The AI command of the fortress traced through paths of logic not run for millennia, then reached a conclusion. A radio source traveling above the atmosphere had resisted EMP attack for an unusual period. It might still be live. A railgun swung around and received its programming, then spat a cloud of alloy spheres on an intercepting trajectory with the fifth stage. Seconds ticked into minutes. The last stage of Zarvora's rocket was pulverized under a hail of metal that then plunged into the upper atmosphere and streaked into trails of glowing long.
The orbital fortress moved on and vanished over the horizon as the fragments of the rocket fell into the atmosphere and burned. The fortress noted the disruption in the Mirrorsun band, but continued to ignore the glow from its electro force activity, as it always had. Nothing like it was in the ancient mission parameters, and it had not shown any sign of hostility. Each of the old weapons platforms classified Mirrorsun as an unidentifiable but harmless natural phenomenon.
On the ground there were cheers in the Woomera observatory as the monitors observed the first signs of the rent in the band. The Range master congratulated Zarvora on ending Greatwinter's second coming.
"You reached out and slew the gods themselves," he declared grandly, for he had been in the student theater ensemble at Woomera University.
Zarvora was pensive as she looked through the eyepiece of her telescope. "Slew it, Fras Range master? I wonder. But perchance I merely annoyed it a great deal."
The Range master put his hands on his hips. "Overmayor, you cut the band."
"It may recover. The question is one of whether it takes centuries, decades, or merely years."
"So you will launch the second rocket?"
"I shall keep it ready." Zarvora inspected the initial measurements of the flight, then handed them to Darien to take back to the beam flash tower in Woomera to transmit west to Kalgoorlie. The hardcopy accounts would follow on the par aline but they were only for verification, and the archives.
High above the Earth, the band's collective consciousness enhanced itself into a neural network to deal with the rent in its body. Over the days that followed, meteor damage lines formed out of chains of nanocells, then whiplashed across the gap to join the two ends and draw them back together. By that time the gap was thousands of miles across, but six weeks after the breach the band was whole again. The network now turned its attention to the cause of the trauma that had cost it so dearly in energy and resources. Slowly, ominously, the band began to restructure itself.
Zarvora observed the activity with initial dismay, then she noted that the band was putting itself through strange and unprecedented configurations. It was seeming to experiment with localized con caves in its greater curve, and the localized con caves were focused on the Wanderers. Zarvora knew that she had failed in her attempt to cripple Mirrorsun for at least a few decades, but she dared to hope that something even better might come from her ambitious and desperate project. She decided that it might be worth attempting to antagonize Mirrorsun just a little more.
Glasken had learned to travel light during his many journeys. Thus when called upon to travel with the Highliber's train, he packed a change of clothing, his under cottons a swagger stick and cheap Gilmey 40-bore, his seal, and some money. He reasoned from past experience that if he was to be robbed, swindled, or otherwise set upon there was little point in taking anything of value.
"I find that possessions travel better than I do," he explained to Ettenbar as he poured wax into the seal countersinks of a wooden crate and pressed his seal ring down hard. Within were calibrated circuits that had been damaged by the electromagnetic pulses from space.
"Perhaps bags and trunks do not have enraged husbands, fathers, and Con stable's Runners in pursuit of them," Ettenbar suggested.
"Very funny. Throw me that strap. There, all sealed for the customs bald heads at Coonana to see."
"What is your design's meaning, worthy Fras?" asked Ettenbar as he helped. "The barrel and sickle framed by leaves?"
"The Kalgoorlie Guild of Master Vintners."
"I did not know that you are a master vintner." "I'm not. That cost me five hundred gold royals. Look upon it as patronage. I may not be a master of the guild, but I employ two masters to tend my investments '
"Fras, your logic is convoluted indeed." For Glasken it had been a quiet trip--it was free of people trying to abduct, murder, torture, enslave, or imprison him. Much to his surprise the Highliber had granted him the temporary rank of a Dragon Blue Librarian. He did not mention it in his beam flash mail and letters to Jemli.
