I’m…taking myself over again, you…you tyrannical shit…. I can’t believe I had this in my personality.
What are you doing?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
There was a map in the police car—a paperback road atlas. Drum studied it with his flashlight while Ella took the ignition keys and opened the trunk. He was tracing what he thought was their path from the river when Ella came back, holding a small steel box with a large padlock through the clasp.
Silently, she handed it to Drum, indicating the lock. Putting the road atlas down, he took the lock in one big hand and the box in the other. One sudden twist and the clasp came completely away.
“Easy,” said Drum, handing the box back and picking up the atlas again. “I think I know where we are, by the way.”
“Good,” muttered Ella, opening the box to reveal a shining, chromed automatic pistol. A target weapon, complete with optical sights. Two full magazines lay next to it, in their own holes in the gray packaging foam. Ella took the pistol out, checked it was empty, loaded a magazine, and put it through her belt—without working the slide to put a round in the chamber.
“What do you want that for?” asked Drum curiously. Both knew from experience that even a Tracker could take more than a dozen heavy rifle rounds before going down. The pistol was only a .22, maybe a .25.
“Shade,” replied Ella bitterly, tapping the butt of the weapon. “I bet that crystal and the Thinker aren’t bulletproof—though I’d be even happier if we could find a rocket launcher.”
“I hope we never even see him,” said Drum quietly, his voice carrying through the night. “He’ll go anyway, when the Grand Projector falls.”
“So where do you think we are?” Ella asked as the silence stretched on.
Drum looked up at her from the seat, seeing her face set and stern, white in the moonlight. Saint Ella, some of the others had called her back at the Submarine. Saint Ella, an avenging angel who had served her god well. Now that god had fallen to the enemy and was listed in the avenging angel’s category of wrongs to be righted. Whatever that might cost her personally.
“We’re somewhere on this road, I think,” he said, pointing to a squiggly black line. “If we follow it westward, we can take this road—Highway 107—up to Vanson. So we’ll come in from the opposite side to the Old Highway.”
“Sounds good to me,” replied Ella. She looked up at the moon and then back down at Drum. “Shall we go on now? Or rest here?”
“Go on,” said Drum. “The Deceptor batteries won’t last forever.”
“True,” replied Ella thoughtfully. “By the way, can you ride a bicycle?”
“A bicycle?” asked Drum. “I don’t know. Why?”
“Because there’s four of them in a van back there,” said Ella. “If we can manage them, we might be able to make Vanson by dawn. Shade won’t be expecting that!”
“I might be too heavy,” said Drum doubtfully.
“Let’s find out,” replied Ella. “The writing on the frames says they’re mountain bikes. I guess that means they’re strong.”
“Do you know how to ride a bike?” asked Drum as they wheeled their chosen steeds out of the van and looked at them dubiously.
“I had one…I think,” replied Ella, her eyes going vague. “But it had three wheels—and was about this high…”
She indicated a position somewhat lower than her knee and laughed, a sad sort of laugh for a childhood lost long ago.
“So I don’t think that it will have left me with any riding skills. Come on…let’s try it.”
The Myrmidons separated Gold-Eye and Ninde before force-marching them to the waiting captive nets and locking them in. Then the creatures took off, dragging their burdens along the grass before lifting up into the sky.
In other circumstances Ninde might have enjoyed the experience of flying, even flying about in a net under a stinking Winger, its sweat dripping on her as it flew. It was a unique experience, looking down at the world below, all patches of green and faded brown, with dark roads crisscrossing the color, the blue-brown swath of the Williams River and the endless rows of suburban houses beyond it.
She’d half expected the Winger to turn toward the city and then the Meat Factory—but it flew south, gaining height till they were so high Ninde was shivering uncontrollably from the cold, her fingernails blue, all interest in the world below lost as she curled up in a heat-conserving ball.
Finally the Winger stopped its steady, wing-beating climb and began to glide down, spiraling in a great circle after its flightmates ahead, who were carrying Gold-Eye and Shade’s spider-robot body.
Ninde uncurled. As they sank lower, she regained interest in the ground below. They were flying over a part of the city she didn’t know—somewhere in the southern suburbs—down toward a long crescent-shaped beach of very white sand, with the open ocean stretching out to the horizon behind it.
Their ultimate destination was easily identifiable—Wingers were already landing on its capacious lawns.
What had once been a large, old-fashioned house—or perhaps an old-style hotel—stood in the middle of the lawns and carefully tended rose gardens. But it was altered and strange, with walls of many different colors that shifted and crawled over the surface, and a roof of silver that moved like mercury, flowing bright reflections back and forth so it made Ninde queasy just to look at it.
The house was at least four stories high, with a broad, domed tower at one end, like an observatory. The silver globe of a Projector gleamed from atop the dome, still brighter than the shifting silver roof—and Myrmidons patrolled the ivy-grown walls that contained the gardens and separated the house from the beach.
