by Ste Sharp
Nine-five and Delta-Six were still talking to the group about new missions and hadn’t listened to Gal-qadan’s suggestions. Their resources were limited, and the way Peronicus-Rax kept looking at the distant domes made Gal-qadan sure there was far more out there than just armies of freakish soldiers. Peronicus-Rax had openly talked about the Ascent when they had first left the dome, so why did the leaders ignore their existence? The leaders were warming to the idea of sending out a scouting party, but they needed a push.
A couple of soldiers were talking to Samas about frozen warriors held inside the metal ships, including the masked soldier who had run out in front of them. He had the right idea, Gal-qadan thought. Get away from all this nonsense and strike your own path.
Gal-qadan sighed and wished he still had Tode to talk to. Although it had been frustrating having to express himself with words, at least Tode had understood the ways of their people and hadn’t infuriated him with questions or suggestions. But no, Tode was dead, along with a quarter of Gal-qadan’s original army, those who had been with him when he resurrected the tocka. He stroked his tocka’s neck and remembered seeing Kastor’s broken body on the battlefield, still wishing he had been able to deal the fatal blow.
Movement in his peripheral vision made Gal-qadan turn to see Peronicus-Rax prowling behind the crowd. Gal-qadan eyed the plethora of weapons swaying from the array of belts and straps which criss-crossed the huge alien’s body. Among the silver blades and coal-black guns swung the lightning machine Gal-qadan had handed over, hoping his good behaviour would lead to more trade in the future, so he couldn’t shake off the feeling he was still owed something.
Tapping his tocka with his heels, Gal-qadan silently left the back of the crowd to follow Peronicus-Rax through the maze of metal hulks to the far edge where the tall soldier stood, aiming a metal box at the nearest dome.
Gal-qadan gave him a minute before asking, ‘Contacting your allies?’
Peronicus-Rax didn’t flinch, which suggested to Gal-qadan he’d already sensed his presence.
‘Allies, no,’ Peronicus-Rax replied, ‘but maybe if we choose.’
‘The Ascent?’ Gal-qadan asked, shrugging off the itch of irritability he always felt during his conversations with the big alien.
Peronicus-Rax lowered the box and stared at Gal-qadan with his one, unblinking eye, then at their surroundings. ‘I met them on my first journey.’
‘Are they why you returned to the dome?’
Peronicus-Rax looked away. ‘In a sense, yes. But now I search to complete my task.’
‘I see,’ Gal-qadan replied, sucking air through his teeth.
Peronicus-Rax would be dangerous if pushed too far, Gal-qadan thought. Even with metal skin as protection.
‘I will join you, if you wish to travel,’ Gal-qadan said, knowing he had to get to the Ascent before the rest of the human army if he was to gain any position of power.
Peronicus-Rax nodded and walked back the way they had come. As he rode beside him, Gal-qadan knew Peronicus-Rax was his way into the Ascent; then he could claim the alliance army as his own and offer them in return for co-leadership. Finally he would have his rightful authority.
They returned to the meeting at the perfect time, it appeared.
‘…with limited rations,’ Delta-Six was saying, ‘to scout into the desert and rendezvous with the main army at a chosen point.’
‘My men will do it,’ Gal-qadan said. ‘The tocka will give us speed.’
‘And I will join them,’ Peronicus-Rax added. ‘My knowledge of the terrain will be required.’
‘Any other volunteers?’ Nine-five said.
‘How can we turn down another adventure?’ Das said, volunteering himself and his brother.
Several Sorean hands were raised along with a small group of human hands.
‘I will select the best riders,’ Peronicus-Rax said, ‘and reserve tockas to carry provisions.’
‘Maybe a cart would be better,’ Gal-qadan said, focussing on one of the Lutamek carts.
In the back, under brown sacks, the telltale glint of metal caught his eye, and he recalled seeing the cargo in its glory when they had left the dome. If Gal-qadan was to get the power he demanded, he would need Lutamek technology in his arsenal.
