The IX

by Andrew P. Weston

  Ephraim turned to face his audience. “That completes the overview, what else would you like to know?”

  “What’s her ready status?” Mohammed asked, getting straight to the point. “We’re due to leave in seven days. Will she be ready?”

  “Most definitely. With Serovai’s assistance, we have now stabilized threshold integrity and full life support. Emergency, command, and medical scanners, both passive and active, are online, and our chameleon technology has been successfully spliced to the Winter’s current defensive matrix. The dampening field is a godsend, as it scatters any inadvertent energy signatures that may leak into the subspace medium. It means we’ll remain invisible for as long as we want to. Fuel cells are at ninety-two percent. Because of her size, the cruiser replenishes at the rate of about two percent a day. Of course, once she’s powered up, all weapons systems will automatically prime and be ready for use.”

  Mohammed beamed. “Now that’s the news I wanted to hear, as it will allow us to execute our final act against the Horde before we leave for good.”

  “Do you mind sharing what that is with us?” Ryan asked. “Or is it classified?”

  “No, I can tell you. Saul didn’t want me saying anything until we could confirm weapons status, that’s all. And why? We’re going to make sure the Horde never comes after us. It was never clearly explained how they managed to secrete away on so many ships, or how they managed to infest so many systems, so quickly. We don’t want to take the chance that they can somehow interface with the onboard flight computers and use the autopilot systems to pursue us, or escape. Therefore, before we pull away, we’re going to complete a preliminary orbit of the planet, target the spaceports here, and at Cumale, Floranz, Locus, Genoas, Napal, and Elan, and obliterate them.”

  “Ding dong!” Mac spluttered. “Now that I want to see. But—and I’m just playing devil’s advocate here—what happens if you miss a few ships? You know. The ones that weren’t left in a nice big parking lot? Some private companies in my day had their own luxury liners and aircraft for business meetings. The Ardenese must have obviously done the same. If the Horde manage to find one, what’s to stop them following?”

  “Good of you to think of that. So did we.” Mohammed turned to Ephraim. “Do you want to tell him, or shall I?”

  Ephraim waved both hands in the air, declining the offer.

  “Very well.” Lowering his voice, Mohammed explained, “Gaining unlimited access to the Archive has allowed us to restore full satellite coverage around the planet. All orbiting assets are now online and under our control. The six Veran platforms in particular possess an impressive array of weaponry. With the assistance of the Architect and Serovai, we have prepared a command override of the entire system. We will initiate it as we leave orbit. Basically, anything attempting to exit the atmosphere after we’re gone will be shot out of the sky with extreme prejudice.”

  Mac grinned. “I think we’d all like to see that!”

  “I know. Whets the appetite, doesn’t it? But for now, we have to endure the hardest part. To sit and wait for the last hours to drag by.” And I, for one, hate that.

  Mohammed stood. “Anyway, thank you all for coming. I’ll take my leave. Duty calls, and I have to take the latest updates down to the commander in the Archive. Feel free to finish the coffee and see yourselves out when you’re done.”

  As he left his office, Mohammed was struck by a poignant thought.

  Ha! Saul and I arrived here from off a starship. Looks like we’ll be leaving the same way. He smiled. Now why does that have a certain eloquence that appeals to me?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Telltale Signs

  In detached silence, James Houston leaned against the window and allowed his eyes to become unfocused to the world around him. Inner calmness enfolded his mind. Like a veil, it shrouded him from unnecessary external stimuli. He grasped an anchor to reality tightly in his hands. He couldn’t see or feel it directly, but he knew it was there because of the subtle vibrancy skittering from his extremities toward the deepest recesses of his soul. He found the sensation soothing, a relief against the friction that constantly raged within him lately, on every occasion he sought refuge.

  Soon, James, he promised himself. Soon.

  That’s not your name, a weak presence protested. It’s mine!

  Nevertheless, it will suffice. Renewed corporeality brings with it a greater longing for stability and identity.

  But not your own?

  That will resurface. Eventually. For now, I have assumed yours.

  It wasn’t yours to take.

  You are a tool. A vessel. Accept this fact, and once you have served your purpose, you will be free of concern once more.

  So . . . so you’ll give it back, then? A feeling of hope tinged the other’s awareness.

  Hopefully. But what this new awakening will reveal remains to be seen.

  What do you mean?

  I . . . I’m not sure. And yet—

  No! Don’t say that. You swore. You did, you . . .

  Overwhelming panic boiled to the surface. The fragile grip on lucidity was broken, and reality reasserted itself once more. Uninvited, alternate perspectives crowded to the fore.

  James felt the pressure of a cold, smooth surface against his forehead. Blinking, his sight clarified on the gloom of a bleak courtyard outside, empty save for security lights and patrolling soldiers. Tracking their course, he was momentarily confused by his surroundings.

  Where . . . ?

  Unnerved, he stepped back, and the harsh glare of sterile lights reflecting on glass distracted him. He winced and adjusted his focus. He was confronted by the ravaged image of a haggard and exhausted face. A stranger, with gaunt, hollow cheeks covered in two days’ worth of stubble and caked, dried spittle.

