by Hubbert, Jim
“We don’t know the motivation. But a large mass of people, some bearing arms, are pressing toward Iga from the east.” This was the sword speaking. Miyo was slowly becoming accustomed to the Messenger’s miracles; now she felt the urge to learn something basic.
“A question, sword.”
“Cutty, if you please,” answered the sword.
“Where are you, Cutty?”
“Where am I? I am everywhere.”
“Don’t be sly. You cast your voice from a distance with the same magic as this bead, do you not?” said Miyo.
“Very good,” replied the sword. Miyo heard the Messenger choking back a laugh. The sword was silent a moment, then: “Yes. My body is in a certain location. From there, I control eyes and ears all over the world. But don’t tell anyone. This is important strategic information.”
“Are you the Messenger’s wife?” asked Miyo.
“Excuse me?” Again the Messenger’s laughter spilled from the magatama. The sword’s voice was disapproving. “The answer is no. The Messenger does not marry. No, you do not understand the feelings of AIs like us. Romance arises when there is something about an individual that another cannot understand.”
“You needn’t become so upset about it,” said Miyo.
“I am not upset!”
“Queen Himiko! Miyo!” The Messenger sounded as if he’d laugh himself sick. “No human has ever cornered Cutty like that,” he said finally.
The sword cut in, “This is no time for idle chatter.”
“I know. I hear it too. We’ve got a lot of Wasps deployed,” said the Messenger.
“Coverage over the entire Ueno basin,” said Cutty. “I confirm multiple sonic signatures of bronze-edged weapons cutting timber and human flesh—the sounds of battle. I’m detecting elevated temperatures and hydrocarbon particles. There are fires.”
“Looks like we’re ready to put on a demonstration,” said the Messenger.
“You will join the battle?” asked Miyo.
“The only thing that light show is going to earn me is a little respect, nothing more. I have to follow it up with a feat of arms.” They had discussed this already before setting out. Miyo realized that her concern for the Messenger’s safety was personal. She dropped any pretense that it was otherwise. “Be careful. The Emishi are deadly bowmen,” she warned.
“Save your worries for the enemy,” answered the Messenger. “Sometimes I don’t know when to stop killing.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Miyo murmured, as the dull baying of bamboo war trumpets began sounding along the column, a wave of activity spreading down the ranks. The trumpets sounded again and again, captains marshalling their men. There was a clatter of drawn swords and the pounding of running feet. Men with whips moved horses and oxen in the baggage train off to the side of the path. Miyo lifted the edge of the screen and peered out.
They were in a ravine, with open country a short distance ahead. The narrow way ran along a small stream. Even with no head for tactics, Miyo could see the danger of an ambush here. But Takahaya was already reinforcing his vanguard and sending small parties of soldiers running up the sides of the ravine and along the stream to flush out any enemies lying in wait.
Miyo heard a noise behind her and turned to see Kan’s narrow face peering into the palanquin. “Lady Miyo, we are moving you to the rear. It is dangerous here.”
“No. I will stay.” Then she realized Kan did not know of the Messenger’s plans, and added: “The Messenger will join the battle. There’s nothing to fear.”
“But my lady…” Kan seemed to be groping for words—No matter how strong he is, how much difference can he make? Miyo tried another tack.
“Go forward and see what’s happening, then come back and tell me. I can’t go myself.”
“I won’t leave your side,” said Kan.
“It’s all right. Hear that? The trumpets are sounding the advance. I’ll be safe here. And you want to prove yourself, don’t you?”
“But…” Still Kan hesitated, so Miyo pointed through the gap in the screen. “Look, they’ve raised the banners!”
Near the front ranks, a huge yellow banner, double the span of a man’s arms, soared above the host. Never before had this awe-inspiring war flag, trimmed in threads of gold, been raised in battle. Years before, it had been sent to Wa as a gift from the great empire of Wei. The banner’s four Chinese characters—Ruler of Wa, Friend of Wei—rustled in the breeze, a proclamation to all from the emperor across the sea.
