by Ronan Frost
Capac leant forward and tossed a picked clean bone into the fire, at the same time as glancing over to where Myshia lay.
"Had enough to eat?"
Myshia nodded and lay back into the bed of soft grass. The makeshift bandage of animal hide and vines that bounded her shoulder wound were stained red in patches, but seemed to be healing. The few scratches on her face rendered by flying shrapnel had all but disappeared, leaving little evidence of her wound. Myshia had prepared herself a mixture of herbs and medicines, but that did not explain her phenomenal rate of healing. Capac's subconscious quietly worried over memories of splinters of bone and raw flesh in Myshia's shoulder...that had mysteriously healed in an instant. But no time could be spared for idle reflection, and he simply accepted Myshia's rapid healing abilities.
Shaun was speaking.
"Tomorrow we'll need to move out and head for the dropsite." He hefted stubby kevlar automatic rifle he had taken from electrified Sunlord android earlier. They had taken all that had not been shorted out from the inanimate shell of metal and wiring. Luckily the rifle was scorched but otherwise unharmed. Neither Shaun nor Capac could find any trace of the A-squad trooper that had fired upon Myshia, not even dust. Whatever had set off the chain reaction, the explosion had been calamitous.
Shaun lay the rifle at his feet. "This Auras mark four is an effective weapon." He nodded his head in Capac's direction. "It's unfortunate your Auras is out of ammo...its calibre is incompatible with my rifle, so it looks as though without raiding a supply store, there is nothing to do but leave it behind."
Capac grunted, wishing he had conserved the bullets. It had seemed in the heat of the battle with the Sunlords that he couldn't squeeze off the bullets fast enough.
Shaun indicated to the long barrelled miner's rifle. "That Scavala 750 will have to do. Myshia, what arms do you intend to take up?"
Myshia patted the wooden surface of her bow. "This will accompany me all the way. Along with my knife, it is enough."
"And you, Ashian?"
Ashian blinked as he found himself at the centre of attention. "Me...?"
Shaun dug into his belt, and withdrew a small fist-sized pistol. Its two centimetre long barrel was ominously wide, promising to deliver a considerable punch.
"Take this," offered Shaun. "It was part of the android's auxilary weaponry. Its a small weapon, and somewhat ineffective against armour, but handy none-the-less."
Ashian backed away. "I will not kill."
"You must protect yourself," said Shaun seriously. "If you truly intend to face the Sunlords you'd better be prepared. Put it in your belt, and use it for defence if nothing else."
The eyes of Capac and Myshia were upon him, expecting him to make a move. He was the one who had persuaded them to leave their village to take up arms against the Sunlords...
Ashian grudgingly took the pistol. He glanced at the cool metal surface and hefted it to get a feel for its weight. "For defence," he muttered in consolation as he tucked it securely at his side. He shook his head to clear it of that dreadful heaviness that weighed down upon his mind.
He had never killed, and the concept of killing scared him.
Shaun sat upon the cool rock face, his helicasuit drawn as tightly as possible across his form. Despite the thick layer of insulation he shivered and found himself wishing for a Federation issue drysuit and pack. With some proper equipment nothing on this world could stop him.
His hands moved, fashioning a small tubular object in his lap. Every so often he would reach over and stir a small shallow dish with a short length of stick.
Ashian sat down upon the rock next to Shaun, taking up the seat next to the human.
"What are you doing?" asked Ashian curiously.
Shaun looked up, surprised from his reverie. He laughed. "You sneaked up on me, little one." He turned back to his pot of black substance that boiled over the small fire. "I'm just cooking up some flares. I managed to gather what ingredients I couldn't find in this helicasuit from the forest. Myshia gave me hand to select what I needed."
Ashian stared silently at the viscous liquid as Shaun poured it slowly down the tube. His eyes glazed in thought. "Were you thinking about home?"
