I'm not sure I've ever ridden on an animal that wasn't holographic. I try not to let any disquiet show, though, as we head out of the steadhold and towards the hills.
In any case, the riding beast is quiet, biddable, obedient. I mention this to Rrueo as we start up the slope.
"Naturally," she says. "Rrueo is applying a mind-hold to the creatures. Rrueo should have thought to do this yesterday - it might have avoided some difficulties."
"You can do that?"
"To animals." The Ferasan's jade-green eyes narrow. "And it requires concentration."
So I keep quiet, and ride, climbing the hill at a gentle pace. Mentally, I review our resources. Field rations for three days, water... the crossbows and mek'leths hanging by our saddles... and very little else. No phasers, no disruptors - not even tricorders. We don't want to carry power sources that might be turned against us. I was dubious, even, about wearing my combadge - but it seems a necessary risk. We need communications....
And our main asset.... We have doused ourselves liberally with the sweet-smelling black stuff; my hair feels matted with it, and the smell is strong in my nostrils. What it must be like to Rrueo's more sensitive nose, I can't imagine. More of the stuff gurgles in flasks carried in our saddlebags. If it is a weapon... if it is an effective weapon... we have enough of it. I think.
We reach the crest of the first hill, and I rein my riding beast to a halt. Rrueo stops beside me, and we both stare.
"That was not there yesterday," Rrueo says, eventually.
The tower stands there, black against the horizon. I shade my eyes, trying to gauge size and distance. It is perhaps sixty or seventy metres in height, perhaps a third as wide, fashioned of some black stone. There is what appears to be a gatehouse protruding from the base....
"Well," I say, "it's there now. Let's get to it." I apply my heels to my mount's flank, and it moves forward at a slow walk. Rrueo follows suit, a moment later.
"I suppose we're lucky to have picked this spot," I mutter, more to myself than to my companion. But she answers anyway.
"Several possibilities have occurred to Rrueo. One is, simply enough, that Dahar Master Juregh chose correctly when he identified the largest settlement he could as the planetary capital. The steadhold is not particularly prestigious, but it was the best that he could find. Another possibility is that the tower moves, or that there are many towers, which retract into the ground when not required. That would be partly consistent with what we have seen. Another possibility...."
"Yes?"
"Is one which Rrueo does not like. That we are at the overlord's tower because we have been - manipulated here. It would be a formidable job of manipulation - to fetch us all here, to this point in time and space, would require the management of many factors. You are here because Shalo chose you and Grau as a known quantity to deal with - that required that you and she should meet at Bercera IV, which in turn required that that atrocity should take place. The chain of causality is long and far-fetched - but Rrueo worries that it might not be beyond the ability of the sleeping giant to manage it."
"And that bothers you," I say.
"On many levels. Firstly, the power and intelligence of our adversary, thus revealed, is frightening in itself. Secondly -" Rrueo's mouth twists in a snarl, revealing her fangs. "Rrueo has no wish to be a pawn," she spits. "Rrueo is not a beast to be controlled -"
"Like these riding beasts?"
"Ach! These beasts - they are a case in point. Rrueo is no longer exerting her mental control. The habit of obedience is already inculcated in them, now. Just as the sleeping giant has made the inhabitants of Tiaza Zephora obedient to its will. As a matter of habit." She shoots a sidelong glance at me. "That bothers you as much as it does Rrueo, admit it."
"You know it does. Sentient beings shouldn't be - domestic animals."
"Rrueo is aware of Federation notions of freedom and self-determination. The Empire, too, has such notions - perhaps differently expressed, but they are there. Imperial citizens are free to seek out their own honour. These are not."
"The Empire imposes a number of restrictions the Federation doesn't, though," I point out.
"The Federation has its own forms of conformity. Do not attempt to deny it, you will only look foolish."
"Maybe. I don't think any of us sees the Empire as a simple despotism, anyway." It's my turn to shoot a glance at her. "Why are you a part of it, though? Do you believe in the Imperial ideals? Whatever they are?"
