Miranda's Demons

by Ian Miller

  It was then that everybody felt another vibration, but this was different. A sequence of lights started turning on and off on the control panels, and now Harry was confident. The vibrations became stronger, as the exhaust jets struck the tunnel. Then slowly the ship moved forwards. Harry kept the power levels to minimum as the ship glided forward. As the ship eased out of the tunnel mouth, cheers of relief erupted from the passengers.

  It was then that Harry remembered them, and remembered that they had yet to be locked into the inertial reference frame of the ship. That was another good reason to delay opening up the motors.

  As the giant ship emerged from the tunnel, the tired soldiers in the bunker whooped with triumph, then as it slowly drifted away from Miranda, there were sudden yowls of concern. Gaius was furious, and immediately threatened to leave them all behind if they could not manage better radio silence. There was an immediate silence.

  A signal had already been sent to the Krothian freighter, and this now appeared at the end of the canyon. As the troops lined up to bounce towards the freighter, Gaius emerged from the bunker and aimed his Krezell wand at the tunnel. Immediately, the Actium weaponry began to fuse the ice, and amidst the shower of steam, great columns of ice began to fill the tunnel. The Actium generated a standing pressure wave, and within it, ice began to melt. For the first time on Miranda, liquid water began to flow, to fill the crevices, then eventually to refreeze. In refreezing, it would crack all the ceramics, and the whole exit system would have to be rebuilt. That would be another significant nuisance to a race without proper manufacturing facilities.

  As the shuttles landed and the troops began to reboard, one of the scouts who had remained outside walked up to Gaius, and reported having seen a beautiful but derelict ship lying, abandoned, two kilometers up the canyon. "It's not like any of the pictures you've shown us of the M'starn vessels. Somebody else must have been here once before."

  "That's hardly likely," Gaius snorted.

  "Let's have a look, all the same," Natasha said to Gaius.

  "A bit of a waste of time, isn't it?" Gaius mumbled, but after a moment's thought he decided that the relationship might be better served if he let her have her way. There was no real danger, as the shuttle could follow them, and it did not matter from where they took off.

  They leaped along the valley floor, following the vague instructions of the scout. They were looking for a pillar of ice, something which was, unfortunately, rather common. Gaius made some comment about looking for a specific piece of straw in a haystack, when, in the ghostly green light, Natasha pulled Gaius' arm and pointed.

  Gaius stopped and stared in almost disbelief. Natasha tugged again, and Gaius nodded, held up his hand for caution, and they proceeded slowly forward. There, behind an icefall, was a ship of both great beauty and great dilapidation. It had sustained considerable damage; metal was bent, metal was torn, but it was all there. A hatch was open, and inside was jet black. Gaius raised his Krezell wand, and a full soft white light emerged. As he stepped into the ship, Natasha followed. They went through an airlock, and to Natasha's surprise, Gaius indicated that she could take off her pressure helmet.

  "Gaius," came a faint, ghostly female voice.

  "Don't speak! Don't waste any energy! Can you raise your energy receiver?"

  "It is done," came the feeble voice.

  "Marcellus," Gaius commanded into his wand. "Lock on and beam in energy."

  As light suddenly poured through the ship Natasha looked around to see total chaos; walls were smashed, there was litter everywhere, even to the extent that to one side, a marble column was lying on its side, smashed in many pieces.

  "Where are we?" Natasha asked. "What ship is this?"

  "Natasha," Gaius replied, turning to her with tears running down his cheek. "Welcome aboard the Livia."

  Natasha looked at him on amazement. "You mean . . ." she started.

  "This was Vipsania's ship. This is where she died."

  "I am sorry," the ship spoke. "I could not prevent it."

  "Of course not," Gaius replied. "Are your motors operable?"

  "All motors and weapons systems," the ship said proudly. "The M'starn found nothing. I have fuel, but all my energy was drained to maintain illusions. Once my energy banks were drained, they had given up looking. Of course without such energy, I cannot start the motors to generate more energy."

