The Loss Queen (Approaching Infinity Book 5)

by Chris Eisenlauer

  He shrugged. It was done and could not be undone.

  He certainly didn’t want to interfere with the Emperor’s plans, but he wondered if there was something he might be able to do, some small favor to cast the scales back closer to balance between him and Holson. Probably not, but he was also curious to see how all would play out.

  3

  THE LOSS TOWER

  10,923.022.1800

  Planet 1612 (Loss)

  3rd Perimeter (Barcos Steppe)

  A swarming black body—a regimented horde—undulated like an animate carpet over the rugged, rock-strewn grassy terrain. The sun, stagnant and waning now, was at their backs, split by the nearly invisible sliver shadow of the Loss Tower, poking up from below the horizon. They were forty thousand strong, and though they marched on and on, not a single one of them was optimistic. Victory over the invaders might be possible, but with the Light and Heavy Air Divisions along with the Combined Naval and Infiltration Divisions defeated already, the cost might prove too high. These soldiers were styled after ants, and the man leading them harbored the same thoughts as his troops. His thoughts were perhaps grimmest of all. The Loss Queen had warned them.

  TATTAN

  LOSS LIGHT LAND DIVISION COMMANDER

  Every Loss Commander had been given permission—no, she had requested this of them—to stand down, to flee, to seek refuge far away from the invaders’ touch-down point and their reach. None had done so. How could they? How could they live with the guilt and the shame? And for how long with the scale of the threat looming over them? No, fighting was better, even if the outcome was uncertain or. . .

  Lightning lit the sky. One streak cracked above and continued on in a sweeping arc towards the Loss Tower. Tattan, turned to try to see the extent of its range or its intended target. Two more flashes ahead, one fairly close. There was no doubt that these were from the enemy. Test shots, perhaps? Loss still had its means.

  “Portan,” Tattan said aloud.

  “Go ahead.”

  “The enemy is testing some kind of weapon, the range of which is concerning. Be on alert.”

  “Understood.”

  “Stay on, Portan,” Tattan said. “Airen.”

  There was a pause and finally a feminine voice responded, “Go ahead.”

  “If possible, we must step up our atmospheric camouflage and defense efforts.”

  “More than you know,” Airen said.

  “Do you have readings on the weapons fire?” Tattan said.

  “I do. And it’s more than a weapon, it’s a delivery system.”

  Tattan was stunned into silence.

  “Don’t lose hope just yet, brother,” Airen said. “I have been busy, and we can counter this.”

  “Not what’s already been done, of course.”

  “No, but there will be no future discharges.”

  Tattan nodded. “Portan, did you copy that?”

  “Yes,” Portan said.

  “You must investigate and be prepared to reconsider your defensive placement.”

  “Understood,” Portan said. “Out.”

  “Stay strong, Tattan, and know that I am always nearby,” Airen said.

  “Thank you for that.”

  “Out,” Airen said.

  Tattan sighed. Over the rhythmic beat of the march, he heard the succession of low thumps and knew that his sister’s secret army was putting into effect the defensive measures just discussed.

  Tattan looked up to see faint contrails crisscrossing the dusky sky. For the next ten minutes, the heavens shuddered with bursting shells, distributing nanomachines which would hang in the air indefinitely. These would establish an electromagnetic network that would accomplish a number of things. Almost immediately, intermittent patches of mist gathered and waxed heavy over the ground. He could only imagine the other ways in which the network would interfere with the enemy’s detection equipment and their energy projection capabilities. He had every confidence in his sister. He only wished he had the same confidence in himself and his self-given mission.

