“I’m glad they didn’t go after us.”
“Astounding, how they’re attacking!”
“Have you ever seen such things?”
Something haunting seeped into Mahzit; insanely disconnected. He was drenched with pure mental hatred; emotion, without words. Countless dots distorted his vision. Suddenly he was viewing the attack as if seen by the Gatherers.
Mahzit’s head jerked forward, his mouth clenched, jaws snapped together again and again, mimicking the battle scene.
Rage and screaming pain crowded him like an inner alien connecting to both the jells and to the flying monsters.
Illusion! Mahzit told himself, shaking his head vigorously.
A sudden calm whisked the voices away. When he could focus on the scene again, it was too late to warn the pilot.
Their ship was being sucked into the zone of conflict. Dead jell blobs splayed throughout the sky. The pilot did not veer away fast enough to avoid impact.
Kal-Nor and the other men dashed for the gun ports. The Commander aimed a Kay-gun at one winged monstrosity as shots rang out from the portals manned by his fellow warriors.
The jells converged, jetting up above them, avoiding the Kay-pellets. Mahzit watched in horror as the creatures dove directly at them.
The grav-disk was almost flipped as the men clung to the safety grips. The ship dipped, nearly into a nose dive. The pilot maneuvered quickly, bringing its bow up and looping over the fray until it righted itself. Then it stalled, sputtering, faltering; unable to gain speed.
The jells made a wide circle, avoiding direct contact and reconfigured into a sharp ‘V’ aimed towards the Gatherers, who glided back to back in the sky; protecting themselves in a magnificent display of raw intelligent unity.
Their battle formation shifted as the jells fanned out; then regrouped below them near the sea’s surface and evaporated into the ocean mists.
The Gatherers arched their wings and shot away.
The grav-disk lurched awkwardly, like a wounded Kuknal in flight; losing altitude. Kal-Nor slipped into the pilot compartment. The grav-disk slowed its spiraling descent, gradually leveling over the broad sea, drifting lower and lower towards a land mass positioned just south of them. A purple forest stretched from a narrow sandy beach right up along a ridge of matted hillsides. Off in the distance there appeared to be mountains, though it was difficult to see, as the damaged vessel continued to descend; nearly skimming the waters before it reached the shore.
The landing was pleasantly controlled, lightly cushioned by the thick tall marshy grasses.
The pilot had barely avoided complete disaster.
“Damage is serious. We’ll attempt to repair.”
Kal-Nor assigned his best mechanics to assist her while the others set up camp.
They found themselves in a boggy jungle, the ground liberally pitted, sprinkled with ankle deep water-pots. Several times they spied slimy wriggling things splashing around their feet. Distantly they heard the calls of hunting beasts and birds. No jells reappeared.
Their situation appeared brutally hopeless. If the grav-disk couldn’t be fixed, they were lost. Barely armed, what chance of survival did they have? On foot, it would be a major trek across what appeared to be hostile swamp.
Mahzit forced himself to relax. Something unmistakably odd had occurred during their encounter with the jells and the Gatherers. He explored his inner senses to calm nagging nerves. Sitting cross-legged, he concentrated on the Zygo in an effort to perceive any consciousness beyond his fellow warriors. His Helandian teachers claimed they should be capable of tuning into any intelligence. Narrowing his focus, he crossed through an inner imaginary wall, searching for anything that might have lodged itself in the recesses of his mind. He then tried to access a stronger frequency into which he could merge. He was accustomed to riding on his natural stratum, though he only had intermediate training.
Instinct told him something had connected to him. Some collective consciousness had been out there. He had felt a consciousness, yet not a singular being; incomplete, or subhuman. And then again, it could have been his overly active imagination projecting curiosity towards that peculiar swarm.
How can I be sure?
He never understood mind theory. His lack of experience was painfully inhibiting.
He had spent too much of his life on impulsive pursuits for momentary self-discovery. Not particularly organized. It was his nature to flit from one interest to another. Sarleni had often scolded him for his lack of concentration and unruly discipline. She claimed he was not focused and too impulsive. Perhaps she had been right.
Angry about his limitations, he returned to the others. Duty called.
III. Swamp to Sand
From: the official files on the mission of Kal-Nor
Reports indicate ship is beyond repair and must be abandoned. Secure the ship; pack all portable provisions and conceal the grav-disk. The jungle will provide enough cover to keep it well hidden. We broke camp; proceeded on foot. My scouts explored ahead, while the rest of us collected and distributed the weight of our gear and provisions.
* * * *
Mahzit was up early, just as the sun spread its morning glow upon the thick wall of trees blanketing the sky. They broke camp and began their trek through thick jungle, chopping away at vines and giant leaves; navigating along narrow dry areas between the slimy water-pots. The air was rank with hot mist steaming up from the sludge. They were constantly swatting at tiny insects buzzing around their faces. The medics had treated the uniforms with repellent that apparently discouraged the larger varieties, but had little effect on their tinier cousins.
He was feeling comfortable working alongside the men; a friendly lot, equally at ease with him.
The unit slogged on through the thick bog, their boots often ankle deep in the muck. Officers Mahzit and Linia were in the lead, using their innate senses to navigate the unit towards higher ground.
By mid-morning they had finally left the bog. After hacking through thick jungle, they had climbed until the landscape cleared away to open spaces. The Raiders stopped and raised their weary arms, whooping out a joyous victory salute,
“Vahl—Razzah!”
Kal-Nor laughed, for this cry is commonly lauded on the victor of a match in the arena. The unit had proven victorious over the nasty jungle foe and all deserved a break. And that had brought on their yell of joy.
They stood on a fairly wide strip of barren rock. From here they could look at the thick jungle canopy on the one side and rocky terrain of the other. It was a good idea to take advantage of the hot sun, which had reached high noon. So they laid their soggy gear to dry on the hot rocks and then scraped the thick crud from their boots. They must have collected half their weight in swamp muck. While the unit rested under a shading ledge, two scouts explored the terrain ahead.
When they returned, Kal-Nor and Mahzit reviewed their reports. The scouts had located several possible trails leading in various directions.
After a great deal of deliberation, the Commander summed up their evidence and decided which they would explore. Thus, the unit packed up and soon dipped into a low canyon where the air quickly chilled. Winding between massive stone walls, the narrow path allowed only one person at a time to squeeze through the cold stone cleft.
Finally the channel widened and broke open onto a flat ridge. The late afternoon sun illumined the gorge below, rising to sharp cliffs on the far side, pockmarked with holes. Most startling was a particularly well-defined arch. A row of stone pillars lined its outer edges. Tall statues guarded the outcrop leading to the arch.
They found a scalable path straight down towards the site. Before the sun had set, they’d reached the floor of the canyon.
The