“It would,” agreed Six. “And the Sellites would be just fine with it, too. You are right. They are practically honour-bound to try to dismantle the orbital station and take back those two ships. What can we do?”
Diva looked at Grace. Grace shrugged. “What?” Then she realized what the Coriolan girl was trying to tell her. “Oh no! I want to fight hands-on, like the rest of you!”
“You are the only one of us with practical training on both ships,” she was told sternly by the Coriolan girl. “You know all the other Kwaidians who can handle them – you trained them. There is nobody else we can send to protect the space station and the ships.”
“Great!” Grace glared. “And I suppose you will be out there in the thick of the fighting wielding your trusty Coriolan dagger and chopping up Elders!”
Diva burst out laughing. “I can’t see you chopping up Elders, Grace, and especially not with my dagger!”
“I could too chop up Elders!” retorted Grace, and then thought. “Though I’d rather chop up Atheron!”
There was a general murmur of agreement at that. Atheron would do whatever he needed to do to maintain the Sellites’ monopoly of all technology in the system, and his own position.
Six brought his most persuasive voice to bear. “We need you to do this, Grace. There won’t be much point fighting for Kwaide if we lose the supply line with Coriolis. The refugees would slowly starve to death!”
“Arcan would never allow that!”
“We cannot become totally dependent on Arcan. It would put him in an intolerable position. No, Kwaide absolutely must become independent. And if we lose the orbital station, that will set us back fifty years. You have to help us!”
“I don’t see why you can’t just send the pilots I trained up. They have been doing the shuttles from Kwaide to Coriolis.”
“They are fine at the mundane stuff. But I can’t expect them to go head on with one of the trickiest brains on Valhai! It would be suicide. They are simple men from Kwaide. They are progressing well, to be sure, especially Ledin, but nobody could think them on a par with Atheron and his cronies. No doubt he will have surrounded himself with all of the most twisted minds on the planet!”
A sunken feeling hit Grace underneath her ribs. “You don’t think …? No, he couldn’t!”
“What?” demanded Diva.
“Xenon? Amanita?” Grace had gone pale. “He wouldn’t use them, would he?”
Six gave a grimace. “It is just the sort of thing he would do,” he told her. “Xenon is perfect for a personal spy.”
“And Xenon is qualified as a pilot!” Grace put her hands up to her face in horror. “He could have sent Xenon to destroy the orbital platform!”
Diva gazed at her friend sympathetically. “It mustn’t make any difference,” she told her. “You will be no use to anybody if you are worried you might be hurting your own brother.”
“No-o-o.” A stone had settled somewhere in the middle of Grace’s stomach, and refused to go away. “Oh, please don’t let that happen.”
“Don’t let your imagination get carried away!” Six warned. “It is only a remote possibility, and it would be crazy to let it eat away at you.”
Grace nodded. “I will get ready to be transported to the orbital station,” she said in a small voice.
THE ELDERS ATTACKED the base camp at first light three days later. They came out of the thick undergrowth with the first breaking rays of Sacras behind them, hoping to dazzle the eyes of the defenders.
The refugees were more than ready for them. They had cleared all the area between the camp and the tree line, had set up defensive stockades, and had prepared for the attack thoroughly. There were three wings of defenders. Cimma was at the head of the central wing, the biggest. Six led the left-hand wing, and Diva the right. The job of the two wings was to encircle the opponents as they attacked, and if possible to cut them off from reinforcements.
The morning below the black peak resounded with the sound of blade against blade. The sycophant army was much better equipped than the refugees, but the refugees had the advantage of higher numbers, and having been able to chose the exact spot for the confrontation. At first the battle seemed to be equal.
Then the sycophants began to have the advantage. They pressed forward, the Elders quite willing to sacrifice all of their own soldiers for an advantage. The refugees found themselves overwhelmed. They were up now against a professional army, made up of well-trained and better-equipped soldiers. Many of the refugees fell onto the ground, giving their lives for the independence of Kwaide. Sycophants fell too, though in smaller numbers. The ground became slippery as the fighting churned up mud, and the defenders realized that the makeshift footwear they used was another weapon against them. The smooth soles made the battleground a lethal arena where it became impossible to stay upright. Some of the rebels even removed their shoes, to fight barefoot against an enemy equipped with ground-grappling, studded boots.
Diva had managed to circumvent the attackers, but had taken heavy casualties. Six, determined to do no less, was clawing his way around the other flank, scrabbling for a hold on the progressively more slippery plain.
Cimma was in the thick of the fighting, her tall figure clearly discernable with its orthogel support. She was shouting at the troops under her command, waving the Xianthan dagger above her head with great ferocity. It was noticeable that the group of refugees around her seemed to congregate thickest in her area, forming a barrier between her and the enemy. Her shouts were exhorting them to let her get at the enemy, to get the Sacras out of her way, but for some reason they couldn’t hear her. She was protected by a tide of fighters who were silently determined not to let their pseudo-fierce trainer come to any harm. The help the Sellite widow had given to the Kwaidian rebels was prized far too highly for them to permit her to spill her blood on this battlefield. Nothing had been outwardly said, but they were not going to let her come to harm. As the battle progressed Cimma’s shouts became more and more irate, more and more high-pitched. The rebels rolled their eyes at each other fondly, and continued the fight with gusto. They valued their own blood much less than hers.
