This is a fan translation of Fighters of Danwait (Бойцы Данвейта) by Mikhail Akhmanov, currently only available in Russian and, because of the author's passing in 2019, unlikely to ever be published in English. This is the third book in a six-book series called Arrivals from the Dark (Пришедшие из мрака), which also has a six-book spin-off series called Trevelyan's Mission (Миссия Тревельяна).
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
HAPTORS is an accurately established name for the race.
Galactic coordinates of the Haptor sector: OrY77/OrY81, an area of the Orion Arm closer to the Galactic Center than the territory of the Earth Federation. Homeworld: Harshabaim-Utartu, coordinates OrY80.35.16.
A humanoid race with a physiology that appears to have greater differences from the Earth standard than the Kni'lina or the Faata (different chromosome set). They are undoubtedly incompatible with humans from a sexual standpoint, and artificial insemination would not produce viable offspring.
A B6-level technological civilization, in some respects similar to humanity (orbital bases, military technology, planetary terraforming, means of transportation, energy development; no detailed information available). Characterized by violence, deceit, lust for power, but fairly calculating and capable of keeping their feelings under the control of reason. They do not wish to communicate with Earth.
The details of the race's history are unknown. Between three and a half thousand and two thousand years ago, they served as the Defenders of the Lo'ona Aeo, then their contract was terminated, and the Haptors were replaced by the Dromi. This has led to a long conflict between these races, which continues to remain active. It should, however, be noted that the Haptors have never attacked Lo'ona Aeo transport ships or the Dromi who served as the Defenders; their wars with the Dromi were and are characterized by a clash of two powerful star empires. The Haptors continue to actively trade with the Lo'ona Aeo.
Currently, they have over two hundred colonies, some of which are densely populated. Estimated population is 50-60 billion, their reproductive rate is slightly higher than that of the humans (various sources provide coefficients of 1.05-1.25).
No data is available on their social structure, religion, philosophy, and art.
The Haptors' appearance and behavior, as well as the few bio-samples that humanity has been able to obtain and study, allow a hypothesis about their descent from ancient hominids, somewhat different from the terrestrial varieties (Pithecanthropus, Sinanthropus, etc.). Most likely, the ancestors of the Haptors were aggressive and predatory beings, preferring a carnivorous diet instead of a vegetarian one. From them, the Haptors inherited a powerful build, a dense, thick skin, and a strip of fur along the spine. The head is covered by cornified skin, no hair, there is a bump (a small conical protrusion) on each side of the forehead, the ears are pointed, the eyes with vertical pupils are deeply placed in their sockets. They do not fit human standards of beauty.
By USF estimates, the Haptors may become future rivals to humanity, but not as apparent as the Bino Faata, the Kni'lina, or the Dromi. In the event of a conflict with Dromi, it would be a mistake to count on an alliance with the Haptors.
Sources of information: Data gathered by the USF Research Corps and agents of the USF Secret Service in the Lo'ona Aeo sector.
Xenological Compendium, section Galactic Races. United University edition, La Sorbonne, Oxford, Moscow (Earth), Olympus Mons (Mars), 2264
Chapter 10
Dust Devil
They were on their way to the Haptors. It was not the first time the transport had flown there, and the Flight Watchers showed Valdez, Atigem, and Cro their destination: a colony world, full of wild primeval beauty, slumbering under the light of two suns and the glow of a dozen moons. Life had not arisen here, and the planetary landscape was wild and harsh: either endless sands, or mountains cut up by deep canyons, or fire-spewing volcanic ranges. Two landmasses were located at the poles, with an enormous equatorial ocean and a multitude of islands between them; some of the islands had already been terraformed, covered in greenery and populated. But dust storms were raging on the vast continents, tornadoes were swirling, fire-spewing lava was flowing, and hundreds of volcanoes were throwing up poisonous smoke into the atmosphere. The atmosphere turned out to also be quite suitable, by the way, with sufficient oxygen, for, over several centuries, the Haptors' equipment had been successfully compensating for the lack of vegetation.
After looking at the nature's excesses, at the storms and the volcanoes, Atigem said, "Dust Devil! The only worse places are Venus and that, what's it called… Sella, where the damned trees eat people. I have no idea what the Hornies could possible want here!"
"This world is the closest to the Dromi sector," Lightwater said. "An outpost! It's of great strategic importance."
"That makes sense. The Haptors don't like those green toads any more than we do. How long have they been squabbling again?"
"A few thousand years. Since the Lonchaks let the Haptors go and took the Dromi as their Defenders. Longtime scores, Stepan…"
After watching the holofilm with the planet's wild landscapes, they left the bridge. In the hold, Valdez fell back, getting lost among the containers. These were about as large as the ones that had contained the Big Waste Reclamation Unit, but they were holding different equipment: machines for suppressing volcanoes and processing lava and sand into normal soil. Valdez turned into one of the alleys between the enormous cylinders, then another, and discovered that his legs had taken him to the living pod's hatch. The Trader was standing here, surveying the cargo hold with an attentive eye,
"Glad to meet your gaze, Senior Defender."
