‘Bessonov’s dead,’ came Alexei’s voice.
‘Dammit,’ he muttered. ‘Right, don’t hang about, move yer-selves!’
‘Yes, yes, it is what we are doing! Why aren’t you with us?’
‘Because I have a special friend,’ Greg said. ‘And someone has to keep their attention while you get yer arses in gear … Vashutkin, get aboard with them …’
‘Ah, so you’ve been elected president as well, eh? Sorry, my good and dear friend, but I think you may need a little help, here. How is it with you now?’
‘Kharasho,’ he lied. ‘I’m doing okay, maybe a wee bit oostalli.’
THIS IS FALSEHOOD YOU ARE FEELING THE STRAIN OF MY ENERGY DRAIN THE NEXT CLASH WILL REQUIRE A COUNTERATTACK THAT MAY RENDER YOU INSENSIBLE
Do it.
Almost as if his thoughts were a signal, the four combat mechs, all moving in quadruped mode, shifted formation to herd him towards the edge. In the background, the Har swayed away from the tower and began to gain height.
‘Alexei, why didn’t you see them coming?’ he said into the two-way.
‘They didn’t arrive from the north-east,’ said Alexei, voice raised against the sound of the dirigible’s engines. ‘They must have stealthed their way in, or they were here already.’
‘Vashutkin up there with ye?’
‘What do you think?’
He was about to come back with a good bit of banter when, suddenly, the mechs went from amble to breakneck charge in roughly a second.
FACE THEM BRACE YOUR STANCE ARMS RAISED AND SPREAD
The Zyradin’s aura brightened. The glowing motes emerged from his skin, swarming, looking exactly like strange, wandering eyes. The tide of metal closed on him, and even though the fear was choking him he knew what the Zyradin was capable of and a demented, exhilarated part of him was actually enjoying it.
The mechs had learned from the demise of the others so no ranged weapons were being deployed. Then the full-tilt charge reached its launch point and in unison they leaped, trajectory arcs finely calculated to converge on the place where he stood. Greg could feel his body temperature rising, heartbeat speeding up, a rushing in his ears accompanied by a deep bass drone that seemed to resonate down to the cellular level …
As before, time slowed. To his eyes the machines blurred at the edges, and the strange blue light smeared faintly. The four mechs were past the high points of their leaps, glinting metal claws outstretched, spined lower limbs also coming up, They were close, less than a couple of metres away and still in motion, slow, imperceptible. Sharp, icy light bloomed from his outflung arms, a web of glittering radiance, like a froth of star-glints, that extended to caress the inward-flying killing edges and spikes.
For Greg it was like having the strength physically wrenched from his body. His senses swam, his extremities tingled and trembled, and bitter cold started climbing his spine. At the same time his mind was flooded with images of mechanisms, interlocking, turning, sliding elements, bearings, power systems, subassemblies, sensor webs, data networks, self-repair nodes, processor hubs, weapon batteries, ammo magazines … he saw their construction, saw the improvements and upgrades to earlier designs (some he recognised from those early mech attacks on Tusk Mountain) … He saw the production chamber where they were put together, saw something after, a long alien shape, a flattened carapace, segmented metallic tentacles …
Like an avalanche’s first moments, the first stone dislodging a few more, the disassembly began at the heart of the Zyradin’s zone of slow time. Greg could see pins, linkages and bolts undo themselves from the claws that were aimed at him, saw this unlimbering move back along the armoured limbs, past the shoulder joints and into the chests, into compressed assemblies of processors and power generators.
One part of Greg’s mind saw the immaculate disassembly, revelling in the attention to detail, and in the sheer torrent of detail …
While the rest of him gasped as the four merciless, inexorable machines sprang apart in midair, a spreading cloud of components still flying forward, cascades of metal pouring straight at him. Only to rebound from a hazy blue barrier which leaped up at the last moment. A deafening roar of clashing and crashing filled the air as the disconnected debris formed a rough U-shape surrounding him. Then everything turned grey and tilted over. Lying on his side he could feel exhausted muscles twitch in his face, neck, back, almost everywhere. The air wheezed in his chest with every breath, and there was just no strength in his arms and legs. He pressed one shaking hand against the hard ground but there was nothing to push with.
