Qualea Drop (The Spiral Wars #7), page 41
Twelve dogreth, in tough vests and neck chains, wandered the projections, pointing and talking amongst themselves. Their leader was Chasa, bigger and stronger than the rest, in the simple logic of dogreth leadership. All men, Trace had learned. He supervised now the feeding of a pile of very old books to Styx, who squatted in her multi-legged way amid her projections, and scanned the pages as fast as they could be shown to her. On the floor alongside, Romki used his own hand-scanner to do the same, but pausing for extended periods to stare at the pages, his visor translating old dogreth scrawls into English.
These were the Akcho, whose name roughly translated to 'Resistance', Styx informed them, having compiled the multi-axis comparative chart of Eshir languages that assured her so. The lestis had pointed their guests in this direction, as the Akcho were knowledgeable in old dogreth history. They'd been reluctant to reveal more until they'd seen what Styx had made of the old lestis temple. They'd never seen such translation ability before, and were now rapidly taking electronic notes on the locations of various things Styx had identified from the old temple carvings.
Trace thought they were far less interested in human and drysine origins, though. It was rumoured that dogreth, and some other Eshir peoples, had far better off-world contacts than humans. Dogreth served the reeh offworld, as did other Eshir species, and those networks of reeh servants and slaves worked to feed information downworld through informal and often dangerous channels. The only people on Eshir who lacked an offworld network under the reeh were humans. Trace wondered why that was. Surely humans would have made as capable slaves as any other species? Perhaps, she thought, it was the likelihood that offworld humans, working as a part of the Reeh Empire administration, would discover where they were from.
Styx finished scanning another book, and reached for one more with her small manipulator arms. She said something in dogreth grunts and high-pitched trills, and new sections of map appeared. Dogreth marvelled at the new additions, and beckoned each other over, making more fast notes.
"I don't know if this is a great idea if you want to keep a low profile," Taj murmured by Trace's side as they watched. "These guys have attacked reeh groundstations before. The reeh pretty much hit everyone in return, there were thousands killed."
"How long ago was that?" Trace asked. She hadn't thought the reeh had bothered with groundstations on Eshir for millennia.
"There was one when I was a kid. Some visiting reeh underworld team."
"Underworld team?"
"Yeah, the reeh go down to the underworld sometimes. Keep track of their creations down there, I guess."
Not so different from Rando, then -- the reeh were using genetic manipulations to create monsters deep in the city. On Rando it made some kind of sense -- genetic technology was the greatest prize the reeh knew, more valuable than minerals. Some of that value derived from military capabilities, the creation of slave soldiers to fight their wars, and some value from the construction of social controls to keep various Empire populations in line. And some of it, Trace guessed, came from simple entertainment. Certainly there seemed to be fighting pits on every reeh world. Not that reeh were the only ones entertained, but the genetically modified monsters that fought there seemed a constant across all reeh space.
"So in other words," she said, "they've only carried out a handful of attacks over the last few decades. Because there really aren't many reeh down on Eshir at any given time, and most of the dogreth who work in places where they can hit reeh will be monitored and maybe even mentally enslaved by genetic controls or cyborging."
"I've heard stories," Taj countered, looking about warily. "These are pretty bad dudes."
"Bad to other dogreth," Trace surmised. "External enemies are politically useful in helping local power groups to rise. Calling yourself 'The Resistance' elevates your moral standing, and grants you the self-given right to violence, most of which then gets used against your local rivals rather than the so-called external enemy."
Taj gave her a wry look. "Well that's pretty cynical."
Trace shrugged. "My last two years have been a crash course in Spiral politics. And back home, of course, we've got Fleet. Same thing, different species."
"Humans haven't done that here," Taj said with certainty.
Trace raised an eyebrow at him. "You had the Purist war. Group of local toughs called all aliens the enemy and used that threat as justification to declare themselves the rulers of all Qalean humanity."
Taj looked uncomfortable. "That's different."
