by Mike Sheriff
Daoren tugged his quantum tile from his shenyi’s pocket, mindful to keep the movement controlled and natural, and stepped back from the parapet.
He needed to warn his mother.
9
The Battle of the Northern Border
CORDELIA TARRIED NEAR the excavation tunnel with Asla and Kimye. Five hundred feet to the east, the Spires’ vaulted entrance shimmered in the afternoon sunlight. Its dazzling sunglow tiles provided an incongruous counterpoint to the bleak events unfolding forty miles to the north.
A chatterwailing torrent of children streamed through the tunnel’s yawning mouth, accompanied by scores of Libraria. Less than a year ago, she’d traversed the same route to escape the Void with Daoren, Heqet, and Laoshi. That exodus, as gloomy as it had been, marked the initial ascent toward a brighter future. Today’s influx, in contrast, smacked of a retreat—one leading toward a more sinister destination. Still, it seemed fitting that the tunnel was being used to evade another threat.
The squat structure that had once contained dust-caked circulation pumps was gone, razed only days after the former Unum’s death. Structural engineers had since widened and re-graded the tunnel to permit the removal of countless tons of rubble. They also added light panels along the entire route; the procession of students that had started making its way down forty minutes earlier wouldn’t be groping their way through the dark.
The youngest among them had assumed they were undergoing a civil-emergency drill; older students had gone along with the pretense, many laughing as they ambled into the tunnel. Their mood changed ten minutes ago when the ominous rumble of sonic blasts began ebbing south from the border. No one was laughing or ambling now.
She slipped her hand into the pocket of her lanshan, confirming her quantum tile was still there. She’d so far fended off the urge to contact Daoren. He’d be in the thick of the mongrel assault, directing the defenses at the wall; far too busy to attend to his mother’s selfish need to know whether he was okay. For some reason, feeling the tile’s cool glass between her fingers instilled a modicum of serenity.
A series of low-pitched thumps rolled across the grounds. Asla cast her gaze to the north. “It sounds intense.” She glanced at Cordelia, brow furrowed. “I suppose this is really happening.”
“Is my mother okay?” Kimye asked, hands wrung white before her chest.
Cordelia self-reproached her lack of empathy—it hadn’t entered her mind that the girl might be worried about Commander Hyro. “I’m sure she is, child. She’s with my son and many brave Jireni.”
Kimye surrendered a dubious nod. Behind her, the lecturer from the Spires bound closer. His name was Divlin, Cordelia had learned during the evacuation of the amphitheater, though he’d neglected to mention his familial name. Sweat dappled his brow and darkened the lapels of his yellow lanshan, but his demeanor remained as affable as ever.
“The evacuation is going well at the other tunnels,” he said after pausing to catch his breath. “There’s been no panic.”
“How many more children are left to get below?”
“No more than a thousand,” Divlin said. “The remainder of the Libraria will follow once they’re inside.”
Cordelia nodded. “We should do a sweep of the habitation complexes to make sure no one’s been left behind.”
“I’d like to help,” Kimye said, the words practically leaping from her mouth.
Her first instinct was to refuse the offer. If the unthinkable occurred and the mongrels started lobbing rounds this far south, Kimye would be safer inside the Void. It also occurred to her that the child might not want to be left alone, hundreds of feet below the surface, with thoughts of her mother rattling around her head. She might prefer to stay busy. “I’d welcome your help, Kimye.”
“That’s more than those slaking Asianoids are willing to provide,” Asla said, gesturing to the east.
In the distance, throngs of Asianoid men and women looked on from the steps of the Spires. They’d been there since the procession into the tunnel had started. None had offered to assist in the effort, nor had they displayed any interest in taking shelter inside the Void. In fact, they’d displayed no obvious signs of concern regarding the dint of the mongrel incursion. Several wore purple armsashes on their shenyi, just like the ones Cordelia had seen earlier.
“I saw more Asianoids lingering around the other tunnels,” Divlin said. “What do you suppose is going through their minds?”