  "Then we shall get you out of here," Gaius promised. "Natasha, I want you to go back to the Actium. Marcellus will get you back to Earth, then he will refuel. I shall fly the Livia back to start repairs. I shall meet you back on Earth as soon as I can find a way of getting there."

  Chapter 9

  Harvey Munro stared at the black figure before him. In principle, he should not be afraid; the creature was alone on a strange planet, and surely sooner or later could be killed easily. The difficulty was the level of retribution that would be exacted. The entire industrial capacity of GenCorp, and every significant asset Harvey owned would be destroyed with the alien's death, or so the alien had threatened. Harvey believed this to be a bluff, although he was quite certain that if the M'starn eventually won, he would be tortured in ways unthinkable. While if the alien survived the attempt . . ? Harvey almost fainted at the thought.

  Harvey was terrified. Harvey was convinced he was looking at his last five minutes. The alien flung down a piece of paper, the message from Troy. "You know what this message says?" the alien snarled.

  "Yes," Harvey whispered.

  "Why did you not transmit it to Miranda?"

  "It would have been too late," Harvey whined.

  "And why was it too late?"

  "I didn't get it in time."

  A clawed hand reached over and grasped Harvey's arm. The claws dug deep, and blood began to run down his arm. "Do not waste my time. Reconsider that answer."

  "You're hurting!" Harvey yelled. The claws dug deeper, and began to tear down through the flesh. "Wait!" Harvey screamed. The claws retracted slightly. "The informant didn't give the information on time."

  "And why not?"

  "Because I hadn't paid."

  "Exactly!" the M'starn officer hissed. "Because of your greed and your incompetence, there was a successful attack on Miranda. Our labour force was liberated, and a few good M'starn troops were killed. We lost yet another ship, and all because of your miserable greed."

  "How was I to know the information would be any good? I could have paid out millions for nothing."

  "You would get it back," the M'starn said. "In any case, your miserable wealth is nothing. Once victory comes, that money is worth what we say it's worth."

  "And when will this victory come?" Harvey asked slyly.

  "Very soon. That raid cost us one lesser ship that was the last to be repaired, and its loss cost us little that affects our fighting capacity. What did cost was that Earth seems to have developed new fighting capacity that we had the means to take, and your attitude has lost us that opportunity."

  "It's not lost," Harvey pleaded. "The informant has promised to deliver their battle strategy. Of course, I can't tell for certain how good the information will be, and the price has doubled. Perhaps you could see your way to –"

  "If you fail to get the information, I shall see my way to tearing your heart out over a period of about half an hour. Before that, I shall tear out your intestines; before that your eyes, before that . . . need I continue?"

  "I'll get it! I'll get it!"

  "Yes, I believe I have made you see reason. Do not ever conceal anything from me again."

  "I won't! I won't! I promise!" As the claws were retracted, Harvey fell forward on his desk, having fainted from relief.

  * * *

  "Hello, Troy. How about some wine? It is an excellent vintage, one hundred years old, I believe, and extraordinarily expensive. It was so kind of you to get it for me." Marisa smiled as Troy squirmed at her display.

  "Have you got what you promised?" he whispered.

  "Of course
, and since the accounts were filled, there is no reason why you shouldn't get it."

  "Don't play with me," Troy hissed. "I'll –"

  "Now you see why I wanted the money," Marisa interrupted. "Your promise of marriage would have been nothing. You'll be pleased to know the money has now been transferred, and you have no idea where to. Please do not try to recover anything."

  "And what do I get in return?"

  "In this folder you will find the plans I promised," Marisa said evenly. "I shall leave it on this chair. I now intend to leave, and I do not wish you to move until I have been gone for five minutes. I have taken extreme risks to get you this information, and I want to live to enjoy the fruits of what I have done. When all this is over, feel free to contact me, if you wish to continue a relationship. Until then, we must not be seen together."

  "Marisa, you could still come to my apartment and –"

  "When it is all over. Not before."

