by Bob Mayer
“Tom-man,” one of the Shakur called out. “There is something among the trees.”
“Is it true Shakur mate with sheep?” Bren asked Tom-man. “Except the sheep are behind?”
Tom-man’s face flushed with anger and he brought her sword up for a strike. Bren closed her eyes tight as she caught a glimpse of something moving fast behind the Shakur.
The air rippled and Tom-man and the other four surviving Shakur dropped to ground. Bren gasped and her head drooped. She moaned in pain for several moments, then gathered herself. She grabbed her sword and angled it to cut the rope securing her arms.
“Bravo!” Arcturus walked from the concealment of the forest, staff in hand.
There was no sign of the wolfram she’d spotted coming this way.
“For a moment,” Arcturus said, “we thought you might be in trouble.” He checked one of the Shakur. “Ah. Not dead. How long do they stay unconscious?”
Bren put the tip of the sword into the knot and pressed, easily cutting the rope. Then she did the other one. “Long enough.” She stood, her head pounding with pain. “I don’t know who or what you really are and why you observe others getting ambushed.” Bren picked up her dagger. “But the most likely answer is you are with them.” She slit the closest Shakur’s throat.
“What are you doing?” Arcturus asked.
“Enemies are best not left alive,” Bren said as she cut a second throat. “Anything else is not just foolish, but stupid.” She cut Tom-man’s throat. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Why would what I desire mean anything to you?” Arcturus asked. The spurt of blood from the mercenary leader’s throat landed a few inches from his worn and dirty boots. “Where did you get that knife?”
Bren dispatched the fourth and fifth Shakur. “You followed me.”
“Obviously.”
“Where is your beast?”
“You knew we were about to help you, did you not? One of the Shakur called out. Why did you not wait for our assistance?”
“I’d have been dead before your beast arrived.” Bren wiped her blade clean on the last Shakur’s cloak and didn’t answer.
“You underestimate Isengrim,” Arcturus said. “You have blood on your face. It should have been obvious to you that they would leave an ambush on their back trail. Another reason I suggested a different path to Wormehill Tower.”
“Why are you certain they’re going to Wormehill? It’s long empty. Why would they stop there and not go all the way to Atlantis?”
“You’ve asked that and mentioned that.” Arcturus nodded. “Wormehill is one hundred and twelve years abandoned. You know that better than almost anyone since you were part of the force that stormed the tower and forced the Airlia’s forces to abandon it.”
Bren was lifting her shirt to check the wound from the arrow, but she froze. “You speak nonsense.”
“No,” Arcturus said. “That is you. You must decide whether you will be honest with me and spare me negotiating your lies as to your true nature.”
“You are mad,” Bren said. “No one could still be alive who was in that battle.” She grimaced as her fingers probed the wound.
“I can help with that,” Arcturus said. “I have some skill in the healing arts.” He shrugged off his pack and rummaged through. “How did you knock these men out?”
“I don’t know what happened,” Bren said.
“Five fall to the ground and you do not at an opportune moment saving your life. And you claim ignorance? I may be old but I am not a fool.” He reached out. “May I?”
Bren nodded. Arcturus lifted her shirt, exposing the wound. “Ah, just a scratch. But I have no doubt Shakur arrows and blades are anything but clean.” He pulled a small clay jar out of his pack, dipping his fingers in and smearing a clear gel on the wound. “You should not become ill.”
“What is that?”
“Something to prevent infection. And reduce pain. I’m afraid it will not help with the pain in your head.” He indicated her face. “It costs, doesn’t it?”
“What do you—” Bren felt the trickle of blood from her nose and wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“There is a price to be paid for all power, is there not?”
“You speak strangely, old man.”
Arcturus shouldered his pack. “I was there. At Wormehill Tower. Nearby. I watched as you led the forlorn hope into the blasted gates. Very impressive.” He frowned. “Except, I believe you were killed during the assault and Markus had to find your body and remove your ka and take it. It is smart the two of you are rarely together when in harm’s way.”
