“It’s the only other weapon I could find,” she explained. “There was a pistol in the cockpit locker but Kedesh must have taken that with her.”
Quirinus picked up the cricket bat, took a practice swing and smiled.
“This takes me back,” he said. “Genuine willow, too. Odd thing to have aboard.”
“Kedesh reckoned she used to play for Kent,” Ravana replied, her words tinged with sarcasm. “Of course, that may have been another lie.”
“And the cannon?” Quirinus raised an eyebrow. “Is there some bloodthirsty version of ultra-cricket they play in Beckenham I should be aware of?”
Ravana grinned and picked up the cannon. It felt good in her hands, though part of her was disturbed that the thought of using it against the Dhusarians did not immediately fill her with horror. Her father too looked discomfited by the sight of her wielding the battlefield gun. It occurred to her that if it came to calling someone’s bluff, such a weapon would look a lot more scary in the hands of the burly one-eyed pilot than if carried by herself.
“Shall we swap?” she suggested. “The cartridge only has two shots left, though.”
Quirinus solemnly took the offered weapon and handed back the bat. With the gun on his shoulder he became the quintessential fierce freedom fighter and Ravana found herself looking at her father in a new light. He never talked about his own life during her childhood years on Yuanshi and she wondered whether he had seen action in the civil war.
“Does that take you back, too?” she asked tentatively.
She heard a bleep. Her father glanced at his wristpad and gave a wry grin.
“Momus has finished refuelling the ship,” he said. “It looks like we’re good to go.”
* * *
Artorius stared fearfully around the hot, dusty dome and rubbed his tear-stained eyes, his movements hampered by the manacles upon his wrists. Nana and Stripy stood beside him, silent and similarly bound. The nasty military robot before them had kept its plasma rifle trained their way ever since they arrived at the archaeological site. Kedesh was with them and had limped away to lean upon a convenient wheelbarrow, but was not a prisoner like himself and the greys. She had barely said a word since Jizo’s transport docked with their own in the night, nor answered any of his questions about Ravana.
Lilith stood next to the robot, looking to where Jizo crouched and stared into the nearby trench with a touch-screen slate in one hand and a half-empty bottle of wine in the other. Artorius was tired, confused and very scared. Everyone was being horrible to him but at the same time strangely wary, though he did not know why.
There was a large black tent on the far side of the dome, not far from where they had entered through the walkway from Jizo’s transport. Two cloaked figures stood inside the tent, half-hidden in the shadows. The young Arab man, whom Lilith called Dagan, appeared from a tunnel behind and hurried towards the tent. Artorius had heard voices from the neighbouring dome but as yet seen no trace of the archaeologists Ravana had spoken about. As for the dig itself, the dark hole in the pit was lit by a strange flickering green light that made him think of the Tintagel Worm Charmers challenge in Gods of Avalon, where contestants crawled into a subterranean monster’s lair never to be seen again. It was not a nice thought.
The two figures left the tent and with a stilted, inhuman gait came towards them. Both were unnaturally tall and wore grey hooded habits secured with red and silver sashes. Lilith and Jizo turned to greet them, their faces creased with nervous smiles. Kedesh frowned and twitched a hand towards the pistol in her belt.
“This is your big day!” Jizo hissed to Artorius. “The brothers on Ascension now have what the girl stole. Soon you will take your place between worlds and bring forth the truth!”
Lilith frowned. “You seem remarkably informed for a fat stupid nurse.”
“You make it sound like the Oracle at Delphi,” mused Kedesh, eyeing Jizo cautiously. “Is that the boy’s destiny? To sit in a fume-filled temple and spout gibberish?”
“Be quiet!” snapped Jizo. “You’ve delayed us enough already. The plan was to bring him straight to us, not take him on a sight-seeing tour of Falsafah!”
“I had to play the long game with Ravana to find out how much she knew.”
“That damn girl nearly ruined everything,” muttered Lilith. “Where is she now?”
Kedesh glanced at Artorius, then gave Lilith a sly smile.
