as far as we could, until the river itself dwindled to a set of shallow gurgling streams that splashed over the rocks and tumbled into picturesque waterfalls.
The rain turned to snow, light at first but thicker every day. We left the streams behind and plodded cold and wet through the snow-filled rocky defiles, camping in caves each night. At least we could light fires and sleep dry. We could see the jagged mountain peaks rising above us, covered with snow. Some days the winds up there whipped the ice crystals into long undulating plumes that caught the sunlight in dazzling prisms of color. It would have been beautiful if it weren’t so damnably cold. We floundered through snowdrifts hip-deep, shivering and hurting. Then at last we found more streams, unfrozen, gurgling through the snowbanks. We had crossed the mountain divide. Now our path lay downhill.
A week later we were out of the snow at last, sweating and complaining about the growing heat as we descended the mountain range. Then we caught sight of the ocean. And the Skorpis base.
The base was not as huge or well fortified as I had feared. But it was big enough to make me wonder how my handful of troopers could even approach it. There must have been a thousand Skorpis warriors there, at least.
Studying it at the highest amplification my visor sensors allowed, I could see no trenches or fortifications protecting the base, although there were plenty of gun emplacements ringed in a semicircle around it. The base was built on the edge of the sea, along a bright width of white sand beach. Low buildings with roofs that glittered with solar power cells. Many rows of square tents, all neatly lined up with military precision. Some long metallic projections jutting out into the sea, like piers, with cone-shaped buildings dotted along them.
A tendril of memory tugged at me. I swept my gaze down the beach, past the outermost posts of the Skorpis, along the dunes and beach grasses for several kilometers, and…
There it was! The beach I had seen in my dream. The ruined city, blasted and burned down to stumps and scattered debris. It was real.
I pointed to it and asked my officers, “Can we get to those ruins without the Skorpis seeing us?”
Quint immediately shook his head negatively. Frede looked skeptical. But Manfred said:
“If we work our way along the ridge up here until we’re past the ruins, and then come down there, where that river runs into the sea, we can edge up along the beach and keep the ruins between us and the Skorpis perimeter. Unless they send patrols out that far, we ought to be able to make it undetected.”
“If they don’t send out patrols,” Quint echoed.
“And if they don’t have surveillance satellites in orbit,” Frede pointed out. “We’d show up nice and bright in infrared, I imagine.”
“Not if we go along the beach in daylight,” I said. “The beach itself will be pretty hot from the sun.”
“Satellite sensors could still detect moving objects.”
I considered the problem for another few seconds, then commanded, “We’ll go that way. Start the troops moving. I want to be ready to get across the beach by midday tomorrow.”
They all made reluctant salutes.
“And if we see any Skorpis patrols we lay low and let them pass. No firing unless they shoot first. I want to get into those ruins undetected, if we can.”
We spent the rest of that day working our way along the ridge of mountains, down to the cleft where the river cut through on its way to the sea. With the fading light of dusk we maneuvered down to the riverbank, where we made camp for the night. No fires. And no Skorpis patrols in sight.
I did not even try to sleep that night. I skulked through the shadows, every sense straining, knowing that the Skorpis were at their best in the dark, wondering if they really were complacent enough to sit snug inside their base, wondering above all if they knew that we were near. The river made a rushing sound, as if hurrying to be reunited with the sea. The wind blew in off the water, warm and moist, like a lover’s breath. The night was dark, moonless, and the stars scattered against the black sky meant nothing to me; I could not recognize any of the familiar constellations of Earth.
I saw the gleam of a light, far down the river, almost at the point where it widened into a broad and deep bay. An enemy patrol? Why would the night-loving Skorpis need a light? It couldn’t be any of my troopers; they were all behind me with strict orders not to make a fire or even strike a spark.
I edged carefully toward the light, the rushing river on my left, keeping as much as I could to the brush and stunted trees that lined the base of the cliffs we had descended. I eased my pistol from its holster.
The light grew, brightened, and suddenly I knew what I was seeing. I knew who was there.
Boldly I left the protection of the foliage and slipped the pistol back into its holster. Sure enough, Aten the Golden One was standing in an aura of radiance, arms folded across his chest, an expectant smirk curling his lips. He no longer wore a military uniform. Now he was decked in a long white cloak atop a glittering metallic formfitting suit.
He looked like a god, I had to admit. Splendid of face and form, as ideal a human specimen as Michelangelo or Praxiteles could carve. Yet I knew that his appearance was an illusion, a condescension, actually. Aten’s true form was a radiant sphere of energy; he assumed a human aspect merely to deal with his mortal creations.
“You are doing well, this time, Orion,” he said to me, by way of greeting.
“Is this planet so important to your plans that my entire troop has to be sacrificed for it?”
“Obviously so,” he answered. “Why do you think I placed you here? I have great faith in your abilities. After all, I created them, didn’t I?”
We were temporarily outside the space-time continuum, I knew, wrapped in a bubble of energy that neither my own people nor the Skorpis could see.
“You created my soldiers, too?” I asked.
“Those things? Oh no! How little you must think of me, creature, to believe I would make such limited tools. No, they have been developed by their own kind, the humans of this era.”
“And what is so important about this era?”
He smirked. “How to specify time to a creature who perceives it so linearly? You see, to those of us who
“There are currents in the ocean,” I said.
“Very good! There are currents in the sea of space-time, as well. Quite true.”
“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.”
