Chapter Eight
The Hunters and the Hunted
The Atlantian Fleet was now only four hours away from Eden. They had entered the Edenite star system that morning. A vast array of disc shaped vessels of various sizes, all of them flying in a square formation of six columns, three upon three. At their lead was the flagship, the Kraken. Disc shaped like the rest, the Kraken was one of the larger vessels, and like the others of this size, she possessed a large, heavily armoured and serrated fin beneath her hull. The fin was pitted and worn, the teeth of the serrated edge broken away in places. There were other signs of battle on the dented and patched hull, but the eyes and teeth of the face painted on the front were freshly applied in red, white and yellow.
Memnon sat in the command chair on the bridge of the Kraken staring out of the viewing ports before him. He seemed to be watching the stars. All around him men busied themselves at several control stations while others came and went with anxious faces. None of them bothered him as he sat in silence in the centre of it all. He was an imposing figure: Stern of countenance, his body well built, with the powerful limbs and muscles of a warrior. His skin was bronzed, his brown hair curled in tight knots in the same style as his beard. His brown eyes were soulful, but hid a mind of amazing prowess.
Memnon had been the Captain of the Kraken for over a year, and before that he had served on other ships. He still wasn’t used to it. He missed the sun on his back, the wind in his hair, and the taste of salt on his lips. Even the sounds were different. There was no creaking of strong wood, no lap of the waves, nor the sound of the sail flapping in the wind. Here there was only the drone of engines and the harsh feel and smell of steel.
Despite the unusual setting, Memnon and his Atlantian crew still wore the dress of their own sun filled but long distant world. They wore sandals on their feet, and as always, the acquired technology of other more advanced races now supplemented the leather tunic and armour they wore over their white gowns. Memnon had come to be used to the intricate devices and weapons that a short time before he would have considered to be magical. Personal locators and communicators, laser rifles, maser cannons, oh, how he longed for a simple fight with sword against shield. But that was not to be.
The Kraken had been built on Centaurous at the request of the Atlantian Senate. It was a large and powerful ship, a true battleship. Inside the ship was airy and bright, the cabins large and the corridors wide, the décor mimicking the villas of home. The Atlantians had requested the building of many ships on Centaurous, although the Centaurs themselves had refused to enter the war. It had proved to be a costly mistake. Centaurous was now a burned and cracked world, spinning from pole to pole, the magma of its core spilling out in a red spiral.
Memnon had visited Centaurous at the time of the Kraken’s construction. It had been a strange place and a strange visit. He had found it most difficult discussing the elements of the ships design with the Centaurs without constantly being aware of their physique. The arrival of the Tun-Sho-Lok on Atlantis had certainly widened his horizons.
For several days now, Memnon had led the Atlantian Fleet in pursuit of the Keruh battle fleets. During that time it would have been possible to overtake their prey more than once, but that was not the intention. They sailed with stealth, not urgency, keeping station two hours behind the Keruh battle fleet at all times. The knowledge that their enemy was so close before them was bound to cause tension in the crew, and the nearer it came to the point of conflict, the more that tension would grow. Memnon’s calm presence on the bridge eased that tension. It was why he stayed there for so many hours of the day, so that his men could see him and know from his body language that all was well. This day was like any other, and as usual, it wasn’t long before someone disturbed Memnon from his thoughts.
“Captain?”
Memnon looked up to find Telephus, his First Officer on the Kraken, standing next to him.
Telephus was younger than Memnon, his body less weighty. He was wiry and tall, his features softer, and his blonde hair left long to his shoulders. None could deny that he was fair of face, and his blue eyes had been the undoing of many a woman’s resolve.
“Hephaestus is at the portal. He wishes to speak with you.”
Memnon climbed from his command chair. “Take my place. Make sure that we keep our distance from the Keruh ships. Advise me immediately of any changes in their course or direction.”
Telephus nodded as he replaced Memnon in the chair.
Memnon left the bridge and entered the communications room. Here he found the ship’s network portal already activated with a tall man standing on a stone circle at the centre of it. The man wore a short robe with a cloak thrown over one shoulder. He was old, but his back was still straight. Bright sun bathed him.
