“Sub-Lieutenant Clarke,” Kepteros said, “This is Sekura, Guardian of the Flame.”
Nodding, the figure moved forward, age weighing his limbs. His eyes were distinct from his body, quick and alert, gathering every scrap of information about the newly arrived group, before looking questioningly at Maqua.
“Then it is so,” the old man said. “You do work with our ancient enemies.”
“That war was untold centuries ago,” Maqua said. “These are my friends, my shipmates.”
“I see.” Turning to Clarke, Sekura continued, “I have a sacred responsibility, young man. Kepteros leads us in war, but the soul of our people is mine to protect, and I will risk everything to see that it is kept safe. Do not doubt that even for an instant.”
Nodding, Clarke said, “We're here to help.”
“Words mean nothing without actions.”
“Lieutenant Maqua will have vouched for us,” he protested. “Our mission was one of exploration. We're trying to find a way home, back to the Milky Way.”
“There were others, long ago, who ventured here on the same quest. They were here for a time, and then moved on. It was said by my grandfather that they had found what they were looking for through consultation with the Builders, though most of us believed that those were fables, legends. I still doubt. Though I see hope in your eyes, and would not remove it. Our universe is boundless, and all secrets confined within.” Gesturing at the flame, he added, “Take a seat. Maybe a little wisdom will leech its way into you.”
Nodding, Clarke sat down, the others following, Mortimer grimacing as she dropped to the ground. The fire seemed to dance, and as he watched, Sekura threw a handful of dust from his pocket, causing it to flare and burn more deeply. Phosphorus, Clarke thought, but it had the required effect, drawing all eyes to stare into the flames.
“It is surprising what you can see in the fire,” Sekura said. “Times long past, and time to come. And time eternal, such as we enjoy here.”
“We did,” Kepteros spat, “until the Hegemony came.”
“How long have they been in occupation?” Mortimer asked.
“They first arrived a decade ago,” the war-leader said. “A few of them, trading parties, offering manufactured goods.” Looking up at Clarke, he added, “We aren't savages. We know what steel is, even if we've temporarily lost the ability to make it. Naturally, we accepted the offer, and at first, the trade was mutually beneficial. Slowly it began to change, and they came in larger and larger numbers, finally establishing a permanent station. That was the turning point.”
“And eventually they had enough people to take over permanently,” Clarke said.
“About a year ago. Where once there were a dozen, suddenly a hundred arrived, and in the middle of a shadow, we found ourselves conquered. Some were killed, those who attempted to resist. The rest surrendered, for want of any realistic alternative.” Looking around at the others, he added, “We were on a pilgrimage to the Hall of the Builders, far from here.”
“About nine thousand miles,” Maqua said, shaking his head. “And they walked it.”
“It is our tradition that all of our people should behold the works of the Builders once in their lives, if they are physically able to do so. My father was war-leader, and it had always been intended that I should take his place when I grew old enough to do so. When I learned of his death, I assumed that responsibility and began to fight back. They are many and we are few, but our blades are sharp, and our eyes quick.”
“Won't work,” Mortimer said, bluntly. “They've got all the hostages they could possibly need. Including cages that I suspect are rigged to drop on demand. Ours fell easily enough. They could kill hundreds of your people any time they wanted. You might get away with the occasional assassination, but if you push it too far, they'll wipe you all out.”
Nodding, Maqua added, “Ultimately, I suspect that's their plan anyway. They're learning everything they can about the resources of the forest and the local area. Not to mention the other ruins scattered in this region. Their final goal will almost certainly be colonization. And the Neander reduced to slaves or corpses.”
“That will not be allowed to happen,” Kepteros insisted. Looking at Clarke and the others, he added, “Though I must admit, matters will be a lot easier with more trained warriors fighting our side, even if you have been unarmed. We have weapons for you, blades wielded by heroes in the Final War, suited for hands such as yours.”
“Blades?” Garland said, raising an eyebrow. “Against guns.”
“Valor, and more importantly, surprise, will be on our side,” Sekura insisted.
“The Final War?” Mortimer asked.
“Forty generations ago, two of our tribes battled for the land near the Portal. In those days, starships still visited, and there was rich trade. Sufficient that it was worth waging war over.” The shaman's eyes seemed to mist over, and he continued, “We began fighting with machine guns, tanks, churning up the soil. Soon we were reduced to swords, and the reasons behind the war were forgotten, other peoples either joining our conflict or leaving our lands forever.” He smiled, then added, “There is room, you see. Room that there is no need to tarry in a land in which you do not wish to live.”
“Who won?” Garland asked.
“The survivors,” Sekura replied.
“But…,” Koslowski began.
“The only winners were those who lived through it. After many years, there were few of us left, and plague and famine battered the survivors. They were forced to join together simply to stay alive through the harsh times, and finally, two generations later, we had intertwined to the point that the war was over. And our land, our culture, had been destroyed. Once, millions of us lived on the plain, in the forests, and on the hills to the north. Now this is the last outpost of our people.”
