‘Who…What?’ the monk demanded in a hoarse whisper. Then regaining some of his composure he looked at them in the semi-darkness and said with narrowed eyes, ‘You look like members of the Democratic Front.’
‘That’s right brother,’ Jenson told him, ‘we’re DF. Can you figure out why we’re here?’
‘Of course I can!’ the monk snapped back examining the three faces in the gloom. ‘You’re here to take the bones of Ishcmall. You don’t have to treat me as a fool son.’
‘I’m glad to hear it!’ Jenson replied, motioning for Sandpiper to remove the combat knife from the man’s stomach.
‘I’m right, you are here to move the prophet’s remains aren’t you?’ the monk demanded, completely unintimidated by the appearance of the rebels.
‘You know as well as I do, that if that battle goes ahead tomorrow there are going to be thousands of casualties,’ Jenson answered. ‘There’s also going to be shit loads of high explosives falling on this place and I don’t rate the chances of those bones surviving very highly.’
The monk raised a hand to silence Jenson and said, ‘You don’t have to convince me son. The brothers support the democratic movement and have no wish to see the prophet’s remains destroyed in a futile battle. We’ve been praying for the removal of the remains to somewhere safe. Our prayers have been answered.’
‘You’ll help us?’ Shalok asked.
‘Of course daughter,’ the monk answered with a grin. ‘We’ve been expecting the mother of the new order and the Terran knights for some time now.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Shalok demanded.
The brother smiled mischievously, patted her on the arm and said, ‘All I’m saying dear, is that Ishcmall did prophesies a time when three people like yourselves, would be vital in ushering in the new era. By the way, my name is brother Bocaj and it’s a pleasure to be partake in what will become, such an historic episode. ‘
Jenson looked at Sandpiper who returned his friend’s suspicious frown with a shrug. The monks reaction wasn’t quite what they’d been expecting and Jenson wondered if he wasn’t agreeing to assist them just a little bit too readily. The news that the brethren who guarded the prophets bones had been expecting them was, to say the least, worrying.
‘Seems like everybody knows what we’re about to do and where we’re about to go, except us.’ Sandpiper said ruefully. ‘I just wish I had access to the same shit they’re taking, to see into the future. Maybe then we could avoid some of the trouble we get into.’
Brother Bocaj turned, stepped out of the alcove and looked back at them from a weather-beaten dark face surrounded by a shaved scalp. ‘Well are you coming, or are you just going to stand there?’ he asked. After a brief hesitation, Jenson and the others cautiously followed their new ally.
The monk led them down a series of passageways to a storeroom where he whispered urgently to another of his order. The new brother disappeared out of the door and down the corridor. Sandpiper moved to follow the second monk, but Jenson restrained him. He wasn’t sure why, but something told him they weren’t under any immediate threat. If the order were on the side of the Democratic Front, they would make powerful allies. Jenson didn’t want to jeopardise that.
After a quick rummage amongst the starched, laundered habits, brother Bocaj kitted them each out with one of the standard green heavy wool cloaks. Which went at least some way, toward hiding their battle fatigues and backpacks. Jenson was concentrating on finding a way to hide his assault rifle somewhere under the robes, when the head of the order entered with the other monk.
‘My name is Dakol and I’m the elected spokesman of the brethren here,’ the head of the order introduced himself. ‘We’ve been expecting you... In fact, we were beginning to worry you wouldn’t turn up. However, the prophet spoke the truth once more and we are relieved to find you here. The battle will begin in a few hours, by which time it will be too late to save Ishcmall, so we must act with all speed!’
‘I’m glad your prophet saw us coming Dakol. I just hope the military don’t study Ishcmall’s prophecies as well!’ Jenson replied. ‘I guess that’s a risk we’ll just have to take, but now that we’re here, can you help us?
Dakol nodded saying, ‘The brothers are prepared. The prophet’s remains are kept in a crypt in the chapel across the courtyard. The courtyard is full of Imperial troops, but we have a plan that should get you there and back without too much trouble. Please—brothers Alak and Herome will assist you. Time is of the essence!’
