The histories are unclear on how the Chui clan came to take possession of the fortress in the first place. Legend has it that the clan’s Primarch, Chui1 and the Clan Simba Primarch, Sibuor Mager, had a fierce rivalry that had lasted their entire lifetime. It is said that on one cold storm-swept night, Sibuor had dared Chui1 to a race to see who could climb the mountain the fastest. They started on opposite sides, unarmoured and unclothed, their weapon implants disabled. And then completely at the mercy of nature, they swarmed up the mountainside, past freezing meadows, treacherous bogs, frigid forests filled with all manner of mutant creatures, giant glaciers and unceasing rain. They both came close to death half a dozen times, but eventually it was Chui1 who got to the top first. Frozen and half dead, he crawled to the top of the mountain and discovered the fortress. With his dying breath he beseeched the massive structure to grant him access and it heard his desperate plea and took him into itself, leaving Sibuor to batter himself to death in a rage against its impassive walls. And thereafter it had remained permanently closed to anyone not of Chui1’s genetic lineage.
Other stories, however, say that Chui1, with the stealth and cunning of his kind, had taken the fortress by deception and slaughtered its original inhabitants, taking it for his own. Some religious fanatics in their ecstatic trances had even been heard to say that the Chui clan had been given stewardship of the fortress by Man to safeguard until His triumphant return.
Of course, no one can verify the truth of any of these legends. What is not in doubt is that the Chui clan has ruled the fortress unchallenged for almost twenty thousand years. And in all that time, no other clan has set foot in the mountain fastness.
Within the fortress, Chui1, the supreme patriarch and head of Clan Chui, sits on his raised throne brooding at a large view screen set into the featureless wall before him. The throne is soft and padded with a grey material of unknown origin. It is set into the floor before a curved bank of massive viewscreens. Chui1’s ebony face is impassive. Still, it is clear that what he is watching on the screen troubles him. He sighs, snaps off the view screen and rises to his feet, the throne harness automatically retreating. He has no idea why a throne needs a harness; but then again even after twenty thousand years, there is so much about the fortress that is inexplicable to Clan Chui.
Silently he pads down to the stairs and stands before the northern wall of his throne room. A mental command, and the wall ghosts into transparency, revealing the barren windswept mountain outside. He studies the view, revelling in the sheer cold power of the snowstorm raging on the mountaintop below. Immense, frigid, relentless, like the power that lies coiled within him. The muted pop of an unburrowing announces the arrival of his youngest son. Chui1, like millions of disappointed fathers before him, purses his lips.
“Rise,” he says without turning. Behind him Chui5 gets off his knee and stands at ease.
“It is done father.”
“In your usual messy way, no doubt?”
“Well, perhaps they’ll think an army of angry Achutch’s done it.”
The silence stretches and grows frigid. Chui5 winces; his father is not a humorous man. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.
I will just wait patiently.
He has been trained since birth. He can stand at ease without making a sound for days on end. Unlike the rest of his clan, it doesn’t come easily to him though. Sweat trickles silently down his back. His armour chafes and itches. He studies his father’s back. Physically, Chui1 is not large or imposing. But an air of menace shrouds him like a cloak. One does not become the patriarch of one of the most powerful clans in the Cracked Realm by being weak. Finally, Chui1 turns to face his huge son.
“Simba clan has fallen.”
Chui5 is rocked by the news. Simba clan fallen? How? Why? At who’s claws? None of this shows on his face.
Chui1 is pleased at his son’s self-control. He continues in his sparse voice. “Fisi Clan, after being faithful vassals for over a thousand years, has turned on the Simbas. The Simba clan patriarch is dead. His wives are dead. All his children are dead. His warriors are broken and declawed. Simba Rock has been burned to the ground. Simba clan is finished.”
Chui5’s thoughts are whirling. Simba clan had been Supreme Clan for over 5000 years. Even Chui Clan paid them fealty, nominal though it was at best. The Simbas had produced some good kings, some bad kings and some truly disastrous kings. But in the minds of the beings of the Cracked Realm, they had always been kings. Magere, the current clan head, always strikes Chui5 as fairly astute in addition to being a mighty warrior. How had the Fisis laid him low? Surely they couldn’t have done it without help. He looks suspiciously at his father.
