Alex Blade surveyed the hellish and uncanny landscape with a sense of preternatural dread. No sun shone its warmth on this lonely world, for the planet was so distant from its primary that the dull crimson sun it orbited was simply a brighter point of light that was quickly lost in the star strewn immensity of heaven.
In the distance a range of volcanoes jetted fountains of fire and ash skyward to form a blazing curtain that stretched as far as the eye could see, and in the billowing clouds which palled the inky sky, strange lightning flashed in mighty forks and sheets that briefly tore apart the darkness in ragged volleys of rolling thunder.
Cataracts of steaming lava vomited from the yawning calderas that gaped like the very mouth of hell. Molten rock flowed down the slopes to form rivers of flaming liquid stone that flowed viscously to a shallow sea, and where the molten rock touched water steam roared and billowed like a living thing. Roiling fog was all about the shore, obscuring much in heavy veils of turgid whiteness tinted with the crimson glare of the dramatic and continuous eruptions.
It was a sinister orb that the Vayamani stood upon, one of black rock and crimson fire, bleak and nameless – the diminutive companion in a double planet system. Blade raised his troubled gaze to the sky. Above him hung vastly the second world - a massive planet whose powerful gravitation caused huge internal tides in the smaller sphere, heating its interior to produce intense and continuous volcanic activity that kept it from freezing over.
Conditions were hostile, the hazy atmosphere thick with acrid sulphur fumes and other volcanic gases. Yellow minerals, glittering in the light of volcanic fire and the flare of lightening, streaked the black rocks of the rugged landscape, dotted with hissing fumaroles, broken and fractured by constant violent earthquakes.
It was hell made manifest. But incredibly there was life, of a sort, here. Turning, Blade gave his attention to the shallow acidic sea – an immense body of steaming water that roiled in constant bubbling agitation. Chimney-like structures, many of which were in excess of a hundred feet in height and built of precipitated minerals, studded the bottom of the turbulent sea in profuse columns. From these uncanny stacks erupted searing black clouds rich in sulphides which were fed upon by chemoautotrophic bacteria.
Purple bacterial mats grew upon the sea bottom as profusely as seaweed, and on them fed other more complex organisms that formed the world’s chemosynthesis based biosphere. On land there was also life. Blade looked down and stepped back with a shiver of revulsion to avoid a crawling oval sheet of reddish brown gelatinous slime that oozed towards a source of food - sulphur crystals sprouting from a nearby outcrop.
Of course Blade was perfectly safe in his space armour, but the thought of the roughly foot square mass crawling over his boots was too much to bear. He continued to watch the horror’s progress with a kind of morbid fascination, and saw half a dozen tiny shapes – armoured worm-like things of midnight hue - slither from beneath the rock it was aiming for and set upon the thing.
The Vayamani turned away from the sight of the sickening feeding frenzy and refocused his attention on his space armour’s instruments. The head up display projected on his visor indicated the source of the faint distress signal was just beyond the low line of cliffs before him.
It was purely by chance that Blade had detected the signal. The youngest and most well educated son of a wealthy family he had, as he matured, grown increasingly dissatisfied with the self-obsessed and indolent lifestyle of the super-rich. It had all come to a head five days ago when he’d caught his girlfriend in a compromising position with another man.
Incensed and bitterly disillusioned he’d set out almost at once in his father’s space-yacht, the Star of Vayam (the latter part of his vessel’s name his home world), for little explored regions of the Omega Sector, hoping to make some useful discovery that would benefit humanity, give meaningful purpose to his existence and thereby help him forget the beautiful but faithless Niala.
He’d been several ship-days into the deepest region of unexplored space when automatic detectors of the latest and most sensitive type had alerted him to the signal. The pulse of the distress beacon was faint, so faint that it barely registered even to the marvellous technology of the twenty-seventh century. If his course had varied by a parsec he would have missed it entirely.
Blade brought his mind to the present. The Star of Vayam was in orbit about this unknown world. He had descended from his craft using his space armour’s reaction field generators, or RFG as was the acronym for the device, and now that he’d made planet-fall he could accurately pinpoint the location of the automated distress signal via triangulation using his armour's sensors and those of his ship.
At last he felt he could make some kind of useful contribution to society by way of helping others. Blade activated his space armour’s RFG and sent the suit soaring above the low line of cliffs. Flying forward and upward he soon cleared the rugged barrier and in but minutes beheld what lay upon the fissured plateau. The sight creased the young man’s pleasant face with grim lines.
The ancient wreck of the starship, broken and mangled, lay shrouded in centuries of volcanic dust. Blade descended to the pitiful remains of a once glorious vessel, all hope of finding survivors completely dashed. By her lines it was clear to him that the ship was one of the very first of its kind. That it had come to grief was tragic, but not surprising for the earliest days of interstellar travel, with the primitive technology of the past, had been extremely hazardous, and many a ship had vanished without a trace, her crew lost forever in the vastness of interstellar space.
Blade landed by the wreck and gazed upon its bulk that stretched out before him like the forlorn carcass of some titan leviathan that had been washed ashore. The ship had come down stern first as evidenced by the rocks that had been melted by the furious blast of her nuclear engines. Her landing was puzzling for starships, weighing as they did at an average of 300,000 tons, were not designed to make planet-fall, and so without landing gear she had toppled and crashed to the rugged earth, breaking into three ragged segments under the force of the terrific impact.
The Vayamani wondered at the fate of her crew. Had they died instantly, or had some survived the crash to perish lingeringly on this bleak world so far from the green hills of Earth? He shuddered at that terrible thought and hoped their end had been mercifully swift.
Blade lifted off and flew towards the nose of the vessel where what remained of the bridge was located. Here, he hoped to find some record, even if it was fragmentary, of what had happened - information that could be provided to any descendents of the crew’s relations so some closure could be given to the disappearance of their long lost ancestors. He felt it was the least he could do.
Shortly, he arrived at the bridge and floated through the gaping rent in the vessel’s hull. The control room was a shambles, but upon closer examination Blade saw that the mess had been created not so much by the crash, but by the removal of many of the ship’s instruments. The nuclear batteries and the automated distress beacon that they powered seemed to be the only things that had been left untouched.
It was clear that there had been some survivors, but what had they hoped to achieve by cannibalising parts of their ship, for that’s what appeared to have happened. Blade looked curiously about and soon discovered the brief message scratched in large letters upon a bulkhead. It read as follows:
Starship Pegasus victim hyperspace storm. Forced emergence into normal space. Navigation instruments damaged, life support barely functioning. No chance of returning to Earth. Crew evacuated to shuttle craft and ship landed by jury rigged remote control. Will attempt to build shelter and survive. If anyone reads this message head west across the sea. Terrain there has far less tectonic activity. David Ryland, Capt. SS Pegasus, May 16, 2225.
Nearly five hundred years had passed since the captain of the ill-fated Pegasus, now long dead, had scrawled his brief message. Could there be survivors, descendents of those castaways of space? It seemed highly unlikely, but Blade felt compelled to investigate the slim possibility.
Again he lifted off and headed west, but without much hope of finding anyone alive. The journey across the sea was uneventful travel, the bubbling expanse of water a featureless mass of starlit liquid whose depths were shrouded in mysterious darkness. Within an hour he’d arrived at the far shore and beheld an astounding sight.
A vast black pyramid rose before him - a structure carved from a small mountain, its sides hewn by the fire of atomic cutting lances (constructed from salvaged ship parts) that had also been used to incise huge geometric patterns upon the four faces of its titanic form.
At the base of the towering citadel was a forest, but none like any Blade had ever seen before. The coral-like growths were pale - the colour of old ivory. They rose on short trunks, ramifying into fluted claw-like structures that attained an average height of twenty feet. The weird organisms weren’t photosynthesising trees, of that Blade was certain, for the only illumination was dim starlight and the angry glare of a distant volcanic eruption.
A chill went through Blade – the towering black pyramid, the eerie forest at its feet and the uncanny landscape all combined to create a threatening and creepy panorama, monstrously alien. The nightmarish, confronting scene almost made him turn back. Surely no humans could have made the unsettling pyramid whose brooding enigmatic presence dominated the surreal scene.
With an effort Blade mastered his wild emotions. The telescopic night vision of his space armour plainly showed the handiwork of human tools. Shamefaced at his illogical reaction the young man began his descent to the strange ‘forest’ at the base of the soaring pyramid. He had expected to find the diminutive ruins of some primitive shelter and the decayed remains of the castaways. Clearly, the crew of the Pegasus had not only survived, but had gone on to build this monumental structure as a signpost of their presence to any passing vessel.
Shortly, he touched down at the base of the mighty citadel, landing amid the weird growths of the outlandish ‘forest’. The bizarre organisms were even more unsettling close up. Blade shivered. They were like pale demonic hands thrusting out of the black earth, rising up from Satan’s pit to drag him to the depths of hell.
