Shakedown

by Terrance Dicks

  ‘Query. Is the forbidden area designated as a Temple?’

  ‘Partially confirmed.’

  ‘Query. Is forbidden area designation “Temple of the Shining Ones”?’

  ‘Confirmed.’

  ‘Gotcha!’ said Bernice Summerfield. She leaned forward and began memorizing the map. When she was sure that she had it in her head, she shut down her terminal and went off to lunch.

  After another unbearably healthy meal of salad and fruit juice, Bernice went back to her room and changed into the clothes she’d arrived in. She ran into Hapiir in the courtyard and he looked at her in surprise.

  ‘I trust you are not leaving us, Domina?’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Bernice sweetly. ‘But I’ve spent so much time peering into a terminal my head’s getting fuzzy. I’ve decided to take the afternoon off and go for a walk.’

  ‘I should be honoured to act as your guide.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Bernice, a little too hastily.

  Hapiir looked hurt. ‘But it is my duty to look after your welfare, Domina. I assure you that you would enjoy your walk much more with an informed guide such as myself.’

  He sounded genuinely concerned. Was it all an act? Did he plan to lead her into another trap? In any event, she could scarcely set off on a spying mission with Hapiir trailing along, twittering out a commentary on the local beauty spots.

  ‘It’s just that I need to think out the next stage of my research,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Company – even such pleasant company as yours – would only be a distraction.’

  Hapiir was mollified. ‘I understand, Domina. All scholars need solitude. I hope you will enjoy your walk. There are many pleasant places to be seen in the city. May I suggest you visit the water gardens? Or the Alien Plant Garden?’

  She had to listen to a long list of tourist attractions before she could manage to get free. At last they exchanged bows and Bernice went on her way.

  She strolled on, apparently at random, through the innumerable courtyards that linked the buildings of the Great Library. Even though Sentarion itself was basically a desert planet, Sentarion City was extensively irrigated and there were fountains everywhere. There were frequent parks and gardens‘ filled with exotic flowers, some native to Sentarion, others, Bernice guessed, imported from distant planets.

  At first fellow-strollers were frequent, and Bernice found herself exchanging bows with a variety of life-forms. But as time went on and she began to approach her goal the lanes and courtyards became silent and deserted and an eerie hush filled the air.

  After a long walk through deserted streets and passageways, she came at last to a great crystal arch set into a high stone wall. At the crown of the arch a glowing sphere pulsed with light.

  Beyond the arch was a vast paved courtyard, and on the far side of the courtyard rose an enormous dome, with steps rising up to its entrance.

  She had found the Temple.

  Bernice stopped and looked around her. She had expected Harrubtii guards or electronic defences, but perhaps there was no need for them. The Temple was protected by its own sacred status. No one on Sentarion would dare to invade its secrets.

  No one but Bernice Summerfield.

  She walked through the crystal arch, passing beneath the glowing sphere and felt an immediate chill. Not just the chill of fear, though that was part of it, but a literal physical chill. On the other side of the arch, the air was cold.

  It became colder still as she crossed the vast open courtyard and mounted the steps that led to the arched entrance to the Temple.

  Bernice went inside and stood looking about her in awe. She was standing inside an enormous crystal dome, so huge that cloud vapours drifted across its ceiling. In the centre of the dome floated a vast glowing sphere.

  All round the walls of the dome there were pictures, elaborate murals that told a continuing story. Bernice followed them round, moving from left to right. As she paused in front of each mural it glowed into life, each picture fading as she moved on and the next came to life.

  The story began with savage battles, armies of Sentarrii soldier-ants locked in combat. Then a vast orb appeared, a gateway through which floated glowing spheres.

  The Sentarrii bowed down and worshipped them.

  In subsequent murals the spheres floated over the Sentarrii, teaching them, changing them. The Sentarrii built cities. developed ornithopters, learned to live in peace.

  Finally, after many generations, the shining towers of the Great Library rose high, and beings from other planets came to share their culture with the wise and benevolent Sentarrii.

  There were no words, but none were needed. The whole story was there in the pictures. Bernice found herself moved and awed.

