Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires (28 page)

‘Ah, our beloved allies. Well, we can’t have that. Discipline has to be maintained.’ He grinned.

‘I did it,’ Celeste said. ‘It’s mine, not hers.’

Prem looked at her. ‘Is it now? Well, we’ll have to have words, little horse.’

‘No,’ Carveth said. ‘You can’t.’

Prem turned. ‘Run along now, human. I think it is time for the British Space Empire to have its cocoa. Don’t worry about the ponies. We Yull know how to look after unrodents. We’ll take good care of
them
.’

An aide stepped forward. He held up a propaganda picture: it showed a smiling lemming on a throne, being supported by a range of other species, some of which were probably extinct by now. ‘Colonel, have we any nails with which to put the posters up?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Prem said. ‘I’ve got a deal going with the glue factory.’ He peered at Carveth. ‘Are you still here? I tell you what. Two minutes and then I’ll let the squol off their leads. Tell me, liaison officer: have you ever seen a squol leap through the air?’

‘Oh God,’ Carveth said. ‘No.’

‘Run, Polly,’ said Celeste. ‘Run as fast as your two small legs can carry you.’

* * *

Smith sat in the lounge on the howdah, feeling hungry and peculiar. The rocking of the ravnaphant’s back brought back memories thirty years suppressed: the Midwich Grammar School trip to Dieppe, where he had eaten a bad crepe and become convinced that he had contracted dysentery. He could almost hear the other schoolchildren, crowding round with a mixture of horror and glee, gabbling about his accident in the Pompidou Centre. He had never forgiven them, or France, for that.

‘It’s okay,’ Rhianna said, as she picked through the medikit. ‘Just take a few more of these pills…’

By the time they reached base camp, the fear had dissipated and been replaced with an urgent need to eat chocolate and sleep with his face in Rhianna’s cleavage. Somewhat warily, Smith joined the others at the railing.

‘I hear you tore it up back there,’ Susan said, as they manoeuvred parallel with the curtain wall. ‘Dead lemmings everywhere.’

‘Did I?’ His head still felt very hazy.

Susan was too professional to have been much affected by the smoke. ‘You went a bit mental, to be honest. You and Wainscott. He thinks he’s protecting Boadicea.’

The ramp dropped, and the Deepspace Operations Group disembarked from the howdah onto the walls of Mothkarak. Supply teams waited for them, medics and strategic advisors. A crane swung out and dropped a block of stone in front of the ravnaphant, which it began to eat. Brigadier Harthi appeared at the crow’s nest, shouting instructions to his crew. Wainscott wandered onto the drawbridge.

‘Mission accomplished!’ the major yelled at the guards. ‘The Britons attacked the camp of the enemy with slings and arrows. Next stop, Londinium!’

‘For God’s sake, he’s got his todger out,’ Susan muttered. ‘Someone fetch me that picnic rug! They don’t pay me enough for this.’

Rhianna helped Smith down the gangplank. ‘How do you feel?’ she asked.

‘Relaxed, thanks. Hello clouds. Hello sky.’

‘I was afraid of that,’ she said.

Two slim figures slipped through the soldiers on the wall: one was Suruk, as sleek and graceful as he was deadly; the other was W, grim-faced and lanky, a roll-up smouldering between his thin lips.

‘Mazuran,’ Suruk said, ‘Welcome back. I heard your assault on the Yull was successful.’

Smith nodded. ‘It was good. The lemmings have got real issues, though. They tried to give us hassle.’

‘I bring grave news. The temple of the hidden masters is overrun. Volgath the elder is dead.’

‘Crikey,’ Smith said, focussing on him with a little difficulty. ‘That’s bad.’

‘This man should muster our defences,’ Suruk added, gesturing at W. ‘He has told me of how he once slew a ravnaphant single-handed.’

Rhianna scowled. ‘And I suppose you’re proud of that?’

‘I had no choice,’ W replied. ‘It had gone berserk and was threatening the Colonial Club. And we were hungry.’

‘But there is more,’ Suruk said. ‘I know the location of the relics. As soon as Piglet returns from her equine frolics, we should fly off and seize them for our army.’

‘Um, righto,’ Smith replied. ‘You’ve not got any biscuits, have you? I’m really quite peckish.’

Rhianna said, ‘He inhaled a lot of smoke.’

W looked at Suruk. The spy frowned. ‘This man needs tea. Lots of tea.’

They led Smith indoors, to an elevenses vending machine. Behind the glass screen, freeze-dried tiffin turned on a three-tiered rotating cake tray. Suruk and W pooled their change, while Rhianna pressed her hand to Smith’s forehead. ‘He’s a bit, you know,
confused.
’

W stared out of the window at the battlements and the trees beyond them. ‘General Young will want to stand and fight,’ he said. ‘She’ll use our mobile units as the hammer, and leave the castle as the anvil.’

