She dropped behind again.
Grimes ran. His feet hurt. His legs were aching. His breath rasped in and out painfully. Maggie ran. Obviously the pace was telling on her too. Fenella ran, falling back slowly from her leading position. The woman ahead of Grimes gave up, veering off to the side of the road. In his bemused condition Grimes began to follow her but either Shirl or Darleen (he was in no condition to try to work out which was which) came up on his right and nudged him back on the right course.
Other people were dropping out. That final, uphill run was a killer. Grimes would have dropped out but, as long as Maggie and Fenella kept going he was determined to do the same. His vision was blurred. The pounding of his heart was loud in his ears. He was aware of a most horrendous thirst. Surely, he thought, there would be cold drinks at the finishing line.
He raised his head, saw dimly a vision of white pillars, of gaily colored, fluttering bunting. He forced himself to keep going although he had slowed to little better than a tired walk. “We’re almost there . . .” he heard Maggie whisper and, “So bloody what?” he heard Fenella snarl.
There was a broad white line painted across the road surface.
Grimes crossed it, then sat down with what he hoped was dignified deliberation. Beside him Maggie did likewise, making a better job of it than Grimes. Fenella unashamedly flopped. Shirl and Darleen stood beside them.
An attendant brought mugs of some cold, refreshing, faintly tart drink. Grimes forced himself to sip rather than to gulp.
The Lady Ellena said, “So you ran after all, Commodore . . .”
Grimes looked up at the tall, white-robed woman with the wreath of golden laurel leaves in her hair.
“Unfortunately,” she went on, “I shall not be able to award you a medallion for finishing the course. You were not an official entrant and, furthermore, did not begin at the starting point. That applies to all of you.”
“Still,” said Grimes, “we finished.”
“Yes. You did that.” She turned to Shirl and Darleen. “What happened to your uniforms, Lieutenants? You realize, of course, that the cost of replacement will be deducted from your pay.”
She strode away among a respectful throng of officials.
More officials conducted Grimes and the others to a tent where they were given robes and sandals, and more to drink, and told that transport would be provided for them, at a charge, to take them where they wished to go.
It was just as well, thought Grimes, that he had clung to his money and his credit cards all through the race. The Lady Ellena did not seem to be in a very obliging mood.
Chapter 20
Grimes and his companions missed the beginning of the riot.
They had intended to return to the Acropolis after much needed showers and a resumption of clothing to witness the handing out of the awards to the Marathon winner and to those who had placed second and third, but there was too much to be discussed and, too, none of them, with the exception of Shirl and Darleen, felt like making the effort.
Their hired hovercar stopped briefly at the Hippolyte, where Fenella picked up from her room a bag with clothing and toilet articles, then continued to the Palace. Shirl and Darleen went to their quarters to clean up and to put on fresh uniforms, Fenella was given the freedom of Maggie’s bathroom, Grimes and Maggie shared a shower in his. Finally all of them gathered in Grimes’s sitting room.
They sprawled in their chairs, sipping their long, cold drinks. Grimes was making a slow recovery. The muscles of his legs were still aching but the pain was diminishing. His feet still hurt, but not as much as they had. His pipe, an almost new one, would soon be broken in, although it was not yet as good as the one that he had abandoned with his clothing prior to taking part in the race.
“Who were they?” asked Maggie. “Why were they gunning for us?”
“The same bitches who kidnapped your cobber, the Archon,” said Fenella. “And it was Grimes who put them wise to the fact that we were on their trail when he said that he recognized that wench in Aerospace Control.”
“I’ve lured them out into the open,” said Grimes.
“So you say,” sneered Fenella. “The way things are, they’ll soon be driving us into hiding or, even, offplanet. It’s just as well, Maggie, that you have that courier of yours, Krait, standing by.”
“I still think,” said Grimes stubbornly, “that they’ll overreach themselves and do something stupid.”
“I’m beginning to think,” said Fenella, “that that’s your monopoly.”