“I had nothing to do with it,” Chui1 says evenly. “But I did see it coming and made certain…preparations. In any case, Fisi Wahoo is now supreme lord over the Cracked Realm. His coronation is tomorrow in New Machakos. All clan heads have been invited to attend.”
In all the five centuries which Simba Clan had ruled, not once had Chui clan sent a Patriarch to the coronation. They always sent a proxy. Over the years, some had inevitably come to sticky ends. The ruling clan had never given up on cracking the secret to the Fortress. Chui5 sees with horrible clarity where this conversation is going.
“You want me to be your proxy don’t you?”
“Why would I choose you?” Chui1 asks conversationally.
Chui5 doesn’t hesitate. “Because I am expendable, because it will give you an excuse to get rid of an enduring source of embarrassment.” His father’s expression doesn’t change, but Chui5 senses his disappointment like a cold wind against his face.
“Stop thinking like a petulant child. I am not going to send you to New Machakos. I am sending your brother.”
Chui5 is rocked with surprise. “Which of my brothers?” he blurts, then at once goes on his knees. “I am sorry my liege. It is not my place to question you.”
Chui1 snorts in annoyance. “Get off your knees and use your brain for once. What does the fall of Simba Clan mean to us?”
Chui5’s mind races, searching for an answer. What web is the old spider spinning?
With the fall of Simba clan there would be instability. Fisi Wahoo’s grubby hands would not be secure on the golden stool of power yet. He would be consolidating, wooing allies, cementing his claim to the throne. Where would Chui Clan stand? Traditionally they had stayed out of clan politics, offering their lethal services to whoever could afford their exorbitant rates. But it had been centuries since a clan had been overthrown. Not since the mad rule of the Kobe’s had a ruling clan fallen.
The aftermath of that particular disaster had been terrible. The Kobe clan’s gene seed was ripped from their Matriarch and destroyed and the Kobes were obliterated as a clan. They never recovered from that catastrophe, which was why, centuries later, they still lived on the fringes, close to extinction.
Chui5’s cybernetically enhanced mind freezes. The gene seed!
“Father, did Fisi Wahoo recover the Simba clan gene seed?”
His father smiles thinly. “You do have a brain after all. No he didn’t.”
Chui1 gestures at the view screen and it winks into life. The picture is grainy, characteristic of an mk2 reconnaissance Ndege’s night vision recording. There is a building on fire. With a start, Chui5 realises that it’s Simba rock. The image zooms in. There are armoured Fisis slaughtering Simba cubs. Chui5 recognises Fisi Wahoo from his night black armour. The Ndege accelerates and turns sharply and the picture blurs. When the picture steadies again, Chui5 can see Sibuor Mager, Patriarch of Simba clan and supreme king of the Cracked Realm. He is on the balcony of the highest tower of Simba rock. The door behind him appears to be barricaded. There is a gray mass the size and shape of a coconut in his hand. And before him there is young Simba lying on a couch, apparently unconscious
His daughter?
Sibuor Mager studies the gene seed in his hand for a minute and then im
plants it into the chest cavity of the Simba. He finishes and rouses her. She appears groggy but is quickly on her feet. They embrace. Just then the door behind them bursts open in a blinding flash of actinic light. The Simbas turn in unison to face it, ua claws at their full extent. Three Fisis emerge onto the balcony. Three more Fisis join them and then three more. Chui5 can’t hear what they are saying because the recording has no audio, but their body language implies a conversation.
Then, without warning, the Fisis open up with their main canons. The action is swift and brutal. The Simbas fight well but there are just too many Fisis. The sheer energy pouring from the firefight temporarily blinds the camera. When the picture clears, the Fisis are all dead.
Sibuor appears badly wounded and so does his daughter. She is having an argument with her father. He pushes her towards the edge of the balcony. She resists but he pushes her again, much harder this time, before collapsing. She stumbles against the railing. Just then, Fisi Wahoo, Fisi Twi and Fisi Tri appear on the balcony.