Six’s group had cut a swathe through the sycophants, and successfully reached the rear of their forces. Here they found the Elders themselves, led by an ancient and thin figure which was instantly identifiable to Six. It was the same rheumy Elder who had dispatched him to Valhai as an apprentice three years earlier. How had the old dodderer lingered on for so long? He was surrounded by other, only slightly more robust Elders, all of whom appeared to be listening carefully to his words.
Six signed to his group. This would be a valuable target. He should take no notice of the wish for instant revenge which had swept adrenaline into his blood stream. These would be worthy prisoners-of-war. They should be taken alive. None of them were in a condition to retaliate, as they looked barely able to lift the heavy swords they carried.
It was a minute’s work. Six’s group had them surrounded and disarmed before they could so much as raise one weighty blade. Six detailed five of the group to escort the ancients out of the battle and up to the second camp. They would be taken care of there, held for possible ransom talks or future negotiations.
“You might remember me,” he told the old man.
“You are the instigator of this madness,” warbled the ancient.
“No. You are the instigator of all this.” Six spread his hands open, indicating the entire battlefield. “You rate the untouchables as less than Kwaidians, and that is what will be your downfall.”
“I should have had you killed when I had the chance.”
“Yes. You should. Your time is over now, old man. I hope you spend the rest of your days as a captive.”
“I suppose you plan to make yourself the Elder of Kwaide?” inquired the ancient with a disparaging tone.
At that moment Six felt a rush of certainty free him from any doubts, any designs which might have crossed his mind.
&nbs
p; “No, old man. I shall never be an Elder. I was born a no-name and I shall die one. But the next leader of Kwaide will be a refugee. One elected democratically to lead the nation. One who is accountable for his actions.” Six gave a sudden smile. “But it won’t be me. I am not interested in the job.” A weight lifted off his shoulders and he knew that a decision had been made. He could be Six. He could even be First Six for a short time. But he was not made to be Elder Six. He was not that person. He smiled at the thought of his friends greeting him as Elder Six.
His friends! He looked around, trying to find Diva’s figure amongst all the turmoil around him. A ghostlike premonition suddenly chilled him to the core. He signaled the remaining men in his group to carry on as planned and flung himself into the heaving masses in the direction of Diva’s group.
Chapter 14
GRACE HAD HIDDEN herself on the orbital platform and ordered two of the Kwaidian pilots to take the Variance and the other space trader and retire to a safe distance on the opposite side of Lumina, where they would be invisible to any Sellite ships. She knew that this had not been Six’s intention, but she was convinced that the Sellites would somehow win if she abandoned the orbital station to its fate. She asked trainees to take four of the five personal shuttle pods down to the planet for safe-keeping, then the three refugees who had stayed with her joined her in a silent watch at the consoles. They waited patiently. Grace felt sure that the Sellites would put in an appearance. The only thing she was unsure of was the tactics they would use. She hoped that the evasive measures they had planned would be enough to save the spaceships.
The proximity alert went off, bringing all aboard to instant attention.
“We are detecting a Sellite ship approaching at top speed.” Ledin told her.
Grace hurried over to the console. “They will be on us in another three hours.”
The countdown began. They ate, since they didn’t know how long it might be before their next meal, and then collected all the equipment that had been previously decided upon. As a last fallback device, the station’s control deck had been fitted with gas cylinders. If activated, anything alive on that deck would be knocked out cold. Grace slipped the button controlling the gas into her pocket! Let them come!
GRACE HEARD THE hiss of the airlock, and instinctively cowered further back into the store cupboard, moderating her breathing to as low a rate as she could stand.
“Check all areas!” she heard.
Grace closed her eyes. She knew that voice only too well. Her worst fears had been realized. She heard the boots striding past her cubby-hole, and struggled to breathe evenly. They had planned everything; all she had to do was follow the plan. Her heart raced as she waited for the inevitable discovery.
“Here!” The door of the cupboard was wrenched open and hands reached in to pull her out. She stood, blinking a little uncertainly as her eyes got used to the light.
“Grace!” The voice she had recognized was rigid with shock.
“Xenon. How are you, brother?”
“Scratching out a living on Cesis, thanks to you. And you?”
“Fine. I see you are working as one of Atheron’s spies?”
“Well, what was I supposed to do? We lost all rights to our artifacts. You took care of that, didn’t you?”
Despite her best intentions, Grace found herself shaking. “And why have you come here, Xenon?”
Her brother laughed. “Don’t you know? You have become as stupid as your Kwaidian friends, Sister! Did you think Atheron would let you keep two spaceships and allow you to take a perfectly good orbital platform? You should have known better!”
“What are you planning to do?”
“What do you think? Blow the place to smithereens, of course.”
“With me in it?”