*
‘It’s not like they’re going anywhere,’ Crossley said with a smirk as they stood, waiting for the conference to finish.
‘You didn’t open their panels, did you?’ Samas asked.
‘No,’ John replied, feeling guilty after what had happened with Steve Smith, ‘they’re still in their pods. I saw the green light, so I knew someone was inside.’
‘Crossley is correct,’ the metallic tones of Nine-five made John turn, ‘there is no harm in leaving them in stasis while we discuss our options.’
‘How come nobody got into these ships before?’ Crossley asked.
John felt his stomach tighten as the whole crowd turned to them.
‘They have,’ Ten-ten said. ‘Numerous incursions have been made but the spacecraft’s self-defence mechanisms have proved sufficient.’
‘Until now, right?’ Crossley said.
‘Yes. We have disabled their defence systems.’
‘So why don’t we just fire them up and fly out of here?’ Crossley asked.
‘Lack of fuel to breach the planet’s gravitational pull, and we have detected signs of an authority-based access grid defending all airspace,’ Ten-ten replied.
‘Right,’ Crossley replied, giving his head a scratch.
‘How long will it take to check every ship?’ Samas asked.
‘Two days,’ Nine-five replied and John heard groans from the army. ‘Which gives Gal-qadan’s scouting party time to explore and gives us another opportunity.’
John felt the mood lighten but couldn’t shake the feeling the army would be weaker divided. They needed to be strong if they were going to find who had brought them here.
‘I require volunteers for the data-retrieval mission,’ Delta-Six said as he stepped forward, joined by a short blue Lutamek who placed one of the hip-high metal eggs on the dusty ground.
‘What kinda mission?’ Crossley asked with arms folded.
‘You were in the spacecraft when we discussed it before,’ Delta-Six replied and looked up at the immense dome behind them. ‘We intend to travel to the dome cap to gain more information.’
John followed his gaze up. Even from half a mile away, the flat building which capped the dome was out of sight.
‘Well that’s okay for you,’ Crossley said, ‘because you’ve got a jet pack – what about the rest of us?’
Delta-Six gestured at the Lutamek beside him who was pressing buttons on the egg, which lit up, reminding John of the Lutamek box he’d saved from Abzicrutia.
‘This is where our newest member of the army comes in,’ Delta-Six said.
Crossley was coughing, scanning the Lutamek, as an arm-sized section of the egg popped out and those nearest took a step back. John stared intently, trying to make sense of what was happening as another section opened up, still connected to the egg, and another. The short blue Lutamek stepped back and left the egg to its own devices. Through the gap revealed by each moving piece, John could see more flashing lights and a dense muddle of metal inside the egg.
‘This is the first of our new generation,’ Nine-five said, ‘and the first to be born on this planet.’
‘Born?’ Samas said and, like many of the soldiers around John, human and Sorean, watched the moving contraption with fear and confusion as two new slabs of metal pushed out of the egg’s base, raising it up on two short legs.
‘But how’s such a thing possible?’ Olan, the Viking, asked.
‘This is how we reproduce,’ Nine-five replied. ‘In accordance with Lutamek reproduction protocols, DNA was selected from four individuals and tailored to fit its first mission’s needs,’ Nine-five said.
John was wide-eyed, as the number of protrusions coming from the
egg multiplied.
‘Components have been donated by every Lutamek and new metals added.’
The changes were speeding up now as sections of metal twisted and folded to create appendages, and new areas of the smooth, curved egg popped out to reveal even more shapes of silver metal.
‘In our naming tradition, given the date and location, I hereby name our newest soldier One-eight-seven.’
The top of the egg twisted and enlarged to reveal two eyes and, as sections raised out of its metal shell, to form a perfect, if small, Lutamek head. John instantly thought of Joe and felt his eyes water. The head swivelled and One-eight-seven’s eyes fixed on John’s, sending a shiver through him.
This was new life, he thought, built and born.
‘As you will see,’ Delta-Six said, ‘One-eight-seven has a few inbuilt tricks, which will help us on our journey.’
One-eight-seven was still expanding, and John saw a matt-black box protrude from its back.
