Starship Home

by Morphett, Tony

  The sun was just peering through the lowest branches of the undergrowth when Maze entered the clearing and shouted ‘Giniveer!’ Guinevere opened the hatch for her, and she ran up the ramp to find Harold, Zoe, Meg and Zachary just finishing breakfast. Zoe and Meg had told the men about their conversation the night before, and it had made sense to everyone that Meg should teach for their food while the others explored to find materials that Guinevere might need for her healing process.

  “Healing” was the way Guinevere spoke about it. As far as they could make out, the process was much more like feeding and resting a convalescent human than doing an engineering repair job on an automobile or plane. The first thing they decided they had to do was to get a clear idea of what was available in the district, and that was why Harold said to Maze as she entered, ‘Maze do you know what a map is?’

  Maze looked at him with utter contempt. ‘You think I stupid, Topclass? Course I know. Map’s in Our Mother’s house.’

  ‘There’s a map in there?’

  ‘Tell Topclass wash his ears, he hear better,’ Maze said to Zoe and grinned. ‘School starts soon,’ she added to Meg.

  They all went over to the village with Meg and Maze, and while Maze watched Meg finish the alphabet banner, and then add the numbers from 1 to 10 to it, Harold, Zoe and Zachary got permission to enter Our Mother’s hut and copy the map.

  The map was on one wall, incorporated into the mural depicting the arrival of the Slarn and the enslaving of the human race, and various other incidents of later Forester history. Zoe thought one painting probably referred to the book-burning Simples. The map was like a map in a storybook or a mediaeval map, for it included pictures of things as well as symbolic indications of mountains, tracks, roads and rivers. Zoe, the only one of them with any artistic ability, was copying the map into the back of one of Harold’s school exercise books that he had taken from his schoolbag in the bus. As Zoe worked, she tried to identify what the map showed.

  ‘This thing that looks like a castle, Our Mother? What is it?’

  ‘Trollcastle,’ said the old woman. ‘Seat of Don Robert Costello, by-named The Bold, enforcer of the High Law.’

  ‘It’s on the hill where the research establishment was,” Zoe said as she added it to her drawing. “And the mark on the village?” Her finger was pointing to a skull and crossbones marking the drawings of buildings which indicated the position of what used to be the village of Dalrymple Ponds.

  ‘Oldtown. Looters go there,’ said Our Mother.

  Deep in the forest, Marlowe had spent the night underground in a secret den whose whereabouts only he knew. Now he had emerged into daylight again and was heading for the nearest Troll watch tower. It was the one where Maze had lured Harold into being captured. As Marlowe neared the tower he shouted: ‘Hello!’

  The Troll on watch looked down. ‘Who goes?’ he shouted.

  ‘Marlowe the Wanderer! I’ve something to show you! Something the Don should know about!’

  When the two Trolls saw the starship, they were reduced to silence. Marlowe the Wanderer had said there was an iron castle in the forest and he had said it was big, but nothing he had said had prepared them for the sheer size of the thing. They stared, and then slowly crossed themselves. This was surely the Devil’s work.

  ‘How did that get there?’ asked the ranking Troll.

  ‘It flew,’ Marlowe said.

  ‘Am I a child or a Sullivan to believe such things? Who built this without the Don’s knowledge or permission? King of Vic? Is it his?’

  ‘It’s been here only a few days,’ Marlowe said. ‘It flew here, from the sky.’ He paused. ‘It’s Slarn work.’

  ‘Slarn? Are the Slarn returned?’

  ‘No,’ said Marlowe.

  They looked at him. ‘You say the iron castle is Slarn work but the Slarn are not here?’

  ‘Just so. There are thieves aboard it.’

  The ranking Troll looked back at the massive bulk of the starship. ‘You’re right. The Don must be told.’

  Under a tree in the village, Meg had her class consisting of Maze and the other Forester girls chanting. ‘A, B, C, D, E, F, G…’ they chanted, as Zoe, Harold and Zachary came from Our Mother’s house. As they passed the class, Zoe said: ‘Going exploring. We have a map now.’

  ‘Just stay alive will you?’ Meg said. ‘I don’t want to be stuck here doing this for the rest of my life.’

