by Barry Kirwan
He paused again. Gabriel appreciated the time to assimilate not the words, but their import. If this were true… He felt nauseous, trying to recall how many he’d cleansed for the Alicians, while supposedly working for the Chorazin. Now, to learn that all this time he’d been used by an alien race…
"The Q’Roth will return. Soon, maybe a decade from now. The inner circle of the Alicians, these Protectors, have been plotting for a millennium, and have become more active in the past hundred years. Many inventions, many discoveries are scheduled technology releases fostered by key Alicians to bring humanity closer to harvesting by the Q’Roth."
The pieces slotted together for Gabriel. Most Alicians appeared to be of the "robe-and-dagger" fanatic variety, but he’d also seen visitors to the training centre in sharp business suits, from one of the large Titan Corporations’ research agencies. He’d also been called upon to cleanse several scientists. The Alicians’ outward face was a façade, hiding their inner machinations.
Cheveyo continued. "They increase our internal discord, while avenues of science dangerous to the Q’Roth are blocked from us. The War was triggered by the Protectors, to bring the Alicians out of the shadows just beneath an unstoppable popular force, the Fundies who united Eastern and Western fundamentalist ideologies. And the War was halted by the Protectors at the last moment, to prevent catastrophic loss of the Q’Roth food source."
Cheveyo picked up the Cleanser’s knife. "I must ask you a question, Gabriel."
Gabriel’s eyes widened, lost on this sudden stormy sea of revelation, whose evidence he was sitting on, since this behemoth of a ship buried inside a glacier couldn’t have been created by man. He clung to his Master’s voice, the only lifeline he had left. The knife was there to delineate choices, he knew. If his answer was wrong or insufficient, he would join his two comrades at the entrance of the tower. His Master would report him as killed during training, and would not be questioned. Moreover, Gabriel knew that he could not physically overcome this man – despite being a good forty years younger – as numerous physical training bouts in recent weeks had made abundantly clear.
"Gabriel – what is the nature of fundamentalism? What choice characterizes it?"
Gabriel’s brow furrowed; such an abstract question, one he had never heard before. He had to think of the context his Master had used earlier, equating choice with life, and he clearly had to answer differently to the men lying on the floor, their throats bled dry.
An answer struck his mind, dredged up from the memory of a man he had killed – a famous Professor who had been unafraid to die, one of the very few. He had said it to Gabriel just before the cleansing. It now came back to haunt him, but it resonated with truth, a shocking truth. Gabriel didn’t hesitate. He trusted his Master, and if he gave him the wrong answer, then he was prepared to suffer the consequences.
"Fundamentalism values blind faith more than intelligence." He remembered the rest of it. "Faith: a blind, deaf and untouchable faith which will hold even in the face of clear counter-evidence."
"Those are not your words, Gabriel." Cheveyo rose effortlessly and walked around behind him.
Gabriel swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple, wondering if it might be slit in two at any moment. "Fundamentalism is about controlling the masses, the herd," he said, hesitantly, and then he understood. "In this case, so the herd can be led to slaughter."
Cheveyo returned in front of Gabriel and sat down, placing the unsheathed knife between them. This time the hilt faced Gabriel. "The Q’Roth want people to leave this planet. We do not know why exactly, and we do not know where – yet – perhaps to their home planet."
Gabriel risked a question. "How do we know these things? Alicians are trained to resist torture."
"The Q’Roth have not been the only visitors to Earth. Another alien, a Ranger, crash-landed here a century after the Q’Roth scouting mission. My ancestors helped and nursed him back to health, although his physiology was more reptilian than human. He detected traces of the Q’Roth’s visit, and warned my forebears what was to come."
"From what he could communicate, the Q’Roth have a thousand year life cycle. When they are born, they are utterly savage, violent creatures. They need to feed quickly on sentient neural energy. It acts as a catalyst for their intellectual maturation." Cheveyo paused, looking downcast. "It is not so uncommon in nature, for hatchlings to feed on others so that they may have life." He raised his head again. "But this wanton culling will eradicate humanity – each Q’Roth will consume a hundred souls."
