by Ste Sharp
Delta-Six had overheard and walked over.
‘I wish to know how I was taken from this world,’ Isao said.
‘Well, we all want to know that,’ Crossley said but Delta-Six held up a hand to silence him.
‘No,’ Isao continued, ‘in the dome, I and my fellow samurai were taken into a shadow world and came back to this,’ he swept an arm out, ‘normal world after each battle. I need to know how.’
‘So you can use it again?’ John asked.
‘It would be useful in a combat situation,’ Delta-Six said.
‘No,’ Isao replied. ‘I need to know to make sure I never go back again.’
*
Althorn looked out over the desert and distant domes. He’d sped away from the meeting and now sat by one of the outermost ships, where he slowly chewed on a chunk of dried meat he’d hidden in a weapons container. Samas had forbidden him from joining the dome-cap exploration party, and he needed energy if he was to be scouting this vast landscape. It was immense, and studying it had proven useless so far. Still, best to be prepared, he thought, and took in what he could with his one eye.
Raised voices from a few ships back caught Althorn’s ear. He didn’t turn, but listened. More voices joined in, arguing, followed by the deep tones of a Lutamek robot. Althorn sighed and stood up, feeling obliged to help out.
Saving his energy and remaining visible, Althorn strolled around the starships until he found a group of six or seven red-coated soldiers confronted by a Lutamek, who towered over them.
‘You are forbidden to use any until an agreement has been made,’ the Lutamek stated.
‘I don’t care about these agreements,’ one soldier said and pointed to a cart laden with metal contraptions and boxes. ‘We need fuel and we’ll take what we can find.’
Althorn recalled these warriors were from John’s clan, although he hadn’t joined them, and the boxes were full of what Crossley had called gadgets and gizmos.
‘Carter’s right,’ another soldier said, his thick coat slung over one shoulder. ‘This is free for anyone. Nobody’s property, just like what we found inside the dome.’
‘Apart from the robot bits,’ Carter replied.
‘Of course,’ the soldier replied and held a finger to his lips.
‘All resources are to be rationed,’ the Lutamek said.
‘Look, I don’t care for your authority here, right?’ The new soldier said.
‘You tell him, Elliott!’ Another shouted.
‘We can access the fuel and we’ll take what we need,’ he continued. ‘Report it if you want but it’s for the use of the whole army, right?’
The Lutamek stood still for a few silent seconds, then turned and strode off back to the main camp. The redcoats laughed and returned to the side of the starship, where a tiny, metallic dome had been placed on the side of a cylindrical tank.
‘Fire her up, Wallis!’ Elliott shouted and a separate box burst to life, coughing and spluttering grey smoke.
Althorn walked over, intrigued.
‘Oi, you’re not goin’ to tell us what to do neither!’ Carter yelled at Althorn.
‘No, no,’ Althorn held his hands up. ‘I’m just interested. What are you doing?’
‘Draining the fuel,’ Carter replied. ‘Ain’t no wood here, see? Or diesel, so we can’t get our machines running.’
‘Defensive mechanata,’ said another soldier, wearing circular shields over his eyes. ‘Mostly steam-driven but some are operated with counterweight mechanisms… we work with what we have.’ He said with a shrug.
‘Ramsholt here’s full of ideas and we don’t use none of that electronic gubbins!’ Elliott said. ‘Don’t trust it!’
‘I know the feeling,’ Althorn replied.
‘We’ve improved our weapons,’ the goggled soldier, Ramsholt, said, gesturing at a cache of wooden-handled rifles covered in an array of various metal projections. ‘And I’ve made plans for a mobile defensive fortification – just need the materials.’
‘Good,’ Althorn said with a nod. ‘Well done.’
It was too much for Althorn to understand – different types of metals and chemicals working together to make objects move. It was like magic. He didn’t know if it was the words or the smoke but his head was hurting.
‘Good luck with the fuel,’ he said and walked away.
Maybe going scouting was a good idea after all?
