Sunlord (44 page)

Shata watched from his hidden vantage as his soldiers
emerged from the smoky shadows, weaponless and pliable. His eyes
were cold. It is in the nature of the currach to submit and to give
in, he reflected bitterly. Only in a few individuals have the power
to keep pushing on, and Shata was one such person. With a wild cry
he emerged, firing his rifle in a 180-degree arc as he bolted
forward.

He caught two Sunlords across the belly as he
charged. They fell back as he rushed forward, his fire unceasing as
he burrowed deeper in their midst. Half of his face was twisted
with fury, the other half twisted with scar tissue. His attempts
had failed. The League had given in!

His bullets found the marks of three further Sunlords
and wounded several more before he finally ran out of ammunition.
It took a second for him to interpret what had happened - why the
rifle was no longer responding to his urgings. He cast aside the
rifle - no time to reload. He doubled and withdrew a double-edged
blade from his boot, clenching it tight in the palm of one hand.
Shata-Bera slashed at a figure that leapt from the chaos to his
left. The blade embedded itself through the joints in the Sunlord's
armour, wedging tight. Shata pushed with all his might.

Then the world spun wildly. His head rocketed with
immense pain as a blow caught him across the forehead. The next
moment he was on the ground, hand probing at his wound and bringing
it away bloody. He screamed a savage cry of rebellion as the
Sunlord trooper stepped closer. The star warrior fired a single
shot and the cry silenced immediately.

* * *

Pools of darkness and light shadowed the room,
vibrant red shades and the strangely beautiful curved projections
from the floor giving it a surrealistic feel. A deep humming
pervaded the air, a sound so deep and resonating it seemed to come
from the very bowels of the earth, reaching the back of the mind
like a primeval growling.

A thin veil of mist hung just above the polished
floor, the wispy smoke billowing gently with the minor air
currents. The far end of the room was not visible, the darkness was
complete away from the small circle of red light.

A figure moved, resettling himself into the folds of
the large cushioned chair. He steepled his broad six fingered
hands, staring at some point in the darkness beyond the light.

"Why wasn't I notified of this before?"

The dome-like shapes that surrounded Admiral Karthorn
seemed to glow as a soft but omnipresent voice spoke.

"I am sorry, Admiral," boomed Avatar, its voice
seemingly coming from nowhere and filling every-where at once. "A
large portion of my resources have been pooled into that area, and
I did not want to trouble you further. As soon as it was realised
as a problem you were notified."

Admiral Karthorn nodded dismissively. He looked
around, chewing on his lower lip with thoughts milling through his
mind. This was the mind of the Urisa, the very living, beating
heart of the ship. Here was housed the gigantic mainframe that was
Avatar, although this room revealed only a small portion of the
computer, like the tip of an iceberg, many tight and airless cubic
metres of machinery and equipment filled the deck below, circuits
integrated into a huge multifaceted intelligent being.

"I thought you said those native infiltrators had
been killed," questioned Karthorn.

The room was silent, as if Avatar was drawing in a
breath. When it spoke it's words came with clinical precision.

"Reports at the time indicated this was the case, but
it seems two survived what I had previously determined a fatal
explosion."

"This was duct 331, I presume."

"Yes sir. The heat scanners and motion detectors
traced their path through link 5a-2t, and I ordered an ambush."

The Admiral's brows raised. "Ambush?"

"Nine armoured droids were to close in from either
side of the passageway, blocking off any escape and terminating the
two intruders."

Admiral Karthorn ran his fingers through the short
crop of hair atop his head, the hard almost scaly skin on the back
of his hand glinting in the light.

"And the outcome?"

"The ambush failed, sir. They fought their way
through the barriers and moved off quickly. Cameras in the tubes
identified one of the two infiltrators as prisoner 4380-C3a, who
was due for meltdown in the gene labs before his escape six days
ago."

The Admiral became interested at this last remark.
"This escaped prisoner has returned? Of his own free will?"

"He was recaptured and brought back, and held in the
med bays under medium security. He also escaped from there."

