“It used to confuse me, too,” the young officer confessed.
He went on: “They say that there’s a room in the Cogitorium that has more types of weapons than there are leaves on a very large tree. But I’ll make it easy for you. There are four main types: Heat weapons, radiation weapons, exotic energy weapons like these wonder weapons, and slug-throwers.
“We don’t make many energy weapons anymore; it’s hard to get the parts. I’m pretty sure they scavenged the parts for these disintegrators from something else. And the heirloom energy weapons are real antiques; pretty to look at, but they can blow up if you look at ‘em wrong. That’s why we use them so rarely. You’ll see energy pistols – blasters, even hand disintegrators – that the senior officers wear, but those are just for show.
“What we can make well is slug throwers. The basic design hasn’t changed in thousands of years. And our warriors use a basic slug thrower that shoots steel bolts, or slugs. Hence the name. Those metal slugs can punch through flesh or basic armor.
“Still, even so, there are many different types of slugs. My pistol,” he patted the lump on his hip, “shoots metal needles at super-high velocity, needles that shatter inside flesh. Others can shoot capsules of sopoforics, poison or worse.”
“It all sounds pretty horrible,” Pashera said. “And far from the spears my tribe uses.”
“Oh, we use those, too,” the officer said. “Spears and swords are honor weapons. You’ll see those used in duels, by honor guards or on special hunts.”
“Tol’zen was carrying a spear when he found me,” Pashera said.
The officer nodded. “Yes, he was on an honor quest. Speaking of Lord Tol’zen, would you mind mentioning my name if he’s looking for someone for any special errands. I’m Dar’asst. I think you can tell him truthfully that I’m quite helpful.”
He smiled in what was probably meant to be a friendly way. Pashera thought he reeked of ambition, but promised to mention his name to Lord Tol’zen at the first opportunity. Dar’asst beamed.
They followed the rest of the crowd that had disappeared inside. On the way, Dar’asst explained that the sky pirates had once been the air auxiliary of the saurian forces. Now that the sky pirates had gone rogue, the saurians were left without an air force.
And inside, Tol’zen was expounding on the same subject. However, Tol’zen pointed out that there were flying machines stored away inside the Time Fortress. Relics of Grand Cycles gone by, they could fly. And the sky pirates didn’t know about the mechanical fliers.
“They can fly, but they can’t land,” Thal’tos said angrily. “The last time we tried to fly one, it crashed. The flying machines used to be able to fly and land themselves, but they are unreliable.”
“Leave that to me,” Tol’zen said. “I have a plan.
“Also, we need explosives. Explosives that can be dropped from the fliers.”
“That will be no problem,” said one of the other scientists. Thal’tos looked at the other saurian in fury, but the other scientist shrugged and said, “We know how to make explosives. And fuses. Give us a 10-day.”
Pashera had learned that the “10-day” was one of the standard unit of measurements of the saurians, along with the “3-day” and “moon.”
“You have seven days,” Tol’zen said. “And make enough to blow up the entire fortress.”
“We’ll need more than one flying machine to carry all that,” the other scientist said.
“How many?”
The saurian made some weighing motions with his hands. “Three,” he shrugged.
“Then you shall have three,” Tol’zen said.
“How are you going to land three flying machines?” Thal’tos raged. “I don’t even know if we have three that can actually fly!”
“I assure you they’ll land just fine,” Tol’zen said. “And you are very smart. Surely you’ll be able to find three that will fly.”
Thal’tos spluttered, but Tol’zen was serenely indifferent to the other saurian’s ire.
He turned to Kro’brin, who looked ill at ease in the new uniform his uncle, the king, had put him in. Kro’brin pulled himself to attention. “Serdar Kro’brin,” he said. “Commander Dal’ger will lead the main body of the troops. It is your honor to lead mounted shock troops, perhaps two dozen.”
“So we will go ahead of the main body?” Kro’brin asked. He swallowed loudly.
“Yes, as Serdar, you’ll want to be in front anyway.”
