“Ahriman is…engaged in other tasks.”
The Baron looked at the captives.
“Captured near the base,” Khallimar said. “They escaped prior to questioning. There is a third, but he has also been captured.”
The Martian struggled, but a Naga knocked him unconscious.
“Take them to an interrogation room, with the third intruder,” Bellaseus ordered. “I will question them.”
“As you wish,” Khallimar said. “I have other matters to which I must attend.”
Khallimar departed. The prisoners were taken away. The Baron looked around and frowned. Eck had vanished.
Chapter 14
Lady Cynthia Barrington-Welles watched the aethership start to swing about. Ever since passing the orbit of Venus she had followed in its wake, just out of sensing range. Its lines and livery matched those of an aethership reported leaving an isolated valley in Central Europe by a Section 6 observer, its course unregistered.
The papers held by Section 6 identified Lord Khallimar as being in India, but there were several allusions to another official in MEDUSA, a shadowy spymaster identified only as ‘B,’ operating from a secluded region with guarded borders as difficult to breach as an iron curtain. The possibility that this aethership was connected to the obscure MEDUSA overlord seemed slim, or did until it crossed the orbit of Mercury at high speed.
Her intended destination, Twilight Station to follow up Hand’s infuriatingly vague report, was abandoned in favor of a journey into the unknown. As they neared the Sun, Lady Cynthia dimmed her small flier’s viewing crystal and closed in on the other ship. It was a dangerous move, the chance of detection high, but her craft was a small target, and if she precisely matched every movement of the other ship there was a good chance that if she was detected the crew might dismiss her as naught but an aether ghost.
When she set out for Mercury, she fully expected to find those two reprobates in a riverside tavern chatting up freighter captains and, knowing that Martian, a few barmaids as well. Hand was an endearing little fellow, loyal and courageous to a fault, but also a now-and-then dubious influence upon Robert. She had taken Hand’s suggestion of a MEDUSA base on an intra-Mercurial planet as a hypothesis, nothing to follow up in an existential manner. Such, also, had been the attitudes of her superiors in Section 6, but they saw no harm in letting her join their efforts. With so many actions being conducted by others to eradicate MEDUSA, they could afford to let her go off in search of a mare’s nest.
Then the unknown planet appeared before her.
“Mare’s nest indeed,” she muttered.
She took hasty readings of the planet’s orbital momentum and angular trajectory, then fed the information into her flier’s Babbage Machine. She then opened a secure aether channel and forwarded the information to a startled Section 6 clerk. All this took less than three minutes, still time she could ill afford being distracted.
They were nearing the terminator when she realized the other ship was slowing, adjusting its trajectory. Abruptly, she reduced her repulsor energy, shut down the flier’s aether engine, and switched to maneuvering jets only. The result was that she dropped out of the sky, not quite like a rock but near enough to leave her stomach churning. If anyone on that aethership had noticed her inadvertent near approach, her sudden disappearance would likely confirm her existence as nothing but an aether ghost.
The aethership continued its slow arc into the fire then back toward the twilight, approaching a massive structure in the foothills. It faced sunward, overlooking a plain upon which had been erected enormous black blocks of uncertain intent. Certainly something was going on—they were surrounded by a nimbus of seething energy. It appeared as if the Sun itself were reaching towards them, and about their bases writhed glimmering tendrils of light.
“Blast!” Lady Cynthia snarled.
The aethership had come to a full stop facing the facility. Lady Cynthia braked with her maneuvering jets, but had to increase the energy to the flier’s repulsors to keep aloft, while trying her best to remain hidden, now not just from the aethership but from whatever surveillance devices the facility had.
The aethership now moved forward, but from her position Lady Cynthia could not tell whether an airlock had been opened or a landing pad extended. Concentrating on her quarry, she moved to get a better view.
