Читать книгу Conquest of Noomas - Charles Nuetzel - Страница 12
ОглавлениеCHAPTER FIVE
CONVOY ON CALL
I. Kal-Nor’s Unit
From: the official files on the mission of Kal-Nor
Call to alert came before dawn. No signs of invasive forces, I assumed we’d been sent on a routine training drill.
Our flight route took us west, towards the Bel-loniean seaport at an incredible speed; reaching the coast well before sunrise. A convoy of twenty similar grav-disks intercepted us and fell into formation. As we headed out to sea, our pilot took lead position.
Crew completed detail reports and logs. All supplies accounted for and roster completed. Unit consists of expert combat warriors trained for international duty: nine desert Raiders trained as follows:
Scouts: three with research and scientific backgrounds.
Technicians: two, acutely familiar with military air and sea craft.
Medics: two heavy-duty combat experts.
My first officer and the pilot are Helandian: qualified warriors as well as communications experts.
Unit is ready for any challenges. I spoke with Officer Mahzit. His relaxed attitude and sharp wit reflect his easy adaptability. For the record, I appraise him to be a sincere and highly dedicated warrior.
* * * *
Mahzit received the sealed assignment that was issued directly from Commander Hannis and, as instructed, immediately reported to the Baji-Ney contingent. His unit Commander, Kal-Nor, had been expecting him. The Raider, a determined tall man with a trimmed beard, appeared pleasant enough but decidedly grim. They had cautiously sized each other up; then Mahzit had taken his gear to the unit barracks and did not see the officer again until the next day.
The other members of the crew held a respectful distance. He knew his position as second in command created a natural barrier between him and those in his charge. Being late in the evening, he’d politely retreated to bed, curling up in the narrow hammock, shutting out the low chatter among the bunkmates.
The morning revelry angrily woke everybody, rushing them to their assigned grav-disk. The Raiders grumbled among themselves as they automatically executed well-practiced drills. Mahzit operated by instinct. This was a standard grav-disk: a rounded hull, two decks. The uppermost was geared with a retractable transparent dome. The protective cover slid over the deck within seconds when needed, otherwise it stowed below, slung down into the hull of the craft.
These flying vessels were typically armed for battle with Kay-guns and tracking devices. The Helandian pilot had expertly eased the craft off of the launch pad and headed west towards the coast. There they had maneuvered into formation with a squadron. It all appeared routine enough.
Kal-Nor joined Mahzit on deck, where they studied the control screen.
“We normally don’t perform maneuvers before dawn. Since the ship’s special sensory boards were adjusted yesterday, I assume the engineers requested predawn testing of the systems.”
Mahzit tapped in a short sequence and a diagram of the engine block appeared on the panel. Then he adjusted the angle of the screen, zooming in until they could examine the alterations.
Kal-Nor grunted approvingly.
“Your engineers have done well. I think they expect us to test out the new drive.”
Mahzit knew Helandian technology. They had used refractory systems for generations. With some clever adjustments to the anti-gravitational turbines, they would be able to significantly boost the grav-disks’ capabilities. Traditionally restricted to low flight over continental territories, they would have the capacity to soar above the seas and mountain ranges without relying on the Noomasian solid ground surface to sustain flight energy.
The ocean was racing under them and a glance back revealed the fast receding lights of the shore. They had already left the Bel-loniean Port far behind.
The Commander’s desert-tanned face was drawn, accentuating his deeply furrowed, elongated features, as he studied Mahzit. The man smiled warmly.
“Your reputation precedes you.”
“My what?”
“You’re colorful duel at the Bel-loniean Pleasure Palace.”
“I’m afraid I made a fool of myself, sir.”
“Fury in battle is admired among my tribesmen. The desert demands harsher discipline than required of city populations.” The Raider’s eyes brightened.
“Torlo Hannis said you would be a vital part of my team. Perhaps you’ll have enough Kordatic hump to be fairly useful among my rugged men.”
Mahzit decided to respond with a friendly challenge. Leaning slightly forward, he peered into the leader’s eyes. “We Helandians are great warriors. The spirits pull briskly at our core.”
He scanned the Commander’s perplexed expression, and before Kal-Nor could respond, he reared dramatically back.
“Ah ha! Hearken! The sky speaks loudly. Don’t you agree?”
The Raider looked puzzled.
“I can show you things that would amaze you beyond your wildest imagination.”
Mahzit paused. When the Commander was about to react, he opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut like a trap closing over any possible response.
“Do you think the Mutis are the only ones who can predict futures?”
The Commander started to reply, and again, Mahzit quickly interrupted.
“This requires great practice. And I have learned great secrets. Gaze into my eyes and watch as the universe unfolds before you. See the magic.”
Kal-Nor glared sardonically at him.
“I see nothing!”
Inwardly Mahzit guessed the Commander was probably wishing for a legal opportunity to strangle his impertinently foolish neck.
“Am I in the hands of a blind commander?”
Mahzit threw his arms up in exaggerated motion, attracting the attention of the crew; then threw his head back crying up into the sky. “Heavens; reward me with guidance, Oh mighty JaJa, make yourself known to us!”
“JaJa?”
Kal-Nor exploded, searching the empty air in front of them.
“Yes, have you not heard of JaJa?”
“No, to be honest.”
Mahzit spread his hands wide, arms extended, encouraged by the incredulous stares of the enraptured crew.
“Do you not see the JaJa in the sky?”
The leader appeared to marvel at something invisible. But after a minute, he futilely shook his head from side to side.
“Quite frankly, I see very little beyond the…obvious!”
