by Carl Hubrick
* * *
Caroline stood bent over the wave gun examining the various direction locators and wave strength gauges of the transmitter’s controls. Lars studied her as she inspected this part and that. It was the first real chance he had had to observe her closely. If he had thought her beautiful before, he now thought her exquisite. In the pastel light of the vault, the line of her finely shaped profile, the slender curve of her neck, and the gentle tumble of her shoulder length auburn hair, created a rare beauty that triggered an almost irresistible longing in him to reach out and touch her.
“Well here goes, Lars.” A pair of smiling hazel coloured eyes broke into his reverie.
She pressed the power pad. But no whir of energy followed. She pressed again, harder, and then three times in quick succession, the latter being as forceful as she could manage. But the dials which indicated the charge levels moved not one iota.
“Damn!” Caroline muttered, her brow crinkling. “There’s no power.”
But the young woman was undeterred, and once again a fount of knowledge.
“Right Lars, the equipment looks fine, but the main power source appears to have been damaged. There is an auxiliary system further inside the complex. Do you think you would be able to get it going?”
“Yeah, I think so,” he replied. “I’ve worked power plants on the farm. There shouldn’t be anything too special about it.”
“Okay, through that door then.” She motioned towards the doorway on the far side of the room. “It’s quite a large complex, so you will need this.” She held out a torch she had found in a drawer. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll see if I can discover an up-to-date listing of the royal patrols in the area, their course and signal points. We don’t want to broadcast our message to the enemy, do we?”
Lars hesitated. “I’m not sure I should leave you here alone,” he said. “What if those troopers come back?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be all right,” she answered. “They won’t find me down here. Just get that power on. When you get back, I’ll have the co-ordinates of the nearest Royal interplanetary warship and then we can send out our call for help.”
Chapter 13
Planet TRION
The covert Wave Gun installation – late afternoon
Lars found himself in a long pitch-black corridor. Nevertheless, the air smelt fresh. It was evident that the complex had been designed to withstand the most severe damage, and the ventilators had kept working.
The torch cast a reassuring glow down the dark shadows in the maze of underground passages he now encountered. But if the number of secondary passageways in the secret complex was bewildering, the sign-posting at least was unambiguous. His questing torch beam found large lettered signs on the walls pointing to storerooms, bunkrooms, a kitchen, toilets, and bathrooms.
He had gone perhaps twenty metres or so down the main corridor, and was estimating he must have travelled beneath the full length of the building, when he came to a T-junction. At this, his torch illuminated two signs, which made his choice straightforward. The words War Room in large red letters had an arrow pointing to the left, while Auxiliary Power Plant had an arrow to the right.
A minute or so later, his torch revealed the power plant in its ivory beam.
“Nothing to it,” he said to himself as he reached out to start the auxiliary generator running. But even as he pressed the on button his torch light revealed why there would be no hum of life to follow. Beneath the on/off control, the cables had been neatly cut, and sections removed to forestall a simple reconnection. A two hour job for a repair team with the pressure on, but a hopeless task for one, Lars Kelmutt, farmer.
* * *
Lars moved swiftly on the way back. His body ached from the beating the troopers had given him, and he would dearly have liked to sit down and rest. But he was worried. It had dawned on him that he was in the midst of a dangerous game between two fiercely opposed forces – a game in which he might easily find himself the odd player out.
The underground complex was a self-contained war headquarters and, as such, a highly secret establishment. It had survived a massive explosion and fire as its creators had intended, and who might arrive at any moment. It was not only the enemy he had to fear – even those on his own side would as likely shoot him if he were discovered.
Yes, and while he was thinking on it – what were Megran troopers doing on Trionian soil? Megran and Trion belonged to the same Commonwealth of Planets, owed allegiance to the same queen. Something big was brewing and no mistake, and whatever that something was, he was in it, right up to his neck
And Caroline – who was she? Much as he trusted her, she might not be able to save him whichever side caught up with him.
“We’ve been betrayed…” he started, as he entered the transmitter room. But there was no point his saying more. The room was empty. Caroline had gone. All around, papers littered the floor – Top Secret stamped on all of them. Whether this had been the young woman’s doing or not he had no way of knowing.
Suddenly a fresh alarm struck him. “Helen!” he cried aloud. In the turmoil of the recent events, he had completely forgotten his sister. Helen was waiting out there all alone. He had already gone far beyond the time he had promised. And the situation he had discovered was much worse than either of them could have imagined. Even outside the town, she might be in danger.
* * *
Lars closed the secret trapdoor behind him. It seemed the wisest thing to do. The true owners might yet make use of it, if it remained undiscovered.
The Street outside the Communication Centre ruin was empty, but Lars could hear the sharp bark of commands and the sounds of marching feet not far away. He heard, too, the unmistakable hiss of solar motors – a swarm of them. It sounded like the Megran troopers were arriving, in force.
