Wrath of the Lemming-men (29 page)

As battle raged behind them it said, ‘I give up.’

Smith thought, I could kill him. One less furry bastard in the world—

‘Civilian!’ the lemming cried, throwing its hands up.

The weapon flew out of its grip, whirling end over end like a shotputter’s hammer. He gave up, Smith thought, a Yull bloody surrendered, to
me
! – and as the flying mallet reached its apogee, he noticed that the end of it looked curiously like a tank shell. Strange, that—

The ground rippled like a shaken rug and Carveth flew into the air. She floated for a moment and then –
bang!
–the floor hit her and she was lying flat on her back, battered and confused. In front of her a crystal pulsed, queasily out of time with the throbbing in her brain. She sat up, and for the second time in a day looked into the face of the Vorl and screamed.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, not you again,’ it said.

She got up. Rhianna was waking from her trance, blinking uncertainly. The crystals glowed brighter than before, and in front of them was the Vorl.

It was a thing of smoke and dust, a bluish, luminescent blur with an upper body that tapered into a genie’s tail where the waist should have been. There was a face, of sorts: the upper lip was very long, the nose a six-inch spike upturned with arch distain. Wispy arms formed from its shoulders and it put its hands on its insubstantial hips.

‘What a ghastly place,’ it said. It had a very nasal voice. ‘So to speak. Very naff, I must say.’

Weakly, Carveth said, ‘You’re the Vorl?’

‘One of ’em.’ It gestured to itself with a long-fingered, languid hand. ‘C’neth. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Pardon the not shaking ’ands, but I’m insubstantial and I don’t know where you’ve been. And as for her, goodness knows,’ he added, nodding at Rhianna.

‘
Namaste
,’ Rhianna said. She looked round suddenly, as if startled, and said ‘Isambard and the others! What’s happened to them?’

She started to rise, but Carveth shook her head. ‘It’s not safe.’ She turned to C’neth. ‘Did you make the room shake like that?’

‘Me? I thought that was you,’ said the Vorl. ‘You’re the belligerent one round here. Every time we meet you ’owl blue murder at me.’

‘Look!’ Rhianna said, and pointed at the window.

A chasm ran through Lloydland. The ground had opened down the main thoroughfare, swallowing rides and exhibition domes, leaving broken joists and rollercoaster tracks reaching for the sky like great steel fingers. Carveth saw arches and spires of blackened crystal at the bottom of the hole, delicate structures like frost on spider web.

‘Well, good riddance Lloydland,’ C’neth said. ‘Art Nouveau? Art Nouveau Riche, more like. Nasty place, terribly
gauche
.’

Carveth shook her head. ‘Listen. We need your help. We’re humans, from the British Space Empire – well, Rhianna isn’t, and she’s actually half Vorl and I’m an android, but we’ll deal with that later – and we want to civilise the galaxy – not just us two, but the whole Empire.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Honestly. Out there are our enemies the Ghasts, who are sort of ant-people in trenchcoats: they want to eat the galaxy and shoot everyone. They’re bad. And then you’ve got the Yull, who are lemmings. They’re mental
and
bad.’

‘Like that one?’ C’neth said, pointing.

‘Bloody hell!’ Carveth cried, and before she could raise her gun a Yullian noble in full plate armour came bounding up the stairs, axe raised above its head, howling

‘
Yullai!
’ Instinct took over: Carveth leaped out the way, Rhianna sidestepped with surprising elegance, and the noble raced past, ran straight through the window and dropped screaming into the night.

‘Yes, just like that,’ Carveth said.

‘What about the grey thing with tusks?’ C’neth inquired.

‘That’s Suruk,’ Carveth said. ‘He’s – well, actually he’s mental and bad too, but he’s on our side.’

‘C’neth,’ Rhianna said, ‘please help us. Polly’s right: our way of life is threatened by oppressive people of alien origin. We seek only to bring love to the galaxy—’

‘Oh, we know all about your love,’ C’neth said darkly. ‘Half Vorl, she says!’

‘—and it is vital that together, we unite in the name of peace and freedom.’

‘So will you kill all our enemies for us?’ Carveth finished up.

C’neth drew back: his wispy face looked appalled. ‘You’re ’aving a laugh! I’m not going out to fight people!’ he exclaimed.

‘Please,’ said Rhianna, ‘just let me talk to you. We can build up a dialogue—’

‘Hear her out,’ Carveth added. ‘Listen to her for five minutes and you’ll be well up for violence. Wait – it’s gone quiet.’ She picked up the shotgun. ‘I’m off to check on the others. Stay here, Rhianna – make friends,’ she said, and she scrambled down the stairs.

