Ancestral Machines

by Michael Cobley

  “Here’s the deal: you get your claws or tentacles or whatever out of Dervla, you unhook your mind from hers, you let her go! Or I’ll release Akreen from that suppressor field and he will not be in any mood for negotiation, I promise you!”

  The eyes trembled, the face muscles twitched, and the raging hate in that glare never changed.

  “Take the deal!” Pyke shouted. “Use one of those slaves for a host, I don’t care, just release her!”

  And that was when Rensik 1.0’s power cells failed and Xra-Huld was free of the stasis field. The drone was knocked to the floor where it flipped over and lay still and most definitely lifeless. For an instant Pyke saw the hate in Dervla’s eyes, the Gun-Lord’s hate, turn into raw, unreasoning terror–but was it a trick? An instant later Xra-Huld’s arm came up and roughly shoved him away, but he had sufficient presence of mind to grab the field suppression device and rip it out of Akreen’s chest. The First Blade of the Zavri convulsed once, then came to life, roaring just one word:

  “NEAR!”

  Everything came to her through the lens of Xra-Huld’s view of the world. It was his emotive responses which drove her body’s autonomic responses, anger, hate, self-satisfaction. So when he fooled and defeated first the Zavri leader then Pyke and some other woman, the smug, self-admiring, triumphalist self-congratulation was like a fetid cloud swirling around every thought, bathing it in vanity and pride. Dervla then had to attenuate her connections to the flow of the Gun-Lord’s thoughts, not so much to avoid those noxious conceits as to keep him from sensing the intensity of her repugnance.

  And then, with all three intruders helpless at his feet, he turned to his displays and control panels. He monologued loathsomely about his genocidal plans, while studying the situation on a range of other planets and noting that a substantial number of Shuskar evacuees had now arrived at the Citadelworld.

  Then, out of nowhere, the assault of the drone! Dervla’s emotions leaped and she felt Xra-Huld’s corrosive hate for her spike as a consequence. Then she realised that the attacking machine had adapted its forcefields to exert a short-term partial stasis effect. Dervla had the impression that this was part of some kind of plan but had nothing else to go on. Xra-Huld had fallen to his knees near his victims… and then Pyke began dragging the motionless body of the Zavri round and towards her own semi-paralysed form, and she knew something was afoot. But when he started trying to strike a deal with the Gun-Lord she was aghast. No, no! she wanted to say. Don’t fall into that trap, release the Zavri and destroy that abomination, doesn’t matter if I have to die…

  She felt Xra-Huld’s vain hatred like thrusting pulses of acid, felt his vicious anger towards Pyke, felt his contempt for the suggestion of using one of the thralls as a host… and she sensed the first flickers in the drone’s stasis field, sure sign that its cells were just about ready to shut down.

  It’s now or never, she realised, summoning all her stored-up recollections of fear and terror while digging into Xra-Huld’s own memories for the deeply buried but potent echoes of his own raw, primal terrors. She fused it all together then struck open all the connections and avenues which kept her thought-domain shielded from that abominable presence. And as the stasis field finally failed and the dead drone was struck aside, she thrust the mirror of terrors into the Gun-Lord’s unsuspecting, unprepared mind.

  Shrieking panic erupted. A flailing hand struck Pyke, who fell back and in so doing tore the locking device away from the Zavri’s chest. Akreen convulsed, then sat bolt upright, roaring one word–“NEAR!”

  Then, with blurring speed, he reached for the Gun-Lord, one hand on the blunt weapon-arm, the other wrapped around the neck. The tall silver warrior then stood, forcing Xra-Huld onto his feet, and spoke again.

  “Come out, worm! Come for me if you dare. Subdue me if you can. Or die now at my hands. Choose!”

  Xra-Huld’s terror was real, but his self-centred vanity and arrogance would not let him refuse a challenge from such an adversary. But how would a bout between these two pan out? And why would Akreen take a chance like this?

  Then, to Dervla’s amazement, Xra-Huld’s thought-presence began to drain away, like a poisonous swamp being pumped clear. She began to feel the giddiness of real hope, the joy of a possible escape from evil darkness. Then a pain stabbed in the side of her head, an awful hot pain that started to tear at her, tearing at her flesh, burning her flesh in a coiling track around her neck, a torment so nerve-shredding that she ceased to be completely aware of what was happening.

