by Vic Davis
Pilgrim suddenly remembered the Omega that now followed Humble along everywhere. How would it fit inside? The answer was astonishing: a sudden contraction in form allowed easy passage. Humble and Mong followed close behind the monster.
Inside the building Pilgrim discovered an oasis of calm: a sanctuary from the maelstrom raging outside; the roar of the ether was now just a low hum. A quick look around revealed a commons room or something similar. There were doors evenly spaced on three walls, empty tables, and a source preparation station on the far wall. Pilgrim asked: “What is this place?”
“A commons room for officer apartments I would guess,” signaled Breaker. “Nobody home.”
“Should we try to advance further?” signaled Pilgrim. “If we get into a fight, it will be impossible to stay organized. Maybe we should send a messenger back to Vinks? If we own this side of the outpost, we can advance as soon as the storm breaks.”
Stinky was thinking along similar lines. “Taking the outpost HQ isn’t going to mean anything if we can’t see what we are doing. The enemy won’t expect us to even be here. As soon as the storm breaks, we can sprint the final distance and still surprise them.”
“I think you are correct in your assessment,” signaled Breaker. The Master Tactician opened the door to the street and disappeared only to return shortly after. “I’ve sent a commando back to Vinks. We’ll hold here until the storm stops or dissipates enough for us to fight sensibly.”
Zuur separated into its two component parts and let out a grunt. Big boss still carrying the good luck statuary club from Privil’s Landing made a beeline for the source preparation area. A loud burst of dismissive laughter indicated that it had found something less than appealing. Little Boss signaled: “Whoever inhabits this domicile left in a hurry. They have laid out a meal. It is a crude pattern but still, such a waste.”
“That’s just the thing that’s bothering me,” signaled Breaker.
“Where is everybody?” wondered Stinky.
“Precisely,” signaled Breaker uneasily. “You would think that the council would have at least quartered the officers in here to sit out the storm. Instead, they seem to have departed. Something funny is going on; I don’t like it.”
The strange storm lasted for almost half a cycle. Vinks sent a runner up the street to establish contact with the assault group and approve their pause. Their entire army was now encamped within the walls of the outpost spread out to form a semi-circle style perimeter. The arc discharges up above in the ether grew more frequent and powerful in amplitude; then suddenly they stopped. The entire field of the ether reverberated in sputtering oscillations: a disorientating experience for every source and pseudo-source creature cohering within the node; a preternatural stillness then took hold.
The assault group had been ready and waiting. Pilgrim turned its transom to Breaker and signaled: “It has to be over. Should we go?”
“Yes, I think so,” replied Breaker. “We should strike quickly while they still do not suspect we are within their walls.”
The party filed out onto the narrow street to find that the Hegemon Commandos were also ready at the opposite door but had not yet egressed. Pilgrim set off at a brisk pace with a combined battle form Zuur at its side. The ether felt pristine as if some cleansing purge had rejuvenated the entire field within the node. The stillness was soon broken by a familiar chain of disturbances: the unmistakable ripple of grenado detonations.
“Do you sense that?” asked Pilgrim.
“Grenados!” confirmed Stinky from just behind.
“Is Vinks under attack?” signaled Pilgrim with a concerned tone.
“No, it’s from up ahead. There is no way anyone but us could have advanced this far,” observed Breaker. “Forward. Let’s see what we find.”
They resumed their advance but at a cautious pace constantly on the lookout for an ambush. There were surprisingly few side streets that intersected with their own. They had traveled down a small stretch of nondescript buildings past several short spurs which dead-ended when Pilgrim felt it: a disturbance just a half dozen long lances in front of them.
Pilgrim halted and raised a tendril. Zuur must have felt it too. The large Djenirian gripped its war club tightly. A line of energy appeared in the middle of the street and seemed to open up a rip in the ether. A coruscating gate manifested itself forming the outlines of a rounded rectangle.
“A translational gate: be on your guard!” ordered Breaker.
A medium size ovoid creature hovered out from the portal; the breach in the ether collapsed like a burst soap bubble. The new arrival struggled only briefly to gain full coherence; it was no neophyte to translation, thought Pilgrim. As the ovoid came into focus there was a collective gasp from the assault group.
