“Well, the closest planet to here that’s likely to have the kind of mercenaries for this sort of work is Vitharr,” he declared. “From my estimation, the lighter that was here departed no more than three days ago. Real days, not . . . local days. Figure a hundred hours in hyperspace, depending on their ship, another hundred hours to report and plan, another hundred hours to assemble any kind of force – enough to challenge your brave men, at least, that might take longer. Add in another fifty hours for general bickering, screw-ups, and such, then another hundred hours in hyperspace . . . my lord, I suggest that we have . . . carry the two . . . my lord, we have a full forty local days before we have to fear an attack.”
Karvall had been generous in his figuring, knowing he could expect help from Tanith in half that time. The Golden Hand, at least, would be able to send an advanced team. Enough for a rescue.
“Enough time for Spazzo to finish deal,” the rotund old warlord grunted. “Iz good. Men can relax. And I find out who else would dare betray Barsaro!”
“Excellent, my lord,” Karvall said, absently, scribbling a last few notes in the notepad he’d brought. He flipped it over with a nod of satisfaction, and then ripped out the next blank page. “If my lord will excuse me for the briefest of moments,” he said. “I think I need to duck back behind those rocks there and . . .”
It took a few excruciating moments for him to communicate his apparent need, before the neobarbarian grunted and began lighting a local cigar. Whatever it was the Merthans smoked, it bore little resemblance to tobacco – it was far more unpleasantly pungent, and produced a kind of stupor.
Karvall quickly ducked behind the stone cairn and ducked, ripping off his page of last-minute instructions, stuffing it into the base of the cairn between two rocks, and then waited an appropriate amount of time before he stood and straightened his close.
“Ah, the rustic life,” he said, as he rejoined his hairy companions. “There’s really nothing finer.”
* * *
The next couple of days were busy for Karvall, although he did his best to appear bored. Indeed, he spent much of his time pretending to drink, which put him in proximity to Barsaro quite often. While he pantomimed his drinking, the warlord did his best to consume every drop in sight; to the point where Karvall was shocked the thick neobarb could still breathe. But it was one of these binges that led to Spasso’s barbaric ally revealing something about the man that Karvall wouldn’t have guessed.
It was while Barsaro was expounding on Spasso’s good faith and trustworthiness that he decided to show Karvall his master’s “treasure”.
“Of all people, Spazzo knows Barsaro keeps faith with his comrades,” he rumbled, as he got up from the table in his quarters where they’d been drinking. “Barsaro is good friend. Trusty. He keep Spazzo’s special secret treasure here,” he said, whispering loudly.
“My master’s most precious possessions?” Karvall asked, feigning drunkenness. “Impossible!”
“Iz true!” the man insisted. “I show you – come!” he said, as he waddled over to a trap door in the wooden floor. “This leads to my secret chamber,” he confided. The rotund old bandit could barely fit down the narrow stairs, but Karvall found it easy enough. At the bottom, there was a narrow tunnel that led into a rough-hewn chamber. Karvall didn’t want to look down and figure out what the debris he was crunching through might be – he focused on Barsaro, who was activating a cheap electric light.
“See?” he asked, proudly, as he gestured towards the pile. “What finery . . . silks, gold, jewels . . . look at this magnificent weapon!” he said, triumphantly, as he lifted a deadly-looking .40 machine gun from the loot. It was not of Sword World manufacture, Karvall knew at once. It was a design descended from a classic light infantry support weapon used by the Federation during the System States War, centuries ago. The Sword World equivalent was a shorter, heavier weapon, usually, with a tripod, not a bipod. That immediately sparked his interest.
He fawned over the deadly beauty with his drunken host, and then insisted on taking a picture of him to commemorate the occasion. In the fearsome photo the old coot brandished the weapon with grisly menace – giving him a perfect shot at the maker’s mark and serial number.
While he had the camera out he made a quick sweep of the other loot. That’s when he discovered the real prize, a secure communication screen, with a small stack of microtapes and microbooks nearby. Again, not of Sword World manufacture. He had Barsaro pose with a particularly gaudy piece of silk wrapped around his head like a turban while he pocketed the microtapes. There were other items: espionage gear, explosives, and five thick stacks of banknotes, mostly Atonian sols, but also some Mardukan pounds and some Odin marks. While he wasn’t certain of all of the exchange rates into stellars, he was sure it was a considerable sum.
“Barsaro, old friend, my master does indeed have a trustworthy ally in you,” he praised the man after they’d returned to the surface. “I will be happy to praise you to him to the best of my ability. And your hospitality is the finest I’ve ever enjoyed.”
“Barsaro hopes so,” the man said, tiredly, as he poured another drink into his great brass flagon. “It iz said the gods repay a man in the afterlife for what deeds he’s done in this one,” he grunted. “Barsaro iz good host. Maybe I get good place after I die, eh?”
“Oh, I hope it’s a very warm one,” Karvall assured him.
