Authors: Ronan Frost
He saw an old man leaning over him, placing the spout
of a cold waterskin to his mouth. Surk drank greedily in ragged
breathless mouthfuls until his belly was full. His head was still
spinning but he managed to croak a few words.
"Who are you?"
The old man's face was hidden in shadow but his words
rung with trustworthiness.
"I am Locantar, preacher for the almighty Abas. Might
I ask who you are and what you are doing out here, my son?"
"My name is Surk, and I come from the city. Please,
you've got to help me - I've got to tell the League."
"The League of Steel?" Locantar's voice hardened.
"What has happened in the city?"
"They've come...the Sunlords."
Locantar felt Josian hunker down beside the boy,
grabbing the smaller hand in his own. The young man's brows
furrowed in worry, knowing that his relatives may be in danger.
"What have the Sunlords done?"
"They came last night," gasped Surk, grimacing as
recent memories resurfaced. "They started a fire, and shot and
killed everybody."
"By the Mother..." whispered Josian in an awed
curse.
Locantar's milky gaze bored into Surk's eyes as if
burrowing into his soul. "And you were sent to fetch the League? By
whom?"
"The Caretaker, they all decided. I must go, please,
let me go."
Locantar placed a friendly, but firm, hand upon
Surk's chest. "No, you cannot. The League can do nothing."
Surk squirmed with sudden alarm.
"No!" he cried. "I promised the Caretaker! Let me
go!"
Even Josian was having trouble keeping the boy down
now. It seemed a new burst of energy had surged through Surk's
bones as he was reminded of the importance of task.
"Don't you understand?" pleaded Josian. "Locantar and
I have spend the last week trying to show the League the error of
their ways, and if you were to call them..."
"The blood of many will be spilled," finished
Locantar with finality.
"It already has been," wailed Surk. "Georin, Vcoiad,
the Caretaker - they all need me."
When Josian looked up his eyes showed the beginnings
of doubt. "What do we do?"
They were both as surprised as one another when Surk
doubled up, sliding from their grasp like an eel. Before Josian
could blink the boy was gone, and he was left staring blankly at
his empty hands.
"Hey-" he began.
But Surk was already away at a sprint into the
evening mists. Josian leapt to his feet, cursing, as his clenching
grasp caught nothing but air.
The old man moved with surprising swiftness for his
age. Josian found himself caught by the shoulder, and stopped,
looking around into Locantar's ageless eyes.
"Wait. Do not chase him, or you will exhaust him. I
wouldn't be surprised if he would drive himself to death if he had
no alternative."
Josian paused, undecided. "But we can't just let him
go! He will fetch the League, and will start a war."
Locantar bowed his head sadly. "We cannot restrain
him."
"Then all our efforts last week were in vain?" Josian
was incredulous now. "You're just going to sit back and watch the
war that will end our race?"
"It is not as simple as that."
Josian glanced angrily into the darkening night. Surk
was nowhere to be seen. "Then what is it?"
"The situation has changed." Locantar seemed to be
drawing back into himself, his voice becoming distant. "The whole
issue has deepened - I was foolish not to see it before. You see,
it is not longer a matter of morals of the currach heart, but now
we are forced by another far more powerful factor. Compassion."
Josian listened in silence as Locantar continued.
"That boy was not acting for revenge - his strength
derives from the duty he must perform for the ones he cares for. I
could sense young Surk's desperation and I must sympathise with
him."
"Then we let the League fight?" Josian's voice was
broken, recalling Surk's words that the Sunlords had set fire to
the city.
"The battle for peace is not over," muttered
Locantar. "But we cannot stand in the way of this boy."
Josian broke away and, in an effort to redirect
anger, cast about irritably for the basket of foodstuffs.
"We will leave some food for him, then," he said. "We
can leave it away from our camp, along with some blankets, so he
may take it without fear of us."
Locantar nodded, but seemed somehow vacant, deep in
thought.
Josian set about carrying a small pile of clothing
and dried strips of meat away and stacked it in a neat bundle near
the base of a withered tree. He called out into the wind,
announcing to the boy that he had left food for him there.
His call was not answered, and Josian turned back to
the makeshift camp. His mind was a knot of worry and he hardly paid
heed to his footsteps at all.
