The IX (30 page)

Now, he’s speaking to 
. . . Marcus flipped forward a few screens . . . 
ah, that’s him. Joshua Osborne. The ex-diamond miner. That makes sense. From what I hear, the Shilette Abyss is a place of severe temperature extremes. Blazing hot during the day, freezing at night. I’m sure we’ll all value his insights once we get out on the ground.

The commander paused to study the animated discussion both men were enjoying.

Strange, only a few months ago they were bitter enemies. One, an extremist willing to die for his cause, and the other a family man, desperate to stay alive and return home. Look at them now.

King and Osborne appeared to be having a good-natured difference of opinion. They had obviously reached a stalemate, for they turned to a pair of roughnecks opposite them to help settle a question.

Having chatted to the oil drillers earlier that morning, Marcus smiled and readily identified them.
Oliver Prince and Gerry Hunt. Two of the biggest pranksters I’ve ever met. Their sense of humor will provide an essential ingredient to the success of our venture under hardship. And of course, if anyone knows the hazards of cutting through temperamental layers of compressed rock, it will be them. While my own soldiers have some degree of knowledge of open cast mining methods, these experts will help speed the process considerably. Especially if they manage to fathom out how to use the Ardenese handheld devices 
. . . he glanced at his tablet . . . 
focusing lasers? If these instruments are as good as people are saying, I’ll ensure a decarius of my own men is instructed in their use. It’ll help share the load and increase production.

Closer to him, Marcus could hear several more experienced settlers who had lived in Rhomane for a number of years discussing with a group of his officers the merits of learning to drive the skidders. Terri and Stefan Hollander in particular were well known to his men, having provided transport for them on a number of occasions. The couple was well liked and had been a natural inclusion for the mission demographic.

They have a point. While the legion’s individual skills will assist in the short run, our long term success will inevitably result from our full integration into this more . . . scientific community. We’ve already adapted with scant regard to the tiny machines within us. And many of the other delights this city has to offer are becoming second nature. Yes, the quicker we immerse ourselves within this more advanced culture, the better it will be. I’ll make a point of raising it with Saul after I’ve completed this briefing.

A raucous outburst of laughter from the back of the room, near to the coffee dispenser, caused Marcus to raise his eyebrows in disbelief. Sergeant Adam Wainwright and Corporal Joseph Mitchell of the 2
^nd
Company were sharing a joke with two of the former terrorists, Sebbi Farah and Sebastian Coule.

Well, that is a surprise! Even our more fractious cousins are making the effort to act amenably toward their fellow colonists. It would appear their punishment duties are having the desired effect.
Marcus pinched himself, just to make sure.
I wonder though, would they be so eager to commit themselves to the spirit of this undertaking if their absent captain was well enough to join us? We shall see.

Of his own men, Marcus had decided to leave the first cohort where they were, defending Rhomane. Not only were they the best and most seasoned fighters, but Marcus had decided it the course of wisdom to keep Decimus and his unit away from the cavalry platoon.

After all, there are only so many beatings they can take before someone gets killed.

Marcus caught the eye of the centurion he had decided to use as garrison commander out at the abyss, Tiberius Tacitus. As captain of the 2
^nd
Cohort, he had enough experience to keep people in line and deal with any problems that may occur over the periods Marcus himself would need to be away. The men were all veterans and proficient, both in fighting and utilizing the skills that would be required to erect a serviceable fort, and assist in mining operations.

Time to test the waters.

Marcus nodded, and Tiberius called the room to order. Soon, a sea of keen and happy faces was concentrated on Marcus, each displaying a clear sense of anticipation.

Marcus was impressed.
Looks like a new day has dawned after all.

*

The team had taken Jumper’s absence as Mac knew they would. Professionally and with quiet resolve. It had only been two weeks since the funeral, and while the frustrations of such a waste would eat away at them for many years to come, Mac was also aware that the best thing for his men right now was action.

