“Shield the sensors!” Briilip cursed the saucer’s crew. Once the bafflers were in place the dazzling light diminished to a dull haze. Briilip felt their primary gastric pouch sour when they saw the revealed image. Tyrant had withstood the blast! From between its scaly plates, pulsating light exuded, completely surrounding the monster.
“Tyrant has created its own defensive field,” Ghireen said. “It is utilizing the æmber it has consumed to protect itself.”
Briilip could see that the monster was doing more than just protecting itself. Tyrant was absorbing the energy from Number 647’s attack. It was feeding off the æmber the martian warbeast directed against it! No, more than that. While the Elder watched, the flying abomination circled their creation. The fringe of horns shifted their positions and aimed down at Number 647. From the tip of each horn a lance-like beam of light shot at the plated creature, a hail of lasers that scorched through the cellulose and sent pillars of greasy smoke into the air.
“The fight doesn’t appear as one-sided as you calculated,” Ghireen observed.
Briilip bit down on a retort. “Number 647 isn’t finished,” they stated. “I’ve engineered it to feel neither pain nor fear. It will adjust its tactics and destroy the enemy.”
The martians could see the warbeast’s body tense for a supreme effort. While smoke continued to billow off its scorched armor, Number 647 braced itself for a tremendous leap upwards using its powerful legs. The hail of lasers streaming down from Tyrant abated as its foe sprang at it from the ground. The lunge brought the two colliding together. Number 647’s vicious mandibles and taloned feet latched onto the monster’s serpentine body. Unable to remain airborne with the added weight of its opponent, Tyrant plunged to the ground. The two huge beasts slammed into the desert, a great cloud of red dust exploding into the air.
Once again, the filters of the saucer’s sensor array pierced the obscuring veil to show the martians what was unfolding outside. Number 647 grappled Tyrant and lashed it with its whip-like tails. The stinging nettles crackled with venomous fluids that steamed against the monster’s scaly hide. The huge mandibles ripped and tore, growing slick with Tyrant’s blood.
“Victory,” Briilip boasted, a smile on their face. Then the smile faded. Tyrant was writhing in what the Elder had thought was pain, but which they now saw was a more strategic effort. It was slipping coils of its undulating body free from Number 647’s grasp, then throwing them back to wrap around the warbeast, the suckers along its belly latching each loop of crushing flesh in place against the armor plates so that it was impossible for the enemy to break free.
“Tyrant will crush your organism,” Ghireen warned.
Briilip had no response. At least nothing that wouldn’t expose the fright that now hammered at their confidence. Number 647 wasn’t reaching any vital spot of Tyrant’s anatomy with its claws and mandibles. The monster, meanwhile, was delivering an annihilating force all across the warbeast’s body. The Elder watched hopelessly as the mounting pressure from the constricting coils began to fracture the cellulose plates. Great strips of the fibrous material spilled away from Number 647 as it was crushed in the monster’s grip.
“Mars Lives On,” one of the soldiers in the saucer invoked the Empire’s mantra. Creed, battle-cry and ideal, the martians invoked the words now as a show of defiance. A rejection of the defeat they were witnessing.
Briilip held out the illogical delusion of hope a little longer than the saucer’s crew. When a pulpy slush from ruptured internal organs seeped away from Number 647’s constricted body, even the Elder had to concede that their creation was doomed. Only a sense of obligation to see the very last caused them to order the saucer to stay on station. By the time Tyrant finally released Number 647, the creature had been squeezed to a third of its original size. For a time, the body twitched and quivered, but these were merely its subsidiary neural nodes shutting down. Number 647, the greatest of Briilip’s creations, was dead.
Tyrant slithered back to the crevasse, battered but very much alive. It was too much to dare postulate that the monster’s own injuries might prove fatal. Briilip had to concede to reality. Number 647 had failed, and by its failure so too had all the Elder’s aspirations of designing the perfect organism.
“Return to Central Drome,” Briilip ordered the saucer’s crew. A glance at Ghireen told Briilip nothing of what the other Elder was thinking. After the assurances of success Briilip had made to gain access to precious cavorite reserves, Ghireen would have little problem advancing their own position by elaborating on the failure of Number 647. Briilip’s fall would speed Ghireen’s rise.
