Vontaura

by James C. Dunn

  ‘They’re here!’ Justus announced. ‘All together. Stop fighting now!’

  Few remained in the room. Most of Ditton’s combatants had fled, surrendered, or died. Half a dozen alone were left in the Hall. Some Von remained, together as a group, their flanks against the far wall. The Allied Moon and the Laxiad were combined in the centre, each as bloody as the next. What a disgrace we all look.

  ‘I want everybody to leave!’ Peter shouted. ‘All of the Laxiad, the Allied Moon, and the Von. Go to your crafts. There will be no Vontaura today.’

  Not one of the Laxiad shifted.

  ‘Not one of you dare move!’ Malizar bellowed, once again finding his feet. As powerful as ever. Nothing on Earth or Luna to stop him. His Allied Moon, however, were not as fearful of their lord as they were of the approaching shadow. Two or three backed away towards the hangar. Several more followed suit.

  The marble floor rattled. It was here and it was coming for them. They gazed up from the edge of the Grand Hall into the circular glass observation deck. The black-rock moon came into full view, moving steadily towards them.

  It is not Erebus, Peter reminded himself. It is not Erebus. It is something far, far worse.

  The black-rock moon forced its way into Earth’s orbit alongside Luna. It moved closer. Time stood still. The ground shuddered. Peter’s thoughts were with the Earth. Its gravity could not resist such a moon for long. He watched as the alien vessel stopped its course correction. Then, from within an opening as wide as the entire lunar base, a black-rock craft emerged. It was coming towards them. Fast.

  Peter stood still beside Malizar and held his breath.

  NINETY-SIX

  THE BLACK-ROCK craft loomed over the moon’s horizon, obstructing the entirety of Sol. With it came the sound of hell. Voices. Screams. Agony.

  The smaller craft, as black as its mother ship, plunged into the moon, crushing the solar fields in a furore of silver powder. Its impact sent dust and rock rising up into space, momentarily blocking any view of the alien craft. It did not move from its crater. But from within appeared a transport of some inexplicable sort. It moved along the dust-filled surface like a centipede across a desert dune. It crawled towards the clear hangars as though those in control knew to do so.

  A commander of the Laxiad appeared beside Peter clutching a portable data device.

  ‘Tell me quickly,’ Peter said. ‘What is coming towards us?’

  ‘A transport, sir.’

  ‘Tell me more. Fast.’

  ‘It’s not mechanical.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s organic. It’s a life form.’

  Peter couldn’t help but smile. The visitors were literally travelling on an alien creature’s back. But why were they here? And why had they not attacked?

  ‘It’s organic, master, and it’s coming this way.’

  ‘Will it fit through the transport gate?’

  ‘Yes, it . . . it will.’

  ‘Then allow it through the sanitization section, and into the glass observation deck. Secure that area. We will wait at the edge of the Hall.’

  ‘I object,’ Malizar said to him. ‘If that thing is alive – if any of them come in here, you’re exposing us to alien microorganisms. How do we even know that they can breathe our air?’

  ‘They can,’ Peter said.

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Very well. Then we will show them our combined strength. Show them how strong we can be. Then we submit.’

  ‘You’re suggesting a display of strength? I happen to agree.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, but follow my lead. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘And I do not?’

  ‘Stop this Marrak. They are the enemy. Not me.’

  ‘You have a plan then?’

  ‘I do.’ He had to remind himself of that fact. That hope. At least, he hoped he had a plan.

  The transport-creature scuttled towards the clear gate before coming to a halt. Slow seconds passed. The gate opened. The organism was inside now, able to attack if it wished to. But Peter sensed the attack would have already come had that been the intention.

  It was only as the thing stopped moving that it became clear exactly what it was. And a transport was certainly not it. It was an ashen white, as large as the Scarlet Flux, with a dozen legs spread beneath. It had immense jaws, which it now opened as though stretching. And on top of the creature was fixed a great rock, as black as Erebus.

  Smoke poured from within. A seal broke. The rock opened. All held their breath, their weapons tighter still. Almost instantly something emerged. It was big, Peter thought, his mind too blank to consider a more appropriate term for the moment. It passed through the low-hanging smog and walked towards them.

