Delta-Six twitched a finger, ready to press a button on his wrist , but r emembered he could activate his systems through thought now. He selected his medical systems and gave himself a boost of painkiller for his leg. Within two seconds, he was wa lking normally again and sped up his journey a cross the great plain. As he walked, Delta-Six ran through any recordings he had made over th e past few days as he struggled to make sense of what had happened to him. His memory records had been compromised, either by the pois on from the creature in the lake or by the beings who had captured him.
‘What if the hallucinations were a ruse to distract me while the VR prison was reset?’ he asked, adding to his vocal notes. ‘ I still can’t accept this place is real. ’
Delta-Six was unsure how he had been tricked into believing he was in Elysium, with his future wife and… it was just like his dream. He wanted to go back but knew it had been an illu sion. All video recordings from his time in the forest village proved that. Now he needed to f ocus and survive.
He had grown used to drinking his mineral supplements, which his suit was using as it morphed with his body. But he didn’t understand why he was changing. And why were the other soldiers mutating? Was there a conscious mind behind it, making up for deficiencies or enhancing strong features? Or was it random?
He scanned the plain, where he had found scores of victory obelisks and battle debris. The sheer range of technologies and bodies at each site was overwhelming: so many forms of life and even more methods of destroying it.
‘I don’t know if it’s the removal of my mental filters or the scale of war here, but I feel… insignificant,’ Delta-Six said. ‘My entire life has been a futile gesture which has done little but cause destruction. What have I achieved? Have I built anything or created anything new? After my death, how would anyone know I existed?’
Delta-Six focused on his body – he could feel a tingling sensation down his right side, which meant his sensors had picked up movement in that direction. He swung around but nothing could be seen. His senses tingled again: he was being surrounded. Various options ran through his mind as he switched to combat mode. A shot of adrenaline sped his heart up, followed by streams of lines on his screen, predicting escape routes. But before he could select one, clouds of soil exploded and five blue armoured beasts burst out of the ground, firing darts.
Delta-Six’s defence system kicked in, creating a sub-sonic sound shield as he rapidly shot back with his wrist cannon, killing one attacker with a single shot that left a steaming hole through its carapace. Darts were deflected and bolts of energy absorbed by Delta-Six’s shield as he rolled for cover, fired again and moved, repeating over and over until a gap appeared in the ring around him and he ran through it. His shield was losing energy and he felt barbs glance off his metallic skin. He turned and fired again, killing one more. Then, in a cloud of dust, the two remaining creatures disappeared down their tunnels.
Dakaniha woke from a fitful dream. He sat up, stared at the bodies scattered along the coast of the lake and rubbed the itchy scabs on his temple s as visions haunted him: mouths; razor-sharp teeth; scaly bodies. He recalled the rough feel of the skin of a beast gliding beneath his legs and shivered.
The tocka had abandoned them in the water, leaving Gal-qadan’s men gripping their floating purple bladders. Losing energy, Dakaniha had slipped underwater and seen the tocka swimming in formation to attack the submarine beasts. Black blood spread through the water before the tocka returned.
A noise made Dakaniha turn.
‘I said, are you okay?’ Kastor was standing over him.
‘Yes,’ Dakaniha replied and surveyed the beach.
Bodies of men lay scattered like stones. The tocka slept in a circle some fifty paces away with their heads towards the bodies o f the two who hadn’t survived.
What will this day bring? Dakaniha thought . He searched the clouds for the sun and cursed the land. Why did it seem brighter today?
‘Well, we’re alive then . ’ Ethan sat up and rubbed his grey face.
Dakaniha felt a pang of pity for the man who , back home , would have been his enemy. He wondered if the American was suffering from the skin disease he had seen in the Southern tribes. From what he could remember it would be a painful death.
‘We survived when many fell,’ Dakaniha answered. ‘We are lucky to see today’s light.’
‘Amen to that,’ replied Ethan.
Tode joined the group. ‘How many did we lose?’
‘Four,’ Kastor rep l ied, ‘and two tocka.’
Dakaniha sighed and spent a moment in silence for their lost comrades.
