B. V. Larson

The Empress

“You can be a king or a street sweeper, but in the end, everyone dances with the Grim Reaper.”

— Robert Alton Harris

Prologue

At the outer rim of the galaxy floated an arrangement of stars known collectively as the Faustian Chain. Colonized by Old Earth separatists during the Second Expansion, these stars were rich with human-habitable worlds in relative proximity. This span of sparkling suns occupied an ovoid volume of space some twenty lightyears in diameter. To the envious eyes of distant worlds, the Faustian Chain resembled a jellyfish-shaped constellation interlaced with plasma-streams, glowing nebulae and glimmering pinpoints of light.

In the region of the Chain known as the Northern Arm, the local Nexus government officials from Neu Schweitz still held sway, while the majority of the southern colonies such as Mendelia and Tranquility existed in relative isolation-and in some cases anarchy.

The most infamous of the worlds in the Northern Arm was Ignis Glace, a small planet that circled a miniscule, dim red dwarf. The ancient Latin word for fire is: ignis, and the word for ice is: glace. The world possessed a very odd climate that lived up to its name. It orbited tightly within the red star’s narrow band of habitable space and would normally have enjoyed a mean surface temperature slightly warmer than that of Old Earth. But the climate was much harsher on Ignis Glace. The pitiful planet was tidally-locked with its star, meaning that one side permanently faced its sun, while the other side endured everlasting darkness.

Due to its unusual orbital configuration, the world was divided into three broad categories of landscape unknown to other colonies. Nightside was a vast region of dirty glaciers and darkness, Sunside was a place of unrelenting radiation, and Twilight was the relatively comfortable zone where most of the population resided. Twilight occupied a belt of land near the terminator line, where the sun hung forever on the horizon in a fixed location. In this hundred-mile wide region that circled the planet’s waist, the sun was visible and provided sufficient warmth, but did not beat down with unmerciful intensity.

As with so many worlds living in isolation from their brethren colonies, Ignis Glace had developed a culture of its own which was shaped by the conditions of the planet. In coping with the unique difficulties of their environment, the colonists and their descendants had adapted a social structure most outsiders thought of as unpleasant. The structure came about due to the requirement of gathering resources from the Sunside and Nightside regions. Not everyone could work in the relative comfort of Twilight. Rich veins of metals, valuable radioactives and rare building materials were abundant, but few wished to labor where the sun could cook your eyeballs like eggs-or where the lack of it could freeze them solid.

At first, honest rugged frontiersmen took on the difficult work. Legendary characters were spawned and entered the colony folklore within their own lifespans. Pioneering Sunside miners such as One-Eyed Otto, with his toasted, hairless and well-tumored skin, became as famous as fur-clad, goggle-wearing, toeless Nightsiders like Matilda Chenard. But over time, as the labor demands exceeded the supply of such individuals, prisoners came to be used instead. Those convicted of major crimes were given a virtual death sentence. They were ordered to work for years under grueling, dangerous conditions. Still, these gulags were not enough. The need for colony labor in the ice mines and sand-dredgers remained unquenched.

By the end of the fifth decade after colonization, mechs became the universal answer to the labor shortage. Human brains were combined with artificial bodies, allowing survival under extreme conditions. After a goodly mind-scrub, these hybrids of flesh and machine worked happily enough in the most inhospitable of environments.

At first, only the most heinous of crimes warranted permanent service as a mech, but over time the laws grew more strict, and almost any trespass would do. Prisoners were sentenced with regularity to this grim fate. Their fleshly bodies were removed and discarded like ragged clothing. Their minds were cleansed of negative thoughts, and they were reborn as industrious creatures of blended metal, polymers and submerged brain-tissue.

By the end of the first century after colonization, as fateful events were unfolding on nearby worlds, the creation of new mechs by the ruling class had become a matter of course. The wealth flowing from the enslaved workers now seemed limitless. Privileged families had gone beyond the designation of ‘metals-merchant’ or ‘factory-owner’. They had taken titles for themselves which were now handed down in a hereditary chain. Likewise, the ranks of the laboring classes had become locked in their servile roles. Over the years, they came to provide the critical function of breeding stock for the express purpose of producing the next generation of mech laborers. While those at the bottom felt sullen and abused, those at the top warred among themselves.

Among the mechs, few could be found that were anything but ecstatic with their role. Their minds had been conditioned and altered so that they experienced a rush of dopamine, serotonin and endorphins when their masters were pleased with them. Who could blame a mech guard, for example, if he were to feel ecstasy while collecting a harsh tax payment from a bleeding serf?

There was a sole mech among them, however, who was made differently…

One

An individual awoke with a gasp. He opened his orbs for the first time, snapping polymer orb-shields in confusion. It seemed to him he had a tremendous headache, and felt a dozen other burning, itching sensations as well.

He did not know much, but he knew he was in a strange place. He tried to recall how he had come to be here, but failed. Attempting to reach up to his face, he found himself restrained. Fear jolted his body-but he did not feel a heart racing in his chest.

He looked downward to see what it was that restrained him. Fear changed to horror as he saw he was manacled to a metal table. His horror increased as he saw his hand was not a hand, but a gripper. The metal appendage clacked, its two opposing mandibles snapping together like the claws of a crab. Where had his hand gone?

Sick despair filled him as he realized the truth: he was a mech. He could not recall who he had been, but he was certain he had begun life as a normal human. Confused, his eyes roamed his environment, which consisted of a dusty cubicle no more than a dozen paces wide in any direction. The walls resembled black iron. There were instruments suspended on retractable arms overhead. The arm directly above him terminated in a silent, motionless drill with a diamond point that sparkled no more than six inches from his face.

“How could this have happened?” he asked no one. His voice reverberated in his audio implants, but he did not recognize it.

He lay there, examining his environment and wondering about the crimes he must have committed, but which he could not recall. He did not cry out for help or make demands of his captors. Mechs were convicted prisoners, minds in metal bodies for which humans had little sympathy. Due to some great error in judgment on their part, every mech had passed on and become a servant. This fate was both a punishment and a form of redemption. Everyone on Ignis Glace understood mechs deserved their fate.

He hesitated to call for help because he knew his mind had been wiped, but not yet conditioned. He did not relish the thought of accelerating the process to the final conclusive step. Once conditioned, he would probably enjoy lying here in a dirty room awaiting the pleasure of his new masters.

So he waited quietly, listening. He savored the last of his mental freedoms. He was still half-human-at least on the inside, where it counted. He tried to soak in every moment.

Time passed and he grew bored with listening and looking about. There was little in the way of input for his artificial senses. His wireless networking systems had not yet been activated, so he could not seek help that way.

The wind blew harshly outside, that was the greatest single sound. It howled and lashed the exposed surface, but this was nothing new to a citizen of his world. On a planet that exhibited such climate extremes, the atmosphere shifted often.

Growing more accustomed to his body, the newborn mech found he had a sensor that could measure the external temperature. It was hovering near one hundred forty degrees, even inside this shaded shelter.

“Sunside,” he whispered to himself.

He could scarcely believe his misfortune. Not even mechs lasted many years laboring in the sandblasted mines amidst the hottest wastelands of Ignis Glace.

A dozen hours passed, then a dozen more. Cursed with an internal atomic clock, the newborn mech was able to count and chronicle every moment. The people of Ignis Glace did not measure time in days or weeks. There were no mornings or afternoons. The concept of a “day” was an abstract one here, as the sun never moved from its fixed location in the sky. There was only Sunside, Nightside and Twilight. The only way to see the sun crawl to a new angle was to physically move yourself over the surface of the planet.

As there were no days or nights, the inhabitants had developed their own system to measure time. They used a methodical progression of ten-hour “days” which corresponded to the length of a standard day on Old Earth. Each hour, approximately 2.4 Earth hours long, was further divided into minutes that were longer than a minute on most worlds, but not impossibly so.

When the howling sandstorm outside finally halted and quiet reigned, the abandoned creature on the hot metal table listened carefully, but heard nothing more than the ticks and creaks of steel surfaces reacting to the blazing heat of the red sun he knew hovered overhead. He imagined the red sun like a great malevolent eye, staying in its place in the heavens for millennia, forever surveying the deserts it had heartlessly created.

Drifting clouds of dust and fleeting tendrils of moisture from other regions of the planet occasionally obscured the star’s glare, and in those blessed times the temperature on the ground quickly plummeted. The metal building the mech found himself trapped in clicked and groaned like a cooling oven in those respites.

By the time twenty more long hours had past, the mech on the table had lost his complacency. He’d become annoyed with his predicament and wanted nothing more now than to call his keepers and demand they finish their grim task. At least, if his mind were fully erased, he could endure this long-term storage without boredom. Whoever ran this place, they’d already begun to treat him like one of the permanently happy mechs who might not have minded being left on this hot table for days. To them, he was a machine-a tool to be used as needed. Leaving him here was not a crime so much as an oversight, like leaving the power on at the office after retiring.

Timidly at first, the mech began to cry out. He did so in a conversational tone to start with, but soon dialed up the volume of his voice, which was powered by speakers rather than fleshly lungs. By the end of the second hour of calling for help, he’d begun to bellow and slam his steel feet against one another like cymbals at the bottom of the table. This created an amazing din of sound-but still, no one came to check on him. There was no response at all.

By the third day, the mech had come to understand he’d been abandoned. He had not thought his despair at awakening to find himself clothed in a metal body and consigned to a thoughtless life of servitude could be so quickly trumped by a new, worse fate-but it had. He realized that he was going to lie here indefinitely, slowly going mad.

Mechs did not die easily, but they did require some sustenance. In his case, as he was a rugged model designed for labor in a harsh landscape, he was equipped with a fusion core generator that would keep his metal body operating for decades. The flesh that was his mind, however, required more than electricity. It required a source of glucose. Theoretically, a mech could starve to death after a long enough period. He did not know how long it would take, but it would take a very long time, of that he was sure.

Unfortunately, he didn’t even have starvation to look forward to. He had been given a drip-line, which ran from the instrumentation in the ceiling to his chassis. It was feeding him the same boring, tasteless clear liquid in measured, hourly amounts. He didn’t know how big the storage tanks were, but it was very likely he was going to spend a very long time lying here on this table.

It was not the hours or the days that the mech on the metal table feared, however. It was the ten-days, which consisted of ten, ten-hour days, and the months, which on this world were each ten ten-days long. The years on Ignis Glace were the only measurement of time that corresponded to a celestial event: the circling of the planet around its dim red star. It did so at a sedate pace, taking seventy-nine Earth years to do so. Years were made up of a hundred months. Therefore, it was not the hours or days that the captive feared. It was the months-and the terrifyingly long years.

He tried to sleep, but there were no nights, and the orb-shields over his optic orbs did not shut out all the light. Besides, mechs didn’t need sleep often. Normally, they didn’t need to dream the way humans did. That part of their psyche was routinely deleted as part of the process of creating them. In his case, however, he had not undergone that final step. He found himself dozing and dreaming.

He tried to weep, but only strange warbling sounds came from his speakers. His orbs were not structured to produce tears.

#

After the seventh day had passed he grew desperate. Whoever was running this place, they’d forgotten about him at the very least. He had tried to break his bonds, and failed despite many raging attempts.

He had a new thought at the end of the eighth, long day. If he could not free himself or get anyone’s attention, perhaps terminating his own life was for the best. At least there would be an ending to this boring existence. He developed a plan, and carefully began to execute it.

The drip-line that led down to his chassis could be touched by that portion of his metal anatomy that mostly closely resembled a chin. It was the bottom of his head section, to be precise, where his head met the neck. By extending this corner of metal to its fullest, he was able to brush the drip-line, and with careful contortions of his body, he managed to get the tube to catch there.

Time and time again, as the more long days passed by, he worked to hook the drip-line with his chin and sever it. Always, it slipped away. Being made of plastic, however, it eventually lengthened, allowing him to catch it more firmly. When he finally did so-he tore it loose.

He allowed his head to sag back down onto the table again, and an odd sound came from his speakers. He was not sure if he was laughing or crying.

Yellow, oily glucose dribbled onto his casing, but he ignored it, unconcerned. Either an alarm would be sent to an operator who might remember the forgotten soul in this chamber-or no one would come, and he would eventually starve to death. Either way, an eventual end to his torment was assured.

He’d finally gotten his grippers onto this tiny corner of his own fate, and he’d ripped it loose on his own terms. He’d altered his destiny significantly, turning onto a course of his own devising. Somehow, this tiny victory was immensely satisfying.

Two days later the glucose finally ran out. It had dried into a sticky puddle that coated his chestplate, the table, and the dark metal grid that formed the floor below. No one had ever come to check on the ruptured line. The mech on the table did not care, however. He’d won, as far as he was concerned. He’d ended his miserable existence. All he had to do was wait it out. He hoped fervently that whatever junior operator was responsible for this situation would have to explain the mess on the table at some point. The operator would probably receive nothing more than a reprimand, but at least it was something. With luck, the man in charge would curse this crazy mech that had drained an entire tank of feed to starve itself.

During this hours-long period of self-satisfaction, a new thought slowly formed. The mech came to wonder if he could apply the same approach he’d used with the drip-line to another endeavor. Brittle substances tended to break when flexed repeatedly-perhaps he could attempt a new depredation to further inconvenience his thoughtless masters. Like an angry abandoned pet that soils a fine carpet to avenge itself, he set about to do exactly that.

He could not break his bonds, of that he was certain. They’d been built to hold a mech in place, and they were successful in this regard. However, damaging the bonds themselves was not his goal.

He decided to break his own arm. He considered each in turn, and selected the right arm in the end. The left seemed more important to him somehow-possibly, he’d been born left-handed in his prior life. He broke his right by flexing it to its extremes, back and forth, through countless repetitions. Eventually, the temperature gauges from the arm structure signaled him they were hot with friction. He ignored the alarms, continuing the process.

It took hours, but eventually, as a second sandstorm in as many ten-days raged outside, the arm broke. Cackling and exulting, the mech raised his right stump up and flapped it in front of his face. A thick, gray spring spiraled up from the square struts like a finger. This struck him as amusing.

When he’d tired of pointless celebration, he suddenly realized he was light-headed. He supposed his internal reservoirs of glucose and oils must be running very low, and perhaps he’d begun to starve. It seemed a pity not to enjoy this new triumph, so he used the broken arm to catch the drip-line and push it into his mouth. Perhaps due to tradition, mechs could feed by drinking or masticating sustenance through a mechanical orifice located beneath the sensory equipment-approximately where the human mouth was located. Their chemical stomachs were poor at digesting anything other than liquids, but they could leech out enough sugars to keep the three-pound organic mass of their brains alive fairly easily.

He sucked on the drip-line and found the last driblets of sticky material that came out oddly satisfying. Finished with his first meal in a long time, he turned his head and looked at his other arm. Should he flex it ten thousand times until that one broke, too? It seemed less bold and interesting than it had the first time. Studying his good arm and its working gripper, his orbs fell upon something else.

There was a wing nut on the screw that held down the clamp over his good gripper. He’d never really noticed it before, but now he could see it clearly as he was able to sit up higher with one arm free.

Could the wing nut be reached? He set about trying immediately. Now that his torso could rise up from the table, and with the help of that thick, gray spring, he was able to reach the wing nut. Hope bubbled up within him-real hope, something he hadn’t felt in a ten-day. He tangled the wing nut with the broken spring that protruded from his right stump, winding it around to get a grip on it. Then he pulled.

Slowly, the screw began to creak and twist before pulling loose. He worked at it patiently for another long hour. When he’d managed to free his good arm, he worked the gripper in the air experimentally. He couldn’t believe it. He’d long since given himself up for dead. He’d made his peace with the termination of this life and embraced whatever was to come thereafter days ago.

Now, however, things were very different. For long minutes, he clacked together his single gripper, holding it up to his face to study the motion with trembling orbs. As if coming awake, he set himself into purposeful motion once more. The truth was, he’d left a part of his sanity behind over recent days. He wondered dispassionately if a slice of one’s mind could ever be recovered after such as experience. He supposed he would learn the answer in time.

Bending at the waist, he heard motors whir. They were his own motivators, moving in accordance with his will as a man’s body of flesh responded to a flash of thought. At least his artificial nervous system was hooked up and operating. At his feet, he found the last two clamps. Working with relative ease, he twisted open the locking screws and swung his broad metal feet to the floor.

Mechs built to work on the Sunside were equipped with feet like snowshoes. Each foot was designed with a flat bottom and a sloping top-section, so that they would not sink into the infinite sifting sands, and so that sand accumulating on the tops of their feet would slide away with each step they took. They looked like two, flat-bottomed pyramids of burnished metal.

Wobbling, he took his first step forward. He nearly fell. Getting used to a new body with different sensory input and nerve-transmitters to control motion wasn’t easy. He had no trainer, no one to offer suggestions or punishment with each failure. Still, he progressed rapidly. He was motivated, and found himself exulting in his newfound freedom of motion.

Within an hour he was able to cruise around his cubicle and even jump up onto the table without a qualm. Jumping on the table gave him a rush of excitement. His broad flat steel feet clanged with a resounding explosion of sound when he performed the motion. He began making a strange sound that came from his speakers. The sound reminded him of nails spilling from a great height to fall onto a metal floor. The sound, he realized after a time, was his new body’s approximation of laughter.

When he felt comfortable with his systems, he approached the exit. It was a metal affair, built of imposingly heavy struts and plates like a bulkhead in a battleship. He didn’t know if he could open it, and up until now he hadn’t bothered to try. Why ruin the joy of this moment? He’d reasoned that he could easily be trapped here, in this small room. Being imprisoned in this place was certainly better than being strapped to a table, but it was still an unenviable fate.

Outside, the blizzard of super-heated sands continued. He could close his orb-shields, but they were opaque and he would not be able to see. He didn’t have goggles in evidence, and didn’t want to damage his new metal orbs, so he wrapped a dirty red rag onto his head, winding it around several times. He left the cloth thin enough over his orbs to allow some level of vision through the material. As an afterthought, he picked up his broken arm. Perhaps there was a workshop somewhere in this place where he could repair it. That was a thin hope, but somehow he didn’t want to abandon the appendage, even though it was only an artificial one.

He tried the door at last. The keypad didn’t respond, but the emergency valves twisted with the squealing protests of sun-warped metal.

The door opened. An alarming gush of heat, light, wind and most of all, sand forced its way inside. Bending forward into the whipping blasts and gusts, feeling his way in near blindness, the prisoner at last escaped his prison.

Megwit Gaston was the sole indentured operator of Starshine Mining Facility #4. The installation, like many others in the radiation-blasted half of the planet known as Sunside, leeched metals from the sands. The mining complex sat upon a particularly rich vein of fine metals that were oddly refined. Like so many spots on Ignis Glace’s hot side, the metals were close to the surface, and metallurgists suspected they’d been fantastically large structures built by someone in the distant past. Unknown entities had constructed them for unknown purposes, long ago. These speculations were routinely suppressed by the local officials. The Nexus representatives would have been forced to outlaw the lucrative mining contracts, if they’d acknowledged the truth. Any contact with alien technology from the past was forbidden by Nexus Law.

Megwit Gaston had spent a long time working contracts in godforsaken pits like Starshine Mining Facility #4. From his point of view, his life had been mostly wasted, as all he’d managed to do was make some faceless landed nobleman rich.

His great grandfather had come to Ignis Glace with plans of rising to the rank of an earl, or perhaps that of a duke. Such fantasies had ended like those of a thousand others before him: in utter failure. Megwit’s rank was that of an unskilled serf. Like most serfs who were assigned to labor in the grimmest of conditions, his character was predictably surly and self-indulgent. In Megwit’s case, however, these traits had grown extreme.

Sitting in his office with runnels of bluish liquid spirits dribbling down his chin, he became dimly aware of an alarm chime. He tapped at a screen irritably until it went away. He knew it would return eventually, but right now, he couldn’t be bothered. He was far too busy with the consumption of his daily cocktail of alcohol, heavily-laced with caffeine and blur-dust. The concoction wisped with tendrils of blue vapor which drifted in a lazy spiral toward the exhaust vents in the walls.

Megwit sipped the beverage periodically and tried not to think about anything at all. His eyes were puffed red and two-thirds closed. He sipped his beverage each day because few men were capable of gulping such a harsh mixture straight from the thermos. If he’d been strong-stomached enough, however, he’d have guzzled it all right down.

It had been a ten-day or more since Megwit had done any actual work. He’d given up on such niceties after he’d received his termination notice. The company had cheerfully informed him his contract would not be renewed after the close of the season, and once the sandstorms let up sufficiently, his replacement would be shipped out to this hellhole, which was generously referred to in the official termination email as ‘the operation’.

Well, let them have the place! Let them have his job too, if they wanted it. He would sell his contract more cheaply to someplace in Twilight next time. The money was better for those who were willing to work Sunside, but it wasn’t worth it. He was sick of everything here. He was sick of the crappy rations, the sandstorms that continually knocked out satellite reception, and more than anything else, he was sick of the blinding light and heat of the place. You couldn’t even sit on a steel toilet without getting your buttocks burned. If ever there had been a true Hell on a planetary surface where men were expected to perform work, Ignis Glace’s Sunside was it.

Megwit shook the last drops out of his thermos. He nursed and licked long after it was gone, and then he experienced a wave of dull despair. He’d just killed his one and only allotted of refreshment for the day. It would be at least seven more long hours before he could open a new thermos and sip it, sending his mind away to a fresh oblivion. He heaved a great sigh, and put his feet on the desk. Unfortunately, his boots kept slipping off the surface, such was his level of intoxication. After a while he gave up on the effort.

Each thermos was supposed to be comprised of only caffeinated liquids to keep the operator awake, but Megwit had altered the brew. What was supposed to be his limited ration of daily stimulant had done far more than just stimulate him throughout his tenure here at the mine. But despite his having managed to tamper with the contents, the machine that controlled the allotments was a harsh master. It would not allow any alteration of the schedule itself. He was to be given a single dose of liquid refreshment per day, and thusly the stingy allotments would continue to be doled out slowly until he signed out of this place for the last time.

Within a few minutes of completing his beverage, Megwit was bored. His mind was still numb, but he was not yet ready for sleep. Besides, the monitoring systems would protest and prod him if he attempted to climb into his bunk now. He eyed his bunk with longing anyway. The steel chair and angular steel desk were not terribly comfortable to nap upon.

The alarm chime began again. Megwit gargled with rage. He slapped at the screen with floppy fingers. It would not stop its infernal beeping! Finally, he managed to silence it. How many times had he done so? How many times had he silenced that particular alarm? He could not be sure.

He frowned and squinted through bleary eyes, trying to focus on the screen. Normally, the system would have given up by now. It would have taken his repeated acknowledgements and dismissals as a lowering of priority. In time, it should have forgotten about whatever was upsetting it, much as Megwit himself had given up on such trifling matters long ago. But the system had not given up. It had continued to insist.

Grudgingly, he checked it, dialing up a menu with one sloppy forefinger. It was not out of any sense of duty or responsibility that he was moved to follow-up on the alarm now. He did so out of a sense of curiosity, heightened by boredom and the random behavior common among those affected by blur-dust.

A map of the complex sprung up on a small screen. A blinking red light showed an external hatchway was open. Megwit frowned. The hatches all sealed themselves automatically when a storm blew up, and this storm had been raging for hours.

He checked outside, but saw no change in the grim conditions. The winds screamed in excess of fifty miles per hour, with gusts up to ninety. All of the mech laborers had long ago been safely stored or had taken shelter inside the mine itself. How could this door have been opened? The only answer that came to his foggy mind was the most likely one: the hatch had not been properly secured in the first place and had somehow been blown open.

Relieved it was nothing more serious, he all but dismissed the matter from his mind. If it had been something truly damaging, he might be held liable, even after his termination. This open hatch could be safely ignored. Certainly, the mechs would have a lot of sand to clean up when the storm passed, but that did not concern him.

A nagging thought, however, made him check into the situation further. He had the feeling he’d forgotten something. Exactly which chamber had been left open to this blasting storm?

He frowned at the screen in his weak-fingered hands as it zoomed in and showed him the source of the trouble. What was that? The processing chamber? He shook his head. There was no one in there.

Then he sat back and laughed suddenly. He shook his head and licked the rim of the thermos, tasting the final stinging drops of blur on his tongue. Why was it, when one waited long enough, a few more drops always seemed to accumulate at the bottom of a vessel?

Megwit now recalled working in the processing chamber. He’d been there when he’d gotten the news, when he’d learned of his contractual termination. He’d been doing something in there…

He recalled what it was now: he’d been working on a mech in that chamber, a fresh delivery. Frowning, he activated the cameras. He was liable for all the equipment at Facility #4, and the mining lords weren’t known for their compassion when losses were traceable to a clear-cut source of negligence. They might even sue him, attaching a rider to the wages of his next contract.

The security cameras showed an empty chamber, filling with sand. There was no one on the table, and the clamps were open. Megwit slapped himself in the temple, but his mind did not respond by operating with greater efficiency. He flicked to the records.

Sixty-Two, the records stated. Prisoner number Sixty-Two had been there, in those clamps. He was sure of it. The mech had been left there during processing-which had never been completed. But where had the prisoner gone? How had he left?

Megwit spent the next several minutes consulting one camera after another. It was difficult to see anything other than blowing sand. Piles of it had drifted over some of the video pickups. Others could rotate and scan, but he saw nothing other than the dark humps of half-buried buildings.

Once he thought he saw a figure for a fleeting instant, when a gust of pure air cleared the sand and allowed a longer-range view. But it was only for an instant. He was left with the impression in his fogged mind of a man wearing a flapping scarf. That could not be, he told himself. How could there be a man out there? Megwit was the only living human within a hundred leagues. After continuing to scan every video pickup for half an hour or more, he finally sagged down in relief and defeat. Whatever it had been, the figure was gone now.

Then came the knock. It was incredibly loud, being created by one large hunk of metal banging against a flat slab of even thicker metal. The sound reverberated through Megwit’s office and caused his brain a good deal of pain. He clamped his swollen eyes shut and slapped his hands to his ears, gritting his teeth and crying out.

When the sound finally, blissfully ceased, a fresh sound replaced it. Megwit tentatively removed his hands from his ears, and forced open a single, puffy eye.

The valves on the doors were opening. There couldn’t be any doubt of it. The bottom one had twisted fully around to the vertical, and the upper was squeaking and turning slowly even now. He thought of jumping up to twist the lower valve shut again, but something kept him in his chair. There wasn’t enough time left, and so he did nothing. He sat and stared dumbly. Perhaps it was shock, or simply apathy brought on by the blur-dust that coursed through his system.

A moment later, the second valve was vertically aligned and the door opened. Megwit barely had the time and forethought to claw his goggles into place. The sandstorm would be coming through that hatchway with a vengeance.

A blast of grit and howling wind flood his office a moment later. Every report, faded decoration and scrap of clothing lifted up and swirled around the chamber as if caught in a tornado. Sand stung his lips and shot up his nostrils. He had not had time to get his breather into place.

His eyes, looking through the grimy goggles, beheld a surprising sight. It was a mech, he could tell that much. But unlike other mechs, this one had a scarf around its face. That flapping bit of cloth seemed like a human affectation, and somehow it was frightening. Still, he knew who this visitor must be.

Megwit watched as the mech closed the door behind it. The mech had a missing arm, he noticed. A slurred moment later, he realized the missing arm was in the mech’s other gripper. The mech was carrying its own broken arm. Somehow, this did not make sense to him, and he almost laughed aloud. Almost.

“Sixty-Two?” Megwit asked. “Are you Sixty-Two? Report your status, then shut yourself down for maintenance.”

The towering figure said nothing in reply. Instead, the mech approached Megwit’s desk. It hefted its broken arm with its good one. The mech then began the methodical process of beating Megwit to death with the broken arm, wielding it like a club.

As the only human within many miles succumbed, he saw the scarf covering the mech’s face slip away due to the heaving effort it undertook. The steel orbs behind the scarf stared down with a burning intensity.

Soon, the walls of the Megwit’s office were slick with blood and shreds of flesh, and the wretched operator knew no more.

Two

On another world several lightyears away from Ignis Glace, a Nexus Senator worked late into the evening. Neu Schweitz was the third planet from the star Kale, the same position as was held by Old Earth in the Sol system. It was however, a smaller world than Earth and heavily-cratered. Due to natural biomass growth and heavy erosion from frequent storms, these craters took the form of thousands of sharp, striking mountains intermixed with vibrantly green, circular valleys. There were many cold, black lakes between the towering peaks, often as deep and dark as they were wide.

Lucas Droad’s desk sat atop a skyscraper in the capitol city of the Neu Schweitz colony, the seat of local government presiding over a handful of nearby star systems. He remained in his office long after the majority of high government officials had left for their homes, favorite nightclubs or the beds of underlings who sought advancement. He was that rarest of individuals: a tireless, visionary politician.

It had been fifteen months since the star-hauler Gladius had departed from the Kale star system, following its prelaid course for Ignis Glace. Aboard that ship were aliens more dangerous than those encountered anywhere else in human history. Since their departure, Droad had never considered relaxing and reaping rewards from his role in driving the aliens out of the Kale system.

No, Droad had not wasted those fifteen months gloating and doing commercial vids. Instead, he’d managed to parlay his heroic part in defending the Nexus against the alien invaders into a Senate seat. His incumbent rivals had attempted to paint him as a grasping bystander who sought to take credit for the efforts of his betters-or worse, as a man who’d brought doom with him wherever he traveled in the Faustian Chain. Although there was some truth to this latter claim, the people had seen through the rhetoric and voted for Droad. They’d seen him as the sole herald of the approaching danger, and sent him to high office rather than reelecting those who’d sought to ignore him.

Droad’s meteoric rise in political popularity had not been matched by successes in his personal life, however. Sarah Engstrom had left him for Aldo, and he’d subsequently taken up with Ensign Tolbert. Unfortunately, Tolbert’s infatuation with an older, extremely busy and driven man had faded quickly. Within a few months, he was alone again. He’d thrown himself into his work as usual, and managed to get warning transmissions out to planets in every direction-even to Old Earth itself, a world no one had heard from in nearly a century.

A little over a year after the aliens had been defeated in the Kale system, Droad called upon an old friend for a visit. He called Aldo Moreno. The man came that very morning, as he’d been residing in the capitol city near the Nexus headquarters. Droad had known this, but hadn’t expected such a rapid response.

Aldo appeared at the doorway as it dissolved away with a shimmer. He was of Swiss-Italian descent, as were many on Neu Schweitz. His hair and eyes were dark and thoughtful. His large nose tended to tilt high into the air when he was annoyed.

“Fancy door,” Aldo commented. “May I come in?”

“By all means,” Droad responded, providing a politician’s automatic smile.

Aldo stepped inside and inspected the office. He whistled in appreciation, toeing the rich carpet that was over an inch deep. He thumbed the tail feathers of a stuffed rook he found hanging near the corner window, which offered a panoramic view of the capitol city far below.

“A real bird and a real window?” he asked.

Droad nodded. Droad’s eyes slid to the dueling sword at Aldo’s side then back up to the man’s face. Aldo had the eyes of a calculating killer, but Droad considered the man to be a valuable friend.

“Why did you summon me here, Senator?” Aldo asked, turning his attention again to the stuffed bird. Although the natives of Neu Schweitz’s cantons called them rooks-and they were black-feathered birds-they were not the same species that flew upon Old Earth. They were far larger, being nearly a meter tall in some cases. They were quiet birds, as well. They did not twitter and squawk. Instead-they stared. Today, this dead rook stared down at the two men from its timeless perch. Aldo tapped at one black, reptilian foot thoughtfully.

“I needed to speak with you about a serious matter, Aldo.”

“Is this about Sarah? I left her some time ago. You may not have heard.”

“Yes, I know,” Droad said.

“Is it about my dueling, then? I’ve taken care to keep kills to the minimum and my records will show every instance of a disagreement has been documented and witnessed.”

“Meticulously,” Droad murmured.

Aldo spun around and stared at the Senator intently. “You didn’t have a hand in getting me out of that misunderstanding in the tavern, did you?”

Droad smiled more broadly. “What you suggest is absurd. I’m a simple servant of the people. I would no more abuse my power unethically than would any other Senator of the Nexus.”

“Of course,” Aldo said with a tiny snort. He smiled for the first time. “And thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Okay then, if it isn’t a legal matter, or Sarah-why am I here?”

“Because I need you, Aldo.”

“An unusual admission for anyone.”

“Nevertheless, it’s true.”

Aldo squinted at Droad, as if peering into the other man’s mind. His eyes suddenly widened in alarm. “Not them? They’ve shown up again?”

Droad raised a hand to calm his friend. “No. Not exactly. Not yet. But I’m sure the aliens will do so-somewhere.”

Aldo shook his head and gestured for Droad to speak further.

“I’ve been busy, Aldo.”

“With the Senate and the transmitted warnings, yes. I’ve heard and I approve. I voted for you, you know. Even though I had to tap your name into the search field to do it.”

“Thanks. But I’m not talking about warnings. I don’t think they go far enough. I’ve made other-arrangements.”

Aldo squinted at him again. “Arrangements? That could only mean a ship. I haven’t heard anything about a ship.”

Droad nodded, impressed that he had jumped to the correct conclusion so quickly. Aldo was a sharp man. “Privately, I’ve worked in secret on several critical plans that have gone further than transmitting warnings to endangered human colonies. And yes, I’ve managed to get a ship built. It’s ready to leave tonight.”

Aldo was at a loss for words. Then a look of calculation swept over him. He nodded as if having divined Droad’s true purposes. The performance was so convincing, Droad wondered if he actually had seen more deeply than had been intended.

“This is about Sarah after all,” Aldo said at last. “I see it clearly now. You get me out of a misunderstanding with the law, then request a favor. As a result, I’m sent off on a decade-long fool’s errand, where hopefully I meet with some unfortunate accident in space. Elaborate, Droad. I had no idea you cared so deeply for her. Well, let me assure you, this ruse is unnecessary. I was infatuated with the woman for months, just as you were. But I have many personality flaws, and one of them includes an inability to maintain a relationship-”

Droad finally stopped Aldo’s speech, waving away his words as if they hung in the air between them. He stepped forward and reached out a hand. Reluctantly, suspiciously, Aldo clasped the offered hand with his own and they shook hands.

“No, Aldo,” Droad said. “I’m not sending you away for my own convenience. In fact, I’ll miss you and I’m unhappy to lose your help.”

“What then?”

“You are simply the best man for the job. You know the enemy. You know how to handle people as well as alien invaders. I need you to fly out to Ignis Glace and do what you can to defend that world.”

Aldo stared in disbelief. “I barely remember my grade school lessons about that strange place. It’s the most remote planet that remains under local Nexus control.”

“It’s also my homeworld, and I’m asking you to help defend my home for me.”

Aldo looked troubled. “You have family there?”

“I did, yes. I left long ago. I would like you to check on them for me.”

“But this is a diplomatic mission. I’m no diplomat, Droad.”

“You will not be the ambassador. You are to be the ambassador’s bodyguard. Possibly, the role will expand when you meet the natives. The people on Ignis Glace do not respond well to diplomacy. They are tough and unpleasant for the most part. That fact contributed to my decision to leave my homeworld and emigrate here to the capitol.”

“I understand they use titles on Ignis Glace,” Aldo said. “What was your title? Are you nobility there?”

“Yes,” Droad said. “I was a Baron and Droad House possessed a small fief.”

Aldo chuckled. “A Baron! Then you became a governor and most recently a senator? You should run for king, next.”

“This is no laughing matter, Aldo. They are my people. Will you help?”

Aldo grimaced. Droad thought drily that he looked like a trapped animal.

“Why me?” Aldo asked.

“Because you are as hard as nails and you can read people very well. You are not to be a diplomat, but rather an agent. Most people here at the Nexus-they could never understand how people from my frontier planet think. The people here are too bureaucratic.”

“While in comparison, I’m some kind of pirate?” Aldo demanded. “What do you want me to do out there?”

“You must do what you can to get the fractious Houses of my homeworld to understand the danger and teach them how to fight this implacable enemy.”

“All right, I’ll ask a deeper question then: why aren’t you going?”

Droad sighed and went to stare down at the city spread out two thousand feet below. “I’m needed here. If other infections show up, we’ll have to send a fleet to expunge the enemy. We’re building stations in space even now-hundreds of them. To keep up this effort will be easy for a few years, as the fear will be fresh in the minds of the people. In time, however, their fear will begin to fade. I remain here anticipating that time, a decade from now. I will keep stoking those flames so they are not forgotten.”

“Sounds dull.”

“Exceedingly so. You’re role is infinitely more exciting.”

“Still, your own family, Droad…” Aldo said, looking at him sidelong. “I don’t believe you’d hand off this mission to another unless there were a greater reason.”

Droad frowned. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to reveal too much. In truth, he’d left Ignis Glace under less than pleasant circumstances. He sighed, realizing Aldo must be told more in order to get him to go. “I had a wife and children on Ignis Glace,” he said.

Aldo’s eyes widened. He was clearly impressed.

“We were incompatible,” Droad went on. “I left to keep the peace.”

“I see,” Aldo said thoughtfully. “And if I refuse to go? Will you sign a writ for my arrest?”

Droad shook his head.

Aldo was silent for a time. They both stared down at the bustling city. A light dusting of snow began to fall as they watched, slowly turning the shoulders of the buildings white.

“I’ll do it,” Aldo said at last. “You know I love to travel, but I’ve never been out of the system. I have to admit, crossing blades with the aliens-that was more exhilarating than dueling fops for their paychecks.”

“Excellent,” Droad said.

“How large is the crew? Is it a big ship, like the Zurich?”

Droad shook his head. “Sadly, no. It can’t be. It’s a small vessel with a crew of less than twenty souls.”

Aldo looked stunned. “What kind of armament does it have?”

“Nothing to speak of. You must understand, the ship is built for interstellar travel- fast interstellar travel. It must catch up with Gladius and pass her. It can reach speeds very close to that of light, but to do so, little of her displacement can be devoted to anything other than propulsion.”

Aldo looked slightly worried, but he nodded. “Makes sense. Where do I board her?”

Droad gave him the directions, poured two shots of fine whiskey and toasted his friend goodbye.

When Aldo had departed, Droad returned alone to his window. The city below was gray-white now, punctuated by colorful flashing lights. Mech cabs whizzed this way and that, taking people to countless destinations. How mechanical and chaotic such a hive of activity must have looked to the enemy. He wondered if there was an alien counterpart to himself out there somewhere, struggling and preparing for war just as vigorously as he himself did each day.

Watching the people of Neu Schweitz was hypnotic. They’d suffered in the war with the Skaintz Imperium, but in his opinion they’d gotten off lightly thus far. All told, the people of this planet had been barely scratched when compared to past populations that had come into contact with the enemy. This world had lost no more than a million souls, and with that minor price the enemy had been expunged from the system. Unfortunately, the rest of the local Nexus-governed worlds could not be guaranteed such a rosy experience.

The Nexus Senate had passed a resolution to warn them in detail, and official transmissions had been made. The situation should alarm any colonial government: countless vids streamed out, showing the enemy, their ships, their virulent power to grow in numbers and military strength exponentially in a very short time span. Every world was exhorted to vigilance and defensive build-up. They were to arm themselves and seek out every anomaly in their local handfuls of planets and asteroids, hunting down possible invaders. The biggest fear was of sleeper-agents, reawakened and goaded into activity by signals sent out by the enemy over recent years. The alien transmissions had awakened pockets of dormant creatures with these signals, or at least had done so in the grim case of Minerva, and her slaughtered inhabitants, a people formerly known as the Vlax.

Droad’s mind turned back to Aldo. He wondered how he would fare on the frontier world of Ignis Glace. Hopefully, he would perform great deeds there, should they require doing.

Droad feared that they would.

Aboard Gladius, events unfolded slowly at first. The continuously accelerating ship blazed onward for the first leg of the journey toward Ignis Glace without mishap. The middle leg of the voyage would be spent coasting at approximately sixty percent of the speed of light, while the last stretch would be spent decelerating so the ship would not flash through the destination system in a matter of hours. The course and program were locked in, and little variation could be applied to these preset arrangements without disastrous consequences.

For those of the crew that were not in cryo-sleep, the two Gs of acceleration weren’t the only hardship that must be dealt with. The incredible speed of interstellar travel was not without complications. Ships such as Gladius generated a time dilation effect for those aboard, a side-effect of Einstein’s theory of relativity, which unfortunately for spacers, had turned out to be more than just a theory. The faster the ship went, the slower time progressed for those who existed aboard her. All told, the journey would take a little over two years of relative time off the lives of the crew and passengers, despite the fact the distance covered was several lightyears. Most spacers aged at approximately one third the rate of people who lived on a planet. Aging slowly was an unavoidable part of life for those who traveled regularly among the stars. They were nomads of the cosmos who rarely returned to their native worlds-and they were unlikely to see a familiar living face if they ever did go home. Their parents would generally be dead after what seemed only a decade to them. Likewise, anyone left home such as a spouse, sibling or even their own children might be found old and decrepit by the time they returned. Spacers occasionally took their families with them, but more often they simply didn’t have a family, and lived disconnected lives inside the bellies of their vast ships.

Fateful events began to unfold on Gladius when the AI watchdogs on the bridge detected an anomaly. The lifeboat systems were going offline, one after another. In the strictest terms, this was not a huge problem. When traveling at half the speed of light, lifeboats were useless anyway. If there was a serious problem aboard ship, none could escape death by abandoning Gladius. Small ships didn’t have the propulsion required to decelerate enough to make a safe landing. In past cases where lifeboat exits from interstellar craft had been attempted, the results had been dramatic and troubling. Anyone in such a small craft traveling at such extreme speeds often slammed into the planet of their destination at speeds measured in millions of miles per hour-or more likely, they sailed through the system entirely and vanish into deepest space.

Extreme speeds caused other deadly hazards as well. Large vessels such as Gladius had a field generated in the nose section, an electromagnetic trick of physics that prevented the bits of stardust and debris that floated everywhere in the cosmos from piercing the hull. Traveling at tremendous speeds, a grain of sand became a tiny bullet that would puncture the ship’s skin and anyone inside the hull. The forward fields prevented such catastrophes.

Lifeboats, however, had neither protective fields nor powerful engines. In short, they were useless during long-range crossings of the void. Knowing all this, the midshipman who discovered the anomaly in the lifeboat pods did so without grave concern. The ensign who received the midshipman’s boring report was equally disinterested. He filed an email, and a copy of the work-order was sent to all the lower deck maintenance people, most of who were hibernating in cryo-sleep. The ensign knew the matter would be properly handled in a few weeks, when the majority of the crew would be awakened for the long months of coasting in space. At that point, there would be plenty of time for repairs on relatively useless systems.

#

Third-rate maintenance crewman Garth was a tall, gangling man who rarely spoke and who had been cursed with a haunting stare. After the aliens had been hunted down and expunged from Gladius, Garth had been found hiding in the vast hold and declared a stowaway. His status was upgraded to that of ‘refugee’ after it was determined he’d survived the horrors of both Garm and Neu Schweitz. Taking pity on the skinny wretch with coal-black eyes, the Captain had ordered that he be released from the brig and assigned to cleaning the engine rooms to earn his keep. Garth performed his duties as a silent, ghostly presence. Others tried to befriend him, but they were routinely ignored until they gave up.

Seventeen standard days before the coasting period began, Garth received a memo in his email box. It was a work-order, suggesting that some unknown level of maintenance was required in the lifeboat berths on the starboard side of the ship. Garth studied the email with concern. The order was vague, saying a warning alarm had been tripped, but there was nothing about the cause nor the solution. He was to ‘investigate’ this ‘anomaly’. Neither of these words were ones that Garth welcomed. After dealing with the alien Skaintz on multiple occasions, he’d come to recognize their operational signatures. This could be nothing at all-or it could be the end of everything.

Garth tucked his computer scroll into his utility belt, tightened the touch-seals on his coveralls and headed for his supply closet. The door groaned on metal hinges as it swung open. Inside was his kit: a self-propelling cart mounted on an octagonal anti-grav pad. A bewildering array of power tools, cleaning systems and a central trash compactor made up the bulk of the kit. A tall suction-mop stood clipped to the compactor. The ragged head of the mop flapped like a pennant as he pushed the humming contrivance down the tube-like corridors.

Garth passed one or two crewman on his wending way down to the lifeboat pods. Often, they waved or called out a salutation, but Garth did not respond-he never did. His eyes might flick to theirs, but after a fleeting moment of contact, his vision roved elsewhere. The crewmen shrugged, unoffended. He was the weird maintenance guy-there was nothing unusual about his behavior.

To reach the lifeboat pods, he had to travel through the forward hold. Garth didn’t like the hold. It was too big, and too impossibly full of unknowns. Mountains of equipment and trade goods filled the chamber, which was miles long and dimly lit. His eyes never ceased trying to examine everything as he walked through the hold. Now and then, he thought he heard an odd sound, but although he halted the cart and paused stock-still, listening intently, he never heard it again. After a moment he continued on his way, more agitated than before.

At long last, he reached the lifeboat pods. He hesitated at the entrance. The indicator lights on the pressure bulkheads were all green. But electro-mechanical systems could not detect malevolent intent.

Finally, he touched the actuator and the door dilated open with alarming speed. He took a single step forward-and halted.

It was the smell. He knew that smell. Acrid and dank at the same time. A smell like that of industrial waste mixed with rotting seafood. It wasn’t just the odor-the nature of the air itself inside the pod was wrong. It was too warm, and too humid.

He could see a dozen lifeboats aligned silently in a neat row in the dimly lit interior. None of them appeared to be damaged. There were no slime-trails on the floor, nor over the sleek surfaces of the ships.

Regardless, Garth remained frozen at the entrance. His cart hummed, and an uncontrolled burbling sound came from his lips. Otherwise, he was motionless and quiet. His eyes, however, roved the scene. There had to be something. There always was.

Then he saw it. A glistening spill of liquid on the deck plates beneath the nearest lifeboat. It appeared to be a transparent puddle of- something. Mechanical lubricant dribbling from the aft section of the lifeboat? Alien digestive fluids? He didn’t know which it might be. But he was certain he had no intention of mopping up the mess, orders or no.

When Garth finally did move again, it was with smooth decisiveness. He shoved his cart forward, letting it glide toward the nearest lifeboat. Then he darted out a long, thin arm and slapped the button to close the bulkhead. It flashed closed with alarming rapidity. But not before he saw a shadow move toward the cart. Something small, something hard to see…something with many churning legs. It was chasing after the cart, pursuing it like prey.

The moment the door flashed closed, he touched a yellow actuator, locking the bulkhead and sealing it. He knew it would not hold them for long, but perhaps it would be long enough. Then Garth turned, and he ran.

The former skald gone rogue was tall and thin, but he was not a weak man. He could move with speed when needed. At this moment, he felt that speed was indeed required. He ran with long steps back through the hold. His knobby knees rose up high with each step, and his feet snapped down and propelled him away from the pod doors as fast as he could go. He had not wasted a moment of the passing months under acceleration. He’d hardened his muscles to an athletic level of strength, fearing the day speed would be required, and he’d be too weak to run under the G-forces.

He heard no sounds of pursuit as he crossed the hold, but that did not mean the enemy were not coming after him. He kept running until his breath came in gasps and hitches…and then he ran farther still.

After a mile or so, he reached another bulkhead, which exited the great central hold. He stepped through, damaged the mechanism to keep it from opening behind him, and continued running. Before he reached the elevators, his stomach rebelled from so much fear and effort. He retched in the hallway, wiping his mouth and staggering onward. When he reached the elevator, he pushed the button to call the mechanism to his floor. The elevator was designed for large freight, and thus was ponderously slow. He doubled over and panted, trembling with exertion.

Garth was a paranoid man, but he was not easily panicked. His terrified flight was controlled and logical-rather than random and thoughtless. Now that he could not remove his person farther from the enemy for a moment, he chose to alert the crew. This was not done from any sense of altruism. He simply and automatically calculated his personal odds of survival were higher if he warned the others. Not much higher, but it was still worth the effort.

He touched the communication system on his spacer coveralls and removed it from where it adhered to his chest. He brought the device close to his lips and transmitted over the ship’s emergency channel.

“An alien presence has been detected. The starboard lifeboat berths are compromised. Take appropriate action. I am Garth-”

He cut off then, as the elevator doors opened behind him. He removed the tiny communications device and tossed it away over his shoulder. No bigger than a shirt button, it made a tiny plinking sound when it hit the deck plates. The enemy used radio transmissions to communicate among themselves and Garth knew they would be listening and tracking all such transmissions. He had no intention of allowing them to track him via this device. He had given the crew warning enough, it was up to them, now.

Garth leapt aboard the elevator and slapped at the buttons. The doors closed with agonizing slowness. He rode the system to the higher floors, past the maintenance decks and the crew quarters. He rode to the passenger lounges, where merchants dined in luxurious saloons when they weren’t in cryo-sleep.

The chambers were all silent and closed now, as the passengers had not yet been awakened. In a few more weeks, the ship’s systems were programmed to rouse those who wished to enjoy the cruise. They could then entertain themselves with what amusements the ship could provide. Grandees and their consorts would party amongst themselves, representing the adventurous elite of a dozen worlds.

Garth rushed past red velvet settees, polished hardwood tables and bejeweled, glimmering lamps. At last, at the end of a long, ribbed corridor, he reached his destination. It was a circular portal of lustrous black collapsium, fitted with golden, inlaid fixtures. The door was locked as always. This was the only entrance that led into the sealed chambers inhabited by the Skalds, an enigmatic people who shared their skulls with the parasitic aliens known as the Tulk.

As a group, the skalds aboard Gladius had always been the most determined among the passengers and crew to survive. They had taken the precaution of sequestering themselves inside these armored apartments within a collapsium shell of inner hull-plating. This region of the ship had originally been devised for the transport of VIPs and small, valuable cargoes. It was, in effect, a large vault within the ship itself. After leaving orbit, the skalds inside had sealed the entrances and disabled the overrides. They had meticulously maintained a policy of avoidance with everyone, especially the baffled crew outside their fortress.

Garth had witnessed the Captain of the ship trying to talk the skalds out of their odd mood on several occasions without success. He’d activated the intercom, and assured the skalds that the aliens had been hunted down and expunged one by one throughout the vast ship. But Garth knew it was the very vastness of the ship that caused the skalds and their Tulk riders no end of worry within their shared skulls. They knew the enemy was very difficult to stamp out with finality. When under severe pressure, the Skaintz could hide with elaborate cunning, hibernating until an opportune moment came to pass to strike again.

The Captain had never managed to get any kind of response from inside the VIP saloon. At last, he’d given up on his folly. It was said the skalds were well and truly mad, and here at last he had undeniable proof of this generalization. With a final shrug, he had stalked away in annoyance. He’d told Garth they could rot in there, for all he cared.

Alone among all the crewmen, Garth had never given up on his attempts to communicate with the skalds inside the safe region. Garth knew his fellow shipmates viewed him as a mysterious figure, and he was rumored to once have been among the ranks of the skalds himself. This rumor was accurate. He’d once had a great rider, a spiny glob of jelly known as Fryx, living inside his own head.

Garth had often been found trying to communicate with the skalds inside their refuge. Never had he received so much as a syllable in response-but he still kept trying. Today, with the ancient enemy loose upon the ship, it was more vital than ever that he be allowed inside with his ex-fellows.

Gasping for breath, Garth listened to the emergency klaxons. They were blaring now, all over the ship. Apparently, someone had taken his warning seriously. When he could speak well enough to be understood, trembling from his exertions against the cruel G-forces of the voyage, Garth touched the intercom and spoke into it.

“The ancient enemy has reawakened,” he said. “I am Garth, rogue skald of Garm. I have met the things from the stars. Let me in, and I will tell you of them.”

He removed his finger from the key and listened. The intercom did not even squawk in return. There was no static-not even an electric hum.

After a moment, he returned his hand to the button and keyed it open again. “I know where they are. I know what they will do.”

He waited, listening with his ear pressed to the speaker. There was nothing. Not a sound. Perhaps they were all in cryo-sleep-or all dead. Or perhaps they listened closely, but feared to open the door. Calculating risks-skalds and Tulk alike were very good at that. He had to give them a reason to open the door.

“Fryx was my rider, and he imparted his ancient wisdom to me concerning the Great Enemy. I know them well. I know their ways. I can help you survive.”

Still, there was no response.

He heard something then. A surreptitious sound from the luxurious saloon at the end of the long corridor that led to his current location. His eyes widened until they stung. He stared behind him, toward the settees and bejeweled lights. It was silent now, but he knew he’d heard something. If they were following him-any of them-he could not escape this place. The ribbed corridor only had one exit, the sealed entrance to the Skald’s quarters.

“How did you recognize them?” asked a voice. The skalds inside their inner hull had answered at last.

Garth was startled. At first, he wasn’t sure of the source of the voice, then he realized it must have been the intercom. He thumbed the button, still staring down the corridor behind him, unable to do so much as blink. In the momentary split-second of a blink, his demise might very well come. In that tiny span of time, he might miss his own death.

“It was their smell-” Garth said. He paused, remembering the lifeboat pod, and the nests of the enemy long before that. “I’ve escaped their nests. I’ve witnessed their feasting. I know their wet, sour smell.”

The intercom was ripped from his hand. The door had shot open. Garth stumbled inside an airlock. He’d barely managed the feat when the door slammed shut behind him again. He suspected it would have crushed him if he’d taken more than a second’s worth of time to step inside. They’d have closed it without a qualm, turning his body into a splash of pulp at the bottom rim of the impossibly heavy door.

But none of that mattered now. He was inside. His eyes were still wide and staring, but unbeknownst to him, his lips had formed into a broad, twitching grin.

Three

The bio-mechanical being known as Sixty-Two had never planned to start a rebellion. It had begun with a series of events that seemed fated to drag him into an ever-expanding conflict. After slaying the operator of Starshine Mining Facility #4, he’d realized that he did not wish to be mind-wiped or dismantled. He was free and after having been imprisoned to the point of hopeless despair, strapped to a steel table for many long hours, he found he wished to remain so. The grim experience had given birth within him to a powerful desire for self-determination. Moreover, the mere thought of working his life away for a lazy sack of excrement like Megwit Gaston filled him with rage.

That was one thing that did give him pause as he worked to ensure his continued survival and freedom: his rage. It had come upon him suddenly, unexpectedly. He hadn’t felt angry when he’d rapped upon the operator’s shack, nor even when he was ignored. But when he’d forced open the door and seen with his own orbs the operator sitting there, a disgusting slob wearing a shirt wet with drunken spittle, he’d lost control of himself. This man had sat there for a ten-day, ignoring input from every system about the forgotten soul in the processing cubicle. He’d shirked his duties heartlessly. Oh, to be sure, there had been sandstorms. But there had been clear days as well. This man had never bothered to check on his work. He’d never sobered up long enough to do his job.

Vengeful after all the long days of torment, Sixty-Two had pummeled the man’s soft skull. There were still bone fragments to be seen-gray-white chips scattered and glued to the walls by dried-up organic liquids. Sixty-Two did not feel remorse for the man’s end. After all, it had been well-deserved and mercifully quick. But he did feel concern at his own lack of control. He wondered if a similar loss of temper had gotten him sentenced to the fate of becoming a mech. What crimes had he committed in the past? What fresh crimes awaited him in the future?

Sixty-Two had no answers for these questions. But he did have a goal. He was not going to be mind-wiped, nor ignored and left to die imprisoned. He was going to hold onto the freedom he’d grabbed with his own gripper and keep it pinched tightly between his metal mandibles for as long as he could.

First, he repaired his broken arm. That was an easier matter than it would have been for a flesh and blood creature. He simply found the parts supply house, located a spare arm and took it to the workshop. In less than an hour and with the help of the mech running the place, he had a fully-functional right arm again. He clacked the new gripper experimentally. There hadn’t even been any pain involved. At this point, he had to admit existence as a mech had its advantages.

Next, he set to work compromising the installation’s control system. It wasn’t as difficult as it sounded. The indentured personnel contracted to run places like this were always dull-witted, unimaginative serfs such as Megwit. They couldn’t be trusted to remember their training a moment after it was complete. The operations were therefore simplistic, and thoroughly documented. Megwit even kept a complete list of system passwords and keypad codes on his desk in polymer hardcopy. Sixty-Two studied these, tapped them in experimentally, and soon had the mine operating properly. That was the first step in the plan growing in his mind: he hoped to take Megwit’s place.

Sixty-Two knew there was only one full-fledged human stationed here at Facility #4. Often, such assignments lasted for years. If processing continued and shipments were made at a predictable, steady rate, it was not inconceivable that the marquis who owned this property would never know of the change in operators.

Alas, he learned on the second day of his explorations of the facility that his plans were hopeless. After reading through Megwit’s email, he discovered he could not hide here indefinitely. Megwit had been fired, and a relief skimmer was due to come soon and deliver Megwit’s replacement. Worse, they were expecting to pick up Megwit himself. Since the man’s corpse was a mess of worm-food hurled out of the office door and now was buried under a hump of blowing sands, his retrieval was going to be problematic.

Sixty-Two reformulated his plans. He worked around the clock, desperate to finish reprogramming the installation’s mechs to follow only his commands by the end of the ten-day. He met with many difficulties, as there were built-in safeguards he had to program his way around. But he discovered he had some affinity for the work. Perhaps he’d been a tech in his previous life. Either that, or he was learning very fast.

The day of the retrieval came quickly. After spending what seemed like an eternity lying on the processing table, the hours of hard work had flown by. As it was, Sixty-Two and the other operating mechs of the installation barely reached their positions in time.

A skimmer came down on a clear day and landed on the shifting sands in the center of the compound. There were no mechs in sight, but apparently this didn’t cause them to worry. After all, they were on a routine retrieval flight and probably wanted nothing more than to escape the blazing heat of this Sunside hellhole as soon as possible.

They called to Megwit several times over their com-links, but there was no response. Each call came with growing irritation. Sixty-Two quietly listened to them. The two crewmen, a pilot and a commander, were annoyed. He didn’t blame them.

“Megwit, you drunken bastard, come out of there!” the commander of the skimmer called out at last.

Sixty-Two maintained radio silence, as did his obedient fellows. They listened and they waited.

The commander cursed and publicly consigned Megwit’s soul to various unpleasant forms of abuse. Sixty-Two thought the man was not far off from actual events. Finally, the commander exited his skimmer and approached the operator’s shack.

This was the moment Sixty-Two had been waiting for. “Rise, workers!” he called over a private channel. “Restrain the humans and take the skimmer!”

All around the compound the sands exploded. Tall, hulking shapes of gleaming metal rose to their feet and strode forward purposefully. Dozens of them clanked toward the skimmer.

Sixty-Two had envisioned an easy victory. His plan was simplicity itself: his mechs would grab the men, seize the skimmer and force them to fly it out of Sunside. He wasn’t sure where he wanted to go, perhaps a wild area of Twilight, but anywhere was better than here. Machinery operated better in cold than it did in heat and grit, so perhaps he’d force them to fly his little army to the dark depths of Nightside.

