Sunlord

by Ronan Frost

  "Start looking for an exit," called Shaun over his shoulder, using gestures to convey his wishes to the natives. His mind was moving quickly now in the heat of the moment, his muscles moving as if guided by another as he set himself up behind the table with a portable burner in one hand. He flicked the trigger on the hand held burner and a flame the width of his palm shot out the narrowed end. Satisfied, he tucked it into the front pocket of the blue helicasuit.

  Capac had understood and cast about looking for a way out. He climbed a steel cupboard and tested the ceiling. It was firmly bolted down and did not even give way to his knife. Meanwhile Ashian was kicking his bare foot at the walls, listening carefully for any sound of hollowness. It seemed they were in a solid metal tomb.

  Myshia screamed as the fused door crashed open, sparks flying and pieces of debris arcing away. The cord Capac had tied snapped as easily as paper and cracked back like a whip, missing Shaun's face by scant inches. A thick cloud of smoke boiled in as the sliding automatic door slammed back into its mountings. Almost immediately a demonic horde appeared in the doorway, silhouetted in the dark smoke and flashing sparks.

  A great whooshing of flame erupted as Shaun let the end of the gas pipe go and held the burner an arm's length from the opening. The gas ignited with a slamming of concussed air as the pressure drove a cone of flame over the door in hot lashings of fire.

  The shadows fell back before the fury of the flames, but Shaun knew it would not stop the war suits getting through, for a small flame such as this would not stop them for long.

  "Hurry it up!" bawled Shaun. "It's getting warm here." As he spoke he let off another long blast of flame, the metal framework twisting and cracking in its path.

  Ashian kicked the wall harder, hardly believing his luck. Putting his ear to the surface he heard, instead of the dull thump of steel, a hollow echo.

  "Capac, over here!"

  Capac leapt down from ontop the cabinet where he had been unsuccessfully working on screws fastening the ceiling cover. He saw immediately what Ashian had discovered and quickly reached for his belt. Stepping back a pace he brought his knife down hard in a double-handed swing towards the wall. The knife simply skidded over the hard smooth metallic surface, leaving only a scratch as evidence of his efforts.

  "Wait, let me try." Myshia brought a length of tubing stabbing down at the wall in a fluid motion. The blow had gone partway in cracking the strange polished surface. Using a length of tubing Capac hammered at the weakened wall.

  If only Huso was here now, he thought. One blow with his axe and this wall would be history. He shook his head to blot all such musing from his mind, working steadily at the wall that was now starting to break apart. Looking through they saw dark emptiness leading back.

  Ashian called after Shaun in his own tongue. Even though the language was foreign to him Shaun knew by the birdlike bark that his native companions had found a way out.

  "Give me a second," muttered Shaun to himself. He cast aside the gas piping as the flame died on him - the Hartrias were wise to his tricks and had shut down the main valves. His pistol was in his hand; small defence against the battle clad warriors that pushed through the door. He tried to hold them back as long as he was able, but they came to quickly and the blue flashes of his laser seemed as useless as a flashlight against the battle armour. Then suddenly the Hartrias soldiers came pouring through the door like water breaking a dam wall.

  Shaun blasted the sights off the helmet of the nearest soldier and leapt away. The ground he had vacated scorched with searing laser fire moments later, the thin red line following his path like flame following a path of petrol. Shaun dived and rolled in time to avoid the beam of deadly laser as it wreaked havoc on the medical stands and cabinets - shattering plastiglass as the apparatus fell.

  "Mvorua!" Capac yelled. Spinning, Shaun knew the meaning of the alien word instantly; it was 'catch!' Shaun snatched the flare from the air, pausing just long enough to ignite the end with his laser. He hauled it over his head and towards the bath of fire and destruction at the door.

  The sizzling arc landed at the Hartrias' feet, covering them immediately in thick dense smoke that not even infra-red could penetrate. Shaun knew he had little time to clear the distance between him and the hole in the wall so moved quickly and without looking back.