“What god would be obvious? They are all mysterious. Isn’t that their divine right? Confusion and illusive bequests to answer endless questions are continually fed to countless omnipotent deities by their eager followers!”
Mahzit was playing the stage with the tact of an experienced thespian, holding the entire crew spellbound. “Look and listen; see, hear, and behold these wonders!”
Mahzit leaned closer to the Raider and whispered.
“I am having a vision…right now! Out there, the loveliest of damsels are expecting us to seduce their lush bodies. They are awaiting the men of this ship to offer the greatest of pleasures. Ah, what ecstasy awaits us! Who would deny their plea?”
Kal-Nor shook his head, this time with shaded humor. It was clear the Commander was on to Mahzit as he carefully placed his words.
“What god grants carnal lust over spiritual promises? And why does he reveal them only to you? Where is your visible evidence of his word?”
“His? Who said JaJa was male?”
“A goddess. Perhaps?”
“Did I suggest JaJa had gender?”
“Neither him nor her? Then what? Horrors!”
“Muti be the son of a Korda! Must these super creatures be divided like mere mortals?”
“This JaJa is of your own…concocting. I bow to you…tell me…,” and the man made a long low sweep before Mahzit.
When he had again stood erect he looked sternly at Mahzit, his penetrating tone of voice adding a sharp edge to the meaning of his words.
“By what authority do you make conjectures about the deities? Where are your facts?”
Mahzit decided to quit while he was ahead.
“I have an inner perception. Precise intuition, sir.” he conceded, dropping his pompous façade; then respectfully addressing Kal-Nor.
“I’m not permitted to share details, sir.”
Kal-Nor astonished everyone by placing a hand upon Mahzit’s shoulder; a sign of honor among the clans.
“You have humor and brains and guts!”
A chuckle shuffled through the crew as each nodded toward Mahzit. He had won his point and acceptance from the men, who now turned back to their duties, leaving Mahzit alone with the Commander.
Kal-Nor raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, your record with the Baji-Ney tribe is impeccable, so you need not prove your valor here. Talk of unseen entities eludes me. I’ve heard rumors about the Helandian culture and special wisdoms. What do they call them—HanJahn?”
“Those are primarily my sister’s dedication; Sarleni of Helandi and the House of Dorta. The powers of the mind can be amazing. And she claims that Adt Dorta has extraordinary talents, too, beyond his swordsmanship.”
Kal-Nor looked puzzled and doubtful.
Mahzit realized he had said too much and nervously smiled.
“It is genuine enough.
“As for me; I’m a warrior; my loyalties are committed to my commander and my unit, sir!”
“So accepted.”
With that, Kal-Nor took his leave. Mahzit wandered to one of the portals, pondering the exchange while he watched the formations of ships gliding above the ocean.
The far horizon was brightening from the rising sun when melodious tones from Sarleni swept into his head.
You made a loud mockery of the northern culture, brother. Tame your tongue!
He felt her brazen rebuke ripple through him.
I heard they sent you out. Ju-bilee told me your mission has begun. She has a message for you, ‘Tell him we expect great feats. His future is challenged’.
She hesitated.
I think your unit is being advanced in order to avoid notice. Kaminaean spies have watching eyes.
The connection snapped out as he literally felt her whip away. She could do that; he couldn’t.
Sarleni had communicated her message and left. The fact was; an official, though secret, mission had been confirmed.
End of subject.
He returned his attention to the expanding horizon. Colors streaked across the heavens in dull tones; then slowly brightened as the sun ascended with the regal splendor of an ancient god gleaming across its creation. The frigid night air had thawed.
To the east he noticed the grav-disk squadron split off, turning sharply back towards the eastern coast.
Their own course shifted southwest and away from the coastline, towards the ocean.
Kal-Nor had disappeared into the ship’s cockpit where the Helandian pilot was seated. Mahzit watched the control panel from his post. He was deep in concentration, examining the charts, when a hand firmly gripped his shoulder.
“She has received new orders. We’re heading towards our instructed destination.”
They approached the open deck and the Commander spoke to the men.
“We’ve been activated. Take inventory of your posts. Prepare for ground operations.”
Mahzit and the Commander began a detailed inspection; armory, rations, the ship’s reserves, or skimpy lack of same.
The Raider failed to veil his discouragement.
“Supplies are minimal. They barely pass code.”
Kal-Nor bitterly frowned as he slammed the storage bin shut.
“We have untested arms and inadequate munitions.”
Mahzit seemed less worried.
“If we carried heavy artillery into unknown territory it might jeopardize our objective. We’re on a search and discover mission. Heavy weaponry could send the wrong message to potential enemies.”
“It is unwise taking on a dangerous venture without being fully prepared.” Kal-Nor squinted, waiting for a reply
Mahzit could not go into further details because Sarleni had only implied and had not given him a lot of facts.
“Probably a rush job,” he suggested, “adequate enough.”
“Our people are never without weapons.”
“So I noted. Armed from birth?” Mahzit taunted the Commander, grinning.
Kal-Nor calmly ignored the gibe.
“Young men of the desert tribes must earn their weapons through rigid tests of courage, one at a time.”
“I’ve heard; fights to the death.”
“Not often. Still, it can be bloody.”
The Commander pulled back the tunic from his shoulder exposing a long, jagged scar dangerously close to his neck.
“The price of being young; we were fighting over the.…”
He muffled his last words through a stiff sneer. Shaking his tunic back into place he grumbled: “Not all that important.”
“Affections of a woman?” Mahzit could not let an opportunity for a spicy story pass.
