Antares Crucible

by Warwick Gibson

  CHAPTER 32

  ________________

  Then there was silence on all the channels that connected Kalken to the city mind. A machine code requesting a basic status check came through, but still Kalken waited. A solid wall of data followed, and continued without end, but all of it was from elementary subroutines.

  Kalken wasn’t sure whether anything of the city mind now remained, but if there was, it was at an instinctive level. She felt a moment’s sadness. The city mind at its best had been an example to all Invardii, a superior being that had engendered in them an almost automatic need to humble themselves before it. Perhaps all aware beings needed something like that in their lives, she thought absently.

  Then she made herself concentrate on the present moment. There was now only one option open to her, and that was to bring the huge Invardii city out of the star before it overheated. That was going to take every resource the cell had left.

  Kalken set to work, and the stabilizers for the city were the first to begin the massive task of dragging it out of the plasma soup of the star. The rock dwellers had retreated to positions out in the Antares system, and that left the flagships free to set up energy couplings with the city and add their motive power to its own.

  Once these systems were underway, Kalken re-routed the command structure to her flagship. She dumped the less important functions the city normally performed and delegated the rest to officers in her command sphere. It was all she could do for now.

  At last, barely able to function, she drifted to her dormitory and fell unconscious into the slot that was her ‘bed’. Medical systems took over the running of her cylinder, and began to repair the battered hybrid life within.

  While Kalken had been struggling with the Invardii problems, Cagill had been carrying out a strange request from Regent Cordez.

  Cagill had asked Subdirector if the strange Magenta, with their numerous silver spheres, might be able to capture one of the Buccra warships, and bring it to his command Javelin. Once he had explained why Cordez wanted to do this, the Druanii agreed to let the Magenta try.

  It took two sorties into the line of enemy warships in front of the city, at a cost of two Alliance ships destroyed and one enemy ship disabled, before Cagill had what he wanted. Then he set up an opportunity for Cordez to talk to the Buccra crew. It turned out that Cordez had wanted the warship for one reason only. He wanted to work out a deal with them.

  “Your defeat is inevitable,” he said, once communications had been set up. “The Invardii city is dying inside the Antares sun. It won’t be long before it will no longer be able to protect the Invardii and Buccra forces in front of it. Your warships will die along with the Reaper ships and the flagships.”

  There was no response from the group of Buccra who stood silently at the back of the loading bay. They were separated from a holographic image of Cordez by a force field. The males were more thickset then the females, with the spines crowding around the back of the neck – that protected against a killing bite from behind – much longer, and a deeper purple.

  The research team on Prometheus had found the Buccra language in the Rothii archive files. The trouble was they might have a version of the language more than 200 thousand years old. The archive at Orouth had shown them that the Rothii archives were connected by sub space, and kept track of the evolution of races around them. It was still an unknown whether they had updated the Buccra language file recently.

  Perhaps, thought Cordez, there was no response from the Buccra because he didn’t have their attention yet. Perhaps they needed motivation.

  “If you surrender to us now,” he said, “we will free you when this conflict is over. If you want to return to your home world and attempt to liberate it from Invardii domination, then we would allow that.”

  The largest of the Buccra stirred restlessly, and Cordez noticed the raised scars under the heavy pelt on its shoulders. A physical contest of some sort was probably part of promotion to higher status in their culture. He could see that this one was an experienced fighter from way back.

  The large male turned and charged the force field, hitting it with a resounding thump. There was a bright flash as the force field shorted across the dent the attack had made.

  The Buccra picked itself up from where it had landed, its pelt smoking down one side, and charged again. This time it stopped short of the force field, and brought the heels of its palms together in a series of explosive claps, sounding impressively like metal hitting metal.

  “That boy is one strong piece of work,” said Finch grudgingly, on the sub space link.

  Cordez nodded. “Posturing behavior. It’s establishing its right to speak for the group, and challenging me to speak for the Alliance.”

  Finch was surprised, yet again, at the instinctive understanding of leadership Cordez had.

  “Put tensors in the hologram,” said Cordez. “I want it to feel my presence, take me as real. Wind them up real tight, I may have to go head to head with this boy yet to get a deal worked out.”

  Cagill issued a string of commands, relaying them to the engineering section. The hologram thickened up, and became more finely detailed. Cordez shifted a foot forward, and it struck the deck with a satisfying thud. He circled a ‘move forward’ gesture, and the engineers stepped him through the force field. Now he was on his own.

  The Buccra hissed, but stood their ground. They were impressed that Cordez had stepped effortlessly through the force field that had defeated their leader moments ago.

  These are not animals, Cordez reminded himself. They have a sophisticated technology, and they won’t be cowed by technological tricks. He brought the heels of his palms together in an explosive crack, in the way he had seen the Buccra leader do it, and noted with disappointment that the effect wasn’t quite as impressive.

  The Buccra leader must have been emboldened by this as well. It stormed forward, stopping just short of Cordez, massive fists pounding the deck.

  “We deal,” said Cordez. “You submit now, we free you later.”

