by Mike Sheriff
“Have you already started removing the bodies of your people?” she asked.
“No.” Hai waved a hand toward the cull zone. “Those you can see are all who fell.”
“Incredible,” she said. “I trust you were able to minimize casualties among the people as well. We’ll need to bring them to our side to consolidate our authority.”
“We were restrained in our use of lethal force—at least when it came to denizens. Though my people did accept the surrender of some Jireni in Nansilafu Cheng.”
“How many?”
“About three hundred. They’re being held in a storechamber.”
Julinian nodded. Apart from his sweat-soaked shenyi, Hai appeared untouched by the battle. His body bore no wounds, his tunic no blood spatter. But if the day’s victory was any indication, he had a tremendous amount of blood on his hands. It was time to add a little more. “Cull the prisoners.”
Hai raised a single eyebrow.
“I won’t have your people hampered,” she said. “Why waste valuable resources guarding those who took up arms against us?”
Hai glanced at one of his men and dipped his chin. The man wandered south, presumably to convey the order.
“You’ve done a remarkable job, Trium Hai,” Julinian said.
“It went well,” he said with the restraint only an Asianoid could muster. “Better than I could have imagined.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Massum said. “From my perspective, it was far more costly.”
Hai peered at Massum, but didn’t offer an opinion on the statement. Only barely suppressed contempt.
Julinian couldn’t help but smirk. She was well acquainted with Hai’s thoughts on mongrels. She’d known him since she was ten years old. Her father had made the introduction in the Unum’s chamber, not long after Hai had been declared leader of the Assembly’s Asianoid faction at the age of twenty-five. Hai had promised to work with her uncle rather than against him, ending years of obstructionism to her uncle’s rule. During the past decade, the Asianoid had proven to be a valuable confidant and ally thanks to his pragmatism and vision.
But like her, he’d recognized an inherent problem with her uncle’s S.A.T.-manipulation scheme from the beginning. It all but guaranteed that Narses would assume the mantle of Unum Potentate once he reached the age of nineteen. Hai had foreseen the same ill tidings that would come to pass if that outcome was allowed to transpire.
How many times had she met with him during the final year of her uncle’s reign? Twenty? Forty? She found it ironic that the former Unum had never questioned her absences from the Assembly on those occasions; he’d invested a level of trust in her that he hadn’t extended to his own son. That had been one of his many mistakes.
Daoren’s fatal mistake was attempting to force radical change onto the population. During her extended stay in Havoc, Hai had kept her informed of the social and political reforms being implemented. Like him, she found the decrees to be reckless and misguided . . . and endlessly puzzling. How could such an intelligent and resourceful individual not envision the resistance his edicts would induce? How could Daoren have not seen this day coming?
Whatever the reason, the day had arrived. She beamed at Hai and Massum. “You’ve both provided me a service I shall never forget. I’m forever in your debt.”
“When can my people expect the billion pounds of grooll we were promised?” Massum asked.
“After the S.A.T. is reinstated,” Hai said. “And after my people have been compensated for their loses.”
“Your loses? Have you seen the northern approaches?”
“Have you seen my family’s grooll storechambers?”
Julinian raised her hands. “We’ll get to these issues in good time, my friends. First, what news do we have of the usurper and his glinty wife?”
Hai motioned to the archway. Julinian followed his outstretched hand.
Four Asianoids emerged from the archway and paced closer. They, too, appeared untouched by the afternoon’s violence.
“What did you find atop the wall?” Hai asked as the men came to a halt. “Have you located Daoren and Heqet?”
“Not yet,” the older of the four Asianoids said. “The battlement is littered with corpses. Many are burned beyond recognition.”
“So that’s a no,” Julinian said, unable to filter the disappointment from her voice. “You’re certain they were here?”
“They were here,” Hai said. “I saw them less than two hours prior to launching our assault.”
