They continued their mechanochemistry on carbon atoms and sloughed off silicon to form little diamond and metal machines, birthing a new generation of nanomechs. Aiben had been careful to ensure that none of the nanomechs responsible for Tulan’s hazarat shal made it into the replication process. By the end of the first day, there were enough nanomechs for the entire ilud.
Physically transmitting the nanomechs to the Neilemi’aak had been the easy part. The hard part came over the next several days of their nomadic flight as Aiben labored to train them how to direct the molecular robots. The instruction had been difficult for him. Tulan understood the nanomech’s technology from a theoretical standpoint and had little problem transforming those models into facts, but he was still a halath in practical terms.
He didn’t possess the teaching skills of the Hegirith’hi and therefore found it hard to elucidate the finer points of nanorobotic manipulation. He only had his own learning experiences with Oand-ib to draw from and trying to put himself in the shoes of his teacher was not a simple task, especially under the stressful circumstances he found himself in. He knew the few days he had wouldn’t be near enough time to teach Jerekiel’s people mastery of the nanomechs, but he had to hope his flawed instruction, despite their want of time, would still be enough to carry them through.
In any case, he just needed to teach the Neilemi’aak how to use the nanomechs to enhance their mental and physical skills for the moment. He wouldn’t let them loose on the hypernet just yet until they knew how to defend themselves from the Protectorate’s cybermancers who would discover them once he did.
We need to move out now. Jerekiel plopped down next to Aiben on the splintered shell of a felled tree. A small insect with yellow chevrons etched into its back scurried up her thigh. She flicked it off into the underbrush. Scouts have detected the Golani’aak heading our way again.
I know, Aiben tapped his temple with a forefinger and grinned. I have been listening through shalal hiliz.
Jerekiel’s eyes dropped in embarrassment and her cheeks burned scarlet. Sorry, I’m still trying to get used to that fact, Hegirith.
Aiben looked sidelong at Jerekiel, his grin slipped into a slight frown at her use of the title. Jerekiel had been pushing herself harder than anyone else to learn how to control the nanomechs. She was trying to prove to him that she could retain her right as the Neilemi’aaki Keazil. Aiben didn’t argue the contrary, but she had been hard on herself nonetheless and didn’t accept failure in any degree.
He didn’t like that he saw some of his own flaws in her. Once Nairom had left, he had thought he needed to over-perform for Oand-ib, but realized almost too late that it had become self-justified self-destruction. He didn’t want Jerekiel to do the same for him because she saw him as her Hegirith now.
Let’s go. We’ll have to stay on the run from our enemies for a little while longer. Aiben stood and grasped her hand to pull her up with him. The touch of her skin jostled feelings in him he would rather have ignored. He had more important things to worry about. But we’re going to have a long talk once we get settled again, you and I.
CHAPTER 23
Nairom was living inside a nightmarish realm. Someone else’s senses were mixed up with his own hearing and vision.
A constant barrage of signals bled off the nanomech spies, which had burrowed into Gormy’s nervous system, and bombarded his aching head until he thought he could no longer bear it. What he had expected to endure for several hours at most, had turned into fifteen days of mind-wrenching torment. The clandestine machines had forced him to witness Gormy and Corag-mar conduct their band of Golani’aak mercenaries from one failed attempt to locate the Neilemi’aak to the next. Each time they thought they had latched onto the trail of their rival clan, the Neilemi’aak slipped out of their grasp and sent the hunters scurrying off on an opposite tangent through the overgrown woods.
The only real amusement left to Nairom had been eavesdropping on the ratty when he would sneak off each day from the main group to report his failure to locate Aiben to the Moolag. The governor’s bulging eyes, spider-webbed with red blotches of ruptured blood vessels, would bob back and forth, surrounded by a tornado of rancid bubbles as he gurgled threats of physical harm at his henchman. When the Moolag conveyed Gormy’s lack of success in turn to him, he didn’t hesitate to spew back similar threats at the waterlogged creature. Nairom’s intimidation aggravated the Moolag enough to send him sloshing from side to side in the tank of sour liquid each time they talked.