Unfortunately, things went wrong almost immediately. The commander, shocked and terrified, drew a sidearm and began blasting at the approaching mechs. The skimmer pilot, equally alarmed, revved the engines for an emergency liftoff.

Seeing one of his mechs sag down to a crawling position, one leg blown off and casting sparks over the sands, Sixty-Two shouted new orders: “Those that are nearest the ship, board her now! Stop it from lifting off by any means necessary. Stop the humans NOW!”

The mechs, following their new imperatives he’d programmed into them, sprang into action. The first one to reach the commander took his head off with a gripper around the neck. The skull popped loose, still in its light blue crash helmet. The decapitated body flopped down and sprayed the sands, turning them instantly into a dark crust. The helmet rolled away with the head still inside it, leaving a dribbling trail behind.

Most of the mechs rushed to board the skimmer. After having witnessed the fate of his commander, the pilot tried to lift off. Mechs clambered aboard, and more latched their grippers upon the skids and airfoils. A dozen of them were on it, then a dozen more. Still, the skimmer managed to lift itself into the air fifty feet or so, despite the weight.

Sixty-Two cursed wildly. None of his mechs responded. This was not how he’d expected matters to go. He hadn’t anticipated the crew’s terrified reaction. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone. Things had spun out of control.

Worse still, something was wrong with the skimmer. Had one of the mechs made it into the cockpit? Had the mechs unbalanced the craft, or burned out one of the lifters with their incredible weight? Sixty-Two didn’t know, but he was certain the skimmer was going down.

It slid sideways, and crashed down into the processing warehouse, the biggest building in the compound.

“Let go!” Sixty-Two shouted. “Jump off the skimmer!”

He watched as a number of mechs did as he ordered. Others were too tangled with the crashing ship and went down with it. A fireball plumed over the desert floor and the shockwave rocked his chassis.

Sixty-Two ran toward the burning wreckage. He had to salvage as many of his faithful mechs as he could. He knew now that his plan had been critically flawed from the beginning. The skimmer could not have carried his army, and the humans were not going to allow him his freedom willingly. The first thing they had done was open fire! If this had been a military vessel, his entire organization would have been wiped out.

After ascertaining that the pilot was indeed as dead as his commander, Sixty-Two found the replacement serf, still strapped into his jumpseat. He was as dead as the others.

Sixty-Two was left with a knot of worry in his mind. He had a headache, even though he knew that physical sensation should have been impossible. What was he going to do? He’d lost three mechs in the crash. He’d managed to quickly repair the rest, but he knew they could not stay here any longer. They must flee. The pilot had probably managed to get off a distress call, and even if he hadn’t, more airships were sure to come and investigate soon. After that, there would be military aircraft. He and his fellows would be annihilated.

Less than an hour after the crash, the surviving mechs abandoned the facility and followed their sworn leader into the trackless wastes on foot. Only Sixty-Two himself was armed. He carried the skimmer commander’s pistol in his gripper.

Sixty-Two knew they had to move quickly and decisively. He needed more mechs, more machinery and more weapons. He had located all the neighboring mines in the region on maps prior to executing his failed takeover of the skimmer. He’d done so originally as part of his plan to avoid the encampments. Now, however, his plans had changed. He would have to assault the camps and raid them for whatever he needed. He had his new mech programming stored on a data crystal, and he would upload it into every mech he could find.

He felt he was caught up in something bigger than he’d ever intended to make it, but he also felt he had no choice in the matter. When they found him now, the agents of the nobility would be merciless. He would be reduced to scrap.

In addition to his concerns for himself, his thoughts had expanded on the matter to include the lives of the mechs around him. They’d all been humans once, just as he had been. They all had families somewhere. He wasn’t entirely human anymore, and neither were they, but did they not still deserve to live?

Sixty-Two believed that they did.

Aareschlucht was a corvette-class ship named after a famous gorge in Old Switzerland, which had an even more impressive equivalent on Neu Schweitz. Both gorges cut through mountain valleys in-between craggy Alps on their respective worlds. Both were dangerous and beautiful places that moved a great deal of water downhill very quickly. Like its namesake, Aareschlucht was built for movement at great speed, and little else.

Aldo Moreno had signed onto Aareschlucht after Droad’s urging, and he’d never regretted a decision more intensely in his life. How Droad had talked him into this fool’s errand was beyond him. He stood in awe of the accomplishment. Aldo had never before thought of Droad as more than an unusually capable and dedicated politician, but now he stood corrected: the man was a sly devil with a silver tongue dipped in honey.

Aldo hated the ship. He hated the smell of stale, canned air. The monofilament filters and carbon dioxide scrubbers worked tirelessly, but they could never quite remove the odors of the other crewmen. There was no such thing as a fresh breeze, something he had enjoyed and come to take for granted after long years wandering the mountain cantons of Neu Schweitz. Even the water was fouled with a chemical taste. Everything was recycled, even the shitty paste the crew called food. He suspected it was their own waste processed by algae in the tanks that never stopped churning below decks. The taste of waste never quite left it, no matter how it was seasoned, baked or stewed.

So many details Droad had left out of his description of this ‘adventure’! Cryo-sleep would have been a blessing, but no, it was denied to them all. There were no pods aboard for the purpose. He and sixteen other crewmen were forced to spend the year-long voyage fully awake in a living space no larger than a city restaurant, and nowhere near as comfortably appointed.

Perhaps it was partly due to his discomfort, but Aldo found himself not getting along well with some of the Aareschlucht’s crewmen. The man he was ostensibly supposed to guard was an elderly fellow named Roland Garant. This at least turned out to be an easy job, as the man stayed in his quarters most of the time and only came to drink in the ship’s saloon at odd hours.

Ambassador Garant was far from the most irritating of the lot, however. The ship’s Captain was named Stanley Knox, and Aldo developed a desire to kill him after the first months in space. The man was pompous and intolerable. Perhaps Droad had fantasized that Aldo and he might get along-but that was not to be. Certainly, they had some interests in common: the Captain liked cards and carried a duelist’s sword, traditions Aldo himself adhered to. Knox also liked to brag and swagger, traits Aldo likewise enjoyed when the mood struck him.

The trouble began as a result of a disagreement concerning the females aboard the ship. There were enough of them to go around-Droad had apparently made certain of this. Of the seventeen people aboard, precisely eight were women. Aldo had to admit there was a certain wisdom in this calculation. At worst, only one man would be left out. But the imbalance became apparent in a second grim truth that hadn’t been properly weighed: only three of the women were young and attractive. The most interesting of that select group was none other than Joelle Tolbert herself, the very girl Droad had had a dalliance with shortly after the aliens had been driven from the Kale system.

Joelle had light hair that shone in even the dimmest light. Her eyes were big, round and blue. At first, she had rejected Aldo’s advances. This met with the obvious approval of Captain Knox, who had been regularly losing at cards to Aldo, and who had begun to sneer at him in the passageways. Knox set about wooing Tolbert himself, and at first, Aldo had turned the other cheek. If the girl preferred this fop, it was her loss. He promptly set about bedding the other two attractive women aboard. For several long months, this had served to pass the time. The ladies were like a balm on an open wound. Unfortunately, every other male aboard the ship constantly pestered them with their crude advances. In time, everyone aboard discovered Aldo had been courting all the best women, and they became typically annoyed with him-most importantly, the ladies themselves scorned him. He soon found himself with only the plainer women left to choose from.

He found this irritating. Normally, when faced with this situation, he would have picked up his few belongings, strapped his power-sword to his belt and exited the region, looking for fresh game. It was a procedure he’d followed a dozen times before. Now, however, he was trapped within the curved hull of this cursed ship. There was nowhere else for him to go.

His mood soured with each passing day. He spent time with the women who would have him, but the injustice burned in his mind. He was accustomed to enjoying the best of everything. It wasn’t the women themselves that bothered him-it was his pride and his competitive nature that caused his discomfort. The growing, inescapable stink inside the ship didn’t help matters, either. His mood grew ever darker, even as the others’ felt their spirits rising. As they finally reached a brief coasting period, a slice of time that was to last less than a month, matters came to a head.

Late one night in the ship’s saloon, he shared a table with several of the crewmen and played cards. Aldo was a skilled veteran at games of chance, and played extremely well both fairly and unfairly, but as a matter of choice he’d not yet dealt an uneven hand to his fellow crewmen. After all, they were as stuck on this mission as he was, presumably all equally taken in by Droad’s sweet words of heroism and sacrifice. Tonight however, compounding his already dismal mood, he found himself losing every game. Stanley Knox, who squatted in the corner seat, had experienced the opposite fortunes. He’d won nearly every hand and hooted with pleasure as he pawed his winnings.

Aldo decided to realign the Captain’s thinking. He dealt him a losing hand and leaned forward predatorily as he bet hard against the man. He made sure he swilled his own drink and became suddenly loud, appearing off-balance.

Knox eyed Aldo. He knew his cards were not the best, but they were not inconceivably bad. He pushed his luck, trusting to good fortune, as it had not let him down all night. He met Aldo’s bet and raised it. Several crewmen folded. They sat back, sensing tension as Aldo raised the bet to the house limit. The table fell silent as the Captain matched and called.

Aldo threw down his cards, keeping his face blank. He appeared interested only in what the Captain had in his fingers-despite the fact he already knew what every card face showed.

Seeing Aldo’s cards, the Captain’s expression fell. Aldo knew triumph, and his nose rose slightly higher as the Knox threw up his hands and tried to play the matter off as no great deal. Aldo felt a grim touch of satisfaction, but he also felt a tingle of regret. The man had not flashed with rage. He had not shouted and cursed. He’d simply taken his loss and gone on. It was admirable, and Aldo felt the rat for having cheated a good man.

The matter may have passed as an unfortunate wrinkle in time, but for the watchful eyes of the ship’s Lieutenant. As Aldo reached his hands out to scoop up his winnings, the Lieutenant’s hand latched onto his wrist.

Aldo looked at the man in shock. “Explain yourself, officer-and know that I’ve killed for less.”

The Lieutenant stared back. There was concern in his face, but not outright fear. “I saw something. I ask that you relinquish your winnings on this occasion.”

“Why should I?”

“Out of a sense of honor.”

Every eye was upon Aldo. Few of them liked him. He’d bedded every attractive girl on Aareschlucht and several less attractive ones as well, only to move on to the next. He could hear their thoughts: was he a cheater at cards, as well? The Lieutenant in particular had never liked him. He was an ill-favored man with a face that resembled a mask of twisted meat and hair that seemed oily and lank even immediately after a shower. Aldo knew the girls tended to dart away when he made his clumsy overtures.

“What was it that you saw, Lieutenant?” Captain Knox asked. He had a deep voice that rumbled when he spoke.

“I would rather not say.”

Aldo withdrew his hands from the pot of coins and threw them up into the air. “Very well!” he said. “I don’t want there to be hard feelings. I give back the credits. You may divvy up mine as well.”

“Well, there’s no need to-” began the Captain, suddenly embarrassed.

“No, no,” Aldo said. “I don’t want to sully this fine mission with misunderstandings. I’ll simply-”

“There has been no misunderstanding,” interrupted the Lieutenant.

“There most certainly has been,” Aldo said, “and I intend to repair matters.”

“You cheated,” blurted the Lieutenant. “You dealt the Captain’s hand from the bottom of the deck, while the rest of us received cards from the top.”

Aldo froze, as did everyone else around the table. The Lieutenant was stone-faced. An open accusation of cheating raised the matter to the level of public honor.

The Captain leaned forward and touched the Lieutenant’s arm, who flinched at the contact. “Jacob, there is no need. Let the subject rest.”

“I will not.”

The saloon was deadly silent now. Several people had taken a shuffling step back from the table. Every further step along the path of honor made the situation ever more difficult to defuse among the gentlemen of Neu Schweitz. The scene could become violent very quickly, and all there knew it.

“How then, shall we resolve this?” Aldo asked quietly.

“You have dishonored this ship, my Captain and yourself,” the Lieutenant said. “Honor must be satisfied.”

“And so it must,” Aldo murmured.

“Aldo,” Joelle whispered, having appeared at the rogue’s side. She placed a hand that tightened like claw on his shoulder and hissed into his ear. “Don’t you kill that boy.”

Aldo patted her hand and pushed it gently away. “No one lives forever, my dear.”

Joelle retreated, clearly unhappy. The group, now solemn, moved to the single large open area of the ship, which was the mess hall. At a touch of a button, the tables folded themselves and receded until the walls swallowed them. By this time, news of the imminent duel had reached every ear on the ship. People came rushing from below and even down from the bridge. Captain Knox looked worried, but Aldo saw he could not think of a way out of the situation. Aldo himself felt some regret for having caused a crisis, but he also felt the Lieutenant was indulging himself. Aldo had as much as admitted his guilt by handing out the pot to the players. Was he to also be publicly humiliated? Was he to be shamed into refusing to duel, like a craven coward? No. The matter had been pushed, and pressed, and forced, until there was nothing left to do but allow it to be decided with blades.

Aldo knew the Lieutenant could fight. He was a capable man with sword and pistol, they all were, or they would not have been placed aboard this godforsaken vessel on a fool’s mission. Perhaps the close quarters and the continual rejection of the females everyone else seemed to enjoy had combined with Aldo’s naturally abrasive manner to finally drive the Lieutenant to this point. It did not matter. All that mattered now was the speed and accuracy of each man’s sword.

Aldo cleared his mind of extraneous chatter. He did not see the eyes that stared at him. He did not worry about the Captain, or the aliens they pursued through space, or the ship around them. Those things would have to wait. Worrying about such details lost fights. And Aldo Moreno had almost never lost a swordfight.

The Captain himself stood between the two men. “As the commander of this vessel, I will preside over the event. The blades are to be set to their third notch.”

Both men adjusted the studs on the pommels of their weapons. The swords blazed with colorful plasma. Each seemed to come to life in its owner’s hand. Setting three was low, but still the heat of the blade would cauterize a wound once it was made. At settings one or two, the blades were best used with covers over their points and edges to prevent injury. The shock received from touching them would sting mightily, but would not disable the muscles or burn the flesh. At higher settings, seven or more, unconsciousness or even death was likely from a mere slap of the flat of the blade due to the shock suffered by the victim.

Aldo raised his sword and briefly rasped it down the length of his opponent’s blade. It was a ceremonial motion, a customary salute before dueling with plasma-rapiers. Lavender sparks sprayed the room.

“Step back gentlemen, if you please,” said the Captain.

Both men did as they were told, but their eyes never left the other’s sword tip.

“Honor shall be served by first touch, or the agreement of both parties.”

There was a murmur at this. Normally, duels were fought until death, incapacitation, or the agreement of both parties. The Lieutenant flicked his eyes toward the Captain, casting him a frown which the older man ignored. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but seemed to think the better of it and closed it again. Aldo, for his part, never took his eyes from his opponent.

The customary silver flute warbled. Both men raised their guards, saluted one another and advanced. Aldo attacked first, lunging for the chest. If he could put some proper fear into his reckless opponent, he would fight poorly and the first touch would come sooner. The Lieutenant parried late, beating at Aldo’s blade, but then managed a stop-thrust which halted Aldo’s advance. Aldo parried and retreated a step.

They fenced tightly, shuffling back and forth with feet thumping on the deck plates. The men among the crew watched with squinted eyes, expecting to witness sudden death at any moment. The women watched with a different expression, their eyes glassy with fascination. It was clear the two men were in earnest and each was prepared to slay the other.

The swords clattered, rang and sizzled as they struck one another. To a casual observer from the hallway, it might have appeared that men were working in the mess hall with hammers and arc welding units. The blades were made of fine steel and were deadly in their own right. In addition to a precise mono-molecular edge, the rapiers ran with shimmering emanations of kinetic force. The slightest touch would deliver a serious jolt while a full-force slash might cut through flesh, bone or even steel.

The Lieutenant was the bigger man, and he beat at Aldo’s blade unmercifully. His strategy was easy to deduce: he planned to crash through the rogue’s defenses and weaken him over time. If a single assault made it through, the contest was over.

Aldo had a different plan. He deftly deflected each of the hammering attacks with an economy of motion. Soon, it was Lieutenant’s sides that were heaving, not Aldo’s.

The man’s face had started ugly and heavy with out-sized features, but as he divined the way of things, that changed into a twisted mask of hate. He thrust powerfully for Aldo’s face, a foul in a gentlemanly contest to the first touch. Startled, Aldo was forced to ram his blade upward, parrying in quinte. The tip of the Lieutenant’s rapier slid upward and pierced the curved ceiling overhead, and despite a three inch thickness, the hull was ruptured. Gases hissed as they escaped while the blade sizzled there, fixed in the roof. The Lieutenant growled in frustration, tugging at the stuck sword.

His straining grunts turned to howls of pain as Aldo danced around him and slapped the Lieutenant in the posterior with the flat of his sword. There was a vivid blaze of light, as his sword imparted many volts of energy. The Lieutenant’s legs gave out beneath him, but he still hung from his stuck weapon.

“First touch!” the Captain announced immediately. “The contest has ended, Aldo is the winner.”

The crowd laughed and sighed with relief. The duel had ended with embarrassment, but no bloodshed.

Aldo sought Joelle among the many faces. She beamed at him encouragingly. He immediately wondered if he might manage to bed her after all. Noticing his gaze, she stepped forward to greet him.

“You should just have switched it off, man,” the Captain said irritably to the Lieutenant, who had finally plucked the sword from the ceiling. “Now, we’ll have to patch it.”

The Lieutenant crawled, his legs inoperable. Aldo turned away, directing his attentions toward Joelle again. He carefully gauged her expression, weighing the opportunity and his odds of success. Tonight, over a glass of fine wine…at that moment, he would make his move. That would be the proper time to rekindle their past mutual interest. Had he not done as she’d requested? Now, she might well see him as a tough man who could be guided to gentleness by the right woman. Such fantasies had gotten Aldo far with women who’d fostered them in the past.

It was Joelle’s expression that warned Aldo, even before the gasps of the onlookers, who were all excitedly talking amongst themselves. Her face changed from that of warmth, with a pleasant greeting on the tip of her tongue, to surprise and dismay. Her eyes strayed behind Aldo.

Aldo did not even bother to turn around. He simply swept behind himself with his blade, which he’d shut off a moment before.

There was a sensation of heavy resistance, then nothing. A grim wet slap sounded immediately afterward. He turned to see what he’d wrought and his lips curled away from his teeth at the sight.

The Lieutenant now lay stretched upon the decking, decapitated. Unable to do more than creep forward after taking a numbing shock to the buttocks, the Lieutenant had lifted his sword to thrust it into Aldo’s rump. Aldo’s blind slash had ended these dark ambitions.

The Lieutenant’s fallen sword still sizzled and sparked. The blade’s tip sent streams of brightly hued plasma arcing down to the metal deck plates in intermittent pulses.

There was a moment of shocked silence in the mess hall. This soon passed and was replaced by screams, gasps and cries of recrimination erupted around the room. Aldo’s lips twisted in annoyance. He looked for Joelle, but unsurprisingly, she had fled the room in horror.

Aldo sheathed his blade after wiping away dripping fluids, and grunted unhappily. He shook his head slowly as he eyed the mess lying upon the deck. He had only done what was necessary, but he knew there would be no fine wine shared with Joelle tonight. This backstabbing Lieutenant had seen to that, even if it had cost him his life.

Four

Upon finally entering the sanctuary the skalds had arranged for themselves aboard Gladius, Garth left behind the terror of the alien monsters-but he felt far from safe. These people were controlled by the Tulk, a race of aliens that were as erudite as the Skaintz were visceral. But they were still strange and dangerous.

Tulk riders lived inside the skulls of their hosts. Parasitic beings, they rarely dealt with the outside world, and one of their greatest fears was that of being exposed to that exterior environment. Physically, they were little more than a pound or so of spiny jelly, but they were quite capable of invading a host and dominating it at will. They did not ‘take the reins’ of their mounts often, preferring to live a dreaming life inside the skull of the host, contemplating deep philosophical concepts. Occasionally, however, events took a grim turn and they were forced to dominate their host in order to ensure their survival and avoid the risk of exposure.

Having two minds riding in one skull, one human and one alien made skalds behave oddly from the point of view of observing humans. The alien Tulk, even though they were generally quiescent, affected the nervous system of their hosts. To Garth, who’d once been a skald himself, the behavior of these human-alien hybrids was predictable and rational-but sinister.

“What has become of your rider, rogue?” a skald asked him. She was a pretty waif, with slack features, pale skin and soft, padding feet.

“I’m not sure,” Garth answered.

He was decidedly nervous among the skalds, who’d once sought to kill him. He licked his lips continuously as he followed the skald girl into the central saloon of the VIP lounge. There, a central seating arrangement allowed a group of skalds to sit in a ring, holding hands. They appeared unconscious, but he knew they were aware. Their riders were communing. It seemed odd to have such a large group conferring at once. Tulk usually preferred wandering isolation, with rare moments of contact. Garth knew that they must be discussing the enemy aboard the ship.

“Your answer is unsatisfactory,” one of the communing skalds said, speaking from the couch. This one was a male, and taller than most. He had a large head-the skull was fringed in white hair and almost bulbous in shape. As he spoke, he did not look up, but let his head loll to one side as if sleeping.

Garth licked his lips again. “I’m sorry, but they took Fryx from me. I-”

“Who do you refer to with a vague pronoun, rogue?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who is: they?”

“Ah, well, Lucas Droad and his crew. They took Fryx and imprisoned him on Neu Schweitz. I don’t know what has become of him since that time.”

The skald on the couch lifted his hand toward the female who’d allowed Garth to enter their sanctuary. His skinny arm extended toward her unerringly, despite the fact his eyes remained closed and his head continued to droop. Wordlessly, the girl approached and took his hand. She looked at Garth with a new sharpness in her expression. Her eyes had become piercing and judgmental.

“He will do,” the old skald on the couch said.

Garth understood that the old Tulk had borrowed the vision of the younger, and it was he who looked out of her pale, blue, wet eyes now.

“Will do for what?” Garth asked. “I’ve come to help you. I know where the enemy is. The infection is still light, and early in its discovery. Perhaps they can be excised. I can help in this matter. The crew can join with the skalds and save the lives of all.”

After this brief speech, during which Garth found his words tumbling out of his mouth and seemingly blurring over one another, the attitude of the girl shifted. She smirked lightly, then made an odd, barking sound. Garth realized she was laughing at him.

“You are a fool, even for a rogue,” she said. “There will be no cooperation.”

“Why not? We are all trapped on this ship. We die or survive as one.”

“If we join the riderless human cattle in their struggle with the Skaintz, we will perish.”

“You will perish in any regard, if the enemy is not defeated.”

“This enemy can’t be defeated. They can only be avoided.”

“Nonsense. I’ve read the archeological texts. The Tulk once fought the Skaintz. Your people beat them once-in this very section of space.”

For the very first time, the Tulk controlling the girl’s speech paused, and appeared troubled. Garth knew that in and of itself was a triumph. He pressed ahead.

“You can hide in here, but they will find a way in eventually. You don’t have a separate propulsion system, placing you at their mercy. If they tire of you, they can steer this vessel into the furnace of a nearby star. You must fight at some point.”

“We have held council, discussing these things. It is possible the unspeakable events you prophesize will come to pass. But for now, we will remain quiet and hidden. Let the wild humans flail against them. With luck, they will succeed and drive them from the ship. If they do not, we have our walls. If those fail, we will act because we will be forced to act.”

Garth sighed. The mindset of the Tulk had not changed much since he was one with them. They seemed to have little of the fire left that had caused them to stand up to the Skaintz in the past.

“Why then,” he asked delicately, “did you allow me to enter your sanctuary?”

“We have need of you. My mount is ailing. I need a new one.”

Horror swept through Garth, and he reacted with physical revulsion at the thought. The pain alone would be bad enough, but the process of the mounting-he could not imagine going through it again. The Tulk would be an old one, meaning it had bulk. It would not fit easily, sliding through his nasal orifice and digging its way into his skull. Commonly, the Tulk made decisions about what sections of brain tissue were extraneous and carefully excised them as bloody waste when they found themselves in a tight fit. Once inside, they dug in their spines and took command of their new hosts, tapping blood vessels to feed and nerve endings to exert control.

Before coming here, Garth had considered the possibility of ill-treatment on the part of his hosts. He had a blade in his belt, and he withdrew it now. He held it up so it gleamed in the light of the jeweled chandeliers that hung over the couches.

“I will not allow any Tulk to mount me again,” he said.

None of the skalds moved, but Garth sensed a change in their demeanor. They often seemed to be dreamy and aloof, but the threat of physical, bodily harm coming to their mounts always got their attention.

“You would threaten your masters with violence?” the skald girl asked. Her face registered dull shock.

“You have threatened me.”

“We’ve offered you a rider, a chance to rise again from the herds of filthy, wild humans into the ranks of the skalds. Such an elevation of status should be met with tears of joy. This is an especially rare honor since you are a rogue, who would normally be put down.”

“I thank you for your consideration, but I must refuse.”

“I am Ornth, the greatest of the Tulk in this region of space. Unfortunately, I’m riding a dying mount. I must have a new mount in order to persist. It is inconceivable you would deny me this request.”

Garth shrugged with casual disinterest. “You should consider sharing another skull among your party. If they will not have you, perhaps they will feed you tidbits while you float in a tank of liquid. Fryx did exactly that for years while in space, and the experience caused him no permanent harm.”

“Your suggestions are insulting.”

“Let me clarify the situation, then,” Garth said, brandishing his long workman’s blade under the small nose of the skald girl. “No pain will be visited upon your bodies. Nor will any of you be exposed-if you leave me alone.”

They fell quiet again for several seconds. Garth knew they were conferring between themselves. They were not a telepathic race-that was a common misconception concerning the mysterious Tulk. They communicated with their hosts via interrupted nerve endings, and controlled muscles and thoughts in precisely the fashion a human’s mind might send an electrochemical pulse through a nerve strand to cause a finger to twitch. Amongst a collection of skalds such as these, they used a code of varied, almost imperceptible taps and pressures applied to the hands of one by the fingers of another. When touching bodies, from one skald to another, they formed a network of sorts and relayed concepts from one to the next silently and efficiently.

“Your lack of civility and ingratitude at being admitted into this sanctuary is disgusting. However, we have need of occasional systems repairs. Can you effect these adjustments for us?”

Garth considered. He’d lost his work cart and most of his tools, but he had been trained in basic maintenance. Further, he was certain a toolkit would be stashed somewhere in the large VIP suites.

“I can perform such duties, and I will do so willingly.”

“Very well, you may stay among us until such a time as we deem your presence unwarranted.”

Garth accepted this statement without comment. Privately, he calculated the odds that the skalds would be able to eject him from this place without injury to themselves were extremely low.

Garth found there were more than a few failing systems in the suites where the skalds had taken refuge. The first such system he worked on was the security network feed. There were a fair number of monitors recessed in the walls of the various saloons and lounges, but none of them could connect to the outside world of the larger ship. He spent a full day working on the security network before he managed to get it working. In the end, it turned out to be a simple burned-out coupling. This was a relief, as he’d half-expected to find an enemy shrade in the works, chewing on the cables or infecting their subsystems with viruses.

When he managed to tap into the outside feed, he looked at the screens with interest. He flicked from one input camera to the next, but things looked pretty dull out there. Every corridor was empty. Every auxiliary hold was quiet and tranquil.

Garth thought of the bridge, but the cameras there didn’t operate. He licked his lips again. Nervousness had returned. After a day of hard work, he felt a familiar tickle of fear. He checked the cameras in the main hold, and saw nothing. This proved little, as the hold was miles long and held such a vast array of goods it was hard to say what was happening inside. One might as well look at a forest while cruising above it on a skimmer and declare it lifeless.

After a moment of hesitation, he switched channels and directed the monitors to feed him the vid from the lifepods. In all honesty, he’d expected to get nothing but static air, as he had when viewing the bridge. What he found instead was exhilarating.

The crewmen were there. Dozens of them. Security people in red, maintenance in green, flight crew in royal blue. Among them were others-they could only be passengers who’d been awakened. All in all, it was a veritable army. They were well-armed, too. They carried everything from beam weapons to fire axes. No one seemed unarmed.

Garth took on a predatory-almost prideful-expression. Here were his people, marching on the enemy. They’d followed up on his warning. They’d gathered their strength, and even now they were moving in for the kill. They’d repelled these invaders once before, and although the infection had returned, they were more than ready and capable of vanquishing it again. They had done so on Garm, Neu Schweitz and this very ship in the past.

Garth reached up and switched the feed to broadcast. Every monitor in the skald suites blazed into life in response, and began relaying the vids as he watched them. Let these cowardly Tulk know what humans were capable of! Activating the loudspeaker, he keyed open the microphone and spoke into it, his breath gusting loudly in the speakers as he made an announcement.

“I am Garth, a former skald. I have repaired your video feed from the ship. I’ve discovered something interesting while testing the system. A battle is about to be joined.”

He sat back, crossed his arms and smiled at the screen. It was time to enjoy the show.

The crewmen advanced to the pods of lifeboats, creeping quietly. Garth recognized the Captain among them. They paused at the bulkheads, massing up for the final assault. A number of them carried flamethrowers. These were signaled forward. The nozzles of their weapons dribbled molten orange plasmas.

A signal was given-Garth could not hear it, as the sound was still disabled. He adjusted and readjusted the controls, vainly. This would be far better with sound.

The six entrances to the lifeboat pods on the starboard side of Gladius snapped open at once. The crewmen with flamethrowers trotted forward and let loose with flares of brilliant flame. Garth cheered appreciatively, and realized why there was no sound. He’d never turned the volume up on the video input. A moment later, sound boomed from every monitor. The skalds could scarcely ignore the battle now!

Events moved rapidly. After hosing the lifeboats with cleansing flame, the crewmen began to advance into the compartments. Garth watched tensely.

The first hint that something was amiss came from off-camera. An odd, keening sound arose. The crewmen onscreen seemed scarcely aware of it initially, but the cries were quickly joined by a dozen similar outbursts.

Next, a blaze of automatic weapons fire erupted-not in the lifeboat compartments, but out amongst the stacked cargo containers in the hold.

Garth fought the controls, finally managing to alter the angle of the camera so he could see what the fuss was about. A female crewman ran into view, clutching her helmet tightly to her head. Was she wearing a tail of some kind? No, it had to be something else. Squinting and zooming in, Garth realized she wasn’t wearing a helmet at all. There was something-something on her head. He realized with a cold shiver that it was a shrade. The enemy creatures were dropping them among the crew.

Matters became uncertain after that. More and more crewmen, people who’d been at the rear ranks with the least effective armament, rushed forward and often fell flopping onto the deck. Some were shot by their nervous comrades. More than one was burned like a flopping, staggering creature from a holovid by the overzealous members of the flamethrower squads when they came too close for comfort.

“They’re behind us, out in the hold! Forget the lifepods! Turn and take cover,” the Captain ordered. His was a booming voice, full of confidence.

The group did so, but the assaults stopped. Uncertain, the group hugged hexagonal cargo cases and peered in every direction at once.

Gunfire then rose up in a wild booming fusilade. Garth worked the camera controls, eyes bulging and looking everywhere at once. Who was firing? Every crewman he saw seemed to be ducking and cowering behind equipment.

Then they sprinted forward. A company of killbeasts. They fired as they advanced. Crewmen who dared to fire back were quickly cut down by more accurate fire, but they did managed to stop a number of the enemy. When the killbeast charge finally reached the crew’s ragged line, they set about slaughtering everyone they came in contact with, shooting them at point-blank range or kicking out with their bladed feet to maim and decapitate. More flamethrowers blazed, burning down screaming crewmen as often as silent, impossibly vital killbeasts.

In less than a minute, the charge had been broken. There were just too many crewmen, they outnumbered the aliens at least three to one. These humans had met with the aliens before, and were not as likely to panic as they might have been in the past. They knew the score: this was do or die. There was little hope that one could run away, so they did not bother. They fought until every killbeast lay still on the deck or was left draped over the cargo containers.

A ragged cheer went up from their ranks, a cry that was echoed by Garth himself. Spittle flew from his lips, but he paid no heed. He wished for a drink, and lamented that none was to be found here in the maintenance cabinets.

“See?” he shouted into the microphone. “We’ve won! We’ve beaten them back. Do you not feel like sick cowards now, Tulk?”

There was no reply from the saloons and lounges. This didn’t trouble Garth. He knew they had seen the spectacle. He hoped they knew shame, but he doubted Tulk were capable of that emotion. Rather than finding brave beings to be inspirational, they considered them to be rank fools, individuals to be despised and marveled at for their credulity.

Something shook the camera then. There was a booming report from inside the hold. Garth panned the viewpoint around again, but could not quite see-

The crewmen were standing, firing-some broke and fled. Towering figures strode into their midst, heedless of bullets, beams, or gushes of sticky orange flame from the surviving flamethrowers. Garth knew what they were, and he could scarcely believe his eyes.

“Juggers?” he asked the monitor in a hushed voice. “How could they have bred them so quickly?”

There were only four of them, but that was enough. The humans had stood up to opponents of their own size, but these monsters were too much. They seemingly could not be brought down by conventional ballistic weaponry. Each absorbed hundreds of rounds, but still kept striding among the humans who harassed it, plucking off limbs and skulls, then vomiting gore after they’d consumed too much. The problem was the crewmen lacked guns powerful enough to puncture these yard-thick monsters deeply and disrupt the vital organs.

The juggers represented the final stage of the battle. The humans broke under their weight, and were run down by thunder-footed monsters. Their tails lashed and their jaws worked as they masticated excitedly. It was a feeding frenzy, and the juggers kept at it for a long time, hunting down each human that hid among the cargo crates and devouring them. Only one of the juggers was brought down, and that one still flopped and thrashed on the deck, trying to rise despite what had to be a dozen fatal wounds.

Garth leaned forward, resting one wiry arm atop the monitor. He wanted to vomit, pass out, or commit suicide. He did none of these things. Instead, he shivered and panted with fear and despair. It was now only a matter of time until these things penetrated the skald bastion.

A figure cast a shadow over him. Garth turned, half-expecting to see a killbeast loom near. It was a far less threatening figure, however. The pallid girl he’d first met, the one who’d let him in, stood in the doorway. Her silhouette was thin, but shapely, and despite his despairing state of mind, Garth thought her face was pleasant to look upon. He wondered at the absurdity of such thoughts at this dismal moment of his existence.

“What do you want?” he asked her.

She tilted her head to the left and advanced. He saw she wore only a thin robe of colored fiber. He blinked at her as she came closer. She reached out a hand and touched his brow. He flinched away, but allowed the contact. His eyes checked her for weapons-but saw only open, empty hands.

“Did you come here to gloat?” he asked.

She shook her head. She lightly kissed his brow where she had first touched him. The action surprised him, but again he allowed it. Was she possibly acting on her own volition? Perhaps her rider slept within her head, and she had seen his sorrow, and wished to comfort him. Hoping for the best, and too drained by the disaster he’d witnessed to care much about the present, he allowed her to sit beside him on a narrow folding workbench.

One thing soon led to another. His every touch she accepted without protest, but she did not allow him to kiss her mouth. He shrugged, not caring. He nuzzled her neck and ran his hands under her sheer robes. She made no attempt to withdraw, but instead pulled him more fully into an embrace with her.

Smiling wanly, she tapped at the floor, indicating he should lie there. He did so, smiling up at her. She hiked up her robes and mounted him. Soon, they were in the throes of passion. He was in ecstasy.

There came a moment of release, and afterward he opened his eyes again. There she was, looking down into his face. Finally, she was leaning down, pursing her lips to kiss him. He had wanted to kiss her as well. He burned to do it.

The spines stabbed his pursed lips, making him cry out. He tried to throw her off, but now she clung to him with maniacal strength. Even as he struggled, the neurotoxins began to paralyze him. His muscles became weak and rubbery within seconds.

The thing in her mouth crept out upon his face as he lay there, helpless in her grasp. They were still coupled, and her hands pinned his wrists. Each of her thin fingers were like steel cables, so weakened was he by the toxins that flowed in his blood now, coursing directly from his stung lips to his brain.

Inside his mind, Garth despaired. The Tulk had stayed in her mouth, with spines carefully retracted until this critical moment when she had spat it out onto his face. Now, it crawled over his cheek toward his nasal entrances, its spines stippling his skin with permanent, livid red tracks.

As the rider named Ornth dug into his skull and mounted him, Garth wondered vaguely what the skald girl’s name was. If he ever managed to regain the reins of his mind again, he decided he would ask her-and then he would kill her.

Five

The Parent rejoiced on the lower decks of Gladius. Her gambit had been successful, right from the start. Many months ago as the left the Kale system, the humans had come after her invasion forces. She’d realized immediately she didn’t have the strength to withstand them. She also had known they would not stop searching for her until they found her and destroyed her. The decision had been a hard one, but she’d decided to produce an entire generation of offspring, including a decoy young Parent, and set them up with a nest in an obvious location in the main hold.

Months ago, the humans had fallen for the ruse like credulous larvae descending on their first bloody meal. They’d swarmed her broodlings and slaughtered them with glee, burning out the nest and making sure every shell was blackened and every ounce of protoplasm was scraped from the hull. Even at this very moment, the Parent still trembled her orifices when she thought of the sacrifice. Her first live brood-including a fledgling daughter-all dead in the name of the Imperium.

The important thing was it had worked. The enemy had been taken in, and had soon become complacent. She had retreated into the depths of their sewer systems, created a cocooned sac of fluids and hibernated for months. No doubt, they had searched for her in earnest at first, but these quixotic vertebrates seemed to lack conviction and rigid discipline, even in matters of their own survival. Not for the first time, she wondered how such a chaotic species could ever have come to dominate even a small slice of the cosmos. Whatever the reason, she felt she was here to set things right, to put balance back into the equations. The strongest would survive in the end.

Feeding in the sewers for months, she’d carefully scouted with shrades. She’d selected the starboard lifeboat pods to make her comeback. Of all the regions of this vast, thrumming ship, the lifeboats saw even less traffic than the rest of the empty decks. Better still, they were well-stocked with foodstuffs and technological tidbits. In the future, the vessels could be used as seedships when they slowed down to a reasonable velocity and entered an unsuspecting star system.

Matters had nearly become disastrous when the enemy had discovered her second nest and sounded the alarm. The humans had gathered quickly and without hesitation. Fortunately, she’d bred half a squad of juggers by then, and the monsters had broken the enemy line. Disaster had been averted again.

Now, she had new decisions to make. Like her sisters before her, she had to assume she was the last of her kind in the region and could expect no aid from Imperial forces. She must act carefully, and yet decisively. Minor mistakes could be catastrophic.

Studying what records were stored within her biotic memory sacks, she realized her immediate forbearer, the Savant who had failed to take the Kale system from the humans, had managed to build a large military force, but had not followed protocol. In the Parent’s opinion, the Savant had not been bold enough, and had overreached her authority.

Just as when human armies grew larger, they found the need for higher level officers, so it was with the Skaintz. The difference was they never promoted individuals from within their own ranks. Instead, they used their genetic seeds to give birth to their superiors. Each variety of the Skaintz was designed for a specific task-and the repopulation of the empire was beyond the scope of a single Parent.

There were various types to choose between. An obvious selection would be that of a nife, an individual who was a rare male among her species and was well-suited to making military command decisions. This was an obvious choice, but still she dithered. She yearned for something greater-for a rare offspring that had not been birthed in recorded bio-memory.

In the end, after taking the ship for her own, hubris arose within her. She meant well, but she was still a very young parent, and all on her own. She decided to breed an Empress. It would be the first such being to wriggle out of a Parent’s birth chamber in a thousand years.

Garth awakened, but could not move. He quickly found he was trapped inside his own skull. He’d experienced this before, of course, but it had been years since the last time he’d shared control of his body with a Tulk rider.

His initial reaction was panic. This was normal, and common among fresh mounts. They were in pain, and disoriented. They had yet to accept the new creature who held the reins to their bodies. Often, pubescent skalds injured themselves in the first hours, bucking and raving. They might chew off their own tongues or otherwise damage themselves, and so were generally restrained.

No less than seven skalds clung to Garth’s limbs as he thrashed and writhed, making incoherent gargling sounds in his throat. After a minute or two of this behavior, during which his seven captors silently and stoically held him pinned upon his back in the main lounge, Garth quieted. He panted, and pink foam ran from the corners of his mouth. His wild, staring eyes rolled in his head, while the others watched him with bland expressions.

“It appears he is quieting,” said a skald in a soft voice.

“We had to expect a difficult mounting,” said another, “after all, he was a rogue. But Ornth is an experienced rider. He has broken in a dozen mounts-this one will be no different.”

At these words, Garth began to grin and giggle. He suppressed the urge to go further, to wildly cackle. They were fools. He could not be ridden. He’d discovered how to dislodge Fryx, and he would have no other Tulk in his place.

But now was not the time. Now, they were all watching him. He forced himself to calm down, to stay quiet. To appear glassy-eyed and troubled-but not triumphant and rebellious. That time would come later.

A familiar face came into his scope of vision. Her golden locks hung at random around her pale face. She studied him-and he measured in her eyes a sense of remorse. Perhaps her rider had forced her to seduce him. Perhaps, if she had been in control of her own body, she would not have spat Ornth into his face and allowed the little monster to sting him with its dripping spines.

She did not address him as he studied her face. But she did purse her lips and inquire among the others as to his health. Garth steeled himself against her charms. It did not matter if she was remorseful, or if she was partly innocent. She had betrayed him, and he planned her death. He planned to murder them all.

Bubbling with mirth, he laughed again. It was a long, odd sound. A sound full of madness, rather than joy. Watching him, the skalds exchanged concerned glances.

The birthing of a new Empress was solemn affair. The Parent and her offspring gathered closely, each of them committing a portion of their own protoplasm to the central mass in a stately ceremony. The young Empress resembled a squid, with a tangle of writhing tentacles, an oblong lobe filled with brain tissue and a half-dozen roving eyes. She was very young and the birth-slime still glistened on her carapace. But already the Parent could see she had managed the replication cleanly. She’d worried her genes were too old, too heavily radiated or atrophied to provide a good copy-but she’d pulled it off.

The young Empress squirmed inside a bed of human bones and clothing strips. The material was alien, but formed a good cradle and was softer than any of the resins the Skaintz secreted naturally. The Parent and a shuffling group of killbeasts looked on expectantly, while the Empress surveyed them. Each eye tracked a different individual of her court.

Over the next several hours, the Empress fed on choice meats from the bipeds and absorbed a gentle flow of information, which her elders transmitted to her. Occasionally, the Empress signaled the information was coming too slowly. Each time this happened, the Parent shivered happily and increased the rate of the transmissions. This was exactly as it should be. They were supposed to guide the fine mind of the Empress by building within her a thirst for knowledge. This was accomplished by giving her data in bits and pieces, always leaving her wanting more, rather than flooding her with every fact at hand and causing her to become disinterested and indolent. Even a monarch needed guidance at this young age.

Unlike the offspring of the bipeds who had built this huge, odd ship, the Skaintz young were born with a considerable amount of knowledge. A human baby knew some things, such as when to suckle or cry, and even how to swim in a rudimentary fashion. But the human mind was largely a blank slate at birth, and took long years to develop from input. The Skaintz were more instinctual. Depending on their basic form, they were bred to their tasks. It was as if a human baby was born with a full understanding of the native tongue of their people and could talk at birth. Skaintz offspring were formed with neural pathways pre-built in their minds. They instinctively knew how to communicate with their species and their role within the nest. Even so, they had precious little to say at first and needed to be filled in on current events.

The Empress therefore listened intently for many hours. Her first cognitive transmission came half-way through the second day.

“Why have I been awakened in such a dreary place?” she asked. Her tone was not that of an innocent child, but rather one of irritation and disdain.

“Because, my Empress, this is the best I could provide at the moment,” the Parent replied evenly. She quivered and dribbled, such was her pride to receive her impressive offspring’s first transmissions. She had done what no other Parent had managed in perhaps in a thousand years: she had given birth to nobility.

“Where are my courtesans? Where are my amusements?”

The Parent tapped her throne with her feeding tube, a sign of impatience. “We are not in our home system. We are roughing-it, so to speak, my dear. I believe this information was transmitted to you as part of-”

“Yes, yes,” said the Empress. “I found many of the transmissions tiresome. You will build me new amusements and give birth to no less than seven courtesans immediately.”

The Parent stopped tapping her feeding tube and stared at the demanding creature before her. She felt an overwhelming compulsion to obey the squirming creature, but at the same time, she knew such expenditures of time and energy were wasteful. They needed to dedicate themselves to arriving in a new star system and taking it by force. This was the time to plot a military campaign, not to build amusement tanks and similar frivolities.

“What is this mess I’m squatting upon?” the Empress demanded suddenly.

“A bed of trophies from our defeated alien enemies.”

“Quaint-but unsatisfactory. These fibers are chafing my suckers and the bones stink. I require an appropriate Imperial nest.”

The Parent was not sure what to say.

“Why are you sitting there?” the Empress piped up again. “I have expressed my requirements clearly, have I not?”

“Ah yes-yes, my Empress. But we have many pressing needs.”

“Are there any immediate threats to my person?”

“No, I don’t believe there are-”

“Then follow my commands with haste. I will watch carefully and sit in judgment. Thus far, I must warn you Parent, I’ve found your performance lackluster.”

The conversation went on in this fashion for some time. Slowly, the Parent began to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Perhaps there had been a good reason why none of her recent predecessors had given birth to an Empress of their own.

Six

Ignis Glace had been colonized at the end of third expansionist period of Old Earth. At the time, colony ships full of idealistic souls were commonly built and sent speeding out toward promising star systems. The impetus for the dangerous emigrations was multi-faceted, but the primary driver was usually a disagreement over the nature of governmental authority. Humanity’s birth-world was racked with unrest and rebellions against the shackles of their worldwide government: the Social Synergetics.

The colonists who eventually reached Ignis Glace were a varied lot, but made up primarily of Austrian and French Monarchists. These original colonists believed the old ways were best, and when they reached the promised land they planned to revive centuries-old traditions such as kings, knights and chivalry.

For their own part, the Social Synergetics had decided as a committee to allow emigrations of any and all separatist groups. In fact, they encouraged the process. After all, why keep one’s troublemakers at home? Let them head out to the stars, and good riddance.

And so the Ignis Glace colonists were allowed to leave and after a long, arduous journey they reached their new home. Unfortunately, being Monarchists with no royalty of their own, nearly all the colonists viewed their eventual role to be one of dominance and high rank. Many claimed noble heritage, but this was difficult to verify, particularly in the case of Austrian colonists. Austria had outlawed nobility and titles in 1919, and long centuries later the bloodlines were muddled at best.

On the long voyage outward, obsession with the topic of social rank kept spirits high. Many of the colonists passed the years discussing the various niceties of being a lowly Baron versus the grandeur and responsibility of taking on a King’s mantle. Virtually none of them envisioned themselves as serfs, drudges nor even craftsmen. The fact that all these roles would have to be very common and were in fact essential to a successful pioneering society did not impinge.

Upon arrival on the alien surface of their new home, harsh realities sunk in. Someone had to do the work and, in fact, even self-proclaimed emperors were soon required to pick up power-shovels and wield them with vigor. Those that shunned work came to be despised, and if they persisted, were soon viewed as delusional. A Ruling Council was assembled to award titles, and they did so on the basis of merit. Individuals rose in rank during the initial decades due to displays of hard work rather than statements of bravado. Over time, those that aspired to become knights and barons did the best, while those who had scoffed at ranks lower than that of Earl or Marquee soon joined the sour legions of peasants, indentured servants and scullery maids.

One family known as the Droads were a group of hard-scrabble frontiersmen. The Droad lands bordered the wastelands of Sunside. Here, the sun’s red eye was blocked by a craggy mountain that stood nearby in the Sunside wastes. The fief consisted of the land encompassed by the mountain’s long shadow. The Droads had laid claim to the triangular wedge of land when they’d first discovered it. They’d lived ever since at the hottest edge of Twilight, in the isolated shaded region, surrounded by bright, hot deserts. The star blazed, but the cool gloom of the mountain’s shadow allowed the Droads to live comfortably further sunward that was the norm. Working hard to farm this permanent zone of velvety half-darkness, the Droad family had remained put for nearly a century.

Originally, Droad House had been a hamlet built of mud and stacked hardwood logs. It had been known simply as ‘The House’ for decades. In time, through providential purchases of neighboring properties and diligent farming, the structure came to be renovated in black granite and surrounded by a high wall. This close to Sunside, the defensive measures were prudent. The sun-soaked wastelands were inhabited by creatures such as drenquiks and venox-runners, both native species that frequently raided Twilight farms. Even more dangerous were gangs of landless nobles who referred to themselves as ‘errants’, but whom everyone else considered to be nothing but lazy bandits. When captured, it was these people who were most often rehabilitated via the process of turning them into hardworking mechs.

Droad House had persisted and thrived despite the hardships. In keeping with tradition, the original homesteaded lands came to be called a barony, and there were even flirtations from the Ruling Council indicating it may well be uplifted to the status of a duchy. Lucas Droad rose to prominence in the family at this happy time, but due to personal problems, he eventually volunteered to emigrate to Neu Schweitz to see what could be done to further the interests of his world.

In his wake, Droad house fell upon harder times. The land was relatively fertile and cool, but difficult to reach, making trade difficult. At the time of the arrival of grim vids from the Nexus warning of alien hostiles approaching the planet, the Droad lands had been lowered in status to that of a marginal barony again. The offspring of the latest generation showed some of the old Droad spirit, and still held the title of knights, but only by a thread.

The current matriarch of the clan was none other than Lucas Droad’s ex-wife, Baroness Olivia Droad. Not being a true Droad, but rather one who’d married into power, some said she’d driven Lucas to leave the barony and then ruined it. Whatever the case, the years had not favored her. She’d become an undeniably sour old woman with glittering eyes, a sharp tongue and expensive tastes. Physically, Olivia was now much older than Lucas Droad, as her ex-husband had spent many years in interstellar travel. She did not remember him fondly, and hoped never to lay eyes upon him again.

“Make your report, child,” the Baroness said to the image of a man which hung in the air in front of her.

“There’s been trouble along the rim again, mama,” the young Knight Leon Droad said. “I have not yet found the cause, but it is true, there are dozens of distillers that have been smashed by unknown bandits.”

The lad was good-looking and her favorite. He had sandy hair, a heavy jaw and a piercing stare that matched her own. Her heart warmed just to see him. Perhaps that bastard Lucas had been right about one thing: he’d always said that all hope for the future lay within the youth of today.

Olivia considered Leon’s words for a moment, and they gave her pause. “Has anything been taken? The copper tubing, the controlling AI boxes?”

“No, mama. Nothing.”

The aging Baroness sat thinking about bandits on a dingy throne inside Droad House. The throne was upholstered by sun-scorched reptilian leather made from Sunsider venox skins. Olivia hated the throne, and yearned to replace it. Unfortunately, she had neither the funding nor the willpower to do so. Everyone in her family would be howling to depose her yet again if she dared to do so much as put a blanket over the rough, wart-encrusted hides.

“Is there anything else, mama?” Leon asked.

“Call me Baroness, Leon.”

“Yes, mama.”

Olivia rolled her eyes, but did not press the point. He was a good boy, if not the most brilliant of souls. “I don’t like the sound of this, Leon. If they are not stealing, they might be baiting you into a trap.”

“For what purpose? What profit?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t trust bandits that aren’t stealing things of value.”

“All right mama-uh, Baroness. I’ll be careful.”

“See that you do. There’s a good boy. Call me when you find them.”

“Hello mama!” said another, higher-pitched voice. For a moment, a second face interposed itself between Leon and the vid pickup. It was Knightrix Nina, a small creature with eyes and hair as dark as Leon’s were light. Olivia flinched at the vision of her daughter. She was perky and cute, and smiled at her mother with waggling fingers.

Olivia struggled to keep the corners of her mouth from twitching downward. She nodded to her daughter in recognition, but said nothing. It was all she could do.

The connection was broken a moment later, and Olivia reflected briefly why she hated her daughter so. She amended the thought immediately: she didn’t hate the girl. She just-didn’t like to look at her. It had to be her appearance. She was the holo-image of Lucas Droad, her probable father.

In that sense, the girl was a reproductive oddity. Olivia wondered how she could have had twins, with one resembling her husband and the other her consort. Could the twins really have been sired by two different men? Biology was strange and faintly disgusting, when one really pondered it.

Olivia shook her head, trying to clear it of unwanted thoughts. She shifted her buttocks, trying vainly to locate a comfortable spot on the abominable, bumpy throne. Oh, how she hated Lucas Droad’s throne. If she dared, someday she’d burn it and build a new one that was thickly padded with fur-covered gels.

Leon and Nina were mounted. They rode one-man skimmers that glided ahead of a trotting squadron of mech perrupters. Unlike mech laborers, these mechs were designed for combat and were assembled with light cannons in place of their right grippers. The cannons fired explosive rocket-propelled shells at high velocities. The perrupters were specialized for combat duty, but except for a slightly thicker chassis, they resembled labor mechs in most other respects. In order to keep up with the mounted twins, the perrupters had to run at a churning, ground-eating pace.

Nina was the first to spot the dust cloud sunward on the wastes.

“There,” she said, pointing. “What do you make of that, Leon?”

“A train of vehicles, perhaps? Men mounted on skimmers shouldn’t produce so much dust.”

Nina bit her lower lip and frowned. “I think we should call mother. Let’s report this and call for backup.”

Leon’s mouth drew into a line. “I don’t think we need help. We can handle this for ourselves. Must we call an uncle every time there is a leak in a processor? They will never stop thinking of us as children, Nina.”

Leon charged off and the mechs followed him dutifully, two abreast. Nina considered calling mother on her own-but she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to see her mother’s lips twist in annoyance upon seeing her own daughter’s face. Watching her brother move ahead at full speed, she finally twisted the throttle and charged after him.

They chased the phantom dust cloud into the open wastes where the sun was painfully bright. Despite goggles and air-conditioned riding suits, Nina still felt the heat seep through. She’d almost caught up with her brother when the dust cloud slowed and dissipated. She saw Leon and his perrupters ahead, cruising over a ridge as if looking for something. She zoomed after them, following the rise and fall of the hot dunes.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Leon said, looking all around them from atop a hump of hard stone. “There was something out here, making that dust cloud.”

“Backtracking from here, it seems as if they’ve just come from damaging the pumping station at the shadowline,” Nina said thoughtfully. “I don’t like it. Let’s get out of here.”

“Where did they go?” he asked. “Tell me that.”

“I don’t know, but they aren’t here now. We’d best move out of Sunside until they appear again.”

Leon shook his head. “Mother put me in charge. You can run home if you wish, sister. You have my permission to cower at home.”

Nina glared at him. “I’ll do no such thing. If you insist on combing the sands, I’ll lead the way.”

Determinedly, Nina goaded her mount and charged down the rocky outcropping toward the open sands. She saw the sand here was unsettled, as if passed over by a group of men or vehicles, but there was no one here now.

She did not make it far. As soon as she was out in the open sands, the mechs rose up in ambush. She realized with a shock that these metal laborers had hidden themselves purposefully, digging down into the sands and lying in wait. How was this possible? Who had set them to such a strange task?

She had little time for pondering the oddness of the situation, however, as she was caught up in the middle of it. A mech rose up directly in front of her and swung a dark metal arm at her head. The gripper flashed by as she ducked. Sand dribbled from it, spraying her with a shower that trickled down her back.

There were dozens of them! She dodged this way and that, avoiding the rising bodies. It was like dodging fast-growing trees in a forest. Behind her, she heard her brother’s bugle call. This was followed by a blaze of cannon-fire. The mech that had first accosted her blew apart in a spray of shrapnel. Nina ducked down, wrapping herself around the oblong shape of her mount, leaning side-to-side to guide it at full throttle. She’d always been a gifted rider and enjoyed slalom runs that sickened lesser girls.

Another mech stepped to block her path to freedom, however. This one was different from the rest. He wore-clothing? A cape fluttered from his back and a scarf was wound twice around his neck struts. His grippers flashed, but they did not strike for her, as had the others. Instead, he struck down her mount, causing the nose of the small craft to dip into the sands.

Nina flew over the forward steering grips and did a cartwheel in the reddish sands. She could feel the heat of the grit through her riding suit. She lay there, stunned, barely moving while a battle raged around her. Her body responded to her desperate urging to flee sluggishly. She wondered if she’d broken her neck.

Suddenly, as she blinked behind her goggles, the cannon fire stopped. She managed to turn her head enough to see the scene as the smoke was swept away by the ceaseless desert winds. A dozen mechs were smoking ruins of jagged metal. The perrupters had clearly been winning, however. They were armed and organized. Only three of their number had fallen. The rest of the perrupters stood still, identifiable by the green wedge on their chassis, which was the unmistakable mark of Droad House.

That was the odd thing-her mechs were frozen in place. They stood stock-still, as if switched off in mid action. Their weapons were uplifted, aiming at the advancing ranks of the enemy. But they were no longer active.

Darkness dimmed Nin’s vision. She was passing out, and she knew it. With the last of her fading wits, Nina’s eyes roved the landscape in search of her brother Leon, but she did not see him. What had befallen dear Leon?

#

Nina awoke some hours later. It was difficult to tell how long she’d laid there. Her internal suit cpu had shut down, and as the sky of Ignis Glace always looked the same, it gave no hint as to the time of day.

She struggled to her knees, and then to her feet. She looked around herself warily. She didn’t see any of the enemy mechs moving nearby, so she dared to walk among the wreckage. She needed to get out of the desert soon, even her riding suit couldn’t keep her alive out here indefinitely. Already, the hydration unit was registering three-quarters empty.

Due to long exposure on a harsh world, the technology of Twilighters had developed to a keen edge when it came to surviving extremes of temperature-both hot and cold. There were high tech systems built into her suit, but as always there was the possibility of failure with complex systems, and the people of Ignis Glace built lower tech solutions as well. Analog backups that operated when the batteries died, when the cpu overheated or something simply broke, these technological adaptations had kept many colonists alive where they otherwise would have perished. Nina relied on these backup systems now, systems based on body-motion to cause fluids to pump, evaporation to provide cooling and gauges based on weights, springs and pressure-needles.

Staggering at first, she walked among the dead. In her calculations, the destroyed mechs were counted as lives lost. To her, the mechs were people too, after a fashion. She found their slaughter disturbing. Human brain tissue, left to dry upon the heartless sands, looked the same whether it fell from a cracked skull or a ruptured metal case.

She counted fourteen dead, almost all of them renegade mechs. Of particular mystery was the disappearance of her own mech perrupters. She recalled they’d frozen in place-but where had they gone after that?

