Starship Home

by Morphett, Tony

  On the riverbank, upstream from the point where they had to erect the beacon, Meg and the Don were engaged in stealing a punt from its owners, a pair of rough-looking river traders lying asleep on the riverbank by the ashes of their campfire. ‘You don’t think we should ask them?’ whispered Meg but the Don shook his head. ‘I am their Don, this is my turf, therefore this is my punt,’ a feat of logic which seemed not to impress the traders, who, awakened by the whispering now staggered to their feet roaring ‘Whattaya think you’re doing?’ and ‘Oi!’ and the other things people say when strangers are stealing their punt. The Don and Meg pushed the punt out into the stream and climbed aboard and the traders followed them into the shallow water, trying to get hold of the punt’s sides. ‘Just borrowing it for a just cause, my good fellows,’ the Don shouted, ‘I’m your Don so all’s well, have it back to you in an hour or so!’ The traders continued to hurl abuse at them and shake their fists in rage, but by this time the current of the river was taking the punt with the Don and Meg in it out of reach, around a bend and out of sight, and Meg, who had experience in punts, took the pole and used it to guide them downstream.

  In the cell on board his starship, Charles was briefing Zachary and Marlowe. ‘I am going to create a diversion to clear the bridge while I work. The job of both of you is to keep the Slarn distracted while I act. Do you understand? I shall release you and you will play the game of chasings with them. Be ready.’

  On the bridge of the Starship Charles de Josselin, things were quiet when suddenly the battle klaxon began to sound, battle language began beeping, lights started flashing on every telltale and the whole place went crazy. The Slarn marines on duty ran to battle stations and for a few moments the bridge was empty save for the two Wyzens. The hatch slammed closed before the battle team could man the bridge and on the main screen Charles smiled with some satisfaction. ‘Now, my Wyzens, to work,’ he said.

  The cell door slid open, and Zachary and Marlowe ran out into the corridor, one going one way and one the other as marines came running toward them from both directions. Zachary reached a junction of two corridors and hung a left, brushing past some marines who came to a sliding halt and turned to chase him. Meanwhile, Marlowe, running along a corridor, saw marines ahead of him, took a quick look back and found marines coming up behind him, and then to everyone’s astonishment a hatch slid open alongside Marlowe, he dodged through the gap, and then the hatch slid shut again. The marines reached it, hammered on it and then it opened again and they streamed through after Marlowe.

  Zachary, running along another corridor, rounded a bend and found marines coming toward him. There was no time to evade them and he dived head-first to the floor, sliding along its smooth surface, and taking the feet out from under the marines, and then he was up and running again, dodging into a side passage.

  And so “the game of chasings” went on, while, in the Looter village, Zoe was sitting on Marine’s shoulders, holding the helmet on a stick, and trying to get it on top of the sacrificial pole. Marine suddenly froze. ‘Zoe?’ ‘Almost got it,’ said Zoe, concentrating on her task. ‘Zoe!’ And then Zoe looked, and saw, advancing toward them, a line of Looters, led by the Eldest, swinging his sacrificial sickle and looking at them with the red gleam of blood lust in his eyes. Zoe dropped the stick, caught the helmet, and slid to the ground. They turned and ran, wishing they had brought Slarnstaffs with them.

  Meanwhile on the river the Don had taken control, as is the nature of Dons, and was lining up the punt between the two trees. This was easier said than done. The pole stuck in the mud on the bottom of the river, and now the punt began to drift with the current. Suddenly the gap between pole and punt was widening and the Don was the only thing holding them together. Meg moved along the punt to help but then the inevitable happened and with a splash and a roar, the Don was suddenly floundering in the water, a non-swimmer weighed down by armor. Meg dived in and as she did so the punt rocked, and the helmet slid into the river and sank! Meg, struggling against the weight, got the Don back to the punt, and he dragged himself in, and then Meg towed the punt back to where the pole still stood upright in the river. Nearly exhausted, she took a deep breath, and then dived to retrieve the helmet.

  A reconnaissance patrol of three Sullivan horse barbarians were intrigued to see, standing in the middle of a featureless plain, two horses, a giant Troll warrior and a boy. They urged their horses toward the group, motivated by curiosity, anger that these creatures should have intruded on their turf, and a natural human desire to rob, and then kill or enslave them, for that, in the Sullivan ethos, was what strangers were for.