  10,923.022.1815

  Planet 1612 (Loss)

  2nd Perimeter (Yago River)

  Icsain surveyed the land and was confident that no native troops were nearby. His own thousand troops—immaculate wooden dolls and nearly identical representations of him—stood in perfect formation, idle and waiting, while the four-meter metal cube buzzed, whirred, unlocked like a mechanized puzzle, and began to expand. It dug into the ground, extracting minerals and ores and other raw materials, allowing for further expansion. He was easily bored, though, and decided to take a stroll to more closely examine his territory. Mere minutes into his walk, missiles filled the sky and boomed in what seemed like a single, endless explosion. It did end finally, and he was curious. What could the natives possibly hope to achieve by assaulting the empty air? None of the ordnance had come down to the ground where it would have been of use. The Empire hadn’t made a show of any kind of air power, so what was the point? Was it a mistake? Likely. Humans were such fallible creatures. He suffered them only because he had to and because occasionally he was able to make toys of them. He looked forward to retirement if only to be free of them, or at least those he was forbidden to harm.

  He walked down a rocky hill and almost didn’t see the wide river, rushing furiously and snaking for kilometers in either direction, through some strange—was it unnatural?—atmospheric condensation. The sound of the river was muted as well. He made a check of the banks, the hill he’d just descended, the general geographic and geologic properties of the local surroundings and couldn’t quite account for the poor acoustics.

  He was loathe to give humans credit even when it was due, but he began to rethink his assessment of the enemy’s mistake.

  10,923.022.2100

  Planet 1612 (Loss)

  3rd Perimeter (Barcos Steppe)

  Raus fidgeted. He didn’t like the mist that had gathered after the bombs had exploded uselessly—or not so uselessly—in the air, high overhead. If it was poison of some sort, it wasn’t working, but if it was just designed to obscure, it most certainly was doing that.

  The ground shook, had been shaking for the last thirty minutes, in a way that suggested a march of vast numbers. Raus thought he should have been able to make visual contact by now, despite the moisture in the air. The sound, too, was odd. The force may have been of unimaginable size far, far away, or of more mundane proportions and nearly right on top of him.

  His facility had taken on its full, final dimensions, but would not be jump capable for another couple of hours. He wasn’t worried exactly, just anxious. Even with no troops, he was confident he could turn enough of the enemy to his advantage, but he had his allotted thousand. The steppe was not exactly barren, but it held only candidates for Jav Holson’s army.

  He’d kept Milla Marz, now Sacy Kaupler, as his lieutenant, but she showed no more sign of individuality than had any other version of Kaupler. He shook his head at this. He’d hoped that he might have been able to capture something of her, to retain it, if only temporarily. Retirement would come soon. Ban was alive, strong and vital, no longer the cause of worry or concern. He would be able to return to Sarsa, to go through the gene banks at his leisure, to concoct anew, again and again if necessary, the true Milla Marz. He would make things right between them. He had to.

  Now sound flooded the immediate area, the raucous clamor of an army not a hundred meters away. Raus stared into the gloom and made out the advancing front line of steely black ants. He sighed, raised his finger to the sky, then swept it back down. Lightning jagged down three times, striking variously into the midst of the oncoming troops.

  • • •

  Tattan balked. Had his sister failed? He didn’t know, but the howls from his men didn’t bode well. Indeed, one of the strikes had lighted nearby, scorching the ground and chaining through as many as fifty men. Several had caught fire, and many were moving strangely, in ways not explained by injury. When his eyes fell
upon Sacy, clearly obedient to the pale enemy giant, he shouted for his men to charge, but doing so was a convulsive gag reflex, like vomiting. The Light Land Division lurched forward en masse, increasing its pace, rushing past their commander to flood over the building site and the waiting corpse troops, though they had no inkling that the latter were actually dead already.

  What troubled Tattan more than the lightning discharge, more than Sacy’s presence here, were the recurring cries from among his ranks, from those who’d not yet encountered the enemy. Fearful of what he would see, he turned his attention backwards, and was appalled to see his own troops fighting amongst themselves. Well, not fighting exactly. Those intent on following orders were snatched aside and beset by others whose movements were slow, imprecise, and jerky. Slow and jerky, but perhaps not imprecise. They moved their arms in ways that tangled their targets, breaking arms and snapping necks. Many of the betrayers had cast their helmets away and sought to bite the fallen. Moments later Tattan observed them removing helmets from victims to better facilitate the morbid kiss. He had to remove his own helmet to be sick, when he saw one of the fallen—with neck pumping life blood over the tall grasses—rise and assume the same slow, jerky mannerisms of those who’d killed him.