Gabriel realized how weary his Master was. But there was a further question he had to ask. His legs were numb from sitting on the glacial ice, but he ignored them. "Master, you said ‘we’. Who is this ‘we’?"
His Master nodded. "We are called Sentinels. We are very few, less than fifty now on this globe hurtling through space, its population oblivious to the raptors out there, and to the wolves dressed in robes at home. We are scattered, fragmented, no longer able to do anything of strategic significance. Once we were stronger, but violent struggles with the vassals of the Q’Roth over the centuries have exacted a heavy toll on our numbers. But we remember, we know and understand the threat, and we look for opportunities. A number of us are hidden within the Alician ranks themselves. And we look for new blood." He closed his eyes.
"My choice," Gabriel said, looking at the knife lying between them. It was an invitation – he could try and kill his Master, or he could join with him. He made no move. "The others – the two lying at the entrance. They did not… believe you?"
His Master, eyes still closed, in a move so fast it surprised Gabriel, sheathed the razor-sharp curved knife; it disappeared into the folds of his sleeve.
"They answered differently."
Gabriel opened his eyes in the dark, musty room – the trip-sensors had detected someone. He heard footsteps descending the spiral staircase. Instinctively he knew it was Sister Esma, and he was sure she was a vassal of the Q’Roth, one of the Protectors, possibly their Grand Mistress herself. If so, she would be very hard to kill, and at the least would almost certainly take him with her. Perhaps he could gain more useful information from her, or perhaps he should simply send her onwards, preemptively. Choices.
He sprang into a fighting stance. He saw two legs appear, stepping sedately down the last steps. If he was to kill her, it must be before she reached the bottom. He made his choice. His throwing knife pierced her chest up to its hilt just before her head appeared. There was a gurgling, and she toppled to the floor, head down. He listened for any further footsteps in case she was not alone, and then approached to turn her body over. Sister Esma smiled at him, her mouth leaking green bile.
"Matthias – or should I say Gabriel – I knew you would come."
His hands whipped around the back of her head and jaw and flicked to snap her neck, but there was no crunch, just a rubbery resistance. Her left hand shot upwards and closed around his throat. With one hand he tried to pry it loose, and with the other he twisted the knife sticking into her chest, but she kept smiling.
"My heart’s not there anymore, Gabriel. They moved it a long time ago."
Long fingernails pierced his neck, and he felt toxins surge into his bloodstream, a boiling flush washing through his skull, attacking his brain cells. Brown blotches appeared in front of his eyes like spats of mud. He punched her temple hard enough to smash a normal human skull, but it did no damage. His strength collapsed. He reached down to activate the small grenade strapped to his waist, to kill them both, but her free hand intercepted his with surprising speed. He let go of the hand locked around his neck, yanked out the knife in her chest, and attempted to slash her throat, but his arm seized up, the blade mere centimeters from her jugular.
She continued to hold him above her. His limbs were rigid, unresponsive, and his chest muscles ceased to perform their vital function. Paralyzed, and slowly asphyxiating, all he could do was watch her hideous smile.
Chapter 27
Q’Roth
Zack hurled the long range pulse rifle to the ground. He’d managed to hit the bastard square on eight times but it had no effect; the pulse beam reflected off it, hadn’t even slowed it down. So he switched to his favorite weapon, the one he’d used in Rome to face down a stealth jet – his ‘catapult’. He thanked God they’d let him bring it on the mission – it had taken all Blake’s military clout and rhetoric to get the bureaucrats to allow it onboard. But he’d rather go up against another stealth fighter than this. To make matters worse, his leg was sending tremors of agony up his spine. He’d jumped down the steps in his race to save Pierre, forgetting his leg was in a cast. But he dared not take a pain-tab – he needed crystal vision. He felt adrenaline flooding through him, just as it had in battle during the War. Adrenaline is colored brown, he’d always told his troops.
