Starweb

by Warren James Palmer

  Well, as there was clearly, nobody at home and the security force field stopped her from boarding the ship, there was only one thing to do. Taking a tiny stove out of her backpack, the mountain-woman sat under the shade created by the alien ship and fried her breakfast.

  Sometime later, whilst brewing a drink, she made up her mind what to do about the presence of the machine parked so inconsiderately in her territory. There was no point in telling the Samarcian authorities, the chances were they'd simply lock her up for being a mad old woman. Besides, the beast probably belonged to the Commonwealth Secret Service. No, there was a different group who would be very interested in the sudden appearance of such a strange starship. They were called the 'Eco-Saviour's'.

  An underground group dedicated to the preservation and restoration of the environment throughout the galaxy, the Eco-Saviours had a lot of sympathisers in this part of Samarcia. Formed from mainly young, ideological people, the underground movement was dedicated to fighting the commercial expansion of the interplanetary companies. Large areas of the Samarcian home world had been allowed to return to nature, but on thousands of planets across the galaxy, whole Eco-systems were being destroyed to feed the insatiable consumer needs of a relative few. It was unacceptable to the Eco-Saviours that so many unique species of plants and animals should be mercilessly wiped out in the name of 'economic expansion.'

  The Samarcian government called them 'Eco-terrorists'. The mountain-woman called them 'The last hope.' She knew where to find them and they would know what to do about the machine sitting above her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The planet Samarcia. Date—unconfirmed.

  By first-light, the three motorcyclists had reached the foothills of the mountains, which dropped away to a vast plain. In the centre of that plain were a group of buildings and a vast concreted dispersal area, which led to three of the longest runways any of them had ever seen.

  'Can't see any obvious signs of security,' Sandpiper noted, looking through his liquid-lensed binoculars. 'No fences, no guard towers—looks too easy.'

  'They don't need fences or watch towers,' Jenson commented. 'Just look how dry the plain is. All the rain falls on these mountains, not down there. Which means any vehicle attempting to reach that place, is going to leave a dust trail that can be seen for miles. Which is bad news for us.'

  'You can guarantee they've also installed a whole host of electronic surveillance kit,' Sandpiper added still examining the Samarcian Secret Service space-field. 'The locater points to the Shanoa being in that large hangar to the right. It ain't going to be easy getting to it undetected. What do you reckon Moss?'

  Moss wasn't looking at the space-field with his binoculars. He was examining a distant dust trail heading steadily across the plain toward the installation.

  'What you looking at kid?' Jenson asked curiously.

  'See that convoy heading for the field?' Moss told his companions.

  'What of it?' Sandpiper asked.

  'The road those vehicles are following crosses these foothills, and at its closest point is only about twenty klicks from here,' he told them. 'They're our ticket into that site.'

  Jenson looked at the younger man and smiled to himself. He knew what was going through Moss's mind, but he waited patiently for him to explain. Without even realising it, the lad he had once saved from the ghettos of London was becoming a natural leader. He was fulfilling his potential without even knowing it.

  'This is a trick I learned on Salisbury plain, many years ago,' Moss told them almost wistfully. Then he explained his plan.

  The sun was high in the sky and blistering hot by the time the next convoy of massive trucks rolled sedately along the highway. From their vantage point, the three Terran's could clearly see it rolling down the foothills toward them. When the huge-wheeled, water-turbine monsters were less than half a klick away, they moved their motorbikes onto the centre of the highway and in plain sight, patiently awaited the arrival of the first truck.

  Moss stood in front of Jenson and Sandpiper, sweating in the midday sun, but totally calm within. The others weren't quite so calm and fingered their automatic rifles nervously, but trusted their friend implicitly. They had every faith in Moss's particular talents.

  The driver of the first lorry saw the three figures in the road and nudged his co-driver who had been snoring loudly. With a grunt and a grumble the hard-faced woman shook her head and demanded, 'What? Are we there yet?'

  The driver pointed to the figures in the road and asked, 'What do you make of them?'

