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energy reserves once again  and finally Bordi.
 You re not going last, Bordi says, while laying about him with the
blitterstaff in decisive blindsight strokes.  Not if I have anything to say
about it!
 You do not, Bruno answers,  for only I can seal the gates behind us, and
prevent this army from pouring through in pursuit.
 Good luck, says Radmer, on his way down into the pit and through the
doorway. Lyman and the other Olders follow behind, murmuring similar
sentiments, and then the Dolceti are making their retreat, stepping backward
into the pit while hundreds of robots swarm in after them. It s dicey for a
few moments when the sheer weight of attackers thrusts Mathy and two other
Dolceti away from the doorway. It fills with robots, which pour inside like a
fluid. And then it s worse, when the three of them are lifted off their feet
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and hoisted into the air, faceup, struggling upon the upraised hands of dozens
upon dozens of robots. Bruno does what he can, firing wirebombs into the fray
at the rate of fifty per second, but his aim is hasty and there are just too
many targets moving too quickly, and his charge and munitions are low. Mathy
and the others don t know the power of their suits, their weapons. Of the
several moves they could make right now, few are obvious to an untrained
person.
Bitterly, Bruno makes an executive decision, and allows the robots to carry
the three Dolceti away. He must concentrate on clearing that doorway, and
holding it, orall these people will be lost, and their world along with them.
 Mathy! someone shouts in tones of pained helplessness. And then, on the
heels of that,  Stupid sow. Keep your feet!
But the flood has taken them; they re out of sight now, out of mind, and
Bruno is using every milligram of martial skill he can summon, to drive Bordi
and the four remaining Dolceti forward through the impervium swarm, which
gleams and flickers in the light of sunset.
Another Dolceti goes down and is swept away. Then another, and then two, and
finally it s just Bruno and Bordi in the doorway, with shattered robots piling
higher and higher around them, threatening to block the way. Bruno shouts,
 Go! Quickly!
The diamond crown is knocked off his head and spins away into the heaving
robot stream. As Bordi falls back into the tower room, fighting his way
through the robots still inside, Bruno is forced to acknowledge that he has
never, in fact, faced a battle as dire as this. The attackers are not well
armed or armored, but in such numbers there s little he can do to stop them.
Soon enough his suit charge will be zero again, and like so many voracious
termites they ll be carryinghim away.
He s out of time, and he can t spare a glance to see whether Bordi has gotten
through safely or not. To the walls he shouts,  Fax! Royal Lockout! Pass no
objects save myself! Walls! Release all fields and power down permanently!
 Acknowledged, the fax replies calmly, unaware of His Majesty s peril and
possibly incapable of understanding it.  Immediately, Sire, say the walls,
which go dark, reverting to blank wellstone. And then the sides of the sand
pit slide inward, carrying live robots down with them and burying several.
Bruno retreats inside.
And that s that: no one but he will ever use this place again, for travel or
medicine or resupply. The Royal Lockouts and Overrides were built into the
Queendom s wellstone at the deepest levels. Subverting them had always been
possible, but insanely difficult. The sands will reclaim this place in minutes
or hours, and since Bruno does not expect to pass this way again, the sands
and the lockouts will remain. One more treasure of Lune consumed for the sake
of this stupid war.
Along with the two human patterns still stored within it. He thinks of them
suddenly: the final victims of the Queendom s demise. Should he wake them amid
all this clamor? To die afresh, without the least understanding of why? No.
Better to let them sleep. Better to worry about his own skin for a little
while longer!
The trick, now, is to battle the rushing tide of sand and robots, to protect
his front and his back without actually whacking the fax machine with his
blitterstaff. Because that would kill it even for him.
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There s a bad moment when the robots team up to high-low him again, tumbling
him off his feet. He feels strong hands on his ankles, preparing to lift him,
to carry him away! But with the wellcloth of his suit still active, he manages
to call up a slippery exterior and wriggle free, leaping and sliding for the
fax plate ahead of him. His momentum is sufficient just barely! to carry him
through.
The plate crackles blue for a moment and then falls forever silent.
chapter twenty-four
in which the fortress of a
traveler is breached
Once through the gate, the first thing Bruno noticesis absolute silence.
There s no battle on this side, no scream and crash. The second thing is the
trio of bright yellow Dolceti crowded in front of him: Bordi and Natan and
Zuq. And since he s still slipping along the floor on his hands and knees, the
third thing he notices is the tussle of bodies falling all around him like
tenpins, their blindsight reflexes lacking the time or the space to operate.
 Oof, says Zuq.
But the Olders, crowded just ahead in this narrow passageway, are still on
their feet, poised at a corner and looking out.
 They don t see us, Sidney Lyman is murmuring.
 They see, Radmer corrects.  They don t react.
 Excuse me, Bruno says to the Dolceti. He wipes away the suit s slippery
skin program and staggers to his feet, pleased to find himself still alive.
Successfully teleported, yes, for the first time in millennia, and under
circumstances far from ideal. He steps over the men while they re attempting,
in the unfamiliar bulk of their armor, to rise. At the corner he taps Nick and
Brian out of his way, and has a look.
The room is full of robots.
Specifically, it s full of unarmed robots, engaged in the task of filling
buckets with sand. And filling smaller vials with measured amounts of other
substances: black carbon and white, shiny metals, poured from the sort of
long-beaked glass orbs. Finally, the vials are emptied into the buckets, which
are placed on a slow-moving conveyor. The light is a sickly yellow-green, from
phosphor-coated electric bulbs set in sconces along the walls. Like many on
this world, the walls are interlocking blocks of cut stone. The whole scene
looks like nothing so much as an ancient alchemist s workshop.
Presently, a pair of robots fetch one heavy bucket each, and begin walking [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]