  He made it under the cover of the impenetrable smoke. The three natives had already disappeared through the jagged opening in the wall hammered wide by Capac's blows.

  Shaun found himself in darkness, his back bent low, crouching and searching with his hands. He met with the sides of the small cavity, and his head brushed the ceiling. He just hoped it led somewhere - if it was a dead end they were as good as dead.

  He heard noises from the darkness and moved to meet with them. He tried to understand the natives' quick language but was unable. They seemed to be hitting against a wall, hammering with furious intensity quickened by the rush of adrenalin.

  "Is it a dead end?" asked Shaun, the blaster in his hands and sighting back the way they had come. He could already see the shadows of the Hartrias guards moving closer through the smoke. Knowing their only hope was that this wall lead to another room, Shaun aided the natives in their effort to punch their way through the wall, adjusting his laser blaster down to a narrow blue beam that cut a circular opening like a blow torch. A swift boot kick in the enclosed space brought the cut plate falling from the wall, opening them to light from another room.

  The four scrambled out and into a surgery room not unlike the one they had just left, although this one seemed to contain more computer equipment and scanning devices. Shaun stretched and arced his back, and noticed that the ceiling consisted off a grating through with an assortment of cables snaked down. He smiled to himself, blessing their good fortune.

  "Follow me," he said as he pulled a computer cabinet down upon its face. Using this he climbed closer to the roof and effortlessly lifted the roof grate. He grabbed Ashian's light body in his arms and propelled the small native up through the hole. Ashian grabbed the lip of the hole and pulled himself the rest of the way through.

  He sat in a low cavity that ran in all directions. The shadows were odd here, the light from the room below shafting up between the grating, casting square criss-crossed shadows over the mounds of cables of wires arranged in neat rows along the roof. Nearly all the room was taken up by wires and pipes leading to obscure destinations, leaving only a narrow pathway for the service droids.

  Capac and Myshia followed, then Shaun had pulled himself up in a quick motion. He was in the process of lowering the grill back down as the first of the Hartrias stumbled into the room.

  Ashian peered down through the holes in the grill, seeing the Sunlords from a bird's eye view as they strode into a defensive formation, their matt green battle armour reflecting little light. The currach saw the power in their movements, graceful and deadly like a lion striding through his domain. He saw for a brief instant the back of one's gloved hand, a span that would have been able to crush his head. On the back of the clenched hand was a large claw that looked primitively effective.

  Then the Sunlord looked upward, bringing its stout rifle to bear as its computer spotted movement. A ripple passed through the minds of those nearby as Myshia reached out with her consciousness, her fingers running through the thoughts of the solider. They entwined like waving seaweed about the piers of the Sunlord's mind and with a sudden pull she tugged at the mind of the Sunlord. With a scream the Hartrias fell to the ground, blood flowing from his nose and ears.

  Shaun winced - the echoes of Myshia's actions had made his temples pulse with sudden migraine. He shuddered to think of what the full force of the blow would feel like.

  Myshia shook with the feeling of power that now coursed through her body, slightly afraid of the new skill she was beginning to master. She knew she was barely tapping the top of the reservoir of potential in her mind.

  They raced down the masses of tubes, Shaun's head ducke
d low to avoid hitting it against the irregular roof. They moved without talking or stopping. Their only goal was to get away, and the fear of being rediscovered keeping their leaden limbs moving.

  Darkness began to close in slowly but surely, and they felt a little relief in the shelter it gave. Ashian had the telescope out again and was sighting along it to pick the best way through the hot mechanical pipes and electrical cables.

  Shaun called a halt, the low tones of the Federation language conveying enough meaning for them to stop. Shaun had noticed a duct leading upwards, a rail running up the side for the service droids to attach to.

  "Up here," he gestured in the semi-dark. He took the lead as he led his native rescuers up several floors. As they moved up all sound of pursuit died, and only the regular humming of machinery dominated the surroundings.