He enjoyed seeing the Moolag beside himself, and knew he would be frantically looking for a tap in his com-net that wasn’t even there. Nevertheless, by the end of the sixteenth day, Nairom was at the end of his rope having to deal with the Moolag and track Gormy and his inept private army. He was starting to suspect that Corag-mar’s men had lost Aiben’s trail days ago and were just leading the Chibbi on in hopes of increasing their compensation as they prayed for luck.
Nairom had been debating with himself whether he should stop appropriating the Chibbi’s awareness and move on to more drastic measures. Finally, after several hours of debate with himself, he reached the decision to tolerate just one more day before risking the use of the hyperportal and the nanomechs to locate Aiben. He couldn’t take the bone-gnawing headache, the infuriating incompetence, or listen to Gormy’s trumped up boasts of how powerful he was as the Moolag’s right-hand man much longer than that.
It wasn’t any less revolting to have to watch Corag-mar scrunch up his face into any number of scowls as he grumbled to the Chibbi about how little the ratty was paying him for the trouble the Moolag was putting him through.
The sixteenth day passed without result, but the next day, just as Nairom was on the verge of connecting to the hypernet, one of the Golani’aak scouts returned and reported to Gormy that their quarry was moving in the opposite direction but close enough to catch. The Chibbi was furious to learn the Neilemi’aak had evaded them once again and, as usual, they would have to double back to find them. Gormy worked up a show that included baring his teeth, screeching, and hopping about as if the scout had pressed hot coals to the soles of his feet. Other Chibbis would have cowered back in uncertainly, but Corag-mar’s men stood their ground and let their ugly laughter splash out.
“Are you sure we have them this time?” Gormy snarled with a mouthful of froth clinging to his razor-sharp teeth.
“Yes,” the scout grimaced, “The others have them in sight.”
“Then let’s go get them!” Gormy hurled himself in the opposite direction, snapping at the heels of the scout who would lead him to his prey. Corag-mar motioned in their battle language for his men to fall in behind the rabid creature who had their money.
Nairom was happy to see the Chibbi so eager; his whole plan depended on Gormy being there when Aiben was located. In fact, during the first several days of their pursuit, he had spent considerable time agonizing over his tactics once they found Aiben. He repeatedly went over the plan, expounding the points of his plot aloud to himself, examining every perspective and possible outcome. He wondered, not for the first time since he’d began to weave his own schemes separate from those of Oand-ib and Selat, if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He was plummeting along the course of conspiracy so fast now, though, that he doubted he could stop himself even if he wanted to.
From the very beginning, Supreme Commander Hezit had been so impressed with Nairom’s passion for the Agar Hegirith’s dogma, that he had provided all the advantage needed for his new pupil to climb through the ranks. Nairom regretted so much over the past year. He had committed so much violence to cull the favor of Magron Orcris as he contended with the other cybermancers in the Protectorate’s command structure. It had been Selat Teeloo, though, who had noticed him and advocated his prompt advancement to the rank of general.
Nairom hadn’t balked at Selat’s sponsorship, in fact quite the opposite, he took advantage of it and was able to gain the intell
igence he needed to send Aiben to Mora Bentia to retrieve Tulan’s weapon according to Oand-ib’s plan, and to then steal it from him, according to Selat’s. However, neither of these plots sated his desire to usurp the dictatorship of the Protectorate from Magron for himself. His own designs had been set in motion to do that, even though he risked warrants of death from every front if he failed. Nairom couldn’t wait to turn the ratty into his own personal scapegoat.
CHAPTER 24
“They think I’m going to save them.”
Aiben and Ballis were walking abreast one another, their feet sucking in the damp vegetation of a musty forest morning. The sun, unfettered by clouds, had climbed the sky and was scattering its warm rays down among the trees. Unfiltered light nudged through the branches, casting curled designs of bright and dark across their faces. The cold, damp foliage mixed together with the warming air and created a contrast of smells: sharp, tangy, sweet, bitter. Ballis kept a steady pace as he breathed in the intoxicating essences.
