‘But he’s dead!’ protested Garshak.
‘Only after a fashion,’ said Roz. ‘There’s a good chance the Ripper may still be using his appearance. And tell your beat patrols to be on the look-out for unexplained strangers with money, bizarre or violent behaviour, all the usual stuff .
‘In Megacity,’ said Garshak, ‘bizarre and violent behaviour is pretty much the norm. But I’ll do my best for you.’
‘Right, that’s it, for the moment,’ said Roz. ‘If we could have our property back?’
Garshak opened a drawer and produced a small slim-line blaster, a much larger one, a neuronic stun-sap, and the hovercraft driver’s vibroknife, laying them on the desk.
Roz picked up the slim blaster and tucked it back into its underarm holster. She looked at the other assorted armaments for a moment. She’d carried a vibroknife herself for a while but she didn’t like to any more.
She turned to Chris who was finishing off the last of the cakes. ‘Come on, pick up your toys and let’s get going. We’ve got work to do!’
Chris got up, went over to the desk and collected his various weapons, stowing them away about his person. He paused for a moment, looking curiously at Garshak. ‘Forgive me if I’m being too personal – but you’re not exactly a typical Ogron, are you?’
‘I’m an experiment,’ said Garshak. ‘A freak.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’
‘Not at all,’ said Garshak expansively. ‘I quite like telling the story.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘A scientist came to our planet with a plan for brain augmentation. It was a scheme to turn what he called lower species, like ours, into more useful servants, capable of a greater range of tasks. He paid a local chief handsomely to volunteer a group of us. The scientist experimented on us with drugs, with brain surgery, with neurological stimulation.’
‘What happened?’
‘Half of his subjects went mad and died. A few others recovered, with their intelligence very slightly improved. The rest of the survivors were unchanged. In only one case was the experiment completely successful.’
‘You?’
‘Me.’
‘What happened to the scientist?’
‘When he realized he’d succeeded, even once, he was eager to buy more subjects and go on with his experiments. I was fully recovered by then. I persuaded him to change his plans.’
‘How?’ asked Roz. Somehow she already knew the answer.
‘I killed him,’ said Garshak. ‘I killed the chief who’d sold us as well. Then I stole the scientist’s ship and took the other survivors off with me. I felt responsible for them somehow.’
He shrugged massive shoulders. ‘We became mercenaries, bodyguards, the usual sort of thing. We ended up here at the time the job of Police Chief became vacant. They’d been having rather a high turnover in police chiefs in Megacity.’
‘And they gave you the job?’
‘There was one other candidate, a Martian Ice Warrior, but I persuaded him to withdraw.’
Roz held up her hand. ‘I won’t even ask...Come on Chris. Goodbye, Chief.’
‘Justice by your side,’ said Garshak.
‘Fairness be your friend,’ chorused Roz and Chris automatically. They looked at each other in consternation. Garshak smiled. ‘Adjudicators. I thought so.’
‘Ex-Adjudicators,’ corrected Roz coldly.
‘I didn’t know there were any.’
‘Only us,’ said Chris.
‘It must be rather lonely.’
‘Like being an intelligent Ogron,’ said Roz. She turned and marched from the room. Chris nodded to Garshak and followed.
As they descended the stone staircase Chris said, ‘Interesting character.’
Roz snorted.
They went outside and stood on the steps of the police barracks, looking up and down the long rutted road for hovercabs. There weren’t any.
Chris saw a com-unit by the door and slotted in the hovercab driver’s disc. After a moment a voice said, ‘Hover-cab seventy-nine. Wa’ you wan”?’
‘Pick-up outside police HQ, two passengers back downtown,’ said Chris. ‘Triple fare if you get here right away.’
‘Thass me you see pulling up,’ said the voice. There was a crackle and the disc popped out of the com. Chris pocketed it and grinned at Roz. ‘Better the devil you know!’
They stood waiting, trying to breathe as little of the warm polluted air as possible.