"Me too, pal."
"Half and Quarter are charging. Do you want me to contact the Master?"
Valdez nodded silently. The Trader's eyes, two mirrors without pupils, went cloudy for a moment, then he touched the hatch, and the armored cover slid aside.
"Go, Defender. The Master likes to talk to you. This creature," he touched a four-fingered hand to his chest, "has been flying with him for a long time, but has never seen that–"
Having already stepped over the threshold, Valdez stopped.
"You've been flying on the ship for a long time? On this particular ship? The Ahiros?"
"Yes. What surprises you?"
"Not long ago, your transport ship was attacked by the Dromi, the same ones that were killed by my crew. There were Servs, torn to pieces, lying in this hold. Only two of them were still functioning, those who had managed to hide in the pod. I thought they were Half and Quarter, the Master's servants. Or were you one of them?"
"No, Defender. This creature was also lying here with its head torn off, and with it were the Assistant, the eight Flight Watchers, and the sixteen Cargo Overseers. All were here."
"Then I don't understand…"
"It is not easy to destroy a Serv, Defender. A torn off head or limbs, like other damage to the body, are not fatal. If the crystal brain survives, the Serv is not destroyed. A body is easy to replace."
"Really… And here I thought all these Servs, except for Half and Quarter, were new."
"A mistaken conclusion. This creature has served the astroid Anat family group for six long periods."
A long period is equal to five hundred and twelve years. He's been alive and serving for over three millennia! Valdez thought in quiet amazement. He came into existence when Carthage had only been founded, Nineveh had not yet been destroyed, and many years had remained until Alexander the Great's conquests back on Earth… Cro Lightwater's age paled in comparison to this immeasurably long life.
A pseudo-life, Valdez reminded himself, and carefully rubbed the Serv's fragile shoulder.
"Nice going. You've lived three times as long as Methuselah."
"Who is that, Defender?"
"A legendary figure. Unlike you."
He turned and walked past the alcoves where the Servs had been charging, towards Zantoo's abode. Green-blue sea was quietly rumbling there, dolphins were playing in the waves, a caravan of white clouds floated through the sky, and the sun was hanging above the horizon; it was setting, but could not quite touch the ocean and splash the evening light through the skies and the waters. A sunset that could not end or even start… Zantoo liked that, and Valdez did too, especially after getting acquainted with Dust Devil.
Zantoo awaited him in the gazebo, which was suspended over the holographic cliffs and the sea. A warm breeze was fluttering her hair and unceremoniously getting under her blue sari, causing the light fabric to either blow up or cling tightly to her thin figure. After stopping, as usual, five-six paces away from her, Valdez spoke, "I talked to the Trader. He claims to have served your family group for three thousand years. Is that true?"
"It is. He is the most intelligent of my Servs." Zantoo glanced at the dolphins slipping through the water. "He used to have another name. In Earth's language, it was Foster or Mentor… He raised me and followed me into this… this exile."
She spoke the last phrase with difficulty. Valdez did not try to pry. It was so nice to stand in this gazebo over the sea, to look into Zantoo's blue eyes, to admire her gentle face, and to not think of the world beyond the threshold of the pod. Of Cro or Atigem, of Danwait and Earth, even of Inga Sokolova, whom he had not seen for over two months. Zantoo was a dream, Inga was reality, and a person always valued the former over the latter.
"I was on the bridge," he uttered finally. "The Flight Watchers showed me the Haptors' planet. A majestic world, but not a hospitable one."
"We will descend to it, Sergey Valdez of Earth."
"Descend? Why? We usually unload in orbit. Don't they have orbital ports?"
"They do. But, in exchange for our goods, they are giving us one of their islands. We must take it to Fayo."
"An entire island?" Valdez didn't have time to be surprised, quickly realizing what she was talking about. "It needs to be shrunk, right? With the molecular scanners? But this will kill all animal and plant life… Or is there another way?"
"No. But the island is deserted, there are only cliffs, rocks, and sand. No animals, no plants, nothing living."
"Then why do you want it? The Trader told me that you decorate your planets and occasionally come down to them from the astroids to remember your ancestors and to walk in their worlds… But rocks, cliffs, and sand are not nice decorations."
"You are mistaken." She waved her hand, and an image of the Grand Canyon appeared in the air above the sea. "Is this not beautiful? Or other landscapes from your Earth…" The Canyon was replaced by the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas, followed by the Tassili mountains with pictures of ancient hunters.
"Yeah, that's worth looking at," Valdez admitted. "But I doubt we would sell you Everest or Chimborazo. They're far too precious to us."
"You sell us other things."
