“Is that Gammy Leg?” he asked Payne.
“Not sure,” Payne replied. “I’ll try to find out.”
Payne and the Rider had a long conversation in Kant.
“It’s Gammy Leg,” Payne said. “He claims the Viceroy sent him after us as a guide. He says we are drifting off course.”
“I suppose he would know,” Allenson said. “Very well, Master Payne, ask him to take point, if you please.”
They had only been pedaling a few hours when Allenson became concerned. While it was true that the Rider found convenient energy gradients, Allenson’s inertial navigation implied that they were turning slowly in a giant circle. He dropped back a little and rendezvoused with Payne, being careful not to touch energy bubbles. Allenson made a circular motion with his hand and gave the sign for a question. Payne nodded vigorously and gave an exaggerated shrug.
The Rider dropped back also and came close to Allenson, as if he wanted to communicate. Allenson could see the man clearly inside the energy field around the beast. Only the Rider’s head projected over the scissoring crystal rods. The Rider heaved himself up to his feet, grasping a crystal for support with his right hand. His left came up to point to Allenson. The Rider was holding something.
Allenson had but a moment to register that it was a spring gun before the Rider fired. The solid bolt barrelled through the Continuum leaving a blue wake, penetrating his frame’s energy field with a white flash. It clipped the control panel in front of him before exiting his reality bubble with another flash. He automatically jerked the control stick away from the Rider. His frame’s energy bubble slid alongside Payne’s in an iridescent cascade of colors. The shield vibrated like a giant bell, deafening him.
He reached for his own spring gun but found his laser carbine still clipped to the frame from when he had gone hunting. It would be utter suicide to fire that inside a frame. Very little energy would escape through the field. Most would be reflected straight back. He scrabbled inside a pannier for his spring gun. The Rider was intent on re-cocking his weapon for a second shot.
Payne swung his frame over the top of Allenson’s and discharged his own spring gun. The Rider dropped down behind a crystal. Payne’s bolt hit it square on. Allenson distinctly saw a flash of light. The beast shied like an animal prodded with a pike. It lurched and the Rider half fell out, having to grab with both hands to stay on. His spring gun pitched over the side and fell away into the Continuum.
The Rider tried to escape but Payne and Allenson pursued him ruthlessly, firing bolts to force the beast down. The beast landed and the Rider jumped off as it touched the ground, just before its crystals closed with a snap. The Rider would have been crushed had he not reacted so promptly.
Gammy Leg made a run for it without looking back. Allenson had had enough. He was damned if he would break into a sprint after all that pedaling, and he was sick of unreliable Riders. He unclipped his carbine and loosed a long burst in the general direction of the Rider. He missed of course. He always missed. This did nothing for his temper . . .
The burst went over the Gammy Leg’s head, setting light to the vegetation in an arc in front of him.
“Oh, good shot, sar, and with a carbine too.” Payne said.
“Hmm,” Allenson replied. “Lucky shot.”
Payne regarded him with respect, clearly his leader was modest as well as a crack marksman.
Gammy Leg threw himself on his knees and bowed his head. He was singing in a minor key when they reached him. Allenson looked at Payne and raised an eyebrow.
“It’s a dirge, sar. He expects us to kill him so he is singing a final lament.”
“I see,” Allenson said. He prodded Gammy Leg with his carbine, making the Rider look up. “Ask him why he tried to kill me, if you please, Master Payne.”
There was an exchange in Kant
“He denies trying to kill you, sar. He claims the shot was a mistake.”
“Twaddle,” Allenson said. “That was as deliberate an act as I have ever seen. What’s a Rider doing with a spring gun anyway? Push him harder, Master Payne. Threaten him.”
Payne hesitated.
“Well?” Allenson asked. “What are you waiting for?”
“It won’t work, sar,” Payne replied. “He expects us to torture him to death whatever he says or does.”
“Should we try bribery?”
“We could, sar, but he will likely take the bribe and tell you what he thinks you want to hear.”