A great battle cry rose from the host. Miyo smiled as she saw Kan’s eyes widen with childlike wonder. He ran excitedly toward the vanguard.
At last the sounds of battle came from the direction of the front, but died down almost immediately. This was not part of the plan. Apparently this was not a full-scale engagement. Miyo spoke to the magatama. “Messenger O? What is happening?”
“Apparently just a detachment of enemy pathfinders. We’re starting the search for the main body. You there, give me that horse!” The Messenger took someone’s mount. Miyo said no more, not wanting to distract him. The war trumpets sounded again, and the column lurched into motion.
They left the ravine and moved into open country. Here and there across the plain, which was half the expanse of Yamatai, Miyo could see smoke rising from dwellings that had been set ablaze. Still, something was wrong—war banners and the glitter of helmet and armor were nowhere to be seen. Where were the enemy forces?
Miyo was restless with anxiety but the magatama was silent, even as the column entered one of the villages. The order to stand was handed down to bivouac, and Miyo took her midday meal in a large house in the village. Not till the sun began its journey down the sky did the bead speak again. But the tone of that voice made Miyo uneasy.
“Miyo.”
“What happened? Are you safe?” she asked.
“I’m returning now,” said the Messenger. “I was delayed.”
“What do you mean? Are you hurt? Tell me!” But there was no answer.
Finally Kan returned, his face flushed with the excitement of combat. “Lady Miyo, victory is ours. I dispatched one of them myself. He was attacking a farmer; we crossed blades—”
“I was worried about you. I waited long,” said Miyo.
“I’m sorry.” Abashed and reminded of his responsibilities to Miyo, Kan dipped his head in respect.
Miyo smiled; she was relieved to see him unharmed. “Did you see the Messenger fight the enemy?” she asked.
“I saw him. He fought from horseback, wielding his long sword. He scattered the Emishi like dolls. No arrow found him, no spear made him flinch. He is terribly strong. All the men were in awe of him.”
“He is unhurt, then?” asked Miyo.
“Not even a scratch.”
Then why had he seemed so downhearted just now? As she mulled this over, a voice called from outside. Kan went to see. When he returned he was frowning.
“Takahaya blathers about an audience. A man of his station! You needn’t pay any attention, I think.”
“Wait,” said Miyo. “What does he want?”
“He said an envoy from the enemy wants to speak with you directly. Why don’t they just drive the envoy away?”
“An Emishi messenger?” said Miyo. This was peculiar;a war declaration or a request for parley could simply be passed to Takahaya, Lord Ikima’s proxy. To request an audience with Himiko herself suggested something extraordinary. Miyo motioned Kan away and whispered into the magatama. “Messenger O! One of the Emishi requests an audience. I believe I should speak with him. What say you?”
“Yes, go ahead—no, I’ll meet him too. Come, I’m in Takahaya’s quarters.”
Shielded from the eyes of the common folk by an entourage of twenty maidservants in place of the usual screens, Miyo arrived at Takahaya’s pavilion. She hadn’t long to wait before the coarse-faced Hayato commander arrived to prostrate himself before her with an air of extreme discomfiture. Inside, the Messenger sat cross-leg
ged on an improvised dais, waiting. Miyo sat beside him.
Takahaya’s country was far to the west. With no inkling of protocol in the palace at Yamatai and no conception concerning the proper way to host these two luminaries, he barked for someone to bring sake and sweets, and set them timidly before his two guests. He was so subservient it seemed pointless to talk to him.
“Why is he so ill at ease? Did something happen?” Miyo whispered to Kan.
“The Messenger caught a stray arrow with his bare hands before it struck him.”
So that was it. Takahaya must have been astounded. But knowing that actually made her task easier. Miyo shifted to face Kan directly. “The Messenger is pleased with this hospitality. Our host will do well to persevere.”