“We might as well see what we’re missing,” said Maggie.
She got up from her chair with something of an effort, switched on the big playmaster, set the controls for TriVi reception. The screen came alive with a picture of the floodlit Acropolis and from the speakers issued the sound of rattling, throbbing drums and squealing pipes. The camera zoomed in to the wide platform upon which Ellena, white-robed, gold-crowned, sat in state, with behind her rank upon rank of her Amazon Guards in their gleaming accoutrements.
“They said that we could not be there,” complained Shirl.
“They say that our bodies are not . . . uniform,” explained Darleen.
Yes, thought Grimes, looking into the screen, the Guards on display had been carefully selected for uniformity of appearance. They could have been clones.
The camera panned over the crowd. A broad path, lined on each side with police, had been cleared through it. Along it marched a band of women—Amazon Guards again—some with trumpets, some with pipes, some with drums. There were cheers and—surprisingly—catcalls. “Pussies go home! Pussies go home!” somebody was yelling. Other men took up the cry.
The voice of the commentator overrode the other sounds.
“And now, citizens, here, marching behind the band, come the winners to receive their awards from the Lady Ellena. First, Lieutenant Phryne, of the Amazon Guards . . . .” Phryne was not in uniform but in a simple white chiton, with one shoulder bare, with her long, muscular legs exposed to mid-thigh, her golden hair unbound. “And behind her, citizens, is First Officer Cassandra, of Trans-Sparta Airlines, a real flyer . . . .” Cassandra, a brunette, was dressed as was Phryne. “And in third place, Sergeant Hebe, of the Amazon Guards . . . .”
More cheers—and more boos.
“The race was fixed!” somebody shouted, not far from one of the microphones. A struggle was developing, with men trying to break through the police cordon. The band marched on and played on, missing neither a step nor a note. The three Marathon winners marched on, heads held high and disdainfully. Behind them came more Amazons—and the spears that they carried looked as though they were for use as well as for ornament.
Reaching the platform the band split into two sections, one to either side of the steps leading up to it. Ellena rose to her feet. There were cheers and boos, and men shouting. “We want Brasidus! We want Brasidus!” and, “Send the bitch back to where she came from!”
An Amazon officer handed Ellena a golden laurel wreath, its leaves not as broad as the one that she was wearing but broad enough. Phryne bowed, then fell to one knee. Ellena placed the wreath on her head. Phryne got gracefully to her feet and was embraced by the Archoness.
The camera lingered only briefly on this touching scene then swept over the crowd. Scuffles were breaking out all over. A group of four women had a man down on the ground and were kicking him viciously. Elsewhere there was the wan flicker of energy weapons where police were using their stunguns. A woman, her clothing torn from her, was struggling with half a dozen men whose intention was all too obvious. At the foot of the platform the bandswomen had dropped their instruments and had drawn pistols from their belts—not the relatively humane stunguns but projectile weapons—and the escorting guard were already using their spears to fight off attackers, employing the butts rather than the points, but how long would it be before they reversed them?
“Hell!” swore Fenella, “I should have been there, not watching it on TriVi . . . .
”
“Be thankful that you’re not,” Grimes told her. “Women seem to be in the minority in that mob. Speaking for myself, a sex riot is something I’d rather not be involved in . . . .”
Ellena was standing there on the platform, her arms upraised, shouting something. What it was could not be heard. There were the shouts and the screams and, at last, the rattle of automatic fire. Somebody was using projectile weapons. The bandswomen, machine pistols jerking in their hands, were joining their spear-wielding sisters in the defense of the front of the platform. And the spears had been reversed and the blades of them were glistening red in the harsh glare of the floodlights. And whose side were the police on now? Twenty of them, in their black leather uniforms, were charging the Amazons. The weapons in their hands were only stunguns but, to judge from the visible discharge, more of a flare than a flicker, and from the harsh crackle that was audible even in the general uproar, their setting was lethal rather than incapacitating.
