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Venner and Julian had taken over one corner of the cell in the bowels of the amphitheatre. A handful of others from Cato's courtyard were present too. They had latched onto the two 'unusual people'. Some of the prisoners had whispered that these enigmatic characters were gods who could save anyone they chose. 'They will turn the tigers away at the last minute and burst open the gates of the arena,' said an old woman who had been condemned for creating secret horoscopes for members of Caesar's family. In another corner of the cell were a half-dozen Christians. They prayed and sang hymns, seemingly reconciled to their fate. The following day all the cell's inhabitants would be sent into the arena to face lions, tigers, or bears, or maybe armed criminals and prisoners of war. One of the men from Cato's yard, who had been a soldier, told the guards he would willingly fight any barbarian who had taken up arms against Rome. They gave him a heavy wooden sword and shield with which he began rehearsing his cut and thrust. A steel sword had been promised for his contest with a Gaul the next day. 'Why don't you ask for a sword, Baas? You may be able to do something with it against the soldiers.' 'I would if I had any knowledge of the art of fencing,' said Venner, 'but they didn't touch on that in my army training. I do know a little unarmed combat stuff though.' Julian kept his voice down as he beckoned Venner closer. 'Baas, tonight when they are all asleep, at least the ones who can sleep, a helper may arrive.' From his pocket he pulled a large oak leaf with something wrapped in it. 'I put aside some of the barley porridge that they gave us, for the yellow snake. I mixed it with a little of the wine. I will put this on the floor here.' 'The yellow snake! You're sure it will be able to get into the city of Rome?' 'My snake is clever Baas, and wherever I go, he follows. He can find a crack in any building. Or perhaps it will be a cousin of my snake who arrives, Baas, one who looks just like him. Maybe the snake back in Hilldorp sent him a message to come and help us.' They got into their blankets and that night passed in restlessness and discomfort, and there was no visit from the snake. Venner heard the talk of the other prisoners, and occasionally noises from beyond the walls of the amphitheatre, and louder than these were the growls of the animals which were quartered near the cells. Venner was about to give up all thought of sleep when suddenly his shoulder was shaken and he was wide awake. Feeble daylight was coming in through the bars. 'There was an earthquake last night, Baas, and fires broke out in the city,' said Julian. The news had filtered into the cell via slaves employed within the amphitheatre. The Christians seemed to know what was going on. 'Last night we saw the goddesses Juno and Venus flying over us in a chariot,' said a fellow whose eyes appeared to be starting from their sockets. Julian took Venner aside. 'It was the two missies, Helen and Tonia, on the chair, Baas. I saw them myself. They lit the sky up, flying over the sand. They came close enough to look in through the bars here.' Venner sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Was that good news or bad? It looked as if the Holodream Suite with all its programs was disintegrating. It would take them all with it, holographic figures and humans alike. 'Yes, there was an earthquake, brother, and the very stones of this Satanic building were cracking and rumbling,' said a venerable Christian fogey. 'There were fires in the Subura district. Many people were burned to death in the tenement blocks,' added a woman. Whatever happened though, nothing was going to stop the Games. There were gladiators that morning. The first few fights were warm-ups: exhibitions of fencing, between professionals, not desperate contests for life itself. Even so, through the bars they saw plenty of blood flowing. In the interests of pleasing the crowd, which was still far from filling the stands, men lost eyes, arms, legs and so on. Early in the afternoon, the man in Venner's cell who had been promised real weapons was given a sharp sword, a leather outfit, and a wooden shield. The amphitheatre was now full almost to capacity. This was the first serious bout of the day: to the death. Saluting his fellow prisoners, Felix went out to do battle with a tough-looking Gaul. The prisoners, including Venner and Julian, shouted encouragement to the underdog, but after putting up a brave defence, Felix fell under the onslaught of the younger and stronger man who was, like himself, an ex-soldier and the veteran of many wars. The inhabitants of the cell took this badly: it seemed like an omen. None of them had any more to hope for than that gallant Felix who, since his army days, had spent many years at the honest trade of baking. 