‘What do you think?’ Jenson asked Shalok and Sandpiper.
‘We don’t have time to argue,’ Shalok told them bluntly. ‘I suggest we do as the brothers suggest; I believe they’re on our side. The order has a long history of nobility.’
‘Thank you child,’ Dakol acknowledged the compliment.
Sandpiper also nodded his agreement, so Jenson invited the monks to lead the way. Within half an hour they were crossing the open courtyard of the monastery, hidden in the midst of a column of praying monks, their cloak hoods pulled down tightly over their faces. Jenson could see that there were Imperial troopers everywhere, building gun emplacements and shoring up the monastery’s own defences with sandbags. It looked to him, like the Imperial forces were planning on the forthcoming battle being the final showdown between themselves and Hillmead’s Democratic army. Seeing the vast number of heavily armed troops inside the thick walls of the monastery, made him more determined than ever, to stop the carnage before it could begin.
The column of brothers entered the chapel on the far side of the central courtyard, passing two guards who were more concerned about the preparations for war, than the men of the church. The interior of the chapel was not dissimilar to traditional Christian churches, with tall arches, cold stone floors and rows of pews with a central aisle. Ancient faded banners hung from massive wooden beams and an intricately carved marble altar stood beneath a golden star. For the first time, Jenson felt massive pangs of guilt over his plan to send the monastery tumbling down the precipice, but he could see no other practical alternative to his plan.
The monks led them to the rear of the altar, where a large marble slab lay on the floor. It took four of the brothers to move it, but eventually they managed, without making too much noise. There, at the bottom of the tomb, lay an ornate coffin covered in precious jewels and gilded with gold. While a couple of the monks watched the chapel door, the others picked up the gold entwined ropes at each end of the coffin and with very nonreligious curses, hauled the Dyason treasure out of the tomb.
There was a delay while the brothers wedged the lid of the coffin open, but eventually it was prised open and the ancient remains of the prophet Ishcmall were exposed to the world once more.
‘Urrrggh!’ Sandpiper hissed, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. ‘He may be a prophet but his remains stink like a Dingo dog’s testicles!’
‘He may smell to you, but the old goat is the key to the revolution, ‘Jenson snapped, drawing out an extending cylindrical container from his backpack. ‘Now shut up and help me get the bones into this thing.’
It caused some upset and procrastination among the brethren to see their religious relics being so unceremoniously crammed into an aluminum cylinder. However, Dakol and Bocaj kept telling the monks what was happening was necessary to usher in the new order and kept the more agitated monks away. Jenson saw Shalok cross herself and utter a prayer of forgiveness, as he finally placed the last bone in the container and sealed the lid. He hoped the prayer covered him as well.
Jenson strapped the cylinder to his back and placed the cloak over the top of it. He cursed when he realised that it stood proud of his contoured backpack and made him look like the ‘Hunchback of Notre Dame’. Shalok tried to rearrange the container, but it made no difference; extended it was simply too big.
Eventually, they gave it up as a bad job and hoped that the protuberance wouldn’t be noticed amid the other monks. With Jenson positioned in the heart of the
column, the brothers pulled the hoods of their cloaks down over their faces and marched out of the chapel and into the courtyard.
They very nearly made it across to the relative safety of the monks’ quarters, but nearly wasn’t good enough. Second Lieutenant Deplosk was once more checking his platoon was fully equipped and prepared, when he saw the column of monks walking across the courtyard. Usually, he wouldn’t have given them a second glance; the brothers’ sole purpose was to tend the prophet’s altar. So long as they did that, he had no interest in them at all. Except…he’d never noticed any of the monks had a deformed back before…
Deplosk watched the entourage cross the courtyard with growing suspicion. It was strange, but there was something about the gait of the monk with the hunchback in the centre of the column. Somehow that monk didn’t move as if he were crippled. Then the sub-lieutenant happened to look down at the feet of the brothers, all of whom wore open sandals, except for the deformed monk and two others. They wore what couldn’t be mistaken as anything else, but combat boots. Deplosk looked back at where the entourage had come from and immediately made the connection. The young Imperial officer rose to his feet, pulled out his automatic and screamed the alarm.