“Ravana is dead,” she said. Artorius’ eyes went wide. “I killed her. You said the boy was the only one of value for what you have planned here.”
“Ravana is not dead,” mumbled Artorius. “She was to take me home.”
“What home?” spat Jizo. “You’re just a poor, unloved little orphan.”
The two robed figures reached the trench, lowered their hoods and regarded Jizo with a steely glare. Artorius went pale at the sight of their cruel, lizard-like features, so unlike the friendly faces of the greys. He remembered what Ravana had said about them being both alien and human, created by a mad priest for reasons he could not remember. Dagan was at their heels, clutching a couple of large lamps on folded metal tripods.
“Thraak,” Nana murmured sadly. “Thraak thraak.”
“Fwack,” agreed Stripy.
“zz-siileencee-zz!” shrieked the nearest of the lizard men. Startled, Artorius clutched Nana’s arm in alarm. “zz-thee-oold-oonee-dooees-noot-beeliieevee-zz!”
“Brother Cadmus is dead,” Lilith remarked. “Who will guide us now?”
“We have Taranis’ texts,” said Jizo, speaking with uncharacteristic authority. She held up the slate. “The inscription on the archway is that of the prophecy. Our little star man is ready. The archaeologists have opened the chamber and the way is clear.”
“We’re going in there?” Artorius looked at the ragged hole in the excavated archway.
Lilith nudged him towards the ladder into the trench, then motioned for Dagan to remove the greys. The man looked uncomfortable in their presence and flinched when his first attempt to lead them away was met by a rapid staccato of slaps from Stripy. Artorius started sobbing and made a grab for the grey’s hand. Jizo promptly clamped an arm around his neck, dragged him away and dropped him over the edge of the pit. The bottle in her hand caught him across the ribs and he cried out in pain.
“Was there any need for that?” murmured Kedesh, perturbed.
Jizo scowled. “You’ve done your job,” she retorted. “Now let me do mine.”
Artorius glowered from the dust of the trench. He had never liked Jizo. Kedesh was supposed to be his friend, only she had proved not to be trusted just like every other grown-up he had met. Ravana had been nice to him but now she and the greys were gone. He had seen what happened on Gods of Avalon when contestants were split from their team mates and friends. He was frightened, but the grinning sneer of Jizo had awoken something new. Slowly but surely, his fear was hardening into hate.
* * *
The Platypus rocketed fast and low across the desert, on a heading that mirrored the sparkling line of silver that now wound through the ancient red dunes. The breached aquifer at Arallu Depot was pouring water down an ancient tributary of the main delta, towards the distant dig. It was the first river to flow across the Arallu Wastes for many millennia.
“So,” said Quirinus cautiously. “What’s so special about this boy we’re to rescue?”
“Artorius? I’m not sure. He’s an annoying little brat at the best of times,” Ravana told him. “It’s cute the way he’s made friends with the greys, though.”
She had taken the co-pilot’s seat, much to the chagrin of Momus, who now found himself relegated to the outer starboard position on the other side of her piloting father. Zotz sat to her left, leaving Fornax and Philyra to make do with the couch inside the carousel, which even when not broken did not spin in atmospheric flight. Ravana’s electric cat, having received a quick recharge after its recent adventures, formed a reassuring lump upon her lap. Her stroking of th
e pet seemed innocent enough, but Ravana was thinking about what Kedesh had told her about special-forces implants, whilst mentally scrolling through the command functions of her own device. She had once before managed to operate circuitry that did not have a proper implant interface and was looking for a clue on how to do it again.
She was about to give up when her fingers caught a hitherto-unsuspected switch beneath the fake fur. Ravana gave a muted squeak of surprise as the cat’s inner workings promptly leapt into her mind, from its power cell and alloy skeleton to the smallest actuator and wire. The sight of the tangled web of Woomerberg Syndrome tendrils brought forth an involuntary shudder, for she could not help thinking of the silver lines within her own scars. A hurried mental swipe cleared the image from her head. Her cat remained oblivious to her probing and nibbled upon a small foil packet pulled unseen from her jumpsuit pocket.