Lars kept to the back streets and alleyways he knew so well until he reached the South Gate, the way he had come in. There was no indication of any troopers on the road south and so he was able to move faster.
But darkness came all too swiftly, as it did on Trion. By the time he reached the spot where he had said goodbye to his sister just two hours before, the night had set in. The ploughs were standing where he had left them, their polished panels reflecting the bright light of the large star Trionians called Cyclops. But his sister was nowhere to be seen.
“Helen!” His whisper broke the dark quiet as he approached. He did not want to frighten her or alert the enemy. But no answer came.
“Helen?” he called again a little louder. He was by her plough now, but she was nowhere to be seen.
He was close to panic, yet hope still lingered. She might be hiding in the tall green crops nearby.
“Helen! I’m back,” he cried out loud, defying the danger. “Where are you?”
But the surrounding quiet mocked him, and he did not dare call out her name again. The long silence was answer enough. Helen was gone.
* * *
Lars stirred. It was still night, but the air had chilled, and the change in temperature had woken him. He was half sitting, half lying, his head and knees bent to the cramped confines of the plough’s cockpit. He had been dreaming, dreaming of a time when he and Helen were children.
‘Lars? Can you come out and play with me?’
His sister had worn a hopeful smile in his dream. Helen – a skinny, freckled-faced kid with yellow hair. Helen… She was all that he had.
He shivered and wrapped his arms round his shoulders in an effort to keep warm. His whole body ached from the beating suffered at the hands of the Megran troopers, and the raw wounds still stung. His mouth was dry and tasted sour. He ran his tongue quickly around his teeth and lips in an attempt to wash the foulness away.
He struggled up out of the plough cockpit and tried a gentle stretch to the edge of pain, then limped stiffly round the two ploughs for a couple of turns to assist his cramped limbs into action.
* * *
The contents of the locker
in his own plough were no mystery - repair kit, sunglasses, a few oily rags, and a broken power rod, but he hoped there might be something more useful in his sister’s plough. He pulled the locker’s contents out into the starlight and found he was in luck – a flask of water and two soggy tomato sandwiches left over from lunch. But just as good, almost, he found a spare shirt, and though it was his sister’s the loose fitting style allowed it to fit him well enough. His own shirt was ripped and bloodied. He would need to hide it somewhere later.
Food, drink, and the fresh shirt made him feel a little better. He settled down in his sister’s plough and tried to doze again and await the dawn.
But his fears for Helen gnawed at him constantly, and the aches from his beating gave him no peace. He remained wide-awake staring up at the stars.
* * *
The piece of paper must have slipped out when he opened Helen’s locker, because he had not seen it to begin with. The starlight was not bright enough to decipher the markings on the page, so he risked turning on the instrument panel light to read by. It was a message from Helen.
Dear Lars,
I think I may be in trouble.
There are soldiers moving down the road from town – fifty or so of them, at least. I cannot tell for sure. They are wearing a green uniform I’ve not seen before, so I fear the worst for both of us.
It’s too late for me to hide. I will stay with the ploughs and hope to bluff it out if they find me.
I hope you get back safely to read this.
I love you.
Helen
Lars could not help the sudden gush of tears that happened next. He went to read the note again, but found it torn and screwed up in his hands.
Chapter 14
Planet EARTH – Her Royal Highness – Elizabeth V
“Cecil? Cecil? Are you there, Cecil?”
The voice was educated and articulate; a female voice with a cut glass accent and an air of authority that filled the room.
The man at the desk sat up suddenly, as straight as his crooked back would allow.
“Is that you, Mata Hari?” he enquired cautiously.
“Mata Hari?” the voice asked incredulously. “And who may we ask is Mata Hari?”
“Your Majesty!” the man exclaimed, with a sudden reverence. He pushed his chair back hurriedly and struggled to his feet.
The regal figure of Her Royal Highness, Queen Elizabeth V, stood framed in the doorway. She wore an ornately styled gown of chartreuse coloured silk. A tall, white lace collar framed her oval shaped face. Her elegant hands, with their heavily ringed fingers, were clasped loosely in front of her.
Cecil gazed on his queen, his eyes filled with adoration. Her beauty, almost literally, took his breath away.
Taller than most women and with a figure to envy, Elizabeth V was the result of generations of fine breeding; the stock she came from, the purest of Earth’s ancient royal lines. Her skin was cream coloured and as smooth as fine porcelain. Her face was strong boned and striking, with a fine patrician nose. A gold filigree broach of the finest workmanship pinned her long dark brown hair into a bun atop her head.
“My apologies, Your Majesty,” Cecil managed at last, his bent back curving further in the deepest of bows.
“Hmm!” The disapproving hazel eyes of the Queen of All the Planets stared down at him, taking in all. The red lips pursed. “So Cecil, who is this Mata Hari you were expecting? Is she a friend of yours – this person who seems able to enter our palace without our knowledge, or the attention of our guards?”
