The IX

by Andrew P. Weston

  A terrible keening split the air. Building in intensity, it rose in volume until it felt like the walls would crack. As the Masters ignited, they were snatched away into oblivion, and the noise cut off.

  Chunks of debris and ruined trelliswork flew through the air in the rush to fill the vacuity left behind. Andy had to hold on tight to avoid being pulled from his perch.

  I don’t believe it! He sacrificed himself to eliminate the danger.

  He glanced back to the remaining Controller, who was still crouched protectively over Jayden Cole.

  So how the hell are we going to tell them apart?

  *

  The air still reverberated from receding static and quantum fluctuations. Because of this, the message from Vice Commander Amine came through in garbled, screeching spurts.

  “Can you he . . . me? Marcus? Com . . . in, Marcus. We lost visu . . . and audible contact for a moment there. Wh . . . was that sound? What’s happening?”

  Marcus winced, holding the earpiece away from his head until he felt the charge drain away. “Fear not,” he replied, “from what I can see, our foes were vanquished by the arrival of help from a most unexpected quarter.”

  “Are there really friendlies among the Horde?” Mohammed gasped. “I heard Andy Webb’s update, and could scarcely believe my ears.”

  “Yes, it’s true. Not only did one valiant Master destroy a considerable number of its brethren, but its ally then used its own body to shield a stricken woman from harm.”

  “How can you distinguish the good ones from the bad? Are there any more of them?”

  “That, I cannot say, my friend. More demons arrive through the breach with every passing second. How many of them may be sympathetic to our cause remains to be seen. I just hope the flying sentries can tell which is which; otherwise we may lose the advantage.”

  “Good point. I’ll get Ephraim and his lot onto it right away. How goes it down there?”

  Marcus sighed. “We are struggling. Although the drones have made a difference, their benefit is limited as they will surely be depleted soon. We still have more than seven hundred of our people to evacuate. Without further sacrifice, I honestly don’t know if everyone will make it out.”

  “Well, hang fire on that,” Mohammed said. “Mac thought of an endgame strategy when he had the flyers prepared. Every one of them is fitted with a full-sized gravity mine. Once they run out of ammunition, they’ve been instructed to take up pre-programmed positions around the inner wall and courtyard. As you can appreciate, they’ll form a very effective barrier. When we trigger them, half will simply drop out of the sky and destroy everything within their effective range.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Ah! That’s where the mind games come in.” Lowering his voice, Mohammed continued, “The remaining drones will descend and slowly hover toward whatever remains of the spook front ranks. They’ll do so slowly, giving our friends time to think about what’s coming. As soon as their sensors confirm they are within five yards of any esoteric signature, they’ll flip forward and detonate—”

  “Allowing us more time to get our people away!”

  “Exactly.”

  “Thank you, Mohammed. Anything that makes my job easier is much appreciated.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t thank me just yet,” Mohammed replied with a chuckle. “Ephraim’s telling me they can’t think of a way to distinguish friend from foe when it comes to the Horde. You’re going to have to ask for flag-carrying volunteers to stand as close to our new buddies as possible. We wouldn’t want to start losing them to friendly fire now, would we?

  “Marcus?

  “Are you there?”

  *

  The sanctuary of the recessed colonnade provided the perfect cover. Constructed of fermionic matter, it also presented a formidable barrier to the plague of flying machines now swarming the sky. From a concealed point deep within its columns, Vetis scanned the smoking ruins of the open field before him.

  The humans put up considerable resistance. Were it not for the abundance of the children of the third tier, our opening charge would have stalled from the outset.

  He glanced back toward the breach.

  And yet, Angule’s strategy proved correct. The forbidding was indeed overcome. So why do some of his faction now oppose us?

  Vetis felt a sympathetic twinge of frustration ignite the embers of his rage.

  Beside him, Zuul tasted the bitterness of his ire. Where are the rest of our brothers, Sire? And where is Angule? Do you imagine he succumbed to those accursed devices?