“Mars Lives On,” Briilip muttered to themselves, trying to reassure themselves that whatever their own personal disgrace, the Mars Empire’s knowledge would reap some benefit from it.
Briilip sat within their laboratory, staring at the hologram display and trying to concentrate on the chemical formulae they were trying to adjust. Number 647 had been the most remarkable creation to ever be developed at this facility. Even though the warbeast had proven unequal to facing Tyrant, the Elder was operating from the theory that a creation derived from the same biogenetic markers could prove superior. Strong enough to prevail where its predecessor had failed. By doing so, they hoped to increase their value and importance to Mars. Access to better facilities and greater resources so that they could pursue even grander avenues of research. Such was the reward Briilip aspired to once they solved the problem posed by Tyrant.
It was difficult to focus completely on the problem, however. Two cycles had passed without any word from the Prime Director. Briilip had expected some manner of reprimand to be issued already. The longer silence prevailed the more anxious the Elder became. It was an indicator that extra attention was being extended to Number 647’s failure. The more attention they warranted, the more severe Briilip expected their punishment to be. What, precisely, had Ghireen put into their report?
Briilip was still devoting a large measure of their awareness to that question when the hatchway to their lab fanned open and the subject of their speculations walked in. Ghireen came alone, no detachment of martian soldiers followed them. That was at least something to lessen Briilip’s anxiety. Had the decision been rendered to remove them to a reeducation pod, a squad of soldiers would have been sent to enforce the command with ray guns.
“You’re back at work?” Ghireen inquired as they marched to Briilip’s workstation. Briefly they let their gaze sweep across the massive facility and the scores of martian workers attending the processing vats and biomass tanks.
“For as long as I’m allowed to be of service to Mars, it is my duty to perform to my utmost potential,” Briilip said.
Ghireen looked around again, then lowered their voice. “In my capacity as observer I reported to the Prime Director on your field test of Number 647.”
Briilip’s mood instantly darkened. Their hearts slowed to a dull quiver as they braced themself for the decision of their superiors. Reeducation? The consequent reordering of their identity and the inevitable erasure of knowledge was a fate to be dreaded. Even being reassigned to some inconsequential outpost at the edge of Nova Hellas would be preferable.
“I explained in great detail the exacting procedures that culminated in Number 647,” Ghireen said. “I reported the immense promise your experiment exhibited.”
A flicker of hope squirmed in Briilip’s being. “What was the Prime Director’s decision?” the scientist finally asked.
“I prevailed upon the Prime Director to extend your contract and provide resources for further research.” Ghireen nodded. “The development of your line of study shows enormous potential.”
Briilip stirred from the dejection that had gripped them only a moment before. “Number 647 was the highest performing organism to be tested at Zyypzyar Primary. I am convinced that the design can be furthered and improved upon.”
Briilip’s fingers flew across the controls of their workstation. The hologram shifted i
ts display to afford Ghireen a glimpse of the new theories Briilip was exploring. “Number 647 was defeated because the organism was too rigid. This new design will not have that weakness.”
A confident smile showed on Briilip’s face as the display changed once again and showed the full design they were working on. “Let Tyrant try to squeeze this in its coils! Number 648 will use the monster’s own tactics against it!
“This time there will be no question of victory!” Briilip boasted.
The rumbling roar echoed across the dry wastes of Anomaly Epsilon 54. This time the sound appeared to have no source, but rather erupted from thin air to cry its challenge to the barren desert. The pulsating light that shone from the depths of the crevasse flickered and winked out. From the pit an answering rumble sounded, so similar in cadence it might have been an echo of the first.
Up from the crevasse rose the serpentine mass of Tyrant. The monster’s compound eyes gleamed in the sun as it stared across the landscape. A hiss of confusion rasped across its fangs when it found no source for the roar it had sensed. Instead of taking wing, it slithered out over the sands. From the sides of its canine muzzle, wriggling tentacles extruded and tasted the air for the presence of an enemy.
