Godengine
Page 23
Falaxyr pursed his lips. ‘You pacifists are a cancer in our race. If you were a true Martian, you would glory in the power that we wield, you would revel in the chance of conquest. Instead, you reject our birthright and burrow into the soil like plasma-vampires. Then again, your attempts at peace have delivered the Sword of Tuburr to me, so you still have your uses.’
‘But you have not got it right yet, have you? A few of the details elude you, eh?’ It was the Doctor.
Falaxyr looked round. ‘Ah, the mad mammal. Yes, there have been delays, Doctor, but no more. Two human subspace scientists, late of the Charon Subspace Research Facility, are aiding us. The GodEngine, to use your crude terminology, will be ready within the hour.’
‘Charon,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘That explains Cwej.’
Falaxyr turned on the little man. ‘What do you know about Adjudicator Cwej, vermin?’ he shouted.
The Doctor smiled in defiance of Falaxyr’s anger. ‘I know enough, Grand Marshal, but that’s unimportant at the moment. I would like to know what you plan to do with this GodEngine – if you ever get it finished, that is. Destroy Earth?’
‘Nothing so futile, Doctor,’ said the Grand Marshal, easily brought back to his favoured topic. ‘Earth is already conquered – our vengeance by proxy. It is now in the hands of our allies.’
The Doctor’s odd features folded into a frown. ‘Allies?’ he yelled. ‘Allies? Do you realize who – what you are dealing with?’ He sounded furious.
‘Indeed I do,’ Falaxyr nodded. ‘Like minds, Doctor. Like minds.’
‘What?’ yelled Forrester. She couldn’t believe what Santacosta was saying. Getting down and get dirty was one thing, but this?
‘Don’t you see, we could use the GodEngine, Forrester. With Professor Ketch on the case, he could soon work out how to use it. How long would the invaders remain in the solar system if we’re holding a loaded gun to their slimy heads?’
‘No, no, no,’ protested Rachel. ‘You don’t understand the magnitude of this. The GodEngine can’t be fine-tuned. Even at its tightest focus, it can still take out entire moons. Any attempt to focus any further puts too much strain on the subspace lens.’
‘Ketch will find a way.’ She pulled out a pencil-sized grey rod. Roz recognized it as a rather nasty five-shot disposable projectile weapon colloquially called a scalper. Another design classic. ‘If you don’t help me, I count that as treason against the Earth Alliance. And – as you should know, fellow Adjudicators Cwej and Forrester – treason is the crime that we swear on our graduation to avenge with death.’
Falaxyr had not let go of the Sword of Tuburr since they had left his office, Sstaal noticed. He also noticed the anger that still raged within himself, hot, tearing feelings which were alien to his upbringing. But his anger was no longer aimed towards Antony McGuire; the human was an object of sympathy and brotherhood. It was firmly targeted on the Grand Marshal, treasuring the Sword as if it were his bloodright.
Sstaal was jealous, and he had no idea why.
Felice replaced the canopic jar in its appointed place on the lowest level of the Ssor-arr duss Ssethissi – the level of the primary subspace attractor – and checked that the trisilicate cabling was still attached correctly. If the connections were in error, the initial meniscus penetration would fail, and that would bring dishonour upon Felice. She turned to face her superior with a smile of beatitude across her face, as glory and honour flooded her mind – the glory and honour of the Martian race.
She bowed to the tall figure before her. ‘That is the final component of the Ssor-arr duss Ssethissi, Technician Sleeth.’ Felice was aware that her first superior, Hoorg, had died, but her allegiance had immediately been transferred to Sleeth.
The Martian shook his head. ‘Not the final component, Dr Delacroix; that awaits, and is entrusted to others. But there are further duties ahead of you.’ Sleeth indicated the bank of control panels inset into the amber walls. ‘Once the sor-arr duss Ssethissi has woken, it will require attendants. You will be one of the attendants.’
Felice was more honoured than she could ever remember.
‘What do you suggest, then? A head-on assault?’ asked Rachel coldly. Her old mentor Professor Gregory Ketch was a genius, her only peer in the esoteric realms of subspace engineering, but she doubted that even he possessed the knowledge necessary to turn the GodEngine from a weapon whose lowest setting was nothing less than planetary destruction to the device that Santacosta thought he could create. Would the invaders really take the Adjudicators’ threat seriously if their main bargaining tool would destroy Earth in the process?