Pashera couldn’t say for sure, but from the look on Kro’brin’s face, that’s exactly where he did NOT want to be.
“Choose the biggest, strongest, warriors you can find,” Tol’zen said. “Because you’re each going to be using molecular disruptors. Three per warrior.”
Kro’brin swallowed again, as he made the mental calculation of mounts charging across open ground while carrying “the biggest” warriors and three of the heavy weapons.
Tol’zen continued: “And now we need just one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Allies,” Tol’zen said. “Leave that to me.”
Once they were safely back in Tol’zen’s rooms, Pashera told him about the helpful officer, Dar’asst. Tol’zen seemed suitably impressed.
“He is ambitious,” Tol’zen said. “And that can be a virtue, if it drives warriors to do their best. Also, he was smart enough to speak to you. Most of my race ignore slaves unless necessary.”
“So he can be of help to you?” Pashera asked.
“Oh, it’s more likely he’s a threat,” Tol’zen said, flashing a grin. “So many in this city have a hidden agenda. But I’ll keep a tab on him.”
The next seven days were a whirlwind of activity and new experiences for Pashera.
At “home,” as she now considered the place where she lived with Tol’zen, she was introduced to the housekeeper, Sai’tan. Sai’tan became primarily responsible for training Pashera. Tol’zen helped out a bit, but he was very busy planning the war. So it fell to Sai’tan to gently but very firmly instruct Pashera in table manners, toiletry, personal appearance and more.
And most importantly, to always call Tol’zen “my lord.” Certainly in public, and if Sai’tan had her way, always. This was the hardest lesson for Pashera to learn. But she knew her big plan depended on Tol’zen’s good graces, so she held her tongue and tried to remember.
Sai’tan also gave Pashera scut-work just to keep her busy. But Pashera’s main job seemed to be understood to keep Tol’zen happy.
“He’s happier with you than I ever remember him,” Sai’tan said on the third morning. Then her saurian face furrowed. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
The night after the war council, Tol’zen made love to her with urgency. Pashera was more than game for anything. His big, black faroos was her initiation to ecstasy, and she wanted it – and him – a lot. They fucked and sucked and fucked again until, after multiple orgasms, she fell asleep, exhausted.
The next morning, Tol’zen took her with him as he journeyed throughout the city, conferring with various friends and allies. Most of the people they visited called him “Lord” Tol’zen and treated him with respect sometimes bordering on awe. But some, obviously his old friends, laughed and joked with him, and swapped stories.
When he was with his friends, they begged him for tales of his recent adventure. Tol’zen always told the story about Pashera clubbing him on the head with a rock, and this got the biggest belly-laughs, and made Pashera’s face flush red with embarrassment. Some of his friends inspected her like she was some kind of prize, and Pashera felt uncomfortable under their scrutiny.
The city was a curious mix of old and new, brick and stone and some building materials that Pashera couldn’t name. Broken machines sometimes huge ones, slumped in corners, forgotten. But enough tech worked that the saurians were able to consult screens on which images and words flashed. And they spun magic globes, like the one she’d used on the bridge in ruined Tartessos, and communed with
them in slack-jawed attention until they got the information they sought.
The city was decorated in many different, often clashing styles. But throughout ran the dragon motif – on walls, windows, even bricks on the street.
“My Lord Tol’zen, why is Guadalquivir called the ‘city of dragons,’ ” Pashera finally asked him, as they walked through yet another overgrown garden decorated with dragons. “I know the word, the tellite teaching machine put it in my head as a real thing. And yet there are no living dragons, are there?”
Tol’zen stopped in his tracks, and sighed. “Dragons used to flock in our skies,” he said. “That was long ago. They were the guardians of our city. They were … glorious.”
“Are they all gone now?”
He sighed again. “Mostly. It’s not a happy tale. I’ll tell you sometime.”
“But if there are no more dragons, shouldn’t you change the name of the city? Maybe it should be ‘Guadalquivir, city of tall towers,’ or something.”
