Avon - A Terrible Aspect

by Paul Darrow

  He stepped from the heliplane onto the metal quay.

  The two men stood apart, silently regarding one another for a long moment. Then the dark-skinned Guardian stepped forward, extended his hand and said, “I know who you are. I am Mishka.”

  Avon accepted the handshake.

  “You’re quite safe,” Mishka said.

  “How many times have I heard that!” Avon said wearily.

  The dark Guardian laughed. “I mean it. I’ve jammed the radar of the Starship that’s hovering out there.” He indicated the atmosphere. “It’s quite true that Federation obstinacy will discover your whereabouts eventually. But this is the last place they’ll want to look.”

  “Why?”

  Mishka frowned. “I don’t think you want to know.”

  Avon said testily, “Satisfy my curiosity!”

  “This is the Graveyard.” The dark man watched closely for Avon’s reaction. There was none.

  Avon had heard of the satellite. Every Federation citizen had. It was here that the wealthy stored their dead. The dead who had expired of whatever cause, including hideous, contagious diseases.

  No member of the human race could tolerate the silent recrimination of these dead. Curious, considering that the advances of science and the brutality of Federation rule had jointly refined the meaning of the word horror.

  Avon was not prey to the superstition and awe that Mishka seemed to expect of him. He was unaffected by the fear that infection might breed in the very air of the Graveyard.

  As if reading his thoughts, Mishka said, “There is no danger of infection. I’ve lived alone here for nearly twenty years and the only disease I’m suffering from is advancing age.”

  Avon smiled. “We all die. One way is as good as another, I suppose. I’m not afraid.”

  Mishka and he walked from the quay towards a substantial building set against the rock face that overlooked the lake.

  “It’s not unpleasant living here.” Mishka said. “It’s very quiet and peaceful.”

  Avon smiled.

  “Also, there isn’t anybody who is able to disagree with me.”

  Avon laughed.

  The Guardian pushed a button and a steel door slid back to reveal the interior of the building.

  They stepped into a long, clinically clean room that contained the minimum of furnishings. Mishka indicated doors that led to bathroom, galley and food stores.

  “The main mortuaries are set into the mountains,” he said. “Bodies are shipped here every Earth quarter. The next shipment is due in a month.”

  Avon shook his head. “It would be better to burn them on Earth.”

  Mishka smiled. “The wealthy, who have everything in life, are ever hopeful that, one day, there will be found a cure for death.”

  “You mean, the bodies are preserved?”

  “Yes. In ice. The interiors of these mountains are giant cold stores. That’s why there are so many artificial lakes. I need the water from them for the freezing process.”

  One wall of the room held a large video screen. Mishka noticed that Avon was staring at it.

  “That’s my communication screen,” he said. “I’ve already been asked if I’ve seen your heliplane on my scanner.”

  “Why should you protect me?” Avon asked.

  “I didn’t volunteer to be the Graveyard Guardian,” Mishka replied, “and I didn’t take kindly to the Federation method of persuasion. This is my way of biting back.”

  “What have you heard about me?”

  Mishka smiled broadly as if enjoying a huge private joke. He moved to a cabinet set into the wall nearest the door, extracted bottles of rare cognac and poured Avon a drink.

  “I’ve heard your name,” he said. “I’ve heard that a bounty of ten million credits has been offered for you. I’ve heard that a famous hunter and Killer man has promised to deliver you to the Federation Council for trial. So far, you’ve given them a good run for the money. In the end, of course, they’ll get you. Alive or dead. It’s up to you.”

  “I take it you don’t want to try for the ten million?”

  Mishka smiled again. “What would I spend it on here? Besides, I think you’d make the attempt extremely difficult for me.”

  “I’m having difficulty understanding why someone in the Federation is going to so much trouble,” Avon said.

  Mishka handed him another drink. “There’s a split in the Federation hierarchy—a schism. Consequently, there’s a lot of power playing going on. One party requires a spectacular coup to ensure its dominance. You’re it!”

  “So, I’m a pawn in someone’s great game?”

  “In a way. You’re not much, but you’re the best they’ve got.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome! The more difficult you make it for them, the greater the kudos when you’re finally caught.”

  “Or killed?”

  “I imagine they’d rather take you alive. But I don’t think they’re too fussy.”

  Avon thought for a moment. “Which group is trying to take control?” he asked.

  “Pel Gros, Makarov, the Martian called Pruth....”

  “Pruth is dead.”

  Mishka looked at him sharply. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Go on.”

  “Axel Reiss is another.”

  Avon sighed. At last, it began to fit into place.

  Mishka paused, caught by the rapt look on Avon’s face.

  “There are others,” he continued, “and there is little doubt they will succeed. You’re the sacrifice that will aid that success. You obviously know why.”

  Avon looked at him and Mishka was appalled by his defeated expression. His eyes appeared sunken and opaque. His face seemed like a death mask.

