Darwin's Soldiers

by Ste Sharp

  ‘Yeah, how are they gonna help against robots?’ Crossley’s shoulders slumped. ‘Shit. Okay, someone give me a weapon then or I’ll have to rely on these trinkets.’ He fingered the scavenged diodes hanging around his neck.

  ‘Here,’ Sakarbaal pointed to a pile of spare bows and spears, ‘take your pick.’

  Crossley shook his head and pulled a handgun from a shoulder holster, mumbling, ‘Goddam ancient crap.’

  Euryleia was in the thick of the group as they split into groups of archers and riflemen, with the bulk of the swordsmen between the two. She couldn’t see anything on the horizon, yet felt vibrations through her feet.

  ‘More on the left flank,’ Mihran shouted, crouching behind one of the red stones. ‘Now take shelter and – where have they gone?’

  Euryleia had an arrow in her bow and half a dozen stabbed into the ground beside her.

  ‘They’re cloaked,’ Li shouted.

  ‘Where are they?’ Crossley shouted.

  ‘Hold!’ Mihran shouted. ‘Expect an attack any–’

  In an instant, the desert, the red stones and the hazy green sky vanished in an orange flash so bright that Euryleia thought she could see the insides of her eyes. Time slowed as shapes and senses came to her in flashes: stone; silhouettes; the sky; the ground; burning.

  Pain.

  Nothing made sense.

  Pain.

  It all happened in a single breath.

  Darkness descended.

  When the light came back, the fighting was over. Euryleia rolled over and cradled her arm where a sharp pain burnt. She looked around for shelter but all she saw were bodies and smoke. The smell of burning flesh invaded her nostrils and she heaved.

  Don’t panic, she told herself. First thing: injuries.

  Euryleia looked down at her wrist, where the pain was sharpest, and this time she couldn’t hold back the vomit. Where her hand had been, she now saw a charred and bloody mess of flesh and bone.

  ***

  They should have surrendered straight away, Mihran thought. Before the battle started, seventeen of his thirty-six scenarios had suggested surrender, but he had pushed them to the back of his mind, along with the eight that ended with the human army’s complete destruction. He needed to find a smoother way to process his predictions and receive live information from his troops during battle, he thought.

  When the lightning attack hit them, Mihran had struggled to keep up with the strategies and models. As one soldier died, his model shifted, but not fast enough for him to communicate any changes.

  ‘Retreat and combine forces!’ he had shouted, but nobody heard over the explosions and laser fire that ripped through the air like violent thunder.

  Desperate for some coordination, Mihran had thrown his thoughts at an archer, trying to get him to focus his attack on the flank, but nothing changed. He tried another, but they ignored him. Determined to make it work, Mihran tried to project the image of an approaching robot to a group of swordsmen who were about to mount what would have been a suicidal attack. They paused and held back – it worked!

  Just as Mihran was getting used to the method, the attack stopped as suddenly as it had started and the voice of the robot’s leader drifted across the smoke-shrouded and cratered desert.

  ‘Put your weapons down and you will not be harmed.’

  ‘Cease!’ Mihran shouted. ‘Cease your firing! We surrender.’ He walked out with his arms raised high.

  An eager crossbowman released a metal-tipped bolt at the silhouette of one of the robots and was given an accurate laser burst to the ear in return.

  ‘Put your weapons down!’ Mihran ordered, shouting over the man’s screams.

  He took in the damage to his troops. Limbs and torsos told of the dead, while several were lying injured: Euryleia was on the ground, clutching the burnt stump of her left hand and, on the other flank, Li floated in a blue bubble.

  He faced the aggressors, searching for something he could learn from their audacious attack. ‘We submit,’ he shouted. Smoke drifted on the lazy desert breeze as the dark silhouettes became fifteen robot warriors, each standing twice as tall as Mihran.

  ‘Disarm,’ the voice boomed again and a large red robot walked forward.

  Mihran overheard Crossley, who was still hiding. ‘Jeez, if these guys lost to the flatworms think how dangerous those little bastards must have been!’

  Determined to show strength for the human army, Mihran spoke clearly. ‘Why do you cease your attack?’

