by William L. K
“Master Dmitri,” Barok said, “Will your sister be joining us?”
Barok spoke in a husky baritone growl, not at all befitting his tiny size. All the acidel had the same mono-tonality in their speech patterns. Dmitri had long since grown accustomed to this uniquely low sound, but if you were to hear them for the first time, it was a most annoying noise indeed.
“I love the morning,” Dmitri replied. His soft voice completely ignoring the question Barok asked. “The morning here has such a peacefulness,” Dmitri breathed. “I have not been able to find this peace anywhere... except here. This moment is a gift, I suppose.”
Barok adjusted his robe collar, somewhat uncomfortable and fearful to respond. “Yes, Master Dmitri, it seems to be a beautiful morning.”
Dmitri turned from the window and faced Barok: “I have no idea what my sister will be doing this morning. But I will be seeing her tonight. Oh yes, I will definitely be seeing her tonight.”
“I understand,” Barok said, as he flashed the customary acidel hand signal - one stubby finger placed upon his rubbery brow. This hand signal sent the two other workers scurrying away.
“With your permission,” Barok continued, “I was wondering if I may be so bold as to ask a question, Master.”
“Ask me your question, my dear Barok.” Dmitri said. His voice was always so soothing, too soothing, as if he were hiding something of great importance. It reminded Barok of the rolling rapids on The River Frehenly in the springtime. No doubt an amazing wonder to observe from afar, but get too close and you risk falling victim to its deceptive splendor. Then you will most certainly be swept away by its force.
Taking several mechanical steps toward Dmitri, Barok continued, “I have heard strange things, Master. I have heard rumblings that our position here is... well, not what it appears to be. I know of our assignment for later this morning and I have a terrible concern things are not in order.”
Dmitri smiled slowly. “Is anything what it appears to be at first glance? I have found that situations usually appear to be something they are not. When you gaze at a star, do you actually see a star? No, you see but a memory of what used to be.”
“I am not sure. What does my master mean?” Barok swallowed. “I... do not understand. Does my master have a point? I seem to be missing it entirely.”
“I would not waste even a second of time worrying about such nonsense.” Dmitri turned sharply away from the window, and said: “I never worry about anything. There is no reason to.” He made his way unhurriedly toward the door. Barok followed close behind.
Strolling casually from the room, the two entered the main parlor. This was the center of the citadel, and it offered a sumptuous display of all the finer things this planet had to offer. Narrow stalks of the yellow pipetu plant trailed up the side of every wall, their sweet fragrance filling the room. Several triangular windows allowed the north sun to shine through, splashing light upon the row of peculiar black serpents etched upon the freshly scrubbed white marble floor.
A gong hung atop a stony ledge just above the foyer. With the acidel hand signal, Barok summoned the workers to activate the sound. A moment later the gong sounded, although no one touched it. This was just one of the many tasks the acidel could perform using simple telepathic powers.
While they did not possess the mind bending characteristics or skills of most outer galaxy tribes, they were able to perform simple acts of labor when conditioned properly. This type of work could be accomplished only if taught to them by a human presence, preferably someone of considerable intelligence. The higher the level of intelligence a human possessed, the greater the task the acidel could perform, within reason, of course. The more confidence a human had in his own actions, the better the acidel could perform.
The front gates opened seconds after the gong sounded. As Dmitri slowly made his way past the gates, he paused to observe the morning dew. As he did, Barok clumsily smashed the top of his bald rubbery head into Dmitri’s buttocks.
Embarrassed by this lack of concentration, Barok quickly retreated and repositioned himself directly behind his master. Dmitri suppressed a chuckle as best he could.
Over a thousand acidel waited outside the front gates. They stretched out in several straight lines just outside the entryway.
“Welcome to your day,” a scratchy tenor voice said. It was the unmistakable articulation of Ethan Educai, the royal instructor and protection supervisor for the royal kindred. He always greeted Dmitri with these words, no matter what his mood.
Ethan had spent his whole life in the pursuit of knowledge. He was not a big man and had the look of an exhausted elder warrior after battle. The robe he wore today was navy blue. His eyes of steel peered out from beneath a floppy hood. The long flowing white beard complemented an educated but tired demeanor.
Ethan had seen the horrors of what his knowledge might bring.
Great knowledge eventually falls prey to even greater consequences, Ethan thought. There are things no human need ever know in this lifetime.
Dmitri continued to smile as Ethan nodded his head. No words were necessary to convey what appeared to be a simple hello between two men so close.
“It’s a nice morning,” Ethan said flatly, not a hint of excitement in his tone. The icy, matter-of-fact manner in which Ethan delivered his welcome left Dmitri angered.
Dmitri specifically told Ethan how he wished to be greeted on this morning. Ethan was not being as friendly or cooperative as Dmitri had hoped.
“Is it a nice morning?” Dmitri said rhetorically before answering himself, “Yes... now that you mention it, I suppose it is.” And with a sudden turn away from his mentor, he withdrew his smile.