  She stepped back from the murals and found herself surrounded by the Harrubtii.

  They stood around her in a circle, eyes glowing red with hate, black carapaces gleaming, the long thin spikes projecting from their narrow faces. They were thirsting for her blood.

  Bernice knew she was as good as dead.

  The Harrubtii had killed Lazio Zemar simply for speaking of the Shining Ones. She had profaned their sacred Temple.

  One of the Harrubtii launched itself at her, and doomed or not, Bernice instinctively fought back.

  She sidestepped, grabbed the creature in mid air and flipped it over. Shrieking furiously it crashed to the ground and spun helplessly on the polished floor like – like a beetle on its back.

  But there were more beetles, too many of them. As the Harrubtii closed in again, Bernice knew it was only a matter of time. They would mob her now, and as soon as the long spikes plunged into her flesh, sucking out her life, she would be too weak to struggle.

  The Harrubtii poised to spring – and a great voice called, ‘Stop!’

  The Harrubtii froze and Bernice turned to see the giant form of the Lord Chancellor stalking towards them, his black robe flapping about the segmented insectoid body. An entourage of Faculty members followed behind him.

  For a moment the Harrubtii seemed ready to defy him. Their voices made up a chorus of hate.

  ‘She must die, Lord,’ one of them hissed. ‘She has blasphemed the Holy Place.’

  ‘Would you spill blood, here in the Temple itself?’ boomed the Chancellor.

  ‘It is the Temple that she has blasphemed, Lord. It is fitting that her blood should cleanse it.’

  ‘She was a blasphemer from the first,’ said another of the Harrubtii. ‘We were warned of her coming. We sought to destroy her, but she evaded us with her cunning.’

  ‘When we saw her intention we drew back our guards and opened the way to the Temple. Now she has condemned herself by her own actions.’

  ‘Give her to us, Lord. She is a blasphemer. She must die.’

  The Lord Chancellor’s voice boomed out. ‘Blasphemer she may be but I choose to grant her the Sanctuary of the Temple. I tell you that here, in the Temple, her blood may not be spilled.’

  There were hisses of protest. ‘You cannot do this, Lord!’

  ‘I can and I do. The outer precincts of the Temple are in your charge, but the Temple is my domain. Go! I shall deal with her.’

  Dragging away their wounded fellow, the Harrubtii retreated.

  Bernice drew several deep breaths, and tried to stop herself from shaking.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Believe it or not, I can explain.’

  ‘I fear not,’ said the deep voice. ‘No explanation can possibly justify what you have done.’

  ‘Well, thank you for saving me.’

  ‘I have not saved you, Domina. The Harrubtii are right. You have blasphemed the Temple. You can never leave here alive.’

  9

  Crisis

  Lisa Deranne stormed into the control room of the solar yacht Tiger Moth waving a plasti-paper flimsy.

  ‘Bastard!’ she said. ‘Stupid, useless, careless, reckless bastard!’

  A lean, grizzled old man looked up from a control panel. H
e had close-cropped grey hair and a scrubby grey moustache, and he wore the khaki coveralls of an engineer.

  ‘What’d I do?’ he asked mildly.

  His voice retained the slow drawl of New America, his home planet, even though he hadn’t seen it for years.

  ‘Not you, Robar, you old fool – Alexi. He’s pulled out.’ She passed him the sub-space radio message.

  Robar read it aloud. “Greatly regret financial problems associated recent market fluctuations preclude keeping solar racing commitments...” ‘

  ‘In other words, our brilliant young financial entrepreneur has taken one flyer too many and lost his stake. And he’s lost us the Inter-Systems Solar as well. We’re one crewman and a quarter of a million credits short.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Robar thoughtfully. ‘And I guess it’s the credits that count!’

  Lisa Deranne had done two men’s work before and she could do it again, but her Inter-Systems entry was budgeted down to the very last credit.

  Lisa threw herself down in the pilot’s chair. Even in plain silver space coveralls, her black hair dragged back by her communications headset, she was a strikingly beautiful woman, with high cheekbones and expressive dark eyes. It was a strong, determined face, marred by the worry lines of constant strain.

