The Gun Golems (Approaching Infinity Book 2) Read online

  IMPLACABLE FOES

  The Artifact Competition is over. Jav Holson has won the Kaiser Bones, and just in time, too, as invaders arrive to assault the Root Palace. Somehow, these Gun Golems are the perfect foil for Shades, exacting a terrible toll on the Empire in an embarrassingly short time. Using the Eighteen Heavenly Claws and backed by the Kaiser Bones, Jav quickly proves his worth, dispatching a number of Gun Golems himself—an impressive feat considering the invaders’ origins and purpose.

  The Shades rally to meet the Gun Golems’ onslaught, but success brings no respite. With the Root Palace in transit between star systems and cut off from the rest of the Empire, a series of impossible crimes further rocks the Palace and threatens the Empire’s future. On an unalterable course, six months from planetfall, Shades and Artifact Competition finalists are being picked off one by one by an unknown force that stalks the Palace, deadly and unseen. Is there a traitor in their midst? Or have they picked up some malevolent passenger? No one knows, but trust is a luxury and no one is above suspicion.

  Alone, Jav can do nothing but support his fellows, particularly his friend, Ren Fauer, the newly appointed Director of Imperial Police, and be ready to pit his mastery of the Eighteen Heavenly Claws against whatever it is hiding in the Palace shadows—but will it be enough?

  APPROACHING INFINITY: BOOK 2

  THE GUN GOLEMS

  by Chris Eisenlauer

  THE GUN GOLEMS

  Published in the United States of America

  by Chris Eisenlauer for Kindle.

  Copyright © 2011 by Chris Eisenlauer.

  All rights reserved.

  First published July, 2011.

  Cover by Chris Seaman.

  for Kamariya Nishi

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  1. SINGULAR MISSION

  2. FIRST CONTACT

  3. PERFECT ENEMY

  4. SECREI

  5. ANOTHER APPROACH

  6. SECOND ENCOUNTER

  7. EMERGENCY MEASURES

  8. CRITICAL TEST

  9. BAHAHMEI

  10. TOTAL ANNIHILATION

  11. NECESSARY REPAIRS

  12. UNDENIABLE LEGACY

  13. HEROES’ MEMORIAL

  14. PREPARATIONS COMPLETE

  15. SIDE TRIPS

  16. THE EXPERIMENT

  17. IMPOSSIBLE CRIME

  18. BAD DAY

  19. ANOTHER MURDER

  20. STRANGE BEHAVIOR

  21. FAILED ATTEMPTS

  22. THE EXCEPTION

  23. WAR ROOM

  24. SARSA

  SHADE DOSSIERS

  AFTERWORD

  PROLOGUE

  The Viscain Empire. More than ten thousand years ago, a voracious god born of the Viscain Tree set out from his own desiccated world to feed upon the bounty of the universe. He called himself Samhain, and wherever he went his super-powered emissaries—Shades—laid waste to any resistance a civilization could muster. In this manner, countless worlds have been stolen, each connected by the Viscain Tree, now a massive vine and umbilical tether that yanks planets from their orbits and robs suns of their light. To trace the Vine back to its source is to traverse a vein of rot irrevocably rooted in the heart of the universe, all the way back to the dead planet of Samhain’s origin. As miracles are the stuff of gods, physical laws are easily bent or broken where Samhain has left his mark.

  Five years ago an amnesiac in the employ of the Viscain Empire demonstrated his latent fighting potential and secured for himself a chance to compete for one of the Emperor’s fabulous Artifacts. Winning one would earn him fame and position, but more importantly it would save his life, delivering him from a time bomb ticking away within his body. Given the name Jav Holson and instructed in the Eighteen Heavenly Claws by Laedra Hol, he spent the last five years training for the competition. Along the way he made new friends and inadvertent enemies; he fell in love and met with tragedy.

  The competition has just concluded. As the Block 2 champion, Jav has received the Kaiser Bones and permanently established himself as one of the Empire’s elite Shades. Now, as the people of Viscain prepare to indulge in a weeklong celebration, and with the excitement of the competition still fresh in the air, visitors—unknown and uninvited—have arrived. As conquerors, the Viscain have never played host to would-be invaders. . . until now.

