Chapter 5: Gravelight – 3

“I can’t get the leader,” Gravelight said. “It’s all jumbled. Can we get closer?”

Someone answered, “Can do, let’s go.”

We continued moving slowly down the corridor, in sync with Alpha. We could see the Scalers on our tacmaps, still two levels below us.

“Ohhh, I read them now.” Gravelight said. “They’re all waiting. They know…they know you are coming. They’ve sent more soldiers back to the city, because they’re not sure what you’re up to. There are no traps in the hall—the great hall. The side tunnels are death.

“They’re all very tired now. The fear has worn them down. You can capture the women and children in the shelters. Some of the girls are with the men, ready to fight you.” Her voice broke. “Excuse me, I’m going to be sick.”

A long silence. We waited for her. Central sketched out the probsit on our tacmods. I could see it all on the tacmap. The probes were stationary, waiting for us. I hated waiting.

“It’s very confusing,” Gravelight continued. “There are many war leaders. You cannot talk with them. When they see you, they will fight. All I get is fear and hatred. I’m going to try to reach the nearest war leader, the one in the outside corridor.”

We all prayed she would be successful. I did not want to begin our stay in this new world with a city full of dead children.

She began moaning, “It’s so hard…he’s so hard. He’s as hard as stone. Hatred. Terror! I try…I try to reach him…” she trailed off, and we all waited.

“He is so right, how can you oppose him? He wants life, for his people. He will die, for them. I try to give him love, he returns fear. He brushes me off. Shall I control him?”

“Yes, can you get him to hold off his men until Nomad gets to him?” It sounded like Lowdrop.

“Yes, but if it goes wrong, you have to attack immediately. Because otherwise, we are all going to die.”

“Tenners, we’ll do it right,” Lowdrop said.

“You’re damned right we will.” She was a tough little girl. I’d never dream of talking to Lowdrop like that.

Alpha and Beta were together now, in the same corridor. The lifies set up a portable spotlight and waited for the command to turn it on. Nomad was to make the initial contact. He was out of his armor, stripped down to his jox, streaming sweat. I imagined he was flying pretty high right then.

Lowdrop appeared with Alpha One, watching his tacmod. I could see Gravelight, by his side, on her knees, stringy hair soaked in sweat, her eyes closed. Her helmet lay on the ground and she looked sick to death. Alpha One and Snow Leopard did a quick check on the troops. The Scalers were on our level now, approaching our position.

“Initiating contact,” Lowdrop announced. “To the death.” The Legion battle cry was oddly inappropriate in this situation.

“Death!”

A chill whisper, our release from fear. Ahead of me were Snow Leopard and Coolhand, against the wall, and an empty, darkened stone corridor. Back there, the spotlight, not yet activated, sat in the middle of the corridor. Gravelight and the lifies huddled around it.

Movement. The tacmap flashed an update on my faceplate. The Scalers were coming down the corridor. We remained against the wall, frozen.

Soldiers of the Underworld approached, phantom shadow soldiers, glowing with faint phosphorescence. They hesitated, creeping closer to the corridor walls, peering up ahead. We were in the deepest shadows. I raised my E.

The spotlight flared incandescent. White-hot light glared directly into the eyes of the Scaler soldiers, ripping the darkness open. Our faceplates instantly adjusted. The Scalers were caught, frozen in mid-step, a whole corridor full of wild-looking dirtmen, filthy savages with matted hair, dressed in scale-skins, armed with spears and tridents, axes and slingshots and knives. Glaring vacant eyes and savage mouths caught in mid-gasp, black teeth snarling in rage and terror. A sudden, barbaric splendor, all on display for just that one moment.

Then Nomad stepped out, almost naked, right in front of the spotlight. The light ripped out all around him, and he was a creature of the light. He stood there, silent and motionless. The Scalers collapsed, groveling in the dirt, huddling in confused, terrified groups of two and three along the corridor walls. We could hear their chatter, a high-pitched wailing.

Nomad moved. He stretched out his arms, his hands open. He took a step forward, toward the Scalers, a Sun God, stepping out of the light. Open. Unarmed. There were at least ten different ways he could die in the next few moments.

Gravelight exclaimed, “I’ve got him!”

The dirtmen shielded their eyes from the brilliant light. Some of them got up carefully, still cringing from the light but slowly raising their weapons.

