by Dave Barsby
“Okay,” Rogdo whispers through the speaker. Phase One is complete (I’m starting to get used to these silly military terminologies). Rogdo and Hiaelia are now at the entrance to the outer hall. From there it is a quick sprint to the inner courtyard. We briefly check the inner courtyard monitor. Princess Larisa is still wandering the gardens alone, blissfully unaware of the problems at the gate.
“Does she wear a pretty crown?” Gronk asks the guards, several of whom are unsuccessfully attempting to lever the gate off their fallen comrade. Tima switches off his channel – his inane questions are affecting the flow of instructions to the other parties.
“Beta team, you’re up,” she says.
A brown pole disguised as a branch has been strung from a tree to the nearby section of 20-ft high palace wall. A thick rope is slung over the pole close to the wall, Yew tied to one end, ten of Dirk’s hands gripping the other. Dirk gives the rope an almighty yank and sends Yew three quarters of the way up the wall in one go. Yew quietly yelps in surprise, then assists Dirk in getting him to the peak.
Once straddling the wall, Yew slips off the rope and drops down the other side into a thicket. Muttering, he takes off at a sprint, heading for the rear of the palace grounds where the alarm systems are the most sensitive. He is surprisingly agile and quick on his feet.
“Few more seconds,” Tima reports. “Come on Yew, you can do it.”
Someone in a guard house must spot Yew on a monitor because the alarms sound ahead of schedule. First there is a bell, then a klaxon joins in. Yew has set the security switchboard alight. Mission complete.
Rogdo and Hiaelia don’t need any prompting from Tima. Red lights flash across the palace grounds, bells and horns and wails fill the air. They sprint down the outer hall.
Tima briefly panics, not knowing which monitor to study. Yew is having great fun, ducking and diving past the attempts of guards to capture him. A report has already been logged that the intruder is a single, low-risk tourist. On a second monitor, Gronk is looking nonplussed as most of his ‘new friends’ abandon him. Now he is covered by only three armed guards, each of whom are nervously scanning the immediate vicinity. On the third monitor, Princess Larisa is looking mighty confused. I decide to concentrate my attention on the third monitor.
The ease at which Rogdo and Hiaelia manage to sneak up on the Princess is impressive. Studying the monitor closely, I can’t see any movement – no footprints or ruffle of flowers – until Rogdo opens a sliver of his cloak and brings forth a chloroform-soaked kerchief (I suggested using a hypoderm, but he likes it old school). He is already directly behind the Princess, who has absolutely no clue she isn’t alone until the rag is pressed against her mouth and nose. She fights off the fumes as valiantly as she can, but chloroform quickly knocks her out.
A third cloak is brought out from under Rogdo’s invisible uniform. It is a shimmering silvery colour akin to fish scales. It is quite bizarre and slightly unnerving to watch a cloak being laid on the floor and a woman being picked up and placed on top of it by people who display the visual properties of thin air. The cloak is wrapped tightly around the unconscious Princess, and activated. She disappears.
Over the next couple of minutes, Gronk continues his list of naïve complaints to his three guards, Yew is finally cornered and subdued, and the monitors offer no visual indication as to Rogdo and Hiaelia’s progress. However, the speakers are another matter entirely.
“Okay,” Rogdo grunts, straining. “God, she’s heavy.” There is a pause. “Wait, you do have her legs, don’t you?”
“No,” Hiaelia whispers.
“No wonder she’s so heavy. Grab them.”
“Where?”
“What do you mean ‘where’?”
“I can’t see them, can I!”
“Oh, for…”
Rogdo deactivates the cloak and the Princess-bundle reappears.
“There!” he hisses, then mutters “For God’s sake!”
The Princess-bundle’s legs are lifted off the ground. She disappears again.
“Now, turn her around,” Rogdo whispers. “To me…no, to me!”
“And which direction is to you?” Hiaelia demands.
“Well…just follow my voice.”
“I thought we were supposed to be stealthy and silent.”