Another wave of the hand, and a series of new illusions splashed onto the invisible screen. Exhaling sharply, Valdez stared at them in amazement. It was as if a window had opened in the sky into another life, showing frames of Earth's motion pictures, colorful and voluminous, made in this and previous centuries; those were films of brilliant masters, with great actors and the plot as old as the universe itself. He watched Orpheus say goodbye to Eurydice, Romeo embrace young Juliet, Majnun missing Layla, Othello stretching out his shaking hands towards Desdemona, the Lady of the Camellias dying in the arms of her lover. Love, love, and more love… Desperate, lonely, unrequited… Passion that was stronger than death…
"Is this true?" Zantoo asked. "All this happened on Earth and recorded by you as a sign of respect for your ancestors? So that their descendants would know of their fate, their suffering, their hopes? So that their names remained in memory, until time ends and the stars scatter?"
"It would have been impossible to record these stories; we lacked the necessary devices in those eras," Valdez said. Then, after a pause, he added. "This is all fiction, Zantoo, fiction and, at the same time, truth. There are special people among us with a gift to create fantasies and illusions. Some do it with words, spoken or written down, others create paintings, showing what was and what never happened, and yet others dress into someone else's life, like we dress in clothes, live other people's feelings, cry, laugh, long, like those who have departed us or even those who never existed. And we believe them. Remarkably, we do!"
"So do I," Zantoo whispered. "This gift you speak of, this ability to create phantoms indistinguishable from reality… no one else has that. No other race can match you in this regard. You are great liars, Sergey Valdez of Earth, but your lies are more precious than the truth." She fell silent, then her pupils grew wide, and her lips quivered. "Come closer," Valdez heard.
He took a step and stopped.
"Closer," she spoke quietly, "even closer. Take my hand."
Her skin was silky, gentle. Valdez's own five-fingered palm seemed unnatural to him, too wide and rough. He noticed Zantoo's breathing grow heavy, her small breasts with tiny cherry-like nipples heaving quickly, more frequently. The signs of excitation among the Lo'ona Aeo were the same as among humans. Why are they considered pseudohumanoids?.. Valdez thought.
This time, their psychic contact lasted longer. In their close melding, unable to separate his own self from Zantoo's essence, Valdez was floating in some boundless light-filled space. There was no sun, no stars, no shadows, no darkness, only a silver glow that seemed to keep them suspended in the emptiness. Perhaps, that was the same Great Emptiness that accepted the souls of dead astronauts. Not dark and cold, but illuminated by a magnificent brilliance, not hopeless, but giving the gift of belonging; a place where departed friends and loved ones dwelt, where the souls of lovers were united for eternity, with all differences between them vanishing. The color of the skin, the number of fingers or chromosomes, skeletal structure, characteristics of their endocrine glands, none of that mattered here; at the very least, no more than cast off superfluous clothing.
Zantoo's arms were embracing Valdez, her lips sliding on his, and that was the only reality in the bright warm world given to just the two of them. He could not touch her body, which seemed not to exist and, except for her lips and arms, melted away in the emptiness, but he perceived her thoughts and feelings with an amazing clarity. They were dominated by surprise; Zantoo appeared not to understand, how a being of a different nature, different from her people, was capable of melding with her. There was, however, happiness, and Valdez sensed it push away the longing of loneliness and fear like a tide. This powerful, stormy wave grew higher and higher, rolled faster and faster, turning into a tsunami, carrying and spinning them in the limitless and bottomless glowing abyss. Stronger and stronger, more frantically and quickly…
He awoke. Zantoo's hand was in his, her eyelashes were fluttering, and there were amazement and happiness in her deep blue eyes. Valdez bent down and kissed her lips, in reality, not in a ghostly trance that had connected them a moment before.
"Is this some sort of sign?" she whispered.
"Yes. This is how we express affection on my planet, in the world of humans."
"But I am not human…"
"Does it matter?"
Zantoo sighed, touching a finger to her lips.
"I have seen this in your films… I have seen other expressions of love… I am not capable of that, Sergey Valdez. Our physiology is different from yours."
"Let's not talk about that. Love is something greater than the shuddering of the flesh and the exchange of bodily fluids."
"Then what is it? What is it for your people? For you?"
He pondered for a few seconds, then spoke musingly.
"A wonder. Love is a wonder of melding. That, which you've allowed me to experience."
A wonder, her glowing eyes confirmed. Then Zantoo slowly rubbed Valdez's cheek and moved away. Slowly, slowly, step by step, she was moving away from him to the balustrade surrounding the gazebo, to the part hovering over the waves. The fencing parted, letting her through, and Zantoo's figure suddenly started to melt away in the blue sky, as if the warm breeze was blurring and carrying her away, particle by particle, scattering them over the ocean. "Come to me, come," Valdez heard. Then she stretched out her hand, already translucent, misty, and threw a flower on the floor, enormous, blue, looking like the pummels topping the Castle towers. The pestles of the flower fluttered, a multi-winged butterfly flew up and disappeared in the warm breeze. Valdez rushed to the balustrade, jumped over it, submerged into the hologram, and felt his fingers touch a wall. No doors, no passages…
Zantoo had vanished, but her words continued to ring. "Come to me, come…"
"I will," Valdez said.
