Entropy's Heralds: Pilgrims Path Book 3

by Vic Davis

  The antechamber was now empty; Pilgrim advanced to the door that Baloris had entered and tested the opening mechanism: unlocked. Pulling the handle with a quickly formed guide tendril, Pilgrim peeked into the room: another door: how odd. This wasn’t here before. Pilgrim flung the door open and examined the tiny room that now confronted it. Just a short distance away was yet another closed door with a shut viewport in its geometric center: like those found in a guard house or prison. The walls were made of a type of flow that did not match the rest of the facilities; somebody had constructed this recently and with haste.

  Baloris was up to something. Pilgrim crossed to the opposite side of the closet size room and tested the door: locked. The door through which Pilgrim had entered now swung firmly shut; Pilgrim spun around and tested the door: locked. How foolish I have been, thought Pilgrim. No matter. Pilgrim tried to shift into its battle form, but nothing happened. Pilgrim attempted to unleash a Fibonacci lash against the door through which it had entered, but again nothing happened. A wave of panic now struggled to exert itself and overcome Pilgrim’s self-control.

  There was a slow grinding disturbance in the ether that was not the result of any source-being’s signaling; one of the side walls to Pilgrim’s cubby-like prison now slid away to reveal bars behind which Baloris hovered grinning with maniacal joy. The former Endarch of the council was quite pleased with itself; its form walls were lambent with an expectation of a highly anticipated indulgence of a pleasureful and long denied vice.

  Baloris tittered with excitement. “Oh, don’t you look delicious, even with those form walls up. But that will not do. Those need to come down immediately. Let me see your core. I must behold the patterns that will be my magnificent feast.”

  Pilgrim tried once again to use its talents: a high energy tendril to cut through the bars; nothing happened. There was movement behind Baloris: three of the Council technicians, now identifiable, hovered into view carrying strange instruments: surgical cutters, a sharp probe, a large platter.

  “It will be easier for you if you cooperate,” signaled Baloris now irritated at Pilgrim’s refusal to comply. “Time is short, and I intend to consume your core before your friends leave for the slip point. Please be so kind as to lower your form walls; they are in the way and I can’t see how I could even grab a morsel with them up. All my other food came out of the vats in a very palatable and appetizing condition: a quivering core which divided into consumable portions quite easily. You must attempt such cooperation here or I will be forced to make things uncomfortable for you.”

  “You are insane Baloris,” signaled Pilgrim trying to keep a growing sense of desperation under control.

  “No, I am hungry, ravenously hungry. And you must provide succor and salvation. Now, I will ask you one more time: please be so kind as to drop your form walls. It will be inconvenient and messy if I have to cut up your core blind. I’m likely to get the portion sizes all wrong.”

  Pilgrim anxiously scanned its little prison. There must be some way out of this. It flung itself at the door through which it had entered; it was completely solid and did not so much as budge. The ceiling was within the reach of a hovering jump. Pilgrim launched itself upward into the ether and struck it with the crown of its ovoid form; it was just as unmoving.

  “Oh, come now. Such calisthenics are foolish and pointless. Alas, I see that you must be instructed in how this dinning operation must proceed.” Baloris motioned to one of the techs who carried an instrument similar to a short lance but with a tip designed for something more than just piercing a battle form and core.

  “If you start poking at my core, you are likely to interfere with the weapon that I have been given to destroy the three inside the orb. You might detonate it now and unmake us all. Consider this before you act rashly,” signaled Pilgrim; the Librarian of the device immediately contradicted such an assertion, but Pilgrim was grateful that Baloris could not register the information. The bluff proved futile though, Baloris’s form walls displayed not even the slightest hint of concern. The former Endarch seemed fixated on a single goal: satisfying its cravings for alien information patterns.

  Baloris raised the instrument up to inspect the tip. “We will have to be careful then.”

  Pilgrim hovered backward to the far wall away from the bars but the tiny enclosure within which it was trapped would permit no real escape from Baloris’s instrument. The rod was inserted through the bar and Baloris paused to judge the distance and the necessary angle. Pilgrim began to violently hover back and forth in an effort to deny a clear shot at its core. The scene would have almost been comical if not for the deadly intent of Baloris.