“We shall come back,” Kepteros insisted. “In my grandfather's generation, we had barely resumed smelting ore. Our numbers increase, our herds multiply, and we shall reclaim the plains. The starships are returning, and with them, the prosperity we once knew. And by defeating our invaders, we shall gain the knowledge we need to take advantage of our territory, drive back the Hill Tribes.”
“Be wary of knowledge without wisdom, young one,” Sekura warned. “Or you will reap the same bitter harvest as our ancestors, and with the same ultimate result. We will take time, for there is always time. An eternity, here in the sphere.”
“Have you always lived here?” Fox asked.
“There are stories that our ancestors were snatched from their lands by angels. Beings with great wings who swept us from the forests of our ancient homeland and brought us here, taught us the ways of the sphere, and showed us how to live. Lessons we quickly forgot, wisdom forgotten. Just stories.”
“Beings with wings,” Clarke mused. “Starships? Shuttles?”
“Possibly,” Maqua replied. “My people had not dissimilar beliefs, though of course the details were very different.” Gesturing around, he added, “These tunnels date from that time. The sphere is honeycombed with them, miles deep into the alloy. Though even then, they are far younger than the sphere itself.”
“There are beings here who claim that they have seen hundreds of thousands of generations,” Sekura said, as though reciting ancient lore. “Beings alien of shape and form, whose very visage will rip a man's soul from his body, but legends suggest that our ancestors once spoke to them, communicated with them.”
“And the Hall of the Builders?” Mortimer asked.
“A sacred place, where relics of the creators of the sphere reside, guarded by an ancient priesthood. A worthy goal for one wishing to quest. I visited it once myself, many cycles ago,” Sekura said with a weary sigh. “Many who attempt to trek fail, the hardships more than they can bear or the dangers besting them, leaving their bones scattered on the soil.”
“Old ruin
s, and older men tending them,” Kepteros replied. “I should have been here, protecting my people, not wandering the wilds looking for answers to questions that only fools would ask.”
“And had you been here, young one, you would be dead,” Sekura said. “As it is, you are a hope for the future of our people, one that we would not have had under other circumstances. You might be grateful for the opportunity, not resentful of it.”
Kepteros sighed, and said, “I know. It's just...”
Placing a hand on the young man's shoulder, Sekura softly replied, “Hard enough for a son to see his father die. Harder to learn of it cycles after the fact, and know that his murderers still roam free. I promise that you will have your revenge.”
“And how,” Mortimer asked, “do you propose to bring that revenge about. I understand that we are to be an integral part of it.”
“You see around you the Free Warriors of our tribe,” Kepteros said. “Each of us has wet his blade in our enemies' blood, but that is not enough. The Hegemony uses powerful detectors, technological devices that we do not understand, to warn them of approach and treachery. There are others hidden in the slave pens, ready to rise up in revolt when we give the signal, but first we must remove their advantage. You have the expertise we need.”
Clarke looked at Mortimer, and said, “What about Lieutenant Maqua?”
“There are three installations, Sub-Lieutenant, and one man cannot hope to cover them all, not with equipment.” Maqua sighed, then said, “I was commanding our first reconnaissance team. There were four of us, our mission to examine the ruins and conduct an initial survey of the area. I presume you had the same idea.”
“We did,” Mortimer replied.
“That was about five months ago, shortly after we arrived. Our team completed our initial survey, and started out for the nearest set of ruins. We figured we could be there and back in a couple of days, and Captain Orlova was planning to expand base camp while we were away. Naturally, it didn't work out that way.”
“They were waiting to ambush you,” Clarke said.
Nodding, Maqua replied, “At first, it was peaceful enough, and they presented themselves as traders, willing to trade information. They had thirty men hidden in the ruins, most of them with sniper rifles. We never had a chance. I was captured, I suspect because they thought they could break me more easily.” He smiled, then said, “I managed to relieve myself of my rank insignia and identity card. As far as they was concerned, I was just a maintenance technician, and an incompetent one at that. Bastards bought the whole damned story.”
“We contacted him shortly after his arrival,” Sekura said. “The original plan was to secure assistance from Monitor, but we were unable to arrange an escape before that crew vanished.”
“Vanished?” Garland asked. “What happened to them?”
“I wish I knew, Spaceman,” Maqua replied. “All we know is what the guards saw. That the base went from three shuttles to six overnight, and then that the crew dispersed. Packed up and moved out, leaving only one wrecked shuttle behind.”
“And that had been stripped down,” Mortimer replied. “By someone who knew what they were doing. We thought they were planning to use it as a base.”
“It wasn't our captors,” Kepteros said. “They were extremely annoyed to learn that other scavengers had beaten them to the prize. They're fascinated by any scraps of technology they can find, obsessed with learning the secrets of the Builders. Fortunately, those secrets are far beyond their understanding and comprehension. Even our ancestors, born to these lands, never solved those mysteries.”
“Spotting your shuttle landing was the answer to a prayer,” Maqua added, “Though I'm sorry to find out that Alamo is stuck out here was well.”
