Entropy's Heralds: Pilgrims Path Book 3

by Vic Davis

  Commander Decius and Master Sergeant Kriz approached the wagon and greeted them with salutes. Decius seemed confident but there was a note of concern on its form walls. “We will follow in your wake until we are at an optimal range then we will try and keep their crowns behind their cover. We have some excellent marksmen tasked with taking out any grenado throwers, but the range will make it difficult. We are waiting for the shock troop spearhead to arrive. Then Adjutant Tencius will give the order.”

  “We appreciate the help,” replied Pilgrim. “There’s nobody else I would have covering my charge.”

  Kriz shifted its hovering in an awkward manner. “Well, you have come a long way. It’s an honor to fight by your side, or in this case behind you. No hard feelings I hope.”

  Pilgrim smiled across its form walls. “None whatsoever. I sort of feel bad now that Bleaks cheated you.”

  “What do you—” began Kriz but was interrupted by a signal of alarm emanating from the direction of the enemy fortifications. Pilgrim noticed activity across the no man’s land: scurrying movement, the glint of charge lances shifting into position, several signal poles waving this way and that. So much for the element of surprise.

  The assault column had arrived and Tencius ordered the advance; Pilgrim pushed into the wagon. It resisted at first but then started forward at a good pace. There was a flash of infotons that was almost mesmerizing: a scintillation within the ether denoting the presence of Stinky’s shield.

  “That’s really a neat trick. You need to teach that to me some cycle. It could come in very useful,” signaled Pilgrim.

  Stinky rode up in the wagon hovering atop the veritable powder keg of destruction. “Quiet please, Pilgrim. I need to concentrate. The closer we get, the more I will need to extend this construct to cover our flanks. It’s been a while since I have projected a Fourier transform over such a large space.”

  Pilgrim was about to make a snarky reply when the first probing rounds struck the front of the shield: a desultory and sporadic attempt on the part of the enemy to find the correct range. Pilgrim pushed harder and began to pick up some speed leaving the supporting fusiliers behind. As the wagon closed the distance, a synchronized volley rang out targeting the wavefront of Stinky’s shield; their own fusiliers responded with a defiant retort. The Alacrity sharpshooters soon found their marks; the volume of fire from behind the enemy barricade began to drop off. So far so good, thought Pilgrim.

  They passed through the slip point proper and Stinky now extended the shield into a prefect sphere around them. Pilgrim wondered if it reached down into the flow beneath them as well and soon discovered the answer; grenados arced toward them from emplacements behind the looming enemy parapets. Two of them were close enough to shake the entirety of the shield: muffled pings that reverberated throughout the enclosed protected space within.

  The wagon came to a halt short of the wall; the back end had become slightly elevated. Pilgrim pushed harder but could advance it no further. “What’s going on?”

  Several more explosions now rippled across the dome of the shield. Stinky grunted out a strained reply: “They’ve created a small crater. The front wheels are stuck. Need to get moving. Can’t hold this forever.”

  Pilgrim focused its transom forward and confirmed Stinky’s report. The front wheels were lodged in a small rubble strewn depression. Pilgrim had advanced the wagon straight into it without knowing. They should have brought a lookout, thought Pilgrim. Zuur had volunteered to go with but Pilgrim had demurred since it would be an extra form to gate to safety. In retrospect it was a bad decision. Pilgrim shook off the second guessing and pushed harder; the wheels broke through the debris, then the wagon lurched across the small crater. Stinky was alarmed as the wagon tilted to one side but then righted itself. More grenados pinged frantically against the top of their shimmering dome to explode harmlessly.

  “These morons could stop us right here and now if they just cratered the flow of our approach,” signaled Pilgrim as it renewed its push.

  “Let’s not wait around for them to figure it out shall we,” replied Stinky sardonically. “We are close. One more dash forward. Push for your coherence and our survival!”