Memnon bowed his head to the man. “Hephaestus, what news do you bring me?”
“None that will please you. Ares has advised me that the Keruh Host has established its bridgehead on Eden. They have attacked the landing fields at Kalahar and Nemen.”
“Do they control the Defence Net?”
“Not yet, but any delay will be temporary. The Host attacked the Edenites as soon as they reached the government buildings in Jutlam City. Evidence suggests that the Edenite defence forces gave little resistance.”
Memnon laughed. “Ha! So another treaty is broken! This one must hold the record as the shortest lived!”
Hephaestus didn’t share his brief humour. “The Keruh Dominant is aware of the shrinking timescales. They will need to strip Eden quickly of its resources if they are to feed the Host and return food to their hives. They have their own portal for this purpose, but with the Edenite portal offline it will be inadequate.”
Memnon became alarmed. “If the Edenite portal is closed, how will the Androktones gain access?”
“It is closed only because we allow it. Even now, technicians on both sides fight a duel for its control. Those on our side fight with less enthusiasm lest their success should cause alarm. The Androktones will have access at the allotted time.”
That eased Memnon’s mind, but the closure of the Defence Net still worried him.
“How many of the Edenite ships are on the landing fields?”
“At least sixty percent. The Klysanthians had begun bombardment before the Net was closed. Many of the Edenite ships were destroyed on the ground or shot down when trying to take off.”
“Have any of them come over to our side?”
“None. Those that were caught by the Klysanthians have been destroyed.”
The waste annoyed Memnon. “Was that wise?”
“It was the agreed plan. And the Klysanthians would have acted the same in any case.”
Memnon looked down at the metal floor. He took a deep breath and sighed. The need for vengeance was too high in the minds of those who fought this war. The Edenites didn’t deserve the wrath of those who had suffered at the hands of the Keruh, but they were in the centre of the storm, and it would be difficult to save them.
He looked up at Hephaestus again. “Are the Keruh aware of our presence?”
“Nothing suggests that their intelligence has altered. Has there been any indication that your pursuit has been identified?”
Memnon shook his head. “None also, so our task remains the same. Your news is welcome but changes nothing. We proceed as before.”
The discussion was at an end, but before he cut the link, Hephaestus asked one more question.
“Is there anything you would request?”
Memnon thought for a moment. “Yes. Two things. Tell Semele, my wife, that I will see her soon and that I love her dearly. Tell Ares to ensure that the Net remains shut.”
Hephaestus nodded in understanding at Memnon’s first request, but looked aghast at his second.
“You wish the Net to remain closed?”
“Yes, I want the Keruh ships on the outside. I want there to be no haven for them. If they should seek that haven, I woul
d see them crash on their own rocks.”
Hephaestus nodded again. “I understand. I will tell Ares of your request and I will visit your wife this day. May the gods grant you a glorious victory, and may the ships of your enemy burn in the dark sky.”
Hephaestus turned and the image dimmed and faded as the portal closed.
As Memnon returned to the bridge of the Kraken, his mind was filled with mixed feelings. Despite the presence of four fleets in their enemy’s formation, the numbers were only slightly unequal. Even with the Klysanthian fleets in support, the Keruh ships would still outnumber them, they were also very powerful and their crews were skilful fighters. It would not be an easy victory for either side, and the outcome itself was not predictable. The only thing that was sure was that many would die.
Ares stared at Hephaestus in surprise and anger as they stood together before the globe in The Great Hall of the Council War Room.
“He wants the Net closed? But the first objective of the Androktones was to open the Defence Net! How else can the Klysanthians begin bombardment in their support?”
“Memnon was very clear,” Hephaestus explained. “And his reasoning is sound. With the Net closed, the Keruh ships will be unable to land or give support to their ground forces. The Net will also destroy any that venture too low, a likely event in battle at close quarters and with so many ships vying for space.”
Ares wasn’t convinced. He strode back and forth before the galactic globe in his annoyance. “It is our ships I worry about! The Net is blind! It will not care which ship falls into its grasp!”