  Pyke was dumbfounded when Akreen abruptly sat up, roared “NEAR!” and grabbed Dervla by the neck and that swollen arm. He was all ready to defy the pain rasping in his limbs and throw himself forward when the Zavri spoke further, issuing an astounding challenge to the Gun-Lord Xra-Huld. The pair were frozen for several moments in a tableau of brutal struggle, like some marble statue from Humanity’s ancient, distant past. Pyke was light-headed and nauseous from the agonising spikes twisting in his joints, spine and chest, but he forced himself to remain sitting upright, waiting for whatever was about to happen.

  It was a cry of pain so terrible it sounded as if it were torn from Dervla’s throat. A kind of mad, panicking fear took hold and he struggled to get back on his feet–but then she looked right at him, eyes wide and anguished, shaking her head as she held out her unmarred hand to stop him. Then her eyes rolled back to show the whites and she let out another wrenching scream as the biomech parasite’s spine-tail began to unwind itself from her body. The track of horrifying bloody pinpricks that coiled from the head around the neck and over the upper back and one shoulder blade was bad enough but the deep gouges left along her arm was the worst.

  As the vile entity freed itself from its Human host, Akreen released Dervla so that he could grasp the weapon-barrel-head with both hands. Pyke kept expecting the Incarnalith shards to start bursting forth but instead Akreen suddenly staggered back, swayed for a moment, then fell to one knee. The parasite’s long dark tail-spine whipped up and coiled itself around the Zavri’s neck.

  “Fight, Akreen!” Pyke yelled, now crawling towards the Zavri despite the pain. “Fight the bastard!”

  But it seemed too late. The biomech squirmed in Akreen’s loosened grasp, fitting itself into position along one arm while the other fell listlessly to the Zavri’s side. Pyke was overcome by a wave of despair, even as he saw Lt Brock dragging herself towards the scene of the action. Akreen’s face was slack, his eyes vacant and lifeless, but only for a moment. A gleeful, triumphant expression crept into the silver features and Xra-Huld’s familiar hatred animated the eyes. Pyke was a stranger to the kind of bleak despair that now assailed him. But stubbornness for Pyke wasn’t something to be picked from a range of options but an intrinsic quality carved into his being. He wouldn’t lie down and die–if he had to fight a possessed Zavri bare-fisted then he would. Fighting against the hot pain gouging through his limbs he somehow got himself up into a kneeling position. Meanwhile Brock, her face twisted by pain, was on her stomach, stretching out towards a hand beamer which lay several feet away.

  Xra-Huld was exulting in his capture and domination of a new host, revelling in his jubilation. “I… dared! I subdued! I win!… I… what is… why…?”

  Pyke was reaching for a nearby stool to use as a weapon when he heard the note of confusion in the Gun-Lord’s voice. When he looked round it seemed that Xra-Huld was unable to move his new legs. As Pyke watched, a dark web-like tracery began spreading from the feet up and from the fingertips along the arms. The confusion in those silvery features was overtaken by a slow horrified realisation. Pyke could see segments of that waxy-grey spine-tail start to writhe as if trying to detach itself but something was now holding on to it, binding it, entrapping it.

  Xra-Huld let out a rasping screech. It used the unchanged hand to try and tear the spine-tail from neck and arm but with the passing seconds every motion was growing jerky and slow, and at last the limbs and the head were still, motionless.
The dark web had spread right across the Zavri’s form, looking like a network of cracks, and Pyke had a disturbing premonition about what was about to happen.

  Then, unexpectedly, the Zavri’s head turned to look at Pyke and the skin at the neck splintered, raining fragments on the floor.

  “Vengeance is hot, Captain Pyke.” The First Blade’s voice was muted and hoarse. “But it is final.”

