Avon - A Terrible Aspect

by Paul Darrow

  He pulled her down beside him on the bed.

  Slowly and tenderly, they carassed each other, searched each other’s bodies with hands and mouths. When he felt the time was right, Avon entered her with a sudden, violent movement that caused her to cry out. Her breathing became rapid. She felt the exhilerating combination of pain and pleasure. Pinning her beneath him so that she could hardly move, Avon thrust deep within her and smothered her mouth with a kiss that stifled her scream as she climaxed. Bathed in perspiration, they held each other and loved each other until the grim light of the Saturn dawn forced them apart.

  Avon slept.

  When he awoke, it was to discover that Anna had left him and returned to her own room.

  He lay there, silent and thoughtful until the time came for him to prepare himself for the journey to Earth.

  When he was ready, Rowena accompanied him to the space terminal where a Starship awaited him and Amiyak. His “Brother” was already aboard.

  Pi Grant, to his displeasure, had been called away. Something at the military hospital, he had been informed, required his urgent attention.

  While the technicians prepared the ship for flight, Avon and his mother stood apart.

  They looked at each other, then Avon took Rowena in his arms and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’ll try to live up to your expectations,” he said.

  She whispered, “Good luck!”

  Avon smiled broadly. “Luck will have nothing to do with it!”

  She watched him as he strode away and mounted the steps of the spacecraft. He turned for one last glance at her before disappearing into its flight deck.

  Rowena sighed deeply. She did not wait for the ship’s takeoff, but slowly walked away.

  When she returned to the mansion, the Saturn Coordinator was waiting for her. His name was Sabbath.

  She ushered him into the conservatory where Makarov had been so well entertained. Where Rowena had murdered him.

  The Coordinator was a comparative stranger. She had known him only briefly when he investigated her background.

  Sabbath was a short, stocky man. His cold, watery blue eyes gleamed at her from folds of pitted skin. He was quite bald. He smiled, his thick lips curling back over discolored teeth. “So! He’s gone!”

  Rowena offered him a drink which he declined with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. His eyes never left her.

  Rowena forced a smile. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” she asked.

  Sabbath returned her smile. “It is my pleasure, not yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know.” Sabbath rose to his feet and stood directly in front of her.

  Rowena sat looking up at him, tense and silent.

  The Coordinator began to pace to and fro. “Why didn’t you tell me long ago that your son is the son of a traitor?”

  She controlled herself admirably. “Would it have made any difference if I had?”

  Sabbath laughed, a dry sinister sound.

  “In any case,” Rowena went on, “who are you that I should have to justify myself to you? Perhaps you have forgotten that I am Grant’s woman? Overlooked his power!”

  “He has no power,” Sabbath spoke so quietly that she hardly heard him.

  Rowena tried to take control of the situation. “You have discovered that Kerr is Rogue Avon’s son. I say again, what difference does it make?”

  “Rogue Avon is dead.”

  “I know. He was killed on Earth by a man named Axel Reiss.”

  Sabbath looked at her sharply.

  “The boy is of the Federation,” Rowena continued, “you should be in no doubt of that.”

  The Coordinator tossed his head disparagingly. “If there was a doubt, he would be dead by now.”

  “Then, what would seem to be the problem?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

  “You were a traitor’s slut.” Sabbath spoke venemously.

  Rowena stood up and walked over to him. Without warning, she slapped him hard across the face with the back of her hand. Sabbath reeled away from the blow. He shrank against a wall, licking flecks of blood from his lips.

  “How long have you known about my son?” Rowena asked as if nothing had happened.

  The Coordinator’s eyes gleamed malevolently. “Long enough. It was a matter of little importance until Makarov died. He had mentioned to me in passing that you had been questioning him about Rogue Avon. I think you killed Makarov.”

  Rowena smiled serenely. “I think you will find that rather difficult to prove.”

  Sabbath grinned. “Be sure your sins will find you out,” he said.

  “Well, you appear to have cast the first stone and missed!”

  This time he laughed. “You’re a formidable woman.”

