Ammonite Planets (Omnibus): Ammonite Galaxy #1-3 (44 page)

Atheron gave a slight inclination of his head. “I am sure it will be,” he murmured.

The hatch was closed. The ship was manoeuvred away from the orbital station under the standard propellant system. Soon it was at the required safe distance for the trial to commence.

The new electromagnetic plasma engine was powered up, and the space freighter began to pull slowly away from the orbital platform. Things, it seemed, were going ahead according to schedule. The watching spectators relaxed and began to talk amongst themselves.

Drinks and sweetfruits were served. The atmosphere lightened. The gathering began to take on an almost festive note. For almost half an hour Atheron made small talk with the other visitors, although he kept one eye on the tridiscreen which showed the flight in progress.

So he was one of the first to notice that something was wrong. The space freighter seemed to give a little twitch, a small glitch in the straight line it was traversing. At first it was barely noticeable, but the erratic wobble was repeated, and this time seemed to be greater. Atheron tried to find Satron in the crowd, and then saw that the man had moved hurriedly to a console.

Other visitors were now beginning to detect the anomaly. People looked at each other, and the pleasant conversation dried up, giving way to a buzz of concern. Then a burst of static came through the communication unit, and the pilot’s voice could be heard, detailing a thermal overload in the prototype.

In a calm voice, Satron, the head of house, ordered the new engine to be shut down. The pilot acknowledged, and there was what seemed a very long pause. Everyone held their breath. Then, to their horror, the watchers saw three little bursts of light from the space freighter.

A few seconds later there was a much larger burst of light. Despite the absolute silence on the orbital platform, no sound reached those who were watching. There was no detonation, no drama. Just four bursts of light announced the fatal engine failure and the truncation of Sellite lives, together with the hopes of a new plasma engine.

Satron’s voice was no longer calm. He was issuing staccato orders for rescue ships to be sent out, the pallor in his face a testimony to the seriousness of the accident. The space elevator was in full use, automatically going into evacuation mode. The dignitaries were hustled down to the Valhai Voting Dome, a solemn Atheron amongst them. It was thought that at least some of the occupants of the test ship had survived.

LATER THAT DAY it was a long-faced Atheron who gave the watching Sellites the results of the rescue operation. Mandalon had been killed outright, together with the pilot. The other occupants had escaped death, having been able to evacuate the space freighter in time. They had all suffered injuries, and were being flown for treatment on Cesis, accompanied by the head of the Sell medical house, Vion 48.

Atheron finished the announcement with an emotive message to the families of the two men who had been killed. His thoughts went out to both widows, and their children. Both as education director and as acting second-in-command of Sell, he was at the complete disposition of Mandalon 50, so tragically catapulted before his time into the headship of the most important house on Sell. Whatever little was in his, Atheron’s, power to help the leading house in such a terrible time of suffering would be done, whatever could help to erase the pain a ten-year old must feel at losing his father would be given. He finished by announcing the times of the tanato ceremonies for the men killed, and then performed the complicated Sell Cross.

As the tridiscreens blinked out Atheron gave a deep sigh – change had indeed come to Sell.

IT WAS DIVA’S group who warned of the build-up of Elders around the outskirts of the rebel camp. They had been on their way back from a skirmish near Benefice, and nearly walked straight into the Elders’ hands.

“There are at least three thousand effectives,” said Diva. “Most of them seemed to be sycophants, from the uniforms, but there were a few Elders accompanying them.”

“There will be a battle,” sentenced Cimma.

“I think so,” agreed Diva. “They will find it hard to get rid of so many of us, though they may inflict severe damage. I think the younger children should be taken to the new mountain camp. They will be safer there.”

Cimma nodded. “We need to split our forces into various parts. It would have been better if the two new camps had had more time to get infrastructures in place, but it looks like now is a good time to evacuate this camp, before the Elders do it for us!”

There was a quick democratic vote amongst the rebels, and then everyone moved into their previously agreed roles. The high mountain camp would be home to the main part of the young children and women. Those who had an intermediate level of skill with weaponry would move to the second camp, half way between where the base camp now was and the mountain retreat. Those skilled in fighting techniques, or needed for logistics, would stay in the base camp, and prepare for battle.

There was a certain air of expectation in the camp. At last they were about to see battle, to fight for their right to have a say in Kwaide’s future. All the training had been leading to this moment. They were ready!

Six and Diva tried to persuade Cimma to move up to the intermediate camp, with little success.

