by Chris Walley
He glanced up at the map on the wall. In the time they had been talking, the red line had moved forward.
Enatus also looked at the map. “Yes,” he said in a quiet voice, “they are getting nearer. It promises to be an interesting evening.” He turned to Merral, a puzzled look on his face. “But I have a question for you, Commander: why are they coming here?”
“I don’t know,” Merral replied. “And really, I wish I did.”
Back up on Congregation Square, Merral ordered the soldiers he had brought to make their way down to the Gate House. He then took Lloyd to find Vero and Balancal. Along the way, he spotted a short and slight blue-trousered figure with curly blonde hair carrying a large package toward a side doorway of the hall.
“Elana!” Merral called.
The girl smiled with delight, put the package down with care, and ran to Merral. “Merral!” she cried, with a fierce hug. “I knew you’d come!”
“I’d no option, not when I knew you were here.”
Elana shook her head, trying to free a strand of blonde hair that was stuck to her forehead with sweat. “I’ll bet you say that to everybody.” She looked behind Merral and beamed again. “Hi, Lloyd. Welcome back.”
Lloyd gave her a relaxed salute and strolled out of earshot.
Elana’s half smile seemed in conflict with her solemn blue eyes. “You can see I’m busy.”
“I was rather hoping you had left or were leaving. This may get messy later this evening.”
“I know. But I’m not a child. And I wanted to play my part . . . like Perena did.”
“Ah. I’m sorry you never met her,” he said softly, the wound of her loss opening again. “But I’d prefer it if you stayed safe. I’ve lost enough friends already.” And I may lose more in the next dozen hours.
“I want to be here.”
“Very well, but if it comes to fighting, you really ought to go into the refuge.”
They looked up at the massive frontage.
“Merral,” Elana said, twisting on her toes, “come on, you can be honest with me. If they get as far as here, the doors will not hold them for very long. I’d rather try to fight them out here.”
“There is that, I suppose. But don’t fight unless you have to.”
“I know how evil these things are. You fought them at the lake and I want to fight here. I hate those things. And I’m not scared. Well . . .” She gave him a confiding look. “I am a bit worried, Merral.”
“That’s understandable,” Merral said, glancing at the equipment of war all around.
“I’m worried . . . that I’m going to be scared.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being scared.”
She pouted. “I know that. I’m worried that by being scared I will do the wrong thing.”
“I will pray you’ll be brave.”
She looked back at the package she had put down. “I’d better do my job.”
“We all had,” he said, patting her shoulder. As she left, he said under his breath, “Keep safe, Elana. Keep safe.”
Battling with concern for her, Merral headed with Lloyd to the underground corridors where Enatus had said Balancal might be. They were shown into a cluttered room in which Vero and a tall, stiff-backed man with long black hair and wearing a brown jerkin were examining some maps.
The tall man looked up at Merral and a taut smile crossed his face. “Commander,” he said, as they shook hands. “You remember me?”
“Call me Merral. Yes, I do. I thought I recognized the name. We’ve played against each other before.”
“Indeed. I was a back with the Seagulls in the tournament last year—second round.”
“I remember. Happier days.” Yes, I do remember you—a careful, watchful defender who let nothing through. You will need all those skills today, and more.
“Indeed. Happier days.” Balancal’s gray gaze hardened. “But we are now on the same side, stopping a plague of these Krallen.” Balancal’s words were crisp and Merral took heart at the air of competency that he exuded.
“Yes. I’ve sent my soldiers to the Gate House.”
“Thanks. We can use them.”
“Enatus told me about the defenses.”
“Tuh,” Balancal grunted, a forceful exclamation that suggested irritation. He gestured at the map. “Merral, we’ve done what we can, but unless Isterrane relents and let’s Colonel Thuron come to our aid, we’re in trouble.”
There were hammering noises from next door and Balancal and Vero looked at each other. “We have just put Betafor there,” Vero said. “We’re getting cabling installed.” He shook his head. “But she isn’t happy.”