"This is beginning to sound like an interesting
character...where was he originally picked up?"

"Sij-pole sector, after a battle with Federation
ships."

"The Sij-pole..." mused Karthorn. "I remember that
battle. As I recall, the Federation was defending a moon radar base
but their forces were crushed by our ships. That was a long time
ago, but he seems to have prepared himself well." He looked up, his
eyes glinting with coolness. "Avatar, I want this human destroyed.
I don't care about the gene labs wanting their look in - it's too
late for that now. I want to see his body flushed into space."

"It will be done, sir, " came the deep voice of
Avatar. "They have been tracked closely through the ducts and this
time they won't escape."

The Admiral bowed his head in thought. "Who else is
with the prisoner?"

"A native from the planet."

Karthorn looked up in surprise. "But the psyche files
reported the aborigines to the planet were pacifists. You said we
could expect no opposition from them, yet now you're telling me
some primitive tribesman has taken revenge into his tiny head?"

"It is a female, sir."

"What?"

"The native is a female."

The Admiral scowled. "There are only two of these
sneakers? I trust you haven't let an entire tribe walk the
corridors?"

Avatar recovered smoothly from the sarcastic
remark.

"I will not underestimate them again, sir. And yes,
scanners reported they were the only ones who left duct 331. If
there were any other infiltrators their bodies will be uncovered as
the repair team cleans up."

"And the battle? Any new information?"

"The rebellion is under control."

"Very well, then," said Admiral Karthorn, rising to
his feet. "I have important matters awaiting me." He paused at the
door, hand poised over the latch. "Get me a report as soon as they
are captured, and have them held in a cell for my inspection..."
Karthorn hit the button and the black surface of the door slid open
with a hiss, spilling in white light from the corridors. "...I'd
like to meet this rogue native face to face." His boot raised, the
heel coming down upon the shiny metal floor, and he moved
forward.

The Admiral saw only a brief blur out of the corner
of his eye before the knife hit him, driving him backwards as if
clipped by a fist. He spun, blood in his eyes and beating in his
ears, and fell, legs twisting like saplings.

Capac dropped from the ceiling and almost on top of
the huge form of the Admiral. His squat face was blurred with
motion as he leapt, his eyes shadowed where patches of grease still
remained giving the impression of a mask. His animal hide clothing
was torn and dirty, his bare feet slapping dully against the floor
as he moved. He looked so out of place in this environment of
cleanliness and technology. Out of place, but moving with dreadful
grace and efficiency, like a virus moving through the veins of a
host.

Karthorn's hands clenched the handle of the long
bladed knife that stuck from between his ribs. Breath came in short
wheezing gasps, every movement seeming to catch and tear his
insides. The involuntary cry from his throat of pain and surprise,
his narrow eyelids bunching closed as he felt a pool of blood rise
in this throat.

With a great jab of searing white hot pain he felt
the knife wrenched from his chest, a warm cascade of lifeblood
gushing over his hands as if it a plug had been pulled. His vision
was hazy and confused but in that silent moment he looked up and
saw the small primitive alien standing over him, the tip of a knife
dripping.

Capac brought his knife around in a quick chop, the
crudely formed blade cutting a gash through the tough fibre of the
helicasuit, digging deep into the Admiral's barrel-like chest. The
Sunlord rocketed backwards and crashed back through the door, his
lower back smashing painfully against the raised lip on the floor.
His eyes blazed fury, six fingered hands clenching, the claw on the
back of each hand extended and slashing at the air in rage. Capac
darted just of reach for a moment, then sprung lithely with the
knife held before him, his shoulder wrenching backwards as the
final blow bit deeply between the Sunlord's ribs.

A thickening mist clouded Admiral Karthorn's eyes,
drowning out the chaos of light and sound. He struggled for a
minute longer before life gradually faded from the huge limbs,
red-green blood seeping through his magnificent cape, gathering in
a fast expanding pool about his form.

