"I'm sure they will thrive, holy one. You've given them a chance they never would have had under the Elect. They can make their own future now."
She fell silent for a few seconds, frowning at him, her head cocked to one side. "What?" he asked.
"I think that's what the helot wanted."
Harrow spread his hands. "I don't understand."
"No, neither did the helot." Red drew her feet up and leaned forwards, hugging her knees with her good arm. "But that's what it wanted. It was free of Brite Red, and it wanted to explore that freedom, make its own future."
"A pity that future was built on such slaughter."
Red snorted. "Isn't it always?"
"Birth is painful." Harrow sat down, next to her. "Or so I've heard."
"I suppose but do you know what's been bothering me? Ever since I saw that half-baked little ship it was trying to kitbash."
Harrow shook his head, wordlessly, and she gave him a sad smile.
"You didn't see inside the Manticore, Jude. I mean, I told you about it, but you didn't see." She let herself fall back, until she was lying in that cruciform pose again. "There were millions of those things."
"Helots?"
"Yeah. The dragon said it was the last. The others must have been caught in the dissipation, taken apart by the same discontinuity that made the Manticore, just... I dunno, fade away like that. There were so many..."
Harrow felt himself go quite cold. He swallowed hard. "You don't think there could be more?"
"Maybe." She shrugged slightly. "Or maybe it was right. Maybe it really was the last one. I don't know which makes me feel worse."
It was, indeed, an awful thought. Either there were other helots out there, tumbling through the Gulf and gradually exploring their new freedom, or the last of a new species had been destroyed. Harrow, who had been on the end of intended genocide on more than one occasion, found that quite distressing.
It must have been even more alarming for Red: she was the last of her kind, too.
Harrow got to his feet. Crackling noises were coming from the valley, and light flickered there, brighter than the sun. Godolkin was charging the fusion core.
Among the clouds, far more distant and more powerful discharges began to flicker in reply. The storm would be upon them soon. Harrow could feel the weight of it in the air around him and the greasy heat of approaching lightning. When it hit, he was sure, it would rend the sky.
"We should go," he said quietly. "As soon as we can."
Red must have known what he meant without him having to say it. "Won't be easy."
"I know but we can't give in, holy one. The Bastion won't last forever. Iconoclasts aren't that stable - there will always be some breakdown of command, some ambitious commander or rebellious captain. Even if they are ordered to stay there, something will happen. We'll find a way out, sooner or later."
She got up, slowly, favouring her bad arm. Harrow knew better than to help her. As she straightened, she nodded down at the tree-forms. "If we let the pony go, will it get home okay?"
"Sooner than we will."
Red grinned at him. "That's what I like about you, Jude, you're always such a snecking optimist!"
Together they began to walk down the slope, out of the sunlight and into the storm.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Peter J Evans has over 400 pieces of published work to his name, including short stories and novels. His SF novel, Mnemosyne's Kiss, was published in 1999. He has written for Black Flame with Judge Dredd: Black Atlantic (co-written with Simon Jowett) and four Durham Red novels. He lives in London, England.
Black Dawn Page 24