A few minutes later, Betafor herself confirmed that she was not at all happy. She was sprawled on a pile of cushions in the corner of a small, rather dusty chamber with a series of cables running under her vest like a complex umbilical cord. The Lamb and Stars glowed on her tunic flanks.
“Commander,” she said, swiveling her head, her peculiarly lifeless eyes on Merral. “I thought I might see you here.” As she turned to Lloyd, who stood by the door, Merral sensed he detected a look of dislike. “And Sergeant Enomoto.”
“I wanted to see where you are,” Merral said. “Is this satisfactory?”
“No. Not at all. It is too small. And there is too much dust. It gets into my eyes.”
“I will try and get you some water to moisten the air.”
“Thank you. But can I remind you that it is policy that Allenix units should not be exposed to danger? You seem to have brought me to a potential . . . war zone.”
“I am sorry, Betafor. But you were in danger at Tezekal. There were people who were starting to hunt for you there.”
“So I was told. But why did you have to come here?”
“Because this is my home.”
“Ah, home.” Her irises contracted. “In my experience that word is frequently associated with some of the most . . . irrational action of your species.”
“It’s one of the things that makes us human.”
“I suggest it is one of the things that, one day, will make your species history. You let emotions . . . override facts.”
“And that is something that you are not prone to?”
“Commander, we control our emotions; we do not let them control us. And if they threaten to push us toward . . . inadvisable actions, we simply delete them. The ability to delete—or modify—feelings is a considerable advance over the biological state. ”
“I’m not sure that I envy you that ability.”
“I think you do. You have regrets, Commander?”
For a few seconds Merral did not answer. How do you reply to such a question from such a source? “Perhaps,” he said quietly.
“There we are then—yet another human weakness. We can erase our regrets. They might prevent us carrying out the appropriate action.”
“So, you never feel guilty either?”
“No. Were such a feeling to arise, an Allenix unit would simply erase it.”
“And that makes you superior?”
“Manifestly.”
“I’m not so sure, but I’m not going to argue the matter now. Tell me what’s happening. What do you know of this force of eight thousand Krallen on their way here?”
“Commander, I have been listening and I am puzzled. Frankly, I do not understand the . . . strategy. This approaching force is now around a hundred and thirty kilometers away. But I am just able to detect the main Krallen body at Camolgi Hills and although it is on the edge of my range, there appears to be something happening there. There are levels of activity that I would normally associate with . . . imminent motion.” She tilted her head. “A further puzzling factor is that I have just detected some brief signals from a location perhaps eight kilometers away, west-southwest of here.”
“Only eight kilometers away? What sort of signals?”
“Krallen, I think. But they were of short duration.”
“That would put them in the woods j
ust south of the airport.” Merral stared at Betafor. “Are you sure?”
“I am increasing the sensitivity on that channel, but I definitely heard something.”
“Could there be hidden Krallen units there?”
“I suggest you consider it a possibility.”
“We’d better check. Call me if there is anything new, anything at all.”
With rising unease, Merral hurried to find Enatus and together they went to Balancal’s room. There Betafor’s news was greeted with alarm. They marked the apparent source of the signals on the map and Balancal immediately ordered a rotorcraft from the airport to check the area.
“I don’t like it,” Vero said, glowering at the map as Balancal snapped out orders. “I don’t like it at all. Nothing fits.”
Enatus turned to Merral. “You know,” he said in a voice full of quiet concern, “the flights from the airport are due to leave in half an hour.”
“Where are the passengers now?” Merral asked.
“Assembling down in the lower part of the town. There’s a fleet of twenty coaches.”
“I think you ought to hold them there until we get an all clear.”
Enatus nodded and gave the order.
While they waited for the rotorcraft to carry out its survey, Merral went to a corner of the room and made a call to Frankie Thuron.
“Merral!” Frankie said, looking flustered. “I hear you are in Ynysmant.”
“I’m afraid that’s exactly where I am. You’ve heard the story?”