Xenon was still for a long moment, considering his options. Then he pursed his lips and said, “Yes, I am afraid you will have to go too. I won’t take you back to Valhai in my ship. He suddenly looked suspicious. “Unless your great friend Arcan is hidden somewhere?” His eyes began to examine the metallic hold they were in.
Grace shook her head. “Arcan doesn’t know where I am,” she said quietly. “So … you are going to kill me?”
Xenon looked down for a moment. “It is not my fault if you are here,” he said. “Why do you always have to get in the way? Why couldn’t you just be a normal Sellite woman, taking care of the house, and looking for a decent husband?” He became aware of the other Sellites, who were standing flanking him, avidly taking in every sentence. “You leave me no choice.”
“Of course you have a choice!” she told him.
“You didn’t give us a choice. You lost us our skyrise. Amanita has lost her status, and it was all your fault!”
“You shouldn’t have tried to kill Diva!”
“So what? What on Almagest does it matter to you if there is one Sacran more or less? It’s not as if they were Sellites!”
“It DID matter to me. It should have mattered to you!”
“It was for the good of Sell!”
“It was for the good of Xenon!” she flashed back.
“You put aliens before family. You deserve everything you get. Your stupid ideals are in the process of ruining all Sell. You don’t deserve to live, sister or not. I will be doing the system a favour when I kill you!”
Grace caught her breath. To expect it and to hear it were two different matters. She was aware of a dull throbbing pain in her heart. Where was the little boy Xenon had been? Where was her playmate of old? How had they somehow got to this?
“And what do you get out of all this?” she demanded.
“Atheron is going to reinstate me,” he said. “I am going to be head of the donor house again.”
“The donor house! You mean they are planning to reinstate the program?” Now he had really surprised her.
“Of course they are. It is one of the most lucrative on all Valhai.”
“But … but Arcan won’t let you!”
“We don’t need the ortholake any more. We will be setting up facilities … err … elsewhere.”
Grace swayed on her feet. No! She had to stop that! If the Sellites simply went straight back to their old ways it would be a disaster. It would all have been for nothing! She closed her eyes, bringing her attention back to the present. Concentrate, she told herself. This is what you have to think about now. You can worry about the rest in the future.
Xenon looked at the other Sellites. “Is there anybody else on board?” he demanded.
They shook their heads.
“Then start planting the explosives.” His eyes rested on Grace. “And lock my sister up … very securely. We don’t want her spoiling everything!”
“What are you going to tell your children, Xenon? Are you going to tell them you killed their aunt?”
“I will tell them I did what I had to do to ensure Xenon 50 could vote at the Second Valhai Votation!”
“The means justifies the end, then.”
He looked at her as if she were utterly stupid. “Of course they do!”
“Goodbye, Xenon.” Grace was passive as she was dragged away from Xenon and towards one the holding cells built for donor apprentices. She was thrown inside, and heard the finality of the three deadbolts being locked into place. She sat down, and gave a deep, ragged sigh.
GRACE HAD COUNTED on explosives being used, and on their being set on a long enough fuse for the Sellite craft to get out to safety. She sat back to wait. Even though she was almost sure that things were turning out as planned, it didn’t stop her from feeling very apprehensive. It was no fun at all to be sitting on top of a large quantity of armed explosives. Still, she felt lucky not to have been shot by her brother. She was rather glad he had chosen the slower alternative death for her. It meant that she hadn’t been forced to use the button. The gas had not been necessary.
The dull throb of a spacecraft’s engines told her that Xenon was on his way away from the orbital station
. How long would he have given himself, she wondered. How long a fuse would he have set? She hoped it was enough.
There was a pause long enough to set her nerves really on edge, and then she heard scratching and scrapings on the metallic hull of the orbital station, and breathed a sigh of relief. The three refugees had survived their stay outside the station. Despite an earlier practice run Grace had been worried about the effect of being outside the station when a spacecraft was taking off.
The scrabbling went on for some time. This too was expected – there was a failsafe mechanism on the outside of the emergency airlock which allowed re-entry without help from the inside. Unfortunately the mechanism was clumsy and complex, and she knew it would take them some minutes to open the hatch again.
Grace took a slow deep breath, and forced herself to relax. They will get here in time, she told herself. Xenon will have used a long fuse. He would not want to risk his own craft being caught up in the explosion. If only they hadn’t locked her up in here – she could have opened the airlock from the inside in seconds. That was why somebody had been needed on the inside of the orbital station – the failsafe device was only on the outside. So if there had been nobody to close and reset the hatch it would have shown that there were crew outside the station, in space. That would not have suited their plans.
She thought that she had never known time pass so slowly. The seconds elongated as if she were poised over a black hole. She became aware of her own heartbeat, racing to meet her rescuers. She forced herself to be still, to be patient, to wait.
At last there were thuds and bumps which announced that the rescue party had gained access to the station. Now came the difficult part – they had to find and disarm the explosives before they detonated.
Ammonite Planets (Omnibus): Ammonite Galaxy #1-3 Page 38