The Szuiltan Alliance (The Szuiltan Trilogy)

by Neil Davies

  She checked herself in the mirrored wall once again, her near-white hair, styled by professionals just that morning, the single chain-link earring, sparkling in the bright lights, her gown, flowing with each slight movement, caressing a breast here, a thigh there, bringing her nakedness into momentary clarity before undulating away again, blurring her body to suggestive shadows.

  Stop it. You're acting like a child on her first date.

  She had been like this since the invitation had arrived yesterday. She had not long been home from her assignment on 'Armistice' and the hand delivered message had at first confused and terrified her, only to be followed by an elation so great that she suspected she had not acted sanely since.

  An invitation from the Director of the Reagold Corporation himself. An informal meeting over dinner in his private apartments.

  For a Senior Marketing Executive it was almost unheard of. With the exception of official public engagements, the Director was seldom seen by anyone but his personal aids, of which there were many, and personal friends, of which, it was said, there were few.

  Her eye caught the old clock on the wall. She had read of such things, of course, but she had never seen one before. A clock actually working by clockwork. A clock that needed winding up. A pendulum swinging with a purpose, not just electronically controlled for effect. And the ticking... loud yet strangely calming and peaceful. An almost extinct sound, even on the backward planets she had visited in her years as a Remote Marketeer, before her promotion.

  The clock. The chandeliers. Genuine antiques, working too.

  They seemed strange in the outer office of the Director of the biggest creator and distributor of electronic and biomechanical goods ever seen in the galaxy.

  Strange, yet reassuring. The human still exists among the manufactured.

  The inner doors, tall and solid (Is that real oak? Impressive!), swung open without a sound. A flickering light cast shifting shadows in the room beyond and a strange crackling noise, like someone scrunching paper in their fists, joined the ticking of the clock in the background of her thoughts. She did not move. She dare not move. It would be presumptuous. Opening doors did not necessarily mean an invitation to enter.

  The Director's temper is almost as legendary as his lust.

  "Come in Tina," a voice beckoned from within the room. The words were spoken quietly, but the strength and command in the voice was unmistakable.

  As she entered, the source of both the flickering light and the crackling sound became apparent. A real fire! The Director seemed to delight in surrounding himself with those things the corporation sought to replace - the old, the natural, the inefficient.

  "Please, sit down."

  She almost jumped.

  I didn't see him sitting there, hidden by the shadows created by the fire. I mustn't look shocked or surprised. I must be calm and professional.

  "Thank you Director," she said, as she sat in the offered chair directly across from him.

  Between them, a small table held two glasses and a wine bottle. The bottle was already open, both glasses full.

  "Thank you for coming, Tina. I realise you are due some time off after your assignment on Stain. I hope you don't mind me intruding on that time?"

  I had a choice?

  "No, of course not Director. I was most pleased and honoured to be invited."

  She smiled, struggling to contain the fluttering in her stomach, the threat of trembling muscles. She became acutely aware of her breathing, how deep and artificial it sounded. How her chest rose and fell, pushing her breasts against the transparency of her gown. Her nipples were erect.

  Fear? Excitement? Will he notice?

  "Please, have a drink," he said, leaning forward to take his own glass.

  Tina stared. She tried not to but could not help herself. This was the closest she had ever been to the Director. He had an almost mythical status in the ranks of students being educated in the Reagold philosophy, and that awe was never quite lost, even by those nearing retirement age after a lifetime's service to the corporation. She would not be human if she had not wondered what he was like.

  He was an impressive man, broad shoulders carrying a head neatly framed by closely trimmed black hair. The face was well sculptured.

  Out of granite.

  The thought came to her unbidden, but it was accurate. His face did have the appearance of an artist's work. Flawless, strong features. No signs of age, although he was at least ten years older than she. There was little doubt that the finest cosmetic and medical personnel of The Reagold Corporation had been at work, but even with that knowledge it was impossible not to be impressed and attracted by this man.

  She hesitated only a second before taking her own glass. She worried that her stare might have caused some offence, but he smiled (such a charming smile) and settled back into his chair.

  She sipped the drink. Red wine. The taste was unusual and it took her a moment to realise why.

  This is not a product of our biomechanics. This is real. The grapes were real!

  The expense did not bear thinking about, and she took another sip quickly in case it was snatched away from her. Such luxuries were unheard of for a mere Senior Marketing Executive.

  "Forgive me for steering this evening straight towards business, but I would like to deal with the necessities first, if that meets your approval?"

  His voice was soft, pleasing to the ears, and she thought she detected a faint trace of humour. Not enough to suggest he was laughing at her, but just enough to suggest a man thoroughly at ease with himself and his companion.

  She found herself smiling without quite knowing why.

  "That's fine, Ok. I mean, I don't know what the business is but... whatever..." she blustered, tripping over her words, stumbling over phrases like a nervous schoolgirl.

  Be quiet woman. He'll think you're a fool.

  "Please, don't be nervous Tina."

