The Szuiltan Alliance (The Szuiltan Trilogy)

by Neil Davies

"Fuck Walker," said Steve, sitting in the centre of the cellar. His head ached, his legs ached, everything ached.

  Ursa stared at him for a moment and then walked to stand close by him. Steve was uncomfortably aware of her being there, close, so close he could almost reach out and touch her. He wondered at his thoughts, his feelings. Whatever else he had thought about Ursa, he had never found her anything other than cold, functional, man-like and desperately unattractive.

  So why do I want to pull her down here and make love to her?

  "Steve's right, if a bit basic," said Ursa.

  She called me Steve, he thought. That's a first.

  "Walker's gone. The reason doesn't matter." Ursa moved away from Steve and he relaxed.

  "Maybe the reason does matter," said Isabelle. "Maybe the reason is that Walker never expected us to come back."

  Steve watched her sit not far from him, thought Isabelle is more attractive than Ursa. It should be her I'm thinking about, not Ursa.

  He looked around, felt a shudder pass through him.

  Why am I thinking of things like this now? There are more important matters than sex to concern myself with. He shook his head, buried his face in his hands. Perhaps I'm finally going mad, or in shock or something.

  "What do you mean?" said John coming to a stop in front of Isabelle. "What do you mean he never expected us to come back?" His voice was pleading, whining.

  "She means that maybe Walker betrayed us, set us up," said Ursa, her voice low and calm, but her eyes betrayed the thoughts racing through her head.

  Perhaps she's right. They certainly knew we were coming.

  "No." John shook his head. "No, he wouldn't. Why would he betray us? Why would he turn against us? He hates the government. He would never inform!"

  His voice rose to a peak so close to hysteria that Ursa strode to him and put an arm around his shoulders to comfort him.

  "It's only a suggestion." She spoke softly. "Like I was saying, the reason doesn't matter." She shot a look towards Isabelle that said she thought otherwise. "All that matters is that no one's here and we need to think about moving ourselves."

  "Why do we need to move?" Steve pushed himself to his feet, hoping that the movement and the involvement in the discussion would turn his thoughts to more practical needs. "Surely if this place was good enough for Walker, it's good enough for us to spend a night?"

  Ursa kept her arm around John but turned to look at Steve.

  "And what if Walker left because this place had been discovered? What if there are soldiers on their way here right now?"

  "Then we're as good as dead," said Jason, stepping forward from the shadows where he had been standing.

  "So you've decided to join in have you?" said Ursa, her tone mocking. "I thought you'd left us."

  Jason smiled a half smile, said nothing.

  "What do you mean?" said Isabelle. "Why are we as good as dead?"

  Jason sighed, a man impatient with the stupidity of his companions.

  "If Walker left because he knew soldiers were on the way, they would be here by now, or be so close that we would never escape." He paused, saw that the others did not understand.

  "Look around you," he continued, impatience evident in every word. "This place wasn't just abandoned. They left here some time ago, and not in any particular hurry."

  Ursa studied the cellar as she now realised she should have done when they first arrived. Jason was right. There was no sign of a hasty abandoning of this place. Everything had been packed up, cleared away, taken with them. This was a planned, orderly moving on, just as they had done many times before. But such moves were normally known about at least a day before they happened. This time there had been nothing, at least nothing that was communicated to her own group of rebels before they left on their mission. There were no soldiers on the way. This had not been a panicked fleeing. Walker, at the very least, had never expected to be here when, or if, they returned.

  Jason returned to his shadows and his personal thoughts. He had not wanted to get involved, he had wanted to stay to one side, work out his own immediate problem, but they were being so unobservant, so stupid in their argument, their discussion.

  I had to put them straight.

  He had expected more of Agent Mirram, had considered her a professional like himself. Now he realised he might have to rethink his intentions. He had been relying on her commitment and professionalism to help him in what he must do. He was no longer sure he could depend on that.