Quirinus glanced across. “Are you warm enough?”
Ravana realised her father had mistaken her shiver for one of cold. Eager for a change of clothes, she had rifled through what Kedesh had left behind in the transport, to find that the woman’s wardrobe was essentially several versions of the same thing. The black sleeveless jumpsuit was nonetheless a good fit; although shorter than Kedesh, Ravana was equally slim but filled the tailoring far better, leaving her secretly pleased that someone had a chest flatter than hers. She smiled at her father’s reaction, who seemed perturbed by the reminder that beneath her usual baggy flight suit his teenage daughter was becoming a woman.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him. Disquieted by the memory of seeing her pet’s innards, she pushed it gently to the floor. “If you’re referring to what I’m wearing, all my spare clothes are at the dig. You should have seen what Philyra offered to lend me!”
Zotz paused in his attempts to pull the lump of foil from the cat’s paws and smiled. Beneath her survival suit, Philyra had gone for a crop top and an incredibly short skirt, in a sartorial display that had annoyed Fornax and tongue-tied Momus in equal measure. The cat released its grip and Zotz tore open the small silver package.
“Chocolate cake!” he exclaimed.
Ravana snatched it from him and returned it to her pocket. “The cake that launched a thousand hips,” she mused. Kedesh’s mania for cake got everywhere.
The Platypus hit turbulence and began to shake. Ravana’s implant was linked to the ship’s AI and through the network of tendrils she could sense the unnatural strain the heavy gravity was putting on the craft’s frame, a situation not helped by the boosters strapped to the hull. While her father eased the ship back into line, she cast an eye over the external camera views. Ahead, the new runway beside the archaeologists’ cluster of domes was coming into view. There were two other ships already parked in the desert nearby.
“Five kilometre warning,” said the AI.
“This is a lot smoother than last time,” Zotz remarked.
“It’s damn frigging slower,” muttered Momus, with a grudging nod of approval.
Ravana selected the control to lower the wheels and waited for the four clunks as the undercarriage dropped into position. She moved a hand to the communication console, paused and glanced to her father, who nodded. Ravana opened an audio channel.
“This is Ravana O’Brien of freighter Platypus calling the Arallu archaeology expedition,” she said. “Doctor Jones, Professor Cadmus, are you receiving me? Over.”
The cabin speakers buzzed with static, but that was all. Ravana sighed.
“Still no response,” she remarked. “I do hope they’re alright.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Quirinus.
The Platypus swooped towards the beckoning runway. The blur of desert resolved into a series of gullies and dunes, then with a screech of tyres they were down and coasting to a halt. As they shot past the site itself, Ravana caught a glimpse of the transport linked to dome two. It had been three weeks since her disappearance from Arallu Depot. Something told her she was not about to be welcomed back with open arms.
* * *
Xuthus stared sullenly at the heavily-built infantry android, which had diligently watched over them for what seemed like days. Doctor Jones, Hestia, Urania, the two Que Qiao officers and himself were seated on hard ground with their backs to one of the habitation cabins, all nervously awaiting their fate. The young Arab man had threatened to tie them up if they tried any heroics, but in the end had settled for taking away Ininna’s and Yima’s police-issue pistols, though not before giving the robot orders to shoot anyone who attempted to escape. Yima had tried and received a low-energy plasma blast in his arm for his trouble; Dagan let Hestia tend the wound but after that the mood amongst the captives went rapidly downhill. The noise of spacecraft engines outside had not been cause for celebration.
“Anything happening?” remarked Doctor Jones.
“I can’t see anyone,” replied Xuthus, who had a limited line of sight through the walkway tunnel into dome two, not that there was much to see. “I think they’re still in the chamber.”
“What about the little boy?” asked Hestia.
“Him too,” Xuthus said irritably.