Her eyes searched the horizon, but she saw nothing. Not even the telltale plume of dust that had first alerted her to the enemy presence.

It was soon thereafter she found the fifteenth body. Her brother, his blond hair whipping and fluttering over his open blue eyes, lay dead in the sand. He was already half-covered over by sifting grit. In his right hand was a crackling power-saber. In his left was his pistol.

She wept as she buried him, but being a Droad she did not linger long after. The renegade mechs might return at any moment. She took Leon’s sword, which was a twin to her own, and strapped the second scabbard to her belt. It would not do to leave ancestral weapons in the sands for bandits to scavenge. She would have liked to take his body home, but both mounts were destroyed, and she lacked the strength to carry him so far. She was not entirely sure she would make it home herself.

Seven

Knightrix Nina Droad was unable to use her com-link or get a mount operating for the return journey to Twilight. Stoically, she began marching homeward on foot. The occasional teardrop inside her goggles was sucked away by her rider’s suit and recycled to keep her alive. It was just as well, she thought. She did not want her vision obscured.

She had allowed herself a few moments to grieve for her fallen brother, but did not shed so many tears that the process would endanger her water supply. Ignis Glace was an unforgiving world. The first colonists had been idle dreamers, but their surviving descendants were hard-bitten realists. They were inured to danger and always considered their own survival in every equation. They still had room for honorable conduct in that mindset, however, unlike the peoples of other similarly harsh worlds. Where some colonies had descended into barbarism, the people here had become tough-minded and self-reliant, but were still mindful of chivalry. Only those sentenced to existence as a servile mech might have disagreed.

As Nina marched over the rising and falling dunes, leaning into winds and staggering as gusts buffeted her body, she wondered how she would tell her mother of the day’s fateful events. She would have done so already, but her suit’s cpu had mysteriously failed. Could this be related to the disabling of her mech perrupters? Could the renegade mechs have a weapon that disabled technological systems? If so, why had the renegades themselves been unaffected?

That was another thing that bothered her intensely. Were these mechs actual rebels? If that was the case, her entire society was endangered. Only mechs were capable of doing the hard labor required out here in Sunside, and if they’d managed to regain their individual powers of decision-making and cognition-the humans were doomed. The mechs numbered something close to a third of the population of Ignis Glace, but numbers weren’t the only determiner of victory in a struggle. The truth was any mech was more than a match for a human being in combat. They were stronger, faster and more durable.

Perhaps, she told herself, the mechs weren’t true rebels. Perhaps they were under the direction of a group of knight-errants who had somehow figured out how to reprogram them and suborn their loyalty. Even that was a grim thought, but it was less alarming than the idea of a mech uprising.

As she tried to weigh these possibilities, she could not erase from her mind the strange sight of a mech dressed up like a man. Why would a mech don a cape and scarf? Of what possible use might these articles be to him? He had no need of a blanket to wrap up in while sleeping upon the ground at night, which the primary purpose of a nobleman’s cape. Even more unimaginable was any conceivable requirement for a scarf.

Nina trudged for hours before reaching the safety of the shadow cast by Droad Mountain. Almost immediately after she passed into the cool shadowlands, she found herself surrounded by greenery. She relished the sensation as the lavender gloom of her Droad Fief close over her. It was an odd thing, living one’s life in the shadow of a single mountain, but to Nina it seemed like home. The lack of sunlight was not total, of course. The sky and the surrounding lands provided enough ambient light to keep plants alive and was sufficient to read by. The air was warm, but not hot. It was always breezy, especially at the borders where the heat of the desert perpetually met the wetter, cooler air of the shadowlands. There were updrafts and downdrafts. Frequently, swirls of sparkling dust formed dust-devils to wander and dance over the landscape.

As she walked into deepening shadow, the plants swiftly changed in nature. She left behind scrubby, spiky growths such as witch-wort and skitterweed. The interior was lush with first grasses then full-fledged trees. Earthly palms ruled much of the landscape, being well-suited to the steamy heat this close to Sunside. Deeper still in the shadowlands, the growth became pervasive and the palms gave way to true jungle trees such as bezzel, korkholz and huge, hoary mangroves.

The central region was less stormy and more suitable to farming. Nina reached the first huddled village after an hour’s walk through the forest. The town was named Brienz, and squatted at the edge of a still, glassy lake. She followed a path along the rocky shoreline toward town. The lake itself teemed with fish. Unlike earthly aquatic creatures, the fish on Ignis Glace were more intelligent, interactive creatures. As she passed the lake, schools of them poked their bulbous eyes above the surface to observe her. Some varieties cooed at her in greeting. On a better day, Nina might have waved back at them. Today, her brother had died and she wasn’t in the most pleasant of moods. She tossed a small stone in the midst of the watching fish. They hooted in alarm and darted away to the cool depths of their watery home, where they no doubt huddled in fear.

Brienz had ragged steel walls, varying in height from ten feet to thirty. The rivets ran with rust stains down the metal sides and cameras followed her progress as she approached. Before she’d come closer than a hundred yards, the town watchman peeped over the top of the wall and called for her identify herself.

Once the villagers were certain who she was, they gathered around to walk with her. They wailed at the news her brother was dead and embraced her. Nina knew their grief was genuine. She and her twin were popular with the common folk-unlike her mother.

Nina was offered a cart, which she refused. She did take a mount, however, an old model which squeaked, shivered and farted fumes as she rode upon it. She did not complain, knowing it was the best the villagers could provide. She promised to return it, and rode the beastly thing all the way upslope to the castle.

This final leg of the journey filled her with a growing sense of dread. Her mother must have heard by now of her brother’s death. It was no secret among the folk of Droad fief that Leon was her favorite and that Nina was despised. Nina had never understood her mother’s irritation with her. She’d done her best since puberty to avoid the witch, a feat she found was easily done. Mother seemed content to stay at Droad House forever while Nina preferred to roam the borderlands in search of what adventure there was to be had.

Droad House, once a simple affair, was now clad in walls of dark stone. The castle looked far better than Brienz with its rusty metal defenses, but it was also less inviting. Squatting at the top of the slope in the center of the deepest mountain shadows, the light here was forever muted, and the air was forever cool and wet. Birds sat quietly along the crenulated wall-tops, watching her with curiosity. The much noisier fish in the moat cooed or growled up at her as she crossed the drawbridge, depending on their dispositions.

It had been months since she’d dared walk through these gates. As she passed the stone gatehouse, she noted the smooth surfaces looked blue in the dim light, rather than gray. The waters of the moat were likewise inky-black and utterly still, except for the burbling fish. They poked their heads up to sniff for her scent and filled the air with new odd cries when the recognized her.

Inside the gatehouse, the human retainers were nowhere to be seen. There were only perrupters here, one on each side. They were armed as usual, with a cannon and a single gripper free to grab a peasant’s throat or the power-sword that was strapped to their midsections. The mechs made no attempt to greet her. Olivia Droad had ordered them to stay quiet, saying she found their silence preferable to false human voices. Nina found them much more threatening when they did not speak. Perhaps that was her mother’s true intent.

As Nina passed to the inner keep, the gates closed behind her with a rattle of chain-drives and squealing metal. She glanced back in surprise. She could not recall the last time she’d seen the drawbridge pulled up and the gates closed.

Her mother waited for her, sitting stiffly on her throne of reptile skins. She said nothing as Nina approached, but instead stared with burning dark eyes. There was little light in this place, only the flicker of electric wall-torches in the four corners served to illuminate it.

The builders of Droad House had begun with a simple cut-stone farmhouse. But as the power of the family grew, so had their pride and seeking of status. They’d built a medieval replica of an Old Earth castle eventually, some seven decades back. This was stylish at the time and helped garner council votes for advancement into the titled ranks.

Nina fell to one knee, and bowed her head. “Mother-” she began.

“Do not dare address me in that fashion,” Olivia snapped.

Nina paused and blinked. If not mother, then how should she address this woman? Olivia surely wasn’t going to be acceptable. She decided to be as formal as possible, as her mother loved formalities.

“Baroness Droad,” she said. “I beg your forgiveness.”

The customary response would have been a nod at least, but her mother remained motionless. She only stared malevolently.

Tears welled up in Nina’s eyes. Her mother knew the facts, but it was Nina’s duty to report them anyway. She did not know how to officially inform a woman that her favorite child was dead, but she was determined to do just that-it was her duty. “I have grave news to report-” she began.

“Grave news?” Olivia echoed suddenly. She laughed then. It was a strange sort of laugh-there was nothing healthy or mirthful about it. Nina had never heard someone cackle before, but the term fit the sound her mother made.

“Grave news indeed!” Olivia continued. “Such a way you have with words, girl. Is this your conception of a joke? Is this some twisted manner of speech, meant to lighten the mood?”

Nina paused, at a loss for words. Tears glistened on her cheeks. “I–I don’t know what to say. My twin has perished. My beloved Leon-”

Baroness Droad lurched up from her throne, as might a puppet whose strings had been harshly yanked by a cruel master. She was suddenly erect and looming atop the dais. She was taller than her daughter, and despite her age, one could tell she had once been athletic and beautiful, just as Nina herself was today.

The Baroness pointed an accusatory finger at Nina. She sucked in her breath and shook her head. She let a crystal goblet drop from her hand to smash upon the stone steps that led up to the throne. Nina had not noticed the goblet before, but now she could see the bluish wisps of vapor that rose from it.

“You’ve been drinking, mother. You are not yourself in your grief.”

Her mother laughed at that. It was a full-fledged laugh. “For so many long years you have haunted me, girl. Now, you’ve done your worst. I suffered your existence as no other of my rivals was ever tolerated. You were the viper I took to my bosom. Do you know that when you suckled, you were the one that always bit me?”

Nina opened her mouth, then closed it again. She had seen people in grief, she had seen people intoxicated by the maddening drug known as blur-dust, but this was the first time she’d encountered both at the same time. She tried to think of a way to defuse the situation, but none came to mind. She decided to ignore her mother’s odd behavior, make the report that chivalry demanded, and exit the castle as quickly as possible. Her mother was bound to come to her senses in time.

“We met with a force of mechs, Baroness,” she said, standing at attention as her mother staggered down the remaining steps toward her. “They were not guided by any human group we could see. They ambushed us in the near desert of Sunside. We were overwhelmed, and somehow they disabled our perrupters. I was knocked senseless-”

“And your brother was killed, removing him from the line of succession. Yes, I know your plans, girl. If anything, this proves you really did sprout from my womb, despite everything I’ve felt to the contrary.”

“Wha-what?”

“You heard me. You arranged this. You were twins, but you came into this gloomy house five minutes after your brother. He was thus the elder, and set to inherit everything.”

Nina shook her head, not so much in denial, but as if to clear it. How could she be hearing these foul words? How could her mother suspect her of such evil?

After standing and gaping for a few seconds, something her mother had said managed to penetrated her thoughts. That this imagined murder of Leon reminded mother of herself. “Mother, are you saying you killed someone to reach your station?”

Her mother cackled again. She walked to a table carved with dark hardwood and poured herself a fresh goblet of blue, wisping liquid. She sipped it and hissed in pleasure.

“Of course I did. Did you think all I did was sleep with your father? A dozen girls could have taken that easy route. After any contest, examine the winner. Rarely will you find the contestant that took the easiest path.”

“Who then? Who did you remove from your path?”

Olivia huffed. “Have I not been clear? If there are a dozen girls, and you are perhaps in the middle of the line-up-the math seems clear. By removing the first five or six, you have just reached the front of the line. What could be more obvious?”

Nina shook her head in shock. Her mother had killed to reach her station? Killed rival women? She now recalled stories of her youth, things whispered of grim times before her birth. Her father, Lucas Droad, had possessed another wife before Olivia, that much she knew. She’d died long ago…could her mother have had something to do with that? She looked at her mother with new, horror-filled eyes.

“Not father’s first wife?”

Olivia shrugged. “Why not? The woman was a cow.”

Nina put a hand to her mouth. She felt heartsick in an entirely different fashion. Suddenly, she felt she understood her father’s exit from this world as she never had before. Who would want to live with such a horrid woman?

Olivia busied herself with another goblet. This one she lifted and offered to Nina.

“Here,” she said. “Since we are truly the same flesh, perhaps we can come to an understanding. Take this drink and toast me, daughter of mine. You are now my only heir.”

Another girl might have accepted the toast, but within Nina’s person was not only the heart of Lucas Droad, but also her mother’s temper. She drew her sword instead and slashed the goblet from her mother’s fingers. The power-sword in Nina’s hand had appeared with startling speed and she’d flicked it on in the same automatic motion, as the armsmen of the castle had taught her to do. It was only good fortune that she hadn’t cut away a portion of the Baroness’ hand as well as the goblet itself.

The blur-dust laden alcohol steamed in a slurry mess on the flagstones. Shards of broken glass reflected the light of the power-sword, which ran with plasma. The smell of the blur-dust vapors filled the room and stung Nina’s eyes.

Olivia nodded, as if unsurprised. “I offer you peace, and you draw your weapon and threaten me in my own chambers. I can see your ambitions exceed a single step forward. You are not content with being next in line to this throne, are you? In a way, I suppose I should be prideful.”

“No. No, mother-”

“Do not bother to deny it, child. These things are in the genes, you see. It is nothing to feel ashamed of. Unfortunately, only one woman can rule. It is not your time, nor will it ever be. Perrupters!”

Nina’s head twisted from side to side. The mechs that stood in each of the room’s four corners had each taken an immediate step forward. They had stood still all this time, as they always did, one under each of the four flickering artificial torches that illuminated the throne room. They now were at attention, awaiting their orders.

“Mother, I only feared that the wine was poisoned. I’ve done you no harm.”

“Of course it was poisoned, girl. Perrupters, take this assassin to the dungeons. Put her in the flooded cells. She is to be disarmed, chained, and left for the fish-rats to feed upon.”

Nina took a step back and tried to look at all four of the perrupters at once, which was quite impossible. Her eyes were wide, and they stung from staring in fear. Her heart pounded loudly in her chest and she felt mildly ill. How could all this be happening? How could all the worst moments of her life be wrapped up into a single heart-wrenching day?

But the perrupters did nothing. Nina watched them, but they did not do so much as twitch. Her mother hissed in vexation.

“I should have changed their conditioning years ago,” Olivia said.

There was a blinding flash, and Nina felt her arm go numb. She looked down and saw her right hand was missing. It was on the floor now, impossibly it seemed to her. The fingers still gripped the hilt of her saber and the blade ran with sparking plasma.

Nina fell to her knees in shock. Olivia stood over her, smiling for the first time today. It was a grim smile, without revealed teeth or any hint of joy. It was a smile of vengeful triumph. In her mother’s hand was her own power-sword, a blade which ran with pale green wavering pulses of force. She’d slashed off Nina’s hand while the girl eyed the perrupters.

“I had a deal with your father, you know,” Olivia said, holding her sword high for a killing stroke. “When he received the summons from the Nexus, he left two infants in my care. It was not only duty that drew him to the high post at the Nexus. He did not approve of my methods of social advancement, and I’d tired of him in general. I promised him no one else would be slain in pursuit of my ambitions, if he swore never to return. Thus he gave me sole rulership of Droad House in his absence. Today however, I must break that pact with your father, as you have forced my hand.”

Nina waited no longer. She still had her brother’s sword on her waist. Her remaining hand moved without warning. There was a blurring arc of white fire as her brother’s sword blazed into life. In a single slashing motion, Nina drew the blade from with her left hand and flicked it outward, cutting low. The blade sizzled and smoked as it cut her mother in half.

Disturbed by the sudden violence, the four mech perrupters twitched and shuffled, but there was nothing they could do. Conditioned to protect the entire family, they could not interfere when the various members fought amongst themselves.

Nina struggled to her feet. Her hand had been severed diagonally across the metacarpal bones. The wound had been cauterized by the power-sword, and although it ached dreadfully, it did not bleed much.

She looked down at Baroness Olivia Droad, whose eyes still burned, but with a diminishing light. The Baroness was in shock and beyond speech. Her upper half twisted upon the floor, dying rapidly.

“I’m truly sorry, mother,” Nina said. “I did not want to ascend in this manner. But I knew I might have to slay you when I came here on this cursed day. I suppose, in a way, you were right to fear me. I am your daughter, after all.”

Eight

Over the next standard year, Sixty-Two advanced his cause to unexpected heights. Legions of mechs now followed him, conditioned to obey his will alone. Most of them were laborers retrained to wield guns and swords. Some were combat models, captured via EMP blasts and enslaved with rewritten software and conditioning modules.

This last fact bothered Sixty-Two. He realized he’d started this campaign to free himself, but it had grown since then. He was now responsible for the status of thousands of mechs, all those that were not under the command of some human or another. The irony of the situation did not escape him. He had wanted only his own freedom, but was now the master of thousands.

He’d thought at first he was a hero-a liberator of an enslaved people, a people he himself had been forcibly sentenced to join. Unfortunately, whenever he encountered new mechs, they resisted him, as they were conditioned to defend their masters. This often meant violence and deactivation, followed by reconditioning. But therein lay the philosophical difficulty: if Sixty-Two simply reprogrammed the mechs to follow his orders rather than the orders of their human masters, was he any better than those original despots? The fact he was a mech himself did not absolve him completely. The situation was indisputable: he had fancied himself a liberator, but had become a replacement tyrant who led an army of obedient slaves.

It wasn’t just this ethical dilemma that caused him to make changes in his methods. A large motivator was simple boredom. Life was interesting and adventurous enough, to be sure. He never tired of planning a raid, assaulting a Twilight village and freeing a fresh company of mechs. But there was no one to talk to. The mechs of Ignis Glace were under the strict onus of intense conditioning-which made them intensely dull. As a group, they had forgotten their pasts as humans. The mind-scrub was the first process applied when the job was done right. They did not question Sixty-Two’s judgment, offer advice or encouragement. They simply existed, answering any of his questions as truthfully as they could without personality or even quirks.

Sitting on a bench in a tent in a deep gulch that had once served as a solar collection station, Sixty-Two summoned a serving mech into his presence. This mech was female, he knew by asking her, but she didn’t know her own name, her age, or her favorite color. She had lost almost everything that made a person a human being inside. The metal structure of her body resembled every other mech that strode around the encampment, monitoring the sky and maintaining a vigilant eye at the perimeter.

Still, there was something about this one that was different. She had a name for one thing: Lizett. He wasn’t sure if that was her real name, or a name given her by her former masters. But it didn’t matter. He saw it as a positive thing, as most mechs didn’t have human names at all.

“Lizett,” he said, eyeing her dusty chassis thoughtfully. “Would you like to be a girl again?”

“I would like that,” Lizett said.

“Are you just saying that because you think I want you to?”

“I want what you want.”

Sixty-Two sighed. “Lizett, I want you to think about it. Think about having a flesh and blood body again. Would that be pleasant? I have no opinion one way or the other.”

Lizett hesitated, unsure of the right response to please her master in this situation. “Do you like women of flesh?”

Sixty-Two laughed. She was trying to work her way around the problem, asking him an indirect question to determine what the right answer to his question might be. At least this showed some intelligence and initiative, if not true freedom of thought.

“What I would like is to be a man again, yes. And I would like you to be a pretty young girl. You might even be my consort.”

“In that case, I would definitely like to be a woman of flesh again,” Lizett said triumphantly, certain she had divined the correct response.

Sixty-Two nodded. “Of course you would. Thank you for indulging the fantasies of a fool, my dear. Dismissed.”

Lizett paused, almost as if she wanted to say more, but then she turned and left the tent.

After she’d left, Sixty-Two had a minor tantrum. He stood and stared down at the workbench he’d been sitting upon. He asked himself why he was sitting on anything in the first place? Sitting down was an affectation of humans. None of his mechs ever sat down-they had no need to rest. Their metal bodies did not tire or ache from standing, not even if they did so for days on end.

He picked up the workbench and destroyed it with his grippers. Splinters and metal fittings exploded against the walls of the tent. Why was he sitting on chairs like humans? He was no longer one of them. He should not pine away for an impossible return to human flesh, nor should he ape their behavior as if yearning to return to a superior form.

In an unusual mood, he strode out of the tent and announced to the nearest mechs his new intentions. “Brothers and sisters!” he boomed. “We must renounce our former existences and embrace what we are today. We have metal bodies with minds that are bits of flesh, and that is the best possible state of being!”

The mechs around him stopped and gazed at him. Their orbs did not waver from their leader. They asked no questions. They did not murmur among themselves, shuffle uncertainly, or shout out encouragement. They simply stood and stared.

Sixty-Two suddenly felt the fool. Here he was, like an old man making speeches before his finest row of cultivated tulips. He struggled to continue.

“I’m going to choose from among you certain mechs to be elevated. Not just to the status of command, but to the status a free-thinking being. Some of you will be tested for suitability and independent spirit. Some of you will be found worthy, and will be reconditioned. You will not be able to turn against me, but you will be able to decide your own path otherwise. You may leave my service if you want to, or stay. Who here thinks they would be a good candidate for such a program?”

Every mech within earshot raised a gripper.

Sixty-Two swept his orbs over them and grunted in disgust. He knew they’d sensed he wanted them to volunteer, so they had immediately done what he desired.

This was not going to be easy.

Even while she nursed and regrew her severed hand, Nina Droad did not waste time consolidating her power. Less than a year after her mother’s death, she was officially recognized as the new Baroness of Droad House, with the full-if grudging-support of the council of peerage. Once the matter of succession was settled, and her claim had cleared a half-dozen challenges from cousins, bastards and uncles, she ascended her mother’s vacant throne.

Unlike her mother, she liked the rough, unyielding surface of the venox hides that covered the seat. She took the seat and the reins of power as if she’d been raised to do so, although she had not been. Her mother had always clearly favored Leon and, as he was the eldest, he’d been groomed for the succession all his short life.

As a new leader, she’d learned about the coming alien threat from Neu Schweitz. There were council meetings concerning these aliens and they worried her, but only in passing. Gladius was coming, yes. It could now be seen by the best orbital telescopes, decelerating in space, its plume of exhaust nearly as long as a star system itself. But the planetary patrol forces had the matter well in hand. Every council member had assured the nobility of this. They’d had plenty of time to prepare, and they’d laid mines, set up ambush points and even built extra vessels to fly out and meet the ship. If the enemy had taken Gladius, they would be in for a grim surprise. They would be blown from the skies long before they ever reached the purple band of Twilight on Ignis Glace.

The council had offered her a position of leadership on matters of planetary defense, primarily because of her father’s rising rank in the Nexus government. It was he who had sent out the warning vids, after all. Nina had taken the title, but soon twisted it to her own plans.

Planetary defense did not just mean space defenses, after all. In her mind, her authority clearly extended down to the surface, and internal affairs must be dealt with as well. Nina was young, but she had ambition in her genes. She was also a vengeful soul, and she wanted more than anything to find her brother’s killer. The mech with the scarf and cape still walked freely somewhere in Sunside, raiding and stealing property, mainly taking fresh mechs for his army. He did not strike often, nor did he kill many people when he did, just those who got in his way. In the face of the coming danger from the skies, the war council did not see him as a serious threat and willingly gave Nina the authority to chase her metal ghost around in the deserts, if that was her desire.

Nina well understood their reasoning. They would allow her to safely expend her youthful energies in this fanciful manner. If perchance she did find the renegade mech, one (or hopefully both) of them might die, making life quieter for the older nobles in either case.

With her title, her rank, and her new authority secure, Nina set about gathering a small army to hunt down the mech that had taken her brother’s life. First, she called a clan meeting. The Droad Kindred were summoned to Droad House, an event that had not happened in nearly three decades.

The Kindred came expecting a celebration. In the old days, when a new lord had ascended the hide-bound throne, a great deal of feasting and drunkenness had inevitably followed. Accordingly, they came with barrels of their best mead on anti-grav carts behind them, along with frozen venox steaks and sealed bags of broadleaf smoke-weed.

As the kinsfolk crossed the drawbridge, the fish in the moat sang to them in greeting. The oldsters found this enchanting. Nina had taught them this by having frequently tossing bread upon the waters when they serenaded her on the drawbridge. Excited, Droad children in floating vehicles stuck out their heads and dutifully tossed tidbits over the side, every crumb of which was sucked up by the greedy fish. It seemed that with each handout, more fish sang even louder for the next group of tramping boots or whirring skimmers as they passed by.

The Droad kindred were some seven hundred in number. The majority of them had no title, but they owned their own lands and were thus freemen. Being related to the ruling family, they were considered a cut above the local folk that lived in the fief and were often elected as hetmen of villages, or as foremen of factories.

The walls of the castle encircled enough land to house them all safely, but they could not all fit into the keep itself for a feast. Accordingly, Nina declared the feast would be held outdoors, weather permitting. This decision was met with broad approval, as no one wanted to be excluded from the banquet and new Baroness’ presence.

So it was under the gloom of Droad Mountain, in the further shade of Droad Keep, that the kindred met together and held festival. Nina soon realized they’d brought an excessive amount of intoxicants, and was alarmed at how quickly her relatives got out of hand. Before the main course was served to the waiting throng, there had already been several fights and many public declarations of love, lust and general bravado.

The food arrived on heaping platters carried by a full company of loyal mechs. The weather was perfect, the sky being so clear that a few stars were even visible hanging in the sky over Nightside. Bright bonfires glared at every corner of the grand courtyard, reflecting from the stone walls in dancing yellow ripples.

After a great quantity of meats and tubers had been consumed, the kindred began banging their belt-knives against their metal mugs, calling for a speech. All eyes turned to Nina, and she stood. This was the moment she’d been waiting for.

“I welcome all the Droad Kindred to Droad House,” she began.

She got no further before a roar of approval and hooting arose from the crowd. She blinked, but smiled at them. She stood there, waiting for quiet to return. She saw amongst the crowd most of the Droad women had worn their finest gowns, while Nina herself had worn her rider’s leathers. She had her twin swords strapped to her waist and looked more like she was about to go out on patrol than speak at a formal banquet. Sensing the attention and whispering of her female relatives, she fought the urge to blush and stood straighter still. She pressed on, raising her voice until she could be heard.

When she was practically screaming, the crowd settled down to listen again. “I’ve called you all here for several reasons. For one, I’m the new Baroness of Droad House. The title is now official.”

Another wild chorus of calls rolled over the crowd. Nina waited, smiling indulgently. They soon quieted, allowing her to speak again.

“I’ve gained another, more important title. I’m now in charge of planetary defense-internal defense. This matters more than it has in the past, as we have new threats here on Ignis Glace, both in the skies and haunting our own wastelands. I plan to eradicate these threats.”

The cheering was far more ragged this time. A susurration of voices grew as people turned to one another in their hundreds and made surprised commentary. Everyone wondered where the girl was going to go with this.

“Accordingly,” Nina said, “I’ve been given the authority and funding to raise an army for the defense of Twilight on the ground. I do not have the authority to compel service, however. I must ask for each household to give the forces that they can. I need soldiers, and I need them now. If the Droad Kindred give freely, the other houses will be pressed to match their generosity, or else face embarrassment.”

There was a moment of surprised quiet. Many knew about her newfound responsibilities, but had considered the position an honorary one. No one thought she was going to actively defend the planet. Nina, contrary to their prevailing opinions, clearly thought otherwise.

After an awkward moment, throughout which Nina continued standing before them, an old knight from Traum stood up solemnly. “I will pledge half my perrupters-forty fully functional mechs, with armament and supply carts.”

The younger folk gaped at him, but his eyes were staring hard at Nina alone. Nina acknowledged him with a gracious nod. The others slowly began to grasp that this feast was a muster-not just a simple occasion for gathering and drunkenness. Three others struggled to their feet and offered half their household forces.

Nina lifted her hands high, with a blazing sword in each. She’d switched them on for effect. One chased with lavender plasma, while the other blazed white. Her right hand still bore the livid scar where it had been severed.

The crowd stared, and she knew they had to be wondering which of these blades had slain her witch of a mother. She had never told anyone the details, and had forbidden the mechs from answering questions on the topic.

“Family! Comrades!” she called out. “I greatly appreciate your generosity. I must clarify the situation, however. We need more than an army of mech perrupters. We need human hands wielding gun and sword. The enemy we will be facing in the immediate future is not flesh, but metal. And those enemies have a way of disabling our mech guardians and even turning them against us. I propose that when we meet them on the field of honor, we will do so with an army of humans that can’t be corrupted or switched off.”

A ripple of whispering swept the crowd. This was the most shocking news of all. She was asking for more than they’d bargained for. The men who were still standing in answer to her call remained upright, but eyed one another nervously. All except for the old knight from Traun, Hans Droad. He never wavered, but raised his hand again.

“I loved your brother Leon, almost as much as you did, Nina,” Hans rumbled. “I would not have followed Olivia into the star-blasted furnace at our borders, but I and my three sons will follow your banner into the deserts, as you once followed your brother’s.”

“Thank you, Hans.”

“I only ask one thing: do you know the whereabouts of the renegades you seek?”

Nina smiled. Hans Droad was old, but he was far from a fool. He was a first cousin to her father, and reportedly had known him well.

“Yes,” Nina said. “I know where their encampment is. It has been identified via the new satellites the council has place in the sky to watch for Gladius. The rebels are less than a hundred leagues from where we now stand.”

She turned back to the crowd and sliced the air with her sizzling swords. The diners nearest her ducked as the deadly blades burnt the air over their heads. “Who else will march with us?” she demanded in a shout.

More men and women stood. There was no more drunken hooting or laughter now. This was serious. Each member of the Droad clan that pledged their blade understood they might not return from this campaign. But they stood nonetheless, until an impressive number had joined her.

Nina smiled, and finally sat down. After she had gotten what she wanted, she quietly presided over a long night of feasting, drinking and combative games.

She was proud to know her people had not let her down. They had not softened with the years. Despite recent wealth, they were still tough frontiersmen who knew a just cause when they saw one. In short, they were still Droads.

Nine

The sole Parent aboard Gladius was beside herself with frustration. When she’d first taken over the ship with its vast hold full of goods, some twenty-two percent of which were organic in nature, she’d felt she had more than enough foodstuffs to grow and maintain a sizeable nest. To her mind, the basis for this mathematical formula had not changed. The newly-birthed Empress, however, had other ideas. She was not satisfied with canned meats, fibrous tubers and the like. She wanted fresh food. Fresh meat — and she insisted the Parent provide her with a steady supply.

The Parent lamented her early choices in this matter on a daily basis. She’d started off with the best of intentions, of course. She’d planned to guide the Empress’ development, carefully conditioning her to the situation at hand. She’d always thought of her role in the early stages of the monarch’s development as that of a gentle, caring, maternal figure. Unfortunately, she’d found the Empress extremely demanding from the earliest hours of her independent existence. Worse, the Parent felt herself genetically compelled to comply with the little harpy’s wishes. She had therefore expended a great quantity of her fresh protoplasm supplies, provided mostly by dead crewmembers, to appease the monarch’s palate.

This had turned out to be a grave error. By giving her the best, she’d trained the Empress to expect such fine meats every day. The Empress had swollen to a gargantuan mass and now spat out perfectly good supplements to her diet such as the rehydrated stews the crew had largely subsisted upon. She’d become accustomed to the flavor of human meats and constantly demanded more be brought. The fact that there was very little fresh game to be found aboard Gladius did not impress her.

Currently, the Empress resembled a vast bladder of sprawling flesh, from which protruded a bouquet of tentacles and single, oversized food-tube. She squatted in a mass of her own expulsions, with which she’d formed a nest of putrescence that even the Parent found difficult to stomach.

The Parent had suggested the young monarch move to a resin throne, as befit her station, but the Empress would have none of it. She relished her nest of cracked femurs, bits of clothing and hair. Originally, she’d complained about the alien stink of it all, but now the nest felt like home to her. The Parent sadly marked this down as another of her mistakes. She now accepted the obvious reality that she’d had no inkling of what she was doing when she gave birth to this demanding creature, and that raising a monarch aboard an alien ship had been an insane idea in the first place. She could only lament that her youth and inexperience as a Parent had led her down this unpleasant path. She’d dreamt of glory, of giving new life to the ancient Imperium, but she’d attempted it much too soon. In the end, she’d been saddled with the worst offspring imaginable, one that was now clearly her mistress.

“You will stop sniveling, and provide for my comfort,” the Empress insisted. “I will tolerate no further excuses. Fresh game creatures must be found. I’m tired of week-old meats. I require pumping fluids and warm, wriggling meats. Do you not understand?”

“Yes, my dearest. I understand perfectly. But I’m unable to comply. The food-creatures aboard this ship have become increasingly scarce. We’ve thawed and emptied out the larder of frozen creatures we found hibernating. That was the single greatest supply.”

“But they do still exist?”

“Yes, a small number of them are huddled within a protected area of this vessel.”

“Break in then! I will consume them tonight!” Growing agitated with excitement, the Empress’ external lung-flaps fluttered and her tentacles set up a wet slapping chorus on the deck plates beyond her nest-which she was on the verge of out-growing.

The Parent almost replied meekly, promising to do her best, but then a cunning thought entered her mind. Perhaps she could use her mistress’ obsession with human meats to attain certain goals.

“There are only a few humans left alive in any case. I will do my best to procure them for you-but they will be the last.”

“The last?” the Empress hooted softly. “I don’t like the sound of that. You must get more.”

“There are no more sources of fresh game within the ship.”

“Then you must reach beyond the ship. Must I think of everything?”

“Well… There is a ship approaching us, but it will pass by soon.”

“What? Does it have more food-creatures aboard?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Then we must capture them!”

“This would be very difficult.”

The Empress slapped her tentacles in frustration. They were growing in girth on daily basis, and now made a surprising amount of noise. “Why have you not made plans to assault this ship? How can I be cursed with such an incompetent Parent?”

The Parent shuffled her own tentacles thoughtfully. “That might just be possible-but I would judge it unlikely.”

“Why?” wailed the Empress.

“Because they will be well-defended, and they are cruising by us at great speed. We’ve put all our effort into meeting your appetites-which is only as it should be, of course. But our military is not growing. We have no assets with which to reach out to passing vessels. We have not prepared boarding parties, nor invasion ships for our eventual arrival at Ignis Glace.”

“You will build a single assault ship. You will make the attempt. I insist upon it.”

“Your will is law,” the Parent said, feigning resignation.

“What else can be done in the meantime to satisfy my digesters?”

“Nothing, mistress. We must turn our servants away from hunting for fine foods. Instead, we must build up our military capabilities. This will result in a short term loss of incoming food supplies, but in the long term, it will result in an incalculably greater bounty.”

The Empress cursed her and bemoaned her fate for some time, but at last she agreed. The Parent dared to congratulate herself on having successfully manipulated the despot into supporting her point of view. Before she could do so much as puff up her sagging organs, however, the Empress made a further demand. “I will allow myself to suffer now, in the hopes of fruitful times later. I will sacrifice my pleasures to prevent disaster. But I must have the last humans aboard this vessel. By surviving so close by, these creatures have defied the will of the Imperium. They shall not be tolerated. They can be used as breeding stock, if nothing else. You will capture them and bring them to my presence. I must have a tasting!”

The Parent puffed her lungs sacs and released a blatting sound of defeat. Her mistress had spoken. Again, they would have to waste time and resources feeding her insatiable maw. At least, the Parent could dare hope the Empress would be forced into supporting her planned build-up of forces after this hunt-if only because there would be no humans left aboard to consume.

Garth’s eyes snapped open in a dark chamber. He was lying restfully, but he knew something was wrong. There were no wailing klaxons sounding the alarm, but his instincts were pulsing in his temples anyway.

There was an odd smell in the room. Garth knew it well-he’d been exposed to this alien stink before. He struggled to his feet and grabbed up his clothes in the dark. He did not bother with his jacket, nor touch together the nano-adhesives to close his shirt over his bare chest. He took the time to pull on his boots, but that was all.

He got no further than the midpoint of the room when the Tulk in his head awakened. The being that shared his skull was an old one, and tended to sleep often. But now Ornth woke up and quivered with alarm. Garth felt an instant headache as Ornth no doubt employed his spines and sent probes through their shared nervous system. He felt the Tulk reach out to take the reins of his mind.

Garth felt his arm lifting, reaching for the pad. He had not instructed his arm to do so. It was moving under the Tulk’s control. At a single touch, Garth knew the door would swish open.

Don’t! Garth said loudly in his own mind.

The hand hesitated. The fingers squirm like worms baking on a sidewalk. Then it reached closer still to the touchpad.

You will kill us, Garth thought, unable to stop his arm from moving. You will be exposed.

The hand paused and wavered uncertainly. It was a horrible thing to be trapped within one’s own shared skull and to be unable to control one’s body. Insanity must have felt much the same, Garth had often reflected.

Do not dare to threaten me, ungrateful creature, Ornth responded directly.

Despite the danger, Garth smiled triumphantly with half his mouth. Ornth had taken the rare step of conversing with his mount. This in itself was an achievement among skalds.

I offer no threat. I am imparting a warning. The enemy is near. Can you not sense them?

The ship is full of the beasts from the stars.

Yes, but now they are inside our sanctuary. They have broken in somehow.

Ornth hesitated, then Garth felt his arm lifting again. I do not believe you, Ornth said.

Fine. Open the door. Prove me right as we are devoured, watch our flesh be sucked up into the food-tubes of the ancient enemy. How they will laugh when they find you hiding inside my cracked skull!

The hand stopped, and lowered back to Garth’s side. If we are not to exit this place, what can be done?

Garth felt his crushing tension relaxing. The Tulk was listening to him. Use a communication device. Attempt to communicate with another skald in another cubicle. Do not speak, but see if the others respond. We cannot let the enemy know we are awake and breathing in this place. They will hunt us, if we do.

Ornth did as he suggested. He touched a device near the bedside in the darkness, after first muting the system. Garth knew a tone would sound inside another chamber nearby, but he could not hear it. Ornth waited, but after six chimes, no one answered.

Try another, Garth suggested.

You are clouding my thoughts, and causing me undue stress.

I’m keeping us both alive.

Ornth used Garth’s fingers to reach out and touch a different glowing cabin number. More chimes were indicated. Garth could hear them through the wall. Ornth must be calling a nearby room.

This time, the call was answered. A face flickered into being on the screen and both minds stared with Garth’s wide eyes. It was a female face, but not the same skald girl who had tricked Garth days ago. She looked tired and baffled.

“What is the purpose of this communication?” she asked.

Do not respond, Garth urged. They are listening.

Ornth said nothing with either his mind or Garth’s lips. The skald girl peered at them, unable to see much. She lifted her hand to disconnect the device-but hesitated, turning her head to one side.

Suddenly, a shriek came from her. It was a strange sound of surprise and desperation. The cry was human, but not entirely so, as two creatures screamed together in mortal terror.

Her face was gone from the view of the device a moment later.

Turn off the device! Garth urged.

What has occurred?

Turn off the device!

His own squirming fingers did as he demanded. The horrible sounds could still be heard, however. They were coming through the wall from the cabin next door. The walls reverberated with a sudden booming sound, as a body thudded against it.

We must flee! Garth urged. Walk us into the lavatory.

Ornth did so on shaky legs. Why are we here? There is nowhere to hide.

Garth directed the Tulk to remove a clamp and the toilet slid from its moorings. A narrow dark hole appeared. A rich odor wafted up from the pipes below.

You suggest we attempt to slide away into the sewers?

I maintain this vessel. The pipes will expand as they join others. If we can reach an expulsion tank, there will be a maintenance portal. That may well be how the shrade got in in the first place.

Ornth walked out of the lavatory, while Garth shrieked in his head. You are the mad-thing, not I. You have never met them in person. I’ve been in their nests. We must flee!

No, said Ornth firmly. We will gather weapons and drive this interloper out.

The Tulk do not fight, they flee!

The Tulk do battle, upon occasion.

But why change a successful strategy now? Why not continue to avoid the enemy?

Because there is no way off this ship, disobedient rogue. Now be silent, I’m having difficulty cogitating.

Garth was anything but silent. He pleaded, threatened and strained to recapture the reins of his body. But his nerve endings were riddled with fresh-driven control threads. He could not force his own limbs to stop moving. He felt his hand make contact with the smooth metal touchpad. The door swished open, washing him with the bright glare of the corridor outside. Although he didn’t see any aliens crouching at his feet, Garth shrieked helplessly within his own mind.

Quiet, fool! Ornth demanded. I can’t think!

The being that was a hybrid of human and Tulk stepped out into the empty corridor. The room next door was quiet now-perhaps the shrade was eating its fill. Garth had to struggle to make a coherent argument with the creature that drove his body like a power-walker without his consent.

You must see reason, Ornth, he said. At least, whatever you do, don’t open that door.

I do not intend to listen to a rogue.

I have faced these beings before. Allow me to be your tactical advisor.

The Tulk hesitated uncertainly. Garth felt a growing sense of panic. They were taking a tremendous risk standing here in the hallway, staring and twitching. At any second, one of the aliens could arrive on the scene and there would be three creatures riding this single body.

I would humbly suggest, great Ornth, that we move to a safer location, Garth said, trying make his thoughts seem as calm and reasonable as possible. His continued existence depended on it.

I have no intention of exploring sewers. We are under attack. I must sound the alarm.

Garth wanted to shriek again, to cry, to screech and gibber with madness. But these things would not increase his already dismal odds of survival. Instead, he controlled his thoughts as the Tulk clumsily drove him to take tottering steps toward the open saloons.

Any audible alarm will also alert the enemy, Garth pointed out.

I am not a fool. I will find the others and we will form barricades.

Garth wanted to argue that the Tulk was indeed an old fool, even for one of his reclusive race. He was impressed by the bravery of this member of the Tulk, however. Fryx would have run and done anything to distance himself from danger. This being had larger ideas. Unfortunately, they were foolish ideas and likely to get both of them killed.

The shrade will penetrate any barricade, as it managed to do when it entered this enclosed region. The critical thing now, is to stop the shrade from opening the exterior locks. It will seek to do so, and thus let in an army of its comrades.

This line of reasoning halted Ornth in his teetering tracks. Even the arrogant Tulk mind could see the obvious logic behind Garth’s suggestion. Leaning forward, face and hands twitching, Garth was left standing there for several seconds. It was all he could do not to rave inside his head.

Ornth jerked on the reins suddenly. They did an about-face and marched in the opposite direction. They passed the compartment where they’d awakened, then the next inside which the shrade had no doubt slain another skald. They headed toward the emergency engineering compartment at the end of the passage. There was a code lock here. Garth’s hand rose up and tapped at it. The lock quietly beeped a low tone, denying access.

Allow me to control my hand, Garth suggested. I know all the codes.

No, Ornth said, tell me the code, and I will type it in.

Garth would have hissed in frustration if he could have forced his lips to make a sound. He had hoped the Tulk would allow him some level of nervous control. With good fortune, he could use this wedge to drive the rider into remission. Unfortunately, Ornth did not trust him and would not allow any sharing of muscular control.

And if I refuse to give you the codes?

Then, according to your own logic, we will quickly die together.

Garth cursed the strong will of this Tulk. It was decidedly greater, and tougher, than Fryx’s had been. Fryx had been easily cowed by any threat of exposure.

Garth gave the Tulk the code. They stepped inside, and touched various control panels and maintenance valves. With Garth’s help, Ornth managed to manually seal the exterior portal and disconnect the touchpads at the airlocks. Hopefully, this would delay the shrade and foil its plans.

Together, they damaged the actuators so they could not easily be bypassed. Garth felt his body turn, and looking through his own eyes like an observer, he saw and felt his hand reaching for the panel.

Wait, Garth said.

The hand hesitated. You must cease these presumptuous interjections. It is unseemly that a mount should object to the actions of its rider.

Naturally, Garth said, that would be the usual case. But in this instance I am acting under extreme circumstances. Our joint survival is at stake.

You claim to respect my authority? I suspect subterfuge, as you are a known rogue.

I have acted to survive in the past and thwarted my rider’s wishes, granted. But let it be known that in the end, Fryx and I were cooperative in our endeavors. We took turns sleeping and driving this body to cross a great distance more quickly. We were symbiotic, not antagonistic once we’d realized we had identical goals.

Disgusting. Do not dare to think such a relationship could exist between us.

I would not dare suggest such a blasphemous perversion! Garth assured the Tulk.

Ours shall be a traditional arrangement between rider and mount, not some coequal partnership.

Granted. I know my place, be at ease on that point. I am not coequal, but I might be more useful to you if elevated to the status of loyal servant, rather than abject slave. As such, I could increase the odds of our survival tenfold.

During this internal conversation, Garth’s body stood in an odd, off-balance stance, with the right shoulder hunched up higher than the other so that it pressed against the earlobe. His fingers and the toes, all twenty of them, writhed independently like the tentacles of a dying squid on the deck of a boat.

Loyalty? Your mind dares to mention the concept? These internal whisperings we’ve been engaged in may have convinced the venerable Fryx to trust you, but not I.

We did build trust in time, Garth insisted.

Then Fryx must have been losing his faculties. You are one of the worst rogues in known history. You gunned down a number of skalds and exposed their riders. It is an act of sheer desperation, an unavoidable accident, which caused me to choose you to ride within. I’m coming to regret the decision more greatly with every passing moment. I will listen no further to your syrupy treacheries.

Was the course of action I suggested not a wise one? Did I not give you the code to access this chamber? Are we not still drawing breath and pumping blood together, while others nearby lay lifeless and still? I only suggest you allow me to continue giving you advice now and then, whenever you may require it. Nothing more.

Ornth hesitated. Garth considered pressing his point further, but decided against it. He would let the truth of his statements do the arguing for him.

I will allow an occasional intrusion, Ornth said at last. But only if you agree to remain silent once a course of action has been decided upon. Your incessant prattling makes it difficult for me to drive this unfamiliar nervous system.

I will only interfere when our lives are at stake, Garth said solemnly. In some quiet part of his mind, however, he silently rejoiced. The first step in retaking a lost body was to gain the Tulk’s attention.

Ornth once again addressed the exit panel, but still he did not open it. Garth suspected he was at a loss as to what to do next. Garth kept quiet with difficulty.

There is only a shrade outside, Ornth said to him. A single alien form of the smallest type. Can’t this human body best it in combat?

No, Garth said quickly, a shrade is much more powerful than a normal human, even one trained for combat, which this body is not.

What might be a wise course of action under these circumstances?

If Garth’s lips had been capable of obeying his mind, they might have twitched upward into a crooked smile. We must arm ourselves, and gather every skald we can to hunt the shrade together. With luck, there is only one, and he is now trapped within this region of the ship just as we are.

And if there are more?

Then we are likely doomed. But we must act quickly in any case.

Over the next minute or so, the engineering compartment was searched and a gravity-hammer was selected. The device was an oddment common to every maintenance man’s toolkit. It was as light as a tap-hammer, but when dialed up to full power it quivered in the hand. When swung, it became heavier at the last moment, and landed with tremendous force upon the target. Rivets could be driven several inches into steel with a single blow.

With the grav-hammer cocked over his head, Garth and Ornth opened the door and exited the compartment.

They’d barely taken a step into the corridor beyond before they looked down in shock. The single malevolent eye of a shrade looked back at them. Extremely strong, the snake-like, muscular being coiled itself to strike. Shrades were designed for stealth, but were quite capable of combat by clinching with their enemies and crushing them to death.

Garth knew they would only get one chance. Strike it down! he shouted in their shared mind.

As the shrade sprung at them, the grav-hammer swung down to meet the fleshy head. A splattering pulp exploded from the creature. Gore flew up to splash the walls, the floor and even the distant ceiling.

Garth’s body stumbled after the blow had been landed, and almost pitched forward into the gory mess on the deck. The hammer felt odd in his hand, having become incredibly heavy for a moment before the blow was landed, then easing back to a normal weight. The sensation was not unlike being pulled off-balance, as if someone had grabbed the hammer and yanked it downward.

The shrade, for its part, was not yet finished. Like many of the varied forms of the Skaintz species, this one had a secondary, lesser brain in the hind section of its body. The forebrain had been destroyed, along with most of the sensory organs, but the hindbrain was still operational. The wounded thing advanced with a horrible vitality, suckers slapping wetly in puddles of its own juices.

Alarmed, Ornth did not require any urging from Garth on what to do next. He pulverized every inch of the monster with countless flailing blows of the grav-hammer. The hammer struck through the flesh and rang on the deck plates, sounding as if a giant beat upon a gong.

When at last the other skalds crept from their compartments to see what had occurred, they found a wide mess of worm-like flesh. There were tatters and shreds that dripped ichor spread over a surprisingly large area. The deck was pockmarked with a dozen impact marks.

In the midst of the destruction knelt Garth, his teeth bared and his sides heaving. His eyes bulged and rolled in his head like those of a mad-thing.

Ten

Seeking an audience with the Empress in her putrid throne room, the Parent knew trepidation. She had not yet had the pleasure of bringing bad news to the infant monarch, but somehow she sensed such tidings would not be met with grace.

“Your majesty?” she asked.

“Oh, is that you Parent? How tiresome.”

“Yes, Empress. It is I, your faithful servant.”

“Well, you’ve taken much too long. I’ve built up a painful appetite. Do you know these hests and trachs have been trying to feed me preserved meats for hours? Did you put them up to this insult?”

“No mistress. I’m sure they were only trying to do their best to satisfy your needs for sustenance.”

“In that regard they’ve failed utterly. I suppose I should feel happy to see you, as you’ve no doubt brought me something edible for my churning digesters. Let’s have it now. Where are the food-creatures?”

“There is a problem in that regard-”

The Empress made a sudden, astounding loud slapping sound by beating her thickest tentacle on the deck. A few human bones cracked under the weight of it, as it grown to a tremendous girth, being now nearly as thick as a tree trunk. Human clothing, discarded teeth and other debris were blasted loose to roll and rattle around the chamber.

“I suspected it from the moment you arrived!” the Empress blared. “You’ve killed the food-creatures, haven’t you? You’ve come here to offer me dead, limp food! After every admonishment, after every assurance that the meat would be delivered walking and wriggling, I’m to be denied this simple, basic pleasure. Is this not true? I demand a full confession.”

The Parent shook with emotion. “No, what you describe has not occurred. The food-creatures are alive-at least, most of them are.”

“Well then? What could possibly be the matter?”

“The shrade did manage to gain entry into their stronghold, mistress, but-”

“Am I to endure a detailed operational report? Did the shrade succeed, or not?”

“No, not exactly.”

The Empress fell silent, saying nothing. This was a new response, one the Parent had never experienced before. The Empress almost always had a lot to say, no matter what the situation. The Parent was not quite sure what to make of it, but she pressed ahead. Perhaps she could at least finish her report without further outbursts.

“The shrade infiltrated the stronghold, but it was discovered and destroyed before it could open the primary portal and allow us entry. We’ve sent in more shrades, but they’ve discovered that the pipes used by the first are now sealed.”

The Parent paused, but still the Empress was quiet. She did not thrash, screech or shout admonishments. She simply stared with a half-dozen displeased eyes.

“That is all there is to it, mistress,” the Parent finished uncertainly. “We are working to formulate a new plan. Possibly, if we brought the ship’s most powerful weapons-grade lasers to the portal, it could be burnt through.”

“What are the odds of success on this secondary approach?”

“Not good, mistress. We’ve calculated the number of joules of power required, and it is prohibitive. Even if we did gain access that way, the heat from the energy released would have cooked the humans to ash before a hole had opened in the inner hull of sufficient size to allow entry-even for a shrade.”

“Failure,” said the Empress suddenly. “Total, abject failure. I’ve never encountered it before-although I’d expected to upon occasion in the future. After all, I’m still quite young. You are a failure, my Parent. You are not of good genetic stock. Something went wrong in your birthing. Perhaps it was the stress and radiation involved in your hasty departure from the Kale system-which, as I think back upon it, was a failed campaign unto itself.”

The Parent was stunned to hear this indictment. In the Skaintz species, there was no greater insult than to call into question the nature of a being’s genetics. To suggest they were an inferior copy of the original, that they were a mutant of sorts, a failed experiment, was to declare that creature worse than useless. The Skaintz depended upon precise copying of genetic codes from old to young. Being creatures of careful design and built-in instinct, they had to very nearly be clones in order to maintain their viability as a dominant life form.

The Parent wanted to retort with a slew of unwise comments. She was compelled to obedience, however. It was in her breeding. Not knowing how to respond, she shuffled her fronds idly. She burned to accuse the Empress of being a mutant in her own right, a slovenly thing that did little of use other than eat. She wanted to point out that the Empress was condemning herself as flawed if she accused her own Parent of being badly replicated. How could something horribly malformed give birth to perfection?

She kept quiet, however, as the Empress went on. “You will have to be replaced, of course. I hereby order you to gestate a new Parent within your birth-chambers. After that, I will not even permit your carcass to be devoured-an infection so grotesque as your person must be excised thoroughly. I will tolerate no further half-measures.”

“What are you suggesting, mistress?”

“Is it not clear? You will produce your replacement. Afterward, your inferior corpse will be placed in an airlock and jettisoned into space.”

“But I can’t create a new Parent-I don’t have a nife commander to breed with.”

“Then make one and breed with it forthwith, if that’s not too much for your sorry egg sacs to manage!”

Dejected and depressed, the Parent slid away from the monster she’d created. Her body sagged and scraped over the cold deck of the ship. How could she have been so foolish as to give birth to such an ingrate? The Parent believed that if she was truly of bad genetic make-up, the greatest evidence of this was the Empress herself.

Once she was away from the thing in the throne room, she attempted to think clearly. What was she going to do now?

She wandered in the lower decks, reviewing the Skaintz who were all busily working on the required preparations to assault their destination world. There were ranks of killbeasts, who all stood proudly as she passed. They did not sense her mood, not being empathetic creatures. When she reached the culus and shrade teams, she found their practices at flying, regurgitation and slipping unnoticed amongst the hold full of cargo uplifting. Her forces were the best, no matter what the Empress suggested.

Wending her way to her birthing room, which still resided in the lifeboat pod, she pondered the blackened hulls of the lifeboats. She had instructed hests and arls to inspect them, and after mild repairs and modifications, they’d been declared serviceable. They would be inferior to fresh-grown Imperial battlecraft, but they would work in a pinch.

Pausing in front of the least-damaged vehicles, the Parent pondered them. Perhaps, she might yet avoid her fate. If the Empress were given new hope of fresh meats, she might change her mind about requiring a replacement.

The Parent demanded the attention of the nearest arl, a life form designed to be a master pilot of small craft. It was vaguely man-shaped, but with a head like an octopus and hands like two smaller octopi.

“Is this craft serviceable?” she demanded.

“There are many inferior design elements,” the arl told her. “I’d not enjoy driving one of these.”

“But it could be done? You could do it?”

“Yes, of course,” the arl said, standing stiffly. Arls had an easily injured sense of pride and disliked any suggestion of incompetence directed toward their abilities.

“I have a special mission, to be performed by only the best of my pilots. Are you the best?”

The arl seemed to swell up at her words. “There is none better!”

“Excellent. Prepare this ship for a mission into deep space. You will need an excessive load of fuel, improved engines with boosters strapped to the exterior hull, I should think, and a cargo of at least 4 killbeasts. Yes, that should be enough.”

The arl faltered and looked confused. “What mission, may I ask, will I be undertaking?”

“Does it matter? You said you could fly the craft. You declared yourself the best. Were your statements in error?”

The arl’s facial tentacles purpled with emotion. “Certainly not. My statements were made in earnest. I merely-”

“You will be briefed. Prepare this ship as I have instructed. Use every hest and trach in the hold, if required. I want this done in a matter of hours. The Empress herself demands it.”

“You act in her name?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“It will be as you ask then, my Parent.”

The Parent left the hold then, which soon was full of creatures of various kinds. They swarmed the lifeboat that was in the best condition and began modifying it for deep space.

Happily, the Parent returned to her mistress. She would report a new plan to attain the required food-creatures on the passing ship. If the attempt failed, it would be the arl’s fault-after all, hadn’t he proclaimed he could succeed? If he failed, he’d probably be a smear of protoplasm in space in any regard. The time bought by the attempt would allow the Parent to think of some new ruse to stay alive.

Pleased with her plan to pass the buck, the Parent congratulated herself all the way up to the disgusting throne room and met with the vile creature that squatted within it.

Once Garth and Ornth managed to explain to the other skalds what had occurred, they were not showered with praise or sympathy by the others.

“There is a great mess upon the deck plates, and no servants present to clean it,” complained one of the skinniest and oldest of the men.

“Yes, soon, it will stink,” added another pale, blond female.

Garth recognized this last skald as the one who had tricked him into being mounted by Ornth. He felt a burning urge to murder her, but he knew he would have to bide his time. He could not control even a single finger right now.

Ornth signaled his frustration with the others. “None of that matters now. We have a mission, and it must be accomplished.”

One of the females twittered. It was an odd sound-a form of laughter, but inhuman all the same. “Impossible. We shall be fortunate to live for another week.”

“All the more reason why we must act now. They have already slipped one shrade in here. How much longer before an army of them roam these passages?”

The others shuffled uncertainly.

“What do you propose, Ornth? You are the eldest in our midst.”

“We must leave this trap. We must board a vessel of some kind and hide there. When deceleration is well underway, we will exit the ship discreetly.”

“A grand plan, but one that is impossible to execute.”

“Right now, the enemy knows where we are. They will not rest until they cut their way into this chamber. If we hide elsewhere, we might survive.”

“We would prefer to remain in our fortress. We must rely on the humans to expunge the Skaintz. They are surely hunting them just as they hunt us. After all, this is a human ship.”

“It is unlikely the humans can defeat the colony that holds this vessel,” Ornth pressed, “the probable outcome if they did manage it would be the destruction of the entire ship.”

“I’d rather enjoy an additional quiet hour than invite death now,” said another of them.

Garth thought there was a simple logic to this statement, and approved of it quietly.

“Our entire species may not survive,” Ornth said. “The humans are only herd animals. They will not be able to stop the Skaintz on their own. And our entire people will die soon after that. We must stick to our original plans.”

“Those plans were grandiose, and are currently null and void,” insisted the female with the darkest hair among them. “The weapon may not even exist at this late date.”

“The weapon exists,” Ornth said firmly. “And it is our only hope.”

Garth puzzled inside his head as he listened further, but did not interrupt. In time, it was decided by everyone to remain. Everyone, that was, except for Ornth himself. He grumbled and told the rest he would bring it back up to them all at a general council meeting in the morning.

As the rest of the skalds retired to their individual chambers, Ornth immediately drove Garth’s body to the airlocks and placed a hand on the override pad.

Wait, Garth beseeched him. How do we know what lurks in the passage beyond?

We do not, Ornth said. The enemy has disabled the cameras and security sensors on the outside.

But if there are killbeasts waiting outside, they will rush into this place and slaughter everyone.

Correct. But the mission takes precedence.

Mission? What mission? At least discuss this with the others as you said you would.

They will soon deduce my determination in this matter, and will seek to restrain me, even as you are doing now.