*
John’s shoulders felt heavy as he watched the samurai walk away. Now he had more questions to answer. They hadn’t promised much but he’d seen a glimmer of hope in Isao’s eyes, which was something he desperately needed. Maybe the Lutamek were right and every question they answered – every detail they clarified – took them one step closer to finding out who had brought them here.
He felt his gun-arm click and tried to relax.
‘Come on,’ Crossley said, gesturing at the starship. ‘Samas says the Lutamek are going to resurrect the frozen soldiers – we’ve got a few minutes before lift-off.’
‘How are they doing it?’ John asked and stepped in with Crossley.
‘They’ve accessed a connection from outside,’ Crossley gave his fake laugh, ‘not like that’ll change things, right? The new guys’ll just run off like Steve as soon as they see us lot. Hey, I would’ve done!’
John nodded and remembered the forest they had been deposited in and how he’d thought it was a strange dream at first. If he had found himself in that white spaceship he would have wanted to get out sharpish.
‘Maybe we should try to find someone they would recognise next time?’ John said, but they were already at the entrance to the ship and Crossley was inside.
‘Come on!’
John ran his good hand along the smooth white walls again as they walked up the corridor to the main pod chamber and saw Lavalle at the end of the long room with Euryleia, intently watching the furthest green-lit pod: one of the last frozen humans.
Lavalle turned, nodded and said, ‘Samas thought it best they were greeted by a couple,’ he glanced at Euryleia. ‘Less threatening.’
‘Yeah, sure, a pretty face,’ Crossley said. ‘You might want to hide a pair of arms though, hey?’
Euryleia glanced at the American, then at her four hands. ‘Maybe,’ she replied, seeming proud of her adaptation rather than ashamed, and pulled her shawl forward. ‘The Lutamek have started the rejuvenation process,’ she said, ‘slower this time, to allow them to get used to their surroundings before we open the pod.’
‘Keep them trapped, you mean?’ Crossley said. ‘Yeah, that’ll work.’
‘You should wait over there.’ Lavalle pointed. ‘Just make sure they don’t get past us.’
‘It didn’t work too well last time,’ Crossley said.
‘I wasn’t going to stop Steve Smith with that weapon!’ John said, remembering how the first thing Smith had done was to pull a mean-looking gun from a shelf inside the pod and aim it at his face.
Crossley nodded at John’s gun-arm. ‘It’s not like you’re not armed yourself.’
‘Yeah,’ John replied as he spun a couple of spiral shapes inside his gun-arm, allowing them to dissipate back into heat. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’ll be able to stop the next one.’
‘Who’s this one anyway?’ Crossley asked and leaned over to check the nameplate.
‘Yarcha Chakava,’ Lavalle said.
‘Sounds Asian to me,’ Crossley said.
John remembered seeing her serene face and strolled back over for another look at her long eyelashes and soft lips. ‘She’s a warrior?’ he whispered.
‘Come on,’ Lavalle said, ‘back in position in case she runs.’
‘Yeah, sorry,’ John said and blushed when he caught Euryleia glaring at him. Yarcha wasn’t the first female soldier in the army, but she was always going to be an attraction.
‘So where’s she from?’ Crossley asked John when he returned.
‘India, I’m guessing.’
‘Pretty
too, going by the colour of your cheeks.’
John sent Crossley a quick glance and tried not to look hurt.
‘Don’t worry,’ Crossley patted him on the shoulder, ‘I doubt she’s my type.’
Lavalle held a finger to his ear then spoke. ‘I understand.’ He looked to Euryleia. ‘She’s waking.’ Then to John and Crossley, ‘Be prepared.’
John heard a high-pitched hissing sound, then the green light on Yarcha’s nameplate faded out.
‘Here comes sleeping beauty!’ Crossley whispered.
John watched Lavalle and Euryleia’s faces as the glass lid of the pod unclipped and slowly drew open. The pair smiled and John imagined Yarcha’s eyes opening. Were they dark brown like Rosie’s? Or light brown like the desert sands? The thought of Rosie made John feel ashamed.
A voice like a screeching cat erupted from the pod. ‘What is going on here?’ The voice filled the long chamber.
John took a step back and watched Lavalle do the same. Euryleia remained poised as ever and moved forward to blow the spores of the translation mushroom into Yarcha’s face.