  Then that tall, broad-shouldered figure began to disintegrate. The unaltered arm cracked and crumbled, falling away at the shoulder. Gaps appeared in the face and neck and worked their way in and down. The body of the biomech parasite was still writhing but a dark glassiness took hold in patches along its length and ate into it. And when it squirmed, the glassy areas cracked and burst, tiny splinters flying everywhere–Pyke thought he felt a few land on his hands. Eventually the biomech split open all the way to the heavy, blunt barrel-head, which also started to crumble. At the same time Akreen’s torso gave way and the disintegrating carcass crashed to the floor where it continued to break down into grit and powder.

  Suddenly Pyke realised that the grinding pain in his limbs and joints had faded to a dull ache. He put his hand up to his head and felt gingerly around the wound where the cytoblast dart had struck. His fingers encountered gritty grains and tiny slivers that looked as dark and glassy as the remains of the biomech parasite which had called itself Xra-Huld.

  “I’ve got the same,” said Brock, who had levered herself into a seated position against one of the control panel supports further along. “Pain’s gone. Are we okay because it’s dead?”

  Pyke squeezed his eyes shut tight, then opened them again. “Well, now, since it’s dead and we’re not I’m taking that as a good sign…”

  “Pyke…”

  Whispery and weak, the voice came from the red-garbed figure curled up next to the main control board. On hand and knees Pyke crawled over, feeling a weak relief that she was still alive.

  “Dervla… don’t move, you’ve got to save your strength…”

  “Is it gone? Please… is it gone?” She raised a trembling hand to the side of her head, winced, then looked at her blood-slick fingertips. “Pyke, is it…?”

  “It’s dead and gone, darling, smashed to pieces–won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

  Dervla swallowed, nodded tiredly and rested her head against the side of the control board. Need to find some bandages, Pyke thought as he managed to get up onto his feet and, despite the shakiness in his legs, went over to help Brock to stand as well.

  “How is she doing?” the lieutenant said.

  “Well now, going on my extensive experience as a medical professional, I’d say we’re in the clear.”

  “Ah good, the wise-cracking routine–thought you were losing your touch… hey, what’s she doing?”

  Dervla, who he’d thought had gone back to semi-consciousness, had somehow dragged herself up onto her feet. Without looking at Pyke or Brock she leaned over the control board, sobbing as she did so, and began punching in commands, flipping switches, a swift process ending in a final button push. Then she sank down to sit on the floor, still weeping as she covered her face with her one good hand.

  “Dear god, Dervla…” Pyke had hurried over but not quickly enough to stop her. “What did you do?”

  He stared up at the massive array of screens, trying to get a clue.

  “They deserved it!” Dervla said, voice shaking. “All of them!”

  “Who…?”

  Then he saw it, a video feed from the Citadelworld, an exterior shot of the long wide dockside canyon, the sparkly, shimmering containment that sealed it at the surface, and the tapering outline of that big tower. All very serene against the cratered distance of the planetoid and the curve of its horizon, and the glittering array of the Warcage set against the starry expanse of interstellar space. Then there was a brightening on one side of the frame, and sharp shadows started being cast by boulders, shadows that grew and moved. There was an engulfing brilliance–then nothing. The video feed was dead.

  “He was sending the Shuskar evacuees there,” Dervla said. “They had to die, deserved to die, needed to die! Served those filthy things for centuries, for millennia, killed and tortured for them, generation after generation…”

  “But there were others up there!” Pyke cried out, angry and disbelieving. “Mav, and the Malginori—”

  “Pyke,” said Brock. “I think we should hear what the Rensiks have to say.”

  A small triangular object came flying towards him, carrying beneath it a larger companion, the tiny drone that had put down those pale thralls earlier. They stopped a couple of feet away, hovering at head height.

  “Hello again, Captain.”

  “Ah, it’s yerself… Rensik 2.0, is that right?”

  “Correct, and my transporter is Rensik 3.0. I need to reassure you that the Chainer leader, G’Brozen Mav, and his followers and the Malginori rebels did not perish in the corona mass strike.”

  “That so? How?”

  “My skilled scion, Rensik 3.0, was working on restarting the Shadow Bastion hub-gate system to provide an escape route in the event of unforeseen difficulties. A Malginori technician used the directions left behind to do exactly that, so when the corona mass obliterated the citadel and the dockside canyon and the Shuskar escapees, G’Brozen Mav and the rest had already departed. They are safe and awaiting you on Nagolger.”