Too late did Tyrant detect its adversary. Hidden by camouflaging chromatophores, an abominable bulk heaved across the sands and threw itself upon the monster. The shapeless mass engulfed the gigantic worm-serpent, its tremendous weight bearing its enemy to the ground. As Tyrant struggled to free itself, Number 648 ceased to mask its presence and stopped producing the secretions that hid it.
Briilip’s new creation was far different from its predecessor. The Elder had gone back to the very foundations of organic structure in designing the warbeast. The fixed rigidity of Number 647’s armored frame was now replaced by an amorphous, pulpy essence. A formless flood of physical matter like a living mudslide. Its body, without the action of the chromatophores, was a colorless bulk, pale and leathery in appearance. Sensory nodes, limbs and bio-weapons all shifted and squirmed about the undulating muck, rearranging themselves to better suit the demands of the moment.
The Elder observed from his cloaked saucer the reaction of Tyrant as it strove to free itself from the smothering mass of Number 648. Briilip grinned at the monster’s desperate efforts. “No, this time it is you who will be confounded,” they gloated. “I’ve seen you in action now and the old tricks will no longer save you.”
As they spoke, Briilip watched Tyrant throw its coils around Number 648. The monster tried to constrict and crush the warbeast, but as the pressure mounted, so did the syrupy mass ooze out from between the scaly folds. Number 648 seeped through Tyrant’s grip and spread itself even wider that it might more quickly entrap and suffocate the enemy.
Tyrant’s horns blazed with energy and sent lasers shearing through Number 648. The damage was inconsequential, like stabbing a pool of water. Unfazed, the martian warbeast sent waves of itself surging up over the monster’s head.
Light flickered from between Tyrant’s scales as Number 648 smothered it. Briilip noted the effect with some amusement. “Your protective field won’t help you now,” they said. The Elder thought Tyrant must be growing desperate to expend its waning vitality on such an empty gesture.
The next moment a flutter of alarm rushed through Briilip’s nerves. The light Tyrant was exuding was different from the forcefield it had used to absorb Number 647’s æmber beam. Concern in the martian’s brain grew when the intensity of the glow increased. Something was happening that Briilip hadn’t seen before.
Number 648 was now completely engulfing Tyrant. Were it not for the glow the monster was exuding, it would have been completely obscured beneath the pallid mass. That inner light, however, was shining through like an x-ray. The warbeast writhed, shifting its limbs around to tighten its hold on Tyrant in an effort to smother the growing light.
Briilip knew the glow was reaching a critical stage. The discharge, however, was more devastating than the Elder could have imagined. A pulse of gargantuan magnitude throbbed outwards from Tyrant’s body with annihilating intensity. Number 648, completely surrounding the monster, was ripped apart by the tide of destruction. Fragments of its shapeless bulk were hurled in every direction, smoke billowing off the charred protoplasm of its flesh.
Tyrant lurched upwards, a victorious roar bellowing from its jaws. The monster slithered across the ragged debris of Number 648 and withdrew back into the crevasse. Briilip waited until its forked tail vanished from sight before snarling a command to the saucer’s crew.
“Return to Central Drome.”
“Your hypothesis to bypass Tyrant’s tactics was a clever one. You couldn’t anticipate that the monster had other powers it could use against Number 648.” The words of encouragement came from Ghireen. The Elder stood beside Briilip at the latter’s workstation. All around them the shorter worker caste of martians tried to look busy, diligently shifting materials across the laboratory. In truth there wasn’t any work for them, not until the Elder settled upon a new course of research, but none wanted to risk an accusation of disloyalty by looking idle.
“It was a failure,” Briilip groaned. “Number 648 showed such promise, but Tyrant eliminated it even more completely than it did Number 647.” They gave Ghireen a grateful nod. “Were it not for your intercession with the Prime Director, I should certainly have been reprimanded for failing in my duty to Mars.”
“There has been no dereliction of duty,” Ghireen said, their tone almost scolding. “You have put every mental effort into your experiments and committed all the resources at your disposal. To give everything for Mars is all any of us can do.”