  1. SINGULAR MISSION

  10,688.049.0227

  Secrei’s orbit, wide and far-ranging, marked the border of the Bahahm system. Though most of the seven worlds of that system were now dead and lifeless, all who once lived there and those who still did—regardless of differing cultures and languages—knew that the true name of the holy star that made life possible was Bahahm.

  Now, upon Secrei, where no life had stirred for many thousands of years, awareness and the semblance of life thrummed back into being. First in one, then in another as the tired spin of the planet exposed them—two identical humanoid figures of smooth, seamless metal—to the tickle of a threat. Their ovoid heads were featureless except for six one-centimeter holes in a wide V pattern, making a crude face. Marking their shoulders were narrow black depressions, looking almost like straps, that dipped into their chests in the front and reached the bottom of their vague shoulder blades in the back. Heat exhaust issued from these, and they whined with power. Upon their hips were great revolvers with long, square barrels that were rather like small cannons.

  Both sent the signal. Whether anything remained to receive that signal or respond to it was beyond their design to consider. Once finished, they proceeded towards the source of the thing that had roused them.

  • • •

  On the other side of Secrei, where they lay scattered, four more steely figures stirred. They rose slowly from the planet’s surface, from where they had fallen inert ages ago with no more threat to counter or to motivate them; they rose and power filled them. One of these four was unlike the rest. It was decidedly feminine, smaller in stature, and more delicate. From its back, skeletal metal wings jutted sharply, but its face was the same: six holes, black and fixed, impersonal and soulless.

  The four figures were reviewing received data, but as Secrei continued its lazy spin, they sensed what the other two had. Being drawn inexorably towards the beckoning source, the four figures moved out into open space, out beyond the confines of the Bahahm System, and followed after their fellows.

  2. FIRST CONTACT

  10,688.050.1605

  In the courtyard of the Root Palace, silence had finally overcome the crowd. Everyone had been prepared to begin a weeklong party immediately after the spoils of the Artifact Competition had been presented, but now the mystery of two alien figures had reduced everyone to blank, uncomprehending stares.

  The two figures turned their bulbous heads all about, as if casually absorbing the scenery with six empty eye sockets each, but Wheeler Barson, now Dark with the power of the Gravity Spike, saw something different. He saw a methodical thoroughness and something in the manner of both that spoke of. . . what? Threat assessment? Tactical analysis?

  Barson had command of the ground forces and was the leader of the Viscain Empire’s generals. He was very tall at two hundred and twenty-one centimeters but proportioned in such a way that made him look merely average instead of like the giant he was. From the brow of the horse helmet that hid his face in impenetrable shadow shot a straight horn of what looked like porous black stone or old blackened bone. This was the Gravity Spike, the Artifact that gave him mastery over gravity and his own density and which was irrevocably bound to his being. He was entirely black, covered in streamlined, flexible plates that had the luster of soaps
tone, and parts of him seemed to possess depth, as if one might fall right into him if not careful.

  “To your Grans!” Barson shouted, and the other two generals responded without delay.

  Tia Winn commanded the air forces. She stood almost as tall as Barson and was his exact opposite. She wore little: a red halter; a short, almost meaningless gray skirt, and sheer, red and white striped stockings that came to mid thigh. Most of her skin was left exposed and her skin was stark, powder white. Her silky gray hair was tied back in a ponytail and it constantly made pearlescent rainbows. She was by no means old—at least in appearance—nor was she sickly. Her body was beautifully built and the subject of many Locsard Academy student fantasies. Touching her Artifact, the Keepsake Cameo, fixed forever to her breastbone, she ran off for her Gran.

  Mefis Abanastar made surprising leaps, bounding for his Gran. He was in charge of the marine forces. Abanastar was tiny, standing at a mere one hundred and forty-five centimeters. Most people assumed that he had been twelve or thirteen years old when he received the Focusing Lens from the Emperor, but in fact no one except the Emperor had ever seen Abanastar’s face. He always kept it hidden behind the Focusing Lens, through which nothing could be seen. He wore an indigo body suit that covered him to the top of his head so that not even his hair was visible.

