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  Perhaps the Legan captain’s most striking feature, though, were her eyes, which were of an exceptionally vivid orange. Normal for these people, or another enhancement?

  The imposing woman held a hand before her, palm to the earth. Hunter, guessing this to be a greeting, copied the gesture.

  “Do you understand me?” The question was asked in Matan, and Hunter was pleased and relieved to find that she did, indeed, understand the gruff tones. Her hours of study had not been in vain.

  “Yes,” she responded. “But I am new to your language. Please take that into account.”

  “I shall use simple words.” There was no knowing whether her opposite number was being patronizing, but she kept to her promise, and Hunter needed only the occasional prompt from Hisano during the conversation that followed.

  “I am Chiri of Lega.”

  “Hunter of Earth.”

  “Rerutha,” said Chiri. It took Hunter a moment to realize that her opposite number was trying to pronounce “Earth.” It was understandable that she should struggle with an unfamiliar construction; Matan words never began with a vowel. “You truly are aliens, aren’t you? I didn’t believe your message, but the strangeness of your voice made me investigate. Now I see the proof, for no trick of evolution could produce an offshoot of Gadi as poorly formed as you. Of course, we must seem freaks to you as well.”

  “You’re unlike anything we’ve seen before.” It probably wasn’t diplomatic to mention that the Matans bore a strong resemblance to extinct cave-dwellers on Earth. “And that’s precisely the dream that led us out here. My species has existed alone for millions of years. We reached out into space, looking for companions, but found no-one until now. It is my great hope that a lasting friendship between our peoples begins today.”

  She watched Chiri closely as she spoke. The giantess made no great effort to keep a poker face, but Hunter couldn’t read her the way she might a human. How universal was a frown or a smile? Beware of false friends when dealing with foreign cultures, her mother used to say. That went double here.

  But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she saw a flicker of sadness in the fiery eyes.

  “I have often times wondered,” said Chiri, “whether another species might have made the same evolutionary leap that we did … thinking, feeling, inventing, discovering. And now you stand before me. But you must tell me how you found this place, and what you know of the fate of our scout. He reported seeing a strange vessel, then vanished. I feel certain that your paths have crossed.”

  “He is dead.” The Legan captain seemed a direct woman, so Hunter didn’t waste time sugar-coating the fact. She gave an account of their adventures since they first landed, holding nothing back. Chiri listened intently, though her three companions seemed more interested in the fortifications around the Bona Dea. Hunter finished with a quick description of their fight with the scout and subsequent search of his ship.

  “That was typical of Juku,” said Chiri, flicking her wrist in a manner that suggested irritation. “Charging forward without waiting for orders, lumbering into a fight when he was outnumbered. And he didn’t even trouble to lock his ship! ‘Trust not young men, nor old women,’ as the saying goes.”

  Hunter was disappointed. Perhaps not such an egalitarian society after all. I wonder whether she realizes that I fit in one of those categories? Still, not the time to be lecturing them on bigotry.

  “You must have been the warrior who slew Juku.” Chiri’s attention had shifted to Bala, who flinched slightly as the orange eyes found hers. “The kolochi lies upon you.” The scientist looked blank, so Chiri rephrased. “That is the guilt of the warrior who has killed reluctantly. I have seen it many times.”

  “I am sorry …” Bala looked as though she wanted to say more, but she hadn’t really managed to get to grips with Matan. She shot an uncertain glance at her captain.

  “We would all have preferred to avoid bloodshed,” said Hunter smoothly. “Were you close to Juku?”

  “He was husband to my brother, who may, perhaps, shed tears for him; I will not, especially given the circumstances. I must commend you on your efforts here, alien. To have pieced together so much of a language and history unknown to you, in so short a time … it would have been beyond my people; our greatest thinkers live only on fading pages in the history books, alas. Truly, I should have liked to have spent time speaking with this elite crew you have assembled.”