  Pilgrim enthusiastically complied. The wagon rumbled forward, collided with the barrier; there was a jarring jolt as it struck the solid flow. Stinky wobbled on top of the wagon bed. The shield flickered but quickly stabilized. “I’m pulling the fuses!” announced Stinky with the strain of such multitasking clearly evident in the tone of symbols.

  Pilgrim didn’t even bother with an objection. It would take too much time. It started the calculations to form the gate swirling its tendrils in a motion to fix its location just behind it but still within the protected area of the Stinky’s shield. A swarm of Council inerts emerged like vermin from various holes within the barricades to overpower the intruders. They hit the shield and were stopped cold. Most flew backwards in comical slow-moving arcs eventually gently hitting the surface of the flow; the experience was no doubt deleterious as evidenced by their howls of anguish as they followed their paraboloid trajectories.

  “Pilgrim, I don’t want to rush you, but we need to go now. And I mean now!” signaled Stinky with a note of exasperation.

  “Working on it,” replied Pilgrim curtly. This was going to be a lot tougher than it had originally seemed, thought Pilgrim. Perhaps it should have practiced more after leaving Etheria’s tutelage? The self-doubt was dismissed as presently unhelpful. The issue right now was picking a landing spot. Before the target had always been obvious: a place Etheria had designated withing the practice node or the pyramid atop the mount of Indomitable.

  The enemy had now regrouped and another furious volley of charge lance projectiles pinged off of the shield. They began to creep closer again, this time more circumspect, after the jolting encounter they had received from their first impetuous charge. A peppering of long-range sniper fire from Alacrity’s fusiliers tempered their enthusiasm but time was running out.

  Stinky looked desperately at Pilgrim. “We need to go now Pilgrim! There is no more time.”

  The statement clicked something in Pilgrim’s transom. Of course, there was time. There was always more time if Pilgrim wanted to spend the energy to gain it. It accelerated its processing and the information patterns inside the field of the ether seemed to freeze. Once again Pilgrim found that it could only move its point of view a short distance above its ovoid form, but it would do. Pilgrim probed into the node and behind the flow barricade; beyond its initial viewpoint, the ether gradually cleared. New features became apparent: swirling eddies, focal points that must be source-beings and noise, so much noise. The scope of the information soon became overwhelming; Pilgrim chose a location almost at random. Or perhaps there was some intuition involved. Pilgrim could not be certain. “There!”

  After a return to normal speed of thought and with the coordinates firmly ensconced in Pilgrim’s transom, the recursion was launched. The gate formed: a shimmering shortcut across the field of the ether. Unlike the last time, Stinky did not hesitate. Pilgrim deftly slipped through close behind breaking contact with an extended tendril as it was swept into the translation horizon of the gate. They both tumbled out on the other side. The flash of the detonation followed their traversal almost instantaneously. They could sense the wavefront break over them, as it rippled off into the ether. The telltale plume was already forming: a roiled cloud of flow particulate from what was left of the enemy’s fortifications.

  “There is no time to lose,” signaled Pilgrim. “I’m going to make as much noise and trouble as I can.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” replied Stinky wryly. “Look!”

  Pilgrim saw the problem immediately. It had inadvertently chosen a location near a small encampment that was part supply depot, part command headquarters. In front of them, a group of twenty or so inert soldiers and their accompanying officers had quickly recovered from the distraction of the detonation at the barri
cades; they now advanced on Pilgrim and Stinky with short lances drawn.

  “I have to hand it to them. These inerts don’t spook easily, do they,” signaled an admiring Pilgrim.

  “I think they must have noticed your gate instantiation before our little fireworks show. You chose an interesting place to land Pilgrim. I’ll give you that.”

  Pilgrim glanced around. The bite of Stinky’s sardonic observation now became clear. They were in the middle of a sprawling supply encampment. Other groups of soldiers had rallied and were advancing to close in on them as well. “So much for my first scrying. I should have practiced more.”

  “Just so. But now is your chance to practice some fighting. Let’s be about it. To the barricades. Vinks should be there by now.”