  “Reiss and I were Killer men for the corporates.” Avon said quietly. “When I ran for cover and sanctuary on Uranus, a contract was put out and Reiss took it up. I never thought he would have the chance to fulfill it. After all, it was possible I might die in the wars. One of the reasons Uranus fell so easily was because all support and sympathy on Earth was crushed by Reiss and others like him. The corporates raised him up and he’s trying to climb even higher. Also, he wants to exact a kind of revenge on me.” He shrugged. “He wants me dead.”

  “Why?”

  Avon seemed lost in thought. “It’s very personal.”

  “Indulge me a little. How personal?”

  Avon smiled sickly. “We share the same mother. Axel is my half-brother.”

  Mishka hastily poured another drink. “Sometimes,” he said, “I believe in gods who play destructive, fiendish games with us. You seem to be a part of their devilish plot.”

  Avon stood, walked to the open door and gazed out over the placid lake. “It’s a plot that will be resolved very soon.” he said. “But not here. On Earth. Axel wouldn’t want it any other way. Question is, how do I get there?”

  “No problem.”

  Avon turned sharply, his eyes glistening. Mishka was alarmed by the sudden change, by the menace that exuded from his guest.

  “I can launch you in a Pod,” he said drily.

  Avon laughed. A Pod was an orbital coffin. Shaped like a bullet, it could penetrate Earth’s atmosphere and plunge to the ground without breaking up. Its only controls would be a direction finder and a small steering wheel. It would literally perform as if it were a projectile fired from a gun and, though small, it would be sturdy enough to crash land on any suitable surface. Water, or sand or snow.

  “The way this satellite orbits,” Mishka said, “I can fire you into the North.”

  Avon nodded. It would be snow.

  The Guardian smiled. “You’ll probably freeze to death before they find you. It’s ironic—I could do that for you here.”

  Avon did not share the joke. “They’ll find me.” he said.

  “And then?”

  “And then, I’ll die as well as I can.”

  Mishka shook his head, almost in disgust. “You�
��re out of another century. Death is death. There’s nothing noble about it.”

  Avon stared at him, but it seemed to Mishka that he was looking straight through him.

  “It’s better to live for one day like a lion than for a hundred years as a sheep.” Avon said.

  The dark man placed an arm on his shoulder.

  “I have a terrible feeling, your day is about to end!”

  6

  The Guardian took Avon inside the mountain.

  Hollowed out and spartan and clean, it contained thousands of transparent plastic bags, the bodies inside them preserved with tightly packed ice.

  The bags hung from the walls and from the ceiling like twinkling icicles in a subterranean cave.

  In a way, it was startling. As if they were strolling through a fairy grotto.

  Avon didn’t believe in fairies.

  “It’s a considerable waste of space,” he said.

  Mishka grinned. “That’s something we have plenty of. Although the Federation always wants more.”

  They passed through a corridor into a small rockbound hangar which contained a single Pod.

  “You understand what I intend to do?” Mishka asked.

  “I think so.”

  The Guardian scowled. “Not good enough! Listen to me!”

  Avon listened.

  “I’ll switch off all cooling systems except the one required to prevent the Pod from breaking up in the heat generated by reentering Earth’s atmosphere. Once through the gravitational layers, the machine will fall to the ground. It’s likely it will go into a spin.

  “You must activate the air vents which will affect the Pod as if it were held back by parachutes. It will then land reasonably gently. Once in the snow, because that is where you’ll be, the machine is useless. Except as a shelter. The area in which you’ll find yourself is desolate, cold and inhabited by Steljuks. Do you know what they are?”

  Avon nodded. “Nomadic barbarians. Half man, half monster.”

  Mishka nodded in his turn. “You should get on very well together,” he pronounced drily. “Within a few Earth days,” he continued, “the Federation will surely have tracked you down. This is where you die.” He paused. “As you have only a few days left, that’s all the supplies I will allow you.” He tossed a plastic carton of food into the Pod. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “In the unlikely event that you are taken alive,” he said pointedly, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention my part in this.”

  “They won’t take me alive.” Avon said.

  “I believe you.”

  Avon smiled shyly. “Of course,” he said, “the fact that I will have penetrated Earth’s defenses will not look good on Reiss’s record.”

  The Guardian shrugged. “Killing you will make up for that. They’ll parade your body for everyone to see. That’ll cause some rejoicing among the Council members. Reiss will be their champion and hero.”

  “A somewhat tarnished hero.” Avon said.

  “That’s a fairly accurate description of yourself.”

  “You’re quite right,” Avon said. “If I’m honest, I think Reiss should do well as one of the leaders of the Federation. He has the talent, the brutality, the intelligence, the ruthless ambition.”

  “You make him sound like the student most likely to succeed.”

  “I thought we were agreed that that’s exactly what he is?”

  “You also make him sound like you!” The dark man’s eyes twinkled. “Die well, Rogue Avon. Sooner or later, we’ll all join you.”

  With that, Avon shook his hand and climbed into the Pod.

  Mishka closed and sealed the hatch so that Avon could no longer see him.

  Suddenly, the machine was filled with light as the hangar door slid back and Avon could see the sun glittering on the lake outside.

  Almost as suddenly, the Pod began to move. Rocking back and forth, it shook him like a pea in a pod. He smiled to himself as he considered the pun.

