Suddenly, she arched downward, the six angels flying in perfect formation.
“Indigo,” Hitomi said. “Look.”
They approached the platform from which they entered this world. It was supposedly the very top of a pyramid, the rest of which was buried under the sand.
“This is the one?” Tamael asked over her shoulder.
Indigo nodded.
“Then the Hashmallim were correct,” she said. “This is the Propylaeum.”
“The what?” Hitomi asked.
Tamael was already banking downwards, out of earshot. Polsh answered for her.
“The Propylaeum is the first and oldest beacon. Humans took their first steps into this realm on that platform. There once was a great road from it all the way to Cibola.”
They landed on the platform, and Indigo showed them where the anima bot had exploded. The sand had claimed all the parts.
Frish and Leefa stood, staring at the sand. Leefa's hands opened and closed into fists. The two angels hugged.
They all began to sift through the sand, searching for the missing crystal. Frish silently sobbed as she ran her hands through the grains. The pieces had only sunk just below the surface, and it didn't take long. “Found it,” Polsh said, his voice defeated.
“Tamael,” Leefa asked. “I've never been here before. May we?”
Tamael nodded. She turned to Indigo and Hitomi. “We'll return shortly.”
The angels went down the staircase, leaving Indigo and Hitomi alone again. They sat together, watching the silent blue sea.
The angels were gone a long time, but eventually they emerged from within the inner chambers carrying heaps of supplies from the storeroom where they had discovered the periscepters.
“Those pictures,” Polsh said. “I'd never seen them before. They are stunning.”
“What about the missing scouting party?” Indigo asked. “Any sign of them?”
Tamael shook her head sadly. “Perhaps they were waylaid before they ever got this far.”
No one wanted to leave just yet. They needed more time to absorb this place.
Indigo walked around the platform, remembering all that had happened since she had first come to this place. Markings blemished the marble. From Hitomi. She had come into this world on fire. She remembered how peaceful it had been in those first moments. How the sand had felt soft and warm on her naked body.
Now this was a place of danger. The beautiful blue sea turned out to be the edge of the world, and the sand wasn't sand at all, but all that was left of angels who had died defending their home. A funny thought came to her. Was her body somewhere here, too?
The flight back seemed to take much longer than the journey there. No one talked.
As they approached camp, it quickly became clear something was wrong.
They approached cautiously. Then they saw the group of dead Dahhak, mostly spread out amongst the trees in front of the camp. Hundreds of them. Some of their bodies still smoldered.
The angels were gone. All six hundred. All that remained were their charred cloaks and weapons.
“No,” Tamael said, rushing forward. She floated just above the ground of the camp, turning. Her whole body shook.
Frish and Leefa rushed forward toward their leader.
“Leave her be,” Polsh said. They paused.
“You do not tell a Power what to do,” Verdan growled. “Know your place, engineer.”
Polsh stared at the other angel, a frown on his face. “You worthless...”
“Stop!” Frish said. “Polsh is right. We leave her alone.”
Tamael slowly floated down, landing on her knees. Her helmet came off, and she placed her face into her hands. She began to sob.
She was cracking. Hard.
* * * *
Ko tittered nervously, earning him a reproachful glare from both Uzkiev, the new “interim” leader of the gate sector and his Mite, Ascot, who tapped his tiny hand against his miniature gun threateningly. The news of the Overseer's premature death traveled quickly. The official word was he had died of a common genetic defect that plagued Overseers who overused their pleasure nodes. But the rumors—several of them shockingly accurate—had already begun to spread.
The Overseers raged. Breach of contract. Assassination. Some had taken the extreme step of executing their entire staffs out of paranoia. One had dismissed his staff and now only kept council with a human child of whom he was fond.
The council insisted it was only a temporary measure until a suitable replacement could be found, but Uzkiev had already commissioned one of the intact angel buildings to be fitted as a new headquarters, and it was of a size that could barely accommodate Ko. An Overseer would never able to get inside.
All this politics and posturing was like a game of stones, too complicated for Ko to understand. He was constantly given odd tasks that brought him to several places within Dominion-controlled Cibola. Once, he had been forced to take a transport to an active zone, and his ship had taken fire from the insurgents. It was terrifying. Work he wasn't bred for. He yearned for a peaceful life with no conflict or violence. A life where he could just find a fine dark place, take care of Booja and Qulp, and hibernate.
Being a hand servant to the Overseer now seemed much more tolerable compared to the trials under Uzkiev's leadership. The only danger he was ever in before was at the hand of the Overseer himself. But now ... He had actually been shot at.
Of course, in the short time the Nidhogg had been in control, a remarkable transformation had already taken place amongst the local troops. They were drilling in the streets, making more frequent patrols, ones that had actual purpose. The already-disciplined Dahhak thrived under his leadership.
Ko now stood within the decimated marketplace. Several demons were now working to clean up the remains of the riot. The whole area had been off limits for some time while the matter was investigated, but Uzkiev had decided the wreckage had stood for too long. Reports suggested it was all over a spilled barrel of coins. The True Light severed a slaver in half, and his coin chest spilled. Several jumped upon the fortune, and the slaver's partners had fired upon the looters, some of whom retaliated. From there, it became a nightmare.