  “What about my crew…?” He ordered his thoughts. “Two lifeboats ejected from a failing Shuskar ship a short time ago–I thought they might have automatically headed for the Citadelworld. Any news about them?”

  For a moment, no reply. Then Rensik 2.0 spoke.

  “My scion says that he has been filtering data from the Earthsphere fleet’s security frequencies–which the Sunheart receptors inadvertently picked up–and he says there was a report that two such lifepods were retrieved by the cruiser ES Abberlaine. He has no other data as to their well-being or whereabouts.”

  Ah, the Earthsphere ships, he thought. I forgot about them.

  “Okay, Dervla, sweetheart, looks like you didn’t go full-crazy after all…”

  Brock waved at him to shut up. “She’s going into shock! Damn, we need some medical supplies.”

  “There is a full medical station on the other side of this auditorium,” said Rensik 2.0. “Shall I–we–fly over and bring back what we can?”

  “Yes, immediately! Pyke, help me bandage her wounds. It could be the blood loss…”

  They did all they could to make Dervla comfortable while staunching bleeding from the head and arm wounds. By the time the drones had returned with a parcel of stims, painkillers and trauma kits, some colour had come back to Dervla’s face. She looked up at Pyke, eyes shadowed in weariness.

  “Some wild adventure it’s been, eh?” she said.

  “It has that, and I’ve learned a hard lesson from all of this, I can tell you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Don’t try this at home, folks!”

  She started to laugh, then winced. “Brannan Pyke, I swear, if I had a bit of strength in just one of me arms…”

  EPILOGUE

  ONE

  It was raining on Nagolger, more specifically on Craitlyn, the capital city. Pyke and Brock were relaxing among the high chairs and tables on a canopied platform to the rear of a newly opened cantina serving Nagolgen drinks and delicacies to the Earthsphere ship crews currently thronging the city’s environs. Pyke, the first to arrive, was part way through a tray of opaque cannikins, each containing a mouthful of potent local beverages. With the rain drumming on the canopy overhead, Pyke licked his lips and knocked back another. It was a little oily, with a woody taste and ferociously bitter aftertaste. As it made its way down he gave a trembly shake of the head which turned into an all-over shiver.

  “Wuh!” he said. “That’s like gargling on the juice of a hundred dead lemons!”

  Brock’s amused look was tinged with mild disdain. “And yet you cont
inue.”

  Pyke winked at her, then sniffed the next little beaker.

  “So, me and my crew are in the clear, then.”

  Sam Brock chuckled dryly and sipped her own drink, a bulbous glass of something hot and sky blue. “In the clear? While I was aboard the Agrios to speak with the Vice-Admiral, I accessed the outstanding warrants archive and guess what I found!”

  Pausing, he glanced up at her. “Lies and slander, Lieutenant, slander and lies. Even a legitimate businessman like myself is bound to upset someone in the normal course of commerce and that’s where those false charges come from, skag-munching pusmongers who can’t cut it when it comes to getting the bids in!” He frowned. “Should I be worried?”

  “Don’t be,” she said. “I changed a few details in my report before lodging it–you’re now Captain Ryker and your ship is the Skarabus, with a ‘k’.”

  Pyke felt moved by this, knowing that the lieutenant was putting herself at no little risk to shield him and the crew from custody. He picked up the next beaker and raised it to her.

  “Good luck and long life, Lieutenant. You’re a fine, fine woman indeed and if I wasn’t otherwise emotionally trammelled…”

  “Dear god, just drink before I change my mind!”

  He chuckled and slung back the next one… and had to hold on to the table as a locomotive of alcoholic severity steamed its way down into his chest. “That… was mighty brutal! Could be a keeper—”

  “How is she?” Brock said.

  She meant Dervla, of course.

  “The ship’s autodoc fitted her arm with a surgical cast, and the rebuilding is going well. Might have it off in a week.”

  Brock nodded, silent for a moment. “In my report I said that Xra-Huld must have launched the attack on the Citadelworld before the intervention from the Incarnalith.”