  She peered hard at the three motorcycles and riders.

  'Looks like a patrol coming down from the mountains,' she replied, seeing their uniforms. 'One of their pop-pops must have broken-down. They're probably looking for a lift back to the field. You'd better slow down and stop.'

  'Bloody toy soldiers,' the driver cursed. 'Load of Nancy boys, who reckon they're fracking hard! If they did their bloody job properly, we wouldn't be getting so much grief from the Eco-terrorists.'

  'I'll let you tell them that, you fat bastard,' the co-driver retorted, pulling no punches. 'Those Nancy boys could whip your fat arse any day!'

  'Frack you!' the driver swore, applying the brakes and bringing the whole convoy to a halt beside the motorcyclists. 'What appears to be the problem lads?' he hollered out of the cabin window.

  A stubble-faced trooper looked up at the truck driver and answered easily, 'One of our machines took a bullet in the engine. We could dump it here and ride the other two back, but our squad leader will have our balls for leaving expensive kit lying around.'

  'Ran into some Eco-terrorists?' the driver asked looking at the smashed engine on one of the Samarcian patrol bikes.

  ''Afraid so,' the trooper replied with a shrug.

  A Samarcian patrol sergeant appeared from one of the other trucks and glanced at the damaged motorbike.

  'You boys want a ride back to the field?' he asked.

  'That would be a big help sarge,' the first trooper replied.

  'Have you reported in?' the sergeant asked with the merest hint of suspicion.

  'Sure have sarge,' the trooper answered with a nod.

  The grizzled veteran sergeant stared hard at the three men and their bikes. There was something not quite right about the mountain troops, but he was damned if he could put his finger on it. He thought hard for a moment; it was nearly there…nope, he'd lost it. The truth was he'd been on the road too long. After all, what was there to be suspicious of? These people were just looking for a lift back to camp after a long, arduous patrol.

  'Okay boys,' he agreed easily. 'Shove your bikes in the back of this trailer and let's get going again. It doesn't pay to hang around too long in these parts.

  'Thanks a lot sarge,' the trooper grinned and nodding to his patrol-mates, began pushing his bike toward the trailer.

  The ruse had worked, as Moss knew it would. He'd planted the idea of them being a mountain patrol in the minds of those in the convoy. The power of suggestion did the rest. By talking directly to their minds, the drivers and escort weren't even aware that none of the three even spoke Samarcian as such. What they saw and heard was exactly what Moss wanted them to see and hear.

  Some ninety minutes later, the entire convoy entered the space-field. By a strange coincidence, the drivers and escort completely forgot they'd picked up three hitchhikers. To their minds, the incident never happened.

  The next step was to get into the large hangar, which their small hand-held locater indicated to be the last resting place of the Dyason colonial ship. After squirreling away the bikes behind some packing crates and under some tarpaulin, they briefly conferred about what their next move should be.

  'I have to say that was bloody impressive stuff back there!' Sandpiper whispered in admiration. 'You reckon you can do it again, to get us into that hangar?'

  Moss shook his head. ''I’m afraid not guys. There were only a limited number of people in that convoy. It was relatively easy
to mentally convince them we were a mountain-patrol. However, there's a load more personnel on this base, and I couldn't do the same thing to them without making a loud noise.'

  'Loud noise? What do you mean?' Sandpiper asked curiously.

  'If I have to control a lot of minds, I'll make a big disturbance in the level of sub-ether where the mind operates. Basically, I'll be shouting to every telepath in the whole Samarcian commonwealth that we're here on this base. That would kind of defeat the object a bit.'

  'It would a bit,' Sandpiper agreed, his forehead creased in thought.

  Paul Jenson studiously watched several personnel enter and leave the hangar via a guarded side-door. Eventually, he turned to the others and said, 'I think I have the solution. Leave this to Han and me. Come on, mate!'