In addition, the clandestine terrorist group, Broken Fist, was using the attack by the two humans as further fodder for their protests against human slaves. While Ko was sympathetic toward Broken Fist's anti-slavery stance, he wasn't at all impressed with their violent methods. The group's message was that the demon worlds were too dependant upon the humans. That the destruction of the Sphere, the great orb where the human worlds resided, would both free the Dominion of the human plague and stop the light that encroached upon their worlds.
The utter lack of discipline amongst those at the marketplace enraged Uzkiev. He immediately ordered civil drills to deal with future attacks, and he made it clear those involved in public altercations would be punished severely. Three Pazuzu, two Mites, and a Sedim rioter were all hung outside of the new headquarters. No one had been arrested for rioting or looting since. While attacks against humans by Broken Fist had risen across Cibola, they had become almost nonexistent in this sector.
Four Kostchtchie Flamen of the science branch, three subordinates, and a commander assembled their mechanical probes outside the hidden entrance to the maze. Technically, all Flamen ranked somewhere between Commander and Mid-Commander, but they had their own complicated rank system within their organization. He had personally watched Flamen give orders to grande-commanders before, and they obeyed without question. The workers cleaning the area gave them a wide berth, occasionally shooting them uneasy glances.
Uzkiev and his shoulder-companion were with the scientists, asking question after question of them. The amphibious creatures were remarkable at taking the superior angel technology and figuring out how it worked, but they still had not been able to learn the secrets of the odd building.
However, their new mechanical “spiders” would supposedly make an ac
curate map of every room within the mind-bending building.
The machines really did resemble giant silver spiders. The small bugs had infested Ko's hibernation cave back on his old world, back in another time when he was a slave. He had a revulsion for them. The machines were the height of a shoal but walked about on several clicking legs. They would enter a room, determine every possible exit and insert a probe to each of these rooms to permanently mark it for future cartography. The Flamen claimed their machines would not get lost.
Without ceremony, the devices roared to life and clanked into the maze one by one. There were four in all, and they were identical. The four Flamen huddled around a temporary terminal they set up in the burnt-out husk of a merchant's shop. Curiosity overcoming him, Ko stepped forward to get a better view.
“Come here, My Lord,” a Flamen said to Uzkiev. The Kostchtchie had a sloppy, wet voice, and it made it seem as if he was sniveling. Though Ko knew Flamen did not snivel. They were dangerous, whether they were Kostchtchie, Dahhak, Daityas, or some other race, and those who opposed or hindered them had a tendency to disappear. He feared them.
But not as much as he feared the Catechist, the elite branch of the Flamen that investigated internal insurgency. Especially if they were Wuj. Every time he had to speak to one, he had a constant urge to run. He could feel their minds reaching out and probing his, invading his most private thoughts.
The Kostchtchie were much less abhorrent than the Wuj, but they had still been difficult to get used to. They had scaled skin and air sacks under their chins that could expand to enormous sizes when they were angry. Their wings were sickly-looking things covered with a thin membrane, and they moved mostly along the ground, only able to fly short distances. They could climb upon walls and even ceilings.
“Look,” the Flamen Commander said to Uzkiev. “The spiders are already discovering chambers that have not been marked by your soldiers.”
“Very good,” the Nidhogg said. “You never disappoint, do you?”
“We try not to, My Lord.”
They watched the screens. The machines found all manner of hidden rooms. One was a small garden with a fountain and a bench. In the fountain was a fish skeleton.
“None of these places were discovered before, ahh,” Uzkiev murmured. “I've heard no mention of any rooms other than the small square ones.”
“We suspected there were such places. We have long been planning this survey, My Lord. But we had been delayed on council business.”
“Yesss, I know all about your important council business,” Uzkiev said. “Tracking and jamming the angel communications. Your tracking brought ruin to three regiments.”
“My Lord,” the Flamen said, glancing back and forth between Ko and the Mite on Uzkiev's shoulder, “we should not discuss classified information.”
Uzkiev laughed. It sounded like gas leaking from a cracked canister. “Ahh, that project is over now, no? Besides, Ascot here has the same level of clearance as I, yesss, and I wouldn't worry about the Geyrun. He's as unintelligent and submissive as they come.” He turned to Ko. “Aren't you?”
“Of course, My Lord.” He had an exceedingly violent urge toward the much smaller snake, but he quickly quelled it. Geyrun were a peaceful race.
The Kostchtchie shrugged. “The project was a success. The fact three regiments were lost was the Overseer's fault. You know that as well as I do.”
“Yesss, of course,” said Uzkiev. “But I am curious, how did you locate them?”
The Flamen gave a cold look to Ko again. “A survey team by chance ran across a flight of angels over the forest. We killed most, but two were captured. The prisoners wouldn't give up the base's location, but their communications devices offered a wealth of intelligence. When the angels assaulted the Dahhak temple, we finally had enough clues to locate their subterranean base.”
Uzkiev nodded. “I suspected as much, yesss.”
The panel beeped, and everyone's attention focused back toward the screens.
