At some point, between their congress and the deep profound sleep that overtook him later, there was a powerful dream. He was copulating with her and she bit his neck so hard it drew blood. He threw his head back and issued an unearthly howl that rose above the treetops and echoed across the chill air, startling small animals into cowering in their dens. He planted his seed in the full bud of ripeness, a sure and powerful shot that dragged on impossibly long. She cried out, a rapture like none that had ever been known before. He felt her changing beneath him, and he with her. They shed the human forms that had hidden their animal spirits, like clothing, like masks, like the disguises of thieves, and they emerged as red-eyed predatory beasts.
They ran into the night, four-legged, impossibly fast. There was a sensation of branches slapping at him, thorns and twigs grasping at his flesh. The night came alive to him in a thousand scents. The strongest of which, the smell of blood, of forest, of smoke, of cooking fires ---were like bright gaudy neon colors that lit their world. They ran further and further into the night, farther from the village, through the scrubby pine-like trees that dominated this landscape. They left the smells of the village far behind them, and ran into the great wide open night, swift as harriers, till there was no scent but hers and the bare cold land.
A moon was overhead, white with large purple bruises across its face. They paused and prayed to it, raising a song of communion, entreaty, and benediction. They came in time to a herd of animals, quadropeds, plump on the grass of the fields and shivering in the cold. The creatures could sense them, and the smell of their fear bled into the air, tendrils of scent like dinner cooking in his mother’s house. They hunkered low to the ground and circled, spreading their own scent through the air, so the beasts would not know from what quadrant to expect the attack.
They sprang on a young female calf that was isolated from the herd. It bleated a call to its brethren, its fear filled the air with starbursts of scent and panic. They tore into it, rending flesh from flesh with their teeth until it lay still beneath them, still but still warm. They gorged themselves on the meat of its legs and belly.
When their stomachs were full to bursting they trotted back toward the village. A band of gray/yellow rose to a third of the eastern sky, and mists rose from the fields around them. They returned to the pine thicket and fell asleep lying wrapped around each other. Eden – The Dayside
A hundred more Low-Guardsmen marched into the square in front of the Temple of the Z’Batsu, arranged in ten neat rows of ten. The high guardsmen snapped to attention, and arranged themselves in straight parade lines. The low guardsmen parted, revealing a large sedan chair in their midst carried by four each of their party. A Guardsman, acting as a footman, opened the carriage hatch.
A smallish man, nearly identical to the Scion Altama, save for his robes, stepped forth. He made his ways between the Low Guardsmen, who continually shifted position to protect him behind a wall of guards.
Keeler and the landing party stood before the line of low guardsmen, irregular spots on a tableau of perfect discipline and order.
The Scion stood before them, staring at each in turn, before deciding upon Keeler as the leader. “Captain Keeler of the Pathfinder Ship Pegasus? ”
“Za, I am that guy.”
“We have a question,” the Scion stated. “Why did you go to Altama instead of Chiban?”
Keeler answered him easily. “We got lost. From the stars, it is difficult to determine one Citadel from the next.”
The Scion regarded him dubiously, considering whether the excuse was plausible. A low heavy beating of wings broke the spell. The five guardsmen carrying the automech, George Borrows Things, arrived low over the square. The great weight of the robot had made them slow, and they had had to rest repeatedly en route to the city, most recently on the shore of the lake.
“What do we have here?” said the Scion, suddenly distracted by the appearance of George Borrows Things from beneath his nets. His face soon lighted up as he answered his own question. “The homonolithicus,” he sang out. “This was the property of my eleventh predecessor. You have recovered and restored it. What a marvelous gift and tribute.”
“And this,” he said turning to Lord Paperlung. “What have we, a displaced Lord of Kami Prefecture? I do not understand.”
“He’s with us,” Keeler explained.
“We understand,” the Hautarch’s enthusiasm at recovering his robot seemed undiminished. “We, at this time, would also wish to present you with a gift.”
He nodded his chin slightly toward the Leader of the Low Guardsmen. The Guardsman raised a trumpet to his lips and sounded a two-note signal. Another detachment of guardsmen entered the square. In between the front and rear guardsmen were Flight Lieutenant Toto and the other three pilots from Yorick and Zilla .
Keeler’s façade of control and detachment fell apart like a cheap plaything the day after Solstice. “Toto,” he called out and ran across the square to his pilot. He hugged the young man and kissed his forehead. “We thought you were dead.”
“Well,” Toto drawled. “They did try to kill us.”
“How did you escape?”
Toto considered the question, then shrugged. “There’s really not much story to it.”
“Later then,” Keeler said. He returned to Scion. “You have my gratitude, Scion Chiban.”
The Scion seemed pleased. “Under the terms of the treaty made at the time of your last visitation, you are under the protection of Chiban Prefecture. We trust your side also intends to maintain its part of the alliance?”
Keeler paused, and what he said next astonished every one.
“Absolutely.”`
““To business, then. We had not anticipated your arrival for another forty-eight years. What brings you to our world at this time?”