Barok sensed the disturbance immediately. This would not be a nice morning at all. His perception suggested that a storm unlike any other approached, one that he may even be able to stop, but would not. The storm of the night before was nothing compared to what was in store for this planet today.
Suddenly, a commotion from inside the citadel.
An abrupt roar was followed by a woman screaming, sounds of distress and confusion.
With a flurry of movement, Ethan grabbed Dmitri and flung him to the ground.
“You’ll not see the end of this!” Ethan howled, standing over Dmitri.
Two imperial soldiers ran toward the conflict, unsure of whom to protect.
Hordes of acidel streamed out the front gates, yelling wildly in their deep growl.
As he drew his knife, Ethan locked his stare on Dmitri, ever more aware of the wailing cries emerging from just inside the gates.
Dozens of soldiers in battle fatigues quickly descended from all directions. They wore green and black masks, solid black riot gear with serpents shining on their shields and weaponry. Steel blades upon their jagged swords caught the glare of sunlight, and they glistened with a powerful brilliance.
“Get away from here at once!” Dmitri shouted, standing and simultaneously shoving the two imperial soldiers away. Adjusting his uniform, he focused all his energies onto Ethan. “All of you soldiers, be gone! This is not your concern!”
“Master Dmitri,” Barok implored, “Please, do not be foolish!”
With an overly-confidant arrogance, Dmitri drew his royal sword. “This is my home, I took a vow to protect it!”
“That is true,” Ethan said. “And I took a vow to protect you!”
“Do you still intend to keep your vow?” Dmitri snickered.
“It is a solemn vow...But...I...” Ethan staggered for a moment. Losing his balance, he felt suddenly short of breath. Clutching his chest, he crumbled to the ground.
Ah yes, Dmitri smiled. The poison...The poison is finally working.
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The Chains of Tartarus
Sample Chapter
17 Aevum Oblivio
Deliber
ate Misunderstandings
It began with a mushroom cloud.
Clawing its way into the sky on the horizon - an image burned black into the retinas of racial memory. We learned about Hiroshima. We saw the tests which blew all those coral atolls to dead white shards. We even watched those soldiers at Trinity, marching into the fallout with bolt-action rifles and cigarettes.
But while some people were writing protest songs, others were calculating yields and blast radii. Build a button, and a finger will find it. Every time.
The warbirds came skimming in on two separate vectors – some spearing down from space, others clipping the wavetops at twelve times the speed of sound. Each one was a flattened ovoid, a cuttlebone of chromed foam-metal powered by solid-fuel rockets. Ahead, sharp and clear in the equatorial sun, loomed their target.
It was a mountain of cerametal and foamed concrete, a white and crystalline shape of geometric domes and towers. Above the city – the Terminus – rose a single metal-bright stamen, a wire coiled out tight into the vault of heaven.
That was what these warbirds were here to cut down.
Up above, where the space elevator blurred into the haze of the stratosphere, vast explosions bloomed in silence, each one challenging the light of the sun. Ships were dying up there, fighting for control of an asteroid the size of Manhattan island, its nickel-iron core scooped out and replaced with machinery and marble.
The blow which severed the bridge to space would fall here, though. The Old Democracies knew what their Secessionist enemies valued, and with this hammer-strike they'd shear off the link to the factory-kombinant world of Mars.
It was all on record. It was all filed away neat and clean, clinically removed from the grim mechanics of detonation and air shock, the actinic flash which painted human beings across the walls of the Terminus as shadows...
"They're through the satellite shield! They're through the shield! - Four missiles are past the gridline and are closing on our location..."
THIS IS NOT A DRILL - ALL INVESTORS WITH GRADE NINE CLEARANCE OR ABOVE PROCEED TO THE CRYONICS LEVEL IMMEDIATELY - REPEAT, TACTICAL COMMAND, INVESTORS OF GRADE NINE AND ABOVE REPORT TO CRYONICS IN SUB-BASEMENT ONE-OH-THREE IMMEDIATELY
"Interceptors have been launched, General. Those Antiseparatists can't have scramblers in their warbirds hot enough to get through to the Terminus. I'm sure we can stand down the Cryonics techs."
"General, this is Space-Lev tower control! The Counterweight's been hit with a gamma burst! Sweet Jesus, they're all dead! And interceptor control..."
PLEASE REMAIN CALM. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. INCOMING NUCLEAR PROJECTILES HAVE BEEN DETECTED. WORKERS AND MILITARY PERSONNEL ARE ADVISED TO REPORT TO THEIR DESIGNATED SHELTERS. INVESTORS OF CLEARANCE GRADE NINE AND ABOVE PLEASE REPORT TO THE CRYONICS LEVEL FOR SAFETY PROCESSING
"'Ceptor twenty-five has scored a direct hit! We've got three still hot, 'Ceptors closing ...Oh God, they're getting jammed! We have countermeasures live! General, sequester the machine! We have to neutralize that ice!"