“Memnon knows this. He is no fool. He commands at your insistence, Ares, your confidence in him should not be shaken at this time.”
Ares looked back at Hephaestus. He grew calmer. “Why is wisdom only gained with age?”
Hephaestus smiled and bowed. “Because experience takes time.”
Ares laughed. “Ha! I have no time! And neither will the Androktones! The Edenite ships that still survive on the ground will be a scourge to their backs!” He suddenly turned and bellowed out to another of his Captains in the great hall. “Menelaus! Open the portal to Ephesus! Give the Androktones their new objective! The Edenite ships are to be taken or destroyed, and the Net kept closed!”
No sooner had his instructions been given than Ares found another man hurrying toward him. It was a man whose errand he knew, and his sad expression gave Ares a bad feeling.
The man held out a scroll. “News from Cyclopia. Ro-An-Lee is dead. She was found in her villa this morning when the Cyclopians called at your request.”
Ares took the scroll with trembling hands. Opening it, he read the contents quickly.
Hephaestus quietly dismissed the bringer of the sad news. Then he asked the question whose answer his wisdom had already told him.
“Did she take her own life?”
Ares nodded. “A potion with wine.” His eyes filled with tears as he crushed the scroll in his hand. Then he turned his face to the heavens and cried out in despair.
“Li-Sen!”
Hephaestus reached out and placed his hands on the shoulders of Ares. “Go to Ephesus, Ares. Take these new instructions to the Androktones yourself. And when there, speak with Kel-Cid-An.”
Ares lowered his head and nodded sadly. “I had vowed to another that I would speak with him this day. Your reminder is well timed, Hephaestus. I will go at once. Contact me there if news should come, good or bad. I will return in time for the Senate briefing.”
Hephaestus watched as Ares strode from the great hall. His thoughts turned to Memnon’s first request, reminding himself that he had also vowed to make a personal visit that day. He would not break that vow. But first there were other tasks he had to perform. Beckoning to the Captains around him, Hephaestus returned once more to the strategy of war.
The massed fleet of the Keruh Host sped through the blackness of space. Nearby was the large gas giant, Belarus, one of the outer planets in the Edenite system. The Keruh vessels flew in a long column of three upon two more formations of three. Although many differed in size, each vessel was heavily armoured and triangular shaped, with a pointed end to both front and rear. Another triangular fin was mounted on the top, giving each vessel a symmetrical appearance. The fins had scarred edges with heavy ribbing. The insignia on each vessel, gentle curved shapes in gold and silver, identified only the Hive and number.
In the command centre of the Keruh Flagship, the First of the Mysan’Taf leaned his bulk over the astrogator screen. Another of the Mysan’Taf Host sat at the console, the smaller of his three-fingered hands flitting delicately over the controls.
The large mandibles in the tiny head of the First of the Mysan’Taf parted, and his voice hissed and clicked.
“Is the echo still clear?”
“It is, most Gracious First,” the Host member replied, his voice a slightly higher pitched hiss. “It never various in position and never fades.”
“Could we be pursued?”
“It is difficult to ascertain.”
“Difficult? Why?”
“Our combined fleet is vast, the disturbance of our engines great. An echo such as this in our wake is to be expected.”
The First of the Mysan’Taf straightened up to his full height. “Keep me informed. If any changes occur, if for any reason you suspect the echo to be other than what it purports to be, tell me.”
The Host member turned his facetted eyes back to the astrogator screen. He didn’t need to answer; the fact that he would obey the command of the First was a foregone conclusion. He was a member of the Host; he would always obey.
The First of the Mysan’Taf made his way toward the quarters of the Dominant. He walked sideways, with his larger, left side leading. The different size of his legs caused him to bob up and down as if with an exaggerated limp, but he still moved swiftly. The corridors of the ship were dark and claustrophobic, and the First almost filled them as he bobbed along.
Access to the quarters of the Dominant were blocked by an irregular and oddly shaped door. When the First reached the door, he merely waited outside, making no attempt to enter, nor even announcing his presence.