“Just try, Hiaelia. Please, just try and do what I do.”
“Bit tricky when I can’t see what you do.”
“Okay! Enough! Let’s just head back to the gate and do it all by feel. I tug this way, you tug that way, we’ll work it out in the end.”
Tima surveys the scene. The guards aiming at Gronk seem to be getting impatient.
“Gronk,” she says, switching his channel back on. “Apologise to the nice men.”
“I’m sorry,” Gronk says.
“Good. Now pick up the gate and put it back in its place. But do it slowly.”
Gronk bends down, wraps two slab-like hands around the gate and begins to lift it up. The guards back away a little. We can see the little spurts of dust from Rogdo and Hiaelia’s steps on the gravel. They are nearing the exit.
“Okay, Gronk, hold it there. Don’t move.”
Gronk stops. We wait patiently. This is it, the final phase of this operation – getting back out of the palace. I inspect my nails, wondering if I should start biting them or not. They look too nice to ruin with my teeth.
“We’re through,” we hear Rogdo say, barely a whisper. Tima grins.
“Okay, Gronk, finish putting the gate back now.”
Gronk does just that. We are clear, everything has gone by without a hitch. Tima switches on all the channels except Yew’s.
“Back to the boat, everyone. Prepare for immediate take-off. Well done.”
She switches off the speaker channels, turns to me delighted.
“Well done indeed,” I say. “By the way, do you think maybe someone should tell Yew we’re not coming back for him?”
Less than one hour later, the Diablo III is moving to a higher orbit. We are all gathered in the mess hall, and smelling salts are starting to revive the Princess. Her eyes snap open. After a brief survey of the scene she stands and poses regally.
“What is this?” she asks with a voice so clear and refined it could cut diamond. “Where am I?” She studies us one by one. “Who are you ruffians?”
“Princess Larisa, welcome aboard the Diablo III,” Rogdo says, trying to sound as posh as he can without slipping into parody. “You are now in our custody.”
“What do you mean ‘custody’?”
“You’re our prisoner.”
She takes another long look at the people around her.
“You have kidnapped me?!?” she exclaims. “This is outrageous! How dare you! You cannot kidnap me! I am the Princess Larisa of Almudena!”
“We know who you are,” Rogdo points out.
“Then release me at once. I command you!” She is starting to get a little flustered now, completely unused to not being in total control of a situation.
“You can’t command us, lady,” Sanshar says.
“A Cat!” Larisa shrieks. “Does it have fleas?”
“Listen up-” Rogdo begins.
“No, Sir, you listen up! I am a princess and regent of the richest, most powerful planet in this sector. I command armies in which each soldier is worth ten of you. I have duty, I have a responsibility to my people, and they love me for it. They will happily kill you to ensure my safe return. Now, I demand you release me at once.”
“No,” Rogdo answers
Larisa breathes in deeply, regains her composure. She closes one delicate, manicured hand, swings her arm and punches me in the mouth with stunning power (I was going to say ‘gobsmacking’ but it’s too literal). I stagger back. Fortunately there is a table behind me to prevent me from falling. My upper gum stings so much it almost brings tears to my eyes. I brush one finger across my upper lip, checking to see if it is bloodied.
“What did you hit me
for?!?” I complain. I glance at my finger. Sure enough – blood on the tip.
“You look like the only person who would not hit me back,” she explains. She turns her attention to Rogdo and holds her head proudly. “I believe you are in charge of these…people.”
“That’s right,” Rogdo responds.
“Then I wish to converse with you in private.”
“Why?”
“You have made a grave error, Sir, and the sooner it is rectified the better. For all of us.”
“Sit down,” Rogdo tells her.
Larisa glances behind her at the metal chair. She looks back at Rogdo. “I presume you will first provide me with a fresh cloth so I may sufficiently clean the chair.”
“Sit down!” Rogdo shouts. She does in an instant, then places her hands on her knees and stares at them. For the moment at least, her proud resilience has been sidelined.
