Beneath Strange Stars

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  “Let’s figure out who you are, shall we?” Hap said. “Needs to be something easy, something you won’t muff.”

  “That I won’t…” He paused. “Right. Who am I?”

  “You’re my cousin Carl from Alexandria,” Hap replied. “You’re attached to the Library there as a research scientist, and you greatly appreciate the opportunity of using the police laboratory while you visit your cousin, who you haven’t seen in years.”

  Carl sat with his mouth open stupidly.

  “Did you get all that?” Hap asked.

  “Yes, but are you trying to tell me that the Great Library at Alexandria still exists?”

  “Of course.”

  “It wasn’t destroyed by the Muslims?”

  Hap sighed. “By what?” He shook his head. “Try to keep your mind focused. If anyone asks what you do, just say it’s classified.”

  Lucius Pergammus, the head of the police laboratory, was more than happy to help Hap’s cousin pass the time while Hap was busy with his duties. Satisfied that Carl was not going to get himself into any trouble, at least not right away, Hap went through the squad room on his way to search through records.

  “Sorry about what happened to Theo.”

  “The heat’s a holy bitch.”

  “We’re all pulling for Theo.”

  Hap nodded and murmured his thanks. Bad news, especially when a brother officer was concerned, always spread fast. When the disaster gnats were gone, Hap requested a sheaf of records and found a quiet place to work.

  A radio played in the background. Between the secular tunes, the news readers raved on about the heatwave and the visit of Emperor Michael III. The Emperor was going to give a speech to students of UNB, at Socrates Amphitheater, transmitted on the radio. Hap imagined what the place would be like – people milling about, security present but light, very easy for an assassin to slip in and find a hiding place. The evening shift was coming on when Hap returned to the laboratory.

  “Hap, if your cousin decides to settle here, I can assure him a job,” Lucius said when Hap walked in. “Hell of an intellect. I stopped pestering him because I couldn’t understand what he was doing.” The laboratory chief leaned forward. “What’s he making?”

  “Some kind of radio, I suppose,” Hap replied. “He’s always fooling around with things like that. It’s a little out of my line.”

  Lucius wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his lab coat. “I’ll be off now. I’m just going to stay home tonight and drink cold ale while I listen to the Emperor’s speech.”

  Finally Hap and Carl were alone in the lab. Carl was packing an apparatus into a wood box.

  “That’s it, huh?” Hap said. “Will it work?”

  “It should.” Carl shrugged. “It’s easier the second time around, like the first models I tried to make. But the equipment was so primitive that…”

  “Go to the auto,” Hap said peremptorily, giving Carl the keys.

  “Where are we going?”

  “University of Nova Byzantium,” Hap replied. “The Emperor is making a speech there in just over an hour. If something’s going to happen, it’ll be there. Go on. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  Carl shrugged and carried the box down in the steamer. He’d been waiting about five minutes when Hap climbed into the car. Carl studied the expression on the detective’s face.

  “How is he?”

  “He’ll pull through,” Hap replied. “Let’s go.”

  The evening had not brought any relief from the heat. People dragged through the streets.

  “What makes you think Kyle will try during the speech?”

  “He won’t have another chance,” Hap explained. “This is the only time the Emperor is going to make a public appearance in Nova Byzantium. After the speech, he’ll go directly to Imperial House under guard for the night. In the morning, he leaves on Airship One for an official visit of state to the First Speaker of the Aztec Empire. The facts are well known. Watson will have to make his attempt at Socrates Amphitheater or not at all.”

  “Will we be able to get in?”

  “No problem about that,” Hap replied. “My badge will get us in. What about your device?”

  “It will be strapped to me,” Carl said. “When the time comes, I’ll loop a wire around Kyle, bringing both of us under the device’s field of influence.”

  Hap laughed. “Loop it around him? How will you do that?”

  “The best way I can,” Carl said. “I’ve studied Aikido, a form of unarmed fighting, for about three years. It’s time to see if I’ve learned anything.”

  “I could give you my revolver. That might help.”

