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It was getting dark, and Venner said he could wish for a moon to help them through the underbrush as they plunged away from the armed Boers surrounding the flimsy house. 'Never mind, Baas,' said Julian, running a little way in front, 'the veldt is clear and flat furhter on, with no ant hills. Though it seems as if we have got navy-blue sacks over our heads we just have to keep on and trust our luck.' There was not only no moon, but no stars. 'Have a care, Baas!' shouted Julian. 'I'm falling!!!' Venner also began to tumble, with leaves and grass parting in front of him, and he knew he was dropping into some great hole prepared by Kaffirs to catch a boar or an antelope. Down he fell, hoping there was no sharpened spike positioned at the bottom, but when he hit the ground there was nothing there but more darkness. His head was whirling in confusion and fear, and he fainted. Then out of the black there came a movement and a brightness and he awoke to find himself standing alongside Julian. They were wearing tunics, thin robes, and sandals, standing in a queue of similarly-dressed folk. It was a courtyard with plastered walls. Twenty or thirty people stood patiently waiting to be received at the doorway where a man in a grey smock and sandals (most of those present were wearing sandals or soft leather boots), gave out a handful of coins to each. 'My friend, where are we?' Venner asked a fellow in front of him, an individual with a gold and back border to his tunic. 'You're confused already, are you? How many doors have you called at today, friend? Where are we now? Nowhere but the door of a magistrate who is one of the most generous gentlemen in the whole city.' 'A magistrate?' 'Yes, Carbo Cato, newly elected Praetor of Rome. Shut your mouth and stick your hand out. It's your right. How else will you live? Accept his dole with gratitude.' 'We got a right to carry a begging bowl, Baas,' said Julian. As they got closer to the head of the queue there was a bugle call and a group of soldiers holding spears, and with shields on their shoulders, marched into the courtyard. The clients of Carbo Cato scattered, pushing towards the walls. Some, smelling danger, simply left. The officer in charge, who had a blue plume on his helmet, stood his men in line then went into the house. The soldiers had turned to face the assembly, staring stonily ahead. A murmuring went up: 'Lord Cato!' 'Beloved friend of the divine Caesar!' 'Our protector!' The officer had reappeared in the doorway and with him, in a white toga with a narrow purple band at the edge, stood the Captain of the Tortuga, Edward Cutter. 'Captain!' shouted Venner. Cutter, or Cato, waved in answer to Venner's shout, just as he had acknowledged the compliments of his other clients. Then he stood back and the officer stepped forward. 'Enemies of the state are known to have entered Rome today to co-ordinate an attack on our beloved Emperor,' said the officer. 'All you clients of Carbo Cato will give an account of yourselves to the secretary.' A man came out with a folding wooden chair and a desk on three legs which he set up close to the doorway. He sat at the desk and pulled pens and wax tablets from a bag on his shoulder. Some of the clients confidently advanced to the desk and spoke up for themselves. Venner watched closely. Many, after getting the approval of the clerk, went their way, pausing only to get their dole money from Cato's steward. Others, whose references were unsatisfactory, went to stand in a line between the soldiers. 'I can't give any account of myself, can you?' Venner said to Julian. 'I don't think they want to hear about my gin and whiskey debts in Hilldorp, Baas, which is the only account I've had.' 'What will happen to the people standing between the soldiers?' Venner asked the man in front. 'They will be detained. If they can't satisfy the judges they will go to the Games or to the mines.' 'I would prefer the athletics and football,' said Julian.
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Countess Palodia could have been competing with the other girls in the Blue Bear that night to see who was more provocative. She was a Kellagad noblewoman born and bred and the upper classes of the area had no shame when it came to things of the flesh. Her attentions to Prince Barratat were received with complacency. Drax imagined that a little while before they set out for the bar, the sultry Countess must have enjoyed a reunion and a half with the burly Galerian. The Prince, being in an easy-going mood now, started to sing an old Pellacian tune from his university days back in the city of Caram. Naturally, being loyal Pellacians, though not from the same alma mater, Russ and Tyler joined in also. An older man upstairs stuck his head over the rail. He cheered and began to sing as well, waving his arm in rhythm. The singers down below could see him better than he could make out who was raising that hearty chorus down in the vaults. A younger man in a black and cream jacket joined the old fellow at his table at the edge of the floor. He appeared to be just as merry as the old boy, and he joined in the singing with a pleasant baritone. Russ grabbed Barratat's arm. The Prince stopped singing, his mouth hung open like that of a fish querying a bait. Abruptly, he turned to his henchman. Russ, you'd better have a good reason for this interruption, thought Drax. 'My Prince, that old bastard is in the colours of the Ralladars.' Barratat squinted at the white-haired fellow above who was still singing lustily. He was wearing a suit which partook of the three colours: dark red, black, and cream. 