  “Please, hold still. You are making this much more difficult than it needs to be.”

  “That is exactly my intent.”

  “Please just stay still,” signaled Baloris with a tremulous whine of intense concentration mixed with exasperation.

  The rod lunged forward piercing Pilgrim’s form walls on an oblique angle exiting the back side: a grazing wound that while painful was not a threat to the core. Pilgrim felt a discomforting sensation but was pleased to see that no real harm had been done.

  Baloris began to titter. The sense of accomplishment on its form walls sent a shiver through Pilgrim’s transom into the deepest depths of its core. Pilgrim was now immobilized; the rod pushed through its form walls and eventually met resistance on the back wall. “Excellent, now we can start to carve you up. However, this would be a lot easier if you would kindly drop your form walls.”

  “I’m going to get out of this and I’m going to decohere you!” signaled Pilgrim in desperation not really believing in the veracity of the oath. How have I been this stupid? Pilgrim pleaded to the weapon’s Librarian for help; the response was an insouciant statement to the fact that short of detonating itself now prematurely, nothing else could be done on its part. “Have you any suggestions?” pleaded Pilgrim. The Librarian admitted that the situation was hopeless, and it only hoped that it might survive to be carried by one of Pilgrim’s associates: perhaps the big Djenirian Zuur, or the engineer Stinky. “Well, that’s encouraging,” replied Pilgrim.

  An odd questioning look appeared across Baloris’s form walls as it tried to make sense of Pilgrim’s part of the conversation. It quickly dissipated to be replaced by a gleeful expression. “Yes, that’s the proper attitude. Now hold still. This is going to hurt.”

  A large war club descended upon the crown of Baloris’s ovoid form driving it down into the floor sending incredible shock waves rippling back and forth across its form walls. Baloris was no more. The Council techs in the room now attempted to flee in panic for the nearest exit but a powerful battle form dashed after them in close pursuit. Even pinned against the back wall and only able to see through a limited angle via the viewport of the bars, Pilgrim recognized the martial form: it was Xodd.

  The blows were struck outside of Pilgrim’s limited field of perception, but Pilgrim detected each one as it resonated in the ether; it was an impressive display of combat efficiency: precision that only came with long practice and a meticulous attention to detail. One of the techs now flew past Pilgrim’s barred view in a nearly comical acrobatic display summersaulting the entire way only to strike some hard surface with a crunching finality.

  Pilgrim formed two tendrils and gripped the rod that now impaled it; the rod would not budge. Xodd appeared in the area screened by the bars with an enormous grin on its form walls. Pilgrim noted that it had not even bothered shifting into its full battle form to take care of Baloris and its accomplices. Xodd remained silent as if trying to come to some type of decision.

  Pilgrim sought to defuse any crazy ideas that Xodd might entertain. “You and I both carry some small fragments of the intellects of the Ancients. We have a unity of purpose as well: destroying the council and the evils that dominate it. It would be nice if you could see fit to pull this rod out and find a way to release me.”

  “Relax, alien, I mean you no harm.
Although as I look at you, I cannot help but wonder, what your patterns might do to me.”

  “I’d make sure you choke on them,” signaled Pilgrim sardonically.

  “Yes, no doubt you would. And I prefer not to be a slave to such addictions. My will must be my own. Although somehow, I am forced to carry this parasite along with me. I tolerate it only because it refuses to leave. It is true that the stories it tells can be amusing. However, they are barely worth the annoyance: a continuous babble which thankfully I have learned to mostly filter out.”

  Pilgrim grinned. “My Librarian is mostly silent. A fragment of Odnir the Computationalist. It controls the weapon of which I have been given custody. It tells me that you harbor a fragment of Radzak the Trembler, communicating in the voice of Parthati the Tale Spinner, consort to Radzak and Chief Historian of the Exiles. Apparently, this little reunion is momentous. Or at least Odnir’s fragment thinks it providential for our mission.”

