Sunlord (13 page)

"Did you hear of the escape, Gron?"

The smaller, squatter Sunlord narrowed its eyes and
signalled curiosity. "Escape?"

"From the bio-labs division."

"Huh!" scoffed Gron. "Experiments to find the perfect
being. There was nothing on the Newsnet of this escape."

"I came across the escapee by chance. I was in time
to see a guard in the corridor below me try to take it back into
custody. I'm afraid my glance was swift because I had a schedule to
keep."

"What in the name of Frug was it doing out of the
cells?" The smaller Sunlord's large mouth pulled back to reveal
large incisor teeth, a gesture interpreted by the other as
anger.

"Avatar allows them access to equipment to analyse
their actions. I am sure that the Earth creature that escaped will
be dissected and the video tapes of his breakout studied."

"This creature was an human? Avatar has kept one of
our sworn enemies aboard our own craft? Aren't these the creatures
that threaten to take our homes?" Gron's yellow eyes flickered with
emotion. "We fight a war against the Federation, yet we let on of
their kind spy upon us? Why, Irfide?"

Irfide soothed its companion, attempting to control
the flows of adrenalin-like chemicals in the latter's brain. The
wraith and angered fury of the Sunlords that had enabled the
species to conquer in primeval days was still present in these
modern day beings. If in a suitable state a Sunlord could double
its strength simply with the unconscious flow of an unusual and
unique organic chemical.

Irfide gestured silently to the steel hull around
them and the mini camera's mounted flush in the walls. Avatar could
hear every word they said. "The mother computer knows best," Irfide
finished.

Gron grumbled but was silent. He was an old man, one
of the oldest aboard, and being a mechanist did not often interface
with Avatar, but he knew enough to shut up and change the
subject.

"You been on shore leave?" he asked. They had now
reached a looming craft, its landing gear safely fitted into the
specially designed holds of the dock. The shell of the ship had
been removed and a mess of wires hung like intestines from its
underbelly, its flank extensively damaged from a blow it had
suffered in a skirmish during the last battle. Replacement parts
were being fitted by a long armed, nimble fingered machine. Its
hydraulics were silent for the moment as another much smaller
machine tested all electrical circuits of the ship.

Gron answered Irfide's question as he checked the
progress of the circuit testing, his eyes scanning the rows of
numbers that appeared on the monitor. "I'm overdue. I hear it is a
lush planet, the natives simple and ignorant."

Irfide laughed chillingly. "I have been, and yes, the
natives were enjoyable. They were small and flimsy, and their bones
terribly brittle."

Gron looked up from the monitor, satisfied with the
results. He too grinned. "I will have to find such a
settlement."

Irfide's voice lowered conspiracy. "I found a village
when I was flying over the forest in a pod car. Although I left
them in a bit of a mess I'm sure you could find someone."

Shore leave for the crew was a luxury given only for
recuperative purposes. The computer, fully briefed with psychology
files, knew that relief is necessary after war. Avatar had decided
to give small numbers free range of a non-hostile planet for a few
days. It refreshed the Sunlords both mentally and physically. Hunts
were encouraged by Avatar to build up the aggressive psyche of the
crew.

"Did you say you found them in the forest?" asked
Gron. "The newsnet stats read that the only sentient life lived in
primitive stone-walled cities."

"Not these guys. They were similar to the others, but
not quite the same."

"I will have to get the location of this village from
you," said Gron.

"I committed the numbers to memory, although I
managed to blank out all records on the ship's log. After all, I
was on leave without permission and thought it a good idea to save
the hassle."

"This village is good?"

"Of course! The primitives are different - the
wildness of the surrounds and the sense of freedom. Besides, the
jungle burns really well if you want to take out a couple of
thorts."

As Irfide spoke a tiny metallic chip in his wrist
silently recorded his words, as it had been for the many years of
the mechanic's life. This time these words got Avatar's immediate
attention.