“We were looking for Monitor,” Clarke said. “So I suppose we are going to ride to the rescue after all, though not quite in the way we were expecting. Though we haven't had any contact with the ship for hours. I assume Captain Salazar will send a search party sooner or later, probably in force. Can the guards up here respond to that?”
“How much force are we talking about?”
“Potentially a full Espatier platoon, armed with plasma weapons,” Fox said, a smile on her face. “I'd like to see them stand up against that with machine guns, and every man in the platoon is a combat veteran now. We're blooded, and we know what we're doing.” She paused, then added, “I'm surprised they haven't already arrived, actually. At least a second shuttle.”
“We don't have any way of knowing what's going on out there,” Clarke said. “For the moment, we've got to assume that we're going to have to free your people without help.”
“Then you will commit yourselves to our cause?” Sekura asked, worry lines forming on his aged face. “We're not used to receiving help from outsiders.”
“Trust me,” Mortimer said. “The Triplanetary Fleet specializes in lost causes.”
With a thin smile, Kepteros replied, “I certainly hope we don't count as one.” Gesturing around, he added, “I spent most of my childhood running around these caverns. I know them better than anyone else, and I know all of the openings to the surface like I know my dwelling. There are secret passages that lead right into the heart of the settlement, and we can use those to free our people. If you can disable the sensor network, we can do the rest.”
“Though we won't turn down any additional help you wish to offer,” Sekura said with a smile. “We certainly have enough weapons to spare.”
“I think you can count on us,” Maqua said. “Right, Sub-Lieutenant.”
“Ready, willing and able, sir,” Clarke replied, snapping a salute. “What's the plan?”
“And is it blasphemy to cook something over that open fire?” Mortimer asked. “I'm starving.”
Chapter 13
Salazar looked across at Bowman, and said, “Report, Spaceman!”
“Still no contact with the surface, sir, and the datastream was interrupted before we could complete the upload. We've got some preliminary notes from Lieutenant Harper, but that's about all.” He paused, then added, “Our last signals suggested some sort of surface conflict was under way, but I couldn't get any details.”
“Portal is now fully open, sir,” Ballard added. “I can't get any good shots of the surface, but the shuttles have been scattered all across the map. One of them drifted three hundred miles before the thrusters could kick in. I've got positive track on all of them.”
Francis frowned, then said, “We could guide them back to the portal remotely.”
“No,” Salazar said, shaking his head. “Not until we've got some sort of idea what is happening down there. Any contact from Endurance?”
“Nothing, sir,” Bowman replied, “And I've been trying to contact them constantly since this happened. I'm just getting a recorded response requesting that we stand-by.”
“Distance to Endurance?” Salazar asked.
“Ten thousand miles, sir,” Scott replied, turning from her station. “Ten minutes at full acceleration. I can plot an intercept course right way.”
“Do it, Lieutenant. Quesada, execute the course as soon as you get it. Scott, bring the crew to battle stations, and make sure that our Hegemonic friends know precisely what we're doing. I don't want any doubt in their minds that we're ready for action.”
“Aye, sir,” Scott said, tapping a control. “All hands to battle stations. I repeat, all hands to battle stations. Report combat status to the bridge on the double.” She ran her fingers down her console, and added, “Radiators deployed, laser cannon charging, sir. Missiles ready to fire, point-defense systems coming on-line.”
“Is this wise, Captain?” Francis quietly asked, moving to his side. “We don't know what is happening down on the surface, and we don't know what Endurance is doing. For all we know, there's a perfectly good explanation for all of this.”
“If Maj
or Moran wants to explain it all to me, I'll be more than happy to listen, Max, but all I can see is that our supposed allies seem to be going to a lot of trouble to conceal information about their past, and that it looks suspiciously like they've captured our landing team. I think a little brinkmanship is called for at the moment.” He looked up at the screen, and added, “Have Ensign Rhodes prepare First and Second Squad for immediate launch.”
“Where are they going?”
“Either Endurance or the surface, depending on what happens next.”
“Sir!” Ballard. “Incipient dimensional instability, Captain! Something's coming into the system.” Flicking controls, she added, “Same basic pattern as before. Looks as though they'll be arriving at some time within the next hour. More controlled then when Endurance emerged.”
“They might have managed some modifications to their hendecaspace drive,” Fitzroy suggested. “Chief Wu was working on that. She thinks we can alter our extra-dimensional flight profile to smooth out the ride.”
“Have her take a look at the sensor readings, and let me know if they match her proposed drive modifications,” Salazar said. “Any reaction from Endurance yet?”
“No course change, Captain, but she's clearing for action stations, if I'm any judge. Power spikes to the turrets, and her firewall's firming up.”
Frowning, Scott said, “I can't help but wonder if we're about to get into a battle that neither side wants to fight.”
“Always a possibility, Lieutenant, but there's little enough we can do about that until they decide to start talking. Time to target?”
“Nine minutes, thirty seconds to firing range, sir,” she replied. “They're turning towards us now, but no sign of acceleration as yet. Maybe they're keeping their options open.”
Battlecruiser Alamo: Shadows in the Sky Page 11