  He smiled to himself and shook his head musingly as he climbed. Well I'll be damned, he thought. It seems like we've made it away.

  He stopped and opened up a sliding door leading to another level running along the ceiling. He led his companions from the narrow elevator duct and onto a level not unlike the one they had just left. He knew they had to keep moving if they were to keep the Hartrias off their back. At last having a second to collect his thoughts Shaun withdrew the translator bug from the velcro sealed pocket of his helicasuit. It was a delicate operation to feed the tube down his ear channel until it met with the ear drum but Shaun quickly had the ticklish procedure completed, the clamp-like fasteners fixed about the flesh of his ear. The computer chip in the translator could be programmed with four hundred languages and was attuned to the wearer's body nuisances, projecting Shaun's voice from the small speaker in an exact duplication of his tone - except in the natives language.

  "You keeping up back there?" he said, feeling comfortable once more with the sensation of the bug in his ear.

  "You can talk again!" grinned Ashian.

  Shaun grinned. "I didn't get to thank you guys."

  "Thank Myshia, she's the one who found you," returned Ashian.

  Shaun stopped abruptly and sat himself down on his haunches. The ceiling was low here, so much so that he had to keep his head bowed. "Is she alright?" he asked. He recalled the strange sensation of Myshia's mind probing into his own. "She seemed a little out of it back there..."

  Myshia had emerged from the shadows, Shaun seeing immediately how hollow her eyes looked. She forced a smile, but Shaun saw she was in pain.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  Myshia nodded. "I just feel a little woozy." As she spoke Shaun distinctly felt some sort of probing in his conscious, as if images were being forced before his mind's eye.

  "You're telepathic," Shaun said abruptly.

  Myshia shook her head savagely. "I don't know what happened...in the heat of the moment it just seemed to appear..."

  Shaun saw her discomfort and realised they should be moving on. Although Myshia's powers opened up a new dimension regarding the natives of L/Cn-41a, he had more important concerns. For one, he knew probe droids would not be long in the coming. Second, he knew that if he were captured for a third time Avatar would not let him go.

  He broke off the chatter and lead his small band into the unknown.

  Chapter Eleven

  League of Steel.

  "Steps have been taken, a silent uproar,

  Has unleashed the dogs of war,

  You can't stop what has begun,

  Signed, sealed, they deliver oblivion,

  We all have a dark side, to say the least,

  And dealing in death is the nature of the beast."

  - Pink Floyd: "The Dogs of War."

  The blind old man strode through the ranks of milling people queued up by the newly arrived carts, his long flowing cloak billowing behind him.

  Dark was falling and the fighters of the League of Steel herded up in lines with empty bowls and empty stomachs, waiting for their turn to be served. A team of horse drawn wagons loaded with rice and soup had pulled up as nearby farmers lent a hand to aid the League in any way they could. Some four hundred currach sat around thirty different bonfires, huddled around makeshift tents erected on the open plainlands.

  The old man gazed eastwards, as if seeing something in the distance with his milky white eyes. Perhaps he sensed something, for at that moment deep in the heart of the forest, five days trek away, a village was dying, and the Elder had breathed his last breath upon Myshia's shoulder.

  A cool wind blew upon Locantar's face, drawing his mind back. He turned his head back to the ground and stepped forward, his wrinkled visage showed no emotion. He moved easily and without tripping on any obstacles, hood pulled over his head and clouding his face in shadow. Anybody watching Locantar picking his way carefully through the crowd could not have guessed that the old man was blind.

  A tall thin currach dressed in a dirty and torn tunic surreptitiously merged with his path and spoke casually. He kept his head diverted, as if spying something interesting on the horizon, speaking without looking Locantar directly in the eye.

  "I've heard reports that they're planning to make a poison gas," the thin currach said.

  Locantar nodded sagely, continuing along his path towards the end of the soup-line. "I have heard that also. Rumour has it that some bright spark chemist approached Shata with the idea. The gas is simple to make and highly effective."