"Another rocket due in a week," he said to Ettenbar as he snapped his for a waiter in the refectory. "Two weeks more and the third rocket arrives, then I'm free to drink, sing, and get my face slapped by non librarians Ah, waiter! Urn, plistebi grep enfola, bieratel, salavou kremti, eti--Gah, how does one say "Islamic menu' in Woomeran'?"
"Viadatem Islam, good Fras," responded the waiter. "Why the hell didn't you say you spoke Austaric? Lucky for you my Frelle isn't here. Now, a pie, beer, and salad for me, and your Islamic menu for my friend here."
The waiter scribbled the order on his slate and hurried away.
"Well, Fras, I suspect that my own days tending the calculors of the Highliber are over as well," Ettenbar confided as they sat waiting. "Now that this glorious project with the rockets is close to completion, my intent is to return to the Southmoor province of my birth and design a calculor for the university." "So what about women?"
"Ah-ha-ha, Fras, you think that I am all working and no passions, but yon are wrong. I have been in discreet contact with my family and.." there is talk of an arrangement with a gift who would be a highly suitable match." "An arranged marriage?" "A suitable marriage." "You're mad."
"Fras, Fras, you are on a different path, but that does not make you any the worse." '
"Look here, my pie and your menu. Where's my beer? Gah, different waiter! Speak Austaric7 Thought not. BieratelissiT"
"Numeren vor eti dwel, da he," said Ettenbar to the waiter.
"Bloody hell, Ettenbar, why didn't you say you spoke Woomeran?" exclaimed Glasken. "I thought you wished to make good the chance to practice, Fras." "Dummart. One day I'll be your overseer, then we'll see some smart work."
"Ah, whatever else you are, Fras Glasken, you are never boring as company. When the third rocket has gone its way and we have gone ours, I shall miss you." "Just as well. Most folk seem to hit me without any trouble." "A-h-ha-ha, you have the jokings again."
A week later the second rocket had arrived from the par aline terminus, and was mounted on the railings of the launching frame. This was to be a daytime launch, for reasons determined by Zarvora's calculations of the Wanderers' orbits. The time for the passing of the orbital fortress approached, and the Range master monitored a little windmill attached to a friction axle.
"The wind seldom drops below ten miles per hour, Frelle Highliber," he reported.
"The ramp should be safe at that speed."
"But it's gusty wind, 'untidy' wind, as the par aline engine drivers would say."
"So what is your opinion?" "If a gust was to catch the rocket while it was just emerging from the tower and still moving slowly it could alter its course very slightly."
Zarvora weighed up several factors, political as well as technical. "Prepare for a launch in four minutes, by my authority," she finally ordered.
A technician set the timer at the base of the rocket, then ran for his bunker a hundred yards away. The mechanism clicked, the wind gusted.." the wind gusted just as the igniter flared, distorting the launch tower very slightly. The second rocket rammed itself into the slightly distorted rails, and the watchers saw the top of the ramp shatter in a plume of rocket exhaust and smashed wood. The force snapped the rocket between the first and second stages, and the burning first stage slammed at full thrust into the desert with a boom that shook the observers in their bunker. The upper stages did not fire, but crashed to the ground in lesser cloud of dust
.
Zarvora climbed into the remains of the ramp as soon as it was declared safe, It quickly became clear how lucky they had been. The supporting structure was nearly intact, with only the upper framework and guide rails wrecked. The technicians and engineers estimated a fortnight was needed to make repairs.
"The upper stages of the rocket are badly dented and twisted," the Ran master reported as Zarvora descended to the ground. "They'll have to be taken apart, de fueled and beaten back into shape. The armorers and mechanics think::i four months is needed."
"But meantime there is a third rocket on the way from Kalgoorlie. Damn and damn hell, this was my fault. I should have had tests done for wind We only have four rockets, we cannot afford to waste any."
A far-off movement caught Zarvora's attention, and she glanced around where a boundary rider had appeared, driving his horse as hard as he could over the limestone sand and broken stone. Nobody rides like that without news disaster, she said to herself.
The rider called to the guards as he reached the shelter tower, and pointed to the launching gantry. As he rode up to her, Zarvora could see of his arms hung limp, and was soaked in blood.
"Hostile lancers and musketeers on camels and horses, Frelle he cried, sitting upright only with difficulty.
"Warriors? Out here?"