Her flier suddenly lurched to port. Simultaneously, it shuddered convulsively. There was an ear-shattering noise. The prow slammed into the ground. Only her restraining belts prevented her from being thrown against the viewing port. She had kept the flier in a delicate balance between the gravitational effects of Sun and planet, had maneuvered closely around treacherous landforms at ridiculous altitudes. But all that came to naught when, in trying to keep the aethership in sight, she approached too close to an outcropping, striking it. After that, everything went to hell, quickly.
Knowing there was no way to recover from the catastrophe, she set her sights on surviving it. She smacked the quick-release and the belt fell away. The bottom and top of the flier changed places. She grabbed a support beam and pulled herself to the survival locker. Quickly she donned an excursion suit, then fell to the bottom of the small space (or it could have been the top, she was not sure), pressing against the sides as she rode out the crash.
She opened her eyes. She had passed out, though she could not tell for how long. The crystal covering of the chronometer in the suit’s arm was shattered. There was no motion and she heard nothing but her own breaths.
When she moved, the pain was terrific, but nothing seemed broken. More importantly, her excursion suit was intact. The face-plate was not cracked and the joints and armature mechanisms were functioning. She tried to open the locker, but it was jammed. She lay on her back, pressed both metal boots against door, and pushed hard. Her muscles strained and the mechanisms of the suit whirred and clicked in her ears. The door finally gave way. A strut fell to the deck with a clang and the hatch popped open.
The aether radio was useless, beyond repair. The ship itself was scrap. There was only one obvious chance of survival, but she could not see herself walking up to the MEDUSA facility, knocking on the door, and inviting herself in for high tea.
She would think of something, she told herself. She always did. Salvaging what supplies she could and arming herself with two handguns, Lady Cynthia grabbed the manual control, cranked open the escape hatch, and extended the ramp.
They were waiting for her when she stepped outside. She started for her weapons, but stayed her hand. More arrived, now almost a dozen. They seemed to be waiting, anticipating.
She activated her suit’s speaker and said: “Hello. I am Lady Cynthia Barrington-Wells. I come in peace, and extend the good will of the British Empire and the salutations of Her Britannic Majesty Queen Victoria. I am very pleased to meet you.”
The fiery worm-like beings writhed nervously.
* * *
“How is Professor Swift?” Folkestone asked.
“Alive,” Hand replied. “Sleeping.”
Folkestone motioned for Hand to join him now that the medic had departed and they were finally alone. Hand left the astronomer on the cot, which was, like the table and chairs in the room, secured to the deck. Folkestone put a finger to his lips as Hand approached.
“We are probably being monitored,” Folkestone whispered.
Hand nodded and leaned closer. “We never made it to the ship, sir. Attacked before we could reach it. Might have been able to get in, maybe one of us at least, but this tall blighter came up from the rear with his swarm of Nagas and a sharp-shooting dolly.”
“Any idea who he is?”
“Baron Wilhelm Bellaseus, putting together what I heard from various lips,” Hand replied. “But I swear I heard a few of the Nagas call him ‘god,’ though it’s always hard to tell just what the wogs are jabbering with that snakey lingo of theirs.”
“As we well know, the Venusian Lizard Men are very loyal,” Folkestone said. �
�That girl…”
“Quite a looker and very handy with a gun,” Hand interjected, his voice betraying equal parts animosity and admiration. Suddenly he looked stricken. “Do you think she could be the same…”
“Yes, just what I was thinking,” Folkestone said. “The female assassin who gave our friend Inspector Slaughter and his charge such a rough go of it. I hope her presence here does not mean she managed to finish her mission.”
Hand shrugged. “I did notice that when the fighting was over she was nowhere to be seen, and Bellaseus did seem worried.”
“May mean something,” Folkestone allowed. “Glad to see you kept your wits even when being fought over by peckish Nagas.”
Hand frowned, then leaned closer, whispering directly into the Captain’s ear.
“Sir, those two blokes I saw, Khallimar and Bellaseus, may be the grand poobahs of MEDUSA, but it’s all mongoose and cobra between them,” Hand said. “Maybe there’s a way we can use that, you think?”
