Menagerie - Martin Day [65]
The red robes of the Brotherhood of Rexulon flowed above his Kuabris armour. Many knights stared at him uncomprehendingly, but said nothing. They would get their explanation soon enough.
He'd enjoyed killing Argaabil. He had felt a grim satisfaction as the sword penetrated skin, fat, and muscle in a single movement. For a moment the man appeared to hold his stomach together before collapsing on to the floor. All who cavort with science and superstition would die like this, as would all knights that had lost sight of the true way. The brotherhood was a corrective grouping, no more: a remnant of the Higher that was now poised to seize all power in its own right.
This acquired power would be but a brief candle. Then there would come the final phase of the Higher's retribution.
And that would be glorious to behold.
And Zaitabor knew that he could now rely on Araboam to perform his duties well. The young man's life was hanging by a thread over the ice-cold moving mountains of Hell. He would not wander from the truth again, Higher be praised.
One detail needed attending to before the final meeting of the brotherhood. Zaitabor strode into his private rooms, dismissing the adviser who was waiting there. Then he walked to the window. He pushed it open, gasping in the sharp white air of the early morning. From here, high in one of the Kuabris towers, Zaitabor could see the smoking remains of the Furnace. How satisfying — and unexpected to all but the Higher — it had been to see a man of legend destroy the work of the men of science.
Zaitabor's strong hands gripped the window frame as he breathed deeply, his eyes closed. Then he raised the glass window and leant out over the sill, peering down the tower.
Just below his room hung one of the moth-men, shivering at the prospect of dawn. Its bejewelled eyes stared up at him. Its mouth opened, mandibles and probes crossing and clutching to produce the sounds. 'All has happened as you said it should.'
'Good.'
'One food supply was rescued.'
'A shortish man with dark hair? That does not matter now. Your reward awaits.'
'But the light —'
'Assemble all your people. The brotherhood meets at dawn. The early morning light will not harm you.'
The creature said something in its own tongue, and then launched itself off the tower, its huge wings a blur. The dark figure receded from view in some lowlying cloud.
Zaitabor closed the window and smiled.
'Oh dear,' said the Doctor almost the moment they stepped into the underground power station. 'I think this could be a fusion reactor after all. It might be highly unstable by now. I know these things are built to last, but there's long-wearing and there's long-wearing. If hundreds or thousands of years have passed then I dread to think what's gone wrong.'
'I have never been inside this building before,' said the Dugraq as they walked down a well carpeted corridor. 'I am afraid I have no information for you.'
'Don't worry,' said the Doctor. 'They're usually based around similar principles. We're looking for the control centre. Come on!' After their leisurely walk across the city the Doctor suddenly sprinted, the Dugraq puffing and panting as he tried to keep up.
'Why do you not use the lifts?' asked the creature as the Doctor thundered down another set of stairs.
'Don't trust them!' exclaimed the Doctor. 'We don't know who's pulling the pulley.'
The long metal corridor they were in was covered with symbols and warnings. At the end was a huge glass door. It opened easily. As before, whoever had got the station up and running again was more interested in ease of access than security.
'The control room,' said the Doctor grandly.
The area beyond was huge and white and seemed, like much of the building, to have been hermetically sealed.
Rows of screens had been activated, each showing fast-scrolling data and graphical representations of output and danger thresholds. A keyboard stood neatly before each monitor, precisely aligned as if a cleaner had just gone round and tidied