by Ste Sharp
The scale of everything here was totally overwhelming. The domes, the spaceships, this world… how could he, John Greene from the Royal Fusiliers, find who was responsible for all of this? Back home, he wasn’t even allowed into an officers’ mess without written authorisation, let alone to address a brigadier or general. If he wanted to know what was going on here, he needed to talk to the highest command, and how was he going to do that in a world he could barely comprehend?
‘Hey, John!’
John turned to see Crossley walking over with Olan, the Viking.
‘You been taking potshots?’
‘Oh, I was just getting Ten-ten to take a look at my gun,’ John replied.
‘Surely Crossley could do that for you?’ Olan said.
‘Well, I haven’t tried my sonar on anything living yet,’ Crossley said as they strolled on together.
‘You never tried my chest plate,’ Olan said. ‘Do you think you could find out what it’s made of?’
‘No way,’ Crossley said. ‘I’ve heard about what that thing can do – you could see the Draytor for Chrissake, that’s how you killed it – what if some weird crap bounced back and messed my head up? No thank you!’
‘Alright,’ Olan replied. ‘I’ll ask Ten-ten to test it, but what about John?’
‘Don’t worry,’ John said, ‘Ten-ten said my arm’s still changing and what I thought were air bullets were actually tiny shards of bone and metal fused together.’
Crossley’s eyebrows raised. ‘So if you keep firing…’
‘Yep,’ John replied and held his gun-arm out, ‘there’ll be nothing left. Have a look.’
‘Okay.’ Crossley coughed at John’s outstretched arm, then tried a few gurgling sounds John hadn’t heard before. ‘Well, it’s hard to tell, but I can just about make out where the bone ends and the metal begins… a bit blurred, but let me have a look tomorrow and see if it’s changed.’
‘Thanks, Doctor,’ John said with a smile.
‘Maybe you should get another weapon?’ Olan said. ‘There are plenty in the carts.’
‘We’ll see,’ John replied, not sure he could carry another weapon.
‘I don’t know why we don’t hitch a ride with them walking trains?’ Crossley said, pointing at the nearest Lutamek. ‘Seriously? We’d get there in half the time and save our energy.’
John shook his head. ‘You’re forgetting what happened to them in the dome.’
‘What the Brakari did to them?’ Olan asked.
‘They controlled them and turned them into beasts of burden,’ John replied, remembering the sparking body of Two-eight-four, the Lutamek Millok had used to transport them from Abzicrutia. ‘They were in pain the whole time,’ he said. ‘It was torture.’
‘Yeah, well, we wouldn’t do it like that, would we?’ Crossley replied. ‘We could build open-sided carts and… maybe not. Anyhow, I heard some interesting stuff earlier.’
‘Go on,’ Olan said.
John watched Crossley’s animated face as they walked on.
‘So I overheard Lavalle before he scouted ahead – apparently the cart Gal-qadan took had a couple of Lutamek eggs in it.’
‘No!’ John said. ‘He stole them?’
‘Probably,’ Crossley said. ‘But that’s not the point. The Lutamek knew all about it.’
‘What?’
‘They know he’s taken them and they’re in constant communication with them.’
‘How does that work?’ Olan asked. ‘They haven’t hatched yet.’
‘One-eight-seven wasn’t much of a talker even after it had hatched,’ John said. ‘Can they be trusted?’
‘Sure they can – they’re Lutamek,’ Crossley said. ‘Anyway, from what I heard, the young robots can communicate before they hatch out and are covered in eyes and all sorts, just like their… parents.’
John nodded, amazed once again by the machinery and gizmos of other species. During his war, John had been shocked by the ferocity of industrialised slaughter – gas shells, cannon barrages, fixed machine guns and dogfights in the skies – but now he only had to feel how his Lutamek left leg fitted into his knee to see how technology benefitted him. The white ceramic walls in the dome cap and in the starships, the Synchronisers and the vast machine at work across the galaxy to bring this array of alien soldiers here were all a different matter.
John sighed and pictured the screen in the dome cap where he had zoomed into views within the dome. ‘I wonder what happened to everyone left in the dome,’ he said, thinking about Panzicosta as much as Millok and her children.
