The Orphaned Worlds (73 page)

‘Aye, that sounds sensible,’ said Greg, peering through the gloom towards Giant’s Shoulder.

‘What did it say?’ said Alexei.

Greg repeated the Zyradin’s comments and Alexei chuckled.

‘A trap,’ he said. Maclean and Bessonov nodded but Vashutkin was puzzled.

‘No signs of anyone at all? Why would they abandon such a place – it makes not any sense.’

‘The fortifications are not patrolled,’ said Varstrand, handing his binoculars to the big Rus. ‘See it for yourself.’

They were in the ice-cold gondola of the
Har
, Varstrand’s dirigible, hovering low over dark ridges and wooded gullies a mile to the west of Giant’s Shoulder. The hill where they’d been ambushed was half an hour behind them but a force of about forty enemy machines was in hot pursuit and would be arriving in less than twenty minutes, by the Zyradin’s reckoning.

‘Looks deserted,’ said a frowning Vashutkin, who then prodded Greg with his forefinger. ‘But time is running out – decide what to do. I say we go in fast and low, tie up at one of those sentry towers, then you and I make the dash for the big building – the way to this chamber must go through there.’

‘How come
we
have to wait behind?’ said Maclean.

‘Because I have my special gun and Gregory has his special friend. You guys will be our eyes and ears, watching for when those crazy-mad machines come into view, then you sound alarm and get away with Varstrand.’

‘And no heroics,’ Greg added. ‘Don’t hang about – just get in the air.’

Vashutkin regarded Greg. ‘So, you like my plan?’

Greg gave a half-shrug. ‘It’s good enough.’

‘What does your silent partner say?’

A RASH AND RISKY PROPOSAL
IT CORRESPONDS CLOSELY WITH MY OWN THOUGHTS ON THE MATTER

‘He likes it.’

The next ten minutes went unnervingly according to plan. The Har glided smoothly in over a squat, square sentry tower where everyone disembarked. Before Greg and Vashutkin left, Bessonov gave everyone a small two-way with a stubby antenna. They nodded and stowed the transceivers away.

Large, Sendrukan-scale steps led down from the tower roof to ground level. This far from the foliage of the forest, the shadows were dark and impenetrable, especially with no artificial light from the tower-mounted lamps. But the Zyradin’s aura gave him an enhanced view of his surroundings as they hurried through the concrete barriers towards the large, slope-sided building. Vashutkin seemed to have no problem adjusting to the darkness.

As they approached the main building, Greg saw that none of the ancient Uvovo temple ruins remained – the Brolturans had cleared them all away. He was appalled and furious. This was a wanton, criminal demolition of irreplaceable artefacts. Every stone and carving and potsherd was like a syllable in the language by which the past could speak to the present. And now the past had been struck dumb by heedless destruction.

A large landing pad lay between them and the building’s darkened main entrance. The doors, predictably, were locked. They were also heavily armoured.

‘I might be able to burn off the hinges,’ said Vashutkin.

‘Take too long,’ said Greg.

I CAN SEE THE LOCKING MECHANISM
PLACE YOUR HANDS AGAINST THE SURFACE