  On two legs it moved. It looked almost human. It was tall, at least seven feet, and it was thin, bald, robed in dark iron. It moved forward, walking with no effort at all, as though it drifted across the glass deck. Toward the group through the smoke it opened its arm to expose an empty palm. It had only one arm. The other was cut off at the elbow. Damaged. Burned, almost.

  Peter breathed out, remembering Anna’s tale. Upon the creature’s wrist was wrapped a bracelet shining silver-black. Just like Anna’s. Sceptre in hand, he stepped toward it. Malizar followed.

  The three reached each other, and Peter bowed. ‘Gilaxath,’ he said, deep and authoritative and gentle still. Malizar did nothing, frozen in his place.

  The being said nothing and simply gazed down, then across to the armed crowd: Allied Moon, Laxiad, and Von. All recoiled as the Gilaxath shrieked, loud and deep as though in pain. But from the black sphere behind emerged a long line of shorter beings. They marched out, rank and file to form a legion, several rows deep and some forty across, filling the gap between halls.

  The Three Orders began to mumble.

  ‘They’re not alien.’

  ‘They’re human.’

  ‘They are us!’

  NINETY-SEVEN

  DIMAL MOVED CLOSE to Justus and he placed his arm around her, holding firm. They breathed deep, stepping closer and gasping at the reality. The crowd that had emerged from the alien’s back was human. Men, women, and children from all Alignment worlds. All were still. All their eyes were closed.

  The Orders trained their weapons on the alien being, but the Gilaxath did not appear to notice them.

  ‘Do nothing!’ Malizar shouted. ‘Do not fire!’

  From behind the lines of sleepwalking slaves marched more armoured aliens. And then, hell. Horned beings, as tall as the humanoid, prowled into view.

  ‘Are those . . .’ Dimal began.

  ‘Zinn,’ Justus said. ‘Yes.’ Everybody mumbled and panicked at the sight of them. Dimal looked up at him with dread.

  The Zinn took their position behind the tall, golden-eyed being.

  Peter held the sceptre at his side. ‘You are the Gilaxath. They are the Zinn. Do you understand me?’

  Again nothing. Malizar stepped forward once and went to speak, but the Gilaxath raised its arm.

  Deep and powerful, it spoke: ‘You have something I want.’

  ‘What do we have?’ Peter replied, as calm as he could.

  ‘Control.’

  ‘Tell me how I can give you control.’

  ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘How?’ Malizar said. ‘How do we give you control? Control is an abstract detail here. We cannot give you control, great Gilaxath.’

  The Gilaxath stared down at Malizar. ‘You know us. How?’

  Peter hesitated. ‘For the majority of my people this is their first contact with another intelligent race. For me, however, it is not. Do you understand?’

  Slowly, the Gilaxath said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you also understand that the things you have done are considered by us to be an act of war?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What reason would you give?’

  ‘None.�
�

  ‘How do you speak our tongue?’

  The Gilaxath raised its arm, gestured towards the human slaves. They did not move.

  ‘You didn’t just take their knowledge. You took everything. Their memories. Their voices.’

  ‘They are yours,’ Malizar said. ‘Keep them. A gift.’

  ‘Marrak, stop it!’ Peter grimaced. ‘A gift is given. These lives were taken. The things you have done . . . you did not need to—’

  ‘You cannot stop us.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘We are Masterium.’

  The human army behind chanted as one: ‘Gil-ara-ax-arath! Gil-ara-ax-arath!’ They cried out, screaming as though they screamed for their lives. The three orders covered their ears. Some ran.

  Peter shook his head. ‘You declare war?’

  ‘We declare war on all.’

  Malizar broke in. ‘We will serve you. Can you not see our potential? An army of ours would be formidable. We will submit. We would choose to fight for you.’

  The Gilaxath once again aimed awareness back to the human horde, dark and silent and at his mercy. ‘No conscious decision need be made. No choice. No exception.’

  Peter closed his eyes. ‘You have told me everything I need to hear, Gilaxath. You are a threat I knew was coming, for a long time. Every second I spent asking myself whether the human race was worth saving. Whether it could even be saved if I wanted to. Whether it would be easier just to end my own life and not have to face you at all. I knew why you were coming here. And so here I am, stood between you and my people, with my enemy at my side, ready to die to ensure you do not harm another soul.’

