'The old do-gooder really should slow down. He's not the vigorous bull he once was. I'd better go see to him.'

  Hettinor made to leave the clearing, only to be stopped by the Treefur's out-of-the-blue queries. ‘How well do you know spike-face? Why isn't he with a herd of his own kind? Is he all there in the head?'

  Momentarily flustered by the barrage of questions, Hetti quickly recovered her cool and responded with equal rapidity. ‘Orry keeps to himself. He hasn't divulged his past and we haven't pried. He's just as enigmatic as the persona he adopted. I secretly think he enjoys the mysticism myself. Aye, he is eccentric, but trustworthy. Why do you ask?'

  'Curious, that's all.'

  'You've not known him long, have you?'

  'It seems like a lifetime.'

  'He has that effect. Beneath that gruff exterior beats a good heart. Much like you, wee one.'

  Alphie was puzzled by the comparison. ‘You've lost me.'

  'Cragg is always telling me I'm a quick judge of character. Your insults are a cover-up for the fact that you actually like Orridus.'

  Having dropped her little bombshell, Hettinor parted with, ‘I'll be back in a while to check on you both,’ and smartly left the conifer stand sheltering Treefur and Thunderfoot.

  With late afternoon shadows creeping across the ground like feelers for the approaching beast of night, the obligated marsupial began his vigil over the ailing sauropod as a gut-wrenching thought crossed his mind. What if the Bonehead cow told Orridus that he liked him?

  Chapter Seventeen

  The evening forest was strangely quiet.

  King Rexus was again silently contemplating his slumbering son from the trees ringing the small glade that served as the prince's private retreat. He had taken to doing so rather often of late, and with good reason. Luthos not only represented the future of the Killjaw strain but the entirety of reptile kind. Both those prospects worried Rexus terribly and made him peculiarly anxious.

  'I know your dirty little secret.'

  The tyrant-king nearly jumped out of his skin. With his guard lowered, he had not heard or smelt Tank's approach at all.

  'What nonsense are you talking about?’ he snapped as the Clubtail sidled up to him.

  'About Luthos.'

  Rexus thought it imprudent to argue. It was pointless pretending. ‘I had expected you to figure it out a lot sooner, brain-box,’ he loutishly shamed the Adviser.

  Tank let the insulting sarcasm slide, nor did he bother to admit his uncovering the king's skeleton-in-the-bush was the result of badgering a confession out of Gideon and not the end product of his ‘infallible’ Clubtail genius to reason deductively. Better that Rexus think him slow than stupid.

  'Admittedly, your craftiness fooled me for a time,’ was all he conceded. ‘Removing the blaze from Luthos's forehead when he was a chick under the guise of the Killjaw initiation rite was clever, even inspirational.'

  'Back then my actions had nothing to do with deception. Luthos bore an unsightly birthmark and I had to purify him. The Killjaw prince couldn't very well go around bearing the stigma of being branded a freak by his subjects.'

  'How considerate of you. Your thoughtfulness unwittingly had the added benefit of masking the boy's true worth as one of these Chosen.'

  Rexus gave the dissecting Clubtail an unhappy growl. He had grown to despise Tank's rationalisations.

  'It's all become clear as day,’ the Adviser carried on. ‘The vendetta against Bronte, the illogical assassination of her Duckbill cohort, the live capture of Gideon; a single motive behind them all—promoting Luthos as the saviour of the lizards.'

  'Have you got a problem with that, Clubtail?’ Rexus asked fiercely.

  'What if I do?'

  'Don't stand in my way, Tank. You'll regret it, I swear.'

  'Why, King Rexus, I think you've finally sprouted a backbone.'

  'I'm warning you, Adviser, not to impede me in this matter.’ The Killjaw monarch showed his fangs in emphasis.

  Tank scoffed at the threat. ‘Ooh, that is scary stuff. Are you planning to bite me now?'

  'That thought crosses my mind every day, sometimes twice.'

  'You won't. I'm even more valuable to you now than before. Gideon's aid is essential for this transformation. He won't freely give it to you, but for me...'

  'What makes you so special?'

  'We have a rapport.'

  Rexus sneered. ‘Tank has a friend. How cute.'