‘Mobile units?’ Suruk said. A cup dropped in the machine, and brown liquid poured into it from a brass spigot. ‘My brother rides with the Ravnavari Lancers.’

‘Will he be safe?’ Rhianna asked. ‘I mean, the lancers have a reputation for being pretty tough.’

‘No doubt he will inspire them to deeds of great violence. He has that effect on me.’

‘Here, Isambard,’ Rhianna said. ‘Tea.’

‘Tea,’ Smith replied drowsily. ‘Dig it, man.’ He took a sip. ‘Hmm.’ He took another. ‘Ah, that’s better. Right then, chaps, let’s get cracking.’

‘The lemmings approach,’ Suruk said.

‘Then, damn it, let’s give the blighters a damned good thrashing. I say, Rhianna, are you alright, old girl?’

‘Slightly disappointed,’ she replied, ‘but okay.’

A black spec appeared at the window, no larger than a fly. It turned, sank lower in the glass and grew as it did, taking on the familiar, dented lines of the
John Pym.
Ground crew hurried over, accompanied by refuelling wallahbots and two chefs from the catering corps, who seemed very interested in something that had smacked into the windscreen.

‘Ah,’ said Smith, ‘and here’s our pilot now.’ The ship touched down and, as the legs bent under its weight, the airlock dropped open and Carveth scrambled out. ‘And here she comes now: no doubt with important information in our fight against tyranny. Carveth!’ he called, striding forward.

Carveth rushed down the battlement, through the door, past Smith and, with a loud yowling sound, straight into Rhianna. For the next few seconds they all stood still, except Carveth, who was crying helplessly, and Rhianna, who put her arms around Carveth but continued to look slightly dazed.

‘I’m sensing some negativity here,’ Rhianna said.

‘They’ve got the ponies!’ Carveth cried. ‘We were riding round and they came out of the forest and crept up on us and made me run away and now they’ve got all the little horses and they’re going to murder them!’

‘Now wait a moment,’ Smith said. ‘There’s no need to think that the ponies are in danger. Just slow down and tell us what happened. First, who took the ponies?’

‘The lemming men!’

‘Yep, they’re in danger,’ Smith said, and Carveth howled into Rhianna’s chest.

Suruk croaked politely. ‘I have a suggestion. Friends, this is clearly a sensitive moment, ideal for the wisdom of the Slayer. Might I propose that we gather our allies and do battle with the lemming men, until their blood flows like water and the air is filled with the screams of the dying? It will make everyone feel much better. Except the lemming men.’

‘You’re right,’ Smith replied. ‘Suruk, that’s an excellent idea. Come on, chaps. We’ll collect the relics, then we’ll get a task force together, and give the Yull what for.’

Carveth looked round. ‘There’s no time for the relics! They’ll kill them!’

Smith put his hands on Carveth’s shoulders, which had the effect of reassuring her. Then he crouched down so that he could look her directly in the eye, which had the effect of making her seem like a nine-year-old. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I promise that as soon as we’ve found the relics we’ll get the Equ’i back. And then we’ll get the lemmings back, too.’

‘That’s not good enough!’ she cried. ‘Don’t you know what they could do to the ponies before then?’

‘Murder them all, I suppose,’ and as she let out a despairing howl Smith added, ‘Damn, I didn’t mean to say that. I know this is a difficult and emotional time for you,’ he added, reaching into his pocket. ‘It’s emotional for me as well, and therefore very difficult too. But Carveth, seriously, would you like a mint?’

‘Stick your mints up your bum!’ Carveth cried.

‘Anyone?’

Rhianna gave Smith a sharp look and came over to assist. ‘Polly doesn’t need a mint, Isambard. She just needs to rest while we figure out what to do.’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Carveth demanded. ‘Doesn’t it occur to you people that we need to get every weapon we’ve got and kill all the bloody lemming men?’

‘That occurs to me too,’ Suruk replied. ‘Every six minutes, in fact. When I’m awake, every three minutes.’

‘Stuff you all!’ Carveth cried. ‘I’m going and you can’t stop me!’

She turned and ran for the door. They watched her run down the battlement, towards the landing pad.

‘Oh, God,’ Smith said. His head suddenly seemed to be about to burst. The feeling of paranoid confusion caused by the burning weeds had returned, along with none of the sense of wellbeing. ‘Suruk, could you stop her, please?’ he said.

The alien leaned over to the mantelpiece and took down a small ornament. He walked to the door, weighing it up in his hand. ‘At this range? Easy.’