"Honour, glory, personal achievement - yes, these things drive Rrueo, they always have. The Empire provides a context in which they have meaning."
"You could have honour, achievement - even glory - in the Federation."
"Rrueo does not doubt it. Rrueo knows her own capabilities. But Rrueo was born Ferasan, and has no desire to change."
"Very Ferasan," I comment. The tower is getting closer. It is only my imagination, though, that makes it loom. "Even to referring to yourself in the third person...."
"It is not a universal habit of speech in Ferasan culture," says Rrueo. "It is, however, Rrueo's habit."
"Well, no culture is monolithic," I say. "You don't see me calling myself sh'Shohl, for example. That always struck me as a silly affectation."
"Useful, for those of us less able to discern Andorian gender."
"Anyone who can't tell the difference between a shen and a zhen, in my book, doesn't need to know." Are we talking about this because we don't want to talk about the tower, that grows closer with every pace our mounts take?
"Rrueo earned her name," Rrueo says. "I earned my name, if you would prefer it. Rrueo chooses to remind people of that. What name have you earned, Tylha Shohl?"
"Different culture. I was given my name. I earn... whatever it means." I look up at the top of the tower. It is ringed with crenellations like some mediaeval fortress. The gateway in the base is clearly distinguishable, now; a square structure with doors of what seems to be black iron, graven with abstract designs. "When people say my name... I want them to think well of it. I want it to mean something... honourable."
"You come from a warrior culture. Rrueo suspects there is less between you and the Klingons than you believe."
"We were a warrior culture."
Rrueo sniffs. "Rrueo has never yet heard of Andorian pacifists."
"My parents were."
"Really?" She looks genuinely surprised at that. "Rrueo fears you must be a disappointment to them."
"I'd prefer to live in peace. But I can fight."
Rrueo eyes the tower. "You may have to."
---
Nothing moves as we make our final approach to the tower. There is no sound of bird or beast in the wilderness; the only movement is ours, the only sound the hoofbeats of our mounts, the jingling and clattering of our riding harness. The tower stands there, dark and monolithic. It has no windows, and nothing moves at its top.
I frown as we reach the base. Rrueo's idea, that the thing retracts into the ground, isn't borne out by the state of the ground around it. There is no sign of disturbance. It looks as though the tower has always been there.
"Close enough," Rrueo says. "We should dismount."
I swing myself out of the saddle, becoming suddenly conscious of an ache in my thighs as I do. "What about the beasts?"
Rrueo rummages in her saddlebag, produces a thick wooden stake, sharpened at one end. She drives it into the ground with one fluid, powerful motion. I'm reminded of the wiry strength of those Ferasan muscles. "We will tether them. They will not stray - and enough of the compound clings to them that they should be safe."
I take my crossbow from the saddle, hang a mek'leth from my belt. The weight of the clumsy weapon on my hip is a slight reassurance. "Well. What do we do now?"
"Rrueo does not see a doorbell. Perhaps we should knock."
I take one step towards the door, then glance back at Rrueo. She seems irresolute, scratching one ear and frowning. "Rrueo is wondering whether it might be better to wait for nightfall," she says. "The sleeping giant appears, from what we know so far, to be nocturnal...."
"What? Oh, come on," I protest. "It can't be. Your carriers were destroyed on the planet's day side - and the rotation of this world can't be a factor in whatever it was it did at Duselva WX -"
"Probably you are right. Rrueo is just finding excuses." She squares her shoulders. "Rrueo freely confesses that she does not want to go through that door."
"Neither do I. But we're short on alternatives." I take a deep breath, and another step forward -
There is a faint grinding noise as the iron doors open, swinging inwards. Beyond them, I see very little - empty space, a roughly paved stone floor -
"I don't know if that's a welcome or not."
I take another cautious step forwards. It is dark in there, but I'm Andorian, I don't necessarily need light. My antennae twitch in anticipation. I hear Rrueo move behind me, following, just as slowly and cautiously as I'm moving myself. The entrance gapes in front of me. Darkness, and stone, and - something else.