“From Clemant. What are you doing there?”
“I refuse to let a town be sacrificed.”
“That sounds like you.” Frankie looked bothered. “But did you disobey orders?”
“Yes. Clemant’s decision is wrong. Had there been time, I would have gone to Isterrane and challenged it. But I didn’t call you to justify my actions. I need help.”
Frankie’s look was one of consternation. “I’ll help as much as I can, Merral, but . . . well, I have my orders.”
“Frankie, if I was still in charge, I’d order you to launch an attack—to move fast by road and air to strike this column or at least to harass them.”
There was a long silence before Frankie spoke. “Merral, this grieves me. Really does. We were on the beach at Fallambet together. You chose me for this job. But I’ve had specific orders to keep all my soldiers behind the defenses here. And we don’t know what the enemy are up to. There’s some sort of movement occurring in the line right now. I have no authority to launch any sort of attack to help you, much as I would like to.”
“Talk to Clemant; see if he’ll change his mind.”
“I’ll try.”
“Please. I’m not asking you to do anything you shouldn’t do. I just want to reduce the odds. One more thing: Frankie, do you think it possible that some Krallen units could have sneaked away and already be outside Ynysmant?”
Frankie scratched an ear. “I suppose so. We have surveillance, but it’s hard to keep track of all twenty thousand. If they sneaked off under tree cover, yes, they could.”
On the wallscreen juddering imagery from the nose of a rotorcraft appeared.
“Talk to you later, Frankie. But we could use some support.”
Frankie sighed. “I’ll ask.”
Merral turned to watch the imagery on the wall, which showed treetops. Oaks, beeches—I know those woods so well.
“No sign of anything so far,” said a disembodied man’s voice that seemed to come from the screen. The camera pivoted over a track and then moved on. “Over the area now. . . . Still nothing. . . . Wait. . . .”
The camera swung again and focused on two parallel lines made up of numerous deep tracks.
There was an intake of breath in the room.
“Weird. . . . Can you see these?” said the voice from the screen
“M-Merral,” Vero said as the tracks sharpened. “Animals?”
“No. And too big for Krallen.”
The rotorcraft swung around to follow the tracks and as it did, Merral caught a glimpse of the waters of the lake and, cutting through them, the causeway and the tiers and spires of Ynysmant. As he puzzled about the tracks, Merral heard his diary chime. He put it to his ear.
“Commander,” Betafor’s flat tone was unmistakable. “There is activity south of the airport. It is quite consistent with two cannon insects in targeting mode. There—”
“Balancal, get the rotorcraft out!” Merral shouted. “Quick!”
The screen was suddenly filled with a black agglomeration of striding legs and moving tubes.
“Look at that!” the voice cried.
An open-mouthed tube swung steadily toward the camera.
“Get out! Get out!” Balancal shouted.
Enatus slowly rose from his seat.
There was a flash, a scream, and the image and sound vanished in a flicker of static.
Balancal slammed his fist on the table. Enatus crashed back into his seat while Vero threw his head in his hands.
“Firing under way from cannon insect,” said the synthetic voice from the diary.
There was a deep bass boom that made the room vibrate, then another and another. Flakes of paint fell from the ceiling. A glass on a table shook violently.
“Artillery!” Merral said. “Warden, get everyone under cover!”
Enatus stared at him, his eyes wide like those of a fish, and gulped. He then grabbed his diary and began issuing orders.
There were more explosions and the lighting flickered.
Enatus got to his feet and, still issuing orders, ran clumsily out of the room and down the corridor, followed by Merral.
The warden ran into his office and as Merral pursued him through the door, a sudden blast, stunning in its intensity, pounded the entire building.
Merral was lifted off the floor and thrown against the door frame.
He staggered on, aware of cries of fear, the sound of alarms, the rattle of fragments from the roof onto the table, and the smell of smoke. There were further—more muted—explosions from just above his head. Everybody seemed to be shouting at once.
