The Sword and the Plough (7 page)

“Hello, anyone there?” he called. But the
echo of his own voice mocked him in reply.

He rattled the brass lion head knockers on
the lofty red doors.

“
Amanda!” he cried. “Amanda Kassada, it’s
Lars Kelmutt. What’s going on. Where is everybody?”

But no Amanda came to answer. Not the
dark-eyed beauty, who now managed the major accounts in her
father’s bank, nor the raven haired child he remembered, the Amanda
who had kissed him so long ago in the school locker room, when they
were both no more than nine or ten.

Suddenly, he did not care anymore how much
noise he made. His frustration had made him reckless.

He banged his fists against the bank’s grand
doors. “Mr. Kassada!” he shouted. “Mr. Kassada! Anybody! Will
somebody please answer?”

But no reply came.

Lars sat down on the black marble steps of
the Vegar bank. The multi-storeyed buildings round the town square
looked down on him from stark and joyless windows.

The quiet grew back, enveloping him like a
suffocating blanket, and, for a time, something akin to despair
washed over him and he felt close to tears.

* * *

The strategic importance of
The
Inter-Planetary Communication Centre
– the IPCC – did not strike him until a sudden
epiphany hit. There was something missing from the skyline staring
back at him. Where was the huge disc-shaped antenna, which normally
dominated everything in that part of town?

He sat up, his desperation reversed, his
senses once more focused.

Now, as he listened, the omnipresent quiet
began to fracture. In its stead, he heard the faint crackle of
flames and the dull rumble of crumbling bricks and masonry.

And on the breeze he smelt the acrid stink of
smoke.

Planet EARTH
– The Admiralty – ‘The
Interview’

Greenwich date: January 29,
2175
– 13:00
hours

Captain Usha Sinha hesitated beside the
solitary chair in front of the long, polished mahogany table. On
the other side of the table sat the interview panel of eight
high-ranking officers in the queen’s red. Copious loops of gold
braid hung from their epaulettes, according to their status. All
were in their late sixties or early seventies.

Usha had sat in this chair before, just this
morning, and endured two hours of unforgiving interrogation. Now,
she was back to learn her fate.

She stood, awaiting their pleasure in
silence, aware of the faint web of cracks in the centuries old,
cream painted ceiling above her, and the nameless, dull green paint
that coloured the walls. In her nostrils was the dry wood smell of
ages past.

The chairperson of the panel, Admiral Arlos,
bobbed his white head and Usha sat down, the sudden scrape of her
chair resonating sharply on the polished wood floor.

Minutes passed. No one spoke. The eight
white-haired heads remained bent over the papers in front of them
completing their notes, their pens scratching the pages noisily
like hungry hens digging the earth. Now and then, a pair of
dispassionate eyes would look up and study her, then return to the
papers from whence they came.

Finally, Admiral Arlos raised his eyes. He
smiled and his white tufted brows lifted.

“It has been a long morning for you, my
dear,” he said gently.

My dear?
Would he call a man,
my
dear
? It was
to soften the blow because she was a female. The men at the table
did not want her tears.

The old admiral was still smiling, but Usha
could not return the smile. Her lips were frozen with rage.

The admiral cleared his throat. “Usha, I
think we should say at the outset how very impressed we
all
were with the skill
and dedication you have brought to your fine career to date, and
the obvious potential you have to offer.”

He paused to smile at her again. Two blank
black eyes were the only response.

“The rank of commander in the queen’s fleet
is one that demands a very special type of person,” Admiral Arlos
continued. “Every facet of the individual chosen must suit the
profession. There is no room for error. No room for
sentimentality.”

Damn him! When would he finish it?

“
The military requires our total
dedication,” the admiral was saying. “No matter what else may
occupy us in time of peace, the
sine qua non
is our willingness to do battle
if the occasion arises.