‘Well, if Delta-Six’s panic about the Tathon was anything to go by,’ Crossley replied, ‘anyone left in there is about to get a shock – there’re some souped-up beasts ready to kick some ass.’
Olan laughed and said, ‘I think I’ve had enough of fighting dangerous creatures.’
‘Who knows what lies ahead,’ John said, staring out at the domes in the distance, which didn’t seem to be any bigger despite the distance they had already covered.
He felt Olan’s stare and the Viking asked, ‘What was it like up there? In the dome cap? Delta-Six said it was like inside the starships, but what was it really like?’
‘To be honest,’ John said, ‘I didn’t understand much of it – the machines, the Synchronisers and what they’re doing.’
‘We were just there to get the information,’ Crossley said, ‘and get out.’
‘Why?’ John asked and saw Olan frown.
‘I… I had ideas of what could be up there,’ he replied. ‘This place fits with the stories of my gods.’
‘Odin and Valhalla?’ Crossley asked.
John knew little about Norse gods, so said nothing.
Olan replied. ‘This could be Valhalla.’ He stretched his arm out to gesture at the domes beyond. ‘The domes could be the 540 doors where the warriors enter and the plains could be the great hall where we battle…’
‘But weren’t the warriors reborn every morning?’ Crossley asked.
‘Maybe Loki is at work here too,’ Olan said with a shrug and looked at the cat-like Sorean and the huge robots which walked with them. ‘And this chest plate?’ He tapped the golden metal with his thick forefinger. ‘Something the dwarves would have cast.’
Crossley patted him on the shoulder. ‘Well, you keep thinking like that, big man,’ he said with a smile. ‘Because it sure makes more sense than anything I’ve seen so far.’
John wondered if Olan’s ideas made any more sense than the explanations the Lutamek had given them. Surely there was a single mind somewhere responsible for all of this. A one-eyed god or some advanced alien, did it matter?
‘What’s going on over there?’ John said, nodding to where three of the Lutamek on the periphery had stopped in their tracks.
‘Who knows?’ Crossley said and they ground to a halt.
John, happy to give his good foot a rest, rubbed his calf as the fighters on the edge of the army drew in, closing around the bulk of soldiers.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Crossley shouted.
‘Hold position!’ Samas shouted.
John saw One-eight-seven rise up from the rearguard, its black balloon inflating.
‘They’re spooked by something,’ Crossley said as he unclipped his weapon.
Olan had his axe in hand and was scanning the nearest region of desert, so John unstrapped his gun-arm and span a few long-range bullets.
‘Fall back!’ Samas shouted. ‘Defensive positions!’
John jogged back, eager to be safe in the throng of warriors. Hundreds of soldiers were gravitating closer together, drawing weapons, and the redcoats were busy pulling objects out of their boxes.
‘What’s happening?’ Crossley shouted at Samas as they met.
Clumps of warriors grouped up and shields were raised, a mass of guns and bizarre weapons pointing out of every gap.
‘We’ve got reports of an attack,’ Samas replied.
‘From the scouts?’ Cros
sley asked.
‘No,’ Samas replied. ‘From the young Lutamek. Gal-qadan’s men are being attacked.’
Chapter 7
Isao woke with a start. He’d been dreaming of the shadow world, the grey-cloud existence where people, trees and other physical objects stood as swirling, seaweed versions of their true selves. From what Gal-qadan had told him, Isao had been invisible when he and his companions had slipped away. Delta-Six had called it ‘phasing out’, but Isao still needed more details. What had really happened to him when he switched worlds, and why?
He sat up, reached for his sword and scanned the group sleeping around him. The morning light gave them a red glow as the sun crept over the distant domes. Tocka lay motionless in a circle around their leader, while the humans and Sorean lay scattered like fallen dolls.
‘We should get moving soon.’
The deep tones of Peronicus-Rax made Isao turn. He had taken the silhouette for a cart but now could make out the large alien perched on his two-wheeled contraption.
‘Yes,’ Isao replied and searched for Gal-qadan, who was still asleep.