Several days later, when the ship had neared the planet, the entire crew was sitting at the Lancelot's control panel, peering into the images sliding through the screen. This viewscreen was much larger than on their former beyri, and the sights of the planet were being transmitted to it from the control room. The eight Flight Watchers had put the transport into orbit above the equator, and the ship was now slowly moving over the continents and the oceans of Dust Devil, awaiting landing clearance. The Lo'ona Aeo had excellent optical sensors, relaying the shades of the sands and the cliffs, the emerald ocean waters, and the fiery calderas of the volcanoes. Island ridges stretched along the equator, and the land settled by the Haptors was curling with forests and spreading with a smooth and spacious steppe. The vegetation here was a golden green color, pleasing to the eye and harmonizing with the surface of the ocean. The archipelagos below included enormous islands, the size of Earth's Madagascar; they were surrounded by landmasses that were smaller but still fairly sizable, comparable to Sicily, Cyprus, and Crete. But there were few settlements: occasional gray concrete domes and latticed towers with radar dishes.
"A beautiful world," Valdez said. "I would've given it a different name. 'Dust Devil' doesn't quite fit."
"Why don't you take a look here, at the continent," Atigem grumbled. "Look how it's spinning and twisting! A simoom, a tornado! A sandstorm, bigger in area than any of those islands! No wonder the Hornies don't bother going there."
Cro shook his head.
"You're far too hasty in your conclusion." Sending an image to the gunner's monitor, Cro zoomed in. "I can see a dome in this dusty mess… two domes, by Manitou! Two concrete bunkers, and an extendable radar under a protective dome. There are probably underground structures, warehouses, an arsenal, missile silos, batteries… A military installation, and there are a few dozen of them here. The ones on the islands are probably dummies, while the military equipment is hidden away on the continents. An outpost against the Dromi, like I told you."
As if confirming the truth behind Cro's words, an outline of an orbital fortress crawled onto the screen. Barrels of plasma throwers were sticking out of the gun turrets, and tusks of small ships, docked to the hatches, were aiming predatorily at the transport.
"Pilot to the ship," Valdez said. "Connect to the Watchers. I want to know how many orbital military installations are here."
"Three, Defender," the Lancelot's thin voice replied. One circles the planet in the equatorial plane, the other two stay in the meridional planes, orbits angled at ninety degrees."
"Do they have capital ships? Cruisers?"
"No."
"Well, that's better," Atigem spoke. "I don't trust these Hornies. They're as bad as the Dromi."
"They look more human."
"So what? Those damned Faata looked almost identical to us."
The transport dashed down, apparently the Haptors had granted landing clearance. The planetary sphere opened up, the line of the horizon went up smoothly, turning into the edge of an enormous bowl, the carousel of stars vanished in the glow of two suns: one crimson, the other yellow. They were speeding over the ocean to the northern continent. The first of the Flight Watchers inquired about the Defenders' readiness. "At full battle readiness," Valdez replied, and requested the landing coordinates. There were two landing zones: the equipment had to be unloaded a hundred and forty kilometers from the volcanic ridge, then relocate to an island in the equatorial zone.
Atigem gave a big yawn, "Boring! We're getting paid, but the work is boring. What do you think, Lancelot?"
"This ship would prefer to fly," the beyri replied.
"I wouldn't mind it either. Fly, shoot, blow some lousy bastard's brains out… But we can't. Tell us a joke, at least! How many have I loaded into you?"
"Eight thousand five hundred and fifteen. Which one would the Defender prefer?"
"Tell us the one about the general. The oldest one."
The Lancelot synthesized a giggle, probably to get the crew ready, and started speaking with a soulful voice, "One day, a general had a birthday. He invited all the officers from his division, and when they got totally wasted–"
"Nulli tacuisse nocet, nocet esse locutum [Being silent harms nobody, it is speaking that does harm.]," Lightwater uttered in a strict voice. The Lancelot choked and fell silent.
They had left the ocean behind them, and the Ahiros was now flying over the desert. It was majestic and beautiful. The crimson sun was at its zenith, the yellow sun was rising over the vast sea of sand, and dual shadows were coming off the tall dunes. The wind was ripping off grains of sand from their tops, they spun around, becoming tiny twisters, chasing one another like living beings. There was no other movement, only the sand and the wind were dashing about the plain, drilling and polishing the occasional rock formations. Their bizarre shapes kept reminding them of a dinosaur skeleton, a palace from Middle Eastern fairy tales, or a huge bug-riddled tree trunk.
"It would be nice to take a walk," Atigem spoke. "We'll rust sitting here by these guns."
"You're not going to enjoy a walk here, Stepan, but it would probably be okay on the island," Valdez replied. "We'll set up watches: two stay on the ship, one is free to go. We can relax a bit when we get to the ground."