The arrival of the first inertial drive transports was almost unnoticed, the clatter of its propulsion unit just part of the general cacophony. It dropped into camera view and continued to drop, until it was over the platform, just clear of the heads of those standing there. Pigsnouted in respirators, Amazons dropped from its belly, bringing with them more respirators for their sisters already engaged in the fighting. A high-ranking officer, to judge by the amount of brass on her leather, conferred with Ellena, obviously persuading her to mount the short ladder that had now been lowered from the aircraft. The Archoness, followed by the Amazon colonel, embarked.
The TriVi commentator was valiantly trying to make himself heard. “Citizens! I beseech you all to stay away from the Acropolis! This is not just a riot; this is a revolution! People have been killed! They . . . .” His voice faded, recovered. “They are using gas . . . .”
They were using gas. It was what Grimes himself would have done in the circumstances, what he had done, on more than one occasion, during his Survey Service career. From the low-flying aircraft a dense mist, opalescent in the flood lighting, was drifting downward and battling men and women were dropping to the ground unconscious, police and civilians, all except the Amazon Guards in their protective masks. People on the outskirts of the mob, not yet affected, were beginning to run, away from the Acropolis, while others were binding strips torn from their clothing about their faces, delaying the effect of the anesthetic vapor by only seconds.
Hand weapons were being fired at the transport but ineffectually, and the marksmen got off only a few rounds before falling to the ground unconscious. There was even one man who was tearing up cobblestones and hurling them skyward. Darleen remarked scornfully, “He could not hit the side of a barn even if he was inside it.”
But he, whoever he was, was at least trying, thought Grimes. He was fighting back.
Another voice came from the speakers, a female one, distorted and muffled as though by breathing apparatus.
“Citizens! You have seen what has been happening at the Acropolis. Certain elements have tried to attack the person of our beloved leader, the Lady Ellena. The assassination attempt has been foiled. The instigators will be brought to justice. And now, all of you who have been watching this on the screens in your homes . . . . Stay in your homes. Do not take to the streets. Security patrols are abroad, with orders to take strict measures to maintain the peace . . .”
“In other words,” muttered Grimes, “shoot first and ask questions afterwards.”
The last picture on the screen, before the transmitter was shut down, was a dismal one. It had started to rain. Moving among the sprawled, unconscious bodies were gasmasked Amazons. They seemed to know whom they were looking for, were picking up selected prisoners and throwing them roughly into the rear of a large hovercar. Those who were left on the ground were the lucky ones. They would awake in a few hours time cold and wet and miserable—but they would not be awakening in jail.
“And what was all that about?” asked Fenella at last.
“That,” said Maggie, “is for us to find out.”
Then there was a great hammering on the door.
“Open up!” yelled a female voice. “In the name of the Lady Ellena, open up!”
Chapter 21
First into the sitting room were two Amazon privates, stunguns in hand. They were followed by a major, and behind her was Ellena herself, still in her white robes, still with the golden laurel wreath crown.
“What are you two doing here?” snapped the officer.
“But, Hera . . .” began Shirl.
“The correct form of address, Lieutenant, is ‘Madam.’ Please remember that.”
“This is our free time, Madam,” said Darleen rebelliously.
“Free time, Lieutenant, is a privilege and not a right. And don’t you know that during this emergency all leave has been suspended? Get back to your quarters. At once.”
“Better do as the lady says,” advised Fenella.
“Quiet, you!” snarled Hera.
Fenella subsided. Grimes didn’t blame her. He would not have liked to try conclusions with that female weightlifter, her muscles bulging through the leather straps of her uniform. Shirl and Darleen got to their feet, cast apologetic glances at Grimes. He managed a small smile in return. They slouched out of his sitting room in a most unofficerlike manner.
“And what are you doing here?” demanded Ellena, addressing the journalist.
“Enjoying a quiet drink with my friends, Lady,” she replied defiantly.
