Paw-Prints Of The Gods (35 page)

Kedesh shook herself,
yanked the gear lever into position and shoved the speed control to
maximum. The hydrogen power plant roared into life, sending the
transport leaping backwards into the hangar airlock door and
knocking Ravana off her feet. There was a bang, followed by a
screech of metal, then a second bang as they shot through into the
chamber and hit the outer airlock door. The engine gave a
determined grunt, then this too burst open behind them and they
were free.

The transport bounced
into the Falsafah night. Still going backwards, they accelerated
along the gravel road, eager to leave the collapsing depot behind.
The research station was no longer a dome, for Missi’s attempts to
suffocate them in a vacuum left the base with no option but to
collapse under the weight of Falsafah’s own atmosphere. Kedesh
brought the transport to a halt, switched on the headlamps and they
watched in silence as Falsafah Alpha slowly crumpled into the dunes
like a deflating balloon.

Kedesh leaned back in
her seat and sighed. “That storeroom had three shelves of chocolate
cake I’ll never see again.”

“No more ice-cream,”
murmured Artorius grumpily.

“Fwack,” agreed Stripy
and burped.

“Thraak thraak!”
chided Nana.

Ravana frowned. “Why
is everything on this planet out to get us?”

“Beats me,” said
Kedesh. “And we still have five thousand kilometres to go.”

* * *

[Chapter Ten
]
[
Contents
] [
Chapter Twelve
]

QUIRINUS FIXED HIS
STARE upon the lights of the narrow desert airstrip and tried to
ignore Momus’ incessant moaning. His pilot-for-hire had good cause
for complaint, for the descent from orbit through the Falsafah
night was proving to be possibly the most harrowing experience of
Quirinus’ many years as a pilot. The
Platypus
did not like
the heavier gravity at all and the rocket boosters strapped to the
hull were creating dangerous turbulence the sonic shield was
struggling to contain. The ship’s flimsy aerofoils, extended in an
attempt to make the most of Falsafah’s atmosphere, trembled like
the wings of a drunken dragonfly, though the unfortunate image in
Quirinus’ mind was of a chicken that had leapt from a hen-house
roof after forgetting it could not fly. They were coming in far too
fast for comfort.

Zotz sat rigid,
strapped into the seat on Quirinus’ right. He had not said a word
during the descent and frantically stroked the cat on his lap with
such nervous intensity it was a wonder the electric pet had any
fake fur left. The two-day flight, during which Quirinus and Momus
had spent their time alternating between dealing with minor repairs
and arguing with each other, had proved to be a very tedious
experience.

“This is frigging
madness!” cried Momus. “The crappy wings are going to fall
off!”

“Shut up!” Quirinus
retorted. “Ship, how are we doing?”

“Descent path for
Arallu Depot is being maintained,” the ship’s computer replied
smoothly. “Air brakes are insufficient to reduce speed to optimum
for planet-fall and further burn of retro rockets is required. This
will leave insufficient fuel to achieve orbit if landing is
aborted. This is proving a most interesting experience, Captain
Quirinus.”

“Not the word I would
have used,” muttered Quirinus. “Any word from Arallu?”

“The facility reports
no service personnel,” the AI informed him. “Please rest assured
that I am in full communication with the spaceport automatic
guidance systems.”

“In other words,
there’s no one waiting to pick up the frigging pieces when we
crash,” grumbled Momus, tapping away at the console. “Ten seconds
on the retros?”

Quirinus nodded.
Moments later, they heard the roar of engines and felt their
seatbelts tighten as the forward-facing thrusters fired. The
console screen showed the night-time view from the belly of the
ship, a complex tableau of dark dunes and arid valleys in the
infrared display’s million hues of green.

“Ten kilometre
warning,” said the computer.

The retros did their
job and the
Platypus
gradually settled into a calmer
trajectory. Quirinus touched the control to deploy the landing gear
and listened to the reassuring clunks from below as all four sets
of wheels lowered into position. The faulty visual scanners left a
blind spot below the sonic shield generator, leaving a forward view
restricted to what he could see through the windscreen, but the
frown he had worn through much of the descent was there for a very
different reason. The pale illuminated dome of Arallu Depot looked
lost amidst the expanse of endless desert, an insignificant twinkle
of white alongside the runway’s dotted lines of red. It was a long
way from home should anything go wrong.