One unfortunate monk at the end of the column immediately fell to the ground, hit in the back. The rest of the brothers hit the deck at the sound of gunfire, all that is except for Bocaj, the monk Jenson had accosted in the passageway. He gave Shalok a firm shove and they ran together for the cover of the entrance to the underground vaults.
Sandpiper ripped the cloak off his back, turned and sprayed the Imperial troopers with automatic fire. Sub-Lieutenant Deplosk fell dead to the floor as the courtyard collapsed into chaos. Making the most of the confusion, Jenson ran full tilt for the vault entrance, as Shalok brought her assault rifle to bear and added her Firepower to Sandpiper’s. Seeing that the others had made it, the short, stocky Terran pilot saw his opportunity and covered the rest of the courtyard in a few bounds. As the monk slammed the ancient timbered door behind him, the troopers were finally waking up to the enemy in their midst and belatedly opened fire. The wooden door splintered but held long enough for the four of them to dash down the passageway to the subterranean levels.
As they ran, the sound of pursuers close on their heels reverberated through the stone corridors. They ran around a corner into another passageway, where Sandpiper dropped a couple of cluster-eggs with a short fuse. There was a satisfying crump half a minute later, as the troopers discovered the surprise he’d left. They would follow them more cautious now. Eventually, after what seemed like a marathon run, they came to the heavy wooden door that was the entrance to the crypt and the sewer beyond.
‘Okay this is where I leave you!’ Bocaj wheezed at them between gasps for air. ‘I’ll try to lead them away from here, then make my getaway. May the gods be with you my children. Look after our prophet!’
As the monk turned to go, Jenson grabbed him by the arm and hissed, ‘I’ve got to tell you something! You’ve got to get the brothers out of the monastery! We’ve set demolition charges into the rock face. The whole place will go up at first light! You’ve got to move everybody to safety—do you understand?’
Bocaj looked into the Terran’s eyes and said, ‘I know son, I know! We’ve already evacuated everyone we can, up the mountainside. There will be casualties, but they’re necessary if we’re to move into the new era. Now go son! You have my blessing! Go!’ Jenson gripped the monk’s hand firmly one last time then turned and slipped into the crypt. With a sad, but firm face, Bocaj turned to meet the approaching troopers.
They found the entrance to the sewer once more and bent nearly double, shuffled toward the exit in the cliff face. For a while, it seemed as if the monk had been successful in diverting the pursuers, but they were halfway down the sewer when they heard shouting and splashing from the crypt. Jenson urged the others on, keeping a wary eye on the passage behind them, as the voices gradually became louder.
With some relief, they finally reached the rocky outcrop and left the stinking sewer behind. The sky was gradually beginning to lighten and with alarm Jenson checked his watch. Damn, it was later than he thought! They were really cutting their margins tight.
‘Now what do we do?’ Shalok demanded. ‘How do we get off this outcrop? We can’t go back up, they’ll be waiting for us!’
‘We don’t go up! We go down!’ Sandpiper grinned mischievously at her.
‘What? You must be mad! It’s over half a klick to the bottom! Your ropes will never reach that far!’ she exclaimed looking at the two pilots in alarm, then peering down the sheer cliff.
‘Who said anything about ropes?’ Jenson said as he threw his cloak away, dropped his backpack and pulled out a smaller pack with a multiple harness. Sandpiper pulled out a larger pack and strapped it on.
‘What are they for?’ Shalok asked, covering the tunnel with her assault rifle as the men adjusted the new equipment.
‘No time for questions! Just do as Sandpiper tells you!’ Jenson told her.
There was the crack of gunfire and he ducked involuntarily as a bullet flew past his head. He dropped to one knee and returned fire. ‘Quick! Get on with it Han! We’ve got company!’
Sandpiper didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed Shalok, strapped her to his chest like an embracing lover, and hurled himself off the precipice. There was a scream from Shalok as they hurtled toward the distant foothills of the mountain. For a moment, it seemed as if they faced certain death, then a canopy popped open and the para-glider deployed.