  He watched as the others fell into a thoughtful silence. Isabelle still sitting on the floor. Ursa and John standing together, almost like lovers. The trader... yes, the trader.

  Braben's last order was clear enough. I had hoped I could take Agent Mirram into my confidence, ask for her help, but no longer. I'm on my own. Steve Drake must die!

  He slipped a hand onto the butt of his gun, paused and looked for a moment at the others in the cellar. They were agitated, shocked and angry by recent events.

  Perhaps now is not the time, he thought. They are looking for some outlet for their rage, talking openly of betrayal. If I execute Drake now they may see that as a statement of guilt, that I am the one who betrayed them. I’m not sure I could take them all, not with someone as experienced as Agent Mirram among them.

  He relaxed, let his hand slip to his side. There would be time. Drake did not pose any immediate threat while he was part of this small outlaw band, unable to communicate freely with anyone outside.

  I can wait. He smiled smugly. Drake is already dead, I just haven't told him yet.

  Chapter 60

  Martin did not dare move.

  He lay in the rubble, half open eyes staring unbelievingly at the corpse of the Controller, bloody face still seeping, pool of blood still growing.

  Will it never stop?

  It seemed so long since the priests and the army had broken in, yet it must have been no more than ten minutes. Loadra was striding about the room, gun still in his fist, smiling, laughing, intoxicated with his rebellion, his success.

  "I've had to watch that fool," he waved the gun towards the Controller, "stumble his way from decision to decision, seeing my advice ignored. He had left the way of the true Church, the true Larnian faith. He was willing to bargain with the heathen, the blasphemers, of Aks. No more!"

  He's preaching, thought Martin. But who at? Not at the other High Priest that's for sure. Markland? He wouldn't be here if he didn't already agree with the priests. The Terramarines then. He wished he could turn to see his ex-comrades but he dare not move. How many of them are just following orders, and how many are true believers?

  He was aware of Loadra turning towards where Tina stood, transfixed with fear against the far wall. He was also suddenly aware of how fortunate he was that Loadra still raved. If Loadra recognised him, his death would not be left to chance.

  "Miss Harrison," said Loadra, his voice calmer, but the trace of adrenaline pumping excitement lay just beneath the surface. "It's nice to see you again. Your corporation has been most helpful in staging this little coup of ours, both financially and as advisors."

  Martin felt a surge of relief. They didn't have time to contact anyone else. Tina's betrayal is still secret. I hope she sees that too.

  "High Priest Loadra, I thank you for your kind words." Her voice shook slightly, but she pushed herself away from the wall and approached the High Priest, smiling. "I'm glad your opinion of us has changed."

  Well done. Martin suppressed the urge to smile. She's quick and clever. If she can just stay calm she'll be fine.

  "I still have some reservations," said Loadra. "However, it would be foolish of me to deny the important part your Director has played in promoting the true Larnian faith to its rightful place."

  "I'm sure we have much to talk about," said Tina, the slightest of glances towards Martin, only seen by him, showing that she was aware that he lived. "But may I request we discuss matters elsewhere?" She looked pointedly towards the body of the
Controller.

  "Of course." Loadra bowed slightly, almost theatrical in his manner. "We will move to one of the meeting rooms while this mess is cleaned up. As you say, there is much to discuss concerning the future of Earth."

  Martin remained still as the High Priests, Markland, Tina and several of the Terramarine soldiers left the room.

  Future of Earth, he thought bitterly. The fool doesn't realise that the Earth has no future, at least not one I care to think about. And he's making it so easy for them.

  He heard their voices receding down the hall, watched as two Terramarines stooped to pick up the Controller's body and carry it also from the room. He could not be sure, but he suspected there were at least another two, maybe three, left with him.

  They'll begin checking the bodies. They should have done it immediately. Sloppy. If they'd followed procedure I would have been discovered by now and probably dead.

