Hollow Moon (33 page)

“Come in,” he said wearily.

The door opened and Dana entered, holding Quirinus at
gunpoint.

“Governor Jaggarneth,” greeted Dana. “You asked to see
the prisoner.”

“Indeed I did,” Jaggarneth replied, then waved towards
the wall screen. “Though this may be an inopportune time. Why did we not burn
the retros on this story before it started pinballing the servermoons? What we
need is a quantum leap in security protocols to facilitate response times in
parsecs, not light years!”

“Actually, parsecs and light years are measures of
distance, not time,” said Dana. She decided not to add that a quantum leap was
the smallest possible in physics.

“Whatever. I’m a politician, not an astrologer.”

“Astronomer?” suggested Quirinus.

“Silence!” retorted Jaggarneth. He turned to Dana. “Who
is this?”

“Quirinus O’Brien. Fenris brought him in from Hemakuta,”
Dana replied. “Fenris would have come himself but he is feeling a little unwell
after our journey.”

Quirinus smiled. He had brought the
Platypus
down through the Yuanshi atmosphere as uncomfortably
as he could. By the time they landed Fenris was a vomiting nervous wreck.

“O’Brien, eh? The one with links to our exiled friend the
Maharani?” Jaggarneth regarded Quirinus closely. “How are you enjoying your
stay at Sumitra?”

“It’s not bad,” Quirinus said with a shrug. “Room service
is a little slack. I will be checking out tomorrow, so could you arrange a
wake-up call for about nine o’clock?”

“A man with a sense of humour,” observed Jaggarneth
coldly. “I suppose whoever it was who released all these specimens into the
wild also thought it was funny!” Part of him did wonder why the scary
ashtapadas had reportedly been left caged. It was a curious fact that they
shared a common ancestry with Terran spiders but no one knew how that was
possible. “Why do people insist on making life difficult for me? Who on Yuanshi
has done this?”

“One of the intruders possessed a special-services
implant,” Dana informed him. “It is unregistered but we’re checking the files
of known agitators.”

“I hope your security plans for the peace conference are
a little better prepared,” said Jaggarneth. “We need to be calling the shots,
not Kartikeya and his miscreants! Why did Fenris bring this man here?” he
suddenly asked, causing Quirinus to glance up from where he had been studying
what was on the desk holovid screen. The governor was not impressed by the
pilot’s attempt at a winning smile. “I’ve read this man’s file and he’s nothing
but a third-rate trader with a few petty misdemeanours to his name.”

“Fenris had his reasons,” replied Dana. “I will ask him
to report as soon as possible.”

“I’m more concerned about that cyberclone,” muttered
Jaggarneth. “You know those things can be used for espionage. Maybe we should
reprogram it to replace the real Raja and get this whole affair over and done
with.” Exasperated, he gave Quirinus a frosty stare and waved a hand towards
the door. “Get him out of my sight! I have work to do!”

Dana nodded. As he was led away, Quirinus took one last
look at the image upon the screen on Jaggarneth’s desk. He was surprised to
recognise all five of the figures captured creeping furtively around the secret
laboratory, but that they were together on Yuanshi and determined to cause
trouble raised his spirits like nothing else.

“That’s my girl!” he murmured.

THE NOISE WAS INCREDIBLE: a truly violent cacophony of
both revelation and revulsion that roared through the air like a hypersonic
walrus. The thunderous rasps and discordant wails were born of frustration that
nonetheless revelled in both the anguish and misguided passion of a doomed
attempt to rise above adversity. It was an assault upon the senses both jagged
and raw, where any tiny glimpse of untapped potential was quickly lost amidst
the chaos of hoots and howls. Then suddenly the mayhem was over, leaving
listeners stunned as the performance drifted into silence like the echo of a
departing bomber squadron. If there was something greater lurking within the
souls of the players it had stayed well hidden.

Governor Atman shifted uncomfortably in his front row
seat. Up until now he had been enjoying the morning dress rehearsal but Newbrum
Academy’s performance left most people wondering if they had been subjected to
a rather cruel practical joke.

