Ancestral Machines

by Michael Cobley

  Then success–joyful cries rang out as a section of the ornate facade came down with a loud rumble. One of the immense corroded faces shifted then toppled backwards to land with a resounding crash. All around the ragged gap flames flickered, ruddy glows veiled by clouds of old dust sent aswirl as the silvery forms of Zavri troopers rushed in, heedless of the fires. Flanked by his guards, Akreen followed the main body of his troops into the shrine from which a rhythmic banging racket was now emanating. In the grey gloom rotted rags of banners and tapestries hung along the left-hand wall while to the right were two flights of steps–one led down the far wall past banks of seating to the pillared floor of the shrine, while the other led down the middle. More huge faces looked down to where a handful of Trenevali stood in a line before a lamp-lit altar, beating the pillars with clubs, staffs and blade hilts. Behind the altar, Livakaw sat in a canopied throne.

  At Akreen’s gesture the Zavri rushed down the stairways to close with the last defenders. Even as the charge began, Livakaw threw back his head and roared with laughter. Akreen was moving towards the middle stairs to begin his own descent when someone plucked at his arm. Whipping round in annoyance he saw that it was his Shuroga scout.

  “Incomparable one, I can hear hammering!”

  “Yes, from those doomed fools below.”

  “No, from beneath, from the underpinnings!”

  A deep muffled thud, loud enough to be heard right across the shrine, came from under the steps. Akreen felt the floor tremble, and knew that they had been led into a gigantic trap. The scout was tugging on his arm, begging him to move back, as were his precursors, wailing in unison from the confines of his mind. The scout hauled him back towards the ragged gap between the shrine’s entrances. It was ten or fifteen paces away, which now seemed like a great distance as terrible screeches and structural groans came up from below as dust began falling from above. The floor suddenly lurched and slumped noticeably, sloping away from the exits. Down on the shrine floor, Zavri attackers and Trenevali defenders alike had abandoned the fight and were scrambling up the banks of seating. Dust and grit was coming down in trickles and curtains along with chips and pieces of masonry.

  Akreen was just a few paces away from safety when there was a deep grinding noise and a gap tore open right across the floor directly ahead. A sudden jolt knocked Akreen off his feet and the section of floor he was on sank and tipped back still further. As he regained his feet fear filled his limbs with energy and he drove himself forward in a leap towards the receding stable edge. Self-preservation instincts had already forced his limbs into their strongest elongation pattern, giving him just enough reach. His splayed hands slammed onto the jagged floor brink, grabbed for solid purchase, hung there for a second before he was seized and pulled up to safety.

  Held there, Akreen had enough time for a single glance back over the precipice–and saw the whole of the shrine break away and fall, saw sunlight spear through the splintering walls, saw the silver forms of Zavri troopers caught in the chaos… then the ceiling itself cracked and fell, a roaring cascade of shattered masonry. One monstrous shard struck the uneven floor edge a few paces along, shearing off a large area and narrowly missing one Zavri who gave a disdainful sneer before retreating a step or two.

  Quickly, Akreen directed everyone back to the corridor outside the shrine then further back to safer passageways and chambers. Once there, he ordered his Shuroga scout and his command staff securitor to head down one of the lower floors to find a spot from which they could use their scopes to study the floor of the canyon, more than a thousand yiten down.

  While they were away, Akreen went from platoon to platoon, compiling an index of the missing. He was mulling over the disturbingly long list when his securitor and the Shuroga returned unexpectedly.

  “We had just reached a good observation point a couple of floors below when the Grand Escalade inspection barge arrived,” said the securitor officer, whose name was Tesnik. “Moments later, however, three fliers bearing Chamber of Judgement sigils swooped in and took up positions around the Escalade craft. About a minute later the barge rose back up and flew over this side of the canyon.”

  Akreen nodded. Back to Kamax Base, the bout encampment. He looked at the scout. “What did you see?”

  “Death and wreckage, illustrious one,” the scout said thoughtfully. “At a thousand yiten these scopes do not reveal many details, but I could see a few of our troops moving around the impact area. No sign of Trenevali survivors. The Chamber’s judgement has been accomplished.”