“Cooking up some scurrilous stories for the scandal sheets that employ you as their muckraker, you mean,” said Ellena. “However, since you are here you may stay. In fact, you will stay. For your own protection. I cannot guarantee the safety of any offworlders at large in the city at this time.”
“You mean,” said Fenella, “that you want to be able to keep an eye on me.”
“Somebody has to,” Ellena told her. She turned to Maggie. “You, Commander Lazenby, are the senior Federation Survey Service officer at present on this planet. My understanding is that I, as ruler of a federated world, have the right to demand the support of the Federation’s armed forces during times of emergency.”
Maggie looked questioningly at Grimes, who nodded.
Ellena sneered. “Of course the Commodore, the ex-planetary Governor, is an expert on such matters, especially since the Federation’s armed forces on Liberia were doing their damnedest to depose him. But what do you say, Commodore Grimes?”
“You are right in your understanding, Lady,” admitted Grimes.
“Thank you, thank you. And now, Commander Lazenby, am I to understand that Lieutenant Gupta, captain of the courier Krait, is technically under your orders?”
“Yes.”
“And how is this Krait armed?”
Once again Maggie looked questioningly at Grimes.
He said, “I was once in command of such a ship myself, Lady. A Serpent Class Courier is no battle cruiser. There will be a forty-millimeter machine cannon, a laser cannon, a missile launcher and a very limited supply of ammunition. In a small vessel the magazines are also small, so the laser cannon will be the only weapon capable of sustained firing.”
“And are there—what do you call them?—pinnaces?”
“Nothing so big. Just a couple of general purpose spaceboats. Inertial drive, of course. Each can mount a light machine gun if required.”
“Still,” she said, “a useful adjunct to my own defense forces.”
“What about your Navy?” he asked.
She said, “I shall be frank, Commodore Grimes. You know what this world was like when it was an all-male planet. Many senior officers, in the Army and the Navy, pine for those so-called Good Old Days and too many junior ones believe the rubbish that their seniors tell them. They resent having to take orders from a woman. I cannot trust them.”
“When we get Brasidus back,” said Fenella spitefully, “he’ll bring them back into line.”
“Until
such time,” Ellena said coldly, “I must rule as best I can.”
She did not, thought Grimes, seem to be overly worried about the safety of her husband. She was not, even, overly worried about her own safety. There was an arrogance, but not a stupid arrogance. She would take whatever tools came to hand to build up her own position. She had already forged such a tool, her Corps of Amazon Guards. And the Amazons had been brought into being well before the abduction of the Archon.
The telephone buzzed.
Grimes got up from his chair to answer the call. His way was blocked by Major Hera. It was Ellena who took her seat at the desk on which the instrument was mounted.
“Archoness here,” she stated.
“Lady, this is Captain Lalia, duty commander of the Palace Guard. There is a mob approaching, with armored hovercars in the lead. If you will switch on your playmaster to Palace Cover you will have pictures.”
“Thank you, Lalia. Commodore Grimes, will you get us coverage as Lalia suggests? Major Hera, if the Colonel is not back yet from the city will you take charge of the defense? I shall remain here for the time being.”
Hera hurried out, leaving the two Amazon privates to guard Ellena. Grimes fiddled with the controls of the playmaster. The picture, being taken by the infrared cameras on the palace roof, was clear enough. It was more of an army than a mere mob that was pouring up the road. There were the armored hovercars in the lead, with their heavy automatic weapons and their uniformed crews and the pennants streaming from their whip aerials. There were motorcycles, and their riders were police, in their stainless steel and black leather uniforms. There were marching civilians, more than a few of whom were carrying firearms.
Directional microphones were picking up the shouts.
“Scrag the bitches! Scrag the bitches! Ellena out! Ellena out!”
“Somebody out there,” remarked Fenella, “doesn’t like you.”
Surprisingly Ellena laughed. She said, “They will like me even less in a minute or so. My Amazons will be more than a match for this rabble.”
Ride the Star Winds Page 33