‘So who will join us?’ Delta-Six asked and scanned the soldiers around John. ‘A chance to see what’s really going on inside the dome.’
Althorn stepped forward. ‘I’m always ready for a new adventure.’
‘No.’ Samas held up his hand. ‘We need you for scouting duties.’
‘We need four,’ Delta-Six replied.
‘One must be Sorean,’ Jakan-tar said and faced the section of Sorean warriors.
Eight Sorean soldiers, adorned with different weapons and physical adaptations, stepped forward and John watched Jakan-tar, whose muzzle wrinkled while studying each soldier.
‘Tar-sone,’ Jakan-tar snapped, ‘you are still under observation, as are you, Bray-tae.’
Two of the larger Sorean bowed their heads and stepped back into the throng of the army.
‘You five know your skills are required here,’ Jakan-tar waved a clawed paw to dismiss the line, leaving the smallest Sorean. ‘Rar-kin, are you sure this is what you want to do?’
‘Yes.’
The voice was deeper than John had anticipated for such a tiny warrior.
‘Ain’t his head too big for his body?’ Crossley whispered and John shrugged.
‘Very well,’ Jakan-tar said and turned to Delta-Six, ‘Rar-kin has excellent memory and mathematical skills and will be of great use on your information-retrieval mission.’
‘Glad to have you on-board,’ Delta-Six replied, then asked, ‘how about human volunteers?’
Osayimwese was the first to step forward. ‘I would like to see the dome from above,’ he said, ‘and discover why we are here.’
‘Great,’ Delta-Six replied.
John wanted to know more too: why they were here and why they were evolving strange powers. But he couldn’t think of anything he could add to the mission.
Crossley nudged him. ‘Hey, why don’t we volunteer? It’d beat hanging round here.’
‘But what about the new soldiers?’ John asked. ‘Someone has to rejuvenate them.’
‘After the last one, I’m not sure it should be us!’ Crossley said, eyebrows raised.
John felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Samas.
‘Let the Lutamek take care of the frozen soldiers,’ he said, and pushed John forward with Crossley. ‘How about these two volunteers?’ Samas said as he walked them forward to Delta-Six.
Delta-Six looked them up and down, and John felt his gaze pause on his arm. ‘Yes, good choice. Crossley’s engineering skills may be of use,’ he said and turned to Nine-five. ‘We’re ready when One-eight-seven is.’
‘One-eight-seven is ready now,’ Nine-five replied.
John studied the Lutamek. Although not as big as any of its parents, One-eight-seven had grown considerably and looked strong, with two large arms, thick legs and a set of odd protrusions from its lower back. The black box John had noticed earlier was now high up on its shoulders behind what John still considered a cute robotic head.
‘I can make my own way to the cap,’ Delta-Six said and his propulsion system unfolded from his back. ‘But you four,’ he looked at Osayimwese, Rar-kin, Crossley and John, ‘will travel with One-eight-seven.’
John heard a click, followed by a hissing sound as the black box on One-eight-seven started to expand. The sides folded out to produce more sides, and expanded again to create an ever more-sided shape which increased in size to loom over One-eight-seven’s head.
Crossley coughed and said, ‘Oh, I see. Very neat.’
The whole army were watching in silence, like waiting for a magician’s next trick.
‘Expansion 50 per cent complete.’ One-eight-seven spoke for the first time, its voice a tinnier replication of Nine-five’s robotic tones.
As the black box expanded more, John noticed One-eight-seven getting taller, then realised its feet were slowly lifting off the ground.
‘I’m not sure about this,’ he whispered to no one.
John jumped as three hooked appendages fired out of One-eight-seven’s sides, anchoring it to the ground even as it rose into the air.
‘Seventy per cent complete.’
John cast a glimpse over his shoulder at the immense dome and shivered at the thought of what he had volunteered for.
‘What is that thing?’ Osayimwese asked Crossley.
‘My guess is at least 50 per cent helium,’ Crossley replied.
John saw a look of confusion on Osayimwese’s face and nudged Crossley.
