The Gun Golems (Approaching Infinity Book 2)

by Chris Eisenlauer

  Kalkin nodded in respectful appreciation, but most of the other Shades were expressing varying degrees of alarm, examining their hands and checking for any sign of potential infection.

  Scanlan was shaking his head again, this time trying to put the Shades at ease. “No. . . I. . . None of you should be in any danger. Our experiments were with raw Vine fiber. It’s my belief that once you bond with your Artifacts, both you and your Artifacts are relatively safe from the effects of the metal. But, this brings us back to the ammunition. Everywhere the Root Palace was struck with pistol shots has been subjected to the same corrosive infection I have just described. This leads us to conclude that the ammunition is composed of the same metal as the invaders themselves. Their ‘face guns’ don’t seem to be able to produce the same degree of effect as the pistols, and are merely as dangerous as any other powerful, repeating projectile weapon. But should a pistol shell breach Artifact defenses and make contact with blood,” he paused for a moment, the words feeling strangely heavy to him, “infection will result.”

  Forbis Vays ground his teeth silently. His father lay in a hospital bed with his left eye shot out and half of his middle removed. His circulatory system was like a network of breadcrumb trails for the alien infection to follow, so of course the affected tissue had had to be excised to prevent the corrosion from devouring him whole. Vays, the younger, realized that all the workmen he saw scrambling to and around the shelled areas on his way to the war room were doing the same thing to the affected portions of the Root Palace. The Palace, yes, but his father. . . Vays’s stomach plunged sickeningly.

  “I believe,” Scanlan said, “that in the future we can reduce or even eliminate civilian casualties that result from the actions of these invaders. We are fairly certain that any such casualties that occurred today were incidental or collateral.”

  “Or the result of simple retaliation,” Barson added, his eyes on the simulation, again replaying Somner Faiks’s last moments.

  “Yes, I would say that that is accurate,” Scanlan said.

  Abanastar nodded in agreement. He had noticed this himself and been about to posit it just before the meeting started.

  Unable to remain silent, Vays directed a question at Barson. “What about your student, Somner Faiks? How was he able to do so much damage while Shades like my father, Cov Merasec, and Tia Winn could do so little?” Vays struggled to keep his voice even, but he had to know: how could a Shade—his own father—be outdone by someone he himself had defeated in the competition only fourteen hours earlier?

  Barson reflected for a moment, ignorant of Vays’s buried fervor. “Faiks was a prodigy. His RPP was a thousand eight hundred and seventy-five. He’d reached order four, magnitude seven which put his MPP at about thireen thousand, eight hundred and seventy-five—”

  “Thirteen thousand, eight hundred and sventy-five? You’re joking!” Vays blurted.

  Barson narrowed his eyes. He said very calmly and a little dangerously, “No, I’m not joking.”

  “I-I’m sorry. It’s just that my father’s Dark RPP is at least thirty-four thousand. The MPP of his Union Blade is well above that.” Vays was shaking his head, desperately trying to convince Barson of how ridiculous this sounded.

  Barson maintained his even tone. “I know what your father’s RPP is. I know the RPP of everyone in this room. Best of all, I know my own. I also know that it didn’t count for much out there against those things. The Singularity Punch was effective, but something was wrong with it. It was fine until delivery and then it only put out a fraction of what it normally does.” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know why Faiks was able to hurt it and your father wasn’t. I’m sorry about what happened. Your father is still alive, though; lots of other people aren’t. Be grateful for what you have.”

  “Perhaps, Mr. Vays,” Witchlan said, “it is a simple matter of Artifacts and the powers they produce having a reduced effect on these invaders. That and the fact that your father’s Artifact covers him in what is essentially raw Vine fiber, his Willow Sword being composed of the same, may begin to explain the discrepancy. It is an interesting question, but unanswerable at present. Let us move on and address Miss Hol’s question regarding ‘where’. Director Haspel?”