Isao still didn’t trust the Mongol and had kept him in view, waiting for him to make another wrong move. Anything that betrayed his true emotions.
‘Do you think the Ascent are really out there?’ Isao asked, recalling the conversations he’d heard between Peronicus-Rax and Das and Pod.
‘I know they are,’ came the terse reply.
What was Peronicus-Rax holding back? He reminded Isao of a hermit monk he’d heard of who allowed disciples to ask him one question each but answered every question with a dog bark. Still, year after year, the young disciples asked their question in the vain hope they would be the one to receive true wisdom from the master.
‘And they will help us?’ Isao asked.
‘They had better help us,’ Gal-qadan spoke and pushed himself up to a seated position, ‘or they will find themselves with a new enemy.’
The last thing the army needed was another enemy, Isao thought. They barely had enough provisions in this barren land and a battle could be disastrous. From what he’d overheard, the Ascent were a group of advanced soldiers with weapons and technology far more dangerous than anything they had witnessed in the dome.
‘They may have what we seek,’ Peronicus-Rax replied.
‘So where do we find them?’ Smith asked.
Isao turned to the soldier, weighing up his physical prowess, having never seen him fight in battle. His tight-fitting suit was similar to Li’s, or maybe it was the reflective mask face that reminded him of the Chinese soldier, and his weapon was more advanced than most, suggesting he was from an age after Isao’s time. As for fighting style, Isao would have to wait to see him in action.
Peronicus-Rax pushed his cart away, ready to set the path the cavalry would follow. ‘We don’t find them,’ he said. ‘They will find us.’
Gal-qadan’s face turned sour. ‘Everyone eat and pack to move out,’ he growled.
Hours later, when the sun was at its zenith, the true scale of the dark patch of ground they had been heading towards became apparent.
‘It looks like a tar pit.’ Smith said.
‘Something similar,’ Peronicus-Rax replied.
Isao felt his tocka twitch as the sweet scent of the black lake wafted to them on a light wind.
‘We must travel around–’ Gal-qadan was cut off by a shrieking sound and the entire group of tocka collapsed to their knees.
Isao rolled off, eyes tight and hands over his ears. A pain pulsed deep inside his head, lasting long dreadful seconds until subsiding with a wash of cool relief through his head. He released his hands, opened his eyes and stared around in wonder and awe.
He was back in the shadow world.
Isao stood and stared at the silhouettes of his allies: humans, Sorean and tocka rolling on the floor in agony. Here, outside the dome, shapes appeared solid and kept some of their true colour. There was more too: in the chest of every soldier Isao saw the pulsing blood-red gemstone of a heart. And when he turned to the tar pit, he saw a shoal of shining hearts emerging and surrounding them.
*
Staring at the faint-blue sky, Gal-qadan felt glad it was no longer the colour of jade, as it had been inside the dome. He lay panting with his head resting on the belly of a dead tocka.
Strange how these banal thoughts came to him when he was drained of energy, he thought. Was it because, at times like these, the repetitive sounds stopped filling his head? Was this how his soldiers always felt and why they talked such nonsense?
He could fight no more.
The creatures from the black-tar lake had been seen off and taken their dead with them – that gave him strength – but what had the victory cost his army? He turned his head to one side, then to the other, assessing the damage: the tocka were seeing to their injured, as were the few Sorean in the group. Going by the number of humans stumbling around, they had fared better than Gal-qadan had feared. They were still weak though.
He sat up and pushed his hair out of his face. He’d been saved by his impenetrable skin, but the army’s saviour and strength had definitely not been human.
‘Captain?’
The voice made Gal-qadan turn. It was the new recruit, Smith, who had fought well from what he could remember.
‘Yes,’ Gal-qadan replied as he stood.
‘The dead are accounted for and Peronicus-Rax is tending to the injured.’ Smith’s voice was muffled due to the mirrored mask, which clearly didn’t work the same way as Li’s had done.
Gal-qadan’s anger rose at the mention of Peronicus-Rax and he felt the urge to smash the mask, to crack the warped image it projected back of him and the dead lying around him.
‘We have enough horses,’ Smith continued, ‘but the carts need to be fixed.’