“And you’re not going to?” The low resonance of Ballis’s voice blended in with the calm ambience of dawn. It was a sincere question, not meant to sound patronizing.
“No, not like they think. The Shelezar, their spiritual historian, and her ancestors have spent considerable time building up a cult of personality around Tulan.” Aiben hesitated for a moment, as if he were rethinking what to say. He ran his hand through the bristles of his newly trimmed head. “They had to, I guess. It was about hope at first. Hope that their people would be found when Tulan came for im shalal. The Protectorate made it here first and now the ilud’hi look to the Shelezar’s legends of Tulan not only to liberate them from exile, but also from domination. They want me to free them from the Zenzani.”
“Sure, seems natural. But it sounds like that may not be what you want.” Ballis kept his eyes forward, but his tone of voice left no mistake how he felt. To his once disciplined mind, it was all about loyalty and duty.
“It’s not what I want that matters really. It’s what I have to do that matters. There’s a more important task for me to complete than helping the Mora Bentians fight in their tiny corner of this war.”
Ballis nodded and grinned at his friend. Aiben had given the right answer. He had admitted there were needs above his own and above those of the people they had fallen in with. It was a soldier’s answer. Ballis hoped such integrity would be enough, though, to make the mission a success. It hadn’t been enough at Nor Joon.
“I have to kill my brother, you know,” Aiben said bluntly.
“You mean Tulan’s brother. He’s not your brother, Aiben.”
“Magron Orcris is my brother. He’s Nograth reborn.”
It unnerved Ballis to hear Aiben talk like that. It stopped him cold in his tracks. He wrapped a meaty hand around Aiben’s shoulder, halted him. Heavy brows scrunched and cast long shadows down his cheeks.
“Look, I certainly understand how allegiance motivates someone to a cause. In fact, I’ve tried to convince myself many times during these past several days that this particular mission is no different from any other I’ve found myself part of, except this time, I’m doing it because I decided it was the right thing to do. It’s no different for you. You might have to do what’s been thrust upon you, but you don’t have to believe that you’re someone else to know it’s right.”
“I don’t have to believe I’m him, because I know it.” Aiben’s face was dead serious.
Ballis had never seen his young friend like this. He shook his head, half in regret, and half in disbelief. “So that’s what all of this is about, then? Magron Orcris is a clone of Nograth, like you and Tulan, and you’re just here to finish a fight that was started over a thousand years ago between two people who aren’t either of you?”
When he didn’t answer, Ballis thought to continue, but his jaw, poised to strike, snapped shut. The far off look in his friend’s eyes stopped him from further comment. They started to walk again and after several seconds of silence, Aiben found his voice. It was hoarse, choked with what might be guilt.
“Not clones. We’re chameleons, but we alter ourselves to fit into our roles instead of changing in response to the environment around us. That’s the true nature of hazarat shal. Before the destruction of the Consciousness, the Haman used the power of their minds to prolong their lives for centuries, but the mind can’t force the body to go on forever. The Nograthi’aak discovered they could use their mind-link to alter the bodies of others and use them as vessels for their minds when their own were exhausted.”
Ballis thought he had already seen and heard everything that was cruel and wrong with the universe. He didn’t believe there was much more that could surprise him, but he had been wrong. Shock melted the hardened features of the old soldier into a look of utter horror. “You’re telling me Nograth has survived all of this time as Magron by stealing people’s bodies and forcing his mind on them?” Gruesome thoughts ricocheted inside his head. “And you? You said we are chameleons.”
“Some of the Nograthi’aak did this in the past, and I don’t doubt that’s what Magron’s doing now, but my hazarat shal was accomplished with my own genetic material.”
“That’s your body, but what about your mind? Does that part in your head we use to call Aiben have to step aside for Tulan now?”
“They had to bring back Tulan once he was killed. After so many centuries, hazarat shal was the only way for Oand-ib to do it.” Aiben locked eyes with Ballis. He was pleading for understanding, but Ballis was still having a hard time accepting what he was admitting to.
