Erin's Sword: Book Three: The Cradle

By Chris Blake

In the centre of the galaxy there is an artificial planet. It was intended as a Public Museum cum Library, built to house the human genome, and the Earth Genome. It is the greatest collection of art, artefacts, knowledge and weapons technology ever known. Because of the perceived value of this collection to humanity, the planet is defended against the possibility of extraneous damage from Space, such as meteor strike, the impact of comets or errant asteroids. This defence is completely automated, driven by independent programmes called Sentinels that are stationed in the moons, which perpetually scan the surrounding galaxy for potential threats. They control weapons systems powerful enough to counter any long-range problem, regardless of size, and respond only to each other and the planet itself. But the planet has long gone rogue and is dangerously inaccessible.
However, B’lanche has found a way in.
On the artificial plains of the Cradle a brutal symbiosis exists between two competing peoples. Genetic Engineering has allowed one side to fly. The other cannot, so instead they have co-opted artificially manufactured dragons. They slaughter each other without Principle, without mercy. The First Sword encourages the Acolyte to intrude into this claustrophobic world. He tries to mediate and discovers that heaven is truly where the heart is; if you have one.
In the meantime, B’lanche has accessed the Interior to continue her declared research for grounds and strategy for her appeal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Blake
• Release date: Jul 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370313853

Chris Blake

Chris Blake lives in the South West, not far from Tintagel Castle, rumoured to be the home of King Arthur. Ever since he was a little boy Chris has always dreamed about travelling through time. He likes watching Doctor Who and looks forward to the day that time-travel is possible as he’d love to visit all the places in his books. In the meantime Chris will keep writing his own adventures. Chris has an old black cat called Merlin.

Book preview

Erin’s Sword

BOOK THREE:

The Cradle:

Artificial Planet in the Centre of the Forbidden Zone

Published by Chris Blake at Smashwords

Text Copyright 2019 Chris Blake

All rights reserved.

Cover image by RCMatthewsArtist

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Table of Contents

Prologue:

Chapter 1. A Stroll on the Savannah

Chapter 2. Dragon Flight

Chapter 3. Dragons in the Dark

Chapter 4. The Return for B’lanche

Chapter 5. The Story of the People

Chapter 6. Journey to the Pit

Chapter 7. The Murdered Man

Chapter 8. The Twilight Games

Chapter 9. The Quickening

Chapter 10. Exploring the Southern Plains

Chapter 11. Return from Exile

Chapter 12. Down to the Polar Seas

Chapter 13. The Portal

Chapter 14 The Law of Entropy

Chapter 15. The Medical Examiner's Orders

Free sample chapters of the sequel

Book Four: Heaven’s Gate

About Chris Blake

Other titles by Chris Blake

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Appendices:

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Prologue:

The Cradle was an artificial planet built at the centre of the galaxy as a Public Museum. It was designed in the main as a secure repository for the Human Genome, and the Earth Genome, but also held a collection of artefacts from all over the quadrant. As part of its intended function as a deposit for all knowledge, it also housed arcane and contemporary weapons technology, some of it now prohibited. The planetoid was set in a perfect orbit around an inert white dwarf, whose gentle rays were reflected by a dozen concentric moons, to bathe the planetoid’s entire surface in silver starlight. Temperature and humidity were set at an optimum level, within the context of an atmosphere compatible for humanoids, to deny the proliferation of bacteria, mould, and other such destructive and invasive microbes. The planet’s core was composed of banks and layers of super-computers dedicated to memory. The intention was to expand this into a universal library that housed all the records and knowledge of known civilisation. Because of the perceived value of this collection to humanity, the planet was defended against the possibility of extraneous damage from Space, such as meteor strike, the impact of comets or errant asteroids. This defence was completely automated, driven by independent programmes called Sentinels that were stationed in the moons, which perpetually scanned the surrounding galaxy for potential threats. They controlled weapons systems powerful enough to counter any long-range problem, regardless of size, and responded only to each other and the planet itself. The interior collection on the planet was cared for by another set of programmes, called the Guardians. These also had the potential to become a second line of defence to protect the surface and interior of the Library.

But the Cradle had gone rogue, and had been closed to public access for centuries. It was also now at the heart of the Forbidden Zone, an area of Space so irradiated that it was poisonous to most forms of organic life.

However, B’lanche had found a way to by-pass the Sentinels and land on the planet itself.

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Chapter 1. A Stroll on the Savannah

He gave the weapon back to her at the edge of the Landing Field. As he passed it over, he reflected that he did not really think of it simply as a weapon. It was much more subtle than that; it was also a force field and a shield. It made the wearer inviolate, invincible almost. Even so he was relieved to be rid of it.

It will always own part of you, she said, but he did not pursue this. He just wanted to be free of it, and the incessant dreams of death that resonated through his mind. He looked about him; the surface of the planet was nothing as he had expected.

Where are these guardians? he asked her as his eyes searched the open plains.

I’m sure they are more than capable of finding us, she simply said.

He watched her settle into a curled ball in a nest of long grass. She did not place the blade back on her belt but simply laid it on the ground beside her, and fell asleep. The naturalness of it reassured him, and he left her to walk in soft warm light across a prairie carpet of grasses and flowers, accompanied by the buzz of humming insects and a carousel of butterflies fluttering a blaze of colours against an azure sky.

He needed not to think, and he tried to empty his mind of all its angst and doubts by concentrating on his steady march through the soothing environment around him. Because of the low gravity, he had to learn to adjust the energy of his step, to restrain himself from too much enthusiasm. So, he settled into the rhythm of a gentle stroll, which seemed to carry him effortlessly forward. The plain seemed almost featureless, except for a series of low mounds in the near distance, and what seemed like an abutment, or the cliff-face of a ridgeline on the far horizon. He had decided to make for the mounds, because that destination seemed relatively achievable. But as he marched, his progress seemed inordinately slow, and he realised that distances were deceptive on the empty plains. He contemplated turning back, because his abiding sense of duty nagged at him to remain at her side. But as he analysed this, he came to accept that he was in fact thoroughly sick of her, and needed a break to attempt to come to terms with the latest revelations.