  A sense of dislocation tingled through his mind.

  Don’t I know you from somewhere?

  His toe stubbed against something on the floor. He looked down.

  Mine!

  Recognizing it, James threw himself to the ground and crouched protectively across his token. It wasn’t until he’d checked the ward once more that he allowed himself to relax a little. Spinning swiftly around, he retrieved the tomahawk and sat with his back to the wall. Dismissing the world, he pressed Heaven’s-Claw reverentially to his heart and gave it his full attention. In moments, a feeling of deep and unending peace eased the agitation from his mind. James closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and began to doze.

  A cool breeze added a fresh breath of consolation to his repose, bringing with it memories of another world where endless plains stretched off into the distance, and the smell of honeysuckle and wildflowers filled the air.

  That’s nice . . . eh?

  Suddenly alert, he bolted upright. Clutching the axe to his chest, he allowed his scrutiny to rove back and forth across the room. Although he couldn’t see anything, his attention was repeatedly drawn to a spot several feet in front of the entrance to his private bathroom. Intrigued, James leaned forward and felt the gentle caress of a hidden exhalation once more.

  Where’s that coming from?

  Scuttling forward on his hands and knees, he skirted the area and extended the back of his hand toward the crack under the door.

  Nothing. I didn’t leave the window open, so where . . . ?

  An unexpected chill descended about him, bringing with it a sense of euphoria that made him dizzy. His stomach knotted, and he had to back away to clear his head. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, the phenomenon filled him with hope.

  Mesmerized, he clutched Heaven’s-Claw ever tighter, and sat back to await what would happen next.

  *

  It was a while since Mohammed had walked these halls. He always found the environs around the entrance to the Archive claustrophobic. The galleries and passages were exactly the same as everywhere else. But this far underground, the rarified air made it feel as if the walls might sprout pointed stakes and close in on him at any
moment. He had also declined to use the only transporter pad servicing this area, as the abrupt change in air pressure always made him feel ill.

  That’s my own fault, though.

  Descending yet another set of switchback stairs, he reached up to touch the side of his neck. Five years previously, he’d burst an eardrum during the closing stages of Operation Trident, the offensive that ended the Tyrian Colony Uprising of 2339. Because he had been so closely involved in the battle itself and the ceasefire that followed, he hadn’t gotten round to having his injury checked out until after the armistice was sealed. By then, it was too late. And now, any sudden variance in temperature or atmospheric density brought on the most excruciating pain. That discomfort would invariably radiate into his shoulder and neck, and induce the blinding headaches he had grown to hate over the following years.

  As he walked, Mohammed kept his mind from the burgeoning torture by running through the evacuation procedures, and looking for evidence of Saul’s preparations. It wasn’t difficult to find. At this depth, they were everywhere.

  Joists, supports, and other load-bearing structures had all been rigged with explosives. Saul hoped that collapsing the tunnels would be enough of a deterrent to the Horde to prevent them from ever snooping around.

  Mohammed supported the idea wholeheartedly. Although not as formidable as lydium, millions of tons of intervening rock will make it extremely difficult to approach this place. Even for them. And, of course, if it doesn’t work, there’s always the tear-rift.

  He tried to recall what he remembered of that freakish anomaly, for in their ingenuity, the Ardenese had managed to contrive another fermionic edifice that was as equally impressive as the wall. This one, however, had been manipulated during its construction to bind to a fracture within the very structure of reality. How they had managed such an incredible feat was beyond current understanding, as the physics involved bordered on the realms of fantasy. Nevertheless, it had been their greatest and last defense against extinction.

  Completing his descent, Mohammed turned a final corner and entered the solitary tunnel that led toward the true heart of the city.

  He shivered and quickened his pace. It’s colder here than I remember, and more oppressive. He automatically pressed one finger behind his ear and made a chewing motion with his jaw.

  Then he noticed the machine gun posts.

  Two of the missing .50 cannons had been bolted to the floor on tripods, in a staggered formation that crisscrossed the hallway and teleport pad itself.

  So that’s what Saul has done with them! Good idea.

  The Ardenese had always been unsure as to whether the biophysical properties of the Horde prevented them from ever using the transport system. As such, they had never employed additional defensive measures on the approach to the Architect’s nerve center. Recent events had changed that perspective.

  No sooner had Mohammed registered the existence of the guns than they reacted to his presence. An urgent buzz grated forth, followed by the whine of hydraulics. The closer pod rotated until its barrel pointed directly at him. He glanced down. A bright red dot was centered in the middle of his body mass.

  He froze. Oh dear. What the bloody hell do I do now?

  He was just about to identify himself when an orange phosphorescence stabbed out from a corresponding monitoring array. Sweeping across him, it traveled from head to foot and left to right in a few seconds, and covered his entire form in a web of gridlines. The net turned green. Before he knew it, the laser marker winked out and the cannon returned to its stand-by mode.

  Mohammed whistled in relief, and was struck by a moment of lightheadedness. He massaged his temples, and discovered he was sweating profusely. A bilious sensation caused his stomach to grumble, and he was forced to gulp down air to ease his nerves. What the hell is going on? While I admit that was a little scary, I shouldn’t be reacting like this. Just wait until I have a word with Saul. He could have warned me about the new security measures . . . making me all jumpy.

