Interstellar

by Bob Mayer

  Kray knelt and smeared some of the goo from the bowl on his finger. He reached through the bars. “May I help your wound?”

  Lina’s hand shot up and gripped his wrist tightly. “Wait. Wait.” A short pause. “Do you kill and ingest other animals for sustenance?”

  “We eat only plants,” Kray said.

  “But you said they too are part of All-Life.”

  “It is the way,” Kray said. “Eventually, animals become part of the plants in the cycle of All-Life. We eat the plants, then we become the plants after we die and begin a different kind of life, that then becomes food and on and on.”

  Lina was still holding his wrist while the Swarm pondered this. “Do you know where your planet is among the stars?”

  Kray shook his head. “No. I could see stars at night. But all we know is our world.”

  “Describe your planet. Moons. Your star. Other planets. The stars you can see and the arrangement.”

  Kray did the best he could, telling of the part of his planet he knew, the Transverse Mountains and Southren. What he’d heard of Hegemony. The Wilds to the east. And the sea, which he’d never seen except for a brief glance when he’d arrived at Atlantis. Then he spoke of the two moons, Isis and Osiris, the various star systems that had names and how they were arranged. This took a while. Lina’s hand on his wrist was beginning to vibrate with the strain.

  “You can let go,” Kray said when he was done. “I won’t reach through without permission.”

  This was ignored.

  Lina asked. “How many motherships are on your planet?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How many Airlia?”

  “I don’t know. No more than two ever show themselves, from what I have heard.”

  “We will speak again,” Lina said. The Swarm tentacle withdrew, one finger tainted with blood. Lina let go of Kray’s wrist.

  The orb walked on three tentacles out of the cage, the door swinging shut behind. It left the room.

  “Does it hurt?” Kray asked.

  Lina leaned against the bars. She turned toward him. “Just a little. It’s not bad.”

  Kray gently massaged the ointment into her ear.

  Lina smile sadly. “You are the first person to touch me other than the Swarm since I was taken.” She glanced at the bowl. “That is the essence of everything here. You could say it is all life but not in the way you mean. Do you mind if I sit down? It’s very tiring being taken over.”

  “Certainly,” Kray said. “I’m sorry you were used to question me.”

  “It was worth it to have another human to speak with.”

  Kray sat on the other side of the bars and looked about. “There are no other humans in here?”

  “There are others in the zoo. One by one many were taken away. Some are brought back. I don’t know how long I’ve been here in the Core. I was a girl of eight when I first arrived.”

  “Were you part of the Tally?” Kray asked.

  “’Tally’?” Lina shook her head. “Our world was reaped. This ship appeared in the sky. Then smaller ships landed. The monsters came out taking everyone. I don’t know why I was spared. Everyone else I could see was pushed into that—” she didn’t have the words to explain the soup the people had been forced to drop into— “stuff. They became part of.”

  Kray reached through the bars and gripped her hand in his. “Do not be afraid. It is All-Life. We are all part of something larger. If our time to pass on comes may we travel on through All-Life with joy in our soul.”

  “Your people are a strange people.”

  WORMEHILL TOWER, EARTH15

  The pyramid computer flickered silver several times, alerting Arcturus from the task he was absorbed with. He left the workbench and placed his hands on the surface.

  A message from a Sentinel.

  The Sentinels were a series of early warning satellites that had been deployed around the solar system by the Airlia when they first arrived. They were spaced around the outer edge, covering every direction.

  This one had picked up exactly what it was designed to: a spaceship had just dropped out of FTLT and was inbound.

  A mothership.

  STORM BREWING

  HEGEMONY, EARTH15

  Markus set the spaceship down in the open square in front of the large stone building that served as the seat of the governing body of Hegemony. It was built of grey stone, with wide steps leading up to a façade graced with a dozen white stone columns.

  Bren climbed the ladder and put her hand on the hatch, ready to open. “Ready?” she asked Orlock.

  “Yes,” he said, with less enthusiasm than she was displaying.