“I’ve no idea,” Cordelia said. “I know they can be reticent and aloof, but you’d think they’d—”
Her quantum tile vibrated. She tugged it from her pocket and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the name on its screen. She tapped the glass. “Thank Sha it’s you.”
“The incursion is under way,” Daoren said. “But I’d wager you knew that already.”
“We can hear it from the grounds. I trust you’re being cautious.”
“As always.”
“And not taking any foolish risks.”
“Momma . . .”
She glanced at Kimye. “Is Commander Hyro with you?”
“She’s right beside me.”
Kimye’s lips stretched into a wide grin upon hearing the reply. Cordelia refocused on the tile. “I haven’t seen or heard from Heqet yet. When did she leave the wall?”
“She . . . um, hasn’t left.”
“She’s still there with you?”
“Yes.”
“Daoren, the border wall is no place for a pregnant woman during an incursion! You have to get her—”
An angry crump punched through the tile. Cordelia flinched, nearly losing her grip. “Daoren?”
“I’m okay, I’m okay!” he said. “The mongrels are putting up a spirited fight. Have you moved your students into shelter yet?”
“We’re getting the last of them inside the Void.”
“You’re putting them in the Void?”
“Yes.”
“That’s an excellent idea. It must have taken some effort to move them inside so quickly.”
“No thanks to hundreds of idle Asianoids.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are masses of them here, just standing around. It’s like they’re biding their time, waiting for something to happen.”
A few seconds passed before Daoren spoke. “Keep an eye on them.”
“Why? What have you—”
A vicious crump cut her off. Muffled curses ebbed from the tile, followed by her son’s strained voice. “I have to go. I’ll contact you again when I have more news.”
Cordelia’s heart scaled her throat. “Tread carefully, Daoren.”
“I always do.”
She pocketed the tile with a whooshing sigh.
“He sounds positive,” Divlin said. “That’s a good sign.”
“He’s always been good at hiding his feelings.” She glanced at the Asianoids gathered before the Spires, who continued to observe the procession with chilling detachment. They, too, seemed adept at hiding their feelings.
She left them to their idle reflection and turned to the others. “We’d best hurry to the habitation complexes.”
HAI STOOD ATOP an opaque crate in the center of his family’s storechamber, a sonic rifle slung on his shoulder. The elevated vantage point provided a clear view of the men and women assembled around him.
More than a thousand Asianoids glutted the cobbled floor. They hailed from a broad spectrum of vocations. Silica engineers. Quantum programmers. Libraria. Jireni. The Cognos Populi. All wore purple sashes on the sleeves of their multi-colored shenyi, lanshan, and bianfu. All cradled sonic rifles, dart guns, or sound cannons. All bore hardened expressions, ready to forfeit their lives to return the city-state to the status quo ante.
He turned a slow circle, gazing upon them like a proud father might regard his children. Months of preparation had preceded this day. It started the moment the Unum outlawed the Survival Aptitude Test.
He couldn’t help but s
hake his head in wonder. Did Daoren al Lucien think the wealthiest members of Daqin Guojin would take the affront lying down? The S.A.T. had done far more than provide sustenance to millions of denizens. It had formed the foundation for the social ascent of thousands of families in Zhongguo Cheng. Every generation since the test’s inception had clawed its way higher than the previous. And now the ascent was expected to stop on the whim of one individual?
Hai had spent the past eight months ingratiating himself to the new Unum. He supported Daoren’s reckless edicts and ill-considered social experiments. He offered his plasma technology as a means to replace the power supply lost by the destruction of the Southern Turbine Complex. He even volunteered to help draft the edicts to bring popular voting to the people. Sapient Sha—did the Unum really expect the masses to elect members of the Assembly by popular vote? They could no more select a deserving candidate than fashion water into sand.