One of the dirtmen stepped out into the center of the corridor, a sharpened stone axe in one hand, the other hand half-raised in a signal of caution to his companions. He was a small-framed man, encrusted with dirt, wild white eyes glittering in the light, strange filthy objects dangling from his waist. Nomad took another slow step forward. To the dirtmen, he must have looked like a silver god from another world. A low growling arose from the dirtmen. It sent chills over my skin. I centered my E on the closest group of soldiers. They were completely unaware of our presence because of the light. All they could see was the Light-God.

There was no mistaking the gesture the war leader now made with his free hand—holding back his warriors. He crouched, coiled, bristling, axe ready, right there in the path of the God, hypnotized, staring right into the eyes of Death.

Gravelight whispered fiercely, “Do it. Touch him!”

Nomad slowly stepped forward, arms held out away from his body, hands open, fingers outstretched. Radiating light, a human star, burning out of the dark. The war leader trembled, snarling silently, eyes wild, axe poised, left arm still holding his warriors back. Nomad gently reached out his right hand to the dirtman, palm open.

In slow motion, the dirtman’s left arm moved. It came around slowly, trembling, flat to the ground. His warriors stirred. I heard their ragged breathing. The whole world focused right there, on Nomad and the dirtman. Slowly, ever so slowly, they reached for each other. They hesitated that way for a terrible moment, fingers almost touching, one hand encrusted with dirt, the other molten silver, as if from the core of a star. Two worlds, on the brink. The dirtman tensed, ready to explode, then he cautiously touched Nomad’s hand.

Fingers on fingers. A slight hesitation. See, it doesn’t hurt—not at all! Then their palms touched. Hand to hand now, reaching out to each other. Two worlds, coming together, across the brink, across the gulf, across the ages. All the way from the shallow seas of ancient Earth, and now, at last, together again, out on the far edge of the Galaxy.

The war leader’s axe slowly started to come down from the strike position, down all the way, now dangling from his right hand, the arm slack at his side. The war leader’s whole being, his whole soul, was in that outstretched left arm, and in his eyes, now face to face, eye to eye, with the God.

Nomad was glorious, perfect, a creature of silver and mercury and liquid light, a true messenger from the Cosmos. He was as cool as ice, and if he never did anything else in his life he would always be remembered for that one magnificent moment. I hardly knew Nomad, but I could feel for him, hanging out his body in front of all that evil, sudden death, and I could feel for the dirt-covered war leader, too. He had more courage than I did, to reach out there and touch that God, even with Gravelight’s magical fingers wrapped around his mind. Gravelight was good, but even she could not turn a coward into a hero.

Make it work, make it work, I prayed! We were all frozen, and the dirtmen warriors were frozen, too, as still as death, all eyes on the two figures in that blazing field of light. The war leader slowly rose up from his fighting crouch, and eye to eye with Nomad; he knew the creature of light was a man, now. Only a man, offering friendship. Almost naked, obviously unarmed. There could be no doubt of his power, because of the manner of his appearance. But there could also be no doubt of his intentions. Enemies do not appear naked, with open hands.

And then it happened.

A shriek, and one of the dirtmen exploded into action, his arm a blur of motion. I fired as he moved. All of Beta fired. A wall of V bolts knocked him head over heels like a rag doll, a halo of dirt flying all around him, the noise a continuous ear-splitting thunderclap. Too late! Nomad threw up his arms and fell backwards, his face spraying blood. Something black and evil glittered between his eyes. The war leader cringed in shock, and falling backwards, raised his axe, confused. The spotlight suddenly cut off as Alpha and Beta both fired continuously into the Scaler warriors, the noise and shock waves echoing off the corridor walls, dirt and dust filling the air, the commands ringing in my ears.

“All units attacking!”

“Attack! Attack! Attack!”

“Fire biogas!”

“Clear the corridor!”

“Second, Lowdrop, we’ve got hostilities, Alpha and Beta engaging!”

“Alpha, recover all casualties!”

“Medic, up!”

It was all a ghostly green again. I fired continuously on v-min, directly into the enemy, now only flying limbs in a cloud of dust. V-min rarely kills, but it will certainly ruin your whole day. Psycho and Dragon crouched in the center of the corridor, firing gas probes in opposite directions along the corridor. The gas probes took off trailing plumes of yellow smoke, the smoke bursting outwards. In moments, the biogas would fill the underground, and every Scaler who breathed it would fall like a stone, unconscious. Amtacs were on the way. Plan A had failed, and Plan B was now in effect.