Lokant

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Why did he do that to you?’ she asked. ‘Weren’t you one of his top agents?’

  ‘Was,’ Griel spat. ‘Not that he would feel restrained by that if it suited his purposes, but for me this is a punishment. I - we - disobeyed him. If I’d known what the price would be...’

  ‘Is that why you’re telling us this?’

  Griel looked at her with so much pain that she felt her heart contract. She was actually feeling sorry for him. She had to remind herself that this man was responsible for the deaths of several innocent Glour citizens, including her closest friend and Tren’s.

  ‘You’ve no idea what it’s like, the isolation. Working for a man like Krays, with no hope of help, not even any companionship. He’s made sure of that. It’s part of my punishment.’

  Eva wondered how Krays had contrived to keep Ana away from her husband, but she didn’t dare ask about that.

  ‘Why the light-globes?’ she asked instead. ‘And the rest?’

  ‘I get my revenge as I can,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been careful, finding hidden ways of getting my devices out. Frittering away his hard-won draykon bone. Someday I may be rich enough to find a way out of this slavery.’

  Eva sighed inwardly. Much as she wanted to, she couldn’t find it in herself to condemn him for that. She probably would have done the same in his position.

  ‘Griel,’ she said, trying to ignore the fact that his arm was still pouring blood on the floor. He didn’t seem to notice or care about it himself. ‘Why is Krays doing all of this? What’s the purpose of it?’

  Griel shrugged. ‘Just because he can? I don’t know. He doesn’t exactly share his private thoughts with me. Didn’t even before I was disgraced. But you don’t build super-machines for any good purpose, and that man - if he is a man - hasn’t a decent bone in his body. Whatever he’s planning, it’s bad news.’

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Krays was undoubtedly dangerous.

  It was his inventiveness that made him formidable. Lokant he may be, but his mind worked in some unique ways. Long ago, before he’d defected from the Library, he had been one of its most brilliant inventors.

  But Krays could also be delightfully, conveniently predictable. Wandering through the hallways of the Sulayn Phay Library, Limbane enjoyed a pleasing glow of superiority. As an architect, the rogue Lokant wholly lacked imagination. When Krays had founded his splinter group, he’d made no secret of the fact that he intended it to rival Limbane’s Library someday. To that end, he had slavishly imitated almost every feature of the original design, albeit on a smaller scale.

  Krays had deviated only in extending the levels below the book rooms and turning the lower halls into a kind of prison complex. His methods always had been more direct than Limbane’s.

  It did make infiltration so gloriously easy. Especially since his one attempt at misdirection was so pitiful. Like Limbane’s Library, Sulayn Phay was built on an island. The smaller one had the advantage of being more easily moved and more easily concealed; it rarely stayed in the same place for very long.

  But Limbane never had any difficulty locating his rival’s headquarters. He’d found Krays’s island floating a few miles off the coast of Ullarn, concealed within a shroud of mist. Attractive, but ineffectual.

  Krays would have to work harder to outwit him.

  Limbane’s good feelings lasted right up until he reached the outer door of Krays’s little prison project. Patrolling the corridor beyond it was something... other.

  Five full Lokants were assembled behind Limbane, brought to deal with just these sorts of problems. Krays was, after all, predictable. He always left toys in the same places: machines, quite sophisticated ones, stationed to keep people like Limbane out.

  And Limbane’s teams always succeeded in disabling them. It was a game that had gone on for some centuries.

  Until now, at least. Limbane inspected the ambulatory device that guarded the door today, using both his eyes and his mental senses to ascertain the nature of the thing. It wasn’t as large as some of Krays’s earlier creations: this one stood only as high as Limbane’s waist. Previous machines had usually been fully robotic, equipped with knife-blades, guns and shields, that type of thing.

  This one was undoubtedly a work of machinery, but it looked like an animal. If it resembled any particular beast in nature, it was the whurthag: it featured the same night-black colour, though its hide was not strictly biological in substance. It had the same lean, steel-muscled build and heavy jaws. Those jaws featured metal teeth - of an alloy stronger than the original calcium-built fangs might have been - and claws of similar construction.