Their eyes locked, and each officer reflected an unspoken understanding; a chance to divert focus away from the current, dire situation.
The Raider hesitated, stroking his closely cropped beard.
“Only a girl; mature enough and oh, the dangerous, vicious innocence of it all!”
Kal-Nor spoke low and steady, as he recalled his first duel in the training fields long ago. His story was rich with the rugged customs of the desert folk and gave Mahzit a new level of respect for the integrity of the warriors; a deeper understanding for their ways. For to win a duel before peers, was the highest honor. Gaining the favors of a maiden was considered secondary; and only by the lady’s choice. Thus, the stakes are high and the prize is never certain among the desert people.
Mahzit noticed a touch of sadness in the man when he spoke of the near fatal finale of the match.
“She was a worthy woman; right?”
Pride bellowed from Kal-Nor.
“I won my blade!”
He tapped the knife strapped to his side.
“The girl, she was, indeed, thrilled having two virile stallions vying for her favors. In truth, we were crazy boys with the hormones of Jilioes searing through our young blood, willing to fight for any virgin’s affections. And often we did succeed. She was flattered by the attention of the two best warriors from the training fields of the season. Both of us had scored well above the ranks. When we’d begun to dispute over the favors of this irresistible maiden, the clan chiefs took notice right away and the duel was arranged.
“Ah, the innocence of youth: bold and confident in their own invincibility. Eager to sample the fires of carnal bliss: impudent recklessness.”
Kal-Nor bared his teeth grinding his jaw back and forth. His nostrils flared; then the corner of his lip twitched as his eyebrows lifted.
“So we were groveling at her feet, lustfully panting for favors. And she played her seductive wiles, alluding to secretly promised possibilities.
“Too naïve to realize that what she really wanted was rank and riches!”
He laughed a bit too lightly.
“She favored an older man, a noble warrior from another tribe, who had taken notice of her during our duel. Status is everything. The chieftains, the powerful, easily win what they want! Neither was mine, at that time, and the rest.…”
His arms flew up in the air.
“Youth fights for the prize and expects the desired reward of ecstasy from the hands of the lovely maiden. So the myth goes. Though we fought valiantly and nearly lost our lives for her, neither of us won that prize.”
The Commander expanded his chest, thumping it with large hands. “Lush in body with firm breasts; so gorgeous and innocent.”
Mahzit empathically gripped his own chest. “It must have hurt!”
“Oh, painfully so!” the Commander admitted. “Besides, at that age a girl is far too inexperienced to be very…satisfying.
“Regardless of the harsh rejection, we gained a notch up the manhood ladder. Our youth must prepare early for survival in a brutal world. Beasts devour other beasts by the law of natural survival.”
Mahzit reflected on this.
“In Helandi it can be the same. Is not man the most savage of beasts? Life survives at the cost of other lives.”
Kal-Nor’s stubborn pride compelled him to point out differences.
“We of the desert have learned to adapt. And accordingly, avoid enslavement to the governed municipalities. The city-states are accustomed to our trade and benefit from the knowledge we bring from distant places. We roam at will.”
They both silently absorbed the subtle unspoken views.
Mahzit saw a great deal he admired in Kal-Nor. A bond had taken root between them.
Kal-Nor gazed towards the northern horizon on the view screen.
“What is it like up there? From what I’ve been told, Helandi is frozen tundra. Not fit to be traveled during most seasons.”
The Commander’s switch of subject intrigued Mahzit.
“True. However, we spend those times deep beneath the ice fields. I cannot compare it to anything you would easily identify. If I say we live in open caverns cut into ice, you would shudder at the prospect of being thus confined. It is not like that at all.”
He explained how their communities were pocketed deep within the glaciers.
“Ah, I understand why you enjoy the cities. Crowded and cramped!”
“Yes,” Mahzit agreed. “I’m comfortable being surrounded by solidity.”
“The barren north is a wasteland of ice,” the Commander scoffed but not too disrespectfully, considering it was Mahzit’s home, they were discussing.
“And the desert is a wasteland of dunes and stone!” Mahzit rebuffed.
“We are from opposite sides of the same mountain range; yours basked with dry sands and mine exposed to bitter cold winds and ice.”
Kal-Nor’s eyes were searching the horizon.
“What was it like on the other side of Noomas?”
Mahzit considered his answer.
“From what little I saw, we spotted a few clusters of sizable islands. Our destination was the northern coast of the mainland. A castle stood on the edge of a tall cliff overlooking the seashore. The land beyond was possibly dense jungle. And further off we saw mountains. It looked like an uninhabited wilderness. The grounds were overgrown. An eerie feeling came over all of us that morning we picked up my sister and Adt Dorta.”
He then told how they had met with Sarleni at the Castle of Doom and how in the broken rubble, they had found the charred skeleton of a monstrous Muti.
An old man’s body lay crumpled at one end of the gloomy chamber. Talni, the Messenger. Mahzit never learned exactly what the others did with it.
“I just stood there, staring at the massive Muti remains. It was almost unbelievable that my sister and Adt Dorta had destroyed this creature in battle.” That was, in truth, all he knew about Kamina.
“No other signs of civilization?”
He shook his head, shrugging.
The elder seemed self-absorbed. Perhaps a bit resigned to their fate.
Reluctant to pose any further questions; he concluded: “So we’re going to an alien territory.”
Thus: had ended their discussion.
“Get rest!” Kal-Nor stretched, “We’ll all need it.”
II. Sky Attack
Mahzit’s excitement spiraled when they sighted land. The deep haze of the morning cast a murky mist over the horizon. Then mountain peaks of an on-rushing landmass rose into a large island, which soon passed them.