“No, no, Your Majesty. No!” Cecil hastened to assure his queen. He knew full well the regulations regarding interlopers in the royal residence, and the consequences. “That is, ah – she is not really a person at all.”
The left royal eyebrow arched sharply. “Not a person, Cecil? Not a person? Well then, Cecil, must we ask, what is Mata Hari?”
“Well yes, Your Majesty! But it’s hard to explain…” The queen’s secretary hesitated, his forehead creased with apprehension. Was the queen angry with him… or merely not amused?
“We are waiting, Cecil…”
“It’s the royal computer, Ma’am,” he managed to splutter at last. “It’s changed.”
“Changed Cecil? Changed?”
“Well yes, Your Majesty. The computer has taken it upon herself – itself – to become a female. And it’s chosen a name…”
“Hmm! Mata Hari? Is that the name?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. And ah, sometimes it – ah – she – copies the timbre of your voice, Ma’am.” He tried some supplementary praise. “She admires you very much, Your Majesty.”
The queen now seemed amused, Cecil thought, though possibly somewhat exasperated. He was having trouble reading her mood.
“The computer has chosen an identity you say, Cecil – an identity? You and we may have identities, Cecil, but the computer is a machine, a very clever and complex machine, we grant you, Cecil, but still a machine. Are we not right?”
Cecil nodded unhappily. “Yes, Your Majesty.” By now, he was sure. The queen was decidedly displeased…
“Hmm!” The left royal eyebrow arched again. “We think you are not convinced, Cecil. Do you still insist then that somehow our computer, our machine, has developed an identity of its own?”
Cecil gave another unhappy nod. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “But a very loyal identity,” he added promptly, “totally dedicated to Her Majesty’s service.
“In fact, Your Majesty…” There was no stopping the queen’s secretary now. “It, rather she, even suggested she become your chief secret agent. Apparently, the name Mata Hari belonged to a famous spy of earlier times.”
“Really?” Now both royal eyebrows had risen. A sure sign Her Majesty was feeling… was feeling… Cecil was forced at last to admit to himself that he had no idea what his queen was feeling. He quickly averted his gaze.
Elizabeth V looked thoughtful for a moment and then floated a few steps closer. Cecil was always astonished at the fluid grace of his queen.
“A spy, you say?” she queried softly, her look intent.
“Yes, Your Majesty. Mata Hari… that is…the computer…”
“Go on!” the queen instructed gently. “Call it – call her – by that name if you wish.”
Cecil felt encouraged. “Well, Mata Hari believes she could act as Your Majesty’s spy by probing into the data banks of government computers on the other planets.” He glanced up, hoping to have won some royal approval. “Ah, that is without anyone’s knowledge, of course…” he explained hastily, so as not to affront the queen’s honour.
“Cecil!” the queen interjected coldly. She was now definitely in a state of displeasure. “May we remind you that the governors of our planets are our representatives, our faithful servants. Would you have us demean ourselves by prying into our subjects’ affairs?”
The queen’s voice had been increasing in volume all the while and now reached a peak of indignation.
“Would you have us, the mother of our people, seek to snoop upon our children?”
The queen, by this time, was standing taller than Cecil had ever witnessed before. The hazel eyes flashed and rained their burning brilliance down upon him. His blood froze…
“Hmm, on the other hand,” the queen murmured softly, the fire in her eyes fading. “The idea has merit… You say our computer, this Mata Hari, can do this without arousing suspicion?”
“She assures me she can, Your Majesty.”
The queen nodded thoughtfully, a faint smile arising on her royal red lips.
“Good! Then so instruct her. But remember this, Cecil.” The queen’s ire was back. “This duplicitous act does not have our blessing. Therefore, be aware, should anything – anything at all – go amiss, it falls on your head.”
Cecil bowed deep. “As always, Your Majesty, as always,” he murmured.
The queen turned to go.
“Was there something else you wanted, Your
Majesty?” Cecil enquired. “Some reason you wanted to see me?”
The queen smiled. To Cecil, it burst on him like heaven’s doors opening.
“Yes Cecil, indeed there was,” the queen responded. “We came here to ask if there might be some way by which we could obtain more information about our peoples throughout the Commonwealth.
“Our spies have returned little intel of late. Things have been quiet, Cecil, much too quiet.” She smiled her beatific smile again. “But we have changed our mind. We see now there is no need. You have all in hand.”
Chapter 15
Planet TRION – the new fields outside Vegar Town
“Freeze the stars! Will you look at those two crazy suns?”
Lars woke with a start. He must have dozed. The ploughs were shining pink in the early morning light.
“One giant sun, one dwarf,” the same gravelly male voice continued. “It’s a wonder we don’t burn to a crisp. This is a weird planet and no mistake.”
Lars levered himself up to peer cautiously over the rim of the plough’s cockpit. Trion’s suns, like bright red balls, sat low on the horizon, their heat beginning to chase away the cool of the night.