  ‘I’d always understood,’ Zachary said, ‘that teaching’s the most rewarding career a woman could have. Apart from nursing or washing Harold’s socks of course.’ Meg grinned and stuck her tongue out at him as they moved on, but in fact, underneath, she was happy about what she was doing. It was something that was going to lift a small society to literacy, a giant leap forward, and she felt very good about that.

  ‘From the beginning,’ she said, ‘A, B, C, D…’

  Zoe, Harold and Zachary were heading for the old research station, the building now marked on Our Mother’s map as Trollcastle. Partly, it was just curiosity, but partly they wanted to find out something about this mysterious Don that everyone talked about. He was obviously a powerful person in the district and sooner or later they would probably have to deal with him. Harold’s description of the Trolls, as the Don’s soldiers seemed to be called, indicated that they carried bladed weapons but not firearms. Zachary could not work out how firearm technology could have disappeared in only 90 years. There would have been plenty of guns around, and with decent care a rifle or hand gun could still be fired a century after it is made and ammunition could be reloaded.

  He could not work it out, unless it had something to do with the Law and the Promise that Maze had recited. If “Elektrikkity” was no longer for Earth people following the Slarn invasion, maybe the same applied to firearms.

  As they moved through the forest, they became aware of a rushing sound in the air behind and above them. They dropped into cover and looked up to see a figure in camouflaged breastplate and backplate swinging from one tall tree to another on ropes. ‘That’s how they caught me,’ Harold whispered. ‘They came out of the trees.’

  This was the first sight Zoe and Zachary had had of one of the Trolls. ‘Funny kind of helmet,’ Zachary said. ‘I’ve got one like it at home.’ They looked at him in question. ‘Well it … it’s like a motorcycle helmet,’ he said.

  35: TROLLCASTLE

  Once the castle had been a private research establishment owned by a chemical company specializing in agricultural products. It stood on a hill, and had, before the Slarn arrived, been surrounded by open paddocks. When the first Don and his men had ridden into the district on their motor cycles, he had chosen the building as his headquarters for several reasons: it was big, it had concrete walls, and it was on a hill with clear fields of fire in all directions. That is, it could be defended against attack.

  The first Don was a remarkable man. He had left school early, and the rest of his education had come from movies, war games, science fiction pulp magazines and comic books. His Irish-Sicilian family background and these literary sources had prepared him very well for his future role in life, that of a feudal lord.

  Soon after the Slarn invasion, the Trollmaster, president of the Trolls Motor Cycle Club, had lethally combined being very drunk with insulting Spider Costello once too often. In the ensuing knife fight, Spider, until that time Toastmaster and Archivist for the Trolls M.C.C., became President Elect. On his elevation, he had taken the title of Don. He had become Don Spider Costello, the first of that name. A keen student of his family’s stories of Sicilian and IRA history and of Mafia films, the Don had constructed a political system from these sources. He did not realize at the time that this system was called “feudalism”, and had originally been brought into Sicily by Norman invaders in the 11th century.

  Until his death in the 2nd Battle of Torrens Bridge, the first Don had imposed and fine-tuned this system on the people of Dalrymple Ponds area, leaving his son, Don Robert, by-named The Beauti
ful, with a rich little duchy in very good running order.

  Robert The Beautiful’s son, Spider II (by- named The Gross) had succeeded his father by assassinating him, and had in turn been killed by his own palace guard. Spider III (by-named The Nameless) had then ruled for a period before being driven into exile by his own people whereupon he in turn was succeeded by his younger brother, Robert The Bold, who now, ten years later, at the age of 30, was still the reigning Don.

  It was Robert the Bold’s personal flag, a gold flaming sword thrust through a black heart against a scarlet background, which was flying on one of the two flagstaffs on Trollcastle the day Zoe, Harold and Zachary came out of the forest and had their first sight of the castle. The second flagstaff carried the Troll banner, depicting a red Troll’s head on a black ground, an exact copy of the Motor Cycle Club’s original colors.

  Harold, Zoe and Zachary had noticed the forest thinning out as they came up the slope toward the old research station. The undergrowth had been burned and there was new grass beneath the trees. They began to move more carefully, but even then ran out of cover and were beyond the treeline before they knew it. Immediately, they moved back among the trees, and looked up the slope toward Trollcastle.