  The image of the Viscain Emperor in its niche in the façade of the Root Palace looked down to the newly created Shades and to Lor Kalkin, the only surviving member of the Plague Squad after the fighting on Planet 1397. “Stand ready to support,” the Emperor said.

  “Yes, Lord Emperor!” they shouted.

  Elza Steinz, Forbis Vays, and Jav Holson stood ready below, watching as Barson joined Tia atop her Gran.

  Gran Kohm was a flying fortress, a ten-story castle of steel and thick ceramic armor with guns of various calibers bristling from thousands of crenellations. Under Tia’s command it rose effortlessly to a position between the two strangers and the Palace. When they had reached the level of the strangers who had so far ignored them, Barson and Tia shared an inquisitive look.

  “Robots?” he offered.

  Tia shrugged.

  As they turned back to the metallic figures, the one directly in front of Barson appeared to be staring at him. It was unnerving. It had no real eyes, only six lifeless black holes, and yet it appeared to be staring, almost through him.

  Barson was about to speak when those six holes erupted with fire exactly like muzzle flare from machine gun barrels. Hundreds of projectiles pelted Barson’s head and shoulders, but his increased density provided him with phenomenal protection that was superior to the assault. Dropping the arm he had reflexively raised to block his face, he saw the fresh cause for Tia’s sudden cry.

  The same figure had pulled the long-barreled handgun from its hip and was now firing. Barson had no time to react. The slug felt as big as a fist and it hurt. It also knocked him from Gran Kohm.

  The other figure, meanwhile, had drawn its own pistol, and it began firing at random-seeming, but apparently well-chosen, targets upon Gran Kohm. The ceramic armor shattered like glass and allowed passage of the giant slugs into the fortress. Seconds after each penetration, bass thunder erupted, rattling the entirety of the Gran, and threatening to tumble Tia from her perch.

  Shock and indignation commingled and nearly prevented Tia from reacting. She finally shouted the order for her gene soldiers to sortie. From six different bays located about the Gran, streams of primitive-looking, but carefully engineered bird-women poured out. They were beautifully proportioned, but had the heads, wings, and talons of savage eagles. Small, bright explosions broke out in series and red smoke billowed from all over the canting Gran. Tia punched some controls on a waist-high control pad and shells began bursting about the two metallic intruders.

  As Barson plummeted downward, what he felt most acutely was anger at himself for being so careless. He fell headfirst and twisted so that his assailant came into view. With a grunt he aimed the index and middle fingers of his right hand at the silver figure and a dim globe appeared around it. Bowing its head slightly, the figure began to drop from its place in the sky until, following the sweep of Barson’s arm, it overtook him and was driven into the ground where it sank, flush with the now crumbled rock surface. Barson righted himself and lighted upon the head of Gran Kwes, a giant horse built of millions of thirty-centimeter black cubes.

  The shelling ceased. As Tia’s troops surrounded it, the remaining metal figure lowered its pistol and poured machine gun fury from the six holes in its face into them. The sky filled with blood, feathers, and torn limbs. Ammunition in the gene soldiers’ weapons and other ordnance they carried were detonated by the steady, unrelenting barrage of enemy fire and sent more deadly shrapnel into the well-established slaughter. Some of the troops were able to use their weapons; salvos of gyrojet projectiles and intermittent cyclone bursts buffeted the metal figure as did unheard, directed ultrasonic attacks, but nothing the troops had affected the figure in the least. It seemed to possess immovable mass floating in the air where it was. For all their savagery, none of Tia’s gene soldiers could get close enough to use their high frequency pikes; they dropped, one after another, ripped open and ruined by the face gun.

  Tia watched, teeth clenched, as her army literally fell before her. She touched the Keepsake Cameo upon her breast and focused on her alien foe.

  The figure stopped, turned its head directly towards her and leveled its pistol at her. Tia’s brow furrowed in concentration, and she pressed the Keepsake Cameo more firmly. The figure looked confused now. It began looking around, and then it examined itself, but only for a moment. Something was drawing its attention back to Winn, something it could not ignore, no matter what secret dream was being thrust upon it.