  'Gideon is a colleague and I'm the closest thing you have got to an edge in this precarious situation. Don't forget there's a usurper to your precious Chosen One out there still.'

  The king of the Killjaws knew when he was snookered. ‘One day you're going to wind up bitten and bleeding playing these games of yours, Tank,’ he snarled promisingly.

  'Don't bet on it,’ rebuffed the Clubtail. ‘I always play to win.'

  * * * *

  'Vaaaiii.'

  The cybernate instantly came off standby mode. She routinely shut down non-essential functions and placed herself in a state of torpid readiness during periods of inactivity. Not only conserving power, it cut down on wear and tear of vital machinery. However, she was always poised to respond to Gideon's call at any time.

  'Vaaaiii.'

  That whispered hail sounded again. Her circuits buzzed with confusion. There was no incoming transmission from her commander's comlink and yet that voice calling her was recognisably his. She ran a trace finder, failing to locate the source of the summons. Was her audio unit finally giving up the ghost and picking up phantom signals?

  'Vai.'

  The hail was becoming clearer and more insistent, though still faint. A preposterous notion occurred to the computerised personality. Could she have imagined the call from wishful thinking? Was an artificial intelligence even capable of dreaming? She was in the middle of conducting an internal diagnostic to find that out when the faraway halloo became more forceful.

  'Vai! Are you receiving me?'

  'Er, is that really you, sweet cheeks?’ she hesitantly responded.

  'Considering I'm the only one on this planet who knows you by name, what do you think?'

  It was Gideon! ‘Where are you, honey bunch? You're way overdue on your contact time. Are you hurt? How are you communicating? I'm not detecting a coded comlink transmission.'

  'I'm indisposed, but safe enough for the moment. As for my method of contacting you, we're making history.'

  'You're using telepathy!'

  Vai was suitably astounded. Past experiments revolving around thought transference between biologics and machines had all ended in disappointment. Initiated by the Stellar Sciences branch of the influential Academies of Learning to improve pilot / cybernate efficiency, PSI scientists found Berranian minds and the artificial intelligences engineered by them not connectible on a neuronal level. The whole Academy of Tele-sensory Study funded intercommunication project, dubbed Silent Exchange, lost momentum and was shelved indefinitely after being rubber-stamped ‘Project Failed'.

  'How can this be?’ she exclaimed. ‘It should be an impossibility.'

  'Beats me. Maybe it's divine intervention. All I know is that I had a devil of a time making this connection. I'm not sure how long I can hold it for.'

  'You still could have called sooner, love buns,’ scolded Vai. ‘I've been worried sick about you.'

  'Believe me, I tried. Now listen up. I need you to run a sensor sweep of the area for me'.

  'No can do, sweetie.'

  'Is your scanner playing up?'

  'Nothing I haven't fixed before. There's a more serious problem. My power cell is bleeding energy fast.'

  Gideon swore like a spacedock worker. What else could go wrong?

  'Bad language never helped anyone,’ Vai admonished him.

  He ignored the censure. 'How depleted are you?'

  'Energy levels are down to thirty-eight per cent. There's a leak in the quantum matrix I cannot rectify. You really shouldn't have skipped my overhaul.'

  'An oversight I'm now deeply regretting.'

  'What did you want my scan for anyhow?'

  'I haven't exactly found my Thunderfoot target yet. I was hoping you'd check the region for me.'

  Vai capriciously got the huff. ‘Suddenly my sensor array is now good enough for you to rely on. It wasn't before.'

  'Don't get all snitty, Vai. Things have altered. Earlier, I needed to find a live needle in a dead haystack and your software wasn't accurate enough for that task.'

  'So what's changed?'

  'I've confirmed my needle is out there. I just have to pinpoint where.'

  'Sorry, muffin, like I iterated earlier I can't assist you. I have only enough juice to maintain primary functions and the force shield. I haven't even spare power to put a specific trace on your PIL to locate you. Exactly where are you by the way?'

  'Never mind that. How long before you run down completely?'

  'At my present status, an eid or two at the most.'

  'What's the updated ETA for the Annihilator?'

  'The asteroid is less than four eids away. You want some more good news to cheer you up?'

