Ancestral Machines

by Michael Cobley

  Pyke shook his head. “Picturesque bit of history, there, so… cut to the last bit of the chase, eh? The bit about being a holy seer.”

  The Egetsi’s shoulders slumped in an attitude of misery. “The subinitiates and the seniors all hang on my every word, apart from Podjag. They see cryptic meaning in everything I do–I’ve only experienced a few days of this and already my sanity feels threatened. The only good thing was their willingness, at my request, to use the portal machinery to scan for your biophysical signatures and set up an automatic diversion command. I told them that you and the others were my followers, novices to my teaching.”

  Pyke grinned. “And hasn’t that always been the way of it!”

  “But Captain, what can we do?”

  “Are they armed?” Pyke said. “With real weapons, I mean.”

  “They have sequestered a variety of sidearms and light arms from unfortunate travellers,” said Punzho. “A cache of them is always to hand… but you and the others are likewise armed, yes?”

  Pyke ran a hand through his hair. “Ran into a tight spot before ending up here–complicated situation, fast-moving, and we were briefly taken prisoner.” He couldn’t admit that he’d left his pistol lying on the floor of Gyr-Matu’s escape room, but surely one of the others had retrieved theirs.

  Punzho gave a doleful shake of his long narrow head. “Even if you were all armed, there are still eleven of them and a chest full of energy weapons.”

  Just at that moment, completely unannounced, the door to the tower chamber rattled and swung open and one of the hooded Congregation brothers entered, carrying a heavy bundle on a strap over one shoulder. Ignoring the two of them, the newcomer closed the door with a back-heeled motion, then went over to a solitary crude table lit by the chamber’s candle-sconce, set the bundle down, turned and pushed back the hood. Punzho was taken aback.

  “Brother Podjag!”

  Podjag was a middle-aged, scrawny humanoid whose small yet resentful features reminded Pyke of just about every customs official he had ever met. Podjag directed a vindictive glare up at the Egetsi, along with a trembling pointed finger. Pyke tried not to laugh.

  “This holy place is not for the likes of you,” he said. “You have besmirched our work and us and… and me! Worse than this, you have bedazzled and beguiled all the brothers, even the seniors. There is no place here for you”–a withering look came Pyke’s way–“or your followers. You must leave, begone, gather all your accoutrements and depart!”

  “But Brother Podjag…” Punzho began, “that’s exactly—”

  “Wait!” Pyke cut in abruptly. “Now, great and wise Punzho, perhaps you should wait and hear all that the devout brother has to say, hmm?”

  Punzho looked baffled. “I should?”

  “Indeed, because I am sure that Brother Podjag understands how attached you have become to this sacred retreat and how leaving it would be a deep, heartfelt wrench, yes?”

  Punzho’s bafflement seemed to reach cosmic proportions. “I have? It would?” Then he caught the hard gleam in Pyke’s eye even as the captain continued to smile and nod. “Ah, right, yes… so… Brother Podjag, I am sorry for interrupting–what were you about to say?”

  Podjag gave Pyke a narrow-eyed glance before continuing. “You are a disruptive influence, and when those followers of yours leave you must go with them. I am prepared to offer you something of great value if you agree to do this.”

  And there it is! thought Pyke. Yes, here’s Podjag, jealous and resentful of being upstaged and dislodged from his lofty perch of authority so he decides to have a chat with the usurper and brings along a mysterious package. All Punzho has to do is remember how we do this kind of negotiation!

  Punzho’s features were frozen in a kind of wide-eyed bemusement for a moment, then a thoughtful gleam became evident. He cleared his throat, delicately.

  “Oh, Brother Podjag, but as my unworthy neophyte here has said, I have grown deeply fond of this refuge and all our Congregational fellows. To break these cherished bonds and abandon you all would be like unto a wound in my spirit…”

  Steady now, Pyke thought. Don’t overdo it!

  “… but if I were to accept your thoughtful advice, how would your generous gift aid me in my mission to spread the Words of Light?”