  Silowan Haspel’s gaunt, white face contorted as he swallowed nervously. “First, my apologies for failing to notice the approach of the invaders. However, their size and construction make them nearly invisible to our instruments. Besides visual confirmation, the only reason we were even aware of their presence was because they tripped the motion sensors of the proximity alarms. In any case, excuses are excuses, I suppose.

  “There is a small, nondescript spatial anomaly situated between Planets 1397 and 1398. We believe that the invaders arrived here by means of that anomaly. We have launched a series of probes, several to monitor the aperture and establish a temporary jump deck, others to penetrate the anomaly and send back as much data on the space beyond as possible. We have been receiving data from the probes monitoring the aperture for the better part of an hour now, and the jump deck assembly is nearly complete. We should be receiving data from the other probes any time now.”

  “So it finally happens,” Cranden said. “Five years of good luck suddenly turned sour.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Hol folded her arms and fairly squirmed. In a fit of jealous rage she had killed Mai Pardine, Jav Holson’s lover, and in so doing had reopened the wormholes that had all but disappeared. “What about an S-Bomb?” she said.

  “An ideal choice, but it will take time. We stretched ourselves too thin leading up to the Artifact Competition. Also, we lost some manufacturing facilities and some key personnel in the attack. Production has already begun, but, under the current conditions and with our resources as they are, it will take at least ten days to produce a single bomb. I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer at this point. Information will be forthcoming, though.”

  “Thank you, Director Haspel,” Witchlan said. “Please continue with production. And pay close attention to your probes. We don’t want to be caught off guard again.”

  “Y-yes, Minister Witchlan.”

  “I may be able to provide a little more information about the invaders,” Ty Karr said. “May I see the fragment?”

  Barson had forgotten about the Cultural Studies Director. “Oh, of course, Director Karr.” He walked to the far side of the room and collected a heavy steel box. He held it out to Karr and pushed a button on its side, causing the lid to split and open. Nestled in a cushion of black foam was the intact head of one of the aliens.

  “Is it still dangerous?” Karr asked.

  “To everyone in this room except you, sir.”

  Karr nodded and took the head in his hands. He was instantly transported through space, assaulted by images running in backward succession. He saw others like him: proud, silver, perfect. The part of him that was still Karr tried to count them, but the other part knew their number, which was one hundred and eight. They were Gun Golems, holy soldiers of Bahahm. They went where fear prevented others from going. They navigated the dark and they distributed holy judgment. The dark was abundant, but it was punctuated with intermittent flashes of light: muzzle flares and ballooning explosions. Through the black landscapes, draped with blacker curtains of twisted shadow shapes, and infested with the foul and the unclean, they went. Inhuman monsters skittered and fled before their bright and gleaming guns. . . The images of the past began to fade. It was like waking from a dream and segueing into a nightmare. Everyone in the room radiated a garish, macabre quality. Each of them hid within their bodies an abomination, which could not be hidden from Karr. Bahahm could see. He could see. Rasthain was unclean and was everywhere hereabouts. Even the walls beyond the monstrosities pulsated with—

  Karr felt Wheeler Barson help him back to his feet. He didn’t know he had fallen. What just happened? He saw that the head was back in its box, and once the dizziness passed, he recounted the limited in
formation he had been able to gather.

  “A hundred and eight?” Furst said on the brink of hopelessness.

  “A hundred and two,” Barson corrected. “A hundred and two Gun Golems who serve Bahahm.”

  “What’s Rasthain?” Kalkin said. “The enemy? Us?”

  No one had an answer, but Witchlan once again took control of the meeting. “Director Scanlan, you and Miss Bale are to begin work immediately on a shield technology that will be effective against their weapons. And though that will keep you rather busy, Director, I want your division to prepare a special jump ship, heavy with standard shields and faster than anything anyone can imagine. You don’t have to see to the work personally, but your team mustn’t disappoint me. And see that it’s ready within two hours.”