“Daoren wouldn’t abandon the wall once the incursion started,” she said. “But he may have sent Heqet to a safer location. What about the other objectives? Have they been secured?”
“The Librarium and Assembly are under the control of my forces.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You mean our forces.”
Hai offered a rare grin. “Of course, Trium Julinian.”
“Very well. We’ll make our way to the Assembly and announce the establishment of the triumvirate to the fifty Chengs from there.”
“What about Daoren?” Massum asked. “If he’s still alive, I’d prefer to have him brought before us to answer for his crimes.”
“As would I,” Julinian said, though she doubted Massum shared her reasoning. She turned to Hai. “Have your men continue the search for Daoren and Heqet—or their bodies. We’ll offer a substantial reward for information leading to their capture. If they’re still alive, the denizens they’re hiding among will soon see the wisdom of turning them in.”
“That’s one benefit of living in interesting times,” Hai said. “There’s no safe place for anyone to hide.”
DAOREN STEPPED ONTO the last staircase at the base of the evacuation shaft. While loath to offer petitions to Sha during his normal day-to-day life, he uttered one of gratitude now for seeing him safely off the wall. So many other brave men and women had drawn their final breaths on its ruined battlement.
Behind him, Commander Hyro expressed her thanks in the form of a profanity-laden curse. “The designers couldn’t have thought to install an elevating chamber in this slaking shaft?”
“At least we’re heading down. Would you prefer that you’d been culled?”
Hyro grunted. She’d been uncharacteristically subdued during their descent. He suspected her sullen mood stemmed from the paucity of wounded they’d been able to evacuate. Most had suffered horrific burns and were beyond moving . . . or saving. Hyro had assembled a squad of Jireni to put the grievously injured out of their misery. The alternative was leaving them to suffer a more gruesome fate at the hands of their enemies.
Only ten able-bodied Jireni had accompanied them down the evacuation shaft. A thousand times that number would have escaped the sections of the wall that had seen no fighting, but the force would remain scattered and ineffective until rendezvousing at Rhyger’s Cliffs in three days’ time.
In truth, he’d also felt more withdrawn since abandoning the battlement. His brooding was driven by the loss of contact with his mother. A host of benign explanations had initially flitted through his head—her quantum tile may have run low on power or she might have entered a structure and interrupted the signal. A legion of more ominous explanations now crowded his mind. It didn’t help that he’d heard a series of percussive reports an instant before the connection cut—reports that sounded suspiciously like a dart-gun volley. His four attempts to contact her since leaving the battlement had met with silence.
He reached the base of the stairs and entered a narrow passageway. The confined space triggered an upswell of angst. He focused on his breathing to ease the worst of its symptoms. The anxiety didn’t abate until he stepped into an adjoining tunnel and laid eyes on Heqet.
She broke away from her six Jireni guards and rushed into his arms. “Thank Sha you’re here.”
He held her tight to his chest—or as tight as her belly allowed. The fresh scent of her hair filled his nostrils, cutting through the tunnel’s stale air. “Wher
e else would I be?”
“I don’t know. Standing atop the wall, itching for someone else to come and fight you?”
“I’m done with fighting for the moment.”
She caressed his cheek. “Good. I didn’t want to climb all those stairs to come and rescue you.”
Daoren gave her a final squeeze and let her go. He examined the tunnel’s layout.
The wall’s builders had incorporated only the most basic design principles in the tunnel’s construction. Recessed pot-lights dotted the ceiling every twenty feet, providing dim cones of illumination that stretched as far south as he could see. Condensation glistened on the sloping walls. The tunnel’s width was sufficient to accommodate three people shoulder-to-shoulder, provided they weren’t bulked up by body armor.
“It’s not the most pleasant locale I’ve ever encountered,” Heqet said.
“The escape tunnels were built to allow an undetected retreat from the wall,” Hyro said, still standing inside the passageway. “And to bring up fresh Jireni and other supplies if the tactical situation warranted. Aesthetics weren’t a consideration.”