‘Oh,’ the American said, ‘it’s a balloon – we’re going to fly up to the top of the dome.’
*
Isao Yakamori watched the discussions from the back of the crowd, near Gal-qadan and his tocka, which fascinated him more than the talking did. Isao had ridden horses from a young age, learning to ride his grandfather’s mares before graduating to the stallions. He had been so close to two horses – Lightning and Nightshade – that he had thought of them as friends, even allies on the battlefield. Nightshade had died in battle after Isao was dismounted by a fellow samurai, but his replacement, Lightning, had been more than adequate, seeing him through the scores of battles that followed.
Isao tensed, realising he would never know what had happened to Lightning after the flash that had taken Isao away.
He stroked the nose of one of the nearest, unmanned tocka and felt himself relax. The tocka’s dark top lip vibrated, giving Isao a glimpse of the carnivorous teeth which lay beneath, but they didn’t faze him. He, after all, carried a sheathed sword of equal power.
Isao kept one eye on Gal-qadan, who mostly stared at the foot soldiers nearest the tocka but occasionally fixed his glare on Isao. From the shadow world, Isao had seen Gal-qadan kill two of his own men, so didn’t trust him, yet he knew he had to fight under the Mongol’s command if he were to ride a tocka. He pictured Gal-qadan’s wide smile when he had despatched the soldier at the cliff base, using his blood to rejuvenate the tocka. Although he’d seen it through the mists of the shadow world, the look was unmistakeable – Gal-qadan enjoyed murdering. Isao had known men like that and knew their thirst for murder was unquenchable. They always wanted to kill.
A cold rush ran over Isao’s shoulders at the thought of the shadow world he’d been trapped in inside the dome. It had slowly washed away after every battle, giving him and his fellow samurai, Hori and Masaharu, the impression they could return to the real world if they fought well. So they had fought hard. When the main battle had arrived, they’d roamed wide, killing Brakari at will, but their prowess had been diluted across such a large area. They’d fared better during the battle outside the ruined fortress, where the Brakari and their allies had been packed into close quarters and Isao’s sword sang true.
But their victory had been poisoned: as the fight turned in their favour, they’d remained in their physical form and become vulnerable. Hori had been killed by a freakish Brakari with poisonous spike-claws, and Masaharu had succumbed to the gas the enemy had pumped out as the battle drew to a close.
Isao cricked his neck and scanned
the survivors who surrounded him now. They had endured many changes – John Greene with his gun-arm and Olan with his chest shield – but the Lutamek had given them explanations why those changes had taken place. Nobody could tell Isao what had happened to him, or if it would ever happen again even though, since walking through the silver gates, Isao had remained in his physical form.
Isao felt his pulse racing and turned back to the tocka. His heart steadied when he stroked it. He needed answers but he also needed to remain calm. A memory pain struck his stomach and his hand moved to his belly where the ritual dagger had sliced into his abdomen when he, Hori and Masaharu had committed seppuku. Strange how there had been no scar. Why had he been healed and allowed to continue this life? Would he eventually be pulled back into the shadow world?
Raised voices at the front of the crowd drew his attention again as the new metal man unfolded like a reverse origami to reveal new levels of beauty with each turn and twist: silver arms, sculpted ribs and a large, ink-black balloon shape, which lifted up the young Lutamek. Isao watched Crossley, as he pointed and chatted to Osayimwese and John, and followed the American’s finger to the top of the imposing dome. Maybe they would answer his questions, he thought.
Isao looked to Gal-qadan and said, ‘I will ride with you. Keep this tocka for me.’
The Mongol’s face remained stony but he gave a sharp nod and Isao patted the tocka’s muzzle before heading off through the crowd, weaving through to Crossley and John.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, tapping Crossley on the shoulder.
‘Hey, we’ve already got enough volunteers,’ Crossley said and gestured at the new robot. ‘That thing can only take a handful of soldiers, okay?’
Isao gave the robot a glance and nodded. ‘Yes, I see. I have questions… for your mission.’