'It's a pity your snake didn't arrive,' Venner said to Julian. 'He came after all, Baas: he took the barley porridge, look.' 'Are you sure it wasn't a rat that got it?' 'There are no rats here, Baas. The big animals scare them away. I must have been asleep when the yellow snake had his porridge.' The end of the contests between prisoners of war, criminals, and the lower class of gladiators, was announced with a fanfare of trumpets, and then it was the turn of the top gladiators to salute the crowd and the Master of the Games (Caesar not being present). These fighters were provided with the best weapons and armour. They paraded round the ring and wallowed in the sound of their shrieking fans, particularly the shrill-voiced young girls. The prisoners in Venner's cell, except the Christians, crowded to the window bars to watch these stars of Rome: Balbo, Agonax, Perfidion, Caepio, etc. They were hoping to be taken out of themselves for a few moments, but at the same time they were getting ever closer to the sharpness of steel and the bitterness of inevitable death. The afternoon was a long and ghastly celebration of clattering metal and shouts and applause on the blood-soaked sand. You could get your fill of bravery, triumph and defeat. Then it was time for the beasts: lions, tigers, wolves, bears, elephants, a rhinoceros. These creatures, all of them starved and tormented, fought each other or 'huntsmen' until the survivors were despatched by archers ambling amongst the rows of spectators or riding across the sand on the backs of armoured horses. After each feast of slaughter the bloodied sand was swept away to be replaced by fresh. Venner had been watching for anachronisms in the Roman background, but so far this classical environment appeared more stable than the South African one. The earthquakes and fires, however, were a bad sign. A beast was soon seen on the sand which did present a problem in logistics. There, no doubt starved and poked and irritated like the other beasts, and encouraged with hot irons to fight a pair of panthers, was an eight-foot high tyrannosaurus rex. 'This is the first time one of these beasts has been exhibited,' said one of the prisoners, formerly a regular at the Games. 'These lizards are ugly monsters, but you can never tell what their fighting abilities are. If two panthers are not enough, and this brute sees them off, some other cats will be let in.' The panthers were so hungry that they had been spitting and clawing at each other prior to the arrival of the dinosaur. A gasp went up from the crowd when the massive reptile was driven towards the cats by a gang of men with torches and red-hot pokers. It roared, showing rows of long, saw-edged teeth. Two little legs like arms hung down in front, each terminating in two pointed toes without claws. These moved spasmodically, as if itching to grab something. All the strength of this monster, however, was in the lashing tail and the thick back legs which ended in massive talons. From the other end of the ring men with shields and firebrands drove the panthers towards the leathery brute which moved with a repulsive jerkiness, taking as much interest in the crowd as in the two screaming felines. The crowd shouted out in disgust at the ugly dinosaur. They were used to the dangerous, slinky motion of the cats but the rapid, spider-like motions of the tyrannosaurus repelled them. The reptile raced forward and grabbed one of the panthers with the claws of its back legs and began to tear at it. The other panther leapt on its back and dug its teeth into the back of the brute's neck. The lizard reached up with its right claw and loosened its grip on the other cat, which escaped. The second cat however had drawn plenty of blood. It darted away now, and the dinosaur scraped at its own back like a man scratching a boil. Finally it had the panther again, and with an ill-tempered screech, threw it into the crowd. Inside the cell was pandemonium just as there was outside. 'The thing far outclasses the cats,' shouted one man. 'Look, it's going after the crowd!' The tyrann