‘This one remembers me,’ Dakaniha heard Osayimwese say as the men rode the tocka up the beach ridge, with Kastor’s steed taking the lead.
The ground flattened out at the top, presenting them with a long and featureless horizon.
‘What’s your plan, G reat L eader?’ Dakaniha asked Gal-qadan, whose face remained ever emotionless, like carved stone.
The Mong ol surveyed the land ahead and pointed . ‘We are cut off by this river. ’ Dakaniha could just make out a faint grey line to the right. ‘And this river . ’ Another curved line snaked on the left flank. ‘So we continue straight, through the mire.’ Gal-qadan gave his tocka a sharp kick with his heels but it stayed still. Gal-qadan growled and reluctantly turned to Kastor.
‘Right . ’ The Spartan held back a smile. He patted his tocka and the band of archers, riflemen and swordsmen let their carnivorous steeds pick out the driest path through the meandering streams and bogs that peppered the sodden lowland.
‘Do we need to find grass for the tocka?’ a rifleman to Dakaniha ’s right asked.
‘No, they fed well last night,’ Tode replied.
Dakaniha rubbed his hands on his trousers, convinced he could still feel the water-beast’s blood on his skin. It was good to be on dry land, but something tickled the nape of his neck, like they were being watched. He looked around but his nervous glances caught nothing moving in the flat landscape. He scratched at his temple s and peeled tiny scab s from under his headband. W as it l ice? He pulled the headband off and saw Ethan had moved up to rid e beside him. The journey was always quicker when you had someone to talk to, he thought, but his gut tightened: Ethan was his people’s enemy. Then he pictured his mother’s father. Maybe he could learn from his enemy as he had done? Guns and horses were the European’s weapons , but Dakaniha ’s people had mastered them. Was there more to learn?
‘Your rifle,’ Dakaniha started a conversation , ‘I haven’t seen that type before.’
‘Well, ha!’ Ethan nodded at the musket strapped to Dakaniha ’s back. ‘Compared to some guns this is pretty new.’
‘This was not mine . ’ Dakaniha felt his cheeks flush. ‘I… found it.’
‘Okay, I get it,’ Ethan nodded. ‘Well, this is a Whitworth . ’ He patted his rifle. ‘Only us who trade with the British got hold of ’em. The bullets whistle but I can take the tail off a chipmunk at a hundred paces.’
Dakaniha wanted to ask Ethan why he needed to shoot tails off rodents but held his tongue.
‘ It’s saved my life a few times and taken more than its fair share of other s ’ . ’ Ethan’s face looked grim as though the weight of each life still pulled at him.
‘And your war?’
Ethan laughed. ‘Well, they call it civil but it’s anything but civil, believe me!’
‘It must be far from my land – I haven’t heard of it,’ Dakaniha replied.
That shocked Ethan, who peered at Dakaniha as though waiting for a joke.
‘What is it?’ Dakaniha asked after several side glances.
‘The whole of the United States is at war – south versus north – and you ain’t heard of it?’
Dakaniha squinted at Ethan. ‘What country is this, United States ?’
‘Jeez . ’ Ethan shook his head. ‘We’re fighting from Richmond to Chattanooga – that’s Cherokee country ain’t it?’
Dakaniha shrugged. ‘Sounds like a fishing village.’
‘Chickamauga?’ Ethan asked.
‘No . ’ Dakaniha thought of the larger settlements that Ethan was bound to have heard of. ‘Do you know Keowee?’ he suggested.
‘No… the British burnt it down a hundred years ago, why – ’ Ethan looked at the other warriors in the group, then back to Dakaniha . ‘Say, you ain’t from my time , are ya?’
‘I don’t understand,’ Dakaniha replied.
‘You’re an ancestor . ’ Ethan looked to the grey sky, wide- eyed. ‘Is that why I’m here?’ He spoke to the clouds. ‘To repent for my sins?’ He looked back to Dakaniha . ‘I had to make them pay. I know the good book says do not take revenge but leave room for God’s wrath, but they had to pay. My family, my wife, my children… they deserved vengeance.’