"Sure it is, kid."
"Our threat was real!"
"You think humanity's threat where I come from wasn't real?"
"You think humanity's just as bad as the aliens?" Taj asked incredulously. "Given what happened to humans originally? On Earth?"
"Better than some," said Trace. "Worse than others. From what I've seen lately, I'd say we've got great potential. But we're a long way from realising it yet. Same goes on this planet, the more I see of it. The problem with putting all your blame on everyone else is you're declaring that you're perfect. People who think they're already perfect abandon all hope of self-improvement. That's the trap."
"I believe I may have the location of a primary Amakti Los Headquarters," came Styx's voice in Trace's earpiece, simultaneous to a vocal announcement in dogreth. From the way all the dogreth turned to stare at her, Trace reckoned she'd just said the same thing in both languages.
Romki looked up from his book, as Trace walked across. "Show me," they both said, simultaneously.
The industrial yard stank. Trace stood amidst the gear she'd taken from the rear of the cruiser, hauling on her armour vest and tightening straps, while watching as Peanut and Styx worked in a spot under a ceiling of overhead pipes that ran between rusting container tanks. Orange sparks fountained as structural supports were severed by vibroblades and fell into the interior below. Standing in armed clusters and watching were perhaps twenty Akcho, half dogreth and the other half tanifex, as this was the Tanifex Quarter and the Akcho had many members from all Qalea species save humans.
The reason why the Akcho did not include humans were the Purists. Rightly or wrongly, the Akcho perceived most humans as having Purist sentiments. And so it was a complication indeed to see an equal number of genuine, certified Purists also standing in their own heavily armed groups and watching proceedings. All the bikes and cruisers from the Akcho, Purists and marines were parked beneath the obscuring layer of pipes, or in the shadow of pressure tanks, and every now and then several more would arrive.
"Major," Jokono told her now, "from my experience with these sorts of organisations, news can spread quite fast and get quickly out of control. The Akcho and the Purists might both claim to hate the reeh, but the more people start picking up on this, the greater the likelihood that the reeh will find out."
"The moment it became apparent how much local help we needed," Trace told him as she completed her fastening, "that was when the clock started ticking." She beckoned to Rael, supervising Taj's preparations by his bike, and he came over. "Keep an eye on this," she told him, indicating the emerging standoff with her eyes. "Try to stop it getting out of control."
Rael nodded. "Going to be real hard to stay neutral if they start shooting. If it starts, everyone's involved." If dogreth and humans started shooting at each other, he meant, it was going to be hard for marines to sit neutrally by and watch.
"Which is why it would be preferable if they don't start shooting," said Trace. "Talk to Styx, she's actually pretty good at figuring organic psychology, particularly where threat is concerned. She and Peanut pack more firepower than the rest of us combined. If it escalates, tell Styx to de-escalate it with threats and follow her lead."
"You want me to do what she says?" Rael asked edgily.
"In that scenario I don't think you'll have a choice. She has the most capability and the best intuition how to employ it in any given situation. She can tell who to kill just by judging emotional responses. Plus she controls all the bugs, which could take out a lot of them quickly." Rael nodded reluctantly. "I know you don't like it, I don't like it either. But we knew we'd get into these situations with Styx when we reactivated her." They'd just never, in their wildest dreams, suspected it would get them to places and situations like this.
She clapped her Sergeant on one armoured shoulder and went to Taj and Romki. Romki was checking rope, flashlights, flares and other gear before stowing it in his pack. Trace produced an extra pistol and handed it to Taj. Taj looked surprised, and took it. "You know how to handle one of these?" Trace asked.
Taj checked the safety, then the chamber, then popped the magazine, all at half the speed a marine would do it, but he seemed to know the basics. "Dagan showed me," he explained. "I've carried one a few times. Didn't keep doing it though -- people learn you're armed and they won't let you into places. Bad thing for couriers."
"It's just going to be us?" Romki asked, looking anxiously at Arime and Rolonde alongside on their own bike, similarly preparing.