As the machinists settled into work on the craft the
huge network of intelligence that was Avatar pivoted in their
direction.

* * *

Irfide stood as erect as he was able, his limbs
weakened with adrenalin and his palms sweaty. He reached a sealed
door and activated the switch.

Admiral Karthorn looked up as the mechanic entered
the cabin. The huge black video monitor behind the Admiral
flickered into sudden life, and instantly the face of Avatar
dominated the room. The digitised image remained impassive; facial
expressions, voice and other gestures under complete control. Its
eyes shifted very smoothly from hazel to a deep shade of red as it
spoke.

"Enter, Crewman 04921."

Irfide stepped into the plush cabin and stood to
attention before the Admiral and Avatar.

"I haven't done anything wrong," stammered
Irfide.

The Admiral moved smoothly and sunk into a padded
reclining chair. He peered at the mechanic over steepled
fingers.

"We don't mean to intimidate you, 04921, but it seems
that you know something we don't."

Irfide hesitated. "I was given authorisation for
shore leave-"

"Silence!"

Avatar's voice cut the air in two. It spoke through
many deep bass speakers mounted all about the cabin, giving its
voice an omnipresent quality.

"We are not interested in your mistakes," continued
Admiral Karthorn. "Avatar wants to know something of what you
discovered."

The supercomputer took its cue. "You have discovered
a band of natives that need to be extensively researched, possibly
exterminated. From all reports it seems you have stumbled across a
large settlement of them."

"You know nothing of these creatures?" Irfide's mind
was whirling, stunned that his sideline adventure had landed him
into such a state. He had often communicated with portions of
Avatar, but this time it was different. This time, all of Avatar
wanted him.

"These primitives are different to the mainstream
culture already examined. They have already caused the
discontinuation of two exploratory teams operating in the deep
jungle. It seems that their psyche is contrary to the files already
obtained."

"Surely you know something of them?" asked Irfide
humbly.

"Detailed analysis is unavailable without a Scope
craft."

Irfide was silent for a minute. Curiosity rose within
and he mounted enough courage to speak.

"Can't we just nuke the planet when we have finished?
Who cares about these backward aborigines?"

"Let me remind you who is the mechanic and who is the
commander. I have determined the course of action - do you have a
problem with that?"

Admiral Karthorn had been watching the proceedings
impassively. He abruptly rose.

"Wait, Avatar, the mechanic has a point. According
the Royal Fleet procedures extensive reconnaissance is only carried
out if the natives are a potentially powerful race. From what I
have seen these savages won't be in space for a millennium."

The face of Avatar seemed to expand, its voice deep.
"I have determined all risks shall be removed. It is crucial every
settlement be destroyed."

Karthorn nodded slightly. "As you wish, Avatar. I
have no desire to question your advice."

Avatar turned its attention back to Irfide.

"All I ask of you is the location of the settlement,
and I will overlook your unauthorised departure from your scheduled
shore leave."

The rising feeling of dread suddenly drained away in
Irfide's stomach - he was all too happy to give the coordinates and
take the load of guilt off his shoulders, and hopefully break away
from Avatar's scrutiny.

"Sector F-231," he breathed. Reciting the memorised
numbers came easily. "X four six eleven point zero, Y twelve two
two point six."

The digitised Sunlord face on the monitor relaxed.
"Thank you. I am glad we didn't have to resort to removing your
wrist-chip to dig the information out of it. After all, we want to
avoid as many deaths as possible."

With this macabre note Avatar dismissed the mechanic.
Irfide backed through the door and made his exit from the padded
steel room. He didn't waste any time getting back to his quarters,
shaken and awed after his encounter with the master computer.

Admiral Karthorn watched the door close behind the
retreating back of the mechanic. He wandered over to his desk and
casually filled a canister with a red liquid.

"Can you tell me why this interest in the natives?"
he asked, swirling the wine about in his six fingered hand. "Does
it have something to do with the Gamma scale landing?"