Breathing heavily, Capac turned and saw Ashian close.
Capac lowered himself and cast aside the cloak covering the tree
trunk like torso of the fallen Sunlord, inspecting briefly the
damage he had inflicted. His quick fingers moved to unclip the
blaster from the Sunlord's shoulder holster and he pulled it away,
hefting the heavy pistol in his hand before tucking it firmly
through the belt about his waist.

"Is he dead?" asked Ashian.

"Scroching right he is," muttered Capac. His wide
green eyes traced over the sharp edges of a projecting rib-bone,
the bone starkly white in contrast to the sickly coloured blood
around it. Capac gestured over his shoulder with a savage jab. "You
said Avatar is in there?"

Ashian nodded grimly, passing a shaking hand over his
brow. Pulling his hand away he saw the shallow cut below his eye
had begun to seep again, tracing a web of blood down his cheek.
Shutting the stinging pain resolutely from his mind he stepped
forward, skirting the body of the Sunlord that had fallen half in,
half out of the doorway.

He found himself in darkness, a narrow diffuse beam
of light leading like a pathway to the centre of the room, in which
was a large chair. Ashian involuntarily winced and found himself
holding his palms to his ears, the bass vibrations painful to his
sensitive currach ears. The noise was on the very limit of hearing,
so low that it was felt as a rattling of the bones as if the very
molecules were being shaken apart. He shook his head and blinked a
few times, impatient for his vision to adjust to the darkness.

"Do you hear that?" grumbled Capac, standing close to
Ashian.

Ashian nodded. "Sounds like large machinery."

"It gives me the creeps..." Capac's voice trailed
off, his tone hardening with awe. "What is that?"

The space before them was lit with the light of a
thousand candles, dancing like glowing moths weaving in an
intricate pattern. A vast array of colours assaulted their eyes -
vivid reds strobing, deep blue waves expanding through the air,
bright yellow flashes looking as distant as star bursts. What
looked to be a face pulled away from the molten mass of lights and
colours, eyes flashing, the glimpse of a tooth and long jawbone,
before it faded back as quickly it had come. Other shapes replaced
it, oozing out, expanding, then falling back. Every new image
seemed to play at the mind, tug at it and twist it like a Dali
painting. They drew the onlooker into another world, each new burst
of colour impossibly bright and fascinating.

Unable to tear his gaze away, Capac looked on with
deepening wonder.

"What is it?" he repeated slowly.

But Ashian was not listening. He had pulled away his
eyes, snapping his mind back into reality.

"Something's not right here," he muttered. "The
computer - it's silent, as if I doesn't notice us."

Capac closed his eyes with visible effort. It
required immense willpower to stop his gaze wandering back to that
fantastic colour show. "Not notice? Impossible! Shaun said that it
c-"

"Exactly," interrupted Ashian, already moving. "It
knows we're here, and it is just entertaining us, keeping us
occupied with its little optical display until the guards
arrive."

"Close the door!" Capac silently cursed himself for
being sucked into the computer's little distraction, knowing if
Ashian had not of pulled him away he would still be gazing at
it.

They heaved the body of the Admiral through the door,
for most of the Sunlord's bulk was on the inside. It was an easy
matter for Capac to grasp the Sunlord's legs and pivot the body
about, clearing the door runner. Ashian was searching through the
many pockets of the Admiral, heedless now of the Sunlord blood as
it streaked his forearms. Then he found his quarry, withdrawing the
keycard from a chest pocket in the gashed helicasuit and holding it
aloft critically in the dim light.

"It operates the doors," he explained to Capac.
"Shaun showed me how they use it...they run it somehow through
this..."

In the darkness behind him the bulk of the Admiral
stirred. The solidly built Sunlord's breath wheezed silently
through half open, blood splattered lips. The Admiral's thick
fingers twitched, instinctively pulling into a fist as wave after
wave of pain smashed into his conscious mind. He felt a strange
tingling, almost disjointed sensation in his chest. The shredded
patches of his cloak flapped with each indrawn breath, a gurgle of
blood filling his throat, and he knew at least one of his lungs was
punctured. He rose a hand with great effort, trembling with pain,
and tenderly probed the long wound running down his left side. It
was covered in blood.