As Ethan’s voice trailed off, Dakaniha star ed at his comrades. How could they be from different ages? Different nations travelling to one country maybe but not different generations.
Dakaniha saw the tocka ahead were slowing to form a fan shape around Kastor and Gal-qadan’s steeds.
‘– and then he just stopped,’ Dakaniha caught the end of Kastor’s sentence.
Gal-qadan pointed to a series of round mud mounds in the ground. ‘We haven’t seen these before – I don’t trust them.’
Always so wary, Dakaniha thought.
Kastor shrugged and said, ‘Well, the tocka won’t go nearer so we’ll have to go – ’
An explosion erupted ahead of them, followed by more behind and on each flank. L umps of mud rained down on them and Dakaniha gripped the thick mane of his tock a as it jostled and shimmied . T he shocked herd were the closest he had ever seen to panic.
‘There!’
Dakaniha saw a monstrous blue creature charging at them with a wild, snapping array of pincers and claws.
They were surrounded.
‘Weapons!’ Tode shouted.
Dakaniha set an arrow in his bow, controlled his breath and fired at the nearest creature. The bow sang its sweet note and the arrow flew true but glanced off the animal’s armour. Dakaniha tried to calm his nerves but didn’t know what to do against such an enemy. He looked for Gal-qadan but couldn’t see him. Should he dismount and find space to attack with his knife? His head pounded and his temples itched. The tocka beneath him clawed at the ground… then a strange thing happened.
Light came pouring in.
It wasn’t a new light, just more light. Then shapes and colour. Although he couldn’t see it, Dakaniha felt two new eyes open on the side of his head. He could see all around now. Front and back. He couldn’t say why, but it made him feel safe. Impenetrable. Stronger.
He gave his tocka a dig of his heels and it leapt forward, teeth bared: charging to attack.
John’s head was pounding. He was tired, his mouth was dry and his stomach growled with hunger. Had he banged his head? It felt like he’d been asleep for a week and strange dreams were swimming before him: Joe; kind nurses; men playing cricket; Crossley’s smile; Rosie’s eyes; lights and… what was that smell? It was worse than Jess’s stable.
Cautiously, John stretched his dry eyelids open and focused on a small square of light. A window? He was lying on his back and he could see shadows and silhouettes but nothing held any colour or shape. A closed door. Was he in an operating theatre? The doctor hadn’t said they would operate, but Crossley had taken him to find Joe and… yes it was coming back now. They’d walked away from the field hospital, out of the woods. Why Joe had been at a field hospital, John had no idea – or why he and Crossley had travelled on a metal contraption like the tanks the army had started to use. Only this one was driven by what looked like a blue lobster… and there John’s memory stopped.
He heard a sound from another room, so dropped his head and closed his eyes. With no memory of how he got here, John knew he was in danger.
‘…they have what?’ A deep voice growled in anger.
‘Steeds, General. Animals to carry them across the plain of battles,’ a higher-pitched voice replied.
‘Their main army will grow in number unless we…’ the first voice trailed off.
John tried to move his legs but something was holding them at the knee. His left arm felt the same while his right arm… clicked when he tensed his fingers. His gun-arm. John visualised his fingers inside the gun, as he’d done before, and could feel shapes forming.
The door burst open to reveal a tall, navy-blue creature.
‘It wakes.’ A mouth of bizarre mandibles snapped in the centre of a face that reminded John of a fish he’d seen at Billingsgate market. The rest of its body was scorpion-like.
‘Please join me.’ The huge beast talked to a smaller, grey scorpion-like animal that scuttled into a dark corner, leaving a trail of electric-blue light in the air.
‘Our first human.’
The blue animal’s legs scraped and clicked against the floor as it walked over and leant over John.
Without warning, a claw punched the table and flipped John up to a standing position. His body tensed against the ties that held him. He was face to face with this thing, whose enormous creaking shell glistened and pulsated before him.
Stay strong, John told himself.
‘And I sense I am your first Brakari?’ the creature asked.
So this was the enemy they would face, John thought. He nodded, trying not to show his fear.
