City of Ruin - Mark Charan Newton [152]
‘Perhaps she is,’ Rika whispered, speaking to herself more than anyone else.
‘She said that we – we as a race, as a species – we created them, in another earlier time,’ Eir observed.
‘Let us not steer into teleology,’ Artemisia said. ‘Has all my earlier information been absorbed?’
‘It’s just too much to believe in without seeing confirmation for ourselves,’ Eir said.
‘Agreed,’ Randur said. ‘You have evidence for all this, I take it? Something we can just, uh, see?’
‘Amusing that you assume merely seeing will confirm reality. If one sees a stump of a tree in a field at dusk, it may resemble the form of another human, and your fears may creep in, but it is still a tree. One should question what is being seen, at all times.’
Artemisia moved away, assimilating into the darkness. The remaining three stared at each other and then Randur gave a shrug, pushing back a lock of his black hair, and turned his attention to the Hanuman once again. A moment later, the creatures squawked and flapped off to one side, out of sight.
Randur needed to know what they would be doing next. This lack of purpose and clarity was unsettling.
Suddenly Artemisia strode back towards them, carrying a massive metal container in one hand, displaying her immense strength. In her other hand she held two ends of some metallic rope, which trailed away to a part of the ship he couldn’t see. She dumped the container on the deck and declared, ‘Come over, if you wish to see.’
The three of them knelt by the side of the tub, which was about four feet wide, and peered into the shallow pool of water it contained. Carefully, Artemisia draped the two pieces of metal rope into the water. Numerous sparks began skidding across the surface. A sizzling sound came and faded, and before long images with the consistency of a reflection began to form in the water.
‘This is in my world,’ Artemisia declared, standing a distance away as if she couldn’t look at it herself.
An apocalyptic landscape.
Structures that Randur could barely identify: metallic and ivory alien architectures.
Lumbering creatures engaged in abstract warfare which was barely possible to imagine.
Skies suffocating from smoke? No, there was merely a sun scarcely as potent as a moon.
Races similar to Artemisia’s, many humanoid, some like rumel, others possessing a square spine that revolved as they walked.
Occasionally the flash of explosions.
Swarming numbers of inhabitants.
‘Who’s fighting who exactly?’ Randur asked.
‘The enemy is led by the Akhaioí – your own mythology calls them Pithicus – who possess potent military might. I have served on these battlefields and tried to combat their finest warriors. They are constantly attacking us – we, perhaps, who are the last free culture. I cannot remember for how long, precisely, but we estimate this current set of campaigns began all of ten thousand years ago. At this current stage, the Akhaioí lay siege to our greatest city, Truwisa, having seized the outlying beaches long ago. Our two cultures have been engaged in combat for so long it feels as if we are wedged in some epic cycle, destined never to end, apart from when the earth dies, and even then . . .’
‘Enough,’ Randur said, pulling back. It hurt him mentally to contemplate the phenomena he’d seen. ‘Why don’t you just invade our world like the other lot? What’s a few more deaths to someone from your world?’ He indicated the vision in the water, which was now stuttering out of shape, losing its clarity. Soon it had become simply water again.
‘Because, Randur Estevu, if we wiped many species from this world, it would create an unstable system, which would inevitably lead to our own collapse. Your human cultures have done so again and again, wiping out biological systems that were depended upon. Among all things, we Dawnir cannot be accused of thinking about the short term.’ Something flickered across her expression, a smile perhaps, or something darker.
‘If I could be Empress again,’ Rika said, ‘would you wish me to help?’
‘It is, perhaps, the only