  I doubt it. He is the Prime Catalyct of our order. No, I feel both he and our scattered brethren are concealed, as we are, about different parts of the city . . .

  Vetis looked again at the massed ranks of the Trianium below them, and reviewed the latest developments. To himself, he thought: But what are you up to, Angule? What agenda do you now follow?

  Aloud, he continued: Though I must admit. Now we are here, and I have witnessed the strength of the defenses, I think we ought to revise our strategy.

  He came to a decision. The Kresh below us will suffice to act as a distraction. We of the enlightened canon must pursue a different path. Zuul? You are with me. I fear we must confront the root of our problem before we can progress this day. Along the way, we will gather Geryan, Set, and Foroon. Our combined strength will counter any hurdles we may have to face.

  Vetis expanded his consciousness to broadcast a subliminal message to his surviving cabal members.

  Take courage, my brothers. The Cryptogen is close. My codex trembles in the proximity of Ix. I have selected a more suitable location from which we can plan the next phase of our operation. He paused to convey the coordinates. We will convene there shortly. Do not delay, for our very existence depends on the choice we now make.

  *

  Grimy, sweaty, and exhausted, Mark Stevens ambled up the last of many flights of stairs and emerged onto the eastern portico to the First Magister’s courtyard.

  Behind him, Sean, Stu, and Fonzy all crowded forward, eager to get a first look at the latest celebrity to join their ranks. As they walked through the final archway, however, they discovered they would have to join a queue, for a wary crowd had already gathered to witness the manifestation of all their nightmares come true.

  “I don’t believe it,” Mark mumbled under his breath. It’s actually here.

  The crew was forced to wait while the automated sentry scanned them thoroughly. Once cleared, they joined the growing press of people milling about the fountain. Among them, Mark spotted Sam Pell and Marcus Brutus. Both men stood within touching distance of the Horde Master’s towering hulk, and appeared to be coaxing the crowd to resume their places in the transporter line.

  Making his way toward them through the throng, Mark espied Andy and Bob up on the main parapet. He was about to call up and ask why they’d moved their position when he discerned the charred ruins of their former sniper post, along with the crushed remains of several columns.

  Hmm. I seem to have missed quite a show.

  Pushing his way through to his colleagues, he embraced them both. “So it’s true, then?” Eyeing the brute next to them, he murmured, “Are you sure it’s safe?”

  “Without a doubt,” Sam replied. “This guy and his buddy prevented an absolute slaughter. I know Mac will be delighted for sure.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Our newfound friend protected Jayden Cole from certain death.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. When the other Bosses burst in from that corridor over there, she was caught in the middle. This one stood over her to ensure she wasn’t eaten, by them or their grunts. His partner actually sacrificed himself to ensure the other Controllers were taken out of the picture.”

  Mark stared at the shimmering monstrosity with newfound respect.

  “Not that it isn’t nice to see you,” Sam continued, “but why are you here?”

  “Oh, the flyers have formed the
final curtain.” Mark gestured toward the arc. “That’s why it’s so quiet at the moment. Now the grunts don’t have the protection of their Masters any more, they’re obviously trying to decide who wants to die first. We’re running low on ammo anyway, so I thought it best to withdraw back to this level, and let the automated responses get on with the job.”

  “And what machines do we have left to us?” Marcus asked.

  “Well, once the spooks make their move, the first and second wave of drones will explode. Then the surviving Horde will storm the inner wall. We’ve booby-trapped all but three of the passages. Now they’re not augmented, we’re hoping the brutes choose the easier option and simply flood through the open doors and into the lower plaza. As they burst through, they’ll run into the cannons. It’ll be carnage. Of course, once the ammunition is depleted . . .”

  “Have you devised a tactic for when it does?”