The warlord wasn’t the only one trying to get on his good side. He made as many visits to see the baby as he could manage without arousing suspicion. She was healthy enough, in his inexpert opinion, and two native women were always nearby to change her or feed her. But the third or fourth time he went up to Evita’s room, she finally confronted him.
“It isn’t just that baby you’re interested in, is it?” she said, accusingly.
“Your Majesty—?”
“Forget the royal baloney for a moment. I know what kind of affect I have on men,” she said, her voice softening. “I can understand how you find yourself—”
“Your Majesty is very attractive,” Karvall finally managed to get out. “But I could never deign to—”
She rolled her eyes. “I said, cut the royal baloney! Look, as far as I can tell, we’ve got at least another eight days – eight real days – before we hear from Garvan. That’s sixteen or so of these freakishly short ones. I’ve read every microbook here, I’ve played solitaire until my arm is about to fall off, and none of these savages can form a complete sentence or use a pronoun to save their life. I am bored, Sir Bedford. I demand you entertain me!” She shifted her hips and shoulders around until there was no doubt in Alexi’s mind just how the former queen wanted to be entertained.
“I—I – Your Majesty, I –” How could he explain that while she was physically attractive – even beautiful – that he found her so morally repugnant, not to mention inextricably connected to the regime that had seen Gram fall to ruin, that he had to restrain himself from choking her on the spot?
“Shhhh,” she said, fastening the only door out of the chamber. “Nobody needs to know. You’re a handsome one – too bad I didn’t spot you back on Gram. Believe me, I needed distraction, after tending to that sweaty old turd with the crown. Consider this . . . a special opportunity. Not every man can say that he has lain with a queen.”
“You make a compelling argument,” he said, quietly, nervously. He shot his eyes to the nearby cradle. He really didn’t see any way out of this without compromising his cover story.
“Oh, you can use it as an excuse, if you like. That would be perfect. You’re just coming up here to ‘check on the baby’, right?”
“Right,” Karvall conceded in a daze, as she undressed. “The care of the infant is of the utmost importance.”
“Then you are just doing your duty, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” he conceded, as he drank in her naked charms. “The things one must do for the sake of duty.”
“Call me that again,” she
said, breathlessly, as she took him into her arms. “I love it when I hear myself called ‘Your Majesty’ . . .”
* * *
At last, the sign he had been waiting for was spotted: a single column of smoke on the northern horizon, out past the jagged ridges of the nameless mountain chain. It provoked some curious looks from the Merthans, but little else. There were no human settlements in that area – indeed, it was a rocky wilderness too difficult to live on, according to the Merthans. That amazed Karvall – the Merthans seemed to grow rocks for a living. He merely noted it, and then quietly made certain that all of his preparations were in order.
He made one last stop to check on the Princess, who was wide awake and cooed to him charmingly, her bright sapphire-blue eyes a perfect copy of her mother’s in miniature.
“I wish you wouldn’t spend so much time doting over that thing,” Evita complained as she got undressed. “It’s bad enough that it has to be here in the first place. Shouldn’t I be the most interesting thing in the room?”
For one more day, you nasty little wench, Karvall thought to himself as he took off his own clothes. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Chapter Six:
Welcome To Planet X
“Welcome to your new home,” the grim-faced guard captain told the prisoners as they assembled in front of the airbus that had brought them here from the fortified spaceport. The wretched facility was on a rocky island out in the bay, connected to the mainland by a long causeway that had three separate checkpoints upon it. The ship they’d arrived on was still there, in the background, but once the airbus had thumped down in front of the camp’s headquarters complex, it might as well have been back on Tanith.
“Call it Planet X. You don’t need to know the real name of this planet, because it doesn’t exist,” the captain said, strutting down the uneven rows. Lucas had kept his men around him, of course, but there were over two hundred prisoners, total, who had been escorted off of the prison ship and into airbuses. “In fact, from this point forward, you don’t exist. As far as the outside world is concerned, at least.
“For whatever reason, you were all deemed too dangerous to keep around in civilized society. In the glorious Planetary National Republic of Aton there is no room for dangers such as you. So the Administrators, in their infinite wisdom, have found this . . . lovely little moon to put all the things which they wish to forget about.
“Let me tell you a little about your new home, Planet X. The local day is ten hours long. The gravity here is .81 Standard, due to this moon having such a dense core – so while you might feel strong now, in a few thousand hours your muscles will adapt and you will actually be weaker. We are on the one dry continent on the world, and I use the term ‘dry’ quite loosely: it rains nearly every day. There is only one starport, and only one ship which comes here, and that happens only every four thousand hours or so on a highly irregular schedule.
“There is one town of natives, on the other side of the continent, and they are highly xenophobic and of a much lower socioeconomic order than you’re used to. They have no contragravity. They have no ships. It is four hundred miles to their town. Between here and there, there are toxic waste dumps. There are piles of radioactive slag. There are heaps of refuse and garbage too volatile to be consigned to mass energy conversion on a civilized world. There are biological contaminants here. The water is highly alkaline and barely drinkable. There are plenty of dangerous natural fauna – and flora. And then there are your fellow inmates. Any one of which can kill you.