  ‘You cannot stop us.’

  ‘GIL-ARA-AX-ARATH! GIL-ARA-AX-ARATH! GIL-ARA-AX-ARATH!’ the humans cried.

  ‘I will still try.’

  The Gilaxath screamed, ‘YOU WILL FAIL!’

  The horned Zinn behind him called out with a powerful rattle, and the slave race cried, ‘This species is contained. GIL-ARA-AX-ARATH!’

  ‘No!’ Malizar said. ‘No!’

  ‘GIL-ARA-AX-ARATH!’

  What happened next happened so fast Justus almost missed it. Peter raised the silver sceptre, pointing it at the Gilaxath, who grimaced and pounced, taking Peter by the neck, raising him from the ground, choking him, knocking the sceptre from his hands. Both Malizar and Sudana lunged forward for the staff, but from the tall being’s outstretched hand came a glint of metal. Blood burst from Sudana’s neck and both she and her master fell backward. Sudana landed, arms outstretched.

  Justus took one deep breath and pushed Dimal off. He threw himself after the sceptre as it rolled along the floor. Ahead, the Gilaxath dragged Peter back with him.

  The crowd of human slaves stumbled forward, crying ‘GIL-ARA-AX-ARATH! GIL-ARA-AX-ARATH!’

  Justus jumped. His heart pounded in his chest. There was no way in hell they were taking his father now he had just found him. He landed on his front, the sceptre in his grasp. He looked up to see the human horde moving forwards, chanting. The Gilaxath was almost among them.

  Justus stood and threw the sceptre.

  At once the Gilaxath dropped Peter and reached out. The sceptre stopped in front of him, caught in his crushing grasp.

  All went silent.

  No.

  From the floor beside him, Malizar leaned up and extended both his arms with what strength he had left; and the tall being was wrenched forwards. The sceptre plunged into its torso, tearing through its back, spilling dark blood. The Gilaxath froze still, retching, attempting to speak.

  ‘RETURN!’ it cried, and it dissolved into the surrounding air. The sceptre, soaked in blood, dropped to the floor with a drawn out clang. The once-human horde nearby, displayed in rank and file with Zinn behind, trudged forwards slowly. The Zinn’s breathing rattled. Their Master was gone.

  ‘Peter?’ Justus said, rushing to help his father up.

  ‘Fl . . . Fle . . .’

  ‘What? Peter, what?’

  The ground trembled. Stone collapsed from the ceiling. A howling split the air. Malizar was on his feet, a coiling wind surrounding him, with Sudana lay at his feet. Blood wrapped around her still body. Darkness consumed the old man stood above her. He looked weak, yet darker than ever before. The wind around him grew greater, and he looked from her body to the Zinn behind.

  The Allied Moon had gone, abandoned him long before.

  Dimal was pulling at Justus’ clothes, panic on her face. The Gilaxath’s slaves continued their march and their chant. Peter found his feet, rested a palm on his son, who reached down for the black-blood covered sceptre.

  ‘Leave it, son!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘The sceptre doesn’t matter. What was within the sceptre, and now within that creature, does.’

  ‘Peter?’

  ‘Ultimatter.’

  ‘Father?’

  ‘A bomb. Now run.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Run!’

  The central chamber of the black-rock moon is in uproar. The great Masterium returns to his vessel. His jagged teeth gritted. Anger bubbling inside. ‘This human race has dared to challenge the Masterium,’ he calls to those around him. ‘Now it will be destroyed!’

  The silver-armoured being glides across the central chamber, blood pouring from his toughened torso as he moves. Small creatures of lesser status tend to him, stripping the armour and sealing the wound. He does not stop. Nothing will prevent him from this. The pain is nothing in comparison to the insult he has swallowed.

  But the pain is intense.

  The armour falls away.

  ‘Destroy the moon first,’ he cries in his dark tongue, dark blood dripping to the black-rock floor, soaked into the footprints of a thousand great forebears. ‘The planet comes second.’

  But the pain is great. Too great.

  How? he thinks. How could this race know?

  The blood is contaminated. There is no other option. What now?