He committed himself again to attempting to reach the mounds, and carried on in the same direction. He was in fact intrigued by the whole experience, and wondered if the mounds would give some hint as to why the planet’s surface was so contrary to their expectations. They had assumed the surface would be fabricated, because the planetoid itself was artificial. He had never dreamt of the naturalness of this landscape. But it certainly was refreshing, and calming on a very deep level. He felt somehow elemental, an upright humanoid striding across primeval plains, master of his environment. As he allowed himself to appreciate this, he began to ponder the absence of fauna. Grasses, flowers and insects abounded, but there were no animals to be seen. Just as well, he realised, because he was not armed. Then he smelled a hint of pungency on the soft wind, and suddenly came across a swathe of trampled grass cutting across his path. Some instinctive level of fear kicked in, and his whole body automatically tensed. Then he noticed a pile of droppings further along the trail. They were a mess of half-digested cellulose, the dung of an herbivore. His body relaxed, and he stood still to consider his situation. On one level, he surmised, it smacked somewhat of folly to be wandering alone and defenceless in an unknown environment, but then on another he recognised that he did not feel particularly vulnerable. He put this down to the fact that he did at least know where he was. He was on the surface of an artefact dedicated to the service of humanity, and he could not imagine how it could incorporate or tolerate any real threat to his existence. Nor indeed did it feel alien to him, on a very profound level he felt completely at home. Also, in the final analysis, he wanted something tangible to report back to B’lanche. He wanted to prove his usefulness both to her, and himself. So, he carried on.

As he began to draw nearer, he could see something that looked like stands of slender trunks crowning the tops of the mounds, but they were nothing like the trees he remembered from other terraformed planets. These looked more like the solitary stems of giant reeds topped with fluttering plumes. But finally, he was close enough to realise they were in fact lances or slim flagpoles, and the supposed flower plumes at their tips were pennants flying in the breeze. This confounded him entirely, but he pressed onward to inspect them more thoroughly.

The mounds seemed to be scattered haphazardly, in no particular pattern or uniformity of size. The largest one was slightly off to one side. The Acolyte decided to check it out first, because it also had the largest flag flying of all the rest. He clambered up the rounded contour, leaning forward and down to grasp tussocks or flower root systems if he felt his feet slipping with the gradient. Then he was amongst the bases of the poles, and he could grab hold of them to aid his ascent. The poles were not wooden as he had expected, but appeared rather to be a type of coarsened cane. He started to revise his assumptions, acknowledging for the first time the complete absence of trees in the landscape so far. Then he noticed that the flagpole near the centre of the summit seemed different to the others surrounding it. On close inspection it looked to be made out of some kind of tarnished metal. Intrigued, he grasped it firmly and attempted to rock it from side to side to see if he could pull it out of the ground, but it appeared to be firmly and deeply anchored. The pole did however have some kind of primitive lanyard attached to it, which looked to be woven out of grass fibres, and the Acolyte elected to use it to lower the flag it carried. He wanted a closer look. There was something familiar about all the pennants. All novices in the Institute had to study the orthodox version of history, but he had always owned an interest in the military. These flags and pennants reminded him of regimental colours, but he was unsure of the service or the era. He decided to remove this particular one and take it back to the Commander to pronounce upon its origins and significance; she seemed to know everything.

After he had carefully folded the flag and packed it away, he looked around from the summit and surveyed the scene around him. There was a clearing in between the mounds. It appeared to be filled with very large rounded boulders. The sight was so incongruous in this land of gently rolling plains and grasses that he decided to go down for a closer look. When he drew near, he saw that the apparent boulders were in fact statues sculpted out of stone. He walked over and ran his hands over the nearest one. It was chilled, stone-cold to the touch. A sudden gust of wind caused him to lose his balance and he leaned on an outstretched arm with all his weight against the boulder. Surprisingly it seemed to rock slightly. He pushed it again and once more it moved. He could hardly comprehend it. He slapped it with his hand but it did not resonate with the sound of being hollow. The only thing he could think of was a very light cellular rock from his geology classes of long ago, a volcanic stone called pumice, but the surface of this did not have the same porosity. It was as hard as a carapace. The external detail was extraordinary, carved into the facsimile of a sleeping beast, some enormous flying reptile with its wings furled into its body and its long tail curled around it. Its long ringed neck was also curled back around its body, but disappeared under one closed wing, so that he could not see the likeness of the head. The body of the statue was carved all over its visible area with the appearance of scales. The Acolyte was impressed; it was painstaking work. He wandered over to inspect some of the others. They all seemed very similar, with just some variations in size and subtleties of position, but overall, they gave the impression of a set of stone monsters sleeping in the sun. He wondered what significance was intended, what rituals these vast sculptures personified. Most of all he wondered at the civilisation that had produced such dexterity, and whether the sculptures had been carved by hand or by mechanical means. For some reason he was inclined to doubt the latter. Then he reflected that perhaps his logic was merely being seduced by the apparent naturalness of the scenery. He was after all on an artificial planet.

As he was contemplating this, a shadow crossed him from overhead. Startled, he looked up. A huge winged shape was circling above, slowly flapping enormous wings as it glided out of the thermals, spiralling down towards him. Panic seized him as primal fear of the raptor clenched his stomach, his bowels turned to water, and he began to run blindly through the statues in the clearing towards another mound. As he stumbled through the next thicket of poles and