osaurus, which was making some mighty leaps, seemed as if it was about to reach the top of the wall. The people were running away and the Master of the Games was seen scurrying over to the large gateway at the side of the ring. He went through, and there emerged in a little while a pack of wolves. A score or more of them came swarming out and like the fearless predators they were, in a masterly concerted action went straight for the tyrannosaurus rex. Half-a-dozen were after the chest and head while another four or five were biting at each leg. The reptile gave out a mewing sound which was answered from inside the bowels of the arena. It was then that the gates were burst open and another, larger reptile of the same species, perhaps the mate of the first, came through with a net still clinging where it had got away from its handlers. As there had been no need for irons and fire to drive the wolves in, so they would have been useless in trying to keep this beast out of the fray. Soon the two titans of the early years of the Earthworld had their backs to each other and were keeping the swarming wolves and the remaining panther at a distance. (The other panther, after maiming a number of spectators, had been speared by the trainers. and handlers.) Those in the cell had heard several shouts of 'Caesar! Welcome Caesar!' earlier, and the rumbling of applause. Those in the know said he would be mixing with the crowd, as was his habit sometimes, with only one or two guards. At that moment His Majesty moved into a part of the stand visible from the cell window. 'Bless him!' shouted the old woman of the Subura, and others in the cell too. Caesar had nothing to do with putting them here, they thought. Maybe he was on his way to set them free even now. Venner and Julian caught their first sight of the man-god, a tall, thin figure, stooped slightly, hustling himself along the walkway as if being chased, and wearing a gilded wreath and a simple white gown. 'He is avoiding something, Baas. Guess what it is!' shouted Julian.
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There was a commotion in the corridor leading to the Holodream Suite on deck fourteen of the Tortuga. 'Mr Perkins!' shouted a steward. Turning the corner he had just found two young women lying amidst a pile of broken sticks and torn upholstery. 'Get the Captain,' said his overseer, Gavin Perkins, as he helped the two women to their feet. After a minute or two Captain Cutter arrived. The women stood there shaking themselves and getting their breath. 'This must be more or less where you started out, wasn't it?' said Cutter. 'Just there is the Go-Through,' said Latonia Reynolds with a sigh. She and Helen were dazed and euphoric at being back. But Lupo! 'Lupo Venner!' said Latonia, 'has he made it out yet?' 'Lupo!' gasped Helen. Captain Cutter took the steward and his supervisor aside. 'Lads, one of you needs to go and get Lonnie Pascoe,' he said. 'Let him know that his goddess has found her way back to us, anyway.' Cutter had not been sure exactly who Lonnie Pascoe was until after his act of heroism in the Holodream Suite, but he knew him well enough now. The steward left and Perkins remained to give help if necessary. 'No, we still haven't got Mr Venner,' Cutter told Latonia. 'That is, we had him, then he went back to get you two ladies. I daresay he'll be making his way out through there again.' He looked down at the grating that guarded the tunnel through which Venner and his companion had come and gone. 'We haven't roped it off or anything, but the mesh is only being held on by rubber clips for now. We're waiting. Not many people know about it, and we don't want to draw any attention to their escape hatch. There has been a lot of talk about sleepers.' 'We would like to have a look at the work being done at the Holodream Suite,' said Latonia. 'Well, you can. But first and foremost I want you both to go to the infirmary and get checked over.' After head-to-toe scans and a few questions the two women were released. Latonia found Lonnie waiting for her outside. 'God knows what the heck you've been through in that Holodream, you poor sweetheart,' he said, reaching for her hand. She let him hold it for a while before carefully withdrawing it. 'The place may be a quicksand at the moment, but it's absolutely amazing in there,' she said. 'Especially when you're as deep in as we were. The element of danger and reality makes it all the more stupendous, it's a chapter in anyone's life. You live to the hilt in that place, I tell you.' 'I definitely agree with you there,' said Helen, 'but I haven't got any plans to repeat the experience.' 'I don't know about you,' said Latonia, 'but I'm going back to my rooms to crash out.' 'I need some time to get my head back in place too,' said Helen. 'But first I want to go to the Captain and find out what is happening about Lupo.' 'That would be pretty pointless,' said Lonnie. 'I mean, I'm more genned up than most people about Ven and his predicament. Nothing much CAN be done by anyone at the moment, except the tech boys. It's their game. They'll get him out if anyone can.' 'What we're afraid of,' said Latonia,'is that the whole show will collapse or whirl itself away into infinity, like.'