  Grumbling, Mohammed continued forward until he noticed an AI bio-detector spliced into each unit. Intrigued, he stopped to examine one. Now that makes sense. Anything non-human gets both barrels.

  He grunted. Here’s hoping they don’t fritz out . . .

  Then he discovered something else. Is that a mini-launcher?

  Looking closer, he inspected the rack and feeder setup. Oh, very clever. I see he wasn’t slow in purloining a batch of the new mini micro-mines. He obviously doesn’t want any unexpected visitors with glowing crowns until he’s ready to seal this place off.

  As he nosed through the other equipment surrounding the defense pods, Mohammed was overcome by another case of the jitters. He felt his throat constrict, and thought for a moment he might vomit. His stomach clenched. For goodness’ sake, this is getting ridiculous.

  He decided it would probably be better to get inside the Archive as quickly as possible. The hermetically controlled environment would relieve the pressure on his ear, and hopefully help him clear his head.

  Striding to the end of the passage, Mohammed paused before what appeared to be a dead-end. Hidden sensors had noted his approach, and no sooner had he come to a standstill than he was scanned again. This time, by a gentle blue radiance. A faint hum throbbed through the air, and a glowing arch blazed to life within the composition of the wall. The light dimmed, and a hidden set of doors manifested within it. They glided silently back into seamless recesses on either side.

  A sentinel appeared in midair. “Welcome, Vice Commander Amine. Commander Cameron awaits you. You will find him with the avatars of Calen, Sariff, and Beren on the main platform.”

  “He’s speaking with the—?” Mohammed caught his breath as he espied yet another machine gun post only fifty yards away.

  “Worry not,” chirped the construct, “the other defense positions have been notified of your arrival and will not activate on registering your presence for the rest of this visit. For your information, besides the sentry you can see, two more pods will be found within. One protects the entrance to the Ark, and the other is situated outside the gate room.”

  “That’s good to know,” Mohammed murmured, without taking his eyes from the lethal-looking barrel pointing directly at him. “It wouldn’t be fitting to meet with this planet’s former leaders with badly stained trousers, would it?”

  “Will there be anything else, Vice Commander?”

  Totally wasted. “No, that’ll be all, custodian. Thank you.”

  The sentinel fizzled out, leaving Mohammed alone once more.

  The unsettled feeling returned. Keen to be done with his errand and back in the familiar surrounds of his office, he hurried along. I must be coming down with something. I’m an ex-fleet officer, for goodness’ sake. I don’t usually get this nauseous in pressurized environments.

  As he stretched his legs, Mohammed continued to flex his jaw and pull faces. At least the pain is easing now. Perhaps I’d better get Ayria to check me over when I get back. I’d hate to take anything infectious on board the Arch of Winter on the day we set off. Talk about making myself popular with the crew.

  He was still grimacing as he swept in through the doors of the control room.

  “Whoa! Are you demonstrating your war face for us, Mohammed?” Saul teased. Turning to the holographic simulacrums gathered about his computer terminal, he asked, “What do you think, guys? Impressed?”

  Calen and Sariff exchanged bemused looks before resuming their studies. Sol Beren, however, a soldier born and bred, understood the jibe. “I think he needs to work some more if he intends to instill fear in his enemies. Perhaps a nice loud roar?”

  “Ha ha, very funny,” Mohammed replied. “The only thing you’ll be hearing from me is the sound of my hastily retreating footsteps as I make my way back to civilization.” He placed an info-crystal containing the details of the latest briefing on the desk beside Saul. Then he shivered. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  Calen
’s avatar looked up. “Come now, Vice Commander. This place, as you call it, is the last bastion of our race. Surely you can appreciate its mood was designed to reflect the solemnity and sanctity of its purpose?”

  “Oh, don’t mind me, Calen,” Mohammed responded, “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just not feeling too good, that’s all.”

  Ushering the Ardenese scientist to one side, Mohammed steered him toward the observation pier, a projecting finger of highly polished wood and metal that stretched out above the void below. Reaching the circular balcony at the end, he placed his hands on the railing and looked down. He couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed.

  He stood at the very top of a huge shaft that had been cut down through the planet’s crust for a distance of more than two leagues. Within that borehole, safely interred within a multitude of vacuum shells, were millions upon millions of genetic samples. Human. Plant. Animal. Insect. The entire spectrum of all the flora and fauna Arden had to offer. Safely locked away and lovingly preserved behind triple-layered polycarbonate resin, waiting for a time when they could at last be released, to reseed a ruined world.

  Mohammed’s gaze lingered on several chambers, as if each one contained a member of his own family. And we’re going to let them down. Suddenly, he felt ashamed.

  What he was thinking must have reflected on his face, for next to him, Calen gently sighed. In a soft voice laced with emotion, he said, “Worry not, Mohammed Amine. This battle was never really yours to fight. In our desperation, we clutched at straws and were willing to try anything to redeem ourselves.”