  The duo slipped silently from one packing crate to another, then lay in wait until a small group of technicians ambled past. Moss had already taken the precaution of 'borrowing' the Samarcian language from one of the convoy drivers, then 'planting' it in the minds of Jenson and Sandpiper. However, Jenson stepped out from behind one of the crates and smiling pleasantly, greeted the group in English, saying, 'Afternoon all… I'm an alien; stop me and buy one!'

  The Samarcian technicians stopped dead in their tracks, a look of total amazement on their faces. Which gave Sandpiper the perfect opportunity to step up behind and prod them with his automatic. Jenson levelled his rifle as well, then the pair shepherded the stunned group behind the crates. Three minutes later, they rejoined Moss, handing him a technician's uniform of about his size.

  'Nothing to it mate!' Jenson winked.

  'I never doubted you for a moment Paul,' Moss replied with a grin.

  Ten minutes later, the three sauntered into the hangar as if the place belonged to them. The Shanoa was there, lit by vast floodlights and surrounded by scaffolding which allowed intimate inspection of all areas of the hull. It looked to Moss like the examination of the colony transporter was being wound-down. There weren't many technicians to be seen. Those that were there, looked like ants in comparison to the size of the Dyason vessel. The Samarcian security forces had obviously learned nearly all there was to know from the very basic starship. It was therefore not difficult for the three Terran’s to board the ship, and make their way to the flight deck.

  Working their way through the labyrinth of the Shanoa's corridors, they walked headlong into a pair of technicians coming the other way. For a moment, it looked as if the Samarcians were going to raise the alarm as looks of suspicion crossed their faces. However, Moss intervened smoothly and the pair carried on their way having completely forgotten about the presence of the three Terran’s.

  Once onboard the flight deck Sandpiper sealed the doors to ensure their privacy, whilst Moss and Jenson began examining the flight data recorder. It didn't take them long to discover just how the Shanoa managed to end up lost in space-time. 'So basically,' Paul Jenson summarized, 'one of the passengers went berserk, and set off a homemade bomb in the engine-room. This caused the singularity fields to become distorted, sinking the ship deep into the sub-ether.'

  'Where they got caught in the sub ether-flow, and got shunted in space-time, to a point before the emergence of the Starweb,' Moss completed.

  'It's a bit of a coincidence that they emerged into normal space here and now, rather than at any other point,' Sandpiper commented. 'I mean, what are the chances of that happening? Why didn't they end up in some obscure star system at any other point in space-time?'

  'You've got a point there Han,' Jenson agreed. 'Like Moss said, there has to be a reason why all this is happening; somebody out there is yanking our strings. You don't think the Starweb in our time-frame could be behind all this after all, do you?'

  Moss tapped the edge of the console thoughtfully for a moment before answering. Then he said, 'It seems unlikely. Potentially, us being here could jeopardise the very existence of the Starweb. We could sabotage the design and construction of the Samarcian computers, which eventually become the Starweb, which would eradicate them from our time-frame. That's a risk I hardly think they would be willing to take!'

  'So why don't we sabotage the designs?' Sandpiper asked reasonably enough. He did his best to follow how the space-time thing worked, but it was difficult. 'Wouldn't that solve all our problems?'

  'Because dummy, if the Starweb didn't, or rather doesn't, devour the Samarcian civilisation, the seed-ships won't be sent out into the cosmos!' Jenson pointed out to his sidekick. 'Which will mean Excalibur will never get around to wiping out the dinosaurs on Earth and nurturing homo-sapiens. (See Minds of the Empire. WJP) Which inevitably, would lead to Mrs Sandpiper never meeting Mr Sandpiper and having a baby called Han Sandpiper—savvy?'

  'Ah, I see what you mean,' Sandpiper nodded merrily, happy now that the pieces were fitting into place. 'Which is why we can't go around with guns blazing; just in case we affect the time-line?'

  'That's about the size of it Han,' Moss agreed. 'Which is why I want to find the Shanoa's crew and passengers and get them away from here. There's no telling what effect their presence is having on the time-line. That's why I'm fairly sure the Starweb isn't directly involved. It's too dangerous for everybody!'