He hefted the field cannon onto his right shoulder. His left hand gripped the stabilizer on the main body, his right eye glued to the targetter. His right index finger stroked the trigger.
"Sonofabitch!" he murmured. "Run in a straight line God damn you!" He couldn’t lock onto the target, despite the creature’s size. The cannon had an auto-zoom for moving targets, with superimposed digital readouts of the distance between the creature and Pierre, and between Pierre and Zack. Using a sub-vocal interface he programmed four projectiles – the first an explosive warhead, the second an armor penetrator, the third another explosive device, the fourth a high yield explosive. The last was in case the first three failed – Pierre was already too close to the creature not to be caught in its blast.
Zack studied it while it was still out of range, tearing down the escarpment after Pierre. He tried to ignore what the creature looked like, because that just might make him turn, bolt the hatch and take off. Its grey-black sheen made it difficult to discern detail, and the setting sun was behind it. Still, its long, thin, rectangular shape and its angular, trapezoidal head made it look almost noble when it stood up. But when it ran, it resembled a giant deranged locust – if a locust could run that fast – body bent double and then stretched to maximum with its fore and hind legs lashing out, clawing into the terrain and projecting it forward in seemingly random darts, always closing on its target.
He counted six insect-like legs, the two middle ones folded into its body when it stood up. Each leg was long, thin, and serrated, rose-like thorns the length of a man’s hand travelling down the side of each lower leg. If it reached Pierre, it would shred him in seconds.
It dodged left or right more than twice a second, and was gaining on its prey. Zack was thankful at least that Pierre had stopped zigzagging. Smart kid, he thought, knows it’s not working anyway, because the thing is so damn manoeuvrable, and it makes it harder for me to zero it. Zack had been waiting for them to come into the optimal range of the cannon. An icon in his sight-glass switched from yellow to green for Pierre, and from red to yellow for the creature. Zack flexed his finger over the trigger, and breathed out slowly so his arm became rock steady: three hundred meters, the creature some thirty meters behind Pierre, closing fast.
He counted the creature’s zigs and zags, trying to guess which way it would go next. On intuition, he fired a shot to the right of Pierre – he doubted he would hit the creature; he was gauging the timing. He estimated the projectile took a full second to reach them. A huge boulder some way behind them exploded, sending rocks the size of footballs into the sky in all directions. Neither of them slowed down. Okay, we’re in business.
Zack knew there was only one way to hit it. He hoped it wasn’t that tactically smart – he would only get one shot at this. Two hundred and fifty meters; fifteen meters between them. He spoke to his microphone.
‘Pierre, when I say ‘now’, you hit the deck fast and stay down. Don’t be late.’
The silence from Pierre indicated to Zack his consent – at least he hoped it did. He could hear Pierre’s stuttering intakes of breath, could almost smell the panic. Hold it together just a little longer, Pierre.
He waited five more agonizing seconds until the separation reading said five meters. It was right behind Pierre, and began to rise up slightly, the two upper legs extending upwards and outwards, ready to slash.
Zack fired and shouted ‘NOW!’
He fired again.
He held his breath, finger poised on the trigger for the fourth, final shell.
***
Blake watched the mirror in silence for ten minutes, jaw muscles tight throughout. He didn’t understand all he saw, but enough to appreciate the danger from these beasts – the locusts as Kat had called them. When they stood tall they were sleek monoliths, a diffuse black that made it difficult to focus on any detail. But he made out what might be eyes, though they looked more like blood-red gills, on either side of their heads, and a gash that was possibly a mouth. At first the mirror had shown him just one or at most two, at a distance, clearly on Eden. And then underground – he didn’t know where – he’d seen eggs, tens of thousands of them, laid out in neat rows.