  “It will work,” she said. “None of these people have ever seen the Airlia up close.”

  Orlock made a grumbling noise, but Bren threw open the hatch. A cordon of soldiers, spears leveled or swords drawn, surrounded the spaceship. Archers were behind them, arrows notched and ready for flight. While flying in, they’d seen the Hegemony army assembling in fields around the capital city.

  “My friends!” Bren shouted from her place on top of the spaceship. “It is a wondrous day.”

  Orlock glanced at Markus who remained in the pilot’s depression, prepared to make a rapid retreat if this went badly. Markus grinned at Orlock and gave him a thumbs up. Orlock frowned in return.

  A contingent of older men and women, robed in white with wide purple cloth belts, had come out of the building and stood on the steps, halfway down, soldiers between them and the spacecraft.

  Bren turned to face them. “Leaders of Hegemony. It is a wondrous day!”

  After some muttering among themselves, one of the group, a gray-haired woman, moved to the forefront. “Who are you? What is this sky-chariot? It is not the one we have seen before.”

  “You have seen the Airlia’s sky chariot.” Bren pointed down. “This is a different types. What makes today wondrous, is that you have been blessed by the Airlia with this visit.”

  “You have not said who you are,” the woman pointed out.

  “Who I am does not matter,” Bren said. “It is who I have brought that is all that matters. Behold, you are blessed to be in the presence of the great god, Seth of the Airlia.”

  Orlock climbed up the ladder. As he reached the top, Bren dropped to one knee and bowed her head. He wore a black cloak, his red pupiled eyes clearly visible along with his red hair. He had Bren’s bright sword in his hand, the sleeve of the cloak pulled down to cover the hilt and the fact he only had five fingers, not six.

  There was a moment’s hesitation and then the crowd around the ship went to their knees in ripple from closest outward.

  Bren spoke in a low whisper only Orlock could hear. “Besides, no one’s looking at you, are they?”

  Orlock ignored her. He faced the leaders kneeling on the steps and took his voice up a few octaves and mimicked the sing-song cadence of the Airlia as best he could. “My people. You have been loyal. It is time for some of you to partake of the Grail. But first, there is a mission you must do to cement your loyalty to us.”

  “We saw the beacons and are marshalling the army, Lord,” the woman said. “We have already sent scouts marching north. The army can follow shortly.”

  “I have new orders,” Orlock said.

  WEST RIDGE, EARTH15

  Moroi issued instructions to the Nagil, placing the most capable of the elders in charge. The youngest of the Nagil were to move south with the livestock and go far into the caves and ravines of the Ridge.

  Most of the remainder were to link up with the Great Alliance.

  A select handful of elders were to accompany her.

  North. To Atlantis via the ancient and the new paths.

  NORTH VALLEY, EARTH15

  Drusa walked between the two Nagil at the head of the Great Alliance along with Cetic, Paric at his side. Thousands of additional fighters had joined in the past twenty-four hours, swelling the ranks. They ranged from warriors to commoners carrying the
handiest weapon they could procure. There were even tribesmen from the Wilds in the east who had traveled over the ridge to join.

  It appeared the cumulative effect of the Tally had produced a groundswell of outrage across the continent. Too many had been taken, no one returned, no one partaken of the grail. The long column was weaving its way through the thick forest to the west of Lion’s Road.

  “We’re spread out too far,” Paric complained. “Moving too slowly.”

  “I put a screen of scouts to the north,” Cetic said. “I’d rather be under the trees anyway. The Airlia could fly their talon and blow us to pieces long before we reach North Wall.”

  “We will move faster soon,” one of the Nagil promised.

  They reached the edge of a large mound, a mile from the base of West Ridge. Part of it had been quarried a long time ago, clear cuts of stone sliced off, now practically invisible behind vegetation. The work had gone into the ground and a lake of dark, black water extended from the base of the cut.

  The Nagil walked along the edge of the lake until they were on level rock, eight feet wide, between water and stone. It appeared to end at a shear face.

