Flying back across the forest from the south to the north, the tree line ended and a vast desert beyond began. A huge wasteland of dust and silt stretched out beneath them with the mountains of Calendale rising from the desert in the distance. Twain looked on in desperation. He would search under every rock of those mountains until he found where the Zohr's soldiers had taken his mother. The longer they went without finding the captives, the more Twain and Hawk believed they could have already either been murdered and disposed of by the fantoms or perhaps, even worse, converted to a life of slavery by the same process that gave Calyx his new metal heart, and they could now be hidden beneath a fantom uniform and living as a mindless part of the dydrid army. The Zohr had already killed the king, as far as Twain knew. There was no limit to what evil he was capable of. Twain played it over and over in his mind, what was the purpose of Oreaus taking these people if not for leverage against the king? Perhaps he would hold on to them until the Elementis was found, perhaps he wouldn't. If he could just understand why, it would help him think more clearly about where they may have been taken. The Zohr was not of a sound mind and unfortunately for Twain, rationality didn't exist in the world of a man whose only wish was to rule everything in existence.
Hawk had mentioned to Twain about a dumping ground at the base of the mountains where the dydrid recycled old body parts from dead fantoms along with the precious metal blood that pumped through their veins. Hope remained in both of their hearts while there were still places to search. They headed towards the dump.
Twain held his stare out across the desert floor, squinting his eyes to focus on where the rock met the sand, "They have to be at this scrap-dump, we’ve looked everywhere else!" he said to Hawk.
Hawk tapped away at a few buttons. "Magnifying now," he said, as the windshield's data-screen zoomed in, scanning the rocky hills on the desert's horizon.
Catching some bright sparkles of light on screen, they focused in on a body of water at the bottom of a canyon. The river shimmered, catching rays of light and throwing them into the lens of the magnifier. Hawk moved the viewer up to the top of a steep cliff, shifting left a little and zooming in. Their faces lifted and dropped with a short-lived celebration when they saw a gathering of dydrid transporters parked beside a long building which ran along the cliff top.
"There it is, the valley of Gulga," said Hawk, "and it’s crawling with fantoms!" he affirmed, moving the viewer across to a group of parading soldiers for Twain to see.
"There! Look!" Twain said, pointing to a long row of rectangular holes in the cliff below the cliffside building. Fifteen holes in all. Hawk zoomed in further to one of the caverns. Twain pushed his nose right up close to the screen. His eyes needed a double take. After a second blink, he knew there and then that he may have found his mother. He saw people sitting still in the darkness.
"They’re trapped inside, on the scrap-conveyors! Anytime the Zohr gives the word they’ll be crushed in minutes," said Twain, with panic sticking in his throat.
Hawk moved the viewer downwards back towards the sparkling river, "Those aren’t scrap-conveyors, kid, that river is filled with exopedes," he said.
Twain saw it. The river flowed not with water but with a silver liquid where exopedes leapt above the surface like a flurry of flying fish evading their predators. Except they were the only predators in this river and they flapped around snapping up at the air, waiting for their next victim.
Twain watched the exopedes splashing in the river of silver slime. "It’s a dydrification plant," he stammered, as his mind filled with images of thousands of people being converted by the heart-killing exopedes.
"We'll never get them out," Hawk said.
Twain couldn't accept that; he knew there had to be a way. He had to get inside somehow; he wouldn't let the Zohr turn his mother into one of them, taking her body and her mind away from him. His plan became clear as soon as he felt for his tekron that sat firmly in his pocket.
"We need to disable those conveyors, then we’ll worry about getting them out," Twain told Hawk, with a new-found determination.
"How will we do that exactly?" said Hawk, airing the impossibility of the thought.
"I'm going inside," Twain said. "Alone!" he confirmed, with all the courage of a loving son.
"You'll get caught!" Hawk said.
"That's the plan!" Twain smiled, looking up at the bewildered face of Hawk.
They flew close to the desert surface in an effort to remain undetected. Even being in a dydrid ship, arriving unannounced would raise suspicion from the fantoms in the cliffside unit. Hawk couldn't say he altogether liked the plan, Twain was putting himself in too much danger but there was no other choice. There were few of them and thousands of fantoms at the dydrification plant. Twain was to go in alone and somehow find a way to save his mother and half a million of their race from joining the warped minds of dydrids. And if he couldn't do it, he would die trying.
Chapter XX
Small Cruelty
A thousand star units away from Aquilla and in a greying sky filled with tens of millions of flakes, snow fell and settled on the roofs of miniature ice houses, sculpted by the tiny hands of the geisendorfers, the only natural inhabitants of planet Destus.
Children chased each other through garden gates and into the white snowy streets, skipping and laughing with all the happiness of a simple life. Plump mothers swayed their darling newborns in their arms, and chin wagged with neighbours about housework never being finished and the children always being hungry.
Walking down from the surrounding hillside were some well wrapped up men in furred coats, keeping warm while out on their hunts. They returned to the village with some hoofed ungulates, skewered on wooden spits and carried across their shoulders. The children larked around, running beneath their father's footsteps ducking under the hanging animals and weaving back around for another pass. The father's smiled at their children's games, remembering back to the days when they had done the same.