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Though Erloch Spurgo came from Pluron, the 'gutter planet', he had acquired some notions about etiquette. The attitude of Barratat's two bully boys who had burst into his quarters and acted as if they owned the place, rubbed him wrong. Nor was he an admirer of the swaggering ways of Prince Barratat Galerian himself. The biscuit-coloured crest of hair over Spurgo's brow twitched and he took a deep breath. Mitzi entered and took Spurgo aside. After listening to her whispered message the Pluronian pirate addressed the room: 'Mitzi has stayed tuned in to the Tortuga's radio signals through a police waveband. It seems that two women have been retrieved out of the Tortuga's Holodream suite hale and hearty, but there is no sign of our pigeon yet.' No news about the potential catastrophe in the Holodream Suite had been released to the media, so Mitzi had found another source. Holodream technology had been made a government monopoly a few years before, and no disaster of this kind must be allowed to make people lose faith in a multi-million-credit industry. In addition to the financial harvest to be reaped, there were, literally, new worlds to conquer by going who knew where, possibly inner space. 'So those two chicks came out of the place that you had turned into a killing ground hale and hearty, did they? Some nursery, more like,' said Barratat, almost spitting in Drax's face. 'Don't blame him, he acquitted himself all right in the circumstances,' said Spurgo. 'What else could he have done? In addition to everything else he had to remain discreet, or risk blowing the whole game.' Russ and Tyler scowled and puffed their chests out. Was this upstart contradicting their Prince? They looked enquiringly at Barratat, as if expecting the order to tear Spurgo's head off. Drax too was wary of that ugly Galerian temper that was hailed by the palace as a glorious throwback to the days of the great warriors. But the Prince seemed to shrug to himself. 'You say Mitzi here was tuned in to the Tortuga?' 'Yes.' 'What, you mean the circuits in her head?' said Barratat. Spurgo laughed. 'No, she's not quite that complex, are you baby? She's got a police tuner in the kitchen. She follows it quite a bit and I've been starting to listen in as well, sometimes.' 'So the main question,' said the Prince to Spurgo with a shit-eating smile, 'is will you take our money and get the Fish Eagle alongside the Tortuga again?' 'I'm not sure if I will, by Gar,' said Spurgo. The whole thing was becoming tedious. 'I'll have to think about it.' 'Think about it?' said Russ. Tyler was also ready to boil over, it seemed. Barratat waved his hand at his burly retainers. 'Anyway, Prince,' said Spurgo, 'what should have happened in the Holodream, do you think? What would your solution have been? The guy did his stuff, he used skills that not a lot of people have. I know I wouldn't be any good coding away at that shit. Would you?' Barratat, swallowing his irritation, waved this aside. At that moment Kalat Hertig entered. He had free reign of Spurgo's apartments. The two bully boys looked at the newcomer with indifference, Spurgo was small, and so was this jerk. Nothing to worry about in the whole place. They stood there with arms folded complacently. 'We can chop all three of these nobodies, my Lord,' muttered Russ, not caring who would hear.' 'What was that?' asked Spurgo with a smile. They all became aware of the revolver in his belt. He was not big, but there was something uncanny in that birdlike angling of his head. There was something in that glance of his, an insolence that belied his youth and his size. For once Barratat seemed flustered. 'They were just saying we have
an appointment, we must leave,' said Barratat, Russ and Tyler made for the door where they stood on either side waiting for their Prince to go through. Neither Spurgo nor Drax bowed in homage to the departing Lord, unlike Hertig, who had not had time to become aware of the tensions in the atmosphere. 'You too,' said Barratat to Drax. It would more than likely prove his death to go with them. Drax glanced at Spurgo with despairing eyes and started to move. 'Drax is staying for lunch, we worked that out earlier, didn't we?' said Spurgo. Drax made one of the boldest moves of his life when he said, meekly enough: 'We did.' The Prince left with his bully boys. Hertig ignored Mitzi, who had brought him tea without being asked. The living doll had registered the entry of her owner's lecherous friend and summed the situation up as needing full politeness mode. Kalat Hertig wanted more than politeness from her.