Tol’zen laughed at that. “You’ll find that once glory is gained, it never surrendered willingly. Not even when common sense and modesty might dictate otherwise.”
And that’s all he would say on the subject. He led her on to the next meeting.
Tol’zen seemed to be nearly inexhaustible, but by the end of each day, Pashera would practically stumble her way back to his rooms. She looked forward to the days when he would leave her behind.
On those days, when Pashera remained at home, she spent her day trying to absorb Sai’tan’s lessons. As patient as she was, Sai’tan resorted to cuffing Pashera the fifth time she didn’t learn a particular lesson.
One afternoon, Sai’tan took a nap, and Pashera found herself idling in Tol’zen’s room (which she now considered “her” room as well). She found a box with some of the mind-spheres in it. She spun one of the balls and relaxed and opened her mind. Her mind drifted … then it felt like she “fell” upward.
Suddenly, she found herself in a library (another saurian concept that had come into Pashera’s mind with all the new words). She picked a nearby scroll off a shelf and opened it up.
She found herself in a room surrounded by saurians in scientist smocks. They lay on couches, wearing headsets. She looked at the scroll more closely.
“The Overvibe is the great discovery of our age,” a voice said calmly. “Only five percent of the universe is visible matter. The Overvibe is our connection to that remaining 95 percent. That includes gigantic super-strings that vibrate from the 11th dimension, and black holes that suck light into who knows where.
“The Overvibe exists because subatomic particles are fundamentally made up of identical vibrating strings. Basically, this means the universe can be understood or perceived, from at least one point of view, as a giant musical instrument. It can be played, and information can be sent along the Overvibe. Information is more fundamental than the matter, energy, even space and time, and it is this vibrational information that forms the palate of the universe’s infinite variations.
“The Overvibe signifies the continual omnipresent fluctuation of the ether, the substrate that extends throughout the universe. It underlies our physical existence, and forms what scientists call the zero-point energy continuum.
“Importantly, there are beings out there that have been passing information along the Overvibe for longer than living memory.
“Some of these are potentially good and helpful, but also capable of terrifying destructive power. One we contacted early on – or were contacted by – is The Dancer.
“The Dancer can literally create matter, bring things into existence by causing minor fluctuations in the Overvibe. But The Dancer can also cause dissolution, sending atoms transmuting into the next etheric state in their chain of evolution.
“Importantly, even after a hundred years of contact, we still don’t know what The Dancer wants, other than for us to use the Overvibe more. A lot more.
“However, use of the Overvibe is not without danger. There are also monsters listening to the Overvibe. These are beings of primal fury that somehow evolved enough sentience to listen to, and track, activity on the Overvibe. They wait patiently, like spiders on a web. Our activity on the Overvibe sends a signal along their web, and they move to attack.
“Scientists using the Overvibe have attracted the attention of lesser monsters. These we categorize as “hunters.” With luck, a scientist can slip the attention of a hunter. If not …”
A new image came into view. A saurian scientist lay on a couch. The image closed in on his face. Blood seeped out of every pore. More blood bubbled out of his mouth with every breath. His eyes rolled in an image of pure horror, his mind totally gone.
The image went back to the scientists lying calmly in a circle, wearing headsets.
“And that is just a lesser monster. There are other monsters, bigger monsters, submerged beneath the surface of the Overvibe. We can sense them, but always flee their gigantic, hideous and ancient intelligence. The Dancer has helped us avoid these greater monsters. And the Dancer tells us these greater monsters are ‘World Destroyers.’ If we attract their attention, it could be doom for us all.
“So the question becomes, why use the Overvibe at all? And the answer is that we are contacting other civilizations out in the stars. Some are near enough like us that we can communicate. These allies have been helpful.
“Others are utterly alien. They seem friendly enough, but so far, more difficult to comprehend or interact with than The Dancer.
“The potential, however, is that we will find the Star-Folk. The easiest way to find them is if they also use the Overvibe. Even so, the galaxy is vast, but we would probably contact them eventually.
