The IX

by Andrew P. Weston

“But you saved us, and—”

  “Yes, we did. But we never expected you to commit suicide on our behalf. We trusted the Architect to select the best. Those who would have a fighting chance. And . . . well . . . if only the iron solution had been thought of sooner, things may have been different.”

  “How on earth the Architect went about selecting us, I’ll never truly understand,” Mohammed admitted, “but I’ve never looked on our community as the best. We’ve managed. But we also seem to have screwed things up.”

  “It has been my experience that our farsighted, artificially-enhanced super-friend has a different way of viewing things. What you may look on as insignificant, he may deem worthy of great honor.” Calen paused to look around the chamber. “It would have been a dream come true to see the fruition of our labors, for our own DNA lies within. But—”

  “Better the nightmare ends now and you quarantine this world forever.”

  Mohammed jumped, for he hadn’t heard Sariff walk up behind. Staring into the former First Magister’s eyes, he said, “So you support our decision to leave?”

  “We couldn’t refuse, not when your people have given their lives so valiantly.”

  They all strolled back toward the primary station.

  “How long will you survive, do you think?” Mohammed asked.

  “When the rest of the city is severed, the Architect will be able to divert all available resources into the Archive. Non-essential systems will be powered down. With nothing else to demand its attention, the Ark’s preservation may be extended for nearly a thousand years, give or take a century. Who knows what may occur in that time?”

  You’ll still die. That’s what. “How are you going to do it?”

  Saul replied. “We’re going to seal the Ark using a DNA cipher. That’s what we were discussing when you came in.” He directed everyone’s attention to his monitor. “In the event that anyone ever returns here, be they human or stragglers from some distant Ardenese outpost, we’ve devised this.”

  He stepped back to show a 3D simulation of a stunningly complex vortex.

  Beren took up the explanation. “Basically, we’re going to remove the reactive element from the rip-space tear. You know? The point where we installed the entrance into the Archive itself? Once this has been achieved, the only way future access can be guaranteed is if the caller possesses the appropriate biological signature. Human or Ardenese.”

  “But there are no Ardenese,” Mohammed protested. “So how . . . Oh!”

  The penny dropped. He turned to the simulacrums. “One of you is going to volunteer.”

  “That’s right,” Beren replied, “our DNA also lies within the Ark. As the last protectors of our race, it is fitting that one of us has the honor of making the final sacrifice.”

  Mohammed didn’t know what to say.

  The awkwardness of the moment was thwarted by a vibration against his ear, alerting him to the fact that he had a growing list of queries backing up in his message buffer. He activated his com-set and listened in for a moment.

  Damn. I’d better get back. “Sorry, gentlemen, I’ll have to leave you to your deliberations. There’s a city that needs relocating, and it looks like they can’t do it without me.”

  Saul picked up the crystal Mohammed had brought. “I’ll read this as soon as I’m finished, and hopefully catch up with you within the hour.”

  The avatars bade Mohammed goodbye, and he made his way back along the corridors. As he walked, he ruminated on the unfairness of the situation.

  My God! As if they haven’t been asked to sacrifice enough as it is. From what I remember of their history, they had to agree to lay down their lives to mesh the gateway and Ark together in the first place. Something about their dying essences providing the wormhole with a mortality key. And now, one of them is going to be asked to volunteer his mortal remains to the cause, effectively destroying any hope he’ll have of further involvement with his race. Fantastic.

  Stalking out of the Archive, Mohammed began the long trek back toward the stairs.

  It’s just so unfair. I mean . . . I know they’re dead already. But to ask them to do such a thing? It’s like fighting to bring a person back to life, just so you can kill him all over again.

  Bile rose abruptly in Mohammed’s throat. Staggering to one side, he braced himself against the wall and fought down the urge to vomit. Bloody hell! I’m getting myself all worked up. He looked around the passage and the nearby sentry guns. Not a good idea, especially here.