  Mark grinned. “Ah. You’re getting to know us quite well, aren’t you? Yes. We’ve ringed the entire arcade with the last of our gravity mines. Not only will it wipe out every single scumbag in there, but it’ll create one hell of a crater. By the time they manage to fathom a new way up here, we should all be long gone.”

  Mark had a thought. “By the way, how many are left now?”

  “A mere four hundred,” Marcus replied. “I may appear distracted, but I am keeping an accurate count.”

  “So, who’s still here?”

  “Along with the survivors from the First and Fourth Cohorts, it’s mainly the last of the civilian and scientific personnel who were needed to close everything down. Besides them, I know of only two clans of highlanders who endure. Cathal MacNoimhin and his Iceni, along with Searc Calhoun and the Vacomagi.”

  “Only two? Have the others already left for the Arch of Winter?”

  Marcus shook his head. The pained look in his eyes conveyed what his lips could not.

  “Bloody hell! Where have you stationed them?”

  “West and east, along the inner bailey. As you say, once the mines are depleted, the Horde will seek a different route to this concourse. If we still have people here, I want as much warning as possible to prepare.”

  “And what about you?”

  “I will stay to the last. The care of this city was given into my hand. How could I leave when even a single soul remained?”

  “What time factor are we looking at?”

  “If all goes well? Twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes.”

  Sam cut in. “Guys? Come and get a load of this.”

  Sam held out his ever present Info-pad. Both Mark and Marcus shuffled round to take a closer look. A series of oscillating lines etched their way across the display, and a strange warbling sound blared from the speakers.

  “Do you know what that is?” Mark demanded.

  “I’m not quite sure. By the pattern, I can see it’s a highly compressed electromagnetic signal of some sort. Judging from its amplitude and the way it keeps shifting through the spectrum, I’d hazard a guess that someone’s trying to screw with our frequencies. But it’s on a scale and strength I’ve never seen before.”

  “A jammer?” Mark glanced up, and then around the quadrangle. The flyers? The pad itself, perhaps?

  The Controller sprang to life. Lumbering across to where they were standing, it dipped its massive shoulders and appeared to scrutinize the modulating wave-form on the screen. Mark had to fight the urge to shy away.

  “Do you know what this is?” Sam asked. He held the computer up higher, so the ogre didn’t have to bend so far to see.

  The Boss obviously did.

  Straightening, it pressed its huge claws against either side of its burning diadem, and squeezed tightly. A silver nimbus appeared about its head. Building in intensity, it throbbed once before fading into the ether.

  “Now what do we—”

  Sam was cut short by a corresponding flare right next to them. As it died, the air seemed to twist in on itself, and a portal folded into view. Before anyone could react, two colossal figures stepped out, wreathed in blistering electrums of purple and scarlet glory. One of them was larger than the other, and seemed to command the instant respect of its lesser brethren.

  The friendly Controller bowed deeply to the grander figure before it, and everyone relaxed when they realized the newcomers presented no threat.

  Mark seized the opportunity to study the lights dancing about each of the Masters’ heads. Sure enough, the larger ogre had many more flames adorning the matrix of its crown. That one’s in charge, he thought, thank goodness for backup.

  The leader rumbled toward them. It assessed the signal, which had grown considerably in the short time everyone had been distracted, and issued a guttural snarl.

  The hairs on the back of Mark’s neck stood up.

  The Boss then adopted a similar stance to the one displayed by its lesser compatriot only moments before. A familiar halo sprang into existence.

  It must be passing a message of some sort.

  The premier Master turned to look directly at him.

  Can it hear my thoughts?

  A grating sound like boulders being crushed in a press ground from its chest, and the great head nodded.

  It’s laughing at me.

  Raising one huge paw, it lifted a single talon to its lips. A hissing sound, like steam venting from a fissure, blasted forth.

  Bugger me! It’s got a plan.

  Mark looked about to see if anyone else had noticed.

  Booooom!

  The ground beneath his feet bucked, as the first of the gravity mines down at the secondary wall exploded.