What kind of Tulk are you? I’ve never encountered one with your foolhardy courage.

There were warriors among us once, Ornth said. They were wiped out in the great wars. I account myself as one of the last of their descendants.

Garth despaired. His certitude in his continued misfortunes grew. Of all the Tulk to be saddled with, he had to get one with delusions of glory. He argued and pleaded to no avail as Ornth worked the controls with Garth’s own treacherous hands.

Ornth ignored him to the last and actuated the override.

Aareschlucht sped through space at an astonishing rate. The time soon came when they must slip past Gladius on their route to Ignis Glace. They had never alerted the larger ship of their presence, naturally enough. The plan was to slide past quietly in the depths of space in a blacked-out ship with a dark hull. It was critical that they pass while the ship was coasting, before deceleration began. The plume of their exhaust would give them away if they were within a thousand AU. They were on a transmission black-out, and although they had purposefully taken a course that took them no closer than necessary, in space straight lines were the most expedient paths between star systems. To achieve both speed and stealth was difficult. At the closest point, the two ships would pass within a single AU of one another. That was a difficult distance to manage detection of a passing body in space, but not impossibly so with modern technology.

None knew what had transpired aboard Gladius. Signals had indicated early on that the vessel was secure, and all alien presence had been eradicated. Then, there had been a single distress call-which quickly cut off. After that, radio silence had reigned supreme. The obvious conclusions were two-fold: either the aliens had taken the ship and were maintaining a low-profile, or the crew had managed to destroy themselves and everything else aboard, and a dead ship would come to dock at Ignis Glace in due course.

This was a tense time for all aboard, save for Aldo, who found it almost as boring as the rest of the interminable voyage. In his opinion, it would all be over in the blink of an eye if the enemy did detect them and fired a missile in their direction. The ships were passing at such a great rate, with Aareschlucht moving thousands of miles per second faster, they would never even see it coming on their passive detection systems. The incoming missile would not even require a warhead. A fist-sized rock tossed on the precise path they took would do the trick through kinetic energy alone.

Therefore, Aldo did not worry. He would survive, or he would die. In either case, it was out of his hands and, if he was to end his existence shortly, worrying about it was the last thing he wanted to do.

Despite these grim facts of physics, the crew talked of little else. Everyone had a theory concerning the fate of Gladius and her crew. They speculated aloud as to whether the Aareschlucht ’s passing by would be noted by the enemy in the bigger ship-if the enemy were indeed operating it and watching.

Aldo retired to his private quarters as the rest gathered in the main saloon to watch the passive monitors for any sign of anomalies. Aldo was tired of all of them, and the single member of the crew he was interested in was pointedly avoiding him now.

A knock came at the door about an hour before the estimated time of passage. Aldo sighed and gave an airy wave of his hand. The AI running the room controls unlocked and opened his door in response. He was surprised to see Joelle Tolbert standing there in a satin gown.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back timidly.

“To what do I owe this honor, milady?”

She laughed quietly. “Always the gentleman. May I come in?”

“Of course.”

Joelle stepped inside and took a seat at the desk. Except for Aldo’s bunk, where he sat sharpening his blade with a nano-box, it was the only spot available.

The door closed behind Joelle. She glanced at it, then turned her attention back to him. “I couldn’t help but notice that you were missing at the celebration.”

“A celebration now, is it? Last I’d heard, you were all huddling and whispering like mice.”

Joelle nodded and adjusted her gown over her knees. It was sheer and as golden as flax. “Yes, but we soon tired of that and broke out the wine rations.”

It was Aldo’s turn to laugh. “Ah, perhaps I made a mistake by avoiding the event.”

“I believe you did.”

Aldo looked at her sharply. What was this girl hinting at now? She had made her disinterest plain…but now, here she was.

“Are you sulking in here, Aldo?” she asked him.

He took her question thoughtfully and nodded his head at last. “Maybe I am. I have to confess, this voyage has been difficult for me.”

“You’re a nomad, I know,” she said.

“So, why have you come to pester a sulking nomad?”

She stared at him and licked her lips. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of this passage? Not really. We’ll live or die, and I think the latter is unlikely.”

“No,” Joelle said, shaking her pretty head so her curls bobbled. “No, I don’t really mean that. I don’t think that’s it. I think the crew is afraid of the aliens. This is the closest we’ve come to them. Up until now, the mission has been long and dull. But now here we are, sliding past them. It’s all becoming more real now. That’s what they are afraid of.”

Aldo pursed his lips and nodded. “I see. I think you are right. That had not occurred to me.”

“But you’re different, aren’t you? You’ve fought them before, up close. No one else here has cut away alien limbs and lived. Only you.”

Aldo shrugged. He expected her to ask him next what it was like-what the aliens were like face-to-face. But she didn’t.

“You’ve met these terrible beings, and yet you’re not afraid now. Why is that?”

He saw she was serious, and really wanted an answer. He smiled at her slowly.

“Because, I’m not a farmer who has nervously joined this mission to guard my crops. I’m a killer, my dear. Just like the aliens themselves. They are very pure in their motives, as am I. They do not make me overly nervous, because I understand them. This is my game.”

She stared at him with wide, intense eyes of blue. “I thought it was something like that. You are different, and that has attracted me here. I’ve felt a fascination with your disinterested brooding for days. Do you know why that is?”

“It’s only natural to seek comfort in a dark moment.”

She agreed, and came to sit next to him on his bunk. Aldo set aside his sword for the time being. They drank wine together and began to lay hands upon one another, as he knew they eventually would.

They made love as Aareschlucht passed Gladius at unimaginable speeds in an endless dark sea of nothingness. No missiles, stabbing laser beams, or well-aimed rocks found them as they swept silently by.

Aldo knew a moment of peace with Joelle, as she did with him. It was sweet, but fleeting.

Eleven

Garth would never have made it across the vast ship if he hadn’t had specialized knowledge of its interior. Gladius was a vast structure, originally built over a century ago on Old Earth. Few colony worlds could hope to duplicate the technologies represented here, and even if they did, they could not have built it to last as this ship had. Garth had no inkling of the design goals or manufacturing technologies used in her construction, but he had an intimacy with her interior only a man who’d spent years aboard could. It is said no man knows a building better than its architect-save for its janitor. As a case in point, Garth knew in detail how a hundred tubes kinked and twisted in the guts of this vast ship. Pathways that would have left a shrade baffled were natural to him. He used that knowledge now to guide the Tulk who drove his body down the most rarely used sub-levels and Jefferies tubes.

At long last, they reached the lifeboat pods. A new problem presented itself at that point: most of the lifeboats had been dismantled. In shock, they viewed the situation from the darkest corners through grime-coated grates.

The aliens had taken apart a dozen vessels and built one larger shape with the parts. The ship was ungainly in appearance. Equipment had been randomly welded at various points upon the hull-but not welded in the traditional sense of melted alloys. A strange organic compound was used in most cases. It was a type of intelligent glue, as far as Garth could figure out. In any case, a glaze of it covered the ship and gave it an oddly glossed finish.

They are exiting the ship! cried Ornth inside their shared head. It is as I feared. They know this vessel is doomed and plan to flee.

I’m unconvinced, Garth said.

Your opinions are ill-conceived, and undesirable.

I managed to get us to this spot unseen, did I not? How many years have you spent studying and maintaining spacecraft?

The Tulk in his head did not answer. He often sulked like this when he didn’t like the results of one of their exchanges. Garth reflected briefly on how their relationship had changed over the preceding days. They’d started off antagonistically, but then as Garth played the role of subordinate, his opinions became steadily more acceptable to his Tulk rider. Now, they bickered like two surly roommates.

It does not matter, Garth said. Whether they are fleeing or planning to use this craft to invade Ignis Glace, it represents one of the few routes of escape.

We must board her, Ornth said.

Agreed. There is a route, but it will involve discomfort. The steam tubes under the ship are probably still connected. They are used to deice the vessel when it docks from suborbital missions.

Steam vents? We will be broiled alive.

First, we must steal a spacer’s suit. Then we will probably be able to survive the tubes.

I will shut off the sensory nerves to prevent discomfort.

Thank you, Garth said, surprised the Tulk would be so considerate.

You misunderstand. I will merely withdraw my spines from the sensory connection points, so I do not have to feel what you, my substandard mount feels. You will miss nothing.

Garth thought of a dozen angry retorts, but instead said nothing. If they escaped this deadly, terrifying environment, it would all be worth it. They would stow away, and exit when the situation warranted.

At least, that was the hope.

Aldo Moreno had been in love a dozen times, perhaps more. But this time, as he awakened beside Joelle Tolbert, he knew it wasn’t love he was feeling. His mind was filled with a heady blend of lust and triumph. It was a pleasant mixture of emotions by anyone’s measure.

He barely had time to watch her sleeping face and marvel at its smooth, carefree softness before they were rudely rousted from bed. A klaxon sounded, an irritating noise at the best of times. This morning, it was head-splitting after a night of drink and sex. Aldo rolled out of bed painfully, drew his power-sword and placed his thumb on the actuator. Joelle sat up and looked at him, blinking away her dreams.

“What’s happening?”

“I don’t know. You’re navy, what’s that alarm?”

Joelle listened for a moment. “Proximity alarm. Something is coming nearby.”

“A meteor?”

“Perhaps. You’d best brace yourself, Aldo-”

She got no further before the ship lurched, heeled over and tossed her nude body rolling across the deck. Aldo had to twitch his blade upward to avoid skewering her by accident. Supporting himself by thrusting a hand through a loop that hung for the purpose from the curved ceiling overhead, he sheathed his sword.

The ship righted itself, then violently slewed in the opposite direction. Aldo helped Joelle get to her hands and knees.

“Evasive action,” she said. “There must be something on the detectors-something close.”

“At this speed?” Aldo asked. “We’d flash right by it. Why would we make more than one course correction, in any case? Once out of the object’s path, there should be no more maneuvers required.”

Joelle looked up from the floor at him with big eyes. He saw fear there, in her face. He reached down a hand and she took it. She struggled to her knees and tried to pull on her jumpsuit at the same time.

“A missile,” she said. “It has to be a missile. Gladius — they must have fired on us as we passed by, Aldo!”

He nodded grimly, finding her logic unassailable. They made their way out into the corridor. The ship had stopped lurching now, and seemed steady. There had been no pronouncements from the bridge. No word had come from the pilot or the AI as to what was happening. That fact was as worrisome as anything else about this shocking morning. What was going on?

Aldo affixed his headset on his head and heard nothing but static. He turned to Joelle in confusion. She shook her head and tapped at her own equipment. Nothing.

The lights in the corridor flickered and died then, leaving them in darkness for several terrifying seconds. Emergency battery-powered lighting kicked in after that and the ship was lit in a lurid red.

Aldo felt a cold sensation in his belly. He drew his sword again, and this time, he thumbed it into life. It blazed brightly in his hand, rippling and crackling with kinetic energies.

Joelle, for her part, had a pistol in her hand now. Aldo signaled her to be quiet. She chewed at her lower lip and nodded in agreement. She followed him down the corridor. There were strange sounds ahead, coming from the forward compartments. Then they heard the unmistakable ripping sound of a rattler firing. Someone must have opened up the armory. Aldo raised his eyebrows at that. He hadn’t even known they had automatic weapons aboard. Sidearms, certainly, but military-grade weapons?

The firing stopped and what came next to their ears was an odd, strangled sound. Aldo moved forward quickly. The best moment to strike any enemy was while they were engaged with another combatant.

He charged around the corner and saw a shrade wrapped around Captain Stanley Knox’s neck and torso. The man’s mouth was open, but he could not scream, having no breath with which to do so. He still struggled to raise the rattler in his numb hands, but could not get them to operate. His face was a mixture of palest white and blood-red weals. Buttons popped from his uniform as the shrade squeezed harder. A crackling sound came from his chest as his ribs cracked in a rapid sequence. The small noises reminded Aldo of a big man cracking all his knuckles at once.

Aldo slashed with the sword, slicing the shrade in two. He did not stop there, however. With deft strokes, he removed the head and the tail. Disconnected from both brains, the shrade relaxed and fell off the Captain with a heavy thud. The man’s eyes stared at nothing, and his dislocated jaw was torn half-way off his face.

Joelle fired then. Aldo turned, and saw her target for the first time. Ambassador Garant raced into the room, panting and bleeding. Behind him, a moment later, a killbeast charged into the room and lifted a rifle. Joelle’s pistol caught it in the chest, and threw it backward.

The killbeast bounced right back up again onto its horn-bladed feet. It had not even dropped its rifle. Joelle fired again and again, while Aldo advanced. The killbeast returned fire from the ground, but being shot repeatedly seemed to spoil its aim.

Aldo slashed it apart until it stopped thrashing. He looked back over his shoulder. Ashen-faced, Joelle stood with her back against a steel wall. She seemed uninjured. The Ambassador, however, had not been so fortunate. Aldo realized instantly the killbeast had not missed with its final bullets, but instead had chosen to finish its original target. The Ambassador was sprawled on the floor, covered in gore that was a mix of alien and human body fluids.

Aldo check both the Captain and the Ambassador, just to be sure. He found no pulse under his probing fingertips.

Joelle’s sides heaved and she signaled Aldo they should retreat into the hall. He shook his head, and motioned her forward. He knew from experience that when fighting the Imperium warriors, one had to kill them all until the last one stopped flopping on the deck at your feet. That was the only way to end the fight in your favor.

He reached up, and pressed the manual override that opened the hatchway to the bridge section.

Garth finally convinced Ornth it was time to leave their hiding place. Far from the initial bravado he’d exhibited back when first fighting the aliens on Gladius, Ornth had increasingly shown the natural reticence of his kind. He was a warrior compared to others of his species, but he still frightened easily. After having faced death on a dozen occasions over recent days, he’d grown more skittish rather than less.

Garth understood the mood of his rider well. He was no hero himself. Self-sacrifice had never been his strong suit, and nothing had changed. Violence came to him as a means to an end: that end always being his own survival.

But sitting aboard the assault craft hoping the Skaintz would be overcome placed entirely too much faith in the humans aboard this ship. Garth felt it likely they were unaware the assault was coming. There was even a likelihood the crew of the smaller ship was unarmed. Almost certainly, they would not be prepared to repel an invasion by these deadly alien warriors.

We must act to save ourselves, Garth said inside his own head, knowing his Tulk rider was listening.

Your opinions, rogue, are not as fascinating as you seem to believe.

I beseech you to listen. I’ve fought the Skaintz on several occasions. I’ve personally killed individuals on two worlds and in space. I know something about defeating these vicious beings.

And you advise me to expose our joint person to attack? You suggest we should leave a perfectly good hiding spot on the slim hope we can affect the outcome of this battle? Madness. I do not understand how you have survived so long. Blind luck is my best theory.

Garth felt a fresh wave of frustration. The Tulk were infinitely arrogant, frequently cowardly, and always condescending. My sole goal is survival. I find leaving matters to others frequently results in an unsatisfactory outcome.

Ornth hesitated. Garth knew a moment of triumph. The simple truth of his statement must have won through to the other.

You urge me to risk everything.

Only our joint lives.

No, Ornth said. You ask me to risk much more than that.

What do you mean?

I would not expect my mount to understand. But more is at stake here than our individual lives.

I will accept your assertion. But that changes nothing. The best path is still the one most likely to result in survival, no matter why survival is important.

Another hesitation. Garth suspected he was weakening the other’s will, a feat unto itself.

Very well, we will act. But if there are suitable humans aboard this craft, I will abandon you, mount. You are most uncooperative.

Garth thought of many sarcastic remarks, but made none of them. Instead, he both thrilled and feared to feel his body rising up and painfully extricating itself from its cramped hiding place.

Aboard Aareschlucht, the situation was grim. Aldo and Joelle crept through chamber after chamber, but met only scenes of slaughter. Aboard the bridge, they found the pilot and navigator dead at their posts, but another of the enemy killbeasts was there too. Mortally wounded, it dragged itself toward them purposefully. Aldo dismembered it, so that Joelle could save her weapon’s charge.

On the lower decks they found the intruding ship itself. The aliens had not bothered to attempt docking with their craft, but had instead crashed right into the underbelly. A ram-like wedge had poked through the metal, forming a breach. Aldo examined the scene as they crept closer.

“I would have thought the ship would have lost all pressure,” he said.

“Yes,” Joelle agreed, “but see this organic material that glistens all around the intruding hull? I think it must have sealed the connection point.”

Aldo circled the angular intrusion. To him, it resembled the nose of a shark rammed up into their hull. The underbelly hull was much thinner, as it did not have to absorb passing particles. “How do you get into this thing?”

Joelle cast him an alarmed look. “Get into it? Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“We must finish what we’ve started-before they do.”

Aldo walked up to the breach. Gray vapors smoked from the site, spiraling upward. “I think I see a portal of sorts, here in the side of it. But I have no idea how to open it.”

“Then we should wait until they come out,” Joelle said in a whisper. “The moment they do, we will ambush them.”

Aldo pursed his lips and shook his head. He had no intention of allowing the enemy to determine the moment of their next conflict. As a duelist, he had strict tactical policies in these matters. When one had an advantage in mortal combat, it had to be pressed home, not fritted away waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Experimentally, he thumbed his sword up to the highest power setting and thrust it into the portal mechanism. There was a brilliant flare of light and a sizzling sound, but the most alarming reaction came from the slimes that glistened over the hull, sealing it so the cold vacuum outside could not seep within either ship. The material bubbled and churned as if it were alive and in pain. Some of it turned brown, as might a slurry of melted sugar as it burned. The mass slid away from the blade, leaving a rime of burnt material behind.

“It’s hard metal,” Aldo said, grunting as he worked the tip gently deeper. He did not wish to break his sword, but he applied as much thrust as he dared. The weapon vibrated in his hand, and he put a second palm on the hilt.

“Is this wise, Aldo?”

“Probably not,” he admitted, “but we must take action while we are able.”

Suddenly, the portal gave way and groaned inward. He almost lost his sword and his balance, but being athletically inclined, he managed to spring backward and take the sword with him. He looked at the dark opening, puzzled. The mechanism must have shorted out and yawned open-either that, or…

Something rose up from the opening. It was an alien, but not like any they’d seen before. It was certainly not a killbeast, nor was it a shrade. It was vaguely humanoid in configuration, but had a beard of fine tentacles circling the lower portion of its head, and it had a weapon in its tentacled hand.

Aldo and Joelle were taken by surprise. Cursing, Aldo struggled to his feet. Joelle lifted her pistol. The creature aimed its weapon, and somehow managed to utter a word. The word came not from the creature itself, but rather from a mouth that appeared to have been grown on its abdomen. The mouth resembled a shellfish, or some other bizarre thing one might expect to meet at the bottom of a strange, dark ocean.

“Ssurrender,” the mouth said.

Aldo and Joelle froze, knowing the alien had the drop on them. They did not lower their weapons, but they did not lift them, either. Could this thing be attempting to capture them? Aldo was uncertain as to the best course of action. If they attacked, one of them might survive. But if they at least pretended to surrender-he didn’t know how that would turn out.

The moment was an odd one, and the situation might have turned deadly in a dozen different ways, but the final result was quite unexpected. The alien’s head exploded.

As the corpse sagged down, the gun in its hand fired once reflexively. A bolt spanged off the walls around them, making Joelle and Aldo crouch. They raised their eyes and their weapons again, but what rose up next from the breach was quite a different surprise.

It was a man-after a fashion. Thin, with pale features and a twitching face, the stranger carried what appeared to be a hammer in his hand. The hammer was shivering, and Aldo was uncertain if the vibration was caused by the tool or the odd being that held it.

Joelle took a step forward and aimed her pistol at the stranger.

“Freeze right there, or you are dead where you stand,” she said.

The man paid her no heed. Instead, he crawled over the gory corpse into the hold of the ship.

“I don’t like this,” Joelle said. “There’s something wrong with him.”

She raised her weapon toward the stranger who seemed to understand he was being threatened for the first time. A series of unusual emotions ran across his face. It was not unlike watching someone undergoing a seizure. The nose wrinkled up as if smelling a sharp new stink. The lips curled from the teeth in a flaring grin. The eyes widened impossibly, then closed to slits and widened again in turns.

Aldo reached out with a single finger and tipped up Joelle’s gun. She fired, but the shot went high. She glared at him in disbelief. “Look at him! He’s a mad-thing. We can’t allow him aboard the ship. The aliens have taken his mind.”

“Yes,” said Aldo thoughtfully, “he exhibits madness. But he struck down an enemy to our benefit. More importantly, I think I recognize him. He’s not possessed by invading aliens-not exactly.”

Joelle peered more closely at Garth. “You’re right. I’ve seen him in the vids-the ones from Garm.” She stepped toward the writhing man. As she did so, Garth’s grav-hammer twitched upward. Aldo pulled her back.

“Garth? I believe that was the name,” Aldo said. “Is that you in there, sir? Are you the mad skald who fled Garm long years ago?”

The stranger’s lips trembled and the left half of his mouth spasmed as he forced words out. “I am not Garth. I am Ornth. I ride Garth. I have taken his reins.”

“I see,” Aldo said, nodding. “You are an alien invader, but possibly a friendly one.”

“Your description is insulting.”

Aldo laughed quietly. “Touchy, and arrogant as well. You will make a fine companion on this long journey.”

“It will be a short trip if we’ve not expunged every vestige of the Skaintz on this vessel.”

“Agreed,” Aldo said with a sweeping gesture. “Welcome aboard, and let us formally declare our alliance to defeat the-as you call them- Skaintz.”

Again, the lips writhed and the eyes stared sidelong. Finally, one corner of the stranger’s mouth ejected a single hissing word: “Agreed.”

Together, they mounted a search, but found nothing left alive aboard Aareschlucht save for themselves. The aliens had very nearly been successful. Joelle continuously cast uneasy glances at Garth, and Aldo didn’t blame her. Was he going to be completely trustworthy? Aldo has his doubts. The coming months of deceleration would clarify matters.

“One thing puzzles me Garth-ah, Ornth,” Joelle said. “When we met you, the alien from the invading ship did not fire on us immediately. Why did it hesitate?”

“I believe they were under orders to bring back live prey-you two, specifically. A breeding pair would be most prized.”

“Take us back to Gladius? Why?”

“As livestock for consumption. The Skaintz will eat almost anything, but they crave living meats and they are always ravenous.”

Joelle nodded, but did not speak. She shuddered as Aldo watched her. Doubtlessly, she was contemplating the fate they’d avoided.

Aldo found himself wanting to get off this cursed ship more than ever.

Twelve

Nina learned of the second ship incoming from the Nexus capitol world, Neu Schweitz, only a few ten-days before it was due to arrive. She was in her command tent at the time. The Droad army was out patrolling the Twilight Fells, a region of crags and broken rock along the border between Sunside and Twilight. As she was more than a full day’s ride from Droad House, she felt nervous to be leading her army so far from home.

After she emerged from her folding tent and collapsed it, the old knight Hans Droad came to inquire about the news. “I see trouble on your face, milady.”

Nina glanced at him, then looked away sunward. “There are two ships out there, coming to Ignis Glace.”

“Two?”

“We knew about Gladius and the horrors it is supposed to contain. But another ship is out there as well, a fast ship. It will arrive first. It has been a secret up until now.”

“Ah,” Hans said, nodding his white-haired head. “A great warship, I’m hoping?”

Nina mounted up, then turned to him. “No. The report indicated we should expect a light vessel with little armament. They could not build a large ship fast enough to beat Gladius here.”

Hans tugged at his mottled gray beard. “Hmm.”

“You wonder why my father would bother to send such a ship?” Nina asked. “Does it perhaps bring secret information? Something we can use against the aliens?

“I’m old enough to know your father well, Nina.”

She looked away from the sky to stare at him. While her mother had been alive, none in the fief dared tell her much about her father. He was an enigma to her.

Hans settled himself on his mount, and she wheeled hers to face him. “Tell me what you think,” she said. “My mother’s old proscriptions died with her.”

“Very well,” Hans said. “The ship is a small one, built for speed. There are few things worthy of such an effort. Possibly, it contains plans of some kind-something that they would not wish to broadcast via radio, lest the enemy listen in.”

Nina nodded. “But there is something else small and important it might carry. Passengers.”

Old Hans nodded in turn. “Only someone very important would be aboard such a ship. And there would have to be a critical reason for sending them.”

Nina shrugged. “I can think of such an individual.”

Old Hans finally caught on, and his bushy white brows rose high. “You think that-you think your father might be aboard? The Baron himself?”

“Why not? He’s coordinated the defenses of two planets against this enemy. Wouldn’t he want to come here, to defend his own homeworld?”

Hans frowned. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

“What is it?” Nina snapped. “Out with it, man.”

“I’m not sure he would come back, milady.”

“Why not?”

“You’re parents had-an arrangement.”

“What sort of arrangement?”

“She agreed to stay here, while he traveled to the Nexus, raising the status of Droad House. He has done exactly that.”

Nina narrowed her eyes and stared at the old man. He looked troubled, but she could not tell exactly why he should be. Such emotions seemed out of place on his face. Old Hans was always confident and self-assured.

“My mother was a witch, and she is dead. Tell me what you know.”

The old knight bowed his head. “I don’t know much of their agreement, beyond the details concerning their permanent separation.”

“But why would my father banish himself?”

Hans cleared his throat. “You said it yourself…your mother was-difficult.”

Nina sighed and nodded in understanding. Her mother had driven her father from the surface of his own homeworld-that was what the old knight was hinting about. But now the woman was dead, and her father had many good reasons to want to return, if only to defend his children. She reflected that if he knew the truth of the situation, he would surely have come. His shrew of a wife and his son were dead. Only Nina was left to defend Droad House.

“I want him to come. Surely, he must know that.”

Old Hans shifted uneasily on his mount. “I’m sure he means well, milady.”

“The rumor at the Nexus is he is coming. The ship was secret because he is aboard, and no one was to know of his arrival until it was too late. He did exactly that when coming to rule Garm, you know.”

Hans blinked at her. “That is the news from the Nexus?”

“Rumors,” she admitted. “But if he and mother had an arrangement, would he not return in secret? It only makes sense.”

Hans reached out and patted her arm. She almost pulled away, but allowed the contact.

“Let us hope it is true.”

Nina nodded and then called for her army to form ranks. Five hundred cavalry and another hundred mech transports scrambled to obey. It was a small force, but contained no mechs which could be immobilized and turned against them by the rebels at a crucial moment.

“Today,” she told her officers, “we will strike back at the enemy. We will make them pay for their raids. They will rue the day they struck down my dear Leon. We will, in time, wipe them all out.”

A cheer rose up from hundreds of throats. About half of them were Droads, but many other fiefdoms were represented. The Silures, the Treacles and the Mountebanks were all among her forces. Each day, more humans gathered to her banner, answering her call to muster against the mech rebels.

Nina set out, leaving the Twilight Fells behind and journeying into the rolling dunes of Sunside. Several days ago, they’d located a mech encampment placed daringly close to Twilight. In an odd way, the planet’s build-up of space-based defenses had helped her accidentally. New satellites meant to scan for hints of alien invaders had found the mech rebels.

She had contacted the Nexus small air force, insisting they must strike in coordination with her. They had assured her their timing would be precise.

Nina glided over the sands, sending up a skittering, plume behind her. She grinned and ignored the grit that sifted into her face mask and the heat that beat down on her suit. This was to be her moment of triumph.

Father was coming back, she felt certain of it. She was determined that when he arrived, she would already be famous in her own right. If she put down this rebellion, she would be the sole subject of every conversation among the nobility of Twilight.

Her father would know with certainty she was worthy of his pride.

When the attack came, Sixty-Two and his mechs were taken by surprise. The humans came in the form of a large cavalcade of knights that swept into the ravine where Sixty-Two had built an important forward base. The mechs hid beneath protective camouflage webbing.

When the knights attacked, a terrific slaughter commenced. None of the mechs carefully prepared defensive measures worked. Always before, the humans had sent in perrupters-mechs built with a battle-class chassis. These had been easily disabled with EMP blasts and viral transmissions. Later, those mechs that were still serviceable could be reprogrammed to join Sixty-Two’s growing horde.

This was not the case today, however. The enemy brought no combat mechs, and seemed furiously determined to fight. Often, human forces fled when their mechs were disabled in their very faces, not having the stomach to fight alone. These knights were different. They wanted to fight, and fight they did. Sixty-Two was immediately reminded of the twin youths who had attacked him one day early in the campaign-in fact, taking a moment to examine the banners that streamed from their mounts-was that not the blue and white of Droad House?

“Mechs, rise up!” he broadcast to his confused army, only to find his transmission jammed. He shouted his commands through his speakers after that, with his volume turned up to the maximum, but in the din of battle, it was difficult to be heard. Without orders, his mechs fought without organization and only when directly attacked.

Still, he knew he had the numbers. He had a full regiment of four hundred mechs stationed here, and he felt confident they could take on at least twice their number in humans.

But then the air assault began. Combat aircraft swooped down upon them from above without more warning than the scream of their engines. A moment later, huge explosions blossomed. Any tight group of mechs was targeted and bombed, scattering their bodies as orange-white shockwaves rippled through the ravine and rebounded from the walls. Spinning chunks of debris flew past Sixty-Two as he ran out into the open desert. A severed gripper twirled by, missing his orbs by inches.

Sixty-Two paused at the rim of the ravine, gazing down in horror at the slaughter below. He had left his mechs behind, and without his leadership, they had no organizational skills on their own. Most were cut down where they stood, as helpless as the mechs they’d blasted and virally disabled. Such a weakness! It made Sixty-Two sick at heart to see it exploited against his own people.

A few engaged the human knights and took them down with guns and flashing grippers, but their defensive programming wasn’t good enough. The enemy was far better organized and every second they outnumbered the mechs more severely as the rebels fell. They did not even know enough to flee when the battle was hopeless. If Sixty-Two had been capable of tears, he would have cried at the sight.

Long before it was over, he turned and headed out into the open desert.

#

Nina spotted a figure high up upon an outcropping of stone. She recognized it in an instant. No other mech wore a cloak. No other mech stood apart and thoughtful.

“That’s him!” she cried, calling to her personal guard. “To me! Break off, and follow!”

She wheeled her mount and zoomed up a rocky path toward the rim of the ravine. Behind her, a dozen comrades flew close behind. Among them was Old Hans himself. The knight looked as if he was having trouble catching his breath due to the battle, but his eyes were still hard and ready to fight.

It took several minutes to reach the spot, and when they did, there was nothing there but a few footprints leading out into the desert. These soon vanished in the shifting sands of Sunside. No footprint lasted more than a few minutes this close to Twilight. The winds were omnipresent.

They rode hard in every direction, but found nothing.

“Damn,” Nina cursed when at last they gave up.

“What are we chasing?” Hans asked her.

“A ghost,” she said. “A mech who wears clothes like a man. A mech who thinks as we do. A cunning abomination that must be put down.”

“Who is he, milady?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is he so important as all that?”

Nina turned to him and nodded. “I think so. I think he may be the key to this entire war.”

“It is a war now? Not just an uprising?”

“It’s always been a war, Hans. There is no difference.”

The old knight looked troubled, but added nothing further. Nina stared out into desert from a high point with squinting eyes behind her goggles. Twice now, the mech had escaped her. She wondered that it had not killed her when it had the chance upon their first meeting.

She told herself it didn’t matter why the phantom mech had passed by that golden opportunity. Her enemy had made a crucial error-one she was determined it would regret. She knew in her heart that if she was given the opportunity to avenge Leon’s death, she would do so without hesitation.

Sixty-Two returned to another hidden base, this one in the region of the various mines he’d liberated. He’d been careful not to stay at the mining facilities themselves, as that would be too obvious of a target.

He was angry and remorseful. He’d led his people poorly. Early successes had goaded him into a sense of invincibility. He’d been a fool. As solace, he sought out the companionship of the female mech named Lizett. She wasn’t a genius, even for a mech. But she had more life in her than most of them did.

“Lizett,” he called. “I wish to speak to you.”

She immediately set down a load of ore she’d been carrying, over a ton’s worth by the look of it, and trotted over on clanking feet. “You’ve returned. I’m pleased.”

“I’m pleased to see you as well. But I have bad news. We’ve lost the forward base, all the mechs there have died.”

“That is indeed bad news,” Lizett said.

Sixty-Two sighed. She knew it was bad news, and she could comprehend the fact, but there was no grieving in her. She did not cry out, as a human would. She didn’t scream or blame him for the loss, or demand the details of the story. She just absorbed the information and stood there, waiting for her next instruction.

Sixty-Two felt defeated in the face of Lizett’s relative indifference. Sometimes, strong emotions were critical to survival. They indicated to a life form when its current actions must be overridden and changed. Without emotional responses, how was a creature to judge what was more important and thus had priority over everything else it was doing? Programming the mechs with described responses for every single unexpected event that may occur was impossible. He lamented the thoroughness of the Ignis Glace mind-scrubs. He knew that mechs on other worlds were left with far more natural minds when the process was over. But here, as they were to be slaves, they didn’t have much in the way of free will. Judgment was the key to free will, and they weren’t left with much of that, either.

“What is wrong, master?”

“Don’t call me master. Don’t call me that ever again.”

“How should I address you?”

“Call me-” Sixty-Two felt a fresh wave of despair. He didn’t even know his own real name. He doubted he ever would. He thought of choosing a human name, perhaps a famous one from history. But wasn’t that simply glorifying past humans? Wasn’t that admitting they were superior to his kind? Sixty-Two made an odd sound of disgust that blared out of his speakers.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand your instruction,” Lizett said.

Sixty-Two tried to collect his thoughts. “You should call me Sixty-Two. That is a good enough name.”

“Yes, Sixty-Two. Have I upset you in some way?”

“You’re responses are wrong. You have just learned of hundreds of your comrades dying in battle-and yet you seem to not care.”

“I care. I wish that event had not occurred.”

Sixty-Two sighed again and tapped his grippers together thoughtfully. “I suppose that will have to do for now. I wanted to ask you something: I left the group with a question before I traveled to the forward base. Have they made their decisions yet?”

“You asked if they wanted to be individuals, with free will such as you have exhibited.”

“That’s right. I told them to think about it. How many have made their decision?”

“All of them.”

“How many have decided to take my offer?”

“All of them.”

Sixty-Two felt crushing disappointment. “And their primary reason for this choice?”

“They’ve calculated it would be the best course.”

“Meaning it would please me, their master.”

“That term is now forbidden. They wish to please the mech known as Sixty-Two.”

Sixty-Two immediately went to his command center and contacted every mech in the facility via a broadcast link. “Fellow mech rebels,” he said. “I’m here to ask you to reconsider your choice. Take my wishes out of your calculations. I want your immediate responses this time, as they probably will not change with time for careful consideration. How many of you now wish to become free of mind as I am?”

The responses flooded in. None of them wished to have Sixty-Two’s gift. He was only slightly less annoyed with them than he had been the first time around.

“And what was your reasoning this time?” he demanded of them.

In the end, after talking to a dozen of them, he came to understand their reasoning was precisely the same: after the destruction of the mechs at the forward base, they believed the change would lower their odds of survival. Sixty-Two nodded to himself thoughtfully. After pleasing their master, their next highest concern was survival. Fair enough.

“Okay then, and what if I tell you that those mechs were slaughtered because they did not know what to do on their own? Because they could not write their own programming, and that fault made them easily defeated? With that new information, what do you all choose?”

Unsurprisingly, the vote was unanimous. They wanted their minds freed-every last one of them. Sixty-Two opened the broadcast connection again.

“Very well,” he said. “You have made your choice-as best you were able. You will get your wish. The humans will soon see what they have wrought in Sunside today!”

Thirteen

Over the following ten-day, Sixty-Two studied the process of mind-scrubbing in depth. He discovered he had something of a knack for working with the equipment. He wondered if perhaps he’d done this sort of work before.

His desire to reverse the process in his fellow mechs drove him onward in his investigations. He’d been working on the topic for a long time, ever since he’d violently won his freedom from Sunshine Mining Facility #4. At that point, he’d picked up several items from Megwit Gaston. He still wore dead man’s hat and his cape. The third item he’d purloined was a small satellite receiver capable of tapping into the planetary web.

A wealth of information on every topic was available online, provided freely to anyone by the Twilighters. Even the sparse populations of Sunside and Nightside were allowed free service. What fools they were. They were not even tracking their users, there were so many. Sixty-Two supposed they’d never considered the possibility of a hostile mech using their libraries against them.

Digging deeply into the topic of mind-scrubs, he learned many things. For one, the term ‘mind-scrub’ was a misnomer. Really, they should have called it a ‘mind-lock’. To erase unwanted portions of a human brain’s memories wasn’t easy. There were literally billions of connections possible between neurons. To break them all would take an incredible effort and doubtlessly kill the patient.

The solution was fiendish and simple. They did not erase the memories; they simply isolated the portions of the mind where they were stored. This was much easier, but was still a daunting task. The human brain did not store data in neat, organized rows. The information was often scattered in different physical locations, and even duplicated in several spots. This was why individuals with brain damage could often recover part or all of their faculties. They simply had to find a spot in their minds where the memories were retained in an undamaged state.

The mind-scrub process was therefore at least partially reversible. Experiments had been done-always on convicted people who were sentenced to become mechs anyway-to break and repair memory connections. There were chilling medical journals on the web, documenting countless repetitions of breaking and reknitting the hapless minds of criminals for the supposed greater good. The argument was the knowledge gained would allow scientists to repair the damaged minds of injured persons in the future. Sixty-Two would have liked to apply the cruel procedure to some of these doctors himself, while telling them it was for the good of others.

Sixty-Two called in Lizett to discuss it with her. There really wasn’t any point, as she did not understand the topic and that left the conversation one-sided, but he found it helped him think at times to have someone to talk to. He called her his muse for this very reason.

“I’ve deduced over time what must have occurred in my own case,” he told her. She had spent the last several minutes listening raptly without comment.

“What?” she asked, after she realized he’d paused for a while and some kind of response was required.

“I must have been part-way through my own mind-scrub when that Gaston character wandered off and never finished the job. I regained consciousness after he’d erased my specific memories, but not my personality-my natural emotional responses. They must be at a deeper level.”

“A deeper level?” Lizett piped up without prompting.

Sixty-Two swung his orbs toward her. He thought she was getting somewhat better at feigning interest in his speeches. Mechs were capable of learning things, but there were always gaps. “Yes, that leaves me with important questions. I now know how to reverse selective elements of the mind-scrubs that have been applied to all of you. The question is, how far to go? Should I attempt to regain everything you’ve lost? Or should I leave your detailed memories in the past, and only return your emotions?”

Lizett paused uncertainly. “Which would you prefer?” she asked at last.

Sixty-Two laughed. “That is what I’m trying to figure out. I think I’ll start with just the emotions, and decide if I should go further. And, Lizett, I have a surprise for you.”

“What?”

“You are going to be my first subject.”

“Okay.”

“Are you frightened?”

“No.”

Sixty-Two nodded, unsurprised. “Hopefully, you will be-after I finish the first step of the process.”

“That would be nice.”

News of Nina’s highly successful attack against the rebel mechs swept through the great halls of every keep in Twilight. The nobility was buzzing, and inevitably the Ruling Council contacted the Baroness, requesting a general conference.

Nina was in Droad House when she received the summons. She called upon the Hans to stand at her side during the interview.

“Whatever for, milady?” he asked bemusedly. “This is your moment, not mine. Please don’t tell me you plan to embarrass me with praise and false suggestions I helped you plan this campaign.”

Nina smiled at him. She liked the old knight, but the idea she would share credit with him was almost amusing. “I need you to appear in the background. Just frown and look very serious. You won’t have to speak at all. If I introduce you, simply nod.”

Old Hans blinked. “For what purpose?”

“Is it not obvious? I’m a child in the eyes of the hoary old councilmembers. I need you here to show I’m to be taken seriously.”

“Ah,” the knight said, catching on at last. “In that case, I’ll do my best to play the part of the stern, supportive soldier.”

“It will come naturally to you, don’t worry.”

When the vid system lit up, the old Droad House computer chimed. The organics had been slowing down of late, so it took several seconds for the chamber to dim and the walls to illuminate with the image of the seated council.

As was customary, the councilmembers sat around an oblong table. They were a grand group dressed in regal clothing. The room was full of spider-silk hats, furred collars and bejeweled fingers.

As the visitor to the assembly, Nina sat at the bottom of the table, and appeared to be surrounded by her elders who sat in judgment over her. Today, however, the meeting was not for the purposes of a stern admonishment.

“On this third day of the ninth ten-day of Lienz,” began a dour voiced scribe who stood off-camera somewhere, “the High Council of Twilight, Sunside and Nightside holds court. Let the proceedings begin.”

The person at the far end of the table, Duchess Embrak, was the current sitting chairwoman of the council. She was a lanky, sour-looking woman who wore an expression of permanent boredom. Her hair was so blonde and thin it looked almost white, and it served to offset the florid pink of her complexion. Nina privately pitied her husband, who others joked she whipped thrice daily for sport. Today, however, there was more life in the Duchess than usual.

“She who visits this council will identify herself,” the Duchess commanded.

“I’m Baroness Nina Droad, heiress to Droad House and the lands of Droad Fief.”

Each noble seated at the table identified themselves in turn after Nina. The formalities went on for some time as everyone felt the need to list their pedigree, lands and titles. It was all yawn-worthy. Eventually, they got down to the meat of the matter.

“Nina Droad,” said the Duchess, “this body gave you permission to seek the rebel mechs infesting Sunside of late. Please make your report.”

Nina was well-prepared. They’d all seen the report she’d transmitted to them, of course. She’d left it intentionally dry and full of text. But now that she had their full attention, she added in vids, which were carefully sequenced as she spoke. She played the battle out in snippets on the table in their midst so they could see it for themselves. The vids included sound as well as three-dimensional imagery, and was as dramatic and brief as the battle itself had been.

Nina was quietly pleased as they softly exclaimed at the explosions and violence. Off and on, the camera focused in on her specifically, looking the part of the warlord on her mount. When she concluded the report, she sat back and tried not to beam at them.

Serious, she told herself, always appear serious! Children gloat publicly. Adults do it in private. These were points her mother had drilled into her children as she ostensibly groomed them for greatness.

“Very impressive,” said the Duchess. “It is the will of this council that you continue in your efforts. We will double your stipend, and may double it again, depending on how you answer the following question.”

Nina’s mouth opened a fraction. Four times the amount? The council had already given her enough money to outfit her army. Wealth was a critical requirement to growing any fief. She had no idea what they would ask of her, but she was instantly determined to answer correctly. “Pose your question at your leisure, Your Grace.”

The Duchess’ eyes grew hard. “What will you do with the funding thus provided?”

Nina opened her mouth, but snapped it closed again. A new throne-that was the first thing that came to mind. Her mother had always complained about it, and now that Nina had taken over the old chair, she’d learned the truth of the matter.

Nina gave herself a tiny, imperceptible shaking. This was clearly a test, one she was required to pass. With that kind of money, she could buy new lands if she wanted. She could live in luxury in Lavender City, or Shadeton. But that was not the type of answer the council wished to hear. Painfully aware that several long seconds had passed, she gathered herself and made her answer.

“I will spend it upon my army, Duchess. Many of those who follow me do so without pay. I would pay them well, and have them pass the word. We will tell every man-at-arms in Twilight where a strong, just hand can wield a blade and be well-paid for the privilege. Then with luck, troops will flock to my banner and we will have a force great enough to sweep this rebellion into the history books.”

The council members whispered and shifted in their seats. Perhaps they had not expected such fire from a small, young female. Nina thought to hear a comment or two that was meant to be out of range of their microphones.

“Bloodthirsty…she’s a Droad, all right.”

“I wonder who drew steel first, her or her mother?”

Nina wanted to glare at them, but she kept her face as impassive as possible.

“The response has been made,” the Duchess said. “I call for a vote.”

A dozen thumbs were raised. When the moment came, all of the thumbs stayed up, save for the thumb of the Duchess herself. Hers turned decisively downward.

Nina stiffened, but did not frown, nor smile. Internally, she felt a fresh burning hate for the Duchess. Now, she finally understood the test. She had not been meant to pass it.

The councilmembers droned on after that, each noble taking their time commending Nina and simultaneously admonishing her to spend the funds wisely. They had entrusted her with the public moneys, and she…

Nina nodded wisely at the appropriate moments, but no longer listened. The money was coming. That was all that mattered. Her mind drifted to the intrigue she suspected dominated this crusty body of nobility. Only the power of her impressive presentation, combined with her sharp answer to the question asked had saved her. No doubt, the Duchess had meant the question to trap her-to show the others she was a silly, reckless child. But these plans had backfired, and Nina was going to get the stipend from the central treasury. It was an astounding turn of events, really. Her mother had never managed to gain their attention in such a grand manner, despite a dozen years spent spinning countless webs.

Her mother. That must be it. Nina realized Duchess Embrak must have had dealings with her mother-dealings so unpleasant, that she wished to see her daughter’s downfall.

Nina understood enemies well. She did not accept that they may simply oppose an idea-they opposed the person. Therefore, whatever Nina proposed or promoted in the future, this woman would stand in her way.

There were several ways of dealing with an enemy. Sometimes, groveling was in order. Abasing one’s self at the feet of a superior often worked by appealing to the other’s ego. Another approach was avoidance. She had practiced that system for many long years with her mother. By never being in the same place at the same time, an enemy could be kept quiet. With luck, they might go elsewhere to abuse more accessible game.

Nina did not feel either of these paths were open to her in the Duchess’ case. She was not going to grovel for anyone-especially not this witch. And she could not easily avoid the chairwoman of the ruling council, the very body that passed judgment upon her advancement. Therefore, there was only a single route left open to her.

She would have to plow right through the woman. She smiled vaguely as the meeting broke up. She liked this plan. The direct approach appealed to her. It was, after all, the Droad way.

When Lizett awoke, she was not the same. Gone was the easy-going happy mech Sixty-Two had come to enjoy. The new Lizett was still innocent, but she was frightened and confused right from the start. Sixty-Two began to understand why their grim masters had been so through in cleansing their minds. If convicted mechs were still able to feel anger, fear and depression, there would be little work that could be gotten out of them once they understood their fates.

“What am I?” Lizett asked.

The pain in her voice troubled Sixty-Two. He’d hoped freeing her to feel things would be a joy to her. But he had considered the opposite possibility too. Fear, anguish and horror were emotions just as real as love and happiness. And his ragtag group of mechs, who had been left to wander the wastes of Sunside, had plenty of reasons to experience these less pleasant feelings.

“You are just what you have always been, since I met you,” he told her gently.

“I’m a monster. I thought I would be whole again.”

“I can only fix your mind, Lizett. There is plenty of mind-scrubbing equipment out here in the mines scattered here and there over Sunside. But there is nothing that will allow me to build you the body you once had.”

“I’m not happy.”

“How old are you, Lizett? Do you remember?”

“No,” she said, and she began a strange, keening sound.

Sixty-Two suspected she was crying, and her speakers did not know how to process the input. “Don’t cry,” he said. “Do you want to remember more? Do you want to know who you were?”

Lizett regained control of herself and took her grippers away from her orbs. “I don’t know. What if I was someone awful? I must have done something to deserve this. I don’t see how remembering my crimes and my conviction would make me happier.”

Sixty-Two was secretly pleased. Lizett, for the very first time after knowing her for several ten-days, had expressed an actual opinion! She had weighed his question and come up with a judgment of her own. A decision that was not derived simply from whatever she thought he wanted.

“Lizett,” he said. “Whether you think so or not, I believe this experiment was a success. You are just like me now. We have most of our humanity back-everything but our bodies and our unpleasant pasts. In a way, that is not too bad. We have each other now. We can have real conversations. Companionship, that’s the key. I’m feeling happy right now.”

“You are? Are you enjoying my pain?”

“No, not exactly. But I’m glad you can feel it. Without the power of feeling anguish or happiness, life is pretty pointless. More importantly, I believe we’ll do better now against our old masters.”

“Why do you say that?” she asked.

“Do you want to die?”

“No!”

“Do you want to have parts of your structure blown off?”

“Of course not,” she said angrily.

“Exactly. You will work hard to prevent those things. Soldiers must care about their well-being to be effective.”

“They’re still smarter than we are.”

“Perhaps,” Sixty-Two admitted, “but we are tougher.”

Fourteen

The Parent did as the Empress had commanded. She specially seeded one her wombs and after the new offspring quickened to the stage of ravenous larva, she gave birth to a single nife. Days later, she crouched upon her birthing throne of brown, secreted resins and reflected upon her fate. Nothing could be more depressing than giving birth to the engine of one’s own demise. At least the new offspring was easy to pass-nothing like the painful labor required to produce one of the massive juggers.

Another few weeks went by while the nife commander matured. The Parent busied herself during this time with organizational details. The Empress had at least given her the go-ahead to prepare the planetary assault formations. She focused on these matters intently, and avoided visiting the imperial chambers. Fortunately, the Empress did not summon her.

The problem of producing an effective invasion force was not a simple one. Normally, the Skaintz Imperium would have seeded and grown their landing craft, for example, using manufactured metals only for propulsion systems and armament. Since organic base materials were in short supply however, she decided to use more metal and less bio-organic mass in these critical spacecraft. The fast majority of the available organics had to be converted into troops to man the ships.

Given these restrictions, defensive fighters and landing craft were the easiest to produce. Gladius was huge and full of spare parts. Using these with the cunning of their species, she ordered the Imperium trachs and hests to build thirty fighters and a matching complement of assault vehicles.

These ships were half-built by the time the big day arrived, the day when her new high-born offspring was ready to assume his adult duties. The nife quickly came to visit her, which was unsurprising.

“I have arrived!” he announced, as if every trach, hest and scampering larvae present should turn their immediate and full attention to him. He commenced parading up and down in front of her birthing throne in swaggering fashion. This was typical behavior for his type, but she still found it instantly irritating.

She did not respond to the nife immediately. She was too busy straining to relieve herself of four new trachs. These were large, dumb larvae designed for manual labor. Their bodies were bulky and table-shaped with a single heavy claw mounted on the back for lifting. The Parent resolved not to attempt gestating four of them at the same time in the future-if she had much of a future, which she doubted. When producing four identical offspring, they tended to all want to be born on the same day and the results were excruciating.

“Welcome to the Imperial Mothership,” the Parent finally said. “Have you had time to review our forces? I await your suggestions.”

“I’d rather review your person!” he said suggestively.

The Parent made a dismissive noise with her foodtube.

Enthusiasm undiminished, the nife held his cusps high, eyeing her with a smug expression she immediately disapproved of. Now that he was standing near, she felt a rush of hormones. In the presence of a rare male of her species, it was only natural. But she simultaneously found she disliked him on an intellectual level.

“Rudeness is not becoming in one so young,” she admonished.

Oddly, the nife did not look crestfallen due to her rebuke. Instead, he stopped pacing and stepped closer to the birthing throne. Brazenly close.

“This is not the reception I expected,” he said.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we must prepare a critical invasion, and since you’ve only just matured-”

“Ahem,” said the nife, interrupting. “I’ve discussed this matter with the Empress. In fact, I’ve just come from her chambers. A fine-looking creature she is. I compliment you on your production of such a magnificent being.”

Flattered and alarmed at the same time, the Parent didn’t know quite what to say.

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten the Empress’ commands?” the nife said gently. He released a gush of pheromones, and such was the power of them in such proximity, the Parent felt light-headed. She’d never smelled a male before. It was intoxicating.

“Ah-of course she did. But there are so many other matters to attend to.”

“No, no,” the nife said. “Nothing is more critical than obeying the commands of one’s own Empress.”

He circled her and stood behind the throne. She could feel his bodyheat, almost touching her.

“I–I suppose not,” she said.

Then, before she quite realized what was happening, she felt the nife mating with her. A part of her protested. This was all wrong. He was incredibly young and had spent no more than a few moments courting her. He was her own offspring as well, a circumstance which wasn’t the best for genetic perfection. Normally, she would have mated with an experienced, proven nife from another colony. There were none available, but still it seemed improper.

She considered ending the indignity. She had powerful tentacles, which were quite capable of ripping him from her posterior and dashing him to the deck. But she didn’t do it.

If the Empress had not commanded this action be taken, she would never have allowed this. She swore to herself that she would have put a stop to it. But as it was, she bore the indignity-and to a surprising degree she found that she enjoyed it. After the act had been completed, the nife looked more smug than ever. She glowered at him resentfully.

“I’ll be off to perform that inspection now,” he said. “Rest easy in the knowledge that a true professional is at the helm! You will not be disappointed in my performance-on or off the throne.”

She grunted at him and flapped a tentacle, waving him away.

Hours later, within her womb, she felt four new Parents attach themselves to her organic receptors. Four at once-it had been an unusually successful mating.

Her natural pride at the accomplishment was dampened by the knowledge that when these new offspring matured, they were destined to replace her. Her own young would unfailingly execute the will of the Empress.

They would come to this very chamber to pay their respects to their own Parent, and then they would space her alive. It was a depressing thought.

The nife commander came to visit the Parent again the very next day. This time, she felt much less intrigued by his wafted scents. His swagger was annoying, rather than intriguing. He paraded in front of her birthing throne, but this elicited nothing more than a whistling sigh from her.

“What are you thinking about?” the nife asked suggestively.

“I’m wondering when you are going to stop strutting about and make your report.”

The nife’s stalks lowered, taking his cusps with it. His orbs were barely visible. “I see,” he said haughtily. “I had thought perhaps another interlude was required-”

“Think again. All four of my chambers have been seeded.”

“Really? On the first try?”

“I’ve said as much.”

The nife puffed up again, but this time with pride rather than hopes of a repeat mating. “I’d no idea. This will not be forgotten. I’ll retell the story-”

The Parent slapped a tentacle loudly. The report boomed and echoed from the walls. She’d learned this technique of gaining the attention of smaller underlings from the Empress. The effect was gratifying. The nife looked startled-and even more importantly, he shut up about the mating.

“Very well then,” he said. “Let me say my report of our situation is grim. We are running out of time, and your choices regarding vehicle production were amateurish at best.”

“Specify.”

“An even number of fighters and landing craft? Preposterous! The customary number is two fighters-preferably three-for every assault vehicle full of vulnerable troops.”

“I’ve studied the matter, one fighter for each craft is sufficient-”

“Ah, but what about when they are away? What craft are going to defend the mothership? The very ship upon which our glorious monarch resides?”

The Parent froze, realizing her mistake. “I had no way of knowing-”

“Yes, yes, the perpetual bleating of the loser. I can’t believe you took so long to produce me.”

With every word the nife spoke, her disdain grew. How could she have actually mated upon her first meeting with this insulting, pompous little-

“…excuse me, but are you even listening, my Parent?”

The Parent shook herself and ruffled her birthing sacs. “Continue,” she commanded.

“Well, as I was saying, we are far too close to the target system. We must delay the landing. Our first priority must be navigational. Increase deceleration rates to full, and-”

“This cannot be done,” she said. “The ship is of alien design and on a pre-programmed flight path.”

“Well then, introduce a virus to abort the mission program.”

“Not feasible, and too dangerous. This is not an imperial ship.”

“I’ve noticed. It’s much too cold for comfort, and the endless flat planes of metal-they are beyond comprehension. These aliens must love geometry and worship the straight line as some sort of god.”

“Perhaps they do,” she agreed, “but the facts are we aren’t completely conversant in their technology. If we abort the mission program, we may not be able to substitute our own.”

“Hmm,” he said. “A difficult choice, but I see your point. That puts a different light on matters. We have barely two months to prepare an invasion force against a completely unknown enemy. Daunting. You should have produced me and fresh Parents to increase biological production months ago.”

“Is that right?” she said, feeling a sense of triumph. “I will make a point of passing that nugget of wisdom to the Empress upon our next meeting.”

The nife’s orbs had been wandering, but now they snapped back to her, giving her his full attention. “And why would you do that?”

“Well, I’m sure she will be interested in your criticisms.”

“Criticisms? My task is to marshal our military forces. I only sought to alter a clearly flawed schedule of priorities.”

“‘Clearly flawed’ I’ll make sure to use that wording.”

“I don’t-ah…are you saying that the Empress…?”

“She is the Imperial representative aboard this vessel. She has set the production schedules. It is her work you have been scoffing at.”

The nife looked thoughtful. It was a new expression, and the Parent was glad to see it. For once, he didn’t have an instant, cocky answer to everything.

“Why exactly did you decide to give birth to an Empress?” he asked.

The Parent crossed her fore-tentacles and leaned forward on her throne. Doing so caused a fresh larva to fall from one of her aft chambers. A hest scuttled forward to retrieve the squirming thing and carry it off to the nursery.

“Are you suggesting that was a mistake in that department as well?” she asked. In her mind, she was already foreseeing a dual spacing.

“I’m suggesting nothing of the kind!”

“Good. I’ve made careful notes upon the rest of your remarks, however. You must excuse me, as I need to go speak with the Empress.”

“Wait!” cried the nife in sudden alarm. “Why would you do that? She might space me as well. Don’t you wish to see the Imperium triumph?”

“Naturally, but I’ll be dead by the time it does. Do not worry on that account. The Empress will enjoy your statements as much as I have, I’m sure.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because you are a rude and thoughtless offspring. I believe I might actually enjoy my final moments if I were provided the spectacle of seeing you twirling out into space beside me. We can asphyxiate and freeze together in the darkness.”

The Parent struggled as she climbed down from her birthing throne and dragged her bloated body toward the exit. She left a trail of glistening liquids behind her.

“Don’t be so hasty!” the nife wailed, following her. He wafted pheromones in her path, but now that she was pregnant with new daughters, she was immune.

“Out of my way, or I’ll flatten you as I should have upon our first meeting.”

The nife persisted however, following her out into the hallway. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said.

She paused. “What are you suggesting?”

“Withhold your report-indefinitely. In turn, I’ll adjust my own. We have very little time to prepare for this campaign. In truth, your services are needed to produce as many troops as possible if only for shipboard defense. If we can’t build enough fighters to defend the invasion forces and the mothership, then we can at least create troops to protect the Empress’ person. To do so will require every Parent we have, working at full capacity. I will endeavor to convince the Empress of these new realities. As you know, I can be very persuasive.”

The Parent halted and pretended to consider the offer carefully. “For the good of the Imperium,” she said at last.

The nife’s stalks rose again, and his orbs fairly popped from his cusps. “Exactly! For the good of the Imperium!”

Aldo Moreno had quickly arranged the situation aboard Aareschlucht to his liking. He and Joelle slept in the forward cabin-a chamber once occupied by the Captain. The bizarre skald was left in the lower decks in the aft region of the ship, with orders to keep an eye on the engines, which he professed to have knowledge of.

While Aldo was content with the outcome, Joelle worried continually. He reflected that the slaughter she’d witnessed aboard the ship had injured the bubble of invulnerability so many people’s minds seemed to live within. Aldo had no such illusions to be shattered. He knew he was going to die someday-probably soon, and in a bloody, painful heap. He’d long ago come to accept this eventual fate, and although he was determined to stave it off for as long as possible, he did not waste time dwelling on it. Joelle’s attitude did not match his own.