Shaun smiled in the darkness, placing the crudely fashioned flares aside, allowing them to cool. He sat back, staring wistfully into the night. "Just wishing to be back and fighting for the Federation. It pains me to be sitting around, wasting away when they need me back home. I feel as if I've been in suspended animation, immersed in a thick paste that slows my actions."
Ashian paused in consideration. "I think about home, except I don't think about fighting. I only wish the Sunlords would go, and leave us alone. Our world was such a peaceful one."
"I'll give you that," grinned Shaun. "A little too peaceful for me, I'm afraid. Yes, planet L/Cn-41a is not exactly the hub of the universe."
Ashian looked bemused. "El-cee-en? What sort of drusk dung do you think you're weaving? This is the country of the Coalition of Assemblies."
"L/Cn-41a was the name given to this planet when the survey probes passed through this sector about sixty years ago. I would guess, like so many other planets similar to this one, a few scant details are recorded then tucked away in huge computer archives.
"That was before the War," reminisced Shaun. "When the Hartrias Kingdom and the Federation of Mankind worked together."
"You worked together, with the Sunlords?" Ashian was fascinated.
"Yes, our races co-operated with each other, rather grudgingly, for twenty-six years. It was a team of combined Hartrias and Human effort that the jumpship Stardrive was perfected and all jumptunnels mapped."
"Jumpship? What do you mean?"
Shaun laughed lightly and relaxed back into the ungiving bark of a tree. "You'll need a degree in astrophysics and jumpspace technology to understand it fully, my little friend. When it was first discovered Earth scientists were baffled. It defied a lot of theoretical laws, and also a lot of intuitive ones. That was why the Hartrias Kingdom and the Federation first got together; to solve the mystery of jumpspace. The Hartrias lived many light-years away, and by conventional travel it took generations for a one-way trip. Even communications took seven years each way, so as you can guess, contact was limited. But the Hartrias was the only race mankind had discovered that was intelligent enough for space flight. Most civilisations are ancient beyond human comprehension, ruins all that remains of their cities and starports. We don't know what happened to them, but eons ago they just disappeared, leaving space open to any newcomers. Some theories being thrown about now suggest that these ancient civilisations actually created the jumptunnels.
"Anyway, as soon as the Jumpship was operational distance was of no consequence. Ships could travel from one jumptunnel to another in the smallest fraction of the time it would otherwise take. Then, twelve years later, political tensions rose to breaking point, and the Hartrias declared war on Earth and its Federation of planets."
The small Currach sat silent, his mind grappling with mind-stunning concepts. "There is no hope of reconciliation?"
Shaun spat disgustedly. "The Hartrias betrayed the Fleet and killed many of our number. Once the Jumpship was developed they cared little for their 'allies'. Their actions were nothing more than heartless butchery - they thought their superior firepower would finish us quickly. But they were wrong. They underestimated the tenacity of the human spirit."
Ashian bit his lower lip worriedly. "It seems disastrous that two mighty races have pitted themselves against each other."
Shaun shrugged. "The situation may have changed since my imprisonment. A lot can happen in the space of two years..."
"Do you have a family? Surely they will be missing you."
Shaun shook his head. "Part of the reason the Federation put me on the front line is that I have no family ties. Nobody but the Federation army awaits me."
Ashian was taken aback. In his city, families were highly regarded for they gave an individual
place and standing. Ashian had a large bloodclan of relatives, and although did not share dwellings with anyone, he spent a lot of time a family gatherings and festivals. He could not comprehend himself a world without social attachments.
They sat in silence, the small fire behind them crackling as burning wood collapsed and smouldered. All around the forest twittered and moved as nocturnal beasts roamed.
Ashian began to say something, but Shaun caught his arm sharply to silence him. Looking over, Ashian saw that Shaun was gazing at the stars overhead, a bright flash marking the entry of a meteorite as it fell earthward. A blaze of light, not unlike a large white star, flared for a few seconds before fading and dying.
Ashian asked in a hushed whisper; "What is it?"
Shaun did not respond. He watched for another thirty seconds as smaller, intermittent starbursts appeared. They looked so small and so distant, a myriad of pinpoint lights streaking down through the atmosphere. It was almost as if a battle was being waged...