  Despite these mechanical curiosities, there was undoubtedly biological matter inside the thing. That frame looked so convincing because it was built over real muscle.

  Worse, while the thing lacked a consciousness it definitely possessed some kind of awareness. Not a manufactured one, with limitations frequently outnumbering the strengths. It was alert for intruders. It knew what it was expected to do if it encountered any. It had desires, of a sort.

  The thing had some few of the advantages of a real whurthag, but being still essentially a construct it was considerably more biddable. This one was wholly under Krays’s control.

  ‘What in the name of...’ That soft exclamation came from behind him; at least one of his Lokants was as shocked as he.

  ‘All right, let’s deal with it,’ Limbane said. Time enough later to speculate about how or why Krays had done it. ‘Egren, Rael - take its measure. I want to know everything about it, quick as you can. Yora, Melle - you’re going to need to modify those tools. Iwa, you’re with me. I need you to immobilise its consciousness, such as it is, so I can reverse its instructions.’ The whurthag-thing had finished its patrol at the other end of the long corridor; now it prowled back towards them. Horror, for there was definitely some kind of mind at work behind those icy glass eyes; Limbane could feel it assessing them.

  Categorising them as a threat, the whurthag-machine threw itself at the door. A sturdy construction of metal it might be, but it shook hard under the impact of that heavy body.

  ‘Yes. Hmm. I wouldn’t get too close to the door.’

  His team worked quickly and efficiently to execute the tasks they’d been given. Iwa moved up beside Limbane, getting as close to the door and those thrashing jaws as she dared. Her disciplined mind seized the whurthag-thing’s peculiar awareness and grappled with it, forcing it into submission. The approach she took was direct: there was no room for subtlety, persuasion of any kind. The creature may be aware, but it lacked the mental flexibility for friendship.

  It did possess considerable bite, however. It fought Iwa’s efforts violently. Limbane perceived that Krays had instilled in it an instinctive fear of any mental intrusions save his own.

  He heard the low voices of Egren and Rael behind him, speaking their observations and findings to the voice recorder.

  ‘... height approximately four spans at the shoulder. Body weight estimated at three hundred to three hundred-twenty standard measures. Creature is of mixed biological and mechanical construction: jaws, teeth and claws are of a steel-tracium alloy; hide of an unknown substance but signs suggest it is to some extent biological in nature...’

  Iwa was finished. The whurthag’s struggles had ceased; it waited, quiescent, for Limbane’s interference.

  ‘Take your time,’ Iwa said placidly. ‘I’ve got it.’

  He nodded. Reaching out to the beast, he was momentarily distracted by the sheer strangeness of it. Mechanical creations he could handle, and biological constructs were equally familiar to him. But this kind of hybrid was virtually unique in his experience. There was only one other occasion when he had come across something similar, and Krays had not been involved in that.

  He shook the thought away. For the moment, to work. Browsing through the beast’s flickering impressions - not accurate to call them thoughts - he found the source of Krays’s control over the beast. He had
installed himself as the whurthag’s pack leader, to be obeyed without question.

  It was the work of a mere few minutes to overwrite Krays’s image with his own. Limbane withdraw with a satisfied smile. He was now this beast-machine’s unquestioned superior.

  ‘All right, we’re ready to approach. Egren, Rael, are you finished with your assessment? You’ll get chance to create a more detailed profile later.’

  ‘Yes, Lokantor,’ was the reply.

  ‘Excellent. Yora, Melle. Get the door open, then deactivate the thing, but carefully. I want it taken back with us, in a study-worthy state. Iwa, keep back for now.’

  Limbane waited, humming a soft tune, as Yora and Melle worked at the door. Krays may have pulled a surprise or two this time, but he was still essentially no match for the Library.

  ‘Door’s open, Lokantor.’ Yora was one of his youngest Lokants, but that didn’t prevent her from being one of his best engineers and inventors.

  ‘Good work! Now then. Iwa, you’re with me. Advance, but take some care. If there are more, it’s down to us to take control of them as quickly as possible. Egren, Rael. Are you armed?’