‘Where am I and what is that damned powder? Don’t you know who I am?’ the screeching continued.
‘Greetings,’ Lavalle said and bowed. ‘Welcome to…’
‘How dare you address me, you albino giant.’ Yarcha cut Lavalle off and sat up, giving John a view of her long, dark hair. ‘You!’ She pointed at Euryleia. ‘What’s the meaning of this powder?’
‘It gives you understanding of our languages,’ Euryleia replied.
John saw her shoulders relax.
‘You are from foreign lands,’ Yarcha said, her voice calmer now as she held Euryleia’s gaze. ‘This room? Am I prisoner?’
‘No,’ Euryleia replied. ‘We are all foreigners here.’
‘In some way we may all be captives,’ Lavalle added. ‘But you are welcome among us.’
John could see Yarcha’s breathing slowing as she calmed. Then, as she scanned the room, her eyes met his. He held them and breathed deeply. Then her gaze flicked to Crossley and back to Euryleia.
‘Are there many of us here?’ Yarcha asked.
‘Several hundred,’ Euryleia replied, ‘and some soldiers not from our world.’
John wondered if Euryleia had pushed it too far, but Yarcha seemed to take the news in her stride.
‘Gods?’ she asked.
‘Some might say,’ Lavalle replied, ‘but soldiers none the less.’
Crossley leaned in to whisper to John, ‘I don’t think this one’s gonna be a runner.’
‘No,’ John replied, waiting for Yarcha to look his way again.
He heard a noise behind him, from the entrance, but didn’t react.
‘Well, I’d like to meet them,’ Yarcha said and pushed herself up out of the pod then leaned back in to pull out what looked like a whip hanging down to her feet. ‘My Urumi,’ she said to Euryleia, who nodded.
John turned to see Osayimwese. ‘It’s good to see new recruits.’ His deep voice made Yarcha turn and stare at him for longer than John liked. ‘But it’s time for us to start our mission.’
‘Right,’ John said and felt his stomach tense.
‘One-eight-seven is ready and Delta-Six is getting impatient, so…’
‘Okay, let’s get the show on the road!’ Crossley said and was off back down the white corridor.
John gave Yarcha a glance then jogged down the corridor and back into the sunlight, where One-eight-seven’s black balloon floated impatiently, pulling at its anchors. John eyed up the four upside-down t-shaped sticks hanging from the Lutamek’s balloon.
‘Are they…?’ he asked.
Crossley nodded and strapped a satchel of provisions across his back, then swung his legs over one of the swing-like seats. ‘Come on!’ he shouted, ‘this is gonna be one helluva ride!’
John rubbed his fingers on his remaining palm, feeling the dampness, while his gun-arm clicked and he wondered how on Earth he was going to hold on.
*
While the young Lutamek established its balloon, Gal-qadan had watched Delta-Six run around the camp in a fuss, acquiring provisions for his mission. It gave Gal-qadan the perfect opportunity to acquire what he needed before he and the cavalry set off on their scouting mission.
‘I’m seeking soldiers with riding experience.’ Gal-qadan spoke loud and clear and purposefully ignored the Sorean who looked his way. The last thing he wanted was more of the mangy creatures with their bizarre fighting style and weak shield technology. He needed people he could trust, like Tode, if he were still alive, and Peronicus-Rax and the two brothers, Das and Pod, who had returned to their foot-high size to share a tocka. ‘We have provisions and greater opportunity of finding more,’ Gal-qadan continued his pitch as several soldiers stepped forward. ‘And who knows what treasures we may find out there.’
He stared out between starships to the sliver of the desert which lay beyond.
‘You,’ Gal-qadan shouted to a turbaned, Afghan horseman, ‘fix two tocka to that cart and lead them.’
The Afghan nodded and set to work.
‘You,’ Gal-qadan shouted at Isao, ‘fill the cart with water barrels and dried meats.’
‘And the new food?’ Isao asked, pointing at the white cuboid containers the Lutamek had filled with a gooey liquid found in the tubes of the starship.
‘Yes,’ Gal-qadan barked.