They are always three.
Sibuor screams at his daughter as the Fisis bring their canons online and aim them
at the Simbas. She hesitates and then resolution shows in the set of her shoulders as she turns to face the yawning chasm beyond the railing. Then she jumps. The Fisis run towards the edge, but she is gone. Her body tumbles into the Mara River 700 feet below and disappears. The Fisis turn towards the wounded Sibuor. They retract their canons and extrude their combat fangs instead. As they advance on Sibuor, the recording goes dark.
Chui5 is silent for a long moment. The recording has left him shaken. His father studies him with shrewd eyes. Finally, Chui5 speaks.
“You want me to find her.”
Chui1 walks back to the window and studies the storm outside. “My son, you are without grace, finesse or precision. And you are no good at finding things. I have already located our young princess. She is currently in the Cursed Desert in the company of an untrustworthy Sungura and an insane Kobe.”
Chui5 is now thoroughly confused.
“What I do want you to do,” his father says in his ever-even voice, “is to befriend her, protect her and keep her safe and away from here until I summon you.”
Chui5 blinks. “And her companions?”
Chui1 turns to face his son. His eyes are as cold as the storm outside. “I thought that would be obvious. Kill them both.”
EPILOGUE
“So what are we going to do with our little princess here?” Sungura gestures at Shibuor who is bobbing gently on the antigrav disc Mzee Kobe is towing behind him.
Kobe turns his massive head to regard Sungura. “We will protect her.”
“Protect her? From what? Those Achutch? I doubt they will be back after that drubbing we just gave them. Besides, she is in stasis now. All we need to do is to deliver her to her father, pick up a well-deserved reward and…oh oh oh wait a minute.” Kaka Sungura stops so suddenly that Kobe almost runs into him.
“Mzee,” Sungura continues, slowly. “What is a Simba princess doing out in the Cursed Desert, alone and wounded to boot? Why would the Achutch dare attack a royal princess? Where are her bodyguards? Her clan mates? Simbas never walk alone.” Sungura’s mind races. “Unless…”
“Unless clan Simba has fallen,” A voice said behind them.
Sungura turns in an instant, Mzee Kobe half a second later. The speaker has appeared suddenly and inexplicably behind them. He is covered in chameoweave armour, which makes him look as if he is winking in and out of existence. Crossed on his back are a war hammer and a vibrAx. Death drips from him in oily black droplets.
“Fuck me sideways! Is that…,” Sungura swallows hard. “Is that a Burrower? Kobe is already in combat mode, his main canon centred on the figure before them, carpal blades unsheathed.
“Now, now gentlemen I am only here for the princess. There is no need for you two to die here today.” The figure’s voice is oddly muffled, as if coming through wads of cloth. Sungura glances nervously at Kobe. “Mzee should we…”
“We fight.” Kobe says implacably.
“I was afraid you would say that,” the figure says.
Sungura is sweating despite his autocooler.
Chui5 unlimbers his war hammer. “I have never killed a Kobe before. And I really don’t want this to be the day that I start. Won’t you gentlemen reconsider?”
The hum of Kobe’s main canon charging is his only reply.
“Ah well, you can’t say I didn’t try.” He draws his vibrAx
“Shit Kobe, how the hell did you get us into this mess?” Sungura asks wearily. But even as he speaks, he is activating a long dormant subroutine in his neural matrix. The subroutine activates a Psi force gland deep in his bounders and they begin to vibrate slowly at first but then faster and faster. Chui 5 steps towards them.
“Sorry Burrower but today isn’t the day you kill a Kobe,” Sungura grins. “Not even a mad, bad one like Mzee. Hold on Kobe.”
At exactly 5700 vibrations a second, the Psi gland drips a tiny bit of antimatter into his bounders. Instead of exploding, the unstable compound tears a rift in the time space continuum. There is an almighty bang and Chui5 is thrown back ten feet. He lands painfully on his kneepads. He slowly gets to his feet, small pebbles from the explosion pinging off his armour as he stares at the slagged circle of sand that had moment before contained three living beings. But Sungura, Kobe and the unconscious Shibour are just… gone. Chui5 sighs and stows his weapons.