There was a pause and then a gruff, hissing voice filled the corridor.
“Who disturbs the Dominant of the Mysan’Taf?” it hissed and clicked.
“The First,” came the reply.
“Will he who waits within feel your friendship or your wrath?”
“He will feel my friendship.”
“Then enter.”
The door opened inwards, revealing it to be not a door at all, but the large armoured forearm and shoulder of another Keruh Warrior. With the way open, the First stepped inside the quarters of the Dominant. As soon as he had entered, the Dominant’s bodyguard moved swiftly to fill the door once more, blocking it completely. There were two more bodyguards inside the room, one in each diagonally opposite corner.
The Dominant of the Mysan’Taf looked up as the First entered. He was lounging on a low divan, his larger side beneath him. His raised and smaller limbs made him look almost like an insect lying on its back. He took the feeding pipe from his mouth and spoke.
“What news?”
“The echo remains the same.”
“You are convinced it is a pursuing fleet?”
The First collapsed onto another divan. “I am convinced but without proof.”
“Do you come here with a request to halt the fleet? To turn and face this imagined enemy?”
“Is it a request you would grant?”
“No. To halt and turn the fleet would waste hours, hours we can ill afford. If it is an enemy that pursues us we can fight just as easily at our destination as here.”
“And what if other forces at our destination should combine with my imagined enemy?”
The Dominant’s mandibles moved in agitation. There was a slight pause before he spoke, as if he were considering his options.
; “Resistance on Eden is all but broken. The Gathering has already begun, and the Dominant of the Belol’Fan will soon have control of the Defence Net. There are two Klysanthian fleets in the vicinity of Eden. Even if your imagined enemy is large, with the addition of the few Edenite ships we have captured at our disposal, they will soon be brushed aside. That will leave the whole of this sector open to us. But I understand your fear, and you are not First by mere succession. Your counsel is important to me, but I cannot delay the fleet. Give me an alternative.”
The First seized on the words. “Five ships, swift ships! If my enemy is real, I will know it!”
The Dominant swept his smaller hand diagonally before him. “Make it so.”
The First repeated the gesture, and rising to his feet he stepped toward the Dominant’s bodyguard who still blocked the door.
“The First asks to leave.”
“Then leave with life, and return with friendship,” the bodyguard replied, and unblocked the door.
When the First had left, the Dominant replaced the feeding tube in his mouth.
“Who calls the First of the Orly’Ank?”
“The First of the Mysan’Taf.”
“And what does he seek?”
“An ally in war.”
“It is a noble request.” The First of the Orly’Ank swept his smaller hand diagonally before him. “Speak, and your request will be granted.”
The First of the Mysan’Taf repeated the hand gesture and then spoke hurriedly. “Take five of our swiftest ships, two from your own Host, and one each from the Mysan’Taf, Telen’Gal and Belol’Fan. Fly to our rear, make sure that none follow our path.”
The First of the Orly’Ank swept his hand before him once again. “It shall be made so.” The portal faded and his image vanished.
The First of the Mysan’Taf turned back to the astrogator screen. Soon he would know the truth.
The room was silent and in darkness.
Ares walked into the main genetics laboratory in Ephesus and turned on the lights. Brightness flickered and grew, emphasised by the white walls of the room. In fact everything was white, even the row upon row of benches that filled the laboratory from end to end were white. And on every bench were glass bottles and beakers, tubes and instruments. Some of the instruments were quite large, some so large that they stood on the floor on their own. Computers supplemented many of the instruments. They were everywhere. But despite the cluttered and busy appearance of the room, it felt abandoned.
Ares knew little about the purpose of the devices that filled the room, and even less about the techniques that had been used to create the Androktones. And although he had been heavily involved in the process, all he knew was what he had been told and what he had seen. And of everything that he knew, it was the reason behind the creation of the Androktones that was the most simple to understand.
The success of the Keruh in war was based not on their acquisition of technology, either by their own means or through conquest, but in the ability of the Host to fight with a single will. No Keruh Warrior thought of himself above the need of the Host. For them, the whole was the king and the individual was nothing. They fought and died for the greater good, their lack of self worth making them formidable foes. No army could stand before the Keruh; all were soon overcome and overwhelmed.