  Both of them pulled their guns and held them at the ready.

  ‘Good. You’re in first. You see any more of these, you shoot. I don’t know if they can be killed, but perhaps they can be maimed. The goal is to find Avane and Orillin as quickly as possible and get out. All clear?’

  A chorus of ‘Yes, Lokantor,’ followed his question and he nodded.

  ‘All right, go ahead.’

  Egren and Rael swung the door open and advanced, approaching the whurthag-machine warily. The thing stood quiet; it hadn’t moved for several minutes. Nonetheless its gleaming metal teeth and powerful body were thoroughly intimidating.

  Four Lokants filed past the creature and it didn’t move. Yora and Melle fell to work disabling the thing as the others fanned out to check the prison cells that lined up along the corridor.

  ‘Empty,’ came three voices in report. Limbane glanced through the tiny window of a fourth cell and found it empty too.

  ‘And onward,’ Limbane ordered.

  A scream of pain slashed the air from behind him. Whirling, he saw the whurthag-machine had moved; its wicked teeth were sunk in Melle’s side. The older woman was down, her blood rapidly spreading across the floor.

  ‘Back-up intelligence system,’ she panted. ‘On a timer. Activated when you overrode previous instructions.’

  Limbane cursed. Krays was a devious bastard. How like him to put a timer on the thing; it would strike just when Limbane’s team thought they had vanquished it.

  Egren and Rael had come running back at the sound of Melle’s scream.

  ‘Stand back, Yora,’ came Rael’s terse voice. He fired. The sound reverberated around the cold and empty corridor, sending up a terrific echo.

  The bullet bounced harmlessly off the whurthag-thing’s hide.

  Egren dropped her gun and drew a knife. Rushing the creature, she stabbed repeatedly, targeting those areas that would be soft points on any normal beast. Her blade glanced off its glassy eyes and clattered uselessly against its metallic jaws. She achieved better when she attacked its hide; the knife penetrated, but poorly, sinking in only an inch or so. She tried to pull it out for a second strike, and couldn’t. The knife stuck in the strange black material.

  ‘Hammer,’ Rael said grimly. He took one from his belt, a tool designed for engineering rather than combat. But when he swung it at the creature, he succeeded in raising a howl of pain. That muscle mass was vulnerable, then.

  Egren grabbed her own hammer and joined Rael, the two of them taking it in turns to strike while the other danced out of reach of the thing’s attacks. The beast whirled in confusion, distracted by each new strike. It may be aware, but it certainly wasn’t intelligent. Each time the Lokants hit, the beast howled again.

  Hurry it up, Limbane thought in irritation. The amount of noise they were making was sure to attract some unwanted attention soon.

  At last the creature gave a final whimper of pain and collapsed, its legs twisted beyond use. It tried to pull itself along the floor, still intent on rending Rael and Egren for their offences, but its body was too broken.

  Sounds from further down the corridor attracted Limbane’s attention. Was that a child crying?

  ‘Right. Yora, pull yourself together. I’m going to need you. Egren, get Melle back to the Library and get her entered for healing. Rael, keep that hammer handy. Let’s go.’

  He set off in search of the childish cries, trusting to his team’s loyalty to bring them after him as necessary. Eight doors down he stopped, listening. The child had been quieted, but it whimpered still in the room beyond.

  ‘Yora.’

  The woman nodded stiffly. Her face was pale with shock and her hands covered in Melle’s blood, but she obeyed him, setting to work on the complicated door mechanism.

  It wasn’t an ordinary kind of lock, he could see that for himself.

  ‘It’s a biolock, sir, new kind. I’m going to have to reprogramme it.’

  ‘Move it along, Yora,’ he said testily. Gunfire interrupted him as bullets ricocheted off the walls, coming from the far end of the corridor. He and Rael dived to the floor, the latter letting out a grunt of pain.

  ‘Are you hit?’

  ‘In the leg,’ Rael replied. ‘Bastards.’ Then his gun was in his hands and he returned fire. A dying cry reached Limbane’s ears: Rael had found his target.