  A chill gripped the air, and a fresh wave of nausea rolled toward him. His gaze fell on the teleport pad. Hellfire! It’ll be worth the pain just to get out of this place.

  Stomping forward before he had a chance to change his mind, Mohammed crossed the threshold and activated the transporter.

  *

  A choral resonance swelled in the ether about them, glorious in its vibrancy, and yet as tenuous as a wraith. The tonal characteristic of the base notes gradually changed. Ramping in amplitude and frequency, they went beyond the threshold of most living things’ endurance.

  And yet, the soloist’s audience endured, enraptured by the precision with which the canticle was confined.

  You have achieved congruence, Angule advised. Regulate the cadence of the stream against the fermionic barrier. Sense its configuration. Taste the rhythm of the super-dense particles that pack its matrix so tightly. Do you see?

  Maintaining precision, Raum splintered her astral vision into different viewpoints so that part of her consciousness could step back and observe her efforts. Comprehension flared within the outer vestibule of her mind. Yes, Great One. The molecules still dance, albeit grudgingly.

  Correct. It matters not how impeachable the structure is, all matter must obey the strictures of nucleic law. Do you sense the vast energy encapsulated within its form?

  Yes. Yes, I do.

  Excellent! Refine your observations, for you must find a way to exploit its capacity. Relax, and the tessellation you seek will manifest.

  Rumbling closer to his charge, he softened the tone of his mood. Now, focus your probe. Do not attempt to force your way through. Instead . . . ?

  Blend my way through, Raum recited, having listened attentively to the instruction given earlier to the assembled Lega’trexii: Become the barricade and make it part of me.

  Angule radiated approval. Behind him, Saffir, Buer, and Caym exuded an air of barely restrained concern.

  Do not be afraid of becoming trapped within the confinement, Angule continued. Remember. The horror of isolation only snares that which tries to negate its nature. By seeing harmonic coherence and working in union with it, you will evade oblivion and emerge restored on the other side.

  A tinge of doubt dared to manifest within her cerebrum. Crushing it, Raum dismissed the very concept of distraction and intensified the eldritch concordance of her intent. To those listening in, it sounded as if the extract of her music now contained a promise of conflicts resolved and oaths fulfilled. Of unanimity and synchronicity.

  That’s it, Angule coaxed. Explore those possibilities of unity. Embrace them. Augment your fabrication to the modulations now being revealed to your scrutiny.

  Raum concentrated, and in moments a singularity of thought and purpose hung suspended within the orchestrated ebb and flow of her construct. With the utmost care, she sent it tinkling and chiming toward the muted void of nothingness barring its way. The two mediums met. The pulse appeared to hesitate, as if studying the edifice before it, and then it began to darken. An unseen force closed in, compressing them in a growing nucleus of potency. Undeterred, Raum adapted the tempo of her refrain, attempting to keep pace with the fluctuating circumstances presented to her.

  Slowly but surely, the tones emitted by the spark became more obscure. Longer. Deeper. Languorous.

  The probe vanished, only to peal forth moments later from within an invisible core. The echoing resonance had been enriched, and now incorporated sonorous hints of a far supe
rior quality. The eclectic sphere in which they had concealed themselves began to freeze, and an abrupt release of pressure through the quantum paradox seared their very souls.

  Angule blended with Raum’s thoughts. What do you see, child? As a courtesy, he opened his mind so that those gathered with them could witness the results of her first attempt to pierce the veil.

  Eagerly, Raum extended her sight and phased toward the void.

  Careful! Angule warned. You do not wish to relocate. Yet!

  She tried again, more tentatively, and was shocked by what she saw.

  As was Angule. Seizing his protégé in a coercive grip of stunning magnitude, he yanked her psyche back through the portal with such force that they were sent sprawling across the floor.

  The enclave surged to its feet. Jolted into action, they manifested their surprise with bursts of arcane puissance and barely suppressed rage that trembled on the verge of aggressive expression.

  Releasing a wave of electrified pheromones, Angule quelled the backlash with a spectacular display of power that reestablished his dominance within an instant.