‘What’s this? He bares his teeth… anger? Defence?’
Stay calm, John told himself, no point in angering it.
‘A smile perhaps?’ The Brakari rocked back on its legs. ‘I amuse you, do I?’ It turned to the smaller creature. ‘Do I look amusing to you, Captain Millok?’
‘No, General.’
It snapped back to John. ‘Then what is it that amuses you… what is your name?’
‘John Greene.’
You must stay strong, he told himself. If you’re the first human they’ve seen you must show these Brakari what great warriors we are. They must be scared of us.
‘Well,’ the inquisitor snorted. ‘I am General Panzicosta of the Brakari army and I intend to find out every detail about your little army before we destroy it.’
‘I can tell you what I know but it won’t be of any use,’ John replied. ‘We’re changing all the time.’ He thought of Mihran and Lavalle and tried to emulate their arrogance and style. ‘Many dangerous adaptations and defences – unbreakable by any army.’
Panzicosta’s mouth-pieces stretched and his short pincer arm gestured at the table. ‘Good, good.’ He seemed unperturbed by John’s boasts. ‘I’m sure that will all be useful and help the Brakari cause. Look around you, John Greene.’ He pointed at a long white arm hanging from the wall next to a dog-like head. ‘And here.’ Panzicosta pointed to the other side of the room.
John strained to turn his head to see wooden tables lining the walls covered in machinery and metallic objects that reminded him of the gear Crossley had taken from the dead robots near the castle. A metallic box that twinkled with tiny lights looked damaged where someone had broken into it and, next to it, a group of marbles reflected iridescent shades against the wall.
‘Others have come before you and all have been broken.’ Panzicosta stalked over to a table and grabbed the metal box in a claw. ‘The technology held in this allowed us to enslave the Lutamek.’ He cast the box back, scattering the coloured marbles. ‘And these Sorean shields, ingenious in deflecting any attack, are virtually useless now we understand their workings.’
John fought to find a suitable reply. How could his friends fight against an army of monsters like this with the weapons it had at its disposal?
‘You still won’t defeat us,’ John said and clenched his jaw.
‘Yes, you have spirit, I like that. Now… as entertaining as I find this, it’s time I learnt a little about human anatomy.’ He raised a long, thin pincer with a cutting edge. ‘I have always enjoyed dissecting animals with internal skeletons.’
The snaking line of soldiers had wound its way through the barren desert for three hours after leaving Peronicus-Rax’s behemoth tents. Euryleia had walked in a comfortable silence alongside Mata, but had been sent ahead to divine for water.
‘Althorn’s scouting for shelter,’ Euryleia heard Crossley tell Bowman.
She turned to where a hazy green line lay smudged against the horizon and felt her stomach tighten. Was Lavalle still alive? She controlled a pang of guilt. It was his decision to go after John; she hadn’t forced him. Anyway, he wasn’t the man he claimed to be – he was the Black Sword: the killer of unarmed men and innocents.
When had he ever claimed to be anything but a soldier? another voice in Euryleia’s head asked. All soldiers kill.
No. She pushed the thought away. He let me down.
And yet you miss him.
‘Euryleia,’ Li called out and moved up through the line.
‘Yes,’ Euryleia snapped.
‘I need to talk to you about adaptations.’
‘Ah, yes. The amnesty.’ Euryleia didn’t like talking to Li when she had her visor down. Who knew what she was really thinking when all you could see was a warped reflection of your own face?
‘It makes sense after Crossley hid his, and we need every advantage,’ Li said.
Euryleia nodded but kept her eyes fixed ahead. How old was Li? She had to be ten years younger than her, yet she talked to her like she was her mother.
‘So, have you had any changes? Any new skills or feelings?’ Li asked.
Other than wanting to smash your visor with my fist? Euryleia thought, but stifled her anger, worried Mihran was listening to her mind. All these bizarre changes were hard to get used to.
‘No, nothing new. I heal quickly, but everyone heals fast here.’
‘Yes.’ Li dragged the word out like she always did when she was concentrating on something else.
Euryleia bristled. ‘And you? Have you got any new skills?’