  “What now?” Rowena asked as she walked back to her chair.

  “The matter has been taken out of my hands. I was given orders to put certain questions to you.”

  “By whom?”

  “Axel Reiss.”

  Rowena sighed. “That name again. Why is the fact that I bore Rogue Avon’s son so important? What was there about Rogue that can matter so much so long after his death?”

  Sabbath wiped the blood from his mouth and leaned nonchalantly against the wall. “He was a rebel. Very impressive. A guerrilla who scared the pants off certain members of the High Council. They’ve put them back on and they don’t want to risk losing them again.”

  Rowena laughed. “I’m sworn to kill Axel Reiss,” she said finally.

  “I’m sure he’s aware of that.”

  She gave him a searching look. “So, he knows that Kerr is Rogue’s son?”

  “There’s very little he doesn’t know.”

  “I would like to meet him.”

  “I expect you will. In hell—if there is such a place.”

  “Our son would say that there is,” she replied sadly.

  “I still don’t understand what you expect of me?” Sabbath’s face was a mask.

  She smiled at him beguilingly. “Won’t you tell me?”

  He looked solemn. “I’ve been sent to kill you.”

  “Is that all? I thought you had some questions?”

  He looked at her, admiring her apparent imperturbability. “Grant has known the boy’s identity for some time. Not that it matters, he’s already being persuaded to hold his tongue. After all, he has children who can be used as levers on his conscience.”

  Rowena, outwardly calm, was shaken. “What about your questions?”

  “Reiss wants to know if Rogue Avon ever mentioned his name.”

  “Why should he have?”

  Sabbath seemed genuinely surprised. “You don’t know?”

  “What don’t I know?”

  A sudden noise distracted them. The door to the main house slid back and Grant entered. He looked much older, sadder, as if he had suffered a terrible defeat.

  Rowena ran to his side, took hold of him and led him to a chair. “What’s wrong?”

  Grant looked up at her. “There’s an authority greater then mine,” he said. “I must lose you to it.”

  Rowena knelt beside him. “Axel Reiss?”

  Grant nodded.

  “You would think he was the devil himself,” Rowena said bitterly.

  Sabbath whispered. “He could very well be.”

  Grant buried his head in his hands. “There is nothing I can do,” he said.

  For a brief moment, Rowena despised him. She stood. “What are you?” she said. “I’ve lived with you for ten years and I don’t know.”

  “He’s a creature of the Federation,” Sabbath said, “He owes it a greater allegiance than he owes you. He’ll sacrifice you to it.”

  “Will you?” Rowena asked.

  Grant got slowly to his feet. “I’ve protected, loved you even, for ten years,” he said. “Now I am a dead man and my protection dies with me.”

  Rowena’s worst fears were about to be realized. “Why?” she asked.


  Sabbath said, “The house is surrounded by a detachment of Subsidiaries. All your slaves are dead. Now it’s your turn.”

  Rowena rounded on him. “But why?”

  The Coordinator shrugged. “This is the way Reiss wants it. Grant can go on living if he will. He has something to offer.” He flicked a glance at the still, silent, gray-faced man. “The decision is his.”

  The tall windows of the conservatory shattered. Shards of glass littered the floor.

  Rowena sprang back in alarm, Grant fell back against a door. Sabbath had not moved a muscle.

  “Some of my Subsidiaries are getting impatient,” he said. He looked at Grant. “Walk out now,” he commanded.

  Grant hesitated, glanced at Rowena, then walked to the windows, his feet crunching glass. A burst from a pump action caught him full in the chest and hurled him back into the room.

  Rowena cried out with terror as Sabbath sprang at her and knocked her to the ground. Like a jackal savaging a dying animal, he tore off her clothing. She fought him like a tiger. She scratched his face and gouged his eyes. She kicked and struggled. But he had great strength and, at the last, she could not resist him.

  After a while, he stood. Rowena, cut and bruised and bleeding, lay whimpering at his feet. He turned on his heel and, without a backward glance, walked through the gap left by the shattered window frame into Grant’s orchard.