"Styx says the hole will only fit one bike at a time," Trace explained. "Three bikes will be a squeeze, if we double up that's six people. Taj because he's the best rider, you because you're you, Stan..." as Romki grimaced with wry appreciation, "...me because I need to see, Benji because he's our best marine rider, and our best two-person rifle team." With a nod at Arime and Rolonde. "The others will guard our stuff up here and try to stop everyone else from killing each other while we're gone."
"We can't just send the bugs down to do it?" Arime volunteered as he strolled over.
"Styx says they're too dumb, lack the right sensory gear and would take too long," said Trace. "Reeh hit two other locations with strike teams in the past hour, they're looking for us and we're running out of time."
"I don't know that conducting archaeology with a heavily armed crowd watching from up here is very wise," Romki said irritably. "I mean, what if they demand to know what we've discovered at gunpoint? Or what if it's offensive to one or the other group's beliefs?"
"We've been well beyond doing what's 'wise' for the past two years, Stan," Trace reminded him, and went to check on the drysines' progress, flipping on coms. "Styx, what's the progress?"
"Three minutes, Major. With your permission, I am utilising my new connections to send a disguised message in outbound coms traffic that our warships should intercept in six hours. One way or the other, I feel we are going to need extraction from Eshir within the next 60 hours, possibly far sooner."
"What does the system picture look like?"
"I lack sufficient access to tell for certain, but I estimate there could be ten reeh warships somewhere in-system. Our combined forces should win through comfortably, but it will not be a quiet event."
"No." Where they'd go after that, with half the local reeh fleet chasing them, was another question. Phoenix and the drysine ships were notably faster through jump than the best reeh ships. Possibly they could pull the same manoeuvre they'd pulled at Heuron, beating all the Fleet ships at Homeworld to the other side of human space to gain several days in a place where no one knew what they'd done. But their new target destination, assuming they found it, might not take them that far away. It was all going to be Erik's problem anyhow.
She strode back to the bikes. "Taj, I'm with you. Stan, go with Benji. You two..." with a point at Arime and Rolonde, "...as always."
"Major," Romki complained, "I'd really rather go with you."
"Interesting," said Trace, with a manner that suggested it was anything but, clicking her fingers for Benji Carville to come and take the troublesome Professor.
"What was that?" Carville asked Romki. "What'd you say, Prof?"
"Never mind," Romki muttered, going with Carville.
Trace pulled her helmet on over the visor, tightened the chin-strap and did a final gear check before securing the leg straps on Taj's pillion seat. A moment later, Styx spoke again. "This hole is sufficient. I have several bugs already at the destination. The way is narrow, but passable."
"Thank you Styx. Stay alert up here. If the reeh come, your best defence may be to follow us down. Outrunning those assault ships doesn't seem likely."
"I will consider my options, Major. Please gather information thoroughly, and do not take too long."
Trace tapped Taj on the shoulder, and the bike lifted slightly, staying just below the ceiling of intermeshing pipes, then throbbed its way toward the drysines. Trace gripped her rifle one-handed, another hand on Taj's shoulder, raising it now to give Styx a brief salute in thanks before they descended.
The squeeze was tight indeed, the Shaytan's forward control flaps barely clearing the red-hot metal of the drysines' recent cuts. Whatever these pipes were, they seemed to be empty now. As always in industrial Qalea, it was hard to tell just what half of these yards were used for, or if they were still operating. Trace suspected large parts of this one were in semi-lockdown, tanks holding chemicals in long term storage for when they were needed again. No doubt the owners of this plant would be unhappy to see the big hole cut in their's when they returned.
Immediately within, thick support girders were sliding past, Taj looking down past one leg, then the other as he searched for a way through, swinging the bike's nose to avoid more protruding steel. He eased them back, issuing instructions on coms to Carville coming down behind, and now there was an entirely new layer of steel moving by, this one more fine-mesh and less rusted than the previous. Like sedimentary layers, Trace thought, this entire city. It was extraordinary to consider so many ages of organic civilisation, many of them oblivious to what had come before.