  Every time he said her name she felt her stomach tie itself in knots. She had always known she possessed a deep-rooted loyalty and obedience to The Reagold Corporation, but she realised, at that moment, that this man, this one individual, had utter and complete control over her. She would do anything for him without question, without need of reward.

  Anything.

  "I'm sorry Director." She realised her voice sounded weak, shy almost, but she could not alter it.

  "There's no need to be sorry. I've been following your career for some time now Tina. I like what I see."

  Her stomach threatened to leap out of her, jumping and twisting. Her heart pounded.

  He likes what he sees. It must be a dream.

  "Your work on Stain and 'Armistice' was impressive. You served the corporation well."

  She wanted to say 'thank you' but she could not speak.

  "You were there when the assassination took place?"

  She cleared her throat and managed to find her voice.

  "Yes Director."

  "And what is your opinion?"

  She felt some confidence return to her. This was something she was familiar with. A report. All she had to do was try and forget who she was reporting to... if that were possible.

  "My own contacts tell the same basic story as the official report, Director. The attackers were mercenaries, funded by an unknown person or persons. The most likely candidates are those on Aks who were opposed to the treaty."

  "You suspect the current Leader?"

  "He was vocal in his opposition, but our reports indicate he is weak. I doubt he would be capable of taking such a radical, violent decision."

  "I'm glad you read more than just the reports directed to you Tina. It's the sign of an active and intelligent mind."

  This has to be a dream. He flatters me, compliments me.

  "If he was involved at all, it was probably either unwillingly or, more likely, unwittingly."

  "And what of the involvement of Szuilta?"

  This is an important question, I can hear it in his vo
ice. Be careful how you answer, Tina. Szuilta has some interest for the Director.

  "All our reports indicate that the Szuiltans are generally unfriendly towards humans, but with a particular hatred of Earth. No one seems to know why. The arrival of a fairly large force of Bosens on Aks hints at some form of alliance, although it’s unclear whether that alliance is purely for domestic reasons or has wider implications."

  "And what do you think of the Bosens' actions on Aks?"

  Again, important. Why are Szuilta and the Bosens so important?

  "They have been used exclusively for suppressing the growing opposition to the new government, deployed mostly in the outer suburbs. They are effective, if rather ruthless."

  "Do you approve?"

  Approve?

  She sensed the gravity of the question. For whatever reason, she felt that this question could be the most important question asked during this meeting, if not her whole life.

  Is he asking me if I approve of the Bosens' violence? Or is he asking me a more general question about the Bosens' presence on Aks? Which should I answer?

  That was simple.

  Both.

  "If the presumed alliance is purely domestic, then it seems to me that Aks has sold out for no good reason. The local government could control the rebels eventually themselves, without outside help. If the alliance is directed outwards, presumably towards Earth, then it has possible advantages. Szuiltan technology is largely unknown but suspected to be of high quality. The consequences for Earth could be deadly."

  "I think the alliance is more than a domestic arrangement and I agree with your analysis. Good. Continue please." He was sitting forward in his chair, almost eager.

  I mustn't fail now. Stay calm. Speak clearly. Demonstrate that I am as professional as I have always imagined myself to be.

  "As to the level of violence employed by the Bosens, my initial reaction was one of disapproval, on purely humanitarian grounds. However, on second appraisal, I tried to imagine myself in the Aksian government position. I imagined how I would feel if the rebellion was here, at the Reagold Corporation, and I reached the conclusion that any level of violence that was effective would meet my approval."

  The Director's ruthlessness was widely known.

  I hope I’ve not misjudged that in my answer.

  There was a pause as the Director drank more wine. She could see the slight vibration of the chair as it massaged his back and shoulders. She could not see the expression on his face clearly. Was that a smile, or the tightening of his mouth in anger?

  "The needs of the moment outweigh the morals of so called civilised society." His voice was almost a whisper as he leaned forward. "A difficult conclusion to come to Tina, and one well taken."

  A smile!

  He stood and held out a hand towards her. Without hesitation she took it and allowed herself to be pulled upright.

  "There is much more that we must discuss Tina, and I have a proposal to put to you that I think you will find exciting and challenging. But first there is another matter."

  He reached out, his touch gentle, almost unnoticed, on the shoulder clasps. Her gown fell with a sibilant hiss and pooled at her feet.

  She closed her eyes as he moved into her, pushing her gently back onto the carpet, the heat from the open fire caressing her nakedness.

  I will do anything for him. Anything.

  Chapter 40

  Explosions stitched a line along the wall of the room, staccato, loud despite their small size, leaving ears ringing and nerves close to breaking.

  Ursa ducked backwards, covering her face from the splinters of concrete and wood. Something stung her ear and she felt the warm wetness of blood running down her neck. She fired blindly in response, aiming in the general direction of the doorway. She doubted she hit anyone, but the action was cathartic.

  This was the fourth direct assault on the doorway, a doorway now almost blocked by the refuse of those earlier assaults, masonry and human.

  How long before they blow the wall? she wondered. Why didn't they do it straight away?

  There had been casualties among the rebels as well as the attackers. Bodies lay striped by light and shadow from the dawn that was breaking outside. There were three, maybe four of them left now.