"Aye, and making right for the towers and ramp. They must have the explosion. I was shot as I rode from them."
"A patrol from Woomera," ventured the Range master. "A mistake." "There were hundreds."
"And to the northeast?" responded Zarvora. "Unlikely--wait! How they dressed?"
"They were swathed in robes of red, vermilion, and orange, Frelle mayor."
"Alspring Ghans, come all the way across the desert." "They tried to ride us into a pincer-trap, but their camels were too our horses. Even so, they shoot well, and only I have survived out of five.
"And they broke off the pursuit?"
"Aye, when we were in sight of the towers. They might have thought that this is a fort. They were bringing up horse cavalry." Zarvora ascended a few steps and peered to the northeast. There were camel lancers in scattered groups, and a central knot of perhaps fifty. Behind them was a vast dust pall from a far larger force.
"The Ghans are said to strike hard and rapidly," she said, shading her eyes against the glare as she leaned away from the timber rails. "I can see them scouting this place .... Yes, they will attack before the main force arrives. They have surprised us, and they will want to take advantage of that. Ilyire told me that their commanders value surprise highly."
"We have sixty lancers and nine Tiger Dragons," said the Woomeran marshal. "We should be able to stop a mere eight or nine dozen Ghans, no matter how fierce they may be as warriors."
"There's as many as ten thousand Ghans behind 'em," the rider insisted.
"Ten thousand, Fras. Probably more."
"Pure fancy," said the marshal dismissively. "What do you think, Frelle Overmayor?"
"How far away is the main column?" she asked the rider.
"Seven miles, no more." "Assume the worst." She stepped down from her vantage point, and there was a look of grim determination on her face. "Glaetin, take two lancers and escort this man to Woomera, take him to the Overhand."
"Frelle Highliber, he bleeds freely--" "Well, patch him as you ride, but move! A lot more will bleed otherwise. Marrocal, douse the gantry with spirits, then set fire to it. I shall set fire to the papers, drawings, and tables in the bunker. Range master, set the timers on the upper stages of the rocket. Make sure that they ignite and wreck themselves. Understand?"
"Aye, Highliber." "After that, ride for Woomera as hard as you can. Captain Alkem, take the sixty lancers and the Tiger Dragons and set up a rear guard when I ride to the south quadrant tower. Make it seem as if you are defending this burning gantry."
"But, Highliber, we could outpace them if we all left for Woomera right away." ' "Fool! Obey orders! I need ten minutes in the beam flash tower to alert the network and clear all wind trains from the par aline If they capture a wind train they will move like a bushfire, they will shatter our undefended outposts, be in Kalgoodie within a week, and Peterborough even sooner. Ten minutes, by your anchor timer. After that, ride for Woomera."
Three minutes later Zarvora was pounding up the steps of the wooden beam flash tower, glancing north to where the lancers were riding to intercept an enemy marked only by a cloud of dust. She burst into the beam flash gallery and pushed the transmitter from his seat.
/ POLL: PRIORITY DRAGON BLACK she keyed. Seconds passed,
reply came. ,
/ ACKNOWLEDGED: BEGIN TRANSMISSION /
/ SATURATION TRANSMISSION: ALL BEAM FLASH LINES:
VAS ION FROM AL SPRING NATIONS FROM NORTH OF
ESTIMATE AT LEAST TEN THOUSAND LANCERS, UNKNOWN
IARIES, SEVEN MILES NORTH OF OUTPOST HARTLAK. CLEAR
WIND AND GALLEY TRAINS FROM THE PAR ALINE FROM
TO WOO MERA PETER BOROUGH AND BROCK NIL ALL
MOVE TO FULL WAR ALERT: BURN ALL BUILDINGS AND
THAT CANNOT BE MOVED BEHIND THE FORTIFIED WALLS: FIRE
ANY WIND TRAIN THAT DOES NOT ANSWER CODE IN
2T-3GK: BE ALERT FOR OTHER INVASION COLUMNS COMING
THE NORTH ANYWHERE FROM NARETHA TO BROCK NIL
EDGE THAT TRANSMISSION HAS BEEN PASSED ON. /
There was an unnerving delay of nearly a minute, followed by a of light in the tower to the south. ACKNOWLEDGED
ORDERS /
Zarvora turned to the beam flash tower's captain and pointed to the
"What has been going on over there? Did our lancers hold the back?"