'Yes, he's in the disloyal bastards' colours, and so is that younger swine, but what of it? He's not setting himself up in defiance of me, is he? I mean, if he is we'll have to deal with him. On the other hand it could just be a coincidence he's decked out like that.' 'Could it? Why is he belting out Pellacian songs so lustily and waving his hand about? Isn't it to draw the attention of the whole place to his impudence?' There was a community of Ralladar supporters in Kellagad, of course, just as there were Jyconan patriots as well as Pluronians, and espousers of the glories of Erobar, Tranak, or Hedar. The younger man upstairs was now leaning on the rail and satirically smiling at the party below. His folded arms served to emphasise his contemptuous attitude. 'That young sprig for one is going to give an account of himself tonight, anyway, I'll say that, and I don't care about his colours' said Barratat. The Prince put his hand on the six-shot plasma blaster in his belt and started to make for the stairs. Russ let go of the silky hand of his partner and followed Tyler, who in turn was on the heels of Prince Barratat Galerian. 'You would think he could concentrate on me for one solitary night!' said the Countess. Before this, Drax had thought to himself that the signs were that Palodia and Barratat might be the most compatible partners in the annals of high-flown romance. 'Can't you let it go, you idiot?' she shouted at Barratat, who ignored her. Drax sat tight. There had seemed to him to be something false about the old fellow's singsong. Plus, the young fellow had a watchful air. Were there others up there waiting to see the outcome of some deadly pantomime? Drax had a pistol but he would have preferred not to get involved in a political scuffle. On the other hand, to hold back and not help Barratat could prove a bad choice also. Having no real sympathy for the cause of the Galerians, Drax would have loved to drop everything and get out of the place. But the Galerians had many agents and plenty of resources and the memory of the death cell was on him. He could easily end up there again. Barratat was way up on the top floor, getting onto the case of the younger man. The white-haired Pellacian patriot stood back, dumbfounded. Security staff appeared. True to form, they didn't care much who was right or who was wrong. They pushed bystanders out of the way but were wary about Barratat and the other two. The young fellow in the black and cream was in a fighting stance. Russ and Tyler were close behind their Prince. They knew better than to intrude while he made his play. The truth was that Barratat was a liability. It was a wonder the Galerians allowed him beyond the bounds of Caram, let alone Pellax. At that moment Drax, who was not a political animal by any means, felt a vague stirring in his blood. If Pellax could be free of the Galerians! Barratat and the young man started going at it, and that was enough for the security men. The eight or ten of them pitched in and separated the fighters. Russ and Tyler drew aside, watching for a chance to help Barratat. The enforcers made the two fighters separate and shake hands. The Prince and the other two returned to their table in the vaults. Barratat sat down beside the Countess, and Russ once again took the hand
of his paramour. Drax, now that the whole thing had proved just a silly piece of bravado, found his fancy was taken by the girl he had been paired up with. She had that milk-fed look and air of modesty that he liked. As for Tyler, through Drax had seen him casting about and occasionally smacking his lips and grunting to himself at the sight of this beauty or that, he failed to pull. Drax decided not draw this sorry fact to the hard case's notice. 'We'd better get out,' said Barratat to the Countess and the others. Drax had been keeping his shooter beside him on the bench, and as he pocketed the piece, he noticed that the Prince nodded to himself approvingly, as if confident that Drax had been ready to do his part if called on. A signal passed between Barratat and his two heavies, and with the Countess in tow they made for the stairway leading to the upper floor. The Prince then collared a doorman and told him to hail them an air taxi. Drax gave each of the two floozies at their table a bundle of credits then began walking back to his lodging. As Russ said goodnight to his girl, Drax also had decided against prolonging the night with his escort. They had their numbers, and could follow up the next day. Russ and Tyler returned to the apartment soon after he got back. 'We'll get our hands on that young bastard as well, one of these days,' Tyler said. 'What's that? said Drax. 'That confounded troublemaker grinning like a hyaenodon. The Prince would have got him but the flunkeys separated them, didn't they. We waited in the lobby and got his old dad or whoever he was, but the young 'un must have found himself a side door.' 'The old white-haired guy from Pellax?' 'Yeah. He won't be singin' no national anthems any more,' laughed Russ. 'He didn't even gurgle when we threw him in the river.' 'He was harmless though, wasn't he?' 'He could have been,' said Russ, 'he might have just been wearin' the wrong colours and singin' the wrong tune.' He belched. 'But the Prince said settle him, and we did.' Russ stared at Drax and Drax ran his finger around inside the neck of his shirt. 'Well, at least it's cleared that up,' he said. It would have been better to dispense with you and Tyler and keep the old patriot, he thought to himself. In fact we could do without Prince Barratat and the whole rotten mob of Galerians.
