by Philip Webb
“You know what my mother believes?” she asks.
“No, Maleeva, look –”
“She believes that this artifact you’ve all been searching for can save me.”
“What?”
“This army she commands, the race for power, a way to make soldiers that can’t die – she doesn’t care about any of it. It’s me she wants to save.”
Outside the building – more shouting, running feet. Still, I’m too gobsmacked to move. “And can it save you?”
Her machine voice sighs. “I’m dying, Cass. My body is wasting away. I’ve got one of the new diseases – a mutant strain from the Quark Wars. Not even the best doctors in the empire could do anything for me. They say I’ll be dead within six months. My mother’s tried everything – she even stole from the New Russian Empire to find money for my treatments. That’s why we were sent to this posting. And the artifact – well, she wishes it could save me, but I don’t think it’s meant for that, do you?”
Standing there then, I see that all my hate for Serov ain’t that simple no more. Cos her daughter is hanging on the outside of my prison cell window, and right now she’s my only hope.
“All right,” I go. “What’s your plan?”
“I haven’t really got one. But it’s not safe to stay – the base is on high alert, more soldiers will come for you. Now seems like a good time to go.”
I laugh out loud at that. “Oh, yeah? Hey, why don’t you come back in a week? I’ll lay off the grub and just squeeze through them bars!”
She just fixes me then with her no-feeling face, and does the necessary to wink. Then she grasps one of the bars with her plated fingers, jerks back, and rips it clean out the brickwork. She hands me the bent steel before going to work on the next one.
“That’s the good thing about having a commander for a mother,” she goes as the second bar pops out. “If you have to have artificial limbs, at least you get the militarygrade ones.”
THE ONE
Maleeva beckons me out onto the window ledge. “Quickly – before the guards get here. I can climb better if you’re on my back.”
That’s easier said than done, cos hanging out over this four-story drop has just turned my bones to glue. The yelling in the corridor’s getting louder … I keep my eyes local and take a long, deep breath. The body frame holds as I swing under Maleeva’s arms and onto her back. There’s a bar across the top of her chest like a second collar bone, and I clutch on to that. Then, slowly, she begins to climb down. Her fingers bury themselves into mortar, and she swings down one arm at a time, using her legs just to keep her body from the wall.
Above me I hear the splintering of my cell door, and a hideous Okhotnik head leans over the window ledge, its eyes all bearing down on me.
“Maleeva, they’re onto us!”
She drops away from the wall with maybe thirty feet to go and I cry out cos I’m sure she’s going to crash on top of me. But she bucks forward in midair and plants all four limbs down like a cat.
Together we scramble into the shadows. It’s quiet – all the action is on the floors above and toward the main entrance.
“Now what? We ain’t got long …”
“Your brother is in the other wing in a cellar on the far side of the square. He is very heavily guarded. Perhaps it would be better to wait here for now …”
“We can’t just stay here! We’ve got to do something!”
She tries to pull me back, but I rip clear and charge out into the courtyard toward the far wing.
“Cass, wait.”
I’m only halfway across when the Okhotniks show up – four of them bursting out of ground-floor windows. They lumber to their feet, shaking the glass from their shoulders, and as I pull up, Maleeva bounds past me with giant birdlike strides. The speed she’s going, I know she ain’t gonna stop – she just launches into a tuck and bulldozes through one of the far windows. I try to follow but slip on the sand.
The Okhotniks blunder toward me in weird fits and starts – racing, then stopping, like they’re seizing up. I chase around for a way out, but they’ve got me trapped. They stagger in, one step at a time, their arms flailing and clanking, their eyes flickering up and down. I steel myself, trying to pick the right moment. Two big strides and I go all out, headlong toward Maleeva, dropping my weight, charging for the gap. As the closest Okhotnik ducks down to grab me, I stamp on its forearm and leap. Into clear air. Then something clamps my ankle and slams me into the ground. I wriggle onto my back and I’m staring at two empty eye sockets. The head jerks and snaps at me, grinding its teeth, flinging blood from what’s left of its tongue.
