Orbit 4 - Anthology

by Edited by Damon Night

  Tatja carefully inspected each picture, but it was obvious that she didn’t expect anything strange this early in the sequence. She became increasingly excited as the pictures showed the interior of the Keep. Here the exposure she had chosen was much more effective and the pictures sharper. “See, that paneling and those paintings—they weren’t in any of the reports. And here, I’ll bet this is what snagged dear Hedrigs.”

  Maccioso squinted at the tiny picture. It looked no different from the three or four previous. Then Tatja pointed out the rectangular patch of darkness on the passage wall. “That’s not a painting. It’s some kind of window. My guess is that the Guards have heard of the poison gases developed in the Sutherseas. That little window is one end of a periscope, and the observer is in another room, protected from the gas—and apparently beyond Ancho’s range.” They looked at the rest of the pictures, but most were badly fogged. As the exposure had been made, more and more algae powder had been sent into a colloidal suspension in the clicker. An equilibrium state had been reached, where as much green was being deposited as was being dissipated by the exposures. Those last pictures showed vague green blurs. They saw something of the interior of the Crown Room. And in one of the pictures. Tatja claimed she saw a group of men.

  Grimm set the film aside and picked up a pair of dividers. “We discovered that Ancho can broadcast through almost twenty feet of porphyry.” She made some rapid measurements of relative sizes on the film. “That periscope window is about three inches by three.” She sat back and her eyes unfocused for a moment. “Now assuming their optics are no better than elsewhere, that periscope can’t have a resolution higher than half an inch.” She looked up and flashed Maccioso a dazzling smile. “I’m all set! Svir has served his purpose.”

  Tatja got up and began to take her clothes off. Maccioso stood up too. He was a big man, an experienced man, a leader. But he appeared to be none of these now. His face bore a peculiar mixture of hatred, surprise, and confusion. As Grimm laid her shirt on the chair, he reached out a huge hand, grabbed her by the shoulder, drew her face close to his.

  “You never intended this plan to save Fantasie, did you?”

  Tatja shrugged. “You know the saying, Ked, ‘Things are not as they seem.’ “

  “What are you after then, damn you?” He shook her violently, but received no answer. “Well, if you think I’m going to risk any more Tarulle people for your pleasure, you’re crazy.”

  “Poor Ked,” Tatja said gently. Her hand moved softly up his arm, found a nerve in his elbow. As he jerked back, she slipped away. “I see that I’ve almost driven you beyond logic and self-interest. Almost.” She reached into an alcove and drew out a suit of black armor. The Crown’s Inspector General was about her height, but the armor had been designed for a male. In places it chafed, but she managed to get it on.

  She slipped the épée into its sheath and picked Ancho up from the desk. At the door she turned back to face Maccioso. “But I know you will go through with that attack. You know that whatever my plan is, it’s the only chance you have of getting out of this alive, now that Benesh has Ascuasenya and Hedrigs. Right?”

  Kederichi Maccioso glowered at her for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “That’s right, you . . . bitch.”

  * * * *

  Seraph was in its last quarter, and the evening wake period was ending. Nearly a million people—the entire population of the capital—were crowded along waters-edge. In the waning blue light, the crowd was a mosaic carpet covering the streets and stretching up over the roofs of the lower buildings. The Festival was at its noisiest as the Bayfastlings cheered the first sacrifices being towed into the bay. These were the secondary sacrifices —the appetizers. The tiny barges formed a continuous train out to Sacrifice Island. Each barge was stacked high with worked jade, optical devices, paintings. Hanging from the stern of each barge, an algae-water sphere lit the sacrifices.

  A twisted smile crossed Tatja’s lips as she regarded the scene.

  She descended to one of the sub-pier passageways reserved for official use, and five minutes later emerged on the city side of the crowd. Here were the stragglers, the individuals without initiative enough to push into the crowd. She petted Ancho, spoke quietly to him. This was a critical test. According to theory, Ancho should accept her as his new master, but Tatja had to be sure. She couldn’t tell whether he was radiating or not. Certainly the signal was having no effect on her. Then she noticed that people came to attention as she walked past. Good Ancho.