After a ration of Mio-sticks, Kal-Nor scheduled combat drills, including swordplay. Mahzit found the sport invigorating. Though none of the Raiders bested him, some of their unusual tactics did rouse intrigue and he, in turn, challenged them with a few Helandian tricks that might prove helpful in any coming battle.
In the midst of these training duels a distant obstacle blotted out the sun’s light, casting a shadow across the Orb’s deck. Activity came to an abrupt halt as someone pointed skyward. All eyes were fixed on a swarm of flying creatures hovering, generating the dark cloud.
At that same moment Mahzit felt a rushing presence.
Yellow bodies, streaked with bluish, undulating patterns crossed the sky. He had never seen anything like this; they were entirely alien.
Odd flapping extensions of their bulky silhouettes served as wings. They moved with lightning speed as the assemblage made its way towards another peculiar object. The creatures seemed disinterested in the grav-disk.
“Flying swarm just ahead!” somebody cried.
Everybody crowded the viewing rail at once. The dark hoard spasmodically shifted direction with unified precision, diving and then skirting the other object at remarkably steep angles.
Mahzit felt the mental probe’s throbbing energy intensify despite his attempts to blot it out. Logic suggested a message from Sarleni. Instinct insisted otherwise. He had never experienced this kind of raw prying energy annoyingly buzzing his ears.
The jells maneuvered; then attacked the other object now taking the form of twin avian, as a wordless fury bellowed in his head.
Am I connected to a sapient element? Self-aware?
Intuitively he thought, it must have come from those jells: a collective consciousness, perhaps?
Reason claimed that was impossible. Experience argued otherwise. There is something else involved, not readily visible. What is this flock after?
He leaned forward glaring at the rolling dark cloud. The jells seemed better suited to swimming than flying.
Kal-Nor wondered: “What do you make of it?”
“Not much, yet.…”
Mahzit was not willing to share his foreign mental connection with some unknown consciousness. Something with an enraged cognizant aliveness was out there, rampant with intense wrath.
The grav-disk bolted forward, sweeping up the distance like a blazing sandstorm.
The swarm scattered; then jetted down to attack the strange target which had split into two independent bodies.
Mahzit remembered how Adt had described huge flying creatures called The Gatherers, half machine and half bird, when they’d seized him and Sarleni.
They were horrid things, four times the size of a robust warrior. Their claws lifted us from the ground and carried us through the air as if we were air bubbles! Their talons must have injected some sort of poison into our bodies because we had felt a sting and then lost consciousness.
The Gatherers had taken them to the slaver ship.
The Haknords were actively mapping the coasts of the continents and islands. When not in use, these Gatherers were latched to the rear of the ship, one on each side. Their fierce violet eyes continually stared out with obvious awareness of their surroundings! Feathery wings of metallic gold were clamped down, strong talons shackled. Whatever control the crew had over them apparently was not adequate without rigid restraints.
The grav-disk rushed closer and it was possible to see greater details of the conflict. The description Adt had given of the Gatherers fit what he was seeing.
Abruptly a bright white beam radiated from the winged machines and in broad sweeps melted complete swaths of the continuous wave of attacking jells.
Even at this distance the men could hear the screeching wail of agonized life being ripped apart with each sweep of the ray.
The jells repeatedly rammed into the winged beasts; then scattered only to regroup, avoiding the white beams periodically streaking towards them from the beasts. When the jells’ gaping mouths attached themselves to the metallic bodies, they left deep gaping pocks on the Gatherers’ underbellies and wings.
Both enormous snapping beaks shredded any jells in their reach, scattering them in all directions. Monstrous wings, like magnificent fans, ripped at the nearest ones, plunging them down into the churning ocean below. The surviving jells continued to attack with an amazing unified dedication. The display was stunning.
Kal-Nor spoke half under his breath.
“I’m glad they didn’t go after us.”
“Astounding, how they’re attacking!”
“Have you ever seen such things?”
Something haunting seeped into Mahzit; insanely disconnected. He was drenched with pure mental hatred; emotion, without words. Countless dots distorted his vision. Suddenly he was viewing the attack as if seen by the Gatherers.
Mahzit’s head jerked forward, his mouth clenched, jaws snapped together again and again, mimicking the battle scene.
Rage and screaming pain crowded him like an inner alien connecting to both the jells and to the flying monsters.
Illusion! Mahzit told himself, shaking his head vigorously.
A sudden calm whisked the voices away. When he could focus on the scene again, it was too late to warn the pilot.
Their ship was being sucked into the zone of conflict. Dead jell blobs splayed throughout the sky. The pilot did not veer away fast enough to avoid impact.
Kal-Nor and the other men dashed for the gun ports. The Commander aimed a Kay-gun at one winged monstrosity as shots rang out from the portals manned by his fellow warriors.
The jells converged, jetting up above them, avoiding the Kay-pellets. Mahzit watched in horror as the creatures dove directly at them.
The grav-disk was almost flipped as the men clung to the safety grips. The ship dipped, nearly into a nose dive. The pilot maneuvered quickly, bringing its bow up and looping over the fray until it righted itself. Then it stalled, sputtering, faltering; unable to gain speed.
The jells made a wide circle, avoiding direct contact and reconfigured into a sharp ‘V’ aimed towards the Gatherers, who glided back to back in the sky; protecting themselves in a magnificent display of raw intelligent unity.
Their battle formation shifted as the jells fanned out; then regrouped below them near the sea’s surface and evaporated into the ocean mists.