  His disgust giving way to rage, Tattan replaced his helmet and turned the nozzles over his wrists onto the dead and dying still behind him. A high pressure stream of acid belched forth, cutting a swath through the animate dead, literally cutting in half at the waist those standing. Others rising from or falling to the ground lost portions of their heads. Limbs fell like overripe fruit from trees.

  “Acid guns!” Tattan shouted. “Target any Light Land soldier showing erratic movement or behavior!”

  • • •

  For hours they strove, but the dead on the ground and the dead seeking to kill them increased steadily, without fail, skewing the balance between opposing troops further and further. Tattan, along with a small group of veterans, all working back to back, managed to proceed through the chaos, moving forward to try to engage the enemy commander, but as his fellows’ guns went dry, as most everyone’s but Tattan’s had, they could do little to protect themselves. Tattan did what he could, but one man alone was not enough. There were still enclaves of living Light Land soldiers, but they were cut off from one another and there was little to hope for under the circumstances.

  Tattan pushed relentlessly forward, selfishly grateful for his Totem’s limitless acid well, but fearful also that one missed target or one lapse in concentration would be the end of him. At last he glimpsed the enemy commander again and Sacy at his side. Tattan was initially more interested in erasing the blemish to Loss that Sacy had become, so he turned his acid guns upon her. The giant, however, caught the stream in the palm of his hand, keeping her from from all but spatter.

  Tattan watched, fascinated by the disintegration and reconstitution of the huge hand. It was like a system at near perfect equilibrium.

  Though the hand wouldn’t be banished, the acid did seem to be the source of excruciating pain to the giant who very quickly set upon him. Tattan brought both nozzles together and forced the streams to peak output. He didn’t know whether or not the enemy troops would fall if their commander did, but hope had not yet died within his breast. The combined stream of acid washed over the foul-colored man with his metal-studded arms, one of which he raised to protect his face, but the liquid splashed and sprayed and came down on his right shoulder in a volume great enough to cause his arm to sag, great enough to force him to grab his bubbling right arm by the wrist so that it wouldn’t fall to the ground while it sputtered and dissolved.

  Only it didn’t dissolve, not entirely. Tattan watched in dull shock as the commander held the pulpy end of his arm up to the shoulder socket. Gleaming metal threads shot out from both ends, twined together and the arm resumed its position at the shoulder, once again whole. The bubbling and sputtering ceased and Tattan continued to stare as the gray flesh repaired itself, leaving very little in the way of scarring.

  His gawking had cost him. He was now surrounded by the enemy—all of them were his former troops, now dead and seeking to kill him, or change him. He spun like a top, sending a jet of acid in a spiral around him, but even as the corpse soldiers fell apart and collapsed, more took their places from all sides, with their commander coming ever closer, his face grim and promising finality. Tattan stared forward, making eye contact with him, and deciding. He calmly raised the nozzle over his right wrist to his temple, eliciting nothing more than a shrug from the other.

  “Forgive me Airen. Forgive me my Queen.”

  The nozzle sprayed and Tattan’s head offered no resistance to the high pressure stream.