Heavy footsteps crushed down layers of fresh snow to the icy ground beneath. The Zohr and Mutus walked into the ice village. Fantom soldiers marched by their sides, lining up down the main street to form a path for their master. The hunters swallowed a worried gulp, dropping their catch to the ground and calling out to their loved ones. The women's hearts beat with fright, running out to gather up the children who still played their games, and hadn't noticed the approaching darkness. The entire village fled into their homes and the streets were lined only with the black metal-suits of the dydrid.
The Zohr watched the villagers escaping into their homes with steely eyes. He looked around him, sneering at the small houses and pitiful sweetness of the village. "I am looking for something," he called out to the village.
"One of you knows where a stone is that I seek. I shall ask each and every one of you, and if you do not know the answer—you will not live," he explained.
Three soldiers went up a garden path towards the first house in the village. With a strong black fist the door was shattered open. They disappeared inside, shortly afterwards carrying out a struggling father, mother and three small boys in their hands. The father and mother kicked their dangling legs in the air and banged their small hands on the coldness of the soldiers' armour, trying their best to be unleashed. The children stayed silent with shock as they were thrown at the feet of the Zohr. The dwarfed father pulled his family in close, looking up in disgust with brown shining eyes at the man responsible for their terror. Vulnerable tears filled the father's eyes as five sharp-ended spikes were driven hard into the icy ground beside them, vibrating with a piercing sound each time the soldiers released their grip.
The Zohr reached down and lifted the man away from his family with one clenched fist, holding him dangling in the air. "Tell me, little one, where is the stone?" he asked, bearing his silver eyes down on him.
The father shivered with more than cold. "P-please don’t hurt my family, kind sir," he stumbled, his eyes now streaming
with tears.
"That is not the correct answer," the Zohr said.
He pointed to the mother who wrapped her arms tightly around her trembling children. A fantom snatched her away, holding her up above a spike.
"I don’t know! I don’t know! Please!" shouted the father, his whole body tensing up in fear.
The Zohr nodded and the soldier pushed her body onto the spike. The father dropped out of the Zohr's gripped.
"Marnia! Marnia!" the father cried.
He ran across to the base of the spike, looking up to his wife, clutching his hands around the steel as her blood trickled down onto them. Saliva poured from his mouth. Marnia struggled with the coldness coursing through her body. Holding on with both hands as she edged down the steel, her eyes screamed to her love in a wordless stare. Her struggle stopped. Her bright eyes closed and her limbs were frozen in time. The father reached up for her. His outcries filled the silence of the snowy air. The children knelt as quiet as angels in the snow. The fantoms pounced, taking up the father and his children, moving each one of them above a spike of their own. With a nod from the Zohr they were forced downwards as the spikes' arrowed heads pierced through the clothes on their backs. The youngest boy died first. His father attempted to speak some words of comfort to his sons but the drool of pain that leaked from his mouth turned to blood. His blood fell to the ground, joining the expanding patterns of red that stretched out across the ice at the bottom of each pole.
The fantoms marched down the street planting spikes outside the gates of every house. The cold sound of steel resounded through the air as each pole of death was slammed into the ice.
From the top of the street a small figure hobbled towards the soldiers. The small man wore thick woollen robes and walked with the aid of a stick taller than he was. The closer he came the older he looked, wrinkles took over the shape of his face and his singular bushy eyebrow sat above two golden eyes set above a large blushing nose that had spent too much time in the cold.
"Take away your spikes!" he shouted, with a squeaking, grunty voice. "You have made your point!"
He limped past his fateful friends, his eyes glanced to the mess that this beast had created in his peaceful little village. "I am Solipa, elder of the geisendorfers. I will take you to that of which you speak," he said, as he walked closer.
He came right to the feet of the Zohr and dropped his head back to look up at his face, "What you're looking for… is in the forest, guarded by Shardwey, the cytherean of the woods," he said, hurting inside as he told them all that he knew.
The Zohr peered down at the small man, "The old king. He is still alive!"
"I will take you… if there will be no more death!" Solipa said.
The Zohr smiled with amusement. "Agreed, no more death."
Solipa gave an untrusting grunt, he knew very well that he had no choice in the matter. "Come, this way," he said, pointing with his stick and hobbling on past the Zohr.
*
Onboard the Utopious, Goldheart sat alone in the cockpit staring out to space. Jonas slid into the empty seat beside him, joining in the silent stare. Their quiet eyes flowed with the same dreaded thoughts, somewhere close by, in the space ahead of them there was a planet, upon which was hidden the Elementis, residing in the arms of no one knows who and hunted down by the one man who will use it to destroy every world that meets his path. Jonas, in keeping with his recent luck, had no choice; he had to reach the stone before Zohr Oreaus did, and he had to rely on hope that he would be able to find whatever was inside his mind to use its power.
"Are we close?" Jonas said to Goldheart.
"Not close enough," said Goldheart.
Jonas held his gaze through the windshield. "I hope we're not too late!"