On the flat roof of the police barracks opposite‘ a wiry cloaked figure checked the sights on a laser-rifle and levelled it, using the low parapet as a rest.
A white spot appeared above the door of the police building. It drifted downwards towards Roz and Chris.
3
Sentarion
Bernice Summerfield stood outside the hot and dusty little spaceport and stared at the towers and spires and turrets of Sentarion City. They gleamed in the desert sunlight, huge birds wheeling around them.
Even a cynic like Bernice Summerfield couldn’t help being impressed.
Sentarion, the university planet, the greatest concentration of scholars and scholarship in the known galaxy. A place where nothing mattered but the accumulation of knowledge and the cultivation of wisdom, where the only passions were the passions of the mind.
It was the academic dream that Bernice Summerfield, planet-wise, widely experienced and totally unqualified archaeologist, had aspired to all her life.
It felt like coming home.
True, her impressive credentials were forged, her research project was a cover story, and she was once again a pawn in the Doctor’s dark and devious schemes – but why let a few inconvenient facts spoil things?
Bernice Summerfield felt terrific. Despite the long journey in the primitive planet-hopper that had deposited her on Sentarion and immediately blasted off again, she felt fresh, alert and alive.
She knew why, of course. ‘You’ll like Sentarion,’ the Doctor had told her, sounding like a Gaztak trying to sell you a second-hand spaceship. ‘Quite apart from the academic
side, it’s a low-gravity, high-oxygen planet. Takes years off you. Last time I was there I felt like a lad of a hundred.’
Bernice drew a deep breath of the clear, dry air. Air like wine, she thought. No, more like Eridanean brandy. I wonder if there’s anywhere I can get a drink? She looked at the gleaming spires. I wonder how the hell I get to the University?
Sentarion was a desert planet, very largely uninhabited. Its sun, bigger and closer than that of Earth, shone fiercely in a clear blue sky. The complex, crystalline spires of Sentarion City gleamed across the rocky desert, from somewhere in the distance. Bernice suspected that it was further away than it looked. Its relative closeness was an optical illusion, produced by the clean, clear desert air.
The odd thing was that there was no road. Nothing, not even a track. Just the spaceport and the city, out here in the desert.
Logic told Bernice that the problem must have a solution. The University had visitors, somehow they had to be able to reach it. There was no one to ask, the spaceport was shut up and deserted. Her planet-hopper was the only arrival of the day.
Maybe it’s a test, she thought. You march across the desert to prove your dedication, and the survivors get to study.
She glared at the gleaming spires, so near and yet so far, irritation rapidly replacing admiration. So how am I supposed to get there? Fly?
That was when she saw the big bird. It appeared out of the heat haze and flew clumsily towards her, huge wings beating slowly up and down.
Then she saw it wasn’t a bird at all. It was a flying craft, with wings that flapped up and down like those of a bird. What was the word? An ornithopter, that was it!
Bernice watched as the strange craft thumped to the ground just in front of her. There was someone – something – in the cockpit, a stubby creature with a shiny black carapace. It looked like a giant beetle.
‘Professor Summerfield?’ it squeaked. ‘Fo
r University?’ ‘Er – yes,’ said Bernice. Tor University.’
‘Please to mount.’
Bernice hesitated. She’d never really liked flying, even in spaceships where you couldn’t usually see where you were going. The thought of trusting herself to this rickety contraption terrified her.
‘Please to hurry!’ rasped the pilot.
Bernice remembered a film about man’s early attempts at flight that the Doctor had once shown her. This craft looked very like the primitive planes in the film – the ones that crashed.
Telling herself the alternative was a march across the desert, Bernice lifted her pack, and climbed into the passenger seat behind the pilot.
The wings began flapping again and the ornithopter lurched back into the air. Whatever the power-source was, it was completely silent – electricity perhaps. The only sound came from the creaking of the wings.
I bet there’s no in-flight drinks service, she thought, and fished a flask of Eridanean brandy from a pocket of her pack.
It was all quite logical, Bernice told herself as she sipped the brandy. This contraption would never have got off the ground on Earth, but here on this low-gravity planet it was perfectly practical.