The Gatherers arched their wings and shot away.
The grav-disk lurched awkwardly, like a wounded Kuknal in flight; losing altitude. Kal-Nor slipped into the pilot compartment. The grav-disk slowed its spiraling descent, gradually leveling over the broad sea, drifting lower and lower towards a land mass positioned just south of them. A purple forest stretched from a narrow sandy beach right up along a ridge of matted hillsides. Off in the distance there appeared to be mountains, though it was difficult to see, as the damaged vessel continued to descend; nearly skimming the waters before it reached the shore.
The landing was pleasantly controlled, lightly cushioned by the thick tall marshy grasses.
The pilot had barely avoided complete disaster.
“Damage is serious. We’ll attempt to repair.”
Kal-Nor assigned his best mechanics to assist her while the others set up camp.
They found themselves in a boggy jungle, the ground liberally pitted, sprinkled with ankle deep water-pots. Several times they spied slimy wriggling things splashing around their feet. Distantly they heard the calls of hunting beasts and birds. No jells reappeared.
Their situation appeared brutally hopeless. If the grav-disk couldn’t be fixed, they were lost. Barely armed, what chance of survival did they have? On foot, it would be a major trek across what appeared to be hostile swamp.
Mahzit forced himself to relax. Something unmistakably odd had occurred during their encounter with the jells and the Gatherers. He explored his inner senses to calm nagging nerves. Sitting cross-legged, he concentrated on the Zygo in an effort to perceive any consciousness beyond his fellow warriors. His Helandian teachers claimed they should be capable of tuning into any intelligence. Narrowing his focus, he crossed through an inner imaginary wall, searching for anything that might have lodged itself in the recesses of his mind. He then tried to access a stronger frequency into which he could merge. He was accustomed to riding on his natural stratum, though he only had intermediate training.
Instinct told him something had connected to him. Some collective consciousness had been out there. He had felt a consciousness, yet not a singular being; incomplete, or subhuman. And then again, it could have been his overly active imagination projecting curiosity towards that peculiar swarm.
How can I be sure?
He never understood mind theory. His lack of experience was painfully inhibiting.
He had spent too much of his life on impulsive pursuits for momentary self-discovery. Not particularly organized. It was his nature to flit from one interest to another. Sarleni had often scolded him for his lack of concentration and unruly discipline. She claimed he was not focused and too impulsive. Perhaps she had been right.
Angry about his limitations, he returned to the others. Duty called.
III. Swamp to Sand
From: the official files on the mission of Kal-Nor
Reports indicate ship is beyond repair and must be abandoned. Secure the ship; pack all portable provisions and conceal the grav-disk. The jungle will provide enough cover to keep it well hidden. We broke camp; proceeded on foot. My scouts explored ahead, while the rest of us collected and distributed the weight of our gear and provisions.
* * * *
Mahzit was up early, just as the sun spread its morning glow upon the thick wall of trees blanketing the sky. They broke camp and began their trek through thick jungle, chopping away at vines and giant leaves; navigating along narrow dry areas between the slimy water-pots. The air was rank with hot mist steaming up from the sludge. They were constantly swatting at tiny insects buzzing around their faces. The medics had treated the uniforms with repellent that apparently discouraged the larger varieties, but had little effect on their tinier cousins.
He was feeling comfortable working alongside the men; a friendly lot, equally at ease with him.
The unit slogged on through the thick bog, their boots often ankle deep in the muck. Officers Mahzit and Linia were in the lead, using their innate senses to navigate the unit towards higher ground.
By mid-morning they had finally left the bog. After hacking through thick jungle, they had climbed until the landscape cleared away to open spaces. The Raiders stopped and raised their weary arms, whooping out a joyous victory salute,
“Vahl—Razzah!”
Kal-Nor laughed, for this cry is commonly lauded on the victor of a match in the arena. The unit had proven victorious over the nasty jungle foe and all deserved a break. And that had brought on their yell of joy.
They stood on a fairly wide strip of barren rock. From here they could look at the thick jungle canopy on the one side and rocky terrain of the other. It was a good idea to take advantage of the hot sun, which had reached high noon. So they laid their soggy gear to dry on the hot rocks and then scraped the thick crud from their boots. They must have collected half their weight in swamp muck. While the unit rested under a shading ledge, two scouts explored the terrain ahead.
When they returned, Kal-Nor and Mahzit reviewed their reports. The scouts had located several possible trails leading in various directions.
After a great deal of deliberation, the Commander summed up their evidence and decided which they would explore. Thus, the unit packed up and soon dipped into a low canyon where the air quickly chilled. Winding between massive stone walls, the narrow path allowed only one person at a time to squeeze through the cold stone cleft.
Finally the channel widened and broke open onto a flat ridge. The late afternoon sun illumined the gorge below, rising to sharp cliffs on the far side, pockmarked with holes. Most startling was a particularly well-defined arch. A row of stone pillars lined its outer edges. Tall statues guarded the outcrop leading to the arch.
They found a scalable path straight down towards the site. Before the sun had set, they’d reached the floor of the canyon.
The Commander selected a recessed, flat space where the unit should set up camp for the night.
The nook was curiously carved to one side of a series of broad slabs and framed by massive pillars which led up towards this façade.
Half shadowed by the late afternoon sun, Mahzit instinctively drew closer, flushed with questions; wondering who could have built such a structure, and why. It appeared to be a ceremonial temple.
Nagging intrigue needled the Helandian’s natural instincts, for anything mysterious taunted him to distraction.