He wouldn’t eat it, but if the Lutamek said it was nutritional his men could have it.
Gal-qadan watched his men work or ride their new tocka, depending on his orders. Yes, he thought, this was a good unit. Strong men with strong horses. After checking that Delta-Six was keeping the Lutamek busy, Gal-qadan rode to the cart and lifted the sacking covering the Lutamek technology.
‘Ah…’ he gasped as the shiny metal beneath was revealed.
He let the sacking drop and casually rode away, holding his face rigid as he fought the surge of elation that ran through his body. He was about to steal a prize greater than he had ever imagined – one that would ensure his army were truly formidable.
‘Riders!’ he shouted. ‘Move out.’
‘See you at the rendezvous point!’ Samas shouted, but Gal-qadan already had his back to him.
He kept his tocka at the rear, behind the heavily laden cart, and kept his eyes forward. They wound their way through the starships, to where Gal-qadan saw the distant silhouette of Peronicus-Rax, already crossing the immense desert.
Gal-qadan felt the feeling of boredom disappear with the warm wind, which smelled of freedom. He could feel his tocka relax too. So many possibilities now! He found the communication device Nine-five had given him in his pocket and gave it a nudge with his elbow. It would fall out soon enough, he thought.
No one would have a hold over him.
Chapter 5
John had never been scared of heights. In fact, he and Rosie had climbed up inside the Monument on one of their first dates because he’d loved the view so much. Funny, he’d thought, how a tower built to memorialise a tragedy hundreds of years previously was now a tourist attraction.
‘Are you sure it’s safe though, John?’ Rosie had said, gripping his hand as they climbed the spiral stone staircase.
‘Safe as houses,’ John had said and gave her hand a squeeze. ‘You’ll love it, I promise.’
When they stepped out, both had held their breath, taking in the view and enjoying the cool breeze. Tower Bridge and St Paul’s were dominant, but John’s eye soon picked out other landmarks he knew from his rounds on his delivery cart.
‘Gives you an idea how much was burned down,’ he said. ‘During the Great Fire, of course.’
‘But it made room for so much more, didn’t it?’ Rosie replied and was soon picking out church spires and factory stacks John hadn’t noticed before.
‘We should do it again one day,’ Rosie had said when they left, ‘when we have children. To show them their city.’
John smiled now just like he
had done back then. He watched the horizons of this new world expand around him as One-eight-seven carried him and the team up beside the curved side of the dome.
Would he change anything if he could go back? The doctors had said Rosie would have died even if she’d made it to hospital and his world wouldn’t have felt complete without Joe in it, who’d made the loss of Rosie bearable. But what about the war? If he’d known what would happen – being brought to this strange land – would he still have gone? Or would he have stayed at home, vilified as a coward, but able to bring up his son?
‘Hey, look at that!’ Crossley shouted from the trapeze to John’s side.
John followed Crossley’s finger to the needle-like tower they’d seen before. ‘Wow!’
‘Looks bigger from up here,’ Crossley said.
John turned to Osayimwese and Rar-kin behind them, who were also taking in the view, dangling underneath the balloon on their tiny trapezes. Delta-Six was long gone and One-eight-seven had yet to communicate with them, so it felt like it was just the four of them.
‘It looks like the tower’s central to all the domes,’ Crossley said, ‘like a control tower… I mean, I haven’t seen any other towers, have you?’
‘No,’ John replied, ‘just more domes.’
‘I think the domes are closer together around the tower as well,’ Crossley said.
John squinted, remembering how the numerous towers of London had looked squashed together from the Monument, when he knew some were miles apart.
‘No, it’s just a trick of the eye,’ John said. ‘They’re probably spread out equally.’
‘I don’t know,’ Crossley said and turned back to the dome for more coughing.
Peering down, the neat rows of starships seemed tiny next to the immense dome, and John could no longer see the gang of tocka crossing the vast desert. They were drifting over the dome itself, whose clean, almost-iridescent green clashed with the dull, sandy brown of the land outside.
‘Well, the shell’s damn thick, I’ll tell you that!’ Crossley said after another coughing burst.