"I like this visor!" Taj enthused about the marine-issue nightvision. "Never got this depth-perception on anything else I've tried."
The bike descended into open space, Trace looking about and above as they found themselves between two huge cliffs of vertical steel. Enormous foundational supports, creating a new level above whatever had once existed below. The actual ground was down here somewhere, if one could still determine what was ground from the countless repeating false bottoms of previous city eras. The cliffs vanished into darkness below, until a ledge appeared, nestled against vast steel foundations, crumbling and ruined.
"That's it," said Trace, as her visor targeted the ledge. "The bugs are down there."
"I don't know if that will hold our weight," Taj said skeptically. He rotated as they dropped, now passing the ledge level, revealing old stonework in great slabs. Trace trailed her fingertips on it, and found it dusting with age.
"It appears secure from my scans," Styx answered her unasked question from above.
"Were you ever a structural engineer?" Taj asked, powering them back up again.
"No," said Styx.
Arime was approaching first, as always, rather than let Trace be first off. Rolonde stepped from the rear saddle onto loose bricks and dust, undisturbed for thousands of years. She searched, following a bug's lead on her visor, then crouched. "Down here?" she asked Styx.
"Yes, Private Rolonde. The bug has detected a weakness that reveals a structural opening, perhaps a doorway."
"Don't know how we're going to get that out," said Rolonde. "Stones look heavy."
"Need some muscle, Jess?" Carville suggested, hovering out wide as the engines throbbed loudly in the confined space.
"Yep." She slung her rifle, squatting, and tried pulling. "Irfy, wanna help?"
The ledge was not level, descending in broken stages along the steel barrier cliff, making a platform barely two meters wide above the continuing vertical drop. The three bikes parked, marines, Taj and Romki carefully dismounting to observe Styx's opening. Trace observed the ink-black view in nightvision as the marines contemplated how to move heavy objects without drysine assistance.
"Hard to imagine what it looked like before," Trace suggested.
"I think this was a cliff back then, too," said Romki, peering over the lip. "This would have been the foundation of a house with a view. My guess is that the house is long gone, but the foundation remains. This door will descend into a basement."
"Amakti Los were around for more than four thousand years that we know of," said Taj. He sounded thoughtful, like a young man contemplating things he'd long known, but never truly considered the implications of.
"Possibly much longer," Romki agreed. "Your history suggests their origins were about a thousand years up to the Origin Horizon, but just in her latest research, Styx found amongst Dogreth records mentions of Amakti Los going right up to the event itself."
"You think it might have been around before the Origin Horizon too?" Taj wondered.
"We've no evidence that it doesn't. Seems safest to keep our options open."
"So just in the time you've been here," Taj said with amazement, "you've discovered stuff our best historians didn't know." He laughed. "That's incredible."
"It's not so incredible," Romki disagreed. "True history is hard, and some people are more interested in learning than others. Plus, your historians haven't had Styx."
"It's just..." Taj kicked a loose stone, and sent it plunging into the darkness. "You grow up here. You get used to things being one way, and now I wondered why I ever did. I used to dream. When I was a kid, I used to imagine I got to fly on a starship and see the rest of the Empire. Then my parents told me it couldn't happen, that the reeh didn't let anyone from here travel. I think I let my dreams die. I just... settled for something less, you know?"
"I know," said Romki, sympathetically.
"You stop asking questions, and you just... accept some smaller version of things. Of the truth." Taj looked at Trace. "Amakti Los sounds a bit like what you follow. This Kulina thing you were telling me about."
"Maybe a little," said Trace. At the doorway, the marines were heaving on something big. It budged. Carville suggested using his rifle butt for leverage. Arime was scandalised. "Amakti Los sounds spiritual, like Kulina. But we're warriors first and foremost. Amakti Los sound like they wanted to make peace."