Father would be most displeased.
THE SATELLITE CHARMER
MAME BOUGOUMA DIENE
“Can you see it?!”
Abdou was an idiot. Of course Ibrahima could see it. Everybody within five hundred kilometers could see it: a beam of blood red violence crashing from the sky, grinding into the soil with the force of a finger crushing an ant. Ibrahima had been told that ants were the strongest creatures in the world, capable of carrying a hundred times their weight, yet his pinky could kill them easily.
Standing on the cliffs overlooking the old natural preserve of Niokolokoba, looking down at the expanse of lush grasslands spurred by the summer rains, Ibrahima could see the dust left behind by the stampeding animals eager for shelter before the darkened clouds unleashed a torrent. He could taste the dampness in the air, his eyes watering with the wind. He could hear the rumble in the clouds; but above all, he could feel the beam.
The static in the winds changed when it broke through the clouds, carrying it forward with the hungry anticipation of a carrion bird. Every muscle in his body contracted, and somewhere, deep in his mind, something opened up. It always does. Ibrahima had wanted to ask others if they felt the same, but for some reason he had never voiced it. Perhaps he didn’t want to sound like Abdou, pointing at the obvious if everybody felt it too. Perhaps he feared the questions he would be asked if no one else felt it as he did.
The beam was death: he knew that; but to him it was life, in a way he couldn’t quite understand. His senses heightened when it dropped, turning the clouds a deep red, every action anticipated by just a fraction. The future was not so much ahead of him, but already waiting for him to reach out and touch, if only he could break out of his body. Sometimes it almost felt like he could; that if he took a step forward and over the cliff to certain death he wouldn’t fall. His body would stay behind while he floated ahead, a spirit on the charged air, in oneness with his ancestors. In oneness with the world. An infinity of possibilities. But he didn’t dare. Instead he said:
“Yeah.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
It was hard not to punch Abdou most of the time. The boy had no sense. He could stand in front of a charging lion and admire the beast’s run, commenting on the richness of its mane. He could walk into a swarm of mosquitoes without a thought for malaria, drawn excitedly to the buzzing of the mosquitoes. He wasn’t exactly stupid, but he was an idiot.
“Sure,” Ibrahima responded.
“Until you’re standing right under it.”
Abdou shrugged. “That’s not gonna happen. I asked my dad about it. The Caliph only allows ChinaCorp to mine the Faso Subdivision, and the Caliphate gets paid for it. A lot.”
Ibrahima looked at him, and then away, back at the beam. Perhaps the Caliphate did get paid in return; perhaps the Caliph was sitting on velvet cushions drinking water teased from honey and dew. But just as the tingling in his veins made him feel like he owned the world, he knew something more sinister was at play.
“Your dad is a wise man, Abdou. But we’re citizens of the Massina Sokoto Caliphate too. Have you seen any of that money here? I haven’t.”
Abdou leaned back, drew in a thick gob of spit, and threw his body forward, launching it over the cliff and into the valley below.
“You know what your problem is, Ibrahima?”
“I have way more than one.”
“You always think you know better.”
“I don’t see how that’s a problem.”
“See? Right there. That’s what I’m talking about.”
“You talk too much, Abdou. Maybe you should try thinking more.”
“To hell with you,” Abdou retorted, glaring at Ibrahima. “I’m heading home.” Ibrahima looked at him. For an instant he saw his friend standing in front of
him, wearing different clothes, terror in his eyes, his body disintegrating into shreds of skin and bone, trying to scream for help. And then it was gone.
Abdou noticed Ibrahima’s drift. “What? Wanna say something smart ass?” Ibrahima shook his head. “No man, no. Get home safe, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Right…” Abdou murmured, walking away.
Ibrahima turned back to the beam and saw the powerful force snapping shut with the thump of a bass line, pulling back into the sky and tearing out a little bit of his soul with it. For a moment he saw space. He saw stars. He saw an expanse so wide it swallowed him whole. Then the sky was dark again. Twilight vanished over the horizon.
Dominion Page 23
