She almost turned back to him. But instead she straightened her back and returned to the Institute.
* * *
Back at her bench, Arabella stared down at the gears before her—the prototype and the several failed copies—but did not truly see them. Instead, she considered Captain Fox’s warning.
Every thing she had said to Fox was true, she was certain. But every thing he had said to her, she knew, was equally true, at least in his estimation. And for all his faults, Fox was neither an unintelligent nor an unobservant man …
“Gonekh,” she called. “I should like you to make a list, ordered by importance, of what we would take with us if we were required to evacuate the Institute to Tekh Shetekta.”
“Ma’am?” the Martian inquired, eye-stalks rising in alarm.
“There is no danger at the present time,” she said, putting more confidence into her voice than she actually felt, “but it would be foolish not to plan for every eventuality.”
“Ma’am.” Gonekh curtseyed and turned to her assigned task.
Arabella, for her part, looked about and gave her own consideration to the question. They were fortunate in that they knew the fleet’s orders, which had been transmitted to Ceres by Captain Singh before his departure. The fleet would land at Fort Augusta for resupply and to coordinate with Company forces already in place. Even if the Company already knew Tekhmet’s location—which she fervently hoped they did not; the resistance had taken every possible step to keep the town’s location secret—the earliest an attack could occur would be several days after the fleet’s arrival, so they would have some time for an orderly evacuation. The draughts and the tools, she thought, would have to be the first priority, then the complete and near-complete automata, then the more complex and precise sub-assemblies.
But where would they go? Tekh Shetekta was no more than a fallback position; it was not a place they could stay for long. And surely if Tekhmet were exposed, Khoresh Tukath would be equally vulnerable to attack.
Should she have accepted Fox’s offer?
Arabella glanced at the clock. It was a little past two in the afternoon.
She should, at least, give Lady Corey her best wishes before her departure for Khoresh Tukath.
* * *
Arabella found Lady Corey and Captain Fox in the midst of instructing their servants in the loading of her cases atop a coach. Gowse, Arabella’s old messmate, was managing the huresh. “Oh!” Lady Corey said as Arabella approached. “Are you coming along after all?”
“I am not, unfortunately. I merely came to bid you farewell.”
“I do wish you would accompany me,” Lady Corey said, taking Arabella’s hand and walking a few steps away. Captain Fox continued supervising the loading of the coach. “We have engaged quite spacious rooms in Khoresh Tukath, and it is ever so much more civilized there than here. You would be far more comfortable, and I would so welcome your company.”
“I do regret the necessity, Lady Corey. But my place is here.”
“Oh yes, the automata, I completely understand. But … but Captain Fox is concerned that we are so very exposed here.”
“Do not be anxious on my behalf,” Arabella said, pretending more confidence than she felt. “All will be well here.”
At that moment one of the servants came up, touching his hat brim. “All is in readiness for departure, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Lady Corey said, then turned back to Arabella. “Well, if you are determined to remain, I suppose this is adieu.”
“Au revoir,” Arabella corrected with a smile. “Until we meet again.”
“Until we meet again,” Lady Corey replied with a matching smile. But then something caught her attention and she looked upward … and her smile faded, quickly replaced by an expression of alarm. Arabella, seeing Lady Corey’s face, turned to follow her gaze.
A fleet of ships—a dozen at least, under a full spread of silk—was descending toward them from the zenith. The early-afternoon sun, shining directly behind them, must have hidden their approach until the last moment. Even now Arabella, shading her eyes with a hand, could not see them clearly and certainly could not count them all. But she did spot the English ensign fluttering from the stern of one of the nearer vessels. “Raise the alarm!” she cried in her best airgoing voice. But she was not the first to do so, and already shouts, rattles, and bells were sounding from all around, Martians and humans running in every direction.
It was the Ceres fleet. Somehow they had come directly to Tekhmet … a town whose very existence, not to mention its location, was the resistance’s greatest secret.