  Carl shook his head. “I’ve always been afraid of guns. That’s why I took up Aikido. I can take care of myself.”

  The darkness over the city was punctuated by street lights and the headlamps of rushing steamers. Despite the stifling heat, more people were about than usual, hoping for a glimpse of the Emperor.

  “Three days ago,” Hap said, “a weapons shop was burgled. Among the weapons stolen, a long-range high-powered target rifle.”

  “No time wasted.”

  “It coincided with the start of the heatwave,” Hap continued “That was also when the police started receiving reports of weird animals, strange sounds, and peculiar lights. They were passed off as silly season leftovers. The murders started then, too. Street people mostly. I didn’t see any pattern until I started looking for a pattern. Had I seen a pattern sooner…”

  “Probably wouldn’t have mattered,” Carl said. “Kyle is plenty smart. He got away with murder for years in my world. How much easier it would be for him here, where he doesn’t even exist.”

  Hap swerved to avoid an animal that leaped into their path.

  “Damn!” Carl exploded. “That was a kangaroo!”

  The closer they came to the University, the more thronged the streets were. Nova Byzantium was the most important city in the New Territories, but visits of state were rare. A half-mile from their goal, they were forced to park and go the rest of the way on foot. Carl strapped on the device. Hap reached under the seat, pulled out a light cape, shook it off, and handed it to Carl.

  “Put this on,” he said. “You’ll sweat like a pig, but it’ll help hide that thing from people who are paid to ask questions” Hap surveyed the results, then nodded, satisfied. “Stick close by me. If anyone sees it and asks, it’s a new kind of radio you’re developing for the police. I’ll back you up.”

  They made their way through the swirling crowds.

  There was no problem getting into the amphitheater, not with Hap’s police credentials.

  “That didn’t seem very hard,” Carl commented.

  “Watson would have an easier time,” Hap said. “This is the second largest amphitheater in the world. There are more entrances, licit and illicit, that you can count. Let’s go down to the stage and look around. Besides, no one expects trouble.”

  The place was packed and was brightly lit by arc lights. The students, most of whom were wearing tunics of either blue or green, were chattering excitedly. Probably this was the closest any of them had ever come, or would ever come again, to personally seeing the political and spiritual leader of the New Roman Empire. The excitement of the event even took their minds, for the moment at least, out of the heat-induced lethargy of the night.

  Directly in front of the speaker’s platform was a slender spike of metal surmounted by an ornate disk. Not far from the platform was a bevy of radio technicians. The soldiery charged with the safety of the august person of the Emperor eyed Hap and Carl suspiciously, even after seeing Hap’s credentials. Under close scrutiny, Hap and Carl moved to center stage, looking about.

  “Kyle couldn’t get this close,” Carl remarked.

  “With a professional target rifle, he wouldn’t have to,” Hap said. “Look up there.”

  Carl gazed upward. “What are those little windows for?”

  “Spotlights,” Hap answered. “For wh
en theatricals are staged.”

  “They won’t be used, will they?”

  “Not with arc lamps in place.”

  Carl gripped Hap’s arm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I saw a movement up there, I’m sure of it.”

  Hap pulled Carl toward the right wing. The soldiers were already waving them off stage.

  “He’s got to be up there,” Hap said. “No other place to get a clear shot and stay safely out of sight.”

  “What do we do?”

  “You take care of him, just as we planned.” Hap said. “I’ll stay near the Emperor, just in case. Don’t get yourself killed, Carl.”

  “I’ve never been much of a hero.”

  “You came here and you’re here now. It’s a good start.”

  They shook hands.

  Carl Lesser made his way up marble steps, hurrying as fast as the press of the crowd would allow. Hap moved closer to the stage.

  A man in blue and green robes (a compromise representative of the two factions) moved to center stage from the wing opposite Hap. He announced the imminent appearance of Emperor Michael III Annellica, ruler of the New Roman Empire. The man moved off and the crowd waited tensely.