"I'm not sure," answered Shaun finally. "I could have sworn those bursts of light were some sort of cannon, but who would the Hartrias be fighting? We are light-years from the nearest settlement, and the Federation would not bother to engage in battle in such for such a backwater planet."
Ashian shrugged. "It may be nothing. Long before the Sunlords appeared falling stars were frequent. Astrologers at the Council studied their paths for many generations, and records date back a hundred years. Perhaps it is just a freak storm of falling stars..."
"Who knows what's going on up there." A prickle of premonition touched the nape of Shaun's neck, tracing across his flesh and raising the hairs. Shaun shuddered and hugged the helicasuit closer about his chest. "But something tells me we're going to find out soon enough."
Chapter Eight
The Gathering Storm.
A king of shreds and patches.
- William Shakespeare : Hamlet.
Shata-Bera threw his laser rifle over one shoulder and eyed the Councillor narrowly.
"I have only come to speak with the men of your city," repeated Shata. "I am without evil intent." The scarred mass of Shata's face twisted into the resemblance of a grim smile. "I have come to save your city, not destroy it."
Councillor Nian was impassive. "I demand you leave this city immediately. We will have no..." Nian paused, considering the dirty, ugly form before him. "...savages...in this dwelling."
Shata growled low in his throat and swung the laser rifle around threateningly. The Councillor recoiled in shock and stumbled backwards.
"I will not leave until I have spoken before the city." Shata's voice was low, demanding. "No man will stop me."
Nian shook visibly as he asked:
"But why? We have no quarrel with you-"
Nian's pitiful cries were silenced with the entrance of a white-robed figure.
"Silence! Councillor Nian, returned to your lodgings. I wish to speak with the stranger alone."
Shata-Bera turned with new interest at the High Councillor. As the footsteps of Nian receded down the stone corridor the High Councillor spoke.
"Let me introduce myself - I am Orlin. You wished to speak before the Council?"
Shata nodded. "I want to let the people of this city decide for themselves on the action to be taken against the Sunlords. For too long have you sat around, twiddling your thumbs as farmers and citizens die. They are dying!"
Orlin lowered his voice. "Did the Grand Vizier send you? Do you know of his whereabouts?"
"Vizier? I know no such person."
Orlin sighed a sigh of depression. "Then the fool is lost, as I feared! He set off a month ago into the forest in search of the Eloprin...I was hoping, since you look like you've spent some time in the forest, that you may know."
Shata slung the rifle back over his shoulder. "I have no time to reminisce, old man. Either you let me talk or I'll start killing."
Orlin flushed at the Shata's harsh words. He paused before speaking.
"You don't understand. The Vizier's mission was of high importance, and it's failure now means that new action must be taken. Weeks upon end I prayed, yet I knew all the time that the Vizier could never hope to succeed."
Shata pushed past Orlin, heading towards the Council Chambers. "Call your priests off, and let me roam the streets to speak among the peasants."
Orlin caught Shata by the arm, masking his disgust as his fingers sunk into scarred and lumpy flesh masked by the thick cloth of the forester's cloak. "What do you hope to achieve?"
Shata managed to put a lid on his rising temperature. "Militia, damn you! Some sort of fighting force. I am doing something to rally the people against the abominations from the sun."
"How can you? The people of this city are peaceful-"
"Enough of that! You know as well as I that many among them anger, and crave for revenge. Given a chance, they will come flocking."
"And then what?" Orlin was taken aback. "Train them?"
"Exactly." Ignoring Orlin's snort of disgust, Shata continued. "I will select only the best, and teach them how to fight. I will travel the entire land, and visit every city in the land, spreading my message. In two weeks all willing shall go to the Vorsh Peaks and await me. There, I shall choose my fighting force and take them into the forest."
Orlin was silent for a moment. Finally he whispered:
"Where did you come from, and what are you? Once a Currach, like myself? Yet something has twisted you, making you bitter, reverting you into savagery...How can a member of the great race of the Currach fall so low."