“No one is alive who was there,” Bren repeated. “They cannot be so many years later. Only the Airlia are immortal. Have you partaken of the grail? That is the only way a human could live that long.”
“Ah, the grail. Many pray to it more than they do the Airlia. Eternal life. But nothing lives forever. Not even the Airlia. The promise is an excellent inducement to generate worship and obedience. Even if none have ever seen it granted. Isn’t it odd to worship on the basis of hope without supporting evidence? Irrational, is it not?”
“The wedjat say that is the basis of faith,” Bren said.
“Of course, they say that.” Arcturus gestured at her with his staff. “We are wasting time with your lies. Sum of the truths so far: Your sword and dagger are not of this world. Your companion is not in that shell of inanimate flesh left behind, but in a ka that was taken from his body, which he,” he gestured at Tom-man, “confirmed. You were at the storming of Wormehill Tower but since you were killed, you have no memories of it. I’m sure Markus filled you in on what happened, from his vantage point. Do my words not add to accurate knowledge of you?”
“More than I have of you,” Bren said. “Who exactly are you?”
“Time is wasting. Do you not wish to get to the Tower before the others?”
Bren hesitated.
“Here is something you’ve perhaps not thought of,” Arcturus said. “Why did the wargs not destroy the ka instead of taking it? That would have brought the true death to Markus.”
“I’ve thought of it,” Bren admitted.
“Good,” Arcturus said. “Because the Airlia can download him into the guardian and thus they will own him, his essence, forever. What a horrible fate that would be. And they will learn all he knows, including where your ship is hidden and everything about you. You must get the ka before it is brought to Atlantis and given to the Airlia. And to do that, you must arrive at Wormehill because that is where what the people of Atlantis call a sky-chariot will rendezvous with them to take the ka and the sword on the last leg of the journey.”
A muscle twitched on Bren’s face. “Show me these ancient paths.”
“Very well. We will run, resting only five minutes every hour. In those five-minute breaks, you will tell me how you came to this world, Bren, not of this planet. You will tell me where you came from. I have waited many years to hear your tale. Ever since you and Markus first landed and hid your ship over ten thousand years ago. Because I have been on this planet since long before that.”
And then he was gone, running.
Bren remained standing in shock for several moments, then belatedly took off after the old man.
THE ANCIENT ENEMY
AIRLIA ORION FLEET HEADQUARTERS
Most remember nothing of deep sleep. They are awake and aware one moment, then they are coming back to consciousness after however many days, months, years or centuries.
Kray was not one of the most.
He dreamed, he remembered. His mind spent the years since being given up in the Tally and placed on board the Airlia spaceship both comforted and saddened in those memories. Images of home, and not just images, but the smell, the feel, they were all real to him. Fresh dirt in his hands as he checked the soil before planting. The rough wooden handle of the plow as he followed the oxen, producing furrows in the narrow strip of fertile river bottom land that had been in his family
as long as anyone could remember. His dog, with a trace of wolfram in his genes, lying at his side as he went to bed each night.
Kray’s name was now written in the Book of All-Life on the mantel along with all who had passed before. Written even before he has passed, because once he was chosen by the elders for the Tally, he was beyond this life to everyone.
He remembered the last time he’d hugged his mother. He recalled the last vision of Drusa, the girl he’d hoped one day to marry, standing on the edge of the Lion’s Road, waving at him and other Tallied. She’d had a sad smile, as he left with the other Tallied to the north on the journey to Atlantis. They carried heavy loads of tribute, both food and others material as assayed as part of the Tally by the wedjat.
He remembered the night before that last day, when Drusa came to him and they spent the dark hours together in the middle of a freshly plowed field, worshiping and reveling in All-Life together. That was the memory he went to most often.
There was no resentment at the elders for choosing him. Some said the process wasn’t random as the elders claimed; that those with enough wealth could have their sons and daughters exempted, but Kray didn’t believe that. Perhaps in other places, but not in their village. Who would do such a thing, especially among those who lived in the midst of All-Life? In the Book of All-Life on the mantel were four other underlined names over the many generations of his family who’d been Tallied.