  “At a heavy cost, Second Blade,” said the securitor, Denesk. “Multiple involuntary scissions may well have taken place already.”

  “I am aware of this, Securitor Denesk,” said Akreen. “When the Chamber of Judgement assigned this duty to the Zavri they did not promise that the Trenevali would meekly offer no resistance. Was that what you were expecting from this dreg-bout?”

  “Why, no, Second Blade, I…”

  “Perhaps you seek to undermine my status and the legitimacy of my orders–is that your purpose?”

  “Second Blade… I… spoke in error. My thoughts were flawed.”

  “That is a great shame, Securitor,” Akreen said. “Then I suggest that you reconsider your fitness for this post on my staff. In the meantime, ascertain from the pathfinders if they have yet determined the most direct route to the extraction camp.”

  “At once, Second Blade.”

  As Denesk hurried, the scout gave a grunt and a grin.

  “His comments reached no audience, masterful one,” she said. “Was he more stupid than ambitious?”

  “Denesk is a lineager with two precursors,” Akreen said. “One of them, Dijal, I met early on in my latter-youth stage and his feral manner made a lasting impression upon me. My harsh words were meant as much for him as for Denesk.”

  [Denesk’s other precursor is that black-souled meaning-twister, Tashor, who I warned you about, boy. And still you advanced their lineager to your staff. Fool–Ip]

  Iphan, his most immediate precursor, had never risen above Overplatoon Leader, despite his ambition. Akreen’s contrasting success in rising to the rank of Second Blade provoked only a tireless fault-finding which Akreen had grown adept at blanking out. Most of the time.

  The Shuroga scout uttered a dry chuckle. “Yes, keep the ambitious ones on a leash–a wise arrangement. There will be concern about our losses, however.”

  “Yes, which is why we must move out,” Akreen said. “Go tell the platoon leaders to be ready for imminent departure. Tell them that I expect to hear news of casualties by the time we reach Kamax Base.”

  “As you will it.”

  The Zavri half-battalion–being half of the Blackshield Battalion–took only a short while to repack and form up. The path out of the canyonside city followed a zigzag of stairs, flights of pale stone steps, worn, cracked and rounded that climbed through a dozen decrepit floors. The machined edges and surfaces of a technological civilisation were still visible on all sides but the firefights of innumerable Escalade bouts combined with climatic weathering over a century or more had left their mark.

  The extraction camp–Kamax Base–was actually a complex of buildings located not far from the canyon passage exit. The Zavri emerged into bright sunlight, marching three abreast. Silver limbs and torsos were coated in dust as fine as the swirls kicked up by the warm moist wind now blowing in from the wastelands. The previous dark cloud had dissipated to thin tails strung out across a bleached sky. At this latitude, it afforded a magnificent view of the nearby Warcage worlds, lines of pale, hazy planets that faded into the distance. Only the oceans and landmasses of the nearest were properly visible.

  An Escalade bout officially ended when the victors crossed the camp threshold under their own efforts. Outside the gates, shackled lines of brownclad underworkers sat in the shade of the walls, possibly a lull between labour periods. Just inside, grey-robed Escalade arbiters were waiting as Akreen led the Blackshield half-batta
lion through. The victor’s bell began to clang, nine harsh peals, and he was surprised to see the red-cowled and blue-masked form of the Arbiter-General himself descend the steps of the Afterbout Hall. Normally victors were welcomed by the camp’s Overarbiter, so perhaps it was the significance of Livakaw’s betrayal and subsequent death sentence which had earned the personal attention of the Arbiter-General of the Grand Escalade, Shuskar Lord Veshen.

  Akreen came to a halt two paces from the foot of the hall steps where the Arbiter-General now stood. Behind him the Zavri column likewise stopped, several hundred feet slamming down into the ready stance in perfect gleaming unison.

  “Second Blade Akreen, say what must be said.”

  The Shuskar were tall, broad-shouldered bipeds who always wore elaborate attire and those serene, pale blue masks. The Arbiter-General’s regalia consisted of layers of exotic, finely made garments, rich reds and yellows fringed with amber, the whole assemblage offset by the bulky, dark grey iron gauntlet that Lord Veshen wore on his right hand. From within his red cowl the pale blue mask gazed at Akreen, its frozen features sculpted to convey strength, wisdom and benevolence. The bare left hand was pallid and wrinkled, long trembling fingers absent-mindedly stroking the edge of a brocaded pocket.

