Chapter 6

Only Sarek joined me for breakfast. I was disappointed that neither Nella nor Teel made an appearance. The two Guardians that I'd seen two days previously sat conversing at a nearby table, but one turned to me as I took my seat.

"Ancient, I heard you're going out with Tamar today," he said. "Get him to show you the Silver Demon."

His companion sniggered behind his hand, obviously sharing some cryptic joke with his colleague.

"Ignore them," Sarek advised. "They're just teasing you."

"I've heard it's as big as two men, with teeth like daggers," the man continued, "it'll tear you limb from limb, then grind your corpse into the dust, until there's nothing left but a bloody smear in the dirt."

"I'll be sure to look out for it," I replied, playing along with their juvenile banter.

The two men broke into fits of hysterics, then rose to their feet and sauntered off.

"My apologies for their rudeness," Sarek told me, "Heaven preserve us from the Guardians and their ilk."

"My skin is fairly thick. Silver Demon?"

"Who knows," Sarek replied. "Probably some story they made up to intimidate you."

"Even if it existed, I can't see anything standing up to those heat weapons you have."

"Very true."

"Talking of rumours, what can you tell me about the Utopians?"

Sarek's eyes widened in panic. "You must never say that word in public."

"Why?"

"It is forbidden. Where did you hear it?"

"Teel spoke it last night."

"She should know better."

"That's what Nella said. Who are they?"

Sarek glanced around to see if anybody was within earshot. "There is supposedly a group of people opposed to the way we are governed. Several of their supporters have thus far been banished."

"Banished?"

"Banished from the citadel, and forced to make their way into the wilderness without food or shelter."

"What became of them?"

"They'd most probably starve, be attacked by Trogs, or die horribly from ingesting poisonous plants. Occasionally, some may make it as far as one of the villages, and take refuge there; but for the majority, banishment is effectively a death sentence."

"That's barbaric. Are the Utopians that dangerous?"

"They are armed with the most potent weapon, that of an idea. Once released, it's feared their ideas will spread like a virus and dissatisfaction spiral out of control. The High Council has decreed that anyone even suspected of harbouring allegiance to these malcontents must immediately suffer the consequences."

"Your society can't be very strong if it cannot stand up to criticism from within."

"Sometimes hard decisions must be made to protect society from itself."

"You don't really believe that. You're a historian. You know what ultimately happens when dissent is suppressed to that degree."

"Mark, nobody pays any heed to the lessons of history. The High Council has sworn an oath to defend the values of our society, as defined by the Founders."

"The Guardians," I replied tenaciously, "their purpose is to..."

"Shh," Sarek urged. "This is neither the time nor place to discuss such matters."

"But..."

"I must escort you to the hangar now. Tamar will be expecting you."

"Oh, what a joy," I quipped.

Tamar paced restlessly beside his craft, his impatience plain to behold.

"I've been waiting nearly an hour," he complained bitterly. "Could you not raise yourself from your bed?"

"I'm sorry," I said insincerely, mainly to placate him.

"Get in. We're running late."

I waved to Sarek, and then climbed into the rear passenger seat, observing as Tamar ran through a few cursory checks before engaging whatever system propelled it. We flew out of the citadel, and then headed north in roughly the direction that my stasis chamber was discovered. Overgrown fields passed beneath us. I wondered exactly how many more people could be fed if they were properly cultivated.

"We've heard reports of small groups of Trogs along our northern fringe. If you spot any movement down below, bring it to my attention."

"Aye aye, Cap'n," I teased.

"I have no rank as such," Tamar replied, "although I am a senior Guardian and report directly to the High Councillor for Internal Affairs."

The flyer swooped low over a culvert and then hovered a few feet above the ground as Tamar searched for any threat hidden within. Finally satisfied that nothing took refuge, we sped off at an angle, following the course of a wide river.

A large settlement nestled on the bank, comprising dozens and dozens of timber dwellings built around a large circular dais. To one side, surrounded by picket fencing, were several spacious rectangular structures, each with hinged doors at the front. We landed as close as possible to one, and a number of men and women emerged to greet us.

"Welcome, Guardian," a man greeted in a respectful tone.

Tamar nodded, obviously holding little enthusiasm for the meeting. He opened a hatch on the rear of the flyer and hefted two bulky sacks onto the ground.

"Try not to lose these," he snapped irritably. "We have very little to spare."

"The Trogs stole the seed several nights ago during the hours of darkness. We heard their grunts, but by then it was too late. One of them clawed my brother Raban. He's extremely ill from an infection."

"Better for him to have died trying to prevent the theft," Tamar grumbled.

"We need the means to defend ourselves. With weapons we could..."

"Only Guardians may carry weapons, you know that."