To win the war, to stop the Keruh Host in battle, required a warrior with the same lack of self worth as their enemy, a warrior with a single purpose above all, above everything. But apart from the Keruh themselves, no other life form of this type existed anywhere else. Until now.
In response to their need, the Tun-Sho-Lok had harvested genetic material from several sources. They didn’t just search for the best, but also the most hardy. What they wanted was a life form that could survive in the worst of conditions, that could fight on tirelessly no matter what injuries they might sustain. They wanted a life form that was aggressive, tireless and remorseless.
The fruits of their labour they called the Androktones. It had been Ares’s idea. The Warrior Class of the Keruh Host were all male, so it seemed both logical and poetic that they should call their creation the “killer of men.” But the success of their new warrior could only be measured in battle. The results had been astounding.
The Androktones killed with a hatred that could be physically felt in the air. They threw themselves at their enemy with a ferocity unmatched by any sentient being. And even when mortally wounded they would fight on, clinging to their enemy so that their sheer weight alone would bring them down. Only a killing blow would stop them.
This selfless style of fighting meant that losses were high, but even this had been anticipated and designed for. The Androktones could reproduce themselves in large numbers quickly and efficiently, and their offspring were born with all the essential instincts pre-programmed into their brains, including who the enemy was. But all of this would have been useless if the Androktones aggressive nature had been limited to just their own strength. To kill their enemy in greater numbers than they themselves were killed required a special weapon, and the Tun-Sho-Lok had given them one that was equal to their task.
Added to their genetic structure were several biological agents whose purpose was more specific. They altered and improved the senses, allowed the conversion and storage of large amounts of energy, and allowed the physical structure and anatomy of the Androktones to actually flow and change at will. Their spinal column and part of the cerebral cortex of their brains could also be changed in this way, and even become detached. And it was by this method that the Androktones were able to form a weapon of immeasurable power.
Ares had seen the Androktones at close quarters for the first time in this laboratory. It had been an experience he would never forget. Their presence in the room, the sight of them, the mere smell of them, had been overpowering. Seeing them perform had been frightening. And all of this was tempered with an exquisite thought.
The Androktones were his daughters, his and Otrera’s.
He often thought of them in this way, as his children. But it wasn’t true, not in the physical sense. But in essence, it was true. The majority of the genetic material that formed the basis of the Androktones was his and Otrera’s, Atlantian and Klysanthian, blended and perfected. It gave the Androktones their strength and undeniable beauty. But beneath that beauty was hidden a cruel and unforgiving mind.
If the Androktones suspected that one of their own kind had mutated or drifted from the path chosen for them, then they would turn on them in an instant.
Ares had seen it happen, and it had upset him. One of them had shown signs of childish curiosity, of interest in things other than war. The others had seen this behaviour as an indication of deviancy, and they had quickly turned on their sister with the same aggression reserved for their enemy. It had been bloody and swift, but it had also been a lesson well learned. Ares was never again deceived by their beauty. And he had quickly demanded that the Tun-Sho-Lok add a command to their prime instincts that forbid them to ever enter Metropolis.
Ares looked around the room sadly. Only a few months before it had been filled with Tun-Sho-Lok technicians. Then the urgency of their task had been immense. Now the task was done and the room was abandoned and empty.
On the far side of the laboratory was a door that led to an office. Ares walked across the laboratory and entered the office. Inside was a cluttered desk with filing cabinets, more computers and another workbench. More glassware and instruments cluttered the bench. The office showed signs of being occupied more recently than the larger laboratory outside. It wasn’t just the discarded notebooks on the desk, nor the coffee pot bubbling on one of the benches that gave this impression. What did it was the presence of a rather cosy but unmade bed in one corner. Neatly folded nightclothes were thrown across it. Behind the cluttered desk was an archway that led to a balcony perched high in the wall. And it was here that Ares found Kel-Cid-An seated on a sofa staring out at the distant
view of the sea across the city. Beside him was a low table upon which sat a small coffee cup, its contents drained. He was watching the sun go down, his face bathed in the same orange glow that painted the city and the giant columns on either side of the balcony.