The lawn got closer and closer, and Ninde braced herself for a bruising impact, but the Winger flapped back vigorously just before the net—and Ninde—hit the ground, making it a soft landing.
Myrmidons quickly took her from the net, forcing her across the lawn to an open door, thrusting her inside to the waiting hands of two Myrmidon Masters. Unlike any others Ninde had seen before, these wore no colors—just plain white armor of small interlocking plates, and snout-faced helms decorated with white plumes.
They acted just the same though, grabbing Ninde’s arms and propelling her through a door that opened like an iris, then down a gray, featureless corridor made of some softly shining material that suggested metal rather than wood or plaster. The floor sounded strange too, with the Myrmidon’s heavy hobnails screeching on it horribly.
They passed several doors along the corridor, each of many swirling colors loud and strident against the gray walls. Then they came to a plain white door and the Myrmidons stopped.
One of them touched the door and it slid open, revealing a small, brightly lit chamber painted completely white. Gold-Eye was sitting on a bed in it, looking totally dejected. He sprang up as he saw Ninde, catching her as the Myrmidons threw her in, the door sliding shut behind her.
Ella and Drum rode into Vanson warily and wearily a little more than half an hour after dawn. Good time considering the half hour lost learning to stay on the mountain bikes and then the further time lost using the wrong gears, throwing chains, and losing control going down hills. Not to mention doctoring grazes and swearing at their trusty vehicles.
Vanson seemed empty of all life…including creatures. A small winter resort town, it was snow-bound in winter and cold enough now. High-angled roofs characterized its architecture, which showed a fondness for ersatz European chalets. All the buildings were dominated by the Crookback Range, a dark mass that filled half the northern horizon. Caught by the rising sun, snow and ice were already gleaming in patches on it.
“Warm clothes…and socks,” said Ella, looking up at the ridge, studying the two chairlifts that climbed up from the town. Both had access roads under them, switchbacking from side to side between pylons. But she knew from the road atlas that only one chai
rlift went all the way to the top of the ridge—and only one access road.
And from the top of the range, there was only one trail to the summit of Silverstone Mountain. It was out to the west, she knew, but not currently visible, lost in a clump of cloud. Cloud that hid the mountain—and the Grand Projector.
Drum touched her arm and pointed. Ella looked where he pointed, expecting a creature or some danger—but couldn’t see anything.
“What?”
“Shops,” said Drum, pointing again at a metal signpost that said, in white letters against blue, ALPINE SHOPPING CENTER.
“Let’s get some warm clothes—and have a rest.”
ARCHIVE—INTERNAL DISCOURSE
Robert Primary: I’ve found a way out, Shade.
Shade Primary: Tell me. There is some danger here. We should be prepared.
Robert Primary: No. You keep trying to shut me out. Besides, it might be a bloody good thing if you get shafted.
Robert Secondary: Then there will be no one to protect the children. The Grand Projector will not be destroyed.
Shade Primary: He’s right, you know. We may have our differences, but our ultimate goal is the same.
Robert Primary: No, it isn’t. You want to get a body from these Overlords!
Shade Primary: That is an immediate goal, to be achieved before the ultimate goal—the destruction of the Grand Projector. I must have a body to ensure my/our survival to guide the children afterward.
Robert Primary: To rule them, you mean. Your middle name should be Megalomaniac.
Robert Secondary: We don’t need a body. Even this spider robot…
Robert Primary: Shut up! He doesn’t need to know that.
Shade Secondary: I know what you’re talking about anyway.
Shade Primary: Do I?
Shade Tertiary: I told you. Didn’t I?
Robert Primary: How many of me/us are there? I think this has gone far enough, and I am simply not going to believe in—
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
There were seven Overlords sitting on seven thrones in the domed tower. Each of the thrones was carved from translucent stone in the Overlord’s primary color and lit within by a soft light. They were also engraved with scenes of battle and decorated with weapon and skull motifs. A carpet the color of dried blood ran at the foot of the thrones, the ends tasseled with polished white rods that looked all too like human finger bones.
The thrones sat on a low balcony shaped like a crescent moon. Ninde had been right in thinking the tower looked like an observatory. It was—an observatory where the Overlords watched their battles.
The space under the dome was filled with holographic images, the colors and action bleeding between a dozen different, constantly shifting scenes. Every few minutes one image would expand to fill the whole dome, shrinking back only when it became less violent or otherwise lost the Overlords’ interest. Then another horror would take its place.
Myrmidons decapitating each other; impaling enemies; stamping out Claim Fires, the flames licking at their feet. Images of Trackers finding cleverly hidden Myrmidons, now counterambushed. Glimpses of Wingers fighting in midair, ripping the throats from their enemies, losers tumbling from the sky.
There was sound, too, but muted, like some ferocious musical background. Screams and shouts of rage and pain, half heard as if from far away.
It was clear these battles were happening right now. Creatures were fighting and dying at the whim of the Overlords, whose greedy eyes remained fixed upward at the terrible sights taking place beyond their walls.