"There's someone there."
"No," says Rrueo. "Not someone."
I move forwards again, and the dark shape comes into focus. It is as Rrueo described the overlord's servitors: a squat, humanoid figure in a cowled cloak. It stands impassively in the shadows beyond the open doorway. I nerve myself to take another step.
"Hello? Can you hear me? Can you understand me?"
It gives no sign. I take another step.
The claws extend from its arms with a soft, organic hissing sound. They glint in the dim light. Two monstrous blades, the length of my forearm, protruding from each arm. The creature makes no other movement.
Then there is another noise. Despite what you see in various cultures' adventure movies, bows and crossbows don't make any juddering, twanging, or whooshing noises. There is just a thump as the tension releases in the bow, and an answering thump as the bolt strikes the target -
The servitor staggers, and the whole surface of its body ripples, like water coming to the boil. It stands there, shimmering, for an instant or two, and then, suddenly, it is gone, as if it had never been. There is a clatter as Rrueo's crossbow bolt falls to the stone floor.
I turn to confront her. She is already working the lever to span the bow. "It wasn't making any hostile moves -"
"Those claws looked hostile to Rrueo." She slots another bolt into place.
"If you're right, it couldn't have harmed me -"
"It certainly cannot now. Besides, we needed to know." She gazes at me levelly. "It was not a living creature to begin with. Rrueo would know. Even if its mind was shielded, Rrueo would know."
There seems no point in arguing. I walk into the tower, over the spot where the - creature - stood. There is no trace of it. The crossbow bolt, black and gleaming with the chiral compound, lies on the stone floor.
I look around. The interior of the tower seems to be hollow; the walls rise up and up until they are lost in gloom above me. Ahead of me, though, there is a long rectangular gap in the stonework of the floor. I step forwards. Stairs, many of them, going down. I narrow my eyes. Is there a faint glow, coming from somewhere below?
"Only one way, then," Rrueo comments, and her voice echoes in the vast stone enclosure. She stoops to pick up the crossbow bolt from the floor. Then she squats down, and studies the stone pavement intently.
"What's the matter?" I ask.
"Perhaps nothing," says Rrueo. She stands up. "Well. Let us take the only path available, then."
We start off, down the stairs. My antennae are tingling, reading the air currents, tasting the feel of the space about me. There is a light, somewhere below, I decide. A dim, bluish light, coming from somewhere... somewhere far, far down. The stairway turns, forming a wide spiral, and I have the distinct impression that it goes deep.
We make one slow, careful circuit, and are about to continue, when Rrueo stops and turns. She looks upwards, and makes a savage spitting, growling noise which I think must be a Ferasan curse.
"What is it?" I ask.
Rrueo curses again. "Rrueo wondered when she picked up the bolt... but said nothing. If your eyes cannot cope with the darkness -"
"They can. Up to a point."
"Look closely, then. Here." Her clawed finger stabs out. I kneel and inspect the stone step, where she's pointing.
At first, I see nothing, but my eyes are still adjusting to the dimness. Then, I make it out. There is a slight but distinct impression upon the smooth surface... no, two impressions.
My eyes widen. Footprints. Mine and Rrueo's.
"We're leaving marks on the stone...."
"If only that were all. Look closely."
I look. The footprints are clearly evident, now - how could I possibly have missed them? Then the realization hits me.
The prints are getting more and more distinct. I run my fingertip over the stone, and I can feel the marks. Where our feet have trodden, the footprints are sinking into the stonework....
"The chiral compound," says Rrueo. "This place is the creation of the sleeping giant, just as the servitor being was. And contact with the compound is... cancelling it out. Instantly, when I shot the servitor... more slowly, with the mere touch of our bodies on the stone. But Rrueo sees no sign of the decomposition stopping...."
A faint creaking, groaning sound runs through the stonework. Rrueo's lambent green gaze meets mine.
"Rrueo thinks we have a time limit."
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