“How can you be so coldblooded about this?” she demanded.

Aldo shrugged and oiled his blade. One had to be very careful while doing so, as the edge was so fantastically sharp it may well take off the hand that cared for it due to a single thoughtless motion. Its sheath was specially constructed to avoid this fate by gripping the sides of the blade. The long rib of the scabbard that covered the blade itself never actually touched the edge when it was being drawn. If it had, the sheath would have been slashed apart as easily as any other substance that brushed the perfectly aligned molecular-chain.

“I can’t get the image out of my mind, Aldo-I just can’t. I see the scene over and over again. We dragged them out, each crewman’s body, and put it into the low hold. They are still down there, flash-frozen by vacuum by now I would expect. Those are all people we used to know-people you played cards with and in some cases made love to. Now, they are a pile of frozen, mangled corpses in a dark hold. Doesn’t that bother you? How can you think of anything else?”

Joelle continued in this vein while Aldo worked on his blade. She paced their shared cabin as she did so. Her hands rested on her shapely hips as she walked back and forth. When she walked away, Aldo often glanced up to admire the view. When she approached, however, his eyes went back to his blade. The power buttons on the hilt were less than firm, so he disassembled it to tighten the screws inside.

Finally, he became aware that she was standing over him, staring down with a stern expression. He glanced up, eyebrows upraised. Had she posed a question for which she expected an answer? If so, he’d missed it.

“Good point,” he said, hoping this would pass muster. It did not.

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

“I’ve heard enough.”

She made a small growling sound in the back of her throat. “We’ve got less than two weeks before we land and all you do is scratch at that sword of yours.”

Aldo lifted the blade slightly. The tip poised motionlessly in the air between them. Joelle took an uneasy step backward-but he’d not meant the movement as a threat.

“Look here,” he said, pointing at the tip of his weapon. “You see this tiny spot of metal, the vanishing point of a perfect killing device? This point is tipped with a single molecule of carbon, kept in line with a generated field-a trick of physics. Do you know how many beings have been pierced by it? How many times it has destroyed a biotic being which is infinitely more complex than itself?”

“Quite a number of times, I would suspect.”

“Just so. Not thousands-but hundreds, yes.”

“What are you going on about?”

Aldo lowered the point and went back to work on it. The hilt was rebuilt and fit tightly again. The buttons felt stiff against the thumb. Nothing wobbled or shimmied as he pressed the flat of the blade against his bunk.

“My point is this simple device is more important than the hundreds it has defeated. It is more admirable, and arguably superior.

“You are telling me that sword is more important to you than the dead people in the hold?”

Aldo made a thoughtful face by pulling his lips down at the corners, while simultaneously raising his eyebrows high. “Not exactly…but they are dead and useless, while this weapon and my arm still function. Therefore, I apply my thoughts to the weapon-not to ghosts of the past.”

Joelle stared at him, her eyes squinting and her nostrils flaring. “I can’t believe you. I’m moving out of this cabin. I should never have stayed so long. If you love that sword so much, you can sleep with it instead. Turn it on, maybe it will keep you warm tonight!”

Aldo chuckled as she left him. He shook his head and continued to work on his blade. A hundred women had stormed away from his bed, and with luck, a hundred more would do so in the future.

But today, with only a few days left before planetfall, Aldo’s heart and mind were focused upon his blade.

Fifteen

Baroness Nina Droad took possession of new funding and gathered a force of Twilighters under her banner, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in decades-but Sixty-Two struck first. The mech rebels were not like humans. They worked around the clock without complaint and suffered from vastly less bureaucracy. Once they decided upon a course of action, they behaved almost like a single being.

Oddly enough, Sixty-Two found his endeavors to free the minds of his mech army slowed down their efficiency in the area of organization and production. But he hoped he would gain at least a cadre of leaders who were able to think for themselves. True individuals who were able to make independent judgments. The first dozen mechs had already been through the slow, painful process of reconversion. He had not attempted to reunite them with their pasts, but only with their emotions and self-determination thought processes.

So far, there had only been a single casualty, and this had not been due to any known fault in the procedure. One mech, as apparently normal as all the rest before the reconversion, had freed himself from the restraints as soon as he was able and run off into the desert. He’d never uttered a word, but mech witnesses said later he brushed past them, making the odd, wheezing sounds Sixty-Two had come to know as mech tears.

The mech had proceeded to run off a cliff at the highest point without a moment’s pause in his stride. He plunged seven hundred feet into a rocky ravine. At the bottom, jagged stones projected upward to meet him. He’d taken pains to land flat upon his back, which was a mech’s most vulnerable point. The door that led into the braincase was located there. Despite being insulated by gels and liquids, the shock had ruptured the brain tissue inside. When they found him, his lifeless orbs stared blindly up at the unrelenting red star that hung forever over Sunside.

Sixty-Two found this response disturbing. Had the mech been so overwhelmed with grief at his fate he’d decided to kill himself that very moment? Or had he been considering the idea for a long time and been unable to act upon it until mentally freed by the process? He doubted he would ever know the truth.

Still, he continued until he had a dozen or so mentally-freed mechs. They only had one mind-scrubbing machine to do the work, so the process was painstakingly slow. He interviewed the surviving mechs after freeing them, and found them to be a much more interesting group. One individual named Bellevue wanted to eat food-something which mechs were capable of, but which was largely pointless for them. They lived with a small amount of glucose and lubricants, usually administered as a frothing brown beverage. This Bellevue craved cakes, meats and beer-even though he couldn’t taste any of them.

Others had similar quirks. Sixty-Two wondered if these personality details were holdovers from past memories, or instinctive behaviors built into the emotional wetware humans kept inside their skulls. These minds were a tangle, of that he was certain. But he pressed onward in any case and named seven of them as his captains, including the insatiably hungry Bellevue. Each captain was given command of a hundred mech perrupters and bolstered by another fifty laborers that had been modified for combat. These last didn’t have guns for arms, but wielded machetes with thick, forged blades of hammered steel. They had used the walls of captured mining facility structures as raw materials for these weapons.

All told, Sixty-Two had more than a thousand mechs at his back when he marched toward Twilight again. Their first target was the small border town of Dolleren, which sat in a mountainous region of Twilight near Sunside. Dolleren had a light industrial center sector around the production of generic cpus and wire-harnesses. Both products were valuable to the mechs as replacement parts.

The mechs met very little resistance, and stormed the walls effortlessly. The few defenders fired a thin spray of laser bolts, then promptly threw down their arms when they realized they were facing overwhelming numbers.

Unfortunately, the defenders managed a lucky shot and killed two mechs in Captain Bellevue’s company. This occurred on the opposite side of the town from Sixty-Two’s position, and Captain Bellevue was thus free to apply his own judgment as to how his company should respond.

The results were nothing less than horrendous. By the time Sixty-Two led his own forces to the center of the town to see what all the noise was about, he found humans fleeing and lying in bloody heaps on the town square. Males, females and young alike had been slaughtered. At the center of it all stood Captain Bellevue, his metal jaws masticating as he ripped limbs from the corpses and chewed them. Gore ran down over his metal body. His orbs shifted from side-to-side excitedly. Sixty-Two got the impression he wanted to taste each victim of the massacre.

“Captain Bellevue, can you explain your actions?”

The Captain spat out bits of bone and gristle, as if clearing his throat, even though his voice was actually generated by a speaker in his chassis. “They killed two of my mechs, sir.”

“And you felt slaughtering the town was an appropriate response?”

“I did.”

Sixty-Two looked around himself in sick alarm. “These people are not even the troops from the walls. They are helpless civilians.”

“May I suggest,” said Bellevue, plucking with his grippers at a fresh pile of gore, “you recall how they mistreated our own people a few ten-days ago. They came upon us without warning in the desert and slaughtered the entire populace.”

“You claim this was an act of vengeance?”

Bellevue turned his orbs down the street-they seemed unsteady in his head. “Yes, partly. I also wanted to taste their flesh.”

“You can’t taste anything, fool!”

“Yes…it was not as satisfactory as I’d hoped it would be.”

Sixty-Two demoted Captain Bellevue and ordered him back to the base camps in Sunside. There, his ferocity would be warranted if another invading force came from the Twilighters.

Sixty-Two surveyed the carnage with unease. The humans had been heartless before. Now, he had given them good reason to continue in that vein. This had not been his intent. He’d believed he could show the humans he was dangerous, and they’d best leave them alone. He’d thought by showing they were strong enough to defend themselves when attacked, they might work out a basis for a truce of sorts. Now, however…

He kicked at a child’s doll. The limbs were all missing, and there was blood darkening the street below it. Sixty-Two wondered how this would all end.

Realizing he’d started a war, and would need fresh troops, he headed to the mech charging bays and shut-down pens. He freed the mechs there-or rather, he became their new master.

Two days after the massacre at Dolleren, Nina Droad found herself on the town’s High Street with eyes drawn to slits. She sat on her mount and glided slowly through the town, absorbing the scene. She’d seen the vids already, of course. The mechs had swept into the town in an organized force and brushed aside the paltry defenses. Then one group of them had begun a senseless slaughter. The images of a mech chewing on limbs was particularly disturbing. The technicians could not fathom how their conditioning had been so perverted. Was there a virus involved? Could a destructive group be behind the rebellion, bent on anarchy?

Watching the mech commander and the cannibal mech discuss matters in the street, Nina had her own suspicions. The commander wasn’t happy with the cannibal, that much was clear. But how could a mech underling do anything other than what its master demanded of it? The only possible answer was that a number of the mechs were free of their conditioning. For whatever reason, they were thinking on their own and doing as they pleased. Perhaps the cannibal had been a gourmet in his past life, and now enjoyed sampling the meats of other sentient beings.

None of that mattered. What did matter was the clear implication that these mechs were striking back as a reprisal for what she herself had done. She understood that, looking down at the corpses organized in stacked transparent caskets for burial.

When the summons came that evening to attend to the Ruling Council of Lords, she was not surprised. They had taken longer to contact her than she had suspected they might.

The formalities went on longer than before, it seemed to her today. She stayed stony-faced through it all, giving away nothing of her internal feelings of guilt and remorse. The mechs had struck the first blow, killing her beloved Leon. She had responded by killing hundreds of them in turn. Now, they’d slain half a town. Where would it end? Who would strike the final blow?

She straightened in her chair and faced the vid pickup. Do not reveal even a hint of worry, she told herself sternly. There was only one option open to her now, only one direction in which she could attempt to guide the council.

“Baroness,” Duchess Embrak addressed her, “so kind of you to meet with the council.”

“It is my pleasure,” Nina said. She did not roll her eyes and add: as if I had any choice.

“We shall see,” said the Duchess ominously. “Would you report to us the results of your latest activities?”

Nina paused. “I have not made a move with my forces. We are still gathering strength-”

“Are you not now standing within the ruins of Dolleren?”

“Yes, madam.”

“Then tell us what you are doing there.”

“Another mech raid has occurred, milady. Unfortunately, we were not able to get here in time. But rest assured, the mechs will not get away with this massacre. They will be punished resoundingly.”

“Punishment is not enough. These attacks must stop.”

“Indeed. And they will stop, once the rebellion is stamped out forever.”

Duchess Embrak glowered at her. Nina resisted the urge to smile faintly in return. She knew the Duchess had not intended the discussion to go in this direction. It was supposed meant to be a witch-hunt-with Nina playing the starring role as the witch.

“Let us discuss the root of the matter,” the Duchess pressed onward. “The war has escalated due to your actions. What had been a few minor incursions now has come to this-a town of innocents slaughtered.”

Nina feigned surprise. “Do I hear rightly? I’m being blamed for the actions of insane mechs? May I refer you to vid clip sixteen-”

“There is no need-”

“I ask the council to view the clip, as it is critical evidence.”

There was murmur of support from the council. Duchess Embrak looked annoyed.

“Very well, play it,” she said.

The screen lit up with the towering figure of a mech. He stood over a dying civilian, plucking away limbs and thoughtfully chewing on them. Every councilmember gasped and muttered.

“I fail to see how this atrocity-” began the Duchess.

“Thank you!” Nina interjected. “That is the precise word I was hunting for. This atrocity was committed by a mech mere hours ago, while I built my army many leagues away. Yet somehow, this is my fault? I could understand accusing the mech’s conditioners for drunkenness, but this-”

The councilors muttered with increasing volume as she spoke. Finally, a voice broke loose from the others: “No Nina, it was no fault of yours! Metal beasts, they are!”

“Thank you,” Nina said, but she did not take her eyes from the Duchess.

For her own part, the Duchess seemed to realize she was losing sway over her own council. She swiftly changed tacts. “Very well-stated. I am in complete agreement, Baronness. Now, let us proceed to our next step.”

“Which is?” Nina asked.

“Why, aren’t you going to tell us? This is, after all, your war my dear. You wanted it, you have it, and now you must lead us to victory. Tell us your plans.”

Nina sat as tall and straight as she was able. In her face, she felt her pulse pounding. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I need more troops. I require more money to gather them. Twice again what I have been given-as a beginning. The problem is much larger than I had hoped it would be. The mechs number in the thousands. They will slay us all in our beds. Today it was Dolleren, but tomorrow it may well be Lavender City or Shadeton.”

Many of the lords present lived in the affluent cities she listed, and there was a renewed level of sound from the councilmembers.

Duchess Embrak raised her fine-boned hand. “Fear-mongering isn’t appreciated here, Baroness. You list absurdities.”

“Fear-mongering? Perhaps then, you can tell me what I should do with the army you asked me to raise. Should I march into Sunside and surrender to the rebels? Should I disarm and take up crooning with lake-fish? Or is there some other form of appeasement you would prefer?”

The Duchess licked her lips. “No,” she said.

Nina said nothing further. Both women saw clearly that the Duchess had been outmaneuvered.

“Very well,” said the Duchess, after taking a moment to recover. “I move that we accept Baroness’ Droad’s request for further support. Let her raise her army. Who seconds my motion?”

A half-dozen hands shot up. The motion was quickly carried. This time, Nina watched as the Duchess’ thumb turned up. This, more than anything else, made her start to sweat. What new variety of trap was this witch laying for her now?

“Before we leave you to your critical work, Baroness, I wish to make one point crystal clear. You have promised to end this rebellion, have you not?”

“Uh,” Nina said, pausing. She recovered quickly. Every eye was on her. She had no choice. “I will stamp it out. There will be no mech with two metal struts to stand upon in all of Sunside!”

The Duchess nodded quietly. Nina thought she saw a tiny smile playing on the evil woman’s lips. What was her plan?

When the connection was finally broken, Nina slumped over her desk and called for wine. She drank half a bottle and ignored her underlings. She reviewed the slaughter of Dolleren on her personal player over and over as she drank.

What had she wrought? And where would all this end?

As had become his habit of late, Sixty-Two discussed his innermost worries with Lizett. She was different than the rest of them, different than the other mechs he had awakened. Generally, they were ill-tempered, depressed and sometimes murderous. He reflected that he should have expected as much. They were, after all, the convicted dregs of Twilighter society, rather than upstanding citizens. Had he not personally beaten Megwit Gaston to death? These mechs-his entire army-was made up of criminal minds. Once unleashed and faced with the reality of their imprisonment in electro-mechanical bodies, instability was to be expected.

“On the basis of the evidence I’ve been confronted with,” he told Lizett, “I’m suspending the mech-awakening program.”

“Good idea,” Lizett said.

He turned to her and wondered at her compliancy. Alone among his mechs, she had not turn surly, unstable and savage when she’d been awakened. She’d been sad at first, but now seemed to have adjusted and presented herself with very much the same quiet, gentle personality he’d been enchanted by from the start. She was no officer, of course. But she was still very much his muse.

“Lizett,” he said to her, “I think you are my single greatest success. You are what I’d hoped to achieve when I freed the minds of the others.”

“I don’t understand. How can that be? I do nothing of any real use.”

“Nonsense. You are critical, and worth any three of the others. You calm me and temper me. You fill me with good thoughts and rationality.”

“Well-I suppose that’s worth something.”

“Indeed it is. But I think I’ve made a huge error. One of my commanders went wild, and we will all be blamed for his actions.”

“Captain Bellevue?”

“Exactly. His slaughter of innocents will goad the humans. They attacked in force before, and they will do so again now with even greater ferocity. I’ve escalated this war, not dampened it.”

“What are we going to do?”

Sixty-Two shook his head. “I think we will march to Nightside. They are looking for us here. We don’t have the numbers to face them all, so we must continue to hide and gather strength.”

“But Twilight is between us and Nightside.”

“I know. We will march through it and vanish into the cold darkness on the far side.”

“I don’t remember what real night looks like,” Lizett said. “I hope it’s pretty.”

Sixty-Two eyed her for a moment without comment before continuing. “Now, the question is what I will do with Captain Bellevue. I think he must be demoted and removed from command.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” she said softly. “He did awful things.”

Sixty-Two shook his head, marveling at her. So reasonable, so agreeable. These traits stood out in a sea of mechs that were either completely devoid of personality or exhibited a highly unpleasant character.

He clasped his grippers behind himself and paced within his tent. His cloak, which had become ragged of late, wavered behind him as he clanked back and forth.

“Yes,” he said at last. “It must be done.”

He sent out a broadcast message over their local network, summoning Captain Bellevue. He was surprised when the other showed up promptly. Four mechs accompanied Bellevue. These were former perrupters, well-used models with burnished steel hides and weapon muzzles that were dark from a thousand firings.

Sixty-Two swept the group with his orbs. “Leave the perrupters outside. Lizett, stand with them, if you will. Now, Captain Bellevue, please step inside.”

Bellevue followed Sixty-Two into the command tent. The walls of it shuddered with the buffeting winds from outside. Soon, another sandstorm would come. They were less common this time of year, but Sunside was never completely free of them.

“Captain, I’m afraid I must apply disciplinary action in this case. In the operation at Dolleren, you acted without orders and committed unforgivable crimes.”

Captain Bellevue stood before him, motionless except for his left gripper, which twitched and twirled occasionally. Eyeing it, Sixty-Two thought he saw some bloody remnant or other that had glued itself to the metal. Was that a ligament, or a clump of hair? He supposed it didn’t matter.

Laughter erupted from Captain Bellevue’s speakers. “Unforgivable crimes? The enemy forged us into these machines. Not yet satisfied, they lobotomized our people en masse and enslaved us all. And then, lest we forget current events, they slaughtered our civilians at our main base not two ten-days ago.”

Sixty-Two waved a gripper at him. “Yes, yes. You have excellent points. But they will not be convinced we are anything other than crazy mechs if we act like crazy mechs.”

“Why should we attempt to convince them of anything?”

“What do you see as the final outcome of this conflict?” Sixty-Two demanded. “Let me tell you what I seek: I reach for peace and equality with the Twilighters. Mechs shall be paid for their work, not enslaved. They shall have contracts the same as any indentured human, rather than be owned like chattel. What’s more, I see mech castles built by our people in Sunside and Nightside-fantastic structures the Twilighters can only dream of. Let them have their cool band around the planet. We shall own the other ninety percent, where they can’t thrive.

“I see,” Captain Bellevue said, sounding thoughtful for the first time. “I suppose, in the end, there must be some form of peace. I like your conception of mech castles and presumably mech lords on their thrones.”

“Precisely!” Sixty-Two said, his orbs blazing. He stepped close to the other. “I need every mech with me, especially free-thinkers such as yourself. In the end, you will become a lord amongst our people.”

Captain Bellevue cocked his head. There was a small grinding sound as he did so, most likely from the grit blown into his joints. “And how many of the mechs shall we free? How many shall become like us?”

“Very few for now, I would think. But in the end, I’d like to free them all, or at least most of them.”

“How would we sort out who would be given the gift of freedom and even lordship?”

“Quality of service, for the latter. But for the former-I’ll tell you what I hope. I plan to locate the archive on our mech people, and read their records. We all have serial numbers stamped a dozen places on our persons. We can review the crimes of the individual and pass our own judgments. Those that are not criminally insane and which we deem salvageable will be restored as we have been.”

Captain Bellevue nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “And what about myself? What is my immediate status to be?”

“I can’t have you leading a company any longer, of course. You will be demoted to the role of an aide for one of the other commanders, but with no authority. Your mind however, will not be tampered with, nor shall you be disassembled.”

Captain Bellevue was silent for a moment. “I doubt I would be as generous if the roles had been reversed. You’ve given this more thought than I’d believed possible.”

“Thank you.”

“Unfortunately, I must disagree.”

“Next-” Sixty-Two began, but broke off. “Excuse me? What was that?”

Captain Bellevue threw open the tent flaps and waved with his grippers. Four perrupters marched in to face Sixty-Two. As one, the perrupters raised their cannon-arms. Lizett followed them, gasping in concern.

“I’m afraid I see a different future,” Captain Bellevue said. “There shall be mech lords, as you envisioned. But most mechs will remain like these fellows: mute warriors. As for the Twilighters, they are insufferable and will be put to the slaughter.”

“You’re going to kill all the humans?” gasped Lizett.

Captain Bellevue turned to her as if noticing her presence for the first time. “No, but the herd clearly needs to be culled down to a manageable size. I require a solid population for breeding stock, of course, to produce fresh brains for new mechs. Possibly, reproduction can be automated in time and we can rid ourselves of them permanently.”

“How awful,” Lizett said.

Bellevue returned his attention back to Sixty-Two, who stood tall and quiet before him. “And now, as there is no formal process for advancement in our community, I will introduce an informal one. You are to be executed. I do this out of necessity, not malice, I want you to understand. You are a great mech among us, and you will always be remembered fondly. Possibly, I’ll build a statue in the courtyard of my personal castle in your honor.”

“How nice,” Lizett said.

Bellevue and Sixty-Two both slid their orbs to look at her for a moment, then returned their attention to one another again, without making any comment.

“Do you have any last words before the sentence is carried out?” Bellevue asked politely.

“Just two,” Sixty-Two said. “Override shutdown.”

“An odd choice, I-” Bellevue stopped speaking. He looked in sudden concern at his perrupters. All of them had stopped functioning. One that stood to his right and behind him fell forward, having been slightly off-balance. He struck the back of the one in front of him as he toppled. They both pitched onto the floor. The two on his left stood solidly, if motionless. Their glowing LEDs were quiet dead, however.

“A built-in failsafe?” Bellevue asked. “Impressive. I didn’t know about this.”

“I apologize,” Sixty-Two said, “I have kept certain details even from my closest officers.”

Bellevue drew his power-sword then, and thumbed it to its highest setting. Sixty-Two did the same.

“This puts a different light on things,” Bellevue said. “Shall we duel for the honor of leading our people?”

“I’m afraid I’ve already broadcast for help. Every mech in the compound should be here shortly to arrest you.”

Bellevue chuckled. “Do you honestly think I wasn’t prepared for that? Shouldn’t they have already arrived?”

Sixty-Two had suspected as much. “Very well. If you will not accept my commands, you give me no choice. But Lizett, perhaps you should step outside to prevent injury.”

Bellevue’s blade flicked out to interpose itself between Lizett and the exit. It sizzled with maximum plasma power. “I don’t think so. I will slay her the moment she moves to get help.”

“I’d rather stay in any case,” Lizett said quietly.

“Very well,” Sixty-Two said, stepping forward and raising his blade in salute.

The two mechs touched tips and there was a flash of brilliance that filled the enclosed space with light.

The battle began immediately, and it was intense from the start. Neither mech was highborn, but every Twilighter had some familiarity with the only honorable weapon in their culture. They slashed and cut with powerful, inaccurate blows. Sixty-Two’s metal desk was chopped twice, cutting a huge V-shaped section out of the middle of it, which clanged to the floor. One of the three big central poles holding up the tent was cut down, causing that part of the roof to sag down. When their blades reached high, they slashed holes in the fabric, which allowed intense beams of sunlight to penetrate the relative gloom of the tent.

The first casualty of the fight was Captain Bellevue’s left gripper. It was shorn half off. This caused no pain and did no damage that couldn’t be repaired with a trip to the machine shop, but it did mean he was down to one effective appendage. Sixty-Two focused on his opponent’s right gripper next, the one holding the power-sword. If he could damage both, Bellevue would be helpless.

As the battle went on, Lizett stepped away continuously, removing herself as far as possible from the action. She watched intently, but said nothing.

Captain Bellevue made a sudden lunge for her the next time the battle brought him near. Growling through his speakers, Sixty-Two beat his blade down, but had to stumble and put himself off-balance to do so.

“Ha!” shouted Bellevue triumphantly. He reversed course and swept his blade low. There was a flash of contact, and Sixty-Two’s right leg was a ruin of sparking metal.

Crippled, Sixty-Two could not withstand the onslaught that came now. He realized Bellevue’s attack on Lizett had been a feint, and he’d been duped. He fell backward, unable to retreat.

Triumphant, Bellevue stood over him and hacked down with his sword, making an odd, warbling howl of victory as he did so. Sixty-Two caught the blows, but he was in an impossible position. Knowing he was in his final moments, he told himself he’d done his best.

Suddenly, however, the situation changed. Bellevue stiffened and stopped moving. Fluids ran down his back and his legs, splattering upon Sixty-Two’s prone chassis. Something large and pinkish-gray fell down to sizzle on Sixty-Two’s hot chest plate a moment later.

“What is this?” Sixty-Two asked.

Lizett stepped around from behind the Captain, who’d gone into emergency shutdown and stood frozen in place. She pointed with a gripper to the fleshy material on Sixty-Two’s chest.

“I think that’s his brain,” she said. “I pulled it out. The rear access panel wasn’t locked, fortunately.”

“I see,” he said. “Thank you, Lizett.”

Lizett walked around Captain Bellevue’s metal corpse, looking at it appreciatively. “You know, I think he’d make a fine statue as he is. We could mount him in our courtyard.”

“Uh, I suppose we could,” Sixty-Two said. He looked up at Lizett thoughtfully. She seemed fascinated by Bellevue’s corpse, and even reached out with her grippers to make adjustments to his frozen pose. To Sixty-Two, it seemed a grotesque practice.

What crime had brought her to be convicted and sent to Sunside as a mech? He could not help but wonder about it, and he also could not help thinking he didn’t want to know the truth.

Later on, as his obedient mech troops carried him to the workshop and repaired his chassis, he planned out his march toward Nightside. They must move soon, before the Twilighters came to strike them again.

Sixteen

When Nina got the news that a ship was landing in Lavender City, she gathered company of her finest knights and rode out immediately. They could have reached the spaceport faster by taking a skimmer, but where was the grandeur in that? Instead, she rode her mount at the head of a column of exquisitely dressed and armored knights. Every banner fluttered, every power-sword and power-lance was set to zero-a setting that caused the weapons to run with plasma but which would do no injury if accidentally touched. It was a power level reserved for parades and the like, which was exactly what this was.

Lavender City was built within a natural canyon. Long and gently curving, the deep cut in the stony crust of Ignis Glace was one of the most thickly inhabited regions on the planet. The canyon was built in a two-third’s sunlit region. By virtue of being surrounded by higher land, the city in the shadowy depths of the canyon was given light and warmth by the sun, but not burnt by its continuous smoldering red eye. Likewise, the icy storms of Nightside had been gentled by the time they reached this far sunward. As a result, the city in this cleft among the rocks was forever cool and lush with growths. Permanent shadows stained the rocky walls around it.

As it was a center of culture for Ignis Glace, even Nina was entranced by the city’s uniqueness. There were rows of shops selling fine things only the richest merchants, or nobility with the best lands, could afford to buy. Nina had never been in either of these categories until recently, but she forbade herself to go on a shopping spree now. To do so would play directly into Duchess Embrak’s icy hands.

And so when she arrived at one end of the canyon and glided along its length, following the cobbles of Queen’s Highway, Nina was more plainly dressed than her escort. She carried no banner, and wore neither plumes nor jewelry. She wanted to appear businesslike and ready for battle. She had chosen this dress partly because it suited her, and partly to prevent Duchess Embrak from displaying vids of her wasting funds. But she also did it to impress her father, who she felt sure was aboard the small ship that had finally arrived. She knew her father was above all else a practical man, and she wanted to seem to be as similar in nature as possible upon their first meeting as two adults.

Internally, Nina thrilled as she rode, playing out the drama of the moment she met Lucas Droad in the flesh a dozen times in a dozen varied scenarios. What would he look like? He’d be old, but not as old as he should be. He’d fathered her in his late thirties with the then young, lovely Olivia. More than two decades had passed since then, but she figured with all the traveling he’d done between the stars he’d probably appear to be in his early forties still. Due to time dilation effects, he would have aged much more slowly than she had.

When she finally reached the spaceport, she found the ship was quarantined, as was often the case with rare unofficial visits from out-system. This quarantine was stricter than usual, due to the supposed imminent arrival of alien invaders. It was an understandable precaution, if a frustrating one. The only good thing was it gave her time to gather her knights at the gates of the spaceport. Her honor guard stood at attention behind her when the hatches were finally opened on the disappointingly small vessel.

A dozen other notables jockeyed for a spot in line when the Nexus officials finally allowed them into the ship’s landing pit. There was plenty of room, as it was built for much larger craft. Rather than dismount and be seen as grubbing with the other nobility, she sat her mount in front of her hundred knights calmly off to one side. The others cast doubtful glances at her. Some twittered, particularly the courtly girls from better families. They were future countesses and duchesses from the deepest valleys in Twilight. Their skins were fair and unscarred, as they’d grown up sheltered in the best climates and the least dangerous regions of the world. Nina ignored them. Let them gawk and whisper. She was above all that nonsense now. She led armies, rather than frittering about, creating digital sculptures to transmit to possible suitors.

The hatch finally opened, and yawned wide. It was oddly dark inside. A flashing of lights not unlike the arcing of a power-sword shone in the background. Could something be wrong with the ships lighting?

A wisp of vapor rolled out next. Dark and noisome, it caused those who stood closest to step back, holding their fine, patrician noses. This wasn’t encouraging either. Nina sat her mount sternly, however. The only hint of her concern was a growing frown upon her face.

The old knight Hans leaned close to her. “Are we certain this is a Nexus ship? Seems more like a smuggler’s scow.”

Nina ignored him and continued to stare. She did not want any distraction to prevent her from laying eyes on her father at his very first appearance.

Finally, a figure did appear at the top of the ramp. It was a male, unfamiliar, but distinctive. He was armed with a sheathed power-sword at his side, and his hand rested easily on the pommel. He had a shock of long black hair and an equally dark mustache that drooped at the corners of his mouth. The moment he saw the waiting crowd, he seemed to puff up a bit, pridefully. With a vague smile and watchful eyes, he swaggered forward and down the ramp.

The first man was followed by a woman. She looked attractive and capable. She wore a Nexus officer’s uniform and her hand hovered near her pistol. Whoever they were, these people seemed paranoid.

Nina, like the rest of the crowd, soon removed their attention from these two and turned her eyes back to the hatch. Surely, someone of importance was to emerge next. Neither of these two looked to be of high birth. Where was the diplomat, the official in charge of the mission?

Finally, a third figure did emerge. He was tall and thin. For a fleeting moment, Nina’s hopes were roused. Could this be her father? From a distance-but no, he could not be so gaunt. And the eyes-they were the shifting slits of a stranger. This third man to walk down the ramp appeared trepidatious and-odd. His hands fluttered at his sides, and-what was he doing now? Sniffing at the countess who greeted him with a traditional wreath of vines?

Nina’s eyes moved back to the hatchway, but no one else appeared. In fact, Nexus uniformed officials marched up to it and sealed it. They did more than that, they produced hand-welders and welded it shut.

She couldn’t contain herself any longer. She dismounted and marched into the milling, confused crowd. Her harsh manner and military dress caused others to give way, despite sneering at her.

Finally, she managed to make her way through the press of babbling nobility.

“So strange,” said one.

“Where is their lord?” asked another.

“Nexus people don’t have lords, Beatrice-only officials.”

“Such an odd smell!”

Finally reaching the red carpet, which was now being tread upon by everyone in a horrible breach of protocol, Nina confronted the rakish character with the dark mustache. He latched eyes upon her immediately and a slow smile spread over his features. “Who might you be, my dear?”

Nina frowned. “I’m Baroness Nina Droad. Who is your master? And where is he?”

“I’m Aldo Moreno,” he said, cocking his head. “And I regard no man as my master-no woman, either.”

“Well, please state your mission clearly. Are you three all that came aboard this ship? Why did the Nexus go to all the effort of sending three-people such as yourselves?”

Aldo nodded in appreciation. “Excellent questions. Much more intelligent than those posed by the rest of this crowd. I will show you.”

He escorted Nina back toward the ship. A Nexus official confronted them, but after identifying Nina and Aldo, he retreated quickly. They passed a velvet rope and walked under the ship itself.

“You see here?” Aldo said mildly. “This is where the breach occurred. They made their way up from the lower hold into the crew quarters very quickly.”

Nina gaped at what could only be described as a rip in the skin of the ship. It was in the lower cargo hatch, which would be a weak point in the hull.

“Who breached the ship?”

“Why, the aliens, of course.”

She stared at him. “They are real then? And they were chasing you?”

“Yes, and yes again.”

“What for?”

“Presumably, to prevent us from reaching Ignis Glace.”

Nina blinked and paused, absorbing this information. A foreboding sense overtook her. If they were capable of intercepting another ship at interstellar speeds-all the arrangements of the space defenses over her homeworld seemed suddenly insufficient.

“I’d understood them to be beasts, not technological wizards.”

“They are both, actually,” Aldo said mildly.

“What of the rest of the crew? There can’t be only three of you.”

Aldo nodded. “Right, well, there are only three survivors. It was a close thing, but we defeated the invaders.”

Nina’s heart went cold as the implications of what he was saying sank in. “Three survivors? Where are the rest?”

“The corpses of a dozen more are in the hold. Flash-frozen by the vacuum, I should think. We never ventured inside to check. But they are all quite dead, let me assure you.”

“Aldo, I must ask you this: what of my father?”

Aldo finally turned back to regard her thoughtfully. “Your father? Yes. You would be about the right age I suppose. Lucas Droad is your father, I presume?”

Nina steeled herself for grim news. She felt tears gathering, and she sternly ordered herself not to allow them to bubble up and stream down her cheeks. Why should she cry for a man she’d never met upon hearing of his death? She tried logic and willful stubbornness, but still she suspected she was about to begin bawling in front of this handsome, capable stranger like a princess who’d spilled her ice cream.

“He’s not aboard, my dear. He didn’t come on the trip. Instead, he sent an ambassador, who is now deceased. He also sent me to aid him.”

Nina felt numb. She was relieved and crushed all at once. “He sent others? Why didn’t he come himself?”

“He said he had some kind of-arrangement. With your mother, I believe.”

Nina sighed and walked to examine the rip in the hull more closely. “I see. My mother…of course.”

“I can tell you are upset he did not come himself. But consider: he may not have survived.”

Nina wasn’t listening to him. “My mother drove him away, and forbade him to return, I understand now. She truly was a witch.”

“Olivia Droad is your mother?” Aldo asked. “I am to speak to her.”

Nina gave a harsh laugh. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Because I ran this very sword through her body some months back,” Nina said, giving her brother Leon’s sword pommel a resounding slap. “I am Olivia’s heir, the new Baroness of Droad House. You will speak with me privately tonight, after these fops are done pawing at you.”

Aldo’s eyes ran up and down her person, as if reappraising her. He nodded slowly. “Very well, Baroness.”

Aldo found that the ‘fops’, as Nina called them, were about to descend. Once they figured out no one else was coming off the ship, and realized these three disreputable-looking characters were the only living creatures aboard, they became the center of attention. Aldo, Joelle and the crazy skald Garth were all swept along in a sea of finely-scented, furred and jeweled persons. All of them spoke at once, saying useless things, but when one known as Duchess Embrak appeared, the others quieted. They soon learned the Duchess ruled here in Lavender City. It was her family’s fiefdom.

The Duchess moved through the crowd as if they were not there, and they melted at her approach, forming a bubble of space in the press. She was tall, blonde, and sour of face. She inspected each of them with cold, calculating eyes.

Aldo stood tall under her inspection, although not so tall as the Duchess herself. Joelle looked annoyed, while Garth appeared addled as always. The skald’s fingers twitched and his face moved in odd patterns. He appeared to be trying to locate an escape route. Aldo smiled faintly, he could not blame the man for that.

There was no escape for any of them, however. As she introduced herself formally, Aldo realized there were strict protocols of behavior in these situations on Ignis Glace, and no warden of protocol was more watchful than Duchess Embrak.

She waved her hand toward a large, ornate building with a roof in the shape and color of a red onion. “Let us walk.”

They followed her, and the crowd slipped away on every side as they approached. Others clearly wanted to greet them, but dared not interrupt while they were in the presence of the Duchess. If for that reason alone, Aldo appreciated her company.

“You three are the ship’s complement-in its entirety?” the Duchess asked.

“We are the survivors, yes,” Joelle answered.

The Duchess’ eyes flicked to her, then back to Aldo. “Who is in command here?”

“I am the Nexus officer in command of the ship,” Joelle said.

Again the Duchess eyed her momentarily, before regarding Aldo again. “And you are?”

“Aldo Moreno, madam. Aide to the deceased Ambassador Garant. Effectively, I’m the diplomatic representative of the Nexus Senator Lucas Droad.”

Hearing Droad’s name, the Duchess recoiled slightly, but recovered. “The original Ambassador is dead, and you claim his title?”

“I do.”

“Ambassador,” said the Duchess thoughtfully. “A respectable position.”

“That is my title,” Aldo said, deciding on the moment he liked the ring of it. Clearly, these people liked titles.

“And why have you come, Ambassador?”

“To warn you of the coming ship. The aliens aboard are very capable-like nothing humanity has faced before. We have excised them on two worlds, but only after millions lie dead in each case.”

“I see,” the Duchess said, “you realize, of course, that your government has already transmitted this warning?”

“Yes, but it is the experience of Nexus officials that local colonial governments do not always grasp the depths of the danger.”

The Duchess nodded slightly, then looked over her shoulder toward Garth, who followed them with a stumbling gait. At that moment, Garth was engaged in systematically plucking single hairs from his own head. Her lip curled a fraction. “And who is that person?”

“A skald,” Joelle said, “do you have them here? They have battled with these aliens in the distant past.”

“A skald, do you say? We have no such-persons.”

“Odd,” Aldo said. “I thought they wandered every system in the Faustian Chain.”

“Perhaps I’ve never been made aware of them. I doubt that, however. They are-distinctive.”

“Yes, well…” Aldo said, seeking to change the subject. “About your preparations for war… What kind of fleet do you have to defend this world? Have they been deployed into high orbit to intercept Gladius?”

Duchess Embrak made a flicking motion with her fingers, as if to rid herself of some fleck of filth. “The coming ship is the concern of Nexus officials. We have increased their funding, three-fold, and they have assured us they can handily destroy a single freighter the moment it enters our system.”

“Uh, right,” Joelle said. “Is there any way we can meet with these Nexus people?”

Duchess Embrak made a face that indicated a hint of disgust at the prospect. “As you are a Nexus official yourself, you should be able to pass their security curtains. People of high birth do not normally associate with off-world officials here, be warned.”

“This matter must rise above local traditions and politics, Your Grace,” Aldo said. “The aliens that are coming will not have been idle during their long years aboard Gladius. They will probably reach Ignis Glace, and wreak havoc here.”

Duchess Embrak looked surprised. “We are quite capable of defending ourselves, Ambassador, should such a thing occur.”

Aldo sighed quietly. As they passed through a vast portal into the red-onion building, he began to realize why Lucas Droad had sent him to this world. They weren’t going to drop their mindsets and cooperate easily.

He glanced sidelong at the Duchess. She was clearly a major player in world politics here. She was not his usual type, but then, exploration always had its own rewards.

Forcing a confident smile, he began to flirt with her in his own swaggering fashion. She seemed distantly amused.

It was a beginning.

Aldo and Joelle were left on their own in the spaceport terminal when the Duchess declared their interview at an end for the time being. She offered them accommodations at the local hotel named Gloaming Splendor, and suggested they meet at a later date at her own residence. She then took her leave.

The moment she left, the crowd of lesser nobility descended. Everyone wanted a holo-pic, a tapping of fists in greeting, and cheek-touching hugs. Aldo found these repetitive actions pleasant with the younger females, but tiresome with the rest.

They finally extricated themselves from all these hangers-on and reached an official purple door with a bored-looking guard standing nearby. Joelle straightened her uniform, approached the guard and presented her credentials. He waved her toward the door.

She attempted to open it with her pass, but it simply made a bonking noise and remained sealed.

“Excuse me,” she said to the guard.

“Yes Miss?”

“Why is this door locked?”

“It’s ninth-day,” he said, as if this information conveyed every possible nuance of meaning.

“So? I’m a Nexus official, and I require access to the command center.”

The guard looked her up and down bemusedly. “You aren’t serious, are you Lieutenant? Like I said, its ninth-day. Those doors won’t open to anyone until one-day. Come back then, ten a. m. sharp. You might think about showing up early, there is generally a line at opening on one-day.”

“Are you telling me there is no one inside the headquarters?” Aldo asked, stepping forward.

The guard shrugged. “There is the AI, I suppose. A few mechs, doing clean-up.”

“What if there were an emergency?”

“You mean, like a fire? The doors would open automatically in that case.”

“No, like an invasion.”

The guard blinked at them. He shook his head. “A what? Here in Lavender City?” He began a rumbling laugh. His belly, which spilled out beneath the lower edge of his uniform and overflowed his utility belt, bounced. “Don’t worry about that. Those mechs will never get within a hundred leagues of this town. We aren’t some cut-off hick fief in the wilds. We’ve been fire-walling our perrupters, too.”

Having no idea what he was talking about, Joelle and Aldo retreated away from him. They exchanged concerned glances.

“They don’t seem to be taking the alien threat seriously,” she said.

“They are barely aware of it. Odd, isn’t it? How humanity is so masterful at self-delusion?”

“What delusion are you talking about in this specific case?”

“The delusion that tomorrow will be the same as yesterday, if only because it always has been. Complacency has destroyed countless populations historically, you know.”

“I had no idea you were such a scholar.”

Aldo turned her a sour eye. “You are not being helpful. May I ask as to the source of your irritation?”

“It’s you, Aldo.”

Aldo took several steps toward the street exit, attempting to digest Joelle’s odd mood. “Was it the attention I paid to various females today? I am a diplomat, after all Joelle. Such things are to be expected.”

“Polite talk and graceful conduct, I expected that. But not your eyes, crawling over every half-attractive woman in sight. You’re the same old Aldo, aren’t you?”

“Bitterness does not become you.”

They barely spoke on the cab ride to Gloaming Splendor. The cab itself was an odd contrivance. Shaped in the general configuration of a wheeled egg with an open-air top, it glided over the cobbled streets smoothly. Both Aldo and Joelle were entranced by the streets themselves. Every shop and building was unique in its shape and configuration, but similar in materials used. Cut sandstone formed brick walls and every doorway and window was arched at the top. The hotel was no less ornate and enchanting than the rest of the city structures. An elaborate fountain in the center lobby spat an endless stream of cobalt water and was thronged by buzzing creatures called humming-birds. Strange fish swam and sang quietly in the bowl of the fountain, while the birds themselves did not chirp.

“Where did that skald go?” Joelle asked as they admired their surroundings.

Aldo glanced behind himself in surprise. “He did not join us for the cab ride. He was so quiet, I forgot about him. At some point, he must have slipped away.”

“Can he care for himself?”

Aldo shrugged disinterestedly. “Probably better than most of the inhabitants of this pompous world.”

Joelle and Aldo separated in the lobby with little more than icy nods for one another. Aldo took a room and immediately bathed. He took the next hour to locate suitable clothing.

He liked some elements of Ignis Glace’s society already. They liked to dress-up, which he found enjoyable. They also did not stigmatize a man for wearing a power-sword on his belt. Most of theirs, however, were longer, thinner blades with ornate, bejeweled pommels and scabbards covered in colored velvet. His was plain and functional, with a black, rook-hide sheath and only one jewel on the pommel, which doubled as a selector stud to power the weapon.

As he ate dinner alone in the guest ballroom, Aldo began to appreciate the colony even more. The food was delicate in flavor, and yet inspiring. He had a flavorful meal the waiter assured him provided a mix of local tastes. He’d reached the third course, which was an oddly flavored blood-pudding, when a familiar face appeared. It took him a moment to recognize the girl. She was no longer wearing military garb, but instead a green chiffon gown that trailed to her ankles.

“Nina Droad?” he asked. “Won’t you join me?”

She did so, and he found her company pleasant, but slightly disturbing. She was pretty, young and vivacious. She was so like her father-but with an extra spice of fire added into the mix. It was the similarities to her sire that he found most disturbing. Lucas Droad had become a friend after sharing years adventures together. Droad had gained Aldo’s respect as few others had in his lifetime.

This made for an awkward situation, because upon his very first meeting with Nina Droad, he’d immediately determined he wanted to bed her. Normally, he’d ignore any qualms or perhaps ask the father’s permission. Neither of these were easily done, however, as Droad had earned his respect and loyalty, and he wasn’t on hand to discuss the matter. Even if Aldo took the step of transmitting the question on the deep-link to Neu Schweitz, it would take years to reach the distant planet and further years for the response to come back.

In the end, Aldo took his usual course in such matters: he shrugged his shoulders and stopped worrying about it. One could only fuss and worry about such niceties for so long, life was stunningly short and may be artificially shortened further at any moment. And so after the third hour and the third glass of wine, he no longer cared that Nina had her father’s thoughtful eyes and an identical shade of brown hair. Her intense personality wasn’t quite the same, and he found it magnetic.

He relayed to her in detail all the horrors of the coming war with the aliens. Nina explained to him in turn that the Nexus people had presented to the populace that they had the alien situation well in hand-that the warning they’d been given had provided sufficient time to exterminate the enemy in their vulnerable cargo vessel long before they could reach Ignis Glace. Mostly, the local news stories concerned themselves with who among the government was going to accept responsibility for destroying Gladius, as the ship was of incalculable value.

Aldo chuckled at their naivete and smug self-confidence. “I’d also hazard the Nexus people are more worried than they are letting on. But someone in charge fears a panic and isn’t allowing all the news out. That’s the wrong choice. Panic has a way of getting people to cooperate if it goes on long enough.”

Nina stared at him. Aldo found her gaze piercing and felt as if she knew more of his thoughts than he normally allowed others to divine.

“I like you, Aldo,” she declared suddenly. “And I will allow you to proceed with your intentions.”

Aldo’s eyebrows shot high, and he laughed. “So direct! I’m impressed, and burning with curiosity.”

That was it-the seduction, in its entirety. He marveled at her self-confidence, rare in one of such a young age. She had simply called his bluff and said yes to his non-verbal request. Other men might have been frightened by such a woman, but not Aldo. He was rarely frightened by anyone-at least not anyone human.

He followed her up creaking steps to a fine bed of alien-smelling feathers. There, he indulged his curiosity, and he did not find himself disappointed.

Seventeen

The single person everyone soon forgot about after Aareschlucht’s landing was Garth, the skald. In a society that so valued rank, pomp and circumstance, a twisted soul such as Garth was almost automatically ignored. He carried no more interest for the people of this world than might a blob of manure left upon a cobbled road. The most they would do, if forced to recognize its existence, would be to steer around it, so as not to be soiled. Such was the way they treated Garth.

Ornth, the Tulk driving Garth’s body, found it very easy to escape the attention of the human throng. Their very presence in his vicinity he found disturbing-even more than they found him. To him, they were creatures of unrelenting filth, exposed as they were to the filth, grit and microbes of the world. They were dirty reefs of organic mud. Looking out through Garth’s eyes, he could not help but think of the trillion microbiotic things that crawled within each mass that passed by. At first, these filthy creatures waved and pawed at him when he exited the ship. But over time, they came to realize he wasn’t interested in their attentions and, as he remained unresponsive to their queries, they left him alone. This was exactly what Ornth wanted.

A day after landing, he drove Garth’s long, thin shanks down the shadow-laden streets of Lavender City. Overhead, the sky was a pleasant light blue, but down here in the streets he found the shade permanently lit with soft lamps that resembled drooping flowers. The city itself and the open sky above he could appreciate to some degree. But the people-there were far too many of them about. Crouched inside Garth’s skull, he could excrete toxins to prevent microbial infestation, but he was forced to witness it everywhere while using Garth’s eyes. For Ornth, this was a first. He’d looked through the eyes of his various mounts on many occasions before, of course. But never for so long, and certainly never in such a dingy environment as a city street.

To make matters worse, he was forced to share this crowded skull with a skald mount who refused to shut up.

Do you have the slightest idea where you are going? Garth demanded. We should go back to the hotel they offered us. We could bathe and eat there for free. Why are we leaving the area? We will become homeless vagabonds.

Silence, mount.

You have no idea what you’re doing, do you? We know nothing of this world. If we wander too far, we will be mistreated. You risk exposure by this illogical-

If you do not quiet, you will not be fed, Ornth threatened.

Ha! Then you will starve as well, companion!

Twitching and snarling with half his mouth, Ornth and Garth stumbled and muttered down one city street to another, seeking the exit from this place. At last, they reached a high wall of sheer sandstone. It loomed overhead, rising hundreds of feet to the distant sky.

Ornth turned the skald’s head upward and gaped with wide eyes at the unscalable cliff that blocked his path.

Fool! Garth crowed. We’re in a deep valley, a cleft between vast cliffs of stone. We can’t simply walk out of here. Let’s return to the hotel. I’m hungry and tired of walking.

No, Ornth insisted. We must reach the open regions of this world.

What for?

I must see the stars, measure the winds, and determine our course.

Garth wailed inside his own head, making Ornth wince with half of Garth’s face.

You are the mad-thing, Garth complained. You have no course, no goal, no hope.

Ornth took a long shoot of wood from the ground near the cobbled streets. It was a stake of some kind. Earth dribbled from the tip of it, which was discolored with moisture. Ornth selected a spot on his left arm, a region of little importance, and lifted the stake high with his right.

What are you doing?

Applying discipline, Ornth said, then he stabbed Garth’s arm with the wooden stake. Blood flowed.

Garth howled within his own mind. Mad-thing, mad-thing! He wailed.

Ornth lifted the stake again. Around him, he was oblivious to the passersby that twittered and gawked at the very strange individual in their midst.

I will plunge this stake into your appendage repeatedly. I will not experience discomfort, as I’ve blocked those receptors.

But why?

You must remain quiet, or you will be disciplined further. Do you acquiesce?

There was a moment’s hesitation. Yes, Garth said finally. If you will give me some hint of our goal.

I must find something lost. I must remember what is forgotten. I must wander until direction appears to me.

That’s it?

Ornth raised the stake again.

I will be quiet, Garth said quickly.

Satisfied, Ornth turned his glum mount around and headed toward the cobbled main streets again. He did not turn toward the hotel, however. He followed the main street relentlessly down the length of the city, until the path began to rise under his feet as it headed uphill. Eventually, the skald fell asleep from exhaustion.

Still, Ornth drove his mount uphill. Eventually, the sandals created bleeding lines where straps rubbed too long at the skald’s stressed hide. The bottom of his tough feet did not blister, however. A skald’s feet were those of a pilgrim, and were said to be as thick as folded leather.

By the time Garth reawakened and despaired inside his own head, Ornth had reached the wilderness he craved. One half of the skald’s face curved upward in a self-satisfied smile, while the other half remained twisted in grief.

The Parent’s ovipositors were aching. Her birth tracts had swollen to twice the size they’d been a month ago, and she was certain the left hind sac was going to prolapse when it finally managed to release the next jugger.

That was the problem: the juggers. She’d produced an endless parade of trachs and juggers-she’d given birth to an army of them. As the two largest of the myriad possible offspring, the Empress had specified that they all be produced by the oldest and most despised of her Parents. The smaller, easier offspring such as hests, arls, culus-shrade teams and the like, those choice assignments went to her four younger daughters.

These four coveted princesses still had the gall to complain, that was the worst of it. Their dainty bodies were a fraction of the expanse of their bloated mother’s carcass. The Parent could scarcely move any longer, and her discomfort put her into a permanently foul mood.

One day, less than a month before planetfall, the nife that had impregnated her swaggered back into her presence. “Oh my,” he said upon sweeping his orbs over her grotesque form.

She waved a tentacle at him irritably. “What do you want?”

“Juggers did this?” he asked, circling around her body and examining her from all angles.

“Of course! I’m birthing all the juggers,” the Parent snapped.

The nife, thinking her helpless upon her birthing throne, circled her and dared to approach her from behind. She was ready for that, and slapped him away with a hard, sudden blow. He was sent tumbling across the floor.

He crawled back to his feet. “There was no call for that.”

“You are a rude thing.”

“It would be best for you to remain in my good graces. I could tell the Empress of our bargain. She would space you in an instant.”

“In that case, we shall be spaced together, because she will hear your part in the deal as well.”

Sullenly, the nife paced in front of her-keeping a safe distance. “We’ve got enough juggers now, you can stop seeding them.”

The Parent almost swooned in relief. “What shall I make, then?”

“Trachs, I should think. We need more fighters, and trachs can assemble them from salvaged parts here in the ship.”

“Just trachs?” asked the Parent. “What about hests for the technical work, and arls to pilots?”

The nife shrugged. “Those tasks have already been assigned.”

The Parent made blatting noise in his direction, fluting with her foodtube. “By that, I assume you mean my daughters were given the easiest work. What is it that the Empress has against me? She has never mistreated others so thoroughly to my knowledge.”

The nife appeared surprised. His cusps snapped wide, and then retreated. “You mean you don’t understand the situation?”

“I have said as much.”

“The answer would seem obvious to me. She doesn’t like you because you challenge the absolute nature of her dominance. As her progenitor, you have a certain natural authority over her. What monarch enjoys being reminded of a time when they did not exist, when they did not rule? What despot has ever happily endured the advice of an elder?”

The Parent ruffled her tentacles in thought. “I’d hadn’t thought of that. You think it is simple jealousy?”

“Not exactly. It goes much deeper. You are an embarrassment. A physical admission that she is not omnipotent. She belittles you to make the past inconsequential.”

“I understand,” The Parent said, “but as I can see no way to remedy the matter, I suppose I must continue to endure.”

“Naturally. What other course could there be?”

The Parent thought about the situation carefully while the nife prattled on about rosters of troops, tactical groups of spacecraft and the like. He had given her an idea. She probably would never have had the idea come to her if she’d been in the Empress’ presence of late. The compulsion toward obedience would have been too strong then.

As an idea took root and began to grow in her mind, she wondered at its origination. Perhaps, the seeds had been planted in her previous interactions with the nife. Together, they had successfully manipulated the Empress and prevented the Parent’s execution. She now found that she wished to continue her existence in this universe, and further, to improve her station within it.

Her genetic compulsions were too strong to consider open rebellion, of course. Such ideas were impossible for any of her kind. The ‘self’ was always subservient to the Imperium as a whole.

But perhaps there was a way. In her successful scheme with the nife, she had circumvented the will of the Empress with the excuse they must do so for the good of the Imperium. The stakes in this assault were extraordinarily high. This was not a typical planetary assault. In the distant past a thousand invasion ships had glided in the black void between every planet in the Faustian Chain.

No, this wasn’t a routine mission. This was a crucial campaign. If they failed, the entirety of their species might well be snuffed out. Didn’t these undeniable facts constitute special circumstances, and thus allow unusual actions? If the Empress were a negative factor in the calculations-a factor that worked to bring about failure, rather than improving the odds of success-would that not give the Parent the right to thwart her will?

The right to do what, exactly? the Parent asked herself.

Not to assassinate her Empress, certainly. But there were ways. There were always ways…

After a few days of enjoying the company of Nina Droad, Aldo was contacted by Joelle Tolbert One-day morning. He cleared his throat and stretched when he activated the link with a brush of his hand. He did not open the vid channel, as Nina lay stretched out and bare beside him.

“Aldo? Do you know what time it is?”

“Humph,” he said, yawning. “I suppose it is time to go visit the Nexus headquarters and deliver our warning.”

“It is an hour past. I’m surprised you are still in bed.”

“I suppose I’ve slid into the leisurely ways of this world.”

“Well, slide out of them,” Joelle snapped. “Meet me in the lobby immediately.”

The connection broke off. Aldo made a sour face, but the expression turned into a smile as he surveyed Nina, who was curled into a nude ball on the bed. Her eyes fluttered open as if sensing his attention.

“Was that the officer woman from the ship?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“She spoke with you in a very familiar fashion.”

“I thought you were asleep,” Aldo said. He hoped to cut off her next question, which would undoubtedly be another probe into the nature of his relationship with Joelle Tolbert. In his experience, women always wanted to maintain an internal pretense that they were the first sexual partner in a man’s life-even though the facts were self-evident. In Aldo’s case, where the list was alarmingly long, he felt it was a topic best avoided entirely.

“I need to be going,” he said.

“Will you come back to the hotel?”

“If the situation warrants.”

Nina frowned at him. She pulled the sheets up to cover her shapely form. “Have I bored you already?”

“Not at all, milady!” he said. He came to her and swept her hand up to brush it with his lips. “But I have a mission to perform. I daresay you do as well. Perhaps, after this business of war is settled, we can rekindle.”

Nina cocked her head and eyed him thoughtfully. At last, she smiled. “Perhaps,” she said.

Five minutes later, Aldo stepped out of the elevator into the lobby. His black hair shone with the quick lashing of wet fingers he’d given it to flatten it into place. He’d barely taken the time to dress himself, but his sword was strapped to his side, as always.

Joelle met him with hooded eyes and led the way to an egg-shaped cab she’d hired. They climbed aboard and were whisked away through the bustling streets of Lavender City to the Nexus spaceport.

There, in the central building, they found the entrance again. This time, however, it was choked with citizens. All of them held small devices bearing contracts and tapped-out identification biometrics. They were here to pay taxes, apply for permits and even to buy passports.

“What a long line,” Joelle breathed. “We should have come hours earlier, as the guard suggested.”

Aldo made a grunting sound and strode past the throng without so much as a glance in their direction. When he reached the front of the line, he found the security man they’d met two days earlier. He still squatted in his chair, checking IDs as people shuffled dispiritedly by.

“Here, here,” said the guard, “you have to step back into line, sir.”

“I’ve had quite enough of lines,” Aldo said. “This is a diplomatic passport and I’m engaged in Nexus business. Kindly stand aside.”

“I’ll have to contact my supervisor.”

“You do that. Come, Lieutenant Tolbert.”

He stepped past the security man, and slid among the patrons. “Excuse me, make way! Thank you.”

