Space Captain Smith (14 page)

‘I like some things about her,’ Smith said. ‘Others I’m not sure about.’

‘Rhianna seems alright, I suppose. But she’s weird, Captain, weirder than just lentils and listening to whales. I don’t know what they’ve saddled us with, but the Ghasts wanted her for a reason. And if you ask me, it’s a very strange one indeed.’

Smith paused. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I see what you’re saying. But we have to get off this planet. That’s the first thing. Everything else can wait. Unless you think she’s a danger to us all.’

The simulant stared out across the lake, the water black as velvet. ‘No, I don’t think she’s dangerous. Not like that. Just weird.’

Rhianna poked her head out of the hatch. ‘Are you guys coming inside?’

‘Yes,’ said Smith. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment. We’d best get to bed, Rhianna. We’ve got a lot to do. Tomorrow, that is. Not in bed or anything of course.’

‘I’ll turn in soon,’ Rhianna said. ‘I just want to get some air.’

‘I’m off,’ Carveth said, and she climbed into the ship. A moment later Rhianna emerged. She walked over to Smith, looked up and sighed. ‘It’s a beautiful sky.’

‘Certainly is.’

‘I find the stars so romantic,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, when I look up at them—’

‘Cup of tea?’ said Isambard Smith.

‘What?’

‘Would you like a cup of tea, Rhianna?’

Wrong-footed, she said, ‘Uh, yes, please, I guess. I find the stars—’

‘Righto.’ Smith turned and left. Rhianna pulled her shapeless cardigan tight around her and waited. She sat down on the hull, drummed her fingers on the metal, huffed and looked up at the sky.

After a few minutes, she heard footsteps behind her.

‘I find the stars so romantic,’ she resumed. ‘When I was a little girl, I used to believe that they were the lights put there by a fairy princess, up among the heavens.’ She leaned back and shook out her hair and laughed. ‘Seems funny now, to be so innocent and naïve.’

‘I think I am probably not your intended audience,’

Suruk the Slayer said. ‘Isambard Smith told me to bring you this.’

He shoved a cup at her. ‘Oh,’ she said coldly. ‘That’s really friendly of him.’

‘I too enjoy looking at the stars,’ the M’Lak said. ‘I see meanings in them. Some, these brighter ones, make me think of my ancestors, shining warriors to whose deeds I aspire. This group here, further away, makes me think of us: bound close, alone in the void of space. And this one on its own I call Isambard: quite large, and not especially bright.’

‘Wow. I never knew you knew so much. Do you know the constellations?’

‘Indeed.’

‘What’s that one up there, that looks like a little tree?’

‘With the small wings, like an angel? Braves call that one Doomblade.’

‘And the one next to it shaped like a rabbit?’

Suruk pointed into the sky. ‘Gorehammer. Then the Pile of Guts . . . and Bloodweasel . . . and then the Plough.’

‘The Plough? Isn’t that a bit innocuous for you?’

‘Not if it is ploughing into Bloodweasel’s head.’

‘Is your
entire
culture based around violence?’ Rhianna asked.

‘That and folk dancing, yes. There’s also some macramé, but it’s mainly violence.’

‘I find that quite hard to square with my principles of non-violence,’ she said, sipping at her tea, ‘Still, it can’t be easy, being a person of species in a human-dominated galaxy. I suppose violence is a natural response to persecution.’

‘Is persecution where people seek to fight you for no good reason?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Ah yes. Fun, that.’

Half an hour later the
Systematic Destruction
slipped into a high orbit around Paradis. In his chair on the bridge, 462 waited.

The Ghast Empire had no say in the running of Paradis. His instinct was to land and have his troopers tear this worthless planet apart to find the
John Pym
, but he knew that was not possible. To violate Edenite territory would be very foolish, especially as there were other, more democratic nations to annex first.

There were more subtle ways. 462’s contacts in the Republic of Eden could bring Smith to him. And with Smith would come Rhianna Mitchell, their prize. The next morning they got to work. Carveth was up remarkably early, and as Smith was getting dressed he could hear the thin whine of electric drills as she and Francois began to repair the jets. Andy fetched parts from a barn he used as a garage, dragging them down on a quad bike and trailer. At midday, with the basic directional thrusters repaired, they were able to fire the engines of the
John Pym
and fly it twenty yards onto dry land. Smith helped out, but he was troubled. As Carveth shot rivets into a piece of plating that Suruk held against the side of the ship, he sat in his room and tried to work out a plan. By twenty past two he had the plan worked out, and he announced it over sandwiches.