The main hall was ruined, its edges hidden in a soft snow of fallen plaster. The ceiling had partly collapsed, and a bunch of joists jutted through the roof like a massive claw reaching in from above. The Yull lay in the wreckage at awkward angles: the covering of dust made them look like stuffed polar bears.

Smith stood on the stairs, rifle in hand, white with plaster. An unconscious, spectacled Yull lay at his feet. He looked around as Carveth bounded to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Boss!’ she called. ‘Are you alright?’

He nodded. ‘Good to see you. How’s Rhianna?’

‘She’s fine. Boss,’ Carveth said, ‘we’ve found a Vorl. He’s upstairs, talking to Rhianna.’

‘The Vorl? Excellent! Is it the arch-Vorl?’

‘Oh, he’s arch alright.’

‘Splendid. Let’s go and talk to him.’

‘I’ll – ooh, it’s Rick!’

People waved from the back of the room, Dreckitt amongst them. Wainscott stood next to him, beside a heap of lemming men, sword in hand. His men wore space armour, Carveth saw, their fishbowl helmets clipped to their packs.

Dreckitt spat out a wad of plaster. ‘Hey.’

Carveth embraced him and stepped back looking as if she had fallen face-down into a snowdrift.

‘Hello girlie,’ Wainscott called, ‘how’s tricks? Brian’s copped a spike in the thigh. The rest of us are good as new.’

Smith surveyed the room. Dead Yull lay around the Deepspace Operations Group, some in pieces, all dusted in a snowdrift of plaster. It was probably a lot like Suruk’s idea of Christmas. For that matter, where was Suruk?

He turned as Suruk stepped into the room. ‘We’ve found the Vorl,’ Carveth said.

‘Indeed,’ Suruk replied. ‘So have the Ghasts.’

Something hit Vock in the ribs and he came round. The first thing he saw was the sky above him: the second was 462, kicking him lightly in the side.

‘You were thrown clear by the explosion,’ 462 explained. ‘Your legion is destroyed.’

Vock sat up and gazed along the chasm. As he watched, the remnants of his army stumbled out of Ballad point and ran towards the gulf. The war god had revealed a greater destiny to them.

‘Get back!’ a praetorian snarled as they rushed past it. ‘Get back to the battle!’ Its voice was lost amidst squeals of glee. ‘Anyone jumping into the hole will be shot! Get away from me! I order you to –
aargh!
’

462 watched the lemming-soldiers fling themselves into the crevasse. The praetorian fell with them, screeching.

‘You cannot understand our way,’ Vock replied. He stared into the sky: it was almost night. ‘It is a beautiful evening. Now I will butcher the House of Agshad. That is all that matters.’

Far away, automated lights were blinking into life.

Neon dolphins and dancing girls appeared on the sides of domes. A light wind caught the leather coats of 462 and his guards, slapping the hems against their stercoriums.

They walked to the edge of the chasm and stared down into the gulf. Among the crystal spires, nothing stirred.

‘Nothing! All across the galaxy – for nothing!’ Vock threw back his head and laughed. ‘You are very silly off-worlders!’

And then, at the bottom, there was a tiny, distant flash of purple lightning. 462’s entourage stepped back from the edge.

Light blossomed down below: blue, cold light that spread like radiation. The edges of crystals appeared in the glow, winking up at them. Things flitted between the crystals like dust-devils, scraps of cloth tossed in a hurricane. From up here they were tiny.

‘Commander 462!’ one of the Ghast technicians rasped. ‘We have readings!’

462 smirked. ‘Watch closely, Vock, as we turn mankind’s puny technology against itself. My troopers will use modified Earth technology in order to restrain specimens of the Vorl for molecular analysis and gene-sampling. My soldiers are equipped with instruments of cleansing, originally devised by the human secret policeman J Edgar Hoover, and now enhanced for warfare by superior Ghast engineering. Minions, ready your vacuum cleaners!’

Every second praetorian along the edge of the chasm pulled a long tube into its hands. Each tube had a flattened end, leading to pipes that ran to the tank on its user’s back.

Vock gawped at him. ‘You mean to capture those devils?’

‘Of course.’ He flicked a hand. ‘Spotlights!’

A dozen massive lamps boomed into life. Suddenly the chasm wall was an angular mass of bleached rock and hard shadow, and across the stone darted the translucent bodies of the Vorl.

‘Beautiful,’ Vock whispered.

‘Mark your targets!’ 462 called. ‘Three capture-teams to each spotlight! Suck them up!’