Avatar's face metamorphosed subtly to become smaller,
more distant.

"I am sorry, Admiral, that information is
confidential. The Royal Fleet will advise me when the time is
suitable for you to know. Unfortunately at this point I must direct
the activities."

Karthorn tipped the canister back and swallowed the
wine in a single gulp. "Very well. For the moment I have other
concerns. Get me Commander Rashner - I want a status report on the
installation."

* * *

Shaun awoke slowly, drifting slowly back into
consciousness. The first sensation to strike him was the sound of
distant voices. He started and struggled impulsively against the
blackness and fogginess in his mind. Memories that had begun as a
trickle suddenly came back in a sudden rush, his dream ridden mind
blurring the distinction between past and present.

He had made it to safety, he remembered, to the
docking bays via the live power cables. Hounded like a fox he
scrambled through small openings and alien surroundings. He
remembered more vividly than anything else his panting breath and
heaving lungs as he forced his body through gruelling terrain. The
actual events were a blur in his mind, although he recalled there
had been several occasions where capture seemed almost
inevitable.

Memories became reality in the uncharted space of his
feverish mind as he relived his footsteps...

He looked up, face smeared with grease and prison
helicasuit torn in several places. He was contained in a narrow
tube, moving in what he hoped was the right direction towards the
docking bays.

He paused his ascent as a deep almost inaudible
rumbling reached his ears. Realisation struck, and he scrambled
faster toward the lip of the tube and away from the source of the
noise. Barely had he thrown himself into a horizontal vent shaft
had yellow fire blown past his boots, scorching them. The blasting
searing heat lasted for a few excruciating seconds as the Sunlords
tried to blast their quarry from the hole.

Shaun buried his face in the crook of his arm until
the fire passed. Sweating profusely he once again made off, glad
that his helicasuit had taken most of the heat. The suit was not
perfect, of course, for he was only a prisoner. It only provided
the bare minimum of protection and was designed to be as
encumbering as it was useful. Fortunately with the few
modifications he had made to it he was able to move without
excessive constriction.

He pulled himself over an air conditioning tube and
came face to face with a solid grill. Shaun paused for only an
instant as his small screwdriver worked the fastenings loose.
Seconds later the heavy grate fell and he scrambled over the top of
it.

A sudden high pitched wail erupted and Shaun whipped
about, his head colliding with the top of the tube. A blurred black
shadow grew, approaching down the tube towards his feet.

Shaun thrust the screwdriver out, small defence
against the unknown foe. His arm jolted and joints almost buckled
as something heavy hit the point of the screwdriver. Shaun
scrambled backwards, the screwdriver forgotten, trying to get clear
of the shadow.

Just then light from an above pipe revealed the dark
attacker to be a Lectar, its black insect-like exoskeleton almost
invisible in the gloom. The screwdriver projected from the flesh
between its two spiderlike eyes, blood oozing from the fatal wound.
The creature had charged straight into the extended point, its own
strength and speed making the collision calamitous. Its six legs
were a tangle curled about its midsection.

Shaun realised that the Sunlords must be sending the
Lectar's into the tubes in the hope of rooting him out, the black
creatures speedy and agile in the confines of the ducts. Shaun knew
that his chances of survival were becoming very slim.

Another wail reached his ears, echoing down the
myriad of tubes and tunnels. Shaun took off again, trying to reach
some cover before the next Lectar reached him. He was sure next
time he would not be so lucky.

He scrambled around a corner and found another
grating blocking his way. Looking through it he saw a corridor, the
steel walls and mesh floor seemingly cavernous compared to the
ducts he had been travelling in. He was reluctant to leave the
safety of the tubes, but a wail from the darkness behind set his
mind. Without his screwdriver Shaun was forced to try and loosen
the grating with his fingernails.

His efforts seemed futile and the screws refused to
budge. Shaun put increased effort into turning the thread as the
scream of the Lectar sounded again, louder this time. It had caught
his scent and was closing in for the kill.