"Yes Guardian, but you cannot be everywhere at once."

"Mount sentries around the clock. You have overwhelming numbers, how difficult can it be to protect a few buildings?" he demanded petulantly.

The man stifled a response, instead nodding his acceptance of Tamar's words.

"Which way did they leave?" Tamar asked.

"West towards the Ancient city."

"I will attempt to track them, but I suspect they are safely undercover by now."

"Thank you, Guardian."

Tamar nodded at me and we returned to the flyer. It was clear from his manner that he had nothing but contempt for the villagers.

"It is more trouble than it's worth to protect these people. I don't know why the High Council insists on supporting them. Better to leave them to their own devices."

"Would you sooner they starve?" I asked.

"They are a needless drain on the resources of the citadel. We continually have to grow and supply seed for their crops."

"Why don't they just replant after each harvest."

"The seed is genetically enhanced to resist pestilence. Unfortunately, it is sterile and unable to be replanted, so we must resupply them each time."

His dismissive tone implied that he didn't wish to continue the debate. I maintained my silence as we tried to catch sight of the raiding party.

The craft flew over boggy terrain. Tamar descended lower, before finally settling to the ground. We alighted and Tamar strode over to a heavily trampled region, bending to inspect footprints in the mud.

"Half a dozen Trogs, headed due west," he announced. The prints looked vaguely human in size and outline, although one pair was much bigger and heavier.

"What do you make of these?" I asked.

Tamar scratched his head, obviously unable to offer an explanation.

"The Silver Demon perhaps?" I suggested.

"Where did you hear that?" he snapped.

"One of your men mentioned it over breakfast."

"That'll be Troyal. I don't know why that clown repeats such ignorant superstition. There is no such thing as the Silver Demon. It's just another lame excuse that the villagers use, whenever they can't be bothered to adequately defend their property. When we replace their losses so casually, who can even blame them?"

"So what made these tracks?"

"It was probably some larger animal, doubtless employed to help transport all the stolen seed."

"That seems to imply a level of intelligence."

"The Trogs are cunning. Never underestimate them. They employ tools in a similar way to that of our prehistoric ancestors. They've even been known to subjugate lower animals to perform menial tasks for them."

I mumbled doubtfully as I stared at the prints. It looked like no beast of burden that I'd ever encountered.

"We'll head further west and try to spot them," he advised.

We flew for about ten minutes before a vague outline appeared on the horizon. As we drew closer, I could clearly discern the remains of what was once a community of considerable size.

"We recently sprayed this area. I won't fly too close as the spores will probably still be active for another few days."

I stifled a comment as my sense of unease deepened. We turned south and flew over a narrow grey strip that stood out against the chequered patchwork of surrounding fields. I asked Tamar to descend and, as we flew lower, I spotted the rusted remains of steel gantries that once festooned the M1 motorway.

We landed and dismounted the vehicle, allowing me to observe the sheer scale of the devastation. Burned out hulks of automobiles littered the ground every few yards. Nature had started its task of reclamation with spindly roots growing out of cracks in the concrete. Judging from their decrepit condition, birds and small predators used the cars for cover against the elements.

"Not much to show for your fine civilisation, Ancient," Tamar taunted. I would have just loved to have knocked him off his feet at that moment.

A rustle from nearby attracted our attention. I spun around to catch a momentary glimpse of a figure departing rapidly from the rear of a wrecked articulated truck. Tamar raced off in hot pursuit and I struggled to keep up, vaulting over the central barrier.

The hairy figure was roughly man shaped but ran with a rather unsteady gait, betraying its simian origins. It raced up an access ramp with Tamar several yards behind. Stopping in his tracks, Tamar withdrew his pistol and took careful aim.

"Tamar, no," I shouted, not wishing to see any creature hurt whilst in full retreat.

A bright beam leaped from the weapon and struck the animal in the centre of the back. The Trog halted immediately and emitted a shrill scream. It began to smoke and then flew apart with a soft thud. The dark charred mass of its torso and a few bloody half-severed limbs were all that remained of what was once a living creature.

Tamar turned and strode past me, his expression conveying absolutely no hint of remorse. He walked towards the truck from where the creature had emerged and fired directly into the ominous dark recess of the trailer. Screams of agony were quickly silenced as a tremendous inferno engulfed the truck, obliterating it and all its occupants.

A dark plume of smoke rose into the sky. My nose wrinkled at the combined smell of charred flesh and burning rubber. Satisfied, Tamar returned to the flyer and I hurried after him, struggling to hold down the contents of my stomach. I was convinced that given the slightest excuse, Tamar would have abandoned me to my fate in the middle of nowhere, and I decided not to do anything to antagonise him.