‘Hey, Isambard.’ Rhianna looked startlingly bright against the ruined hall, as if the colours of the room had leached into her tie-dyed skirt. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine, thanks. And you?’

She stood at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Cool.’ She stepped over and kissed him.

‘Good work on finding the Vorl. Have you got them on side yet?’

‘I’m kind’ve working on it.’

‘Righto. Keep going. Maybe I should come up and explain why they ought to join the Empire.’

Rhianna frowned. ‘Let’s use that as a backup plan.

Please be careful.’

‘Saddle up, Smith.’ Wainscott turned from the window and lowered his binoculars. ‘We need all hands on deck. Gertie’s turned on the Vorl.’

They stood at the window, passing Wainscott’s binoculars and Smith’s scope between them. A strange sort of battle raged outside: a praetorian had folded over under one of the searchlights, crackling with static electricity. A second Ghast shook and melted like an ice-cream in an oven, dropping into a helmet and a soggy coat.

‘What
are
those things?’ Wainscott muttered.

‘Ghosts,’ Carveth said.

Smith glimpsed a Vorl disappear into some kind of suction-tank on one of the soldiers’ backs, hands clamped to its head. It reminded him of an Impressionist painting he’d once seen of a screaming man – Van Gogh, he thought, trying to find his ears. He shuddered. ‘Good God. Gertie’s collecting the Vorl like frogs in a jam jar. Looks like he’s taking them into his ship. . . Men, we have to move fast. This has all the hallmarks of evil science.’

Susan crouched down to check Hephuc’s bindings.

He was tied to the remnants of the banisters, looking downcast but surprisingly relieved to be alive. ‘Let’s get going,’ she said, picking up the beam gun.

‘A distraction is required,’ Suruk said. ‘Wainscott’s men, together with Piglet, must assault the enemy and slow their schemes. Then, whilst their spirit-sucking is hindered, Mazuran and myself will creep into the vessel and destroy it.’

‘Destroy an entire spaceship?’ Carveth said. ‘Is it just me, or are you mental?’

‘It is just you. The rest of us are quite sane,’ Suruk replied, readying his spear.

‘This is
so
amazing,’ Rhianna said. ‘It’s like, two cultures coming together and sharing with each other.’

‘The only thing you’ve shared with me is an odour,’ C’neth observed, tilting his nose up still further. ‘Are you
made
from joss? Still, it won’t matter soon. There are more important people than me to talk to, believe me.’

‘Really?’

‘Oh, naturally. I am a mere underling. You need to talk to the overlord I under for, so to speak. You’ll be hob-nobbing with the big cheese before you can so much as blink.’

‘Incredible,’ she whispered. ‘That is so. . . amazing.’

C’neth shrugged. ‘Don’t get your hopes up. Still, who knows? Maybe the Archpatron does want to exchange the secrets of the galaxy for the Clannad back catalogue. Oh!’ C’neth paused, head tilted. ‘He’s right here!’

Rhianna glanced at the window. Something swirled outside, like smoke, and in the smoke, a face. Wispy fingers tapped the glass; a hand like mist made a sign.

‘He says to meet him on the fire escape,’ C’neth explained.

Wainscott opened the door and the night air rushed in, close and warm, and with it the sounds of battle. He pushed his targeting monocle into place and grinned.

‘Shall we?’

Smith finished loading his gun. ‘Now, remember the plan, everyone: we all run to the toilet block over there, then you chaps cover Suruk and I as we get to the enemy ship.’ They nodded and checked their weapons. ‘Everyone ready?’

‘I was spawned ready,’ Suruk said.

‘Wait.’ Dreckitt raised a hand. ‘I just want to say how honoured I am to serve with you. You guys may all be off the track and, Mister Suruk, I’m not sure you were ever on the track at all, but it’s been a pleasure. And as for you, sister,’ he added, turning to Carveth, ‘you’re the most straight-up dame I never croaked.’

Carveth slapped Dreckitt’s bottom. ‘Really?’ She pulled his head down and kissed him while the others looked away.

‘Let’s get cracking,’ Smith said. ‘Please.’

Outside, lights crackled and flared. The wind carried howls and screeches back to them. Gunfire and searchlights crossed the sky.

‘Alright then,’ Dreckitt said. ‘Let’s nail these antsy bastards.’

Smith cocked his rifle. ‘To us, and to victory!’

‘To the toilets!’ Wainscott cried.

Guns blazing, they ran into the night.

For the first time ever, Mimco Vock felt respect for some-thing other than himself. As he watched the handful of humans rush out of the storage buildings, guns blazing, he experienced a twinge of admiration that surprised him.