  Near Hap, a man spoke softly into a microphone, telling the radio audience what was going on.

  Hap could no longer see Carl.

  A tall black man wearing the robes and crown of office walked from the left wing with great dignity. He regarded the crowd with an easy smile. The audience broke into unrestrained applause.

  Hap had seen engravings of the Emperor in newspapers and magazines, but the ex-slave from Ethiopia possessed a sense of power and dignity the artists had been unable to quite capture.

  Hap shielded his eyes from the glare.

  A metal rod extended from one of the little windows.

  The crowd quieted.

  The Emperor started to speak.

  Hap was not really aware he was moving till he crashed into the line of soldiers and they went sprawling. People screamed. Soldiers tried to grab Hap, but it was too late to stop him.

  Hap leaped through the air and crashed into the surprised Emperor, grabbing him about the shoulders and carrying him down. The crack of a rifle shot was almost lost in the panic of the crowd. Something slammed into Hap’s side.

  After an eternity, Hap was lifted from the Emperor and roughly thrown aside.

  “He’s been shot!”

  Hap’s mind swirled into blackness. He was pulled back by the smell of an ammonia capsule. An elderly man bent over him.

  A military officer holding Hap’s credentials moved forward. “You’re a hero, MacGreggor. You saved the Emperor’s life.”

  Hap moved a hand down his side and encountered a sodden bandage.

  “The ambulance will be here shortly to take you to hospital,” the elderly man said. “You’re a lucky young man. If your service sword had not deflected the bullet into a fleshy part, it would have smashed through your hip, shattering your pelvis and making you a cripple for the rest of your life. Amazing the huge differences little things can make in our lives.”

  “The assassin got away,” announced a young soldier, reporting to the military officer. “All I found was this rifle.”

  The Emperor moved forward, soldiers clustered about him. “I owe you my life, Detective MacGreggor.”

  A cool breeze wafted over them.

  “Thank God Most Merciful,” the Emperor sighed. “This heat wave has finally broken.”

  Hap felt something wet his cheek.

  Showers of blood began to fall from the clear sky.

  Some critics have mentioned, from time to time, that I don’t give the readers an even break, that I expect too much from them. That may be true, as I don’t dumb down my vocabulary, I rarely stop to explain obscure notions, and usually don’t translate place names into the modern forms when in an ancient setting. On the other hand, I have great faith in the intelligence of my readers.

  Dark Deception

  A Tale From the Age of Bronze

  Tarsettos had an evil reputation, but the void of Kira’s purse forced her to seek work there.

  She entered a paupers’ gate on the landward side, taunted by cruel guards. A din engulfed her – hawking merchants, strident beggars, swaggering warriors, dismal mendicants, bickering poor, haughty nobles, and the cracks of slaver whips. Dirty streets were thronged by ragged humanity, choked with clustered stalls where anything and anyone could be bought or sold. Magicians conjured firebirds, alchemists vended filtres to the lovelost, and wiccans sold charms and hexes. But of the Goddess’ followers, there were none.

  In the dusk, Kira sought the docks. It was possible, she thought, some mariner might trade her passage for protection from pirates upon the Central Sea.

  “Trade that sword for a broom,” a fat Sidonian named Boras said with a guffaw echoed by his crew. “Then I might find room for you…in the captain’s cabin.”

  Smiling, Kira stepped forward and, quicker than thought, pressed the point of her dagger to his throat. His laughter died.

  “Never killed a man with a broom, but I’ve no time for new tricks.” She pressed between his fat folds, till the point nicked through and sent a tiny trickle of blood to join rivers of sweat. “I’ll just have to use my blade – as I have in the past.”

  “Lady, you misunderstand me!” the Sidonian gasped. “No offense was intended.”

  “I know exactly what you intended,” Kira replied evenly. “I will take offense, but I’ll not take your life.”

  She pushed him against his crew. As she walked away, Boras called after her, for the benefit of men who had seen him bested.

  “Filthy moon worshiper!”

  But she did not turn back.

