by Ian Miller
"About halfway between Epsilon and Mu Geminorum."
"I still don't see anything special."
"There's Uranus, although even up here with the light amplifiers, you can barely see it."
"So?" Marisa asked doubtfully.
"That's where the M'starn are based."
"How do you know that?" she asked in amazement.
"I observed them arrive," Harry explained. "You must have realized there was some special reason for my coming directly to Tashkent. I'm by far the youngest here."
"You're not quite the youngest," Marisa said slyly, "or don't I count?"
"Well, of course you do," Harry said hastily, "but I wasn't counting you. I mean, you hardly got here –"
"I know. Don't say any more."
"I meant I knew about you. I mean . . . look . . ." Harry grasped for words, then decided to change the subject. "Look. There's where the robot ship's going? Mars! You think it'll get there?"
"No, since you ask," Marisa said sadly. "Harry, I was wondering . . ."
"So am I," Harry interrupted dreamily. "Over there's Altair. It's only a little over sixteen light years away. I wonder if anyone's there looking towards us and wondering if there's anyone looking back."
"Harry, what is it with you?"
"What's that!"
"What's what?" Marisa asked with a touch of frustration.
"Delphini! It's about a third of the way back from Altair to Mars."
"I can't see anything," Marisa said, after thirty seconds of peering.
"Neither can I," Harry said, "and that's the trouble. I saw a star disappear. Hey! Again!"
"Something out there?"
"I think so. Turn up the surveillance equipment to maximum." He flicked the communication switch. "Telescopes! Red Leader here. Search! Vector Zeta Delphini to Beta Delphini! Forty-second interval approximate, ending approximately thirty seconds ago. Urgent!"
"Nothing on the screens," Marisa commented.
"Red Leader, we see nothing. Sky's clear and . . . Hold it! Occultation! There's something there. Waiting! Yes! Infrared shows strong energy source bearing . . . It's all right Red Leader. It's not heading your way."
They peered at the sector for nearly ten minutes, but saw nothing.
"Red Leader, your source. It's splitting. There's a small source heading to . . . to Europe, I think. It's close! Damn it."
"What?"
"I don't know what it is. The first infrared source has died, but we think it's close by. Optical can't see anything."
"Can you guess an Earth distance?"
"Of course."
"Calculate orbits on the best guesses, and keep those spots under IR surveillance. Let's assume it's in orbit."
"Wilco, Red Leader."
"Do you think someone should investigate?" Marisa asked quietly.
"Yes, I do," Harry said, "but I don't think we can afford the ships. If we went and looked at that, and someone got at the robot ship, we'd be mud."
"Yes, Red Leader," Marisa replied with faked pomposity.
They stared at their instruments, Harry more intently than Marisa. From Harry's point of view, he was not going to fail on his first command, even if it was a bit cosmetic in nature. From Marisa's point of view, she doubted that the instruments would tell them very much. They had told them nothing when the problem was at its closest, and that situation was unlikely to improve with distance. Their best chance was Earth surveillance.
Such surveillance remained open for over three hours, during which time nothing was detected. Then came instructions from Earth Control. The Mars ship was finally ready for launch, and a sequence of instructions were sent to it. They both glanced towards the giant space vehicle, which glistened brightly in the blackness of space. A glow began to emanate from the rear of the ship, as the motors began their ignition sequence, then the exhaust streams became visible. Imperceptibly, the space ship began to move, and ever so gradually began to accelerate. Despite having no orders, the other red ships began to accelerate with it, and closer to Earth; the Green Group also began accelerating.
"Er, Red Leader?" Marisa taunted. "Red Group is setting off, and I thought the leader was supposed to be leading."
"I think the title 'Leader' is a bit cosmetic," Harry replied, "as well you know."
"Yes, Red Leader!" she continued.
Harry sat still, and while the motors of their craft were working, so little matter was passing through them that effectively they had no acceleration.