  'Surprise me.'

  'That volcanic mount you had me monitor is getting ready to erupt.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Vulcanology has never been an exact science, but I think it safe to say there is an extremely high probability that the cone is set to become way more active pretty soon.'

  'Define “pretty soon".'

  'Within the week.'

  Gideon let loose with another bout of profanity.

  'I'm sure I don't know where you picked up that kind of language,’ remarked Vai.

  Her commander had a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘What if you shut down the ship's energy screen?'

  'Deactivate the force shield? That would be highly irregular, pooky.'

  'What's another broken procedure on top of all our other crimes? Face facts, Vai. The shield is draining critical energy from your systems. Shutting it down won't prevent the inevitable, but it will delay it awhile. It's not as if the starsphere requires a defence halo down here. Your metalled hull is impervious to even the crunchiest of reptile bites.'

  The cybernate complied. After a quick calculation she proclaimed, ‘That'll still only extend my functions by one rotation of this planet.'

  'Twelve ikars is better than nothing. That extra time might be enough to fulfil God's charge.'

  'Are you planning to let me in on this mission of yours any time soon, Commander?’ Vai sounded slighted. ‘I do have a right to know, considering I'll soon be facing dissolution myself.'

  Gideon was struck by the plea. It never occurred to him that once the starsphere's power reserves were emptied Vai would cease to be. She, trapped on this doomed world along with him, was sentenced to die too.

  'I'm sorry, you're right. How thoughtless of me. Are you scared?'

  'Naturally, sweetums. Doesn't every sentient being, irrespective of whether they're made of flesh and blood or metal and wiring, fear termination? I'd like to take a bit of comfort from the fact that whatever it is we came here for holds greater meaning than your existence and mine.'

  'It does. I'm aiming to recreate the Berranian race.'

  'That's a tall order.'

  'I'll say.'

  'And this sauropod will help you do that?'

  'She'll have to, now that the branded Duckbill is dead. Bronte is hopefully going to be bodily transformed into ... ‘

  'Spare me the details, love cakes,’ cut in Vai. ‘I'm here to serve, not evaluate. I prefer to stick to my main role in life, that of mothering you. Are you eating? You sound thinner.'

  'I'm living off my suit's emergency rations.'

  'Yummy.'

  'It's a case of having to.'

  'Are you in any danger?'

  'Nothing immediate.'

  Gideon opted not to upset Vai by exposing her to his internment and captor's ploy to starve him into submission. Living off the tasteless capsules of food concentrate secreted in an arm pocket of his suit was a necessary hardship. He was fortunate not to have been searched for the simple fact that his abductor had assumed Gideon's spacesuit to be his hide. It neither occurred to Shadower or Orn that the alien's ‘skin’ might contain storage pouches stuffed with goodies.

  'Right then, let's finalise plans,' Vai's commander decided, feeling the telepathic joining with his minder weakening.

  Machine consciousness had an algebraic feel to it that nauseated Gideon. Vai's quadruple neural networks, designed to mimic the Berranian brain, ran an unceasing stream of arithmetical operations whose feedback left him with a splitting headache. Be that as it may, it was reassuringly good to hear a friendly voice. Breaking contact was going to simultaneously be a glad and sad episode for the captive exobiologist.

  'Your job for the moment is to conserve all available power until I call on you again.'

  'Make it soon. I ... miss you.'

  'I'll contact you shortly. Promise.'

  'Meantime, what'll you be doing?'

  'Getting on with things. If all goes according to plan, we'll beat this incoming meteor and save the life-forms of two worlds with the one stroke.'

  'Have events gone to plan so far?’ queried his cybernate.

  'Well, no,' admitted Gideon, his mind-voice fading fast.

  'I won't hold my breath then.'

  'You don't breathe, Vai. You're a machine.'

  'Don't be a nitpicker.'

  * * * *

  The branch shook ever so slightly.

  Alphie slowly came awake. It was nearing midnight in the vale of the Boneheads and he was dozing. Normally a nighttime creature by habit, the prolonged walk through the tunnel connecting this valley to the outside world had turned his internal clock topsy-turvy, making him sleepy. Climbing up a fir bole and on to a low limb overhanging Bronte in the grove allocated as her sick bay, he had promptly fallen asleep.