Enatus—his face flushed with anger and his body shaking with either fear or rage—urgently summoned him.
“They attacked the airport,” the warden said, sweeping plaster fragments off his forehead. “And your freighter.” He turned to a young man who tugged an armor jacket on with one hand and pointed with the other at a screen image full of orange flames and bubbling black smoke.
“The Emilia Kay,” Merral said as he gazed at the screen, feelings of grief and foreboding descending on him.
“It’s alight,” said a woman from another desk, her voice frayed. “Fire tenders are moving.”
The firing abruptly stopped.
Over the next few minutes, damage reports began to come in.
“Houses on fire at western Kytharal Street. Casualties.”
“Three transports still on fire at airport. Terminal damaged. A dozen plus dead and injured.”
“Boat sank at Vanulet Pier. Casualties.”
“Irreg unit reports sightings of many gray creatures south of runways.”
“Congregation Square fire under control. At least three dead; a dozen injured. Ship gutted.”
Merral called Betafor. “Give me an update.”
“Commander, I note two things: a small number of Krallen units are advancing to the airport from the south and there is major movement at the Camolgi Hills.”
“Which way?”
“I cannot be sure. I cannot decode the signals.”
“Tell me as soon as you know.”
Merral passed on the news to Enatus.
“Oh, my,” Enatus said, sitting down heavily on a dusty seat, his eyes flicking nervously from one screen of damage to another. “I really don’t understand this. Why us?” He swallowed and looked at Merral. “I need some help here, Commander. I’m very much out of my depth. Very much. What do you suggest?”
“We a
re all out of our depth. But I suggest you withdraw everyone from the airport. It’s not defensible. By all accounts there are only a couple of serviceable fliers left. Get them airborne to deny them to the enemy. Make sure anything else they could use there is irreparably damaged.”
“Yes. I see.” Enatus wiped a mixture of sweat and dust off his nose. He turned to an aide.“Get everyone back across the causeway.” Then he turned to Merral and lowered his voice. “Commander, we are trapped. Nothing can land on Congregation Square. There’s too much wreckage. And I don’t think we can risk any more boat evacuations.”
“I know.”
Enatus frowned, then stood up and cleared his throat. “Staff!” he called out loudly and firmly. All eyes turned to him. “Evacuate the airport. Bring everybody back across the causeway. Prepare to close the gates as soon as everyone is across.”
“Well done!” Merral whispered.
As Enatus began walking around snapping further orders, Vero, who had entered quietly, nudged Merral. “Let’s talk to Betafor.”
They found the Allenix unit staring at the ceiling. As they entered, her head swiveled smoothly toward them. “Commander, Sentinel, I have bad news.”
A feeling of unease gripped Merral. I can guess it. “Go on.”
“Almost the entire Dominion force at Camolgi Hills is moving this way.”
“When will they be here?” Merral asked, battling with a hundred fears, his heart pounding in alarm.
“Early this evening—in six or seven hours.”
Vero stepped forward. “Betafor, do you understand this sequence of maneuvers?”
“Understand it? No.”
Suddenly Vero turned to Merral with a quizzical expression on his face. “My friend, let’s talk.” His voice was curt.
Outside in the corridor, Vero said, “I believe Lezaroth has lured us into a trap. Is that what you think?”
“It’s possible,” Merral answered cautiously. A trap surely, but for who? Me, Vero, or both of us? The idea that he had walked into a trap raised implications so horrendous that he resisted them. “It could be an act of vengeance. They know I come from here.”
Vero shook his head emphatically. “It’s more than vengeance. Remember I told you of the sentinel practice of trying to put yourself in your opponent’s shoes? Now, imagine that Lezaroth blames you for these defeats: D’Avanos, the great adversary; D’Avanos, the heir to Lucas Ringell—the last scourge of the Freeborn; D’Avanos, the commander at his defeat at Tezekal Gorge. He wants you. He knows we—and you—value human life; he knows this is your town. So he lures you in, closes off your exits, and then crushes the town.”