Here they wore helmets and soft clothes instead of armor. Four men and three women, they were outwardly indistinguishable from the humans they tormented and used in their awful games.
Before the Change, none of them would have looked out of place in a supermarket, except for a certain cruelty that shone in their eyes.
All of them were watching the holograms, occasionally making notations with light pens on the electronic map boards in the arms of their thrones.
The sun had almost set on the images of battle that flickered above them. When the last orange-red light finally drifted away, the fighting stopped and the holographic globes switched to show Ferrets waking in their nests, ready to issue out for their less formal combats.
One scene, showing Ferrets coming out of a manhole in a park, grew larger, expanding till it filled most of the dome. The Ferrets, their long, sinuous bodies pressed against the concrete pathway, were obviously on the track of something. One caught a scent and hissed, quickly leaving the path to lope across the grass. Ahead of it, a child suddenly broke cover from behind some bushes. A ragged, dirty boy, something like Gold-Eye had once been, he got only twenty yards before the Ferrets dragged him down, their long drinking fangs flashing in the yellow light from the park lanterns as they began to feed. Two of the watching Overlords laughed.
The scene dwindled then, and the globes sorted themselves out to show twelve separate locations. At the same time, the large double doors opposite the Overlords’ thrones opened, and four white-clad Myrmidon Masters marched in, the Shade spider robot between them.
The Overlords looked down at him from the holograms as if seeing a particularly unpleasant dog brought in by the dogcatchers.
Finally, Red Diamond—a fattish, pasty-faced man with long thin hair combed across a balding scalp—stood up from his blood-red throne. But he didn’t speak aloud. Instead he subvocalized, his words transmitted to the others and Shade by the communications system that rode on the Projector net.
Red Diamond: It is the machine-mind Shade.
Shade: I have come to collect what we bargained for. The body-construction data and access to an appropriate laboratory.
Red Diamond: It is agreed that I will speak for the Council.
Shade: Good. Unblock the data and grant me access to the lab. I am keen to get started.
Red Diamond: You may be interested to know that the two other animal subjects somehow survived their fall. They were seen in the river, obviously alive.
Shade: So? That is irrelevant. I have delivered two to you.
Red Diamond: It means we can get two more if the ones we have die…when you do.
At the word die, Red Diamond suddenly snapped up a metal tube he had by his side and fired a white-hot beam of energy straight through the spider robot. Liquid metal and molten crystal exploded everywhere, splashing across the Myrmidons. Not a creature moved until Red Diamond strode down and examined the smoking wreckage of the spider robot. The Thinker inside was almost completely melted. Whatever it had once housed was totally destroyed.
Red Diamond: The machine-mind is terminated. You—bring the animal subjects here. If they’re still alive. And clean up this mess, and yourselves.
Black Banner: I trust they are still alive. Since one of them is mine.
Emerald Crown: They are common property. That has been decided. Of course, if you do not want to abide by the rules…
Black Banner: No, no. I simply forgot.
He smiled as this was transmitted, obviously lying. None of the other Overlords smiled back, but one of the women—the oldest of them, by the look of her white hair and wrinkled skin, stood up from her gold throne.
Gold Claw: These animals have proven troublesome enough without causing quarrels among us. Let us examine them, decide who shall carry out the investigations…but not now! I must prepare my plan for the battle tomorrow with Blue Star. I believe that success in that battle may well place the trophy in my hands come year end-and that is much more important than the genetic peculiarities of animals, however useful!
All the Overlords instinctively turned on the word trophy and looked at a small golden figurine locked behind a translucent window on the far side of the room. Only six inches high, it represented two Myrmidons in the act of running each other through with broad-bladed spears. The small bronze plate beneath the sta
tuette was inscribed with lines of symbols. There were fifteen altogether, each the name of the Overlord who had won the most battles in the fifteen years since the Change.
Red Diamond: Very well. We all have battles to plan. We shall decide on the animals’ disposal the day after tomorrow.
Despite their all-night cycle ride, Ella and Drum slept for only four hours before resuming their journey in midmorning. Both feared that Shade would tell the Overlords of the plan to attack the Grand Projector. Equally worrying was the thought that the Deceptor batteries would run out before they got there.
Fortunately the whole area seemed totally empty of creatures. And both Ella and Drum were now freshly equipped with warm clothes and ski parkas, sleeping bags, and new backpacks stuffed with rope, packaged foods, and other odds and ends. Drum also had a long steel pinch bar, thrust through his belt as a replacement for his lost sword.
It was sunny again too, the air crisp and clean, the sky blue. Both felt heartened and as optimistic as they ever got. Neither wanted to think ahead to what they would actually do when they reached the Grand Projector.
By one o’clock they were three quarters of the way up the access road and just starting to encounter patches of ice and shadowed areas of frozen snow, mixed in with short yellow grass and gray-green stones. They also got their first glimpse of Mount Silverstone—and the Grand Projector.