“That was err… interesting,” he said weakly. “Quite a
spirited performance.”

Miss Clymene was glad Atman was the only official watching
the rehearsal, for she had a feeling others would not have been so charitable.
Nevertheless, the conference hall auditorium was not quite empty for many of
the musicians who had been on stage earlier, including several members of the
Bradbury Heights orchestra, had stayed behind to watch their rivals. The
Newbrum band had been the last to rehearse; unbeknown to Atman, Miss Clymene
had been frantically delaying their performance as long as she could, hoping
for Ravana and Zotz to miraculously reappear and reinvigorate their crushed
morale. Against an imposing backdrop of the sovereign state flags from across
the five systems, the tiny band looked more than a little lost on the huge
stage and she did not blame Endymion, Bellona and Philyra for being glum. All
three wore the smart jade-coloured commemorative tunics given to them by the
peace conference organisers. She thought it was quite touching the way they had
all gone overboard on make-up and hair lacquer for the occasion.

“We are a couple of members down,” Miss Clymene
explained. “You should have heard us yesterday! We were like another band.”

“You have quite a small ensemble there,” Atman observed.
The tutor wondered if he was thinking another band would be very welcome right
now. “I thought Newbrum was one of the larger outposts.”

Miss Clymene saw Endymion open his mouth, no doubt to
quip that size was not everything, though their performance had blatantly
proved otherwise. She remained defensive.

“Newbrum Academy is very select,” she admitted. “But it
is the only official state-funded school in the city. Before the corporation
colleges were set up we had the biggest campus in the Barnard’s Star system.”

“And now the whole school sits in the same room,” sighed
Philyra. “All twelve of us.”

Bellona’s wristpad bleeped to signal an incoming message.
Maia had recorded their rehearsal and posted the holovid along with a bunch of
sarcastic comments on the net. What made it worse was that an earlier
performance by the Bradbury Heights orchestra had gone down very well and they
were now favourites to walk away with the prize. Miss Clymene caught her own
band’s downcast expressions and attempted to rally her troops.

“Well done, you three!” she told them. “You should all be
proud that you’ve made it this far. Whatever the outcome of the competition
tomorrow, you’ll be able to look back and say you were here, making history at
the Pampa Palace, sixteen light years from home!”

“I wish we were back home,” mumbled Endymion.

Miss Clymene pretended not to hear. “Class dismissed!”
she announced. “The rest of the day is yours to enjoy. We have quite an
occasion ahead of us tomorrow!”

Atman beckoned for her to join him for the routine
briefing he had given the other band leaders. As Endymion, Bellona and Philyra
shuffled despondently off stage, Miss Clymene could not help thinking that any
sane person would have asked her instead to take her band away and not come
back. She quickly collected the fallen sheets of manuscript left behind by her
class and hesitantly made her way to where Atman was seated. The governor’s
keen enthusiasm in the competition baffled her more than ever.

“Rosanna Clymene, is it?” asked Atman, consulting the
slate upon his lap. “Bad luck the rest of your students being called away like
that. I saw the young Indian girl at the spaceport yesterday. The one with the
scar on her face?” he remarked, but Miss Clymene’s mind was elsewhere. “She
looked terribly upset about something.”

“Ravana had a bad experience with a VR machine,” Miss
Clymene told him. She had received no word from Quirinus nor Fenris since
yesterday and the garbled communication Ostara sent her this morning, saying
that herself, Ravana and Zotz were attending to urgent business, had not
clarified things one iota. The news that Ravana had been seen at the spaceport
did nothing to allay her fears and she made a mental note to check if the
Platypus
was still in Hemakuta. “We are confident
that she and Zotz will rejoin us shortly.”

“I do hope so,” he said. “These are interesting times!
The preliminary peace talks have gone well, though the rumours regarding the
Maharaja’s son are causing concern. The debate closing the conference tomorrow
will be the first time Governor Jaggarneth has shared a stage with the rebel
leader Kartikeya since hostilities began.”

“We are honoured to be part of it,” said Miss Clymene. “I
must however confess that my understanding of the conflict on Yuanshi is
limited. Are things as bad as they say?”

