Airith- the Kentilan War Page 15

  Suddenly a shadow draped them in mid-day darkness. Airith looked up, and her mouth went dry.

  She knew Mother’s grotesque metal monstrosities whenever she saw them, and this was no different. It was by far the largest crawling engine she had ever seen. Its towering chimneys were releasing long pillars of smoke, and a simmering heat radiated off its matte black body.

  A violent yank to her shoulder brought her up to her knees.

  “Move!” Rapha cried.

  His glowering white eyes flashed when she didn’t, and a moment later he yanked her up in one swift movement. He was burning hot, his long cape gone and replaced by glowing aerinite armor. He shot forward and their surroundings rippled. They hit a smaller dune headfirst, the sand filling her mouth and almost burying her. Rapha landed hard and bounced across the sand a few feet away, still clad in his Skyfire. She gasped for breath, her eyes focusing on the moving engine that had barely noticed them, set on a course for the armada that was fast approaching.

  “She— She is in there. I know it,” Airith wheezed between breaths.

  Rapha picked himself up and crawled to her. His armor was gone, but his eyes still glowed. “Where do you think she’s headed?”

  “To engage the Empire in a head-on battle?” Airith couldn’t believe it herself. It was ridiculous. But it was also the only answer that made sense. Why else would Mother be here, with her weapons?

  The armada outnumbered her five to one. She was offering herself to them on a silver platter. She would die in the onslaught. Airith’s chest clenched.

  “Airith. Breathe.” Rapha held her shoulders firmly, and only then did she realize his fast thinking had just saved her life. She touched his fingers lightly.

  Then, directly in front of them, the air contorted and morphed into Phara. Airith took one look at her and launched forward, her claws drawn. Phara was right there, within reach… and then she was gone. Airith plowed into the sand, gritting her teeth through the embarrassment. Phara morphed a few feet off.

  “I’m perpetually sorry to have left so abruptly. The two of you were unapologetically distracted when I sensed Mother,” she stated simply, shrugging her elegant shoulders.

  “Oh, wait till I get you. I’ll make you perpetually sorry,” Airith seethed, poised for another attack.

  Rapha grabbed her. “We do not have time for this. We have to go after Mo—”

  Rapha had barely finished when the Penelope and the Katalina dropped unceremoniously before them. Phara’s tentacles slithered away. Then Airith’s sword flew in from nowhere and dug into the sand before Airith, still sheathed.

  “He’s right. We have no time to waste with this squabbling. The Katalina took minimal damages; besides aesthetics, her engines are okay.” Phara casually went back to the Katalina’s wheel. “We must keep at least a hundred-foot radius, or Mother will sense me.” She ignited the Katalina and looked up at them, waiting for them to follow.

  “One of these days…” Airith trailed off, shaking her head and struggling to squelch her roiling emotions. She got back into the Penelope, rubbing at her neck, keeping her eyes on the moving machine almost two miles out, redirecting her anger, and revisiting the shock of being saved by Rapha. Rapha climbed into the driver’s seat and ignited the Penelope, and the two wavers returned the same way they had come, traveling parallel to each other as they raced after Mother’s crawling giant.

  *

  The Magija was a life force born of origins unknown, and for eons it had traversed the vast nothingness of space, traveling light years into the void, spawning tendrils that reached far and wide and giving life to matter—matter that was malformed and null. And from this matter, this energy came the mysterious beauty of diverse planets.

  The life force explored galaxies that were yet unknown, and recorded constellations that were yet unseen, until the Magija was an omnipresent web of life throughout millions of galaxies. The Indigos where one of the first species to walk indium and harness this life source. They understood that she was a part of life and the key to inhabiting other planets. Being amongst the first born of this true energy, they walked thousands of years, propagating and filling their planet until the lesser species began to take form and evolve into more intelligent beings: the primates, the humanoids that emerged to plague their once beautiful planet.

  Ming was one of these Indigos. He floated in the harmony of all that was true, all that had been and all that was to come, wading through the memories etched in the bedrocks of this small planet, and in sync with the energy that rushed like a stream, gushing in continuous waves through and around him, washing over him and his thousands of brothers. They were all connected, all life forms connect—both new and old, strong and weak, the fear of the hiding prey, the determination of the stalking predator, the wail of the protective mother, the pure distilled joy of doting siblings, and the darkness. The contempt, the filth of hearts and minds alike, was all in sync, the bad and the good, forever in synchrony, kept in balance and following after the other.

  The harmony emitted from the depths of this planet, where a part of the Magija was buried thousands of feet below sea level. It gushed forth to fill the grounds of the Life Pool, visited annually by species far and wide to share in its healing power.

  But now the Life Pool had become disconnected, somehow. There had grown some sort of disruption. A jolt of rippling energy from a past world that had perished. A desecration of the natural flow of things. Its primitive form and energy, its dissipating memories, brash and unclear, cultures from a distant world, one that was almost forgotten… It crippled the communication with the other millions of Magija nodes on other planets.