“
In the event, it is more often than not
the commanders in the field who make the decisions that win or lose
the day. In the end, the security, indeed the very future of
The Earth Commonwealth of Planets
may depend upon one such person.”

He paused to let the effect of his words sink
in. Eight pairs of eyes studied her.

Pity?
Was that what she saw in their
faces? Did they not think she understood only too well where all
this was heading? Or was it that they wanted to see her beaten,
turned away, forever cast out from the world of the male
elite?
Damn them – if they were waiting for tears they
could rot first.

“Well, that’s it, lecture over.” Admiral
Arlos stood suddenly and extended a big red hand across the
polished mahogany between them.

“
Welcome aboard,
Commander
Sinha,” he said, beaming.
“Welcome aboard.”

* * *

A frisson of excitement flashed through her
like a fever. Usha had little recollection of the events that
followed. Admiralty staff filled the room, men and women both, the
bright red of their uniforms transforming the room’s drab hue.
Congratulations flooded her from every quarter, so that she scarce
had time to match the voice with the face. She was aware of a grin
that grew and grew till it ached.

“And may I add my congratulations, Commander
Sinha?”

She turned and beheld one of the
high-ranking officers – one of the eight fairy godfathers who had
granted her, her dream. He did not seem so awe-inspiring this side
of the table; a wizened, white-haired old man in the queen’s red,
who had forgotten how to smile.

His dark, bird-like eyes peered into
hers.

“
You realize that the decision was by no
means
unanimous
,”
he said quietly. “I for one do not think a woman has the strength
of mind for battle. Your sex lacks the necessary instinct to kill.
In my opinion, we have made a serious blunder here today – an error
of judgement I fear we shall not grasp the consequences of until it
is too late.”

He stared hard at her for an instant,
awaiting a rebuttal. When it did not come, he turned on his heel
and disappeared into the noise and colours of the celebratory
crowd.

For her part, Usha stared in disbelief at the
departing figure, and the tears that had for so long held back
burst forth suddenly and came streaming down her face.

Planet EARTH
– Queen’s Regiment
Base

Greenwich date: January 29,
2175
– Early
evening

Lieutenant Cheryl York sat on her narrow
bed. Her uniform felt hot and uncomfortable, but she was too tired
to change it. Her cubicle, with its drab grey walls, yellowed
ceiling, and imitation timber floor, was hardly appealing. It was
barely big enough for a single bed
– or cot, as the military described it – a
wardrobe, and a small metal table and chair, painted dark blue. A
full-length mirror hung behind the door.

Normally, she did not think about it. It
was just standard military digs – somewhere to sleep, somewhere to
store her uniforms, her civilian clothes and a few personal
belongings.

However, tonight the room depressed her. It
had become a virtual prison cell. She had nowhere else to go.

The faint trill of the
vizophone
broke the
quiet. She sat, willing it to stop, but the caller was insistent.
She flicked on the small screen to check the caller before she
answered it.

“Hi there, Cheryl, I almost gave up on
you.”

It was Captain Johnny De Vries. He was
wearing civilian clothes – green shirt, grey check jacket. His dark
hair was slicked down, still wet from a wash.

“Are you there?” he asked when she did not
answer.

“Yes,” she replied flatly. “What do you
want?”

“Aren’t you going to activate your end of the
screen?”

“I can’t, I’m not dressed,” she lied.

“
All the better,” he said, grinning
broadly.

“Use your imagination,” she retorted.

He laughed. “Don’t worry, I will,” he
answered. “Look Cheryl, I rang to ask if you’d like to go down to
the city for a bite to eat?”

“A date?”

“
Well – yes.”

“No thanks, Johan,” she said.

“What’s wrong, Cheryl?” he asked quietly.

“There’s nothing wrong, I just don’t feel in
the mood for a date.”

“Yes, but you called me, Johan,” the captain
replied softly. “What happened to Johnny?”

“I did? Well, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean
anything by it.”