  However, he was cushioned somewhat by the padded satin lining of the orbital coffin. Then, with a high-pitched shriek, the launching mechanism functioned and the machine was hurled into the air.

  It was as if a stone had been catapulted and the Pod behaved exactly like such a stone. As it reached the zenith of its climb, it hesitated, then plummeted faster and faster until it was travelling at such a speed that Avon could not distinguish what was outside his cocoon.

  As the Pod entered Earth’s atmosphere, it slowed and he could see the fires on its outer hull. Fingers of flame clutched at the machine. Then, with a suddenness that was as exhilerating as it was alarming, they were into the sky above the World and they accelerated.

  As instructed, Avon took his cue to operate the air vents and the Pod floated downwards, as if supported by invisible parachutes, just as Mishka had described.

  With a heavy thud, the machine struck the ground and half buried itself in a mountain of soft, brilliantly white snow.

  Although chill, the Northern sun shone. It was a beautiful day.

  All around him, Avon noticed that the blanket of snow formed itself into grotesque shapes. It allowed no growth, appeared to support no life. Even its brief flurry of disapproval of his arrival had quickly subsided. He was in the middle of nowhere and there was nothing and no one to comfort him. He shivered, despite the sun.

  Overcoming the fear that seemed to cramp him, he forced himself to eat some of the food the Guardian had provided. Then, having checked and cleaned his weapons, he settled down to wait.

  In a while, someone would come. Either attracted by the noise of the landing, or by the sight of him just sitting there in the open as if on a picnic. Whoever it might be, Steljuck or Federation Guard, he would be ready. The good day to die was not far off.

  7

  It was the time of the White Nights and there was no darkness, just a softening of the brilliance of the sun and a hint of dusk.

  Two full Earth days passed and nothing disturbed him or the silence in which he dwelt.

  On the third day, a small mammal appeared as if from nowhere, studied him for a second and scurried away. Not far off, it stopped and looked back at him, cocking his head on one side. It was not alarmed, merely bemused by his presence.

  Avon thought to kill it for fresh meat, but decided against it. He was getting soft and he knew it. There was a time when the death of others was a matter of indifference to him.

  The creature, apparently reassured by some telepathy between them, went about its business. It burrowed into the snow, scratching for the food that was hidden from it.

  Fascinated, Avon watched. It was as well that he did. Suddenly, the creature froze, its ears twitching in perfect accompaniment to its nose.

  Avon stood, stared into the sky and listened intently. When he looked back, the animal, wiser by far than he, had gone.

  Then, he heard it. The soft, far-off drone of an aircraft. Probably a heliplane; it was a big one by the sound of it.

  He climbed into the Pod. The hatch still open, it resembled a tank with Avon peering out of its turret.

  The heliplane was a troop carrier. Like a giant moth, it fluttered its way towards him.

  Some two hundred meters distant, it hovered then settled on the ground, its rotors kicking up a snowstorm reminiscent of the sand blast he had created on the man-made satellite.

  By the time the snow had settled, the machine, its engines silent, seemed to eye him in much the same way he had eyed the small mammal.

  The plane’s hatch opened and a man appeared. He dropped lightly to the ground and started to walk towards the Pod.

  Avon readied the pump action.

  The man approached cautiously. When he was within fifty meters, he stopped and removed his steel helmet that was emblazoned with the insignia of the Iron Guard. He shook his head to release a mane of black hair. He stood quite still.

  A humanoid of average height, he was dressed in a black coverall with a silver ammunition belt tightened at the waist. He
was armed, as Avon was, with a twin-bladed knife with serrated edge. He carried a pump action. His face was thin and pale. Fleshier round the jowls than Avon’s, it was a face that bore a startling resemblance to his. But the eyes of his visitor, set in hollow cavities, were dark and expressionless. It was as if they had been carved from jet or black ivory.

  The two men looked at each other for a long moment. Avon smiled.

  Like a cat on hot metal, he leapt onto the surface of the Pod, raised the pump action and fired a devastating burst into the open hatch of the heliplane. For a second or two, nothing happened.

  Then, with a roar that would have outdone a pride of lions, the machine exploded. A pillar of flame pierced the sky, pursued by a mushroom cloud of smoke and debris.

  Avon’s visitor had not moved a muscle.

  Again, the two men watched each other as the noise from the destruction of the heliplane subsided.

  The man stepped forward. Avon reloaded the pump action and took aim. The man kept on walking.

  When he had drawn close, Avon lowered the weapon and dropped from the outer hull of the Pod to the ground.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

  “So I understand.” The other man smiled, but his eyes remained dull and expressionless.

  “It’s been a long time,” Avon said quietly.

  The other man turned and glanced at the burning remains of his transport. When he looked back, any hint of a smile had disappeared.

  “You’re making a habit of doing that,” he said drily. “You have killed a good pilot and wrecked a superior vehicle.”

  Avon shrugged. “It’s possible you could have had heavy backup.”

  Again he was favored with a humorless smile.

  “What now?” Avon said.

  “I think perhaps, it’s your move.”

  Avon laughed. “You’ve chased me across the known Universe, from Uranus to Earth, and you’re prepared to let me decide how to end it?”