  A rasping voice responded. ‘You will not survive this fight and we are not interested in victory.’

  ‘You are not interested in victory?’ Mihran repeated.

  ‘This skirmish will not count as a true battle.’ A short orange robot spoke with a precise accent. ‘We will not gain our freedom through your defeat.’

  Mihran raised his eyebrows and looked to Li, as if to say ‘Make a note of that,’ but she was still trapped and unable to respond.

  ‘Please release my soldier.’ Mihran pointed to the blue bubble.

  ‘When you return the belongings of our clan,’ a yellow automaton said.

  ‘What belongings?’ Mihran asked.

  ‘Those taken from the stronghold where our kin died. These parts belonged to our fallen comrades.’

  ‘How do you know we have them?’ Mihran asked to buy time.

  ‘We tracked them to your position.’

  ‘And your army’s name?’ Mihran asked.

  ‘We are the Lutamek.’

  ‘Ah.’ Mihran turned to his troops. ‘Bring forward anything taken from the castle.’

  It was better not to argue with these metallic behemoths, plus a thought had come to him.

  ‘Here.’ An archer walked forward and threw a lump of metal at the nearest robot’s feet.

  The orange robot scanned the item with a blue pulse of light from its left eye. ‘Seven-zero-eight’s acronometric valve intensity monitor.’ It picked the object up and deposited it in a hole in its arm.

  More humans stepped forward and discarded treasured objects at the feet of the Lutamek.

  The orange robot spoke once the items had been identified. ‘You have five more items. Please return them.’

  Nobody moved.

  ‘If you wish, sir,’ the red Lutamek addressed the orange robot, ‘I can neutralise the offending alien.’

  ‘No,’ it replied. ‘I need them intact, maybe maim the individual. One limb–’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Crossley ran forward with his hands up, giving Mihran a sheepish look as he passed. ‘Here you go.’ The American threw down a copper-coloured box then opened his pockets, pulling out an assortment of metallic components. ‘Couldn’t get any of them to work anyway.’

  ‘These are accepted,’ said the Lutamek leader.

  ‘Now release my soldier,’ Mihran ordered.

  A turquoise Lutamek twitched and the bubble disappeared, dropping Li to the ground.

  ‘I couldn’t hear a thing, what’s going on?’ she asked.

  ‘Please see to the injured,’ Mihran said and turned to the robot leader. ‘My thanks. And now?’

  ‘We are an honest race,’ the leader spoke slowly, ‘and believe in trade.’

  ‘Yet you attacked us without asking for your belongings,’ Mihran said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Crossley joined in, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’

  Mihran held his hand up to silence him.

  ‘We were witness to your defence against the Brakari scout patrol,’ the robot replied, ‘and are aware of your association with the one-eyed humanoid who did nothing to aid us during our battle.’

  ‘Peronicus-Rax is a peaceful individual,’ Mihran said.

  ‘I will make a record of his name,’ one of the Lutamek murmured.

  ‘And I will remember the name of the Brakari,’ Mihran replied, understanding how they had been outclassed so quickly by these fighting machines: they had seen the humans in action and had neutralised the most dangerous
soldier first. ‘These Brakari were just scouts?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, their stronghold lies beyond the plain, near the silver gates,’ the Lutamek leader replied.

  And yet the Lutamek don’t fight for their freedom, Mihran thought. He felt he had gleaned more information from the Lutamek than they had from him: tracing the parts of their fallen comrades, tracking a scouting party of another species and the intensity of their attack all suggested more was going on here.

  ‘You are a new species,’ the Lutamek leader said. ‘Our trade is to answer any questions you have.’

  ‘Well, if you could tell us who brought us here and why all these strange things are happening to us that’d be great,’ Crossley said before Mihran could respond.

  A high-pitched warble came from the orange robot and the yellow leader turned. ‘Keep our transmission audible Nine-zero-five. No, I do not believe this information would threaten our mission.’ The leader looked at Crossley, then Mihran. ‘We do not know who brought us, or yourselves, here. Our location is also unknown to us. As for your changes,’ the leader beckoned a lean white robot over, ‘Ten-ten, scan and relay all adaptational sources.’