  “And we should be glad to talk with you on any subject.”

  “There are gaps in your knowledge of our history. I believe I shall fill them in. As you are aware, we found our planet to be alive – or, at least, inhabited by a unifying intelligence – and achieved communication with it through the use of rhythmic patterns of vibrations. It had no name for itself, so we called it Vitana after the Earth God of our old religions. If it has a physical body we have never seen it, and it seems to have no use for one, as it permeates everything, corrupting flesh, earth and steel in its capricious ways.

  “Over five centuries ago, Vitana made us – or rather, our ancestors – an offer. It would give them a taste of its power, fulfilling the dream of creating true cyborgs. The bodies and minds of Gadi and our robot creations would be combined, two parents sacrificed to create one perfect child.”

  A shadow had passed across Chiri’s face. Hunter guessed that this story would not have a happy ending.

  “Did all of your people want to undergo this procedure?”

  “Most, but not all. Some abhorred the fetishism of the mechanical, and would have no part of it. But others were rejected.”

  “Rejected?”

  “By Vitana. They entered the great halls of change with their robot partners and were drawn into the earth, but flung out minutes later. Explanations were requested but not given. Trying again with different robots yielded the same outcome; it was the biological component of the proposed cyborgs which Vitana deemed unworthy.

  “You can doubtless imagine the feelings of these rejects, their dreams snatched away from them, forced to watch as the world was populated with superior beings; blissful, healthy of mind and body. They were also endowed with strange and unexpected powers. Like Vitana, they could join with and manipulate their environment, albeit on a smaller scale.

  “Resentment grew into hatred, and plans were made to destroy Vitana and its chosen disciples. The entity’s influence was most profoundly felt in certain areas beneath the earth – we stand above the largest of these now – so the plan of attack was clear. The simultaneous detonation of some well-placed bombs might cripple the enemy. But the conspirators were betrayed, captured and executed. A second attempt some years later was also foiled, but came much closer to succeeding … too close for Vitana’s pleasure, evidently, as it announced that there would be no possibility of a third attempt. Every man, woman and child who had not been transformed, whether through their own reluctance or the Earth God’s refusal, was ordered off the planet. Our robots were likewise dismissed.”

  “How could you possibly move so many?”

  “Vitana provided. Six monoliths appeared on the surface of the planet overnight. Eye-witnesses claimed that they rose fully formed from the soil. Each granted instantaneous transportation to an identical structure on another world, most of them quite distant, but one – our home, Lega – was the second planet of this system. Our ancestors were given a year to establish colonies on these new worlds, passing back and forth using the monoliths. After that, the gateways would no longer lead back here, only take us from one new colony world to another. We were cut adrift, our homeworld sealed off from us. Some had refused to leave. We never heard from them again. You’ve seen yourself how our buildings have vanished, swallowed by the planet. Doubtless the people suffered the same fate.”

  “Didn’t any of the cyborgs protest at this treatment of their friends?”

  “They did not. Most likely their minds were enslaved. Based on what you have told me of the ones beneath the surface, they have now
completely lost their individuality and become mere components of the monster that lives here.”

  “Our ship has suffered a similar fate. We’ve been debating whether to try and cut ourselves free. Do you have an opinion? Your craft may already be anchored in the same way.”

  “That it may. But this scarcely matters, as we have no intention of leaving. We are here to destroy all traces of Vitana, and of the world it inhabits.”

  XI

  Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into a predictable pattern of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment – that which they cannot anticipate.

  – Sun Tzu, The Art of War

  Hunter, reading the signs, had been anticipating a blow like this, but that didn’t stop her stomach lurching at the cold finality of the Legan captain’s words.

  “How will you destroy it?”

  “We have bombs designed for just such a purpose. First, the diseased den beneath our feet shall be cleansed. Our scientists believe this will cripple Vitana, at least temporarily. Long enough for us to drill down and plant unstable compounds deep beneath the surface. The energies of the planet’s own core shall aid in its destruction.”