"They're still fighting, Frelle, but they seem to be in trouble."
"In trouble!" exclaimed Zarvora, astounded. "But they're our finest part of my personal guard." ;
"It's what I see, Frelle Highliber."
Zarvora thought for a moment, then clicked / BURN YOUR TOWER
EVACUATE TO WOO MERA She did not wait for an acknowledgment,
seized a lamp and smashed it down on the floor beside the bench. "Evacuate to Woomera, now!" she barked, then ignited a flare with its strip and flung it into the spilled oil as the crew began to clatter down the
For a moment she hesitated, glancing north to where the savage battle the two groups of elite lancers was raging. Her anchor timer read eight two minutes more would ensure her safety, yet... "Cowardice is punishable by death," she reminded herself, then she gabriel rocket from the flare box.
The flames were blazing up around her as she swiveled the launching around to point north. She thrust the wick into the flames, then smoking rocket into the tube and ran for the stairs. As she reached the the rocket shrieked away, howling its message to retreat over the red sand and frost-shattered rock. The tower captain was holding her horse ready. As she mounted she pointed south.
"Every man for himself, Captain, and every woman too," she cried as she dug her heels into the horse's flanks. His reply was lost in the detonation of the flare box high above. The tower's gallery disintegrated, fringing smoking debris around them. They traveled at a gallop at first, then Zarvora eased back to a canter and glanced back to the north. "Why are they not retreating, I see only a half dozen--"
She caught herself, horrified by the truth: her elite lancers had been all but wiped out by the time her rocket had shouted its orders. Other riders were streaming across the plain, Ghan lancers on horses from other squads. The tower captain drew a flintlock.
"No!" shouted Zarvora. "Give me your loaded guns." He drew alongside and handed them over to her, then drew his saber and rode alongside her. The horses were beginning to tire, and a squad of a dozen Ghans was slowly closing with them. Zarvora turned in the saddle and fired with a smooth sweep of her arm. A Ghan lancer threw up his arms and fell from his mount. She flung the gun away and drew another from her belt. This time she hit a horse and it sprawled amid the sharp stones, flinging its rider down. The next shot missed. Zarvor
a dropped the third gun and drew her fourth. Turn, sweep, fire--the head of the leading lancer exploded as the heavy lead ball found its mark. The remaining nine suddenly lost their resolution and slackened pace.
In the distance to the south Zarvora noticed that the beam flash relay tower was on fire, trailing a plume of dark smoke into the light wind. Their pursuers began to fire their muskets, and a shot tugged at Zarvora's robes as she reached for her last gun, a stubby Westock half-inch. More riders were closing from behind to join the Ghans--then the pursuers broke into a confused, wheeling,
shouting gaggle as the newcomers hacked into them with their sabers. "The last of our own lancers," shouted the tower captain. "Then turn, here's enough of fleeing."
The wild scramble that followed lasted no more than a minute, but six Ghans and the beam flash captain lay dead before Zarvora and the three surviving lancers from her personal guard set off for the south again.
"Wild, savage warriors," shouted the man beside her. "We were evenly matched, but we barely held our own. A second squad hit us just as your rocket came over." '
They rallied with more surviving lancers at the burning relay tower, then set off for Woomera again. They reached the fortified capital in the late afternoon. The towers of the city rose against the blue sky with the darker blue of the Mirrorsun band arching across like a mighty sash. The band had drifted into an 352
SEAN Me MULLEN
eccentric orbit as it strove to repair the damage from the Wanderer's beam, so the glow was easily visible late every afternoon.
"I changed the very heavens, yet look at me now," Zarvora muttered under her breath as she rode for the west gate of the city.
Zarvora's lackey was shouting messages from the beam flash network to her even as she dismounted from her exhausted, trembling horse. "Force of two thousand on the Great Western Paraline at Warrion, laying siege. Another force reported at Hawker, but no numbers as yet. Yuntall Railside under siege by a force of over five thousand--"
Souls in the Great Machine Page 48