  Podjag regarded Punzho with undisguised dislike then turned to the table and began to unwrap the bundle, pulling away the folds to reveal a wedge-shaped boxy unit with a brassy appearance, a small panel of press-button controls and a small curved display moulded into the casing. Podjag thumbed a button recessed into the lower right corner and the panel and the display came to life, the latter showing an array of dots in nine parallel rows. One of them was haloed and bright blue and was surrounded by a cluster of greens while the rest were a rosy red. The pious brother zoomed the display in on the greens and indicated the blue dot with a skinny finger.

  “Our location, this is, with a surrounding field of possible destinations.”

  He then prodded a four-way rocker switch which moved the halo away from the blue dot and among the greens. With a certain smug ease he set the target as one of the outlying greens and tapped a button marked with a red triangle while gesturing Punzho and Pyke to move a couple of steps to the side.

  Several wire-thin beams stabbed out from the rear of the device. They flickered and strobed and a familiar dark pulsing oval appeared: a portal gate. Podjag gave a satisfied nod.

  “Works as well now as it did when I first obtained it. Once created, the portal is self-sustainingly stable for some minutes, long enough to pick up the portal-maker and step through to the other side. Is this a sufficient answer for you?”

  Pyke exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Punzho then turned to Podjag with as innocently amazed an expression as he could manage.

  “Oh pious one, I know I speak for the devout Punzho when I say that this is a gift of surpassing quality and utility.” He shook his head. “How could you bear to part with such a precious possession… unless it so happens that you have another one hidden away?”

  Podjag was the essence of smug satisfaction.

  “I have another two,” he said. “Did you see the great ruin lying against the mountain just north of here? Some years ago, while exploring its dusty chambers, I found an unlooted crate containing the portal-makers. The Zimzin were the supreme techniciars of their age, yet their world became a tomb.”

  “Most instructive,” Pyke said. “And more than adequate for our needs–don’t you think, great Punzho?”

  “Yes, er…” Punzho said. “Yes, most useful. Very well, I agree to your terms, brother.”

  “And once you leave, you vow never to return?” Podjag said.

  “Harsh but… if that’s what… yes, as you say.”

  Podjag relaxed visibly, switched off the portal device and rewrapped it in the thick cloth. The smug smile that slithered across his lips just then gave him the kind of face that Pyke would never have tired of slapping.

  “This is what we shall do–I will descend to the main vaults and announce that a new vision came to me, showing you leaving with your followers. A few moments later you will appear and tell the Congregation that your Weave meditation showed you stepping out of a portal on another world somewhere across the Warcage. Are we in agreement?”

  Punzho and Pyke gave nods of assent. Podjag’s smile widened a notch and he went over to open the door, pausing on the threshold. “Your resolve to travel to that wrecked Ashen world is inexplicable to me, but whatever you do afterwards I strongly counsel against any return to Armag–the Lords of the Shuskar have punished the city with skyfire.”

  “How could you know this?” Pyke said sharply.

  The hooded brother’s expression turned sly. “The portal-makers were not the only devices I found in the mountain ruins.”

  Then he was gone.

  Some moments later, after a brief discussion with Punzho on timing, Pyke was back down in the torch-lit vault with the bundled portal
device tucked under his arm. Ignoring glances from the cowled acolytes, he strolled over to where the rest of the crew were sitting beneath one of the arches, not far from the alcove where the interplanetary portal gate apparatus hummed and blinked.

  “Here, chief,” said Ancil. “That boss monk just told the rest of his flock that Punzho is coming with us, and they weren’t happy.”

  “Well, he had to tell ’em something,” Pyke said in a low voice. “And Punzho’ll be along in a second to deliver the clincher, then we’re out of here, my lucky lads.”

  “What’s in the package, Captain?” said Kref in his deep basso voice, which, just at that moment, found one of those mysterious dips in crowd noise, allowing his query to carry right across the stone vault. A few curious glances came their way and Pyke clenched his jaws as he crouched down out of sight.

  “Aye, turn it up, why don’t you?” he muttered through gritted teeth. “There’s some folk on the next planet that didn’t quite hear ye!”

  “Er, sorry, Captain, sorry…”

  “Just ignore this bit of luggage, okay? Don’t mention it and don’t even look at it till we get off this rock, got it?”