I sock it right in the mouth. Nothing. I might as well have punched Sheba. I try to twist free, but the fist round my leg is locked shut. Then it dangles me upside down, head cocked like it can’t decide whether to throw me away or eat me. More soldier-machines come piling toward us, and I fall back limp then, cos the game is up. But something strange is happening. The closer they get, the slower they move – stop-start, stop-start. And I can hear all their gears grinding. They reel about in tighter and tighter circles, and cables start busting off their joints with the strain of each step. Soon bits of armor and machine parts are flying off them, thudding into walls, clattering through windows, and the only thing I can do is cover my head.
It all goes quiet.
I peek out between my arms just as the Okhotniks go completely limp. Some of them keel over. Then the one holding me releases its grasp and I fall to the ground.
For a moment I’m too terrified to run. Their eyes are open, but they don’t move. At last I scramble over toward Maleeva, who’s still sheltering in the far wing.
“You reckon they’re dead?” I whisper.
“No, just out of action. I think only their frames are damaged. The way they were moving before, it was like they were trying to obey different masters.”
As we survey the scene from the window, more soldiers rack up, proper cautious this time, though, circling their companions lying spark out in the dust. We back deeper into the house, through a warren of corridors and down two flights of stairs past about twenty Okhotniks, all busted and silent. And it’s creepy, slipping past them, cos you can hear their breathing, and sometimes their eyes follow you. Halfway along the basement is a steel door bent nearly in half and snapped clear of its hinges. I rush in. There’s a bed on wheels – empty. Wilbur ain’t nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t lose hope,” goes Maleeva. “I feel sure he is safe.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
She holds her hand up for hush. There’s a faint yelling from somewhere.
“Wilbur? Hey, we’re coming!”
Farther down the corridor a whole collection of broken Okhotniks are tangled together in a pile, and from deep underneath them the cries start again. Together we pull the wreckage of armor and limp bodies away, till my arms ache with the effort, and I’m so sure it’s Wilbur …
But it ain’t. It’s Peyto.
He’s lying there half crushed and gasping for air. I drag him into my arms.
“Peyto! Speak to me!”
He’s goggle-eyed as he takes in the sight of me and Maleeva.
“Did you see Wilbur?” he splutters at last.
“Oh God, Peyto, he’s gone – they’ve taken him!”
I’m right on the brink of losing it, but he reaches out to calm me down.
“Don’t worry about Wilbur. I think he’s the safest person in the whole building.”
“What?”
“All this chaos – it’s down to him. And the thing is, I don’t suppose he’s even aware of what’s going on. The flinder inside him – it’s stronger, don’t you see? The ship was right. He is The One. He can make the flinder do special things. It’s stopping the Okhotniks in their tracks …”
“I think he’s trying to call them,” goes Maleeva. “To rescue him. The way they stopped and started, like they were caught in two minds.”
And only then do I r
emember exactly what Wilbur was singing in the dream. I’ve heard the notes of the song before.
I scramble to my feet. “He’s calling the shuttle! He’s trying to take the flinder back to the ship. Oh, Peyto, we’ve got to find him!”
“The shuttle’s too far away. It can’t be summoned …”
“No,” says Maleeva. “They brought it here for tests. I saw it arrive just before dark. It’s just inside the perimeter wall, near the front of the house.”
We hurry back up to the ground floor. I peek through a window, and the courtyard’s empty apart from the broken Okhotniks hanging there in their armor frames.
“Wait here for me,” goes Maleeva. “I’ll do one circuit of the corridors. If you see me raise my hand, then it’s safe to come.”
With that she’s off, stalking down the hallway toward the front of the house.
“Who’s that?” asks Peyto. “I thought she was an Okhotnik when I saw her.”
“She’s with us – it’s a long story …”
I gaze at his exhausted face for a moment. Suddenly there’s so much to say, but I can’t see where to start. I think about Halina and her message, the one meant for him.