  “Yes, so I have been told as well, much to my own discomfort. The prattle is unbearable.” Xodd grabbed ahold of the rod with a powerful corded tendril. Pilgrim noticed the fine digits at the end of the appendage which coiled gracefully from its fist: flexible and agile fingers that allowed a firm grip and exceptional control. A yank removed the instrument from the back wall and Pilgrim’s form walls precipitating a jolt of pain.

  Xodd was pleased with the result. It held the rod up and examined it. “Baloris was clever. One must concede that. And I understand the hunger that drove it to such extremes.”

  “I assume it has arranged some of the artifact fragments around this little cage,” signaled Pilgrim tapping on the walls with a tendril.

  “Just so,” affirmed Xodd. “It must have persuaded these Council technicians to cooperate. They were conditioned to comply to Baloris’s authority after all.”

  “Baloris must have had access to some secret stash of artifacts, kept them stowed away in a safe place until needed.”

  “That would be the obvious answer,” signaled Xodd now inspecting the cage construct closely. “Hmmm. I suppose that I should attempt to free you now. My parasite would be most disturbed if I were to do otherwise.”

  “As would I be. I think it behooves both of us to cooperate with each other. We need not be friends or comrades. We share a common goal. Let us see it through until the end.”

  “Yes, I agree. For now, we must strive to destroy the council and this prison orb that my parasite insists will be the end of us all. I must confess that I harbor grave doubts. I wonder if I am being manipulated again. I have been shown things: memories, histories, annals of cosmic beings fighting a schismatic war long ago. Still, who is to say what is real?”

  “Then you must ask yourself: what have I witnessed with my own transom? I tell you this: I have visited with the ether: an entity that is the emergent consciousness of the very nodes within which we abide. I have traveled to places within her polytope that I could not possibly have imagined. Following the ether’s instructions, I have met an Ancient: the last of its kind, one of the purported Exiles. I entered its demesne: a mathematical construct completely detached from this reality bridged by a portal I could not hope to comprehend. I conversed with it and it gave me a weapon. All these experiences are evidence that the narrative that has been laid before me is true: evil is threatening this world. It is the same evil that betrayed my species and lured it here to be grist for its computational mills. I will have my revenge on the evil that did this.”

  Xodd laughed: a hearty laugh of agreement. “I find that we have more in common than I had imagined. The list of wrongs perpetrated against me is long; the blame lies with those who created me.” Here Xodd paused briefly deep in thought. It shook its form walls as if some epiphany now rocked the very foundations of its belief system. “But should I accept responsibility for my own actions as well? Must I strive to make amends and atone for my deeds? Bah! These feelings are useless. I am Xodd. I will worry about such contrivances later. Self-objurgation is useless.

  “Sadly, I lack the experiential evidence that you possess. But my drive for revenge needs no further justification. These I have seen with my own transom: deception, destruction, domination. Such things seemed unimportant when dealt to others. When directed at me, they become much more serious matters. But our most pressing matter is this cage. I will destroy the artifact pieces mounted on its exterior if you have no objections.”

  Pilgrim had none. Xodd swung its club; the odd pseudo-flow fragments crafted long ago in Radzak’s workshop shattered into tiny pieces. Pilgrim felt the ether return to normal. “Good, now stand back. I am going to cut my way out.” Pilgrim formed a high energy tendril and piercing the door that led into the torture room, swept it down to the floor, severing the lock and bar mechanism. The door swung open easily with a push.

  Xodd’s handiwork lay spread out across the floor of the workroom decohering in neat piles where each ovoid had settled. Baloris had been entirely compacted; the damage had been catastrophic: a core fractured into a thousand pieces, massive defamation of its form walls, what remained of them. Pilgrim examined the former Endarch with a feeling of pity tinged with anger. “What drove Baloris to such extremes? It freed itself from the domination of the orb only to squander it all in an attempt to consume me: for what purpose?”