  Their sloppiness suggested that they were just following orders, that they did not possess the fanaticism of their superiors. They were doing the minimum necessary to get paid. That gave him a possible slight edge, although he was under no illusions. These were Terramarines, not just bodyguards or mercenaries. They were trained under the same programme as he was.

  Any one of them might be able to defeat me in a fair fight, and I've got to take maybe two or three of them!

  He could hear feet shuffling behind him, moving, he presumed, from body to body, making sure each was dead. He knew there would be a knife drawn, ready to finish the job on any still breathing.

  I'm in a bad position. No leverage. It's going to be difficult to get off the floor quick enough to gain the surprise I need.

  His heart pounded until he thought the others must surely hear it. There was a roaring in his ears as his eyes fixed on the pool of the Controller's blood, a trickle meandering slowly towards him. He began to feel uncomfortably hot, could feel sweat forming on his forehead, clutching the back of his shirt to his spine.

  The footsteps came closer. He estimated at least four Terramarines now. He felt his chances of survival slipping away.

  Larn! What hope have I got against four?

  His only other choice, however, was to lie still and wait to be discovered and killed like a coward, trying to hide on the floor, hoping no one would notice.

  If I'm going to die, they'll at least remember that I was once a Terramarine just like them. No. Better!

  He tried to relax, to calm the nerves that buzzed inside him. Just a second or two more and he would no longer have a choice. He would have to attack or die.

  Tina took the offered glass from Loadra's fingers and stared in disbelief at the trembling in her hand.

  I feel quite calm, she thought. My mind is clear and composed, but the rest of my body seems to be wrecked.

  "It'll pass." Loadra, too, had seen the trembling. "I apologise for frightening you, but we did not know you were with the Controller. We had looked for you briefly, at the request of your Director, but we could not find you nor your bodyguards." He sat in the chair opposite her, across the broad meeting table.

  "I'm fine, thank you," she said, forcing a smile. "Just a bit shaky after the shock and surprise." Now to try and get some answers. "I knew it was heading towards a coup, obviously. Backing such a move was always part of our agreement. I must admit, however, that I wasn't expecting it this soon."

  She had read the reports, the memos from the Director, before embarking for Earth. She had known that the Larnian church was growing increasingly militant in its frustration and anger and that they had the support of sections of the army. But even the most hopeful estimate put an actual coup at least a year away. Reagold had intended to establish itself firmly on Earth first, infiltrate every level of society with its gadgets, its philosophy.

  And all the time Reagold would be preparing to back the coup, both financially and in goods, when it happened. But why the rescheduling? Why bring it forward?

  She knew the answer before she had finished formulating the question in her mind.

  Szuilta. The invasion of Earth.

  A coup at this time could cause nothing but confusion, an initial period of anarchy before the dictatorial rule of the Church could truly begin to take effect. That confusion was the perfect cover for a full-scale invasion of the planet.

  Who's looking for enemies from space when there will be plenty here on the surface?

  "Your Director convinced us now was the time," said Loadra. "Why wait? Aks has enough problems of its own at home without staging raids on our deep space fleets, so we were able to pull our resources back here, to stage a takeover." He smiled broadly, his teeth gleaming in the bright lights above the table.

  "You had plenty to call on then?" probed Tina.

  "More than you can imagine Miss Harrison. Government departments and people known to be loyal to the Controller are being weeded out as we speak. Soon all major opposition will be silenced and we can begin our rule without threat."

  So, Director, you've set things in motion sooner than I expected, sooner than the reports recommended. She looked towards the ceiling, as if she could see through to the stars and the danger that approached from there.

  She knew, with a doom-laden instinct, that all the observation posts, both on Earth and in orbit around various planets of the solar system, would be in turmoil, caught up in Loadra's coup.

  He doesn't know what he's doing, she thought. Even if I told him, and even if he believed me, which is doubtful, it's still too late. I wish I was with Martin right now. I only hope he's still alive and has managed to escape.