  There were subdued nods all round and Pyke allowed himself a small measure of relaxation from the tension. Then a stir of mutters passed through the waiting brothers of the Congregation as Punzho came into view, walking through the small crowd to the best-lit area, where a couple of hanging lamps added to the flickering glow of torches. Even before he reached it questions came at him from all sides, all adding up to the same thing–was Podjag’s vision true? Was he leaving them? Over and over the anxious voices called, pleading, demanding, until at last Punzho made hushing gestures with his hands.

  He then went on to explain how he had climbed to the top of the Thurible Tower, seeking peace for a meditation with the Weave. He told them how he took out his pouch of the Nine Companions and one by one laid them down on the chamber’s cold stone floor… but as Punzho set his scene Pyke found his thoughts drifting back to Podjag’s almost offhand comment when they were up in the tower, that the Lords of the Shuskar had punished Armag City with skyfire. And he knew that if the Shuskar had opted for a ground bombardment the city would not have been the only target. A shiver of dread went down his spine as horrible imaginings filled his mind.

  Having divulged the sad truth revealed by his Weave meditation, Punzho was saying his last farewells to the distraught brotherhood. Shaking hands with Podjag–whose sorrowful expression could not conceal the glee in his eyes–Punzho then wended his way through the Congregation as they began singing a lamenting hymn. By now, Pyke and the others had shuffled over beside the gate machinery, whose operator triggered the portal when Punzho finally joined them.

  “Okay, let’s not waste any time,” Pyke said, turning to the portal operator. “Is the destination set for Gatuzna?”

  The reply was a wordless, anxious nod.

  “Good–Kref, you’re in first, then Mojag, Ancil and Punzho, and I’ll be bringing up the rear.”

  One by one they approached the portal gate and stepped through the slow-swirling pulse of darkness. When Ancil’s turn came he looked round at the singing congregation, then kissed the fingers of one hand, which he swept out in a theatrical wave goodbye before following Mojag through. Pyke rolled his eyes heavenwards.

  Punzho hurried after Ancil, despite the surge in singing and wailing from the brotherhood. When he vanished into the dark swirling oval the noise level reached a crescendo for a second or two, then swiftly subsided. Pyke tucked the cloth-wrapped portal device under his arm and marched determinedly into the gate.

  The cold dank air, the flickering torchlight and the sounds of the Congregation all ceased abruptly. Unlike his last portal experience there was only an instant of no-light before his leading foot came down on hard, stony ground and the sights and sounds of Gatuzna burst upon his senses.

  Such as those sights and sounds were. He was standing on the gently sloping surface of a pale grey stone slab half buried in what looked like black sand. He felt the touch of a warm gritty breeze as he looked around and saw a few more similar slabs scattered nearby, lying on or jutting out of drifts and dunes of this unnerving sand. He reached down to scoop up a handful and let it trickle through his fingers–up close, it glittered like coal or glass.

  “What a dump,” he said. “No wonder they call it an Ashen world.”

  “Captain, you said we had to come here to track down the vile Khorr,” said Punzho. “But there’s no one around except us.”

  “Clues, Punzho, clues,” Pyke said. “If that brother operator of yours did his job we should be practically on top of the spot we were originally supposed to arrive at…”

  “Got something here, Captain!” said Mojag, waving them over.

  Sure enough, the sand was disturbed, some areas gouged and furrowed while a wide flattening trail started at the centre and led away in a straight line, up the shallow slope where they had arrived. In his mind’s eye Pyke replayed his last glimpse of Akreen, the Zavri leader, that tall silvery form writhing on the ground, swathed in the jagged energies from Khorr’s long-barrelled weapon.

  “Drag marks,” said Ancil, following them. “Leading this way.”

  Keeping the tracks in view they steadily mounted the slope, which stretched ahead of them for a good hundred yards or more.

  “Hey, Captain,” said Kref. “Can we ask what’s in the bundle yet?”

  “’Course ye can.”

  It took Kref about ten seconds to realise Pyke had not given an expected answer, especially when Pyke’s smile widened into a grin and a wink.

  “Okay, I get it–Captain, what’s in the bundle?”