The android’s angular head suddenly twitched and turned towards the entrance to the nearby transport hangar. A hiss of escaping air broke the hush of the dome and red warning lights began to flash, signifying that someone was depressurising the hangar from outside. There was a series of clunks, followed by a loud clattering as a compressor started up to flood the hangar with air. The sound now coming from behind the airlock door was the unmistakeable thump of boots and murmur of voices.
“Wonderful,” muttered Urania. “More unwelcome visitors.”
The airlock opened and a young Indian woman in a belted black jumpsuit appeared in the shadows of the doorway. With her was a burly, bald-headed man, who slipped out of sight behind the cabin before Xuthus saw what he carried. The woman stared at the robot and its seated prisoners and walked defiantly towards them, her hands held high. At first, Xuthus failed to recognise her, then saw the scar on her face and gasped in surprise.
“Ravana!” he exclaimed. “You’ve come back!”
Govannon smiled wearily. “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes.”
The android swung its rifle towards the approaching figure.
“Halt!” Its voice was a rattling metallic monotone. “Identify yourself!”
“My name is Ravana O’Brien,” she replied calmly. “I am not armed.”
“But I am,” came a voice from behind. Quirinus had circled the cabin whilst Ravana kept the robot distracted. The cannon on his shoulder was aimed squarely at the back of the android’s head. “With a big plasma gun pointing right at your little metal skull.”
“Wow!” gasped Xuthus. “A real live space pirate!”
The robot swivelled its head through a hundred and eighty degrees and fixed Quirinus with a cold electronic stare. “The weapon is not activated,” it intoned. “You do not possess the cranium implant necessary to operate the targeting controls.”
“Damn,” grumbled Quirinus. “You noticed.”
Xuthus shifted a worried glance from Quirinus back to Ravana, who to his surprise gave him a wink and smiled. All of a sudden she dropped her arms, pulled a cricket bat from where it had been wedged unseen in her belt at her back, then with a grunt of effort leapt forward and swung it at the android with all the strength she could muster. The willow clanged against the side of the robot’s head and knocked it clean from its shoulders, sending it spinning away across the dome with murmurs of ‘Reboot me!’ trailing in its wake. Xuthus’ wide-eyed stare of disbelief went from Ravana to the robot’s torso, which stood wavering a few moments longer before crumpling slowly to the floor.
Ravana grinned and lowered the bat. “How’s that?”
“Not bad,” Quirinus said approvingly. “I’ll make a cricketer of you yet.”
* * *
Fornax scowled through the windscreen at the domes beyond the beak-like nose of the
berthed Platypus. She was frustrated to be so close to the action, only to find her story still out of reach. Sitting with her in the cockpit was Philyra, Momus and Zotz, all of whom had been told in no uncertain terms by Quirinus to stay aboard whilst he and Ravana went to look for the archaeologists and Artorius. The reporter sat in Ravana’s usual seat and so only had herself to blame for the electric cat fidgeting nervously upon her lap.
“Are you sure there’s no more pressure suits, kid?” she asked.
“Ravana and Quirinus took all the spare ones,” Zotz told her, though they both knew Momus had kept hold of his own. “They might be needed to bring people back aboard.”
“You heard the captain,” said Momus. “We’re supposed to stay put.”
“How about we use these?” suggested Philyra. She held one of the ship’s emergency oxygen masks, a two-piece design as old as the Platypus itself, consisting of a face mask and shoulder pack connected via a flexible tube. She raised it to her face and promptly wrinkled her nose in disgust. “If you don’t mind the smell of sweaty rubber, that is.”
“Surely we need a full suit to survive out there,” Fornax said doubtfully, irritably pushing aside a rogue tendril hanging from a control panel.
“Ship?” asked Zotz. “Can you analyse the air outside?”
“Exterior ambient atmosphere is approximately eighty-two per cent carbon dioxide, nine per cent nitrogen, five per cent oxygen and three per cent argon with traces of carbon monoxide, methane and water vapour,” reported the AI. “Air temperature is two hundred and seventy-six kelvin, atmospheric pressure is eighty-nine kilopascals.”
Paw-Prints Of The Gods Page 34