“I have been waiting for this for too long to miss it now,” she told them. “I don’t care what you say; I have absolutely no intention of missing all of the fun.”

They gave up in the end. She refused to leave the no-names she had trained, and they could understand how she felt. She still had to wear the orthogel brace, so they just hoped that Arcan would in some way be aware of what was going on around her, would be able to take care of her. They contacted Grace to tell her about her mother’s decision, and then wished that they hadn’t.

“I am coming to fight too,” said the Sellite girl firmly.

“You are not,” Six told her.

Grace tipped up her chin. “Who are you to say who may or may not come and fight?” she asked. “And anyway, why should you and Diva have all the fun?”

Six and Diva both looked like Coriolan monkeys who had dropped their bananas.

“And there’s no need to look like that! Just because I haven’t fought as much as you two have doesn’t mean I can’t be useful!”

“Of course it doesn’t. Look who brought the two spaceships back to Kwaide!” said Six, in a placating tone.

“And you can wipe that condescending smile off your face, Six! I mean to fight alongside everybody else, and that’s that.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” muttered Six.

“What?” Grace had both hands on her hips and for once looked remarkably like Diva.

“Your mother would like her daughter,” said Six hastily, “to join her in the fight for Kwaide!”

“Naturally.” Grace inclined her head. “I am certainly not going to stay here safely on Valhai this time. So you can just get used to the idea!”

Something Six had said had started off a train of thought in Diva’s head.

“What if —” She bit her lip, “—what if they attack us from the air?”

Six froze. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “That would mean they had use of the Sellite ships. Surely the Sellites wouldn’t fight on the side of the Elders, would they? They traded us two ships, remember?”

Grace gave a laugh. “The Sells would feed their parents to the Tattula cats if there were a bulk-cost proportion of over 5000 to 1 for them. And anyway, guess who is effectively the new leader of Sell?” She told them what had happened at the Valhai Voting Dome, and that Atheron had been confirmed as acting head of Sell until Mandalon 50 should be able to assume office.

“No!”

“Do you think he …? No, surely not. Even Atheron wouldn’t … would he?”

“Which,” went on Grace, ignoring the interruptions, “means that you can expect anything at all from the Sellites, because Atheron is as backhanded as they come. If he can see some profit in attacking both sides of the fight, he won’t hesitate for a moment.”

“I knew we should have left him in stasis around Nomus,” said Six, with a grim expression on his face.

“Then …” Diva went back to the original point, “we shouldn’t leave the two spaceships tied up to the orbital station. Atheron might decide to eliminate those two ships we made him give us. It would be one way to turn the page back, and pretend it never happened. We should probably put some sort of protection up to make sure the orbital platform isn’t destroyed. That would be a disaster for future trading with Coriolis.”

“It would,” agreed Six. “And the Sellites would be just fine with it, too. You are right. They are practically honour-bound to try to dismantle the orbital station and take back those two ships. What can we do?”

Diva looked at Grace. Grace shrugged. “What?” Then she realized what the Coriolan girl was trying to tell her. “Oh no! I want to fight hands-on, like the rest of you!”

“You are the only one of us with practical training on both ships,” she was told sternly by the Coriolan girl. “You know all the other Kwaidians who can handle them – you trained them. There is nobody else we can send to protect the space station and the ships.”

“Great!” Grace glared. “And I suppose you will be out there in the thick of the fighting wielding your trusty Coriolan dagger and chopping up Elders!”

Diva burst out laughing. “I can’t see you chopping up Elders, Grace, and especially not with my dagger!”

“I could too chop up Elders!” retorted Grace, and then thought. “Though I’d rather chop up Atheron!”

There was a general murmur of agreement at that. Atheron would do whatever he needed to do to maintain the Sellites’ monopoly of all technology in the system, and his own position.

Six brought his most persuasive voice to bear. “We need you to do this, Grace. There won’t be much point fighting for Kwaide if we lose the supply line with Coriolis. The refugees would slowly starve to death!”

“Arcan would never allow that!”

“We cannot become totally dependent on Arcan. It would put him in an intolerable position. No, Kwaide absolutely must become independent. And if we lose the orbital station, that will set us back fifty years. You have to help us!”

“I don’t see why you can’t just send the pilots I trained up. They have been doing the shuttles from Kwaide to Coriolis.”

“They are fine at the mundane stuff. But I can’t expect them to go head on with one of the trickiest brains on Valhai! It would be suicide. They are simple men from Kwaide. They are progressing well, to be sure, especially Ledin, but nobody could think them on a par with Atheron and his cronies. No doubt he will have surrounded himself with all of the most twisted minds on the planet!”