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The four staunch Ralladarians of Kellagad met before dawn in a workman's café in the city, along the road from the Royal Guard. Ever since the Cosmic Bluebird came in they had been watching the swaggering Galerian aristocrat and his flunkeys. The shedding of the blood of the Galerian dynasty's aristocratic bully boy would be a noble stroke. The idea was, to claim the honour of the deed for the Patriotic Resurgence of Pellax. This action would mark the start of their campaign. It was, unfortunately, possible that their rightful king, known under the name Lupo Venner, was now either dead or compromised, so the struggle might have to begin under the guidance of and in the name of their temporary regent, that veteran statesman, Tak Vakrovar. The time was now. The underground forces of the Ralladarians were chafing at the bit and to hold them back might be more dangerous for the cause than to strike a few blows to raise morale. The youngest of the four pleaded for the honour and was then chosen as the one to pull the trigger on Barratat, the Galerian Dunderhead, the Prince of their Disorder. He was keen to get the job because the night before he had started an attempt which got nowhere though it had seen the death of his stalwart uncle of seventy at the hands of two Galerians. That fiasco had started in the Blue Bear as a pure coincidence when Uncle Meedak, dressed in fine old Ralladaran trim of dark red, black, and cream, had joined in with a Pellacian melody which had been struck up by some patriots downstairs. Uncle Meedak wouldn't have known Barratat from Tak Vakrovar. He was totally apolitical. But the pair of cutthroats had killed him at the behest of Prince Barratat. The nephew and the others had already been staking out the bar and clubhouse where the pirate Erloch Spurgo lived. They knew that this brigand would take the pay of a mercenary when it suited him. He had been hired by Barratat before and would probably be happy to take his money again. They had been right, and Barratat and another fellow had arrived just after dawn. So Meedak's nephew had his crack at him. But he missed. The police had made the scene pretty hot but the nephew swiftly dismantled his rifle and, undetected, ambled back to the workman's café, from the windows of which after twenty minutes or so, he saw the two bully boys who had come in on the Cosmic Bluebird with the Prince. These two now went running up the steps of the Royal Guard like dogs, in through the foyer with the busted window and up in the elevator. The nephew had his shooter folded down and stored in his coat. He could snap it together in a second for the heroes up in Spurgo's quarters all right. It would just be a matter of waiting for them to come out. His colleagues appeared and they discussed what to do. It was agreed that Meedak's nephew should stand at the corner close to where he had taken his shot earlier. The other three would spread out down the road. A few plain-clothes policemen were on the street, but the nephew was keen to try his luck, no matter what. The others, spread out, planned either to start diversions (they had plasma pistols) or provide covering fire, if the nephew got in trouble. The three men came out together, watchful but confident. The nephew saw security men on either side of the doorway twitch, and the regular doorman hitched up the rifle he was carrying on his shoulder. Barratat and one of the heavies hailed an armoured air taxi. For now, they were safe from a bullet, but the other heavy moved away to the nephew's right. Stroking the butt of the folded-up piece in his jacket pocket, the nephew decided to follow the one who took the pathway to his right, simply because he was the one he had seen going down the stairway at the Blue Bear which Uncle Meedak always used. There was a very good chance that this was the brute who strangled the old fellow. The swaggerer was full of confidence. The nephew was about to show him that this was nothing but pure imbecility. He followed him into a bank where he was received with deep bows by a flunkey who then led him through to a grave, better-dressed fellow who took the bruiser into a side room. The nephew cursed under his breath at losing sight of his man. 'May I help you?' said a robot done up in 'girl next door' mode. 'I am considering an investment, but there are a few details I want to have at my fingertips,' said the nephew, pulling a screen from his pocket and unfolding it to spreadsheet size. 