  Ulf however had also seen the Sullivans, and he knew no good could come of such an encounter, so he mounted his horse, telling Harold he would lead them off. ‘But I need you here to get this helmet ten feet in the air,’ Harold protested. Ulf tossed him his spear and said ‘improvise,’ and galloped away, eager to do battle even though, from a point of view of winning honor, there were only three Sullivans which meant Ulf believed he had them out-numbered. At last, he had a problem which he understood.

  Harold was thus left with (a) one horse (b) one spear and (c) one helmet. This was a problem that did not require the services of an Einstein to solve. He put the helmet on his head, mounted the horse, and then held the spear up, checking that the tip of it would reach the requisite ten feet and found it would do so easily, providing the horse could be persuaded to stand in one place long enough. The horse, however, was a war horse, and was getting bored and seeing that action was about to take place, was also getting skittish.

  The Don was staring down into the brown water of the river and he could see nothing. Where was Meg? How long had she been down there? How long could a person, even Meg, go without breathing? The Don, who was not accustomed to feeling useless, was feeling precisely that. And then suddenly the helmet came out of the water, and an arm followed, and then Meg’s head and shoulders. She was gulping for air, but otherwise unharmed, and the Don felt relief flow through his body like cold water. She tossed the helmet into the punt and then he reached down and dragged her to safety. She lay for a moment in his encircling arms, and it felt good to both of them, but there was work to be done. The Don took hold of the pole, and once again got them into position.

  On the plain, Ulf was spurring his horse toward the Sullivan patrol. Two of them turned their horses and pretended to flee, and Ulf pursued them, leaving the third free to spur toward Harold. Harold, who was engaged in holding up the helmet on the point of the spear, was disconcerted, but was saved from either slaughter or slavery by the Sullivan’s bewilderment at what this stranger boy was doing. The stranger boy spoke, and what he said was stranger still.

  ‘Now listen,’ Harold said, ‘I don’t want to use violence!’

  ‘Why not?’ said the puzzled Sullivan.

  ‘I just need five minutes. Fire’s going to come down out of the sky and hit this helmet and it’s very important that this should be allowed to happen!’

  Sensing that the answer to all this might lie in the realm of the supernatural, the Sullivan asked, ‘Are you a witchdoctor?’

  Good thinking, thought Harold and said: ‘Correct. I’m a witchdoctor and I’m calling fire down from the sky.’

  ‘We don’t allow witchdoctors,’ said the Sullivan, ‘we tie them between wild horses and tear them apart.’

  Not such good thinking, thought Harold. ‘Actually, I’m not so much a witchdoctor as a scientist. Conducting an experiment.’

  ‘Sounds like witchdoctor stuff. Give me the helmet.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but you can’t have the helmet,’ Harold said, and then he noticed a certain look in the Sullivan’s eyes, a look he recognized from school bullies, sport instructors and sometimes even his parents when he pushed them too far, and so he added, ‘until after the fire comes down from the sky.’

  ‘After my friends have killed your big friend, we’ll probably smear you with honey and peg you out on an anthill, but if you g
ive me the helmet now before they get back, I’ll do you a favor and kill you quickly.’

  Harold’s mouth was very dry as he said: ‘You can’t have it yet.’ He cast a glance at what was happening between Ulf and the other two Sullivans and what he saw was not encouraging. Ulf seemed to be bleeding rather more than Harold would have liked.

  In the village, the Looters were slowly advancing on Zoe and Marine, and Zoe was holding the helmet in both hands, like a basketball. Her eyes never leaving the Looters, she said to Marine: ‘You ever play games with a ball this size?’

  ‘We have a game where we throw a ball through a hole high in a wall,’ Marine said.

  ‘Okay,’ said Zoe, nodded at the sacrificial stake and yelled, ‘let’s go!’

  They made their move, running toward the Looters like a pair of basketball players. Zoe passed the helmet, Marine caught it, sidestepped two Looters who came lunging at her, tossed the helmet to Zoe, who caught it, dodged under a Looter’s outstretched arms, and passed to Marine who made ground toward the sacrificial stake. Zoe now ran wide, circling back toward the stake. She was there, dodging Looters, getting clear, and Marine passed, Zoe received and then leapt, and the Looters stopped and stared as she seemed to hang in the air for one second, and then shot. The helmet left her hand and soared, and then dropped onto the top of the sacrificial post! Goal!