Allenson sighed. “Then I suppose we are finished here. We had better get rid of him.”
Payne raised his shotgun high, intending to brain Gammy Leg with the stock.
Allenson grabbed the gun, stopping the move.
“That’s not what I meant, Master Payne. Tell him that we accept his explanation, that we are abandoning the journey and intend to return to Fort Rivere, and that we want him to go on ahead and inform the Viceroy to be ready for us. Also say that I do not trust him and that we shall travel alone. Make it clear that I will kill him if I see him in the Continuum. We don’t want him to assume that I am completely half witted.”
“No sar,” Payne replied, dutifully. He clearly did not understand but he carried out his instructions.
They watched the Rider depart. We’ll give him an hour or so to get clear so we may as well have some café,” Allenson said.
“Who was behind him, sar, do you think?” Payne asked.
“You don’t think he was acting on his own initiative?” Allenson replied, answering a question with a question.
“He might have been, sar. Or he might have been put up to it, by the Terrans, or the Viceroy.”
“Exactly,” Allenson replied. “We have no way of knowing and the Rider would hardly tell us.”
“Are we going back to the Terrans, sar,” Payne said in a carefully neutral tone.
“Good grief, no! We are going to the Cutter Stream, Master Payne. Never hurts to sow a little confusion among the ungodly. That’s why I let the Rider live.”
Allenson would not have killed Gammy Leg even if he had no use for the man. What would be the point of a cold-blooded execution? He suspected his conscience would be burdened enough before this business was over without adding unnecessarily to the load.
* * *
Payne was in a bad way. Allenson shot a rabbit, or something that looked like a rabbit, and fed him a hot stew before knocking him out with a sleeper. They had fought opposing energy gradients from a rising Continuum storm, before Allenson finally gave in and suggested a layover. With hindsight, he regretted his stubbornness. Refusing to bow to the inevitable had cost them time by pushing Payne further than his health could stand. Allenson checked the Continuum’s condition each day before hunting for fresh food. After five days, Payne had recovered to the extent that he could walk.
“Surely, the storm has blown itself out by now, sar,” Payne said, while turning a rabbit on a stick over their camp-fire.”
“Pretty much, Master Payne,” Allenson said. He reclined against a tree, eyes shut, carbine in his lap. Something sporting long claws also hunted the rabbits. Allenson had no reason to think that it would attack fully grown humans, but then, he had no reason to think that it would not.
“You should be on your way then, sar,” Payne said.
Allenson opened his eyes, genuinely surprised.
“You feel up to travel, then Master Payne?” Allenson asked, doubtfully.
“No, sar, I would only slow you down. I meant that you should go on ahead and I will follow when I can.” Payne said, looking carefully at the fire.
Allenson looked at the man, assessing the probability of Payne surviving alone. Not high, he fancied. It was tempting to accept the man’s offer at face value. No one would criticize him for following his duty to Brasilia and letting Payne take his chances. No one except Allenson himself, and in the final analysis, his was the only opinion that counted. He would become someone he did not want to know if he started abandoning dependants, dr
essing up expediency as duty.
“I think not, Master Payne. We started this journey together, so we will finish together, “Allenson said, in a tone that shut off further discussion.
Payne looked at him.
“Yes, sar,” he said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice.
Allenson considered the options. There was a way out; one that did not require him to abandon Payne or his obligations to the state. It did increase his own chance of dying, but that wasn’t a problem. If he died, the Terran Threat was SEP, someone else’s problem. Allenson felt almost cheerful.
“There is a compromise solution,” Allenson said. “We will abandon your frame and all but essential supplies—food and one gun. You will ride pillion with me.”
“Yes, sar,” Payne said, eyes widening. People rode pillion on frames for short hops, but it was unheard of for long journeys through the wilderness.
“That rabbit looks about done to me. We will leave directly after lunch.”
* * *
“Do you require assistance, sar,” said Destry’s footman.