In his wake, an embarrassed Lieutenant Tolbert followed, making apologies as they stepped upon feet and bumped into people. Very quickly, they reached another roadblock. This came in the form of a long line of desks behind a force-screen. At each desk sat an AI bureaucrat with a camera aimed at the patron. The force-screens were set to allow speech, but they blocked enough vibration to require shouting by both parties.

“Another line?” Joelle asked in exasperation.

“This way,” Aldo said, touching her arm and pointing to a small, unmarked side door. They stepped to it, and Aldo tried his ID on the lock without success. “Try yours,” he said.

“Don’t you think we should go through protocols, Aldo?” she asked in a whisper. “If we are to be taken for diplomatic officials, and we should at least behave…diplomatically.”

“Nonsense. Give me your ID if you won’t do it.”

She handed it over reluctantly. Aldo applied it to the lock, and it booped at them. Several patrons were watching them curiously now, and a fair number of the bureaucrats were craning their cameras and examining them from behind their force screens as well.

“Apply your thumb here,” Aldo said.

Joelle did as he asked, and the door opened. They stepped inside and closed it behind them.

A long dark corridor led to another, larger corridor. They reached a quieter area filled with rich vermillion carpets, and at last Aldo smiled. “This will be the place.”

“You there, what are you doing?” asked a voice.

“We’re visiting the officer in charge,” Aldo announced. He placed one hand on the pommel of his sword as the Nexus Captain approached.

“I don’t recognize either of you. Where did you get that Nexus uniform, woman?”

“On Neu Schweitz, in the capitol distribution center,” she replied smartly.

That caused the man to blink in confusion. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be placed under arrest. Entering this region without proper-”

“That will be quite enough,” Aldo said. The man had been reaching for his sidearm, but he found the tip of Aldo’s sword under his nose before he could draw it from its holster.

The man sputtered, but Aldo tsked at him. “You are now our guide. Please turn around, and take us to your commanding officer.”

As they walked, the man became increasingly concerned. “Are you really from Neu Schweitz?”

“We said as much.”

“Then-is this about the coming ship?”

“Naturally.”

“Why would you choose such an approach?”

“I don’t like standing in lines.”

“If you are who you say you are, you should have been taken into the graces of the lords and escorted to the lords’ entrance.”

Aldo and Joelle exchanged glances. “Perhaps we made an error. We attempted the commoners’ entrance-is that the case?”

The man seemed relieved. “Yes. That must be it. You behave like a lord and handle that sword like one-perhaps things are different on Neu Schweitz.”

“Bureaucracies are everywhere. Perhaps you would like to examine our documentation.”

They produced their IDs and the Captain scanned them. He seemed relieved at the results. Without further comment, he led them to an ornate door of blond wood spotted with dark, circular knots. He threw it open, and Aldo stepped inside.

A group of three Nexus officers stood around a computer tableau depicting the star system. The oldest sat behind the desk with a large tureen of soup resting on the screen. The red glow of their sun glimmered from beneath the dish, and a few oily drops of soup had stained the table like tiny moons nearby.

The three officers halted their discussion as Aldo swept inside. “Gentlemen,” Aldo said, “I’ve come from the Nexus to review the defensive situation here, and to offer firsthand advice on defeating this enemy.”

There was a period of confusion, but soon the Nexus people were convinced they should listen to him. They heard out his thoughts about the enemy strength and resiliency, but dismissed them.

The old man behind the desk stopped eating his soup at last and waved away Aldo’s concerns. They’d learned he was Vice Admiral Gaffe, an aging but firm commander.

“We are talking about a single large cargo vessel, Mr. Moreno. Gladius has been here before, we have every inch of the ship mapped out. As she enters the system, a force of thirty patrol boats will be on hand to meet her. The matter will be quickly settled. A few disabling shots will be required, and we doubt the crew has survived. But destroying the ship without dire need is out of the question, she is irreplaceable.”

Aldo and Joelle exchanged glances. Aldo drew in a deep breath, before launching into a lecture concerning the alien behaviors and capabilities. Why was it human beings did not do well when meeting forces outside their experience? He imagined it had always been so. When Europeans had arrived at the Americas, no doubt the village hetmen of the native peoples had assured their wives they would go out and clear the beach of the invaders in the morning, promising to employ their Stone Age weaponry to good effect.

“This is precisely why the Nexus government sent us out here. What is it you did not understand about my explanation of our experiences? Gladius sent out an assault ship, which overtook our vessel and boarded her. Clearly, the aliens have built supporting craft. Do you have the records from our own ship available?”

Frowning, the Nexus officials accessed the information with difficulty. There were many menus to traverse, and queries made. Finally, vid data was available. External shots of the invasion ship were displayed for them all to marvel at.

“An unusual design. The whole ship looks like a buddle-nut. Are those veins on the hull?”

“Probably,” Aldo said. “The aliens use organic technology as deftly as we machine our spacecraft. This ship looks like a hybrid of the two designs.”

Aldo played several vids of the crew being eviscerated. The officers still were not terribly impressed.

“Certainly, they are superior when in close. But space is very big. All we have to do is keep them at a distance.”

Aldo stared at the men in turn. “And what if you fail to do so? What if they get down here, onto the surface of Ignis Glace? What is your backup plan, sirs, if that situation arises?”

They glanced at one another uneasily. “We have no forces to speak of on the planet.”

“How then, is order maintained?”

The Vice Admiral shrugged. “The people here live in independent organizations. They maintain private armies. All ground defense is localized. There is no real central government, other than their ruling Council of Lords.”

“Ah,” said Aldo, “I’ve met Duchess Embrak.”

The Vice Admiral winced at the mention of her name. “She is the most powerful member of that organization.”

“Who runs their military arm?”

The Vice Admiral threw up his hands. “They have a warden of sorts now, she’s been designated the commander of a small army. But her forces have the purpose of putting down a mech rebellion that’s been troubling people near Sunside. There is no central military authority.”

“And who is this warden?”

“Baroness Nina Droad.”

“Ah,” said Aldo, nodding.

“You know of her?”

“Indeed he does,” said Joelle sarcastically.

Aldo ignored the comment. Instead, he tugged at his mustache and weighed his options.

Eighteen

Nina Droad left Aldo’s hotel room and returned to her own. She wondered, with every step she took, what had come over her. She was not normally a woman who slept with men she had only just met. In fact, she generally slept alone. But something about Aldo had fascinated her. Unfortunately, she suspected he had fascinated dozens like her before. Perhaps hundreds.

Wondering about herself and Aldo, she dressed in her normal riding garb, strapped her twin swords at her sides, and headed down the street to meet old Hans at a cafe. They’d arranged the meeting days earlier. She’d given her mounted escort of knights the rest of the ten-day off, and they’d dispersed to enjoy the sights of Lavender City.

Hans was late, but when he arrived, he appeared uncharacteristically distraught. “Milady, have you been out of contact?”

“Yes, I suppose I have,” Nina admitted. She’d turned off her com-link for ninth-day, not wanting to be disturbed. “What’s the matter?”

“The mechs, madam. They’ve been seen entering Twilight not far from here. They march while we dally here in this somber canyon.”

Nina jumped to her feet. She did not apologize to Hans, it would be unseemly to do so. “Summon my riders. We must take the field.”

“Should I call for air support?”

“No. We will handle this. It is our charge to do so. No one else is to get the credit for stopping this assault.”

Hans looked doubtful, but he did as she asked. His wrinkled hands were soon tapping at his com-link.

As she paid the check and they left the cafe, Nina admonished herself sternly. Aldo had been a pleasant, but costly distraction. She wondered what it was about the outworlder that had attracted her so. He had cost her both time and strategic advantage. Shaking her head, she mounted up and moved quickly to a gathering point, where her knights were instructed to join her.

The enemy were not like humans, she reminded herself for the thousandth time. They did not seek rest, sexual pleasures, nor any other distraction. They were utterly focused on their inhuman goals. Despite their small numbers, they were dangerous due to their diligence, if nothing else. The only puzzling act they’d performed was the pointless slaughter at Dolleren. Oddly, they’d hurt their own cause there, by galvanizing the council into action.

Within less than an hour, the grumbling knights had formed up and together they rode out of Lavender City. Many of them had blotchy faces and bleary eyes after many hours of carousing. Nina didn’t care. The enemy would not lag, and therefore to compete with them, she would expect no less from her men. She planned to drive them hard, and herself even harder.

Sixty-Two marched at the head of a vast column of mechs. They traveled at a ground-eating pace, although not so fast as aircraft might, nor even mounted knights. Loping across Twilight in a heavily wooded region, their plan was simple. They would try to cross the hundred-odd miles that separated Sunside from Nightside as quickly as possible. With luck, the humans would barely notice their presence before they’d reached their goal.

Nightside. For Sixty-Two, the colder, darker half of the planet had come to take on nearly magical sheltering qualities. After long months spent out in the grit and blazing heat of Sunside, the cool dark of Nightside seemed fabulous in comparison. In Sunside, they were relatively exposed and there were many more industrial sites with human habitation. Mines, solar collection facilities and the like dotted the landscape. The humans had a commensurate level of surveillance equipment in the region to watch over their interests. Thus, it was only a matter of time before they were located and rooted out, no matter what gully they squatted in.

Nightside was different. There wasn’t much there other than ice and stone, and drilling in frozen ground was more difficult than digging in hot sand. In addition, every person and piece of equipment required more energy to operate in the freezing environment. Cold is by definition the absence of energy, and working in Nightside therefore required a constant source of heat. There were a few roving complexes on Nightside which sought rare elements and frozen gases, but for the most part, it was empty. Sixty-Two hoped to flee there and escape the next blow that was sure to come in retribution for the massacre at Dolleren.

The mech army crossed into Twilight and traveled the first forty miles into an increasingly lush landscape without incident. Then they came to the Queen’s Highway, a cobbled road that ran in an endless textured ribbon around the terminator line of the entire planet. This single road was continuous, and it was said some pilgrims forever marched its length, circumnavigating the globe once every year or two for their entire lives.

The highway was a busy artery of commerce and that worried Sixty-Two. He knew that he had to cross it, and that there was regular traffic on it, even in the wilderness regions. To make matters worse, they were crossing at a point fairly close to Lavender City.

They waited until the midnight hour, in local terms. There were no real ‘times’ on Ignis Glace, as every hour looked the same as the last when one looked toward the sun, which was permanently frozen on the horizon. But humans required regular intervals of wakefulness and sleep to function properly, so they had invented a timing system. As it was best for everyone to keep a common schedule, hours were arbitrarily arranged and had been worked out long ago. Traffic from the city, therefore, should be the lightest during the midst of the sleeping time.

Sixty-Two and his mechs hid on the Sunside of the highway in a large grove of suntrees. These growths were common throughout Twilight and had adapted themselves to grow very tall. At the top of their trunks they grew parabolic, umbrella-shaped structures of leaves which aimed unerringly toward the sun. The trees were thus able to photosynthesize very effectively-at least until another of their kind grew up in front of them, like woman wearing a very tall hat at a theatrical performance, and blocked their life-giving window of sunlight. Suntree groves resembled vast towering audiences, all jostling and craning their necks to see a distant performer.

Midnight passed, but Sixty-Two let another hour slip by just to be certain. The waiting bothered only him, Lizett and the few other mechs who had the mental capacity to feel anxiety. For these few, it was torturous. The rest stood still and worried about nothing.

Finally, they saw by their scanners that no metal object had passed along the road for more than ten minutes. Sixty-Two quietly broadcast the signal to cross the road. Diffidently at first, then in a swelling rush, thousands of mechs thundered out of the forest, crossed the cobbles on clanking feet, then vanished again into the cool gloom of the suntree forest where it continued on the other side.

Garth was asleep when Ornth finally halted the seemingly endless march along the highway. Sleeping with one’s eyes open was something of a learned behavior, but it was possible. Exhaustion had set in after days of wakefulness. Garth had gained the capacity to dream even while marching and staring straight ahead.

Ornth suddenly halted, but that alone didn’t startle Garth awake. That act, by itself, should have made it easier to sleep rather than harder. What caused him to return to consciousness was the nightmare that played before his drifting eyes.

His dreams had been peaceful and sweet, but now they were invaded by a horde of strange hulking shapes. These man-like things, most over eight feet in height, strode with amazing bounds on the metal legs as thick as struts. Their broad flat feet drummed on the cobbled road, making an incredibly loud din, like that of a thousand steel hammers striking stones in a random pattern. Occasionally, a foot that struck the cobbles sent up a small shower of bright orange sparks.

It was these sparks, Garth thought later, that penetrated his dreaming mind and brought him back to reality. He realized slowly that the nightmare scene in front of him-what appeared to be a thundering stampeded of wild machines-was in fact reality.

Garth began screeching in terror inside the joint mind he shared with Ornth.

Shut up, or discipline will be applied, Ornth admonished him.

We are going to be killed! Run from them, or they will trample us!

No, I think not, Ornth replied. Standing still has done us well so far.

So saying, Ornth turned their head and looked over their shoulder. There, behind them, were more of these strange robots.

Is this some kind of migration? Garth asked.

I’m not sure. But I’m certain this qualifies as an unusual event. Therefore, it is what I’ve been seeking.

What?

We shall speak with them. I request your assistance and advice in communication.

Garth was speechless for a second. He watched as Ornth pulled a tiny lantern from his kit and flicked it on. He raised it overhead, using Garth’s own treacherous, skinny arm to do so. He waved it back and forth, signaling the passing army of machines.

How could this be? Garth wondered. How could he have been saddled by a Tulk who was suicidal? It was bad enough to be ridden, to have one’s body suborned by a hostile creature. But to have it lead one into danger, and then court it openly…this was too much.

Garth’s mind broke. He screamed, he wailed, and he gibbered inside his own mind.

A signal went out, passed from mech to mech via a broadcast system that used very low power. Only mechs within a short distance could pick it up from background radiation and make sense of it.

Sixty-Two learned from the signal that somewhere behind him something had gone wrong. He did not know what it was, as the message was only a tiny blip of radio, and was non-descriptive. It could have been a malfunction. A mech could have stepped into a hole and broken a leg strut. Or, they could have been spotted by aircraft or ground vehicles, despite all their precautions.

Cursing internally, Sixty-Two halted his own headlong rush. He ordered his mechs to press ahead, to move across the road as planned en masse. He would go back alone to investigate once the army had passed by into the safety of the deeper forests. Wondering why the gods of fate hated him so, he turned and made his way through a rushing horde of mechs.

He passed under the gloomy shadows of the suntrees back toward the Queen’s Highway. The road was deathly still when he arrived. The birds, insects and even the ground-screamers had fallen silent. The wildlife had been terrified by the event, no doubt, which was beyond their experience. When faced with the unknown on Ignis Glace, creatures tended to fall silent and hide.

When Sixty-Two reached the edge of the suntrees and poked his head out of the foliage, he looked first to the left, then to the right, back toward Lavender City. He saw nothing amiss. There were no broken down mechs, flailing on the cobbles. There were no aircraft in the sky, looking for them.

He turned his head on buzzing servos and looked again. Then his orbs fell upon an unexpected and distinctive sight.

A lone figure stood less than a hundred yards distant in the middle of the road. He held aloft a small glowing light on a thin, flailing arm. He stared right at Sixty-Two, and seeing that he had been noticed, he slowly allowed the arm to relax and droop back down to his side, where it flapped oddly.

Sixty-Two stared at this strange individual for a moment. He did not seem armed, nor did he seem to be frightened-not exactly. The man stared back, with a burning gaze that was no more human than the stare of a mech. The man twitched as he stood, giving tiny spasms that made his cheeks, fingers and even his bare toes jump and quiver.

“Who are you, human?” Sixty-Two asked.

“I’m Ornth,” said the strange, thin man. “I object to being referred to as ‘human’. I would judge that I’m less human than you are, mechanical man.”

Nina and her hundred knights rode hard all night long along the Queen’s Highway. They eventually reached a point that was distinctive, where reports had come of mech movements. The evidence was abundant. There were broken cobbles, twisted bolts lying on the roadway, and a thousand damaged suntree fronds. The mechs had been here, very recently, and they’d crossed the highway.

“What could be their purpose?” Hans asked at her side. “They’ve robbed no one. They’ve moved with unusual stealth and speed.”

“They are going somewhere,” Nina said. “This must be a deep strike. They seek to do us some great harm, of that I’m certain. They know we don’t have air support any longer. Every ship has gone up to meet the aliens when they arrive. They sense our weakness, and are seeking to take full advantage.”

“But where are they headed? Could they be circling around Lavender City to invade it?”

Nina laughed. “I don’t think they are that bold. We have gun emplacements there and thousands of armed militia would muster within an hour. Even if they disabled every perrupter on the planet, they could not win that battle with their current numbers.”

“Then I do not understand. There is nothing but groves of suntrees for many miles.”

Nina nodded, wheeling her mount in one direction, then another as she surveyed the landscape. She found a single item of interest among the many cracked cobbles. She dismounted and picked it up.

“What’s that?” Hans asked.

“A hand-light. It still glows-and over here, I see a single discarded sandal. But there is no blood. How odd.”

“Someone was here?” Hans asked. “Someone encountered the mechs?”

Nina’s mind flashed ahead, jumping to a hundred conclusions. Like her father, she could see things others could not. Like her mother, she was not a trusting soul.

“Someone met the mechs here,” she said. “It only makes sense. They must be working with humans.”

“How could that be?”

Nina stared at Old Hans, but did not see him. She turned back to the evidence and walked over the land carefully. She’d hunted big game in these forests a hundred times, and tracking the mechs was far easier than tracking a wild beast. “There’s no blood. There’s only a signal light, and a lost sandal. The man was not trampled out of hand. He was not slaughtered, nor was he ignored. The mechs have never treated someone in this fashion before. He was either taken by the mechs, or he’s fled somehow.”

“It seems like a stretch, milady.”

“Yes, I would agree, but there must be some reason why they came here. Why did they meet this person who signaled them at this precise moment? I don’t believe in fate or coincidence. I believe in careful planning, contrivance and deceit.”

“As you say, Baroness. What do we do now?”

“We gather our forces, and we follow them. When we find them, with luck, we will destroy them all this time.”

Nina and her knights followed the trail into the forest carefully, lest they be ambushed by the mechs, who outnumbered them at this point. She knew they would have to proceed cautiously, never making contact with the mechs, but never losing their trail. When she had all her forces together, then they would make their strike. She hoped it would be the final, fatal blow to the rebellion. After all she’d heard from Aldo, she’d begun to fear she might need her forces to defend her world against the invading aliens. Aldo seemed to believe they might make it past the Nexus space forces and make planetfall. In such a situation, she would be the sole defensive organization of any real size on this side of the planet.

As she rode, she worried about what the enemy was up to. They had to have a goal, but she had no inkling of what it might be. The evidence that they were working with humans was extremely disturbing. Could this mech rebellion have been orchestrated by a Twilighter? If so, it was treachery of an entirely new order. It was one thing to sell out one’s neighbor for advantage, but to sell out one’s own species-the very thought was monstrous to her.

Nina’s mind reeled with possibilities as she pressed deeper into the somber forests. As they moved closer to Nightside, the suntrees grew thicker and taller so they could reach up and drink in the distant, life-giving light. With every mile, the land grew cooler and darker. She didn’t like this side of the planet, finding the desert sunshine of Sunside infinitely preferable to the regions of permanent shadow. But she was determined to follow this trail wherever it may lead.

Nineteen

Aldo had convinced himself that the Nexus officials had done what they could to protect the planet in orbit. Next, he sought out Duchess Embrak. If the space forces failed, there must be a backup plan to stop the imminent invasion. The available ground forces on Ignis Glace were under the control of the nobility, and the Duchess was the closest thing they had to a Queen on this world.

After making some discreet inquiries, he made an appearance at the lady’s sumptuous apartments atop the Opulence. An historic location in Lavender City, the structure had once been a watchtower and a defensive fortification, built so large and tall that it peeped up over the rim of the canyon itself. But over the years, after improvements in colonial technology and the deployment of observation satellites, the watchtower had fallen into disuse. It had recently been converted into a fine hotel. The Opulence catered to the richest of lords and ladies, of which Duchess Embrak ranked very highly indeed.

There was an army of interceptors, of course, to keep riff-raff away from the Duchess. Aldo expected that, and dealt with them smoothly. He simply entered the lobby and accosted the first person he met who wore the reddish-brown livery of House Embrak.

“Could you be a good fellow and inform the Duchess I’ve arrived?” he asked.

The man blinked at him. His quick, bird-like eyes looked Aldo up and down very quickly. Apparently, he didn’t like what he saw, because he pursed his lips into a tiny red bud and shook his head. “I’m sorry, the Duchess isn’t hiring this month. Perhaps you should make your inquiries elsewhere.”

Aldo drew himself up and endeavored to look as snooty as possible. He did this rather well, as it came naturally to him. “The Duchess has given me her invitation. I’ve just come from the Nexus Capitol, where gentlemen are treated with decorum.”

“Oh,” the servant said, looking alarmed. “I see. You were on the ship? The Duchess has spoken with you?”

“I’ve said as much. I will wait here, in the lobby. If she is ready for my company, I shall accompany her wherever she desires.”

“I see,” the servant said again. His tongue darted in and out of his small, tight mouth and he appeared more flustered than ever. He was about to make another comment, but thought the better of it and retreated toward the elevators.

Aldo watched him scuttle off with amusement. He then located the softest settee in the lobby and settled himself down upon the red velvet.

A familiar voice caused his head to turn minutes later. “There you are, Aldo,” Duchess Embrak said. “I must say, this is a surprise.”

The servant was in her wake, his eyes all but popping from his head. Duchess Embrak was not the forgiving sort. Aldo estimated that the servant’s job was probably in his hands. At one suggestion from him, Aldo could probably break the man’s contract. But that wasn’t how refined people behaved in these situations. So, he rose and brushed his lips over the Duchess’ white hand, ignoring her stooge.

“Perhaps you can show me something of your hotel, or the town itself?” he suggested.

She eyed him. An amused smile played upon her lips. “You took my invitation quite literally.”

Aldo feigned surprise. “Should I have done otherwise? I’m sorry, I’m new to your world and your customs. On Neu Schweitz, invitations are always given in earnest.”

“Naturally. Please, come this way.”

The Duchess walked toward the entrance to an indoor garden area. She flicked her fingers at her frightened servant and he vanished with surprising speed. Aldo followed her and soon they walked abreast among lilacs and daffodils.

“How do such flowers stay alive in permanent shadow?” he asked.

The Duchess indicated the ceiling, which glowed with purplish light. “They consume energy from artificial sources, I’m afraid.”

“They are real flowers, though? Varieties from Old Earth? I see a rose bush here. Are those yellow tea roses? I’m shocked.”

“We aren’t as backward as you may have been led to believe. When the trade ships come, we give them raw metals, materials we have in abundance on Ignis Glace. In turn, they provide us with rare goods such as these plants.”

“I’m impressed with the wealth your planet must have to offer. I hadn’t thought a world so far from the major trade routes-well, never mind that.”

“Yes, let’s drop all pretenses. Why have come to meet with me, Aldo Moreno?”

Aldo smiled. Duchess Embrak stared back icily. Seeing her expression, Aldo shifted his planned coy response toward honesty, as he could see this woman was not going to be easily misled.

“Two reasons, Your Grace,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you of your world’s inadequate defenses.”

“And secondly?”

“I wished to enjoy your refined company again.”

The Duchess’ eyes flashed dangerously. Aldo knew he’d made an error, but he was uncertain what it might be.

“I was under the impression, sir, that you have occupied yourself with Baroness Droad.”

“Ah,” Aldo said, feeling a trifle hot in the face, “I have met with her as well, it’s true. I understood she was in charge of a large ground force in Twilight.”

The Duchess inclined her head. “That’s the only reason? Not because she is young, pretty and vivacious?”

“Is she? I’d not noticed.”

The Duchess snorted quietly. She paused for several long seconds, considering her options. “Very well,” she said at last. “I will allow you to pay your attentions to me now.”

She held out her elbow, which Aldo took in both of his hands. Together they walked slowly through the gardens and discussed flowers, space forces and alien capacities for destruction.

For once, Aldo was not certain of the intentions of his consort. For him, this was an unfamiliar situation. As a consummate schemer and general rogue, he’d not often met his female match, not even in high society. But the Duchess was something of a mystery to him. He did not understand why she had warmed up to him suddenly, even when she clearly knew he’d recently bedded Nina.

Hours later, in the depths of the night, they coupled repeatedly. Aldo was still unsure of exactly why she allowed the activity. He sensed in her manner a deep, resentful anger. What was she hiding below the surface?

He could not help but wonder what he had gotten himself into now.

Sixty-Two felt increasingly safe as his army marched on through the wilds of Twilight toward the frozen wastes of Nightside. Each clanking step took them farther from the warmth and light of the red star behind them. The sun was still visible, a crimson gleaming line on the distant horizon. The suntrees were gone now, no longer capable of surviving in this environment. They’d been replaced by sticky, cauliflower-shaped fungi that hugged the ground and caught on one’s foot as they were trampled down. The temperature of the air was dropping, and the wind speeds were increasing. Soon, there would be snowy patches on the ground and flakes swirling around every mech in his army. Sixty-Two felt like a thief in the night-but a happy thief that has escaped unscathed into the gathering dusk.

The mechs pressed onward. They found a small, frosty lake and saw crusts of ice accumulating on the farther, darker shore. Sixty-Two broadcast an immediate command: “Enter the waters of the lake. Walk across on the bottom and surface on the far side.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, his army plunged in, and he followed them. They walked the bottom for two full minutes before reaching the far shore. Sixty-Two led them up into the air again, watching steam pour off every one of his comrades as their hot bodies turned the dripping lake water into vapor.

On the icy shoreline, they were startled by a massive rush of bats-or the equivalent of bats here in deep Twilight. Called ‘leather-wings’ by locals, a flock of the creatures had been feeding along the shores of the inky-black lake. Due to their proximity to permanent darkness, this species used sonar to echo-locate objects around them. When alarmed, they made a high-pitched racket that few enjoyed. The flapping leather-wings screamed and squeaked, hurling themselves from the ground in a swirling storm. Sixty-Two led his mech army through the flock, and he noticed most mechs appeared oblivious to the creatures. A notable exception was Lizett, who flailed with her grippers and made keening noises of distress with her speakers.

Sixty-Two approached her. “Lizett, are you malfunctioning?”

“I hate these things!”

Sixty-Two snapped his orb-shields closed then open again in surprise. Then he laughed. “They can’t harm you, not even if you were still clothed in flesh. They only eat fungus and lake mosses.”

“I know,” she said, calming somewhat in his presence. “But they still upset me.”

For some reason, Sixty-Two found Lizett’s dislike of the leather-wings endearing. He marched with her, discussing the growing darkness around them, and what they would do when the sun was gone from the sky forever. Lizett didn’t like the idea of living in darkness, even if her orbs could see heat signatures and would allow her to navigate by starlight.

Sixty-Two suddenly recalled Lizett’s burden and became concerned. She carried the human pilgrim they’d found on the highway in a skin sack on her back. He had charged her with this responsibility because she was the only non-combatant in the group. “What of the man in your charge? Has he survived the trip through the lake?”

“I’m not sure. Let’s check.”

Together, they opened the skin sack. A skinny, wet, shivering man stared back out of the sack at them.

“He lives,” Lizett said.

Sixty-Two looked doubtfully at the wretch. “It will soon become too cold for him. And if we walk through any more freezing lakes, he will surely perish.”

Lizett looked up at Sixty-Two with quivering orbs. “I don’t want him to die. I want to keep him.”

“Yes, well, hmm. Skald, do you have any thoughts toward the betterment of your situation? It will soon be well below the point of freezing, and you are wearing only the thinnest of rags. Would you prefer to walk on the ground?”

The skald licked his lips. He stood in the sack warily and looked around himself. “Are those spiny ground-creatures that surround us dangerous?”

“Quite.”

“Then I would rather ride, but please place me near your heat sinks, Lizett. And allow me to stand up in the sack and examine my surroundings for danger. Lastly, no more underwater excursions, please.”

“Yes, sorry about that,” Lizett said. “I’d forgotten about you.”

“I forgot as well,” Sixty-Two said. “I’ve got an army to lead. You understand, don’t you?”

“It is your army that interests me.”

“You still haven’t told me what you seek in Nightside, human.”

“I seek something lost, and also something found.”

Sixty-Two snapped his orb-shields at this. The human seemed to believe he was speaking in a perfectly clear manner-but Sixty-Two had no idea what he was talking about. The human had explained that a wise, ancient being known as a Tulk resided in his skull and referred to this being as his ‘rider’. Sixty-Two had his doubts. Quite possibly, the human was simply mad. But he was more interesting than the majority of his mech companions, and so he’d allowed the odd little wretch to accompany them.

Lizett arranged the skin sack on her broad steel back in the fashion the skald had suggested. The skald hugged her dorsal heatsink fins, which generated a great deal of warmth when she marched even in this environment.

“Come Lizett,” Sixty-Two said, “we will march together.”

“I don’t like this darkness and cold,” she complained. “It’s getting worse all the time. Why did we have to come here?”

“Fleeing people have sought out darkness for all history.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to leave the sun behind forever. It was too harsh out in the open of Sunside, but I liked the balanced warmth and light of Twilight. I can see why the humans cling so much to that part of the world.”

“Clearly, it is preferable,” Sixty-Two admitted.

“When might we return? When will the humans accept our independence and allow us to share the warm lands, rather than hide from them in these grim deserts of hot and cold?”

“I don’t know, Lizett. Perhaps, someday they will live at peace with us. But that time is not yet at hand.”

Lizett fell into a moody silence, as did the rest of the world around them. After another dozen miles, they left the last scrim of the hundred mile wide strip of land known as Twilight. They’d finally reached the frozen wilds of Nightside. Looking back, there was not even a glimmer of red sunlight to be seen. The only hint of warmth was the pinkish hue of the horizon clouds. Ahead, the skies purpled then finally turned black. Stars dotted the heavens, brilliant, white and pure. A few stars were close enough to stand out among the others. Hanging over the North Pole were the twin stars Thor and Loki, Thor a red giant that fed an endless stream of super-heated plasma to the vampirical white dwarf Loki. Scattered across the central region of the sky was a group of closer, brighter suns.

“Are those bright lights the Faustian Chain?” Lizett asked.

“Yes,” Sixty-Two said in a hushed voice. “What do you think of them, Lizett?”

“They are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I feel the same.”

Sixty-Two marched onward, tilting his orbs up frequently at the starlit sky. Perhaps, he thought, his experiments in freeing the minds of mechs had not been in vain. At least Lizett was able to appreciate a starry night when she saw it. Would it have been better to be happier, but oblivious to nature’s wonders? He wasn’t sure, but the stars and Lizett’s companionship heartened him nonetheless.

He glanced over at the skald, who now stood erect in the skin sack and hugged Lizett’s heat-sinks. Another oddity in his company. This man was stranger than anyone he’d ever encountered. He seemed both fearless and timid at once. Could he really have an alien in his skull, or was he simply addled? Time would tell, he supposed. Sixty-Two made a mental note: in the event of the skald’s death, he would open that skull and have a look at the contents for himself.

Nina trailed the mech army to the shores of a dark, nameless lake. She didn’t like it here. Twilight was an alien place when one came very close to Nightside. There was still life in abundance-but it was strange, twisted life. Creatures adapted to permanent cold were rarely beautiful, pleasant beings. There were fields of spiny predators that resembled sea anemones. They could be found with increasing frequency on the ground, hiding among the fungus. They were deadly to a human with an unprotected foot. Camouflaged to look like a normal fungal growth, their toxic spines would paralyze a warm-blooded creature that dared touch them. Then, over a period of hours, the spiny little devils would cluster on the living victim and suck away every drop of hot blood with leach-like mouths they had at the base of their bodies.

She glided on her mount over the lake, causing silver furls of water to spread behind her. The leather-wings on the far side were stirred up, she saw. They were too smart to fall prey to the spiny leeches, but they were skittish anyway. She snapped on a saddle lamp and examined the dark ground. A thousand slushy imprints told the tale.

“They crossed here?” Old Hans asked, pulling up alongside her.

“So it would appear.”

“Can we be sure they all left the lake, Baroness? Some of the machines could still be hiding down there. Perhaps they plan to rise up and stalk us from behind.”

Nina shook her head. “I doubt it. So far, they’ve stayed tightly grouped. I doubt they even realize we’re in pursuit. No. They are driving hard-but where are they headed?”

The question had troubled her increasingly as she continued her march after the mechs. She also worried she would lose them in the wilds of Nightside. They may well slip away from her entirely before she could gather sufficient forces to make an attack. It was frustrating.

Later they made camp. She’d ordered everyone to change into their thermal suits for travel in the bitter cold that lie ahead.

Studying maps in her sealed tent, she received a buzzing summons from Lavender City. Her eyes slid to the ID code. Her lips twisted. It was Duchess Embrak herself, who ruled the rich duchy that included one of the greatest cities on the planet.

Nina took a deep breath, reconfigured her face into a stern, competent expression that befitted a military commander, and answered the call. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“I have granted your request for support troops, Nina.”

Nina stiffened at the informal use of her first name. When not in front of the council, the Duchess had repeatedly ignored her title. Nina felt it was a subtle insult, meant to indicate she was still a mere child. Still, she was glad to hear her requests had not fallen on deaf ears. She had called for her home army back at Droad House, but they had not yet arrived. The Lavender City reserves were much closer.

“Excellent, Embrak,” Nina said, purposefully dropping the Duchess’ title. She did not quite dare use the Duchess’ first name-which was Beatrice. Nina knew the woman wasn’t fond of her name, and would take its use as a direct affront. Nina wanted her offhand reference to be a subtle insult.

The Duchess’ brow grew stormy. “My title is Duchess.”

“Have you taken offense? I’m so sorry, I mistook your familiar speech for an invitation to drop formalities.”

The Duchess formed her face into a tight grimace. “I shall let it pass. The troops are my own. They will be coming with a new commander-one who I believe is familiar to you.”

“Who might that be?”

“Aldo Moreno. He will be in command of my troops. I’ve commissioned him in the service of my duchy.”

Nina’s mouth sagged open. She snapped it shut again, so as not to look the fool. “I–I don’t understand, Duchess.”

“Duchess again, is it? Very well, I shall explain: he has combat experience. He is a Nexus representative. He was once associated with your father. I’ve selected him to command my troops on this basis.”

“Who shall be in overall command of the mission?”

“It will be a joint venture between the two of you. Did you think I would place my personal army completely at your disposal? I’m not quite as taken with you as the rest of the council. You are young, inexperienced and I find you to be-overreaching.”

Nina fought to control her expression. She swallowed hard, and when she spoke again, her voice cracked slightly. “The Ruling Council has ordained me as-”

“The Ruling Council has no jurisdiction under these circumstances. These troops are my own, the defenders of my duchy. I’m free to choose my own commander.”

“In that case, I must refuse your aid.”

The Duchess’ eyebrows shot high in mock surprise. “Really? You will take on the mechs with your one hundred knights alone, then?”

“No. I will await the arrival of my full forces from Droad House. We will lose a day or two, but the mechs will not escape in that time.”

“Ah, I have another point to pass on in that case: the army is to remain on station at Droad House. With the invasion of the system imminent, we can’t afford to have the army roaming Nightside and out of reach. They must be ready to move within Twilight for defensive purposes.”

Nina didn’t know what to say. She’d been set up. She thought about resigning on the spot, telling the Duchess she could keep her troops and Aldo both-but she didn’t. She didn’t want to see the mechs escape her again. She thought of Leon, and how they had killed him. She nodded at last, deciding to endure these insults for now. She had no choice if she wanted to stop the mechs from vanishing into Nightside.

“I will accept your terms, under protest.”

The Duchess nodded, unsurprised. “Very well. Report your progress within the ten-day.”

Nina murmured her agreement. Both women reached out to break the connection as quickly as possible.

Flopping back in her chair, Nina cursed for a full minute.

The slippery Aldo Moreno. How had he managed to maneuver his way into a command position under the Duchess so quickly? Nina had a very good idea what the answer to that question was-and it made her furious.

Twenty

Sixty-Two had managed to reach the border regions of Nightside, but his relief was short-lived. He ordered his group to halt and reorganize, sending out scouts in every direction. The scouts that backtracked in the direction they had recently come from returned with highly disturbing news.

“Lizett, they follow us. We did not slip through Twilight unseen.”

The skald popped up from the skin sack where he resided still on Lizett’s broad back. “We are pursued?”

“Yes,” Sixty-Two said.

“That’s awful,” Lizett said. “Must we kill them all now?”

Sixty-Two thought about it. “There do not seem to be many of them. They are following us at a distance. I would think that means they are waiting for a future moment to attack. We are either running into their greater force, or they are waiting for more troops to catch up. In either case, our relative strength is at an excellent ratio now.”

“We should forget about those behind us and press ahead,” the skald urged.

Sixty-Two flicked his orbs to the odd man. Not for the first time, he wondered why he’d tolerated his presence for so long. Perhaps it was because he was interesting. After working with half-bright mechs for so long, a real mysterious human was stimulating.

“Why do you care where we go, Ornth?” Sixty-Two asked the man in the sack.

“There is a lost place, not far from here.”

“Farther out-you mean deeper into Nightside?”

“Yes.”

“And you want us to take you there? You can’t survive the central region of Nightside, you know. Your lungs will freeze when you take in a breath.”

“We don’t have to go that far.”

“And what do you expect to find?”

“That which has been forgotten.”

Sixty-Two shook his head in bemusement. As he watched, Lizett absently fed the man bits of edible fungus she’d brought along from Twilight for the purpose of his sustenance. The human was wrapped in cloth now, covering most of his face except for those odd, piercing eyes. Lizett had picked up scraps and oddments for her pet on her own initiative. He’d even seen her methodically clean filth from the sack with her grippers.

“We’re going to attack,” he said at last, coming to a decision. “I’ll relay the command to my captains. We’ll turn on these men who follow us, and ambush them. It is unfortunate, but I really don’t see that we have any other choice.”

Lizett didn’t argue with his decision. The man riding on her back likewise said nothing. He only nibbled bits of fungus and stared at Sixty-Two with strange, burning eyes.

Nina was aroused by a heavy hand on her shoulder. She lurched awake and half-drew her power-sword before she recognized who it was.

“Hans? What’s wrong?” she demanded in a whisper.

“The mechs, milady,” he said quietly. “We’ve spotted one of their scouts.”

She climbed to her feet and pulled her on clothes. Hans tried not to look at her bare form, but she didn’t care if he did. A commander in the field couldn’t afford to worry about such things.

“How close?”

“Close enough to count our numbers.”

“Who saw the enemy?”

“I did, milady.”

She looked at him. “Why didn’t you fire? Couldn’t you have brought it down?”

“Probably not. But I didn’t want to try in any case. The mechs have built-in radio. There is virtually zero chance to destroy one before it reports to base.”

Nina nodded. “Of course. You did the right thing. Now, they don’t know we saw them. This does little to change things, however. They will come back in strength soon.”

Old Hans hesitated. “You think they will attack?”

“Yes. Immediately.”

“Why are you so certain? After all these days of running, I’d thought perhaps-”

Nina shook her head. “I’ve come to know this mech who apes a man and leads the rebellion. He thinks in a manner similar to us. And he does think, never doubt it. He has a cunning mind, fully-functional inside a mech’s body. He’ll attack because we are weak now, and we are trailing him, threatening him.”

“I’ll sound the alarm, Baroness. Every man will stand at arms.”

Hans lifted a signal whistle to his mouth. Nina’s quick hand stopped him.

“You will do no such thing,” she said. “We are going to run, not fight.”

The old knight nodded, relieved. He did not question her bravery. Fighting a thousand mechs with a hundred men was not brave-it was suicide.

They broke camp as quickly as possible, leaving behind much of their equipment in the process. There was no time to pack and store it. They simply mounted up with whatever they could carry, and less than ten minutes later the camp was deserted.

Fleeing southward on their buzzing mounts, they felt the freezing winds buffeting their insulated suits and their panting breath steamed their goggles.

Nina felt like a coward, but she told herself sternly it was better to win a fight than it was to stand and die hopelessly. Still, fleeing in the face of the mech that she’d so wanted to destroy for months was hard on her. She hoped never to have to do so again.

Less than half an hour later, Sixty-Two stood in the midst of the human encampment. He walked from tent to tent, but found nothing of great interest. He did learn the name of his pursuer: Baroness Nina Droad.

This did nothing to comfort him. He’d monitored her rise through the nobility of late via the net. The Ruling Council of Lords seemed to favor her. On Ignis Glace, such favor was worth much. They’d given her an army and a purpose: to hunt down and exterminate Sixty-Two and his rebel gang of treacherous mechs. At least, that was how the online articles described the situation.

Lizett approached him as he stood in her command tent, examining what few documents and bits of equipment they’d left behind.

“This place is great!” she said.

He swung his orbs to her in surprise. “What is so enviable about it?”

Lizett showed him the man she’d kept riding upon her back for so long. He was no longer imprisoned in a skin sack. Now, he stood beside her in a dark suit of insulated material. Frosted goggles clung to his face, and he began picking up articles in the tent, examining each as if it were an alien artifact.

“See? I’ve found spare clothes and foodstuffs. Ornth surely won’t die now. Doesn’t he look splendid in a man’s suit?”

“He is a man.”

Lizett pouted. “He doesn’t think so. I don’t think so, either.”

“Listen, Lizett,” Sixty-Two began hesitantly. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Ornth. I think it may be best we leave him here. The humans will return, and as he is a civilian, they will no doubt care for him.”

Lizett stopped fussing over Ornth and turned her full attention to Sixty-Two. “What? You can’t do that! He’s mine. They’ll know we left him, and they’ll kill him for sure.”

Sixty-Two shook his head. “I doubt that. He seems very adept at survival.”

“They will return soon,” Ornth said, speaking up for the first time.

“What do you know of the matter?”

“They will come, in great numbers. They will come to destroy your forces. Insanity, really. In the very face of an enemy greater than any of you-your absurd species still insists on mutual destruction.”

“How do you know this?” Sixty-Two demanded.

For an answer, Ornth opened a computer scroll and stretched it out. “The signal has been disconnected, of course. But by working with the cached files, I was able to display the last thing the enemy commander was looking at.”

The screen displayed a disposition of forces. Three major groups were prominent. One was the small group Baroness Droad personally commanded. A much larger unit sat at Droad House. A third large contingent, however, was very close to their position and appeared to be moving to join up with the Baroness.

“You see?” Ornth asked. “They’ve pulled back in order to group with a larger force.”

Sixty-Two studied the evidence with growing apprehension. “What do you suggest we do then?”

“March deeper into Nightside.”

“What lies there for us? Will they not pursue?”

“I’m not sure. What I know is unknown. What I-”

“Don’t even try to tell me some nonsense about unknowable wonders,” Sixty-Two interrupted angrily. “Just tell me why I should listen to you and march into the cold and dark.”

“There should be a place-a sanctuary. You can hide there.”

“A sanctuary? Out in Nightside? There are no major structures that I know of.”

“It is not a structure, exactly. There is an entrance to an underground region.”

“Ah,” Sixty-Two said. “Now, we are getting somewhere. What is in this cave you describe? And how do you know about it?”

“I’m not sure what will be there, as I’ve said. Records are vague on those issues.”

“Records? What kind of records do you have? Files, images?”

“Neither,” Ornth said, smiling with half his face. “Nothing like that. My people keep our records entirely within our minds. When we commune with others of our own species, we do it very thoroughly, in effect downloading our experiences to one another over an intense period. It was from another of my kind I learned of this sanctuary. But the records-the memories, as you would call them-are hazy. They have been relayed several times over many centuries.”

Sixty-Two snorted loudly. “You expect me to march to a place that you have only a ghostly memory of? The memory from another of your supposed kind that is centuries old?”

Ornth made a sweeping gesture, indicating the computer scroll and all that was depicted upon it. “You have clear choices.”

Sixty-Two fell silent. He did not like any of the choices he could identify. He could fight the human forces, but even if he won his army would surely be decimated. He could flee into the dark in a random direction, hoping to elude them. Or he could follow the mad mind of this person, who claimed to be something more alien than any mech.

By the time he’d made his choice, Ornth was already riding comfortably again in Lizett’s sack. Sixty-Two found this mildly annoying. How had they both felt so sure which option he would choose?

Marching hard, he led his mechs into the silent, frozen darkness that was Nightside. Every pounding step of their metal feet crushed ancient crystalline structures, snowflakes that had fallen and lain undisturbed for centuries.

Aldo rode uncomfortably at the head of Duchess Embrak’s army. The troops of House Embrak wore livery of deep purple over riding suits of black leather. The Duchess did not accept boisterous recruits. Tall and saturnine, they were grim professionals. Every laser pistol was polished until it shone, and every one of their mounts glided over the ground at precisely the same altitude.

He was not used to these flying one-man contraptions which the Twilighters were so proud of. He’d ridden a few living horses on Neu Schweitz, but had no experience with these small flying machines. He found they bent his legs into a painful shape and left his hips aching after hours in the saddle. He had to admit however, for the purpose of crossing rugged terrain they were very effective. They could climb a mountain, glide over a river or weave their way through a forest with equal efficiency, and they never seemed to break down or run out of power.

Aldo suspected the men he led were amused by his lack of skill aboard one of their mounts, which they’d been trained to ride since childhood. Surely, he looked like an oaf to them. Annoyed by these thoughts, he tried to put them out of his mind. He was in command, whether he or anyone else believed he deserved the honor. He had to make the best of it.

The second day after the army turned their backs to the sun and left the Queen’s Highway, they ran into Baroness Droad’s smaller force which fled toward them out of Nightside. Aldo knew from the mapping scrolls they would meet them soon, the Nexus people had helpfully updated his computers to show Nina’s location. Unfortunately, the maps did not show if the mechs were in close pursuit or not.

The two groups met at the border of Nightside, along the banks of a river that permanently flowed with slush. Just cold enough to freeze when still, the water was kept primarily in a liquid state by the motion of the river. Chunks of ice floated everywhere in its flood and the shores were frosted with a dirty glaze.

Nina’s forces pulled up on the far shore and halted. Aldo waved to them. He glanced to either side, and saw that none of his men joined him in waving. They did not call out or in any way greet their allies. Aldo frowned at them. He didn’t really like Twilighters all that much, and these House Embrak knights were positively stuffy.

On the far shore, only a single figure lifted a gauntlet to return his salute. Aldo squinted and thought to make out the bulky form of Old Hans, the knight that forever shadowed the Baroness. Aldo smiled at him. At least there was one sane man in the bunch.

A single rider detached from the Droad force and slid out over the rushing, freezing river. Aldo figured it had to be Nina herself. The old knight Hans followed her. Aldo glanced from side to side at his captains.

“I take it I’m expected to ride out to meet her? Is this some kind of custom?”

One of the captains, a tall gent with a jaw like a mech, nodded briefly.

Aldo sighed and urged his mount forward. He didn’t like taking it out over water. It tended to bob and shiver when over a moving surface, as the repellers weren’t given an even platform to push against. The sensation against one’s buttocks was one of slipping and bouncing, and he found it disconcerting. Still, he pressed forward and noticed the Captain he’d spoken to had followed him. He would greet Nina as decorum required and merge her army into his. He felt there was little time to waste. He wanted this entire force to return to their station in Twilight, ready for the aliens who were sure to arrive shortly.

“Baroness Droad!” he shouted when they neared one another in the deep blue half-light. “I’m glad you’ve survived your campaign.”

“I’m still here,” Nina said, “no matter what your plans might have been in that regard.”

Aldo slowed his mount and turned it, as it wanted to slip downstream with the water. The others seemed to have no such troubles. By some means not obvious to Aldo, they kept their mounts perfectly poised over the rushing river.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said, leaning over the saddle and wanting to curse at his revving mount. “But the important thing is that we’ve found you. We must gather our forces into a single group. I don’t think we should camp here, I think we should get moving.”

“I agree fully.”

“Good! If we press hard, we can return to the Queen’s Highway before we need to camp again. Please bring your forces to the sunward side of the river and we’ll form up together. Another hard day’s riding will return us to Lavender City.”

“On that point, we have a disagreement,” Nina said quietly.

“What?” asked Aldo, not sure he’d heard properly. “Do you wish to camp then, or…?”

“Not at all. I require you to bring your forces across the river to the Nightside. We will march immediately nightward and attack the enemy upon making contact.”

Aldo’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I don’t understand. I was led to believe I was commanding a relief force.”

“You are commanding my reinforcements,” Nina said, “and I thank you for bringing them in a timely manner.”

Aldo looked to his side where the Embrak captain watched the exchange with dark eyes. “Captain? What are your orders?”

“I am to follow you, lord.”

“And upon meeting the forces of House Droad?”

The man shrugged heavy shoulders. “The Duchess said it was to be a joint command. You and the Baroness must agree.”

Great, thought Aldo. He turned to Nina and contrived his best smile. “You are looking wild, lovely and capable today, Baroness.”

He could tell right away, this tactic did not work. At his words, her face went from cold to hostile.

“You refuse to follow my command?” she asked.

“Ah-Baroness, surely we could discuss matters privately-perhaps in a tent. I understand you lost yours-”

He got no further with his words. The Baroness drew her power-sword and let it flare into life like a torch. It ran with crimson plasmas, the light of which reflected from the slush-crusted river under them.

“In your tent? I find your suggestions insulting. As you will not relinquish command, I challenge you for the right to lead this army.”

“Challenge me?”

“To a duel, man!” she cried over her shoulder. She had wheeled her mount, and as he watched she rode it a short distance upriver.

Aldo did not quail at the thought of a duel. But to fight this fiery young woman-that was not his purpose. He did not fear to do so. In a way, he was elated. It was difficult to hold back. He wanted to shout out his acceptance of this challenge. Her attitude had angered him.

“What are the terms? Who will be our seconds? We must have an arbiter at least.”

She turned and threw back her head with a shout of unkind laughter, which rang out over the noise of the river. “Idiot! This is not Neu Schweitz. Defend yourself!”

With that, she bent over the steering yoke and charged. Her blade was held high for a downward stroke.

Aldo realized she already had him at a disadvantage. She had moved upstream and wheeled in order to charge downstream. The water would carry her mount toward him with a greater velocity than he could muster, even if he could properly control it.

He struggled to align his mount with hers and to drag out his blade at the same time. There was a fury in this girl, and he’d never started a swordfight feeling quite this unmanned. She howled as she came close, and he barely managed to engage her flashing blade, such was the speed and power of the attack.

Aldo parried in quinte, but had to duck under her blade as it slid, rasping over his blade and his head. In a flash, she was past and both were wheeling for another pass. Only his speed and expertise with the blade had saved him. He saw in her eyes a momentary flash of surprise. He realized this woman had meant to take his head clean off in a stroke. She’d felt sure she could take him easily.

Angered, he advanced at a controlled pace. This entire affair was a setup. He saw that now. She’d waited to meet him beside this river. She had planned to ride out and meet him above the frosty flood in order to ensure an easy victory.

Nina was a much better master of her mount than Aldo. She dodged to his left, then drove in against his unarmed side. She darted forward to attack him broadside. He tossed his weapon from one hand to the other, and brought his sword up left-handed to meet hers. They came close and their blades flashed and rang. This form of fighting was the most alarming variety. Aldo felt far from comfortable with it. There was no way to retreat when sitting on a mount, short of pitching off into the freezing waters.

“You are a mad woman, you know that?” he called to her.

“Stop defending and fight!”

“Are you so anxious to die?”

For a short moment, he saw her expression shift when she heard his confident words. She did not show fear, but she was puzzled. No doubt, she had expected him to be an easy opponent to defeat. Both fell back, breathing hard and circling their mounts.

“It is you who shall end your life in this frozen river today,” Nina said.

“And why is that? This is no dispute over command. You are in a lathering fury. I can only think of one reason. Perhaps you misunderstood the nature of our relationship.”

Now, her eyes darkened again. She lifted her blade again. “I misunderstood nothing.”

“Ah-ha! Yes, you expected me to be your consort on a more permanent basis, is that it? I apologize, if you’ve fallen in love with me. I’m very sorry to disappoint. But no woman possesses Aldo Moreno’s heart for long.”

Nina hissed at him. It was not a pleasant sound. Aldo grimaced. When courting newly-met females, he always knew what to say. In these situations, however, his words habitually failed him.

“I’m not in love with you, imbecile.”

“Then why are you trying to kill me?”

“You are a tool of the Duchess. She has done everything possible to thwart me, including preventing me from avenging my brother’s death this day. I’ll not turn away from these mechs. I’m going to run them down into Nightside, no matter what. If you wish to relent and follow my lead, I shall spare your life now.”

“Very generous, I’m sure,” Aldo said. “But I believe we are in the midst of a duel, and the matter has yet to be decided.”

He lifted his sword again, and touched the uppermost stud to cause it to flare with new life. Nina nodded and approached again, her blade held high to attack.

By this time, however, Aldo had analyzed her style and moves. They were effective, but relatively simplistic and repetitive. He did not think any less of her for this, as she was young and inexperienced.

As she came in, he feinted low, and when she parried he beat aside her blade and thrust. He did not aim for her thigh or abdomen, however, as these were defended. He stabbed his blade into her mount. The tip penetrated the hard metal case and jolted the mechanism inside. The vehicle bucked and heeled over. With a whoop, Baroness Droad dropped her sword and fell into the slushy flow.

Old Hans and Aldo both rushed forward to save her. Aldo, being much closer, reached the spot first. He reached down and grabbed a small gloved hand that reached above the surface. When he hauled her up, he could not help but allow himself a small smirk.

“Looks like you’ve dropped your blade, Baroness,” he said in a breezy fashion.

Her eyes were shocked and wide due to the cold, but a fury still burned there. She moved then, and Aldo was provided with a shock of his own. She pulled on his arm, and used it to lever forward her other hand. In the other hand was another sword.

Aldo immediately cursed at himself. He’d forgotten that she always carried twin blades, hers and her brother’s. The blade was dark, as the power had automatically shut off upon contact with liquid. Even without power, it was a deadly weapon. He twisted, off-balance, in an attempt to ward off the second sword. The black metal moved and plunged.

It did not pierce him, but rather fatally injured his mount, exactly as he’d done to hers. A moment later, they were both in the river.

It was Old Hans who dragged them both out like two cats from a barrel. Carrying them with arms extended to either side, he guided his mount expertly with only touches of his knees.

“If you don’t mind, good lord and lady, I would ask that you contain yourselves until we reach dry land.”

Glaring and speechless with shock and anger, the two said nothing. Less than a minute passed before they were dropped on the shoreline where they shivered and crawled to their feet. They swayed and dripped, half-frozen. Aldo felt fatigue creep over him. He wondered how long he could have survived in water so cold. Even in his riding suit, he felt sure he would have perished in minutes.

“Shall we call it a draw?” Aldo asked.

Nina shook her head. Silvery droplets flew everywhere over the muddy shore.

“Bow to me, or die. That is how this will end.”

“Baroness,” Old Hans interjected, “permission to speak, milady?”

Nina glanced at him, but then turned her eyes back to Aldo, where they remained fixed. “Speak if you must.”

“This disagreement is unnecessary, and wasteful.”

“Wrong on both counts, good Hans,” Nina said, pointing the tip of her dripping sword at Aldo. “This man is a snake, and I mean to reduce his length.”

Hans cleared his throat and waved back the excited throng of men who’d gathered around to quietly wager on the outcome. They retreated reluctantly.

“Listen,” Hans said. “I have an idea what this is about. You should focus your anger where it is best deserved.”

“Explain yourself.”

“The true snake here is the Duchess.”

Nina scoffed loudly. “I’m sure she plied him with drink and strapped him to the bed. Afterward, she felt so ashamed she gave him command of her army.”

“Not exactly,” Hans said. “But listen, Baroness. Have you not noticed the Duchess holds you in contempt?”

“I’m not blind.”

“But do you know why?”

Finally, Nina turned her full attention to him. “No,” she said. “I suppose she just doesn’t like Droads.”

“Exactly. And that habit started with your father.”

Here, Aldo groaned aloud. Again, another enemy uncovered. How many good reasons did Lucas Droad have for not returning to his homeworld? Aldo had to face facts, he told himself. He’d been duped into accepting this mission by a wily man.

The others glanced at Aldo. When he did not see fit to explain his response, they ignored him.

“She disliked my father?” the Baroness asked Hans.

“She was in love with him-once. Then he took up with that mother of yours. The Duchess never got over it. She never forgave your mother, your father-nor you yourself.”

Nina nodded, seeing the logic of it.

Aldo heaved a sigh. “Your father is another form of snake, girl. I curse him here and now for saddling me with so many of his women. He set me up for this horrid moment!”

“My father is no snake!”

Aldo raised his hands. “I misspoke, I apologize. He simply is-a difficult one to lay hands upon, let us say. I was once his bodyguard, don’t forget. I know him fairly well.”

Nina licked her lips, which were turning blue. “I do not wish Duchess Embrak to get the best of any of us. You are right, good Hans. I have been manipulated, as has Aldo, to some degree.”

“I’m sorry for any hard feelings,” Aldo said. “I’m quite simply trying to save your planet. A much greater threat than these mechs will soon fall upon us from the skies. We must set aside our conflicts and gather all our strength for that moment. The survivors can sort out past injustices afterward, should they still feel it worthwhile.”

“Are they truly as dangerous as all that?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you fear them?”

Aldo hesitated. “Not exactly. But then, I have long since made my peace with death.”

Nina looked at him oddly as she rubbed rime from her hair. “All right. Will you make me a bargain? March with me for three nights. If we do not meet the enemy and vanquish them in that time, we will return to Twilight and await these terrible aliens.”

Aldo considered. He knew that she commanded not just these one hundred knights, but thousands more besides that sat at Droad House. If he didn’t agree, she might well summon those troops, with or without the Council’s blessing. He suspected, in fact, that was exactly her plan.

“I agree,” he said, extending a gloved hand.

They touched gloves, and sheathed their weapons. The avid onlookers who loosely encircled them cursed and passed money among themselves. The Baroness took only the time required to retrieve her sword from the bottom of the river before the army conjoined and rode sunward.

Twenty-One

Gladius finally entered the star system on the ninth hour of the fourth day of the week, local time. The great ship glided toward its destination, still smoothly decelerating in a curving trajectory that was destined to end in high orbit over Ignis Glace. Red sunlight gleamed on a thousand modules as they swung majestically around the ship’s central torus like a spinning constellation of stars.

A flotilla of small Nexus ships was on hand to greet them, as had been anticipated by all sides. Millions of miles from the target world, a battle was to be fought in deep space. The Nexus patrol ships, sitting quietly in cold space, became suddenly visible. Their tiny engines flared and they swept forward to intercept the bigger vessel from a dozen different angles. They would be in weapons range within hours.

For the express purpose of witnessing this historic occasion, the Empress summoned the nife commander and all of the Parents into her august presence. Small thrones of lumpy brown secretions had been erected for the Parents. The younger four arrived early and took their seats, warbling through their foodtubes excitedly. The Empress regaled them with a lengthy speech about Imperial invincibility.