“Hold on to
something,” he advised his crew. “This may be a rough landing.”

“What a bloody
surprise,” grumbled Momus.

“Quirinus is a good
pilot!” protested Zotz, breaking his silence. “He can fly the
Platypus
with his eyes closed.”

Momus glanced at
Quirinus’ eye patch. “He’s halfway there already.”

As it happened, it was
a text-book landing. The
Platypus
came in at an angle that
produced a cascade of sparks from the rear casings of the hanging
boosters, yet the spacecraft barely bounced as it touched down
straight and true, with just a gentle screech of tyres to herald
their arrival. As the ship slowly coasted to a halt at the end of
the runway, Quirinus’ grin broadened when he saw that even Momus
was impressed.

“That’s what you call
piloting,” Quirinus declared.

“Glad to be of
service,” snapped the AI. Its metallic tones sounded miffed.

“Of course,” he added
hastily. “Ship, thank you for your assistance.”

In no time at all they
were trundling back along the airstrip towards the dome. As the
landing lights of the
Platypus
came to halt upon the transit
lounge, the depot’s automatic systems began to extend the walkway
tunnel, thought twice and then pulled it back again when it became
clear there was a huge booster blocking the cargo bay door.
Quirinus gave a rueful glance towards the lounge, knowing it was
too much to expect to see Ravana waving at a window, then returned
his attention to shutting down the flight systems. Zotz watched the
aborted actions of the docking tunnel and frowned. Momus unbuckled
his seat harness, stretched wearily and looked out of the window at
the nearby dome.

“Did anyone remember
to pack any frigging spacesuits?” he asked.

* * *

Govannon ‘Aberystwyth’
Jones angrily stomped onwards upon yet another pointless circuit of
the excavation’s dome, his scowl deepening with every cloud of dust
kicked up by his boots. He was aware of the stares that followed;
not only the scared expressions of Hestia, Xuthus and Urania,
watching from the doorway of their cabin, but also the sneers of
Agent Ininna and Agent Yima, who lounged nonchalantly near the
tunnel to dome two. He levelled his own glare at the bobbing
headscarf of Ininna, who had turned to speak to her colleague, then
gave a mournful glance at the main airlock as he passed. The Que
Qiao agents, having arrived two days ago, had not bothered to
secure the transport hangar, knowing full well that until the
Sir Bedivere
returned there was nowhere for the
archaeologists to go. Yet the other thing the agents had not done
was investigate. They had simply announced their presence, stopped
all work, then settled into the domes and made themselves at
home.

Agent Ininna’s sneer
became a grimace upon seeing the archaeologist’s circular stomp
head towards her and Yima once more. Govannon had quickly learned
that while he could pace non-stop around the dome for hours if the
mood took him, the irritable Ininna could watch and stay silent for
three circuits at most.

“Govannon!” she
snapped, once he was within earshot. “By the mighty Allah, will you
please keep still! You’re giving me a headache.”

The archaeologist drew
nearer, slowed to a halt and glared defiantly at the agents.

“You’re the headache
around here,” he retorted. “Two days we’ve been cooped up with no
answers, see? No one looking into Cadmus’ death, no word from poor
Ravana and none of us allowed out of your sight! How long are you
planning to keep us here like this?”

“You are in no
position to ask questions,” Ininna said flatly.

“What’s that supposed
to mean?”

Yima scowled. “Until
the investigation is complete you would be wise to cooperate.”

“Investigation, is
it?” remarked Govannon. “You haven’t done a thing since you arrived
other than frighten the students with this mean and moody charade.
If you had, you would know none of us were here when Cadmus
stupidly decided to crawl into that hole alone, see.” He saw
Ininna’s scowl momentarily falter and wondered how far he could
push her. “Why aren’t you doing anything? Are you waiting for some
proper police officers from Aram to come and do the job
properly?”

“Watch your mouth!”
snarled Ininna.

