“This is later than I wished, Second.”
“Deepest contrition, First. I came as soon as I received the interim order.”
Tevashir, Pre-Eminent Combatant and First Blade of the Zavri, nodded, cold silver eyes studying him intently.
“I’ve seen a preliminary report on the dreg-bout,” he said. “Officials from the Chamber were keen to let us know the high value they place on good relations with the Zavri, thus the document came to us by way of a consideration courtesy.” Tevashir’s composure could not mask the contempt in his voice. “So I know about Livakaw’s last desperate stroke, an unexpectedly drastic attempt to take you with him, yet clearly your luck held.
“But that is not why I wanted you here. There has been a development of some significance–G’Brozen Mav has escaped from the Warcage.”
Akreen felt a part of him grow still, even as angry outbursts raged back and forth in that gallery where his precursors came and went. Akreen’s thoughts whittled down the possibilities, cross-referenced with any notable Warcage events, anything that might provide an avenue of egress.
“First Blade, could the Harvest Flotilla have played a part?” he said suddenly. “The flotilla recently departed with two burnoff worlds–perhaps he found a way onto one of them, stowing away…”
Tevashir had turned to a nearby console and was flicking through screens of pale blue data, then paused and pointed. “There was a report from a source on Sastok stating that G’Brozen Mav and several companions were seen entering an illegally displaced monogate. Timeframe comparison shows that would have happened less than an hour before the Harvest Flotilla excised the second burnoff from the Warcage.” He offered a sharp smile. “Well deduced, Second. Know that our Shuskar masters have assigned to me the task of bringing that vermin to justice, and that I want you to accompany me to wherever that task takes us. I am sure that your own interest will add sharp eagerness to the hunt.”
Akreen nodded. Four years ago he had been a lowly 3rd Claw leading a long squad on wilderland patrol during the Interdiction of Palotreg City–G’Brozen Mav and a mob of four-armed Hvlozen had attacked, using freezer weapons that completely routed the Zavri, with only Akreen and a handful and his Shuroga scout escaping. Later it was found that the Hvlozen had piled the frozen bodies into an industrial ore crusher then fed the result into an arc furnace. In later actions the Hvlozen suffered greatly but the freeze weapons were never again seen in action.
Akreen bowed his head a little, glanced at his Shuroga scout, saw an eager gleam in those eyes while his precursors crooned a fervent assent.
“To the utmost limits of gratitude, I am honoured, First Blade,” he said. “I await your orders.”
“Good. Find quarters for yourself and your underling,” said Tevashir. “In only minutes from now the Urtesh shall depart this world.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Interesting,” Rensik said. “Definitely interesting.”
The Human Brock looked up from her lapscreen.
“Really, sir? Ruthless intruders are on the point of abducting their second planet in less than twenty-four hours and you think it’s just interesting?”
“Compared to some of the sights I have encountered during my time in the Construct’s employ,” said Rensik, “yes, Brock, interesting. By which I mean grotesque, ambiguous, and even enigmatic.”
Brock frowned. “I see. So if it was exceptional it really would be something, then…”
Just so, thought Rensik, as Sam Brock went back to monitoring the data flows from his ship’s sensor array. The cosmos creates an endless supply of marvels and hazards and I’ve seen my fair share of them–well, mine and someone else’s too. But that doesn’t lessen the quality of the enigmas emerging from this situation.
Take intership communications, for example. As in most advanced civilisations, all seven vessels in this fleet from the Great Harbour (including the big armoured one carrying all those generators) used the subspace boundary as the transfer medium for data streams, except that the flow of their data was compressed and far more destination-specific. It wasn’t encrypted as such but since current comm technology was essentially blind to their messaging it presented no risk.
Except that this kind of subspace data compression is well known to the Construct’s developers and the possibility of unknown observers listening into their low-brow, self-aggrandising drivel clearly hasn’t occurred to them. Or, as seems more likely, they just don’t know how to encrypt their own comms.