  “You have not felt the hunger. You do not know the addiction and what it does to a source-being. The elation of experiencing the patterns of your race, for whatever reason, borders on the rapturous for certain specimens. The effects of such consumption can be existence changing. Even the lesser specimens are intoxicating and addictive after prolonged absorption. Baloris remained a slave to the alien patterns even if it had freed itself from the more onerous domination of the orb. But most importantly I think, Baloris was weak.”

  Pilgrim could think of nothing to say on the matter. “There is nothing more here to do. We should return to the others. The army will be marching on the slip point into the core node soon. We must not be late.”

  Xodd made a wry smile on its form walls. “We are rushing off to our demise, of this there can be no doubt. But I have nothing better to do and can see no other way to attempt the revenge that I desire. I would need to cut this parasite out of my form walls to have any peace should I decide on a different course of action.”

  “I owe you a debt Xodd. I will see it paid back if that is within my power. Thank you.”

  “Yes, you do. If you wish to discharge it now, have your parasite counsel mine to depart my form immediately. Failing that, an admonishment to restrict its incessant chatter and unsolicited advice would be helpful.”

  “I will ask but I’m not sure they can communicate directly, although I have scant evidence to make any serious conclusions about their abilities.”

  “Oh, I have a feeling that they can do much more than we suspect. My parasite is an expert at obfuscation and manipulation. I implore you to try.”

  Chapter 20

  Running The Gauntlet

  The node had once been called Grist’s Hold. The council had renamed it Unity of Purpose shortly after its conquest. Two medium sized cities founded by Grist the Conniver straddled the Pilgrim’s Road: each controlled an abundance of rich source fountains that had been farmed for generations without exhaustion.

  Pilgrim had counted two cycles before they reached the vertex barrier edge; the trip down the Pilgrim’s Road had been uneventful: a dull monotonous landscape, a few rests for rations to be consumed by the troops, no sign of Council scouts. The enemy’s fortifications slowly came into focus as they approached the slip point into Grist’s Hold. They were impressive: two large, reinforced towers secured either end, multiple lines of defensive works constructed of thick flow blocks jutted out to make any approach down the Pilgrim’s Road difficult.

  On Breaker’s advice, Vinks had decided on a very direct approach to take the slip point. Once the enemy could spot their formation advancing down the road, a preplanned attack would be launched with
deliberate haste. The assault would once again require that Pilgrim take some risks, but the battle space should be prepared enough to hopefully minimize any catastrophic results. Still, using a gate in combat and expending some of their precious source-charge canisters was always a cause for concern.

  The flanking towers, bristling with gunports for enemy fusiliers, loomed menacingly over the fortified walls and emplacements; happily, no charge lances appeared to be poking through the many slits cut into the tower walls. The assault group formed up on the road ahead of the main column: Pilgrim, Stinky, Zuur and a hand-picked group of Hegemon Commandos. The enemy showed no signs of stirring to repulse an attack. Could we be this lucky yet again, thought Pilgrim?

  Stinky passed one of the flow-control pistols over to Pilgrim. “I have no idea how fast these will deplete. Breaker requires both towers to come down toward us and upon the fortifications in this node. We must be careful to leave a path into the slip point.”

  Pilgrim had reservations about their ability to make such precise manipulations of the flow. “Did you explain that we have virtually no experience using these weapons?”

  “Of course, I did. The first rule even a sub-engineer learns is to under-promise and over-deliver. I had no difficulties presenting a slew of objections, worst case scenarios, and the possibility of any number of accidents.”

  “And what was Breaker’s response?”

  “‘Do your best’ it said,” laughed Stinky. “And so, we will. If the way is blocked, we will need to decide whether to employ these paltry source-charge canisters, or be more aggressive with the artifact rifle, which I would prefer to use only as a last resort.”

  “We are formed up, we should now advance,” observed Pilgrim.

  “Quite right. Forward!” ordered Stinky and the small assault group broke into a sprint hovering down the Pilgrim’s Road. The interval to the first barricade passed in a flash: a line of low walls made of large chunks of hard flow brought up, sized, and fitted together from a nearby quarry. A small gap in the barrier lay ahead across the road. Amazingly there was no sign of any Council soldiers manning the post.