“Peyto, there’s something I’ve got to tell you. At the museum, we found … That is, Wilbur found … Oh, Peyto, I don’t know how to say this.”
He drops his eyes away from me. “I saw the body, too, if that’s what you mean … I know it was her.”
“No, you don’t get it. I saw her, Peyto. I mean I really saw her. Like when she was alive back all them thousands of years ago. Me and Wilbur both did.”
“What?”
“The flinder was in her skull and it made all this dust hover into the shape of her face! I knew it was her cos she looked just like you …”
He just stares at me completely dumbstruck.
“Then, when we both touched her flinder, she told us this message. She said not to trust the ship and that it never woke you all up when it should’ve. She kicked off an emergency cos she figured that would wake everyone up. But it didn’t work.”
“But why didn’t the ship wake us up? Did she say?”
“No, she said it wouldn’t tell her – she reckoned it was mad. Maybe it’s got used to watching everything from up there, like a god. It wants all forty-nine sleepers back up there. If they just wake up and leave, it’ll be alone forever.”
Peyto’s lashes turn black with tears. He grips my sleeve.
“What else did she say?”
“She said she loves you.” I throw my mind back to that green hill, the autumn trees. I take his hand. “She said to live a good life. She was trying to come back, to rescue you all. That’s how … Well, that’s how …” I can’t say it.
I think about the warriors behind her, their war cry as she swallows the flinder. And just right then, there’s this mighty boom from the courtyard.
The whole front wing of the house bulges out and comes tumbling down. Through the rolling dust, I can see Okhotniks piling through the gap and firing their guns at something huge. It barges right through them, twisting and rolling from side to side. I don’t cotton on what it is at first cos it’s moving so fast and it’s turned into this huge snake head, thrashing about, crushing everything in its path. The shuttle.
A lone Okhotnik climbs out of the ruins. It moves unsteadily, like it’s learning how to walk, turning its back toward the others as a shield. And cradled in its arms is Wilbur, still fast asleep! I can see from the Okhotnik’s clumsy steps, from the way it holds Wilbur’s body, that it’s treasuring him. Whatever soul was inside that wounded soldier, it sure ain’t there now. Wilbur is – sleepwalking, lost in dreams, commanding the warrior’s legs as if they were his own. And there’s only one place he’s going. His words come back to me then. Wish I’d been there, on the ship …
I charge over the windowsill even as Peyto screams at me to come back.
“Wilbur!” I yell. “Wait!”
The Okhotnik straightens as I run and it stares right at me. And maybe, behind them awful eyes, deep inside that battered skull, it’s Wilbur that sees me. But then the shuttle rolls to a stop and opens up a hole near the nose. And I watch in horror as the Okhotnik steps inside with Wilbur. I tear across the courtyard and I’ve lost all fear. The entrance is shrinking when I dive at it. Midair I’m sure it’s gonna close on me and chop me in half. It scrapes my legs, but I’m through! And even as I crash to the floor, the shuttle starts rumbling.
A LOST ALTAR
I can’t see a thing, cos my face smacks the floor as the shuttle drills upward. I can’t budge, even to push my face to one side. These engines are howling all around me, crushing me down. And something whacks into the shuttle so hard that just for a second I think we’ve crashed. But then all my weight jumps out into nothing and I’m peeling off the floor. It’s all systems go with the alarms as the engines die down. And just to cap it all, I heave my guts up and the puke shoots round in a circle and slaps me right in the chops.