"Aren't we going?" Marisa asked.
"We should, but I've got a feeling about –"
"Red Leader! Green Leader! Heat source above Earth heading your way! Acceleration fifty g. Approaching Green Group. Contact time estimated . . . thirty seconds!"
"Red Group! Scatter!" Harry screamed into the microphone. "Attack from four quadrants!"
"They're not splitting!" Marisa cried in despair.
"The source has ceased accelerating," Earth Control announced.
"What's happened?" Marisa asked.
"It's coasting," Harry said quietly. "With no motor exhaust, it's a lot harder to detect."
"What are we gong to do?" Marisa asked softly.
"We've got to try and find this thing," Harry said slowly, "then we've got to try and work out what to do."
"Everybody except the ceremonial leader has set off," Marisa pointed out.
Harry nodded. The fact that he was a leader was simply because everybody had a turn at leading. His first command seemed to be doomed to failure. His troops had left him behind, and had certainly ignored his orders. But there was no point in issuing further orders until he at least knew where the enemy was.
"Radar's blank," Marisa commented.
"Hardly surprising," Harry shrugged. "Even Earth had stealth technology as far back as the twentieth century. Our only chance's to look out for occulting stars."
They stared into space, then suddenly in the distance, there were four incandescent flashes.
"What was that?" Marisa asked.
"That was Green Group," Harry said quietly. He turned the nose of the ship towards these flashes. "Marisa, if you've still got that lucky charm, activate it! We're really in trouble."
Marisa looked down at her ring, and saw the little button. She thought for a moment, then pressed it.
"I can't see that'll do much good," she said sadly.
"I can't see anything else doing much either," Harry said. "Oh hell! Look at that!"
A small dark black shape could be seen against the blackness. Now several stars were occulted, and the shape grew rapidly. It was heading straight towards Red Group. Red Group saw it coming, and moved in formation towards it.
"Red Group! Scatter!" Harry roared into the microphone. There was no reply. Then the ships of Red Group opened fire. Flashes occurred on the surface of the black ship, which had now taken on a shape very similar to that of slug, the attacker of Columbus. There were flashes from the black ship, and the ships of Red Group were vaporized.
"Its weaponry is up front," said Harry grimly, as he manoeuvred towards the back of the black ship, which had now turned its attention towards the robot ship. Suddenly, it yawed, and a large dish shaped object on the top of the ship became luminescent and drifted off into space.
"What happened?" Marisa asked.
"I think it got hit by something that was left over from Red Group."
Slug began to loom larger, and Harry could see rows of hatches and superstructure on the starboard side. The ship had no aerodynamic design, and was clearly designed never to enter an atmosphere. There were a variety of ridges along the bottom, as if giant skids had been placed there, almost as an afterthought. There was also a random pattern of what appeared to be severe damage. There was one place where there was a gaping cavity into the ship itself, where torn beams and struts and what appeared to be wrecked smaller vehicles could be seen.
The front of slug again flashed, and in the distance, the robot ship began to glow, then fly
into a sequence of pieces. Harry pulled around to the rear of the craft, pointed his weapons towards what he assumed were the motors, and fired. His weapons could be seen tearing metal, then he was partly rewarded, as a piece of the vent flew off.
Suddenly the rear of slug began to glow. Harry kicked on the starboard turn control and flung open the throttles. The rear of slug glowed even brighter, and a tremendous exhaust tore through space. Harry's ship lurched forwards, and was almost fast enough. The cabin part of the ship escaped the blast, but the rear was directly hit. The cabin's power declined, and all motive power and directional control was lost, while the cabin began spinning violently. Harry juggled with some side thrusters, and managed to control the spinning to some degree.
When Harry recovered some observational ability, slug had disappeared. He checked the outside of his ship, and found that its rear had been melted off. They were floating in space in an unpowered capsule. Life support systems were lost, and oxygen would last for approximately four hours. All communications systems were dead.