How had they found it?
“Michael,” Arabella said aloud, and her lips drew back from her teeth in a grimace.
Lady Corey’s servants—they had come with her from Fort Augusta and were not in the least military—were staring all about, wondering what to do. “Get her to Khoresh Tukath!” Captain Fox called to them, rushing to Lady Corey and propelling her toward the coach. The servants hastened to comply, though their actions were disorganized. Gowse tried to marshal the coach-huresh into some kind of order.
And then something black and round dropped from the sky, landing between the coach and Common Hall with a deafening explosion.
Arabella was thrown to the ground by the blast. A moment later she shrieked and covered her head with her arms, as clots of dirt and bits of metal and wood rained down upon her, striking with fierce impacts upon her back and legs. But the rain of debris did not last long, and as soon as she could gather her wits she raised her head, ears ringing, coughing from the dusty air.
Common Hall was burning. A huge hole had been smashed in the near side, shattered timbers spreading from the point of impact like some harsh, dangerous flower, and at the heart of that flower a fierce orange flame was spreading, sending black smoke billowing upward. The coach, between Arabella and the hall, was also smoldering. Though not so badly damaged as the hall, it had been knocked askew, and the huresh hitched to it were squealing and thrashing in their traces. Whether they were injured or merely panicked Arabella could not tell.
“Lady Corey!” she shouted into the chaos.
“Here, child!” came a reply from the vicinity of the coach. Arabella could barely hear the voice over the ringing in her ears, but she followed it as best she could, finding Lady Corey half-pinned under a pile of cases which had fallen from the top of the coach. Captain Fox, his clothing filthy with dirt and ash, was already trying to unearth her. Servants rushed about in confusion, like thurok whose nest had been kicked over.
Arabella and Fox together managed to get the cases off of Lady Corey. “Are you hurt?” Arabella asked, helping her to her feet.
“I do not think so. But the coach—!”
The coach, indeed, was in no condition to go any where. It looked as though both its axles were broken, and the traces were all in a tangle. Lady Corey’s cases and possessions were scattered all about, some smoldering or in flames.
Then a second explosion sounded from quite close at hand, causing every one to cry out and duck, shielding their heads from the rain of fragments.
Fox looked upward and cursed, and Arabella followed his gaze. The English ships were much closer now, appearing to descend still more rapidly, and many black dots fell from them … more aerial bombs. Tiny glimmers of light and puffs of smoke in their rigging showed rifle fire as well. At this range the bullets were unlikely to find their targets, but that distance was closing quickly … and soon the fleet would be low enough that their great guns could be brought into play as well.
“I must get to Touchstone!” Fox shouted in Arabella’s face. Explosions were now bursting all about them, far and near, accompanied by cries of pain and panic from Martians, humans, and huresh. Touchstone, requiring a launch-furnace as she did, was berthed at Khoresh Tukath, an hour away for a fast rider.
But the coach was smashed, and Fox, raised on Earth, was no huresh-rider at all. Nor could he ride a Draisine.
Gowse—who had served for over a year as Arabella’s huresh-groom—turned from where he was assisting Lady Corey’s servants in getting the panicked animals under control. “Aye, ma’am?”
“Take one of these huresh and get Captain Fox to Touchstone as fast as you possibly can!”
“Aye aye!” Gowse immediately moved to the lead beast, leaving the others to the rest of the servants, and began unhitching him from the coach. He was a fine specimen, a lean fast runner called Hardy.
“I will get Lady Corey to safety,” Arabella told Fox.
Without a word Fox nodded to Arabella, then took Lady Corey’s hand and kissed it. “Be safe, my love,” he told her.
“And you,” Lady Corey replied, the second word ending in a choking sound as tears clogged her throat.
Fox then ran to Gowse, who had already unhitched Hardy and leapt up upon his back. “Have ye ridden bareback before?” Gowse said to Fox, extending a hand.
