doing up there, anyway?’
‘Bessonov’s dead,’ came Alexei’s voice.
‘Dammit,’ he muttered. ‘Right, don’t hang about, move yer-selves!’
‘Yes, yes, it is what we are doing! Why aren’t you with us?’
‘Because I have a special friend,’ Greg said. ‘And someone has to keep their attention while you get yer arses in gear … Vashutkin, get aboard with them …’
‘Ah, so you’ve been elected president as well, eh? Sorry, my good and dear friend, but I think you may need a little help, here. How is it with you now?’
‘Kharasho,’ he lied. ‘I’m doing okay, maybe a wee bit oostalli.’
THIS IS FALSEHOOD YOU ARE FEELING THE STRAIN OF MY ENERGY DRAIN THE NEXT CLASH WILL REQUIRE A COUNTERATTACK THAT MAY RENDER YOU INSENSIBLE
Do it.
Almost as if his thoughts were a signal, the four combat mechs, all moving in quadruped mode, shifted formation to herd him towards the edge. In the background, the Har swayed away from the tower and began to gain height.
The Orphaned Worlds Page 45