March To The Stars

while the second wave of Vashin finally made it up the slippery stairs.

'I t'ink I leave it up to you line-dogs from here,' he said to the Mardukan cavalrymen as the last round clicked into the magazine.

'What? You mean leave some for us?' Honal asked. He stopped by the hole and glanced in. 'So, how many were there?'

'I dunno.' Poertena glanced at the far tower as shots rang out from its top floor. 'Not enough, apparen'ly.'

He'd decided not to stare at the muzzle of the medium bombard pointed from the top of the other tower to sweep the wall. It had fired once—carrying away the entire first wave of Vashin who'd been supposed to cover his own approach with the demo charge—and he'd fully expected it to sweep him away, as well. But the bombard crew had apparently had more important things on their minds after firing that first shot. Now the gun shuddered for a moment, then rolled out of the way to reveal a human face.

'Birkendal, what t'e pock you doing up t'ere?' Poertena called. 'Get you ass down here and do some real work!'

'Oh, sure!' the private called back. 'Expecting gratitude from a Pinopan is like expecting exact change from a K'Vaernian!'

'What is t'is t'ing, 'exact change'?' Poertena asked with a shrug, and followed Honal through the hole.

* * *

Roger thrust the blade of his sword through the doorway, then moved forward. There was a hole in the base of the opposite tower, which was apparently the inner side of the main gatehouse, and he could hear shots from the upper stories. But the top of the wall was momentarily clear.

There was more fighting to the south, back into town. It looked like the Diasprans and Vashin were being used to hold off the Kirsti forces. From the looks of the locals, there were more of the city guards, armed only with staves, and a sprinkling of the formal 'Army.' They were distinguishable by their heavier armor and heavier spears. The weapons were something like the Roman pilum, and the soldiers wielded them well, holding a good shield wall and pressing hard against the human-trained infantry.

The Diasprans and Vashin had been pushed back by force of numbers, and now they were so compacted they could barely use their firearms. It was obvious, however, that neither group had forgotten its genesis as cold steel fighters, for the Diasprans had brought forward their assegai troops. That elite force had started as city guards, similar to the locals, and had since smashed two barbarian armies in its travels with humans. Side-by-side with the Vashin, who had drawn their long glittering swords, the Diasprans held the Kirsti forces at bay. More than that, they were probably killing at least three of the locals for each of their own who fell.

But the locals had the numbers to take that casualty rate, and Roger could see more moving up the roads to reinforce the attack. It was only a matter of time before the Vashin and the Diasprans were overwhelmed. Time to get the hell out of Dodge. Or Kirsti, or wherever this was.

'So many cities, so many skirmishes,' he muttered as the remnants of his own party poured through the door behind him.

Sergeant Knever was the last through, and the Diaspran closed it behind him.

'We've sealed the doors on the other side and set a slow fuse on the gun powder store,' the sergeant said with a salute. The nice thing about Mardukans was that they could salute and keep their weapons trained at the same time, and Knever was careful to cover his prince even while saluting. 'Shaman Cord is being evacuated back to the company, and all live personnel are clear of the building. We had three more killed in action, and two wounded, besides Shaman Cord. Both of those have also been evacuated.'

The sergeant paused for a moment, then coughed on the harsh, smoky air.

'What about the dead?' Roger asked.

'Per your instructions, we loaded them in the Marine disposal utilities and burned them, Sir,' the sergeant replied.

'I'm really tired of this shit,' Roger said, checking his toot. It was barely ten a.m., local time. In a day which lasted thirty-six hours, that made it barely two hours after sunrise. 'Christ, this is going to be a long day. We need to didee, Sergeant.'

'Yes, Sir,' Knever agreed, and waved towards the far tower. 'After you, Sir.'

The sergeant took one more look to the north, into the mysterious darkness of the valley. As far as the eye could see, there were thousands, millions—billions—of scattered lights, lining the darkness of the valley floor. What created the lights was unclear, but it appeared that the city continued for kilometers and kilometers and kilometers. He gazed at the vista for a moment, then shook his head in a human gesture.

'This is not going to be good.'

* * *

'Now, this is not good,' Honal said sharply. The upper compartment of the tower was a mass of wheels, belts, and chains. 'We need some Diasprans up here, or something.'

'Nah, you gots me,' Poertena panted as he made it up the last stairs. He grabbed the wall and his side. 'Jesu Christo, I t'ink t'ose step kill me!'

'It wasn't the stairs; it was your pack,' Honal said. 'But now that you're here, we need to get the gate open. You have any idea what any of this stuff does?'

Poertena took a look around, then another. He frowned.

'I ... t'ink t'at big wheel in front of you is t'e capstan.'

'You think,' Honal repeated. 'And what is a capstan?'

'It what you turn to open t'e gate,' Poertena replied. 'Only one problem.'

Honal looked at the wheel. It was, as far as he could tell, devoid of such minor things as handholds.

'Where do we grab?' he asked.

Poertena shoved himself off the wall and walked forward. There were embrasures on the northern side of the room, and he walked over and looked down through them. They were clearly for pouring stuff on attackers, but he felt quite certain that they functioned very well for disposing of unnecessary equipment, as well.

'Took you a little bit to get in here, huh?' he asked. He turned back to the great drumlike wheel.

'Yes, it did,' the Vashin nobleman admitted.

'Looks like t'ey had time to strip out the actual capstan,' the Pinopan said, gazing at the capstan thoughtfully. It was nearly four meters across, clearly impossible to turn without a massive lever. On the other hand, there was a very convenient nut right at the top. 'I jus' need a lever... .'

'Big enough to move the world?' Roger asked, stepping through the door. 'Time to get the gate up, Poertena. What are you waiting for? A metaphysical entity?'

'No, You Highness,' the Pinopan said, stooping to pick up a long baulk of wood. 'A physical notion.'

The dowel was wide, nearly ten centimeters, and longer than Poertena—probably a replacement for an interrupting rod. The armorer contemplated it for a moment, then dropped his pack and dove in.

'Okay, first you get out the metaphysical entity extractor,' Roger agreed, and glanced at Rastar's cousin. 'Honal, is this room secure?'

'Well, we haven't been counterattacked,' the cavalryman said. 'Yet.'

'Hell, on t'is pocking planet, t'at t'e definition of secure,' Poertena said as he extracted a roll of tape from the pack. 'And of course I wasn't going to get a metaphysical extractor!'

'Of course not,' Roger said as he went down on one knee and picked up the dowel. 'I should have known it would be space-tape. That, or drop cord. What else? And what, exactly, are we going to do with it?'

'Well,' Poertena replied, reaching into the top of the pack. 'You know when we first met.'

Roger eyed the wrench warily, remembering a recalcitrant set of armor and the armorer who had gotten him out of it so quickly.

'You're not going to hit me with that, right?'

'Nope,' Poertena said as he laid the haft of the wrench along the dowel and began to apply tape, 'but we going to see if it can move t'e world!'

* * *

Doc Dobrescu shook his head as he ran the sterilizer over his hands. They had over two dozen wounded, but of the ones who might survive, Cord was by far the worst.