  ‘Yes, Two-zero-three,’ the robot replied and sprayed a fast pulsing light over Crossley, criss-crossing his body from head to boots. Then it switched to the soldier behind him, then Samas and so on. Mihran breathed out in relief when his scan finished with no sense that anything had touched him.

  ‘Scan complete,’ the white robot said a minute later.

  ‘Results?’

  ‘All individuals have ingested a fungal symbiont,’ Ten-ten’s rough voice held Mihran’s attention, ‘which has established a net of hyphae throughout their neural pathways, enhancing the language centres.’

  Mihran’s eyes widened. For the first time since arriving here, he was getting real answers. ‘And each individual’s unique adaptations?’ he asked.

  Ten-ten pointed a long metallic finger at Crossley. ‘An increased sinus cavity combined with vocal cord extension has enabled you to create and read sonic waves.’

  ‘Does that mean I can see in the dark as well?’ Crossley asked, but Ten-ten had already moved on to Althorn.

  ‘Your body has an enhanced metabolic rate, utilising eighty-nine percent of all energy consumed through enhanced glycolysis and partial carbon recovery from carbon dioxide.’

  ‘So rather than being invisible,’ Mihran said, ‘you are simply moving at an incredible speed.’

  ‘You,’ the robot turned to an archer, ‘have an enhanced visual cortex that allows you to see and predict atmospheric and enemy movements to a greater degree of accuracy, similar to our shard missile systems.’

  ‘Ten-ten,’ the Lutamek leader, Two-zero-three, said, ‘please keep the information limited and relevant. Code Ecta.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Ten-ten turned back to the archer. ‘Your enhanced eyes give you accurate aim.’ Then to Mihran, ‘A second symbiont has enhanced your mental capabilities.’ Then Bowman, ‘During the battle, your missiles showed signs of enhanced cognitive behaviour.’

  When Ten-ten had finished, every member of the human battalion felt they had been told a little more than they would have liked.

  ‘Just like getting bad news from the doctor.’ Crossley sat on a rock and stared at the earth. ‘My sinus cavity is bigger, so what’s happened to my brain?’

  Nobody answered.

  Unlike the rest of the small army, Mihran pushed aside the reality of microscopic growths linking the subsections of his brain. He was more intrigued by the Lutamek army and their mission. ‘Lutamek leader, Two-zero-three, your exchange of knowledge is gratefully received, and I apologise for any offence caused – we meant no disrespect to your lost comrades.’

  ‘The trade is complete,’ Two-zero-three replied. ‘You have distracted us long enough.’

  The robots holding the perimeter were already moving away.

  ‘I understand.’ Mihran nodded. ‘You have more Brakari scouts to track, no doubt?’

  Every Lutamek stopped instantly.

  ‘You have information?’ Two-zero-three asked.

  Mihran stood silent as he calculated the odds of certainty. His question had revealed a clue. If only he could read their minds, he thought, but remembered the pain from trying to read Peronicus-Rax. He would have to take a gamble instead.

  Two-zero-three appeared impatient and asked, ‘You want more from us, human?’

  ‘No.’ Mihran stroked his beard. ‘I was thinking about how we can help you on your mission… to free your comrades captured by the Brakari army.’

  Chapter 13

  Althorn sat by the coals of a dying fire, keeping watch and rubbing his engorged leg muscles, which ached from the previous day’s running. Around him, soldiers slept within a perimeter circle of small fires, outside which the huge Lutamek rested and recharged. He’d been awake half the night, tending to the injured and dying who lay scattered across their desert camp. Now, a glow on the edge of the featureless plain signalled the start of his eleventh day in this land of war and death.

  In the morning light it was like seeing his sleeping comrades for the first time: their faces, weapons and clothing were as bizarre to him as some of the aliens they had encountered, yet he wasn’t fazed by the differences – they only increased his thirst to learn more. When he scouted ahead he discovered so many things of wonder: landscapes; bodies; forts; creatures; and plants. It made him feel alive. That was why he volunteered to scout. The years had been creeping up on him, pouring sorrow into his bones and sapping the strength from his muscles, but now he had the energy of a man half his age – no, he had more energy than ever before! He could run for hours on end, faster than an avalanche or so fast nothing could see him. The only problem was the amount of food and water he had to consume.