“Too many good people have died,” Atman said solemnly.
“All because each side claims Yuanshi as their own. Kartikeya and the
supporters of the exiled royal family believe that as descendents of the
original colonists they have a right to decide their own affairs. Yet the Que
Qiao Corporation wants to protect its investment after spending countless
billions on the terraforming project. Is this so unreasonable? The people of
Yuanshi would still be living in domes under a medieval monarchy if it were not
for Que Qiao.”

“People are strange,” agreed Miss Clymene.

“Indeed. I personally blame the curious cult of alien
worship they have on Yuanshi,” he said. “Or rather, one particular preacher: a
most forceful personality who has won many converts amongst the royalist
rebels. I’m not saying that religion causes wars, but it can be a very powerful
motivator. This priest Taranis is a dangerous man.”

“The Dhusarian Church,” mused Miss Clymene, thinking of
Fenris. “Religion does tend to bring out both the best and the worst in
people.”

Bellona shut her clarinet case and sighed. Endymion, Philyra
and herself were alone backstage but the gap in the backdrop curtain revealed
Maia, Xuthus and their friends from Bradbury Heights sitting not far away on
the front row of the auditorium. Bellona just knew they were waiting to throw
insults at them as they left.

“That was a bad rehearsal,” Philyra said gloomily.

“Truly terrible,” Endymion agreed. “The only way it could
have been worse was if we’d had monkeys on bongos flinging turds at the
audience.”

“Or dropped our trousers and waved our bottoms in the
air,” suggested Philyra.

“Or taken a hammer to a cage full of budgies,” added
Endymion, smiling wickedly at Philyra’s horrified expression. “Though your
flute solo sounded much the same.”

“You’re sick,” Bellona told him, but he had made her
smile.

Endymion lowered his trombone case into the cradle of the
waiting autoporter trolley, then came to join his sister as she peered through
the curtain.

“Xuthus and his cronies are still out there,” he
murmured. “Having a laugh at our expense, no doubt. I vote we sneak out the
back way.”

“Is there a back way?” asked Philyra, looking around the
backstage area.

Endymion grinned. “Seek and you shall find.”

Bellona deposited her and Philyra’s instrument case next
to Endymion’s trombone and sent the autoporter back to their room. The small
hatch through which the robot departed was protected against human entry by a
safety screen. A quick search of the backstage area revealed two alternative
exits: the first being a door to a sparse dressing room, the second a concealed
stairwell descending into a cavernous storage space beneath the stage itself.
They tried the dressing room first, only to discover that the far-side exit was
locked, so Endymion suggested they explore the room below the stage instead to
see if it led anywhere useful.

The storeroom was far bigger than expected. The vast
low-roofed chamber ran the full length of the hall above and was littered with
broken stage equipment thick with dust. Overhead lights illuminated a dim path
between two rows of square columns, leaving the far recesses in shadow. The
walls were of rough brick and everywhere they looked they could see pipes and
cables running in all directions.

“This place is filthy!” exclaimed Philyra, scowling. “I
can feel cobwebs in my hair!”

Her protest became a screech of fright as a small brown
shape ran across her foot and away into the murky shadows. Apprehensive yet
stubborn, Endymion began to make his way across the dingy storeroom towards the
far end of the vault. Not wanting to be left alone, Bellona and Philyra
followed close behind, jumping at every shadow and creak of floorboards above
as they scuttled through the gloom.

“Did you see that?” Bellona suddenly hissed. For the
briefest of moments she thought she had seen two huge eyes staring at her from
out of the shadows and the faint silhouette of something with far too many
hairy legs.

“See what?” asked Endymion, not even bothering to look
where she pointed.

“I thought I saw it too,” murmured Philyra, her voice
wavering. “A huge spider. I mean massive,” she added. Endymion wore a dubious
expression. “As big as you, anyway.”

“Spiders don’t grow that big!” he retorted, then looked
thoughtful. “Although, on a low-gravity world with an oxygen-rich atmosphere
like Daode…”