“The problem is that our discovery of the Overvibe was accidental. There is no guarantee that the Star-Folk have discovered the Overvibe or ever will.
“But all is not lost. Using the Overvibe, with the help of The Dancer, we have learned to scout out one world after another. Now, there are many, many worlds in the vastness of space. The task before us is enormous. But many of us believe that contacting the Star-Folk will be the salvation of our race. We will set ourselves to this task, and we will succeed.
“But here is another problem. The hunters inhabit some of these worlds. And on other worlds, the greater monsters have laid traps, lures, for unwary explorers. If we set off those traps …”
Another image rushed into view. This was a something extremely large and somewhat amorphous, but also terrifying. Pashera felt an ancient intelligence, an evil presence that chilled her to her very core. And it focused on her like a mean-spirited child on a bug. It rushed toward her, closing in on her mind.
She pulled herself back from the image in shock. The sphere rotated on the floor in front of her. Her mouth was dry, her hands shook.
With trembling hand, she put the sphere back in the box. She pulled herself up, and walked on shaky legs to the waste room, where she threw up into the cesou.
That ancient intelligence left her with an overwhelming sense of dread. No, not just dread – it made her feel more dirty than she had ever felt. So, she went and took a bath, and groomed and dressed herself before making her way to the kitchen.
Sai’tan was busy cooking. She looked up in surprise when Pashera came in. “I thought you were sleeping,” Sai’tan said. “You took a bath and groomed yourself without me asking? Good girl! Here, have a biscuit and some fruit.”
Food made Pashera feel better. But she only really shook the sense of dread when Tol’zen finally came home.
They had an hour before dinner. So they adjourned to the bed for a bout of strenuous lovemaking.
When it was over, Pashera asked him about the Overvibe.
“Where did you hear about that?” he asked.
“From one of your learning-spheres,” she said, snuggled into his shoulder. “The balls that show pictures in my head.”
He nodded and stroked her hair, giving it some thought. “You have powers �
�� mental powers – far beyond what an ordinary human should have.
“That learning sphere you mention is called a pantellion. It’s a brain-machine interface, capable of neuro-imprinting any recorded experience.
“The pantellion is similar to, but more sophisticated than, the tellite, the machine in the old tower that imprinted you with our language and some simple facts. The tellite teaches one basic thing: language. Any knowledge it imprints is a byproduct of that. The pantellion offers you many choices. It can be for learning, or for other functions, like you used it on the bridge.
“There are different types of pantellions. The one you used here today is our mental gateway to the Sumsentia. The Sumsentia stores all our knowledge and connects any mind or pantellion accessing it. The Sumsentia is the confluence of our collective consciousness.
“It’s odd, isn’t it,” he asked her, “that the tellite and the pantellion teach many things, but they don’t tell you about themselves. Sometimes I wonder …”
He trailed off. Pashera waited in silence.
“Only about half of all humans survive the tellite,” Tol’zen said. “At least with any sanity intact. But even those that do survive don’t show the other skills you do. You used the pantellion on the bridge to see far beyond your immediate surroundings and scout out the enemy. You used it here to retrieve knowledge like a trained scholar.”
He looked at her seriously, studying her face. “Pashera, I tell you the truth: There are many saurians who are not as adept with a pantellion as you are. By the hells, there are more of the blockheads every generation. Oh, even idiots have their uses. We always need more warriors. But your level of skill …” he trailed off again.
“Let me try something,” he said. He sat up and found a flat board to place between them on the bed. Retrieving the pantellion sphere, he placed it on the board and spun it. Unbidden, Pashera sat cross-legged across from him and opened her mind to the pantellion.
After a moment of disorientation, she found herself floating in a gray coolness. There was an underlying pulse to the grayness. She was alone – no! There was another bright spark, another mind, reaching out to her. Tol’zen. He enveloped her with a presence that was calm and questioning. The gray coolness gradually brightened as their two minds came together.
Slave in the City of Dragons (Dinosaurs and Gladiators Book 1) Page 14