‘Nothing of any use,’ Li answered in her monotone voice. ‘The sensors in my visor have picked up new frequencies that allow me to manipulate micro-particles.’
Euryleia kept silent. She didn’t want to sound ignorant, but hadn’t understood a word.
‘I can move pieces of dirt about,’ Li explained. ‘I’ll keep experimenting with it.’
Euryleia tutted and pointed at the line ahead. ‘Why are we stretched out like this? It’s dangerous – anyone can pick us off or divide us.’
‘Peronicus-Rax suggested it.’
‘One night of shelter and we trust him?’
‘Mihran does,’ Li said, ‘plus he gave us some valuable intelligence.’
‘Such as?’ Euryleia asked.
Li pressed a button on her helmet and her visor flipped open. ‘He knows where the silver gates are.’
‘And we’re heading in the right direction?’ Euryleia asked.
Li nodded and Euryleia saw a man stumble up ahead. There were more immediate things to worry about.
‘The stony ground is taking a toll on our footwear and the injured are struggling,’ she said.
‘We’re getting low on food as well,’ Li said.
Euryleia glanced at Li, then back at the horizon. She looked genuinely concerned. ‘And then we fight.’ She was missing her horse almost as much as she missed having Lavalle to talk to and laugh with.
‘An army marches on its stomach,’ Li said.
‘Who said that?’ Euryleia asked.
‘A French general many centuries before my time.’
‘What is French?’ Euryleia asked.
Their eyes met and Li gave a little smile, making Euryleia smile in return.
‘What a ridiculous situation we’re in,’ Li said.
‘Yes,’ Euryleia sighed. ‘Forced to fight under the leadership of men.’ She shook her head.
‘Well, Mihran has a remarkable military mind.’
‘Really?’
Li nodded. ‘It’s part of his adaptation – he’s memorised every piece of tactical military text in my memory banks and taken details from every battle we’ve passed.’
‘To what benefit?’ Euryleia asked.
‘He’ll use the models – or predictions – for whatever situation we find ourselves in.’
Euryleia raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s good in theory, but in the madness of battle how will each fighter know where to go and who to attack?’
Li shrugged. ‘I asked the same thing and he said he’s working on it.’
Euryleia shook her head. Back home, her people chose their war leaders on merit and fighting ability: man or woman. Experience was key but strength of mind, foresight and adaptability in the face of defeat were worth a dozen strong, armed men.
‘I have analysed the battles too,’ Li’s voice was quieter now, ‘and found interesting connections.’
Euryleia raised her head. ‘Such as?’
‘In our group, we are all land-based fighters. No navy or air, space or cyber. It’s the same for every other species that has fought here. All land-based.’
‘Does that mean there are other human soldiers out there?’ Euryleia asked.
‘Possibly. Or someone wants us to stay on the ground.’ She flipped her visor back down. ‘Listen, I need to ask the others about their adaptations. Mihran wants a report soon.’
Euryleia nodded and Li sped off. She had seen Delta-Six fly from the obelisk hill but she had never seen a battle on water or in the air and the thought bewildered her, just as the foreign weapons of her new comrades did. Lavalle was straightforward compared to the rest: a strong man with a deadly weapon. One extra pair of eyes in battle and a sword she could trust. It had all been said in their first look. But now the trust was gone, what was left?
What did she expect? the other voice asked. Did he have to tell her everything? Wasn’t it better to leave some things unknown?
Euryleia looked ahead to where the vanguard had stopped. By the time she was within earshot, orders were being delivered.
‘Althorn says an enemy is approaching,’ Mihran said. ‘We need natural protection. Li, I want two flanks of projectile launchers. I’ll stay with the main army and command in the absence of Samas and Lavalle.’
Euryleia slipped her bow from her shoulder.
‘The enemy number fifteen and are large and armoured with metal casing,’ Althorn said. ‘That’s all I saw before–’
‘Wait a minute,’ Crossley cut in. ‘Large and armoured with metal casing? Did they look like the bodies around the castle?’
Althorn shrugged. ‘Possibly, I…’
Li tapped furiously on her wrist pad and projected an image of a large robot.