Footsteps approached, the only sound in the silence. A familiar figure crouched down next to him.
‘Impressive,’ said Vashutkin. ‘Micro-distortion of subspace combined with causal state inversion, with various effects. The Forerunners certainly were master craftsmen.’
A cold dread crept over Greg. It was Vashutkin’s voice but without so much as a hint of Russian accent. Feeling a trickle of returning strength he levered himself up onto one elbow.
‘Who are you?’ he said hoarsely.
AN AUTOMATION
Vashutkin’s smile was almost hidden by the darkness. ‘Your passenger is correct, Gregory. Remember when you were handed over to the custody of the High Monitor Kuros? And how you became the recipient of that special dust? After your Uvovo friends removed it from your bloodstream, Kuros had to find another useful figure among the rebels – and here we are.’
‘What are you after?’
‘My orders were to bring you here for interrogation, but as we’ve seen, the facility is deserted.’
‘Renounce Kuros, join us, work with us …’ Greg said, breaking off to cough drily.
‘Not an option, and time is short since the main force of combat droids will soon be here.’ The big Brolturan rifle swung round, rounded muzzle pointed directly at Greg’s head. ‘Actually my orders in full said capture or kill so it would seem that the latter is now my imperative.’
Purely on impulse, Greg reached out and stuck his forefinger in the rifle’s muzzle.
‘That won’t save you,’ said the possessed Rus.
‘Maybe not,’ Greg said. ‘But they might.’
Off to the west, waves of gleaming metal forms were cresting the main ridge.
SOMETHING ELSE IS COMING
As Vashutkin turned to glance at the oncoming droids, Greg found himself looking through a rising haze of grainy, blurring greyness which brightened and began rushing upwards, brightened and smoothed into a flowing, glowing whiteness that snatched him away …
He had glanced sideways for only the briefest of glimpses but when he looked back the Human was gone. A quick scan of the area revealed no footprints or clues of any kind. Reasoning suggested that some form of matter transfer had taken place.
The entity occupying Alexandr Vashutkin’s body was really a coalescent persona comprising various groups of the self-organising nanoparticles with which Vashutkin had been impregnated during the escape from the cliff caves. The entity had no especial instinct for self-preservation but when it looked and surveyed the dozens of armoured mechs pouring onto the promontory it could feel an emotional-physical response from the host, whose sentient awareness was still linked to the perceptions. Urgency, causing increased heart rate and alterations in hormonal balance in preparation for fight or flight.
The droids were gathering around him, cutting off avenues of escape. His orders were clearly no longer adequate to the wider situation, therefore he had to have them either clarified or replaced with new ones. In both cases, Utavess Kuros had to be located.
The immediate task, however, was survival. The droids were only moments away from rushing him or opening fire. Dropping the Brolturan weapon, he spun and dashed towards the edge. The droids were a rippling mass of metal converging but following him past the brink. And when probes were aimed over the side, sensors revealed the hundreds of lifeforms gathered far below and the heat signatures of explosions and weaponsfire. But of
the solitary fugitive there was no sign.
Satisfied that no threat could come from that point, the mechs spread out across Giant’s Shoulder, preparing for their master’s arrival.
Amid a swirl of fading, shredding whiteness, Greg found himself stretched out on cold, hard stone. His fingers brushed over it and discovered incised grooves with rounded edges and pitted surfaces. He was lying on the warpwell, with the shape of the Zyradin canister pressing into his back.
‘Gregory Cameron, listen closely to me.’ The Sentinel was standing over him, its young-woman features displaying something like weariness. ‘I have less than a minute of existence left – the Hegemony scientists decoded the deeper patterns and set a trap. My foundation pattern has been destroyed and the auxiliary will soon be overwhelmed. I am going to send you and the Zyradin to Segrana but this will leave me with insufficient resources to hold off the Knight of the Legion of Avatars. His servants are gathering above.
‘Nor can I harm the warpwell. But I shall send a message to the Construct – it may be able to provide help. Farewell, Human Gregory Cameron.’