  “What is this?” Paric demanded as the Nagil stopped. He whipped his sword out. “An ambush?”

  Drusa put a hand up. “Calm yourself. Wait.”

  One of the Nagil placed a medallion on the stone wall. The rock slide aside, revealing a wide passage leading downward to darkness.

  “Where does this go?” Cetic demanded.

  “As we said,” one of the Nagil responded, “it will take us north.”

  “How far does it go?” Cetic asked.

  One of the Nagil turned to face him. “We will take you beyond the North Wall without being seen. Some of the journey will be above ground, but most will be below.”

  Cetic stared at the Nagil. “And if you are leading us into a trap?”

  “Then we will die fighting each other,” the Nagil said. “Or we can go through and die together fighting the Airlia and the wargs and the wedjat and those they hire.”

  Cetic smiled. “I like the fighting part.”

  “I don’t like the dying part,” Paric muttered.

  “We will all die eventually, son,” Cetic said, slapping his boy on the shoulder. “As long as we die fighting. It can be against this—” he indicated the Nagil—“or the wargs. But if this tells the truth, we have a chance to make it to Seventh Wall of Atlantis before dying. I would like to breach at least that one. That would be more than anyone in history has done. Our names will be in songs.”

  “Which we won’t hear,” Paric groused.

  Cetic laughed. “I never thought we’d get close to even see the Citadel-Tower.”

  Paric stared at his father in disbelief. “Then why did you tell the Alliance that—”

  Cetic cut his son off. “Hope. A person can’t fight without hope. Now we have more.” He looked at the Nagil. “Correct?”

  “Come,” the Nagil said. “And to prove our honor, there is this.” He shrugged off the pack on his back, opened it, and tumbled out the contents. Two heads. “The warg assassins you were looking for.”

  Cetic slapped the Nagil on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you show these earlier?”

  “Since you spoke of hope,” the Nagil said, “we had hoped you would trust us.”

  Cetic stopping laughing. He bowed slightly toward the Nagil. “My apologies, my friend. I do not even know your name, which is wrong of me. I am Cetic.”

  The Nagil bowed his head toward the king. “Sufra.” He indicated the other Nagil. “My brother, Gorm.”

  “How did you find these creatures?” Cetic asked, indicating the severed heads.

  “They were searching for Arcturus,” Sufra said. “They found us.”

  “’Arcturus’?” Drusa said. “He is just a legend.”

  “No,” Sufra said. “He is very real. And he is on our side. He met with Bren the Walker and helped her.”

  “You must tell me of him,” Drusa said.

  “We must be moving.” Sufra walked into the tunnel. “Follow. We can talk as we walk.”

  “We’re going to need torches,” Drusa said to Cetic.

  ISIS, MAJOR MOON OF EARTH15

  Osiris came out of deep sleep with a ferocious headache. Which was the norm. He sat up in the tube as soon as the lid lifted, taking some moments to collect his thoughts. He was in the control bunker for the FTL transmitter, set under the surface of the moon the other Airlia had named after his sister. They’d couched it in terms of honoring her, but he knew their true intent.

  He glanced at the chronometer.

  It was too soon. Earlier than waking had been set.

  A red light was flashing on the console, indicating a priority message. With a sigh, Osiris climbed out of the deep sleep tube and tapped commands on the console.

  A message was decoded from Horus on Earth15. Osiris scanned the contents. Another rebellion, be prepared, blah blah, the usual. So many rules and regulations which controlled their lives. Of course, his sister, Isis, had failed to strictly follow those regulations to the letter and look what had happened to her?

  But then came the part about Horus having read the messages from Fleet that were Osiris’s duty to check.

  Teardrop had worked?

  Osiris was astounded. It had always seemed a fool’s errand and he, and the other Airlia assigned to it, the designated fools. A mothership from Fleet was on the way! Perhaps they would—his enthusiasm dimmed as he read the rest. Another Tally? Expanding Teardrop?