“Hopefully,” Folkestone agreed. “At any rate, we have to…”
The locks clicked and the door hissed open. Folkestone and Hand sprang apart, both facing the portal. Five guards entered and with their weapons motioned both men to move together.
Baron Bellaseus entered. “Captain Folkestone and Sergeant Hand, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, but not so pleasurable to see you still alive. Your corpses were supposed to be found floating in a Martian canal long ago.”
“Competent assassins might have helped,” Folkestone said.
“Tanaka and Zimmer made brown bread of Poulpe and a ponce like Phylus-Zant,” Hand said with a smirk. “But nonced it with us.”
“Yes, I suppose they ‘nonced’ it with the two of you,” the Baron admitted, “but my best assassin was otherwise occupied.”
“Your pretty dolly?” Hand taunted.
“The last I heard, Inspector Slaughter and his charge were alive and well in London,” Folkestone added.
“Buggered up that too, eh?”
The Baron’s face purpled with rage and his hands trembled. Folkestone and Hand wondered if the next words from the man’s mouth would be a command to shoot the prisoners. Bellaseus closed his eyes momentarily, his face returned to its normal coloring, and his hands gripped each other tightly.
“You have not been brought here so I can listen to gibes and British witticisms,” the Baron said softly. “Obviously, had our agents been better at their jobs you would not have been able to bumble and stumble your way this far.”
“But here we are,” Folkestone said.
“Yes, here you are,” Bellaseus echoed. “But the question is, who else knows you are here?”
“Yes,” Folkestone agreed. “That is the question.”
“Listen to me, Captain Folkestone, if you think you will be able to prolong your lives by refusing to cooperate, then you are very much mistaken,” Bellaseus warned. “If you will not tell me what I want to know then I will have you executed. I have no time to waste on the three of you.”
“With Khallimar moving against you,” Folkestone remarked, “I am sure you have no time at all.”
Bellaseus regarded the two men narrowly. He half-turned to the guards and snapped: “Out! All of you, out!”
“But, Baron, we were told…”
“Out!” the Baron yelled, unholstering his own weapon. “Get out now! Every one of you!”
Reluctantly, the guards did as they were told. As soon as they were alone in the room, Bellaseus aimed his weapon at an upper corner of the room and depressed the trigger. Sparks flew and when the smoke cleared they saw the remains of a listening device.
“No more of the… ‘fly upon the wall,’ as you English say,” the Baron remarked. “Perhaps they are loyal, perhaps not, it is hard to tell anymore. They all took an oath to serve MEDUSA, but that was intended to be an allegiance to an ideal, the vision of a Solar System lifted from chaos, not fealty to a single man…not the wrong man.”
“To this bloke Khallimar?” Hand murmured.
“Yes, he is mad, I am quite sure of that,” Bellaseus said.
“Well, you certainly ain’t…” Hand started to say, but fell silent at a warning touch from Folkestone.
“My Nagas are penned up, my bodyguards are in custody, and Eck has vanished,” Bellaseus said.
Hand looked to Folkestone in confusion, but was waved off.
“I think the only reason I am still free,” the Baron continued, “is because Khallimar does not know who among station security is still loyal to whom. He dares not move against me directly, but he knows that his weakness is also mine—I no longer have any idea whom I can trust here.”
“I’m surprised you came here at all with only the force you have,” Folkestone said.
The Baron shrugged. “I was maneuvered into a position where I had little choice. But it seems I have bit off more than I can eat.”
“Chew,” Hand said. “Bit off more than you can chew.”
“Yes, of course,” the Baron sneered.
“We got that in common, I guess,” Hand admitted.
“Is he planning to use those objects on the plain to manifest the energy we saw at the Pandora station?” Folkestone asked. “Is he going to use it to threaten the Empire?”
“You are perceptive, Folkestone, but your mind is limited,” the Baron said. “What is your Empire compared to MEDUSA? It is just the biggest pigeon in the shoot, the first to be laid low. The Mills gather energy. With this base, Khallimar can manifest it anywhere. London. Syrtis Major. In the midst of your Royal Navy. And he can defend this planet from any attack.”