Althorn stared at the picture and rubbed his beard. ‘Yes, they could be the same.’
‘Seriously?’ Crossley had his hands on his hips. ‘We’re going to fight fifteen gigantic robots?’ He looked around the group. ‘Shouldn’t we try something else? Like running away?’
Althorn squinted at Crossley. ‘I have followed them for some time and they have tracked us with ease – we won’t be able to outrun them.’
Euryleia looked to the horizon, where a thin cloud of dust was building.
‘Come on.’ Crossley was red-faced. ‘We must be able to do something. If we had explosives, I could knock up a few mines but… Li: surely your laser rifle will make easy work of them, right? Like with those blue lobster things?’
‘I’ll do my best but–’
‘Where’s Mata?’ Crossley turned around.
‘Enough!’ Mihran turned to the horizon, where Euryleia could now see dark shapes. ‘We must stand and fight. Without victory we will never leave this land.’ He pointed to a series of red rocks that rose out of the yellow earth like tombstones. ‘We take shelter here.’
‘Yeah, how are they gonna help against robots?’ Crossley’s shoulders slumped. ‘Shit. Okay, someone give me a weapon then or I’ll have to rely on these trinkets.’ He fingered the scavenged diodes hanging around his neck.
‘Here,’ Sakarbaal pointed to a pile of spare bows and spears, ‘take your pick.’
Crossley shook his head and pulled a handgun from a shoulder holster, mumbling, ‘Goddam ancient crap.’
Euryleia was in the thick of the group as they split into groups of archers and riflemen, with the bulk of the swordsmen between the two. She couldn’t see anything on the horizon, yet felt vibrations through her feet.
‘More on the left flank,’ Mihran shouted, crouching behind one of the red stones. ‘Now take shelter and – where have they gone?’
Euryleia had an arrow in her bow and half a dozen stabbed into the ground beside her.
‘They’re cloaked,’ Li shouted.
‘Where are they?’ Crossley shouted.
‘Hold!’ Mihran shouted. ‘Expect an attack any–’
In an instant, the desert, the red stones and the hazy green sky vanished in an orange flash so bright that Euryleia thought she could see the insides of her eyes. Time slowed as shapes and senses came to her in flashes: stone; silhouettes; the sky; the ground; burning.
Pain.
Nothing made sense.
Pain.
It all happened in a single breath.
Darkness descended.
When the light came back, the fighting was over. Euryleia rolled over and cradled her arm where a sharp pain burnt. She looked around for shelter but all she saw were bodies and smoke. The smell of burning flesh invaded her nostrils and she heaved.
Don’t panic, she told herself. First thing: injuries.
Euryleia looked down at her wrist, where the pain was sharpest, and this time she couldn’t hold back the vomit. Where her hand had been, she now saw a charred and bloody mess of flesh and bone.
They should have surrendered straight away, Mihran thought. Before the battle started, seventeen of his thirty-six scenarios had suggested surrender, but he had pushed them to the back of his mind, along with the eight that ended with the human army’s complete destruction. He needed to find a smoother way to process his predictions and receive live information from his troops during battle, he thought.
When the lightning attack hit them, Mihran had struggled to keep up with the strategies and models. As one soldier died, his model shifted, but not fast enough for him to communicate any changes.
‘Retreat and combine forces!’ he had shouted, but nobody heard over the explosions and laser fire that ripped through the air like violent thunder.
Desperate for some coordination, Mihran had thrown his thoughts at an archer, trying to get him to focus his attack on the flank, but nothing changed. He tried another, but they ignored him. Determined to make it work, Mihran tried to project the image of an approaching robot to a group of swordsmen who were about to mount what would have been a suicidal attack. They paused and held back – it worked!
Just as Mihran was getting used to the method, the attack stopped as suddenly as it had started and the voice of the robot’s leader drifted across the smoke-shrouded and cratered desert.
‘Put your weapons down and you will not be harmed.’
‘Cease!’ Mihran shouted. ‘Cease your firing! We surrender.’ He walked out with his arms raised high.