“Takahaya, the Queen speaks thus—” Kan began, parroting Miyo. Evidently heartened, Takahaya recovered his good spirits and offered words of thanks. Miyo began to feel favorably disposed toward this simple soldier. “It is said that a messenger from the Emishi is nearby. May he be brought here?” she asked. Kan repeated, Takahaya answered.
“Begging your pardon, but he said he would gut himself unless he saw the Queen, and we cannot send him away. We threatened to behead him, but he offered his neck and told us to do as we pleased. His spirit would return to settle the score.”
“Fear not, just bring him to me.” Miyo paused; she might have sounded a trifle insouciant. “Bind his eyes and limbs, that he may cause no trouble,” she added.
Soon the man was brought in, bound hand and foot and slung from a pole, like a boar ready for roasting.
“I am Himiko, Queen of Yamatai. What have you to say, Emishi?” As she spoke, Miyo noticed that the Messenger seemed depressed.
Even hanging from his pole, the Emishi’s reply was firm and resolute. “So you are the queen? Then hear the words of my king, who speaks thus: our realm is invaded by an army of mononoké. All is chaos. We beg you, oh queen, grant grain and meat to our families and kinsmen. Help us. If you do, we swear we will quell the mononoké and destroy them.”
“What?” Miyo was so astonished, she forgot to speak through Kan. “Mononoké—attacking Kunu?”
“They destroy the mountains, they destroy the rivers. They are here.” The Emishi spoke with the fearless resignation of one without a homeland to return to.
“Then those who overran the barrier were not attacking. They were fleeing,” said Miyo.
“Yes. We beg your forgiveness.”
The Messenger turned wordlessly to Miyo. She knew the reason for the despair in his eyes. She dismissed everyone so they could be alone.
“Do you not know where the mononoké are?” she asked.
“I will. There’s a surveillance network already being put into place. But I didn’t expect they’d time their arrival with such accuracy. I thought we’d have up to twenty years before they got here. I let down my guard.”
“All Wasps deployed for airborne mining surveys are redirected to Kunu. The surveillance net should be in place within eight hours.” This was the sword.
“It’s too late,” said the Messenger. “We have to abandon this area. Miyo, get ready to retreat before dawn. We have to establish a defensive line with fortifications in that ravine we passed through today. The refugees we can gather by morning should be sent to Yamatai. The rest will have to fend for themselves. And runners must be sent to the capital. Every available soldier should be called up.”
“Is it…is it really that urgent?” said Miyo.
“The first refugees came more than ten days ago. I don’t know how many fighters Kunu has left. But against the ET, at the breakout stage in their life cycle? They’re probably already dead.”
Miyo gasped. The Messenger looked away and whispered bitterly. “This isn’t the first time I’ve blundered.”
“Not the first time?”
“I arrived before them, but I didn’t prepare soon enough. I was routed.”
Defeat was the shadow hanging over this man. Remorse for everyone he had failed to save during his years of struggle. Before Miyo had a chance to respond, the Messenger took his helmet and stood up.
“I have to check the front line. I leave the rest to you. Cutty, we have a critical. Send backup, and from the other side of the planet if you have to.”
“Confirm—no, stand by. I’m getting criticals from other stations now.”
The Messenger stared at the sword. It spoke again. “The Kingdom of Aksum in East Africa: a Messenger in cryostasis has been attacked and destroyed. Consequently Giza Station is no more. Friendly forces are being urgently wakened from cryostasis on Mounts Athos and Tahat, in Qal’at Jarmo and all Middle Eastern stations. Nearby stations are earmarked for backup.”
“Damn it!”
The Messenger kicked violently at a nearby crate and stomped off.
CHAPTER 4
STAGE 002EARTH A.D. 2119
When they arrived in the Sol System of the early twenty-second century, the Messengers first carried out surveys to confirm that none of the signature strongholds and structures associated with ET replication were extant. Earth was still wrapped in tranquility, its blue surface adorned with masses of white clouds.