“Master Grivil?” signaled Pilgrim. “I remember you.”
Grivil seemed to be in a mild panic. “Please. Do not hurt me!”
“Grivil, you fool. It’s me Stinky! What in The Hidden Nodes are you doing here?”
“Chief Engineer? It is you. And you I recognize too,” signaled Grivil pointing a guide tendril at Pilgrim. “The zeroth point traveler. Yes, that’s it.”
Stinky’s transom flew in several hopeful directions. “What are you doing here? Where is your cadre? Are there other survivors from the Hegemon’s army?”
Grivil seemed to compose itself but did not answer immediately. Breaker felt the pressure of time slipping away and pushed. “Master Grivil, what is going on here? You are not gating yourself around this outpost deep in enemy territory for recreational purposes.”
“Certainly not. I am escaping. And you should too. There is an entire Council army breaking into this outpost at this very moment.”
Breaker hovered forward to push in between Pilgrim and Zuur. “How did you get here?”
“I was more or less kidnapped and impressed into service by a mercenary company in Privil’s Landing. The entire affair is too long and depressing to relate here. Unless you have an army with you, I would not recommend proceeding further. In fact, while they tear my old employer to bits, now is the perfect time to make good an escape.”
Zuur bellowed a laugh. “You abandoned your comrades in the middle of a fight?”
“They were certainly not my comrades, and I was helping under duress: more or less. I tried to get some of the better ones to come with me. Even the alchemist refused. I had to be careful that Telzra lacky didn’t catch on and do something drastic. But fortunately, it was busy fighting to protect Xodd. That idiot is going to get them all decohered. Poor Voor! It really believes all the stuff it’s been preaching. I tried to get it to reconsider but—”
“Telzra you say?” interrupted Breaker excitedly. “With Xodd?” Breaker was putting the puzzle pieces together. “They are fighting the Council?”
Grivil pointed a guide tendril down the street. “Yes, not far from here in the central courtyard. I doubt if they still cohere. The numbers against them are overwhelming.”
“Show us the way now!” shouted Breaker.
“It’s suicide. I refuse.”
Breaker motioned to a nearby sergeant in the Hegemon commandos. “Put this coward under arrest. Bring it with us. We are pushing on. Watch it closely. Under no circumstance let it form a gate. If it tries to flee, decohere it.”
“Yes, sir!” affirmed the sergeant.
Breaker led them forward at double time. As they neared their destination the grenado disturbances in the ether grew to a clamorous crescendo; the battle ahead was reaching a zenith. They arrived at the central plaza to witness a spectacular scene: a jumble of ovoid forms fighting from atop lone wagon in the center of the clearing. A crude barricade had been erected to protect it by turning over a dozen other supply wagons. Lances both long and short peered out from over and in-between the overturned conveyances. A sea of Council inert soldiers lapped around the besieged island.
Pilgrim marveled at the fight in progress. It looked as if it had been perfectly staged from a
play about some ancient heroic last stand. Xodd, in an impressive battle form, hovered erect and upright on top of the wagon giving commands and swinging its massive war club in a mock effort to fend off any stray intruders who threatened to surmount the crude protective barrier. A diminutive, twisted form hovered next to it, operating a strange multi-barreled contraption: a cannon that belched forth a devastating volley of dispersed charge lance rounds into the mass of enemy troops pushing through a breach in the perimeter. Suddenly a vaguely familiar form popped up from within the wagon and lobbed a grenado over the defensive barriers to explode with great effect. Pilgrim wondered: was that the Old Alchemist from Timathur? There was no time to ponder the question. Breaker gave the order. “Charge!”
Despite the impossible odds, Pilgrim did not hesitate; It burst into full resplendent battle form and drove grimly ahead into the rear of the formation of enemy troops. A Fibonacci lash erupted from Pilgrim in a sweeping motion that cleared a swath of enemy away. Pilgrim ignored the cries of pain and astonishment, then unleashed another. From behind came the howl of an Omega; Humble and his friends were going to work.