  Once they blow the wall we're dead.

  "What are they waiting for?" said Alan, scrambling to a position behind her, some slight cover afforded by an outcropping of wall.

  For a moment that wall caught Ursa's attention, plaster crumbling like the dry icing on an ancient cake, a suggestion of stencilled decoration. That outcrop, whatever its original function, had once been a feature of this room, a focal point for those who would sit here and relax of an evening. The sadness of its current decay struck her as a wave of hopelessness.

  Everything dies eventually, so why do we struggle to hold on to life so hard?

  "Why don't they just blow a big fucking hole in the wall and kill us all?" Alan's voice was tense, his words clipped, spat out rather than spoken.

  He's good, thought Ursa. He's frightened but he still has enough sense to ask the right questions. I wish I had an answer.

  "Perhaps they like teasing us?" Ursa tried to smile, but it failed to reach beyond a slight twitching at the corner of her mouth. "I don't know, I really don't."

  They fell silent, listening to the voices from outside, shouted orders, voices distorted by battle communicators, the faint moaning of the wounded and the dying. It was impossible to distinguish individual words, but the general meaning was clear. They were preparing for another assault.

  Will they blow the wall this time?

  She turned sharply at a shuffling from the back of the room, lowering her weapon as John emerged from the rear doorway at a crouching run. He squatted down next to Ursa, his knee touching hers. She saw a look in his eye that said it was no accident and, even in the midst of their current danger, she felt her stomach twist with the desire for him.

  She forced her voice to be calm and professional.

  "What's the situation out back?"

  "Still there No sign of movement though... they don't seem to... want to attack." John's words came in short bursts, punctuated by deep breathing, the powerful combination of fear and excitement dragging his breath from him.

  "I don't understand." Alan was shaking his head. "Why are they holding off? They don't blow the wall, they don't attack from both sides... what are they waiting for?"

  Ursa looked from Alan to John, her eyes momentarily locking with his. She saw fear there, fear edged by the thrill of the adventure.

  He's still a boy. He doesn't know any better.

  But there was something else too, something almost hidden, perhaps even from John himself. Trust? Love? Belief?

  Larn! He believes I can get us out of this mess.

  She turned away from those eyes, a sick feeling deep in her stomach. How could she tell him that the only way out she saw was to die?

  "What's that noise?"

  Ursa, John and Alan turned as one to look towards the far side of the room. The speaker was a middle-aged man whose name Ursa could not quite remember.

  Richard? Roger? Something beginning with R anyway...

  "What noise?" said John, turning a questioning and, to Ursa's dismay, trusting gaze back towards her.

  She heard it then, far off in the distance, drawing closer and growing louder by the second. A heavy thwum thwum of a noise, like leaden ponderous wings beating against the sky.

  "What is it?" said John, moving closer to Ursa. His hand reached out and rested on hers.

  I should pull away. His touch disturbs me at a time when I need all my concentration.

  She turned her hand and closed her fingers around his, squeezing gently, reassuringly.

  "Bird Of Death," hissed Alan, turning and running in a crouching run across the room to his remaining people.

  Bird Of Death. Of course. I knew I recognised the sound. Bosens!

  The Bosens had bro
ught little of their technology with them, but the Birds Of Death, as the people of the suburbs had dubbed them, had been employed since the beginning.

  At first people had laughed at them, struggling through the Aksian sky like great elongated balls, huge rotor arms turning above them, creating the characteristic thwum thwum noise that had now become so hated and feared. They seemed a bastardised version of the ancient helicopter, not seen for centuries outside of history books and museums, and, if anything, looked clumsier. Their first action against a protest march in one of the outer suburbs had silenced the laughter.

  Ursa had not been there, but she had spoken to those who had. The balls splitting open. Bosens literally dropping out of the sky, spreading carnage wherever they landed. Unknown weapons, accurate enough not to hit the Bosens, spreading death among the crowd. And all the time those great unwieldy products of alien technology hung pendulous in the sky above, that steady monotonous thwum thwum thwum thwum almost drowning out the screams from below.

  Now she heard that same sound outside, closer and closer, louder and louder, bringing Bosens towards them, bringing death towards them.

  "That's why they haven't blown the wall," said Ursa, squeezing John's hand harder. "They haven't been trying to kill us, only hold us. They've been waiting for this, for the Bosens to arrive."

  "But why Bosens?" John's voice shook as fear gradually ate away his enthusiasm and sense of adventure. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, his breathing.

  These are the creatures that killed his parents. This is his greatest nightmare becoming reality.

  She wanted to take him in her arms, hold him and keep holding him even as the Bosens attacked, but she wouldn't, couldn't give in that easily.

  She had to think fast, draw on her experience, draw on the experiences of those she had talked to.

  How did the Bosens attack?

  There was little subtlety in their approach from what she had seen and heard. It was direct. It was fast. It was brutal.

  What of the Aksian soldiers and police still standing out there?

  They would keep well back. There was fear and distrust among the armed forces of Aks where these alien visitors were concerned. However well trained, there was always the chance of things getting out of control with wild animals.