  The Buccra hit him with a blurring backhand, driving the hologram into the force field, where it bounced off and hit the floor. The rest of the group stamped on the floor in approval.

  Right, thought Cordez, struggling to his feet. We fight first, we talk later.

  It was a good thing his hologram didn’t feel any pain. He made a rolling gesture with one finger, meaning ‘maximize it’, and Cagill’s curt “working on it” sounded in his ear. His hologram noticeably darkened, and began to hiss softly.

  Getting close to overload, thought Cordez. I’d better get this over and done with.

  He stormed forward, picking up the Buccra and slamming it to the deck. He could hear bones cracking and hoped he hadn’t overdone it. The creature came back at him a moment later, pinning both of his arms in a bear hug from the side.

  It swiped its head across his shoulder, and the spines along the back of its neck tore open his throat. There was no blood, and the hologram quickly healed itself. The Buccra released him and stepped back, puzzled that its opponent wasn’t bleeding to death on the floor.

  Wrestling, thought Cordez. What the Buccra do is what we call wrestling, and he searched frantically through his mind for what he knew about the sport.

  The Buccra lifted its front leg as it prepared to throw itself forward again, and Cordez slipped sideways, catching it under the raised leg and tying it up in a wrestling hold. Its momentum carried it down and onto the deck, with Cordez alongside it. The Buccra struggled, but couldn’t free itself from the hologram’s greater strength. Cordez had the upper hand, but he needed to finish the fight.

  I wish Fedic was here to deal with this, he thought grimly. Then he remembered an old trick from his early days in the slums of the South Am block. I wonder if this works on Buccra, he thought idly, then freed an arm to slam his elbow into the Buccra’s ribs to the left of where the solar plexus would be on a Human.

  The Buccra’s eyes glazed over,
and it went limp.

  Well, what do you know, thought Cordez. Pressure points. It could be he’d hit the right spot, or maybe he had hit something else, and just been lucky. He stood up, and the group of Buccra at the back of the loading bay prostrated themselves on the floor.

  Good, thought Cordez with satisfaction, I think the Alliance has got their attention now.

  When he was out of the hologram, and back on the screen in the command Javelin, he was given some startling news by Cagill.

  “The city’s rising out of the sun,” said the Air Marshall, without preamble, “and as best we can tell it’s going to be fully functional when it’s clear.

  “There’s no sign of stardrive, not from the readings we’re getting. I think if it had stardrive it would have used it by now.”

  Cordez agreed. This was mixed news. The city wasn’t able to escape from them into stardrive, but it still had the ability to defend itself. At the moment the Alliance had no way to counter the massive plasma pulses the city threw at them.

  Then he had an idea. He had the hologram set up once more.

  “If it pleases your sense of honor,” he said to the Buccra leader, now standing stiffly to attention on the other side of the force field, “there is one thing you can do for us, to buy your freedom.”

  The Buccra shifted its position. Cordez could only hope he was right in thinking they wouldn’t want to be obligated to the Alliance. If they submitted to the Alliance now, and were allowed to go free when the battle was over, there would always be that question of a return favor.

  Cordez explained that the Invardii city was, somehow, making its way out of the Antares sun. Then he told the Buccra leader what he wanted him to do. This time there was no mistaking the leader’s response.

  It dropped its long front limbs to the floor, and its upper lip curled back in a satisfied grimace over triangular fangs that looked designed to cut through bone like paper.

  It appeared the Buccra loved the idea of betrayal.

  HISTORIAN’S REPORT

  I had not realized how fascinating history is when it’s lived in person. The savagery of the Buccra leader, his deadly intent, could never have been conveyed by reading about him. I had to be there. And I was there, in that loading bay. Thank God I was on the other side of the force field from the alien leader.

  I have been allowed more mobility on Cagill’s Javelin now. I think the crew have come to realize I won’t break as easily as they had thought. I have maglocks now, and they lock my wheeler into place if enemy ships suddenly descend on us. The Hud pilots throw the Javelins around in some extraordinary ways, even with the inertial dampeners that now work inside the ships.

  I wish I could see the other side of this conflict. Knowing only one side is a seriously incomplete record. What are the Invardii thinking? Do they think, in a way we would recognize? Do they have leaders? Are those leaders struggling to keep to some overall plan?

  Most of all, what has been happening to Fedic Vits? If he doesn’t survive his attempt to cripple the city, we will never know the details of his mission. An important part of our history will be lost.

  It is an essential requirement of being an historian that we vigorously defend the truth. The winners in any conflict must not be allowed to re-write events to justify what they did, or to change what actually happened. I am adhering to that requirement in every respect.

  Like all of us, I am challenged by other cultures. How do I value their difference, what do I make of them. It is an essentially Human thing to do. The strangeness of the Druanii and their protectorates makes things difficult for me. Even when I know they are on our side, I have trouble warming to them, because I do not know them. Such unhelpful responses are, unfortunately, part of being Human – thought I wish they were not.