A way forward through the swirling chaos around the besieged island began to appear, then vanished almost immediately. The lashes had done devasting work, but such was the mass of opponents surging in a rage toward their goal, that the empty gashes filled up quickly; forward progress would be slow.
Zuur gleefully swung its statuary in sweeping arcs taking out swaths of oblivious inerts. The way before Pilgrim parted again with grudgingly stubborn resistance. Another Fibonacci lash jumped out and this time Pilgrim surged forward to occupy the vacated space. How long before they realized they are under attack? Pilgrim struck with its high energy tipped tendrils dispatching the enemy with furious abandon.
They were almost at the barricade when the enemy realized in some collective fashion that their rear was seriously threatened. Their thrust had created a cordon with the Hegemon commandos securing the flanks: a narrowing arrowhead like channel strewn with decohering husks. Stinky and Breaker were close behind. Pilgrim could only glimpse the crown of Xodd’s large battle form still atop the wagon, still swinging its massive war club but this time in anger; they were being overrun.
A flash of energy now emanated from the center of the defensive circle like the opening of a translational gate; Pilgrim tried to mount a wagon turned on its side to find its source but the attacks from inerts on both sides prevented such a maneuver. Zuur reached the barrier just after Pilgrim and grappled with it briefly to tip it over; it would not budge.
Suddenly there was a crackling in the ether and all attention turned to the locus of the disturbance: the tip of Xodd’s club, now held high pointing toward the ceiling of the node glowed with a glorious white-hot anger. It discharged Tesla-like arcs of pure informational destruction into the ranks of the enemy.
Pilgrim watched awestruck as if some wonderous light show were in progress. A signal of jubilation reached its core from deep within its own form walls: a message of revelation. The Librarian created by Odnir recognized a fragment of a shade from cycles long past: the power of Radzak the Trembler; an urgent plea followed: “We must help my brother.”
Pilgrim desperately sought a means to clear a path for those trapped inside the circle to escape. It thought briefly of trying to sever the wagon with a Fibonacci lash, but loose flying fragments might harm those within. Pilgrim left its core to speed up its processing, freeze time and reconnoiter; it needed time to think, to see the big picture: the situation was dire. A new wave of Council soldiers was surging forward to press on the flanks of the path that had been cleared to the besieged; the Hegemon commandos were fighting ferociously to keep the retreat route clear but soon would be overwhelmed. Pilgrim smiled when it saw Humble mounted on the top of the Omega not far away wading into the enemy ranks. The little creature Mong was there atop the monster as well, using its Talent to hurl anything it could move. Perfect, thought Pilgrim now returning to its core.
“Mong! Mong!” signaled Pilgrim in the highest amplitude that it could muster to pierce the din of battle: the mixture and synthesis of hundreds, perhaps thousands of telepathic signals creating a low unintelligible roar.
Somehow the little Talent perceived the signal; it did not reply rather it waved a guide tendril comically back and forth in acknowledgement. Humble shouted back while still trying to direct the Omega: a rather incredible feat of skill and concentration. “Mong doesn’t signal. But it understands quite well.”
“Mong! Move this wagon. Toss it somewhere, anywhere safe.”
The wagon was suddenly jerked up and out if its position in the makeshift wall and sent flying violently a short distance into the enemy ranks decohering a half dozen on impact and a dozen more as it tumbled and splintered. Pilgrim had never seen flow move so fast in the ether. The wagon had not been tossed as much as it had been propelled.
Where the wagon once stood, now hovered Valor resplendent in its unique shimmering camouflaged battle form: two deadly high energy tipped tendrils sizzling in the ether. Pilgrim froze in astonishment. The Telzra closed the short distance in a dash both deadly tendrils jabbing. One of them cut a groove in the rounded plate of Pilgrim’s battle form; the other was deflected at the last moment with a quick instinctive parry from Pilgrim’s own high energy tendril. The sensation of the wounding entered Pilgrim’s astonished core.