He arrived at the run, still pulling on his blue and gold jacket.
“Yes, Jackson, unstrap my passenger and get him some treatment.”
“Yes, sar, I have informed Sar Destry of your arrival. He will be with you shortly,” said the imperturbable Jackson, as he struggled with the buckles.
Allenson stretched his aching joints and muscles. He had to tie Payne to the frame for the last leg of the trip after the man had lapsed into unconsciousness. A couple of servants arrived to assist. They carried Payne away. Wagner was closer than Manzanita, so Allenson had diverted to get medical attention for Payne. He was not sorry to rest, as he had done all the pedaling. The Destry demesne had the best medical facilities on Wager so it was an obvious choice.
A frame materialized dangerously low and bumped off the ground. Destry sprang out the instant its field collapsed.
“Good God, Allenson, we feared you were dead. Where’s Hawthorn?” Destry asked.
The enquiry meant that Hawthorn was still out there, somewhere, coaxing back the baggage frame. Somehow it would have been frustrating if Hawthorn had got back first, making Allenson’s own exertions pointless. Of course, it did not matter provided the ’Stream got news of the Terran incursion as soon as possible.
“He will be along with the rest of the expedition later. I have to get to Manzanita, Destry. Look after my man please.”
Allenson went to climb back on his frame. Destry moved to intercept him.
“Have you lost your wits? Your clothes are hanging off; you must have lost four or five kilos. Your frame looks almost as knackered. I can’t let you go.”
“It’s important,” Allenson said.
“Why are all my friends insane?” Destry asked, rhetorically, holding up his hands as if appealing to a higher power. “Very well, but rest for a moment. Take some tea and food. For God’s sake bath, while I will get pater’s carriage ready to take you, and look out the chauffeur.”
Allenson held up his hands in mock surrender. “If you insist.”
“That’s settled then,” Destry said with satisfaction.
Various flunkies materialized around Destry. He gave instructions for Allenson to be taken to a guest room to refresh himself. When Allenson was alone, he stripped off his shirt and examined himself in the mirror. He had a shock. He looked leaner, stripped down, like a wild animal. The analogy was heightened by the wary look in his eyes. His reflection looked guardedly back. Did it see an earlier, tamer self?
There was a soft knock and the door opened. Sarai slid inside, shutting the door with one hand behind her back.
“Well, well, the dashing hero returns,” Sarai said, in mock awe.
She put her hand lightly on his bare shoulder.
“And with such manly sweat upon his body, it is enough to turn a maiden’s head.”
Allenson eyed her reflection in the mirror. She was blond this time with saffron eyes, and wore an orange silk, whispy-thing, that wound loosely around her body. Allenson had a feeling of déjà vu. He and Sarai were looping around the same scene. She would tease him but retreat when he responded; then he would throw her out.
“Do you want me to help you wash anything?” she said innocently.
Allenson lost his temper. He didn’t say anything but he felt his mouth twist. Sarai backed away a step with an alarmed expression. She really looked at him for the first time instead of posing.
“Is something wrong, Allen?”
He covered the ground in one step, seizing her wrists tightly and pushing her arms above her head.
“Yes, Sari, something is wrong. I have been lied to, betrayed, patronized, shot at, gone hungry and pedalled my ass off. And it’s not yet over, so I don’t need you playing cock-tease right now.”
He pushed her backwards with each step. They reached the bed and she fell backwards with him on top. They looked at each other without speaking.
“Get out, Sari,” he finally said. “or I will do something we will both regret.”
He let go of her wrists and was not proud to see that he had left marks. He did not feel especially guilty either.
“Cock-tease, am I?” she asked, throatily. “What makes you think I am teasing?”
The orange material was as thin as it looked and ripped easily when he pulled it from her breasts downwards. She wore nothing underneath and she opened her legs in blatant invitation.