A mountain ridge rose over the horizon. Smoke enveloped the volcanic peaks, and crimson flame occasionally shone through these black clouds. The transport ship started to descend, reducing speed, the sand dunes grew closer, a guidance beacon atop a tower and a wide plastconcrete field, covered by a force dome, flashed past. There were grav-platforms, ornithopters, loaders, force field emitters, and other equipment all along its perimeter. Tiny figures were scurrying about among them.
The transport ship hovered over the protective dome, and two gigantic shadows crossed the concrete area and the sand. Then Valdez felt a slight tremor – the doors of the central cargo hold's lower hatch were opening. A blue ring lit up in the center of the dome, indicating an entrance. The Ahiros was hovering about forty meters above it, and it was separated from the ground by twice that distance.
"Commencing unloading," one of the Watchers informed them dispassionately, and the first container floated out of the hold, carried by a four-fingered manipulator. Then a whole stream of them followed; the loading arms were arranging them below, diving into the belly of the ship, and returning with new cargo. This went on for over three hours. Atigem dozed off in his comfortable chair, Valdez was also feeling sleepy, and only Chief Lightwater was paying close attention to the monotonous activity. He occasionally exchanged a few phrases with the Watchers in the control room, and this or that portion of the image zoomed in, filling the screen: a figure in a silver vacuum suit or a brown jumpsuit, a mechanism of some sort, the concrete casemates at the edge of the field, the ornithopters and the unusually-shaped transport platforms. Finally, Cro turned to Valdez and said, "There are no more than a dozen Haptors here, Sergey, the rest are androids. Multifunctional mechanisms. They're currently working as installers, but we can't rule out that…"
He fell silent. The containers below opened up like flower petals, then the silver figures swarmed them, and a laser beam flashed among the chaos of the enormous structures.
"They've started welding," the Chief spoke. "Nimble fellas! They don't waste any time."
The final containers floated out of the ship's belly, and it once again swayed almost imperceptibly. The hatch had been sealed, Valdez realized, and the Watchers immediately notified them that they were bringing the transport ship up. The Ahiros started ascending smoothly, the shadows from her hull shrunk and disappeared, and the field, the mechanisms, and the protective dome vanished among the dunes and the cliffs. The sky paled, then started to darken; stars flashed into being, the shining of the suns, the crimson and the yellow, grew blinding, and the Lancelot, protecting the eyes of the crew, activated the filters. Half an hour later, the ship, following a parabolic trajectory, descended into the atmospheric layer, and the sky was once again the sky, not the endless cosmic abyss. They were moving towards an equatorial island.
Atigem awakened and gave a big yawn.
"We're coming for the goods, huh? I think our merchant once again lost out. It's a bad trade: all that expensive equipment for some tiny island. I heard there's not even a blade of grass or a bush on it… What the hell do the Lonchaks want with it?"
"The whims of a wealthy race," Cro noted. "They have everything and need for nothing, except alien curiosities and rarities. Ancient statues and paintings, rare beasts, architecture, plants, films, and even islands to decorate the landscape."
"Basically, decadence and hedonism." Atigem grimaced in disapproval and looked at Valdez. "What do you think, Chief, do they collect pilots too? As young and handsome as our captain?"
"You–" Valdez began, frowning and clenching his fists, but Lightwater interrupted him.
"My ancestors used to say, 'a coyote should not bark at the moon.' Yes, Sergey goes to her, talks to her, and this is a unique case. The first real contact! We're getting important information, so shut your mouth, Stepan."
"Well, if it's important… In that case, the coyote will be silent, even though he remembers one girl on Danwait. A very, very cute one… And what's interesting, she's not a Lonchak but a real woman. If I was only twenty years younger…"
No sense arguing, Valdez thought. Stepan Rakov was known for sticking his nose in other people's business and giving unwanted advice. Maybe that was why he had become a commander only in his fifties; the brass did not much like chatterboxes, preferring their subordinates to follow orders and stay quiet.
After zooming over the ocean waters and the wooded archipelagos, the transport ship stopped and started to descend near a small island. The island was rocky, surrounded by a wall of cliffs, which rose about two hundred meters, and at the center of which was a tiny plateau, covered by sand, through which stone pillars appeared to grow. In the light of the two suns, the sand seemed colorful, playing the hues of gold and cinnabar, crimson and ochre, while the cliffs, battered by the winds, looked like an exquisite lace. Obviously, the plateau and the entire island had been pushed up from the planetary depths during some disaster long ago, revealing a cavern, full of mineral beauty and wonders. There was foamy snow-white quartz, druses of crystal and amethyst, yellow citrine and smoky gray topaz, blood-red spinel, and scatterings of green chrysolite, garnet, chalcedony, and jasper, as colorful as an oriental rug, there were strange figures that developed from stalactites and looked like birds, flowers, or animals, and all that gleamed and sparkled, glittered and shone, reflecting the rays of the suns with a myriad faces. A unique natural relic that, likely, could not be found in the entire universe… Without a doubt, it was worth the cargo of the equipment and devices delivered by the ship; maybe a hundred such cargoes.