  She reached the Keep without incident. The Guardsmen looked her over very carefully, this being the second Inspector General they had seen that day. But they let her through. As she stood in the darkness between the two doors, Grimm moved the dorfox to her waist. The armor plates gave him good purchase, and now he was below the view of the periscopes.

  At last she came to the doors of the Crown Room. Tatja spoke in a low masculine voice, to fool any listening devices. Even with her visor up, she knew that wearing the I.G.’s armor would deceive the hidden observers. And of course the Guardsmen in the hall didn’t have a chance. With Ancho’s help, even her fingerprints passed inspection.

  Once in the Crown Room she moved quickly to the royal records. She lifted out the drawer she wanted, thumbed through it, and pulled out a single sheet of vellum. Good. It was the same form as had been publicly displayed at the Assignation of the Regency. From her pouch she drew a seemingly identical paper, smudges and all, and slipped it into the file.

  Then she left, ignoring the puzzled Guards. They had expected the I.G. to supervise the removal of the prizes.

  Tatja found the stairway to the Conciliar Facet unguarded. This was unexpected good fortune. Perhaps Maccioso’s diversion had been more effective than she had hoped.

  She removed the black resin armor and set the outfit on one of the display racks which lined the base of the stairwell. This was the most perilous part of her plan. If she were discovered in the next three or four minutes, there’d be real trouble. From a gray cloth pouch she drew a white dress and jeweled sandals. She slipped them on, put Ancho on her shoulder and ran up the stairs. This stairway wasn’t often used since it was a single spiral ascending six hundred feet. Most people preferred to go by stages. Even so, Tatja kept the heavy épée. Except for that, and the dorfox clutching her shoulder, she might have been an island girl at a communion picnic.

  She took the steps three at a time, so fast that she had to lean toward the center of the spiral in order to keep her balance. When she had first conceived this scheme, she had spent three years in Bayfast studying the people and especially the Keep. Tar Benesh had created the Festival of the Ostentatious Consumption in order to draw attention from a much more solemn event that took place every five years at the same time. The top people in the Bureaucracy were scrupulously honest, but if she were even five minutes late, she would have to wait five years—or possibly forever. Taking the back way should save her from Benesh’s Special Men, but if she were wrong about the Bureaucratic esprit of the rest, then she would die—though death could make her failure no worse. If she couldn’t succeed, life wasn’t worth living.

  Tatja took the six-hundred-foot stairway in a single sprint. At the top of that long flight was an entrance to the Conciliar Facet, the pentagonal amphitheater on the very top of the enormous dodecahedron that was the Keep. Beyond this next door was the final test. She slid the door open and crept out into the uppermost tier of the amphitheater. There was a faint cool breeze and Seraph-blue covered everything. From the city came crowd-sounds.

  Less than a third of the seats in the Facet were filled and those were down in the center, by the podium and reading lamp. Virtually everyone present was dressed in Bureaucratic black. An important exception was the gross and colorful bulk of Tar Benesh, sitting in the first row before the podium.

  Tatja glanced around the Facet. Maccioso’s diversion must have worked. Few of the Guards appeared to be Bencsh’s bully boys. There were only fi
fteen or twenty armed men present. Of course one of them might still be rotten, but that was a chance she must take. She noticed one man just five feet from her hiding place. The fellow leaned unprofessionally against the edge of the tier, blocking her entrance. She reversed the hilt of the épée and moved swiftly forward, ramming the pommel into the base of the man’s neck. He collapsed quietly into her arms. She dragged him back, at the same time watching for signs that someone below had noticed the incident.

  The speaker’s voice came clearly to her. She knew there were about five minutes until the ceremony reached its critical point. She looked at her épée. It was no longer an asset. Without putting herself in silhouette, she reached up and slid the weapon over the parapet. There came a faint sound of scrape and clatter as the épée slid slowly down the side of the hundred-foot facet. Tatja sat Ancho on the edge of the tier and petted him. They waited.