Kel-Cid-An was the oldest Tun-Sho-Lok Ares had ever seen. Bald and yellow-skinned like Li-Sen-Tot, he was bent, and his skin was wrinkled and stiffened. He had chosen to become male very late in life, and because of this, he had never bred by his own physical means. He had chosen instead to pursue genetics. It had been the love of his life, and he had striven to create and manipulate a progeny that others often left to chance. The success of his endeavours, and of those who had worked with him at Ephesus, would soon battle the Keruh for final domination of a galaxy. But despite his dreams, not a trace of his own blood flowed through them.
Ares paused behind Kel-Cid-An and waited. The sun dipped below the sea and finally disappeared, and with its departure, the orange glow faded to darkness. It was only then that Kel-Cid-An switched on the balcony lights and turned.
“My purpose is fulfilled and I am content. Why do you return to molest me?”
His voice sounded hoarse and cracked, but he spoke quickly and with irritation.
Ares got just as quickly to the point. “Are you anxious to die?”
Kel-Cid-An grunted and smiled wryly. “Are you more intuitive than I have given you credit for, or has another counselled you?”
“For spite I wish I could answer that it was the former, but I graciously admit that it is the latter.”
Kel-Cid-An laughed. It was a brief cackle. “Ha! An honest warrior! Save me!”
Ares walked around Kel-Cid-An and leaned against the balcony wall. His relationship with Kel-Cid-An had never been calm or easy. The geneticist had treated him as nothing more than a laboratory specimen and they had argued often. Ares may have governed the progress of the war, but Kel-Cid- An was ruled by no one.
“Yes, I am an honest warrior, and I would save you if I can.”
“You? You who most wished to wrench my head from my scrawny neck?” Kel-Cid-An said in exaggerated surprise.
“I wished no such thing!” Ares lied.
“You did! And I remember you proclaiming your wish loudly and clearly to all who could listen in my laboratory!”
“Those were times of stress and anxiety. My words were said in haste and anger. They meant nothing, and you know it!”
“Haste and anger often reveal the truth that calmness and control can conceal,” Kel-Cid-An pointed out far too smugly.
“And decisions taken when suffering from melancholy and self recrimination are always the wrong decisions!” Ares countered.
“Ha! Now the warrior is a philosopher!”
“And the geneticist is a liar! You try to divert me with anger, but I have a purpose and I will not be swayed from it.”
Kel-Cid-An now stared at him. He grew calmer and his eyes filled with sadness. “It is too late to save me,” he said dismissively. “I am old and beyond my time.”
“There are others more youthful.”
“Like Li-Sen?”
The change in Ares’s expression gave him away. Kel-Cid-An nodded knowingly.
“Yes, it is for his sake you molest me, not my own. It is for his purpose that you are here. I have known for many months of your friendship. You have shared much, even the Klysanthian Queen. I am not surprised. Our work forced you together. You were a fine match. The Androktones owe you much. It is your blood that flows within them, your genes that will live on long after we have all perished. I am envious of you for this, and I despise you, too. But thankfully, I am old, both in mind and in body.”
“Li-Sen isn’t old. And neither was Ro-An-Lee.” Ares stepped away from the balcony wall, standing over Kel-Cid-An, and he spoke with emotion. “She took her life for nothing! Why? You still live in number! You may be scattered across many worlds and star systems, but you can be gathered together! You can build again, as the Klysanthians can build, and indeed, intend to do so with great zeal! To throw away your future like this is madness!”
Kel-Cid-An shook his head. “We are not Klysanthians, Ares. For you and for them, the answer is simple. You can breed anywhere; the biological agents and enzymes that can only be found on your world are not necessary for your reproduction. For us, the reality is harsher. You think Li-Sen is young. In body, he may be. But in mind, he is old. We are all old, Ares, old because we have lived beyond the time of our choosing.