‘No! Just go and talk to her, alright? Tell her to have tea and get some sleep.’ He sighed. ‘I need to think.’

* * *

Suruk returned a few minutes later. ‘Piglet is in her cabin,’ he announced. ‘She said that she would rest.’

Smith said, ‘Thanks, old chap. I’m sure she’ll feel better if she goes to sleep. It always works for me.’

‘Me too,’ Suruk said. ‘Then I don’t have to listen to her.’

Rhianna sighed. ‘Did you give her any medicine?’

‘Indeed. She said she needed some tablets,’ Suruk said. ‘The white ones... it begins with A.’

‘Aspirin?’

‘Amphetamine. And Benzedrine. And about three pints of cherryade. She can really consume that stuff.’

For a moment, the room was silent. ‘She asked for those?’ Smith said.

‘Um,’ Rhianna said, ‘that’s bad. Really bad.’

‘Quick!’ Smith cried, ‘The ship!’

Suruk was much faster; he tore out onto the battlements, slipping past soldiers, scrambled up the steps to the airlock and disappeared into the
John Pym
.

Smith looked at Rhianna. ‘Bloody hell,’ he said.

‘Yeah, totally,’ she replied.

Suruk reappeared at the airlock door. He waved. ‘All is well, Mazuran! Fear not!’

Smith called back, ‘So she’s not trying to fly the ship?’

Suruk chuckled. ‘Hardly. In fact, she’s not even here!’

Rhianna cupped her hands around her mouth. ‘Not there? Are you sure that’s a good thing?’

‘Of course! Actually,’ Suruk added, ‘maybe not at all.’

‘Oh God,’ Smith said, as Suruk made his way back, ‘where the hell is Carveth? Rhianna, if you were crazed on combat drugs and fizzy pop, what would you do?’

‘I’d do that,’ she replied, and she pointed into the courtyard.

Engines roared below them. A Hellfire fighter rose on shiny metal legs, jets blazing under it. Below, a man in a luminous jacket waved two glowing sticks, ushering it into the air.

‘Good God,’ Smith whispered. ‘You don’t mean that Carveth has stolen one of the Hellfires and gone to rescue the ponies by herself?’

Rhianna looked confused. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I meant that if I took a load of drugs and fizzy pop, I’d put on a reflective jacket and wave two glowsticks over my head. At least, that’s what happened last time. It went down well in Glastonbury,’ she added. ‘Less so in Gatwick.’

* * *

It was 8.22. Smith sat in one of the conservatories overlooking the launch pad, thinking about his mission here, and his duty to the Empire.

Rhianna sat cross-legged on the Ottoman. She shook one of the cushions and a mushroom cloud of dust rose towards the rafters.

The door opened and Suruk looked in. ‘I spoke to launch control,’ he said. ‘They confirmed that one of our Hellfires is missing. It bears the same serial number as the one the little woman used when she fought in the battle of Wellington Prime. Also, our boxed set of
Space Confederates
is missing a disk.’

‘Does that matter?’

‘It is the episode called “Hoss Rustlers”, in which Mary-Lou, the diminutive-yet-plucky engineer, single-handedly foils a gang of intergalactic horse thieves. Just saying,’ he added, and he withdrew.

‘This bodes ill,’ Smith said. ‘You know what the root of this whole problem is?’ he demanded bitterly. ‘Abroad, that’s what. If we didn’t have abroad, none of this would ever have happened. Of course, we wouldn’t have anyone to civilise, or to take stuff from for the Empire. But bugger it, anyway.’

Rhianna stood up and slid over to the window, like a ghost. ‘I guess you just can’t expect people to give you their planets and do what you say because you’re British anymore.’

Smith nodded. ‘You’re right. It’s a disgrace. The whole galaxy’s gone tits up.’ Realising that she might be offended by that, he added, ‘Sorry. Knockers up.’

‘I’ll be outside,’ she said, and she turned away. He heard the door click shut.

Smith tried to work it out. Carveth was in terrible danger, but the Empire needed the relics. If the Yull captured the relics and flaunted them, Ravnavar might stop taking orders from Earth. And without a unified front, the Yull would overrun Andor, slaughter its inhabitants and cram their cheeks with the fag-ends of a rotting empire.

He had to rescue Carveth. But orders are orders, he thought, and tried to remember where he’d heard that before.

A face came into view: red, scarred, one eye replaced by a glinting lens. The face was shadowed by the brim of its steel helmet. Antennae dangled over it like dead fronds. ‘Orders are orders,’ 462 rasped.

Gertie-talk! Bollocks to that!

Smith strode to the door. ‘Rhianna, we need to get the chaps –’ he said, and he stopped.