Santacosta held the scalper steady. ‘Of course not. We need to revert to my original plan and breach the subspace barrier around the base. After Cwej’s recent bit of terrorism, the place is in uproar; fifty Adjudicator Special Operatives could secure it without breaking into a sweat.’
‘Won’t the Transit-web work in here?’ asked Roz.
Chris looked puzzled. ‘Transit-web?’
Rachel nodded in understanding. ‘Gregory’s magnum opus. A portable stunnel terminus.’ An image of Ketch’s face, glowing with triumph over his latest discovery, appeared in her mind. ‘So he finally built one?’
‘Yes, but it won’t work inside the barrier,’ said Santacosta.
‘The Martians have surrounded the base with the hull of an alien vessel called an Osirian WarScarab,’ explained Rachel. ‘The metal is made from molecules which extend into subspace, creating a natural shield against subspace penetration. At least, that’s what the Martians told me.’
‘So we get outside the base and use this Transit-web?’ offered Chris.
Roz shook her head. ‘It’s not as simple as that. Is it, Carmen?’
‘I don’t have the web any more. I left it outside the base.’
‘So we get outside the base and grab the web.’
‘It’s not outside the base,’ said Roz.
Santacosta looked at her sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The Doctor pocketed it. If you want the Transit-web, you’ve got to find the Doctor,’ she replied. ‘He picked it up as we were being brought in here.’
‘Great.’ Santacosta shoved the scalper back into her jacket. ‘There’s no point in threatening you when our only option is to do what you want, is there?’
Rachel sighed. There was still time to dissuade the Adjudicator from her stupidity. If she couldn’t do it, she hoped that the Doctor could.
‘So this is the GodEngine?’ stated the Doctor. ‘Looks like the Mitterrand extension to the Louvre.’ McGuire had to agree; rather than a doomsday weapon, it looked like a museum exhibit of ancient Egyptian relics. He also noticed the petite blonde woman standing next to it, and presumed that she was one of the kidnapped scientists from Charon.
‘This is our greatest achievement – our birthright,’ stated Falaxyr. ‘The GodEngine will give us back that which is rightfully ours.’
The Doctor was indignant. ‘Rightfully yours? Rightfully yours? You squandered Mars, Falaxyr. You led your people into bloodshed and lost any claim to it.’
The Grand Marshal shrugged. ‘Just as you have lost any claim to Earth, Doctor.’
‘Earth never was mine, but that’s beside the point. However impressive this GodEngine is, you can’t enter into an alliance with the invaders. I can assure you, Grand Marshal, they will not honour the agreement.’ And McGuire could have sworn that there was a hint of desperation in the Doctor’s voice, as if he knew who the invaders were – and was frightened of them.
Falaxyr shook his head. ‘They have no choice. Unless they give us the sovereignty of Mars, we will target Earth. The GodEngine will incinerate the planet.’
The Doctor shook his head sadly and muttered something beneath his breath. It sounded like ‘the web of time’.
Falaxyr turned to a Martian standing to his left. ‘Technician Sleeth: is the Ssor-arr duss Ssethissi ready to be brought on-line?’
‘Yes, Your Excellen
cy. Junior Technician Delacroix completed the final adjustments to the manifold polarizers just before you arrived. According to the final diagnostic, the Ssor-arr duss Ssethissi is fully operational. I commend her work.’
Falaxyr nodded. ‘I will see that her name is entered in the List of Heroes.’
‘Falaxyr – reconsider this!’ shouted the Doctor. ‘The creatures that have invaded Earth are without pity, without compassion. If you give them the GodEngine, you will change the course of history. Armed with the GodEngine, they will be unstoppable.’
‘The GodEngine is ours. They will request its use, but we shall be the ones in control of it.’
‘And what’s to stop them from taking it from you by force?’ asked McGuire. ‘If they can overcome Earth’s defences, they can easily overcome the few of you that are left on Mars.’
‘The GodEngine would be useless to them,’ stated Sleeth. ‘The Ssor-arr duss Ssethissi depends on a number of factors to operate. It needs a planetary mass to tether it against the subspace fields it generates, and it will only function in the absence of a bipolar magnetic field. Mars is the only planet in the solar system that is both large enough, and lacks a magnetic field.’
