Darwin's Soldiers

by Ste Sharp

  The tide that had pulled the three samurai since their deaths still tugged at them and could easily pull them in different directions.

  ‘They are more intelligent than horses,’ Masaharu replied.

  ‘You think they knew not to attack?’ Isao asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ Masaharu answered. ‘But they didn’t attack the injured either.’

  ‘They have honour too,’ Hori said.

  Isao focused on the tocka at the rear of the line carrying the Mongol leader. He didn’t trust the man: he had killed two soldiers in cold blood: one to raise the tocka and another during the battle who could have been saved.

  ‘Will we fight again?’ Hori asked.

  ‘Of course!’ Masaharu answered quickly.

  ‘The tide grows strong,’ Isao noted. ‘And our enemies grow thick.’

  ‘So we will be tested.’

  ‘Yes,’ Isao said.

  ‘And we will have longer in the real world,’ Masaharu said.

  ‘Wait.’ Isao could hear a voice.

  ‘Up ahead,’ Hori said, ‘a beacon.’

  An orange light pulsed in the sky.

  Gal-qadan and his men had stopped and wore strained expressions. Some held their hands over their ears.

  ‘Hold on to something. We need to focus,’ Isao told his comrades. ‘Focus and listen.’

  Isao anchored his body to the shadow of a hazy tree. Then he heard the words: the call to arms.

  ***

  John’s good hand slipped under his shirt for Joe’s tin soldier as he kept his eyes on the Brakari monster. Although he had no memory of the torture or pain, John’s anger was still raw. A simple blast from his gun would give him some retribution, he thought, as the creature sniffed and loped through the long undergrowth to where Millok had tied down the large robot transporter. John’s gun clicked and he imagined bullet shapes as Millok held up a foreleg, with a gesture that he assumed meant either ‘stay silent’ or ‘don’t move’. John decided to do both and groped for the cord around his neck. Where was it? He unbuttoned his shirt and found nothing. Had he lost it? And what were those marks on his stomach? Lines and circles around his belly button. He rubbed them but didn’t feel any pain.

  That bastard must have taken Joe’s soldier!

  ‘I know you are here,’ Panzicosta’s voice boomed, sending a shiver through John. ‘You have braced the Lutamek well. Give me the human and you will be released, Millok.’

  John looked at Millok. Surely she wouldn’t give him up after everything she’d risked? Watching her gently vibrating carapace and shiny sets of eyes, there was no way to tell. She was waving her mouthparts, sniffing the air, and now her head shell was swelling. What was that sound? Like a distant rumble of artillery fire.

  John swivelled to look at Panzicosta, who was holding his head low. Then the large shelled beast raised his head and roared. ‘Bring him to me!’

  Millok whispered, ‘Trust me.’

  ‘No,’ John whispered back. ‘What are you doing?’

  She couldn’t fight him, he was far too big. Was she going to give John up in exchange for her freedom?

  Panzicosta’s eyes fixed on her as she crawled out of the undergrowth, keeping the robot between them.

  Maybe he should run while Panzicosta was distracted? John thought. But how far could he get on one leg? No, he had to stay here. Maybe his gun would fire? He tried to wriggle and flex what felt like his fingers deep inside the shortened Lewis gun. He felt for a trigger or firing mechanism, visualising the schematics and stripped-down pieces, but the gun had warped too much. All he could feel was a metal tube where he formed the shapes.

  John looked up as Millok spoke.

  ‘I will give you the human,’ she was leaning up against the vibrating robot with her forelegs gripping a metal ridge, ‘but you must give me complete freedom from the army. No more fighting.’ She paused as though thinking. ‘And give me access through the silver gates when you defeat the humans.’

  Panzicosta huffed with derision. ‘I will guarantee your safety and you can flee, but you will never have access through the silver gates unless you fight alongside the victorious.’

  ‘Belsang would know a way,’ Millok replied.

  Panzicosta huffed again. ‘Maybe, but…’

  John fought every urge to crawl away. Why was he listening to these creatures discuss him like an unwanted pet? Why didn’t he escape while he had the chance? He looked at Millok and knew the answer: he trusted her. She’d helped him escape when she could have fled on her own. True, she may have done it to annoy Panzicosta, but she’d also wiped John’s memory of pain. She’d shown compassion.