CHAPTER 16
The Councillors
The crowd surged forward when Allenson and Fontenoy stepped into the plaza. The majority screamed their hatred of Terrans, waving banners proclaiming “Deff To Tera”, “Kill The Basturds”, and so on. A hardy little group raised a “No War, No More” banner, provoking a howl of outrage from the patriotic mob. Allenson noted wryly that the peace mongers were better educated than the patriots, or at least better spellers. A fight broke out and rapidly spread, although it was not clear who was on what side.
The Lictors surged forward, ramming the various protestors back with their shields. A Lictor staggered as a banner pole struck him in the side of his helmet end first, like a hoplite’s spear.
“Batons,” ordered the officer just behind the line of purple uniforms, his voice booming out from the amplifier built into his helmet.
Black clubs rose and fell in unison, beating back the crowd. Yellow sparks showered whenever a baton hit metal and over-discharged. Protestors dropped silently, limbs twitching.
The people in front turned to flee but were blocked by those behind pushing forwards. Batons crashed into shoulders and legs, eliciting screams. The crowd swayed then broke, pouring backwards in streams like water from a broken damn. Small knots of protestors huddled together for protection, standing like sand islands in a torrent, eroded body by body until they were swept away.
The mob disappeared out of the plaza down the allies between the state buildings. The Lictors pursued them for a short distance until recalled to form an honor guard. The officer turned and saluted.
“It is safe to proceed now Governor.”
“The Upper House has confirmed your appointment as Inspector General, Allenson,” Fontenoy said, continuing their conversation as if nothing had happened. “Your news of the Terran incursion has raised serious alarm.”
“No doubt—especially among those who have an interest in the Harbinger Project,” said Allenson, cynically.
“Which is most of them, one way or another,” Fontenoy replied. “No, the problem is in the Lower House, particularly with a faction led by Rubicon.”
“Why is he objecting?” Allenson asked.
“You can ask him yourself,” Fontenoy replied. “We have an appointment to meet a delegation of the heads of the more important factions.”
Allenson was conflicted at having this dropped on him without warning. He had half a mind to protest to Fontenoy that he had not been given time to prepare, but he had no idea what preparation would be required
and he knew that a delay would simply give him more time to fret. After all, this was what he planned, an entry into the political arena. That did not mean that he was going to enjoy the process.
“So to sum up, the Upper House and the mob see the need for action to block further Terran expansion but the Lower House don’t and are blocking my appointment as a way of negating the policy.”
“Quite so,” Fontenoy said. “You will have to change their collective mind.”
The Lictors stopped at the door to the Council House. Fontenoy was legally permitted to take a bodyguard into the House but it could be seen as a provocative act, one that might harden opposition.
Outside the door to the meeting room, Allenson took a deep breath before entering. He could never understand how some people seemed to relish these sessions. The room had office chairs for around thirty people, of which perhaps a dozen were occupied. They faced five chairs on a raised stage. The occupants of the room stood politely when Fontenoy and Allenson entered, except for a stout, bald man who remained seated, arms crossed and legs spread wide. He eyed Allenson pugnaciously.
“That’s Rubicon,” Fontenoy said, nudging Allenson.
Allenson climbed the stage and lowered himself into a chair, like an ancient king taking his throne.
“Councillors,” Fontenoy said, “Please be seated. May I introduce Acting Inspector General Allenson, who has just returned from leading the expedition in the Hinterland charting Terran expansion. Sar Allenson has kindly agreed to answer such questions as you might like to put to him.”
Actually, Allenson could not remember agreeing to any such thing. Gentlemen did not normally give explanations to their social inferiors but he supposed that it was expected in political matters. After a pause, the questions came. Mostly they were of a technical nature, involving calling up maps and videos on the chair’s screens to elucidate or expand some point. Finally, a lady of substantial girth and shocking pink hair asked a blunt question that got to the heart of the matter.
“Why should a young, inexperienced man like you hold such an important position as Inspector General? We give too many jobs to the boys around here?”
Into the Hinterlands-ARC Page 22