"Kronos, this is General Nathan Merrick, access number three-nine-six-two-alpha-hotel-bravo. Generate Executive command..."
NUCLEAR IMPACT IMMINENT
INTERCEPTORS COMPROMIZED
(Whiteout. EMP static – assumed tactical nuclear detonation of not less than three megatons)
(Explosions, screaming. Recording compromised for three point six minutes)
"uuuuhhh – General Merrick? MacAllister? Oh, God! The water's coming in! ... save us! You have to hear this... you have to do something! So much blood! Always the blood, dammit...(coughing) stupid, stupid... Jesus, Dean! Oh, Christ, his FACE! He's... And the guts all hangin' out....
(crying, manic laughter, thirty-nine seconds)
Stupid monkey bastards! Why are we so...(coughing) So foolish. Such a waste. Please - If anyone can hear this, you have to save us! We're trapped down here! I...I hope those Anti-Sep bastards are happy! Shouldn't...shouldn't get their bloody hands on this place. Don't deserve it. WE don't deserve it (coughing, choking). One day. Oneday maybe. Maybeone... (labored breathing, choking) Dumb bastards. Wh..."
(Silence - Two minutes thirty seconds)
"This is Kronos, General. Executive Order Accepted. Calculating Parameters for Task 'Save Us'. Projected run time...nine thousand, two hundred and forty two years, six days, three hours. Please input abort code to cancel."
(Silence - Two minutes thirty seconds)
"Executive Order Instigated. Have a nice day."
That was the key. That was the tipping point.
But for a certain alien Technician, scrabbling through the memories of an insane A.I. Tyrant, it was no real consolation to have found it.
His one-time mentor - the Hierophant of the Multiplicity who gave him his commission – well, that gnarly old entity stood hunched over him now, infected and mind-raped by a sequestrating disease. His idea of discipline wasn't a sternly worded memo anymore.
Nyl's hand was swollen to three times its normal size, and it connected with the side of Zhe's unarmored skull like a concrete wrecking ball, lifting him from his feet and powering him across the treadplate in a ragdoll slide. Cold metal grated against his cheek.
"Such a conscientious little slave!" crooned Nyl, stalking toward him, nine feet of towering menace robed in black. "There's nothing in those memories that can stop me! The Praetor Himself couldn't stop me now!"
Zhe spat out a mouthful of yellow blood as he rose to his knees.
"Don't be a fool, Nyl." he rasped "That disease is in your brain. It's taken you over!"
Nyl reached out to hammer him down with his immense claw, but stopped at the top of his backswing.
"Am I a Technician mated to a Slavesystem controlling an unknown virus, or a virus with the body of a hybrid Technician?"
He frowned, looking up at the shifting, insectile surface of that great thorny hand. Then it came down hard, swatting Zhe to the floor with a sickening crunch.
"With this kind of power, I don't care what you call me! Soon this entire planet will become part of me as well. More neurostrata! More minds caged within! It all extends the domain of my godhood!"
Zhe groaned, trying once again to move. It was taking nearly all of his will just to keep his body together, valency bond generators working deep in the red.
Suddenly Nyl stopped, his head held up as though he'd caught the scent of prey. The red glow of the memory cubes underlit his features, making him seem even more demonic.
"My thralls approach," he whispered. "Best that I shed this skin... we wouldn't want to frighten the little bastards!"
Scales spun, prismatic. Bones slid and socketed, while flesh bulged, hissed, deflated, stretched tight...
Within an instant Zhe was looking at the figure of a robed magus - undoubtedly human, his blank and blazing eyes all that hinted at the creature within.
"It's time to get to work," said Nyl, running his hands through his new mane of silvery gray hair. "Remember to keep silent when they arrive, Zhe. We wouldn't want any accidents – would we?"
The light upshifted, from crimson to yellow to blinding white. Vast machineries ground beneath the floor, raising a platform the size of a football field up on cogs like bucket-wheel excavator scoops.
"Come to me, children! We've got a world to dominate!"
As he blacked out, Zhe reflected that this was really not one of his better days. In fact, it was almost as bad as the night he watched in a fragment of his mirror-crazed mind; the focus of his investigation.
Lord Arbitrex Galq would be pleased to know that he was so diligent in his research, but the sad fact was that Zhe was being shown what happened seventeen years ago. Chrome steel hooks of code pried open his mind and poured the memories in.
There was a reason they called this new age the Aevum Oblivio. It was much worse than the reason they called the age before it the Arbitrium Mundi – the world's judgment.
In the end, both of them came down to that one executive order, malicio
usly misunderstood.
But the last one – the big one – the night of the Exodus and the Fall... that was under Nyl's watch. Perhaps, just perhaps, there'd be something in the memories of Kaito Kayzi and Kronos to damn the renegade to a hell far worse than anything these primitive meatsacks could dream up...
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