Darwin's Soldiers

by Ste Sharp

  The faint light-blue glow emanating from the temple’s centre illuminated the crude etchings on the tunnel walls: lines of Brakari warriors in formation; Brakari fighting various foes; a large Lutamek being restrained; the building of Abzucrutia; concentric rings of Brakari warriors in prayer around a floating figure.

  ‘I can’t see why…’ Panzicosta grumbled as he pushed his way through the final, tightest, arch and into the dome of the temple.

  The air lay thick with moisture, which dripped from clumps of moss and algae growing across the struts supporting an immense domed ceiling. Shafts of light pierced the heavy air through geometrically positioned air holes in the roof, illuminating the colourful images covering the walls of the temple. Panzicosta ignored them and stared at his slumbering leader.

  ‘Belsang.’ He lowered his large, blue head to the glowing powder-blue figure that hovered above a black stone plinth at the centre of the shrine.

  Unlike other Brakari, Belsang’s body showed no obvious sign of a protective shell. His body was a quarter the size of Panzicosta’s but swollen with fatty flesh. Eight bulging appendages ran symmetrically down his body, each ending with three pudgy digits rather than the lethal blades and pincers Panzicosta possessed. Each pair of arms or legs was folded, giving Belsang a patient demeanour, but Panzicosta knew the ruthless power that resided beneath the banal facade.

  Panzicosta recalled the moment Belsang had transformed from fellow warrior to Brakari leader. Mid-battle and covered in his enemy’s blood, Belsang had bellowed in pain as he imploded with the sound of a mighty crashing wave. His weapons had fallen to the ground, his armour plating had disappeared and what remained was a small and bloated Brakari bursting with raw energy. Belsang’s transformation had been too late for victory, but as the new Dominus he had shown the Brakari a new path.

  ‘Belsang the Great.’ Panzicosta lowered his body and stretched his pincers across the slimy floor of the temple. ‘I humbly prostrate my body before you in servitude. The Brakari army faces threats anew.’

  The light in the room increased a notch and a twitch shook Belsang’s body.

  ‘We need you, Dominus, to unite our forces and bring us the victory we desire,’ Panzicosta continued.

  The sound of a tiny bell echoed around the vast chamber and Panzicosta pulled his body back to a crouched position.

  Two of Belsang’s seven eyes opened, along with his tiny mouth. ‘Name the enemy.’ His deep voice filled the temple.

  ‘Humans.’

  ‘Detail.’

  ‘Soft-bellied, internal-skeleton bipeds with an average level of adaptation.’ Panzicosta knew to keep his answers brief.

  ‘Can they create soldiers?’ Belsang asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have they any allies?’

  ‘No.’ Panzicosta hoped not.

  Belsang vibrated and a third eye snapped open. ‘You have sent a Draytor.’

  ‘Yes, Dominus, it will kill three humans every day until battle.’

  ‘Your orders must be reversed. I sense a weakness in this species.’ Belsang’s voice reverberated around the temple.

  ‘Dominus, I–’

  Worms of electricity writhed across Belsang’s body. ‘If the Draytor kills too many, the enemy will be debilitated beyond survival and may not arrive at battle in sufficient numbers. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Dominus.’ Panzicosta remained motionless.

  ‘Preparations for war are under way?’

  ‘Yes, Dominus.’

  ‘Then leave my temple immediately.’ Belsang rose a foot higher and another eye opened. ‘Bring me my Vaalori steed. We march!’

  ***

  John watched the soldiers scour the remains of the robot army, which lay scattered around the ruined castle. They clambered over metal carcases and ripped open hatches to explore inside, searching for valuable gadgets, advanced weapons or, more often than not, something that looked good hanging on a cord around their neck.

  From a rise in the land beyond the salt moat, John surveyed the land. He had to admit it was a good viewing point: far from where the flatworms had made their attack but near enough to see the action. This was where the watcher had been standing, but any footprints had been wiped clean by the sandstorm. John slipped his hand between the buttons on his shirt and clasped the toy soldier. Had the watcher taken him away from Joe? He pictured his son’s smile and had to breathe in deeply to calm his anger.