The mirror showed him another place. Blake realized he was seeing a different planet, not empty like Eden, but teeming with life. He glanced at Rashid for verification. Rashid nodded, but the somber look in his eyes told him what was to come. An air-brushed violet sky speckled with silver dust hovered over a mercurial city, pastel hues rippling across tubular buildings, conduits, bridges – he wasn’t sure exactly what was what. Spider-like residents ambled about the city, drenched in fluorescent hues, on four nimble, hairy legs. He couldn’t make out heads. It was difficult to take it all in with the continual, hallucinogenic cascade of color.
Many mirrors like the one he was viewing now – some oval, some octagonal in shape, others triangular – hovered, interacting in some way with the spiders. Blake guessed the mirrors served the spiders, or at the least the two had a symbiotic relationship.
Occasionally the shifting sands of color subsided, to be followed by a spectacular reverse waterfall of fireworks into the sky, glowing lights creating night-time clouds of pulsing garnet and amethyst. Blake was mesmerized. The more vistas appeared, the more it was evident that this was a culture devoted to peace and art. Without having heard a word or explanation of anything, he instinctively appreciated this sublime race. But his stomach remained tense, ready for what was to come.
The scene switched back to the sky. Colossal grey ships sank like monstrous snowflakes down towards the mountains surrounding the rainbow city. The spiders and mirrors gathered and watched. Explosions shook the ground, pulverizing several of the city conduits. The ships’ doors opened and the beasts swarmed out in their thousands, some airborne in small ships. He decided Kat had been right after all calling them locusts. He saw close up, then from a distance, how they killed everything in their path.
Each time one of them took a spider, it hung on for a few seconds with its gash of a mouth, while the spider’s color drained away, then its lifeless corpse was discarded. Blake’s knuckles squeezed white, mainly because the spiders mounted no defense, and were slaughtered. Some of the mirrors were smashed by the beasts, many more shattered of their own accord, perhaps when their masters were killed – he didn’t know. The view switched to a faraway sweep of the city, grey and smoking, a black wraith of the beasts strangling and engulfing it like a cancer.
The last scene was of the ground, and then the planet itself, receding, viewed from space. Abruptly the mirror returned to its fluid, non-descript ‘face’, as Blake had come to think of it. But he found himself still staring. He closed his eyes and the images remained. He’d just watched genocide, an entire species eradicated. His thoughts turned to Earth, and anger rose inside him at the sheer stupidity, the futility of its internal wars, the squandered time, when there were such abominations out in space.
Rashid held out a cup of tea. Blake hadn’t noticed him making it. But as he reached for it, Rashid said, "No, it’s for her."
Kat was coming round, eyes scrunched against the light. Without hes
itation, before Blake could stop her, she released the seals on her helmet, took it off, and dropped it next to where she lay. She propped herself up, took the tea, and gulped it down in seconds.
"Thanks," she coughed, wiping her mouth, and then turned to Blake.
"Sir," she said, eyes wide. "It’s been in my head. The mirror. It used my node, re-activated it, and communicated with me. Not for the first time, either. I think it’s been in my dreams, hiding in the back of my consciousness for some time, maybe a month. I guess I blacked out this time because of its proximity. The information rate was too intense. Then it slowed down."
Blake interrupted. "Why don’t you slow down yourself? Now you’ve taken your helmet off, I can see you’ve had a rough ride."
"Sir, my air was getting low, and…"
"It’s okay, Kat – bad air seems like the least of our problems right now. Can you talk to it?"
Her brow furrowed. "Not really, but it shows me things that trigger thoughts, sounds, even occasionally a word association. It spent a long time studying my memories, trying to understand me – us. But it’s very different."
Rashid spoke as if from a distance. "I envy you. It has been my companion here for nearly a year, and yet we have never been able to communicate – except that it has shown me images. Things that at first made me fear God had deserted us, then that there can be no God, and then, a deep hope that God was still investing in our survival."
Kat put the cup down and moved forward and patted Rashid on his leg. "It has wanted to communicate with you, Rashid. I don’t know whether it has emotions like us, but it somehow expressed –" she sought the right word "– concern. I think it likes you. It misses its master, that much I do know, and you’re the first being it’s related to for a very long time."