The Okhotnik faces me, Wilbur still cradled in its arms. And I sure ain’t getting any vibes my brother’s in charge now. So I tense up for a scrap I know is gonna be over in five seconds flat. But nothing happens. Zilch. The soldier is kaput, just staring into space, mouth flopped open. Is it dead or, like them others, out for the count? OK, get a grip …
I wipe the breakfast off my face and kick gently toward the Okhotnik. The way it bounces off the wall, it looks a goner, but up close I can hear its breathing, and getting Wilbur free is murder, cos the arms holding him are locked solid. The way I have to tug and fight, I’m sure it’s gonna jump into life any second. But there ain’t so much as a flicker from its eyes. So I give up fussing and do what I have to do to get Wilbur free. And just having my kid brother in one piece after the whole Vlad army meltdown is a miracle! Yep, it’s really him – the same jug-ears, gappy-teeth, sack-of-bones Wilbur. And apart from his do-it-yourself shiner, there ain’t a scratch on him. All the clues he loves to hoard come out his pockets – comics and stickers and old navy medals … I’m staring at all this floating clobber when Wilbur stages his comeback.
“What’s the matter, Cass? Where are we?”
He’s all groggy from his marathon sleep, groping about for something to hold on to. And having him back is more than I even dared hope for. I squeeze him hard.
“Oh, Wilbur! You’re back!”
“What’s going on? We’re … floating.”
I stare at him. He ain’t got a clue how he’s got here. All that mayhem he’s conjured up just by wanting to be here, and he’s slept his way through it.
“Welcome to space …,” I go, wondering what I should tell him.
Suddenly he grabs my arm. “Gramps …”
He’s all wide-eyed and you can see that things are flooding back, and for him, Gramps getting shot is something that’s happened in the last two minutes. And I ain’t had time to deal with it myself, but in my head it was yonks ago and a hundred and one disasters have gone down since then, not the least of which is this stranded-thirteen-miles-above-London disaster that’s happening right now.
“Look, sunshine, you’ve been out of it for a night and a day and then some, and a fair bit’s happened …”
“Cass, what about Gramps?”
There ain’t no way to hide it from him.
“Gramps ain’t with us no more.”
I’m sure he’s gonna start crying, but he holds it together. Or maybe he’s just zoning out on me, which is what he does sometimes when he’s upset.
Then he stares for the first time at the Okhotnik.
“Don’t worry, he’s out cold right now …”
“Hunter,” whispers Wilbur.
“What?”
“It’s a hunter.” He reaches out and touches the warrior gently. “It’s … lost, waiting …”
“Eh?”
“It can’t really think for itself. It’s waiting for a reason to fight.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not give it o
ne, then.”
“Where I’ve been, Cass, I saw them.”
I think about him drumming up them warriors with just the whims inside his sleeping head. And he don’t even know it. “Where you’ve been is inside a Vlad prison and out for the count.”
“I wasn’t asleep, Cass. I went places. Like where we went to see Halina. I saw how they got injured, those men, fighting in wars …”
“What men? Speak sense, Wilbur.”
“They nearly died, but they got put back together again with bits from other wounded soldiers. That’s how the Vlads make the hunters. They’ve been ripped apart and sewn up again so many times, their souls are broken. Now all they got is hunger.”
“Hunger? For what?”
“Just to carry on fighting, but they don’t even know what for, and they don’t even care, but they’ve got to, like it’s the only thing that makes sense, so they live for the war and nothing else.”
All this whispering talk is giving me the creeps.
“Look, I believe you, right? But you’ve got a flinder inside you and so them places you been to, they ain’t real like this is real. I need you here, helping me out, cos any minute now, we’re gonna get to the ship. And we’ve got to figure out how to get off it again mighty quick, OK? Cos it ain’t safe.”
I pull him over to the flashing red screens and the scrolling messages.
“Can you make out what it says?”
“Where’s Peyto and Erin?”
“They ain’t here. Just do me a favor and read it, Wilbur!”
“Hull damage critical. Minus fourteen percent heat shield … Erm, something about a one gigaton missile strike …”
“OK, that don’t sound good. Thought Peyto said the thing was indestructible.”
“We were attacked?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the Vlads tried to shoot us down …”
“Are Peyto and Erin OK?”
I tear myself away from the screens to speak to him.
“They’re all right. Well, they was when I last saw them. Erin’s with Dad back at Elephant and Castle. Peyto’ll be fine with Maleeva, I reckon.”