An alert popped up on the edge of the drone’s analyticore, and the merest glance revealed the nature of the event. As he returned his attention to the interior of his small craft, the Human was just flagging it up on her lapscreen.
“They’ve activated a global shell field of some kind,” she said. “Running state-model scrutiny on the field’s energy components.”
“You’ll find that it’s mainly an inertial cut-out,” Rensik said. “I theorised extensively on this after leaving the Nadisha system, you may recall, Lieutenant.”
“I do recall, sir. I merely wanted to gather some empirical evidence on the properties of the field itself.”
“And you’ll find that it isolates objects–worlds in this case–from the mass-energy bonds of the cosmos. A second world, doubtless another pitiful war-trashed planet, will soon emerge from hyperspace, similarly field-trapped, and the substitution will take place…”
Not so dissimilar to that gravity amplifier field developed by the engineers of Fophathir the Paramount, Tyrant Designate of the 2nd Modynel. That bloodthirsty butcher used it to destroy nine populous planets and triggered two novae before we caught up with him. Ninety thousand years later here we are, face to face with another psychotic gang armed with world-hurling tech–at least this lot seem to be working to a different plan, as well as being amateur users of a fabulously advanced and powerful technology.
“Well, that’s… unusual,” said Brock.
“Summarise,” Rensik said.
“A small-medium ship–profiling as an armed-trader–has just punched through that shell field and is heading for open space.” Brock peered closer at her lapscreen. “Some of the Great Harbour vessels are targeting it with beam weapons but to little effect. The big ship isn’t firing anything—”
“All its generators are powering the inertial shell fields and managing the planet substitution phase, which shouldn’t be far off—”
“That’s our mystery ship made the jump to hyperspace,” said Brock.
“I’ve just retasked one of the hyperspace probes to scan its drive emission and track its course…” The drone broke off as the probe’s data feed started to come through. Oddly, the ship was still running in partial stealth mode, a countermeasure useless in hyperspace and which actually left a vestigial trace.
Well, well, thought the drone. This situation has a bit more mystery and surprise than I expected.
The intermittent traces left by the drive emissions and the stealth countermeasures were merged, resulting in a definite, consistent direction. Cross-referencing with location estimates from the Construct’s meagre background data, he was able to narrow the possibilities down to a twenty-seven cubic light-year volume of space in the Hakulatu Khasma, a huge starless zone not far from the Earthsphere border.
Got you.
“Okay, Lieutenant, you can dispense with those scans and prep for a hyperjump.”
Sam Brock looked up, blinked in surprise then cleared her lapscreen with a touch.
“Are we heading off in pursuit of that ship, sir?”
“Indeed we are, Brock. My analyses have laid bare its destination, which is the same as that first abducted planet. Oddly, that ship’s tech and construction is nothing like those of the Great Harbour vessels–hmm, a question to be answered as and when.”
“So it is a mystery ship,” Brock said. “Possibly carrying mysterious passengers.”
“And possibly deliberately leaving a trail in its wake. Yes, Lieutenant Brock, I am
officially promoting this mission to the ‘very interesting’ category.”
The Human female nodded. “I see, sir. So, as well grotesque, ambiguous and enigmatic, could we add ominous and maybe even perilous?”
“Oh, at the very least, Lieutenant.”
CHAPTER NINE
After departing Kamax Base and the canyon city, Akreen spent an hour wandering around the Urtesh, reacquainting himself with its passages and decks, chambers and drop-holds, berth carrels and equipping stations. The austere dark blue bulkheads of the soldier quarters and the subtler moss greens of the command section, the gloom of Tevashir’s bridge and the pale glows from the hooded operator screens, the brassy gleam of ornamental fittings, console controls, and the relief profiles of heroic Zavri ancestors decorating the walls.