A small heap of rocks nearby was scattered with broken pottery—an obvious sign that someone had camped here fairly recently. Mahzit knelt down, letting his fingers trace tiny clay bits. Some appeared more ancient than others. Sadly he was not an expert.
When the campfire had settled to glowing warm embers, he joined an animated discussion with the two historians who were very eager to examine the site the next morning. He had ideas about exploring he held privately. A little later Mahzit approached Kal-Nor with his plan.
The Commander was sitting cross-legged before a hot pile of coals that cast just enough light to see the pad on his lap. Somehow he had been able to write on it even in the twilight. By then most of the men were already asleep.
Mahzit tried to appear light and casual as he approached the man.
“Busy?” he asked. “I don’t mean to disturb you, if you are.”
“Updating the journal; recording our activities of the day: nothing that can’t wait, really.”
“Making notes about this canyon, the caves, that temple opening?”
“No, no: hardly so profound.”
The man sighed, looking frustrated. “Who knows if anybody will ever read it?”
“I’m certain your account will draw a good deal of interest, once we make it through this ordeal,” Mahzit asserted anxiously.
The leader tossed back his head and muffled his amusement.
“A dreadful thought! My desert tribesmen would most likely prefer to mock these notes! Most are adamantly against journals, considering them a waste of time. Maybe they’re right. All regulations are to be followed, and we’re required to make our daily reports.
“So what has sparked your interest, Mahzit? Anything I should add to my report?”
“I just find myself curious about that cavern up there; undoubtedly ancient.”
Kal-Nor looked at the carved structure.
“Ancient enough.”
“And quite a puzzle.”
“Yes, a puzzle.”
The man returned his attention to the pad on his lap.
“Can’t help wondering who built it…or where the inner chambers lead, if anywhere at all. What culture is responsible for its construction?”
Kal-Nor glanced at the austere lines of the temple a short distance above them.
“I’ve heard rumors of ancient civilizations. Never gave much importance to them. Myths continually plague our histories. You can’t always believe these stories. Most are created from dim memories as lessons for the young. I discount them
“As for this old cave…yes, a rather amazing structure and certainly built by highly gifted artisans. Perhaps constructed to worship their gods or, who knows what?”
“Would be interesting to explore.…”
“Anthropology and philosophy are not part of our mission. We have neither time nor expertise amongst the lot of us.”
“Sir, I believe there may be something of value to our task in there. And tonight I could explore without deterring from our goal.”
“Are you serious; in the dark?” Kal-Nor blurted: “Spooky demons must surely be living up there, ready to grab you as a night snack!”
Mahzit went to the pile of sticks and dried foliage they’d collected for the fire, picking a long, thick branch. He had noted wood burning bright and remarkably slow. Hefting it for weight, he took it to the fire and put its thinner end into the flame.
“Could serve; well enough.”
The Commander looked uncertain.
“Not logical to wander around in there at night.”
“Don’t plan on wandering far. I’ll never be able to sleep with so many unsolved questions, unless, of course, you really object.”
Kal-Nor studied him; then conceded.
“My blessings, just be careful! You’ll need your strength for tomorrow’s hike out of this canyon!”
The man had so much as given his approval; then busily engaged himself with the journal in his lap.
Without looking up again, he said: “Go! Go.”
Gruffly adding, “may the canyon gods protect you!”
The Commander’s soft chuckle followed Mahzit as he headed toward the structure cut into the solid face of the rocky cliff. He stood there gazing up at the ominous silhouette looming before him.
When he stepped through the temple entrance a soft breeze brushed his cheeks, coming from deep within the cavern.
Had some mighty phantom beast exhaled its greedy welcome to the foolish human who was about to wander into its private domain?
The torch in his hand flickered against the stark walls; the stately columns silently beckoned him to enter. Mahzit stepped boldly forward, anxious to explore: blind to any possible dangers.
IV. Lost
Mahzit’s excitement piqued as he passed through the ornate columns marking the entrance to the temple-cave. He hurried into the depths of the shrine; his torch dancing in the cool air, illuminating the elaborate murals.
What must it have once been like? So beautifully sculpted and painted.
Awed by their grandeur, he admired the detailed artwork along the corridors, wondering about its purpose and its makers.
Who had built this? What lay beyond? How far do the tunnels go?
The colorful scenes abruptly stopped at a vaulted chamber confronting him with several narrow openings, but the larger central path appeared to be a main corridor. This tunnel curved right and left, like a giant undulating snake. Mahzit ran his hand along the smooth brick and stone lining the tunnel, his fingertips feeling rugged, chiseled rock between places where the thick veneer mortar had crumbled.
His torchlight sputtered from an unexpected draft causing grotesque shadows to leap across a broad chamber. The light flashed in waves against a central stone slab. Like phantom ghosts, it created the illusion of a haunted tomb.
What could this place be? He wondered in amazement.
The room appeared sacred. The walls were empty, the room barren except for the plain altar.
Perhaps it was designed for an ancient potentate: or priest: possibly a throne; or a simple stage where mad poets preached their crazy ideas to those who happened to wander into this room.
Mahzit laughed at himself. His imagination was swollen beyond its sane limits. The day had been long, the night draining. He should be back at camp sleeping like a responsible mission officer: not wandering throughout these caves.
The torch flame pulsed brighter. He examined the waning torch with annoyance. It couldn’t last much longer. He needed to go back. Reluctantly he began retracing his steps.
Turning the first curve he stopped; bewildered.
An unexpected choice of corridors branched off in several directions. How had he missed this?
Intuition caused him to take the first opening. When that, too, branched off to several passageways, he turned again.
Instead of one pathway, he was once again facing multiple choices.