  On the bridge of the starship Charles de Josselin, Charles’ maned male Wyzen and Guinevere’s Wyzen were at the closed hatchway to the rest of the ship. Someone was out there banging on the hatch demanding admittance, and the Wyzens, whose curiosity knew no bounds, were very interested to know who this might be. On the main screen three beams of light suddenly lanced down toward Earth, and Charles said, ‘Wyzen, it is time to rejoin your mistress, for if we bring her back from death she will surely need you.’ And to the astonishment of the male Wyzen, Guinevere’s Wyzen vanished from the bridge. Moments later she materialized in the dark bridge of the starship Guinevere, equally astonished.

  The three beams of energy struck down from the Starship Charles de Josselin. One struck the helmet on top of the sacrificial stake in the Looters’ village, and the Looters stopped in their tracks, frozen in alarm, as Zoe and Marine, their task completed, turned to mount their horses, but not being able to reach them for Looters, took off on foot.

  In the punt on the river, Meg stood, still dripping water, holding up the helmet on the pole as the beam of pure energy fastened on it.

  But on the plain, the Sullivan was crowding Harold, trying to get the helmet which Harold held up on the spear’s point. The spear was swaying and as the energy beam struck down, the helmet fell from the spear! The energy beam moved backward and forwards, seeking the helmet where it should have been, but could not find it!

  On the bridge of the starship Charles de Josselin, the thudding on the door grew louder as on the main screen Charles’s face was twisted into a dying grimace as he poured his heart’s energy down to Guinevere. ‘The third,’ he groaned, ‘where is the third, don’t fail me now!’

  But on the plain, Harold was now on the ground, the helmet discarded, holding off the Sullivan with his spear, and it was then that the energy beam above them suddenly shut off!

  In the village, the energy beam locked onto the helmet on the sacrificial stake now disappeared, and on the river, the same thing happened.

  In the dark bridge of the starship Guinevere, the Wyzen uttered a plaintive cry and then Charles manifested, his head bowed. ‘I’m sorry, my love,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry. We tried. We failed.’

  81: MATTERS OF LIFE AND DEATH

  In the starship Charles de Josselin, Zachary was getting tired of running. ‘Charles!’ he gasped, ‘how’s it going?’

  ‘Badly, my friend,’ said Charles’s voice in his ear. ‘We failed. One of the beacons was not in place.’

  ‘Try again! They’ll get there! I know these people, they’ll get there!’

  ‘Very well,’ said Charles, and Zachary ran on, as on the bridge, Charles’s image on the main screen digitalized, breaking up with the effort as again three beams of pure energy struck down. In the now deserted village, one beam made contact with the helmet still atop the sacrificial pole, and on the river, Meg and the Don, partway to the bank, turned back and Meg again lifted the helmet on the pole to make contact with the beam.

  On the plain, Ulf and Harold stood back to back holding off the three Sullivans with sword and spear when above their heads the beam snapped into existence, and for a moment all seemed lost but then, like a lightning bolt, a single Troll horseman galloped across the plain toward them, swinging a weighted net. It was Rocky and as he reached them he cast the net so that it dropped onto the three Sullivans, entangling them, and in the same moment Harold snatched up the helmet from the ground, vaulted onto Ulf’s shoulders and held the helmet up on spear point to make contact with the energy beam!

  The three beams, anchored to Earth were now joined by a single, incandescent column of energy striking down to the Starship Guinevere. On the main screen of his own starship, Charles’s face was locked in a dying grimace as he poured his heart’s energy down to Guinevere, and his maned Wyzen cried out to him in shared pain.

  And then the column pouring energy down into Guinevere faltered and died.

  In the village and on the river and on the plain the three energy beams vanished. The Sullivans were still shielding their eyes, and with a roar Ulf surged forward, Harold still sitting on his shoulders. Rocky drew his sword and laid on, the Sullivans withdrew long enough for Harold to slide to the ground, and for all of them to mount. Ulf was disposed to pursue the foe but then across the plain swept more Sullivans, so the Trolls and Harold turned and galloped for home!