Although the movement of task-armies around the Warcage from holdworlds to affray-worlds usually took place via the gates, the Urtesh had the capacity to transport a full company of Zavri, mechanised if necessary. The berth carrels could accommodate 150 fighters while the main drop-hold was big enough for six heavy vehicles or ten light or whatever combination was called for. The generals of the senior task-armies were assigned small interplanetary craft in recognition of their position and prestige, but only the Loyal Seven were accorded the honour of a craft like the Urtesh.
As he strolled up the inclined passage leading to the bridge, Akreen ticked them off in his mind–the Avang, the Yniich, the Sujalka, the Cregrin, the Lorzavel, the Muranzyr, and the Zavri…
[Ah, the Cregrin!–never was a gang of uncivilised marauders promoted so far beyond their talents–To] [The Muranzyr were once the epitome of combat perfection but the recent generations are lesser breeds–Ca]
The arguments were so well-worn that for Akreen they were like background murmurs, empty of meaning or content. Some of his precursors’ commentaries had become so rote that they were like recordings, word-for-word repetitions that sometimes rambled on for long periods. Akreen used to think that the patterns of his precursors were fixed and limited, no matter how elaborate they were occasionally. But with the passing years he had realised that there had to be more to them than that, going by the pointed and specific remarks which sporadically shook him out of his easy disregard. And whenever those remarks came from Gredaz, rare as they were, they had proved to be significant.
The sloping walkway led through an arch and onto the bridge of the Urtesh. Zavri operators sat at hooded screens, faces bright from the displays, contrasting with the subdued lighting. Few heads turned, a bridge guard, one of the three short, hunched Toolbearers standing at the wide master console, and Tevashir, First Blade.
“Your appearance is timely, Second. I was about to comm you to attend me.” Tevashir beckoned Akreen over to a recessed wall display behind the master console. “We have been in contact with the Harvest Flotilla. The planet Grelcq has already been exchanged for a newly harvested world. That was nearly twenty hours ago and the flotilla is in the closing stages of the second reciprocation. However, they have reported some unusual activity on the surface of the second harvested world so I want you to take the Urtesh’s scoutcraft, fly to the flotilla location and investigate. The intercept course is already set in its crystals so you will be leaving immediately. While you are pursuing that, I shall take the Urtesh to Grelcq and track down that murderous vermin, G’Brozen Mav.”
Tevashir wore a grim smile and Akreen could only nod.
“May I take my Shuroga scout?” he said. “She has proved useful in unusual situations.”
“Only yourself, Second. Such crucial matters are for our consideration only. We are engaged in vital tasks blessed by the Shuskar Lords–now go.”
“With all alacrity, First. Eternal loyalty!”
“Loyalty eternal, Second.”
With that, Akreen hurried from the bridge. While it would have been deeply satisfying to have joined the First Blade in the hunt for G’Brozen Mav, being assigned a ship mission outwith the Warcage was still a considerable privilege. He tried to look upon it in that context but he could not avoid feeling a thin trickle of disappointment.
With a vigorous pace he made his way down through two decks, from subdued greens to dark blues then the ash-grey of maintenance as he turned along a linking passage that led past storage cabinets, a well-remembered short cut to Holds. It was shadowy, proximity lighting winking on at his approach, blooming from the ceiling domes, and they were slow and blurry…
Onward the smoky figures shuffled. Akreen shuffled with them, unable to make out their faces but aware that they were all following another who led them through a murky, high-walled maze…
Suddenly he was in bright light, in the main Holds corridor, standing not far from the automatic doors to the launch bay. His sense of balance felt distorted, and he swayed on the spot. Something like panic shivered through him, something cold and sharp. What had just happened?
He made himself move forward. The doors parted and he stepped through into the comparative gloom of the anteroom to the launch bay.
“Ah, Second Blade, you’re here. Bridge was concerned.”
On his right the techniciar, a cowled Toolbearer, regarded him from just inside the narrow control cabin that overlooked the bay.
“I was delayed,” Akreen said. “A small matter, no significance.”
The Toolbearer nodded. “Are you ready to embark, Second Blade?”
“I am. Proceed.”