Suppressing his overactive imagination Blade cautiously moved towards the sloping face of the towering pyramid, his armour’s sensors scanning the area for danger. In but moments the warning beep of the alarm sounded jarringly in the confines of the Vayamani’s helmet. Blade halted, heart racing. There was sudden movement to his left. Swiftly turning, he quickly swung up his arm, ready to fire the 50 calibre recoilless pistol built into his gauntlet.*
A copious jet of viscous liquid drenched Blade before he could bring his gun fully to bear. The fluid hardened almost instantly fouling the joints of his armour, immobilizing him. Blade cursed, activated his suit’s RFG in a bid to escape. Generators whined uselessly. The worried Vayamani looked down. Fear knifed him brutally. The strange fluid had also splashed over his boots gluing them to the rocky outcrop he stood upon.
Looking up Blade saw his attacker fully emerge from the clump of growths that had concealed it. He went cold with horror. The thing was about ten feet in length and four in height. Its carapace, cunningly camouflaged, was stony and irregular in appearance. The creature moved ponderously towards him on its numerous stumpy legs. From beneath the front of its rocky shell protruded eight many jointed limbs – some nozzles from which the gluey liquid had squirted, others ending in vicious crab-like claws, saw-like blades or large compound eyes.
Blade struggled mightily, cursed, but even the servomechanisms of his armour couldn’t break him free of the iron grip of the monster’s powerful adhesive. The thing came closer, nearer to the sweating man. Claws closed on his space armour’s grieve, saws rasped on metal. Another alarm sounded in the Vayamani’s helmet – incredibly, the horror’s saw tipped limb was cutting through the tough alloy of his suit.
Now Blade was really in a panic – in but moments the monster would cut through metal, then flesh and bone. He’d either bleed to death from amputation or die from the planet’s toxic atmosphere when the integrity of his armour failed. Either way his end would be slow and excruciating.
* Endnote: In terms of energy density, simplicity and reliability, chemically powered kinetic weapons are more economical and less bulky than particle beam generators and other laser-like devices.
With an effort the Vayamani reigned in his bolting panic. Again he tried to bring his weapon to bear upon the monster sawing through his armour, but to no avail. The crosshairs on his head up display showed that if he fired he’d simply blast the base of a growth some distance away.
Inspiration struck him. If he fired the blast from his gun’s mini-shell would bring the pseudo-tree crashing down, which might scare off his bestial assailant. Blade’s neural implant picked up his thought-command; triggered his weapon. The gun roared. The mini-shell exploded thunderously. Dirt spewed like a geyser. His armour was shaken by the blast, peppered by debris. Fragments of trunk flew in all directions adding to the chaos.
The growth came crashing down, struck his helmet a jarring glancing blow. Blade swooned from the impact’s sickening vibration. Only the frozen armour kept him standing. Through spinning vision he saw the monster hastily backing off. The thing reversed into his line of fire. The crosshairs centred on it. Without thinking the dazed man fired by instinct.
At point blank range the backwash of the explosion was tremendous. Blade was torn from the rock. The blast flung him as if he was a rag doll. He crashed against the trunk of another pseudo-tree, the force of impact knocking him into complete insensibility.
*********
The sound of multiple alarms ringing in Blade’s helmet brought him painfully to consciousness. With a muttered oath he shut them off. The Vayamani read the instruments and paled. His armour had saved his life by taking the brunt of the blast, but the explosion had left it critically damaged. His RFG was down, communication with his vessel’s artificial intelligence was out and his life support systems were failing. He’d have about an hour to live if he was lucky.
Blade managed to struggle stiffly to his feet. The explosion had torn away most of the glue jamming his armour, and now he found he had a reasonable degree of movement. Shifting his gaze from the blasted carcass of the monster the Vayamani turned to face the pyramid and gasped in shock at what his startled gaze beheld. Before Blade, about five yards away, stood four powerfully built beings attracted by the sound of the explosions. They were human in general appearance in that they possessed two arms, two legs and one head. But that was where the resemblance dramatically ended.
Their slate gray hides were covered in a rubbery film – a liquid exuded by their pores that hardened to a protective coating of amazing toughness. To the shocked Vayamani they looked like living wetsuits. Their hemispherical eyes were large and many faceted in the way of insects. The nose was a vertical slit, the mouth a horizontal gash. Both orifices were tightly sealed against the toxic atmosphere. On their backs were large humps – anatomical structures that contained compressed air, which was pumped into these biological air tanks by the powerful lungs in their barrel-shaped chests. They regarded Blade with glittering unblinking eyes that were as dark as wet onyx.
Blade, alarmed by the unsettling appearance of the weird beings stepped back in trepidation. His movement was like a racing rabbit to a pack of greyhounds. The creatures dashed at him – silent, menacing, unnerving. The Vayamani swung his weapon to fire a warning shot, but his damaged armour impeded swift movement.
The foremost creature crashed heavily against the Vayamani with all the force of a battering ram. Blade went down. His other attackers swiftly piled on him. He wrestled desperately with his weird foes, not wishing to fire his gun at such close range and risk further damage to his armour.
Powerful clawed hands clamped on his arms, his legs. The beings were incredibly strong and his suit’s servomechanisms damaged. He managed to punch one and sent it flying. The unequal battle was brief and vicious – in half a minute the panting Vayamani lay bound and helpless at the victors’ feet.
Blade was hauled upright and slung across the broad shoulders of one of his captors. Another creature - the leader of the foraging party, issued commands to his subordinates via sign language and the group of gatherers, as was their designation in the social order, moved off towards the massive pyramid.
The Vayamani, by now, had recovered somewhat from his ordeal and took the opportunity to observe his weird captors. They were naked but for broad belts of some fibrous material from which hung a variety of stone tools knapped from obsidian. There was no sign of any advanced technology. Could these creatures be native to the planet?
At the moment Blade had more questions than answers. Foremost in his mind, naturally, was his own fate. His assailants had captured him alive, true. But then again perhaps they realised they couldn’t kill him encased as he was in his armour. Seeing that his speculations were useless the Vayamani put them aside. The situation, at least for now, was beyond his control. All he could do was hope for the best and grasp any advantage that might come his way.
Within about five minutes the party had arrived at the towering face of the pyramid. Here, they mounted a ramp that led up to a tall narrow door of solid stone. The leader of the gatherers inserted its (they were all hermaphrodites) clawed hand into a circular aperture by the door and the thick stone panel swung silently open on its central axis under the power of heavy counterweights.
The group entered. The stone door closed and Blade found himself in a small chamber approximately twenty feet square that was illuminated by glowing stone rods set about the walls in the manner of sconces. By the soft golden glow of the strangely luminous mineral Blade saw a deep pool stretching the full length of the far end of the room.
Blade puzzled over his strange surroundings as he was carried towards the pool, and then down the short flight of steps that led to its shimmering surface. They entered the lucid water and the speculating Vayamani saw twenty feet below, at the floor, an archway piercing the wall, and then it dawned upon him that what he was entering was a kind of primitive airlock, the water sealing out the world’s toxic atmosphere.
Hope rose in Blade. It suggested that his captors hadn’t evolved upon this planet, that they could well need oxygen to survive. But if they weren’t native to this world, then what was their origin? Again, he looked at them and shuddered as he slowly reasoned out the disturbing truth – they were adaptations to the alien environment. The survivors of the wreck, having salvaged as much equipment as they could, must have used a combination of genetic engineering and synthetic biology to modify the DNA of their offspring.
Blade was repulsed by the thought. On his home word of Vayam, in some ways a rather conservative society, such techniques were used only to treat heredity and degenerative diseases. There were strict laws, based on deeply held taboos, against fundamental changes to the human genome, and harsh penalties for anyone caught performing such forbidden experiments.
The Vayamani shuddered in revulsion as his captors swam through the archway, pulling him with them, and Blade wondered if the massive pyramid was a hive of horrors and how he’d retain his sanity if he was marooned on this bleak world with only these unnerving creatures for companionship.
Within a few minutes they emerged on the other side of the pool and, as Blade was carried up the steps that rose from the water, he looked about at his strange surroundings with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. He was in a vast storeroom illuminated by the same strangely glowing stone rods he had seen earlier. Along the base of the walls were massive stone troughs from which grew huge vines as thick as his arm (modified plants once part of the ancient starship’s hydroponic vegetable garden) that climbed in snaky masses to the high ceiling.
The dinner plate size leaves of the weird vines were heart-shaped and dark green in hue. The plants were in bloom, their trumpet shaped flowers deep crimson. Fruit was also in evidence – ovoid warty growths, ebony in colour. Nuts were present as well – ribbed, cylindrical and dark purple. The outlandish growth was many plants in one and incredibly strange to his eyes. Large stingless bees buzzed among the blooms.