  "Lieutenant Lichfield, sir!"

  Martin was unable to suppress the start his muscles gave at the words snapped out so close behind him in such a military manner that he could imagine the man saluting as he spoke. He hesitated, considered, realised that they knew he was faking, and rolled over onto his back.

  This is it. I'm dead.

  He failed to stifle a short laugh, a burst of tense hilarity. The soldier who had spoken was, indeed, saluting, as were the three others in the room. They lowered their hands quickly and helped him to his feet.

  Why am I still alive?

  "Lieutenant, sir, please forgive us for not speaking sooner, but we had to be sure the others were out of the way."

  Martin recognised the speaker as Ian Rogers, a good, solid soldier he had commanded some time in the past. The other three were strangers to him.

  "Why are you speaking now?" asked Martin, finding his voice, coughing as it cracked and broke. One of the Terramarines offered him a drinking flask and he took a gulp gratefully. It was water, cooled by the flask, and its taste, sharp with the faintest hint of vitamin supplements, reminded him of numerous sorties, forced marches, the shaky aftermath of vicious firefights.

  You never leave the Terramarines. He remembered his old drill sergeant screaming that at them all. Once a Terramarine, always a Terramarine! He began now to feel the truth in that aphorism.

  "We cannot follow the priests. So much of the army has fallen in behind them but..."

  Martin nodded that he understood. Not all of them were fanatics. Some of them would not even follow these particular orders for money. There still remained some with principals, with loyalty to the Controller, even though he now lay dead.

  "How many of you are there?" He handed the flask back, his nerves beginning to calm.

  "Twenty, maybe thirty in the Terramarine Corp., scattered about." The soldier shrugged. "I’ve no idea how many other sections feel as we do."

  "No matter." Martin's mind was racing now. He didn’t think it possible to stop the invasion fleet, it would be too close, but perhaps something could be done to make it harder for them. He found he had an almost childish need to present some show of resistance. It hurt his pride as an Earthman to think of his planet simply rolling over and allowing itself to be raped by these invaders.

  "Who's your commander?" He took the offered gun belt without a word, strapping it around h
is waist, pulling the gun from its holster and checking it. Fully loaded.

  One of the other soldiers coughed nervously.

  "We sort of hoped you would be, sir."

  Brian Worthington, seventeen years old and on day release to the Observation Corp. from the military academy where he was training to be an officer, had barricaded himself into the forward observation room of Station 00329. Outside the door he could still hear the shouting, the agonised screaming, the fighting between those who remained loyal and those who rebelled.

  He fought to hold back the tears, felt them trickle down his cheeks anyway. He was shaking, sobbing quietly to himself, pacing back and forth, wringing his hands in despair. What could he do? He had no doubt who would win the struggle taking place throughout the rest of the orbiting station. The rebels outnumbered those loyal to the Controller by at least ten to one. Sooner or later they would break in here. It would not matter whose side he professed to be on at that stage. The simple fact that he had barricaded himself in spoke of his fear, his cowardice.

  They would kill him!

  He stared out the observation window at Uranus far below, and he found he still thought of it as 'below' although he knew the concept was redundant out here. He wondered if the bases on the surface were embroiled in the same struggle. And what of all the other observation stations, orbiting other planets in the solar systems? Was everywhere suffering the same fate?

  The sudden, sharp rattle of gunfire from somewhere inside the station made him jump and turn around, but the door still remained closed, locked, bolted and barricaded.

  The sounds of fighting were receding, slowly dying. He knew it would not be long before the victors turned their attention to his door.

  A steady beeping invaded his consciousness, interrupted his thoughts, his fears. What was it? For a moment he didn’t recognise it, then he turned and looked towards the bank of observation screens in the centre of the room.

  The warning lights were flashing, the alarm beeping. The sensors were picking up something, a something they did not recognise. Something that shouldn't be there.