  Ming grimaced and tried to concentrate, trying to shut it out. His mind reached to connect with the harmony again, like a hand reaching for another that floated just in sight. He was almost there and then… that flash of discordant energy. It scrambled his mind and that of his brothers. He could no longer endure, it, and his eyes flew open.

  His vision focused slowly on the world around him, his brethren in front of him struggling to meditate, struggling to endure the sharpness of that discordant energy; a contaminant deliberately added to pure and revered truth. The man who had added it to the life source had called it his greatest creation. He had named it the Glitch. But the man who had added it was not a man. He was once a man, and now what was left of him was half-machine. Unbridled in his lust for intellectual supremacy, that one. How foolish it was to think you could know it all.

  Ming observed his brothers, who sat cross legged and arms folded, eyes closed, and mechanical brows creased as they forced themselves on in this battle to stay connected. It was a helpless situation. One he could not fix, and soon, one by one, his brothers began to open their eyes. There was a helpless sadness in the silence that followed. There was nothing to be done to rid their consciousness of the stain. It had taken root in their midst. The source of this vile contamination sat thirty miles from the Life Pool, a tower of pure aerinite, forever humming with electricity, a rippling primitive energy that fed off the Magija. Why had the Creator put it there? That answer remained unknown to the Indigos, but the effects continued to flaw their harmony.

  His brothers began to close their eyes again, trying to reconnect. But Ming stayed awake. There was a tingling in the sensitive openings on either side of his head. Strange energy waves from afar, drawing closer by the second. He reached out and touched the polished floor beneath him. Besides the cold, there was movement, reverberations, gaining in tempo, rattling his metal fingertips.

  Something was coming.

  He rose to full length, the bolts in his joins grating and groaning. Indigos spent more time in folded positions than on their feet, movement unnecessary when they were in their meditations. He forced his body to react and turned north, toward the origins of these waves. His neck clicked, making intermittent stops until his head had turned a crooked 90-degree angle. It was hard to see past the sunlight’ reflecting off the pool itself, its
waters cool and crystal green, the sun’s rays hot as they glanced off the water. He narrowed his eyes, though, seeking to see through the light, and then beyond the walls of the Indigo Tower that protected the pool, its twisting metal rising into the sky, tall, rectangular windows offering glimpses of the world outside.

  The entire structure was a form of art unto itself. Art that people still travelled far to behold—which in turn made it impossible to stay vigilant.

  The vibrations had protracted into tremors now, shaking his brethren out of their meditations. The lofty ceiling above their heads rattled, the liquid in the Life Pool beginning to rise in small waves. Ming sensed a darkness beyond anything he had ever felt, in this world or any other. The warmth in his chest was gone, replaced by a chilling cold. He launched to his feet, soaring to a height and landing a few feet away on the pillar closes to him. He could feel a thousand bewildered eyes on him, asking unspoken questions. But there was no time to explain. His nimble hands and feet took him up the pillar to where he could see better, and he glared through the window at the seam of the roof and wall, his gaze dancing along the horizon. And then he saw it: an expanse of pumping engines and heated metal crawling steadily toward them. A piece of machinery, coming right for the tower.

  But why? Had they come to worship as well?

  A moment later he knew they hadn’t. The machine had expanded, muzzles extending from it, before Ming had a chance to process that information those muzzles fired. Seconds later, explosions shook the foundations beneath him and a volley of burning fireballs took to the skies, arching grandly high above them, pausing for a millisecond, and then beginning their descent… directly toward the Life Pool.

  His body went cold and his mind numbed. Then he screamed, a flush of frantic waves flying through his mind and toward his brothers. In unison, they all moved, a stampede accompanied by the underlying din of a thousand small metal feet pattering across polished floors toward the only exit they had: a duct that descended to the bunkers underground.

  But they moved too slow. Fire was already exploding above them and the ceiling itself was coming down, molten metal and wood raining on their heads. His brethren swarmed at the duct, though its opening could only fit a few hundred Indigos at once. Another fireball hit the pillar Ming clung to, blinding him with its heat, and he lost his grip. He began to fall, but latched onto the pillar again, all the while picking up on the wavelengths of his brothers below. Cries of pain, panic, and rage flew up at him, though confusion colored everything. Confusion at what was going on. Confusion at why it was happening. They were peaceful monks, here to meditate and connect with the universe.

  Who was attacking them, and why?

  The foundations shook as a part of the ceiling caved in, debris falling onto the masses below. Like sharp, invisible stabs, he felt the disconnection of a few hundred of his brothers. Ming tossed a wild gaze about him. His brothers had scattered, now, fleeing in all directions but the duct. A piece of rubble had blocked the entrance, and only a few hundred were safe. True, they had cannons in the building, but they were set to the side, never to be used. Ming shouted frantic mental orders, at the older of his brothers—the shepherds of the younger flock. They deciphered his message and went running toward the weapons, their paths taking them around and through the worst of the debris.