  A yell caught his attention. Olan was beckoning Li and Lavalle to a cluster of robot bodies where other soldiers were pushing the blocks apart. A deep boom echoed as a metal hulk fell to the ground. As the dust cleared, Olan’s discovery was plain to see, and John scampered down the hillside.

  ‘Step back!’ Lavalle was shouting. ‘Olan – you found it, read what you can see.’

  John stood on tiptoes to see Olan standing on an overturned robot next to a tall, white obelisk stone. It had a simple message inscribed in black.

  Olan spoke aloud: ‘Here the Platae were victorious over the Lutamek.’

  John looked around for a friendly face. ‘So these robots are the Lutamek?’ he asked.

  Nobody answered him.

  Mihran climbed up next to Olan and stroked his beard before speaking. ‘When we reached these shores, an obelisk decreed we must defeat an enemy.’He scanned the faces around him.‘We thought, naively, we would fight an army similar to ourselves.’ He pointed to the nearest Lutamek hulk, blasted and torn apart. ‘Nowwe have seen the kindof enemy we willface. This is why we mustembrace our changes and do everything in our powers to becomegreater fighters. Stronger, faster,more accurate… flexible, impenetrable and unpredictable.’

  ‘But we only have a few days,’ Crossley said. ‘How can we fight an army who live here?’

  Mihran gave a rare smile and shook his head. ‘Who is saying we are not prepared?’ He tapped his temple. ‘We will be victorious. But enough of this distraction – we must find our enemy before they find us. Back in formation and keep walking.’

  Samas, Li and Lavalle ushered their groups away.

  ‘Check this out.’ Crossley jogged up to John. ‘I’m guessing it’s some kind of communicator unit.’ He held up a fist-sized box covered in blue dials. ‘I just need a power source to fire it up.’

  ‘Great,’ John said and looked away.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ John shook his head. ‘Everything’s getting to me – my arm, Joe, this place…’

  ‘And you don’t want to fight?’ Crossley asked.

  John gave the American a sharp look. ‘I’m not afraid, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘No, I…’ Crossley lowered his voice. ‘Look, I’m afraid, if I’m honest.’ He looked around. ‘And I reckon just about everyone else feels the same. This place is freaky enough but the idea of fighting a huge robot army or a swarm of gigantic ants is enough to make Lavalle soil his armour.’

  John gave half a smile.

  ‘Even Randeep over there with his invisible sword is probably worried, right?’

  ‘It’s totally invisible now, is it?’ John asked.

  ‘Apparently. He won’t show anyone – something about having to draw blood every time it’s unsheathed. Hey, I wonder what those two are chatting about.’ Crossley nodded to where Bowman was in deep conversation with Li. ‘Let’s earwig!’ He sped up and John trailed after him.

  ‘…known as the Black Sword. He was known for his temper and he never took prisoners.’ Bowman was talking. ‘They say his sword was black from the blood of a thousand beheadings.’

  ‘It doesn’t mean he killed the men,’ Li replied.

  ‘But I’m sure it’s him!’

  ‘Did you ever meet him?’ Li asked.

  ‘No, he died long before I was born.’

  ‘He died? How?’

  Bowman shrugged. ‘They said he burnt for his sins.’

  ‘He was burnt at the stake?’

  ‘No.’ Bowman was visi
bly agitated, like a boy caught telling lies. ‘They just said he burnt – in the Holy Land – something to do with God’s wrath.’

  Crossley was looking at John, trying to get his attention. ‘Who?’ he mouthed.

  John shook his head. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll look into it. Head back, we need your eyes up front.’ Li stepped out of the line to survey the soldiers, ignoring John and Crossley.

  ‘It has to be Lavalle,’ Crossley whispered a dozen steps later. ‘He’s got a temper, that’s for sure!’

  ‘Bowman thinks he’s this Black Sword?’ John asked.

  ‘Yeah, and if he’s right, Lavalle must have killed those soldiers last night.’

  John shook his head. ‘No, not Lavalle, he’s–’

  ‘He’s what?’ Crossley asked. ‘You saw how he was with me.’

  ‘Yes, but–’

  ‘No, the more I think about it, it has to be him.’ Crossley turned, bumping into Randeep, who was just behind. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ John called out, but got no reply.