Retrace your steps, he told himself.
Leaning over, he examined the stone floor for signs of footprints he must have made. In the dim light no signs were evident that anybody had come this way.
Which corridor had he come through?
Desperation assailed him. Impulsively he took the left corridor, which wound in sharp turns, sloping down. He ran faster, scraping against the barren walls. Unexpected fear tore at him.
Frantically he attempted to reclaim his sanity.
Stay calm.
Mahzit’s heart pounded on the verge of uncontrolled panic. His breath pulsed loudly as he raced onward. Suddenly the path ended, ramming him into hard rock. Sweat poured from his brow as he slumped, dazed onto the cold stone floor, fighting unreasonable terror.
It felt as if some alien creature were clawing into his brain. Using his limited Zygo, he began to wrap a protective shell about his skull.
Examining the tunnel, he retraced his steps, slowly following his own footprints in the thin dust layer. Back and forth he wandered, remembering how it had appeared. He could find no clues. At each bend, he was more lost than before.
He focused inward, pulling into his senses, reaching out.
Sarleni, are you there? Adt? Can you hear me? Can you tell me where I am?
Summoning his courage, he waited, breathing hard, deliberately forcing himself to a slower rhythm.
He waited, aware of nothing.
No answer came. He grew anxious, even angry for having allowed fear to cause confusion.
The torch flickered, timidly offering light.
Again, he probed deep into the heart of the mountain, hoping to discover which path would return him to the canyon and the unit.
He had been bred in ice caverns. This tunnel chase was not new to him. As a youth in Helandi, he’d been lost many times, and learned how to find clues that eventually led to safety through the icy passages. Not the same here, for he sensed no crystals, no ice to reflect friendly signals back to the community.
Here, among the dense rocky foundations, he found no hint to give him direction.
He grew more annoyed than frightened with each step. The corridor broadened and he started moving faster with renewed confidence.
The corridor opened into a mural-lined chamber and he expected it to be the cave’s entrance.
Soon I’ll be back with the Raiders, he thought.
When he took a clearer look, all hope withered and was replaced with a mix of horror and fascination. The bizarre paintings displayed harsh proof he was still caught within the nightmarish labyrinth.
His torch illuminated images of oversized Muti faces, each nested in podded foliage. Their eye-sockets glimmered like sparkling azure pools.
A sharp chill climbed up his spine.
The faltering flame pulsed dimly, casting dark shadows against cut carvings along the chamber’s walls.
Mahzit examined the finely detailed murals.
Some showed hooded men; apparently warriors with no detailed features. Others were animal shapes, most of which he could not identify. More striking were the written symbols running in panels alongside these figures.
Without warning, a heavy gust of icy air struck him and he was shoved violently forward. Something clanked loudly and rough claws yanked him up.
He fought back, only to be overwhelmed by the violent strength of the creature. Suddenly he was struck hard from above. Consciousness instantly collapsed.
When awareness sharpened, horrific shrieks pierced his ears; chomping, like axes smashed together, clashed over and over again, closely followed by a deadly roar. Sharp pain seared through his limbs. His head pounded loudly in his ears.
Slowly his eyes opened. He was lying on the ground matted with dried moss, the sun baking down hot and bright. He was in a camp of sorts surrounded by a forest. Ashes from a nearby fire were idly smoldering.
To the left he saw the half-eaten body, torn and shredded, almost touching him. Blood splattered around its twisted form. In utter shock and horror, he slowly began to recognize its shape and size. The hood was the giveaway, and the cloak.
He was looking at the broken body of a dead Muti.
Something had consumed the majority of its mangled purple flesh. There was little left of the creature beyond jagged whitish bones.
Nobody in Helandi had ever reported the death of a Muti until their encounter at the Castle of Doom, a highly irregular incident. The subject was rarely discussed; he doubted anyone had even actually seen the skeletal composite of a Muti.
Was this the creature that had captured me in the darkness of the caves?
The body and head were practically fused by a series of linear bones and sinews, not at all resembling the human. Shreds of flesh hung beneath the skeletal chin. The shoulder and chest frame molded together in one smooth white intricate pattern. Pivotal casings held sockets for the legs. He couldn’t quite imagine a naked Muti; whole or in pieces. The beast had de-fleshed it, leaving only shreds of purple skin mingled with partly devoured innards.
What a sad distorted creature this Muti must have been: certainly not a normal example of its kind. Perhaps deformed or mutated. Feet resembled hooves. And the wide platelets encasing the midsection were bowed and squat. Surely this was a poor cripple. The face was fairly intact though contorted. Jaw was craned wide open, exposing four rows of stumpy teeth. The eyes sockets were pecked down to raw bony cavities clear through the back of the elongated skull.
Had this Muti brought me here?
Mahzit quickly took inventory of his own body. His head ached, and while his body was not broken, it was seriously bruised. Basic tools and weapons were still attached to his harness.
He shifted attention to the matting which was ovular and firmly packed; bordered by thick brush and tall reeds.
Is this a sort of nest for some enormous creature in the middle of a forest? Why did the Muti take me from the caves?
Mutis seldom touched humans and certainly were not prone to attacking or carrying them away.
Why did it bring me here? What did it want?
Panic threatened. He was alone; literally lost. Reuniting with the Raiders was not possible.
He slogged feverishly through an undulating fog, struggling to regain composure.
Mahzit dragged the Muti’s body towards the reeds. Hacking a thick bundle of the grasses, he wrapped the body tightly; then buried it in a shallow grave beneath the bushes.
He had to keep moving or his mission might be lost.