  Ming moved quickly, dropping from the pillar onto all fours just as another fireball hit it. He spared only a moment to stare out into the distance. The monstrous engine was nearing them, now, and he bolted for the nearest wall, reaching it in a few seconds. He launched himself from the ground toward the wall, which held one of the priceless cannons, and began scrambling upward as quickly as he could.

  If he could get to that weapon, perhaps he could save his brothers.

  A whirring sound made him look over his shoulder when he was only halfway up. A small machine was hovering a few feet away from him, with guns leveled and locked, aiming at him. Ming launched upward without thinking, just as a stream of white-hot pellets whistled past him. He caught onto the wall a few feet up from where he had been, but didn’t pause to congratulate himself. Instead, he scrambled upward, the gunfire trailing after him. He could feel the heat of the bullets below him and knew the drone was drawing closer.

  Turning, he launched himself out into the air, coming down on the drone itself. He slapped his palm down over the head of the drone and started drawing on his energy. One blast of bright indigo light from his palm and the drone lost balance, beginning its fall. Ming leaped back onto the wall as it fell from sight. Below him, more drones were rising, and above him, more descending from the air. The cacophony of gun fire was deafening, and the steady hail of pellets showered down on his fleeing brothers. The disconnections stabbed him every moment, and though his grief knew no bounds, neither did his rage.

  The Indigos were a peaceful race that had lived in seclusion before the younger races took over. Only then had they had to resort to violence to protect themselves. That was a million years ago. And now, the onslaught before his eyes brought on a chaotic mix of emotions. His brethren were dying, and some of the younger generations had not learnt to use the Magija for anything but communication and building life. His younger brothers returned fire with the Magija from within, but they failed, and their power faltered, for they had not mastered the flow of this sort of power. They knew only peace and meditation. Their weak shots curved and missed or dissipated before reaching their targets, and in return they were reduced to shreds by gunfire.

  Invisible walls were closing in, killing his hope for peaceful negotiation. Each death forced him just a little further, ultimately telling him that the only solution was return violence. Finally, unable to do anything else, he reached the cannon, wrapped his hand around the trigger, and pulled it. The gigantic weapon bucked, reverberating as wild lightening blotted his vision. The plasma shells tore through the air, slicing through the drones nearest him, and Ming saw cannons in other spots beginning to fire as well. His brothers had reached them, then.

  If they could coordinate their efforts, perhaps they would live to see the end of this day.

  Blinding white lightning erupted through the room again and again, and the drones began dropping like flies. But more swarmed in from above, in the hundreds. Ming was not sure how far the ammo reserves could go. He sent his brothers a message, telling them to focus on the entry point above them. The plasma volleys lasered through the swarm of drones, cutting down what seemed like thousands of them. They fell from sight.

  Suddenly a foreign signal began to interfere with his connection to his brothers. It was a cryptic message that was gone in under a millisecond, but his mind had already deciphered it. It was a remote signal from beyond, one that had been sent to the millions of electronic brains hovering above them. On cue, the drones moved as one, in three directions. Ming was one of those directions. Even in the dull corners of his sight, he could see a thousand machine guns leveling at him and locking into place. He had only a blink to readjust his aim. He was slow. But not too slow. He slapped his wrists together, summoning a million years’ worth of Indigo energy. The power flooded him and exploded from him, enveloping him and dulling the machine gun fire, absorbing a million pellets at once, an extension of his body and skin. They felt like a million pricking needles.

  He realized he was falling, his surroundings blurring all around him, and caught himself mid-air and zapped across the room to evade fire. Only then did he realize that his head felt lighter, almost empty. Weak signals from the remnant of his brothers wavered and faded. And he couldn’t hear it the other cannons anymore. Glancing over his shoulder at the spots where they had been, he saw only smoke and fire. The cannons had been taken out. He was the only target left. The needling sensation was gone as well, which made him pause to listen. The drones were alert, hovering at their stationary axis, paying no attention to him.

  A raging beast cut through his dispersed consciousness like a blade, but Ming had sensed him from far off—
far enough to protect himself from harm. Metal swept past the side of his head, the object hitting him in the chest. He bounced off a wall and landed on both knees. But his senses had come alive, calculations rushing through his head as he figured out where to move next. He perceived movement before it reached him and darted out of reach, escaping a crashing blow that dug into the floor. This time, it was a different attacker. Two foes. Same armor. They gleamed with precious aerinite. Ming launched into the air over the larger one, his feet connecting with the side of its head. The impact sent shockwaves through him, but he landed in a roll and sprang back up on one knee. His other leg was numb, his sensors screaming, and his motors shaken. These foes, what were they made of?

  “Cute!” The bigger one laughed, his voice scornful and wicked.

  The other bulleted toward Ming. Ming anticipated it and bounced from reach, awkwardly landing a foot away, his other leg still recovering. But he could not escape the kick that caught him off-guard and rattled his joints. He floated only a second before hitting the ground hard and springing back onto his feet. He had snapped something, his internal systems told him. He was starting to realize the futility of this fight. His opponents were strong and armed. One was a six-foot, heavy-fisted brawler. The other was a slender swordsman, wielding a mechanized sword.