“Number three is offline,” a Flamen muttered. He fiddled with the controls.
“Malfunction?” Uzkiev asked.
“Most likely,” he said. “Number two is on its way.”
“Can you show the last image it saw?” Ascot asked, speaking for the first time. The Mite jumped from Uzkiev's shoulder and buzzed toward the panel. After all this time, Ko had never heard the Mite speak aloud before. Which was odd because their race had a proclivity for never shutting their mouths.
“Yes,” the Flamen said. “I'm working on it.” He scrolled through shot after shot of small square rooms. He stopped on one. “This is it. Nothing of interest. It likely blew a motor.”
“Number two is coming up on the broken-down unit,” a Flamen announced.
They watched the screen. It bounced up and down slightly as the robot walked. It made Ko a little ill. It turned left into the wall and came upon the other machine.
A Flamen cursed.
It smoked on the ground. Two angels, both Principalities, stood over the wreckage. The thin angels both drew their weapons at the same time. Spider number two blinked offline in a flash of light. Ko flinched, stumbling backwards. He fell down with a crash.
“What do we have here?” the Flamen Commander said. “Another hidden base?”
“I want a map to that location printed immediately,” Uzkiev snapped. He turned to Ko. “Get up, you buffoon. Call the grande-commander on duty. Have him dispatch a Platoon at once, yesss.”
Soon thereafter the platoon arrived. A conscript unit, comprised of an eclectic group of various races. Though all in this particular platoon could fly, all conscript units were called Footies. Originally meant to be a jape, the term had stuck. Footies took to their title with pride. Commanders tended to put less stock in their abilities, but Ko couldn't help but notice how well the Footies always seemed to get along with one another. Such fellowship was rarely seen amongst the races anywhere else.
Uzkiev immediately started barking orders at their Pazuzu commander and the three rows of ten soldiers. The first row was comprised entirely of the short, cat-like Shishi, nimble and clever creatures. The second row was the most diverse. Three Nidhoggs floated at the start of the line. A pack of six of the black, shape-shifting Marid took up the center. All six were in their natural shadow form, floating ominously. Once, the Marid had been the most powerful of all demons. They were said to have special magical powers, but they had been decimated in war. Those times and ways gone forever. Now they were but a minor race, mostly soldiers and shop keepers. These were unarmored except for their weapons. On the end stood a single Kostchtchie. The last row was a group of five Charun and five Pazuzu. They stood stiffly.
The soldiers bristled with an intangible excitement. It was the opportunity they had been wishing for, Ko knew. A soldier's utter disregard for his own personal safety always amazed and baffled Ko. They actually like this.
Uzkiev floated forward to face the troops. “I will double the salary of any demon who comes out with the head of a human.” He pumped his fist into the air. The soldiers cheered, ripping their guns out of their holsters and firing them into the sky. Ko cringed at the sound.
“Now go,” Uzkiev yelled, pointing toward the Spire. “Do your duty. Be proud!”
* * * *
Gramm was not enthusiastic about the plan. Not at all. He still couldn't believe he had helped devise it, and furthermore he, not Dave, had been the one to suggest that the two of them were the most suitable for the most dangerous part.
Gramm and Dave had spent much of their time in the angel hideout working on their periscepter skills, but neither were very good at it. Both of them now could get a sustained blast that lasted about one second, but the effort was exhausting.
These angels, the Principalities, were much more willing to talk than the Powers. None of them seemed to blame the humans at all for any of this. But Gramm suspected it was only because they were created the same time as the humans. Gramm had learned much in
the time he was stuck in their small hideout, and this perplexing world was finally starting to make just a sliver of sense.
First off, the Principalities were higher on the totem pole than the regular angels, but still lower than the Powers. This had caused a lot of friction at first, especially since the humans were such a controversial subject. Principalities had more contact with people than with angels. They were resented by the angels and distrusted by the humans. At least in their point of view. From the way Xac told it, people would spit on him as he passed by. There was once even an uprising of humans that left several dead.
“But why?” Gramm asked as they practiced with their periscepters. He was bent over, trying to gather enough strength for another shot. “Why was everyone so unhappy?”
The thin Principality frowned sadly from above. He sat on a ledge just under the domed ceiling, stooped forward like a gargoyle. “Every human has an expectation of their afterlife. The children expect to be all grown up, and the adults expect to be children again.”
“So, if you die a hundred years old, you have to live here all gross and stuff?” Dave asked. Sometimes his way of putting things made Gramm cringe. But he also had a way of blurting out questions Gramm would never have the courage to ask.
“No,” Xac said. “Not quite. The human arrives healed of all wounds. Including advanced age. An elderly human usually arrives a person of middle age. Those who have not reached that level of physical maturity will eventually grow there, but very, very slowly. To many of the elderly, their condition is still ‘too old’ for their tastes, even though their age has been greatly regressed.”
“So like forty-five?” Dave asked. “That wouldn't be so bad, I guess.”
“But this is only the start of human complaints. Others anticipate a legion of their friends and family to be there to greet them. Efforts were always made to reunite lost kin, but it often failed. Only a small percentage of humans can actually reach the beacons, and when they learn this, they are not happy with it.”
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