Having stolen a march on the enemy, the Messengers celebrated, then hurried toward Earth to warn of the coming crisis. On the way, they detected signs of human activity on Mars. Settlements were under construction, using materials from Earth and the Moon. Large groups of robots were at work on the surface, clustered at the poles and around subsurface water sources. An encouraging sight, and expected from history as the Messengers knew it. Humans in this era were moving out into the cosmos, even if their capabilities were still undeveloped. The Messengers assumed that cooperation in engaging the enemy would be forthcoming.Making contact with the people of the twenty-second century and convincing them that the Messengers came from the future went easily enough. The peoples of Earth took one look at the space fleet of several hundred units, carrying Messengers fluent in all of Earth’s languages, and welcomed them as brothers. The politicians were wary and the scientists more than skeptical, but once they received background information on the Messengers’ deployment—with explanations concerning the theory and practice of temporal upstreaming—they agreed to cooperate.
Yet everything from that point on had been fraught with difficulty. There was no Earth organization in the twenty-second century with the capacity to set a course for humanity. The United Nations was potentially the nucleus of such an endeavor, but it remained weaker than its sovereign members. The governments of Earth had grave reservations about taking collective action—military action—at the suggestion of an entirely unknown entity against yet another unknown entity. Still, this sort of resistance had been anticipated, which is why the Messengers were dispatched to the past in human form.
What helped the Messengers was the discovery of several enemy colonies already on Earth. One was found in the European city of Köln, another in the Chinese coal center of Fushun. The intruders were probably a vanguard of reconnaissance rather than a full-scale invasion. Eradicating these colonies required most of the military resources of the respective states, and the threat of mass invasion caused the General Assembly to pass their resolution. Finally, the governments of Earth understood that the ET represented a new and unknown challenge, along with the epidemics, famines, ethnic conflicts, and environmental devastation that continued to bedevil humanity. But even then, some leaders suggested that the Messengers themselves might be responsible for the two colonies, planting them in order to profit from the resulting conflict.
Regardless, a structure for cooperation was established to meet the threat. In accordance with the UN resolution, Earth began strengthening its air defense and surface combat capabilities. The Messengers were responsible for space-based defense. At least that was the plan.
Preparations for resisting the ET advanced at a snail’s pace. Five months after the arrival of the Messengers, modifications to the targeting programs for near-Eart
h orbit nuclear strike missiles—which Earth already had in quantity—were complete. All of Earth’s observatories were integrated into the space defense net or soon would be. But that was roughly all that had been accomplished. Production of anti-ET weapon systems had not yet started. Earth’s off-world production plants were reluctant to repurpose, and not a single factory was focusing its efforts on preparation for battle. Lunar mining operations, robot factories, launch platforms, solar power installations—everywhere the Messengers turned, they met with foot-dragging and resistance. The red tape even extended to construction of the Messengers’ own facilities.
Even the slow pace of manufacturing arrangements was tolerable compared to the progress of talks dealing with control of UN Forces. Here things had completely bogged down. The Messengers were whipsawed between the great powers that had long dominated the planet and the smaller nations that had been increasing their leverage since the turn of the millennium. It was impossible to predict when the chain of command for UN Forces would be decided upon.Cutty was in despair. Even her most urgent task, a planet-wide screening for ET spores, was blocked at the outset. She was only authorized to conduct fragmentary searches, country by country, as each individually gave—and then sometimes withdrew—permission. Earth never seemed to understand that even one missed spore could replicate into a huge horde. Nevertheless, Cutty was completely overloaded. Along with her screening work, she dispatched a fleet of more than a hundred vessels to Venus on a major search and destroy mission.
In the twenty-sixth century, the enemy had used Venus as a seed bed. Now, Cutty carried out a thorough search for underground bases or colonies hidden beneath the thick atmosphere that shrouded this world. Sure enough, several large colonies were discovered. One after another they were wiped out with thermonuclear warheads—for the Messengers were no more than weapons of medium power. After the strikes, thorough mop-up operations were carried out to ensure that not a single spore had escaped.