  There it was, much as Zoe and Harold remembered it, but different. The glass doors had been replaced by solid, iron-bound wood. The flat roof now had brick walls along its edge, about chest-high and castellated so that projectile weapons could be fired with safety. There were armored men moving about on the roof.

  What had been the car park now had a stone and brick wall around it, and in the wall was a gate of wooden planks reinforced with iron bands. Outside the gate, and on either side of it, two ancient motor cycles had been set up, rearing up on their back wheels like rampant heraldic beasts as if to guard the way. Though they were 200 yards from the castle, Zachary thought he recognized the cycles as Harley Davidsons. Above the main gateway there was another Troll’s head device, with writing underneath it. As they watched from cover, the gate in the wall opened, and a group of horsemen rode out. The gate immediately closed behind them. Unlike the Trolls on watch in the forest, these horsemen had their armor bright and shining. One of the horsemen did not wear armor at all, and Harold recognized him as Marlowe, the witchdoctor from the forest village.

  The mounted party was heading for a road which seemed to cut through the forest some distance up to their right. ‘I want a closer look,’ said Zachary, and standing, led them in a low crouching run back into the trees, moving at a tangent which would intersect the road through the forest.

  They dropped into cover just in time. The mounted party were approaching along the forest road at a gallop. They lay and watched as the Troll party passed them. In the lead was a giant warrior riding a big chestnut gelding. He wore a long hand-and-a-half sword strapped to his back, its hilt projecting over his right shoulder, a heavy battleaxe hung from his saddle and the scar which ran down one cheek did not spoil his open, rather boyish, face. Zachary guessed his age at about 35. Riding behind the giant warrior was a boy of about 14, wearing black leather under his armor. He wore no helmet and his dark curling hair was cropped close to his head. His sword was worn more conventionally in a scabbard on his belt.

  Then came Marlowe, and Harold was interested to see that the older man rode as well as any of the mounted soldiers. This suggested to Harold that he had not always lived among the Foresters, who had no riding horses. Following Marlowe, and making up the rear of the party were four Trollwarriors. They passed in a drumming of hooves and a cloud of dust, and were gone.

  ‘If the witchdoctor’s with them, they could be going to the village,’ Zoe said.

  ‘Meg’s there!’ said Zachary, and they were on their feet and running.

  36: CAPTURED AGAIN

  The Wyzen was in the clearing in front of the starship trying to get acquainted with two kangaroos who were cropping at some grass. The Wyzen had tried making friends with the shy creatures earlier in the morning without success, but on that occasion, she had leapt at them in an effort to get them to play. The kangaroos had reacted to this overture of friendship by bounding off and not coming back for several hours. This time, the Wyzen was taking it more quietly, but probably would have lost patience and leapt again had it not been for the arrival of the horsemen.

  For Harold, Zoe and Zachary had been mistaken. The mounted party was not going to the village at all, but to the starship. The Wyzen and the kangaroos heard the approaching horses at the same time, and took similar action, the Wyzen turning and running for the ramp of the starship and the kangaroos crashing off into the undergrowth in great bounds.

  Guinevere’s sensors had also picked up the sound of the approaching horsemen, and she had been interested to hear, blended with the hoofbeats, something she had not heard for centuries: the combined sounds of the squeak of leather and the jingle of harness which told her that it was not just horses approaching but people riding horses.

  As the Wyzen entered the starship on her second leap, Guinevere closed the hatch and waited. After a moment, the mounted party entered the clearing and Guinevere felt transported back to childhood. There was the village warlock Marlowe, but with him were six armored knights, the like of which she had not seen for nearly six centuries elapsed Earth time. They were led by a giant man-at-arms, possibly an old squire or a knight, and he had by him a youngster, a page, or perhaps a young squire. Four more mounted men-at-arms followed them. For a moment, Guinevere felt like singing. It was a moment of heart-warming nostalgia. The giant warrior kneed his horse forward.

  ‘I speak with the authority of the Don Robert Costello, lord of Damplepon, enforcer of the High Law and scourge of the ungodly,’ the giant said.

  ‘And thy name, good sir?’ Guinevere had always believed in good style.