Another type of peculiar vine also grew throughout the pyramid – a living plumbing system that transported water from aquifers. This plant was similar to bamboo in appearance. The leaves, however, were broad ovoids that grew from bulbous nodes along the thick tubular stalks. These stalks grew through apertures in the floor and passed through others in the ceiling. At each level of the citadel was a reservoir to which the strange vine pumped water with a heart-like organ – first to the lowest level, then another plant conveying the liquid to the reservoir above and so on until the apex of the pyramid was reached.
As well as plants man-like beings were also present – more of the gatherer cast preparing for expeditions, but also others closer to the Vayamani in appearance. These people could have passed for humans but for their hair, growing only on their heads, which was more like a sheep’s fleece in colour, thickness and texture than anything else the shocked Vayamani could think of. Their smooth skin, too, was extremely white, almost like that of an albino, their eyes pale blue. Both men and women wore nothing more than a brief g-string knitted from their own woolly hair. To Blade they appeared to be timid, placid creatures of an obedient and submissive disposition. Genetic engineering was again in evidence, and Blade was hard pressed to control his feelings of revulsion at this extreme interference, not only with the human body but apparently with temperament as well.
The people stopped their tasks – sorting and storing raw materials the gatherers had collected from the inimical environment. They stared at Blade, open mouthed and cringing. Thus they remained for a moment, then erupted into a babble of frightened conversation – the language was English, but the English that had been spoken five hundred years ago: strange to his ears, and made more so by the tumult of oddly accented voices.
His captors, who had unsealed their slit-noses and mouths to breathe and speak, moved on swiftly as other gatherers, more assertive in nature, ordered the timid labourers back to work. Growing disquiet settled on Blade as he opened his armour’s valves to let in fresh air. It had become clear to him that this society, based on a rigid genetically engineered cast system, had regressed to a primitive level, cut off as it was from the concourse of the League of Worlds and, as machines had inevitably broken down to the point where they couldn’t be repaired, the survivor’s descendents had eventually reverted to virtually a barbarous Stone Age existence.
Blade and his captors left the huge storeroom and passed down a wide gallery with many others branching off it, their walls covered in snaking vines that provided both food and oxygen for the inhabitants of the pyramid. Shortly, the party came to an upward sloping ramp and began their hour long switchback ascent to the apex of the pyramid, which reflected the social order of this savage society, with the commoners (perhaps slaves would be more accurate) at the bottom and the elite at the pinnacle of their towering abode.
On their long climb via a series of zigzagging ramps Blade noticed that the many rooms and galleries were largely empty of people, and he soon realised that despite the pyramid’s vast size its population probably numbered no more than two thousand at the most. It caused him to wonder if their society was in decline, possibly from the harmful effects of the alien environment.
The Vayamani’s speculations were cut short by their arrival at a tall stone door situated at the terminus of the long ramp. Here stood more weird beings – six squat creatures, human in general appearance, but ones whose skins were a hard bronze hued integument of segmented plates that made them resemble a living suite of gothic armour, but with arms that terminated in powerful crab-like claws instead of hands.
One of Blade’s captors spoke to the guardians of the portal in a hissing voice: “We seek audience with the capan so we may present to him this strange being snared at the outskirts of the citadel. Open so our great lord may be informed.”
A guardian pushed upon the door, which pivoted on its central axis. They passed through the narrow way and stepped within the antechamber of the ruling elites’ precinct. Blade quickly looked about as he was laid face down. There was little to distinguish the room from the other chambers and galleries that he had seen with their vine clad walls. Here, however, was the first evidence of art – hideously snarling ancestor masks carved from pumice that were mounted on man high obsidian columns set about the chamber.
An alarm sounded in Blade’s helmet as the leader of the group spoke to other guardians in the lobby, one of whom departed through another door to convey the message. Power had been steadily leaking from the suit’s damaged systems and had now reached a critical low, and if he didn’t break the seals of his armour he’d be locked within and starve to death when its supplies ran out. But dare he emerge? What were the intentions of his captors? Who was this capan to whom he was being taken? The questions he’d asked along the way had been met with stony silence even though he was sure these beings could understand him.
Again the alarm beeped its warning. It seemed he had no choice.
“I’m coming out. I mean you no harm,” he advised his captors through the speaker in his helmet.
The armour split along the seam in its back and Blade emerged like a butterfly pulling free of its chrysalis as his captors moved warily away. The Vayamani struggled to his feet, his relief at being free from the confines of his damaged armour tempered somewhat by his resultant vulnerability, for now he was clad only in the light fabric of his grey flight suit.
His captors, the gatherers, hissed as he stood erect, stepped back in shock. One pointed at his dark hair, another at his dark skin heretofore concealed by his mirrored visor.
“Demon,” several wailed in horrified unison.
Blade raised his hands in a futile gesture of peace as the three guardians in the room – beings who knew neither fear nor mercy -rushed at him, their crab-like claws snapping with murderous intent.
The lead guardian lunged at Blade in a feral rush. He dodged the snapping claw and grabbed it by the wrist. The Vayamani quickly pivoted on his heel. The hissing creature stumbled in a circle and Blade sent it crashing into its companions.
All three went down like ninepins as Blade leapt for his armour. He made a grab for his gauntlet’s weapon but one of his former captors – a gatherer, who, unlike its companions, wasn’t cowering in a corner, pounced on his back with the fury of an enraged tiger. The Vayamani staggered, gasped in agony as its clawed hands sank into his flesh. He dropped to one knee, hurled his assailant over his shoulder with a cleaver twist.
The gatherer’s head crashed against the floor with incapacitating force, but now the guardians were on their feet and charging at him. Blade cursed violently. Fear and haste made him clumsy. He struggled to release the weapon from its mount. The rushing beings closed in. There wasn’t time. The desperate Vayamani grabbed his armour, heaved it up and cast it in the face of his attackers.
One went down as the others leapt rapidly aside. His two remaining opponents came at him in a racing pincer movement. Blade jumped clear and the guardians crashed against each other in a flurry of snapping claws. He shoved both violently and sent the pair tumbling to the floor.
Again Blade made a desperate dash for his armour, but one of the guardians he had downed grabbed his ankle as he raced passed it. The Vayamani screamed as its crab-like claw clamped on him with the force of a vice. He stumbled and fell heavily. The thing was on him in an instant. The others raced to its assistance. Crushing claws grasped his arms, his legs. One closed about his neck with choking force. He couldn’t breathe. His vision darkened. The terrified man knew death was coming for him.
A commanding voice cried out: “Do not kill the man. Hold him firmly, but do not injure him.”
The frightful pressure about Blade’s neck eased and he could breathe again. Gasping, he painfully turned his head and gazed upon his saviour. The antechamber’s other door had opened and on its threshold stood a strange woman summoned by the guardian who had earlier departed. Her skin and eyes were pale like the others he had seen, but her hair was something else entirely. It was long and lucid like threads of finest glass, and where the light touched her tresses it glowed with the prismatic colours of a rainbow in wondrous refraction.
Her clothes, too, were different from that of the pyramid’s commoners. Her garment was a rectangle of intricate lacework that was wrapped about her lissom body, falling from above her youthful breasts to mid-thigh, and fastened with many tasselled ties. On her feet were rope sandals. A strange pendant of carved quartz completed her apparel.
The woman, who possessed an imperious demeanour, shifted her speculating gaze from Blade to his armour, then back to the panting Vayamani. She nodded to herself in conformation of her deductions, and then addressed him.
“Abstain from violence and you will not be harmed. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” Blade managed to gasp out painfully. “I understand you.”
“You will remain placid if I order your release?”
“Yes,” confirmed the Vayamani, who realised he had little choice but to comply.
“Release the demon,” she ordered the guardians. “Do not be concerned. My magic amulet,” a pacifying lie the woman well knew as she touched the pendant about her neck, “has rendered him completely harmless.”
Blade’s captors obeyed. The woman pointed at one. “You pick that up,” she commanded haughtily, gesturing at the Vayamani’s space armour. Then, turning to the other guardians and gatherers: “The rest of you return to your duties. Say nothing of what you have seen and heard. Remember well the penalty for disobedience.”
The woman turned and spoke to Blade as the others silently dispersed: “If you value your life then follow me.”
Blade got to his feet. Now that fear had passed anger was taking its place. He didn’t like the woman’s tone. He didn’t like anything he’d seen here – an elite class lording it over genetically modified slaves. It outraged his sensibilities and made his skin crawl with revulsion. He clamped down hard on his emotions. He wasn’t in a position to express them, and so he followed the woman with outward signs of docility.