'We value our interactions with you today and every day,' she said with a smile and a bow, before approaching the next person through the doors. The bruiser's business did not take long. The door opened and he came out. The nephew knew that this was not the place, because as soon as a shot registered, or a member of staff touched a collar comm emergency button, all the doors would slam shut. Plus the fact, he wished to catch him somewhere private where he could get the drop on him and also concentrate the bully's attention on why he was being rubbed out. Like that, Uncle Meedak's ghost, which he believed was still hovering close, would gain some appeasement. Barratat's hooligan left the bank, ambling down the steps. Something in the way he moved made the nephew realize that whatever chore Barratat had given him had been discharged, and the fellow was now on his own time. He was sauntering along, sizing up this establishment and that along the street, on the lookout for something. The nephew could guess what he was after and he was proved right when up a dismal alley the bully boy saw a flashing neon sign crudely depicting a female humanoid in contortions that belonged in the bedroom. The nephew checked that there was no one around. He had to move fast now, because the man might linger his business out in this place for some time, maybe till the morning. He had to grab him before he got in, and the thug was already up the steps. Just as the boyo's hand hovered towards the door catch, the nephew spoke up: 'Mister, this place is fine for some, but I know where they give a better quality deal for a man of your cut.' The fellow smiled. 'I have no need to save my money,' he said with a laugh, 'but on the other hand, I don't like a place where they con a guy.' 'Get alongside of me and you'll find a better bargain than this low-budget knocking-shop. You look like a man who needs an escort of a more refined nature.' This was a mistake on the nephew's part. Things were getting a little too fancy, and the fellow, halfway down the steps now, turned back towards the door. 'I don't want anything too REFINED,' he said. He grinned, every inch the man of the world who knew what he wanted, and obtained it. The nephew tried to keep back from the light through the door. He did not want the hard case to recognise him from the Blue Bear. He had taken the precaution of changing his clothes that day, and had found himself a bulky cap with a generous peak, which he kept pulled down almost to his nose. The chap did not appear particularly curious about clocking him. He seemed to see it all as the fair exchange of badinage between one gentleman and another. Then the headlight of a passing tram high in the air splashed a beam of illumination down and this time as the nephew turned the hard case's face had a different expression. 'You fucker!' 'Yes!' As quick as saying it the nephew, who had in his hand a well-prepared noose of light cord, flew at the bully boy and rammed him against the brick wall. At the same time he looped his cord around the thug's neck. The Galerian was against the wall, but before the nephew could mention Uncle Deepak the Galerian brought up his right hand with a razor knife to gash the nephew's arm, then sever the strangling cord. This fellow was not a bodyguard of the Heir to the Throne of Mazarat for nothing. The nephew took the Galerian by surprise by biting into his wrist. The fellow's knife clattered on the pebbled road. 'Ralladar scum!' 'Galerian!' shouted the nephew. He thought
that was a bad enough term on its own. For a few seconds they traded blows. The nephew was growing desperate. As he fought, he started to believe that this was it, and he had been a fool to take on a Galerian hard case born and bred. Uncle Meedak, I couldn't avenge you after all. Are you waiting for me in the afterworld? he thought to himself. The strength in his arms was failing. The body blows the Galerian dealt made him sink into himself in misery. From somewhere he found the gall for a ferocious punch and a kick to the groin but these had no effect on the Prince's trained man. The Galerian was laughing now as with a right hook to the jaw he laid his man out. Then he got his hands around the nephew's throat and began to throttle him. The nephew swooned and felt as if he were entering a dark pool. The pain melted away and resignation and unconsciousness beckoned, but then there was a blast and the grip around his throat eased off. Someone patted his face and shook him. He opened his eyes to see his fellow Ralladarian from the doorway up the road. His colleague, still holding his pistol, was watching the Galerian muscle man. Neither he nor the nephew could for a while trust themselves to believe that the breath had finally left the body of the Prince's bully boy.
By the Time I Get to Pellax Page 14