  ‘The human must come with me to finish the interrogation. Where is he?’ Panzicosta growled.

  John moved to one side, careful not to give away his position. Millok was balanced gracefully on two of her rear appendages while, unseen by Panzicosta, the other two poked at a section of the robot.

  ‘He’s over there.’ Millok nodded in John’s direction. ‘John, it’s safe to come out!’

  Panzicosta made a step forward towards John.

  ‘John!’ Millok called again. ‘Stand up.’

  ‘I’m not bloody standing up!’ John shouted and Panzicosta took a step towards Millok and the Lutamek.

  ‘Come to me, human!’ Panzicosta shouted.

  Without warning, a blue flash leapt out of the robot and struck Panzicosta in the head, sending him flying backwards. John was up on his good knee, watching him writhe on the ground. Another blue shock ripped into him and his shape changed from a large blue scorpion to a wolf-like creature, and then to human form. Was that Crossley? Then Randeep. How could it be? Another bolt struck it and the creature changed three more times, finally finishing in what John assumed was its true form.

  ‘It’s the Draytor?’ John hobbled forward on his stump and knee and stared at the multilimbed, wet-skinned animal that lay pulsing in a pool of slime.

  ‘This is the creature that fooled you and brought you here,’ Millok said.

  John could feel his cheeks warm as his anger grew. His gun-arm clicked and warmed as he pictured twisting torpedoes of fire, ready to burn the quivering mess.

  ‘I will kill it.’ John focused on the jellied mass.

  This creature was to blame for everything: Joe’s tin soldier; his leg; the war; Rosie dying. He raised his arm, aimed the muzzle and fired, but a sound similar to a horse’s fart erupted, followed by a weak puff of smoke.

  ‘Damn it!’ John fumed.

  ‘Your weapon is faulty?’ Millok asked.

  ‘No, I…’ John had no answer and felt his anger twist inside him. Did a soldier always have to kill? he wondered and took a deep breath.

  ‘I will let it live,’ he said, feeling a weight lift off him.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Millok asked.

  ‘Yes.’ John raised his eyebrows. ‘Just give him another zap from that thing and we can go.’

  ***

  Millok had fine-tuned the sound of the thundering Lutamek robot to a low rumble, allowing her and John to talk as they fled across the grassland plain. Although the bolted-on wheels were rudimentary, this was the fastest John had travelled since the train to Dover.

  ‘How did you know it was the Draytor?’ he asked Millok.

  ‘I didn’t.’ She sat in front of John, claws gripping metal ridges while her pincers controlled the robot through exposed panels. ‘I tested it with a sound weapon – any Brakari would have exhaled water, even Panzicosta.’

  John stayed silent as hazy memories of riding the Lutamek with Crossley came back to him. He’d been drugged and fooled by that creature, yet he’d let it live.

  ‘I had to attack it to know if it was a Draytor or Panzicosta,’ Millok continued, ‘so I overloaded the Lutamek systems, knowing it would release energy and…’

  John couldn’t hear any more. The vibrations beneath his leg and buttocks increased as the Lutamek jolted. Millok poked and twisted metal components inside the panels
and the rumbling died down again.

  John’s head hurt. He was clinging on with his left arm and had his gun-arm wedged under a strap like on the raft. He was grateful to Millok for taking him away from the stinking city and for being alive, so why did he feel down?

  He looked at the metal beneath him.

  ‘Did it feel pain?’ John asked.

  ‘What? Yes – you saw it squirming on the ground.’ Millok raised her voice.

  ‘No. Did the Lutamek feel pain?’ John asked. ‘When you overloaded it?’

  Millok turned her head to one side and three of her eyes focused on John’s face. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But it reacts,’ John said and pictured Panzicosta leaning over him with his spikes. Strapped to the table, John had been vulnerable, just like the robot they were riding on.

  ‘Millok, stop!’ he shouted. ‘This machine feels pain. You have to stop!’

  He saw lines of small holes across her blue-shelled body open and close, then Millok brought the machine to a standstill.

  ‘Yes, it feels pain. They have biological components connected to every major component and wired up to their power system. Every Lutamek I have ever braced has felt pain. I try to reduce it as much as I can but–’

  ‘Why do it at all?’ John asked, still gripping the handrail. ‘Why torture and maim? Why fight?’