  “I’m very glad you asked that question, Kref, me ould son. We are, I’m frankly amazed to announce, the proud owners of one portable local portal gate generator, aquired as a nudging sort of bribe to get Punzho to leave along with the rest of us.”

  “Does it actually work?” said Mojag.

  “It actually does–we were given a live demonstration,” Pyke said, patting the bundle. “It appears to be the real deal.”

  “So what is the plan, chief?” said Ancil, who had slowed in his tracking of the drag marks.

  “Well, that gouger G’Brozen Mav has the Scarabus and my bet is he’s long gone.” It was a bitter thing to admit, never mind speak out loud. “But Khorr, that scum-sucking murderer, was here less than an hour ago, along with Akreen, the Zavri general, and we know that Khorr has been working for the Shuskar all along, so…”

  By now they’d all come to a halt on the uneven slope and were listening intently.

  “… so we lay hands on Khorr and…” He shrugged. “We persuade him to tell us how to steal a ship from one of those Shuskar fleetworlds.”

  “What are they?” said Mojag.

  “Planets where the Shuskar have their repair yards, as well as mothballed ships in their thousands.”

  Eyes widened at this.

  “And before you ask, they don’t have armadas floating around for the simple reason that they don’t have the crews. Something about their societies not being able to turn out smart enough personnel.”

  “It’s all about the dominance of pre-rational power structures,” said Mojag unexpectedly. “Authoritarian leaders fear their subjects getting too smart, so schooling is restricted to the offspring of reliably loyal sectors of the populace, who are more interested in being part of the dominant power structure than learning how to use tools and figure out astrogation. After several centuries, all they have left here are semi-feudal societies that churn out serfs and peasants, low-level labourers fit only for their brutal factories or those tournament battles. Sure, the Shuskar can field a few ships but that’s all.”

  “Nice, Mojag, very nice,” Pyke said, giving him a brief hard stare. “So long as they’re hard to come by, I’ll be happy. So, long way round, we grab Khorr, use the portal gate to travel to the nearest fleetworld, and steal ourselves a medium-siz
ed transport, y’know, with indoor pool, fully stocked bar and a hi-spec holo gallery.”

  “Chance would be a very fine thing,” said Ancil.

  “Okay, okay, anything that we can fly would be great.” He took a deep breath. “Then we make Khorr help us track down Dervla and Win and once we’ve got them back we can make ourselves scarcer than scarce.”

  Ancil suddenly looked tired. “Sounds like a tall order, chief, but thanks–I’m with you.” As he spoke Kref and Mojag nodded.

  “We’ll find them, Ans, we will… now, what’s Punzho found?”

  The Egetsi had trudged on up the black sandy incline, long strides carrying him a fair distance in just a minute or two. Now he was standing straight and waving and calling to them but the warm dusty breeze was blowing towards him, carrying his words away.

  “Let’s find out what’s got him jiggin’ all about,” Pyke said, setting off. “But let’s keep an eye on them tracks, ’kay?”

  Seeing the crew resuming their approach Punzho ceased waving and continued on up the slope. As they reached the spot where he had waved from, Pyke could start to make out what lay beyond the top of the slope, what he had at first thought was going to turn out to be the raised lip of the far side of a huge crater. As he strode further onwards and upwards, pace by pace, a far-away line of landscape came into view beyond Punzho’s standpoint, a line that he at first thought of as the horizon. Then he saw how the horizon dipped as no horizon should, how grey clouds shifted and partially masked a yawning gulf. When he climbed the last few yards to stand beside Punzho he finally saw the grandiose, terrible, impossible devastation in its entirety.

  The disconcertingly smooth precipice where they stood was part of a cracked and crumbling cliff edge that swept away to either side, with jagged promontories jutting for miles out into a vast, gloomy abyss. That void stretched away, becoming a colossal, planet-cleaving canyon which left the horizon looking as if something had taken a bite out of it.

  “The Ashen Worlds were where the AI servants of the Builders made their last stand against the Shuskar and their allies,” said Punzho, who then appeared a little embarrassed. “I learned some history from the brothers while I was with them.”