  Breath caught in Scanlan’s throat at this final requirement, forcing him to pause momentarily before answering, “Yes, Minister.”

  “Miss Bale,” Witchlan said, “our Director Scanlan should be able to satisfy even your impossibly high standards. Anything you need will be made available to you.”

  “Yes, Minister,” she said nodding. She strode to the small jump deck and presently disappeared.

  Witchlan turned to Kalkin. “Mr. Kalkin, once we have data back from the probes, I want you to take your team through the anomaly with that jump ship I just requested and do some firsthand reconnaissance.

  “Mr. Holson, you are an army raiser. Those bones you sense in the ground will respond to your commands. What you raise will by no means be strong enough to threaten this new enemy, but their numbers may be able to buy you some time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Mr. Vays, the Titan Star is as yet untested, but within it lies the secret of turning any indignation you suffer against your enemies. Don’t forget that.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “The rest of you, including Miss Schosser, are to wait and stand ready to defend the Root Palace. Some of you have demonstrated effective methods of destroying the enemy; please do not hesitate to employ those same methods in response to any subsequent attacks. When we have more information, first from the probes, then from Mr. Kalkin’s Squad, we will be in a better position to develop a strategy. That is all for now.”

  4. SECREI

  10,688.051.0930

  Gilf Scanlan’s team of engineers did not disappoint. The jump ship they produced in the allotted time was an amazing piece of work. The body was taken up almost entirely with resonant drive engines. Usually only two such could be used in tandem, one exponentially increasing the output of the other, but Scanlan had put his mind to the task and devised a method to double the number to four. The stacks of shields gave the ship a degree of protection that had as yet been unknown to any science, and while they would protect the occupants of the ship, their actual purpose—which luckily coincided with their requested purpose—was to keep the engines from flying apart and destroying the ship.

  The overall appearance of the ship was like that of a giant, legless triangular flea, armored with layer upon layer of bolted carapace and with a high ridge along the line of its back. The forward-protruding cockpit, which could accommodate four—the total number of passengers possible—appeared to be exposed and even fragile, but was in fact the focal point of a number of powerful forces that made it rather like a battering ram despite housing all the delicate machinery and computers that controlled the ship.

  Lor Kalkin, Jav Holson, and Forbis Vays were aboard. At the press of a button, they had arrived at the temporary jump deck poised before the wormhole’s opening and were now speeding at record velocity down the wormhole’s throat.

  No one really knew what to expect. Jav had traveled through a wormhole and back once before. Going through was accidental and resulted in one fatality; returning was completely uneventful. This time, there was no mistaking their passage. They had entered into a tunnel of warped space and were surrounded by gray-white cloud walls that were shot through with alternating scintillant colors. Their ship was powerful, had more torque than any other in the Empire, but they bucked and rattled along the course of the wormhole like a toy boat at the mercy of a tumultuous, flood-swollen river. Strange radiations beaded against the ship’s hull, but Scanlan’s cleverly wrought shields kept all aboard safe.

  Jav had to marvel at Scanlan’s ability. Scanlan had been the first to successfully integrate Vine ganglia into machines and had created a whole new technology. The Grans were the pinnacle of that fusion, but simpler, more mundane examples abounded. The probes that had preceded them through the wormhole were just a few. With their fusion technology, the probes had other means to cope with whatever difficulties the wormhole might offer. The probes had made it through undamaged and provided them with their first glimpse of space beyond the anomaly. That the probes would be targets for the Gun Golems was a given, but they were disposable. Even their destruction at the hands of the Gun Golems would provide valuable intelligence.

  Though the probes were disposable, this jump ship was decidedly not, and was necessarily devoid of anything produced by the Vine except for the Shades within. Inside, with their Artifacts untapped, they were fairly certain that their power signatures would be negligible, virtually invisible to the Gun Golems. However, if Vine ganglia had been used in its production, the ship would have become a bright and shining beacon, crying out to be discovered and obliterated. Lucky for them that Scanlan’s genius was so adaptive and broad in scope.