‘So that’s why they did it,’ mumbled the Doctor. And then his tone became one of unrestrained anger. ‘You idiot! In three years’ time, the invaders will start hollowing out Earth’s magnetic core. They fully intend to steal the GodEngine, and they fully intend to install it on Earth!’
Falaxyr smiled, calm against the Doctor’s storm. ‘Any invasion attempt will be met by the full might of the GodEngine. If the Daleks make a single move to take what is ours, we will obliterate them – and Earth.’
He stepped over to the glittering pyramid, clamping the Sword tightly. ‘After I have demonstrated the power of the GodEngine, Doctor, the Daleks will think very carefully about their future plans. Very carefully indeed.’
‘What’s he doing?’ whispered McGuire to the Doctor. ‘What does he need the Sword for? And who the hell are the Daleks?’
Before the Doctor could answer, Aklaar tapped McGuire on the shoulder. ‘Towards the end of the War, the Eight-Point Table was torn apart by internal squabbling. With a breakdown of trust between the Supreme Grand Marshals, measures had to be taken to ensure that the proposed GodEngine would not be used to further the ambitions of any single Marshal. It was designed so that it could only be operated if a single component was present... The Sword of Tuburr.’
‘Well put, Abrasaar,’ said Falaxyr, inserting the serrated blade into a thin slot set into one of the golden struts that defined the pyramid. He rammed it home with an audible click, as if internal mechanisms were locking it into place. ‘And, thanks to your pilgrimage, you have delivered it to me. As you were supposed to.’
Aklaar hung his head, and McGuire could see the strength draining from him. A lifetime of penance for a previous existence, wiped out in an instant; he couldn’t begin to understand the depths of the Abbot’s despair.
‘Now we begin. The first act of the GodEngine will be the cleansing of Mars, the extermination of vermin. The destruction of Jacksonville.’
Falaxyr gestured to Sleeth. The Martian technician stepped forward to the control panels set in the rock walls, and indicated for Felice to do the same.
‘No!’ McGuire lunged forward, but one of Falaxyr’s guards grabbed him and threw him to the floor. Winded, and with the business end of a sonic disruptor in his face, he could only watch as the banks of controls lit up, heralding the end of Jacksonville.
Chapter 12
Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. The hushed and expectant atmosphere in the GodEngine chamber rapidly evaporated into one of desperate activity, as Martian technicians scurried around the equipment attempting to trace the malfunction. The enslaved human woman was assisting Sleeth at the base of the GodEngine pyramid, but none of them seemed to be able to identify the reason why it wasn’t working.
Esstar was relieved. If the blasphemous device didn’t work, then perhaps there was a chance for them all.
‘Problems, Grand Marshal?’ said the Doctor smugly. ‘If this is the best you can do, I doubt that your allies will be particularly impressed.’
‘Be silent!’ hissed Falaxyr. He turned as Sleeth approached him. ‘Have you located the malfunction?’
Sleeth stepped forward and nodded. ‘The problem lies with the initiation circuitry, Your Excellency.’
‘The Sword?’ asked Falaxyr, puzzled.
Sleeth shook his head. ‘It is not the Sword of Tuburr, Your Excellency. It is a copy. An excellent copy, but it lacks the trace elements of the original. The Ssor-arr duss Ssethissi must validate the presence of those elements before it can initiate subspace manipulation.’
Falaxyr turned on his prisoners. ‘Where is it?’ he bellowed. ‘Where is the true Sword of Tuburr?’
Aklaar smiled, but said nothing. Falaxyr raised his arm and aimed the built-in disruptor at the Abbot. ‘Tell me or die, Abrasaar. I have waited too long for this moment; I will not allow your pathetic mask of pacifism to spoil it now.’
The voice came from behind her. ‘The Sword is here, Your Excellency.’ With disbelief and horror rising within her, Esstar realized that the voice belonged to Cleece. The huge Martian walked over to Aklaar and snatched his thick wooden staff from his clamp. ‘Here.’ Cleece held out the staff to the Grand Marshal.
Falaxyr grasped the wood and twisted it sharply with both clamps. Under the tremendous shearing force, the staff splintered in two, revealing polished metal within. The Grand Marshal unsheathed the true Sword of Tuburr from the broken wood and held it up proudly.