Surk had reminded him of his younger brother. The
younger brother that he had treated with pretend annoyance,
especially when he had tagged along behind, eager to be with
Josian. Josian hadn't had time to see his brother grow up - he was
but ten years old when he had been killed by the Sunlords.
Again a new surge of emotions boiled within and he
clenched his fists into his eyes. What were they to do? It just
seemed so lost, so hopeless, as the entire world was spinning
slowly but inexorably down the side of some immense whirlpool of
chaos. Now even Locantar seemed doubtful - Locantar, the old wise
man who had always been there to guide him. As Locantar had said,
the whole question had changed now. It was all so utterly
confusing, the once definite line bordering right from wrong
becoming blurred.
The cold wind buffeted against his form as he stood
stock still, his eyes fixed upon some lost point on the horizon.
The future was clouded in mist, and Josian felt a fear as deep as
none other he had ever experienced.
Chapter Fifteen
The Mind of the Behemoth.
How now, a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!
- William Shakespeare: Hamlet.
The door hesitated for a second, the shorting of
circuitry inside sounding like the clicking of crickets.
It reminded Shaun of the buzzing noise the
synth-popcorn machines back on Earth had made.
Myshia hammered futilely against the lip of the door
with the metal butt of her pistol. The door had slid open no more
than two centimetres and was stuck. Myshia's colourless eyes
glinted as her gaze ran nervously over the corridor, her heart
beating heavily, expecting the Sunlords to be upon them any
minute.
"Hurry up."
Shaun did not respond. With his head bent in
concentration over the wall panel he twisted a handful of wires
together, jerking back suddenly as sparks flew. Cursing and blowing
on his hands in frustration Shaun at last gave up.
"The door circuit's got a lock on it," he growled,
standing and reslinging his rifle. "No amount of fiddling with this
panel will open it." He traced a finger over the surface of the
door; brushing across the slightly raised green block lettering
that read, in the swirling pattern of Hartrias tongue;
COMMUNICATIONS LABORATORY.
AUTHORISED ACCESS ONLY
So close, thought Shaun. Without a proper keycard
they were stuck - he had seen this sort of locking mechanism before
and had not been able to master it. He shook his head as Myshia
attempted to prise the narrow opening wider.
"That won't work," said Shaun. "There's a bolt of
metal as thick as your arm holding it."
Either Myshia did not hear him, or she ignored him,
for she just kept on heaving and wrenching angrily at the door.
Shaun paced away a short distance, breathing deeply
to calm his thoughts. I knew it would come to this, a small
pessimistic part of his mind said. Nothing escapes Avatar.
He mulled over these thoughts, brooding. Indeed, he
had known that soon enough he would run into a door he couldn't
open - a system where Avatar had control. It was just been a matter
of time before they were caught. He raised his eyes and saw Myshia
still working stubbornly to force the door.
"I told you, it's locked into place. Quit wasting
your energy."
Myshia swirled on her heel, insect-like eyes blazing
with emotion. It was as if a sudden change had occurred within her,
a breaking out of a far stronger spirit. "Well then how do we get
in?" she yelled, suddenly surprised at her own frustration. She
swirled around, raising the muzzle of the pistol and squeezing off
a blast.
Shaun instinctively ducked low to the ground as the
bullet ricocheted off the door, the air by his left air shattering.
Taken aback, Shaun stood, recalling with intense vividness the
flapping, whizzing sound the bullet had made as it tore past his
head. His rebuke was not long in the coming.
"What the hell are you doing? That was stupid - "
"Well at least I'm doing something," screeched
Myshia. "You give up too easily."
Shaun examined the damage she had done to the door;
the blast had done little but scrape shallow scratch into the heavy
veneer on the surface.
"Well you're not doing a hell of a lot either," he
commented wryly.
He saw a light flicker in her eyes, saw it brighten
as her face stiffened. He took an uncertain step back, watching as
that light faded slowly in her eyes. Myshia's hands clenched at her
sides (Shaun winced as her tightening grasp enclosed about the
trigger of the pistol), the native trying with visible effort to
calm herself. Then she was out of it, pulling herself from a
deadlock in her mind, her mind dashed with icy cold water.
Seeing this change in her eyes Shaun stepped forward
to help.
"Hey, are you all right? You looked as if you were
about to kill me there."