  Looks like the spooks have decided it’s time to come pay us a visit. Here we go again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Breakthrough

  The hushed interior of the Arch of Winter’s CIC was a stark contrast to the absolute bedlam now unfolding on the planet’s surface. Saul Cameron found the disparity highly aggravating. This is taking far too long.

  “I need to know what’s happening,” he snapped, “give me sit-rep.”

  “The main body has started forward again,” Mohammed replied. “Without anyone to direct them, I guess they’re resorting to what they do best. Mindlessly charging to their deaths.”

  “How many did the first mine take out?”

  “We can’t tell for sure. Each blast releases severe electromagnetic and gravity distortions which screw up the sensors for a few seconds . . .” Mohammed hesitated as another update was linked through to his monitor. “As I speak, the fourth drone has just detonated. However, I’m getting an intermittent live-time stream from Marcus, via the satellite relay, and he tells me at least a thousand grunts have gone up in flames so far.”

  “It’s not slowing them though, is it?”

  “What do you think? At least their reinforcements are just about dried up. Horde sign through the breach has slowed considerably over the last few minutes. Nice to know they don’t have infinite numbers to call on, eh?”

  “About time,” Saul retorted bitterly. “I thought we’d never see the end of them.”

  He stepped closer to the tactical array and studied it closely. “Pity we can’t do anything for fear of hurting our own people. How many are left?”

  “Less than three hundred.” Mohammed glanced at another screen. “From what I can see, most are now gathered in the vicinity of the teleport pad, but we still have a few patrols roving the corridors and watching out for likely problems.”

  “Three hundred? That’s going to take us what, about twenty minutes to complete?”

  “Thereabouts. We’re cutting things fine, but at least the mines and robot sentries will slow the advance considerably now the spooks aren’t shielded. Of course, we mustn’t forget the Horde Masters.”

  “Can you see what they’re up to?”

  “Sorry, no. It’s hard to spot them since they adapted their shields. Even then, we don’t know what it is they’re after.”

  Saul drummed his f
ingers in frustration. “When the energy fluctuations calm down, contact Mac and ask him to haul his ass along to the courtyard. He seems to have an affinity with these brutes. See if he can establish some form of communication with our new friends. The sooner we find out what’s going on, the better.”

  *

  The closer Mac got to the outer sections of the central spire, the more the evidence of the continuing struggle intruded. Bangs and crashes echoed along the empty corridors. Amplified by the acoustics of the city’s layout, the reverberations resonated through the floors and walls, causing the doors and light fittings to rattle like chattering teeth.

  Absorbed as he was by spectral thoughts and ghostly visions, Mac had been lulled into a state of uncharacteristic complacency. He turned a corner, and almost bowled into an unexpected stranger. His heart leapt into his mouth. The barrel of his weapon snapped forward, and his finger tightened on the trigger.

  At the last moment, Mac jerked the muzzle of his machine gun toward the ceiling. He let out a loud whoosh of air. “Stained-With-Blood! Jesus, man, I almost shot you . . . and filled my pants in the process. People can’t normally sneak up on me like that. What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Lieutenant McDonald,” Stained-With-Blood replied. “How unexpected. I am on my way to see James Houston. I was told his evacuation was delayed until now, to avoid any unnecessary complications during his relocation to the Arch of Winter. As he is currently housed within the psychiatric department, I find myself having to come all this way to achieve my goal.”

  “Why, are you going to help escort him to the transporter pad?”

  “If Ayria requires my aid, certainly. However, my visit is of a more personal nature. As you are aware, Captain Houston’s condition has been rather unstable since his accident. For reasons as yet unknown, the mere presence of my tomahawk soothes his agitation. Now we are entering the final stages of the withdrawal, I want Heaven’s-Claw back. Not only has my weapon served me well in battle, it is also an important totem for my tribe. It is only fitting it be returned to its rightful owner.”