  In the center of the amphitheater, the ceremony was nearing its end. On the podium stood the Lord High Minister to the Crown—the highest Bureaucratic officer of Crownesse. The man was old, but his body was lean, and his voice was clear and strong as he read from the curling parchment. He had the air of a man who is for the thousandth time repeating a fervent and sincere prayer, a prayer that has so often been fruitless that it has almost become perfunctory.

  “And so in the Year of the Discovery Nine Hundred and Seven did the Crown Prince Evard II and his sister, Princess Marget, take themselves aboard the Royal Yacht Avante to tour the western reaches of their Dominions.

  “And on the fifth day of their voyage a great storm sent their yacht upon the Rocks of the South—for so we have the word of the ship’s captain and those crewmen who survived the tragedy.”

  Tatja stood up slowly, out of their view. She fluffed out her full skirt and waited quietly for the moment that would come.

  “The Royal Children were never found. So it is that the Regent continues to govern in their stead until such time as our rulers are recovered. On this twenty-fifth anniversary of that storm, and by order of the Regent, I ask that anyone with knowledge of the Royal Family step forth.” The Lord High Minister glanced about moodily. The ceremony was almost a legal fiction. It had been fifteen years since anyone had dared Tar Benesh’s revenge with a story of the lost children. It was not surprising that the Minister almost fell off the stand when a clear, vibrant voice answered his call.

  “I, Marget of Sandros, do claim the Crown and my Dominions.” Tatja stood boldly on the uppermost tier, her arms akimbo. Behind her, and invisible to those below, sat a small animal with large ears. The startled Bureaucrats stared at Tatja. Then their eyes turned to the Regent. How would he accept this challenge? The gaily-dressed dictator advanced six ominous steps toward Tatja. His pale eyes reflected hatred and complete disbelief. For twenty years he had ruled the most powerful country on Tu—and now a female was challenging him at the very center of his power. Benesh gestured angrily to the Guardsmen—the sleek professionals with thousands of hours of target and tactical experience, the deadliest individuals in the world.

  “Kill the imposter,” he ordered.

  * * * *

  When they came, Svir was ready.

  He and Cor had lain quietly in the darkness, telling each other their stories in frightened whispers. As Cor massaged the numbness from his arms, Svir told her of his one backstop against Grimm’s treachery. Tounse, who hated Tatja as much as Hedrigs did, had provided the astronomer with five pounds of Michelle-Rasche powder. Now that powder lay in the heavy fiber weave of his clothing.

  “It’s perfectly safe until the cloth gets twisted into a constricted volume,” he whispered to Cor. “But then almost any extra friction will set it off.”

  He struggled out of his overjacket. Cor helped him wedge the fabric into the door crack. Though only a small portion of the jacket could be jammed in, it would be enough to set off the rest of the powder. Then they retreated to the far corner of the cell. There was nothing more they could do. He hadn’t said so to Cor, but the best they could hope for was a quick death. If they weren’t killed in the explosion or by the Guards—then the next stop was the torture chambers. Their present cell was a carefully contrived filth-pit, designed to prepare prisoners psychologically for what was to come. Somehow the prospect of torture and death no longer provoked absolute terror in him. Cor was the reason. He wanted to hide his fear from her—and to protect her from her own fears.

  He put his arm around Cor’s waist and drew her to him. “You came out here to save me, Cor.”

  “You did the same for me, Svir.”

  “I’d do it all over again, too.”

  Her reply was clear and firm. “So would I.”

  When they came, there was plenty of warning. It sounded like a whole squad. The heavy footsteps stopped, and when they began again, it sounded like only two or three men. Svir and Cor slid under the filthy straw. The footsteps stopped at the door. Svir heard the key turn, but he never heard the door open. For that matter, he never actuallyheard the explosion. He felt it through his whole body. The floor rose up and smashed him.