Harry turned towards Marisa. "I didn't do that very well," he said sadly. "I'm really sorry I brought you along. I'm afraid there's no chance whatsoever now."
"I'm not sorry," Marisa said calmly. "If I've got to die, I'd rather die with you."
"I'd rather you weren't dying."
"Harry," Marisa said softly. "I love you very much."
Harry bent forward, and buried his head in his hands.
"Harry, do you love me, just a little?"
"Of course," Harry replied. "I think you're one of the most marvellous women I've ever met."
"Say you love me."
"I love you, Marisa."
"Then I'm dying a very happy woman. Come and hold me, please."
Harry unstrapped his harness, and floated over towards Marisa. He took her in his arms, and hugged her. He placed his head beside hers, then pulled back, looked into her eyes, then moved forward and lightly kissed her lips.
Chapter 16
Natasha Kotchetkova stared around the rather sparse waiting room. This was designed for economy rather than comfort, as if to say if you have doubts, leave now. Seating was on wooden benches, which was unusual because while the bench might seem to be the cheapest option, the wood was rather expensive. If cost were the issue, far more comfortable plastic chairs could have been found for a quarter the price of these benches.
The room was square, and contained a door on the eastern side of each of the north and south facing walls. The walls were white, plastered, with no pictures, and the two benches ran along the western wall. The floor had terracotta tiles, the ceiling had one light, and the eastern wall one window through which those sitting on the bench could see a wall. There was no reading material, and no form of entertainment was available.
She had registered under a false name with a disinterested person and was shown into the room. Yes, she had an appointment for four o'clock. Then she would have to wait, as further patients had arrived. She said she would wait. Obviously something had registered, and this so-called faith healer was leaving her until last, hoping she would think better of it and leave. Well, she would not. Instead, she would become very angry.
Before her, three very rich and very famous people had passed through the door, each to emerge about a quarter of an hour later. Each appeared to be very pleased with themselves, each appeared to emerge radiating health, but then, Natasha realized, they were probably quite healthy when they went in.
Finally her name was called. She entered the room and paused in surprise. The room was very plain; it also had whitewashed stone walls and a small window at the far end. In the floor, to the right of the room, there was a passageway that seemed to lead to a tunnel or a cave below the house. Directly in front was a solidly hewn wooden table with two rough stools. To the left of the table there was a large white screen, behind the table were some very large rocks, while on the other side of the room was the strange device, presumably the one that Harry had described as an electric coffin. She was surprised at the size of the cables around it. This device must draw an incredible amount of power. There was no further furniture. Sitting behind the table was a man dressed in what seemed to be a white toga. His features were sharp, his hair cut short on top, his nose seemed so long and straight, his jaw relatively narrow. His large eyes seemed so sad as they bore into her. His manner was one of extreme confidence, yet there seemed almost apprehension on his face.
"Good afternoon! Commissioner Natasha Kotchetkova I presume."
She stared at him, her mind racing. The 'electric coffin' was like nothing she had ever seen, and that could well be of alien origin. But the clothing? Why dress like that? To impress? But why? Then a thought struck her. Suppose he was a genuine Roman? Relativity stated that if you travelled at the speed of light, for you, time stopped. If he had travelled for two thousand odd years, there and back, he could have acquired alien technology. No! That was ridiculous. How could a Roman possibly advance to that degree of technology? Aliens would simply ignore him. He was still staring at her, so she had to say something. She finally admitted, "That is correct. How did you know?"
The man laughed a hollow laugh. "You may or may not make an adequate Commissioner, but really, besides being the slowest to answer a simple question, thus giving away any chance to bluff, you're the most ridiculous secret agent in the world."
"Well, thank you," she said scathingly.
"Commissioner," the Roman taunted. "Do you really think it appropriate for a secret agent to have NewsCorp running features on you every second day. Please, do take a seat, or do you just intend to arrest me on the spot?"