It is what it is.
Was.
He remembered reaching the space field near Atlantis, outside Seventh wall and staring in awe at the Citadel-Tower he’d heard tales of, but could never have imagined the reality. As was his people’s way, he went along, kneeling with the others as wedjats said prayers over them, the words meaning nothing to him.
He’d hoped to see an Airlia but been disappointed. Not in the way many of the others, some of whom had held out hope that the Grail, as vaguely promised, might be brought out and some blessed. More in curiosity about what these other beings looked like; how wide the spectrum of All-Life was.
He remembered the massive black spaceship landing on the field, the ramp opening and he and the thousands of others shuffling aboard. Lying down on a narrow shelf with just inches to the bottom of the shelf above. A machine coming along, swiftly placing leads on his body and head. Moving on to the next Tallied.
Those were his last memories of consciousness before the cargo hold was sealed and deep sleep induced. There were other things in his mind. Things he hadn’t known upon entering the ship but were there now although he didn’t understand. The image of a short power spear that was a weapon and how to fire it; a concept which repulsed Kray. How to don an armored suit and seal it. How to buckle into a harness that was suspended from lines that crisscrossed all around. How did he know these things he’d never done or experienced? How had they gotten into his brain amidst the memories?
An Airlia scientist could have explained it to him. How his deep sleep was done on the inexpensive in terms of resources and came with a six percent failure rate. How the leads to his brain didn’t supply enough to keep the brain from being active because there was a need to put other things in there, like how to fire a weapon and don protective armor. All that was necessary to be a rudimentary foot soldier for the alien race. The leads to the body kept muscles stimulated enough to prevent atrophy. Some of those also failed and in the long sleep, bodies occasionally spasmed, rattling in their shelf, usually to the death.
All the remembering faded as consciousness seeped back into his brain. Kray had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. He was lying on the same shelf, but not in the ship. The entire section had been moved into a large, open space. There were similar sections as far as he could see inside a massive building. He acted on the last impulse sent into his brain. He removed the leads from head and body; then slid out. Every movement was awkward as his mind recalled his body. He put on the red protective armor that he somehow knew was his, lying next to his shelf. There was a heavy pack on the back, integrated into the suit.
He automatically knew what to do next. He followed the others to an open area and stood, toes of the suit on long lines painted onto the floor. He noticed that only one out of every thousand wore red suits like his. The rest wore black. The others in red had the same three-foot-long, two-foot wide, eighteen-inch-deep case on their backs while those in black only had the armor.
Kray waited there. And remembered Drusa. He smiled and whispered thanks to All-Life for having given him the blessing and joy of her, if only for a short while. And thanks for being able to remember. There was a blessing in all things, even this strange place.
*****
An Empire can retreat only so long before making a stand. There were critical places where a retreat would collapse the defense of an entire sector of space, exposing billions to reaping by the Swarm.
This star system, home to Orion Fleet Headquarters, was one of those places.
The Airlia had tried to defeat a Swarm Battle Core numerous times over the millennia and the results were almost always disastrous defeats. When enough motherships and their attendant battle talons were marshalled, the best they’d been able to achieve on three occasions was to cause enough damage to the invading Core that it had retreated, going back into FTLT, faster-than-light-transit. These were pale victories given the cost. Standard policy had become to give way, to abandon planets and solar systems to the Swarm. Entire populations that could not be evacuated in time were stricken from the roles. Each planet in the Empire had an emergency evacuation plan with every citizen given a priority level. Rarely was there enough time once a Battle Core came out of FTLT to get more than the top three or four priorities evacuated.
In this system, the Sentinel warning satellites picked up the incoming Core the moment it transitioned out of FTLT. This was outside the heliosphere of the solar system where the Orion Fleet Base was headquartered. Stealth and surprise were not a forte of the Swarm. It didn’t need to be.