  Rowena, shrinking in horror from Grant’s bloody corpse, tried desperately to control the fear that gripped every fibre of her being. A strange, gurgling sound made her look up.

  Anna Grant, a wild look in her eyes, her knuckles jammed into her mouth to stifle hysterical laughter, was clinging to a heavy curtain draped by the side of the window frame. Her face was flushed with excitement. Her whole body trembled in a kind of ecstasy.

  Rowena, frightened and bewildered, snarled her disgust. But, before she could bring herself to speak, a shadow fell across her as a man entered the room.

  She held back a cry of recognition. The intruder was not Rogue Avon, but bore an uncanny resemblance to him, as if he were a mirror image. The man smiled and any resemblance ended.

  “I am Axel Reiss,” he said coldly, “I understand you would like to kill me?”

  Anna Grant giggled uncontrollably.

  Reiss turned to her. “Get out!” He said.

  She pouted at him.

  Reiss spoke very softly to her. “I won’t tell you again. You can wait for me.”

  Anna smiled, first at him, then at Rowena. When she was certain that Reiss’s attention had reverted to the other woman, she walked out.

  There was a terrible silence.

  Reiss knelt down and looked into Rowena’s eyes. “He never mentioned my name?”

  She shook her head and looked away from him.

  He touched her face with his fingertips, then he stood and followed Anna outside.

  Rowena, rigid with fear, moaned softly to herself.

  The Subsidiaries came to her and, when they were finished with her, she was dead.

  There was no sound. Even the artificial birdsong had been silenced.

  PART THREE

  Axel Reiss

  1

  By the time a Death Squad gun ship arrived to collect him, Reiss was shivering in the intense cold. In company with Rogue Avon’s corpse, he was covered in a light dusting of snow.

  He tossed a cloth bundle into the hold of the aircraft before climbing into the cockpit beside the pilot. “You took your time!” he said, but in a neutral tone.

  The pilot shrugged and activated the controls. Noise from the engine defeated further conversation.

  Reiss was flown to the mountain fortress called Lupus. This was protected by heavy laser guns and invisible airborne mines, and was garrisoned by the very best and most trustworthy Iron Guards.

  It was here, in an old but luxuriously appointed castle, that the High Council of the Federation on Earth held court.

  After allowing himself a few hours to prepare himself, Reiss, accompanied by Pel Gros and Makarov, entered the chamber where the two most powerful beings in the then Universe awaited him.

  The room was enormous. On three sides were high windows that afforded spectacular views of the surrounding snow-capped mountains. On the fourth side was a plain wall upon which was hung a masterpiece that had survived over a thousand years. It had been painted by someone called Bosch and depicted a version of hell that Reiss considered particularly apt.

  Beneath the art work, set out approximately three meters from the wall, stood a long, richly ornamented desk. Behind this were two armchairs padded with velvet. In front were two plain wooden chairs. Reiss and Gros occupied these latter. Makarov was in his wheelchair.

  Facing them across the desk sat a slim, effete albino known as Blanca. Next to him was a tall, graceful woman. She was dressed entirely in emerald green silk. Her red hair and scarlet painted lips provided vivid contrast. She was called Vasht and it was she who spoke first.

  “I trust this enquiry will not take too long?” Her voice was deep and attractive, her tone authoratitive. She was not a woman to be taken lightly.

  Pel Gros, a sleek, well-fleshed diplomat who, in Reiss’s eyes, strongly resembled a mole, replied. “Surely, there is no need for an enquiry?”

  “I will be the judge of that,” Vasht said icily.

  Gros nodded his acquiescence.

  Reiss said, “I will speak for all three of us.”

  The albino, Blanca, yawned, swivelled his chair away from them and gazed out of one of the tall windows. He seemed uninterested in the proceedings.

  “Very well,” Vasht said. “You may begin.”

  Reiss stood up, placed the bundle of cloth he had brought with him from Rogue Avon’s killing ground on the desk in front of her and returned to his seat.