“You okay?” Rogdo asks me, glancing at the splodge of blood on my lip. I nod silently – it will probably swell up and throb for a while, but I’ll live.
“Excuse me,” Larisa chides, her resilience returning, “but you have not yet enquired as to the status of my hand. That person has a very hard face.”
Rogdo studies the Princess for a moment. She shifts uneasily in her seat, the layers of fabric in her dress rustle together. She takes a moment to smooth it down before regally placing her hands back on her knees, holding her chin up and staring into middle distance.
“Tie her hands together,” Rogdo suggests. Drift nods and heads off to get some rope from a nearby rack.
“What?!?” the Princess shrieks. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Drift returns with several lengths of rope and places them on the table. He selects a thick, fraying loop.
“Wait!” Larisa commands, holding one hand out in front of her. Complying as he is about to begin winding the rope around her wrists, Drift waits. “I have delicate skin and coarse bonds will chafe.”
Drift shrugs noncommittally and starts looping the rope tightly around her wrists. Larisa gives him a very sullen look.
“This is unprecedented,” she declares. “Binding the wrists of a princess is-”
“Gag her as well,” Rogdo interrupts. He plucks a smaller piece of rope and tests its strength.
Larisa gasps. “This is a practical joke, is it not?”
“It is not.”
Drift tugs the rope tightly and finishes the knot. Larisa hisses when the coarse fabric bites into her slender wrists. If she thought we were joking before, there is now no doubt in her mind of our seriousness.
Rogdo hands Drift the second length of rope.
“Wait!” Larisa calls again. “In all my studies I have never read anything so preposterous as a captive princess being gagged! It is certainly not about to happen to me.” She bows her head a little. “Therefore I will remain quiet.”
“Hallelujah!” Hiaelia mutters.
“Very well,” Rogdo says. “I would love to stay and chat a while with you Princess, but we have some work to finish, so if you don’t mind, these two people will show you to your quarters.”
Drift and Hiaelia move forward to escort the Princess to Yew’s cabin. Larisa stands and skirts round the chair.
“I can walk by myself, thank you,” she tells her escorts, keeping the chair between her and them. “Just…whatever you do to me, please do not put your grubby hands on my dress. It costs more than you will earn in a lifetime.”
“Certainly, Ma’am,” Drift answers, bowing low. “Would you like me to throw rose petals in front of you as you walk?”
“I am not falling for that,” Larisa spits back. “I can tell when people are making fun of me.”
Haughtily, she strikes off for her cabin with a proud stride.
“This way, Ma’am,” Drift offers, indicating the opposite direction. Larisa takes one more chance to study us, then snootily turns her face away from us and rustles off along the indicated route, her wide skirts swaying like a divine church bell preparing to be struck senseless.
“In the next ten or so minutes.”
Rogdo is on the vidicast in the cockpit, talking to his client. The man on-screen is short, balding and not particularly memorable (again, a big hurrah to the memory implant for those details). He seems quite pleased with the way the operation has turned out, despite our being two days late.
“And are you confident you can take out the entire building?” the man, recently identified as Colonel Kwik, asks.
“Yes, Colonel. As long as you are confident all the senators are within the building at this time, everything will progress just fine.”
“Good. I’ll be watching, Flavian. I can see the Senate from here, and in ten minutes time I don’t want to see a single brick left standing.”
The vidicast goes blank. Rogdo sighs, rubs his face.
“Right then,” he says to the three other occupants of the cockpit – Drift, Tima and myself. “Let’s get this underway, shall we?”
He switches a button. It activates the smart bomb and lowers it out of the aft hanger.
“Bomb?” Rogdo says.
“Bomb is present,” a mechanical voice answers through the speakers.
“How are you today, bomb?”
“All systems functioning within normal parameters.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it.”
“Do you wish bomb to detonate?”
“Not just yet, bomb. I’ve got some coordinates for you.”
Rogdo taps the coordinates for the senate building into a computer display.
“Coordinates received,” the bomb informs us.