“As you can see,” he continued, gesturing to the long line of drab prefabricated huts behind him, “you have considerable freedom here. Indeed, we do little to structure your time. You may leave the camp at any time – at your own risk. But know that you will not be the first to do so. Some of the most vicious enemies of the Party have fled this camp, and linger now on the outskirts, out in the mud-flats, out in the swamps, and out in the hill country. They’ve been doing this for two generations, now, so I think you will find them nice and feral. And hungry. Some may have even mutated by now.
“If you don’t want to go hungry, or cold, then you merely need to submit your identification card at the Camp Headquarters Building, and after viewing a short re-educational program you will be issued rations. Or pure water. Or bedding. Or toiletries. One hour of viewing equals one full meal. You are, of course, welcome to grow your own food at your assigned quarters or gather it from the marshes. You will receive no help to do this – you are here to be re-educated and rehabilitated. You are encouraged to take advantage of the educational facilities at the headquarters building at any time. Doing so will increase your standard of living. It might even increase your chances of leaving Planet X alive. It has been done,” he conceded.
“The Planetary Nationalist Party of Aton is alive and well on Planet X: a number of volunteers among the detainees have created a local branch which meets every ten days at the Headquarters Building. Membership and attendance earn you additional coupons for food and sundries. But membership is by no means mandatory: we want you to realize the advantages and purpose of Party membership without even a hint of coercion.
He looked around again, searching the faces of his new charges. “You may notice a distinct lack of guards in this camp. That is by design. All the guards are here to do is keep you from bothering the Headquarters Building and the spaceport. They do not keep order amongst the prisoners, except in the most extreme instances. If you attempt to molest the headquarters building, the spaceport, or any Atonian Rehabilitation Bureau’s personnel, non-lethal or lethal force may be used on you. Basic medical treatment is available in the headquarters building if needed, courtesy of the Planetary Nationalist Party of Aton, and free of charge. There is a small but popular library, too. Other than that . . . enjoy your time here on Planet X. It is the one thing which you now have in complete abundance.”
The guard captain stomped off, without so much as a pause, while a small-boned functionary in charcoal gray fatigues began handing out “Welcome Kits”, which included a few basic toiletries, a few ration bars, a simple gray coverall, and a towel. Included in the packet was a room assignment. Each of the cabins could hold ten men, comfortably, and the bunks were assigned by name. Then the functionary left, too, and suddenly Lucas and his men were milling around, without supervision or restraint, for the first time since they’d been captured.
“Gather the men,” he said quietly to Delio. “I want to address them.”
“Of course, Highness,” he murmured, and began quietly directing his fellow Golden Hand guards to alert the rest of the men. A quick headcount revealed that all seventy-six who had been captured from the pinnace were accounted for.
“Gentlemen,” Lucas said, just loud enough for everyone to hear him, “Let’s regroup a moment. We all made it here safely – wherever ‘here’ is – but I made a promise to you to get you all home safely, or die trying. For whatever reason, we’ve been sent here – and I don’t know where we are. I don’t know what direction home is in. I don’t know how we’re going to get there. And I don’t know when we’re going to be back. As you all know,” he said, picking out the faces of the men he’d gotten to know in the last few weeks, “I have a compelling reason to return: I have a beautiful wife and a beautiful daughter, and both of them need me. Some of you also have families. Some of you hope to have families, back home on Tanith. And that’s where you’ll have them.
“So here’s our plan: first, we get ourselves organized. I want to split into three groups – one to start the process of gaining rations, one to find and secure our lodging, and one to mingle with the rest of the population and discover the reality of the local politics. Someone is in charge out here, even if the guards are not. Lt. Delio will act as my executive officer, for now. He’ll lead the first team. Report anything unusual or even vaguely interesting to him or to one of the other Golden Hand.
“We don’t know exactly what’s going to be useful yet, but we’ll fi
gure it out. The important thing is we have to stay together, we have to stay strong, and we have to stay focused. We carry with us the pride of Tanith, and our own hope for survival – let’s ensure we live up to that pride, that hope. Now assemble into your teams and let’s begin.”
There was a ragged cheer from the men, and then some muttering as the teams were chosen. Lucas noted that regardless of which teams were busy doing what, there were always at least two Golden Hand guards near to him at all times.
He joined the third team, the one investigating the camp’s inhabitants and layout.
His fellow detainees were a depressed-looking lot, their hair long and their plain gray garments spattered with mud. There were over ten thousand of them in the camp, broken down in pie-shaped sections radiating out from the central headquarters building. Most were political dissidents, intellectuals or agitators who had crossed Aton’s authoritarian regime and had landed here for their troubles. A few were even taking the process of “re-education” seriously, and there were plenty of pro-Atonian residents who were blatantly trying to curry favor with the authorities by holding Party rallies and meetings and encouraging membership.
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