  Lisa Deranne was one of the finest solar yacht captains in the tri-planetary system. But solar racing was an incredibly expensive sport, and Lisa’s only resources were her racing skills. Mostly she worked for hire, a professional captain for wealthy owners. She did the work, they got the prizes.

  This time was going to be different. She’d put together her own syndicate. Alexi, Zorelle, Mari and Nikos, four wealthy socialites with the necessary cash and a reasonable modicum of racing experience.

  With the money they’d put up between them, she’d bought an old space-clipper and converted it for solar racing, rechristening it Tiger Moth. Her contribution was her skill, offering the others the chance of a trophy they’d never get near without her.

  Up to now. Lisa Deranne had been feeling confident. She had a good ship, and a good enough crew. With her at the helm, Tiger Moth could win.

  Could have won.

  ‘What about the rest?’ suggested Robar. ‘Any chance they’ll up their stakes?’

  Lisa shook her head. ‘I’ve squeezed them till they squeak as it is. Zorelle’s already having second thoughts; she’ll use this as an excuse to pull out.’ She sighed. ‘I’m going to drown my sorrows. Coming?’

  ‘When I finish up here.’

  ‘Why bother?’

  ‘You’ll come up with something. You always do.’

  Lisa went through the open airlock into the repair dock, and made her way along the metal corridors of Space Station Alpha to its bleak and functional bar. Good old Robar, she thought, he had more faith in her than she had herself. True, she’d squeaked through tight financial situations before. It was the last-minute nature of the let-down that was the problem. Alexi had been due to arrive this very day, bringing his financial contribution with him. She’d been relying on it for last-minute stores, and for the all-important entry fee.

  She perched on a stool, dropped the crumpled flimsy on the bar and tried in vain to attract the attention of the barman. He was busy with a party of wealthy tourists awaiting transfer to a space-liner, and had no time for hard-up space pilots. Lisa felt as if she had her credit rating tattooed on her forehead.

  A voice called, ‘Hey, barman. Over here.’

  It was a low, rather husky voice, but somehow it caught the barman’s attention.

  Lisa turned and looked at the man standing beside her. He was middle-aged, medium-sized, sturdy-looking, with a pleasant, weathered face. He raised a hand and crooked his finger, and the barman, a burly four-armed Dravidean, came sulkily over, grumbling all the way.

  ‘Doing my best, it’s a busy time, only got two pairs of hands...’

  ‘And I guess you’d like to keep them all in working order,’ said the newcomer amiably. ‘The lady’s waiting to be served.’

  The barman opened his mouth, caught the stranger’s eye and closed it again. He looked enquiringly at Lisa who stood with her mouth open. She’d been too preoccupied to think about what she wanted to drink.

  ‘Champagne, cold, quick!’ said the stranger and the barman hurried away. The man smiled at Lisa, a lazy pleasant smile. ‘You look like a lady who needs champagne. I know the signs. This the trouble?’

  Calmly he picked up the flimsy and smoothed it out. He produced a pair of old-fashioned half-moon reading glasses and studied the message.

  Lisa Deranne felt control of the situation slipping away from her. It wasn’t something she was used to.

  ‘Gentlemen don’t read other people’s mail,’ she said severely.

  The stranger peered at her benignly over his glasses. ‘They don’t?’ he said in apparently genuine surprise. He put away the glasses, folded the flimsy neatly and returned it to her.

  ‘Seems like you’ve been let down. Tough break.’

  The barman appeared with the champagne, opened it with the usual flourish, put down two crystal goblets with his other hands, poured the champagne and disappeared down the bar.

  The man handed Lisa a glass.

  ‘Maybe I don’t like champagne,’ said Lisa perversely.

  ‘Of course you do. Everyone likes champagne.’

  Lisa drank some champagne. It was ice-cold, fizzy and delicious. ‘You’re absolutely right.’ She took another hearty swig. ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘Name’s Kurt.’

  ‘I’m –’

  ‘You’re Lisa Deranne. Saw you winning the Algolian Cup on the holovids. You entering the Inter-Systems?’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Lisa pointed to the flimsy. ‘You just saw. My last crew member’s just dropped out, taking his financial contribution with him. I could manage without the man at a pinch, but the credits are essential.’