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Barratat got Drax out of bed at dawn the next day. A flyer had brought him from the Countess's lodge into Kellagad, and the Prince had then let himself in with the key Drax provided. 'Take me to Captain Spurgo,' he commanded in a whisper. 'Of course, my Prince,' muttered Drax. He threw some clothes on, then they passed through the lounge area on tiptoes. 'I see no point in waking these boys,' said Barratat, indicating the two large forms wrapped in their silks on the carpeted floor. 'You and I can handle it,' he added with a wink, 'and Spurgo won't know we're coming.' At the thought of Spurgo, the Prince touched the handle of his plasma-blasting revolver. The street-cleaning robots of the Borough of Kellagad were out and going full-tilt, and the workers plodded along, in good time for the first shift. 'We'll walk,' said Barratat. 'Lead me there by the shortest route.' As they approached the glass doors of the Royal Guard the doorman nodded to them briefly. Here's one guy who doesn't see Barratat as a blue blood, anyway, thought Drax to himself triumphantly as they entered the foyer. He bowed as low to me as he did to the Prince. It seemed as if Barratat's habit of posing as a nobody was at times insultingly convincing. The Prince grinned broadly. 'My ploy works. A low profile visit gets the goods.' There was a crack, and a showcase holding photographs and holograms of famous visitors dissolved in the air and then sprayed across the tiled walkway of the foyer in crystals. The Prince and Drax dropped to the floor. An alarm was shrilling. Barratat's confident half-smile, so well-known from his portraits, was replaced now by a look of utter annoyance. 'They got up earlier than I did after all,' he said. 'Who do you mean, sir?' 'The upstarts, man! The bloody Ralladars!' Barratat rolled into a corner and began talking to a comm badge on his collar. After a brief wait he began to gabble: 'There is nothing you can do about this now. All right, maybe it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't left you two babies to your rest. But you might as well get here now. Yes! Spurgo's suite at the Royal Guard! What did you think, the old folks' home?' The Pellacian peer wriggled across the floor to squint out of the shattered window frame. Whoever was out there had probably gone. The double crash of the window and the cabinet had set off alarms outside and inside and armed police were walking around the building. 'Are you gentlemen unharmed?' It was the doorman, equipped with a laser-sighted rifle. 'We're fine,' said Barratat. 'Glad to see you drew your shooter, too,' he told Drax. They got the lift to Spurgo's suite. The pirate's door was opened by the living doll. She motioned them in with a curtsey. Spurgo came out of the bedroom, putting a dressing gown over his pyjamas. He crossed the room to look out of the window. 'I was just getting up, anyway. They'll turn those alarms off in a minute.' Drax noticed that Mitzi the living doll was preparing eggs and bacon. There was smell of coffee. 'We'll all have some joe,' said Spurgo. 'Take a seat, the pair of you. Would you like eggs as well?' 'No thank you,' said the Prince. 'There's a fair number of bluebottles crawling down there, by Gar. Nothing to do with you, hey?' 'Yes, it was. Someone took a shot,' said Barratat. 'Really? You both all right?' said Spurgo. 'Mitzi here is trained in paramedicine.' 'We can restore ourselves best with this,' said Barratat. He had gone to the kitchen and was lifting a steaming mug of coffee. 'We want to make another attempt on the Tortuga,' said Barratat without any preamble. 'And you need me?' 'Of course, of course,' said Barratat. Drax detected from the Prince's supposedly joky tone that Spurgo was by no means indispensable in this matter so far as he was concerned. 'We've still got sleepers on the starliner,' said Barratat, 'and they believe the tech guys are about ready to bring Venner out of the playroom. In other words, your work on the software will have failed us, as we thought,' he added, glaring at Drax. The Prince's face at that moment was contorted with rage. 'So, what were you thinking, Drax?' said Spurgo smoothly. He was obviously more in sympathy with Deerfield. 'I mean, you have to get full credit for throwing the chap in there, fair enough. You were using your initiative. A couple of women went in too, what? But wasn't it all a bit chancy and hope-for-the-best?' 'It was the best I could do at the time, that's all' 'What sort of alterations did you make to the software once they were in there?' asked Spurgo. Barratat's face showed he had no interest in any excuses. 'First thing was to take off the safety parameters. Hologram suites are made so as to cut out before any human player is in danger. But I got around it by changing Venner's profile to "Outline". An Outline is what we call the human holograms that players interact with. They can be extremely complicated.' 'All right, all right,' said the Prince. 'A knife blade is pretty straightforward, though. You could have stabbed him and it would have been better. Did you have your pistol, by the way?' 'No, my Prince,' This was a lie. It simply had not occurred to Drax to blast Venner. Also, he had been told to observe as much discretion as possible. It was best to say as little about this to Barratat as he could when the Prince was in his present state. 'One thing about Outlines is that, unlike players, they can be deleted,' said Drax. 'And the computer thinks Venner is an Outline?' said Barratat. 'Yes, sir. I told it to ignore Venner's thumb implant. I also compromised the record logs. No one in that Holodream suite should be able to get out.' 'Sounds like his number is up, so you probably won't need me,' said Spurgo. 'Plus the fact, I have nothing personal against Venner.' Turned away from the Prince, Spurgo winked at Drax. 'All right,' said Barratat. 'Forgetting this Ralladar troublemaker, there are other problems you can help us with. If we put you on some sort of a retainer.' 'No, no, I really don't think I can take your money,' said Spurgo to the Prince. Barratat bridled at this remark, as if he had some claim on the cocky little brigand. There was a knock at the door and Mitzi went over to let in Russ and Tyler. They hailed their prince, ignoring the others in the room, then they stood to one side, watching their master's face like a pair of hunting hounds.
By the Time I Get to Pellax Page 13