“Valor! It’s me!” signaled Pilgrim pleadingly only to realize that this was not Valor. The Telzra was already spinning on its axis to make another pass when a squeal of delight and surprise erupted from Mong. The Telzra turned to fix its location, then without any hesitation it abandoned its attack and dashed over and up onto the nearby Omega to reunite with its friend.
Pilgrim watched the impromptu reunion dumbstruck. A cry from Stinky broke the spell. “Pilgrim! Forward!”
Pilgrim could now see clearly into the circle. The far side had been breached; Xodd was swinging its club to and frow with magnificent effect: arcs of destructive energy bounding here and there to knock over entire swaths of the enemy. Pilgrim made a dash to lend support hoping that Xodd would behave sensibly.
As Pilgrim approached the wagon, Xodd turned to greet it: “You are not my brother, despite what this parasite claims, but I would still value your help.” Mounting the wagon to hover side by side with Xodd, the calamity unfolding became clear. The enemy was pouring through a large breach in the perimeter and now lapping up against the wagon threatening to overwhelm it. Xodd’s soldiers, perhaps less than fifty, were holding them back on the flanks with a desperate application of long and short lances, while still trying to hold the remaining walls; the strange weapon mounted on the wagon had ceased to operate; the twisted little creature now shot grenado bolts into the breach in a vain attempt to clear it.
Pilgrim received a vaguely familiar signal. “Imagine meeting you again Demon. You have changed your battle form into something less terrifying but even more awe inspiring.”
Pilgrim focused its transom quickly down to the bed of the wagon to locate the source: an odd weathered ovoid form that looked beyond ancient. “Timathur! The Old Alchemist? Is it you?”
The Old Alchemist popped up and lobbed a grenado over the nearest wagon, then ducked back down to prepare another from a munitions box that sat stacked with several others on the wagon bed. “It is I. I would accuse you of bringing trouble with you as a habit, but this difficulty is our captain’s creation.”
“Old geezer, if I weren’t so busy with this club, I would set it down upon your crown,” signaled Xodd angrily.
Pilgrim waisted no more time with introductions. It unleashed a dual pair of Fibonacci lashes that spread out and down the avenue of the enemy’s assault from their breach point. The few survivors retreated back the way they had come. Xodd dismounted and rushed forward to give quick orders: “Block! Seal that gap. Now!”
A modest size ovoid with multiple wounds on its rather soft looking battle form hovered forwar
d to meet Xodd. “Sir, seal it with what?”
“I don’t care. Our soldiers if you have to.”
Stinky mounted the wagon alongside Pilgrim. “We need to get out of here now!”
“Yes, I agree. Xodd! We need to leave now. We have secured a corridor,” signaled Pilgrim.
Zuur’s ridiculous laugh started up. “Too late”
Pilgrim turned its transom to the way that it had entered. A dozen or so surviving Hegemon commandos were now piling in led by Breaker. Humble mounted on its Omega with Mong and Groz guarding its flanks, was fighting a rear-guard action to give them time to make it inside. Once they had all crossed the threshold, it settled itself over the gap to guard its entry.
“I know that laugh,” came a signal from under the wagon.
Zuur stopped laughing and peered underneath. “Voor! Why do you hide under there? Come out so that we may converse.”
“I’m keeping a watch on our friend Baloris here,” signaled Voor earnestly. “And you know that I have never been very good in a fight. I abhor violence.”
Pilgrim was listening to the conversation fascinated by the two Djenirians awkward reunion, when Breaker arrived to report their obvious encirclement. “We need to either fight our way out of this or hold on here. Vinks will be advancing now. Do you have any idea how many there are?”
“It looks like an endless horde coming from the direction of the gate on the far side of the outpost but give me a moment,” replied Pilgrim. “I’m going to take a look.”
Pilgrim once again left its core on a reconnaissance; time froze locking the battle into a brutal tableau of conflict and carnage. The feeling of expansive freedom was exhilarating; the crisp clear fabric of the ether had been scrubbed clean somehow by the strange storm. The cleansing was obvious now that Pilgrim was in a mindset to appreciate it; just moments before when searching for a solution to the removal of the wagon, the imperative of quick action had remained even if the only true restriction had been the expenditure of energy on Pilgrim’s part.