Shata moved quickly, so quickly that the next Orlin saw of him was a split second later, holding the Councillor's neck in a vice-like grip.
"I did not come here to be insulted," the forester growled. "Send for the messengers and rally a congregation at the Council stairs. Do this now, or your city dies."
Orlin struggled for breath. "Do as you wish!" The thought raced through his mind, panicky as this wild man crushed the wind from his lungs. He would let the savage talk to the people, and the people will decide for themselves. Like in the old stories, it would be a test of faith to root out of the unbelievers. After the passing of this madman only those true to the cause of peace would remain.
"You may talk," gasped Orlin. "Your pleas may fall on deaf ears, for the people of my city do not fall to the dark path easily. But be warned, your welcome lasts only until dawn tomorrow. By sunrise I wish to see only your disappearing back."
Shata released the man, nodded in acceptance.
"It is good you see sense. Now, send for the messengers."
* * *
Shata-Bera stood upon the cliff face that overlooked the splendour of Vorsh Peaks and the plainlands that surrounded them. From his vantage point the disfigured Currach warrior could make out the tiny figure of a farmer as he tended his field in the distance. Mosata appeared at his side, bowing low.
"Sir, the people are gathered below and are awaiting your presence."
Shata swirled, his bearskin cape billowing impressively, to catch the small Currach in his gaze. Mosata was a loyal and capable subject, although his stature was horribly bent. Shata had first come across the hunchback two weeks ago in Loabarian, a city one hundred kilometres south. Mosata had lived on scraps and refuge ever since the Sunlords had killed his master, and had taken to Shata like a loyal hound.
"How do they look?" barked Shata.
"Impressive, sir. Some look angry, waving pitchforks and the like, just waiting for a chance to skewer some Sunlord. But others are silent, gathering together in bands. They will be the ones who will fight true, even after the loudmouths are exhausted, their quiet rage will drive them further."
As Shata strode down the rocky terrain the babble of raised voices grew. "You read the crowd well, my friend."
Mosata grinned lopsidedly, like a wolf. "I have several of my men mixing with the crowd and reporting anything they discover."
Shata nodded. He had been impressed with Mosa
ta's ability at governing the secret backbone force of his army. It was comprised of men Shata knew personally, and who he could trust. Shata knew that its ranks would need filling if his army was to grow, for he needed some sort of disciplinary force to keep them in order. Perhaps some of those awaiting below may prove themselves worthy.
Shata closed his eyes in brief thought, envisioning a great army at his command. He saw himself leading it and training it, watching it grow in numbers as word spread across the nation. Then he would call for them to strike, and drive the Sunlords from the earth. It would be a terrible clash, and the blood of many would be spilled on the soil they fought for. Shata's eyes gleamed, his cold heart thirsting for that moment of truth.
Mosata lead Shata to a rocky precipice, the setting sun a fitting backdrop as it bathed the land in blood red light. Twenty metres below a massive congregation gathered, hundreds of men and women alike standing with upturned faces.
Shata raised his rifle above his head, bellowing a cry that drew everyone's attention.
"My people," he began. "The time is upon us to fight!"
Shata-Bera let his words sink in, waiting for the rippling murmur to quieten.
"You have come here for revenge! I can promise you that here you shall find it. I shall lead each and every one of you to victory against the burning enemy from the Sun! For five weeks now have the Sunlords threatened the existence of our race, and with every day it grows worse. A countless number of farms have been destroyed, taken over by huge machines that rape our crops, taking our food as if they had a right to them.. But now it is time to stop this stupidity. We must rally against them and fight.
They are not invincible, and they can be killed. With training, my army will be able to best the Sunlords!"
Somebody far below in the crowd spat. "You will die in the attempt."
"We shall use their weapons of fire against them," countered Shata in a much louder voice.
The man did not stop. "We are being foolish, and all the fools will die. It is folly to even try oppose the Sunlords."