An eager crossbowman released a metal-tipped bolt at the silhouette of one of the robots and was given an accurate laser burst to the ear in return.
‘Put your weapons down!’ Mihran ordered, shouting over the man’s screams.
He took in the damage to his troops. Limbs and torsos told of the dead, while several were lying injured: Euryleia was on the ground, clutching the burnt stump of her left hand and, on the other flank, Li floated in a blue bubble.
He faced the aggressors, searching for something he could learn from their audacious attack. ‘We submit,’ he shouted. Smoke drifted on the lazy desert breeze as the dark silhouettes became fifteen robot warriors, each standing twice as tall as Mihran.
‘Disarm,’ the voice boomed again and a large red robot walked forward.
Mihran overheard Crossley, who was still hiding. ‘Jeez, if these guys lost to the flatworms think how dangerous those little bastards must have been!’
Determined to show strength for the human army, Mihran spoke clearly. ‘Why do you cease your attack?’
A rasping voice responded. ‘You will not survive this fight and we are not interested in victory.’
‘You are not interested in victory?’ Mihran repeated.
‘This skirmish will not count as a true battle.’ A short orange robot spoke with a precise accent. ‘We will not gain our freedom through your defeat.’
Mihran raised his eyebrows and looked to Li, as if to say ‘Make a note of that,’ but she was still trapped and unable to respond.
‘Please release my soldier.’ Mihran pointed to the blue bubble.
‘When you return the belongings of our clan,’ a yellow automaton said.
‘What belongings?’ Mihran asked.
‘Those taken from the stronghold where our kin died. These parts belonged to our fallen comrades.’
‘How do you know we have them?’ Mihran asked to buy time.
‘We tracked them to your position.’
‘And your army’s name?’ Mihran asked.
‘We are the Lutamek.’
‘Ah.’ Mihran turned to his troops. ‘Bring forward anything taken from the castle.’
It was better not to argue with these metallic behemoths, plus a thought had come to him.
‘Here.’ An archer walked forward and threw a lump of metal at the nearest robot’s feet.
The orange robot scanned the item with a blue pulse of light from its left eye. ‘Seven-zero-eight’s acronometric valve intensity monitor.’ It picked the object up and deposited it in a hole in its arm.
More humans stepped forward and discarded treasured objects at the feet of the Lutamek.
The orange robot spoke once the items had been identified. ‘You have five more items. Please return them.’
Nobody moved.
‘If you wish, sir,’ the red Lutamek addressed the orange robot, ‘I can neutralise the offending alien.’
‘No,’ it replied. ‘I need them intact, maybe maim the individual. One limb–’
‘Okay, okay.’ Crossley ran forward with his hands up, giving Mihran a sheepish look as he passed. ‘Here you go.’ The American threw down a copper-coloured box then opened his pockets, pulling out an assortment of metallic components. ‘Couldn’t get any of them to work anyway.’
‘These are accepted,’ said the Lutamek leader.
‘Now release my soldier,’ Mihran ordered.
A turquoise Lutamek twitched and the bubble disappeared, dropping Li to the ground.
‘I couldn’t hear a thing, what’s going on?’ she asked.
‘Please see to the injured,’ Mihran said and turned to the robot leader. ‘My thanks. And now?’
‘We are an honest race,’ the leader spoke slowly, ‘and believe in trade.’
‘Yet you attacked us without asking for your belongings,’ Mihran said.
‘Yeah,’ Crossley joined in, ‘shoot first and ask questions later.’
Mihran held his hand up to silence him.
‘We were witness to your defence against the Brakari scout patrol,’ the robot replied, ‘and are aware of your association with the one-eyed humanoid who did nothing to aid us during our battle.’
‘Peronicus-Rax is a peaceful individual,’ Mihran said.
‘I will make a record of his name,’ one of the Lutamek murmured.
‘And I will remember the name of the Brakari,’ Mihran replied, understanding how they had been outclassed so quickly by these fighting machines: they had seen the humans in action and had neutralised the most dangerous soldier first. ‘These Brakari were just scouts?’ he asked.