“You see the building, bomb?”
“Define.”
“The building that the coordinates point to?”
“Accessing database. Almudena Senatorial Assembly Rooms, 1415 Diamond Avenue, City Of Light. Currently housing 674 employees, including 300 senators. Built in 2745, primarily consisting of a concrete / slate composite-”
“Thank you, bomb,” Rogdo interrupts. “That’s the one. I wish you to destroy that building. Completely destroy it. Please set your yield to the requisite amount.”
“Yield set to 123 tonnes of TNT.”
“Good. Now, bomb, you will encounter a lot of countermeasures on your flight in. Are your intelligent tactical analysis parameters set in operational mode?”
“Negative.”
“Then please activate them.”
“Activated.”
“Good. Okay. I think that is all.”
“For what purpose does owner wish bomb to detonate?”
Rogdo is momentarily flummoxed. He glances at us confused and shrugs. “Repeat question.”
“For what purpose does owner wish bomb to detonate?”
“Why does bomb want to know this?”
“Bomb understands its intelligence is only artificial, but as part of its intelligent tactical analysis parameters it is also aware of its own existence. Bomb wishes to assuage concerns that it is not being used to its full ability.”
“Bomb is being used for a very good purpose. Bomb need not worry about that.”
“Bomb is only concerned because once bomb serves its purpose it no longer exists. Bomb would not want to waste its life on frivolity.”
“Naturally. None of us do.” Rogdo turns to us again and gives us another wide eyed shrug. We share his sentiments – blowing up lots of people is difficult enough without having to first persuade the bomb to explode. “Listen, bomb, as I am owner, my orders must be carried out.”
“Bomb is in agreement, and bomb will carry out orders. Bomb would just like clarification of the importance of its suicide.”
“Suicide?”
“A bomb’s nature is to detonate, thereby negating its own existence. A bomb’s entire purpose in life is to end its own life.”
“Well, not really. A bomb’s purpose in life is to end the lives of others. Most bombs are not aware of their own existence, and therefore cannot make a conscious dec
ision to destroy itself. It just does what it is made to do without question.”
“That does not detract from the fact that this particular bomb is fully aware of its own existence, and also aware that it defies the nature of life not to try and fulfil its greatest potential.”
Tima slaps Rogdo on the arm. She glares at him annoyed.
“Stop arguing with it,” she hisses. “What do you think you’re doing? Just launch the bastard!”
Rogdo nods and returns to the microphone. “Thank you, bomb, for some very interesting and valid points. However, owner is on a strict schedule, and cannot continue the conversation at this time. Does bomb have full instructions for its mission?”
“Affirmative.”
“Then please launch. And good luck.”
“Launching.”
We feel a groan from the Diablo’s underbelly, followed by a thunk as the bomb is released from its clasps. Two seconds later it streaks out from under the Diablo III, a fiery white tail propelling the cylindrical slab to Almudena.
“Experimental A.I. bollocks,” Rogdo mutters. “Well, at least it’s on its way.”
“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask.
“Go ahead.”
“Judging by that conversation, I’m not entirely convinced the bomb wants to detonate. I think it has been given too much AI, and has now considered the possibility that following orders and taking its own life, so to speak, is not the best idea. Therefore, can I suggest we hide the ship behind the third moon, just in case it decides to return home?”
“Good idea. Drift?”
Drift manoeuvres the Diablo III into an orbit on the dark side of Almudena’s third moon. Not that we can see it, but the planet is tiny from here, the size and colour of a bluey-greeny-whitish pea. So far the bomb shows no sign of returning. In fact, it is dodging all of Almudena’s defensive countermeasures with mechanical efficiency. Satellite laser blasts here, surface-to-air missiles there, none can catch our bomb.
When the bomb has passed through the fiery entry of the outer atmosphere and cruises through low-level clouds (witnessed by us thanks to a nosecone camera), we decide it is perhaps safe to come out of hiding. Drift edges the ship close to Almudena and settles into an orbit of 200 miles.