A sunken feeling hit Grace underneath her ribs. “You don’t think …? No, he couldn’t!”

“What?” demanded Diva.

“Xenon? Amanita?” Grace had gone pale. “He wouldn’t use them, would he?”

Six gave a grimace. “It is just the sort of thing he would do,” he told her. “Xenon is perfect for a personal spy.”

“And Xenon is qualified as a pilot!” Grace put her hands up to her face in horror. “He could have sent Xenon to destroy the orbital platform!”

Diva gazed at her friend sympathetically. “It mustn’t make any difference,” she told her. “You will be no use to anybody if you are worried you might be hurting your own brother.”

“No-o-o.” A stone had settled somewhere in the middle of Grace’s stomach, and refused to go away. “Oh, please don’t let that happen.”

“Don’t let your imagination get carried away!” Six warned. “It is only a remote possibility, and it would be crazy to let it eat away at you.”

Grace nodded. “I will get ready to be transported to the orbital station,” she said in a small voice.

THE ELDERS ATTACKED the base camp at first light three days later. They came out of the thick undergrowth with the first breaking rays of Sacras behind them, hoping to dazzle the eyes of the defenders.

The refugees were more than ready for them. They had cleared all the area between the camp and the tree line, had set up defensive stockades, and had prepared for the attack thoroughly. There were three wings of defenders. Cimma was at the head of the central wing, the biggest. Six led the left-hand wing, and Diva the right. The job of the two wings was to encircle the opponents as they attacked, and if possible to cut them off from reinforcements.

The morning below the black peak resounded with the sound of blade against blade. The sycophant army was much better equipped than the refugees, but the refugees had the advantage of higher numbers, and having been able to chose the exact spot for the confrontation. At first the battle seemed to be equal.

Then the sycophants began to have the advantage. They pressed forward, the Elders quite willing to sacrifice all of their own soldiers for an advantage. The refugees found themselves overwhelmed. They were up now against a professional army, made up of well-trained and better-equipped soldiers. Many of the refugees fell onto the ground, giving their lives for the independence of Kwaide. Sycophants fell too, though in smaller numbers. The ground became slippery as the fighting churned up mud, and the defenders realized that the makeshift footwear they used was another weapon against them. The smooth soles made the battleground a lethal arena where it became impossible to stay upright. Some of the rebels even removed their shoes, to fight barefoot against an enemy equipped with ground-grappling, studded boots.

Diva had managed to circumvent the attackers, but had taken heavy casualties. Six, determined to do no less, was clawing his way around the other flank, scrabbling for a hold on the progressively more slippery plain.

Cimma was in the thick of the fighting, her tall figure clearly discernable with its orthogel support. She was shouting at the troops under her command, waving the Xianthan dagger above her head with great ferocity. It was noticeable that the group of refugees around her seemed to congregate thickest in her area, forming a barrier between her and the enemy. Her shouts were exhorting them to let her get at the enemy, to get the Sacras out of her way, but for some reason they couldn’t hear her. She was protected by a tide of fighters who were silently determined not to let their pseudo-fierce trainer come to any harm. The help the Sellite widow had given to the Kwaidian rebels was prized far too highly for them to permit her to spill her blood on this battlefield. Nothing had been outwardly said, but they were not going to let her come to harm. As the battle progressed Cimma’s shouts became more and more irate, more and more high-pitched. The rebels rolled their eyes at each other fondly, and continued the fight with gusto. They valued their own blood much less than hers.

Six’s group had cut a swathe through the sycophants, and successfully reached the rear of their forces. Here they found the Elders themselves, led by an ancient and thin figure which was instantly identifiable to Six. It was the same rheumy Elder who had dispatched him to Valhai as an apprentice three years earlier. How had the old dodderer lingered on for so long? He was surrounded by other, only slightly more robust Elders, all of whom appeared to be listening carefully to his words.

Six signed to his group. This would be a valuable target. He should take no notice of the wish for instant revenge which had swept adrenaline into his blood stream. These would be worthy prisoners-of-war. They should be taken alive. None of them were in a condition to retaliate, as they looked barely able to lift the heavy swords they carried.

It was a minute’s work. Six’s group had them surrounded and disarmed before they could so much as raise one weighty blade. Six detailed five of the group to escort the ancients out of the battle and up to the second camp. They would be taken care of there, held for possible ransom talks or future negotiations.