They passed through the doorway accompanied by the guardian bearing Blade’s armour. The stone portal closed behind them and the Vayamani found himself in another long gallery with corridors leading off it and other ramps rising to higher levels.
“My apartments are not far,” said the woman. “This is the period of leisure so very few are about in this administrative area. But even so it is advisable to hurry. You are fortunate that I, Meru, was rostered on.”
Blade wasn’t so certain of his fortune, but wisely kept silent.
Several minutes later they arrived at the woman’s rooms and entered through another stone door that pivoted on its vertical axis. Meru bade the guardian lay Blade’s armour in one corner of the room, and then dismissed the creature with an injunction to keep silent as to what it had seen and heard.
Blade looked warily about as Meru settled on a stone stool – a hollow cylinder perforated in intricate geometric patterns and softened by a circular mat knitted from the wool of the lower classes. The room was sparsely furnished. The walls were free of vines, these being confined to the galleries and corridors of the citadel’s public areas.
Other doorways led to bedrooms and the bathroom with its composting toilet whose aerobic bacteria converted human waste to useful fertilizer by odourless decomposition. There was no kitchen as dining was a communal practice. Colourful knitted tapestries of abstract design were hung here and there to soften the bare stone. Several ancestor masks stood about the room glaring unsettlingly at the suspicious Vayamani. Blade, having completed his inspection and satisfied there was no immediate threat, turned his attention to the woman who gazed at him thoughtfully.
“Well, what now?” he said, somewhat irritably.
“From my reading of the few ancient texts that survive I think I know what you are, but nonetheless tell me of your origin,” replied Meru, indicating he should sit on another stool, “then I will explain the situation you find yourself in.”
Blade, controlling his feelings, complied, and after giving the account concluded thus:
“Your people have much to gain by contact with other civilizations. The League of Worlds can offer you technology that will make your lives easier, even transport you to a better planet where you can live in freedom beneath the open sky rather than being trapped in the confines of this pyramid. Gaia, for example is a recently discovered planet. It is sparsely populated, its colonists generous. It is a peaceful world of lavender forests and sparkling seas, of vast open spaces. I am from an influential family. I can help all of you achieve a better life in a more hospitable environment.”
“Your offer is generous,” replied Meru cynically, “too generous to believe. But even if you speak the truth our culture would be destroyed in the process. Our world may not be as good as others, but it is our world and here we are its uncontested lords.
“You shall help me,” she continued, “but not in the manner you propose. With your technology you can aid me to overthrow Zan, our capan, or ruler as you would probably call him. When I sit upon the Chair of Power you shall not find me ungrateful.”
Blade was shocked by her reaction. He had stifled his feelings of revulsion for these people and made his offer out of a sense of moral duty to help them. It was to him inconceivable that anyone would willingly stay on this bleak, hostile planet and choose to live in these primitive conditions when a cornucopia of better worlds awaited them.
“Why reject my offer,” he blurted out. "Why should I help you in your destructive plot? I’m offering you and your people so much more.”
Meru looked at him, her face hardening with anger. “I have already explained my reasons and will not repeat them,” she said bluntly. “You will help me because you have no choice, because you have no one else to turn to. The commoners will not aid you. They are ignorant, superstitious. They think you a demon – your dark skin is akin to that of the evil beings of their primitive and delusional mythology.
“Neither will the capan or the other lords aid you. Indeed, they will destroy you. Your very presence here is a threat to us – it is possible that some may consider your outlandish offer of transit to another world. This would create divisions, disagreements. It is even possible that the commoners, ignorant and simple though they are, may be seduced by your ideas if you are allowed to spread them. The social order would be upended. Chaos would reign.”
“You mean your tyranny would be replaced by equality,” said Blade, his rising anger hidden by the mildness of his tone.
Meru’s pleasant features turned ugly with rage. Blade’s comment had struck a nerve. She leapt to her feet, jerked an obsidian dagger from the sash about her slim waist.
“Enough,” she hissed, stepping aggressively towards the Vayamani.
The door of the room suddenly burst open. Meru froze as did Blade who had also risen.
“Enough indeed,” said the man who strode within the chamber, half a dozen guardians at his heels.
The woman gasped. Her knuckles whitened further on the bone hilt of her dagger. “Zan.” The name burst from her twisted lips like a vile imprecation as she hurled her weapon at the wily capan with all her strength.
Zan dodged the flying blade, which shattered harmlessly against the tough integument of a guardian behind him.
He laughed unpleasantly. “Yes, I know of your ambitions, Meru. I’ve had my spies watching you for some time, and now I’ve enough evidence – you own words which I have overheard - to destroy you.” Then, to the guardians: “Seize them.”
The beings rushed at Blade and the woman in a wild dash. The Vayamani made a desperate bid to grab his recoilless pistol. A guardian crashed against him in a wild tackle. Meru screamed as another seized her with biting claws. Blade hit the floor. He tried to twist free of his powerful opponent. He struck out madly. His elbow smashed uselessly against his foe’s natural armour. Others piled on him, smothering his mad struggles with overwhelming numbers. In a matter of seconds the fight was over.
Blade, bruised and bleeding, was hauled roughly to his feet. Zan stood before him, looking him over with unconcealed contempt. The panting Vayamani realised with a sinking feeling that any appeals he might make would be absolutely useless. The capan no doubt had overheard everything he had said, but by his actions it was clear he was as impervious to reasoning as was Meru.
These people simply didn’t understand what he was offering. They understood his words, but the meaning, the concepts behind them were incomprehensible. It was like trying to describe colours to someone who had been blind from birth. With an effort Blade fought off the black cloud of depression threatening to engulf him. Death was probably certain. He squared his shoulders, determined not to cower before the foe.
“You are brave,” said Zan derisively, “but how brave we shall soon see, for your courage is borne of ignorance of your fate.” Then, turning curtly to the guardians: “Bring them.”
Blade and Meru were hustled from the room. Zan sent one guardian ahead to summon the other nobles from the Pleasure Gardens on the upper level. Then the captives were marched quickly along the gallery, and down another ramp that led to a large hexagonal chamber approximately forty feet in diameter with six stone doors set in its wall, above which was an encircling colonnaded balcony. The prisoners were hurled into the room. A thick granite door was slammed behind them before they could scramble to their feet.
The Vayamani rose painfully. He gazed questioningly at Meru. The woman had remained silent throughout their enforced journey. Her face was a stony mask that hid her fear; for she knew a horrid death lay ahead, and her silence – well, that was because there was nothing she could say. Meru had known the risk of her ambition.
“What is this place? What will happen to us?” Asked Blade with rising dread as he sensed something terrible was about to happen.
Harsh, cruel laughter drew the man’s worried gaze. Blade looked up. Zan stood arrogantly on the high balcony, gazing down upon his victims with sadistic delight. On either side of him, just arriving, were members of the ruling elite, one hundred in all, who had been summoned to witness the bloody spectacle of barbaric retribution. Clearly, there wasn’t even going to be the pretence of a trial.
“Your punishment shall serve as both warning and entertainment,” explained the gloating capan. “Choose a door, any door.”
“Whatever mad game this is,” replied Blade, hiding his rising fear with defiance, “I’m not playing.”
Zan smiled mockingly. “Behind each door lurks death in different guises - some swift, others slow and terrible. You had your chance, but now I choose the worst of all for you.”
The capan pulled one of a set of levers before him. A door rose like a portcullis under the impetus of its falling counterweight, and the tense Vayamani turned at the grating sound of its slow opening. Something stalked towards the shadowed threshold of the open way. A row of eyes gleamed sinisterly in the darkness, and Blade’s nape hairs rose as the horror stepped within the light.
The thing before him was a surrealist nightmare made manifest. The creature’s faceted body was as reflective as a mirror, and these reflections blurred its outlines making it difficult to see. It appeared to be a stellated dodecahedron composed of twelve pentagrammic faces and supported by spindly segmented legs emerging from five of its lower vertices.
The five segments of the central downward pointing vertex of its body slowly opened and closed like the beak of an avian Frankenstein. Viscous drool dripped from the horror’s mouth, and where it splattered on the floor the stone smoked with acid fumes. From the gaping maw a bluish translucent ropy tongue suddenly emerged, its bifurcated tip arcing current in deadly crackling discharges.
Its glistening eyes, mounted in turrets on the remaining vertices, swivelled towards the condemned prisoners. The thing hissed, scuttled towards them. Blade tore off his shirt, waived it wildly as he leapt bravely in front of Meru. He danced away, drawing it from the retreating woman. The thing came at him, its electrified tongue darting like a striking cobra.
Blade leapt aside, barely avoiding its deadly attack. The crowd howled their delight at the sport. Again it scuttled at him, its tongue snapping like a whip. But the Vayamani was ready for it. Taking an incredible risk he grabbed the darting tongue with his shirt. Sparks cracked, snapped. The insulating synthetic fabric saved him from the terrific voltage.