  Hold! he bellowed.

  His hands slammed together. The resultant shockwave not only threatened to rupture the matrix of their encompassing sphere, but also ensnared each Kresh within a skein of agonizing bliss.

  They staggered.

  Control your passions, Angule cried. We are in no danger. On the contrary, Raum has discovered a wonder I never thought to actually see.

  A wonder? Saffir countered. Struggling to quench the flames of his own emotions, he spat: Brother. If what you saw is no danger, why react as you did? We did not have sufficient time to focus on the object of Raum’s consternation to be able to agree with your rectitude.

  The minds of the other Lega’trexii and Tribuni present prickled indignantly with similar sentiments.

  Bathing the raw tincture of their nerves in a soothing cocoon of comfort, Angule lowered his shield and allowed them to observe what he and Raum had glimpsed.

  The Cryptogen! Saffir exclaimed. It . . . it actually exists? Here? Now?

  Of course, brother. How could you doubt me after all this time? With it, the re-genesis is assured. He gestured to Raum: And now that our tribuni are acquiring the discipline and strength of will required to breach the barrier and undertake the transference, our plans can be accelerated. And just in time.

  That revelation brought them back to their senses.

  Now gather round. Before I expand the lesson to include our Praefactors, I wish to demonstrate a technique that will hopefully reduce the thermal variance encountered every time we initiate the rift.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Breach

  Defying the chill wind that scoured the top of the battlements, Flavius Velerianus wrapped his cloak tightly about himself and peered down at the seething mass below. No matter how hard he studied his enemy, he couldn’t define a purposeful strategy in their criminal waste of energy and resources. That they continued to send wave after wave of screaming ogres against a barrier that had defied them for decades was baffling. That they did so at exactly the same spot left him speechless.

  We’ve all seen the recording. The Ardenese craft was utterly consumed in a holocaust that didn’t even scratch the surface of the wall. And it was powered by an engine that would have destroyed half of Rome in the conflagration. So, if something that powerful was incapable of breaching this edifice, what hope do they think they have?

  The rampart beneath his feet thrummed in response to the fury of endless detonations.

  It’s as if they want to shock us into defeat by their willingness to die like rabid dogs. Make us realize that even if it takes a thousand years and every life they have, they’ll never give up until they succeed or are utterly consumed.

  He covered his eyes from the glare of a particularly bright explosion.

  Look at them. Climbing over themselves in their haste for a martyr’s death. Unlike their accursed masters . . . Tricky, conniving bastards.

  Still determined to pay the Horde back for the terrible losses inflicted upon his first command, he was struck by a sudden thought.

  No! It couldn’t be that simple? Spinning on his heel, he sought out his new optio among the press of men manning the fortifications.

  “Antonius, to me.”

  Antonius Gaius Septimus, an eighteen year stalwart from Napoli who had worked his way up through the ranks, was soon at his side. “Sir?”

  “How goes the relocation of our troops to the Arch of Winter?”

  “On schedule. As directed, we are staggering the patrol rotations so the Horde is unaware of our true purpose.”

  “Who do we have remaining?”

  “Tiberius Tacitus of the Second Cohort is yet to depart. Four centuriae of the First still man the walls. Besides them, only our brothers of the Fourth Cohort remain. They man the arc. Like us, they will be among the last to leave tomorrow.”

  “Good. Look, I have an idea. Get the horses. There’s something I want to check out, and I need to move fast between transporter sites.” In answer to the puzzled look his lieutenant gave him, he explained, “You’re coming with me. We’re taking a little trip to the western side of the city.”

  *

  Climbing to the top of the observation podium, Marcus turned to the centurion commanding the Fourth Cohort, Amelius Crispus, and said, “I like what you’ve done with the place. Explain it to me.”