  “And can we leave before this takes place?” asked Hunter, with little optimism.

  Chiri gave an odd jerk of the head. “Regrettably, I cannot allow that. You must understand the importance of our work here. Five centuries ago our ancestors chose Lega, the least hospitable of the six worlds on offer. They did this because they wanted to be within range of the homeworld, poised to administer justice when the opportunity arose. All the efforts of our colony since then have been bent on this goal.

  “The warships and missiles we have dispatched were all obliterated before they could even reach orbit, but we have kept on building better weapons and faster ships, and every year a scout is dispatched to test Vitana’s defences. You can imagine our delight when Juku reported that he had landed on the surface unmolested.

  “The blood and shame of our ancestors stains our history. We must take no chances. Nothing less than the utter obliteration of Vitana will satisfy us, and it is a strange and cunning entity. It has infected your ship, and even if you cut off the corrupted limbs, you cannot be sure that the disease has been cured. All who have set foot here must die, Gadi and alien alike. Yes, I too must perish, together with my entire crew. Honour demands it.”

  Honour. How many atrocities, thought Hunter, have taken place on Earth because of that nebulous concept? Halfway across the galaxy, it rears its ugly head again. A blood feud passed from generation to generation, a people looking to the past with hatred, instead of to the future with hope.

  She made no effort to hide her mounting anger. ‘Is Vitana really such a menace that you must throw so many lives at it? It has sat here harming no-one, except for those sent to destroy it.’

  If Chiri noticed Hunter’s mood she gave no sign of it. “Even if I could be sure that it would never harm another living creature, I would still kill it. The howls of my ancestors would forever haunt my sleep if I faltered now.”

  “And are we expected to stand aside and do nothing while you destroy us all?”

  “Of course not.” Chiri turned to one of her white-bearded companions and exchanged a few words, too quickly for the humans to follow. They seemed to reach a decision. “Though you are not Gadi, you are plainly resourceful and intelligent. We shall treat you as honoured adversaries, and fight you for possession of this planet according to the conventions of Jamata. You are unfamiliar with that word, I see. The rules are simple: no ranged weapons are allowed, we fight at close quarters with honest implements or none at all. As the larger force, we shall attack in four increasing waves; eight warriors, then sixteen, twenty-four, thirty-two. Combat is to continue until one side is eliminated. It is a highly honourable way to resolve disputes, with much potential for individual heroism.”

  “I would rather be sane and moral than honourable and heroic,” said Hunter darkly.

  “Our ways displease you? Then seek your revenge on the battlefield. Perhaps your blade shall taste my blood, alien. But do not think to flee. We shall destroy your vessel at the first sign of cowardice.” Chiri thumped her right fist into her left shoulder, and stalked away without a backward glance.

  * * *

  The Legans returned to their ship at the same unhurried pace with which they had approached. Hunter made the shorter trip back to her crew and filled them in on the parts they hadn’t been able to overhear, ignoring the accusing stares of Rivers and some of the others.

  “What now?” asked Barbara. “Are we going to kill them, twenty against eighty, our red-belt judo against their muscle and steel?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ll get ready to fight but we need an alternative.”

  “What, then? Try to escape?”

  “No, they’ll destroy us if we try to take off, that was no bluff. We need a weapon to use against them.”

  “Our ship doesn’t have any -”

  “Yes, I know that! We’ve got to think outside the box, improvise. What do we have that can hurt them?”

  “The scout’s ship might have had weapons aboard,” offered Annie without much optimism.

  “I didn’t spot any. I can’t see them letting us take a day trip to go get them anyway.”

  “Perhaps,” said Rivers thoughtfully, “we do not need a weapon, but an ally.”

  “An ally?” Hunter looked blankly at the scientist for a second. Then it clicked. “You mean Vitana.”

  “We know that it has no great love for the exiled Matans. Previous ships were destroyed before they could land.”