The Vayamani grinned. His desperate gamble had paid off. But the danger wasn’t over. The monster jerked back. Blade lost his balance, fell, but managed to retain his grip. The throng of nobles revelled in the entertainment. Meru, feeling utterly helpless, cursed them hotly. The thing retracted its tongue, reeling Blade in towards its gaping acid spewing maw. The Vayamani cursed violently. He dare not lose his grip, but to retain it would also prove fatal.
There was one chance – slim – but he had to take it. He began to bend the ropy tongue. His muscles knotted as he was dragged across the floor. It was like trying to bend a thick steel cable. Corrosive fumes stung his eyes – he was that close to the horror’s gaping rostrum. Splattering acid stung his leg. In mere seconds he’d be showered by it. Blade threw every atom of his strength into frantic and violent effort.
The thing’s tongue bent the final distance, and Blade touched its crackling tip to the main body of the organ. The monster convulsed. Blade was lifted off the floor. The jerking tongue snapped down, slapping him violently against the stone. The gasping Vayamani lost his grip. He saw the horror begin to topple directly on him.
He struggled up, managed to get to a knee, but the impact had left him stunned, uncoordinated. He’d never get clear in time. Meru acted. The woman flung herself on him in a wild dive. She clung to him. They rolled together across the floor under the force of her impact. The monster came crashing down, missing both by a mere foot.
Zan gazed on in disbelief as did the other nobles. Silence filled the room. Meru looked quickly about. The entire battle had comprised a mere twenty seconds. The door the monster had come through was still being lowered.
“Get up,” she hissed at Blade as she pointed: “The door – before it closes.”
Blade gathered his scattered wits, his remaining strength. He staggered up. The pair bolted for the narrowing gap. Zan cursed in disbelief, hurled his dagger. The blade, thrown in furious haste, missed, sparked against the stones. The escapees dived, rolled beneath two feet of rapidly closing space. The door came down and thumped against the floor.
Blade lay on his back, panting like a spent greyhound.
“No time to rest,” admonished Meru. “We must keep moving. Our enemies will be here at any moment.”
Blade knew she was right, but even so her unfriendly, commanding tone nettled him. He didn’t like her condescending ways, but the Vayamani wisely bit his tongue as he got to his feet and followed her as she approach a wall of perforated stone at the spacious pen’s further end.
Meru slipped an arm through a circular aperture of the wall, pulled back a bolt carved from one of the vine’s thick branches and threw her weight against that section of the barrier. Blade lent his strength to the task; the sound of many running feet spurring their frantic efforts. The door turned on its central pivot and they stumbled out into another chamber with a metal platform – the first sign he had seen of the remnants of advanced technology - in the centre of its floor.
The woman dashed for the platform as a dozen guardians erupted out of an adjoining way and charged furiously towards them. Blade was hot upon her heels. Both escapees reached their goal in a wild dash. Meru jerked a lever in the platform’s corner. The primitive elevator dropped like a stone. Blade tumbled at the suddenness of the sickening fall.
One guardian managed to jump within the shaft. It struck the platform heavily, and then they were plunged into darkness as the elevator dropped rapidly away from both light and raging pursuers. In the almost impenetrable gloom Blade dimly saw the thing coming at him, its shearing claws open wide to grasp him lethally.
Blade mentally cursed. The thing’s natural armour made it virtually invulnerable. Punches and kicks would be useless, and even if he had an obsidian knife he doubted he could kill it, so tough was its keratinous integument. The creature lunged. Blade leapt away, barely avoiding its snapping claws.
“Watch the wall,” cried Meru in alarm. “If you strike it at this speed you’ll be killed.
Again the guardian came at him, but the woman’s warning had given Blade an idea. He backed away tensely. The creature lunged, claws extended to grasp and rend. The Vayamani grabbed his attacker by the arms and fended off its claws as he deliberately fell backwards, jerking the guardian off balance.
As he fell Blade planted his foot into the creature’s waist and rolled onto his back, thrusting violently upward with his leg and hurling the guardian over his head. The thing slammed against the rushing wall of the elevator shaft. It screamed brassily as it was flung away by the impetus of the elevator’s downward plunge. It crashed heavily to the alloy platform, its armour cracked and oozing steaming gore. The guardian twitched for a moment and then lay still in death.
“Well done” observed Meru with bloodthirsty admiration. “I don’t think any more will drop upon us. I’ll slow our descent,” she continued as she pulled another lever.
Ballast in the form of sand was released from a tank beneath the platform, and with the lightening of the heavy load the lift’s counterweights and pulley system began to slow their mad descent. The woman judged the retardation of their fall by counting the seconds between luminous speed markers on the wall, and soon they were descending at a safe velocity.
“Where to now?” asked Blade who, with a shudder, avoided looking at the broken corpse as Meru cut off the flow of sandy ballast. “It seems your plans have come to ruin.”
Meru eyed him sharply. “I’m not one to give up easily. This elevator, which is used to convey the beasts of the Death Chamber and other goods between the levels of the pyramid, descends to the very bottom of the citadel and its maze of catacombs. Few frequent these burial chambers for they are thought to be haunted by the spirits of the dead. Even among the elite some believe this superstition,” she added with contempt. “We can hide there while I reformulate my scheme.”
Blade fell silent. Clearly, Meru was a determined woman who would brook no interference with her plans. What was also clear was that he was caught up in events largely beyond his control with vicious enemies on every side. His companion was the only person not trying to kill him. Although he didn’t like her or what she stood for she seemed to be the lesser of a multitude of evils. He’d go along with her plans, at least provisionally.
They continued their long descent, and after what seemed an age Meru further slowed the elevator as level indicator markings alerted her to the approach of their destination. Shortly, the platform bumped to a stop and the menacing entry to the catacombs stood before them – a dark arch of carved skulls, each many times the size of a man’s head, whose empty eye sockets seemed to stare at the rash intruders with sinister intent.
Meru stepped from the platform beckoning Blade to follow. The woman removed a glowing rod from a sconce by the entrance, handed it to the Vayamani and took another for herself. The radiant stone was cool to his touch – a strange contrast to its light, and he wondered as to the nature of the weird but obviously harmless radiation it emitted.
“Come,” said Meru, interrupting his speculations. “We must go. The guardians will be following by another elevator and cannot be far behind. We must elude them in the maze of catacombs before us.” And then added softly to herself: “If we can.”
They moved into the darkness. A cold breeze washed over them carrying the odour of corruption. Blade gagged on its foulness. He pressed on, managing to control his stomach’s revolt. The way before them spiralled in broad circles down into the bowls of the earth, with many branching corridors on the outer circumference whose bleak walls were lined with numerous niches – the final resting places of the multitude of dead.
They moved on in the bubble of light cast by their stone torches. Darkness pressed at its edges, sinister and brooding like a formless beast, watching with hidden eyes. An eerie silence pervaded and in the mood this strange underworld created Blade could well believe that all about them, at the margins of the light, hovered the restless spirits of the dead.
The nauseous stench of decay abated as they moved deeper into the earth, pressing on into the more ancient burial chambers. Meru chose a branching way at random. They entered the side tunnel and moved down its length, which ramified into a maze of subsidiary corridors, all lined with niches from floor to high ceiling, some occupied by dusty bones, but many vacant. The catacombs seemed far larger than they needed to be, and Blade remarked on this fact to Meru.
“The ancients had foresight,” she replied. “The citadel was constructed to house a vast population and the catacombs were built in proportion. But our birth rate is low and the population in slow decline. No one is sure exactly why.”
“Humans cannot flourish on this planet,” explained Blade. “If your people stay here they will perish. Again, I make my offer of transport to another world where you can all live in bright sunshine beneath the healthful freedom of an open sky.”
For a moment anger showed on Meru’s face, but then she softened somewhat with sudden insight – Blade meant well, but he was from an alien culture whose outlook was obviously very different from her own.
“Nothing endures forever,” replied Meru calmly. “It’s all the same, whether we die here or on another world, for death is a dreamless sleep in which all memory ends for eternity.”
“Then what’s the point of it all,” said Blade in exasperation. “Why bother with your plans, why bother with anything?”
“One must have something to do whilst waiting to die,” explained Meru with calm philosophical pragmatism.
Blade, unsettled by her reply, fell silent. What could he say? A cultural gulf lay between them. The Vayamani had a positivistic philosophy of life whilst that of Meru was one of strange fatalism, no doubt the product of her bizarre environment. He realised he’d just have to accept her the way she was.
They took another branching way and Meru brought their journey to an end.
“Here our light will not be visible from the main gallery,” explained the woman as she sat on the floor. “Now I can rest and think. Let the guardians exhaust themselves searching this maze of tunnels. After waiting for some time we can double back and hopefully elude our enemies.”