  Amelius surveyed the construct before him. “It’s simple really. Apart from the men, every other resource here is expendable. It won’t be coming with us. So I rigged the base of each catapult along the inner ring with explosives. The sandbags you see are lightly packed with a metal and shingle mix that should cause quite a stir if we ever have to use them on uninvited guests.”

  Marcus smiled to himself. Outstanding. “What fuses have you set?”

  “For the one talent rigs, a full minute. It’ll give the crews plenty of time to thread their way through the web of steel to the safety of a fresh position. Once you get this side of the moat, I’ve had it reduced to thirty seconds.”

  “Cut and run?”

  “Exactly. Now that our foe has regained a measure of courage, and numbed themselves to the consequences of loss against the iron, I have little doubt casualties will cause them any delay. They’ll come, and they’ll come hard and fast. You’ve seen what happens when they sacrifice themselves . . .” He paused to indicate the sprawling maze before them. “All of this will be consumed. I don’t want my people wasting themselves in futile gestures.”

  Good idea. “I agree with your thinking.”

  “Thank you. That’s why I halved the ratio of teams out there, as well. Basically, I’ve ordered them to fire, and only reload if it appears safe enough to do so. If it is, fine. If not, they’ll set their fuses, leapfrog the next post, and man the next available ballista. Once there, they’ll resume firing until the support team in front of them has to abandon their position, whereupon the procedure will be repeated until they work their way back behind the new scorpio line.”

  Both officers turned to view two long rows of what appeared to be oversized crossbows embedded into the ground. Positioned in a V formation leading back toward the inner wall, they made it appear as if the Horde were being invited to storm an open set of jaws. The mouth was over a hundred yards wide, and protected by a smaller, secondary dyke that appeared to be filled with tar.

  “What have you done there?” Marcus enquired.

  “An iron and pitch mix. Once alight, it’ll give us enough of a gap to get the cohort out and through to safety. Just in case . . .” he nodded to the emplacements atop the inner bulwark, “I’ll have a detachment of volunteers manning that position. We’ll storm them with arrows until the battlements have been drenched in another boiling-tar-and-ore recipe that will definitely give us enough of a breather to make it up to the Magister’s level.”

  “Impressive. Do you mind if I make one tiny suggestion
?”

  “Please do, Commander. Anything that makes my life easier is most welcome.”

  “Listen for a moment, Amelius. Tell me, what do you hear?”

  Both men paused to cock their ears.

  “Try to ignore the men at work,” Marcus added. “Phase them out and concentrate on what you can discern in the background.”

  Marcus watched as Amelius concentrated, and did as requested.

  Amelius gasped. “I can hear our enemy outside the gates.”

  “Precisely!” Marcus slapped his fellow officer on the shoulder. “Now. If you can hear them from out there, imagine what they will sound like in here, confined within the arc and with walls on all sides.”

  “It’ll be deafening.” Amelius cast his gaze back across the killing field. “With all those men running about, I’ll need to ensure they can hear and respond to orders.”

  “That’s right. Although we are adapting to these new levels of technology remarkably well, the radios might not suffice. In the heat of battle, the legion will resort to what comes naturally. Tried and tested methods of communication that have seen us through many an ordeal.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. I’ll intersperse the field with cornicen and signifiers. We’ll use the horns and walkie-talkies until it gets too loud, and then revert to flags.”

  He’s sharp and thinks on his feet. A man after my own heart.

  *

  As he materialized on the teleport pad, Mac immediately raised his hands and weapon high and identified himself. “Lieutenant Alan McDonald. Rhomane Command Team.” Beside him, Sam Pell likewise froze, but remained silent.

  Even while their molecules were still reconstituting, they were targeted by multiple sensors. Four beams stabbed out. One pair enmeshed them within a grid of glowing amber light, while the others illuminated their chests with crimson dots.

  The web turned green, the target indicators blinked out, and the .50 cannons resumed their automatic scans of the entire gallery.

  Phew! I nearly had to change my pants there. Now that’s what first impressions are all about. If those monsters ever do manage to use the transporter system, they’ll be in for a nasty surprise.