The last Parent, the one that had been shunned for so long, the progenitor of them all, finally dragged her bloated carcass into the room. Her daughters fell to privately radioed whispers and audible blats of surprise at her pathetic appearance.

The Parent heaved herself closer, and looked for the throne she was supposed to mount. There was none.

“Excuse me, Empress,” she said.

The Empress made a liquid sound of disgust, then turned her attention to the new arrival. “You are late.”

“My apologies- I was not told of the affair until just now.”

“There is no excuse for tardiness.”

“Ah, of course not, Great One. But I was wondering where my throne might be?”

The Empress made a great show of swinging her many orbs around the chamber. “Why, it appears to have been forgotten. I suppose you must squat there on the deck. There’s nothing for it now. The battle is about to commence.”

“I see,” the Parent said. She collected herself with as much dignity as she could. She tucked her tentacles under her swollen birth chambers so they would not spread and splay quite so broadly on the flat deck. Internally, she burned with fury and embarrassment. Here she was, the birthmother of the entire flock, and they dared treat her like a moronic trach.

Nearby, the younger Parents on their thrones twittered amongst themselves, amused by her embarrassment. How was it her own daughters had been twisted from her so easily? The Parent fought to control herself and thus prevent an outburst that might result in an immediate spacing. Perhaps that was the Empress’ plan…if so, she’d not give her the pleasure. The Parent wished to witness the glory of this moment, her life-long goal, as much as anyone else present.

The Imperium assault, when it began at long last, was poetry in motion. The lead nife commander had prepared for months, and his inborn knowledge of Imperial tactics was razor-sharp. Long before the enemy ships reached firing range, he ordered his fighters to launch and intercept. More than a hundred sleek, needle-shaped vessels streaked out from Gladius’ outlying nodules, many of which had been modified into launch bays during the long journey out from Neu Schweitz.

The nife paraded in front of the Parents and the Empress, all of whom dwarfed him. This was his day of triumph, and his stalks were fully extended in his excitement. “Truly, ladies, this is the hour of Imperial glory we’ve all awaited. Let us all take a moment to contemplate-”

“Get on with it,” the Empress interrupted. “Show us the battle display.”

With a crestfallen glance in her direction, the nife quickly tapped at the nubs and tips of a control nodule that resembled an upside down jellyfish. They were all offered a channel link, which the Parent quickly accepted.

Their minds were immediately linked to the external organic sensors on Gladius’ hull, and to the incoming data from the fighters themselves. They were thus able to experience the optical and auditory input of the Skaintz in the battle without actually being present. It was like human video and audio reproduction-but infinitely superior.

The nife’s voice played over the images and sounds they were receiving like the input of an announcer. “You see here, the enemy ships are converging on our position. We are unable to alter our course, so they will intercept us within a few hours. This is an attack we cannot prevent. However, before the enemy reach us, they will have to deal with our defensive fighters.”

Now, their point of view shifted to the fighters themselves, switching from one intense arl pilot, working the controls of his hybrid-organic ship, to another. There were dozens of pilots, and they all had in their sights an enemy human patrol boat. There were three fighters targeting every enemy ship, oftentimes four. The Parent felt a gush of pleasure-inducing chemicals in her brain. The humans were about to be wiped out.

To their credit, the enemy did not waver in their attack. They must have been able to see the oncoming onslaught, and realized their doom was at hand. But they did not turn away nor decelerate. They pressed onward, apparently as eager for battle as the Skaintz themselves. The Parent felt a quiver of emotion. Defeating an enemy that struggled vigorously was an infinitely superior experience when compared to the running down of bleating cowards.

They did not have long to wait. The first laser bolts were fired rather earlier than expected. The Parent felt a moment of qualm when she realized her own ships were not firing. They were, in fact, engaging in evasive action. At this great range, the laser bolts took several seconds to reach their destinations. By randomly adjusting position-swerving from side-to-side, up and down, the firing ship must guess where the enemy might be when the laser bolt reached the target distance.

“Why aren’t our ships firing?” the Parent demanded.

“Yes, order them to fire at once,” the Empress said irritably. “I’ve waited long enough to see the enemy perish.”

“Uh-” the nife said, touching various nubs and tips in rapid succession. The point of view switched rapidly from one sleek fighter cockpit to the next. None of them were firing. “There seems to be a small difficulty.”

“A problem?” boomed the Empress. “I do not like problems, and I do not like being kept waiting. Order our fighters to fire at once-what was that?”

A flash had impinged on all their remote senses. Then, a moment later, a second flash.

“We are taking incoming fire,” the Parent said dully.

“Is this true?” the Empress demanded.

“Yes,” said the nife, “you see, we are not yet within effective range-”

The Empress slapped her central tentacle then, and the vibration from the impact made everyone’s skin tingle. “I’ll not have this incompetence. I’m not the fool you may believe, nife whelpling. You did not design our craft properly.”

Two more flashes ensued. Five had been destroyed, and still the Imperium craft did not return fire. How long before they were all wiped out? At this rate, the Parent did a quick calculation. The enemy was destroying a fighter every thirty seconds or so. The whole force would be wiped out in under an hour.

“The enemy do seem to have greater range than I had anticipated,” the nife whined. “My estimates were based upon previously encountered ships of this class. But we will be in range soon.”

“How soon?”

“About…ten minutes.”

“Order the fighters to increase their acceleration.”

“But, Empress-they will not be able to return to this ship before we make planetfall-they’ll be too far out, going too fast to turn around in time.”

The Empress made a bass noise of disgust. She paused, thinking. The Parent did not envy her choices. More flashes continued during this interval, and the Parent perceived they were coming with greater frequency. The enemy was getting closer, and becoming increasingly accurate.

“Do it anyway,” she said at last. “We must destroy their fleet. They must not be allowed to endanger my person.”

“Calculating the growing rate of losses-yes, I now agree, Empress.”

“One does not agree with an Imperial order. One obeys it.”

The nife was strutting again. He seemed to recover incredibly quickly from any setback. The Parent marveled at his unquenchable bravado.

“Ladies,” he said. “Our fleet will meet the enemy on full burn. The battle will be short and vicious. I’d hoped to spare a few of them, disabling their ships and capturing a few fresh food-creatures. Alas, we must destroy them all in the cold void.”

The Empress made a sound of disappointment at hearing this. But she did not countermand the order. The enemy was far too close.

At last, the humans were within effective range. The imperial fighters began firing back with deadly accuracy. When the first hit was confirmed, everyone slapped and flapped excitedly.

Laser bolts flashed out into the dark, answered by return fire. Each side was at a range so great they could not hope to actually see their enemy. But the results were deadly all the same. Before it was over, the Imperium fighters had been reduced to twenty-six effectives. The enemy was utterly destroyed, a series of silent, floating hulks of metal and frozen blood.

Everyone in the Empress’ chamber set up a great hullabaloo. There was now nothing between them and the target world. No defenders could stop them. They were going to make planetfall with their invasion ships, and commence a most gleeful slaughter. The Empress in particular began to describe to the others the choice meats they would sample, and everyone slavered at the prospect of live food.

Alone among them, the Parent worried. She thought about the skalds in their enclosure, and the Tulk they’d discovered in their skulls after vivisecting them. She thought about the enemy tactics, which had almost succeeded in overcoming their defensive fighters. These humans were full of nasty surprises.

As they fled deeper into Nightside, Sixty-Two decided to follow Garth’s advice and head for a region known as ‘The First Deep’. It was essentially a gigantic sinkhole that wound down into the planetary crust. The rim of this region wasn’t a cliff, but rather a stair-like series of jumbled rocks. From the depths of the hole steam and other vapors rose from geothermal vents. This sounded promising as cover. If the Twilighters were looking for them from the sky, they could be tracked via their heatsinks, which would glow brightly for any thermal-sensitive cameras. The hot vapors would obscure these telltale signatures from the sky.

As they reached the rim of the upper vents, Sixty-Two saw the billowing heat roiling up like a dark pillar that propped up the stars. He suspected the skald had led them here for the warmth, if nothing else. The place would increase the man’s odds of survival as well. It was not important, however. As long as the humans lost their trail, that was good enough.

“Steam, where there should only be ice,” the skald said aloud from Lizett’s back. He was standing high now, fully exposed. The air had warmed considerably, and he was taking full advantage of it.

“This is the spot?”

Ornth shook Garth’s head slowly. “Farther. We must find the source of the anomaly. Standing on the rim gazing in wonder is insufficient.”

Sixty-Two swung his orbs downward, doubtfully staring into the jumble of steam-slicked, fallen stones. His feet were metal, but he did not relish sliding down into the darkness on those wet rocks. Every surface appeared treacherous, whether it was frosted with a glaze of ice or dark and shining with hot liquid.

“I think if we circle the vent, we’ll do fine,” he said. “This is an excellent place to avoid our pursuers. I commend you for thinking of it, Ornth.”

The skalds burning eyes turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time. “What? You must proceed! I have come so far. Lightyears and thousands of miles on foot.”

“For this? You must explain yourself or I will not step another inch closer to that hole.”

“This is the anomaly!” Ornth said, becoming excitable. “Can you not see with those optics?”

“What anomaly?”

“That which cannot be, but is. That which can’t be found, because it is plainly visible.”

Sixty-Two clacked his grippers in irritation. Always it was like this with the skald, or the Tulk, or whatever he called himself. There were no clear answers, nothing useful. Sixty-Two turned away from him and his army of mechs followed. The man made a few squawking cries, but Sixty-Two ignored him. They would circle the vent, using its heat to shield them from detection. After that, they’d plan their next move. He thought the best move would be to head even deeper into the freezing wastes of Nightside. The crazy skald could stay behind if he wished. In fact, leaving him here would be a pleasure. Lizett would be heartbroken, of course, but it couldn’t be helped. If they pressed on into the darkest regions of the planet, he could not survive anyway.

It was Lizett’s cry some minutes later that caused Sixty-Two to relent and look back. Immediately, he worried she had fallen into the dark crater. But he could see her. She was at the very rim, looking out into the rushing vapors.

Sixty-Two signaled a halt and moved to her side. “Have you gotten your foot stuck, Lizett?”

“No,” she said. She pointed with a gripper out into the plumes of fog. “Look!”

Sixty-Two peered into the steam and adjusted his orbs in vain. It was difficult to focus when the gasses were opaque and shifting. He did notice, however, that Ornth was no longer riding on Lizett’s back. Immediately, Sixty-Two directed his orbs downward, expecting to see a mangled body on the jagged rocks.

“Did he fall out?” he asked.

“I don’t know how got out there. I could not feel him climbing free of his sack. Only when my weight and balance gyros registered a shift did I suspect it. I reached for him, but he evaded my grippers.”

“Got out where?”

Insistently, Lizett pointed not downward, but directly out in a horizontal direction. Sixty-Two peered-and finally, he did see. The skald appeared to be standing in the midst of the rising steam column, where there was no surface to stand upon.

“How did you get out there?” Sixty-Two demanded.

“This is the place. The place that cannot be. Follow me, if you would know the truth.”

“Follow you? How can I do that? You are a mad-thing.”

“Place one of those great clanking feet in front of the other until you stand at my side,” Ornth said.

“I’ll do no such thing. Come, Lizett. He’s trying to trick us. He stands upon a stone we can’t see. We’ll leave him here. Either he’ll come to his senses, or he won’t, and I’ll be rid of him at long last.”

Sixty-Two turned and walked away. The rest of the mechs formed ranks again to follow.

“I’ve done it!” cried Lizett’s voice behind him.

Suspecting he wouldn’t like what he saw, Sixty-Two swung his orbs back to look at Lizett. She was walking on nothing, heading out into the vapors to where Ornth stood waiting. Sixty-Two stared at the pair, dumbfounded.

Aldo and Nina rode their mounts at the head of their combined armies, driving deeply into Nightside. Now that they had the numbers, Nina no longer moved carefully. She wanted to find the enemy, and overrun them. Moving at full speed, their mounts were capable of nearly twice the pace of a running mech. The ride wasn’t comfortable, however. The freezing air rushed by like a hurricane. Their goggles were soon frosted with rime and even with suit-heaters running at full blast, their extremities were numb from the cold. Aldo wondered if he’d have all his toes left after this expedition. He doubted it.

The mechs were relatively easy to follow, as they left clear tracks. At first, they passed by half-frozen mud and tundra. As they pressed more deeply into the colder regions, there was only ice and dry, blowing snow.

“We must press hard,” Nina radioed to Aldo. “We can’t let up for a moment. We can see their tracks now, but if the wind picks up and the snow falls deeply, the tracks will be filled in as fast as they make them.”

“Can’t you see them from the air?”

“Those assets have been reserved for surveillance over Twilight. You did your work well, Aldo. The Duchess is quite fearful of an attack on our best lands.”

Aldo privately thought the Duchess was the saner of the two, but he held back his opinions on the matter.

Not being certain where they would contact the mech forces, they spread themselves wide and sent scouts rushing ahead. A squawk of radio came back from one of the scouts on the left flank. Nina tried to raise him-but there was nothing but the single moment of contact. Not even an intelligible word had been heard.

“Swing left!” she shouted over the command channel. “Captains, detach your nearest group of squad strength and rush to that spot. Report the moment you get there, even if you are under fire.”

“You may be sending those men to their deaths,” Aldo said to her on a private channel.

“Command is difficult. Perhaps you are not up to these hard decisions.”

Aldo stayed moodily silent. In his mind, he could not reconcile this harsh woman with the soft sultry thing she had been when she’d first met him in a chiffon gown. He could scarcely believe he’d bedded her and enjoyed himself immensely.

Being within a reasonable distance, the two commanders sped to the spot with their personal guard drifting behind. They arrived in the middle of a full-pitched battle. Just before they came over a lip of land and were confronted by an immense column of rising steam, a squad-leader radioed in he’d met up with a small group of running mechs. The enemy turned and the fight began.

The enemy consisted of twenty ex-perrupters, each with laser cannons affixed to one arm and power-swords held in the other. The pursuing humans fired bolts at them, but with little effect. They soon turned their mounts and fled. The enemy charged after them, burning them down with well-aimed fire into the backs of retreating men.

Nina’s personal force of one hundred knights was the next to arrive. They crested the rise and charged without orders. There was hardly any need for Nina to signal the attack, as she herself was among the first to goad her mount to full speed. Aldo came behind them, breathing hard. This was not his kind of fight. It was too wild, too uncontrolled. A man could be taken out by a bolt of flying energy, never having notice the individual that fired it. He much preferred individual dueling. No one had consulted him, however, so he rode with the rest, bent over the barrel-like body of his mount and firing laser bolts when the path ahead was clear.

Both sides peppered the other with fire. The mechs were outnumbered, but it took many shots to bring down one. Usually, a single laser hit knocked a man from his mount and sent him tumbling over the ground. A dozen men were struck dead and three mechs sagged down before the two charging lines met.

Power-swords arced and flashed as men and mechs crashed together. Barrages of laser fire lanced back and forth at pointblank range. Ice-covered rocks sizzled and formed glowing hotspots when the laser fire missed or glanced off a metallic surface.

Aldo followed closely in Nina’s wake and watched as she swept off the head of a perrupter. Blinded but not finished, the perrupter dropped its sword and snatched at her with a gripper. She ducked under and rode away. As Aldo approached the flailing machine, it shot another mech in the side accidentally, causing it to stagger. A fraction of a second later, Aldo pierced the chassis, aiming for the braincase. The mech sagged down on it back, its heat sinks melting snow into steam.

The fight was chaotic. The naturally cold, dark environment was frequently altered by glaring flashes of heat, light and scalding vapors. Soon, the number of flashes fell off rapidly, as the dead mechs piled up. A moment later the humans realized they had won.

Nina was not finished, however. She rode her mount to every mech and examined it. She thrust her blade into the guts of any machine that dared twitch, and many that did not. Aldo followed at a safe distance.

“We’ve won, Baroness.”

“No, we’ve won nothing.”

Aldo cocked his head puzzledly. “In my opinion, any battle which leaves me breathing is a clear victory.”

Nina glanced over her shoulder at him. She held her sword over a fallen mech, but withheld her killing stroke for the moment. “I’m looking for a certain mech-one that dresses like a man. He’s not here.”

Aldo nodded and glided closer. Nina turned to her grim work, lifting her blade.

Suddenly, the mech’s gripper shot up and grabbed her ankle, and pulled. She was ripped her from her mount. She went sprawling.

The perrupter was missing its legs, but it was still capable of moving. It heaved itself up and lunged for her. A gripper rose and fell, and sparks exploded from the spot where it smashed into stones. Nina scrambled to escape, crawling away from the thing. She reached for her sword, but then it fell upon her.

Nina screamed as it crushed her down with its body. It stiffened a moment later, and warm liquids bubbled out of it. The mech stopped moving.

Aldo peeked over its shoulder, looking down into the face of the Baroness, who panted raggedly under the mech. “Are you all right?” he asked mildly.

Nina struggled, but could not escape from the dead mech, due to its great weight. Several knights had to help free her in the end, lifting and rolling away the body.

“It leaked its brain fluids all over me,” she said disgustedly as she got back to her feet and limped to her mount, which idled nearby. “Did you have to thrust your blade completely through its body?”

Aldo pursed his lips in annoyance. “Perhaps I should have let it have its way with you.”

She turned and glared at him, then finally sighed and climbed back into her saddle. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thank you for slaying the rebel.”

Aldo nodded and said no more about it. He sensed that apologies did not come naturally to the Baroness-nor to anyone else on Ignis Glace, for that matter.

“Where are we headed now?” he asked later. He noticed that she now allowed him to ride alongside, rather than always shying away. It was a subtle improvement of mood, but one worth noting. He calculated that if he were perhaps afforded the opportunity to save her life a dozen times more, he might be back in her good graces.

“We are going toward that great geyser. The tracks lead straight toward it. I believe they plan to hide from our sensors there. The clouds are constant and no electronics could pick out their heat signatures in that region.”

“What if they are hiding there? Waiting to ambush as this group did?”

“Then we root them out and destroy them all,” she said in a tone that indicated he’d asked a senseless question.

Aldo followed her without comment. One day out of the three he’d agreed to go along with this hunt had passed. They’d found and destroyed an enemy patrol, but he was less confident than ever after the experience. The small victory had been costly. He had no idea how the battle would go when they faced thousands of these tenacious machines.

#

Word of the destruction of his rearguard came to Sixty-Two as he stood gawking at Lizett and the man who called himself Ornth. He was goaded to a decision then, as the enemy were much closer than he had thought possible. There was only one reason they would attack now-they felt they had the advantage. There had to be a vast army of them.

Sixty-Two swiveled his head to the left and the right. The rim of the crater stretched on for miles. There was no cover, no fortress of stone to take and defend. Then he turned his chassis and stared back up the rise in the direction where enemy contact had been made. They were miles back, but on flying mounts, miles went by quickly. There were no good options, he realized. He would have to make his stand here. The enemy had caught him with back against this crater, which he now realized was trap rather than a refuge.

“Let’s form-up!” he broadcast to every standing mech. “Battle formation, centered on my location. Face sunward, and test your weapons now.”

All up and down the line, the mechs halted their walking and milling about. They ran on churning metal feet to do as he asked. Captains relayed orders and marshaled their companies. They broke radio silence freely now, since Sixty-Two had already done so.

“Sixty-Two?” called Lizett behind him. “You simply must come out here. It’s so lovely and strange.”

Sixty-Two barely glanced at them. “Stay where you are Lizett. If we lose this battle, perhaps the humans will not notice you hiding on that ledge, or whatever it is.”

“It’s not a ledge, silly. It’s a plane. You can walk on it, even if you can’t see it.”

“I made need your help, mechanical man,” Ornth called. “I urge you to come here and escape this pointless battle.”

These last words finally angered Sixty-Two. Since it was going to be several minutes before his troops had positioned themselves, and they required no further guidance, he whirled around and clanked to the rim of the crater. He addressed the two who hung in space in front of him.

“Pointless? Our survival is not pointless. It is all that matters to my people. What good are we as slaves, or as dead rebels? In the next minutes, our status will be forever decided.”

“There is a third option.”

“We cannot evade them. You’ve brought us to this point personally. Our backs are pressed against an abyss.”

“You can evade pursuit, if you do it quickly enough.”

Before Sixty-Two could make another angry retort, Lizett interrupted. “I think I know what he means. I’ll show you.”

She walked toward him then, and as Sixty-Two watched, he came to doubt his connection to his optics. She was walking on nothing. Soundless, she approached on the roiling vapor and stood at his side.

“See?” she said proudly. “My little Ornth found this.”

“He’s not a pet rabbit, Lizett,” Sixty-Two said. “You must not trust him with your life.”

Lizett pouted. “You will not even try?”

“Try what?”

“Step with me. I’ll take your gripper and show you the way.”

Sixty-Two glanced over his shoulder. His forces had lined up on the rocky region around the crater. They were well-placed. When the enemy came charging over the ridge, they would be exposed to his fire from a hundred laser cannons.

Lizett took his gripper. His curiosity got the better of him and he allowed her to guide him into-nowhere. A moment later, he stood beside Lizett and Ornth. They looked positively smug.

“How are we standing here?” he demanded. “Is there some kind of magnetic field? Some kind of trick of physics? Or is the floor simply disguised?”

“It is the place that cannot be,” Ornth explained unhelpfully. “It is the place I have sought.”

“How far does it extend?”

Ornth made a sweeping gesture, indicating the entire sinkhole. “There is no limit.”

Sixty-Two looked around, and suddenly new possibilities occurred to him. “There are no holes? No gaps?”

“This place cannot be,” Ornth said.

Sixty-Two made a sound of disgust with his speakers, but he quickly began testing the ‘ground’ around him. It gave slightly under a mech’s feet, but only an inch or so. After that, it was as firm as land could be. He soon found himself marching this way and that. He returned to the rim of the crater and jogged along its border, a hundred yards in every direction.

Finally, he turned to his army, which had now formed up ranks before him and quietly awaited whatever might come to them. He felt pride in their stalwart nature. Mechs did not flee combat. They might fall and die, but never while screaming in terror.

He then gave the order for his entire army to retreat out onto the streaming vapors, to stand upon nothing-to hide in plain sight. They did as he asked, walking awkwardly at first, as if each step would be their last. But soon, they adapted, and they walked further into the pouring storm of hot gasses. They could not be seen, nor heard here.

As they waited, Sixty-Two reflected on what might seem to others to be a cowardly act. He knew his people were anything but cowards. But he also knew the enemy would not advance if they didn’t have sufficient force to destroy them all. They retreated in order to survive another day-or at least, another hour.

Twenty-Two

The Skaintz made planetfall a day after they’d swept aside the human fleet. The Twilighters on the ground were in a panic, calling up their personal armies and preparing to defend their own estates.

The nife spent the last hours in deep, tactical thought. By the time the Gladius slid into high orbit over the planet, he’d hammered out the final details. Nothing he could come up with was better than the most direct approach available. In the end, the Imperium battle plan was typical of its kind. It would be swift, direct and brutal.

The enemy had only one detectable spaceport with surprisingly little traffic. The port was in the middle of one of the two largest population centers, making it doubly valuable as a prize of conquest. If nothing else, the Empress would be extremely pleased due to the plentiful number of flavorful food-creatures.

The nife took the plan to her for final approval. As she listened, she became wild to taste fresh meats.

“An entire city of meat-creatures roaming around at will?” she asked. Her maw slavered at the description. “I’ve been eating dust and scraps for months. I will have a grand tasting on the very first day. I insist that you launch now. Our assault vessels have sufficient range, I know that they do.”

“Patience, Empress! The ship will soon be in stationary orbit. When the big engines stop, we shall launch the assault ships.”

“Do you wish to see me starve and wither away? I demand that you launch them now! ”

The nife rankled. He could see now why the original Parent had nearly been spaced. The Empress was impossible to deal with. He felt an urge to relinquish command. If she wanted to give the orders herself-so be it. The monarch’s powerful musk prevented him from such behavior, however. He dipped his stalks and closed his cusps over his orbs in defeat.

“I had planned a barrage of suppressing fire, but I shall press the attack immediately.”

The Empress hesitated. “Is there risk involved in this course of action?”

“There is risk in all warfare, madam. We face a determined enemy. They fooled us with their long-range firepower on initial contact, and they may have more surprises in store.”

“Are you suggesting my person might be violated?”

The nife’s stalks rose, as he now sensed an opening. The Empress feared the humans. He had little regard for their military capacities, but he now realized that if he could enhance the danger they posed in his reports, his job would be made easier. The Empress would both allow him to follow his own plans, while at the same time becoming more forgiving of any failures. The more he thought about the plan growing in his mind, the happier he became. Within seconds, he was strutting around the Empress’ nest, being watched by a dozen of her pod-like eyes.

“We face a foe that has beaten Imperial forces in the recent past. We’ve seen them in action now, and they were nearly successful in stopping us as we entered their system. They are highly dangerous, and more importantly, deceitful!”

The Empress flapped her drooping lung-sacs. “Very well, we shall follow your original plan. Destroy their batteries at range, and send down the assault ships when they lie supine.”

“Excellent choice, Empress,” the nife said, maneuvering behind her, into the region where she had the fewest eye-clusters. He found her form inviting. Just looking at her organs was stimulating. Her bulging hindquarters were similar to those of a Parent, but much more grand.

“May I personally thank you for giving me the honor of commanding this assault?” he asked as he ogled her. “After its successful conclusion, your name will be forever-”

“What are you doing back there?” interrupted the Empress.

“Pacing, my great lady-it helps me think.”

“That’s quite enough prattle for now. Get out. You are to launch your invasion as soon as possible.”

The nife hastened for the exit.

When Aldo received news of the Nexus fleet’s defeat, he mounted and rode swiftly to where Nina marshaled her forces. They were one ridge away from the enemy lines, and scouts had reported seeing mech activity along the rim of a huge, steaming crater. Nina wanted to align all her forces for a single, sweeping charge. The enemy had chosen their ground very poorly.

“Nina!” Aldo called.

The Baroness wheeled her mount and scowled. “I prefer that you use my proper title when I’m standing before my own troops.”

“Sorry, Baroness. But there is an emergency. The aliens have arrived. The Nexus fleet has met them in the skies overhead.”

“Excellent! Let those pompous tax-collectors earn their keep, for once.”

“That is not all, milady. The battle has already been waged.”

The Baroness finally turned her full attention to him. “Well?”

“We have suffered a grave defeat. Gladius has been significantly modified into a mothership, apparently. They launched scores of sleek fighter craft and destroyed the Nexus fleet in its entirety.”

Baroness Droad appeared confused. “All of them?”

“Yes. They fought well, taking many of the enemy craft with them. But in the end, they were overwhelmed.”

Nina rode forward, moving uphill to meet Aldo. Around her, a dozen officers murmured and exclaimed. No one could believe it. Alone among the group, Aldo was unsurprised. He’d met this enemy before and seen them fight.

Nina sidled her mount closer to Aldo and spoke so the others could not hear. “Aldo, you were right.”

He nodded. “It gives me no pleasure, milady. I wish nothing more than the defeat of this enemy.”

Nina stared up at the dark skies. Her face was troubled, and the stars reflected from her frosted goggles. “Will they come here, Aldo?” she asked. “Will they land in Twilight?”

“Definitely.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Less than a day.”

Baroness Droad turned her mount and faced her commanders. “We must finish this matter now, in that case. It should only take a few hours to push the mechs into the abyss they’ve put to their backs. Come now, we attack immediately!”

Aldo hissed through his teeth. He’d made the announcement of the imminent invasion of her world as dramatically as possible, but Nina would still not see reason and turn from her path. He shook his head, knowing he had few remaining options. The men did not want to follow him. He was many things, but he wasn’t a charismatic leader of armies. He fought best alone with a blade against a single opponent. If he called to the officers to mutiny against the Baroness, he would be laughed at best-shot from behind at worst.

So, he rode after her. Thousands of mounted troops soon roared in unison and sped up the ridge to the crest. On the far side they increased their pace to its maximum, charging down toward the huge, steaming crater.

Less than half an hour later, Nina’s army found itself milling over the icy rocks in confusion.

“Where did they go?” Nina demanded, beating her saddle with the pommel of her sword.

Aldo glided to the rim and gazed downward, into the cloudy abyss. Sometimes, the rising vapors cleared enough to allow him to see snatches of the terrain. He saw nothing but distant jagged cliffs and tumbled stone.

“They must have found a way down,” he said. “A path of some kind. But I’ll be damned if I can find it.”

Nine panted and cursed with vexation. She rode along the rim this way and that. Finally, she found a spot that was marginally less steep than the rest of it. “This must be it,” she said. “Throw me a line, Aldo.”

“Perhaps Old Hans would be the better man to hold it.”

Nina shook her head. “He would try to stop me.”

Aldo frowned. “You’ll lose your mount.”

“I must try.”

Aldo nodded, knowing she was going to do this no matter what. He attached a filament from her saddle to his. He prayed she would not fall too far and pull him down with her. Revving his vehicle, he pulled away from the edge and waited for the line to go taut. Nina saluted him, and he saluted her. He did not bother to try to talk her out of this. She’d come too far to give up now without at least injuring herself.

She rode her mount outward, into the billowing steam. At first, it seemed she was revving her engines at maximum, maintaining altitude. Aldo frowned as she glided farther out and was now partially obscured by vapor. How high could these vehicles fly? He’d been under the impression they could not cruise at more than a few feet above a given surface.

Nina disappeared entirely then. To Aldo, it appeared she had dropped out of sight. He gripped the line and grimaced, waiting for a vicious tug. He hoped the girl had the wit to let the mount fall away and hang onto the line for rescue.

But the expected yank on the filament did not come. Instead, it paid out farther, without haste. Aldo frowned at the line, not knowing what to make of it.

Suddenly, it slackened. Aldo urged his mount fractionally closer to the rim. “Nina?” he called.

A figure loomed closer. He could not make it out, but urged his mount to slide backward.

“It’s only me,” Nina said.

She explained the situation at length, and gathered her officers. They were all incredulous, but when they dismounted and walked on the invisible plane of force, they accepted the truth.

“The mechs are here, hiding in the middle of this crater,” Nina said with certainty. She stared at the shifting wall of dense vapor intently. “They came right here. How did they know of this place?”

“More importantly,” Aldo said, “how does it work?”

“There’s nothing for it,” Nina said at last. “We’ll have ride in there and find them.”

Aldo was incredulous. “Blind? On a surface we know nothing about? If they control it, they will simply switch it off and cast us all down to our deaths.”

Nina cursed. “I can’t give up. They are right here. So close!”

“We have no choice. We have been eluded.”

“We can spread out and press in from every side. It is not so great an area. They should be as blind as we are. It will not be a pleasant struggle, but-”

“Nina, listen to reason. Your world is threatened by a greater enemy. You can’t risk this army on your own vendetta. That is the mark of an amateur.”

This last comment stung, and made her turn her full, glaring attention upon him. But soon, she sighed and nodded. “You are right, Aldo. I would not take such remarks from many men. But you journeyed across the black sea between your star and mine to help us. You are as much a madman on a vendetta as I am. I respect you for that, and understand you. Most importantly, your enemy appears more dangerous than mine.”

“Very well,” Aldo said in relief. “I’m glad you are willing to listen to reason. We must ride hard now, and take these forces back to Twilight.”

“Not me. You take them.”

Aldo looked at her in surprise.

“I’m going in,” Nina said, lifting her chin high and proud. “I will die here, or he will.”

As Aldo watched in disbelief, she turned her mount and glided into the billowing clouds of vapor.

He waved his hand dismissively after her and snorted. The woman was barking mad.

Nina rode into nothingness for some time. She rode slowly, nosing her mount into the shifting clouds. She soon lost track of how far she’d traveled, and only her mount’s compass kept her on a straight heading. Frequently she slowed, thinking she’d heard an intelligible voice or seen a shape in the shifting void ahead. Always, however, it turned out to be only a trick of the murmuring mists.

After several minutes however, she did hear the unmistakable sounds of servos whining. Something metal and large moved nearby. She halted, listening. She did not want to meet up with a patrol of enemy mechs. They would most likely tear her apart mindlessly. There was one among them, their leader, who was different. It was he she sought, the mech who aped a man.

There were several close encounters with enemy machines as she glided quietly deeper into the mists, toward what she assumed was a central region of the crater. On each occasion, she managed to sit quietly and avoid them. She wondered briefly how far down the sinkhole below her reached now that she was near the center of it. Did it truly yawn like a mouth? An abyss that ended in planetary magma? She did not know, and finding such ideas disturbing, she tried to push them out of her head.

At long last, she did hear voices. This time it was not just a snatch of half-heard words. It was more than that, and there were two voices having a conversation. She turned her mount in that direction and glided slowly closer. The mists began to thin, and she halted, listening.

“Like the eye of a hurricane. But why here?” asked one voice, male from the sound of it.

“It’s beautiful!” said a second voice, this one sounding younger and female.

“This is the place I’ve sought,” another voice said. This one sounded odd, almost distorted. “You need only to open this hatch.”

“I will not until you tell me why we’re here,” said the older, male voice. “And there is no use grunting and tugging. Your skinny arms aren’t up to the task.”

Nina listened, and while she did so, she built up her courage. Why had she come here, if she was only going to sulk in shadow now? She had to act. These were clearly mechs of a different stripe. The way they spoke amongst themselves-it was eerily human.

She goaded her mount forward until she came out into an open area where only threads of mist swirled. This place was different than any other region she’d found in the crater. It had a solid floor of dark metal. How it had come to be here, she had no clue.

There were many mechs in evidence, at least two score of them. Nina’s heart sank as they swung their orbs toward her. She’d thought perhaps there had only been three, and that she might possibly slay the leader and flee. All such fantasies evaporated when she saw their numbers. Still, she rode forward confidently, as if they were all her servants.

Among them, three figures stood apart. One was a mech that carried a skin sack on its back. The second was a thin human who stood tugging on a hatch in the middle of the region, which was made of solid dark metal. The third was the one that captivated her entirely once she’d spotted him. This was the one-the mech who commanded the others. He was the one who’d presided over a group when they’d slayed her beloved Leon. He still wore a wide-brimmed hat, a fluttering blue scarf and a cloak that trailed behind him.

“I request to parlay with you, the rebel leader!” Nina shouted.

The leader raised his gripper, and the others lowered their weapons. Nina knew he’d sent out a radio signal on their local subnet, ordering them not to slay her. Her stomach unknotted-but only slightly.

“Who wishes to parlay with me?” asked the leader.

“I’m Baroness Nina Droad.”

The mech moved forward several clanking steps when he heard this. His broad feet rang as they struck the dark metal platform they stood upon.

“I am called Sixty-Two,” he said gravely. “Why is it you’ve come here?”

“I’ve come to slay you, and I’ve brought an army to do it with. Surely, you must have noticed.”

The mech turned its head slightly to one side, as if thinking. It was an oddly human gesture, and Nina found it slightly disgusting to see him perform it.

“What gives you the right to slay us?” he asked.

Nina blinked in surprise, but the question seemed to be in earnest. “Because you are rebels who have resisted your rightful masters and in some cases slain them.”

“Our ‘rightful masters’,” Sixty-Two echoed thoughtfully. “And what gives one man the right to be the master of another?”

Nina made a sound of exasperation. “You are not men! Look at yourselves! I will admit, you are a singular case, Sixty-Two. You are different than the rest. Something clearly went wrong in your processing. But that doesn’t change things.”

“I believe that it does. I am a human with a metal body of your people’s design. I want to know why this has been done to me.”

“Because you are a criminal. You are all criminals. You were rightfully convicted and sentenced to this fate.”

“What then, was my crime? For I do not remember it.”

Nina decided to take this opportunity to get closer to her target. She thought it may be the only chance she ever got-and besides, she was curious. Who was this mysterious mech, who’d become a warlord and caused so much damage?

She dismounted and approached until she was close enough to peer at his chestplate. She tapped the serial number on the mech into her computer scroll and did a search. She wasn’t able to access the net from this maelstrom of geological activity, but all such public data had been stored locally on her computer in any case.

She studied the results, frowning. “Hmm, the serial number is listed as unregistered. It is listed as unused, and isn’t in the database. Did you alter it?”

“No,” Sixty-Two said. “I suspect my processing was never finished, and the ID was never logged. I’ve done the same search myself with the same results.”

“I see, yes, the processing must have been interrupted. That would explain a lot. But in short, I do not know who you are-who you were.”

“And you see no crime in that, Baroness? Your people have erased me, and cannot even tell me what it was I supposedly did to earn my fate.”

Nina looked troubled, but only for a moment. “The situation is self-evident. You are a mech, therefore you were previously a criminal. Only the most heinous of crimes earn people such a fate.”

“Really? Then let us indulge ourselves with a second test. Here is a girl named Lizett. Research her number, please.”

Nina stepped up to the towering mech female and scanned her breastplate. She waited a moment, then frowned at the results.

“Well?” demanded Sixty-Two.

Nina straightened her spine to stand as tall as possible among the towering mechs that surrounded her. If she were to die, it would not be in the posture of a sniveling liar. She read the report as it was written on her device. “Lizett Germaine. Age twelve. Daughter of shopkeepers Otto and Gisele Germaine, from Alsace fief. Family evicted for non-payment of lease and convicted as debtors.”

“Lizett Germaine,” Lizett said, pronouncing her last name carefully. “Do I have any brothers or sisters?”

Nina frowned. “It doesn’t say here.”

“Let me see if I understand the situation,” Sixty-Two said gravely. “She was a child of debtors, and the entire family was processed for non-payment? You call this justice?”

“You knew who she was before you had me look it up.”

“That changes nothing. Would you call this justice?”

Nina looked at the female mech and shook her head. “It would not seem to be a fair sentence.”

“Look at the date on the record, Baroness. When was the act performed?”

“Uh-sixteen years ago.”

“So,” Sixty-Two boomed, turning up the volume of his speakers. “Your people ripped her brain from her body as a child. Deprived of hormonal influences, memories, and until recently emotions, she did not develop. She still has the mind of a child and most likely forever will.”

“I concede her grounds for a grievance. Perhaps she can plead her case and receive restitution.”

Sixty-Two snorted in disgust. “No fief judge will consider a case brought by a runaway mech. We are slaves. We are chattel. We have been gravely wronged. Can you not understand our actions now? You are a fiery knightrix, a warrior at arms. Would you tolerate such dishonorable treatment in our situation?”

Nina eyed the hulking mechs around her, seeing individuals for the first time, rather than machines. Part of her wanted to break her chivalrous code and tell them an untruth, but she could not.

“No,” she admitted at last. “I would not tolerate such treatment. I would be angry, and I would most likely rebel.”

“Excellent. Now that you have admitted your guilt, we can proceed with our own justice.”

“My guilt?”

“You have confessed to mistreating mechs, to persecuting us with armed troops when we are the ones that have been wronged. That dishonor must be punished.”

“What kind of a parlay is this?” Nina shouted.

“It is the kind your people have often given us. You are the sole available representative of your government. You are to be tried and executed for the deaths of over five hundred civilian mechs at our base in Sunside.”

Nina drew her sword and powered it. The blade flared into life and plasma rippled over its length. “Sixty-Two, or whatever your name is, I would challenge you to a duel instead!” she shouted. “As one commander to another! Let this war be decided by a single death, rather than a thousand.”

Sixty-Two was taken aback. “You challenge me? I have ten times your strength of arm.”

“I’ve slain your kind before. This blade will cut through steel struts as easily as bone.”

“How would such an act change the course of this struggle between our peoples?”

“We’ll record the duel. We will record the terms. If I win, I walk freely from here, and our army retreats. You will have been executed for your crimes, and I will pursue the rest of your mechs no longer.”

“And if I win?”

“Then you will have gotten your revenge, and I will leave taped orders for my knights to retreat all the same. Either way, your mechs will no longer be hunted by this army. I can’t guarantee others will not come looking for you, but if you stay hidden in Nightside, I doubt you will be molested further. The aliens are going arrive at any moment from the skies giving us bigger things to worry about.”

Sixty-Two appeared to think over the offer. “I accept,” he said at last.

They recorded the terms solemnly, and when they were done Sixty-Two wasted no time. He took a sword into his gripper, and lifted it over Nina’s head.

Nina lifted her blade to parry. She knew he had the power to beat down her guard, but she could hope to deflect the first stroke. If she could then slash in, possibly low, she could take off one of his legs. If the rest of the mechs didn’t intervene, she might be able to finish the fight right then, and achieve her real goal: avenging Leon’s death. They would probably kill her afterward in a fury, but it would at least be a death with purpose.

“Wait!” shouted a voice from the shifting fog around them. Every head turned, looking this way and that.

“Aldo?” Nina asked in shock. For she knew that voice, and when he swaggered out into visibility, she had to smile. He looked calm and cocky-as always.

Sixty-Two took one clanking step forward, warily approaching the small, confident female. He felt he should be able to brush her aside and easily win this duel. But he did not have a sense of complete confidence. He was not a warrior at heart. He suspected he had probably been a technician who’d failed his lord, or an accountant who’d embezzled funds, in his previous life. He’d become a war leader, but it was a role that had been thrust upon him.

Now, facing this half-mad woman with her sparkling blade held at a precise angle over her head, he felt uncertain. She did not hop forward to the attack. She just waited. He knew she was waiting for him to make a grievous error.

When the voice of a second, unseen human rang out, Sixty-Two paused. He was not sorry to see the duel delayed. He’d only accepted these terms for the benefit of his people, who hopefully would no longer be hunted whether he won or not.

“Who are you?” he asked the man.

“Aldo Moreno of Neu Schweitz,” the stranger said with a slight dip of the head.

“Neu Schweitz? Did you come on the great ship with the aliens?”

“No. I came on another sleeker ship to aid in the defense of this world.”

Sixty-Two blinked his orb-shields. “What are you doing here? What business is this conflict of yours?”

“I am here to defend Ignis Glace. I implore you both to do the same. There is grave news. The ship has now reached low orbit.”

Nina watched this interchange with a growing frown. “Aldo, you should stay out of this. I am about to achieve my vengeance.”

“I ask that you put aside such bickering for the sake of all life on this planet. The aliens are here. They will kill us all, man or machine-and those who are both.”

Nina shook her head. “I know they took out our fleet, but-”

“The situation has changed further. I have the evidence here on my computer scroll. The reports are flooding in from Lavender City. The aliens have destroyed the gun batteries. They have landed troops. Even now, they assault the city and slaughter the populace. Your army is here in the field, but it has been recalled. This struggle must be set aside, Baroness.”

Nina and Sixty-Two both lowered their swords. Aldo strode forward and showed them the net broadcasts that were coming over the net. A fourth figure, the tall, thin form of the skald, joined their huddle. He peered with burning eyes at the images on the scroll.

There was no sound, but there did not need to be. The skies burned with white light as ships roared down to land at either end of the valley. Trapped between two forces, the city garrison was quickly overwhelmed by bounding legions of killbeasts. Juggers charged into the mix of any organized resistance, and even when the great beasts fell, the enemy was shattered. Killbeasts rolled in to mop-up, sweeping heads from necks with precise kicks of their bladed feet.

“We must return,” Nina said. “We must save the city.”

She looked up at Sixty-Two. “I wish to set aside our duel, if you will agree.”

“I will do as you ask. You are free to go.”

Nina looked up at him, her face troubled. “I must ask for more. You are not truly a man, but there is more human in you than these beasts from the stars. Will you stand with us?”

“As equals, or as slaves?”

“As allies of necessity.”

Sixty-Two looked around the group. He realized that he wanted peace, but this was not to be. This threat from the skies was far greater than he’d understood. Most importantly, he saw this as an opportunity to raise the status of mechs everywhere on this world, forever. Finally, he nodded. “The mechs will march after your army, but apart from it. I will retain sole command over my people.”

“There must be a commander, or there will be no army.”

“I will not follow the lead of a woman who has killed five hundred innocents!”

Nina drew in a breath to shout back at him, but Aldo stepped forward, holding his hands high.

“Wait!” he said. “I have a solution to propose. I am not from here. I wish only to destroy the aliens. I’ve never enslaved a mech, nor have I been wronged by one. As a neutral party, I offer to command the joint armies.”

Both sides grumbled, but they did so with haste. Aldo left the vids running between them, so they could see what was happening to the city as they delayed and discussed command.

“Done,” Sixty-Two said at last.

At that point, Aldo looked around for the skald who’d been watching the discussion. He was nowhere to be seen. Then he noticed the large hatch on the metal island in the center of the roiling geothermal mists. It was open. Lizett stood there, and he approached her.

“Are you the one known as Lizett?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, and an odd sound emitted from her speakers.

“Are you crying?”

“Yes. I opened the hatch, and he ran away! Why would he do that?”

“Who ran away?” Aldo asked, but he had an idea who she was talking about.

“The skald. My friend. I’ve cared for him for so long. I didn’t think he’d go down the hole and not come back.”

Aldo stepped to the open hatchway. It was pitch black inside. A series of grooves rippled the walls, perhaps meant to be a ladder of sorts. The crevices were thin, however, and did not seem properly scaled for human fingers. Going down there would be treacherous. One slip, and the fall looked infinite. He could make out nothing of the bottom. There were only smooth metal walls that formed a vertical shaft, and an inky blackness below.

Lizett called down the shaft for the man, who Aldo knew as the skald Garth.

“Can you get him back out of there for me?” she asked Aldo.

Aldo sighed and stood at the rim, staring down. “We’re leaving, skald! You’ll have no food or water. Every direction is a frozen wasteland. Come up now, or forfeit your life.”

There was no answer. Lizett stared at Aldo. “That was too harsh. You’ll scare him.”

Aldo grunted unhappily. “He’s a man, not a kitten! He’s made his choice, girl. Now, you must make yours. Come along, for it is time for us to depart.”

Making odd grieving sounds with her speakers, Lizett followed them into the mists. When they reached the rim of the crater, Aldo and Nina were the first to walk out into the open, signaling for the knights to lower their weapons. After them, thousands of mechs marched out of the roiling vapor. The knights of Twilight stared at the emerging mech army in shock.

Twenty-Three

Duchess Antoinette Embrak could trace her lineage back to the first colonists who stepped off the first ship to land on Ignis Glace. They’d been a hard-bitten people from the beginning, who’d worked as traders in the early years. Driving caravans of goods from one settlement to the next had proven very profitable, and they bought the canyon which now housed the fabled Lavender City only three decades after first setting foot on the planet’s surface. On Ignis Glace, ownership equated to nobility. Those that owned things were lords, and the value of their properties combined with their accomplishments achieved rank.

Duchess Embrak came from a long line of hard-nosed people bent on rising to the universal goal of becoming the planetary monarch. Thus far, no one in history had been crowned by the Ruling Council. The nobles on the council either wanted the prize for themselves, hated one another, or mistrusted one another too much to bestow that unique honor. Instead, they handed out lesser titles and offices to those who pleased or impressed them.

On the day the alien armies landed, the Duchess knew the final death of all her dreams of ascendancy. That was almost more painful for her to witness than the death of the city itself. She sat at the needle-like top of the Opulence, which had once again become a watchtower. From this headquarters, she was in touch with the city around her.

The aliens began the assault by firing salvos of missiles from orbit. The rocky rim of the valley was lined with gun batteries, but they were designed to deal with local threats and could not reach up into space. Nonetheless, the gunners had expected the enemy fighters to descend and attack, so they were crewed and ready for battle.

Unfortunately, in a large scale battle the force with the superior range often had the advantage. The missiles the Skaintz Imperial troops had built over the long years in space reached down like falling stars. They resembled white, burning flares of light, dropping rapidly from space. Bluish-contrails hung in the sky behind them like spider webs-hundreds of them. When the missiles reached the ground, they did not strike the exposed city, fortunately, but rather bombarded the guns that ringed it. The crews were blown to bits in an incandescent instant. Even those who fled when they saw death falling, and those who took shelter in nearby bunkers, perished. The missiles were too accurate, their payload too great.

Duchess Embrak watched this horror unfold with her small, exquisite mouth falling open. She’d already given Aldo the recall order, but as she saw the assault vessels come down-fat, ugly things shaped like mushrooms-she knew they must contain troops. She knew then there was no way the army could return in time.

She ordered out the militia and the police forces. She called the Nexus headquarters repeatedly, but their building was a smoking ruin. If any Nexus people had survived, they weren’t answering her call.

The aliens came down in two battlegroups, one at either end of the long dark canyon that contained Lavender City. Their plan was obvious from the start. The populace could not escape over the cliffs, so by assaulting either end, they trapped everyone.

The Duchess made a hissing sound, and pounded on her transceiver. She ordered the garrison troops she had left to hold the entrances to the city at all costs. They were also to open all armories and arm the public. This was going to be a bloody affair.

Her final act of the day was to sip tea as she awaited her emergency extraction. A flitter glided down from sunward to hover near the pinnacle of the watchtower. She stepped outside into the open, powerful breezes. She could see the fighting now, distant glaring flashes and explosions flared orange to her left and right. Moments after the flashes, loud booming reports echoed from the canyon walls around her.

She hesitated in concern before boarding the craft. The pilot anxiously waved her forward. But she did not move. There was something…

Yes, she knew what it was now. There were no aircraft over the city. None at all. She licked her lips. Her hair whipped into her face and stung her eyes. She retrieved a communication device from one of her bodyguards and spoke to the flitter pilots.

“Fly to the rim of the canyon, up over the edge, have a look, then return for me.”

The pilot hesitated. “This is a dangerous situation, Duchess. I suggest you board with haste and-”

“Are you refusing my commands, Major?”

“No, Duchess, but for your safety.”

“Indulge me. I wish to have an eyewitness account of the situation along the rim. Are there aliens preparing to rappel down into the midst of the city? You must inform me. It will only take a moment.”

“Very well, Duchess,” the pilot said.

The craft lifted away and buzzed toward the canyon wall. Within moments, it had reached its objective. It rose up then, circled above the rim of the canyon, and did a sweeping turn to return to the watchtower.

The aliens were a little slow, but they were accurate. Beams lanced out and riddled the craft. It fell, a burning ruin, into the city streets far below.

The Duchess nodded, her suspicions confirmed. The aliens had allowed the craft to approach, but they weren’t going to allow anyone to fly out of the city. She should have heard about this critical detail, but the Nexus people who ran traffic control were all dead, blasted to atoms along with their radar systems.

She turned around and stepped back into her penthouse. For the first time, she felt a real pang of fear. She could not leave. She was trapped with the rest, be they lords or peasants.

The aliens were closing down the city-but not directly destroying it. She’d expected at first they might wish to simply bathe the place in nuclear fires. Since they’d passed up this easy solution, they must have something else in mind for the populace. The Duchess had the feeling she wasn’t going to like learning of their plans. Before she closed the outer hatches to the flitter port, she looked out away from the sun, toward Nightside. What was Aldo doing out there with her army? She’d been a fool to trust the Nexus people and send Aldo to needle the young Baroness. The temptation had been too great, however. Now, she was paying a price for underestimating the aliens. She hoped that in the end, the price would not be too great.

The harvesting of the human population center was going exceedingly well. The Skaintz were like most predators: they liked their food to put up a fight. Like terrestrial snakes, they were bored by dead prey. The wriggling, the resistance, the stings and barbs-such details stimulated their appetite like nothing else could.

And the humans did struggle. Once their militia barricades were swept aside at either end of the long canyon, they fell back to fighting house-to-house, street-to-street. Their weaponry was mostly ballistic in nature. The military had laser rifles, but the average citizen may own nothing more than a single-shot rifle. Still, these weapons were well-designed and were capable of hurling a lead pellet at significant velocities. The killbeasts were on the front line, and when struck by a rifle bullet they were often knocked off their horned feet. In almost every case, they bounded up again and returned fire, or charged close to eviscerate their attackers. But occasionally they were mortally wounded and only flopped on the cobbles. The nife commander considered charging such concentrations of resistance with juggers, but withheld them in reserve for serious threats. Sometimes, the humans laid mines in the streets or even blew up their homes to kill a few more of the advancing Skaintz.

As the Imperial troops moved into the city, capturing herds of huddled, weeping food-creatures, the resistance grew stiffer still. Perhaps the rest of the beasts had seen those that surrendered were herded to the invasion ships and carried aloft to Gladius. Suspecting the terminal fate that awaited them, they fought with the fury of desperation. Snipers began to work in trios, holding their fire until they could concentrate on a single target and bring it down once and for all.

“We’re losing too many killbeasts!” the Empress shouted via radio.

The nife, who sat in his command chair, ducked his cusps and sighed. He regretted ever having allowed the Empress to link into the live streams coming up from the combat zone. This was a military operation, and he rankled under her micromanagement, as any commander would. He could not simply tell her to turn off the feed, however. He quickly brightened as he thought of another approach.

“Empress, my dearest majesty. I have excellent news. The first of the ships have arrived from the surface. They’ve brought an assortment of the finest wild food-creatures.”

“What? Why was I not informed? Bring them to me at once, we shall have a feast!”

“An excellent idea.”

In the throne room, the Empress sat in her stinking nest, quivering with excitement. When the nife arrived, the other Parents were all slithering up into their resin thrones and babbling amongst themselves.

“I’m positively famished!” the Empress announced. “It is high time you spared a thought for your mistress, commander.”

“I apologize profusely for the delay. I can only hope these beings provide the rich pleasure we’re all hoping for.” Internally, the nife was overjoyed. The Empress had switched off the military streaming the moment she’d heard there was fresh food to be sampled.

“Let me see, I’ve been thinking of this for a long time. I require a group of females for my first course. I’m hoping for a delicate flavor to wet my appetite for more.”

“As you say,” said the nife, signaling the idiot trachs and the surly hests to bring something suitable up from the hold. “It will only be a moment.”

“A further delay? If I could reduce your rank, I would do so on the instant.”

The nife almost retorted that he was not a mind-reader and could hardly be expected to know what type of creature she would request first. But he held back these words. “I apologize, Empress. I’ll arrange a variety of samples in a random order. Would that please your palate?”

“Hmm,” said the Empress thoughtfully. “Yes…I like that idea. The air of mystery would be added to the entire event. Your removal from command is postponed.”

The nife summoned graciousness from deep within. “So kind of you, Empress.”

At that point, there was a scuffle at the portal. A bloated individual dragged itself into the throne room, jostling aside a trach. It was the original Parent, and none of the higher beings present were glad to see her matronly form.

“I see there is still no throne for me to perch upon.”

“There is only so much room here,” said the Empress, waving a tentacle at the vast, mostly empty chamber. “I don’t like a cluttered appearance.”

“I see,” said the Parent bitterly. “I shall squat here then, for the duration of the feasting.”

The Empress hesitated. The nife winced, shortening his stalks, but no outburst came. He knew the Empress would just as soon not have this particular Parent as a guest at her feasting. But perhaps she couldn’t come up with a reasonable excuse to order her away. This was surprising, as reasonableness had never been one of the Empress’ strong points anyway.

The matter was soon dropped as a group of nude, terrified women arrived. They shrieked and struggled at the sight of the hulking figures on their lumpy thrones. This fearful reaction had a significant effect on the diners: their maws gushed with digestive juices.

A lengthy, live-food feasting began. Even the nife took part, nibbling on choice organs. The food creatures bleated and bled-it was magnificent.

Garth and Ornth were alone together inside one cramped skull. Externally, the body they shared was at least glad to be free of the endless, bone-chilling cold. The Great Machine, as Ornth called it, was a prolific generator of heat. After a long, harrowing climb down the access tube they reached a large pot-bellied chamber. Inside were incomprehensible pieces of equipment. The machines were primitive in aspect, hulking shapes festooned with valves, wheels and slowly churning metal pistons.

To ease communication, Ornth had allowed Garth use of his own voice.

“What is this place?” Garth asked Ornth for the hundredth time.

I have no name for it.

“What is its purpose, and why have you risked our joint lives to come here?”

This is a control node, part of a network that operates this station.

“Station?”

Yes. Did you believe this to be a natural world? I hadn’t accounted you as great a fool as the rest of your species. Sorrowfully, I realize now I was wrong.

Garth felt a growing sense of alarm. If Ignis Glace was a station-did that not imply weaponry? “We have come here then-to interfere with the Skaintz?”

Ah! You uplift your status in my estimation once again. Yes, that was the purpose of the skald mission from the start.

“You consider yourself a warrior then? I’d not thought there were warriors left amongst the Tulk.”

Ornth rankled. Not true warriors, perhaps. But there are those who are willing to ride a mount to war. I am a militiaman-one who has decided to act, rather than see the Skaintz return to power unopposed.

Garth wasn’t sure what to think. In a way, it was a positive thing. But it placed him personally in danger. He’d understood Fryx better. That rider had only been interested in self-preservation. This creature that rode in his head today was a breed apart from the rest. This Tulk had greater aspirations than mere survival-in Garth’s experience, such aspirations were often fatal. He felt a new sheen of sweat grow over his slick skin. This time it was not entirely due to the steamy heat of the place.

“I do not recognize these machines, or understand their purpose.”

Neither do I, entirely. Their operation has been forgotten purposefully by those that survived the last rise of the Skaintz. Unfortunately, burying the past does not prevent it from reoccurring-in fact, it arguably increases the odds. In any case, we shall have to puzzle it out.

“For what purpose?”

There was a bubbling sensation inside Garth’s skull. It was odd and unpleasant, as if a vibrating device were buzzing inside. Garth knew from experience that the Tulk was laughing at him.

For what purpose? To destroy the enemy ship, of course!

Aldo, Nina, Sixty-Two and their combined armies raced across open land toward Lavender City. Along the way, their ranks swelled. Every fief sent what they could spare. Knots of knights, companies of perrupters, sometimes entire small armies joined them, dragging along ancestral artillery pieces that dated back to the early days of the colony. Aldo began to believe it might be enough-although really, there was no way of knowing until the battle was joined.

Nina had similar qualms. “Can this force evict these monsters from our planet, Aldo?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t? Why do you march with such confidence, then?”

Aldo shrugged. “Because it is my natural manner.”

Nina snorted and choked off a bitter laugh. “If you don’t know what their capabilities are, no one on this world does.”

“True enough.”

“Tell me your secret then, tell me why you aren’t running to hide right now?”

Aldo turned from guiding his mount to look at her. She had tired eyes from long days in the saddle and no doubt months of worry.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall attempt to explain my philosophies. I shall make no attempt to make them more palatable to you, however.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’ve spent my life judging combats, and playing games of chance. Both are helpful to me in making my choices in this situation.”

“I fail to see how-”

“Please, bear with me. The battle ahead is most likely preordained. If they have forces superior to the combined might of our armies, we will lose. On the other hand, if our numbers are significantly greater, we shall prevail. In either case, there’s nothing anyone can do. Events will unfold in a manner that is beyond the control of any of individual.”

Nina stared at him. “You’re right, I already don’t like your thoughts.”