Jenson waited just long enough to see his friends float gently back toward the Democratic Front lines, then with a final burst of gunfire at the approaching troopers, he too hurled himself into oblivion. Knowing his pursuers were right on his heels, he waited for the last possible moment before deploying his canopy. In the lightening sky he could clearly see the rapidly approaching foothills, but every second he waited before pulling the ripcord, increased the distance between himself and the certain death above.
When the canopy did deploy, it snapped open with a bang and the straps dug painfully into his shoulders. He quickly looked below him, worried that he’d lost the container carrying the prophet’s skeleton, but to his relief it swung gently in the wind, secured by a separate cord to the parachute harness. Jenson pulled on the canopy and steered the para-glider away from the precipice. Which was just as well, because as the dirty, pollution scarred sun appeared over the horizon, the charges in the rock face went off simultaneously.
He turned his head to watch and saw the cliff face crumble and disintegrate. A trickle of rubble became a landslide and the ancient walls of the monastery began to tumble over the precipice. Jenson thought a couple of the bigger boulders were going to hit him, they dropped past so close. However, he’d judged his descent just right and the rubble missed him by a few scant metres.
Over the sound of collapsing masonry and falling rocks, he thought he could just hear the screams of the unfortunate Imperial troops. They fell over the edge of the collapsing rock face, followed by their heavy weaponry. Jenson fervently prayed that their new ally and the rest of the brethren, had made it to safety before the charges went off.
In less than a minute it was all over. The ancient monastery lay in a heap of rubble at the foot of the cliff face and a plume of dust rose up the mountainside lit, by the rising sun of a polluted world.
Jenson steered his canopy to a field with a wilted crop, just south of the river that marked the edge of the Democratic Front lines. He hit the ground with bent knees and collapsed the canopy. Seeing there was nobody in sight, he released his harness and collected the invaluable container. Jenson looked about him for a suitable spot and chose a dead tree near the dried-out river bed.
Taking a collapsible trench-digger off his utility belt, he rapidly dug a hole and dropped the container into it. Then he replaced the top soil and carefully removed any visible signs that he’d been there. Finally, he stored the spot�
�s co-ordinates into his ‘smart’ wristwatch . Satisfied his work was done, he adjusted his breathing mask, picked up his ‘chute and began the several klicks’ walk back to Hillmead’s bunker.
A personnel carrier found him halfway up a deserted farm track, and took him back to the bunker. Less than an hour later he was standing in the underground briefing room, facing Hillmead along with Shalok and Sandpiper.
This time Hillmead was alone; he’d excluded his military staff from the meeting. Jenson noted that the rebel hero also seemed more relaxed, less exhausted. The sleeping pills Shalok had spiked his drink with the night before had obviously been effective.
For several minutes Hillmead said nothing, he simply looked at the map of the Sayalamih mountain range and tapped thoughtfully at the spot where the ancient monastery had stood only hours before.
‘We received a communication last night,’ he finally said, looking up and staring at each of them in turn. ‘It said there’s been a foiled attempt to hijack the Valvia by members of the Imperial military junta. Members of Mosorak, the secret service, and Terran marines caught and shot the hijackers. The dead include General Tylosk and others, who had masqueraded as an Imperial peace mission.
‘Mosorak has declared a state of emergency throughout the Empire and has put out a warrant for the arrest of Admiral Chelekov. Unsurprisingly, Chelekov has disappeared. Then, about half an hour ago, I received a secret transmission from Polesy, head of the secret service requesting a conference to discuss the terms of an armistice.’
Hillmead sighed heavily and eased himself into a collapsible chair. Then he placed an elbow on each arm rest and made a temple of his fingers. He looked at Jenson with narrowed eyes and told him, ‘Well, there doesn’t seem to be any point in attempting an assault on an objective that doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t know what you’ve done with Ishcmall’s remains Jenson; perhaps it’s best that I don’t—at least for the time being.’
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