  Pilgrim shifted into its resplendent battle form; it charged toward the enemy coming from the direction of the dust cloud obscuring the vertex barrier and its slip point. The enemy inerts recognized the threat; an officer with a baton organized them into a quick line with short lances at the ready. They are in for a shock, thought Pilgrim as it formed an unleashed a devastating Fibonacci lash into the center of the formation. The effect was intensely satisfying: melted form walls, split cores, howls of agony from the survivors.

  Pilgrim rushed on through the gap giving a slight focus of its transom to ensure that Stinky was following close behind. The Chief Engineer had surrounded himself with a semi-opaque shield of focused ether that bowled over any of the survivors of Pilgrim’s lash that got in its way.

  The signs of an intense battle up ahead were manifest in the ether; Pilgrim pushed on through an empty section that had neither fortification nor troop encampment. A small group of Council soldiers armed with charge lances took notice of Pilgrim and moved to intercept or so Pilgrim thought. They approached on an oblique angle from ahead and then swerved to take up a position on Pilgrim’s flank, perhaps only two or three long lance lengths away.

  Pilgrim thought it heard a muffled laugh emanating from Stinky’s shielded sphere. Many of these inerts, these information blobs, all looked the same to Pilgrim even still. Gradually Pilgrim had noticed a perceptible difference in the appearance projected by the Council soldiery. But the opportunities for making such observations had been few and always violent. It wondered how they could make such a mistake. A brief concern that Zuur had performed some obtuse practical joke when it had helped to refine Pilgrim’s battle form flickered across its transom.

  There was no use in continuing the charade any longer. These soldiers would learn a harsh lesson on identifying friend from foe. Pilgrim unleashed another Fibonacci lash this time twisting it with a horizontal rotation across the neighboring formation. Those it did not sever in half directly, it sent flying mortally wounded.

  Pleased with its work, Pilgrim accelerated toward the remnants of the slip point fortifications, which now loomed ahead: reduced visibility, twisted flow, jagged debris, a huge crater where once the center of the barricade stood. “Here we go! Stay tight on me.” signaled Pilgrim hoping that the message could move through Stinky’s shield.

  Over the lip and into the crater plunged Pilgrim with a battle roar that pierced the ether. The fight in the crater was a wild close combat melee where two distinct lines of battle met. Pilgrim unleashed a flurry of piercing blows into the rear of the closest enemy clumps making up the enemy ranks; they twisted and howled in agony. When the enemy thought to respond, Pilgrim darted away back toward the lip of the crater and then repeated the attack again; dozens of council troops fell.

  After several such forays, Pilgrim had managed to grab the attention of the closest enemies. A large group, organized by an officer, now turned away from the rear of the Council formation in the crater and thought to take the fight to their tormentors.

  “They are on to you!” signaled Stinky who had lowered its shield and now hovered slightly exhausted next to Pilgrim.

  “Yes, so it would seem. How are you doing? You aren’t giving out on me, are you?”

  “I’m fine,” rejoined Stinky. “Just pacing myself.”

  “There are more enemy than I had thought. I’m sure more than Vinks hoped. I can’t even see the far side of the crater from here. All this damn flow dust. Are we going to win this?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. I build things.”

  Pilgrim was going to make snarky reply but the approach of another group of Council soldiers, bent on removing the irritation in their rear, forced a reconsideration of priorities. “Stay here. I’ll take care of these goons.”

  “Yes, please do,” replied Stinky.

  Pilgrim launched itself down the slope of the edge of the crater directly into the group, throwing them into a panic and disarray. Like a legendary Telzra assassin, it danced around the now jumbled formation of soldiers selecting a vulnerable target here or there, dispatching them with ease; soon only the officer was left. It promptly dropped its baton and fled back to its battle line in the scrum. So much for the vaunted courage of the inert Council warriors, thought Pilgrim. It was just about to wade back into the fight when a cry from Stinky caught its attention: “Pilgrim! To our rear! Up on the rim!”