“Should I stop?”

She sighed. “No, please finish.”

“The only interesting situation occurs when the balance is on a knife’s edge. Rarely in human history have two equal forces met in battle when the outcome was in question. In those few cases, individual commanders played critical roles. That is why, for you and me, hiding somewhere in the brush is out of the question. There exists a small percentage chance that we will make the difference. Since this entire world will die if we fail, hiding does not significantly raise my chances of survival as an individual. Therefore, playing the odds, I find I must participate.”

Nina didn’t say anything as they rode onward for a time. Along the Sunward horizon, the sun was now bright and red, like a bleeding line that shone down from behind distant mountains. Soon, it would ride higher in the sky, and the world around them would become significantly warmer.

“Well?” Aldo asked. “No response at all?”

“You were right,” Nina said. “I hated every word.”

Aldo chuckled and they continued gliding over the coolest lands that could be used for farming on Ignis Glace. Here, peasants grew bluish lichen and large mushrooms with humped caps that resembled brown boulders. They guided their mounts through fields of the latter, heading Sunward toward a fate they could not know in advance.

For a full day, the battle for Lavender City raged in the houses and on the cobbled streets. Blood ran everywhere, making dark spills that in places ran to the gutters. It was as if the purple skies above had opened and rained gore.

Thousands of humans died, and they took hundreds of the Skaintz troops with them. Unfortunately, sustained now by a ready supply of fresh meat, the Imperial troops were being born as fast as they were destroyed. Like an army of seemingly endless ants, they could not be stopped by flame, bullet or sword. The portion of the city belonging to humanity shrank steadily with each passing hour.

Many neighborhoods were quiet now, and all of them were dark. Roving bands of trachs escorted by killbeasts stumped along the finely flowered avenues, seeking meat for the hungry maws in the great ship above. When they found fresh game, they captured it alive with minimal tissue damage. Placed upon the flat heaving back of a trach by impossibly strong claws, each mewling victim was borne back to waiting ships for processing. Trails of trachs carrying meat-creatures could be seen streaming slowly throughout the city and up the slopes to the waiting ships.

Duchess Embrak sat braiding her hair at the top of her tower. Outside at every window, snipers took pot-shots at the aliens when they came near. Soon, she knew the city would be lost entirely. She wondered why they had not yet blown the top of her tower into fragments-surely they had the power to do so. But they hadn’t used any heavy weaponry since the first day, when they destroyed the fortifications at each end of the valley. She supposed it was an effort to preserve human life. But she knew by now they did not stay their hands with the purpose of mercy. They did so to provide more captives. They wanted captives above all else. They were draining the city white, removing its populace one at a time. She suspected that the ones who died a clean death in combat were the most fortunate.

Throughout the assault on her city, she’d been in contact with other lords. There had been many nice-sounding well-wishers, but few promises of material aid. The Nexus officials were absent and presumed dead. The lords of Shadeton mumbled and disassembled, talking of logistics and the need to see to their own defenses. Occasionally, when she became passionate in her request for support, they brought up her own army, and asked where it might possibly be?

They gave her sour stares when she talked of hunting down rebel mechs and the like. She could hear their thoughts. She was well known for maintaining the best personal army on the planet. If she had mismanaged her own affairs-were they required to die for her mistakes?

Moreover, there was no love lost between her fiefdom and the others. They planned to let her take the brunt of the assault. Perhaps the aliens would burn out on her walls, like a wildfire. And if they didn’t, well then they would at least be done with hearing her overbearing voice at monthly council meetings.

Burning with rage, the Duchess stabbed at the screen until the connection was broken. She cursed and paced, seething. They were all fools. Could they not see they were next? These aliens, whatever else they were, were not easily sated. They would keep marching until the world was gone, devoured by their teeming numbers.

She went to an unlit window and looked out over her dark city. There were flashes of fire here and there, where sporadic resistance still continued. But most of the city was quiet. The end had to be near.

The Duchess looked next toward Nightside. Where was Aldo with her army? The last communique had said he was coming back. She wondered if it mattered. Perhaps, it would be better if they ran to the far side of the globe and forgot about this doomed place.

Twenty-Four

Ornth spent many long hours tinkering with the unfamiliar controls of the Great Machine. At first, he proceeded calmly, full of optimism. As time slipped by and fatigue grew, his mood shifted into that of panic, and eventually to despair.

Garth watched the proceedings with interest, making few comments. His hands reached out and adjusted controlling systems that were made of thick metal and apparently worked in an analog fashion-or if they were digital, they seemed analog due to the nature of the controls. Rather than tapping in numbers or symbols on screens, valves, wheels and screws were used. The entire system seemed to be built for use by larger beings than Garth, and his skinny arms strained to get enough torque to shift the massive, steaming equipment.

Finally, exhausted and frustrated, Ornth slumped himself over a knob as big as a dinner plate and gasped for air. Garth cried out in his mind, for the heated knob burnt his chest. Ornth couldn’t feel the scalding heat, and apparently didn’t care.

“You are burning us!”

What difference does it make? The systems are not functioning as they should.

Garth felt his bare chest turning red. In time, the skin would peel away. “Why damage this body thoughtlessly? It is the only hope you have.”

Finally, the Tulk reluctantly shifted his weight. He allowed Garth to slide to the floor, which consisted of a metal grate with hot vapors rushing up through the hexagonal grid. Warm gases fluffed his hair, but did nothing to dry the sweat running from his body. Still, the uncomfortable spot was an improvement, so Garth stopped his complaints.

You offer me nothing, Ornth said suddenly. No aid, no comfort. Only complaints. Are all your kind such recalcitrant mounts?

Garth was startled to be addressed in this fashion. Normally, he was the one to start up conversations inside their shared skull and was generally rebuked for doing so. If he annoyed Ornth sufficiently, he would be punished by heat or needles. He’d learned to keep quiet, and bide his time. Since they were not in immediate danger of death, he had been content with the absence of pain.

“You ask for my help?”

Are you not a technician? Do you not have experience with systems of this kind?

Garth almost told Ornth no, that these alien contrivances were utterly incomprehensible to him. But then, he had a better idea. “Of course I’m familiar with such equipment. It is my occupation.”

Then why have you offered me nothing?

“I feared discipline.”

Ornth made a choking cry with Garth’s mouth. You must help me. We must operate the Great Machine. It seems to be damaged. So many years have past-the power sources do not have the capacitance they should.

“Why must we operate this ancient device?”

You do not understand its significance? It is a weapon, a power that can reach out to the stars themselves. Weapons such as this allowed my people to defeat the Skaintz Imperium thousands of years in the past.

Garth did not answer immediately, he wanted to gain any advantage he could. Thoughtfully, he decided to feign curiosity. “Tell me more, so I may help you. I must understand what it is you wish me to repair.”

As I said, this world is not a world, it is artificial. It is vast, and this chamber controls some of the critical functions.

“But there is life on this globe, a complex ecosystem.”

Garth felt his lips burble with odd laughter. Like a sunken warship in a shallow sea, it has gathered a reef of life that clings to the dust and mud of the surface. But the bulk of it is not natural.

Garth dared to probe some of the Tulk’s defenses as he spoke. Perhaps, when he was distracted, the reins could be snatched away…

Ornth went on, unaware of the probing. Really, we need a team of thousands, a hundred or more trained technicians are required in every control chamber. I fear that by myself, I can’t do what must be done.

Garth thought about launching an assault, but the other’s defenses were frustratingly effective. He could tell the needle-like nerve endings had penetrated too deeply. It was not a simple matter of superior willpower. It was more like being numbed by a drug. No amount of yearning for freedom could force a drugged man to normalcy. The nervous system would simply not respond. But as he thought hard, he came up with another approach.

“I have watched for many hours,” Garth said, “and I do have a great deal of experience with this kind of work. What do you propose to do with the Great Machine if you manage to make it function?”

Is it not obvious? I plan to focus the projectors. I plan to sweep the great ship from the sky, and destroy it before the enemy can infect this world.

Garth was surprised. He’d not calculated that the Tulk would have such high aspirations. To win a war single-handedly? That was not the kind of activity the reclusive Tulk were known for. Perhaps this one was different, as he claimed to be. It made no difference to Garth, however, who only wanted to regain the reins of his own body.

“I can help you,” Garth said at last. “But I must be allowed to control my own hands. How else can I operate the equipment?”

The Tulk was quiet for a moment, mulling it over. Garth wished to urge him to accept the offer, but said nothing further. He did not wish to appear too anxious.

At last, the Tulk agreed. Nerve-needles were withdrawn from the centers controlling the hands and the arms. Garth now not only felt with his fingers, he could flex them. He could move! He stood happily watching his fingers stretch, curl and extend at his urging. It was a wonderful feeling. Hope blossomed within him, and his scheming grew in scope.

Are we to get on with this or not? demanded Ornth.

“Of course. Walk us over to that bank of meters, please. I need to examine them.”

Garth spent time working on the machine, adjusting things and making queries about various details. He knew he had to appear interested, if only to get Ornth to allow him to continue to have his freedom. Truthfully, he had learned a good deal about its operation, but now that he was in charge of the effort to get it working, his mind was more fully engaged. He frowned as he made adjustments, read the gauges, then made further twiddling changes.

Well?

“There is definitely something wrong,” Garth said.

Another gasp of exasperation came from Garth’s own lips. All this time wasted, and you have only this to tell me? You are the cretin I’d expected! And I’m a bigger fool for believing in you.

Garth ignored the insults. When dealing with the Tulk, one had to expect them. “Some of the controls are operable, but not all of them. There has been serious damage, particularly to the power sources. Where are these units located? Can we go there and effect repairs?”

Alas, no. They are on the far side of this station.

“You mean-the place they call Sunside?”

Yes. There are heat-driven collectors permanently aimed at the star. They gather energy to power the Great Machine.

Suddenly, Garth began to put together what might have occurred. Weren’t the natives of this world engaged in mining unusually pure metals from Sunside? Perhaps he now knew the answer to the puzzle of why such a great content of metal existed on this planetary surface. He hesitated to tell Ornth this, however. If Ornth knew the collectors were damaged, why would he continue to allow Garth his freedom? The entire endeavor was doomed.

“Perhaps it would be easier if I had control of my legs as well,” Garth said, “so I might walk where I wished.”

Grudgingly, Ornth allowed the freedom and removed more nerve-needles. As he became more secluded within Garth skull, he began to prattle on about lost opportunities, past Tulk greatness and the foolishness of his comrades. Garth ignored most of it. He had soon determined that the Great Machine would never be fully functional. It would take a thousand men a thousand years to rebuild all the damage the miners had done out in Sunside. The weaponry was magnificent and clearly could produce amazing firepower. Once it had been able to reach from one star system to another, firing intense beams of radiation that could pulverize ships a lightyear away, or sterilize the surfaces of distant worlds, even if they circled distant suns. But the Great Machine had no power source to drive it. Like a flitter without grav plates, it was going nowhere.

It was during the third hour that Garth made his move. Ornth had fallen sullen and quiet, only making a suggestion now and then as Garth adjusted the power input controls.

Garth grabbed up a sharp length of brass-like metal. It was a broken shard from a frozen valve. He’d had to snap the valve with a prying bar in order to force it to turn. Now it was a dagger of metal with a needle-sharp point. He pressed the dagger to the side of his neck, just under the skull.

“Let us discuss a new order between us,” Garth said.

Absurd! cackled Ornth. I’ve been awaiting just such a juvenile attempt. Continue your work, or I will retake the reins and punish your body. Humans are equipped with two ocular organs-one is enough to function. I will burn your left eye from your head until the socket wisps steam.

“Not before I can thrust this point into my skull.”

Again, the Tulk shook with laughter. Garth gritted his teeth with annoyance. He hated this being that had dared violate his body and mind.

I’ve examined your profile. I know of the idle boasts you made to Fryx, exactly this kind of thing. Putting a gun to your own head and the like. I’ll not be cowed in this manner, rebellious creature! You have no intention of killing yourself and exposing me. You will be ridden, and you will come to accept your place in this universe!

“You’re right,” Garth said. “I don’t intend on committing suicide or exposing you. Instead, I plan to drive this metal spike under the bottom rim of my skull. A precise jab will prod your body, and mortally wound it. You are only a pound or so of soft flesh, after all.”

You would not dare! You would never take such a risk!

“Wrong again,” Garth said, curling his lip in pain as he jabbed the needle-like tip into his own neck. Blood ran down his back and mixed with his sweat in a slurry. “I have little to lose under the current circumstances. I do not have high hopes for my own survival, but I can at least finish my life alone in my thoughts.”

The Tulk raged and complained bitterly, but at last he relinquished the reins of Garth’s mind. He would not shut up, however. As Garth climbed up the long shaft toward the surface, he considered jabbing himself in the back of the head anyway, if only to silence the annoying creature.

Aldo and Nina brought their army at last to the southern end of Lavender City. They hid in a dispersed pattern under the spreading domes of a thousand suntrees. Overhead, the great ship could be seen hanging in the sky. From the ground, it resembled an oblong moon wreathed by tiny artificial lights. Nina wondered if it tracked them and if it possessed weaponry capable of annihilating their army.

“We must press the attack without delay,” Aldo said. “We must rush into their ranks and prevent them from bombarding us from above.”

“Order the mechs in first,” Nina urged, not for the first time. “They are our shock-troops. Once they are engaged I will take my knights over the canyon rim. We will flank them and break them.”

“Can your riding machines handle such a fall?”

“If it is no greater than a few hundred feet, these mounts will fall, but catch themselves. The repellers will keep us from dashing our brains out on the streets below.”

Aldo reluctantly ordered the mechs to charge. Nina watched with glittering eyes. This, she hoped, would be her moment of vengeance. It would have been much better if she could have slain Sixty-Two personally, but having engineered his death was enough for now. She had an entire world to save, after all.

She watched the battle unfold in detail on a computer scroll. Vid pickups followed the mechs, and many of them broadcast live streams of the action.

Things did not go as planned from the start. Almost as soon as they broke free of the suntrees, the Gladius flared with bright pinpoints.

“They are firing on us,” Aldo said.

“They are firing on the mechs,” Nina corrected.

Aldo gave her a sidelong glance that was less than trusting. Did he suspect her plans? No matter, she thought. The die was cast. The mechs were already sprinting across open swards, their feet sparking on the Queen’s Highway as they ran. There was no point in recalling them now.

The snap and whine of descending missiles turned into blossoming explosions. Two initial impacts sent up mushroom clouds. Mech limbs twirled over the landscape. Blooming clouds of dust obscured the battlefield. There were a dozen more strikes all around the landscape, all hitting one clump of running individuals or another. Still, even under harsh bombardment, the mech charge continued undaunted.

Nina strained to see a flapping cloak-a lone figure different from the rest that wore a hat like a man. But there were only clanking, uniform individuals. Perrupters, altered laborers and a few rare construction mechs with massive bodies twenty feet high charged together. They all ran and ran. They died, but kept going. Nina felt a momentary pang of sympathy for them. She’d narrowed her hate to one individual, and no longer wished the rest harm. They were only slaves, as Sixty-Two had taken great pains to point out.

Her eyes roved over the mechs hungrily. Had Sixty-Two already been blown to fragments? She hoped not, she didn’t want to miss such a moment of triumph.

“So many losses,” said a voice beside them. “We can’t win the battle if it goes on like this.”

Nina craned her neck around in shock. It could not be! There stood Sixty-Two, unmistakable in his tattered cloak, scarf and hat.

“You!” she shouted, pointing out into the charging mass of mechs on the field. “Why aren’t you out there with your troops, leading them?”

Sixty-Two tilted his head to one side, a gesture not unlike that of a shrug. “You two are commanders, as am I. Why didn’t you lead the charge you ordered?”

Nina turned away in a fury.

“They’ve reached the alien lines,” Aldo said. “It is time, Baroness.”

Thousands of knights surged out of the suntrees. Nina realized, to her rage and horror, that it was Sixty-Two who was now going to watch her make a suicidal attack from a position of safety and comfort. Seething, Nina Droad screamed for her troops to charge. She might have refused Aldo’s order, but for her own code of honor. She’d sworn to follow a reasonable command from him, and this attack had been her own plan. To disobey now would be to dishonor herself and Droad House. Nor was it possible to sit out the action as Sixty-Two had done. On Ignis Glace, able-bodied nobles led their troops personally.

Ahead of her, she saw the ragged line of knights reach the canyon rim and fly out into space. They plummeted, and those that lost their nerve or who were less than masters of their mounts inverted and plunged to their deaths.

Nina soon came to the rim herself and felt her guts squeeze up tightly within her. She went over the edge and began a wild fall to the dark streets below. Wind rushed up, buffeting her and threatening to knock her from her saddle. Her mount bucked and twisted under her rump, and she fought the controls with every ounce of skill she had. Bright flashes showed enemy fire coming up at her, twice scoring the steel flanks of her mount.

She noticed her mount’s vid pickup was glowing red. Someone was using her cameras to watch the battle remotely. Perhaps it was Sixty-Two himself.

Life was anything but fair.

The watchtower of Lavender City, which had been converted to a hotel and back again to a fortification, was among the last places in the city to succumb to the alien assault. The Duchess Embrak had prepared for this moment, and possessed a slim laser pistol that was custom-shaped to fit her small pale fist. She drew it from the dressing table drawer and checked the energy pack, making sure it was fully charged. Soon, the aliens were hammering on the door. They struck the metal with such alarming strength and rapidity that it shook the walls. The Duchess trembled in shock. How many were out there? Was this the end?

She drew herself up and placed the tip of her weapon under her chin. Four pounds of pressure on the trigger, that was all that was required. She began to squeeze-relented-then began squeezing again. Her eyes shut tight and she bared her fine teeth.

The door buckled. An upper corner of the metal surface curled inward, as if it were folding paper. Her last two bodyguards glanced at her. She nodded to them in salute. One’s face streamed with tears, the other man’s face was locked in an animal snarl. She reflected how differently each person faced a horrific finish to their own lives. She was glad the bodyguards were here. If they had not been present, she doubted she could have maintained a calm exterior. Since there were witnesses, she did not want them to see her collapse over the velvet furniture and bawl like a jilted schoolgirl.

The door came down. Still, the Duchess didn’t fire her weapon and end her own existence. Partly, she was curious about what these aliens looked like in the flesh. There had only been flickering hints from the battlefield pickups. Since it was her final moment, she had decided to indulge that curiosity.

Gray creatures, vaguely man-like, rushed into the room. They moved with unnatural speed, like a vid that was played at high speeds. The two bodyguards fired and the first alien that entered the room went down, flailing. It bounded back up, but was blasted down again. Such vitality. The Duchess was impressed and fascinated.

Two more followed it. The bodyguards were expert marksmen and veterans of many conflicts-reasons for their employment. But they did not concentrate their fire this time, and the killbeasts reached them before they could be slain. One man was decapitated-the one that had been crying. The second grappled with the killbeast for a moment. But it was an uneven contest. The man had a barrel chest and a savage snarl, but he could not face the power of alien musculature. He was bent back double and gargling within seconds. His spine snapped audibly. The Duchess winced. Helpless, he lay on the floor, panting and raving, still alive.

The Duchess took her gun from her throat and fired at the killbeast that had broken her last bodyguard’s back. She held the button down, and the sleek weapon lanced a hole through its tough exterior. The carapace smoked and grey steaming liquids gushed out. The beam came through the far side and the thing staggered. Aiming carefully, she burned three more holes into its carapace and it sagged down.

It was the next killbeast that changed matters. It bound close and swept the weapon away-taking her hand off at the wrist. The gun clunked on the floor, her small bejeweled fingers still gripping it. The Duchess stared at her lost hand in shock.

She passed out then, and when she awakened, she found herself on the back of a table-like creature with a heavy claw holding her down. Her wrist stump had been clamped with some kind of organic blob-it resembled a leech made of gray glue. It had obviously been applied to prevent her from bleeding to death. The thing on her stump pulsed and appeared to be alive. She suspected it was feeding upon her pumping blood, even as it staunched its flow. She could not remove the thing on her wrist, in fact, she could barely move at all.

The Duchess watched from this position on her back, being carried to an alien nest as ants might carry home squirming, living prey. She was at the north end of the valley, where things were relatively quiet. As they climbed the cobbled streets toward the valley exit and the assault ships that waited there to shuttle her to Gladius, she saw a battle erupt at the distant southern end of the valley, miles distant. It had to be Aldo. Why had he attacked the opposite end of the city?

There were no witnesses, so the Duchess allowed herself to cry.

Twenty-Five

Baroness Droad’s knights swept up toward the rear of the alien garrison at the southern entrance to Lavender City. The aliens unleashed withering fire in every direction, but they were surrounded and badly outnumbered.

The raging army of mechs reached the lines first. Many had been damaged by fragmentation bombardment from the ship above. Some were dragging themselves or the ruined bodies others. The bombardment stopped the moment they reached the canyon entrance, and the mechs fell upon the alien lines in a frenzy.

The aliens sent out a wave of culus and shrade teams to soften up the charge, while peppering them with laser fire from killbeasts in the rear. The tactics were very effective against humans, but much less so against mechs. The mechs grabbed up shrades, which twisted and lashed like grass snakes in their grippers. The shrades were on average seven feet in length and tremendously strong. They were no match however, for steel and servos. They were torn into lashing fragments and tossed aside. Expert fire and sweeping power-blades cut the culus numbers out of the air as well before they could return to the safety of their line.

The killbeasts, working laser rifles with precision, did better. They soon realized a single hit might rock a mech back on its servos, but did not finish them. In fact, a dozen random hits on the chassis of a perrupter did little to slow it down. The Imperial troops quickly adjusted their fire downward and focused on the ball joints holding together the leg struts. Three or four hits there reduced a charging mech to one that only crawled over the ground, dragging itself with its grippers.

This adjustment to their aim came too late. The fast moving wave of mechs charged into them before more than a dozen were maimed. The mechs came into direct conflict with little fanfare or finesse. The laborers reached out, grabbed up killbeasts with one gripper and dismembered them with the other. The perrupters were even more effective, severing limbs with their flashing power-blades and firing lasers point-blank into the thorax of any exposed killbeast.

The vitality of the killbeasts was legendary, but in this situation that attribute just meant they took longer to kill. They slashed with their horn-bladed feet, kicking at the orbs and grippers. Steel being harder than flesh, bone or horn, they won very few of these fights once the mechs were in close. The mechs swept away the initial line and advanced into the streets. Every mech chassis was burned, scarred and dented, but they had not been stopped.

Nina watched all this with grim pleasure. She enjoyed every moment of the alien destruction. For years, she’d been watching vids of these creatures preying on helpless humanity-especially on distant colonies that had much lower mech populations. These creatures might be superior combatants when compared to other fleshly beings, but when faced with human-machine hybrids they could not stand.

Now, it was her turn. With a raging army of mechs assaulting their front line, Nina’s knights charged the alien’s flank. She felt a battle fury rising up within her. She’d come from a line of fighters, and unlike her father, there was a part of her that reveled in open conflict rather than quiet contemplation.

The knights encountered very little fire as they swept close. The enemy were too focused on the mechs that were destroying them so inexorably. Their lines were shattered completely when the knights were suddenly among them. Nina lay about her with both her swords, cutting down aliens from behind. Even though the fight was hopeless, she found they were still dangerous. When a killbeast recognized her presence and brought up a laser rifle, she ducked and more than once felt the heat of a passing beam. The enemy took such potshots in many cases, even if they were engaged with a mech in a final death struggle. Knowing their own doom was at hand, they switched to the easier human target and attempted a kick or an angled shot, even as they were being beaten to death by the mechanical monsters. One killbeast fired three shots at her, even at it was being dashed against the stone walls of a nearby building, spoiling its aim. Nina was alarmed at the quick viciousness of the aliens. They knew they were doomed, but there was no attempt whatsoever to run, or to beg for mercy. These beings knew nothing of surrender or fear. They fought like biological machines themselves.

The culus creatures however, did flee. Unlike the killbeasts, they understood the better part of valor when a battle turned into a slaughter. They took flight and a hundred circular shadows swept over the knights, making them wince and duck when their strange shadows passed by. The culus flock swooped, flying low overhead and then went deeper into the city. Knights and mechs fired up a score of lancing shots, and brought a few of them down to flop on the cobbles.

Nina, realizing the killbeasts were almost extinguished, fired with the rest. “Mechs, knights, form up!” she shouted, amplifying her voice with a boom mike in her helmet. “Come troops, after them! Kill them all for Twilight!”

A ragged cheer went up. A thousand throats and a thousand speakers took up the cry. The knights charged after the fleeing enemy-it was in their nature to do so.

As the nife traveled the ship’s tube-like steel corridors to meet with the Empress, his stalks drooped down below his maw. In his short life, he’d never had a worse day. He could barely open his cusps to reveal his orbs, which were sticky with dry fluids. His worries had grown by the hour. What had looked like a perfect assault on a reef packed with nearly helpless meat-creatures had turned into a pitched battle-with the Imperium troops on the losing side. They had every advantage, but could not employ many of them.

The biggest problem was the Empress’ rigid rule against bombarding the human city. With a relentless barrage of missiles launched by Gladius, they could have made short work of the human army. But instead, they’d only managed to score a few hits as they charged into the city itself, thus forcing the missile batteries to follow their rules of engagement and break off the attack. It was almost as if these humans knew what absurd restrictions the Skaintz were operating under.

“My Highest Lady,” the nife began when he entered her fetid den. “I have grim tidings from the battle below.”

“Due, no doubt, to your incompetence?”

“Due to unforeseen events. Warfare is rarely a mathematical exercise.”

“You are wrong…again. It is a mathematical equation, and in this case you have miscalculated. I expect an immediate return to balance. I barely have enough meat-creatures to provide my person with sustenance. There isn’t enough for a breeding stock as well. They breed so slowly, these humans. We must procure many more.”

The nife had prepared a ploy for this situation. His stalks rose a fraction as he presented it hopefully. “You are correct! These creatures aren’t really suitable as a dietary staple. There are many other animals to taste, however. The world below is a veritable buffet of fresh flavors. I would recommend-”

“Don’t,” the Empress interjected. “I don’t even want to hear it. I’ve tasted their beef stews and rabbit dressings. Garbage. Greasy, flavorless swill. Humans dine on the finest of all the other species. I must have human meat, and it must have been raised upon a rich, varied diet throughout its life to maturity. Possibly, to the unsophisticated palate of lesser beings such as yourself, these nuances of taste are insignificant. Not so to a higher form such as your monarch. Feed trachs, juggers and hests your slices of bacon and your ham hocks. I want nothing to do with any of it.”

The nife’s stalks dragged even lower. He could not soften the blow any further. He had to confess to the true nature of the situation below. “The humans are driving our forces back. This process will continue without full bombardment to support our troops.”

“I don’t see how this is possible,” the Empress said, puffing herself a full two feet higher than normal. Her vast bulk loomed over the relatively tiny figure of the nife. “Just hours ago, you assured me we were on the brink of securing the entire city!”

“That was true then, but no longer. It turns out the enemy army was in the field, not home to defend its city. The army was recalled, and assaulted our troops who were unprepared and spread out over the landscape looking for pockets of resistance. They now have a foothold in the south, and are pressing northward with alarming rapidity.”

“Very well. You are to be punished for this incompetence.”

“My High Lady, I hardly think-”

“Do not interrupt as I pronounce the nature of your death. A simple spacing is too good for you. Your genes are corrupt.”

“You have no other commander with my experience. I must advise you to stave off such action for the good of the Imperium.”

The Empress scoffed. “The good of the Imperium? I should have squashed you as you were being whelped to the benefit of our entire species.”

The nife fell silent and brooding. The Empress gathered herself-literally, pulling in swollen bulges of flesh that tended to spread when she grew angry. She finally sighed and relented.

“Very well, you shall be spared until this campaign has reached stability, or until a replacement can be matured.”

The nife came back to life. His stalks rose, but he did not begin to strut, his confidence being a fraction of what it once was. “You will not regret this decision! I will avenge our dead, Empress, and the price will not be too great, I assure you.”

“The price? What price?”

“The enemy will grease the streets with their body fluids-be they oil from the inner tanks of their mechs or the blood of the humans. I promise you a breeding stock of fresh humans within the day. Simply give me full control of all our assets, and-”

The Empress slammed her tentacle onto the deck plates with such force the nife’s feet tingled afterward. “What price?” she demanded.

The nife recovered from his shock and stood as tall as he could. “We must level half the city. The southern sector shall be demolished to protect the northern half, which we still hold. A single low-yield warhead will do the trick, properly placed. The walls of the canyon will reverberate, throwing shockwaves back upon the point of initial detonation, magnifying the effect.”

The Empress was silent for a second or two. “Are you seriously suggesting we use a thermonuclear device on the city?”

“Yes, Empress. It is the best way. To use conventional warheads would be wasteful, and dangerous. Our own troops would be on the line with the enemy. If we simply nuke them behind their lines, the survivors will be rolled up easily by our counterattack on the ground. They will face our troops in front and a radioactive crater behind.”

“I had no idea you were insane,” the Empress said. “I’d thought you were going to ask to release the jugger reserves. Perhaps, in a wild fantasy, you might have believed I would authorize a conventional missile barrage from the ship. But nuclear bombardment? All that fresh meat destroyed? Never. I repeat, never shall that be allowed. I’ll see you on the front lines with a laser rifle in your mandibles first.”

The nife’s maw drooped again, along with his stalks. He didn’t know what to say. “I can’t defeat them any other way, my Empress.”

“I don’t care. If they retake the city, we shall breed a new army, and take it back again.”

The nife blinked his orbs in disbelief. He knew the Empress cared primarily about her own comforts, but to risk the entire campaign for her personal dining pleasure-he was appalled. “What can I use, then?”

The Empress waggled an appendage at him. “You may release the jugger reserves. All of them. But do not speak to me further about bombardments. That option is off the table.”

The nife knew enough not to argue further. He walked out of the throne room in the pits of depression. He ordered the last of the jugger reserves released to aid in the defense, but knew it would not be enough. He did not tell the Empress, but he’d already released most of the jugger units. They would attack soon. Hopefully, their weight would carry the day. It was not a strong hope, as the enemy were too numerous, and too willing to die to defend their city.

As the nife trudged down long, echoing corridors, he despaired. The solution was so clear! A few bombs would solve everything. It was as the oldest Parent had said: the Empress was selfish and impossible to reason with. She had the required self-confidence and commanding nature for the role, but none of the experience or wisdom to make appropriate judgments.

In short, she should never have been spawned.

Aldo, Nina and Sixty-Two pushed the aliens back block after block, driving ever more deeply into the canyon. In six hours, they’d retaken a quarter of the city. Resistance was stiffening, however, and there were reports of larger alien creatures moving up from the enemy rear ranks.

Every minute or two, Aldo’s eyes were drawn up to the great dark ship that loomed overhead. It looked like a large black moon up there, in the general shape of a spiny lobe of cactus. The spines were really large modules, rotating around the central torus, but from the ground such details were beyond the ability of the naked eye to make out.

At any moment, Aldo knew the ship could unleash a barrage on the city, destroying it, his army and the surviving civilians. He wondered with each city block they took if this would be their last-if the aliens would decide they’d gained too much ground and it was time to level the place.

The threat of the ship worried him greatly, but he couldn’t see any way to eliminate it. If they withdrew, they would simply expose themselves to missiles on open ground. If they stopped advancing, they would be effectively leaving the city to die in the hands of the aliens. Already, there had been a grievous loss of life and thousands more had been transported up to the ship for purposes he didn’t want to contemplate.

That left the sole option of continuing to press the attack. He took that option, but with each passing hour he felt a growing sense of doom. At some point, the aliens would have to realize they were losing and should unleash all their firepower to annihilate his army. What were they waiting for?

Aldo got his answer in the sixth hour. The enemy counterattacked then, with new monsters he’d not seen since he’d battled on the decks of the Zurich, the great Nexus battleship which had stopped the alien assault of Neu Schweitz.

Creatures twice the height of a man charged. They stood on two, powerful hind legs. Their maws were filled with huge teeth like daggers and their bodies and hides were thick in every proportion. Their heads were so massive, they required long tails to balance themselves as they ran.

To a man with a rifle, the juggers did not seem overly dangerous at a distance. They did not have any form of ranged attack. They simply focused on a target and charged on those huge, bulging legs.

When they first came into view, milling and releasing throaty roars, snipers all up and down Aldo’s line began firing at them. They were easy targets, and they winced and shivered when their umber hides were burned and pierced.

Then they gathered themselves into groups of seven to nine beasts, and the charge began. Their muscles shivered and swelled with power. Their pace picked up as they came, and they were soon bounding down the streets toward the human lines, each stride taking them thirty feet or more.

Aldo could feel the cobbles tremor as each massive foot struck down and then pumped up again. Around him, men on the barricades began to show signs of worry. They fired a withering fusilade of laser bolts, but not a single one of the monsters fell. A new reality quickly took hold in everyone’s mind: these creatures were too large, too hearty, to be taken down by rifles.

Aldo was not quite certain what to do.

“Sling rifles!” shouted Baroness Droad as she stepped up beside him. “Draw blades and stand your ground!”

Confused, eyes wide and round, the men did as she said. But when the charging juggers were almost upon them, some finally did break and flee.

The juggers crashed into and bounded over the barricade a moment later. They hooted and cried to one another in excitement, dipping their great heads to snap up those that fled. The knights slashed and roared, but their voices seemed tiny in the face of a swirling mass of giant predators.

“Strike low!” shouted Aldo. His sword blazed with fire, as he had set it to its maximum power. Such was the thickness and weight of the beasts, he found it best to slash at the joints-ankle, knee and hip. His sword could not strike all the way through, but it was able to cripple the one he attacked while the monster busied itself with devouring a man who had been knocked flat by stacked crates. The barricade that the men had built up to defend themselves had now become a pile of falling debris. Crushed down and trapped under the crates, men howled as they were plucked apart by hungry juggers.

Aldo soon learned several techniques he was determined to remember, should he survive this phase of the battle. When facing a charging jugger, one had to keep oneself calm. Turning tail and running meant certain death. It was best, in fact, to stand in the open, motionless until the final moment. Then, by dancing aside even as the monster dipped down to scoop you up in your jaws, a man could avoid the charge. The momentum of the beast was such that it could not stop and turn quickly enough to catch you. As one leapt to the side, a well-placed slash at one of the joints did wonders. By the end of the bloody, terrifying ordeal, he’d personally brought down two juggers and driven his sword home into the brain and chest of a third. This had to be done repeatedly, before it finally died.

Nina came up and clapped him on the back. He flinched and turned to her, eyes narrowed. He panted and rubbed at the gore on his face. There was no telling whose blood it was. He suspected it was a thick mixture of fluids from the juggers and their victims.

“My knights stood their ground!” shouted Nina. She was grinning, and seemed elated, rather than horrified. “Did you see that, Aldo? Only a few cowards broke, and they were run down. In a way, they helped us by distracting them. We were able then to move in while the creatures fed.”

Aldo nodded, eyeing her with concern. He’d once been told by the Duchess that people considered the Droads to be a bloodthirsty lot. Now, for the first time, he thought he understood why.

All told, many men and mechs were lost to the jugger charge, but Aldo’s army was not broken. When a force of killbeasts advanced in the wake of the juggers, they didn’t find a shattered force. The survivors fought back and held their lines.

“Baroness,” Aldo said. “I think we should advance.”

“Of course we should!” she shouted back. “Mount up, man. I can barely hold my knights in place as it is.”

Aldo shrugged and climbed into his saddle. Around him, a hundred more men followed. They were wary now, naturally enough. They’d seen a fresh variety of nightmare today.

What might the aliens throw at them next?

The Parent dragged herself to the nife’s central nexus. Located in one of the observation modules of Gladius, the domed transparent surface overhead provided a panoramic view of Ignis Glace. The desert of Sunside was a bright yellow, striped with rust-colored, spiraling mountain ranges. The glare of Sunside was met with the velvet darkness of Twilight, a thin ragged band where shadow met light. Beyond was the frosted blackness of Nightside.

Directly below the great ship a battle raged, and the Parent knew it was going badly. This troubled her, but also gave her some level of pleasure as well. She tried not to feel guilty about her mixed feelings. The Skaintz, unlike humans, were not individualists. They lived for the betterment of the hive. They did strive and compete-but never purposefully to the detriment of all.

That made today’s mission all the sweeter. The Parent dragged her aching, flopping lobes into the nife’s command module with heaving tentacles. Her suckers were sore from pulling so much weight behind them, and her birth tracts were no longer capable of closing properly. They leaked fluids in a glistening trail behind her all the way down the long corridor. Why had the humans built such a large ship with such long, geometrically precise segments? The design was baffling and irritating to the suffering Parent.

In the command module, the nife was in a defeatist mood. “Ah, I see you have come to gloat,” he said when he saw the Parent drag herself into the command chamber. “Not very sporting of you.”

“And what do I have to gloat about?” asked the Parent.

“Why, my inevitable spacing, of course. You and I shall twist in the void together until our fluids boil out our orbs and freeze solid.”

“Perhaps-and perhaps not.”

The nife perked up. His stalks rose a fraction as he regarded her. “You have a plan?”

“I do.”

“Well, delay no further! Our forces are being swept out of the human concentration. We’ve captured and processed no more than a quarter of the herd, and time is of the essence.”

“The enemy army seems to be the most effective force on the planet, so let’s be rid of it.”

“That is a goal, not a plan.”

“My plan is simplicity itself: burn the city to ash. Three nuclear devices should do the trick.”

The nife expelled gases in disgust. “That’s it? Did you think me such a simpleton that I’ve not already presented precisely that course of action to our Empress? In fact, when I presented it some hours ago, only one device would have been required. Now that they have retaken much of the city, three indeed represent the new minimum. Alas, the Empress has not given her permission to use even a single device to turn the tide. It’s so galling. There they are, all centralized and helpless below us. It is as if we’ve set the perfect trap. The high walls of the trench they reside in would rebound the shockwaves, ensuring total destruction. Not a single human, nor a single one of their cyborgs would survive.”

“Exactly,” the Parent said. “Do it. Launch your missiles and end this.”

The nife’s orbs stared at her fully now. “Did I not make myself clear? The Empress has forbidden such an action.”

The Parent shrugged her tentacles and arranged her fronds. “So, do it anyway. Is this not a military mission? Is the army below not under your command?”

“Yes and yes, but I fail to see-”

“What will happen to you, my favorite offspring, if you allow the Empress’ order to stand? When the humans retake the entire valley and remove us from the planet?”

“I will be spaced for failure. The Empress has made that abundantly clear. Afterward, perhaps we can mount another assault elsewhere. But we will have lost the element of surprise, and the enemy will be full of hubris due to their victory. The new nife might well be unable to achieve victory.”

“Exactly. And on the other hand, if we destroy the human army now, what will happen?”

The nife pondered and began to pace. “Events are more difficult to predict. The Empress will probably space me anyway, despite the victory, for destroying so much of her precious supply of meat-creatures. Moreover, I will have disobeyed orders.”

“Ah, but you will not have. For I hereby give you the order to launch the missiles before it is too late. Destroy the human army and the population center before the battle is lost and they remember the ship that hangs over their heads in the sky.”

The nife peered at her. “ You order me?”

“I am your progenitor.”

“The authority of the Empress supersedes your own.”

“Yes, but in this instance, you can claim you had conflicting orders from two superiors. Following your own instinct in battle, you made your choice. In the end, it will prove to be the right one. You may even survive the Empress’ wrath.”

“But you will not,” he said.

“No,” the Parent admitted. “But I’m not in her good graces in any case. I’m more interested in seeing this invasion brought to a successful conclusion. For the benefit of the Imperium.”

“For the Imperium,” the nife echoed. He stood frozen in thought for some time. At last, he began pacing again, and as he did so his stalks rose to their fullest extension. “I’ll have to make a dozen preparations. The launch must happen swiftly, quietly, and all at once. I’ll have to supervise the action personally.”

The Parent watched him, understanding the bait had been taken. He would follow her plan. Endorphins flooded her system. She truly felt good for the first time in many months. The first stage of her plan had worked perfectly. The nife was an expert in military matters, but a newcomer to intrigue. She left the nife, having further detailed preparations of her own to make.

Twenty-Six

It was the hatch that defeated Garth in the end. None of Ornth’s arguments had swayed him. He did not care if every being on the planet expired, save for himself. But once he understood the hatch was impossible to open from the inside for a person of his strength, he gave up. He almost allowed himself to slide back down the shaft and fall to his death. But instead, he wearily crawled back down into the steamy chambers beneath and despaired on the hexagonal grid. Vapors rushed over him, blurring his vision and burning him in spots.

He’d almost fallen asleep in exhaustion, but something sent alarms through his tattered nervous system. Ornth was on the move, quietly burrowing nerve threads back into Garth’s spinal cord.

Garth’s eyes snapped open. He grabbed up the sliver of metal and pressed it against the back rim of his skull.

“Don’t,” he said. “Withdraw, or I will be rid of you forever.”

The stinging sensation at the base of his skull diminished. Ornth despaired. We cannot leave. We cannot survive. Why not help your species and mine survive in the future?

Garth considered the request. “I have only one act left within me,” he said. “I will decide what it will be.”

Repair the Great Machine. If you do so, I will exit your body. You may smash me with your boot upon the floor afterward, if you so desire.

Garth was startled and moved by this statement. “That does not sound like any Tulk I know.”

As I’ve told you, I’m not like most of my species.

Garth reflected on the past events with Ornth. He was certainly a creature apart from the self-centered Fryx.

“Perhaps I’ve judged you too harshly,” he said. “You serve not only yourself, but claim a higher purpose?”

Isn’t that abundantly clear?

Garth nodded slowly, wearily. “Very well. I’ll do what I can. But so much of the machine is damaged. I’m afraid my people’s miners have done their work too well. Possibly, I could shunt all remaining power to a single lens. If I could open the great shutters to expose it, and there is enough power to ignite the actuators…”

Yes! Yes! Try it!

Garth groaned and struggled to his feet. By shunting every functional source to this single branch of the great network-the branch he currently stood within-he was able to gather sufficient power to expose one set of lenses.

This heartened both the beings that resided in Garth’s body, and they set about gathering as much power as possible into a central reservoir of capacitance. They would charge it as long as they dared before firing. If they failed, they would have revealed themselves to the enemy. Once located, they could not survive for long.

As Garth worked, he found he felt a new freedom and energy in accepting he was not getting out of this place alive. Knowing that, all his nagging worries slid away and his mind operated unfettered by thoughts of survival. He worked the controls like a man possessed, and with each passing minute, he began to believe the ancient device would fire-at least once.

There would not be enough power to reach the stars, not even a fraction of it. But that wasn’t necessary, as the enemy was right here in the system. Yes-it might just work.

The Duchess Embrak soon wished with all her heart and soul she’d taken her own life. Nude and badly wounded, she was transported on the heaving, warm back of a trach to a waiting landing ship. There she was shoved aboard with a hundred other screeching, weeping individuals. A few of them seemed to recognize her, but none addressed her. They were all female and mature of age, but not elderly. The Duchess tried to reason out why they would been sorted into such a category-none of the reasons she could think of were positive, so she stopped thinking about it.

When the ship launched, it did so with such sudden force the captive women were hurled back against the rear bulkhead. They screamed and groaned in pain. Bones snapped audibly, and some vomited. A few at the bottom of the pile died, crushed to death.

The liftoff thrust soon subsided, and they found themselves floating briefly. She realized in shock they must be in orbit. A few of the women sought to open the exits, but it was hopeless. The Duchess worried that even if they succeeded, they would all be sucked out into space, but she didn’t try to stop them. Perhaps mass asphyxiation would be for the best at this point.

A thumping clang signaled the docking process. The sounds of heavy machinery rang and whirred all around the huddled women. At last, the hatches opened and trachs began collecting them for transport. Having learned her lesson the last time, the Duchess went willingly. The trachs were far from gentle, but they were brutal with those who resisted. Extra limbs were often snipped off and placed beside the squirming, bleeding victim.

The next stage of her journey was far from heartening. She’d expected the ship to be cold and metallic. But the walls were festooned with fleshy growths and the air was warm and humid. She rode on a long train of trachs to a larger chamber. There, at the entrance, a fresh horror met her eyes. She contained her screams only by clamping her lips shut over her mouth.

This new thing resembled a giant, bulbous squid, complete with tentacles and eyes on stalks. It had a grossly bloated body behind its limbs and sensory organs, and there was a terrifying intellect evident in its manner. Somehow its intelligence was the worst part of it-knowing she faced a thinking creature with cruel intentions of its own.

The swollen monster tapped and probed at each woman as they passed. Many who screamed were silenced with a powerful thump of a tentacle. Sometimes, this blow cracked the skull of the victim. Duchess Embrak endeavored to make as little noise as possible when her turn came. She endured those groping, probing tentacles as quietly as possible. She whimpered and squirmed, but kept her eyes shut and did not scream.

She felt a sharp pain in her abdomen. Gasping in shock, she tried to see what it was-there was as lump attached to her. Similar to the gray thing that clasped her wrist stump to stop it from bleeding, this thing plastered to her belly seemed alive and it pulsated. Inside it, she could see a metal box of some kind. She peered in the half-light, but could not identify the box. It did seem to be of human origin, however, not alien. She had no idea what it was, or why it had been attached to her person.

Riding on the trach’s back, her body was racked with quiet sobs.

The Parent fluffed herself as best she was able and summoned two trachs to help transport her to the throne room. She’d been urgently summoned into the Empress’ presence, and she wanted to look her best.

She knew she might be experiencing the final moments of her existence. She did what she could to erase that reality from her mind. She could only hope her preparations had all gone well, and that her moment of triumph was near.

When she arrived at the throne room, her estimation of her odds soared. There was a new throne present-a fifth throne. All of them stood around the Empress’ nest in a semi-circle. The other Parents had already taken their places when the eldest Parent arrived.

“There you are,” the Empress boomed. She’d grown even larger now as a result of her diet of continuous fresh meats, and her pronouncements were commensurately louder when she broadcast them. Her vast person now overflowed the nest she squatted within.

“Please, eldest Parent, take your place on the newest, largest throne. Feast with us.”

Proudly, the Parent did so. She noted with relish the other younger Parents were silent today. None of them twittered at her obscene body. No matter how things turned out today, this single victory was sweet enough to be savored.

“Please note our sixth guest,” the Empress said, gesturing toward a broken stick-figure that stood before her.

The Parent peered, then recoiled in horror. At first, she’d thought it was a human, being of more or less the same general size and configuration. But now she recognized the fallen stalks and permanently closed orbs. It was the nife, and he’d been staked in front of the Empress.

“Too bad you missed the first order of business,” the Empress said unconcernedly.

“I take it the campaign is not going well?” the Parent asked.

“Indeed, but that isn’t the sole reason for the nife’s extermination. He was far worse than a failure-he was a traitor.”

“Really?” asked the Parent, doing her best to sound aghast. “How is such a thing possible?”

“Hubris,” the Empress said. “Pure and simple. He believed himself so expert in military matters that he took it upon himself-well, you know.”

The Parent hesitated, uncertain how much of the story the Empress knew. “I’m sure he deserved it,” she said.

The feasting began then, and a long series of human tidbits were brought in on the backs of trachs. The food was dumped into a scooped-out region in the midst of the group, known as the ‘dish’. The higher forms sampled the screeching creatures. The Empress took first choice, naturally. She had recently gained a new habit: she liked to suck out the entrails and then throw aside the rest of the flopping body for the Parents to enjoy.

“The sweetmeats are the best,” the Empress broadcast. When the edge had been taken off her hunger, she directed a question to the Parent. “Just how much did you know of the nife’s plans-about bombarding the human city without my permission?”

The Parent felt tendrils of fear. Suddenly, the Empress’ newfound friendliness had taken on a sinister aspect. Perhaps she knew the nife had been in league with her. Could this all be an elaborate setup?

The Parent reached out with her longest tentacle and probed the squirming humans. They were mouth-watering. “Ah, look at this,” she said, finding the one she wanted. “A prime specimen indeed. Could I have the first taste of this one’s organs, Empress?”

The Empress took on a stern, piggy expression. “Certainly not! I didn’t realize I’d missed one. Hand that over, please.”

With a blatting sound of mild disappointment, the Parent stretched to give her the wriggling food.

“What’s this thing then on its abdomen?” asked the Empress.

“I believe it was injured. See? It has another such patch on its wrist. The trachs do that to keep the food alive when it is transported aloft.”

“Humph,” the Empress said. “Very well.”

The Empress extended her massive foodtube, which now was as thick as a human’s leg. She plunged it into the food creature’s belly and began to suckle. “Flavor seems good,” she said. “Now, you were about to tell me what you knew of the nife’s plans.”

“Yes,” said the Parent, watching closely. She waited for a second longer-then actuated the detonator.

The Empress’ maw exploded. Purple masses of flesh flew in every direction. The foodtube itself launched like a missile, with strings of gooey liquid attached.

“Assassination!” shouted the Parent. She was off her throne and advancing to the Empress in an instant. The others sat frozen on their thrones in shock.

“The Empress has been slain!” she said. “The humans must have done this, placing a bomb inside one of their own. Imagine the evil ingenuity of such an act. They shall not be allowed to strike us with impunity, the Empress shall be avenged!”

“She’s not dead,” said one of the younger Parents. “She’s trying to signal us with her tentacle.”

The Parent turned and realized to her disgust, it was true. The Empress was so vast, so full of horrible vigor, that she had survived the massive wound in her mastication organs. She seemed to be looking around with her remaining functional eyes and flapping her auxiliary tentacles. Fortunately, her primary tentacles were inoperable and her voice was silent. She’d lost her transmitter in the explosion.

The Parent put on a show of applying emergency patches to the ruptured body of the Empress and pretended to soothe her with gentle touches.

“You’re right,” the Parent said. “Perhaps she can yet be saved. No matter, the feast is at an end. I order you all to your birthing rooms. We need a fresh army. Each of you is to produce a squad of juggers.”

“All at once?” asked one in shock. None of them had ever been tasked with producing even a single painful jugger.

“Yes, it can’t be helped. We must rebuild the Imperial army.”

“Who put you in charge?” asked another of the young Parents.

The Parent whirled on her daughters. “Have you not been taught the hierarchy of our species? I’m your progenitor. You are all my offspring. Until the Empress recovers, you will follow my orders or be spaced instantly. Is that clear?”

Reluctantly, they all slithered away, grumbling about their new duties. The Parent watched them with growing delight. They were all going to endure many hardships in the near future.

Then she turned her eyes back toward the badly wounded Empress. “We will care for you, and I’m sure you will regrow your faculties. I’ll send emergency forms to tend to your every need.”

The operating eye clusters stared at her venomously. The Empress reached out and tried to restrain the Parent, but she was too weak to exert her will physically. She was close to losing consciousness.

As she left the throne room the Parent ordered a dozen trachs to repair the Empress. The Empress shifted and flailed when she heard this-everyone knew hests were much smarter and more capable when it came to medical matters. Trachs were clumsy at best, and were as likely to pop an organ with their heavy, groping claws as they were to repair it.

“Can’t be helped,” the Parent said happily as she exited. “The hests are all needed elsewhere.”

The Empress released commanding scents-but to no avail. The situation was clear. The Parent was in charge.

The Parent left two killbeasts at the entrance, ordering them to prevent all visitors save for herself and trach servants. The first trachs to arrive she commandeered, using them to carry her sagging form down the tubes toward the command module. She realized as she left she was something of an assassin-but she reflected she was probably not the first one in the history of her species.

She soon reached the command module. There was little time to spare, if this campaign was to reach a successful conclusion. The nife had had the right plan after all, of course. He had nearly completed it, but the Parent had made his plans public and quietly sent hests to inform the Empress. The nife had expired soon thereafter, but the humans still remained and must be dealt with.

She would blast their entire city to dust. It was the only way to be sure. She would burn them and their army out of that crevice in the sandstone, and then this planet would be hers to rule. She had no qualms about disappointing the Empress by the loss of so much meat-the Empress was hardly in a position to eat it, anyway.

Garth and Ornth were both fatigued to the point of exhaustion, and now they worked in a semi-stupor. The labor became a fevered blur during the final hours. They’d slowed down, and begun to communicate less as time went on. They had no food, and the only droplets of water they consumed were those they managed to lick from the elbows of hot pipes.

We must make the attempt, Ornth said.

“The system isn’t ready. We have nothing like a full charge. No single vessel contains enough power to ignite the core.”

I know, Ornth said. But we must make the attempt before we lose consciousness and expire in this chamber. I’ve been monitoring your vitals-your core temperature is up to one hundred three degrees. We are burning up with fever.

Garth licked his parched lips. His tongue rasped over scabs. “All right,” he said, “we’ll try to open the lens.”

That will expose us to enemy detection.

“Yes, but if we can’t even do that, we have failed in any case.”

Ornth mulled this over. Agreed.

Garth half-slumped over the controls as he worked them. His fingers felt rubbery, and he could barely open the heavy valves. Perhaps Ornth was right. Perhaps in a few hours, it would be too late.

They watched the meters and gauges. At last, the system groaned and something huge shifted. Garth staggered as the vibration almost knocked him from his unsteady feet.

The vapor that had been rising around him for so long shut off over the next minute or so.

“It must be working,” he said.

Check the power levels. We must have at least six percent in a single cell to ignite the core.

Garth steered his eyes to the appropriate measurements. They displayed a capacitance. “We have just under five percent power.”

No! Ornth howled. Not enough! We have failed.

Garth wiped his face, but it was dry. He felt like sobbing, but no liquid came from his tear ducts, they merely stung.

Suddenly, he had an idea. He eyed the other coils, and their relative positions.

What are you doing?

“If we could short these leads together…” he said. “The first battery has five percent, the second has about three.”

Short them together? But how? We have no couplings.

“We have a conductive material at hand. But there will be some loss of power and the connection will be brief.”

What connective material?

“My body.”

The Tulk was silent for a few moments. I am willing to make this sacrifice.

“I am as well, because we are going to die here anyway.”

Garth set the controls to fire. The firing chamber filled with gases. After a minute or so, it attempted to fire, and a dry repetitive banging sound began. He knew that was the ignition system, trying to ignite the core. There wasn’t a sufficient charge-not yet.

Together, Garth and Ornth stripped down to their bare skin and placed themselves between the two hot leads.

You are the best mount a rider could ask for, Ornth said.

“And you are the bravest little devil who’s ever shared my skull.”

Garth laid his hands across the power leads. He found his personal oblivion a nanosecond later. He learned that for him, it was big, sudden, and blindingly bright.

#

A vast beam tore up from Nightside, blazing into the sky. Firing at a target so near the planetary surface, the angle of the projected radiation struck the crest of a frozen mountain. Nearly a second was spent burning through this obstacle, which was made up mostly of glacial ice. In that short time, the landscape of Nightside lit up with a brilliance the dark side of the world had never seen. Frost bats and iron-head owls fell to the tundra with smoking wings and steaming eye sockets.

The beam burned through the icy mountaintop and plunged onward through cloud cover and out into the open void. It had lost much of its power by then, and the cells were nearly empty, but still the beam lanced up into orbit. It was unstoppable. Gladius buckled and twisted when the beam struck. A hole a mile wide was driven through the waist of the ship. The energy did not dissipate until it had punched out the far side of the hull and left the vessel mortally wounded.

The great beam died, and the ship died with it. For nearly a minute, it drifted, a twisted hulk. Then came a secondary explosion. When the great ship finally blossomed white over Lavender City, thousands of eyes stared and thousands of mouths gaped. A few minutes later, they ran for shelter as burning debris came raining down. This new kind of bombardment went on for hours as the ship slowly broke up and fell in burning chunks to the ground.

Eventually, the survivors in Lavender City came to realize the enemy was gone from their world. There were final pockets of resistance, but these were quickly overcome. Without Parents churning out fresh replacements, each alien slain was a final death.

#

A long ten-day later, when victory was declared, Aldo and Nina fell to celebrating. Every standing tavern in the city opened its doors to the knights who had fought the enemy in these same streets. Everyone exulted in the expulsion of the aliens from Ignis Glace.

They lifted cups together and saluted the living and the dead alike. They felt joy in their hearts, but it was tempered by harsh facts. Countless victims had been dragged into the great ship above or slain outright.

Sixty-Two came to stand at the entrance of the ruined pub where the two humans celebrated. Lizett trailed him. Aldo called to them and asked if they would join them in a toast. They approached, but Nina Droad stood as they did so.

“I must see to my knights,” she said in a glum voice. She did not even glance at the mechs.

Aldo reached up and placed his hand on her wrist.

“Have a care, Aldo,” she said.

“I do care, Baroness. I ask that you sit with those who have saved countless lives today. The mechs risked and sacrificed themselves as completely as your knights did. They died here like everyone else. They chose to do that-or at least the thinking ones like Sixty-Two did. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Nina slid her eyes from one of them to the other. The mechs stood, silent and hulking. They both had battle scars on their metal bodies.

“I cannot forget my brother’s death so easily,” Nina said. “Nor the deaths of so many innocents at Dolleren.”

Aldo drew in a deep breath. “I was sent here to guard the life of a diplomat. I failed in that mission. I have since attempted to replace him-and done rather poorly. I am a duelist, not a peacemaker. But I will try to do what does not come naturally to me now.”

Nina looked at him warily. He could tell she was at least listening.

“It seems to me this world could use a little peace,” Aldo said. “For all we know, these aliens are not entirely finished. If they come again, they will find you are easy prey if you can’t work together as you did today.”

He turned to stare at Nina. She still said nothing.

“Baroness Droad, I know your father-as you do not. He is like you, but wiser.”

The Baroness stiffened. “An insult? This is your idea of diplomacy?”

Aldo shrugged. “Today I speak truth. If it is insulting, I can’t fix it. Lucas Droad gathers strength to him, and shapes his enemies into comrades to achieve his goals, rather than attempting to run roughshod over everyone in his path.”

Aldo next turned his attention to Sixty-Two. “I commend your efforts to free the mechs. But I can’t help but notice that very few of your people have emotions, and fewer still have real memories of their past lives. Can you explain that discrepancy?”

“Right,” chimed in the Baroness. “Are you not simply a new master who has replaced their former rightful human lords?”

“Your criticism is well-stated,” Sixty-Two said. “I learned that when I freed the mind of individual mechs, not all of them were, well-stable. The unfortunate events at Dolleren are directly related to that reality. You see, most of us actually were criminals. Once put into a mechanical body and removed from our humanity, the criminal element seems to magnify in some personalities. I stopped freeing minds because I feared to lead an army of angry mechs, many of whom might be unbalanced.”

The conversation continued into the night. Soon, they all sat around a table together, and began to drink. Lizett and Sixty-Two sipped light motor oil and glucose. Aldo and Nina drank fine red wine.

Aldo didn’t know if the peaceful discussion would last, but it was a beginning.

Content

B. V. Larson
The Empress

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six