"A stone garden…" Valdez muttered in bewilderment.
"Beautiful," Atigem agreed. "I take back what I said; the Lonchaks got what they paid for!"
The transport ship hovered over the plateau, the bottom and side hatches opened, and a balcony with stairs slid out, covered by the bubble of a force screen. The Servs, all sixteen Cargo Overseers and the Trader's Assistant, stepped out onto the sandy ground of the plateau, and emitter towers started to appear out of the cargo hold, held by the cargo arms. Valdez new that they needed to be suspended on grav-platforms along the entire perimeter of the island, then the scanners would be turned on, and the three square kilometers of landmass would shrink into the size of a volleyball court. The base of the island already had tunnels and cermet beams; this sturdy structure would be used to raise the island and load it into the cargo hold. The following day had been set aside for the scaling and transportation operations, for the relic's nighttime illumination also needed to be recorded; the sand and the rocks came complete with the light of the two suns and the twelve moons.
The emitters and the holocameras were still being unloaded, when two ornithopters landed by the ship. The androids that had come out of them, their silver bodies gleaming, intermingled with the Servs; both groups worked together by the platforms, setting up the equipment; apparently, the contract had specified this type of aid. Soon after, the first emitter platform floated up into the air and disappeared beyond the southern ridge.
"Who are you letting go ashore, Captain?" Atigem inquired.
"Go. You first, then the Chief, I'll take a walk tonight." With Zantoo, Valdez added silently. This thought came without warning, and, mulling it over, he decided that there was nothing seditious about it; the place was secluded, and the Haptor robots were not a problem.
Atigem got out onto the sand and was now standing by the ramp, looking around and clasping his hands in silent admiration. The Servs and the androids paid no attention to the human and continued working. After watching them for a little bit, Atigem stepped to a plate covered by small amethysts, tried to pull one of the rocks out, then spat on the ground and started plodding deeper into the island.
"Send the UCR with him," Valdez said. "We'll feel easier, and so will he."
"Good idea."
Cro's prosthetic fingers tapped on the keyboard, entering a command for the Lancelot and the robot. The UCR was the very same one that had fought with them for the Rathole; a steel hero, who was the fourth member of the crew, packed away into the armory locker. Valdez watched the dark hemisphere slip out through the lower hatch, clung to the ground, seeking out a trail, and then dashed away to the cliffs with a blinding speed. A minute later, the starboard gunner's monitor showed a powerful back and a mane of tangled hair. Then Atigem turned around and, with a smile, opened his hand, demonstrating a pair of yellow citrines, glowing in the sunlight.
"He managed to pick some off!" Valdez slapped his knee. "Will you look at that souvenir gatherer!"
"Trahit sua quemque voluptas [Each has his dear delight which draws him on.], Lightwater noted philosophically. "You, my friend, are not without sin yourself."
I most definitely am not without sin, Valdez thought, helping Zantoo walk down the ramp. She had been afraid, but he managed to convince her, saying that they did not anticipate a Haptor attack, that even their robots had disappeared, and that the UCR, a loyal sentinel, was patrolling the area. Now Zantoo was standing in the sand and looking around with such amazement, with such breathtaking astonishment, that Valdez felt warmth in his chest. She was wearing a light jumpsuit, her waist was circled by the narrow strip of a grav-belt, and lights were blinking in her hair; must be some sort of defense system.
The night at these latitudes of Dust Devil turned out to be calm, filled with the scent of the sea and the smell of the cliffs heated by the suns, while the sky was already home to the twelve multi-colored moons, making the island seem like a ghostly abode. The white stalactite and quartz statues seemed to move, portraying animals and birds that inhabited this stone labyrinth; gemstones were glittering in the rain of the moonlight, lunar paths were gleaming on the sand, and the shadows were sliding leisurely, silently, mysteriously. The silence was only broken by the squeaking of the grains of sand under their feet; they could not even hear the rumbling of the waves.
They stopped on an oval jasper plate, orange with lilac stains, which was sticking out of the sand at an angle. Zantoo's narrow hand was hidden in Valdez's palm.
"Your island, back on Earth, is it similar to this one?"
"Only in that the shores have sand and stones and that it's surrounded by an ocean."
"It's not as beautiful?"
"Well, I wouldn't say that… We have trees, an entire palm grove, a Polynesian pine, two magnolias, a bamboo sprout, and thickets of flowers… hibiscus, yucca… The center of the island has a desalination plant, a small lake, and an old house, built by my ancestors. A big house, two stories, a veranda to the east, a veranda to the west…" Valdez sighed. "In the morning, we would sit at the table on the eastern veranda, in the evening, we would go to the western one. We would drink beer, talk, and watch the sunset fade over the sea…"
"I would like to see that," Zantoo said. "It's too bad that I'm not human and can't even pretend to be one, like the one you call Lightwater. I would–"
Valdez eyed her.
"You said that Cro is pretending. It's not the first time I hear this. Why? Because of his prosthetics? Because of the biomechanical organs?"