  ‘For information and for victory. That’s what we do.’ Millok answered slowly and John sensed she didn’t believe a word of it.

  ‘And what happens afterwards?’ John asked the question that had haunted him ever since he had first set eyes on the poisoned farmland and wrecked towns of Belgium. A lifetime to build. A day to destroy.

  ‘That’s for leaders to discuss, not the soldiers,’ Millok replied.

  John looked at markings on the huge robot and ran his fingers over a series of bumps: two, then eight, then four. Black pockmarks ran along one side of the shiny surface, like miniature craters, and the open panels looked like raw wounds with wires and dials hanging out.

  ‘We’re free now.’ John looked up at Millok. ‘Why can’t this robot be free as well?’

  Millok looked around before answering. ‘Are you sure we’re near your army? I promised to get you to safety, not abandon you.’

  John shook his head. ‘We’ll walk.’ He looked at his stump. ‘I’ll build a crutch. But this… soldier needs to be free.’

  Millok’s head dropped a notch. ‘I’ll use a time-delay brace so we’re clear when it breaks free.’

  ‘Good idea.’ John guessed the first thing the Lutamek would do would be to try to find its kin, but who knew what its priorities would be: revenge was probably a close second. ‘I’ll just–’ a wave of dizziness washed over him and his vision blurred, then an image came to him: a blue sphere, tinged white, green and brown. Was it a map?

  ‘Are you okay?’ Millok asked.

  ‘Yes, I…’ John focused on the image pushed into his mind and the word ‘home’ came to him. It wasn’t spoken or seen but came with a warm comforting feeling.

  He didn’t expect the words that came next but instantly recognised the voice. He turned in the direction they came from and listened.

  ***

  Since the day he’d taken his first life and become a man, Gal-qadan had only been surprised once. A man he had taken for dead had sprung up from a pile of bodies and stabbed him in the forearm. Gal-qadan had sliced the man’s throat in a flash, but the rush of heartbeats that followed had made him feel truly alive.

  The voice speaking in Gal-qadan’s head now surprised him. Mihran’s words boomed, and Gal-qadan felt the same rush of euphoria: his body jolted, then filled with a delayed pulse of energy. He closed his eyes and, when the rush faded, listened to the words.

  ‘…all soldiers of Earth to join forces. We will be victorious together.’ There was a pause before the words started again. ‘Listen. Listen carefully. This is a call to arms. All human soldiers must travel towards the beacon and…’

  Gal-qadan opened his eyes. His men had stopped and the tocka stood patiently in a line. ‘What’s going on?’ he shouted.

  Tode turned. ‘Do you not hear it, Khan?’

  ‘Yes, of course I hear it.’ He dug his heels in to spur his tocka on. ‘But why have we stopped? We must keep moving.’

  ‘Towards the beacon?’ Tode asked.

  Gal-qadan breathed sharply. Why was he constantly tested like this? Didn’t any of his men realise how difficult it was for him to control his anger? If he was a weaker man he would have killed half of them by now.

  ‘No. Not to the beacon.’ He chose a new direction. ‘That way.’

  Kastor turned to face him. ‘The trail we’re following leads to the beacon. Why change direction now?’

  The other soldiers turned too, bringing their tocka round to form a semicircle around Gal-qadan. All eyes were on him and his tocka nervously shifted its weight from hoof to hoof.

  He was in charge, not them, Gal-qadan told himself. He needed to show leadership and strength. But what could he do faced with this?

  ‘Why change our course?’ Kastor asked again.

  Gal-qadan fought the urge to draw his bow and shoot the Spartan. He pictured the long-haired swordsman falling off his tocka, and finishing him off with his short sword. He blinked to remove the thought. He had to maintain power. If the war the voice talked of was inevitable and they joined a larger army, what would he have control of? He had allies in his group, but Gal-qadan knew the majority of his men would not stay loyal. He needed something else.

  ‘Khan?’ Tode asked.

  ‘Yes, I am Khan,’ Gal-qadan spoke slowly as he worked out what he had to do, ‘yet you question me.’

  ‘We do because–’ Kastor started but Gal-qadan cut him off.