‘Tocka,’ Gal-qadan said and looked away.
‘Pardon, Captain?’
‘The horses, they are called tocka.’ Gal-qadan had despised the name as much as the man who had given it to them, but, although he hated to admit it, Kastor had been a strong warrior in the end. ‘I raised them from the dead.’
‘Right,’ Smith replied.
Gal-qadan winced at the faceless soldier’s reply and he felt his energy returning. It was time to build on his army’s victory and reassert his authority.
‘Where are Das and Pod?’
‘The two small creatures?’
‘Yes.’ Gal-qadan recalled how neither of the brothers had returned to their full size during the fight, but had scurried under the carts for cover.
‘No sign of them.’
‘I need someone to fix the carts,’ Gal-qadan said and walked away.
Strolling through his scattered army, Gal-qadan ran the battle through his mind. The disabling sound had died away when the dark humanoids rose from the lake – no, not from the lake, they were the lake. Each creature had fired a different weapon: blasts of sunlight, waves of pressure or pulses of fire. They were as diverse as the human-and-Sorean army had been against the Brakari.
Taken by surprise, Gal-qadan’s army had split and fired back with whatever they could. Streams of energy had bounced off his skin as Gal-qadan rolled straight for his bow and arrow, cursing the loss of his lightning weapon, hanging limp on the belt of Peronicus-Rax now, who’d hidden behind a protective yellow bubble. What the army could have done with them!
After slashing one black creature in half, Gal-qadan had been fighting to catch his breath when an array of multicoloured lasers lit the sky and the two Lutamek eggs leaped into action, unravelling and twisting like metal snakes. Their attack had been too much for the enemy army, which had slipped back into liquid form and drained away, into the ground. Now, despite their victory, Gal-qadan knew he could not rest.
‘Peronicus-Rax!’ Gal-qadan bellowed as he neared the one-eyed alien.
‘Gal-qadan,’ Peronicus-Rax replied, remaining focussed on an injured Sorean, who lay prostrate on the ground as he sprayed i
ts injuries with an orange mist.
‘You have collected an impressive range of weapons,’ Gal-qadan kept his voice sharp and clear, ‘yet refuse to use them on the battlefield. Tell me why.’
Peronicus-Rax finished spraying, leaving a waxy residue on the Sorean’s burned skin, and turned to face him. ‘My weapons have many uses.’ The tall warrior stood, looming several feet higher than Gal-qadan. ‘And I choose when to use them.’
‘But as part of my army, I expect you and every soldier to defend and attack AS ONE!’ Gal-qadan felt the eyes of his soldiers on him and knew he had to win this argument if he was to remain the sole authority here.
‘Well,’ Peronicus-Rax lumbered over to his two-wheeled contraption and tucked his medical kit away, casually turning the security shield off and then back on as he did so, ‘that’s a matter of perspective.’
Gal-qadan kept his face rigid, knowing the weapons in that cart would double his army’s firepower… but that was before the Lutamek eggs had realised their potential. He glanced over his shoulder at them. Maybe Peronicus-Rax wasn’t as important as he had first thought?
‘From my perspective,’ Gal-qadan kept his voice low and clear, ‘you are part of my army.’
‘And I have served it.’ Peronicus-Rax gestured at the Sorean, who was sitting up now.
‘But rather than attacking the enemy, you only defended yourself,’ Gal-qadan replied. ‘Men were injured by enemy soldiers you could have destroyed with a single shot!’
The large eye of the alien turned on Gal-qadan and grew dark. ‘We all have our own reasons for being here, human. We may be stronger together but I won’t be told how to fight.’
Gal-qadan felt his cheeks warm and the pounding in his head returned. He took a long draft of air through his nose and focussed on Peronicus-Rax’s eye, wondering how he could save face in front of his men.
‘No, I shan’t tell you how to fight,’ Gal-qadan replied. ‘But I expect you to fight alongside your allies as we fight beside you.’ Gal-qadan looked around for Das and Pod. ‘That goes for you two as well,’ he bellowed, knowing he would lose this argument with Peronicus-Rax. ‘Hiding is not an option during battle.’