He surveyed his people, reveling in the chance to show them his true face. They gazed up at him, rancor and resentment inscribed on their ever-thinning cheeks. They, too, had been robbed of their wealth. They, too, had been stripped of a future. Their dour countenances drove home an inescapable conclusion; Daoren had made a gross miscalculation. He would pay the price levied against any ruler who committed errors of such magnitude.
“Friends and colleagues,” Hai said, voice low. “My fellow Asianoids, a joyous day is upon us. Today we have an opportunity to turn back the clock. Today we have a chance to right the unforgivable grievances visited upon our families when Daoren al Lucien usurped the role of Unum and unleashed his radical social reforms.”
Grumbles of agreement rumbled through the storechamber.
“Today we are taking the first step in restoring the old order.” He pointed at the storechamber’s northern wall. Beyond it, muffled blasts resonated like distant thunder. “The battle for the future of our great city-state is under way. The actions we take in the next thirty minutes will determine whether that battle is won or lost.”
A mumbled chorus of accord arose from the assembled. Discordant notes of apprehension accompanied it.
“I know some of you are worried about our alliance with the mongrel invaders,” he said, pacing atop the crate. “Let me assure you that I share your concerns.”
The statement stirred up scattered applause.
“The mongrels can’t be trusted. They will turn against us at the earliest opportunity.” Hai halted for effect. “But they are the enemies of the Unum and his supporters. And on this auspicious day, the enemy of our enemy is our most cherished friend.”
Sporadic laughter rang out, gaining volume. It soon filled the storechamber.
The response brought a heady flush of relief—he was winning the last of the detractors over. “And to the enemy of my enemy, I say this. Don’t turn your back on me, for you shall soon find a dagger in it!”
Spirited cheers punched the air—an excellent result considering the innate reserve of the Asianoid people.
Hai checked their elation by adopting a more somber tone. “I can’t promise all of you will live to see victory, but I can promise your sacrifice will never be forgotten. In the months ahead—after the S.A.T. is reinstated and our storechambers are once again filled to the bursting with grooll—those who survive this auspicious day will be honoring your memory.”
A rousing cheer swelled, louder and more sustained than the first.
Hai hoisted the sonic rifle over his head. “Are you with me?”
His people answered with one voice. “Yes!”
He lowered the rifle and activated its power switch. The weapon emitted a seething hum. “Then let us advance to the cull zone!”
ATOP THE BATTLEMENT, Daoren crouched beside Heqet in the shadow of a quad-cannon. After twenty minutes of continuous fighting, the silence seemed like an alien artifact. Only Commander Hyro’s irate voice disturbed the calm. It drifted over from the northern parapet. “I don’t care how short of personnel you are, I need those levicarts right away!”
Farther down the battlement, Jireni drained water bottles and stuffed whatever food they had close at hand into their mouths. Others serviced their personal weapons or stole a precious moment of downtime. There was no telling how long the lull would last.
Daoren led Heqet over to Hyro’s position. He took in the view below.
Dozens of blasted bowpods and thousands of mongrel bodies littered the sand. The shattered shells of at least eighty gyroblades glinted among the dunes and ravaged crop circles. The assault had been turned back one thousand feet short of the wall’s archways. The stench of death permeated the stillness.
Heqet drew a shaky breath. “It’s horrible what we can do to each other.”
Daoren squeezed her hand. “Survival comes at a heavy price.”
The mongrels weren’t the only ones who’d suffered. Every levicart deployed beyond the wall had been destroyed, along with the two hundred Jireni crewing them. Hyro had been screaming into her tactical tile for the last two minutes, trying to source more levicarts to fill the gaps. Prior to that, she’d tasked the arms depot in Nansilafu Cheng to expedite its delivery of sonic and kinetic rounds for the automated and crew-served weapons atop the wall. The first attack had depleted the munition stores to a critical level.
Despite the losses, they’d driven off the mongrels without the aid of the aeroshrikes still orbiting to the south. It bode well for the rest of the battle—should the mongrels have the stomach for another attack.