  On the bridge of the Starship Guinevere it seemed that nothing had changed. Darkness reigned. Then lights began to wink on, dimly at first and then brighter. The main screen glowed and then lit up, and its dark forms coalesced into lighter shapes, until finally on the screen was Guinevere, awakened from the sleep of death. With one smooth leap her Wyzen was on the console, leaning against the main screen and uttering a deep throaty purr. ‘Oh Wyzen,’ said Guinevere, ‘I had thought to die and now I wake?’ And she paused, as if listening. ‘Charles? Art thou there?’

  His voice, slow and weak, answered. ‘Here, my little one.’

  ‘Thou didst journey into death’s dark realm for me, my love?’

  ‘For a musketeer,’ he said, ‘it was nothing. Nothing at all.’

  A little time passed. From the outside, the starship, battered, painted with Looter graffiti, skulls heaped about, the clearing marked by the ashes of various fires, seemed derelict and dead but on the bridge, the lights were on, Guinevere was on the main screen, and the Wyzen was devouring ship’s biscuits and sucking on a gruel bottle. ‘Never did I think to see thee again, dear Wyzen, but how fare my people?’

  Indeed, how did they fare? For a start, Zoe and Marine were running through the forest, pursued by Looters who were crying out ‘Foods! Foods, come back!’ Suddenly, two Looters popped out of the undergrowth in front of them. They dodged, but one of the Looters grabbed Marine, who lashed out with foot and bladed hand and dropped him cold. The other took hold of her from behind, and Zoe dived in and they all went down in a heap. Marine slammed a trained fist into the second Looter’s jaw, and then they were up and running again, with the main pack of Looters in hot pursuit.

  They entered the clearing, pounding up the ramp, through the open hatchway into the starship, the Looters close behind, but as soon as Zoe and Marine were inside, the hatchway slammed shut, and the Looters, unable to stop their momentum, broke noses, faces and toes as they ran into it!

  Zoe and Marine entered the bridge at the run and Zoe saw Guinevere on the screen. ‘You’re alive! It worked! You’re alive!’ She was weeping with relief and tried to embrace the main console. ‘You were dead and I …’ but she could not go on.

  Meanwhile, Harold, Ulf and Rocky galloped up to the castle, and
as the gates opened for them they turned in the saddle to shout a few last insults at the pursuing Sullivans. ‘Dog eaters!’ shouted Ulf. ‘Your mothers were Looters!’ yelled Rocky, and, honor now satisfied, they rode in and the gates closed behind them.

  And on the riverbank, the punt was now pulled up, and the Don and Meg were looking at the place where the horses had been tethered. This place was now devoid of horses. ‘Perhaps the people we stole the boat from?’ ventured Meg.

  ‘I cannot be said to have stolen what is my own property,’ the Don argued, but knew she was right. They began to follow the horses’ tracks.

  The river traders were trying to control the two horses and making a bad job of it when Meg and the Don caught up with them. ‘I’ll deal with this,’ whispered the Don, and leaving Meg in cover he strode out to confront the traders. ‘My good fellows,’ he said, ‘I am Don Robert Costello, lord of Damplepon. Your boat is back where you found these horses, and you have our thanks for your services.’ He then brought two coins from his pouch and tossed them one each. ‘Something for your pains.’

  The traders ignored the coins, drew their cutlasses and rushed him. In an instant, the Don’s sword was out of its scabbard, and he was holding them off quite handily when a Slarn helmet peered out of the undergrowth. It howled a terrible howl, and then in a hissing growling voice, it said, ‘I want them! I want their souls to eat!’ and the traders very sensibly took to their heels and ran. Meg walked out of the undergrowth, taking off the helmet. ‘I could’ve handled five like that,’ said the Don, but ‘My way seemed easier,’ Meg replied, and laughing they mounted and rode away.

  And as for the last of Guinevere’s people, Zachary and Marlowe were still running, but what they did not know was that they were running along intersecting corridors. At least, they did not know this until they crashed into one another! They stood, dazed, each looking at the other’s pursuers, and realized the game of chasings had just finished. ‘Charles?’ Zachary said, but Charles was too busy to help them.