When Saul and Mohammed approached them earlier with details of one of their most daring and audacious schemes to date, everyone took to the idea with relish.

Mac leafed his way through the pages of the mission outline once more, this time in the comfort and privacy of his own room. He had been asked to orchestrate a time sensitive, three-pronged attack, and needed the peace and quiet of his suite to plan things out properly. What he read made him smile.

So, spurred on by our outrageously good results so far, the boys upstairs are getting ambitious. They basically want us to acquire not one, but two small to medium sized starships, preferably a cargo carrier and an executive class luxury liner similar to the Seranette.
He flicked through the wish-list appendix at the end of the section. His eyes widened in shock.
And not only do they expect us to achieve this remarkable feat in tandem, but we also have to nursemaid the usual scientific entourage, along with an additional four VIPs. Pilots. All of whom will be very precious to future successes, I’m sure.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Mac absorbed the specifics of the third phase of the operation.

At the same time, they expect us to seize the astrometrics facility at Boleni Heights and secure it against further incursions.
He snorted.
Is that all?

Mac skimmed the details again to ensure he hadn’t misread anything.

The past several weeks have brought us along in leaps and bounds. Retro-fitted Tec and weapons. Iron, with a new source about to be opened up once Marcus and his expedition get underway. Hundreds of flyers, many now equipped with offensive as well as defensive capabilities. The mines. Oh! And not forgetting Brent’s marvelous adaptation of blended null-point and chameleon
shielding. The portable defensive walls will be a godsend at Boleni Heights. And the proposed fort at Shilette Abyss, come to that. But I can’t help thinking they’re pushing ahead a little too quickly. It might be the dawning of a new era, but we can’t push our luck. We still don’t know what the Horde is really capable of. I’ve got a nasty feeling we haven’t seen the last of their surprises yet.

He sat back and tried to clear his mind.

Buuut, if command are so keen for us to get results, it’ll mean I can make a wish-list of my own,
and
be certain to get what I want. I know, I’ll get the lads down and have them go over my proposals. It won’t hurt to have everyone’s perspective. They might spot something I’ve missed.

Of course, that only brought the memories of Jumper crowding back.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Walk With Me

Stained-With-Blood sat impassively on the end of his bed and studied his visitor closely. Only thirty minutes previously, Ayria Solram had arrived at his quarters and asked to speak to him about a private matter. Intrigued, he allowed her to enter, thinking she would seek his opinion on a cultural matter, or something similar. Instead, she frankly and without a hint of embarrassment revealed the truth of her own origins, and of her remarkable talent as a dream-walker.

Ayria was as equally forthright in explaining why she had squandered her heritage. From childhood, she had been determined to become a doctor and help people. Remaining focused on that goal had outweighed everything else. Until fate decided to intercede. And what an intervention it was.

Through it all, Stained-With-Blood kept his composure. A raised eyebrow here. A gentle snort there. Hardly any reaction at all really, but one that would speak volumes to a trained observer.

His visitor completed her account. “What do you think?”

He noted the mixed look of apprehension and hope on her face, and how that inner turmoil was betrayed by the way she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. Smiling, he beckoned for her to take a seat.

Wind of the Sun,
he thought,
Ayria Solram. How could I, a shaman of the nine tribes, miss such an obvious connection? Just because she comes from a time centuries after mine, am I so blind that I fail to see the obvious? Is my faith so weak I would think our blood would be weakened?

“Before I reply,” he began, “I must tell you of a vision I was granted myself, after having arrived here. The similarities are remarkable.”

Without waiting for a response, he continued. “This then, is my experience. I too, received a visitation from Napioa. He took me to a place where he reclined upon a crag. A cliff atop a mountain with a remarkable vista stretched out before it. A star fell from heaven, and with it the Creator fashioned a blade. Having done so, he allowed his hair to form a great windstorm, the strands of which cascaded freely into the night. At a suitable time, he cut his hair and allowed the tresses to be consumed by fire. Instead of turning to ash, they became glowing embers, like fireflies, which rose up from the hearth and danced about his head, singing.