‘We’re going to a party this evening,’ he announced. ‘By my reckoning it’s a Saturday, which I gather means that Governor Corveau will be holding court tonight. We’ll smarten ourselves up and put on a good show, and if he asks, we’ll say that we’re representatives from the Empire. Question, Carveth?’

‘Will there be any nice blokes?’

Francois was leaning against the ship, chewing. ‘What about security? Say he don’t want you there – or don’t want you leavin’?’

‘I’ve thought about it. I’m going to claim we’re a diplomatic team, which will grant us a certain amount of immunity. Hopefully it’ll make him think we’ve got warship protection. He may not do of course, and that’s why Suruk’s coming. People ought to think twice about getting nasty with him as our bodyguard.’

Suruk displayed his teeth. ‘I look forward to it.’

‘But remember, Suruk: we’re going to this party to talk to the Governor, not because we hunger for the flesh of men. That goes for you too, Carveth. I’m expecting at least some attempt at dignity. Remember you’re all representing your country, and you ought to behave as the Empire does.’

‘So we can kill and loot at will, steal their goods and claim the planet as our own?’ Suruk said.

‘Not exactly, no. And by “exactly”, I mean “at all”. Alright?’

Rhianna raised a hand. ‘What about clothes? You’ve got your uniform. Captain Smith told me I wouldn’t need an evening dress.’

‘I didn’t think it was necessary for space,’ Smith replied.

‘I’m sure Marie can lend you something,’ Andy said. He nodded slowly, appraising them all. ‘Then it’s a plan.’

‘Mr and Mrs Harding Walters!’ barked the loudspeaker mounted at the entrance to the main hall. The queue shuffled three feet forwards. ‘Mr and Mrs Richard Milford and their son Paul Milford!’ Another shuffle.

‘Doctor and Mrs Wainwright!’

Carveth yawned. In front of them about fifteen couples stood in a long line that stretched the length of the Corveau entrance hall. Servants moved down the line, collecting coats and offering drinks.

‘Well, that’s something,’ the simulant said, taking a large glass of white wine from a waiter and swallowing a third of it in one gulp. ‘Four more of these and I won’t mind standing in this queue.’

‘Two more and you won’t be standing at all,’ said Smith.

‘Maybe. Anyway, how am I looking? Too hot to handle?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t touch you,’ Smith said, and she shot him an evil look. Carveth had borrowed an impressive blue dress that reminded Smith of a device used by his maiden aunt to conceal toilet rolls. She wore long boots: they were her workboots, and the only footwear they could find that had fitted her. ‘You look like a bell,’ Smith said. ‘That is to say,
the
bell. The belle of the ball. That’s it.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she said with annoying perceptiveness.

‘You’re very distinctive,’ Rhianna said from behind. ‘I mean, you really stand out.’

She had fared somewhat better, choosing a floor-length skirt and white shirt with a dark jacket borrowed from Marie. It made her look like a cross between an explorer’s wife and a Pilgrim Father, minus the boots and buckled hat.

Carveth scowled at her. ‘Go boil your crucible.’

Rhianna was one of those irritating women who naturally looked good. She was intrinsically, annoyingly graceful, Carveth reflected, and could probably manage to look sexy in a clown outfit with a dung-spattered lampshade on her head.

‘We all look nice,’ Rhianna persisted. ‘Even Suruk here. You certainly look the business, Captain Smith.’

‘Well, yes, I do try.’

Carveth crossed her arms, determined to vent her irritation on someone. ‘What difference does it make if we’ve got Scary Alien with us? You could at least have done something with your hair.’

Suruk snorted. ‘I am a warrior, not a butterfly. Dreadlocks are very last hunting season.’

‘Your names, sir?’ a servant asked at Smith’s side. ‘I don’t believe you’ve visited the estate before.’

Smith gave their names.

‘I see, sir. And the greyskin? Is he your houseboy?’

‘He’s my friend.’

‘We don’t get many non-humans here, you see. They tend to exist in a serving capacity.’

‘So do you, my man,’ Carveth said, holding out her empty glass. ‘So get to it. More wine for the lady, please.’

‘Of course, Miss. And where might the lady be?’