But am I ready? The big pressure doors rolled apart and the boarding cupola’s low gate swung open. The cupola carried him over to the scout ship’s gaping main airlock into which he stepped. As the lock thudded shut behind him he glanced at the timer embedded in his lower arm then shook his head, realising that there was no way to discover how long the nullout had lasted…
Nullout.
No Zavri remained truly unmoved when the subject of nullouts was broached. They were the first signs of perception instability, intermittent frailties of the mind which could then lead to decrentia, the irreversible loss of intrinsic traits and persona disintegration. It was a rare condition but only because it afflicted the very old, and very few Zavri lived to very great ages. None of Akreen’s precursors had lived past 417, reputedly the age at which Rajeg had opted for voluntary seccision, prompted by a decrentia diagnosis.
A narrow passage led forward to the pilot booth, a rounded compartment full of ReBuild control panels, graceless boards moulded in a standard blue-green resin. ReBuild replacements could be made on the spot by Order of Steel techniciars, usually Toolbearers, temporary substitutes which invariably became permanent.
As Akreen settled into the pilot couch a row of oval displays came to life. Most showed odd graphical shapes that twisted or pulsed while lines of raw data periodically fanned into the display from the edges. Then First Blade Tevashir appeared in one and stared at him.
“May the luck of the Lords be with you, Second. Eternal Loyalty!”
“Loyalty eternal!” he said automatically as a multiplicity of unseen systems and subsystems awoke throughout the craft. The deck, the couch and the whole pilot booth quivered, then there was a lurch as the bay’s handler frames moved the vessel into the launch position. The booth had forward-facing viewports but the safety shields were locked down–one of the console displays showed what was happening. The outer bay doors unsealed and slid up, releasing a cloud of tiny ice crystals. Moments later the scout ship was speeding away from the Urtesh, with Akreen pressed back into his couch by the acceleration, feeling curiously frozen, both physically and mentally.
Perhaps the nullout was an atypical event, he thought. Some kind of anomaly triggered by stress and continual vigilance and with no connection to decrentia. It has been nine days since my last reposal, after all.
Patterns on the display changed and he heard a shift in the ship’s power librations which he knew heralded the imminent leap into hyperspace. Akreen laid his head back against the padded rest and closed his eyes…
The smoky
figures shuffled along in dimness, knee-deep in a pearly mist. They had a strange luminous aura which flickered and melted into threads and wisps of drifting vapour. When he reached out to the nearest figure, he saw that his arm was the same…
And opened his eyes. And immediately realised that there had been another nullout. He was still in the pilot couch. Before him the instruments said that the scout ship was now travelling in hyperspace but he had not experienced the transit, an unmistakeable effect. Then he glanced at the timer on the communication display and saw undeniable proof, a lapse of nearly eleven u-minutes which he could not account for. He gripped the sides of the couch, feeling the onset of a new kind of fear…
[Space is no place for a warrior of the Zavri. We brace ourselves against the solid ground of worlds, we rush onto the field of battle, we seize the enemy’s territory and bury him in it–To]
It was Togul, his fifth precursor, offspring of Drolm, parent to Casx. The relief he felt on hearing the crusty old bore was absurd.
Togul, he said in his thoughts. What was I doing since we left the Urtesh?
This would be hard for any of his precursors to answer. To them, time was an abstract notion, fragmentary and subjective at best.
[You were leading your troops against the traitor, I believe. Splendid battle, boy, although nothing like the bouts of my day–To]
I mean after that. We all came back to the camp and I got aboard the First Blade’s ship.
[Ah, the Urtesh, a fine vessel–Kalmer was First Blade in my time, you know–To] [What nonsense is this? Why are you disturbing my contemplations?–Dr] [Young Akreen’s having trouble with his memories since arriving on this craft–my own memories are, of course, faultless and extensive–To] [Hmm, memory flaw, nullouts, decrentia, and a wandering mind–Dr] [I will not stand for such insults!–To] [Not you… the boy Akreen!–Dr]
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