  ‘Maybe I can help.’

  ‘Not unless you’re an eccentric millionaire with a gap in his busy schedule and a taste for solar yacht racing.’

  ‘Funny you should say that –’

  Lisa finished her champagne and stood up.

  ‘Thanks for the drink and for trying to cheer me up. This is too serious for me to make jokes about.’

  ‘Who’s joking?’ He nodded along the bar at the group of flashily dressed, noisy tourists. ‘I’m booked on a luxury three-planetary tour with those creeps. If I have one more day of them I’ll start chucking them out of the airlock. Sooner go with you.’

  ‘Ever done any solar racing?’

  ‘A bit. Amateur stuff, but good class.’

  Slowly Lisa sat down. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

  ‘I could be. Who else is in the crew, besides you?’

  ‘There’s Robar, my engineer, Zorelle, the designer, and Nikos and Mari.’

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘Couple of the beautiful people, young, rich and madly in love.’

  ‘Sounds like I’ll fit in very well.’

  ‘Solar racing’s not cheap, you know.’

  ‘I know.’ He snapped his fingers for the barman and produced a small gold card. ‘What’s the deal?’

  Lisa’s eyes widened. A Galactic Gold Card was valid, without limit, on almost every inhabited planet. It meant serious money.

  ‘Every syndicate member puts in a quarter of a million credits.’

  ‘How soon do you want it?’

  ‘Sooner the better. I’ve got to pay my entry fee today, and I still need more supplies.’

  ‘How about I pay your entry fee right now, and give the stores a draft for the balance?’

  Lisa gulped. ‘That will do very nicely.’

  ‘OK.’

  He held out his hand and they shook.

  ‘I’ll get my gear sent on board. Where are you?’

  ‘Bay Four. Ship’s called Tiger Moth.’

  ‘What’s the
programme?’

  ‘We set off for Station Beta as soon as we finish final checks. Just a simple shakedown cruise, shouldn’t be any problems.’

  ‘Right. See you back here as soon as it’s all sorted. Shouldn’t take long.’

  Kurt signed for the champagne, added a magnificent tip and moved away. Lisa sat staring into her champagne glass, trying to take in the last-minute reprieve.

  Robar came into the bar and sat beside her. She looked up and grinned at him. ‘Have some champagne, we’re celebrating!’

  ‘I’ll take a beer.’

  ‘One beer, coming right up,’ said the barman. He seemed anxious to please.

  Robar nodded after the departing Kurt. ‘How come you were talking to him?’

  ‘He’s our new crew member.’ She told Robar about their meeting and Kurt’s offer. ‘Talk about luck!’

  ‘You know who he is?’

  ‘He said his name was Kurt. Do you know him?’

  ‘Know of him. Appeared on the scene with a load of credits, did a few very shrewd deals on the commodity market and made a heck of a lot more. Started dabbling in solar yacht racing.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Shady character. Nobody knows who he is, where he comes from. Rumour’s he was a smuggler, maybe even a space pirate.’

  ‘I don’t care who he is, or what he was,’ said Lisa Deranne. ‘He can pay and he can sail and he’s our new crew member. So finish up that beer, you old soak, round up our crew and tell them to meet me here. I’ve got news for them. Then get back to the engine room. You’ve got work to do.’

  Amongst the handful of passengers who got off the shuttle from Megerra was one who looked far from well. He was very tall with long silver hair and a neat pointed beard, and he wore expensive-looking silk robes.

  He made his way to Station Alpha’s travel office and demanded details of all forthcoming departures.

  The clerk checked his screen. ‘The Tri-Planetary cruise liner has just left. Next one’s the return shuttle to Megerra.’

  ‘I do not wish to return to Megerra. What else?’

  ‘Nothing after that until the Canopean Spaceliner, late tomorrow.’

  ‘Nothing? No departures at all?’

  ‘Only the space yacht Tiger Moth. She’ll be leaving shortly on a shakedown cruise to Station Beta. The captain’s Lisa Deranne, you know, she’s entering the Inter-Systems Solar...’