  “Lord Arbiter-General,” Akreen said. “The strong have triumphed and the weak have been vanquished.” The traditional words felt both reassuring and charged with meaning. “Death has eaten its fill and we hunger for honour.”

  “The honour of the Zavri remains bright and undimmed, Second Blade,” said the Arbiter-General. “You have carried out your duties in an exemplary fashion. I am gratified to confirm that the Zavri are welcome in Afterbout Hall!”

  That was the cue for the Blackshield troopers to shout as one the word “Shyur!”, meaning loyalty, and to shout it four times–after which Akreen nodded to his command staff who then led the platoons up the broad steps. But foremost in his mind were his concerns for those who had been caught in the collapsing shrine. It was customary at this juncture for the Overarbiter to hand to the victorious general a preliminary bodycount assessment but the Arbiter-General, flanked by flashlance guards, was drawing off to one side. Before he could take a step in pursuit, though, he was forestalled by the approach of an Escalade official, a gangling Tephoy in the black and dun robes of an Adviziar, normally an Overarbiter’s deputy.

  [Hrrm, the Tephoy. Indifferent battle skills–Ra][Petty bureaucrats well suited to their masters’ purposes–Zi]

  “Second Blade, I am Adviziar Padkel,” said the Tephoy in an officious monotone. One gold-gloved, four-fingered hand came up and held out an erasable missiver. Wordlessly, Akreen accepted it, flipped back the cover and read the casualty report, committed the figures to memory, then closed the missiver and passed it back. Akreen saw him surreptitiously activate the erasure mode just before it was slipped away into an inside pocket.

  “My congratulations to you and the Blackshields for achieving victory without losses,” said the Adviziar.

  [How charmingly corrupt–Zi][Burnishing the likeness of invincibility–Dr]

  Akreen ignored his precursors.

  “Honour and hard-won prowess told in the end, Adviziar,” he said. “That and the blessings of the Shuskar Lords.”

  [A fitting response–Ca][The response of a worm!–To][Just another step in the dance of the burnishers–Zi]

  “Their blessings illuminate our lives,” intoned the Adviziar. “Also, at the behest of the Chamber of Judgement I am to give you a new set of interim orders. You are to make whatever command delegations you deem appropriate then go straight to the primary launch platform where a ship awaits you. Once aboard, you will receive additional orders.” He shrugged. “There is little else to say, Second Blade, except that these orders came directly from one of the Judge-Eminents, Shuskar Lord Zahnar himself.”

  “An interesting elucidation,” said Akreen. “It is appreciated.”

  “All in service to the Warcage.”

  With that, Adviziar Padkel gave a small bow and moved on.

  Akreen watched him stroll away, feeling slightly puzzled. All in service to the Warcage? It sounded almost like a formal axiom but Akreen had never heard it before. But he put that aside while he absorbed the main morsel of information, that Judge-Eminent the Lord Zahnar was present and taking a personal interest in the last moments of Livakaw’s treacherous existence.

  Two Shuskar Lords overseeing a dreg-bout, and in person! Clear evidence, perhaps, that the Shuskar were determined and committed to crushing the Chainers and their allies and supporters.

  Akreen’s command staff–the Securitor, Tacticor and Irruptor officers–were waiting at the top of the stairway, outside the entrance to Afterbout Hall, a pair of tall and clearly old ragiron doors. He instructed them to keep the platoons under strict observance until everyone was gated back to the Zavri holdworld, Drevaul. When he explained that his own return would be delayed due to “command obligations”, no one queried further. On asking after the whereabouts of his Shuroga scout he was told that the scout had followed the rest of the battalion into the Hall. Gauging that he had little time to see her out, Akreen bade farewell to his officers, descended the steps and headed for the launch platforms.

  The blazing sunshine fell upon the sloped grey buildings of Camp Kamax, revealing every stain, every crack, every vein-like spread of rust trails from rusty pipes and fittings. Akreen had previously participated in several pinnacle-bouts on this world but this was the first time he had fought through that curious canyonside city. Apart from that cunning suicide trap, the Trenevali had presented no challenge to the Zavri. But if they had faced the Avang, or even the Sujalka, ah, what a test of body and spirit that would have been!