That’s why there were no roads, they’d developed simple flying craft instead of ground cars. The things she’d taken for birds flying around the city were actually traffic.
As for the pilot, that was understandable too.
‘Insects are the dominant life-form on Sentarion,’ the Doctor had told her.
Bernice had shuddered. Bugs and creepy-crawlies had never been favourites of hers, though she’d been ashamed to say so to the Doctor, who seemed to find all life-forms equally fascinating.
She hadn’t been much reassured when the Doctor went on, ‘Very large insects as a matter of fact. The low gravity supports their exoskeletons, enables them to grow bigger and live longer. They’ve developed a very interesting civilization.’
She saw another ornithopter, a sleeker-looking model, flapping towards them from the city. It seemed to be heading
for the spaceport. Idly, Bernice wondered why, since hers had been the only landing of the day. Could be a spaceport official, she told herself. Could be a hundred reasons.
Suddenly she realized that they were heading directly away from the city.
She leaned forward and shouted, ‘I want to go to the University please. The University!’
‘That is correct,’ said the pilot. ‘University!’
Bernice drew a deep breath. ‘I want to go to the main University,’ she shouted. ‘The one in the City. I have to report to the Chancellor.’
The pilot ignored her. The ornithopter headed off into the desert, leaving the gleaming spires of the city behind.
‘Hey, you!’ yelled Bernice. She leaned forward and rapped the pilot hard on his shiny black back.
‘Desist!’ said the pilot. ‘Do not cause problems!’
Bernice rapped again, harder. ‘Take me where I want to go!’
The pilot swung completely round. Small eyes glittered in a narrow face. Suddenly a long needle-like spike shot out from its proboscis.
‘Please do not be troublesome,’ it squeaked. ‘It is not seemly to kill you in flight. Wait until we have landed, and I will drink your life with the proper rituals. You will accept your death with dignity.’
‘The hell I will,’ said Bernice Summerfield, and smashed the heavy brandy flask down on the creature’s head. It shrieked and fell backwards, green ichor oozing from a large crack.
The ornithopter lurched and headed towards the ground.
Bernice scrambled forwards and struggled to reach the controls. But the pilot’s body was wedged into the cockpit, blocking her access. She heaved desperately at the body, trying to pull it free, but the squat insectoid form was incredibly heavy and somehow she just couldn’t get a proper grip.
All the time the ornithopter went on plunging downwards. The wings were moving much slower now, and the craft was going into a spin. She looked round for some kind of parachute, but there was nothing to be seen. Perhaps they hadn’t been invented here.
Down, down, down spiralled the ornithopter, while Bernice wrestled desperately with the body of the pilot, which obstinately refused to move. If she had any sense she’d have waited to clobber him until they were on the ground. If she had any sense she wouldn’t be here at all, she told herself. She wouldn’t have listened to the Doctor’s blandishments.
‘Just a spot of simple research on a project I’m toying with,’ he’d said. ‘Bit of a sideshow, I suspect, but it’s worth a try. I’ve already got Roz and Chris working on the more practical end. This bit’s ideal for you, you’ve got such a talent for research. Nobody else could do it half so well – except me, of course, and I’m a bit tied up just now. You’ll love Sentarion – it’s so peaceful. I’m sure you’ll find it’s your spiritual home.’
Well, it was going to be her final home, thought Bernice. She’d really excelled herself this trip. Off the shuttle, into this weird flying machine – dead.
She was letting the Doctor down, thought Bernice, as she tugged desperately at the obstinately unmoving pilot. Somehow that was the most annoying thing of all.
In the middle of these bitter reflections, the ornithopter slammed into the ground. Bernice realized with some indignation that she was still alive. She was jarred, bruised and shaken, but she definitely wasn’t dead.
It must be the low gravity, she told herself, as she scrambled out of the wrecked craft. Or maybe the flapping wings had some kind of parachute effect themselves, slowing down the rate of fall. Whatever the reason, she seemed to have survived the crash.
