Ringships

by Peter Claisse

  ‘And you agree?’

  The doctor didn’t answer. Smith noticed him glancing back down the corridor. ‘We’ll try to arrange something to shield the whole room.’

  ‘That would be a good start.’ Smith lowered his voice and continued. ‘If you help us get her as far as the edge of the source at the bottom of the hills to the West, we can get help from there.’

  The doctor said nothing. After a few seconds, he turned to leave. Smith wondered if he realised what damage Lynella could do once she recovered with the circlet removed.

  3

  Lynella awoke to no pain. No circlet and no pain. Her memory of the last few days, or weeks, or however long it had been, was confused. She could remember the pain. She could remember the circlet and how it had, to some extent, eased the pain but, because of what it represented, she remembered fighting to remove it. In all this time she had not been able to think. To try to work out where she was and why she was anywhere at all when she should have been dead.

  The room was curious. It seemed to have been turned on its side. The wall on her right side had a carpet, which was worn in places as if it had been walked on. There were two doors, one was horizontal, and the other was the right way up to walk through. The lighting was in the left wall and also in the ceiling, clearly designed to be used either way up. The walls themselves were strange but she could at least identify them as being similar to the interior of the shuttle. A layer of metal mesh had been fixed to them and she realised that this was protecting her from the pain.

  There were many machines in the room. Each had its own personality, which she could sense. They were a bit like the machines on the shuttle, and she knew that she must not use her power on them. This was not a time for experiments, she was alive and wanted to stay that way.

  A man walked into the room and ignored her. He looked at one of the nurses. ‘How is she’?

  ‘She seems to be a lot better since the doctor had the screening put in’

  The doctor entered, and the director turned to him. ‘So, you think that she really could sense the field’

  ‘That was the conclusion of my report’

  ‘Yes, I have read your report. But is it true?’

  ‘That was my conclusion’.

  The director looked around the room. ‘You were in the cells talking to them. I need loyalty, not clever theories. I think this is a fraud. Take the screening down, I want to see what happens.’

  Lynella sat bolt upright in the bed. ‘Who are you that you say this’?

  He turned to face her and smiled slightly. ‘And who, exactly, are you, now you are with us’

  ‘I am the Princess Lynella of the Southern Kingdom and demand that you identify yourself’

  He smiled broadly. ‘I am the Mission Director.’ He walked up and leaned over her. ‘And I have assumed delegated authority over your Southern Kingdom.’

  Lynella’s reaction was immediate. She liked dealing with men who wore rings on their fingers. It took several seconds for the Mission Director to realise what was causing the pain. To some observers it seemed as if he did not believe it until he smelt his own burning flesh. What was certain was that he never told Lynella that she was a fraud again, not to her face.

  Paul was in captivity again. He could see the guard on the door all the time. The medical staff were as pleasant as possible but, even as he recovered, he was not allowed to go through the door under any circumstances.

  He knew exactly where he was. He had always admired the design of the ship, which enabled it to work both ways up. The artificial gravity of the rotation was now replaced by real gravity in a different direction, just like it had been during fitting out on earth’s moon. Every last detail in the hospital and other key areas worked both ways. Elsewhere demountable panels needed moving, but the ship had been able to remain operational with minimal interruption. Nobody had ever seriously expected to land the ship on anything again, but the facility was there. His scheme for this landing had made very neat use of it. He saw his idea for the plan, and his protection of the ship while it was in progress, as his crowning achievement. Others might see it differently.

  He could sense the pulses as the fusion reactor generated electricity for the ship’s services. It was quite faint now they had landed, and power was not needed for flight. He remembered how painful it had been in space, particularly when they had been accelerating into the hyperspace transit. The odd thing that he had found was that he seemed to be the only one who could feel it. Everybody had complained of nausea after the transit, but he seemed to be the only one who had felt pain. He could feel some pain now. Perhaps it was because he had nothing to do to take his mind off it, but he wondered if he was becoming more sensitive to it.

  His summons was delivered by a uniformed guard while he was on an exercise machine. He made the man wait while he used the shower cubicle. This caused immense irritation and a flurry of anxious telephone calls. He always liked to start in the way he planned to continue.

  Although he had often been at meetings with the Mission Director present, and had even exchanged a few words in corridors, this was the first time he had discussed anything with him in person. Two guards had escorted him out to the new buildings and the secretary had ushered him through and then, to his surprise, they all withdrew leaving him alone with the man.

  ‘Come in Paul, sit down.’ The Director indicated an upright chair set back slightly from the back of his desk. There was clear irritation in his voice, and no suggestion was made to use the comfortable chairs at the other end of the office.

  ‘I see that you are recovering well.’ Paul knew that this was as far as he wanted the small talk to go. The Director looked at him seeming to hope that he would say something. The man obviously didn’t know how to start. Paul couldn’t help comparing him with the Abbot. In their ways they were very similar. Both were leaders who had floated to the surface of unsavoury pools. Neither was answerable to anybody and both abused their positions. Physically they were also of similar type, over-fed and under-worked. But that was where the comparison ended, the Director seemed to be struggling to start, the Abbot would have torn him apart by now. Paul smiled slightly at this thought. He decided to start.