  The other bowed his head, shadowing his face as he spoke. "That is so. Shata-Bera loved the idea and has order production be started immediately. The unwitting oaf!"

  "Your words ring true, my friend. Never have scientific studies been degraded so far to be used like this. If our forebears knew what atrocious crimes are about to be committed thanks to their work they would be horrified. We must stop this project from going ahead - see to it."

  The thin Currach pulled away into the shadows and noise of the camp without further comment. Locantar knew that word would be passed among his few confederates who worked for the cause of Abas, and in covert meetings like this one, they would arrange some sort of plan.

  Locantar stood, leaning heavily upon his staff feigning frailty. As he shuffled along the line he could feel the growing sense of tiredness descend upon the camp for the day's training had been hard.

  Locantar too was tired. He had moved among the trainees with waterbags and fresh fruit, laying his hand upon their forehead and uttering a blessing. His efforts had had a remarkable effect - a vast number of the soldiers had sensed the aura of power and religion surrounding the old man, despite his dusty black cloak and scuffed shoes. Many had simply sat there after their meeting, staring into space, suddenly wondering if they were doing the right thing in joining the League. It was the result Locantar had hoped for; by reminding the Currach of their duties to Abas he could turn them away from this pointless fighting.

  But dealing with Shata-Bera was another thing. The leader was a madman, driven into insanity by pain and emotional grief. He was an impressive figure striding among the soldiers, his shoulders square and his gait proud despite his slight limp. Shata's face struck fear into other's hearts, his scarred visage demon-like if any should invoke his wrath. He was the reason Locantar hadn't drawn attention to himself and preached to the masses. He wasn't ready for a confrontation with this blood thirsty maniac. Locantar would have to bide his time, waiting for an opportune moment in which to speak openly and form a procession of currach to trek back to the city.

  Five figures converged from the shadows, moving swiftly through the crowd. The haggard farmers-cum-fighters quickly stood aside as they recognised the crimson sash about the newcomers' waists - a sign that these were Shata's bodyguards, trained in forest craft and weapons by the leader himself. They called the small select group of five currachs the Karita, and each carried a long curved knife at his belt as token of their rank. The army was not well established enough to have a ranking order as such, but when the Karita spoke all listened.

  The Karita were hand picked from the League and ha
d been undergoing training in the two weeks since they first arrived. Shata-Bera knew that he had few fighters at his command, so had to make up in skill for what he lacked in numbers. It was his plan to teach the five Karita all he had learnt from K'iop. The Karita were taught how to operate the Sunlord's machine guns and how to survive in the forest, and in turn each of the Karita would each teach five others, and so on until every member of the League knew as much as he.

  Locantar paused as he sensed the crowd opening up around him. The old man stopped as a murmuring broke out.

  "Hold it right there!"

  Startled, Locantar stiffened as one of the Karita leapt close and grabbed Locantar's upper arm in his grasp, surprised at how firm the old man's muscle seemed to be under the dirty black cloak.

  The four other Karita converged and began to shepherd Locantar towards Shata's tent.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Locantar feigned surprise, resisted weakly and flailing about with his cane. "I have done nothing. Have you resorted to beating up old men?"

  The watching crowd had grown, onlookers stopping and staring open mouthed. One of the Karita quickly dispelled any of the doubt surrounding their moves.

  "You head an undercover network designed to uproot the League. Shata will have no more of your slimy tongue."

  This seemed to gain the crowd's support, and already some were looking upon Locantar with scorn. The Karita wasted no more time and dragged the old man, one each arm, towards Shata's tent.

  Locantar was calm and his breathing controlled. He saw no point in resisting so followed the Karita's lead, although his heart was filled with foreboding. Locantar wondered briefly how Shata had found out of his movements. Probably one of his own had told a little more than they intended, he mused dismissively. Besides, that was the past - he had to look to the future.