Esstar spun round. ‘How could you, Cleece? How could you betray all that the Abbot stands for? All that the Order stands for?’
Cleece moved over to Falaxyr’s side. ‘I renounce the Order,’ he stated. ‘The time has come for me to be true to my bloodline, Taal-Iis Esstar,’ he said bitterly, clearly remembering her own insult. ‘I was born a Warrior, and henceforth I shall live as a Warrior.’
Falaxyr looked up from his examination of the Sword and smiled. ‘You see, Abrasaar: blood is stronger than your false faith. I welcome you to your true heritage, Cleece Ett’Shturr.’ He laid a clamp on the Abbot’s shoulder. ‘Join me, old friend. Together, we can re-form the Eight-Point Table. With the GodEngine at our disposal, we can carve out a new Martian Empire that will dominate the stars.’
Aklaar’s response was immediate. He spat in the Grand Marshal’s face. Even a pilgrim like Esstar knew the significance of the action: Abbot Aklaar, Spiritual Leader of the Order of Oras, was challenging Grand Marshal Falaxyr to a blood-duel.
Falaxyr nodded slowly. ‘So, the spirit is still strong, Abrasaar. It pleases me that the pacifism of Oras has not completely extinguished the fire that once burnt so fiercely within you.’ He raised a clamp. ‘Bring me the false sword, Sleeth. It will still serve a purpose.’
The technician withdrew the sword from the GodEngine’s ignition system and brought it over to the Grand Marshal.
Falaxyr held it out to Aklaar, the blade resting on his forearm. ‘So be it, Abrasaar. A duel to the death.’
Aklaar smiled. ‘If descending to your barbarism is the only answer to this madness, Falaxyr, then so be it.’ He grabbed the sword by the blade and swung the hilt into his other clamp.
‘Descending? I think not. This is the only true honour, Abrasaar.’ Falaxyr nodded to Cleece. ‘In the absence of my adjutant, Cleece Ett’Shturr will be my second.’
‘I choose Sstaal G’Hur-Tiis,’ replied Aklaar, using the Martian’s formal name. Sstaal looked surprised, but said nothing, simply stepping forward to stand by the Abbot.
The two Martians stepped away from one another, seconds in tow, neither taking his gaze from the other, visors locked. Each placed their sword across their chests and bowed deeply in the time-honoured tradition of the Warrior caste.
‘Falaxyr Urr’n’Jaas – I offer the challenge in blood and fire.’
Watching the ceremony, watching Aklaar raise his sword vertically in the ancient gesture of prayer to Ssethiis and Claatris, Esstar suddenly accepted something that both terrified her and gave her hope. Wise old Abbot Aklaar, the kindly Martian who had sat her on his knee and read her fables from the Book of Oras when she was but a clutchling, was also a fierce and bloodthirsty Grand Marshal of the Warrior caste.
In their current situation, Esstar knew that, despite her pilgrim heritage, she preferred to have Abrasaar, the Butcher of Viis Claar, at her side than Abbot Aklaar of Oras.
The warning shot hit the wall, sending rippling waves of sonic disruption through the amber rock. ‘Stop!’ ordered the Martian. ‘You will surrender now.’
‘What do we do?’ hissed Rachel. ‘That scalper of yours won’t work against a Martian.’
‘I know it won’t!’ snapped Santacosta, furious with herself for leading them into the situation in the first place. They were currently standing in the middle of a corridor, with no means of defence, no means of attack. Hopeless. Projectile weapons were all well and good, but the armoured carapace of an Ice Warrior wouldn’t even be scratched. ‘Any good ideas?’ Because she certainly didn’t have any. When she had trained to be an Adjudicator on Ponten IV, the Greenies weren’t considered to be a threat – if there weren’t any around, how could they be a threat? It was only later, after she had graduated, that the Bureau had learnt that there were still some Martians on Mars. So Santacosta hadn’t got a clue about how to kill or even disable one of them.
The service corridor in which Chris had hidden while waiting for his bombs to go off was actually a level above the area in which they had been imprisoned, and, thanks to Chris’s detailed knowledge of the base, they had dropped out of a vertical duct about a hundred metres from the holding cells, in a dark tunnel with uneven walls. The place stank of rotten vegetables – Chris had ruefully explained that it was an unfortunate by-product of his smoke bombs.