“That’s an understatement.” Heqet shrugged. “At least it’s bigger than the corridors we transited beneath the Great Pyramid.”
Another surge of adrenaline jolted Daoren’s heart. He suspected she’d made the comparison to help alleviate his fear of small spaces. The tactic helped. If he could surmount the pyramid’s constricted corridors, then he should be able to handle one escape tunnel—so long as their stay was brief. He turned to Hyro. “How far into Nansilafu Cheng does the tunnel extend?”
“If memory serves, just over one mile. It terminates inside an outpost.”
“So we’ll be able to access its sensor feeds from the district and beyond?”
“Assuming the outpost hasn’t been occupied by our new guests.”
He welcomed the revelation—the first positive news he’d received in some time.
“And then what?” Heqet asked Daoren.
Hyro stepped into the tunnel and answered on his behalf. “The mongrels aren’t known for long-duration occupations. They prefer hit-and-run tactics, with an emphasis on plundering whatever resources they need before returning to their colonies.”
“What sort of resources?”
“In the past, they’ve favored grooll and weapons,” Hyro said. “They’ve also gone after any items of advanced technology they could lay their hands on—and women of breeding age.”
Heqet frowned. “But not today?”
Daoren shook his head. “Judging by the size of their invasion force, they intend to occupy the city-state.”
“That and their alliance with the Asianoids supports the conclusion,” Hyro said. “Sha knows how they’ll work together, though. It’s not like they’re renowned for trusting one another.”
Daoren tapped his lips. “Then that’s what we’ll exploit,” he said. “We can use the outpost’s data feeds to determine their force disposition and pinpoint its weaknesses. After we rendezvous at Rhyger’s Cliffs, we’ll hit those weaknesses hard. Try to sow distrust between them.”
Hyro grinned. “It shouldn’t be too difficult to achieve that aim.”
“And the sooner we start, the better,” he said. “Let’s get moving.”
The Jireni guards took the lead, weapons held at the ready. Daoren and Heqet followed ten paces behind. Hyro and the Jireni who’d escaped the battlement brought up the rear. No one spoke.
From time to time over the next ten minutes, Daoren glanced up at the glistening ceiling. Walking beneath the cull zone—a mere twenty feet below thousands of mongrels and Asianoids who were bent on culling them—was a surreal experience. Were his enemies aware of the escape tunnels as well?
He couldn’t help but think of the Jireni who’d flooded into the false seed vault beneath the Great Pyramid. He’d felt secure in that space—right up until a volley of glass darts had ended Laoshi’s life. If the mongrels and Asianoids broached this tunnel, it would take only a few more darts to cull him, Heqet, and everyone else.
He cast aside the morbid thought. This time, he wouldn’t let his guard down. This time, he—
Heqet gasped. She halted, jerking him to a stop, and reached for her belly.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, but her knotted brow and shallow breaths hinted at distress.
“Are you having pains?”
“It’s nothing—a cramp from descending the stairs.”
He cupped her chin and peered into her eyes, trying to assess the true level of discomfort.
She nudged his hand aside. “I’m fine.”
Her tone indicated she didn’t wish to discuss the matter further—he let it drop. “Then we should keep moving.”
13
Aftershocks
CANG CRAWLED UP the dune’s windward face. Jiren Yongrui and Jiren Bhavya bracketed her, complying with the whispersilent protocol save for their heavy breathing. They’d been climbing for nearly a minute.
The ninety-mile journey from the crash site had taken two-and-a-half hours. Uneven terrain and the necessity of carrying three Jireni per levideck had impeded their progress. So, too, had the crafts’ draining power levels.
For the last ten miles, their top speed had been restricted to little more than a running pace. But they’d reached their destination—and not a minute too soon. The levideck she’d shared with Bhavya and Yongrui had powered down on the hover, coasting the final one hundred feet before digging its platform into the sand.