“You said they need their mind-link to do the body stealing, right? I thought they destroyed it. How would Magron Orcris do it then? For that matter, how did you do it?”
“Nanomechs.” Aiben turned his arm over and exposed the pattern of his destiny in the sunlight. It lit up the red highlights like flames crawling around his skin. “They’re carrying my memories, Tulan’s memories, which Oand-ib helped me unlock when I was ready for them. From the first moments of hazarat shal, they have been crawling through my body, making sure my genetic code matches Tulan’s in every way. They prevent mutations caused by genetic replication, environmental contamination, disease, and whatever else you can think of that would cause a change to my DNA. I am Tulan in all aspects. And so we come back to my destiny to kill my own brother.”
Ballis was beyond logical thinking now, so he simply said, “Maybe once you’ve killed him, you can come back and free these people after all. There’ll still be his military to contend with on this world and so many others.”
Aiben clenched his fist. The muscles of his forearm caused the synthetic birthmark to ripple. “That can’t be my problem, Ballis. The Seven Guilds will have to stand up for themselves at that point.”
“Listen, you’ve already given the Neilemi’aak your nanomechs. I suspect when the time comes, you won’t abandon them in their fight either.”
At that moment, their company broke through the musty woodland into a dry, sunbathed clearing. Aiben cocked his head, hearing something unusual. He took a deep breath through his nose, trying to identify the scents that filtered through the trees.
“I think, we…” Aiben began, but the trees around them leapt to life.
Jerekiel and Oromgol, who had been trailing them with Lev-9, fell in around their new Hegirith and his companion. Neilemi’aak soldiers, having fanned out along the periphery, were forced inwards, their line collapsing from the ambush. A closing loop of Golani’aak mercenaries surrounded the entire knot of rebels. Everyone had their weapons drawn and were targeting the other side. The air vibrated with the whine of powered up energy weapons. Ballis thumbed his own weapon to active and shouldered his way through the soldiers who had bunched up in front of him so he could stand face to face with the enemy. He wanted to see first-hand who the Protectorate had sent to catch Aiben.
While the Neilemi’aak gave Ballis the impression of being a rag-tag band with their incong
ruous bits of protective covering, these troops astounded him with their modern gear. It was the outfitting of elite Protectorate forces, or in this case, the governor’s highly paid mercenaries. They were decked out in full Zenzani battle armor, a dull maroon, super-light alloy, spotted with the sun’s reflections, formed, hardened, and powered by nanomechs. The hired guns resembled large spiny insects with a plethora of offensive and defensive equipment that grew from their exoskeletons. Each man gripped an energy rifle, charged for combat, recent issue, doubtless more accurate and deadly than the antiques the Neilemi’aak carried.
Their heads were helmeted, equipped with night-vision and telescopic goggles, studded with sensors and antennae. He suspected those shells were stealth enabled and encased communication systems, which had allowed the mercenaries to sneak up on their party undetected. If they were Golani’aak, they wouldn’t have risked using thoughts to communicate in such close proximity to the Neilemi’aak’s position. Such high-tech tricks would have even shielded them from Lev-9’s sensors and Aiben’s enhanced senses. He kept his eyes on the two troopers in front of him, while making sure the other similarly outfitted mercenaries stayed in his peripheral vision.
The sophisticated force was in a superior position. If shooting started, things would go their way. Their armor would be able to ward off much more energy fire than the Neilemi’aak’s would. Still, Ballis knew something of this sort of soldier-for-hire. If it had taken these mercenaries this long to track down and ambush their group, then they weren’t as adept at using the advanced equipment they wore as they should be. He could use that to their advantage if he employed the right tactics. His finger tightened on the trigger of his energy weapon, ready to make his move if someone stupid enough kick-started the foray.
Before he could do anything more, a piercing screech, almost supersonic in its range, stabbed at his ears from behind the enemy’s ranks. A Chibbi shoved aside the two men in front of him as he swaggered forward. He was panting heavily, his eyes bulging, his nostrils flared wide.