The best plan was to continue in the direction of the rising sun, which should take him deeper into Kamina. They had come to explore and that’s what he’d do.
Pressing his way through the overgrown reeds, he projected a plea outwards with considerable difficulty.
No good, Mahzit thought.
Shutting his eyes tight, he counted backwards and once again drove his mental sensors into the foreign wilds.
Slowly he became sensitized to images.
He was back in touch with his natural abilities. Rebuilding self confidence, he quickened his pace. Time filtered through his awareness as he broadened its mental reach. Nightmarish images flashed in spurts between the scents and sounds of the tumultuous jungle. He sifted his thoughts with keen precision, intent on honing in on any sign of civilization. As far as his awareness could stretch, he found no indication of human life, no sign even of ancient ruins.
Where had he been taken?
Isolation crushed him as the day waned to evening.
He needed rest. He was exhausted.
Everything that had happened to him since entering those caves seemed vaguely unnatural.
It all felt like a dream. He’d been in the caves, then transported elsewhere; apparently by a Muti. Nothing made sense.
He stopped, allowed himself to sit, and focus on anything. The attempt only failed miserably and left him frustrated, wishing he’d perfected the Zygo lessons as Sarleni had done. Angrily he stood and walked toward a clearing, the moons hovering on the brink of the tree line.
Calm: Probe.
He once again concentrated, expanding his mental boundaries.
Faint voices stirred inside his head. At first they were without structure, just sounds.
Surely he was hallucinating. Yet they were distinct fragmented statements.
He had just stepped out from under the cover of the fringe trees when the voices tuned in clearly.
…Found something.…
Is it him?
Yes.…
The transmission kept fading.
He looks safe.
We were worried.
Mahzit snapped alert to this new and very much welcomed invasion.
Finally the words sharpened.
Mahzit! Be ready.
That was all.
Sarleni, he mentally called out: Adt?
Silence answered him.
The evening abruptly felt warmer. He was no longer alone.
You’ll be instructed.
This was not Sarleni but definitely Helandi.
We’ll send it to meet you.
His feet were running. Totally blinded to any dangers of where he was heading. Someone was out there to help him.
The glowing light ahead instantly relieved his anxiety as the Orb slowly lowered to ground level.
A firm voice commanded: Enter.
He simply leaped through the opening that automatically created itself upon his approach. It sealed behind him. Mahzit knew this kind of craft.
For a short, breathless moment he bathed in a giddy comfort zone.
The only other occupant, a pilot from Helandi, turned and smiled warmly.
“I’m charged to get you relocated, sir.”
“What about the others in my unit?”
“The orders were very specific. They will find their own way.”
The Orb lifted into the sky.
“Where are we headed?”
“To the Kaminaean coast: I’m instructed to take you there to finish your mission. You were under surveillance until we lost contact!”
The pilot turned back to the controls, indicating the conversation was over. And he also realized the man probably knew little more than he had just stated. Unanswered questions riddled his mind but they didn’t matter. He was safe.
He quickly rushed over the last day’s events and realized that he had apparently not been on the continent. The Gatherer’s attack must have caused the Raiders to detour from their planned destination.
That was a shock. For now, he decided to deal with the present. His mission was being re-directed by Helandian authority.
“Are there any supplies here?” he asked.
“You can check the armory bins. They sent me on short notice so I don’t think they were stocked. Take my travel kit; also the water bag and cutting tools: basic provisions. Some bandages and a few emergency items, sir.”
He went to a locker in the wall to the left of where the pilot was sitting and pulled out the small belted pack that easily latched around his waist. The water bag and other provisions clipped neatly into place.
Mahzit settled in, thankful for the rescue and decided to enjoy this flight to Kamina. He had hardly begun to relax when a violent jarring tilted the Orb.
The pilot cried out: “What was that?”
Mahzit had been knocked awake. He sprang to the control booth and scanned the open vista on the screen. The ocean spread out below and ahead of them land was approaching fast.
A thick shadow crossed their path. The sky went black.
Mahzit recognized its shape.
It was one of the monstrous Gatherers.
What are these creatures doing here? Why are they attacking?
“Get away from it—fast!” Mahzit ordered.
“I plan on it!” The pilot’s voice was tense, and as his hands went to the controls the Orb shifted direction and shot rapidly towards the coastline. “I’ll have to drop you here. We weren’t supposed to be detected! Prepare yourself!”
Again they were brutally jarred.
The pilot throttled the Orb down towards the land. With amazing agility the man shot towards the trees, maneuvering through narrow openings between massive trunks. The Orb twirled left and right as it brushed past thick foliage. Abruptly the craft hovered above a tiny meadow, under the covering of tightly laced branches, hardly pausing.
“Go!” the pilot said hastily, even as the Orb glided along its course.
Without questioning motives, Mahzit knew what was expected.
Anybody observing what was taking place might not notice the craft pausing in its flight over the marsh.
Mahzit jumped out of the portal and as he tumbled to the ground, the Orb shot towards the protective cover of thick clouds. Just when it streaked the edge of the billowing white, several Gatherers swooped in.
The Orb went wild red. Explosive energy churned violently; white fire shattered the air, engulfing several of the Gatherers in its demise. The Orb and birds plummeted to the ocean surface blazing like a crimson furnace. The brave young pilot had apparently triggered a self-destructive explosion.
Mahzit saw one last Gatherer hover over the debris of its fallen cronies. After circling twice, it withdrew up the coast. The pilot had been expendable; and so was every person involved in the spy missions.
Mahzit slipped into the thick marsh, not once looking back.