  “That contains the rebel’s head,” he said quietly.

  Vasht didn’t bat an eyelid. Neither did she attempt to examine the bundle.

  “There is no more certain proof of a man’s death.” Reiss continued.

  Vasht extracted a long, thin cigar from a jewelled box and lit it with a gold lighter encrusted with diamonds. She inhaled deeply and expelled smoke in Reiss’s direction.

  He smiled his cold smile. “Any threat posed by this—how shall I call him?—this ’terrorist,’ is now removed. He was a tough opponent. You were well advised to fear him.”

  “Should we now fear you?” Vasht asked.

  “That is for you to decide.”

  The woman frowned. Makarov attempted to speak, but she silenced him with a gesture. The rings she wore on every finger of each hand sparkled in the light of the brilliant sun outside. “You assured us,” she said, “that all resistance was at an end. That the wars for Uranus had been concluded and that the Federation faced no further opposition. Except, perhaps, from aliens who inhabit the Beyond!”

  “The truth.”

  “A half truth!”

  “As you will.”

  “We learned, to our consternation,” Vasht went on, “that the Martian had devised an elaborate plan so that we might be embarrassed by the ease with which one man, alone in the Universe, could threaten us.” She spoke quietly, no hint of anger in her voice.

  Reiss cleared his throat. “It was a good plan, but it got a little out of hand. Martians do tend to underestimate those of us who are of the Earth.”

  Vasht smiled and clouds of smoke issued from her mouth.

  Reiss eyed her mischievously. “However, the plan could be said to have worked to your advantage.”

  Vasht looked to her companion as the albino swung his attention back to the assembled company.

  “Of course,” she said, an equally mischievous glint in her eye, “Blanca was a little upset when Pruth met his untimely end.”

  Blanca’s pale pink eyes fixed themselves on Reiss. “The Martian’s death could have been avoided,” he said. His speech was sibilant. He hissed his consonants. This form of address and the fact that he never blin
ked resulted in his often being referred to, but never to his face, as the White Cobra.

  Reiss studied him thoughtfully. “We must all pay for our mistakes,” he said at length.

  Blanca attempted a wry smile. “Pruth paid a little too heavily for my liking.”

  Vasht placed a bejewelled hand on his arm. “We all know how fond you were of the Martian,” she said. “You should be grateful to Reiss that he has avenged his death.”

  Blanca looked at her sharply. She smiled seductively and, after a moment, he appeared mollified. With a sigh, he swung his chair away and resumed his pose of indifference. But there was little doubt that he listened intently to the conversation that followed.

  Reiss, aware of his and speaking mainly for Blanca’s benefit, said, “Pruth was profiting from the hunting down of fugitives with a price on their heads. He wanted to prove that he could deliver one of the most dangerous to Earth’s doorstep. Avon outwitted him. You went along with the scheme because it was a way of illustrating to the Council our vulnerability to the determined aggression of one man. The point was proved. Any danger to the Federation can be faced and eliminated, Except...” He paused for effect.

  “Except that one man, or a small group of men, will cause greater problems than a host of aliens. It is a symptom of our time. All over the Universe we are seeing evidence that supports the possibility. The Council was smug and complacent. Fat with power, impotent through greed and sloth. In this new era, such complacency must be avoided. Sometime in the future, there will be a banding together of determined individuals who will attempt to blow us apart. Rogue Avon, perhaps, was the first of the few who could do it. We must be prepared for those who will follow.”

  There was a silence during which Vasht crushed out her cigar in a gold receptacle. “I had no idea you had such a talent for passionate oratory,” she said drily.

  Blanca sniggered.

  Gros and Makarov sat still and straight, conscious of the tension in the room.

  Reiss shrugged and lounged in his chair.

  Vasht spoke quietly and calmly. “We accept all you have said. Blanca and I, at your prompting, have succeeded, if only temporarily, in removing the dross that sat with us from the High Council. We have taken note of your warnings and will anticipate and strangle at birth any opposition to our rule.” She smiled. “I mean, of course, opposition to Federation rule.”