  Chapter 10

  Natasha looked at Lorenz Kleppe with some slight amusement. The man was such a strange mixture. When dealing with financial matters he was so aloof, so self-confident, but at other times he could be almost pathetic. This was one of those other times. He had invited her to Zurich, no, he had pleaded with her to come to Zurich, but when she had arrived, he had met her at the airport in an unofficial car, a hired car, and he had taken her to this restaurant, not in Zurich but out at Rapperswill. The food was delightful, and undoubtedly expensive, yet Kleppe was not enjoying it. He had taken a table in what was virtually a private booth, and he was furtively examining everyone who passed into view.

  "Lorenz, this meal is delightful," Natasha started.

  "You really think so? I hoped you might like it."

  "Yes, it is," Natasha smiled. "I never get to eat in places like this."

  "You should," Kleppe nodded.

  "I can't afford it," Natasha explained, and noticed that Kleppe winced. "I presume this is on your expense account?"

  "No! No!" Kleppe protested. "It's a lot of money, true, but I'm paying. I hope it's worth it."

  "Lorenz. I don't know why you're doing this, but a simple meal down at the railway station would have done just as well." It was then she noted Kleppe's look of great disappointment, and she felt sorry for him. "Of course," she went on, "since you have felt the urge to splash out like this, I must say it's really exquisite, and I'm enjoying every mouthful."

  "Oh, good," Kleppe said, with relief.

  "But you didn't get me to travel all this way for the food. What's on your mind?"

  There was an awkward pause. Kleppe had obviously invited her there to tell her something, but it was becoming obvious that he did not know how to go about it. He coughed a little, and then asked in a plaintive voice, "Are we going to win this war?"

  "I believe so," Natasha said, as she laid a hand on Kleppe's, partly to comfort him, and partly to encourage him to get to the point.

  There was a long pause as Kleppe contemplated this, then he said, "Do you really think so, or are you just . . ."

  "Of course I don't actually know," Natasha replied, "and battles can readily go the wrong way, but I feel the tide is going our way."

  "And what happens after? I mean . . ."

  "Lorenz! What do you think's going to happen?" Natasha asked calmly.

  "I . . I don't know."

  "Then what are you afraid of that could happen?"

  There was a pause, then Kleppe decided to take something of a plunge. "I just thought that if Claudius decided to carry on being Imperator . . ."

  "What?" Natasha asked in surprise.

  "It would be natural for a Roman," Kleppe began to gush. "Of course he denies it now. They all denied it. It was the done thing to turn it down, but only because they knew they'd be offered it again."

  "I can promise you that won't happen," Natasha said, and she laid a hand on Kleppe's to comfort him. "The Ulsians, and for that matter, his ship, won't permit that outcome. I promise you, when this is over, Scaevola will have no function in Earth's government."

  "Oh." However, rather than looking relieved, Kleppe seemed to become even more concerned.

  "What is really bothering you?" Natasha asked quietly.

  "I'm assuming there will be changes when all this is over," Kleppe said awkwardly, "and I was wondering . . ."

  "Where you stand?" Natasha smiled.

  "Well, yes, and –"

  "I promise you that I have no idea what will happen," Natasha said calmly, "but I assure you the changes will not hurt anyone unnecessarily. Obviously those who haven't been, say, exactly on our side will have to be pruned, but there'll be reasons for changes."

  "Yes, but what about false accusations? I mean . . ?"

  "What are you worried about?" Natasha challenged.

  "I actually asked you here to help you," Kleppe said quietly. His awkwardness seemed to have gone. "I have some information. I think you've got a spy at Tashkent."

  "And what makes you say that?" Natasha asked, her voice now showing keen interest.

  "Finance," Kleppe replied. "A Brazilian girl, Robeiro, has just received four million fecus from GenCorp, not from the corporation, but from Munro himself. Now, I ask you, why would Munro pay her four million?"

  "Interesting question," Natasha agreed. "Another interesting question is why were you monitoring her finances? "

  "I wasn't!" Kleppe protested. "I never even heard of her before."

  "Come, come," Natasha chastised. "You don't monitor every transaction on this planet."

  "Not even GenCorp?" Kleppe answered.