‘Yes, their stronghold lies beyond the plain, near the silver gates,’ the Lutamek leader replied.
And yet the Lutamek don’t fight for their freedom, Mihran thought. He felt he had gleaned more information from the Lutamek than they had from him: tracing the parts of their fallen comrades, tracking a scouting party of another species and the intensity of their attack all suggested more was going on here.
‘You are a new species,’ the Lutamek leader said. ‘Our trade is to answer any questions you have.’
‘Well, if you could tell us who brought us here and why all these strange things are happening to us that’d be great,’ Crossley said before Mihran could respond.
A high-pitched warble came from the orange robot and the yellow leader turned. ‘Keep our transmission audible Nine-zero-five. No, I do not believe this information would threaten our mission.’ The leader looked at Crossley, then Mihran. ‘We do not know who brought us, or yourselves, here. Our location is also unknown to us. As for your changes,’ the leader beckoned a lean white robot over, ‘Ten-ten, scan and relay all adaptational sources.’
‘Yes, Two-zero-three,’ the robot replied and sprayed a fast pulsing light over Crossley, criss-crossing his body from head to boots. Then it switched to the soldier behind him, then Samas and so on. Mihran breathed out in relief when his scan finished with no sense that anything had touched him.
‘Scan complete,’ the white robot said a minute later.
‘Results?’
‘All individuals have ingested a fungal symbiont,’ Ten-ten’s rough voice held Mihran’s attention, ‘which has established a net of hyphae throughout their neural pathways, enhancing the language centres.’
Mihran’s eyes widened. For the first time since arriving here, he was getting real answers. ‘And each individual’s unique adaptations?’ he asked.
Ten-ten pointed a long metallic finger at Crossley. ‘An increased sinus cavity combined with vocal cord extension has enabled you to create and read sonic waves.’
‘Does that mean I can see in the dark as well?’ Crossley asked, but Ten-ten had already moved on to Althorn.
‘Your body has an enhanced metabolic rate, utilising eighty-nine percent of all energy consumed through enhanced glycolysis and partial carbon recovery from carbon dioxide.’
‘So rather than being invisible,’ Mihran said, ‘you are simply moving at an incredible speed.’
‘You,’ the robot turned to an archer, ‘have an enhanced visual cortex that allows you to see and predict atmospheric and enemy movements to a greater degree of accuracy, similar to our shard missile systems.’
‘Ten-ten,’ the Lutamek leader, Two-zero-three, said, ‘please keep the information limited and relevant. Code Ecta.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Ten-ten turned back to the archer. ‘Your enhanced eyes give you accurate aim.’ Then to Mihran, ‘A second symbiont has enhanced your mental capabilities.’ Then Bowman, ‘During the battle, your missiles showed signs of enhanced cognitive behaviour.’
When Ten-ten had finished, every member of the human battalion felt they had been told a little more than they would have liked.
‘Just like getting bad news from the doctor.’ Crossley sat on a rock and stared at the earth. ‘My sinus cavity is bigger, so what’s happened to my brain?’
Nobody answered.
Unlike the rest of the small army, Mihran pushed aside the reality of microscopic growths linking the subsections of his brain. He was more intrigued by the Lutamek army and their mission. ‘Lutamek leader, Two-zero-three, your exchange of knowledge is gratefully received, and I apologise for any offence caused – we meant no disrespect to your lost comrades.’
‘The trade is complete,’ Two-zero-three replied. ‘You have distracted us long enough.’
The robots holding the perimeter were already moving away.
‘I understand.’ Mihran nodded. ‘You have more Brakari scouts to track, no doubt?’
Every Lutamek stopped instantly.
‘You have information?’ Two-zero-three asked.
Mihran stood silent as he calculated the odds of certainty. His question had revealed a clue. If only he could read their minds, he thought, but remembered the pain from trying to read Peronicus-Rax. He would have to take a gamble instead.
Two-zero-three appeared impatient and asked, ‘You want more from us, human?’
‘No.’ Mihran stroked his beard. ‘I was thinking about how we can help you on your mission… to free your comrades captured by the Brakari army.’