  ‘I understand that Lynella is also recovering’. He looked pointedly at the bulky white bandage he noticed on the director’s finger and smiled. ‘I wish to see her.’

  ‘You may not. You have more important things to concern you.’

  Paul ignored this attempt to divert him. ‘I understand that almost all of the ship’s personnel saw us defend it. If you discipline me, many of them will support me at an enquiry when we return to earth.’

  ‘Will they?’ The Director was sitting perfectly still, looking straight at him. He made no pretence of lack of interest but showed no signs of concern. ‘Carry on.’ He gestured slightly with one hand.

  Paul decided to state his case. ‘If you plan to continue to detain me I have the right to appeal at full disciplinary hearing before a panel of senior staff. If not, I should be allowed to resume my duties.’

  ‘A full hearing will be arranged. You will be provided with written confirmation shortly.’ This was an area where the Director knew where he was going. Organising committees was said to be his favourite occupation. ‘Do you have any other formal requests?’

  Paul was slightly thrown by this and simply confirmed that he had no more.

  ‘Then I have arranged for another party to join us for a discussion of what happened during the landing. A sort of informal preliminary hearing of your appeal.’ He looked pleased at this bureaucratic definition of the meeting and pushed a small buzzer on his desk. The secretary opened the door and the Abbot walked in.

  He still wore a brown robe, but it no longer looked homespun. Beneath it Paul glimpsed some modern shoes and a modern wristwatch completed the transformation. Paul’s horrified look was met by a smile, which overflowed with confidence. The Abbot casually indicated the comfortable chairs and Pau
l and the Director obediently followed.

  ‘I understand’ the Abbot began, straight to the point, ‘that you have been claiming that my monastery attacked the Atlanta’.

  Paul stuttered and clenched his fist.

  ‘This is a particularly invidious lie in view of the way in which we defended it. It is also an insult to our casualties, many of whom would have died without the expert medical attention provided by the Director’.

  Paul looked at the Director and said rather pathetically, ‘He did attack it, and if Lynella hadn’t stopped him it would have crashed.’

  The Abbot simply shook his head condescendingly and looked at the Director. ‘I really think he believes it. Lynella must have found him very easy to work on and he drew your Captain into her scheme for her. She has made complete fools of them.’ He turned to Paul. ‘You find her very attractive, don’t you?’

  ‘That comment is irrelevant. You attacked the ship.’

  The Abbot ignored him. He turned to the Director. ‘What are you going to do with this man?’

  ‘He has a right to a hearing. Several staff members shall judge his conduct.’

  ‘Do you think that’s wise? These matters are very sensitive; very important.’

  The Director was about to reply but Paul cut across him. ‘Who’s running this place? Are you in charge or is he rewriting the rules for you?’

  The Director seemed to hesitate, but the Abbot continued smoothly. ‘Do your staff normally address you that way. You are the Director. I am surprised that you tolerate it.’

  The Director clearly felt that he should say something but could think of nothing. The Abbot continued.

  ‘There is another issue; a very important issue that could have serious consequences for all of us. This man has been involved in heathen practices; exploring the old pathways, leading to Tiana.’

  This time the Director was able to quote company policy, which permitted religious freedom, but only as long as it did not affect other personnel.

  ‘What have you done? What are these serious consequences?’ He asked.

  Paul replied that he had absolutely no idea at all what he was supposed to have done. He had never heard of Tiana. His reply was so convincing that even the Abbot seemed to accept it, and told Paul that his hearing was over and called the guard. As he was escorted out of the room, Paul looked back to see the Abbot leaning towards the Director with a sheaf of papers. They were word processed and printed. The Abbot was wasting no time in using the shipload of new technology.

  4

  The steward admired the amber coloured liquid. It had been the only good outcome of the visit. The company had been terrible – the Abbot and his new associate, the Director. The declaration that they had brought was worse. But this whisky was excellent. Maria insisted on diluting it, but it was still excellent.

  It was a warm evening, and he had retired to a terrace at the top of one of the castle towers. It had been one of Lynella’s favourite places. Few people knew that it even existed, and on this occasion only Maria knew he was there. He looked at her sitting on a stone step on the far side of the terrace, waiting. She was good at waiting. She had known for some time that Lynella was alive; and had come out of her all devouring grief to wait. If Lynella took a lifetime to come back, she would still wait.

  She had seen him looking at her. ‘Is there something I can get you my lord?’ She smiled with a beautiful open youthful smile.

  ‘No thank you Maria.’ She smiled again. He liked her company and freely admitted it. It was not for conversation, because she was a servant and you did not converse with servants. It was not even for her attractiveness, which was, by any standard, quite remarkable. It was for her openness and loyalty. While Lynella was absent, she had attached her loyalty to him, and nothing would change it.

  ‘And I’m not your lord any more. Henry is your king.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ This time he had to smile. ‘And is the Abbot my lord as well or is it the director?’ He laughed openly.