  Pain. Intense.

  Something in the weapon. Something in the blood.

  No longer a nuisance.

  Agony.

  He reaches out into the dark light before him. The Zinn now at his side. It is time.

  Wait. A light. A light from within. He looks down at his slender abdomen, out of which seeps dark blood. His blood. Mixed with light.

  No.

  He coughs, splutters. Light from his jaws. Pain. Agony. Something runs through him. Sees the black blood pour from his veins. Sees it glimmer blue light. Purple light. Growing brighter.

  Justus struggled through the halls of the Luna Athenaeum, past dead bodies and pools of blood. It was as though time had slowed, as though all their movement was reduced to desperate, ineffective scrambling for the last flicker of light. As they charged for the Flux, Peter and Vortan moved up ahead. Adra’s hand held tight in his, Justus forced her on, consumed by this dream. While the lost souls of helpless humans pursued, unremitting.

  The sceptre sent the ultimatter bomb running through the Gilaxath’s veins. The Gilaxath which had just been transported back aboard his black-rock vessel. Not Erebus. Something else.

  Dimal pulled him on. His strength was almost gone. Sudana had weakened him. Ditton had almost finished him off. Blood leaked down his shoulder from where he’d been shot. He felt dizzy, but pushed on. Chanting and rattling followed. The human horde, led by the Zinn, pursued. Von. Allied Moon. Laxiad. So many cut down. Not many left.

  Malizar was still back there. He hadn’t moved, but kept as many with him as he could. His echoed powers in the form of wind, a tempest from within, declaring his rage for all to see on behalf of his mistress, her throat cut.

  Peter and Vortan turned a corner, through another alcove. Justus and Dimal followed. Through the last hall. Almost there. The hangar lay dead ahead. Rattles. Screams. Hell behind.

  The Flux. He could see it. Peter and Vortan ran on board. Dimal pulled Justus forward. ‘Come on!’ she said. ‘You’ve not dragged me throu
gh all this to die here!’

  Around them, men and women found their own crafts and were entering the exit gate. There was time. Any second now . . .

  They reached the Flux. Several Von and Laxiad climbed aboard first. Peter helped them up and reached out for Justus. He forced Dimal on first. Then clambered up. Relief.

  A hand took his leg and pulled him back. The Flux lifted off.

  He landed on his front. He kicked out at the human which had found him. A young man. Dark and red eyes. Crilshan. It screamed at him, clawed at him, beat him hard.

  ‘Wait!’ he heard Dimal scream. ‘Don’t go!’

  The shadow of the scarlet craft hung overhead. Blaster fire struck the slave-Crilshan. Dimal fired, screaming as she did.

  Three fell down at his feet. Justus kicked out at a fourth. He clambered onto his feet, reached out. Dimal took his hand. He looked up at her, slowly, then out through the glass wall. In the distance, the black-rock moon trembled. A split like lightning in the outer layer. Bright blue and purple from within. Justus landed on his knees, hatch shut. Glass around them shattered. The black-rock moon was gone.

  NINETY-EIGHT

  THE SINGING OF birds woke Aíron Veryan from a horrid nightmare. She rolled over in the front seat of the vehicle and yawned. Her legs tucked beneath her were numb, the skin around her eyes sore from crying.

  She turned around and looked into the backseat where Raj Timbur lay on his back. His eyes were open and staring up at her. Their eyes met and his bandaged hand reached out for her. She touched his warm skin and felt a weight tumble from her body. Countless pictures flashed across the space between them. Had it all been a dream?

  Raj tried to talk. His voice croaked and he coughed several times. ‘Agg . . ahem . . . hello.’

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  He sat up slowly and clutched his head, then gazed down at his bandaged chest and arms. Bright daylight shone in through the window, beyond which lay a field of green. A small lake shimmered in the distance.

  ‘I’m . . . I’m not used to the sun,’ he said. ‘They kept me in the dark for as long as I can remember. But I recognise this place.’

  ‘It’s the last place I saw you,’ she said. ‘It’s a little warmer now. And the birds still sing.’

  ‘We could pretend,’ he said. ‘We could imagine nothing has happened, that I’d gone to sleep and woke up with everything like it was.’