  Pilgrim whirled to see the cause of Stinky’s urgent warning. A line of forty or so Council fusiliers, supported by twenty or so short lances, had now appeared and were loading and leveling their charge lances to direct a plunging fire into the writhing masses below. If they aimed carefully, they might hit more foe than friend. If they were left unchecked, their efforts might very well turn the tide of the battle in the enemy’s favor.

  Pilgrim started up the incline, but it was clear that it would not make it in time that way. It accelerated its processing, drawing on its now flagging energy reserves, and made a teleport dash to the lip of the crater. Two surprised fusiliers were dispatched but it would not be enough. A squad’s worth of the enemy’s charge lances fired in a desultory fashion but then the line suddenly began to crumble; from both sides, Hegemon Commandos were rolling up the flanks. Tencius was leading the party on one flank, Breaker and Bleaks the other. The Council fusiliers threw down their charge lances in a vain effort to arm themselves with their short lances; it was too late. Their formation crumbled; none survived.

  Breaker and Tencius met up with Pilgrim. Down below the enemy’s rear was exposed; they advanced in unison charging into the unsuspecting enemy, trapping them in a deadly encirclement. The slip point had been won.

  Chapter 9

  Strangers In A Strange Node

  When the darkness cleared, Xodd found itself exactly as it last remembered: balled fist raised in a threatening pose, an amused Voor directly opposite. The anger had evaporated. A dizzying sensation gripped Xodd; it wobbled slightly. A quick focus of the transom dispelled the annoyance and helped to clear the unsettling disorientation from whatever it was that had happened.

  “No need to become disagreeable, dear captain,” signaled Voor with a hint of playfulness. “We are all on the same side here.”

  Xodd made a dismissive gesture with a tendril. “I am exclusively on my own side. But I see now that we have similar aims. Perhaps we can cooperate.”

  “Have I not signaled as much?

  Xodd grumbled into the ether. This Voor and the parasite were trying to play it for the fool, to use it as a tool. Should the tool mind if it finds a wielder who will let it be a better tool? The thought repulsed Xodd to its very core. Xodd was no one’s tool. How best to turn the tables on them? It seemed impossible. The parasite no doubt was perceiving the gist of these rebellious thoughts at the very least. How else had it weaved its narrative that most everything Xodd believed was a lie, orchestrated by the council in a secret lab? Xodd decided to play along.

  “We shall use the Hidden Node,” announced Xodd. “How do we open the portal?”

  “Carefully,” replied Voor. “The Codex will instruct us. There is a formation of flow pillars nearby with a suitable resonance.”

  “Yes, quite promising and very friendly. I am sur
e that they will help,” added the Codex.

  Xodd gave the odd creature a piercing examination of its transom. “You are a strange source-being. I wonder if you have not been out here by yourself too long.”

  “I am not of the source,” responded the Codex dejectedly. “I will not go back to the source either, if Voor’s hypothesis is true.”

  “It’s no longer a hypothesis old friend,” corrected Voor. “The Exiles’ Librarian, attached to the captain here, has confirmed all our suspicions. We sadly lack data as to what happened to those who perished before the Great Unmaking. So many were lost.” Voor paused seeming to contemplate some terrible emotional anguish. “But perhaps some of your more optimistic conjectures will prove true.”

  “I grow tired of your philosophical musings,” signaled Xodd. “I have no desire to indulge you any further. What must we do to enter this Hidden Node?”

  “The process is actually quite simple,” explained Codex. “We will place ten source-beings in positions concordant with a pentagonal number series. Thus, we will evoke 1, 5, 12, 22, 35, 51, 70, 92, 117, 145. The resonance will be activated by a sequential domination effected on my part. The thought casting will instantiate the portal. The duration will be short and subject to some degree of randomness so we must move, that which must be moved, expeditiously.”

  “How short?” demanded Xodd brusquely.

  “A tenth of a cycle plus or minus a hundredth of a cycle. Perhaps,” replied Codex haltingly as if it were verifying the computations and waiting for a result.

  Xodd grunted. “Let us be about it then. I grow bored of this place.”