“We were curious about your progress.”
“You will be pleased to know that your plans are being executed. We already have agents of infiltration in all of the Inner Prefectures, and most of the Middle Prefectures. Within a generation, we will be in the Courts and Guards of every house.” His voice was somewhat subdued. “When you left, you said you would return if you solved the riddle of the Temple. When we heard you had returned, we thought you might have succeeded.”
“The Riddle of the Temple?” Keeler repeated, not in an inquisitive tone of voice. Alkema was not alone in wondering what game he thought he was playing.
“The Riddle of the Z’Batsu,” the Scion repeated. “It prevents any man from going inside. Who solves the riddle gains all the power of the Z’Batsu.”
“Repeat the riddle for me,” Keeler ordered.
The Haupatarch shouted his orders without turning to the guard, without taking his eyes from Keeler. “Riga, choose one of your men to repeat the riddle.”
The Lead Low Guardsmen passed along the front row of his men, then pointed to one man within his company. The man stepped forward. Keeler could not see his eyes, but sensed fear radiating from him. He ritualistically removed two pairs of leather gloves, and passed them to the next man in line along with his sword.
He walked toward the wall of the temple. There was a plate there, with the outline of a human hand. The guardsmen put one of his four hands on the plate, within the outline. There was a brief, sharp, spitting crackling sound. Where a man had stood a moment before, a blackened and charred corpse was falling to the ground. By the time he hit the pavement, he was no more than ash and bone.
Keeler had not expected the riddle to be “What do you get when you cross a milkbeast with an Arcadian monk?” but this was something else entirely.
“Do you have a solution?” the Scion asked impatiently.
Keeler held up a finger. “One moment.” He drew in his own people and huddled with Honeywell and Alkema. “Analysis?”
“Instantaneous incineration as soon as he touched the plate. Flash irradiated. We have weapons that can do that, although you’d see a flash or something before it hit.”
> “I asked George about the riddle while you were talking to the Scion,” Alkema reported.
“He told me when the Temple was sealed, only one entrance was left. Only the Z’Batsu would be able to enter the temple.”
“There’s equipment on the ship that could probably find the triggering mechanism and disable it. Then we could figure out how to get around the lock.”
“Sounds like a few days worth of work,” Keeler told Honeywell.
Honeywell shrugged. “If we’re lucky.”
The Scion called to them. “Do you have a solution?” he repeated.
Keeler broke from the huddle and faced the Scion. “I do,” he said. Without another word he walked up to the wall of the temple and put his hand on the plate.
Chapter Twenty-One
Pegasus – Launch Bay Alpha - 02
“Aves Basil final check. All systems optimal. Final launch clearance requested.”
Flight Captain Jordan preferred retro touches in her command deck. Her controls looked more mechanical than most other pilots liked, and she wore an old-style flight helmet where most preferred to have the necessary instrumentality knitted directly onto the cheek. She watched the launch deck rise up past her canopy as her ship lowered onto the rails. On her main deck were two Marines and eight mission specialists to supplement and/or relieve personnel from Landing Team Beta. There was another flight on an adjacent launcher to perform the same services for Landing Team Gamma, and bring technological schematics for exchanges with the natives at their location. Alpha’s relief team was on stand-by, as was another Aves intended to fly down to their landing site and, if necessary, blast some sense into the local inhabitants.
In addition to that, two more landing teams were to be deployed to other areas of the planet. Three Aves, led by Prudence, were scheduled to launch later on a mission to extract a large metallic artifact from the moon of an outer planet. Six long-range survey missions to the system’s other planets were scheduled to launch within one ninety-second period in the late afternoon, part of a Combat Readiness Drill. Two more flights were scheduled to bring down 85 personnel for shore leave and bring back 32 of the 140 who were already on the surface, enjoying an extended party on a stretch of beach on an uninhabited island. As night fell, there were plans for a bonfire, barbecue and marshmallow roast.
Fifteen flights and two stand-bys did not make for a heavy day in Flight Core, but then, Eden was a small planet.
“Basil, this is Flight Control. You are cleared for launch when ready.”
“Acknowledged, Flight Control.”
A light appeared at the far end of the launch rail. Captain Jordan reached for the launch actuator.
Pegasus – The UnderDecks
Cold wet darkness rushed by Trajan Lear. The current was faster than he ever imagined, and it was shooting him along like a bug in a sewer pipe. He swam as hard as he could, though he was no match for the force of the water. He scraped along the sides of the conduit, looking for a hatch, or a ladder, something, anything to grab onto. The tube was pitch dark and with the water pushing him forward and knocking him around he had no way of knowing if he were even at the top or the bottom.