  At the sun’s setting she was still destitute. Come the morrow, she would go to the agora and offer her sword in service for silver. Her concern now, however, was to find a forgotten nook of Tarsettos where she might rest, safe from knives, away from the cold breath of the night.

  As she passed from the Street of Knives to the Avenue of Eyes, she saw a statuette in a weed-choked yard, the lines of a ruined temple beyond. She approached and lowered her gaze in reverence and remorse: reverence for what this place had been, remorse for what it had become.

  It was the Goddess cast in copper, eaten green with age. To the east, Kira saw the dark moon cresting, the face of Hecate, dark aspect of the Goddess whom men feared as the Slayer, the Empress of Night and Mother of Demons. Kira uttered a small prayer to the Crone.

  The street, a place of closed shops and temples to obscure but tolerated, gods was empty. She waded through weeds to the temple’s portico. Inside, her footfalls echoed from defiled walls once hung with fabrics, through rooms where incense braziers had once smoked, where now dust rose at each step and silence was almost as palpable as the thronging shadows.

  Kira paused, silent for many beatings of her heart, listening to the night. She heard the wind sweep lonely through empty chambers and the whispering of the trees, but not the voice of the Goddess.

  She chose a small room where she could watch across the nave. Once, the rites performed here, bright and sweet or dark and bloody, to the Lady of the Phasing Moon had kept cycles of life and death in balance. No more, but even desecrated temples retained a measure of power, like a god’s name whispered softly in the dark.

  Kira sighed as she removed her bronze. After such a long journey and fruitless day, it felt good to rest in her leather. In the chamber, lit only by reflected starlight and the dark of the moon, Kira ate a small meal of dried meat and hard bread, washed by cool water from her canteen. She lay down, dagger at hand, and slept.

  Kira opened her eyes and wondered what had awakened her. Her hand crept to her dagger. Her fingers closed around the hilt.

  She sat up and listened to the night, the wind in the trees and insects’ songs. Another sound came to her ears, barely audible, of soft footfalls.

  A shadow crept among
shadows. A robed and cowled figure moved to an alcove and there blended with the darkness.

  There was no further sound or movement. Kira wondered if, like her, he sought refuge from the night in a place that had once held meaning for those who followed the Goddess of the Three Paths. Let him rest in peace, she thought, but another sound came to Kira’s ears, less stealthy, of many people in motion.

  Eerie illumination lit the entry, soft pastels of blue and violet. A dozen people entered carrying lanterns on curved poles, the crystal lenses of the lanterns smoked with color. They were garbed in grey robes and hoods, their bare feet whispered across the dusty floor. At the head of the column was a tall, bulky figure, garbed in robes that might have been cut from a starless sky. Upon the chest of the leader was a pale sigil, spectral in the hazy lantern light, one which Kira had seen along the great River in Khemet – the sign of Set, whom the Achaeans believed to be Typhon. When Kira saw the sign of the Destroyer, her mouth became a grim line.

  The people gathered before the leader. He spoke, but the words were alien to Kira, which was startling. In her wanderings around the Central Sea and through far places, she had learned many tongues and could get by in many more. But these words resembled nothing Kira had ever heard, not even the holy tongue of the Lyaryi priests in the Mountains of Darkness, far south of Khemet, true birthplace of dark Set.

  Kira noted a heaviness in the air, like the pall that precedes the advent of a sudden storm. Not taking her gaze from the defilers of the Goddess’s temple, Kira sheathed her dagger, silently buckled on her sword, but left the rest of her bronze armor where it lay lest some sound betray her.

  Subtly, another illumination joined the dark glare of the lanterns, an ebony light that made the lanterns seem bright, a darkness concentrated between leader and followers, a growing sphere of night, swelling with the magician’s words.

  Kira was captivated by that bounded sphere of darkness, by even darker shapes that writhed across sable landscapes.

  A movement snagged Kira’s attention: the robed and cowled figure emerged from the alcove and approached the magician from behind. A curved blade flashed in the attacker’s delicate hand, hurtling downward.