  Hedrigs forced himself to his feet, and pulled Cor up. The doorway was a dim patch of light through the dust and vapor that the explosion had driven into the air. They gasped futilely and ran toward the opening. Svir was aware of blood flowing down his jaw from his ear.

  The blast had destroyed the bottom hinges on the door and blown the whole mass into the ceiling. In the hallway lay the two Guardsmen. Both were alive, but in much worse shape than the prisoners. One, with a severe scalp cut, tried ineffectually to wipe the blood from his eyes. Svir and Cor stepped over them and ran down the hall. Then they saw the men at the end of the passage—the back-up section. The two prisoners came to a sudden halt and started to turn in the other direction.

  A Guardsman smiled faintly and twisted a lever mounted in the wall. A weighted net fell from the ceiling onto the two escapees. As the Guard approached, Svir lashed out at his legs, hoping to provoke lethal retaliation. The Guard easily avoided the extended hand, and grabbed it with his own. “You know, fella, for someone whose life we’re supposed to protect, you’re making things damn difficult.”

  Svir looked back blankly. He couldn’t make sense of the words spoken. The net was removed, and the Guards marched Svir and Cor down the hall. The proofreader and the astronomer looked at each other in complete confusion. They weren’t even treated to the paralysis the Guards had used before. It was a long uphill walk, and the Guards had to help Cor the last part. Svir wondered if he had gone crazy with fear and was seeing only what he hoped to see. They came to the final door. The Guard captain went through. They could hear him through the open doorway.

  “Marget, the individuals you requested are here.”

  “Fine,” came a familiar voice. “Send them out, I want to talk to them alone.”

  “Begging your pardon, Marget, but they have repeatedly offered us violence. We could not guarantee the safety of your person if you interview them alone.”

  “Mister, I told you what I wanted,” the voice said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Now jump!”

  “Yes, Marget, immediately!” The captain appeared at the door. He gestured courteously to Svir and Cor. “Sir and madam, you have been granted an interview with the Queen.”

  “The—Queen?’ Cor asked incredulously. She got no answer. They were pushed past the door and found themselves standing on the top tier of the Conciliar Facet. By the light of waning Seraph they saw a beautiful girl in a full-skirted dress.

  Tatja turned to them. “You two look like hell,” she said.

  Hedrigs started angrily toward her. All his fright and pain was transformed into hate for this monster who pretended to be human. There was a scuttling sound on the floor, then a tugging at Svir’s clothing. A soft wet nose nuzzled his neck. Ancho! Svir’s hands reached up and petted the trembling animal.

  “Marget?” asked Coronadas. “Queen? Are you really the Lost Princess of Crownesse?”
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  “Since you were in on part of the scheme, I suppose you might as well know the truth. You can’t do anything about it. I was no more Marget of Sandros than you. But now I am incontrovertibly the Queen. My fingerprints match those of the Princess which are kept in the Crown Room. You should have seen the look on Bencsh’s face when the Lord High Minister announced that I was heir to the Crown. The Regent had the Royal Children murdered twenty years ago. The job was bobbled and he couldn’t produce bodies that would pass an autopsy. He knew I was a fraud but there was no way he could prove it without revealing that he was guilty of regicide.”

  Svir looked out over the curving dome of the Keep toward the city. The crowd sounds came clear and faint through the air. The crowd had moved away from the waterfront. There would be no sacrifices tonight—the people had been told that the Crown had been claimed. Crownesse had a Queen—that called for the largest of festivals, a celebration that would go on for many days. Hedrigs turned to Tatja Grimm. “You had to lie and cheat and steal and—probably—murder to do it, but you certainly got what you wanted. You control the most powerful country in the world. I’ve wondered so many times what could make you as vicious as you are. Now I know. The hidden motive that mystified me so much was simple megalomania. Female ‘Tar Benesh’ has taken over from male. Is this the end of your appetites,” said Svir, putting as much derision and hate into his voice as he could, “or will you one day rule all Tu?”