“The loss of Lokana, our home world, the place of our origin, is a great blow to us all. It is an event so damning that none of us will have wished to live long enough to see it. For many generations we turned our back on her, choosing to live on far distant worlds. But all of us, every one of us, was born on Lokana. It is the home we must return to, to breed. We may choose to live on other worlds, but we must be born on Lokana. Now she is gone, and our future has gone with her.”
Ares stared at him, unbelieving. “But you have bred on other worlds! I know this to be true!”
Kel-Cid-An shook his head. “When we breed on other planets or with other races only those who have chosen to be male are successful. But even then our seed is lost among theirs. What is produced is not Tun-Sho-Lok.”
“How can you be sure?”
The stupidity of asking Kel-Cid-An this question dawned on Ares and his shoulders fell. In the end he could only state the obvious.
“To throw your lives away is wasteful.”
Kel-Cid-An smiled weakly. “Not wasteful, Ares, just polite. Our future is empty and our race is doomed. It is time for us to take our leave, and in all honesty, you would be far more understanding if you were to let us do so by our own choosing rather than to argue for delay.”
“You do not wish to see the victory gained over your enemies?”
“The victory is already assured. With the development of the body-plate our task here is complete.”
“You speak confidently now, but only a few days ago you worried about the accuracy of your work. You feared that some of the Androktones were flawed. You were most agitated.”
Kel-Cid-An laughed. “Ha! You try to stimulate me by such talk! Do you think I am so foolish? Do you think I am so easily led?”
“You said the Androktones were flawed,” Ares repeated forcefully. “If there is a doubt in their ability to fight this war, I must know.”
Kel-Cid-An stared back at him. Finally he took a deep breath, sighed and nodded.
“Yes, there were doubts in my mind over the integrity of some of the breeding groups. But only the Quan group displayed a higher rate of behavioural anomalies than expected. You are correct, for a while I was concerned that the neural paths in their brains had not become fixed in the foetal stage as intended. In times of stability and calm they have a tendency to lose focus, to become distracted by other thoughts. However, field results have shown that this does not occur in battle. When faced with their enemy, they are as aggressive as the rest.”
Ares didn’t give up on the point. “There are many periods of calm and stability in between battles, even the biggest battles.”
“True. But the Androktones are self-regulating. The instincts they possess for this purpose, like those for their reproduction, have been much more strictly imposed. You have seen the effect for yourself. Any deviancy will be noticed and the affected genetic line trimmed.”
“You mean they will kill each other.”
“Only those that are defective will be killed.”
“It is a waste.”
“You must learn to be objective, Ares. They are soldiers, nothing more. They have all been bred to kill and eventually, be killed.”
“Do you have no love for the creatures you created? They have life, they have intelligence, should they not have your respect? You speak as if you despise them.”
“I do not despise them, but I do not approve of them, either. While you philosophise and speak of l
ove and respect, I see them as they are. They are not of the nature of things. They are an insult to the laws of evolution and natural selection. They are monsters that belong in the primordial swamps of young worlds. I have done what I have had to do, and if the results are harsh, then it is because I have been guilty of succumbing to the equally harsh reality of the events that surround me. But my guilt is eased by the knowledge that they will only be a temporary aberration. Like the Tun-Sho-Lok, they will walk the stage of life for a time, glow brightly, and then fade from even distant memory.”
Ares had listened in silence to Kel-Cid-An’s description of his unnatural progeny. His attitude to them hadn’t surprised him, but his acceptance of his responsibility for their creation had. The geneticist had been more open and frank than ever before, and it was apparent that the weight of his endeavours was upon him. When he had finished speaking, Ares had no reply, and no more arguments with which to distract him.
With the discussion now over, Kel-Cid-An settled back on his sofa and closed his eyes.
“Now you must leave me, Ares. I have made my decision and my preparations. My time is nearly upon me, and I wish to rest and contemplate in solitude on the beauty of the material world before entering the spiritual one.”
Ares looked down at the empty coffee cup. In sudden realisation and anger, he seized up the cup and hurled it at the distant sea.
The Friendly Ambassador: The Beginning of the End Page 9