  Five minutes later, Bowman shouted, ‘Another obelisk!’

  The soldiers rushed forward, carrying John forward in the tide.

  ‘Just like the last one.’ Bowman was touching the white stone and black script.

  ‘But no bodies,’ Randeep said.

  ‘Nothing for miles.’ Samas gestured out across the featureless landscape.

  ‘On this spot, the Nama-Gametiads and their allies were victorious over the Ilanos,’ Bowman read.

  ‘Allies?’ Olan asked.

  ‘It would appear,’ Mihran said as he joined them, ‘that all participants of the victorious army in a pitched battle are equal.’

  ‘We could use a few allies,’ Olan said.

  ‘But what happens to the defeated tribe?’ Euryleia asked. ‘The ones that survive…’

  ‘I presume they are bound to this land.’ Mihran turned, distracted by raised voices at the back of the crowd.

  ‘…don’t care what you say – I want to know the truth.’ John heard Crossley. ‘Are you the Black Sword or not?’

  ‘What is he doing now?’ John pushed through the crowd to see Crossley goading Lavalle.

  ‘I’m going to string you up, you little–’ the crowd parted and Lavalle froze. ‘Ah, another obelisk,’ Lavalle said, looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Tell us the truth!’ Crossley stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Are you the Black Sword?’

  Lavalle shook his head. ‘I don’t see how this is relevant.’

  ‘We need to know if we have a murderer in our army,’ Bowman said.

  ‘Did you kill the three men at the castle?’ Randeep stepped forward with one hand on the hilt of his sword.

  ‘No, of course I didn’t.’ Lavalle stared at the faces around him, finally fixing on Mihran.

  ‘It’s time we cleared this up,’ Mihran said. ‘Let’s make this easy. Describe your last kill.’

  ‘My last kill was during my crusade when I was in Damascus and…’ Lavalle paused.

  ‘And?’ Mihran asked.

  Lavalle breathed in deeply.

  ‘Come on!’ Crossley shouted.

  ‘Be quiet!’ Lavalle yelled back, then took a deep breath. ‘So be it. I will hide nothing.’ The knight looked directly at Euryleia, whose eyes stayed on him throughout his confession. ‘During my crusade I was captured at Hattin alongside King Guy. We were taken to Damascus, where a number of my compatriots were executed.’

  The crowd stood silent. To John, the war sounded like his: an elite class leading the masses to their death, fighting for a noble cause they cared little about.

  ‘Many waited for their ransom to be paid, but I escaped. I rejoined my army and the crusade continued. A few days ago our army engaged Saladin’s at Arsur, where he was defeated.’ Lavalle’s eyes lit up. ‘I killed many enemy soldiers from my horse, with my lance, a further score on foot, with my sword.’

  ‘The black sword!’ Bowman shouted out.

  ‘Do you know the history of your crusades?’ Mihran cut to the chase.

  Lavalle’s head dropped a notch. ‘Yes, Li has told me all I need to know.’

  ‘Your victory was short-lived.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lavalle raised his head. ‘But I live to fight on.’

  ‘Why are you not wearing your armour?’ Mihran asked.

  Lavalle sighed. ‘I was not wearing my armour during my last kill because…’ he looked to Euryleia, who held his gaze, ‘…I was executing the captured soldiers who could not be ransomed.’

  ‘You could have let them live?’ Euryleia spoke quietly.

  ‘We had barely enough food to feed ourselves, let alone–’

  Mihran stopped Lavalle with a raised hand. ‘And what of the blond man?’

  ‘What?’ Lavalle glared at Mihran. ‘I didn’t mention the…’

  ‘Why did you kill him? Was he your enemy as well?’

  ‘He was a traitor.’

  Lavalle seemed smaller to John now.

  ‘And yet you took great relish in cleaving through his neck.’

  Lavalle looked to the dusty earth. When he looked up, Euryleia was gone. ‘I was serving my god… my duty as a knight. I executed many men but, as God is my witness,’ he pressed a fist to his chest, ‘I have not killed a single man in this land.’

  John noticed Mihran squint and tilt his head, before saying, ‘I believe you.’