  Below him two carpenters were dismantling the staging in the courtyard. They worked happily with their new tools, their gifts. Everybody had had a gift; each one carefully selected, by the Abbot of course – even his whisky. He saw no real harm in it, even if it did debase his society by trying to buy it with items, which clearly held little value to the giver. Somebody had been given a small device which was making an awful noise which was supposed to be music. This was annoying, but Maria had assured him that it would soon stop working. She got this sort of information from Angus. Since Angus had been banished nobody was supposed to see him so the steward had an unspoken agreement with Maria that she would give him the news without saying where it came from. In return he would send her on occasional errands, well away from the castle to give her the chance for her meetings with him.

  Even now the thought made him chuckle. They had marched in intending to collect Angus and his men. It was the first thing the Abbot had wanted. Henry had proudly told them that he had tried Angus and found him guilty. At this point the Abbot was about to rush down to the dungeon. When Henry said he had banished them, the cleric had gone red with anger and, for a moment, looked as if he might take Henry instead.

  And here he was. Henry was walking proudly across the courtyard of his new kingdom. A group of courtiers followed him. The carpenters stopped work and bowed low. A group of crew members from the ship that were lounging in the shade ignored him; but this had little effect on the grandeur of his procession. He reached the far side of the courtyard and stopped to say a few words to a prince who was with him. And then he turned around and went back again. The carpenters resumed their work. They had seen him do this many times. As a puppet ruler he had little else to do.

  The steward looked to Maria and called.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ It made them both smile again.

  ‘Please go and make sure that the carpenters clear all the timberwork off the battlements before they go.’ She slipped away.

  Just months ago, it had been a super-human effort to build it. Just weeks ago, it was their last line of defence against the dragons. He raised his glass and drank a good measure of the whisky. Now the defences were pathetic, an embarrassment. The slovenly crew in the courtyard with their guns made it all a joke. They insisted on staying even though the dragons had, as Lynella had predicted, turned back of their own accord as soon as the ship landed.

  The steward’s private terrace gave him a commanding view over the castle walls to the fields beyond. Since the dragons had gone the cattle had been returned and the cottages and fences had been rapidly repaired. The farm workers would be using the new machines that they had been given.

  Maria was crossing the courtyard below him. The steward watched as she approached the carpenters. She started talking with them, but soon one of the ship crew stood up and joined them. They were too far away to be heard but it was clear that the discussion was not going as expected. Soon after it ended Maria reappeared.

  ‘They cannot do it my lord. They have been commanded to go to start work at the mines tomorrow.’

  ‘How can they do that? The mines are within the source.’

  ‘Apparently the high council will meet tomorrow morning to revise the compact. The man from the ship was surprised that we did not know about it.’

  He was glad about the alcohol. It calmed him, suppressed his anger.

  ‘And how will they be rewarded for their work at the mines?’

  ‘They will be paid double their normal wage. They are very pleased.’

  ‘Nothing in ship money?’

  ‘No, we are not going to be permitted to have any ship money.’

  He had known about the prohibition on guns, but this was, in many ways, worse. They were a minority on their own planet and this would make them a permanent underclass. This ship would go but others would come, and they would be expected to serve each one as they came.

  In his way he admired the Abbot, hated him but admired him. When Lyne
lla had overcome so much and won the battled he had reversed it all by simply telling lies. The audacity was fantastic, the cunning was incredible, the timing and eloquence were perfect. This man would now seem to many to be their only hope. It wasn’t a real hope; the man was completely self-serving he would soon become one of the invaders, like them but worse.

  A large cross stood above the castle gate. The steward knew that it had been there for over a hundred years since the monks had asked them to put it there when they built the church in the village. They had seen no harm in it, and had hardly noticed when the old ring that had stood there before had been removed. They both watched as the shadow of the cross in the setting sun faded from the wall of the keep.

  ‘Does she follow the cross?’ The old man asked.

  ‘She knows very little of the old ways.’ Maria replied speaking so quietly that he could only just hear her. ‘She has not studied the books as I have. Her jewel may be strong enough for her to re-discover the ancient souls, but the journey would not be easy without a guide.

  He took one more gulp from his glass. Perhaps it was as well that the Abbot would never try to make peace with her. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’ He asked again. ‘Does she follow the cross?’

  All Maria would say was that she had no love for the monks or their teachings. He knew the real answer. The forces that had caused the old mages to move away from the cross would now be acting on Lynella so, if she had not yet followed, she soon would.

  Adam killed to eat. He killed rats and ate them, and he killed people and ate the food they carried. He took no joy from this existence, but he felt no remorse. His injuries were so severe that for some time he could not walk. He crawled around and among the coffins stacked in the catacomb and killed. Although he did not enjoy killing, it gave him pleasure to have the gun that Smith had left him. It felt heavy and cold in his hand, in all his life he could think of nothing that had given him more joy to possess. Even his boat, which he had known to be better than any other in the village, had not been so good. Each day he counted the remaining ammunition and confirmed that there was plenty left from the generous supply he had been given. One day he killed a monk. He knew that the bullets were special and could penetrate a monk’s aura. He saw the saw the expression on the man’s face when he killed him. It was more surprise than terror or pain.