  They shot out of the wormhole and into the black of open space, getting their own first view of the truly unknown. The stars were completely unrecognizable, but a dark planet lie ahead of them, and beyond it was the blazing white sun that held it bound.

  They were receiving data from the probes and saw that this was the farthest of seven planets from the sun. So far the probes had passed the four outer planets and had relayed detailed information about them all. While varying in size, mass, and mineral composition, each showed the same evidence of long-dead, ruined civilizations. They looked to Jav rather like most planets did after being drained by the Vine.

  Because of time concerns, this last, seventh planet was their destination. Jav felt a chill creep down his spine. The planet was a dead gray, and as they got closer and surface features came into focus it looked more and more like a like a vast grave. Why that should bother him now he didn’t know. He reminded himself that he, above all others, had nothing to fear from something so morbid as a grave, quite the contrary, in fact.

  Under the pale white light of the sun, they saw crags of jagged rock that looked like giant cresting waves frozen in place and topped with questing, skeletal fingers, reaching out for food. These formations gave way to a honeycombed network of what turned out to be petrified trees. Mixed in with or perhaps overrun by these were the remnants of some kind of settlement or a military installation. As they made lower and lower passes, looking for a suitable place to land, the details of the ground became clearer, and all were shocked by the carpet of pockmarks marring the planet’s surface. Descending finally to a clearing a few hundred meters from the compound, the extent of the devastation became more apparent. The petrified trees were cracked and shattered. Broken shards of them littered the ground between the trunks in profusion like fallen pine needles. Had they checked, they would have found the same uniform distribution of pockmarks, either in plain sight or hidden beneath detritus, for kilometers in every direction.

  There was no atmosphere and rather than wear clumsy environmental suits, they would rely on their Artifacts. Going Dark, they exited the ship.

  “The ship shouldn’t be in any danger without us aboard,” Kalkin said in a voice that was gravelly and dripping at the same time. “Our mission is simple: collect any and all information pertinent to the Gun Golems. If in the process you discover something interesting or useful, great. But don’t forget or deviate from the mission objective. Understood?”

  “Understood,” both replied.

  “We’ll split up and cover as much of this f
acility as possible. Remember, communication through your Artifact is possible up to a range of roughly two kilometers. I want us all to stay in constant communication. I don’t care if you have to break something—a door, a mess of debris blocking your way, whatever—but try not to use too much power. Maybe it’s already too late, but I don’t want us to call attention to ourselves if we don’t have to. Okay? Okay. Let’s go.”

  They fanned out and approached the facility from three different directions, each picking his own route through the shadowed, nook-and-cranny ways of the old, broken forest and its scattered pylons of once-living stone.

  As Jav walked around the left perimeter of the facility, he noticed that the structure seemed almost entirely untouched by Gun Golem weapons. There were concentrations of the telltale signs of their pistols, but compared to the terrain beyond this installation, these concentrations were few. In the ground, an abundance of primitive humanoid skeletons waited for him to command. Unable to help himself, he grinned within his skull helmet.

  He had hoped to find a ready-made entrance and was pleased after about five minutes of searching to find a set of vacuum-sealed doors that still held a bit of their seal. With little effort he pulled one of the steel doors free, releasing an ancient puff of stale air.

  Though the far-off white sun did little to light the uncovered surface of the planet, and the inside of the facility saw no light at all, Darkened Shades were equipped with an array of senses that could easily penetrate pitch darkness. Jav entered a foyer, wading through a heavy layer of dust that swirled sluggishly about his ankles. He started down the hall to his left, kicking up small clouds with each step, and wondered how long this place had been empty.

  There were skeletons in the hall. Not a lot of them, but enough to make him feel like he wasn’t walking down the corridor alone. These skeletons were different from the ones he had sensed in the ground; while those were stunted and somehow primitive, these were longer, straighter, more gracile.