"No. If he wanted, he would get back what he lost." Zantoo shivered. "Long ago, creatures such as he came to us, and they looked like the Lo'ona Aeo. We call them Mzani and can recognize who they are. They promised us help and protection, but we select our own Defenders. They had to leave. The Mzani don't wish us ill. They are simply curious and like to know about every race of the galaxy."
"What's so bad about that?"
"Maybe nothing, but we don't like that. We fear… fear aliens, fear their greed, thirst for violence, their aggression and power… And we don't want someone to know much about us and our fears. Even the Mzani, who bear us no ill will."
How about that, Mzani! Valdez thought. A frightened race's imagination is limitless. They see monsters and ghosts in every dark corner.
"Even if you're right, and Cro isn't human, you can't deny his wisdom," he noted aloud. "Cro is also afraid… or, at least, he's wary."
"Of what, Sergey Valdez of Earth?"
"You supply machinery to many races. Devices that can be taken apart, and the modules used in military equipment. That Big Waste Reclamation Unit for the Kni'lina and the units we brought the Haptors… Neither of them are our friends."
Zantoo laughed quietly.
"Calm the Mzani pretending to be a human. As we say in our astroids, 'the Ancients are more likely to return to the world than this can happen.' These modules… what you call a tiny piece of the device… they have a primitive self-awareness. They become dead if something in them is changed or if they are misused."
"That is good news," Valdez said. The UCR's dark hemisphere flew over them, hovered over a rock, scattered by the gray ash of topaz, and, without waiting for commands, sped away. Zantoo watched it go.
"If I were human… a woman of Earth… and if you found yourself here with her… just you, her, and no one else… What would you do, Sergey Valdez of Earth?"
"Many things, my golden-haired angel. Things I am afraid to even conceive of, much less say."
"For example?"
"I would pick her up in my arms and carry her around the island."
Her eyes flashed with slyness and sadness.
"I have never been carried in someone's arms before… You are strong, Sergey Valdez, you won't drop me, will you?"
"I won't."
She was lighter than a feather in her grav-belt. Her lips beckoned like a flower opening its petals. Valdez bent to them and flew away into the Great Emptiness, full of warmth and light.
The scanner platforms hovered at the base of the island, just above the support lattice of ceramic beams. The scaling operation was supposed to start in the morning, at the rise of the crimson sun, but it had to be delayed: an ornithopter had landed near the outer hatch. It was a large vehicle, and, when its gleaming metal wings stopped in a raised position, a pair of combat lasers became visible under them. Figures of soldiers could be seen through the transparent housing, but only one Haptor stepped onto the island's soil; he was dressed in a brown uniform with a black pattern sewn onto the shoulders and the chest. The Trader went out to greet him, then returned hurriedly and, activating the communication device, spoke, "The Haptor does not wish to speak to a Serv. He demands that a human come out to him."
Valdez felt a heavy foreboding grip his heart. He exchanged glances with Cro and Atigem, climbed out of his cocoon, and stepped towards the exit. Cro spoke after him, "I am recording this, Captain. We rarely see Haptors. No matter what he says, the information will be useful."
Valdez nodded and, upon leaving the Lancelot, headed for the ramp.
The Haptor was huge. Two heads taller than even the tallest human, with extremely broad shoulders and a bulging barrel-like chest, a bare scalp, covered in folds of leathery skin, he towered over Valdez, like a mountain over a hill. Dark eyes were peering out from deep cave-like sockets, his powerful jaws were clenched, the corners of his lipless mouth had tiny discs with lens dots; he was likely also recording everything that was being said and done. Two sizable bumps on his forehead, each the size of a fist, were decorated with silver tips with a chain stretched between them. There was a purple crystal handing off it, right by his wide nose bridge.
The giant spoke in the language of the Lo'ona Aeo, and his voice reverberated with a booming echo among the cliffs, "Your, hairy one, is guard of body, yes?"
"Whose body do you speak of? I don't understand."
"Lo'ona Aeo, which on that ship!" the Haptor bellowed, stretching out an enormous hand towards the ramp. "Your protect, keep, secure him, correct?"
A lightning bolt seemed to strike Valdez's temple. They had found out about Zantoo! But how? He thought that their walk last night had been a stupid idea, then he rapped on the ramp's railing.
"This ship brought the machinery to your world. There are three dozen robots and me, a Defender officer. No one else. No Lo'ona Aeo."
His enormous maw opened, and hoarse croaking sounds came out of it; the Haptor was laughing.
"Your, hairy one, not waste spit! Here in rocks and above, devices for watching! We see your, see Lo'ona Aeo. Last night."
"You are mistaken. That was a Serv. We were examining the territory. Before using the molecular scanners, it's necessary–"
"Rrrhh… Your carry Serv in arms? Your too much foolish! Even Dromi more smarter! Defender never fly in trade ship, we know definite, we were Defender too. Never fly, except rare case, when living Lo'ona Aeo on ship. Yes?"