Terrified, he struggled for self-control, fighting against the forces of panic as much as against the current. To give in to panic meant a drowning death. He fought to keep air inside his lungs as minutes dragged on. As soon as he released, he knew, he would be unable to resist the reflex to refill his lungs, and there would be no air, only cold black water. He didn’t want to die this way. This was how vermin died. Images from a school field trip to the City of Alexander Waterworks flashed in his mind. The sopping brown bodies of rats caught in the grating and strainers of the purification facility. Suddenly, he banged against something in the darkness. He scrabbled and clutched at it with his hands, thinking it might be an escape ladder. It was some kind of divider within the channel. The conduit was bifurcating, splitting into two smaller conduits. He swam into the uppermost conduit, instinctively moving up, which had always been his salvation. He shot down the tube, which soon dropped again. Trajan felt himself becoming disoriented as his lungfuls of air began to give out. Great purple spots began to mass behind his eyes. Just as he thought his lungs would burst and he could take no more, the force of the current dropped. The water calmed and light appeared from beneath him. He swam for it. Down was up, and the light came from an open chamber. When he broke through he was able to suck in a great breath of air. He treaded water, bobbing in the midst of an open round pool, a few meters wide. There was a ladder to one side and he swam for it. He heaved himself heavily up onto the deck and lay there, coughing and shivering, as the cold penetrated his body to the core.
He stared at the ceiling, through eyes that stung from the light. How close had he come to death this time? Trembling lips formed the words “Vesta, I hate you.”
He lay on the deck for several minutes, taking stock. He was wet and freezing cold, but alive and still in the game. When he regained enough strength, he tried to stand, but his left leg collapsed under him, his knee singing in pain. He must have banged it in the tunnel. He waited a few more minutes before trying again. Gingerly, he stood, and this time everything seemed to work so long as he put very little weight on the knee.
There was an Ident Plate on the wall of the Tank. “Emergency Overflow Tank 19-Alpha. Deck Minus Eight. Section 92:04. Someone had been looking out for him after all. He began searching for a way out. His only choice was a small hatch in the floor of the deck that opened into a tall, narrow hexagonal corridor lined with black plates in various sizes. A plate identified at as “ALS Maintenance Access Tubeway -9A.” He entered and began slogging through it, limping to favor the leg with the good knee. It was very dark. The walls contained little markings or texture. There were hatches at regular intervals, but they all led down. Sooner or later, though, there had to be a way out.
After he had moved twenty or thirty meters into the shaft, red lights and alarms suddenly began sounding. Trajan instinctively looked around. He had a momentary impression of a flash of light moving toward him. A millisecond later, something lifted him almost to the top of the tube, banging his chin against the ceiling. His hair stood on end and he felt as though his bones were being torn from their sockets.
It was over before he had a chance to scream. He found himself lying on his back on the floor of the tube, twitching and unable to remember if he had blacked out or not. He realized ALS stood for Accelerator Launch System. This passage ran directly over the launch rails. A Shriek or an Aves had just launched beneath him. A high-energy discharge had spiked through the floor and knocked him like a bolt of lighting. He did not seem to be much worse injured, but he did not think he could survive too many more such jolts. Why should it start getting easy now? He thought darkly. If there was one bright star in his situation, it was that the end of the tunnel must be the Launch Bays. These were almost always bustling with activity. They could not be more than four hundred meters from where he stood. Even with his knee, he might make it in half an hour or so.
Pegasus – Launch Bay Gamma 9
Matthew sat in the command seat of Prudence, the only place in the universe, he thought, where he was in control of events, or at least, where events were predictable, or where things occurred in reliable sequence and responses were predicable. As he worked his way through his qualifications to the original statement, he realized that at best they were true ninety per cent of the time. Still, much better accuracy rate than in the world of human-driven events, like things he did not want to be thinking about at that moment.
“Initiate Primary Systems Check: Propulsion,” he ordered. His command synthesis formed a metallic ridge running beneath his left eye, across his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth. The engine core appeared on the display in front of him. Everything was gold, and gold was good. “Initiate Primary Systems Check: Energy System.”
He knew when she entered the command deck, even though she had come up on the ladd
er instead of the lift, which was so like her. He did not turn around as Lieutenant Navigator Change took the second seat and fitted a navigation module into the control board.
“Hello, Matthew,” she said.
“You’re early,” he answered, which, a half an hour earlier, was one of the three non-confrontational statements he had selected as ways of addressing her when she entered his ship. He told himself he really wanted her to stay below, and do the Nav checks from her launch couch, but he would have been very disappointed had she done so.
“I want to speak with you before the rest of the crew came on board.” Four engineering specialists were to join them in the mission to extract the object, as well as a mission Medical Technician whom everyone hoped would not be needed.
“Initiate Secondary Systems Check. Laser Cutting System Operational Check.” For this mission, Prudence had been outfitted with a pair of mining lasers, which hung in a dome at the front of the command module.
“Matthew, I am sorry for hitting you.” Her voice was sincere, although her apology did not have the ring of empathy, of pleading, Matthew had imagined in his mind.
“It was wrong of me to say what I said. I can forgive you, if you can forgive me,” his voice was matter-of-fact, he requested another systems check with the same tones.
“I’ve decided not to marry Eddie,” she blurted.
Worlds Apart 02 Edenworld Page 30