The storm of whiteness descended again. For what felt like an interminable period he hung suspended in the white, body numb, thoughts circling in despair. All the planning and struggle and fighting had led to this, the warpwell in the hands of a servant of the Legion of Avatars, the myriad-strong bogeymen who had brought the Forerunners and half the galaxy to the brink of disaster so many millennia ago. According to what the Sentinel told him after the defeat of the machine Drazuma-Ha, the Legion had originally numbered in the billions. The warpwells had sent them plunging through destruction to the deepest, most inescapable tiers of hyperspace, a place called the Abyss. Solid proof was hard to come by but the Sentinel said that any survivors might number only a few million …
Then the braided whiteness whirled and swirled away, melting into darkness. New odours came to him as his sight adjusted to gloomy surroundings, smells of wood, soil and decay and overlaying them an acrid whiff of smoke.
He was sprawled on an expanse of damp stone. The Zyradin’s container was still safely strapped to his back, which he made sure of first. Then his fingers felt the intricate grooves and indentations in the stone surface almost before his eyes picked out the curved edge of a Forerunner platform. It sat at the bottom of a four-sided pit with stepped sides. What little light there was came from one end of this low, shadowy temple-like building so he carefully climbed the slippery tiers of what looked like seating.
Where are we?
THE HEART OF SEGRANA IT HAS BEEN NINETY THOUSAND YEARS SINCE I LAST SHARED THE GREAT UNITY WITH ONE OF THE WORLD-MINDS
So now all we have to do is find Catriona, he thought. Then what?
THE KEEPER IS THE GATEWAY TO A GREAT WEAVE OF BEING THE KEEPER CHANNELS THE ZYRADIN TO EVERY ROOT AND BRANCH AND EXTREMITY
As Greg climbed out of the strange pit the air grew noticeably smokier and he coughed as it caught the back of his throat. It was woodsmoke. Somewhere, trees were burning.
You’re avoiding the question. What happens to her? Suddenly he was angrily speaking out loud. ‘Is she still human afterwards? Tell me – I’ve a right to know!’
I CAN ALREADY SENSE THAT SHE HAS MOVED BEYOND HER OWN LIMITS WHAT YOU THINK OF AS HUMANITY CANNOT SURVIVE INTIMATE CONTACT WITH THE MULTIFACETED PRESENCE OF SEGRANA
Greg shook his head but made no reply as he half-staggered through the shadows, along a low passage, and round to where a wide door led out to the smoke-hazed green gloom of the forest. Ominously, from far off came the sound of gunfire. The temple was situated on a bushy rise, looking down at the huge bulging, twisted roots of the massive trees that towered over the forest floor. And even as he emerged from the doorway, a figure stepped into view from behind a mass of foliage, and Greg’s heart suddenly began to pound as he recognised it as a Brolturan trooper. It saw him at the same time, bringing its heavy rifle to bear even as he reacted, half-turning to throw himself back inside …
A darkened form suddenly flew down from above, landing on the Brolturan’s shoulders, joined by another half-dozen diminutive Uvovo wielding clubs with vicious rapidity. In seconds the invader was subdued, and an older Uvovo clad in pale brown folds appeared from round the side of the temple and hurried towards him.
‘I am Scholar Rinavi. Forgiveness is begged, visitor,’ he said. ‘Are you the Benevolent scholar Gregory, leader of the freedom-seekers on Umara?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I am to take you to the Keeper immediately. Please follow – we must be swift, as this area was overrun just hours ago and we had to fight hard to push both the Brolturans and the Spirals back.’
‘I can appreciate your problems,’ he said, pacing the scholar as he set off. A moment later, his legs suddenly felt weak and a wave of dizziness assailed him.
‘Do you require assistance?’ said Rinavi.
I CAN NOW PROVIDE YOU WITH SOME ENERGY
A clean warmth flooded into his chest, arms and legs. His head felt clearer, his eyesight sharper.
‘I can manage, thank you, Rinavi. Please, lead the way.’
After twenty minutes of hasty tramping across boggy ground and through sometimes heavy undergrowth, they reached the crest of a low hill, rounded and free of any foliage. A small three-sided stone temple sat there, its lines and design reminding him of the structure on Giant’s Shoulder. Other Uvovo were gathered there, silently watching as he approached the wide, curved entrance directly ahead. Greg gazed up – smoke drifted in high layers, lit weirdly by the tessellated fragments of sunlight that filtered down from above. A light shower had begun to fall, tiny glittering droplets coming down in gauzy curtains. He felt them in his hair, on his face, his lips, and tasted a sooty grit in them. Sombre in the rain, he entered the temple.