“Napioa then used the knife to cut his palm. Ichor flowed, rich and red. Its vitality created a sacred birch which sprouted instantly to life on the lip of the precipice. Once fully grown, the tree toppled over the edge and exploded. The remains refused to die. Seeds joined with the cinders of Napioa’s hair. Together, they were carried away into the starlit sky. Soon, filthy creatures, dressed as coyotes, were drawn to the scent of blood. Each wore the mark of rival factions. Napioa himself encouraged us to dine together upon succulent fish.”

A faraway look glazed his eyes. Shaking his head, Stained-With-Blood admitted, “Our father asked me at the time if I understood what he was telling me. I did, but was too proud to acknowledge that I should consort with those
I
deemed unworthy.”

“So what happened?” Ayria whispered, not wanting to break the tale’s spell.

“Ah! Napioa refined my appreciation, for he caused a new day to dawn before my very eyes. A fresh, clean sun commenced its climb into the sky. Before it had the opportunity to clear the horizon, another, greater star rose up behind it. Red and glorious, it swelled in size, swallowing the earth-light below it and bathing everyone on the plateau in consoling warmth and unity.

“Like you, the Creator asked me again if I understood. Before I could reply, the brightness folded in on itself and I found myself falling back onto our plane with Napioa’s words echoing strongly in my mind . . . 
Do you understand?
”

Ayria gasped. “And did you?”

“I thought I did.” Stained-With-Blood sighed. “But it would appear certain aspects were but preparation for yet another, unforeseen chapter to this story. You and your involvement.”

“My involvement?” Ayria was surprised by the warrior’s interpretation of the vision. “Really?”

“That the fate of Earth and Arden are intertwined is clear. Our two dreams confirm this fact. We are to answer a plea that has spanned the cosmos. Blood calls out to its distant kin across the vastness of space and time. How we will do this, I do not know. But from what you have told me, you yourself would appear to be the instrument by which bitter enemies will be brought together and forged in a union of mutual consolation.”

“Me?” Ayria spluttered. “But . . . but how? I’m just a doctor and a —”

“
That
is for Napioa to make clear,” Stained-With-Blood interjected. “In the meantime, I will instruct you in the refining of your most precious gift. Come, Wind of the Sun, let us walk together in the spirit-world and see if the Old Man will reveal the path you must take.”

“Now?”

“Of course. The matter is urgent; otherwise Napioa would not have reached out toward the two of us, separated as we were by thousands of years. Worry not. When your ordeal is over, you can learn more of your heritage from Small Robes. The insights of a woman are both subtle and deep. And to be truthful, when she hears of your ancestry, it will be difficult to keep her away.”

Ayria laughed, nervously.

“Seriously!”Stained-With-Blood stressed. “She will be keen to discover the story of our people as they endured through the centuries.”

He ruminated on the matter for a few moments. “Yes indeed. It will do you
both
good to spend time together.”

With that, they prepared for a journey neither of them would ever forget.

*

The entity now possessing James Houston’s body ran
his
hands along the wall as he walked. To someone who had existed for so long without any form of tactile stimulation, the sensation was mesmerizing. But then again, during the few weeks it had taken for him to gain full control, he had discovered most things would capture his attention. The host was still here, of course, but was now consigned to a dark recess in the back of a cavernous mind.

Rubbing the seam between two huge blocks of granite with his fingertips, he found the texture fascinating.
There’s hardly anything to distinguish where one slab ends and the other begins. Remarkable.

He still didn’t know who he was. Neither did he have the faintest idea how he had come to be trapped inside the very fabric of the super-dense structure of the city’s defenses. All that remained was a gut feeling that he needed to be here. In fact, it was vital, as others needed to hear what he had to say.