  “Captain!” called Ivan from the front line of their defences. His voice held an unmistakable note of anticipation. “Enemy forces on the move. Eight of them leaving the ship.”

  “The first wave. Couldn’t they give us some time? Take up your positions, weapons ready. Wait, Sandra -” she grasped Rivers’ shoulder. “I think you might be on to something. Why were the Legans allowed to land? Could Vitana be, I don’t know, asleep or something?”

  “It was evidently awake when it seized our ship.”

  “Not necessarily.” Hunter was suddenly struck by the memory of the slumbering Matan woman underground, seizing her arm without ever waking up. “Maybe our presence triggered some sort of reflex reaction. Vitana may not consciously know it has visitors. We need to get its attention.”

  “As plausible a hypothesis as any. How are we to communicate?”

  Hunter glanced at the line of Legan warriors, advancing all too quickly. “Their captain said the ancient Matans used vibrations to communicate. If we could somehow create rhythmic pulses, shaking the earth, we just might get its attention.”

  “Our ship has the power, but we’ve no equipment with that specific function. We could certainly build something, but it could take days.”

  “We don’t have them. This has to be done between the first and second waves.” Because, she added silently, we’ve no chance of making it to the third one.

  Unhurriedly, the little group of Legans drew closer.

  * * *

  Flora had taken up a position under the nose of the ship. She could see one of the landing legs behind her, still that unfathomable mix of stone and metal, unchanged since the day they were unwillingly anchored here.

  Before her, the crew had taken up their positions, armed mostly with simple wooden staffs they’d fashioned from fallen trees, though the robots, being rather stronger, each carried a titanium bar from ship’s supplies. The Legan’s honour code meant that stun guns were off limits, but Flora suspected that the Bona Dea crew would have been quickly overwhelmed had ranged weapons been allowed; this way they at least had a fighting chance.

  A fighting chance, maybe, but not many fighters. Barbara’s comment about red-belts hadn’t been far off the mark. Despite Bala’s best efforts to pass her skills on, they
really only had seven capable combatants: the four ACMs, Bala herself and the second and third officers, Shamecca Jackson and Gloria Tarvis. The latter two were both north of 40, but ex-military and still in good shape.

  These seven formed the front line. Her eyes went to Charlie, positioned between two barricades at the right of the line, weapon held loosely, scanning the enemy with no visible emotion. He glanced back, met her eyes, nodded curtly. She managed the faintest of smiles, then his attention was back with the Legans.

  They were close enough to make out details. Four men, four women, all young and strong. I wonder what they’re really like. What makes them laugh, what makes them cry? Who’s their version of Shakespeare or Austen or Tolkien? So much we could have shared with them.

  “Flora.”

  It took her a moment to recognize the voice, so unused was she to hearing it outside of one particular room.

  “Gypsy! I never thought I’d see you here. I mean, I thought you’d be …”

  “Cowering in my room while the rest of you died like heroes?” The mathematician’s voice was trembling slightly, and not just from the winter cold. She wore her yellow outfit, but had eschewed the matching headphones. “Yes, that was the plan, to be honest. But hearing all of you get slaughtered before having it happen to me doesn’t sound like much fun. At least this way my misery has company.”

  Alice Cumberland had gathered a couple of spare clubs. She handed her daughter one and kept the other for herself.

  “Now, don’t you worry. Anyone comes near you, I’ll kick their arse.”

  “The three of us’ll stick together,” agreed Flora. “Team England.”

  “I don’t really know what to do with this bat.”

  “Just pick your target and whack them. Easy.” She nodded encouragement as Gypsy essayed a few awkward swings with her club. “There, you’re a natural.”

  “I’m about as dangerous as a field mouse wielding a toothpick. But thanks. And I’m glad I’m here.” She gestured towards the forest. “It’s very beautiful. I should have come out sooner, but, well … you know how it is for me.”