  ‘I haven’t finished.’ He counted to five before starting again. ‘I have led you towards the silver gates. This is our mission.’ He calmly looked from man to man, holding each gaze. ‘Yet we are being distracted. How do we know this call to arms isn’t a trap?’

  ‘Why would they do that?’ Kastor asked.

  ‘Because they want the gates for themselves,’ Gal-qadan replied quickly. ‘You run towards the water like a young deer. Where are the wolves?’

  Gal-qadan had their attention but had to make more ground. He slid off his tocka, giving it a friendly pat as he dismounted. ‘We shall head to the beacon, but not this way.’ He walked towards Kastor and stroked his tocka’s muzzle as he had done a thousand times with his horses. He had seen what these beasts’ teeth could do, but felt no fear. ‘We head this way.’ He nodded to the right again. ‘So we can see for ourselves who calls us.’

  ‘That sounds wise,’ Dakaniha said.

  Gal-qadan felt the momentum swinging back his way. ‘But I ask one thing.’

  ‘What?’ Kastor’s hand had moved to his sword handle.

  Gal-qadan stared Kastor in the eye. ‘That I ride your tocka and you ride mine.’

  ‘What? No, I…’

  ‘As the leader, I should ride the lead horse.’ Gal-qadan kept stroking the tocka’s muzzle.

  ‘No, we’ve–’

  ‘He is the Khan, Kastor,’ Tode said, ‘and he will lead us into battle.’

  ‘Yes, but–’ Kastor protested.

  ‘He released the tocka,’ Dakaniha added.

  ‘Yes,’ Gal-qadan looked in the lead tocka’s eyes, ‘it was I who freed you.’

  ‘And you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t followed me.’ Dakaniha faced Kastor.

  Osayimwese moved forward. ‘Do you not have commanders in your army, Kastor? I thought you were a real soldier.’

  Kastor raised a finger. ‘Don’t goad me, you know who the real soldier is here. And, yes, we have commanders, but they lead after earning the soldiers’ respect.’ He looked Gal-qadan in the eye.

  Gal-qadan pictured his sword slipping through Kastor’s wide mouth and out the back of his head.

  Ethan leant over to Kastor and whispered something bu
t Gal-qadan only caught the end, ‘…because they are your blood.’

  Kastor nodded but remained seated. Gal-qadan knew the Spartan was a proud man. He had to give him a way to accept his order but save face. He smiled as he remembered an old trick.

  ‘You have grown attached to your steed,’ Gal-qadan said. ‘But if I lead on mine, will the tocka follow? No. So I suggest we leave it to fate.’ He picked a thumbnail-sized silver coin from a concealed pocket.

  Kastor huffed but studied the coin all the same. ‘You will pay me for my tocka?’

  ‘No.’ He turned the coin to show Arabic writing on one side and a symmetrical shape on the other. ‘Choose a face.’

  ‘Ah.’ Kastor’s grin returned. ‘A bet!’

  ***

  Gal-qadan rode the lead tocka at the head of his posse and Kastor took the rear. They had crossed a tract of open grassland and ventured into what looked like the remnants of a forest fire. A war had been fought here. Craters and bodies littered the ground and they passed a white obelisk surrounded by concentric circles of dark corpses, whose shining bones mimicked the obelisk.

  Gal-qadan had allowed himself a smile for tricking Kastor, but now he had to focus on any present danger. ‘Split into two units,’ he ordered. ‘I will take east; Tode, you take west.’

  He gave his steed a subtle nudge with his heels, playing it safe with the tocka leader: one false move and the whole troop could abandon him. Gal-qadan had played his hand well but he needed something else to maintain his leadership. As the tocka walked sure-footedly through the metal and organic debris, Gal-qadan’s eyes wandered. He caught glimpses of foreign weapons. That was what he needed – something so destructive that just having it in his possession ensured loyalty. He scoured the mess and stroked his tocka’s mane to slow him down. He could see how the charred soldiers had met their deaths: the agony and the humiliation. But there were no weapons he could use here. Gal-qadan ushered his battalion on. Back to the flat grasslands: along their roundabout route to the beacon. The arrogant man would pay for assuming Gal-qadan could be summoned like this. This weapon he dreamt of would be the answer – something which, with the tocka, would give him negotiating power.