  The thought made his belly rumble.

  ‘Going for a break,’ he whispered to an Assyrian soldier sharpening his spear blade.

  The man gave a nod, and Althorn tiptoed through the wispy fires and past the large silhouettes of the Lutamek. He kept an eye on their lights, which flickered along their back ridges and legs. One of them was on watch, but he couldn’t tell which. They could all be awake and have eyes all over their body for all he could tell.

  He sped off, leaving a tiny whirlwind of dust in his wake.

  The Lutamek were an odd fit in Althorn’s mind. They weren’t what he considered true allies – or true creatures for that matter. When they had attacked he had been fast enough to dodge the laser fire and divert some of their metallic missiles, but his attacks with his blade had barely dented their shells.

  ‘I don’t want them to touch me.’ Euryleia had flatly refused when the Lutamek offered medical assistance.

  ‘But you’re seriously injured,’ Althorn had argued.

  ‘No help,’ she snapped and coated her blackened stump with a green paste from her bag and tied a tight strip of cloth around her wrist.

  Others took the aid: gels to heal burns, beams of red light to fix broken bones. Some even accepted metal limbs to replace those lost in the fight.

  ‘They’re turning us into them!’ Althorn had protested to Mihran but he would have none of it.

  ‘We are stronger when healed,’ he had replied. ‘And we are stronger together.’

  Althorn travelled far in a few minutes and paused to light a fire in a protected hollow before speeding off again to a watering hole half a day’s march back. As he neared he saw movement: dark shapes slipping around the edge of the depression Mata had created with his root-like arms. Without slowing, Althorn circled silently and watched the silhouettes in the dawn light. Were they dangerous? You could never be sure in this land. He closed in to see three deer sipping from the puddle. They looked harmless enough, so he circled once more before leaping in at a ferocious speed, grabbing the largest deer by its hind leg and whipping it away. He snapped the neck as he ran and held back his desire to bite into the fresh flesh.

  A few minutes l
ater he was back by his fire, gutting and roasting the dead animal.

  ***

  ‘Typical.’ Crossley shook his head as Althorn rejoined the group. ‘You turn up just when we finish packing.’

  ‘Sorry, I…’ Althorn held back a burp, ‘…I needed to scout ahead and check the traps.’ He held up the two small deer he had gone back for after his breakfast.

  Crossley nodded with a smile. ‘That’ll do for lunch!’

  ‘Gut, quarter and distribute them among the provisions,’ Li said as she walked past.

  Althorn handed the deer over and spotted Euryleia, who stared across the desert with her arm cradled against her chest. ‘How is it?’ he asked as he would a daughter.

  Euryleia looked up with vacant eyes and Althorn could see her loss. She needed Lavalle.

  She gave a smile. ‘It tingles,’ she said.

  ‘Everyone heals fast here, Euryleia.’

  ‘But I’ll never fire my bow again.’ Her brow was heavy. ‘What use will I be in battle?’ Tears were forming in her eyes.

  ‘Let me take a look.’ Althorn crouched next to her and held out his palm.

  Euryleia looked away for a second then offered her wrist, keeping her head turned away. Resting her elbow on his leg, Althorn tenderly unwrapped the bandages, wary of what he would find beneath: redness or pus would indicate an infection and any protruding bone or weeping flesh would mean more pain in order to heal the wound.

  ‘Has Li looked at it?’ he asked as the layers peeled away.

  Euryleia shook her head.

  The last few layers were moist with a green liquid.

  ‘And this is your paste?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Althorn took extra care not to tear any healing flesh but, as the last layer came free, he wasn’t prepared for what he would see. ‘Oh, I–’

  ‘What?’ Euryleia looked.

  This land offered plenty to scare and frighten Althorn, but it never held back from amazing him. They stared at the blackened wrist in amazement and then at each other. Euryleia laughed.