“And where in this ocean of space-time is Anya?”
His face clouded. “Never mind her. She is busy elsewhere. Your task is here.”
“This is the ultimate crisis that you spoke of? Here on this planet?”
“This is part of it, Orion. Only a small part. Small, but critical.”
“And you expect me to take the Skorpis base with fifty-two troopers, with no support, no heavy weapons?”
Aten made a condescending shrug. “I wish I could send you more help, Orion, but you must make do with what you have. There are no reinforcements to spare.”
“Then we will fail. We will all be killed, with no hope of success.”
“Perhaps I will revive you. If I can.”
“And the others?”
“They are of no concern to me. I didn’t create them; they were made by their own people.”
“Who regard them as dirt. Expendable cannon fodder, cheaper than robots.”
Again the shrug. “Tools, Orion. They are tools. You can’t expect someone to pamper his tools. You use them as they have been designed to use.”
“And when their task is finished?”
“You store them away carefully until you need them again.”
“Or you throw them away because they’ve been damaged doing your work for you.”
Aten shook his golden mane. “How emotional you are, Orion. Your emotions help to drive you, I know, but it does make it tedious talking with you.”
“I want to see Anya. To speak with her.”
“Impossible.”
“Then I’ll go out and find her.”
He laughed in my face. “Certainly, Orion! Grow wings and fly away.”
“I’ve traveled across the continuum on my own,” I said.
“Really? On your own? Without any help from your beloved Anya? Or perhaps even from me?”
“On my own,” I insisted. But I wondered inwardly if that was true.
“Do your job, Orion,” he said harshly. “Demolish this Skorpis base, or as much of it as you can before your little troop is wiped out. Then perhaps I can bring you to Anya. If all goes well.”
“But my troopers—”
“They’ll all be dead, Orion. Then you won’t have to worry about them any longer.”
With that, he disappeared, winked out like a star eclipsed by a cloud. I was left alone on the bank of the river that rushed to the sea.
CHAPTER 7
We marched along the riverbank the next morning, and by noon had reached the area where it broadened into a wide calm bay. By midafternoon we reached the beach and stopped for a few moments of rest and reconnoitering.
From where we were, huddled beneath the trees and shrubbery that lined the river, we could not see the Skorpis base. The ruins of the ancient city stood between us and them. My hope was that they could not see us, and would not detect us as we marched across the open beach to the ruins.
“No sign of Skorpis patrols,” Manfred told me, sweating from running to report in person. I had forbidden all radio communications for fear of being overheard.
“I’m sure they have satellites up,” Frede said. Quint seconded her estimate with a worried bob of his head.
“Even if they do,” I said, “we’re not doing any good here. Those ruins will make a better defensive site, if we have to fight.”
So we dashed across the kilometers of beach, skimming scant centimeters above the sand on our flight packs, hurrying, worrying, expecting a swarm of Skorpis attackers to swoop down on us at any moment. Frede kept squinting up at the brazen sky, as if she thought she could see any satellites up there if she only tried hard enough.
It was fun skimming that fast, so low to the sand, the waves to one side and the flowering shrubs on the other streaking into a blur, the cracked and crumbling ruins rushing up toward us, wind whistling past, breathless, racing, racing like a flight of low-swooping hawks.
We slowed down as we approached the ruins and touched our boots onto the sand, one by one, panting and laughing from the dash we had just gone through. The sun was hanging on the rim of the ocean horizon, a bloated red ball that threw long purple shadows among the blasted buildings and heaps of debris. We filed into the ruins gratefully, happy to feel some little protection of the decaying walls after being out in the open, vulnerable.