Govannon smiled,
sensing he had touched a nerve. Out of the corner of his eye he saw
Hestia emerge from the cabin and walk cautiously towards him with a
mug in her hand. The girl’s fibre-optic tresses were a vibrant
shade of crimson, which when Ininna was around was like waving a
red rag to a bull.

“It’s funny how you
turned up when you did. I’d only just unblocked the passage and
found poor Cadmus,” he continued, challenging Ininna. The memory of
what he had seen in the chamber remained fresh in his mind: the
strange multi-limbed cocoon, dead giant spider and inexplicable
cryogenic capsule, then finding the poor professor’s lifeless body
under the rock fall. “If I were a suspicious man, I’d wonder if
your superiors already knew what Cadmus was up to and were playing
you like puppets on a string, see.”

“Do you want to be
locked in your quarters?” asked Ininna fiercely. “Because I am more
than happy to do so if it means not having to listen to you
anymore.”

Seeing Hestia
approach, the agent scowled and fell silent. The student, keeping
her gaze averted from the agents, went straight to Govannon and
handed him the mug.

“We thought you might
like some tea,” Hestia murmured.

Govannon managed a
smile and took the offered drink. “Thank you.”

“Is it not an English
tradition to offer tea to visitors?” asked Yima, eyeing the
mug.

“I’m Welsh!” snapped
Govannon. “And visitors does not include unwelcome guests.”

“Would you like some?”
Hestia asked Yima cautiously. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you any
biscuits. Xuthus finished the last packet as a midnight snack, the
greedy pig.”

“Tea?” asked Yima. “I
wouldn’t say no.”

“Thirsty work, is it?”
asked Govannon. “Standing around, doing nothing?”

“Kedesh gave us some
cake,” Yima reminded Ininna, missing Govannon’s sarcasm. “That
would go down well with a hot brew. Shall I go and get it?”

“We’re not here for
tea and cake!” said Ininna, irritably.

“There’s not much else
to do,” Yima retorted. “Why aren’t we looking into the professor’s
death? We should at least see for ourselves what’s inside that
alien temple.”

“It is not a temple!”
cried Govannon and sighed. “Never mind.”

“Ravana is also still
missing,” Hestia reminded them.

“Official
investigators are on their way,” Ininna replied to Yima, somewhat
sulkily.

“We have forensic
equipment here, as I’m sure you do too,” said Hestia. “Doctor Jones
is a proper archaeologist and knows how to use stuff like that. We
all want to know what happened to Professor Cadmus and Ravana. We
could help you find out.”

Govannon gave Hestia a
sly smile. Offering to help the agents was not an approach that had
crossed his mind. He could see Hestia had Ininna and Yima confused,
which as far as he was concerned was a result in itself.

“If I was in your
position,” Hestia continued, scratching her cheek in an
absent-minded fashion, “I’d want to find out as much as I could
beforehand so I did not look stupid when your official
investigators arrive. Are you sure someone is coming?”

“Eventually,” mumbled
Yima.

“Don’t try any tricky
mind games with us,” said Ininna, glaring at Hestia. “Nobody here
is doing anything unless I say so.”

“We are well aware of
that,” said Govannon. “We have a man dead and a young girl missing,
see? All you have done is shut down a legitimate excavation and
treat everyone like suspects. You would have to order us to help
you before we even considered it.”

“Security on Falsafah
is a Que Qiao matter and we decide what is legitimate or not!”
Ininna retorted. “In case you had forgotten, this expedition is
funded by Que Qiao.”

“Is it?” asked Hestia,
surprised.

“Cadmus was on their
Alien Encounters Board,” murmured Govannon.

“We’re getting off the
point,” snapped Ininna. “You have no rights here.”

“We order you to help
us investigate!” declared Yima.

Govannon smirked as a
seething glare shot from Ininna to a suddenly red-faced Yima.
Ininna turned her venomous stare towards the archaeologist. To his
relief, her fiery temper collapsed into a weary, exasperated sigh
and crumbled before his eyes.

“Very clever,” she
said. “Fine, let’s do this.”

“Our investigation,”
Yima said firmly. “Not yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare take
away your glory,” Govannon declared solemnly.

“Me neither,” said
Hestia, then grinned. “But did you mention cake?”