Blade joined her and as he did Meru spoke again: “You were very brave in the Chamber of Death. Without your aid I would have perished horribly. I am not ungrateful.”
The Vayamani was pleasantly surprised. He hadn’t expected this from her. It was really the first kind thing she had said to him and, as they had been thrown together by strange circumstances of indefinite duration, he hoped he sensed the beginnings of a change in her attitude.
“Thank you,” was all he could think to say.
They rested in silence. Time passed. Blade dozed until something impinged upon his senses and brought him to full alertness. He tensed, shook his sleeping companion’s shoulder.
“Listen,” he whispered when the woman awoke. “I thought I heard something.”
Meru cocked her head. “Voices,” she said edgily after a moment.
Quickly, the woman stripped, much to Blade’s conservative, culture engendered embarrassment, and wrapped the stone torches in her apparel to hide their light. The catacombs were plunged into stygian darkness. Both waited nervously. Meru touched Blade, causing him to start. He stifled an oath.
“Look to your right,” she whispered.
Blade complied. Ahead a light showed, distant but coming closer as the bearers moved along an intersecting passage. The watching Vayamani was wound tighter than a spring. His heart raced in fear as did Meru’s at the thought they were guardians. The shadows of figures came into view, then the figures themselves. The couple’s apprehension reached its dire climax. The seven beings passed through the intersection. The light slowly faded and was gone. Blade released his breath in relief. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding it.
Meru let go her grip upon his arm. “Commoners,” she said, puzzled. “I didn’t see a corpse. They cannot be a funeral procession, so why would they be here in the catacombs? This is strange, very strange. We must investigate.”
The woman partially uncovered the stone torches so their light shone dimly through the fabric of her clothes, providing just enough illumination to find the way ahead. She rose as did Blade, who by now knew better than to argue with her determination. The pair set off in cautious pursuit, and within a few minutes saw the group in front them. Again, the woman swathed their torches for now they could use the other’s light as a guide.
After the passage of about ten minutes the party before them entered a natural cavern that had been discovered during the construction of the catacombs and had been converted to a chapel, but was now disused due to changes in religious belief.
Blade and Meru stealthily approached and peered cautiously within the expansive hollow. The floor had been smoothed and paved, but the walls and roof were untouched, and upon the natural stone were massive encrustations and efflorescent growths of colourless orthorhombic crystals with rarer prismatic acicular groups sprouting here and there. The group of men had ranged themselves in a crescent some yards from the door, and were being addressed by an elderly man of dignified and sombre countenance.
“Seran and his party are late as usual,” said the elder with annoyance. “We must wait for them to arrive before our meeting can commence.”
Blade stiffened. Another group was somewhere behind them! Too late he turned in alarm and saw the other party rushing at them. Seran had dimly glimpsed the couple from a distance, dimmed his light and stalked them in the gloom.
Muru cursed, swiftly freed the torches from her apparel and handed one to Blade.
“Use this as a club,” she exclaimed.
Then the enemy was upon them in a rush.
Blade raised his torch in desperate readiness as the wild group charged furiously towards him. The racing men faltered as the light fell upon the Vayamani and disclosed the darkness of his skin. They gasped in shock. Their eyes went wide, their jaws slack with horror.
“Demon,” cried one in weak kneed terror.
Fear gripped Seran in its claws and all the superstitious terror of his people came upon him in a wild rush. But the young man did not lack in courage. His party was on the verge of bolting. He had to act to save them. With a wild desperate cry he leapt at Blade, his torch swinging in a mighty blow.
Blade blocked the savage stroke with his own glowing rod. Both torches shattered. A jagged fragment struck the Vayamani’s cheek.
“He bleeds,” cried the sharp eyed Seran to his fellows. “This is no demon. It is a man!”
Blade cursed, swung wildly at his opponent. Seran ducked, threw himself on Blade. Both men wrestled violently as Seran’s followers, emboldened, raced forward to attack. Meru struck down one assailant. Another rushed at her as Blade threw his wiry adversary to the floor. The man charging Meru tripped upon his fallen leader and crashed heavily to the stones.
Blade swung savagely, desperately, felled several with his wild blows. Meru clubbed others to the floor with all the fury of a raging lioness. Their enemies faltered, fell back before them in disarray. Blade exalted, but then those in the cavern, alerted by the fray, rushed out and fell upon the couple from behind.
The desperate Vayamani cursed, punched savagely, elbowed wildly, and viciously drove his knee into his opponents as did Meru. Encouraged by the sight of reinforcements Seran and his men hurled themselves upon the pair. Both went down beneath the weight of swarming numbers, and within seconds the couple were utterly subdued.
Battered, bruised and panting, Blade and Meru were hauled to their feet. Seran stood before the gasping woman, his face marred by hate and lust as he gazed upon her nudity. The man muttered a lewd oath as he moved to lay indecent and vengeful hands upon Meru.
Blade saw his foul intent. The Vayamani lashed out with a brutal kick. Seran howled as Blade’s heel slammed against his shin. The stricken man staggered back and collapsed in agony upon the floor as his companions fell upon Blade in a fury of savage blows that drove the breath from him.
“Enough. Desist,” cried a voice.
The wild blows ceased. Blade, who hung limply in the savage grip of his assailants, raised his bleeding face and saw the elderly man, Jumo by name and the leader of the plotters, approaching. Jumo gazed upon the cut above the Vayamani’s eye and his other injuries with disapproval, and turned angrily upon Seran as the young man rose painfully to his feet.
“Control your passions,” sharply warned the elder. “I’ll not tolerate needless brutality or revenge.” Then, turning to the others sternly: “This applies to all of you.”
Seran, who wasn’t one to take kindly to rebuke remained defiant.
“Have I no reason for revenge? Have all of us no reason for revenge?” he hotly cried. “Who among us has not had a sister, a daughter or a wife fall prey to the savage passions of our masters? Their lusts, their cruelty go unchecked. Why should we not have our due of retribution?”
“Retribution is a poor substitute for the rule of law,” replied Jumo, sagely. “This is what we desire, as did our ancestors before they strayed from this noble path. Surely, if we seek revenge we become no better than our cruel oppressors.” Then, turning to the others: “Release the woman. Allow her to dress and to tend to the injuries of her companion. Do not harm them unless they become violent.”
Meru quickly donned her clothes and the couple were led within the chapel. Here they were seated by a wall. Meru was given an antiseptic resin that she applied to the Vayamani’s injuries and her own as Jumo fired penetrating questions at the man.
The interrogation lasted over an hour and mostly covered Blade’s origin and what had befallen him since his arrival upon Nightland - the name by which these people called their sunless world. At the conclusion of the grilling the Vayamani again made his offer of transportation to another planet with a more hospitable biosphere. Jumo remained silent for a time as he considered all that his captive had revealed. Then, after what seemed like an eternity to the Vayamani, the leader of the rebels spoke to Blade who waited anxiously for his decision.
“Your offer is generous,” replied the elder with thoughtful caution. “But as you explained your space armour with its communicator is in the hands of our enemies, and without this you cannot bring your ship to the surface of Nightland. In addition your suit is damaged and possibly beyond your ability to repair.
“I sense you have been honest with me so I shall do likewise: We plot rebellion to gain freedom from the tyranny of our masters,” continued Jumo. “But all our plans have come to nothing,” he admitted bitterly. “The lords have their guardians – fierce and mindlessly loyal to their masters. Stone knives cannot penetrate their skin and stone hammers cannot break it. We have no weapons, despite our best efforts to devise them, which can slay the creatures. We must defeat the guardians before your armour can be recovered and this we cannot do.”
“Perhaps I can find a means,” replied Blade. “Those crystals on the cavern walls – I’m certain I know what they are ...”
Seran, who had been quietly brooding all the while, savagely interjected. “This man will promise you anything to save his life,” he snarled. “Suppose he gains his ship,” he continued cynically. “What is to stop him from abandoning us and returning to his home? Why should he burden himself with our cause? Are all of you so stupid as to think such altruism exists outside of children’s tales? No,” he continued savagely, “do not waste time with this man. We have the woman – a member of the ruling class. Under torture she will tell us many things we need to know.”
“I’ll tell you nothing,” hissed Meru savagely, breaking her heretofore stony silence. Of course the woman was afraid, but she hid her fear with bravado and defiance, for in her eyes it would never do to cower before those she considered her inferiors.
“There will be no torture while I’m leader,” cut in Jumo sharply.
Seran’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned upon the elder.
“Really,” he replied with unconcealed insubordination, “and what have you accomplished? Nothing but talk and more talk that leads to nothing. What we need is a real man, not some dotard without strength in his bones or courage in his heart.”