Myshia could only shake her head and shrink back from
his attentions. "I'm sorry...I don't know what came over me."
Indeed she did not. The sensation was fast fading now, but her
actions had not been her own - it was as if her mind had taken a
back seat to some other entity. Myshia shook her head, wanting to
clear it of the matter. "Can't we hurry?"
The feeling of apathy had been cleansed from his
veins. Whatever had shown itself briefly in Myshia's eyes had been
strong enough to pump new energy into to his exhausted bones. He
stood back, eyes narrowing.
"The secondary lock is too strong to force," he
mused. "If we could..." He was about to say more, but stopped,
seeing Myshia cock her head as if catching a sound. That heavy
feeling of dread returned like concrete filling his gut as he to
heard it. He spun about as the heavy clanking grew louder, rapidly
approaching. "Now we're screwed."
Myshia gripped the pistol in both hands, waiting
anxiously, eyes on the empty corridor. "What is it?"
The steady rhythmic footsteps rang louder along the
narrow walkway. "It's a warbot."
Myshia's mouth dropped open as a huge shadow unfolded
itself from the darkness, expanding on and on like a rising
mountain. The towering robot moved with carefully placed footsteps,
the corrugated plates that were its feet shifting as hydraulics
whined, the massive framework of its body morphing as a thousand
mechanisms slid between one another. As it moved beneath the light
of a fluorescent Myshia saw its head was a featureless black plate,
the broad shoulders smooth except for a grid of ventilation slits
running lengthwise across the shinning armour.
The warbot walked forward like a pacing cheetah. It
had pulled itself down in order to move through the confined
passageways, but if the situation demanded it could stand up on its
rear legs, revealing a massive arsenal in the plated chest.
Computer controlled, it was deadly accurate and merciless. As it
stalked forward Shaun saw multiple ball-jointed cannons swivel
silently in his direction.
His hand pushed firmly against Myshia's chest.
"Get back," he whispered out the corner of his mouth,
not taking his eyes from the approaching Goliath. "Into the
shadows, where it can't see you."
Myshia resisted for a moment. "What are you going to
do."
"I've got an idea. Now get moving."
She moved reluctantly away, keeping the pistol held
at waist level - a futile weapon against the impenetrable armour of
the warbot. Electric sparks of adrenalin ran the length of her
spine as the warbot pulled to a halt, the steel block atop its
shoulders that might have been a head lowered bull like. Its poised
stance was like that of a spider, springy and light.
Shaun waved his hand urgently, urging Myshia
backwards. "Get clear!"
Not wanting to leave Shaun facing the looming machine
of death alone Myshia pulled away only at the last instant. Then
suddenly the spiderlike machine bolted forward with its metal feet
clittering on the floor like the rattling of a skeleton. Throwing
herself backwards Myshia's foot caught and she tripped. Her back
connected with the wall, striking her head against the hard surface
as she drew away. Her mind swam, fingers clutching desperately to
keep ahold of the pistol. The sound of gunfire assaulted her ears,
stunning her for an instant, her pistol slipping away from her hand
like a struggling, slippery fish as she raised her arms to shield
her face.
Shaun stood his ground, legs spread, centre of
gravity held low. His sharp eyes saw movement atop the massive
domed shoulders of the warbot and he ducked aside. Bullets lanced
through the air where he had been a moment before, carving a path
of hissing energy. He backed up hard against the door to the comm
lab.
The warbot came at him. Snorting a pneumatic symphony
of hisses the spiderlike robot charged forward. Shaun dove directly
for the warbot, knowing he had bare milliseconds to spare either
way. In a quick motion he was under the hot metal surface of the
robot, gasping, moving to avoid the mass of steel that shot over
his head like a train. He knew he had to keep moving. He ducked low
just as a length of tubing brushed past, sweaty palms finding the
smooth cold lip of the warbots frame, hauling himself up and
swinging his legs over like a gymnast. The warbot pivoted
three-sixty degrees, dropping lower still, in an effort to shake
off its troublesome prey. It spun too quickly. Shaun heard the high
pitched wailing of metal against metal as the robot's feet lost
traction on the polished floor. The sound was like fingernails
drawn sharply down a blackboard, the warbot's six legs skidding
like ski's, carving furrows as it spun in a lazy pirouette.