  Tia’s knees began to wobble. She was working too hard and she was failing more every second. The figure looked at the big gun in its right hand then at Tia as it aimed the gun back at her.

  From the throng below, there was an explosion of pink fire.

  “Ren!” came a sharp cry.

  Above the crowd now, Kimbal Furst erupted into his Darkened, transformed state, the Taikou Fire casting animated, pink-limned shadows like a time-lapsed sunset. With the angular head of a bird of prey, and composed through and through of contained pink flames, he streaked towards the silver figure still in the air. He crossed his arms before him and spread them wide as he passed through the attacker, coming to a stop some twenty meters beyond.

  Ren Fauer had followed his teacher through the air at comparable speed. He scooped Tia, who was easily twice his size, into his arms and sped her away from her attacker and from her own sinking Gran, which threatened to explode any time now.

  The silver figure turned to face Furst with what looked like curiosity then, even without eyes, it appeared to look down at itself as white hot crisscrossing lines showed upon its surface.

  Furst was dismayed to see those lines fade as the metal cooled almost instantly. Surpassing his dismay, though, was shock. The Taikou Flash had never failed so completely before. He had passed through the enemy, had exposed the enemy’s every molecule to raging, nuclear fire, had carved patterns that would have reduced mountains, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure what to do. He was fairly certain that, given the speed at which the metal had cooled, repeated attempts would have no cumulative effect, and just as the kernel of an idea began to form, one of the shells from the big pistols ripped into his chest.

  Something wasn’t right. There were things that could dampen or even extinguish the Taikou Fire, but explosive shells had no business having any effect on him. But then another one followed and did. It was a strange sensation; not exactly like pain, more like pressure, a force that was, he knew nonetheless, inimical to his continued existence. He dashed away to gain some time to think.

  As civilians scrambled for safety, Abanastar’s gene soldiers were surrounding the fallen silver invader. His troops, engineered like Tia’s, were green, s
harp-clawed amphibians, and all carried an assortment of weapons ranging from standard pulse rifles to high frequency tridents. Riding upon Gran Zaim, a giant metallic purple worm that was moist and breathed in a parody of life, Abanastar himself now approached.

  But, before Abanastar could do anything, a blazing column of white light fell upon Gran Zaim, disintegrating a third of its body, and leaving a deep, smoking crater. Abanastar leapt to safety and stared up into the cold, dim sky. There were more of them now. Using the power of the Focusing Lens, he could see even the one farthest away, above the thin atmosphere, from where it had fired that devastating blast. That one was different from the rest. If the ones they had encountered so far were male, then that one was female. Three sets of fantastic framework wings spread out from its back, and Abanastar immediately understood their purpose. They worked a little like the Focusing Lens, drawing in available forces and magnifying them. This was bad.

  Though most didn’t realize it, Abanastar never spoke. Whether he could or not was unknown, but he could communicate without difficulty. He contacted Mont Cranden whom he knew must be among the crowd somewhere.

  The grounded silver figure was up out of its hole and doing to Abanastar’s army what its fellow had done to Tia’s. Meanwhile three more figures joined the one still in the air, firing their pistols at Shades, or at the Vine, without cease.

  Barson saw the futility of having the regular troops fight. With a quick confirmation, he took control of Abanastar’s troops, directing them and his own to clear the courtyard and conduct the civilians safely into the Root Palace.

  Barson’s troops were the only purely human soldiers employed by the Viscain Empire. All of them were augmented by powerful machines—four-legged tanks with which the heavily armored troops could combine to become mechanized centaurs—but not even they, backed by their hydraulics and steel and mechanically derived power, could meet the threat of the single, fallen invader. Five hundred elite among Barson’s troops comprised his Coordinators, low-level psychics who linked not just the ground troops, but all the soldiers under all the generals when necessary, enabling them to work as one integrated, efficient entity. The evacuation process, once begun, was carried out swiftly and mostly without confusion, delayed only by the shear number of people who had come to witness the Artifact Competition firsthand, and occasionally by a “broken” gene soldier.