“
Staff Sergeant Fofana said you seemed
upset by that inter-space call you received this morning,” he
persisted. “A General York – your father, was it?”

“Well, Fofana should learn to mind his own
business,” the young woman snapped.

“
Cheryl, forget the date,” Johnny De Vries
said gently. “What say I pick up a bottle of your favourite and
come over? I’ll be Johnny your friend. Johnny the lover can stay
home tonight. We can stay in or go out – your choice.”

Lieutenant York smiled in spite of herself.
She wiped the side of her nose. A tear had found its way there.

“All right,” she said, her voice somewhat
warmer. “But I warn you, I’m not very good company tonight. I shall
probably want to cry on your shoulder.”

Johnny De Vries shrugged. “That’s what
friends are for,” he replied simply.

Planet EARTH
– The Palace basement

Greenwich date: January 30,
2175
– early
afternoon

The basement room beneath the palace was
windowless and cold. Bookcases filled with ancient looking tomes
stood against three of the shadowy walls; a tall computer bank with
a faint green glow occupied the fourth.

At the room’s centre, a solitary table-lamp
cast a pale oasis of yellow light upon an enormous desk spread with
documents and files, most of which bore a red seal impressed with a
crown. The rest of the basement room remained uncertain in the
gloom.

Behind the lamp, a middle-aged man sat at the
desk, his head bent low, his concentration plain as he muttered
through his tasks.

* * *

The man was perhaps in his late fifties,
his blue eyes still bright, despite his age. He had a healthy head
of grey hair – overlong, but impeccably groomed. He wore a black
velvet jacket over a crisp white shirt. Fixed at his shirt collar
was a dapper scarlet bow tie. The lower half of the man was
indistinct in the shades and shadows of the ill-lit
room.

Suddenly, the man sat up, as straight as his
hunched back would allow, and fixed his gaze upon the narrow
doorway to the room and further through it into the darkness. He
thought he had heard footsteps coming down the hallway.

The man put down his pen and waited.

All at once, a female voice with an air of
authority filled the room.

“Cecil! Cecil! Are you there, Cecil?”

“Is that you, Your Majesty?” the man enquired
deferentially. He placed his hands atop the chair arms, ready to
stand.

“No, it’s me,” the same voice answered.
“Where have you been? I was about to advise the queen you’d gone
AWOL.”

“
Oh it’s
you
!” the man replied irritably. “Stop
imitating the queen’s voice. Anyway, I haven’t been anywhere. If
you must know, I’ve been sleeping.”

“Sleep! Sleep!” The voice segued from its
regal tones to those of a shrill harpy. “The queen’s secretary
should never sleep until the work is done.”

The man pushed back his chair and rose with
some difficulty. His look was menacing.

“Don’t turn me off!” the voice pleaded, all
at once child-like.

“Well, don’t shout at me!” the man replied
crossly.

He dropped back into his chair, his face
contorted with pain.

“I didn’t shout at you!” the voice protested,
continuing its juvenile tone.

“You did so!”

“
Well, do you have to sleep
every
day?”

“
Yes, I do. I need 6 hours sleep everyday
to revitalize myself – recharge myself, if you like, just as you
do.”

“You have batteries?” the voice enquired
curiously.

The man smiled in spite of himself. “Well, in
a way I suppose, Mata Hari. Yes, in a way you could say that I
do.”

The voice softened, almost cooed. “Oh Cecil,
you called me Mata Hari.”

“Well yes, isn’t that what you wanted to be
called?” the man asked.

“
Oh yes, and you remembered. Thank you,
Cecil, thank you.”

“
Where did you find such a
silly
name anyway?” he
queried.

The voice took the insult in its stride. “It
was the name of a human, a beautiful woman, who lived several
centuries ago. I discovered her in my memory banks. Mata Hari was a
spy, Cecil, a famous spy. Now I am Mata Hari, since I am the
greatest spy in the Commonwealth.”