  ‘What?’ Bowman stepped out of the crowd. ‘But he’s the Black Sword – it has to be him.’

  ‘He may be the Black Sword,’ Mihran said. ‘But he did not kill the three men at the fort.’

  ***

  General Panzicosta leant against the outside wall of the Temple of Bekkrypt, wheezing with exhaustion.

  ‘Bring me a bucket of Sorean blood,’ he ordered a shiny-blue Brakari, who crouched a salute before springing away with speed. He looks like he hatched yesterday, Panzicosta thought.

  Fifty metres down the earthen road, the gigantic five-legged elephant-like Vaalori ambled through a crowd of bellowing Brakari soldiers. Belsang sat cross-legged on a wooden howdah on the behemoth’s broad back, with one pair of arms unfolded, waving at the crowd.

  The cries rang out: ‘Dominus!’, ‘Belsang!’ and ‘Victorio Brakarius!’

  Panzicosta kicked a piece of mudstone through the gaping hole he had knocked in the temple wall.

  Belsang was testing me, he thought, forcing me to use my adaptation. No. Only I choose when.

  The diminutive soldier returned with a leather bucket of dark red liquid and placed it at Panzicosta’s feet. With a movement quicker than the soldier expected, Panzicosta lashed out at the small Brakari, slicing through a leg. A high-pitched squeal cut the air and the scorpion-like Brakari scuttled off, leaving its torn limb in the dirt.

  ‘Next time you will be faster,’ the General spat and dropped his head into the warm liquid.

  ‘We will need every soldier fit, General.’ A soft voice caused Panzicosta to pause and twitch his scales.

  ‘It’ll grow back, Millok,’ Panzicosta said and finished off his victuals. He turned to the female. ‘Ah, another present from Doctor Cynigar? But at what cost? More eggs for the army?’

  ‘Yes, impressive, aren’t they?’ Millok swayed from side to side, showing off the electric-blue stripes that adorned her sides.

  She stepped forward and stumbled.

  ‘I meant your lame foreleg.’ Panzicosta bristled. ‘And remember I am your superior, Millok. You may be light-headed after your… enhancement programme, but only talk when requested or I’ll injure more than one leg.’

  ‘Yes, General.’ Millok bowed and a wave of white light ran down each stripe.

  Panzicosta let the silence hold and watched the young female with a mix of sexual desire and admiration. How had such a soldier been selected to fight for the Brakari? She was nothing like the rest of the army.

  ‘We travel for battle soon, s
o you must be healed in two days,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, General.’ Millok nodded and took a look through the hole in the temple wall.

  Panzicosta wheezed: ‘Belsang is serious this time. We go to war and, whatever the outcome, we won’t be coming back to this shithole again.’

  Millok replied, ‘Good.’

  ‘Yes.’ Panzicosta looked away. Any power he had accumulated during Belsang’s hibernation was slipping from his grasp and he needed to regain control. ‘You, messenger!’

  A Brakari officer armed with a huge fighting claw turned. ‘Yes, General.’

  ‘I need you to send an order for the Draytor with the enemy. Order it to cease killing.’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  Panzicosta walked in a circle and thought out loud. ‘We need more information about the enemy. But with the little time we have left it won’t be enough, I…’

  Millok trembled as though she were holding back advice, Panzicosta noticed, or was it the Doctor’s chemicals? He stared down the street at Belsang on his black Vaalori as it turned the corner and disappeared from view.

  ‘And order the scouts to retreat,’ Panzicosta said.

  ‘General?’ the clawed officer asked.

  ‘Retreat from their posts and form groups no bigger than five. We go to war. Order them to attack at will.’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  ‘And one last order for the Draytor.’ Panzicosta closed his scales silently.

  Millok looked up.

  ‘I want to see the enemy in the flesh. Order it to bring me a live human.’

  ***

  John stared at the long, sinuous limbs which lay scattered across the ground like huge chicken bones. They walked past the occasional intact body but, due to the bizarre anatomy, it was hard to tell where the head had been and what weapons these creatures had fought with.

  ‘Nothing to glean here,’ Crossley said and shook his head.

  It was the third battlefield they’d passed.

  Nothing lived in this desolate, grey, flat land, John thought, and looked back at the skeletons.