  The branch trembled again.

  The drowsy Treefur came fully awake. There was strangely not a single breath of wind in the highlands this night, so no breeze stirred the trees. Suddenly the familiar comfort of his woody loft fled Alphie and he scampered down onto the mat of grey powder dusting the ground, his whiskers bristling. It was no better there. Shudders ran through the underlying bedrock to ripple the topping of ash like wind over water. The tremors subsided quickly enough, but Alphie remained stock-still at the base of the trunk, his nervous eyes bright and alert. There was something very wrong, if only he could put his paw on it...

  The volcano Cragg and Orridus so casually mentioned on their trip in sprang to mind. Alphie looked up fearfully. A smattering of stars sparkled from the ebony ceiling, and to the northwest a disquieting reddish glow lit the night sky as a distant, almost inaudible, rumble heralded trouble. Indecision tore at the Treefur. He earnestly wanted to carry on with his vigil over the sickly Thunderfoot, but on the other paw his breed were insatiably curious. The battle was unsurprisingly brief: his nosiness won out. Glancing once at the comatose cow, Alphie reassured himself, ‘She won't wake up before I get back,’ and stole away into the dark.

  A couple of hours later found the adventurous Treefur threading his way back up the footpath sloping down from the upland font that was the Oasis. He paused on the rocky lakeside to vigorously shake himself, as he was by now covered from head to tail with the irritating ash that coated everything in the valley to varying degrees. Alphie noticed the angry red luminosity staining the heavens reflected in the still waters of the mere like blood. That chillingly pretty sight did nothing to calm his already frayed nerves. Alphie was gripped by an abrupt and irrational spate of rage. He had worn the pads of his paws right down to the bone to first search for the Thunderfeet to warn them of their peril and then escort the lone escapee of their slaughter to this haven in the hills. He was damned if he would let an exploding mountain ruin all his hard effort!

  The maddened Treefur scampered determinedly around the rim of the basin that watered both high and low country, trailers of mist curling over its placid surface. Not having the foggiest idea what he could do to halt a volcanic eruption, pride was giving Alphie the gumption to try. The plucky marsupial put on a spurt of speed and felt the stirrings of a light breeze play through his dusty fur. He felt like he could achieve anything. That was when he smelt a trace of danger.

  Alphie dropped into an immediate crouch. He was close to the lake's overflow chute and the muted roar of the plunging torrent beyond the lip masked the light footfalls of the intruder he had scented. Hearing impaired, his nose never lied. The sniffing Treefur knew that disgusting odour only too well. Many of his kin had fallen victim to such a fiend.

  The Nightclaw slinked the along water's edge, a fleeting shadow in the dark momentarily caught in the partly revealing starlight. The birdlike head bobbed rhythmically while the interloper crept further around the lakeshore, cruel yellow eyes scouring the damp rockscape like headlamps.

  Alphie stayed rigid like the stones about him. Nightclaws relied on sight to hunt and the Treefur's unwelcome coat of ash was lending him perfect camouflage amongst the greyed rocks. Only that lizard was getting worryingly close.

  Shadower halted in mid-step, swinging his beaked head from side to side not ten paces from where the watchful marsupial hunched down. Lowering his tensed foot, the primed Nightclaw actually seemed to relax.

  'Sssalutationsss, little ssspy,’ he rasped at the spot Alphie occupied. His greeting hissed like steam escaping a volcanic vent.

  The Treefur cursed his luck. How had that devil spotted him so readily?

  Puffing up his fur to make himself appear bigger, Alphie decried in his loudest squeak, ‘If you're looking for Mother Forest, birdbrain, you took a wrong turn ages back. Bugger off the way you've come.'

  Shadower's icy stare fell upon the outspoken marsupial. With a detached sibilance he stipulated, ‘I ssseek a cow giantesss. You've ssseen her, yesss?'

  Alphie's worry escalated into downright alarm. He had thought this Nightclaw to have innocently strayed into the valley. He was wrong. This stalker of the midnight hour was obviously a crony of the Killjaw king and had snuck into the dale with the express purpose of locating Bronte.