The building had no other entrances and a triangular opening in the centre of the roof. The ground was an uneven expanse of grass and tilted, mossy flagstones, and there, seated on a long stone bench was a familiar figure. As he approached she rose and hurried towards him. Without hesitation they put their arms around each other and kissed. It was an unselfconscious act, tenderly, gently done.
When they broke apart, he saw that she had been crying, her eyes reddened, face streaked with tears.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘What’s the matter?’
She shook her head, wiped away the wetness. ‘I … harmed Segrana, Greg. I was trying to defend against the invaders and the bombings and I forced her ancient energies to surface, so that I could give the invaders a clout, make them leave! But I couldn’t control it …’ Catriona sighed and took hold of his jerkin. ‘I canna tell you what it means to see you again.’
Greg leaned forward and kissed her once more. She smiled, a little sadly.
‘Well now, Mr Cameron, am I right in thinking that you have intentions towards me? These lips of yours seem to be trying to tell me something.’
‘My lips, Miss Macreadie, are the very bletherers of candour.’
‘So tell me – do you love me?’
Taking her hand, he nodded. ‘Aye, I’m afraid that I do.’
‘Then tell me what’ll happen when you give me the Zyradin.’
‘I don’t know but I can tell you what it did to me.’
And he related his experiences as the Zyradin’s host, and tried to summarise events on Darien, all that struggle and intrigue and insane, daredevil heroics. He also told her a little about Kao Chih, the Roug, and the colony of Pyre. She in turn told him about Theo and how he helped in the initial defence of Segrana, and how he and the Ezgara-Tygran Malachi were abducted by unseen attackers. That a deadly enemy was now in control of the warp-well cast a dread pall over their mutual embrace.
‘I know that the Zyradin will alter me,’ Catriona said. ‘And I don’t want to do it! I don’t want to lose what I am and what I know and I especially don’t want to lose what we … what we might have together.’ She closed her eyes, as if in pain, and gave a small shak
e of the head. ‘But there are things that have to be done, and errors that must be put right.’ Tears were trickling down her cheeks. ‘All the damage that I did … aye, and now there’s huge areas where Segrana cannae even see or feel, while the fanatics and the Brolturans fight it out and Segrana burns …’
THE INTRUDERS CAN BE DEALT WITH THE INJURIES AND THE BLIGHT CAN BE REPAIRED THE GREAT WEAVE OF BEING CAN REGROW AND RENEW THIS IS MY PURPOSE
Catriona straightened, eyes wide. ‘Was that him, it … the Zyradin? Can I see it?’
For a moment, Greg half-expected a cloud of blue motes to emerge from his skin but there was nothing as he unfastened a chest strap, swung the harness off his back and took out the canister. He removed the flexible lid and looked in at the restless mass of glowing blue specks, filling the container to the top.
‘I can’t even tell if all of you is in there,’ he murmured.
I AM THAT WHICH YOU SEE
Greg looked up at her. ‘Ye ready?’
Catriona met his gaze and something requiring no words passed between them. Then slowly, reluctantly, he handed the canister to her.
She held it in both hands as if judging its weight. ‘Hmm – all that advanced Forerunner tech surviving for millennia. Thought it would be heavier, somehow …’
Then with a calm, resolute gaze she looked inside, studying it, eyes widening before she drew back, a rapt expression on her face. The blue motes of the Zyradin began pouring out, filling the air around her and becoming a dense cloud. The canister fell from her clasp, empty, turning end over end, while she raised her hands and swept them slowly through the hovering, drifting myriad blue points. Then the radiant cloud drew inward, condensing around her, brightening. The collective luminescence lit up the stone floor and walls, a pure blue glow that showed up every groove and chip, every maker’s mark, as well as every spreading patch of lichen and sprigs sprouting in notches.
Now the Zyradin’s blue points were sinking into her skin, watched over by Catriona who marvelled at the sight, occasionally giggling. Eventually every last one had been absorbed, and she looked up.
The Orphaned Worlds_Book Two of Humanity's Fire Page 46