  ‘Sir Ulf Richards, war leader to the Don.’ He looked up at the starship. Very big, he thought, made of metal, very hard to burn down. ‘Who’s in charge?’ he said.

  ‘I am, good knight.’

  ‘A woman? In charge of a castle?’

  ‘Hast not heard of chatelaines? In the time and place from which I come, many castles are held by women.’

  ‘Bad idea,’ said Ulf. ‘The Don wants you off his turf,’ he added.

  ‘Alas I cannot move,’ she said.

  ‘But,’ Ulf said, with slow, inexorable logic, ‘the Don wants you to move.’ Ulf was not enormously bright but he made up for this in his Don’s eyes by being totally loyal and able to understood and carry out simple orders if they were expressed in plain language.

  ‘But I cannot.’

  Ulf paused to think this one through. If he could get inside, he could kidnap the woman, take her back to Trollcastle and continue this conversation in a dungeon where she might become more amenable to reason. Generally speaking he was a soft-hearted man and opposed to the torture of women, but there was a limit to the time you could prolong a conversation like this without causing a disastrous loss of morale in the lower ranks.

  ‘Open the door,’ he said with what he thought was extreme cunning, ‘I’ll come inside.’

  ‘Nay.’

  That was it as far as Ulf was concerned. The time for diplomacy had just ended. He turned his horse, and spurred across the clearing away from the starship. Turning again, he galloped back toward the starship, unslung the heavy battle axe from his saddle, and began to attack the hatchway. Sparks flew, there was a noise like an iron foundry, and nothing else happened.

  After a while, Ulf stopped hacking at the iron castle. ‘Don’t make me get off my horse,’ he said. He was beginning to sound dangerous.

  ‘Thou canst in no way enter,’ Guinevere said.

  ‘You just made me get off my horse,’ he said, and dismounted. He turned to the other Trolls. ‘Get a tree,’ he said. ‘A nice big tree.’

  ‘Can I give you some advice?’ said Marlowe.

  ‘When I want a sorcerer’s advice I’ll ask for it,’ said Ulf.

  ‘I’
m sorry about this,’ Marlowe said to the starship.

  ‘Warlock, I cannot help thee,’ said Guinevere.

  ‘We shall see,’ said Marlowe.

  In the village, Meg now had the girls writing letters in the dust in front of them, using pointed sticks. She walked backwards and forwards along the line, checking their work. ‘Write down big “D”, and then little “d”…’ She paused at one child. ‘You have the little “d” back to front, look at Maze’s. Big “E”, little “e”…’

  Zoe, Harold and Zachary panted into the village, looking around wildly for the Trolls.

  ‘Party of horsemen,’ panted Zoe, ‘from the castle!’

  ‘Got the village wizard with them,’ added Harold.

  ‘You okay?’ Zachary managed to get out. He was either going to get very fit in this place, he thought, or else die of cardiac arrest.

  ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ said Meg. ‘Now I’ve only a short time left with these girls before they have to go fruit-picking, so if you’ll excuse me…’

  They stared at her. They had run all this way to save her from a gang of armored men and she was giving them the push.

  ‘Unless you’d like to join the class?’ she asked.

  At the starship, the Trolls were swinging a tree trunk, thudding it into the hatch and making absolutely no impression on it at all. Marlowe was sitting in the shade, watching.

  ‘Gentles,’ said Guinevere, ‘I must tell ye that your ram will ram ye all into the ground ere it breaches my portal.’

  Ulf and his men swung the tree trunk again, and then once again, and there was still no effect. He beckoned his men off, and walked over to Marlowe in the shade.

  ‘I don’t usually take advice from civilians,’ Ulf said.

  ‘Then I won’t insult you by offering it,’ Marlowe answered.

  ‘What’s your advice?’ said Ulf.

  Marlowe smiled.

  Zoe, Zachary and Harold were coming back toward the starship, and Zachary was talking about Meg and distracting them. At least, Harold said later that if Zachary had not been talking about Meg and distracting him, he would have noticed something and the whole thing would have turned out differently. Zachary said later that if the whole thing had turned out differently, something much worse would have happened, so Harold should be thankful that he was distracted, but Harold did not really agree with that.