  'Well, our next move must be to look for the hapless souls. We know where to find our chum brother Dakol. The question is, where are they holding the others?' Moss pondered. He looked at the ship's logs once more, but finding no clue. 'It still worries me that I can sense the monk, but none of the others. Something's definitely amiss.'

  'If it were me, I would keep them well away from the press and any prying eyes,' Jenson thought aloud, putting his mind and years of military experience to the task. 'Which means somewhere remote, but not too far from the ship, just in case the intelligence experts need one of the crew to give them a guided tour.'

  'You mean somewhere like those blocks of buildings on the far side of the space-field,' Sandpiper told them with a grin. 'The ones with the electronic security fences?'

  Moss and Jenson looked at each other in surprise, then at their companion. 'I don't remember seeing any detention blocks,' Jenson commented.

  'That's 'cause them massive hangars block them from view,' Sandpiper answered casually.

  'So how do you know they're there?' Moss demanded.

  ''Cause they're drawn on this map I found in the pocket of one of them technician's coats,' he told them with a Cheshire cat smile, pulling out the small diagrammatic plan of the space-field.

  Moss took one look at the layout and headed for the exit. 'Nicely played Han… that was a good move. Let's go take a look.'

  They made their way out of the Shanoa and the vast hangar without any difficulty. Then, using the small diagram as a guide they headed toward the compound sited on the far side of the space-field. Unlike much of the installation, which was secured only by electronic means, a high wall topped with what looked like electrified wire, surrounded this area. There was just one hard-topped road leading to and from the compound, whilst the perimeter was patrolled by troops in off-road vehicles.

  'This isn't going to be so easy,' Jenson commented, eying the compound casually from the edge of the landing area. The three of them walked with a sense of purpose, apparently taking notes on several parked Samarcian vessels, but in reality, examining the remote area.

  'I can't see them letting us in there with just these technicians uniforms on,' he continued. 'We're going to need something more. Any ideas?'

  'Can't we hitch a ride like before?' Sandpiper suggested. 'Something's got to go into that compound at some stage.'

  'We could be waiting a long time for that,' Moss pointed out. 'The owners of these uniforms we're wearing are going to be found sooner or later. When that happens, we'll have enough trouble getting out of here in the first place, let alone breaking in to that compound.'

  'What we really need is a diversion of some sort,' Jenson mused. 'A sodding great big diversion!'

  'You know how we talked about the risk o
f us being here in this time-line?' Sandpiper said with a frown of concentration.

  'Yeah, what of it Han?'

  'Well, surely the presence of the Shanoa is a big threat. I mean, it comes from the future and certainly doesn't belong here. Shouldn't we be doing something about that?' he replied.

  'Are you suggesting we blow it up?' Moss asked following Sandpiper's train of thought.

  'It would certainly make one hell of a diversion!' the short, stocky pilot pointed out.

  'It would at that, but it would also vaporise anything within a hundred klicks of this place,' Jenson said considering the potential flaws of such a plan. 'Once the status fields for the singularities are removed the effect will be like a small sun exploding. It'll take us all with it!'

  'Not necessarily,' Moss countered, thinking aloud, whilst pretending to be examining the undercarriage of what appeared to be a Samarcian interceptor.

  'The singularities on the Shanoa are artificial. Which means if they're shut down in the correct sequence, there won't be any explosion. To all intents and purposes they'll simply pop out of existence.'

  'Of course, if we did that and then set off all the ship's alarms, the Samarcians will still think the singularities are going to wipe out this entire base,' Jenson added. 'The self-destruct sequence should then create a sufficiently large bang to make everybody scurry around and destroy the Shanoa.'

  'That sounds like a plan to me,' Moss agreed. 'But I think I should go into the compound alone. It'll be much easier for me to make myself invisible if I'm on my own.'

  'Okay, you do that and leave the rest to us,' Jenson confirmed, happier now they had a firm plan of action. 'We'll rendezvous back by the motorbikes in one hour exactly. Don't be afraid to telepath us if anything goes wrong, Moss.'