Cang caught her breath a foot below the dune’s crest. To her right, the sun hung low on the western horizon. In another thirty minutes, evening twilight would cast its ruddy tint over the desert. It had always been her favorite time of day, but on this day she felt no elation. The mongrel incursion had already steeped her mind in the darkest hues imaginable.
She reached the crest and raised her head above its lip. She brought the optical lens to her eye, shading its stubby barrel with one hand to avoid emitting a telltale glint.
Six miles distant, the Great Northern Border dominated the landscape. It was an awesome sight at the best of times. Today it culled her breath as never before.
One of the wall’s watchtowers was missing, its tapered column replaced by an aeroshrike’s burned-out shell. Mongrel troopships clogged the northern approaches, thick mooring cables anchoring the vessels to the desert. Closer to the wall, hundreds of bowpod hullforms gleamed in the waning sunlight. Most were hulks, the blast damage evident even at low magnification. Absent were the food crops she’d overflown on her way north. Ragged impact craters and pitted scars replaced the lush, green circles. Thousands of black-and-gray specks dotted the rent and ruined terrain.
She increased the lens’ magnification with her free hand. The specks resolved.
Mongrel dead.
As many as ten thousand shocktroops littered the approaches. The sight lifted her heart; perhaps the attack had been thwarted. She elevated the optical lens’ barrel.
Beyond the wall, three vessels orbited at one thousand feet above Nansilafu Cheng. It took no more than a second to recognize their design.
Mongrel cullcraft.
Jiren Bhavya stammered, violating the whispersilent protocol. “Are . . . are those mongrel cullcraft patrolling south of the wall?”
“Impossible,” Yongrui said, lying to Cang’s right. “In two hundred years, no cullcraft has ever made it south of the wall.”
“Your knowledge of history fascinates me, but look for yourself,” Bhavya whisper-shouted. “You tell me what those vessels look like.”
“They’re cullcraft,” Cang whisper-shouted back. “Now shut up, both of you. The mongrels may have deployed listening devices atop the wall.”
The pair absorbed the reproach in fitting silence. She returned her focus to the culling field.
One inescapable conclusion arose from the devastating scene; an epic battle had taken place. She couldn’t say what distressed her more; t
he thought of a mongrel victory, or the fact that she hadn’t been here to prevent it.
A stinging pang of guilt made her wince; she’d left the Unum to face Daqin Guojin’s greatest existential threat in living memory without his Primae Jiren. How far south had the mongrels penetrated? Had Commander Hyro and Commander Slabidan survived the day? Were Daoren and Heqet still alive?
More and more questions queued and collided, but the disheartening imagery before her provided no answers. There was only one place to get them.
She lowered the optical lens and backtracked down the slope with Yongrui and Bhavya. Safe in the dune’s shadow, she relaxed the whispersilent protocol.
“What are we going to do now?” Yongrui asked.
“We’re going into Daqin Guojin.”
Bhavya gaped at her as if she’d lost her senses. “Are you sure about that, sireen?”
“We have to find out what’s happened, and we can’t do that squatting here in the dunes.” She drew a breath. “The Unum promoted me earlier today. I will not go down in history as the Primae Jiren who presided over the defeat of my city-state.”
Yongrui and Bhavya traded a fretting glance. “With respect, Primae Jiren Cang,” Yongrui said, “we’re nine Jireni. If ninety thousand Jireni couldn’t defeat the mongrels, then what hope do we have of influencing the outcome?”
“Correctly employed, nine people can have an enormous impact. Don’t underestimate the element of surprise.”
She led them over a series of humpbacked dunes, retracing her footprints to the three levidecks. They resided in a bowl-shaped depression.
Six Jireni huddled around them, swigging water and otherwise recovering from the journey south. Six sets of pensive eyes locked onto her as she halted before them. Thanks to the dune topography on their passage toward the wall, none had yet glimpsed the northern approaches. None had any inkling of what had transpired in their absence.