“Sounds like he’s ready to cut you out, mate,” Hand said.
Bellaseus nodded. “Does anyone know you are here? Are you expecting any rescue?”
“Why should we tell you?” Folkestone asked.
“Help me and I will help you,” the Baron replied. “If no one is coming to your rescue, then I am your only hope; if a force is on its way, then I can prevent it from being destroyed.”
“Why should we trust you?”
“You have as little reason to trust me as I have to trust you,” the Baron pointed out. “But your situation leaves you little choice. You must make a deal with the Devil, it seems, and you must decide which devil you want to deal with.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” Folkestone suggested.
“More like the enemy of my enemy is still my bloody enemy,” Hand interjected. “Not bloody likely, mate.”
“Inelegantly put, Sergeant, but not untrue,” Bellaseus admitted. “However, even enemies can effect a truce of convenience to defeat a common foe.” The Baron paused and smiled. “If it gladdens your Martian heart, we can always agree to kill each other later.”
“All right then,” Folkestone said. “There is an remote chance of outside intervention. Others know we were bound here, but, as you no doubt know, Hephaestus is difficult to locate.”
“Yes, we lost several ships in the effort.”
“What are your detection capabilities?”
The Baron paused. “Not good. If an enemy force of significant number were to approach, we would detect it, despite the massive radio and aethereal interference from the Sun. But if a single ship approaches, as you discovered, detection is unlikely, though not impossible.”
“If help comes, it will likely be a massive attack,” Folkestone said. “The Empire and other governments are shutting MEDUSA down. This facility will be seen as the last nail in the coffin.”
“Very well,” the Baron said with decisiveness. “We will try to wrest control of the Mills from Khallimar. That will ensure safety for your allies and allow you to kill the leader of MEDUSA.”
“Or capture,” Folkestone pointed out.
The Baron shrugged.
“And what do you get out of it, chummy?” Hand asked.
“Protection from Khallimar,” the Baron replied. “And a chance to escape. A fair head start.”
“To
start MEDUSA all over again?” Folkestone said.
“Who can say?” Bellaseus replied. “All people yearn for order, to raised from chaos. If not MEDUSA, then something else that will fulfill that yearning without the yoke of nationalism.”
Hand and Folkestone regarded each other, doubt clouding their eyes. No words were needed for each shared the same thoughts.
“See if you can rouse Professor Swift,” Folkestone said.
Hand went to the astronomer’s side.
“Leave him,” the Baron advised. “The spear was not tipped with poison so he will be fine, probably. He will slow us down.”
“The three of us came together,” Folkestone said. “We leave together.” He paused. “And we want weapons.”
“Impossible,” Baron Bellaseus snorted. “How do I know you would not turn on me, use me as a hostage to get to your ship?”
“You don’t,” Folkestone said. “But I don’t think your value as a hostage is all that sure at the moment. They might gladly shoot through you to get to us.”
The faint smile upon Bellaseus’ face wilted. “Very well.”
Professor Swift groaned as Hand helped him to his feet.
“You all right, Professor?”
“I’ll live, it seems,” the astronomer replied. “I’m very tired, but I’ll keep up.”
“Wait here,” Bellaseus said. “I will return shortly.”
The door hissed open, then shut, the lock whirring into place.
“I hope this goes better than other deals with the Devil that I’ve read about, sir,” Hand remarked. “He may just leave us to rot.”
Folkestone shook his head. “In some ways, I think the Baron’s position may be more precarious than ours. We know who our enemies are. He may get stabbed in the back at any time.”
“I’d volunteer.”
“Except we’ve agreed to work with him,” Folkestone pointed out. “For the time being.”
“Yes, sir,” Hand acknowledged dejectedly.
The lock whirred, the door hissed open, and the Baron entered. He handed them weapons of strange form.
Amidst Dark Satanic Mills (Folkestone & Hand Interplanetary Steampunk Adventures Book 2) Page 36