“On a horse…” Fox replied, taking Gowse’s hand and pulling himself up behind.
Gowse shook his head. “This might be a bit different, sir. Hang on tight.” Then he clucked his tongue at Hardy, digging his heels in at the soft spot behind the beast’s thorax, and the huresh surged forward. Fox whooped and clamped his hat onto his head with one hand, clinging with the other to Gowse’s waist as they vanished into the smoke.
“Come with me!” Arabella said to Lady Corey, putting an arm around the older woman’s waist and urging her forward.
* * *
“Where are you taking me, child?” Lady Corey asked after a time.
The two women were running through chaos. Explosions and rifle fire sounded at irregular intervals from all around. Black smoke smudged the sky, rising from the fires that burned uncontrolled here and there, and panicked people and beasts of every description dashed about without visible method or organization.
“To Diana!” Arabella said.
As they ran they gathered up others, humans and Martians alike. Those with experience flying khebek she encouraged to get to their ships—or, indeed, any they could reach—and take them into the air as quickly as possible, for on the ground they were immobile and nearly defenseless. The rest they brought along with them toward Diana, though some were panicked or injured and had to be helped along or even carried. Arabella soon forgot her own cares and concerns, concentrating all her attentions upon helping as many others as she could.
But when they rounded the corner of the rope-walk and saw Diana standing tall in her berth—seemingly undamaged, with her three great balloon envelopes already fully inflated and straining at the network of cables which tethered them to the ship’s hull—her heart leapt into her mouth from simultaneous exaltation at the ship’s safety and fear for her captain. “Hurry!” she called to Lady Corey and the others who accompanied her, just as though they were not already all pushing themselves to their utmost pace … and, somehow, they did manage to eke out a bit more speed, racing toward Diana as bombs continued to burst on the ground and in the air all around.
Diana, though not yet airborne, was already defending herself, with the swivel-mounted chasers on the forecastle and quarterdeck firing as rapidly as they could. This fire accounted for her as yet undamaged condition, as it discouraged the English ships with their aerial bombs from approaching too closely. Yet Diana was still quite vulnerable … if a single bomb or shell should strike her balloons, it would make a rapid end of her as well as every thing around her.
Up the gangplank Arabella and her companions ran, tumbling exhausted into the waist. The situation they found aboard ship was nearly as much of a bedlam as on the ground, but this pandemonium was at least more organized, with airmen rushing to defend the ship and simultaneously prepare her for an immediate ascent. With relief Arabella handed Lady Corey and some of the others—those injured, exhausted, or otherwise incapable—to the surgeon, Dr. Barry, who shepherded them below. The rest of her people she sent to Faunt, the captain of the waist, to offer whatever assistance they could. Plainly not all of Diana’s usual crew had managed to return to the ship in the chaos of the attack, and every hand would be welcome.
Having discharged her immediate responsibilities, Arabella did not even pause for breath before hastening to the quarterdeck … where she immediately spied Captain Singh, safe and in command!
Requesting and receiving permission to ascend the ladder, she rushed to her husband’s side. The expression of panicked relief on his face matched her own sentiments, but they had no time for more than a brief embrace before he pulled away. “Thank Heaven you are here! Now get below and have Aadim plot us a low-altitude course for Tekh Shetekta.”
But though Arabella longed to be away, she could not do so without one assurance. “Has Gonekh come aboard with the automata?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Arabella held her breath, peering over the rail at her Institute, which lay between Diana’s berth and the hydrogen manufactory. It seemed as yet undamaged, and if the automaton pilots could be rescued they might make all the difference in the fighting to come.
But every minute Diana remained on land was another opportunity for the English to destroy her.
“I will send some one to collect them,” Captain Singh said, seeing her hesitation.
But contemplating this alternative made Arabella realize just how important the automata were to her and to their cause … and how much she had come to depend upon Gonekh. “I must do this myself! I will return as quickly as I can.” She kissed him on the cheek and ran.