"What makes you think I'm here to arrest you?" Natasha frowned.
"Again, according to NewsCorp, you're here to sort me out."
"They said that, did they?" Natasha muttered. "How frustrating."
"Well, I'm sorry if I spoiled your day. If you like, you can go out and come in again, and I'll try not to spoil your lines."
"That really wouldn't change much," Natasha said, trying to emulate his light-hearted banter.
"No, it wouldn't, so you might as well get on with it. I must say I find it fascinating that you came in person. What with an alien invasion force out there you might have had better things to do."
"I'm here because the Federation Council believes you're defrauding the rich and vain."
"Tut tut."
"This is serious!"
"I'm sure it is," the healer laughed. "Taking money and giving value is very serious when MediCorp could take the same money and do nothing!"
"So you claim to heal?"
"There's no fraud. I charge very large amounts to the rich, but they think they get value."
"And do they?"
"Who can tell what vanity is worth?"
"I meant, do you cure them?"
"Of course, assuming they had ills in the first place."
"Then if we can establish that, you will be left in peace."
"And how do you propose to establish that? I suppose you've decided you're a medical expert too. It seems to me that you're an expert on just about everything except what you're supposed to be."
"I thought you might cure me," Natasha replied simply.
"Ho ho ho! And if I don't want to? Or if you can't pay my very large fee?"
"I can pay."
"You can, can you? On your salary? You? The opponent of corruption?"
"Don't you dare suggest I'm corrupt!" Natasha spat angrily. "You arrogant little –"
"Then exactly how do you intend to pay?" the Roman interrupted coldly, as his eyes bore into her face, contemptuous and challenging.
"I was told that there would be no request for payment when I told you I was sent by Harius of the Quirinal. I must say I find the title amusing."
The healer looked absolutely stunned for a moment, then he leaned back and laughed, a harsh grating laugh, and uttered what sounded suspiciously like a swearword in Latin.
"And now what
do you find amusing?" she said angrily.
"You're quite right," the healer said sadly, "If only you could know how disappointing this is for me. You see, I had hopes for young Harry. I thought perhaps a little nobility, a sense of duty, just might have remained. Believe me, it is not amusing to find out how wrong I was."
"What are you talking about?" Natasha said in exasperation. "Are you going to –"
"You're right," the healer sighed wearily. "Never fear, we shall feed your vanity. A bet's a bet, even if the payment is harsher than expected. Tell me what you desire. What delicate piece of beauty do you wish attended to? A blemish? Breasts too large? Too small? I shall treat whatever you wish."
Natasha Kotchetkova leaned forward and removed her gloves. She held up her grisly hands, and, as the Roman recoiled in horror, she removed her facemask. "These," she spat, "are the least of my problems."
"By the Gods!" he gasped. He stared, unable to speak further.
"Well?"
The Roman stared at her, and finally muttered, "I rather feel you are truly the ugliest woman in the world."
"Well, thank you for that lightning diagnosis," Natasha responded. She paused, then added caustically, "So what happens now?"
"Something that is very critical," the Roman said quietly, "although I'm not exactly sure what it's supposed to be." He took her hand, looked up into her eyes, and placed a strange metal bracelet around each of her wrists. He stepped back, and Natasha was surprised to see a tear running down the side of his face. "So this is it," he muttered to himself.
"Look . . ." Natasha started. She was beginning to feel she was in the presence of a lunatic, and she was looking for a way to leave quietly.
"Please sit," the healer had suddenly regained control and was now confident, detached, and assertive. "I'm sorry for what I said. There's no way I can explain this, but your being here is very important to me. Please, let me get on with what I promised."
"You'll try to heal me?" Natasha said in surprise.
The Roman ignored this comment, and said, "I want you to go and lie down in that device."
Natasha stared at the 'coffin', but then decided that she might as well do what was asked of her. She lay down, and waited.