Jumo stiffened at the insult. Seran, although not leader, had a following among the younger men, mostly hotheads whose rashness could bring everything to ruin. This confrontation between the impetuousness of youth and the measured considerations of the aged had been brewing for some time, and the showdown the older man had feared was now upon him.
“If we fight among ourselves it will only benefit our oppressors,” warned Jumo wisely. “Before making a decision let us first listen to what this stranger has to say.”
But Seran had well and truly had enough of talk. It was clear that the old fool would not willingly relinquish his authority. Dark and murderous rebellion hotly flared. Seran threw a glance at his own group of younger men, and saw in their faces a reflection of his rage and frustration. Emboldened, he leapt at Jumo with a feral cry of hate and clasped his throat in a brutal stranglehold, for there could only be one leader and he meant to be that man.
Blade moved swiftly. From a sitting position he lunged, grabbed Seran’s ankle and jerked his leg out from under him. The younger man fell. Jumo staggered, clutched his bruised throat. Pandemonium erupted as the two factions crashed together in a wild melee of savage blows and curses.
Seran lashed out at Blade with a brutal kick. The Vayamani twisted. The blow slammed against his bicep and drove him to the floor. Seran was on him, fists hammering like pile drivers as the mad combat swirled around them. Meru, seeing that Blade was getting the worst of it leapt upon Seran’s back, one arm about his throat, her other hand clawing at his eyes.
Searn screamed, clutched at Meru’s arm, her raking fingernails. The woman rolled, hauling him off the battered Vayamani. Blade, propelled by sheer desperation, got to a knee as the pair struggled wildly. He grabbed Seran by the hair, savagely jerked his head. Seran’s cry of agony was cut short as Blade drove his fist against the fellow’s nape and knocked him into black unconsciousness.
But Blade had no time to saviour his enemy’s defeat: A lookout that had been recently stationed some distance down the passageway rushed in wild alarm within the raucous chamber.
“Guardians,” he cried above the swirling bedlam of flying fists and feet. “The guardians, the guardians ...”
The young man’s cry was suddenly silenced – a vicious creature leapt upon him from behind, its claw tearing out his throat with utter savagery. Other guardians burst within the cavern and fell with swift brutality upon the terror stricken mob. What was bedlam now became a blood soaked nightmare of utter butchery as the monsters began to massacre the disorganised conspirators.
Jumo, who had recovered somewhat from Seran’s treacherous attack, grabbed Blade by the shoulder as several guardians rushed towards them, bloody claws snapping viciously. In an instant the elder saw that all was lost.
“This way,” he gasped, quickly pointing at a shadowed area of the cavern.
Blade and Meru sprinted after the fleeing elder who showed surprising fleetness for his age, several guardians in swift pursuit of them. Seran staggered up, still groggy from the blow. He tried to follow the fleeing trio, but another guardian sprang upon him. His horrific death screams were like a red hot spur to the escapees, and in but moments they had gained their objective – a man tall bolder resting against the cavern wall.
“Help me move it,” panted Jumo as he threw his strength against the stone. Blade swiftly joined his effort as did Meru. The woman glanced behind her as she strained. Her heart seemed to miss a beat. The pursuing guardians were but yards away.
Meru stooped, grasped a weighty stone and with all her strength hurled it at the closest monster. The heavy rock struck the charging creature in the chest. The guardian crashed to earth as did the bolder the panting men were shoving.
“Go,” shouted Jumo as he violently thrust Blade into the now exposed bolthole. The Vayamani stumbled through the narrow tunnel, the older man continuing to push with wild urgency.
Meru swiftly turned to follow, but the other guardian leapt forward in a wild dash and sprang upon the woman. Her scream alerted Blade. He tried to turn around. Jumo threw himself against the man.
“Keep going,” he wildly cried. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Both staggered into another chamber as other guardians pursued them down the short tunnel. Jumo pulled a dangling rope by the exit. A rumbling noise shook the chamber as huge stones, precariously balanced within the passageway came crashing down. Rock dust billowed from the opening in a choking rush; then quietness descended on the scene.
Blade, breathing hard, slumped against the chamber’s wall. They had escaped, true, but to what purpose? Jumo’s plans had been savagely undone. The conspirators – Blade’s only potential allies – were either dead or would soon be. Fighting among themselves had advantaged the enemy. They had paid a heavy price for discord.
But the thing that struck him most was the loss of Meru. It was strange that now she was gone he saw her differently. The woman was ruthless, Machiavellian. But nonetheless there was something admirable about her brave tenacity in the face of overwhelming danger.
He glanced at Jumo. The man sat in the dust, head bowed in dejection. He looked old, truly old. Treachery and the ruination of his plans had taken a heavy toll. A sense of utter hopelessness began to settle upon the Vayamani – a despair that was as dark as the bleak and merciless world he was trapped upon.
Blade tiredly wiped the dust from his face and looked about the chamber, which was illuminated by a single torch of glowing stone. The wall of the smaller cave, as with the larger from which they had fled, was encrusted with efflorescent growths of colourless orthorhombic crystals, which the Vayamani had earlier recognised as sodium nitrate.
The sight of this naturally occurring chemical perked Blade’s hopes. There might yet be a way to wrest victory from defeat.
“This substance,” he said, pointing out the crystals to Jumo. “It is part of the weapon you have been seeking – one that can defeat the guardians. Do you have sulphur and charcoal?” he continued, carefully describing these materials to his companion.
“Yes,” replied Jumo, dully. “But what good can they do?” he asked sceptically.
Blade enthusiastically outlined the manufacture of gunpowder and described its effects. “We cannot make firearms. There aren’t the necessary tools, but if a strong container was filled with the substance it could be made to explode with great force that not even the tough armour of the guardians could withstand.”
Jumo looked thoughtful, Blade’s infectious keenness having dispelled his gloom to some degree. “The pyxidium of the oru fruit is tough and woody, and has a heavily armoured bark-like structure. It might be suitable as a shell for this grenade you spoke of earlier.
“But the biggest problem,” continued Jumo, his gloom returning, “is lack of people willing to fight. For centuries we who serve our masters have been bred for placidity. Only a few of us had sufficient boldness to rebel - the men that I led - and now most are either dead or have been captured.
“Furthermore, the guardians will inform Zan of our gathering. The capan will be aware of the resistance. There will be a purge, a rounding up of suspects, public executions by gruesome means – whole families put to death: a grim warning to those thinking of rebelling. I fear that I have done more harm than good,” he concluded bitterly.
“Then that’s all the more reason why we must act,” replied Blade hotly, for he was starting to become exasperated at the pervading fatalism of these people. “We must do all we can to save those innocents from the brutal vengeance of the capan.”
Blade stood resolutely. He stepped to Jumo’s side and extended his hand. “I offer you my help,” he continued. “Will you accept it?”
Jumo was lost in silent though for a moment, then he looked at Blade with hope and firmly gripped his hand. The Vayamani smiled and helped the older man to rise.
**********
Blade looked across the vast circular chamber, peering from behind a massive pillar, one of many gigantic columns that supported the vaulted roof of the pyramid’s central plaza. Jumo stood by his side. Both men carried satchels filled with the primitive hand grenades they’d hastily manufactured over the last five hours.
The worried Vayamani wore a sick expression. Zan’s vengeance had been swiftly enacted. Before the two men was a huge crowd that had been forced under brutal coercion to witness the gruesome execution of suspected rebels. Blade ran his eyes over the frightened throng, which was ranged about the chamber in a semicircle. Their fear was almost palpable as they stood in trembling silence watching the preparations for the barbaric spectacle about to unfold in front them.
Before the crowd was an expansive podium and on it, bound hand and foot, the condemned victims of Zan’s malignant wrath – the surviving plotters and their families, of which not even young children would be spared. Next to the weeping prisoners, twenty in all, was a huge machine: two mighty cogwheels of stone – ten feet in diameter and five in width - whose meshing teeth were turned by large human-powered treadmills.
In front of this device was the pyramid’s full complement of fearsome guardians – fifty creatures in total: a small number, true, but enough to intimidate a population of timid chattels bred for cringing servitude.
Movement and a terrified scream caught the Vayamani’s attention like slap across the face. Parallel with the right-hand cogwheel was a crane-like device twice the height of the gears and from it dangled a naked woman being hoisted by her wrists into the air.
“Meru,” gasped Blade.
The Vayamani’s joy that she lived quickly turned to horror. The kicking, screaming woman was swung above the cogwheels, which began to turn ponderously as the treadmill crew where cruelly whipped to motion by a guardian. In an instant the horrific import of the situation crashed upon Blade with sickening realisation: Meru would be gradually lowered into the turning gears which would slowly and agonisingly crush her to a bloody pulp.