Valdez heard voices in his communicator. Punch him between the horns! Atigem raged. Remain calm, Cro advised. Let him talk. Everything he says is of interest to us.
"What do you want?" Valdez asked. "I repeat, there are no Lo'ona Aeo on this ship. But, let's assume that one was here… What do you want from him?"
One of the Haptor's hands touched the black embroidery on his chest.
"I am Thad," he informed Sergey with a noticeable pride. "In this world four Thad, and we leader here. Without our will, wind not blow, sand not fly! We decide: your ship leave, Lo'ona Aeo stay."
"You're going overboard with the wind and the sand, they'll be just fine without your instructions," Valdez said.
"Not understand."
"I'm saying I don't need your permission. We can leave regardless."
"No." The giant pointed a hand towards the zenith. "Warship there to guard. Your do nothing. Your have no weapon."
He doesn't know about the Lancelot, Cro's voice squeaked in his ear. Confuse him. Try to find out why they want the Lo'ona Aeo.
"Your people have also served as Defenders," Valdez said. "You understand: if I abandon the Lo'ona Aeo, the Masters will be very displeased. Very, strongly, extremely! They might even cut off my head."
The Haptor bent down, stepped towards Valdez, and the chain connecting his horns rattled.
"Your say smarter. Say, Haptor guilty! Haptor have many warrior and laser. Your could do nothing. Ship leave, your live, robot intact, Lo'ona Aeo stay with bad Haptor."
"The Masters will not like that. They will stop trading with you."
"Live Lo'ona Aeo more benefit than trade. We talk to him, then release, and your Masters happy. Again trade with Haptor." The Thad moved even closer to Valdez. "This good, yes? Or I skin you and stuff with sand. But I not want. I want Lo'ona Aeo for one question."
"What question? Maybe I can answer?"
Obviously, the Thad had never thought of that. The skin on his broad face wrinkled, the lipless mouth opened, revealing impressive fangs.
"Maybe," he croaked sharply. "I think, all hairy one more stupid than Dromi, but maybe I wrong? Maybe your hear necessary data?"
"What data?"
"Where Lord of Emptiness? Where? Where?!"
Valdez recoiled in surprise.
"You believe in fairy tales, Thad?"
"I not understand."
"There's no such thing as a Lord of Emptiness. It's not a real person, not an artificial lifeform, and not a creation of nature. It's just words, mere words… An oath repeated by astronauts of many worlds, when they wish to attract attention to what they say. May the Lord of Emptiness devour my body and soul… May the Lord of Emptiness be merciful towards me… I swear by the Lord of Emptiness that I'm not lying… Words like that or others, depending on the situation. Do you understand, Haptor?"
The Thad inhaled and exhaled deeply; his chest moved like bellows, and the sound was reminiscent of the howling of a strong wind. The crimson sun had come up over the horizon, and the edge of the yellow sun was already visible between the water and the sky.
"Hairy one more foolish than Dromi, even though hard imagine that," the Haptor spoke. "Your not believe that Lord of Emptiness heir to Ancients, your think it just words… But he not words, he exist in galaxy, and Lo'ona Aeo can contact him. He help worthy people, not Dromi, not your Hairy, but ones like Haptor. Understand?"
"No," Valdez said. "If your people are worthy, then why does the Lord not contact you himself? Why do you need a Lo'ona Aeo intermediary?"
"Lord of Emptiness not know that us already worthy. To call him and explain, need right code, password, correct pulse emission. Lo'ona Aeo say and go free." The Haptor raised his hand, and soldiers ran out of the ornithopter. "Move, Hairy one! Move or lose skin! I enter and take Lo'ona Aeo."
"You won't enter and you won't take," Valdez said. "Get out of here, you horned bastard! Or I'll give you a rendezvous with the Lord of Emptiness right here!"
The Haptor sneered and reached for him with his enormous hands.
"I skin you. Myself! Even though I have warrior and laser."
"So do I," Valdez replied. "A very good warrior and a very big laser. UCR, hold him!"
The dark hemisphere darted over the rocks, and a laser beam knocked out a turret under the ornithopter's wing. The soldiers dropped to the ground, aiming their weapons. A flexible manipulator wrapped around the Thad, forcing his arms to the sides. The UCR raised him, and the Haptor's legs were now dangling almost three meters above the ground.
"I'm not going to skin you," Valdez uttered. "I'm only defending myself and will leave you and your warriors alive, as long as they don't interfere. Goodbye, Thad! UCR, you can let him go."
He ran up the ramp. A heavy body landed with a thud behind him, and the robot quickly slipped into the hatch. The Trader and the Cargo Overseers were waiting for Valdez, lining up in the empty cargo hold. So much for the island, he thought and waved to the Trader.
"Tell the First Watcher to retract the ramp and seal the hatches. We're taking off! Gravitators to full power!"
He rushed to the Lancelot on the elevation. The hatch doors slid closed with a quiet rustling, cutting off the cargo hold from the outside world.