* * *
She found Gonekh and the other technicians scrambling about the Institute, gathering papers and tools and piling them upon an already overloaded cart. Plainly it would not even cross the threshold without spilling its contents. “This will not do!” she cried. “Chekta, I saw another cart on my way here, near the water-trough. Go and bring it back. Torkei, Gonekh … you two and I will shift some of this onto the second cart. The rest of you … each take one of the completed automata and run to Diana immediately!”
As the technicians leapt to comply, Arabella looked about. Gonekh had done a good job of locating the most important items … except that she had missed the set of metal files, which Arabella had been using in her work on the cast gears and now lay on the shelf beneath her work-bench. Arabella snatched the set up and crammed it into a gap near the bottom of the pile upon the cart, even as Chekta returned with the second cart. “Hurry!” Arabella cried.
Quickly they moved materials from the first cart to the second, until Arabella judged that neither cart was in danger of overturning. Then the four of them shoved the two carts to the door. As Gonekh and Torkei pulled the heavy double doors open, Arabella looked around the Institute one last time.
In the last months the Institute—this filthy shed—had become something like her home. She had certainly spent more time here than in her bed, and it was a place that, in some ways, she had built with her own two hands. Every thing here had been brought to this place and put where it was because she had needed it for the sake of her home planet. And now she was abandoning it … driven from her home by force of arms.
By the Prince Regent. By her own sovereign lord.
No! He was not her sovereign. Perhaps he never had been.
She was a Martian.
Arabella was a Martian born and bred, and she would not let any King or Prince, no matter how powerful, do to her people what he was doing to her right now.
Not if it was within her power to prevent it.
* * *
The pandemonium without had grown still more chaotic during the few minutes Arabella had been inside the Institute. Flames roared on every side, filling the air with choking black smoke, and explosions sounded at irregular intervals … the continuing barrage of English bombs now accompanied by detonations of gunpowder and hydrogen from the ship-yard as the fires spread. Diana added to the noise with the reports of her guns, and
shouts and commands in a variety of languages came to Arabella’s ears through the murk.
Coughing, eyes running, Arabella put her shoulder to the cart and helped Chekta propel it across the irregular ground. The distance to Diana was not great, no more than two hundred yards, but the sand was littered with debris and even the body of a fallen huresh, around which they were compelled to detour.
Even as she struggled forward, Arabella kept an eye turned upward, where English ships floated like malevolent copper-bottomed clouds. They were now being joined in the sky by khebek, the light small vessels rising swiftly from the ship-yard beneath their single balloons, and some of the Royal Navy vessels were turning to bring their great guns to bear upon these new targets. But the Martian ships, though their crews were not yet fully trained and some of them lacked guns and even complete hulls, were so small and nimble that the ponderous English first-rates could not target them effectively. Even the English frigates, smaller and more maneuverable, were unused to such agile adversaries, and though they fired again and again, most of their shots went wide.
But not all. First one of the rising khebek was smashed to flinders by a well-timed English broadside, and then another’s balloon was pierced—the cannon-balls’ hot metal causing the hydrogen within to explode with a tremendous bang. A wave of heat rushed out from the falling ship, so intense that Arabella felt its flush upon her face even half a mile away.
Fortunately she could not hear the crew’s screams over the many other sounds of the attack.
Grimly Arabella returned her gaze to Diana, now just one hundred yards away, and her heavy heart lightened as she saw a mixed crowd of people—waisters, topmen, Venusians, and some of the Martians she had gathered on her run from Common Hall—rushing down the gangplank to assist her and her technicians in unloading the carts. With renewed vigor she pushed her cart the last few yards.
Within minutes all the precious automata, plans, tools, parts, and assemblies had been brought aboard. But as Arabella checked to make sure that every bit of material had been collected, she noticed one significant absence. “Has any one seen Gonekh?” she shouted.
Arabella the Traitor of Mars Page 18