  10,923.022.2100

  Planet 1612 (Loss)

  4th Perimeter (Barcos Basin)

  Jav wasn’t nervous. He hadn’t experienced any kind of anxiety, or felt much of anything, in the last twenty years or so. He stood where he had after arriving and walking to what he assumed would be a safe distance from the self-building bunker. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t once considered what to do should the enemy show up. In fact, besides ignoring a mild throbbing ache in his guts, he had done only two things. One was to probe with his spatial sense, piercing the tactically deployed mist, to get an idea of his surroundings for several kilometers in every direction. This was especially tricky and time-consuming since he relied on visual cues for reference points, but there was little else to do. Here there were scattered trees and sizable boulders of aggregate rock. To the east was a forest. A city, similar in many ways to the one which served as the Vine’s landing site, lay to the south. The most interesting similarity, and cause for some speculation, was its distinct lack of habitation. He knew that further down, the ocean lapped at an uneven coastline. Perhaps all the people had all fled on ships to some as yet unknown shelter. To the north were trees more generously distributed than in the area he currently occupied. The beginnings of mountains rose up to the west where the setting sun shone weakly, white and diffuse through the mist, and struggling to keep dusk from becoming permanent night. He assumed that his final objective lay hidden within those mountains. The second thing he’d done was check the area for any additional troops in the ground. There were some, but it was a tired assortment of man and beast. He would use what he could when the time came.

  • • •

  Arms folded, Jav remained standing, rooted to the same spot, statue still. He’d lost all track of time, but checked the tether launch control upon his wrist and saw that the jump deck would be operational soon. He also noted that the communication link with the Palace and other tether launch controls was offline.

  Though it wasn’t finished, the bunker had reached its final proportions. He walked to the west-facing wall of the structure, and pressed an access panel on the extreme right, almost at the edge. A hidden door opened to allow entry to a small kiosk with jump deck controls. Inside, he checked to see if the communications that utilized the jump deck warp fields were online, but found that they weren’t. That wasn’t cause for alarm; it still wasn’t time yet, but anything could be happening anywhere and he wouldn’t know. For the sake of caution, he queued a message to be sent as soon as the deck came online, requesting that Gran Mid then his remaining troops (now merely stock so far away) be sent immediately.

  As he eased out of the foyer, with the door closing after him, he felt the ground shake. It was only slightly noticeable beyond the workings of the bunker, but there was an unmistakable repetition with a source clearly separate. He walked several paces west, certain that whatever was coming was advancing from that direction, and began to concentrate. Spark lights grew in the black eye sockets of his skull helmet. A high-pitched whine built to a crescendo until the ground before him split. For hundreds of meters around, ivory shapes began working themselves free of the hard earth. From the split before him, a partial quadrupedal skeleton, four meters at the shoulder, fought its way up and through. Once it had cleared the way, t
hough, another six, in various states of repair, followed it, then another ten rose variously from down the length of the rift.

  In total, he was able to raise thirty-five of the quadrupeds from the surrounding area and another five hundred and twenty-three human skeletons. It would have to do. In an hour a lot could happen, but he wasn’t concerned. If he lived, he lived. If he died, he died. Losing the bunker would prove problematic, though, so rather than wait for whatever force was coming, he set his soldiers to marching.

  • • •

  The rumbling passage of the advancing group resolved into mild, repeating earthquakes, and Jav had no doubt that he and the Heavy Land Division were fast approaching one another. He reached out with his power to raise the dead once more, finding another seventeen quadrupeds, eight of which were of an altogether different species, and another six hundred and eighty-five regular soldiers, putting his totals at fifty-two and two thousand two hundred and eight, respectively.

  Within minutes he could see them: great lumbering blue-black beetles, walking on two legs, thick with armor plating, each topped with a single horn that branched into a U and wielding a weapon resembling a pole axe. All were so armed except for their commander, who stood half again as tall as the biggest of them, at least three meters tall and wide at the shoulders.

  Jav knew immediately that his band of troops would be overwhelmed, but still he was not concerned. By engaging here, they could stall the Heavy Land Division’s advance long enough to allow Gran Mid and at least another five thousand skeleton troops to arrive. Jav suspected that the bunker was still an unknown to them, so there would be no reason for them to hurry onward if they had an enemy right in front of them. A gamble perhaps, but he was confident that he alone could do what was necessary to slow them, and that together with Gran Mid, he could defeat them, skeleton troops or no.