“Yet I have failed to kill Tyrant. The organisms I’ve created are dead while the monster still lives.” Briilip waved their hands in a hopeless gesture. “I should almost welcome being deployed to a frontier outpost to study the growth of red weed in heavy gravity environments.”
“That would be a mis-use of your abilities,” Ghireen told Briilip. “You are obligated to do your utmost for Mars. Your expertise is in bioengineering and in that function you’re most valuable to the Empire. Even if you can’t see the importance of what you’re doing.”
Briilip rallied to Ghireen’s words. “Mars Lives On,” they said, determination in their voice. “The Empire wouldn’t be where it is today if not for the unwavering loyalty of brilliant minds. You’re right, Ghireen, I have already proven my usefulness. Number 647 was far beyond anything created in any other laboratory. Number 648 exceeded it in most every way.”
“Now you must devote yourself to pushing even further with your research,” Ghireen prodded. “Who else is there with the genius to finally destroy Tyrant?”
Briilip nodded. Their fingers raced across the buttons on the workstation’s console. The hologram shifted, altering its appearance. Now in addition to genetic codes and controlled mutation designs there appeared technical schematics.
“My error with Number 648 was in trying to bypass Tyrant’s behavior patterns,” Briilip said. “I tried to sneak around the monster’s defenses. Since that effort failed, the solution must lie in creating a warbeast strong enough to withstand whatever Tyrant can throw at it.”
Ghireen peered closely at the information flashing across the hologram. “You seem to already have a new design theory. This looks like a radical departure from what you’ve tried before.” They gave Briilip a cautious look. “This isn’t purely bioengineering.”
“Science can allow no dogmatic scruples,” Briilip returned, confidence beaming from their face. “To serve Mars we must follow our research wherever it leads, even if that means a fusion of disciplines.”
“Do you think this will be able to defeat Tyrant?” Ghireen wondered.
Briilip grinned. “When next I return from Anomaly Epsilon 54, there will be no cause for you to offer excuses for me to the Prime Director. Tyrant will be dead and the supremacy of my design proven beyond all inquiry.
“Number
649 will be the perfect organism.”
Starlight cast a somber veil across Anomaly Epsilon 54, transforming the region into a skein of scarlet shadows and black enigmas. Briilip had a difficult time detecting the advance of Number 649, even with its saucer’s sensors telling the Elder where to look. There was only the faint distortion of motion to betray the warbeast’s presence.
Number 649 drew the best features of its predecessors and melded them to a new cyborg design. Among those features was an ooze-like epidermis with light-bending chromatophores. Briilip had implemented a system of tiny perforations throughout the cobalt plates that encased the cyborg’s body. Through these microscopic holes, the creature could extrude its gelid epidermis and coat its body with a camouflaged exterior. The Elder would have preferred a stealth device, but they knew they could never appropriate enough precious cavorite to power both the warbeast and the flying saucer. Priority demanded concessions and in this case a living epidermis proved a feasible workaround.
The prismatic glow shone from the depths of the crevasse. Briilip knew Tyrant was near. As before, they issued the command for Number 649 to lure the enemy out with a challenging roar. The serpentine monster wasn’t long in appearing, nor did it allow the absence of a visible threat to keep it on the ground. The wings unfolded and the huge beast quickly rose into the sky. Its jaws opened in a menacing hiss as it circled the area.
“Number 649,” Briilip said into their cyborg’s audio command control, “beat Tyrant to death.” The addition of vocal command response was another benefit of the partially mechanical design.
The Elder grinned as the warbeast responded. The cloaking epidermis was disrupted as panels opened up along its sides. From each hatch, a spurt of flame blazed into the night. The flashes drew Tyrant’s attention and it turned towards the disturbance. The energy field it had used before erupted all around its body, but Briilip’s design took this defense into account. The missiles Number 649 launched were engineered to pierce the forcefield without feeding any æmber back into the monster. The projectiles, sharp flechettes of tri-folded steel, sliced through the bubble of energy and stabbed into Tyrant’s body. Its head reared back in a howl of pain.
Tales From the Crucible Page 20