*
Having snuck into the dydrid camp unseen, Twain couldn't resist having a closer look at the mounds of dydrid scraps lying about all over the place. He rummaged through a pile of junk metal, pulling out odd arms and helmets, making noises of delight at seeing the intricate innards of wiring and circuitry which made up the fantoms body armour.
Something moved behind Twain. The shadow of a fantom made him drop the rusting chest plate he held in his hands. He turned around, drawing a sharp, shallow breath as the capacity of his lungs seemed to have lessened with his intense fear.
"How did you get out?" a voice said through the faceless mask of the dydrid helmet.
Twain fell to his knees and sobbed like a helpless child. The soldier yanked him into the air by the scruff of his neck and began to walk, holding Twain away from his body with a straight arm like the boy was a bag of mouldy food. Twain didn't resist, he just cried.
"You’re going back in, I don’t care how much you cry," the soldier said, making his way to a metal door.
The door slid open and the fantom dropped Twain onto the mesh metal flooring inside. The door slid shut. Twain stood up, dusted himself down and smiled. "That was easy!" he said to himself.
A metal stairway led down into the unit, Twain heard voices.
Chapter XXI
Sinking
Casting a dark shadow over a field of white, the Nangus gathered a dusty covering of falling snow. A dozen geisendorfer men camouflaged in white furs scurried towards the ship. They gathered behind a mound of snow, their hearts beating with mischief at the size of the towering space carrier. Kile moved forward and crouched down at the head of the group as his friends did the same, huddling close together for orders. "Listen, men, just because we’re small it doesn’t mean we can’t do anything about these scrotum scratchers—let’s really tickle their nose hairs and cut through as many wires as we can. See if we can't get them lost on their way home. Got it?" he said in a high pitched voice, which most of the geisendorfers seemed to have.
Kile's followers nodded with a look caught somewhere between anger and dread on their faces, knowing full well that if they were caught they would meet the same fate as the others. However fearful they felt, they waved their hunting knives in the air with a cheery sneer.
"Okay, let’s go!" Kile said, moving off towards the ship.
The men followed behind, striding to the ship, knee deep through the snow. With the aid of some skilful grapple-hook throwing, the first few men clambered up the outside of the ship and disappeared into the holes of the lowest boosters. The others pulled themselves up higher and into the boosters above.
*
Twain crept down each metal step, assessing the room that came into view. Thousands of cythereans were packed between metal walls that penned them in on each side. Down a narrow gap behind the wall, Twain could make out the outline of giant pistons poised and lying in wait to push the walls together and crush whatever got in its way. At the end of the room was the rectangular light of an exit. Twain already knew what dangers lay beyond the edge of the conveyor.
He pushed his way through the crowd of bodies. "Excuse me, sorry," he said, squeezing through and looking up at the people around him. "Has anyone seen Lora Twain?" he asked, talking loudly in case she could hear. "She's my mother. Has anyone seen Lora Twain?" The people looked down at the boy, muttering amongst themselves, but they could only shake their heads at his question.
The crowd left a good twenty-foot gap from the end of the scrap-conveyor, staying well back and not wanting to be the first amongst those to topple off into the river below if and when the thing started to roll. Not favouring the idea of falling over himself, Twain steadily crept up somewhere near the edge and dropped down onto his chest, dragging himself across the floor for the last few inches. His head poked over the edge looking down at the river. Twain's heart raced at the height from which he looked down. He looked to the right, only one unit lay in that direction and about 100 feet away. He looked to the left where thirteen more units and thirteen possibilities of finding his mother were spread out across a sheer rock face. He looked above him and smiled. A metal shutter that he might be able to close lay at the exits of each unit. Twain knew that if he could open-c
ircuit the wires to malfunction the pistons behind the walls along with the floor conveyors, he could then lock the shutters closed and keep the people inside safe, hopefully for long enough until Jonas returned with the Elementis to free them all.
Twain got to his feet and ran his hand along the metal wall. Wriggling past people, he tracked along a welded seal until he saw the sealed box for the main circuit to the pistons. He took out his tekron, flicked up one of the components, and activated enough heat to begin melting through the seal.
A man turned to him, seeing the glowing end of the tool. "What are you up to?" he said, as if Twain was doing something untoward.
"I’m disabling the conveyor, the wall piston system and getting that shutter down," said Twain, as he melted away the metal seal. "Then I’m going to climb across to the next unit and so on and so on."
The man looked down at him. "You're insane!"
"If you think living a little longer is insane, so be it!" Twain responded, smiling up at him as the metal plate fell from the wall exposing the wiring for the pistons beyond.
*
The snow stopped falling on planet Destus, though a biting wind had gathered under a clearing sky which brought with it a fresh coldness. Solipa lead the dydrid army through the snow-covered trees of an ancient forest of pines.
Floating above the powdered ground on a hover carrier, Solipa stood between the Zohr and Mutus as he grunted the directions to where the stone was kept. Dozens of carriers spread out behind the Zohr, carrying the colonels of the army. On the ground, thousands of infantry with their visors set to identify the Elementis waded through a foot of snow on the flanks and to the rear.
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