  There would be no reprieve, just more work. More years of life wasted on these humans. Osiris felt a sense of bone-deep weariness that no amount of deep sleep could ever wash away.

  The only reason that he’d been awakened was SOP. To make sure the FTL transmitter was ready in case something went wrong. Osiris cursed, then began to run a system’s check of the massive array set into the surface of the lifeless moon.

  He frowned. The FTL dish was fine along with the power source. But the communications link to the planet was showing signs of disruption. He attempted to contact the Citadel-Tower with a priority code. The message should have been answer, but instead was spooled.

  This system was in trouble. If it failed, it would cut him off from the planet. Just like the Msats and Sentinels had fallen off-line so many years ago. It made no sense. Those had been system malfunctions that had never been resolved. How could a similar malfunction just happen to occur now, so many years later when—

  The answer was obvious to Osiris. The answer that other Airlia on Earth15 had whispered about but never dared voice out loud to Horus or Anubis. There was a ghost in the machine.

  Osiris began going through the coding to find who or what the ghost was.

  He also initiated emergency protocol as required.

  NORTH WALL, EARTH15

  General Tor-monar turned over command of the Atlantean Army to Horus with a sigh of relief. A skirmish had broken out between two clans of the same tribe from the Wilds on the way down, requiring a delay as he used other troops to break it up. He’d ordered the bodies left behind, strapped to X-crosses as a warning.

  Horus issued orders. The Airlia’s command was obeyed with more alacrity than Tor-monar’s had been. Troops deployed along the partly-repaired North Wall. Based on the orders and deployment, Tor-monar readily saw Horus’s plan to draw the Great Alliance through the breach and then flank and annihilate. Military strategy was the same regardless of species.

  “General,” Horus said to the officer now without a command. “You will take Shakur archers and the engineers—” he indicated a contingent of craftsmen from Atlantis—“and cross the moat and occupy Wormehill. You will hold my right flank.”

  Tor-monar lowered his head. “Yes, Lord.” He wondered why he needed the ‘engineers’ but did not voice it.

  Horus must have anticipated that. “The stone drawbridge has collapsed. The engineers must find a way to get your men across.”

&
nbsp; “Yes, Lord.”

  “And General,” Horus added. “Make sure you search the tower completely when you occupy it. If there is someone there, bring them to me.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  *****

  Deep beneath Wormehill, Arcturus picked up the message from Osiris to Amun. He noted there was no reply, which could mean one of several things. The most important aspect was that Osiris was awake.

  Arcturus knew the Airlia protocol. If there was any danger of the shield-wall being breached and the Citadel-Tower being over-run, the Airlia would withdraw to the mothership and detonate the nuclear weapons in the Duats. However, withdrawing might be a bit difficult for these Airlia. Regardless, Osiris would send out a distress signal to Fleet.

  Arcturus had been trying to sever the link between the control sphere in the Citadel-Tower and the FTL transmitter control room in order to prevent Osiris from being awakened.

  He was too late for that. In fact, severing that signal would cause the same thing to happen: an emergency distress signal as dictated by Airlia SOP.

  Arcturus ceased his attempt. Osiris was a wild card on the moon. A loose end that would have to be dealt with.

  WEST RIDGE, EARTH15

  “Hold,” Cetic ordered as they came to a large open space in the Mainline tunnel. It was an intersection of several tunnels, two going west at angles, one due east, and the wide Mainline north. They’d been marching for over three hours along the path that Sufra and Gorm were leading them along.

  Sufra paused. The air inside the Mainline was foul from the torches, even here at the head of the long column. Cetic had ordered the number be kept to a minimum, but those at the tail end of the army, having just entered the Mainline, were barely able to breath.

  “How close are we to the North Wall?” Cetic asked.

  “At the rate we are going,” Sufra said, his voice indicating a certain degree of disappointment in the pace, “we will be past it in an hour.”

  “How close can you get us to Atlantis via underground?” Cetic asked.