  It looks increasingly like I will survive the Invardii Wars, which is incomprehensible to me. I had made my peace, and accepted my death. It seems treasonous to suggest now that I might live.

  If I do survive, I have enough material that needs to be made straight, and true to the facts, to last me several lifetimes. I wonder if it is too late to spawn more La Marche historians who could carry on after me.

  But one thing remains. This whole journey has been strange. Very strange indeed.

  CHAPTER 33

  ________________

  “Am I dead?” said Fedic, in an awed voice. He was unable to believe he was, somehow, once again conscious.

  “Yes and no,” said one of the figures in front of him. “Let’s just say you are becoming less dead as we work on you.”

  The figure was joined by others, and they were all rather blurry. Fedic strained to make them out, and concluded they were Human.

  “Who are you?” he asked, a few moments later.

  “Caerbrindii,” said the closest figure, adjusting something on the end of what Fedic took to be his bed. He suddenly began to feel cold, and realized he hadn’t felt anything in his body up to that point.

  “But you’re Human,” said Fedic.

  “Does shape mean so much to you?” said the figure, bending over him. “Shape was what set the three races at each other’s throats eons ago.”

  Fedic figured it must mean the Invardii, the Rothii, and the Druanii.

  “Shape is somewhat . . . optional to us,” continued the figure. “We took these shapes to provide a reference point for you.”

  It did something else, and Fedic felt a heartbeat start to beat in his chest. That hadn’t been there before! Godsdammit, these creatures actually were, bit by bit, bringing him back to life.

  The figure paused, and looked down at him.

  “How do you think we broke the constraints of cultural dissonance?” it said, and Fedic understood what it meant. A variable shape would have greatly reduced the sense of difference, and then alienation, the three races must have felt toward each other.

  “But it was too late,” said Fedic, feeling his eyes sharpen as the figure in front of him did something to his optic nerves. He paused. Now that he could see clearly, he confirmed they were, indeed, quite Human.

  “You had already evolved into three separate races, hadn’t you?”

  There were amused murmurs from some of the other figures.

  “My dear – rather extraordinary – Human,” said the figure working at the end of the bed, “we didn’t become the three races, we spawned them.”

  Fedic was struggling to understand this when another one carried on the conversation.

  “We had reached a state of perfection that didn’t allow for further growth,” it said, by way of explanation, “and that could only lead to decay. So we returned to our times of conflict, when growth could start again.”

  Fedic must have looked puzzled.

  “We are neither the Caerbrindii nor not the Caerbrindii,” said the helpful one, shrugging.

  “Isn’t that a Buddhist saying?” said Fedic, struggling to grasp what was being said. He had a feeling the last statement fitted a Buddhist system of thought. The room wheeled around him as the figures did something to his sense of balance.

  There was a chorus of low chuckles around the room.

  “I like this one,” said a figure at the back, a gentle warmth evident in its voice.

  “Why did you give Cordez the ability to see the future?” said Fedic. He was guessing the Caerbrindii were responsible for that. “And why did you give me knowledge of dangerous things before they happened, so I might stay alive for so long?”

  “I’m surprised,” said a figure to one side. “I didn’t think either of them would be able to work it out.”

  Another one, somewhat older Fedic thought – though it was more of an impression than anything definite – turned to him and answered his question.

  “You seemed like a people without a teacher to guide you, and we thought we might . . . make some small changes, to help you,” it said.

  “Like sheep without a shepherd?” said Fedic, still feeling dazed. He wondered why his mind seeme
d stuck on spiritual frames of reference.

  His words invoked more merriment in the room.

  “He has seen too much already,” said the older voice. “We have imperatives when we deal with other races. We should keep to them.”

  There was a brief pause while the figures about Fedic considered this.

  “Put him to sleep,” said an infinitely gentle voice, and Fedic felt his eyelids closing.

  “Wait!” he said desperately. There was so much more he wanted to know.

  Then there was nothingness.

  Not that far away, the Alliance was gearing up for the last battle. It was going to be all or nothing this time round.

  The Invardii city was now free of the Antares sun. It was surrounded by flagships, still in the process of towing it clear. The plasma pulse weapons bristled menacingly from the city’s many weapons platforms.

  The navs officer broke protocol, and swore through several sentences before he got himself under control. Cagill appreciated the sentiment. It was extraordinary that Fedic had managed to get through the Invardii defenses and damage the heat exchangers. Unfortunately, the Alliance luck had run out after that.

  The city had managed to avoid being torched by the sun, and now it was gearing up to do them a serious amount of damage. The battle to win control of the Antares system looked like it would be a bitter conflict down to the last ship.

  All fourteen of the flagships could now be seen, the last tendrils of the diffuse sun wrapped around the energy chains that linked them to the giant city. Cagill considered making an immediate attack on the flagships, while they were still busy towing, but the city’s plasma pulse weapons made that an unwise course of action.

  Cordez was present on one of the screens, and he had been conferring with Cagill’s strategic team. He turned now to face the Alliance commanders, assembled once again on the bridge of the command Javelin. All eyes followed him as he looked out of the sub space screen from the South Am block.