Commander Slabidan strode over from the command post near the watchtower’s base. His expression bordered on joyful. The dint of combat had erased years from his sallow complexion.
Daoren wagered he was reliving the incursions of his youth—and relishing every moment of it. “Your Jireni fought bravely,” he said, gripping Slabidan’s shoulder. “Please thank them for me.”
“I will, Unum,” Slabidan said. “They’ll be happy to hear it.”
“I hate to interrupt the celebration,” Hyro said, shoving her tactical tile into her bianfu’s outer pocket, “but the mongrels are massing for another assault.”
Daoren shifted his gaze to the north.
In the distance, hundreds of tan-and-brown hullforms raced across the desert, churning up swirling streamers of sand. The bowpods spanned a mile-wide front this time—twice the size of the first wave thrown at the wall. A fresh swarm of gyroblades streaked over top of them. They, too, had doubled in number since the first attack.
“Sapient Sha,” Slabidan whispered. “Where did they find so many assault craft?”
Along the battlement, the automated-weapon systems whirred to life again. The quadruple pop-crack of quad-cannons once again assaulted the air . . . but the rate of fire was much slower. So, too, was the number of gyroblades they knocked from the sky.
“Why aren’t they firing more rounds?” Heqet asked, pre-empting Daoren’s question.
“They’re low on munitions.” Hyro’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “I’ll have the depot commander’s head for this!”
The second wave took less than a minute to close the distance. One thousand feet from the wall’s northern face, a flight of twelve gyroblades banked right and climbed. White contrails spit from their hullforms, signaling the extreme aerodynamic pressures generated by the maneuver. Five hundred feet from the wall, they released their devastating cargo.
Twelve penetrator spikes punched into the battlement, five hundred feet to the east of the command post. Twelve sonic charges detonated on impact, blasting jagged chunks of crystalline from the walkway. Three quad-cannons shattered, mid-firing. Two-dozen Jireni manning twelve chain guns screamed and collapsed.
Another flight of gyroblades streaked over the battlement, fifty feet above Daoren’s head. The craft stood on their tails and went vertical, then reversed direction using a punishing split-S maneuver. All twelve gyroblades descended in single file, aligning their fight path with the wall’s east-west orientation.
Daor
en recognized the threat. “They’re setting up to strafe the battlement!”
Farther to the east, uninjured Jireni scrambled to bring their weapons to bear on the plunging craft. They were too late.
Yellow flashes erupted from the gyroblades’ nose cowlings. Sonic rounds peppered the walkway, kicking up lethal shrapnel and cutting down more gun crews. The rounds raced up the battlement, channeling twin rows of devastation that spanned the walkway’s breadth. The impact points tracked straight toward the watchtower, their speed of advance matching the gyroblades’ acceleration.
Daoren grabbed Heqet’s tunic with both hands. He hauled her behind the towering quad-cannon in the center of the walkway.
Sonic rounds drilled into its nullglass pedestal, triggering deafening peals, but they failed to penetrate its mass. The command post fifty feet beyond the pedestal wasn’t so fortunate.
Hundreds of sonic rounds tore into the comms console . . . and the five Jireni manning it. Their lethal impetus shredded the animate and inanimate without distinction. Hundreds more rounds overshot the mark, striking the watchtower’s dense base. They had little destructive effect.
Heqet trembled as she gaped at the carnage. Daoren shook her to regain her focus. “I need you to take cover inside the watchtower!”
She opened her mouth—most likely to protest the order. He cut her off before she could speak. “I don’t care if you object!” He waved over a nearby Jireni guard. “Take the Zhenggong inside the watchtower. If I see her out here again, I’ll hold you responsible!”
The Slavv came to attention. She grabbed Heqet by the lapels and dragged her away.
Daoren didn’t take his eyes off the pair until they’d entered the passageway. He dashed across the walkway and rejoined Slabidan and Hyro at the northern parapet. Both commanders appeared rattled, but uninjured. “What’s our status?” he asked.