The Headquarters was located on the second planet, the only one within the habitable zone. The decision had been made to fight, rather than flee, given the importance of the base to this sector of the Empire’s domain and the presence of a special addition to the system’s defense: Teardrop.
The Fleet commander did wonder, in her less certain moments, whether the defense was really to save the planet or to test Teardrop, regardless of cost. The program had been in development for thousands of years and emplaced at sixteen Fleet bases in the Empire.
None had been attacked.
Until now.
*****
Kray stood shoulder to shoulder with tens of thousands of Tallied. The voice sounded funny through the helmet.
“Your armor will protect you.” A high-pitched Airlia sing-songed out of the speakers above the heads of humans crowded in the ready ramps located in forty-five similar staging areas on the moon’s surface. Not all had survived resuscitation and thousands of bodies lay inert on their shelves. Kray had passed dozens on his way to the ready line. He’d hurriedly said a short blessing to All-Life for each.
Kray was a big man, a few inches over six feet, with broad shoulders. His skin was charcoal colored. The armor was tight but functional. However, he did not count on it to protect him. He was part of All-Life and that was his armor.
“Once your helmet is activated you will be able to breath for three hours in your armor,” the Airlia informed them. “Your spear power weapons are in the Teardrops, attached to your harnesses. You have been imprinted how to secure your body in the harness and how to use the weapons. If you do not secure the harness properly you will die in transit to the enemy. You have been imprinted in the rudiments of battle. Your weapons will kill your enemy. The enemy of all living beings. The Ancient Enemy. The Swarm. This is what they look like.”
A holographic image appeared above in all the ready ramps. A gray orb, four feet in diameter, numerous eyes evenly spaced around the body. Between the eyes were a dozen knobs
from which tentacles extended. The ‘arms’ were thin, an inch in diameter and ranging in length from four to eight feet. At the end of each tentacle were from three to six fingers. Despite his fading stupor, Kray stared at it in fascination, while almost all others around him recoiled in horror. All-Life was wonderful in its infinite spectrum as written in the Book.
The voice continued. “The Swarm has a thick skeleton surrounding the body, which contains mostly brain. Your weapons will penetrate that skeleton and kill the brain and kill the Swarm. However, the Swarm is very adept at fighting in the place you will go. They can move in any direction. Right now, you do not weigh as much as you are used to. On their ship you will be lighter than you are here. But you will be able to walk. To run. To fight.
“We have protected humans from the Swarm for millennia. We have lost many of our own people. Now you must help in the war. You are doing your duty of the Tally. Keeping your people and your species alive. Protecting your planet. The Swarm is a virus. A sickness that kills all Scale—intelligent-- life wherever it finds it. There is no negotiating. There is no surrender. There is only victory or death. If we do not stop it now, it will kill everyone you know.”
Kray pondered that. Could there be an antithesis to All-Life? Was that what the Swarm was?
“Once launched, the Teardrops cannot be diverted. You will land on the enemy’s ship. It is very large, almost a planet. You will know what to do. You must protect your comrades in the red suits at all cost. They must get into the Swarm ship. You will find a way inside. There will be openings in the surface. Protect those in the red suits. Remember, you will not have much time left in the suits to keep breathing. You must get inside the Swarm ship. Protect those in the red suits. You will kill any Swarm you encounter. Protect those in the red suits. Your only salvation is in victory. In victory you will be returned to your home world. Protect those in the red suits. Victory will only occur after every Swarm is dead.”
Victory via death? That didn’t make sense to Kray other than passing through to All-Life, even though he knew it was the way of war. His people lived in the most inhospitable, deepest ravines of the Transverse Mountains in Southren. Their villages were on the way to nowhere and the scant river bottom land produced just enough to survive. Thus, his people had stayed out of the way of other men’s wars over the millennia. The All-Life were considered oddities and eccentrics and generally ignored by other humans except for the one thing they were very good at: they were valued for their healers, which added to their status as a people not to be forced into conflict for any side. It was long accepted practice among all humans on the planet that the Blue Cloaks, All-Life medicine people, were neutral and non-combatants. Not to be harmed.