  Also, this bout had been comparatively restrictive in terms of both troop numbers and combat area. This was reflected in the dusty quiet that hung over much of the camp–barracks, infirmaries and mealhouses that could accommodate opposing hosts four or five times that which the Zavri and the Trenevali had fielded lay empty and closed up. And a few hours from now, after the Zavri Blackshields had gated back to Drevaul, and the Shuskar Lords and the senior Chamber and Escalade officials had likewise departed, the camp personnel would commence clear-up operations in advance of the next bout.

  [Battle, blood and strife are the hallmarks of normality; stillness and repose are anomalies–Ra]

  Tall blast shielding walled off the primary launch platform from the rest of Kamax Base. Akreen’s bout-token gave him access at the guarded entrance from where a dozen strides took him to the foot of a three-flight gantry. Above, the rim of the blast basin occluded much of the sky, plunging the ground beneath into shadow, along with the sixty or more heavy supports built to withstand the basin’s weight and the force of thrust engines. Climbing the last few steps he reached a covered landing at the top and allowed a rare smile to crease his silvery face when he saw who was waiting for him.

  “New orders, illustrious one?” said the Shuroga scout.

  Akreen regarded her with a kind of stern amusement. “How did you know I would be here?”

  The scout arched a pair of bushy eyebrows. “Some of these bases huddle close to the ground, like docile leafeaters, but Kamax has a tower and a mast which I climbed to get a better view of the Escalade wagons bringing the bodies up from the canyon. I also saw you talking with the Arbiter-General, then one of those Tephoy puppet-faces. And when you left the Hall and headed towards this part of the camp I knew where you had to be going, knew that it would be needful and fated.”

  “Sometimes you presume too much for your own good!”

  The scout nodded. “It is true, perceptive one, I do. I cannot think why you keep me in your service…”

  Giving the Shuroga a mock serious glare, Akreen stepped across the covered landing to a doorway opening onto the primary launch platform. And when he saw the ship a certain understanding dawned.

  [The Master descends, his ordination to bestow–Dr]

&
nbsp; It was the Urtesh, command cruiser of the Zavri battle array, which meant that First Blade Tevashir was here and had sent for him. But did that mean that he knew about how the dreg-bout ended, about the collapse of the shrine? And the apparent ease with which Zavri casualties had been erased from the record?

  [A scolding, a reprimand, or a demotion? Oh, the harsh fruits of disgrace!–Zi] [Punishment for such insignificance? Your babble grows ever more inane–To]

  Although Akreen had at times engaged his precursors in dialogue, most of the time he had learned to maintain a taciturn distance, a strategy which conferred some peace of mind. He had even stopped obsessing over the speechless, grim presence of Gredaz who in all of Akreen’s years had spoken only three times with a grand total of eleven words, consisting of three No’s, two Not acceptable’s, and his longest ever comment, It does not matter.

  “First Blade awaits, fearless one,” said the scout. “Do you wish me to attend?”

  [Fearless, hah!–Ca]

  Akreen nodded. “Follow.”

  As he descended to the basin, he erased from his bodyframe the last vestiges of the Chamber judge appearance that he had adopted earlier, along with all the symbols and emblems. In their place he raised the standard officer armourform, formal and plain. Tevashir deplored the current fad for elaborate exteriors and fanciful decorations, favouring instead a more traditional austerity which was in keeping with the stern discipline that accompanied his command over the Zavri battle array.

  With the Shuroga scout in his wake, Akreen strode down towards the slope-hulled shape of the Urtesh. It was a storm-grey and blood-red ship with raked, predatory lines, crouching on six heavy jointed legs, thick armour sections matching the open recesses in the hull. As they approached, one of the cargo lifts descended from the underside, bathed in light. Akreen and the scout climbed on, the lift began to rise and moments later they were stepping off it within the crate-crowded confines of one of the Urtesh’s secondary holds. A low, long console divided it from the cargo-controller room where Tevashir and some others were waiting. Akreen strode through, halted before his superior, and raised both fists to his chest in the officers’ salute.