She grabbed her pack and scrambled out of the wreck, afraid that it might blow up, as they did in the holovids.
The ornithopter, however, simply flapped its wings feebly a few more times and then collapsed in on itself.
Bernice drew a long shuddering breath. She still had her flask in her hand – it was dented but not broken – and she took a quick restorative swig.
She looked around, assessing her situation. The gleaming spires of the city seemed further away than ever.
Looks like the long hike after all, Benny, she told herself.
There wasn’t much brandy left. What she really needed was water.
Then she saw the second ornithopter, the sleeker one, flapping towards her. Maybe it was the local equivalent of the Red Cross. Or maybe someone was coming to finish the job.
Bernice started rummaging in her pack. After much scrabbling – inevitably what she was looking for was right at the bottom – she pulled out a blaster. A voice inside her head said, ‘Standard issue, power-pack in the butt, Setting One delivers a solid punch, Setting Two disables, Setting Three kills.’
‘All right, Ace, all right,’ she muttered out loud. ‘Where are you and your portable armoury when I need you?’
Setting the blaster on Two she straightened up, just as the second ornithopter landed close by.
A tall green figure unfolded itself from the cockpit and came stalking towards her. A good three metres tall, it had huge glowing eyes surmounted by long, thin antennae, two pairs of forelegs, and a huge pair of back legs, with reversed knee-joints. It looked very much like a giant grasshopper. A gold cloak was draped about its body.
Bernice raised the blaster. ‘That’s close enough.’
The creature bowed stiffly. ‘Professor Summerfield?’ it said in a high, reedy voice. ‘For the University? Please to mount!’
Bernice gestured towards the wrecked ornithopter and its dead pilot. ‘That’s exactly what he said. It didn’t work out too well for either of us – especially him. Don’t make the same mistake.’
‘There can be no comparison. I am Hapiir, your appointed mentor. I am official of the University, Grade Five.’
‘And who was he?’
‘One of the Harrubtii – bandit scum, from the outer desert. They prey on unwary travellers. You have been very rash, Pr
ofessor.’
‘I’ve been rash?’ said Bernice indignantly. ‘I arrive here an accredited guest of the University, that murderous – thing there picks me up and threatens to drink my blood and I have to fight for my life and nearly get killed in a crash and I’ve been rash?’
Hapiir waited until she ran out of breath and said reprovingly, ‘Did you not read the notice warning against boarding unlicensed ‘thopters? See, my own bears the University mark.’ Hapiir gestured towards the row of gold-painted symbols on the side of his craft. He looked scornfully at the shabby unmarked wreck. ‘How could you mount such a vehicle as that? Have you never left your home planet before? Have you no experience of the perils of travel? Had you been killed it would have caused the University a great deal of trouble.’
‘Sorry, I’m sure,’ said Bernice icily.
‘Your apology is accepted. Now, please mount so that we may avoid further delay.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Bernice. ‘Do you have any identification?’
Hapiir produced an ornate gold badge from beneath his cloak.
‘My seal of office.’
It could have been a merit badge from the Sentarion Scout Troop as far as Bernice was concerned, but she was too tired to argue. Reaction had set in and she felt suddenly exhausted. If the bugs that lived on this planet were so determined to knock her off, let them. Just so long as they let her have some food and a drink first.
Wearily she climbed into the passenger seat of the second ornithopter. She waved the blaster.
‘All right then, home, James. Take the direct route, not the pretty way.’
In a dignified silence, Hapiir climbed into the pilot seat. The wings flapped gently, and the ornithopter glided smoothly upwards. Bernice held on to her blaster – and her brandy-flask – until it was clear that the ornithopter was heading for the city.
Then she put both away and leaned forward to speak to Hapiir.
‘How come you turned up to the rescue?’
‘I was assigned to meet you and take you to the city. Unfortunately, I was slightly delayed. I arrived in time to see you leaving in another ‘thopter. I was concerned and I followed.’
Shakedown Page 5