  One foe down. How many more would there be?

  ‘Yora! ’

  ‘Almost there, sir,’ the girl panted. Then the lock clicked open. Limbane didn’t wait to congratulate her. He flung himself into the cell, dragging Rael and Iwa behind him.

  A black-haired woman in her thirties huddled at the far end of the room, her arms wrapped protectively around a child of perhaps two years old. Her eyes were frightened; they widened further when she saw him.

  ‘You’re like him, ’ she said. ‘Another one. What do you want with us now?’

  Limbane scowled. He and Krays looked nothing alike. ‘Avane Desandry?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Get up. We’re taking you out of here.’

  The woman actually tried to back away, despite the obvious lack of anywhere to go.

  Limbane’s temper snapped.

  ‘Do you want to be helped or not? I’ve a woman down and another shot; my team’s down to three and we’ve another prisoner still to find. There isn’t time for this. You have five seconds to make up your mind.’

  Avane hesitated.

  ‘Three seconds,’ he said. ‘Two.’ Rael’s leg was bleeding profusely. It would be a miracle if the man could walk.

  ‘All right,’ she said, standing up slowly.

  ‘Move, ’ he bellowed.

  She moved.

  ***

  Devary was lying on his bed, again. He was thinking, daydreaming, anything it was reasonable to call this state of near insensibility. He’d lain in a half-dream for an indeterminate time, waiting with steadily decreasing hopes for some event to break up the monotony of these none-days.

  Nothing had come. He’d given up trying to mark the passage of time; nothing changed in here. It was as if time had nothing to do with the place at all. His attempts to break himself free had failed one and all. This place was shrouded, muffled in some dampening enchantment and not a chink could he now find in that enclosing force. Opening a gate was out of the question: it was like trying to rip a hole in granite. And the door had some kind of lock that he couldn’t pick, no matter how hard he tried.

  Nobody ever came. Sometimes he would sleep; while he was unconscious food and water would appear, by some means he couldn’t detect. For a while he had mercilessly denied himself sleep, determined to see and speak to the person who delivered the food. All he had achieved was starvation as well as sleep deprivation. Nobody ever came.

  So, at last, he’d given up, letting himself fall out of consciousn
ess as his only defence against the stupefying boredom.

  When the gunshot came, the incredible volume of the sound jolted him out of his stupor so suddenly that he feared his heart would fail him. The excitable organ skipped a beat or two, then settled, and he breathed again.

  He pushed himself off the bed and stood up. For some moments his head swam with dizziness as his long-inactive body swayed, his vision blurred. He moved closer to the door and waited.

  The sound was not repeated for some time. He was about to give up, putting the interruption down as a product of his own bored mind, when several loud gunshots fired in a burst. Hope surged in his heart: gunfire proved the presence of intruders, and based on the logic of enemies of one’s enemies those intruders might prove to be his friends.

  He heard cries of pain and another couple of shots. His door bore only a tiny piece of glass, almost too high for him to see out of. He pressed his face to this miniature window but he could see nothing but the usual, merely a glimpse of the door opposite to him. He wished he could tell who was winning the conflict; had that dying cry been one of his kidnappers or their attackers?

  When everything fell silent once again, he began to worry. He certainly could not be rescued if nobody knew that he was here. He began banging on the door and calling out, kicking with his feet, creating as much noise as he could.

  Nothing happened. No further sounds reached him. His heart sank; dullness closed in on his fogged brain once more. Whoever they were, they weren’t coming for him.

  But then: footsteps. A voice, actual words spoken.

  ‘Is this him?’

  A face appeared briefly at the glass.

  ‘No. Too old. Next one.’

  The face disappeared. Then another was pressed against his window, somebody white-haired.

  ‘There’s someone in here?’ a different voice said. Then came a hissed intake of breath. ‘I know this person.’

  ‘We breaking him out, sir?’ That was the first voice again, young and female.

  ‘Be quick about it,’ said the man. Devary frowned. If he imagined those words spoken in gentler tones and decorated with somewhat more in the way of courtesy, then he knew the speaker.