  "You said it was a private, not corporate transaction."

  "Yes," a deflated Kleppe agreed. "I was monitoring Harvey Munro. In answer to your question, I heard a rumour that he was a spy."

  "You heard a rumour!" Natasha laughed. "He can't be much of a spy if rumours get out like that. I suppose he's taken up wearing wide brimmed hats and trench coats. Come on, Lorenz, tell me the truth."

  "I can't tell you much more," Kleppe said weakly. "I really haven't any more evidence. I overheard Halas say something, and . . ." His words were left in mid-air.

  "I see," Natasha mused. In fact, she did not see anything other than that the very top part of the Government of the Federation was effectively coming apart. Only the war was really holding it together.

  "What are you going to do?" Kleppe asked, nervously.

  "I don't know," Natasha said slowly. "I'll have to build up a case. I suppose in theory I should pass your information on to the Justice Department."

  "No!" Kleppe urged.

  "Why not?" Natasha asked in an innocent tone, although she was beginning to form a reasonably accurate answer.

  "Well, at least keep my name out of it!" Kleppe said, with agitation in his voice, then his tone dropped, and he added weakly, "I'm not supposed to be monitoring individual transactions."

  "I could say it was under my instructions," Natasha offered, and again she noted Kleppe visibly wince, "but no! I think you're right. I think we should keep all this to ourselves for the time being. What do you think?"

  "I agree." The relief poured from Kleppe.

  "Then keep very quiet," Natasha urged. "Tell nobody. Don't worry about Munro; just keep out of his sight. When all this is over, we'll nail the bastard."

  "And me?"

  "Don't worry, Lorenz," Natasha assured him. "When all this is over, you'll have absolutely nothing to worry about, as long as," she added, "you have nothing more hidden."

  As she flew back to Tashkent that evening, Natasha was still smiling at Kleppe's expression. Quite some time would pass before Kleppe would sleep easily. All of which, she smiled to herself, was rather ironic as she was quite certain that anything that Lorenz Kleppe would have done would have been relatively trivial. The only interesting question was what would have driven him to do even that?

  Kleppe was not smiling. It was true he would not sleep easily, but the reason was different. In his mind he had challenged Natasha
to deny that there would be a military dictatorship after the war, and she had not only failed to deny it, but she had spoken as if she would be making the decisions. It seemed that apart from that Roman, Elizabeth's fears were reasonably close to the mark, but what could be done about it?

  Chapter 11

  "Natasha," Gaius said, as he passed her a coffee, "we are now not that far from the deciding battle." They were in a shuttle, a place Natasha found quite strange place to hold a Council of war. Gaius had ignored all efforts from her to get him to tell her where she was going.

  "Do you think it was such a good idea deciding to give the M'starn our battle plan?" Natasha asked with concern. "I mean, those plans were pretty accurate."

  "In ancient times there was an important battle," Gaius started, then seeing Natasha's expression, he added, "and by ancient, I mean ancient, even in my time. This happened about four millennia ago. The great Men-Kheper-Re wished to attack an enemy stronghold, and to do so, he had to pass a small range of hills. There were three means of passage: one to the left, one to the right, and these essentially went around the hills, and left plenty of room to deploy troops, and a pass through the centre. The pass through the centre was the quickest, but only a few troops could pass abreast, and hence if he used that route his army would be stretched out, and was likely to be ambushed. It was, in effect, a suicide route.

  "As a consequence, the enemy commander reasoned that Men-Kheper-Re would never use that pass, so he divided his army, and attempted to defend each end, using the advantage of height to descend on the Egyptians, whichever way they elected to come. But Men-Kheper-Re reasoned that the enemy would decide that since the central route was suicide to use, any troops deployed there would be useless, and hence the central path need not be defended. Accordingly Men-Kheper-Re drove his troops through the pass and intended to then turn his attentions to the divided army from the opposite direction."

  "Intended?"

  "Ill discipline and time off for looting struck," Gaius said with a shrug, "but the point remains. What soldier fights well with his base destroyed, his family hostage?"