Harsh, cruel laughter rang out across the silent trembling throng. Blade glimpsed Zan through the crowd. The capan stood before the slowly turning wheels, looking up at the wildly screaming woman. Blade’s horror turned to rage at the sight of his enemy, his delight in this cruel revelry, this exuberant unashamed sadism.
Blade trembled with rage. He turned to Jumo and the elder recoiled at the fierceness of his violent expression.
“Zan’s reign of terror ends now,” cried Blade as he drew a baseball size grenade form his satchel and lit its fuse with a primitive match – a smouldering chemical impregnated cord.
The Vayamani stepped from behind the column. Jumo rounded the pillar’s other side. Both men looked on in horror – Meru was being lowered between the turning gears. They swiftly hurled their grenades. The bombs arched above the crowd. The screaming woman drew up her feet, now inches from the clashing teeth of the mighty cogs.
Two grenades fell among the line of guardians, exploded thunderously. The treadmill crew faltered at the frightening sound, those lowering the woman jumped in pricking alarm. Both groups abandoned their posts in wild flight. More bombs fell among the guardians. The roar of explosions shook the chamber. Body parts flew in a spray of gore. Wild chaos erupted. The crowd scattered in mad panic. Some glimpsed Blade, eyes widening in terror at his dark skin.
“Demon! Magic!” The terrified cry spread like a virulent contagion through the panicked throng. What was chaos before now became utter bedlam under the lash of irrational superstitious dread.
Blade advanced at a run. The crazed crowd fled before him, screaming hysterically. The guardians charged in fearless fury. Both men cast more grenades, which exploded thunderously among the rushing foe. The Plaza became a charnel house of blasted bodies, of swirling smoke. The stench of blood and burnt gunpowder fill the air with nauseating effluvia.
Through the roiling smoke dashed a ferocious guardian. Blade jerked a rod from his belt as the creature charged him, its vicious claws snapping madly. The Vayamani fought down panic, lit the fuse on the wooden hemisphere affixed to the rod’s tip. The thing’s claws reached for him. He thrust the rod at it. The gunpowder in the wax sealed hemisphere detonated thunderously, sending a spray of pebbles into the creature’s face.
The thing fell, half its head blown away. Blade vaulted the writhing monster, burst through the veiling smoke. He cast aside the smoldering rod, jerked his obsidian knife from its sheath. Zan stood before him, leaning on the winch of the crane. The capan wore an expression of shock and disbelief that was a stark contrast to the euphoria of sadistic delight that had infused him mere moments ago.
The capan’s eyes met those of Blade, and in the Vayamani’s wild gaze he saw his violent end. Zan cursed bitterly. The guardians were either dead or too badly wounded to aid him, and the plaza was empty of all but bound prisoners. Zan had many faults but cowardice wasn’t one of them. With a wild oath he freed his obsidian dagger as Blade leapt savagely at him.
Both men crashed together in a flurry of furious blows. Blade blocked the gutting sweep of his opponent’s streaking blade, drove him back with a savage lunge. Zan crashed against the winch, the jarring blow setting it once again in motion.
Meru screamed in wild panic. The massive cogs still turned under the impetus of the abandoned treadmill, and once again she was being lowered between their grating teeth, now but inches from her trembling flesh.
Blade paled at the sight. The distraction almost proved fatal. Zan laughed wildly, stabbed madly. Blade barely avoided the savage lunge. The capan drove him back with a frenzied attack that was fuelled by savage vengeance, determined at least one enemy would die horribly before him.
The Vayamani was desperate beyond description. He’d never reach the screaming woman in time. Then Jumo staggered through the smoke, delayed by a dying Guardian that had grabbed him by the calf. Instantly, he saw the danger, dashed towards Meru and threw his weight against the winch’s brake.
Zan screamed in crazed frustration - Jumo had stopped the winch and was lowering Meru to the safety of the floor. The capan threw himself at Blade in a fervour of boiling rage. Zan knew his reign was at an end. He was alone. His guardians were all dead or incapacitated. His nobles had abandoned him. A new power had arisen – Blade and the magic he possessed. The ignominy of defeat was too much for him to bear. A single wild thought possessed the capan – kill the Vayamani in a fearless suicidal rush. Better death than humiliating submission.
The two men crashed together like striving bulls, each grabbing the other’s knife-hand with clawing fingers. Zan drove his knee at Blade’s groin. The Vayamani twisted, grunted as the painful blow caught him on the outer thigh. The capan heaved. Blade, unbalanced, fell but managed to drag Zan down with him.
Blade twisted further as he fell. Zan struck the floor with Blade on top of him. The pain of impact made the capan lose his grip upon his knife. The weapon bounced across the stones as the Vayamani broke the fellow’s weakened grip upon his own knife-hand.
The Vayamani struck, but despite his pain Zan was far from hors de combat: he jerked his head aside. The plunging knife missed his eye and shattered upon the floor. Again the capan drove his knee at the man who straddled him, but this time with success. Agony exploded in Blade’s groin with devastating force, and in an instant he collapsed upon the floor in utter helplessness.
Zan was on him forthwith, both hands locked about the Vayamani’s throat with all the brutal force of a contracting noose. Blade tried to break his opponent’s hold, but in his weakened state it was impossible. He couldn’t breathe. His heart beat wildly with fear. The look of gloating sadistic triumph on Zan’s face would be the last thing he would see. His vision began to fade to death’s blackness.
Then, as if by a miracle, the frightful pressure eased. Blade gasped air into his heaving chest. His vision cleared. Zan’s corpse lay upon him and above it stood Meru, a bloody knife in her hand – Zan’s own blade which she’d snatched from the floor and plunged with wild and brutal frenzy in his back.
“I’m glad you live,” said Meru with feeling as she dragged Zan’s body off the panting Vayamani.
“So am I,” gasped Blade with vast relief.
**********
Approximately seventy hours had passed. Blade gazed thoughtfully at his space armour. He’d managed to repair the suit using its toolkit. The fix, though, was far from being perfect. Some functions were beyond restoring, but the power generation and communications systems were operational, and contact with his space-yacht’s artificial intelligence had been re-established.
He’d ordered the vessel to land a short distance from the pyramid – close enough so the suit’s jury-rigged life support would hold together long enough for him to enter his craft. He could leave this abysmal world whenever he liked, but the question was should he?
Meru was now capan, but things were still unsettled – the dramatic events surrounding his rescue of her and the killing of Zan continued to reverberate through the pyramid’s population – a situation he felt partly responsible for. Knowledge, albeit fragmentary and incomplete of the vast universe beyond their insular society had been thrust upon the submissive commoners by Jumo who, in the absence of an organised opposition, was now vigorously agitating for reform.
The nobility, of course, didn’t want the status quo to be challenged, but without the guardians to enforce their will they were largely helpless. But Blade doubted that would last very long – of all the ruling elite Meru was the most dynamic. It wouldn’t take her long to whip the effete lords into some kind of fighting force and reignite the conflict between Jumo and his surviving followers.
A diminutive population confined to a small area in a hostile environment could easily be destroyed if their society broke down due to the chaos caused by an internal conflict. Blade was familiar with the monolithic and ponderous bureaucracy of his home world. By the time he convinced his government of the need to intervene to save these people it might be a case of too little too late.
The sound of a footstep made him turn. Meru stood behind him. She was looking at his suit; then her gaze turned upon Blade, her expression unreadable.
“You will be leaving soon.”
Blade wasn’t sure if her words were a statement or a question, or if they were uttered with relief that he, a disruptive element was going, or with regret. Many thoughts raced through his mind, chief among them that his prejudices were wrong. Her genome had been altered – a deep taboo among his people, but no one could choose their nature or their ancestry, so why discriminate?
But even so he had no illusions about her. Meru was still ruthless, Machiavellian in her quest for power, and yet there was also good in her, or so he sensed. Perhaps he could bring this to the fore. Blade made his decision. It was a gamble of which he was fully aware, but it was something meaningful – something more meaningful than he had ever done or could do on his home world. The faithless Niala – his ex-girlfriend - was now very far away.
“I’d like to stay and help you establish a just and peaceful rule,” his tone conveying his sincerity. “If you accept my aid I will send my vessel home under the guidance of its artificial intelligence. It will transmit a message to my family of my whereabouts, reassure them that I am well and ask for aid.”
Meru thought deeply. Her time with Blade had gradually transformed her attitude towards him as she knew his had been changed towards her. She no longer saw him as merely a means to attain her ambitions. Friendship was growing between them that, given time might lead to something more, but of this she was as yet unsure.
What was certain was that his arrival on her world, the ideas he’d espoused, had altered things forever. It had taken her time to realise this – that change must be embraced rather than resisted. Of course that didn’t mean Meru would agree with all of Blade’s proposals, but at least she was now prepared to give them more consideration than before.
“Yes,” she said smiling. “I would like you to stay very much indeed.”
THE END