Finally, the couple in front were announced and they stepped up to the doors, looking into the hall. ‘Captain Isambard Smith and Miss Rhianna Mitchell! Miss Pollyanna Carveth and Suruk the Slayer, son of Agshad Nine-Swords, Victor of the Plain of Useth, and – how much of this crap is there?’

They stepped inside. ‘Whoa,’ Carveth said. The hall was three storeys high and thirty metres square. In it, several hundred people talked in groups or danced in a restrained manner. A small band played in a corner of the room. Men in suits and smart string ties kissed the hands of women in long dresses. Above the music came the steady tinkle of glass and high-class laughter.

‘I take it all back,’ Carveth said, her head rolling back to take in the roof. ‘This is way out of my league. I ought to throw myself out now and save someone else the trouble.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Smith. ‘You’re as suited here as anyone. Come on. Let’s see if we can find this Corveau.’

‘Why don’t we split up?’ Rhianna suggested.

‘Of course,’ said Smith. ‘Ladies, we’ll stop cramping your style. Come and fetch me if you see our host.’

Poor Carveth, he thought as she headed for the bar. Under all that cynicism, there’s, well, more cynicism, but under that, someone who’s hardly seen the world at all. She deserves to have a good time. Oh, and just look at Rhianna’s lovely little arse.

Stop that, he told himself. There was business to be done. He slipped between two chattering groups, who fell quiet as Suruk passed them by. ‘Just look at him,’ someone whispered loudly, ‘greenish-grey as your hat.’

Without doubt the alien was not welcome here. In the Empire he would have seemed unusual; on this backwater he was not just out of place but something to be driven away.

Up ahead a dozen or so men stood clustered around someone. They looked well-dressed and serious. Smith caught a glimpse of a white suit. He turned to his friend.

‘Suruk, I think I’ve just spotted this Corveau chap. I’m going to have a look. Would you mind waiting here a moment?’

‘Not at all, Mazuran. But be careful. I see many guards here among the frivolous ones. I shall await the call to war by the drinks table.’

‘Well, have fun – but not too much fun. See you later, Suruk.’ Here we go, Smith thought grimly, and he strode towards Corveau.

Suruk watched Smith go and strolled over to the food table. It looked interesting, if needlessly elaborate. Everything was very small. It was difficult to think with all the noise going on behind him. Stupid human mating rituals. The only thing on the table that was a decent size was a metal cup of some yellow stuff, surrounded by bits of twig. He picked up the warm cup and drank. Cheesy.

‘— not as good as before,’ a woman said to his right.

‘They had a fondue last time, and finger food.’

He turned at her and tried to look friendly. ‘Very true,’

he observed. ‘This finger food clearly contains no fingers.’

Rudely, the humans hurried away. He finished the cup and put it back.

Someone prodded him in the back. ‘You there, boy,’ a fat female was saying. He looked down at her. After the yellow stuff, he felt quite peckish, and in different circumstances she would have been quite suitable. ‘Take my coat, boy.’

‘Thank you,’ he said. A man behind her dumped a top hat in his arms. ‘You are too kind, sir.’

‘At least it knows its place,’ the man said to the woman, and they walked away as Suruk put on the coat and hat and admired his reflection in his new clothes. He smiled at the mirror. Not a bad party so far. Smith found Corveau in the centre of the group. The governor wore a white linen suit and a cream shirt, open at the neck. He looked like a crow, Smith thought, thin and black-haired, with bony hands and long grooves at the sides of his mouth. His skin was loose and very tanned, as though the sun had withered his fat away.

‘— worth twice the price off-world,’ he was saying, and men nodded as he spoke. Lower than the music, a little rumble of approval ran though the group. ‘Which is why the trade lanes matter so much to commerce here.’

Corveau had a slow, drawling voice, as if he should have been wise and gentle. It belied the quickness of his eyes. Smith stood at the rear of the group with his glass of wine, sipping and waiting for a way into the conversation. 

Corveau lifted his head and looked straight at Smith.

‘And here’s just the man to ask. Gentlemen, I believe this is Captain Ichabod Smith.’

Smith put out his hand. ‘Isambard. It’s Isambard, actually. Pleased to meet you, Governor Corveau.’

‘I’m glad you recognise me. Sorry; Isambard.’ Well-fed faces turned to Smith, nodded and smiled to him. ‘Mr Smith here is from the British Empire. He’s a trader, am I right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Just landed, I understand.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Smith. ‘You don’t miss much, Mr Corveau.’

‘I don’t. There’s not much to miss on a world like this.’