V 13 - To Conquer the Throne

by Tim Sullivan (UC) (epub)

  A thin, blond man stood next to him on the platform. No one else was about, since it was a quiet part of the afternoon before the financial district let out, and long before the working class would plant their dirty boots in the trains.

  “Hullo,” said Robert.

  “Shall we take a walk, then?” the blond man asked politely. “The air will do us good.”

  They chatted as they made their way up to the surface. Soon they were strolling along Bishopsgate, enjoying the afternoon sunshine.

  “I don’t think we’re being followed,” the blond man said, glancing casually behind him.

  “No, I shouldn’t think so,” Robert said. “Not yet, at any rate. Though God knows I may have the IRA ‘on my tail,’ as they say in old American films.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “One of my more radical students has informed me that an American woman has joined the IRA, and that she has captured a skyfighter single-handed.”

  “A likely story.”

  “I thought so, too, until I heard the woman’s name.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “Yes, Gabriella . . . the female freedom fighter. Practically another Che Guevara already.” “What an extraordinary development. Do you think there’s anything to it, Walters?”

  “I shouldn’t be at all surprised, the way she slipped out of our grasp here.”

  “Medea won’t be pleased.”

  “Medea,” Robert mused. “Why, of all the female names on Earth, do you suppose she took such a forbidding one?”

  “Just a coincidence, I suppose. Doesn’t know

  the culture very well.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Good heavens, no. Just guessing, old thing.” “Then she might know about murdering the children and all that?”

  “It’s possible, I suppose. But see here, old boy, you haven’t called me down here today to speculate idly on Medea’s choice of a human name, have you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Why, then?”

  “If Gabriella has turned into a killer—and the telly confirms that at least one died in the hijacking of that skyfighter—then she’ll be coming after me before long.”

  “Have you taken leave of your senses, man? If that is in fact Gabriella Nicks, she’s in Ireland. How can she come after you if she’s not even in the bloody country?”

  “If she can do the things she’s done, there’s no telling what else she can manage.”

  “Rubbish.” The blond man stopped to admire the flowers at a vendor’s stand.

  “But Nigel used to tell me about what a strong will she has. About how she would succeed against the most formidable odds no matter what she was about.”

  “Nonsense.” But the blond man didn’t appear as certain as his words.

  “Perhaps so, but I don’t want to take the chance.”

  “Then what is it you want, Robert?”

  “I want to be taken to the new HQ, where I’ll be safe.”

  “Safe?”-The blond man laughed. “How safe was the last place? Didn’t you hear what happened?”

  “That I did . . . but I noticed that you escaped the destruction somehow.”

  The blond man grinned at him. “My family have always been lucky, ever since the rope broke when they were hanging my great-great-grandfather for a horsethief.”

  Robert was not amused.

  “Come now, lad, are you afraid of a young woman who’d never seen a shot fired until a few weeks ago?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Robert admitted. “When I became involved in all this intrigue, I was told there would be no violence on my end. I’ve done everything you asked, and now this woman is on the loose, perhaps looking for me at this very moment.”

  The blond man rolled his eyes.

  “Please,” Robert whined.

  “Oh, all right, if you’ll just promise to be quiet and do as you’re told, I suppose I can take you along.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Yes, yes.” The blond man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture, not wanting to hear any more about it.

  “At last I shall know what your name is,” Robert said.

  “What makes you think so?” the blond man demanded.

  “Well, I can’t imagine being at HQ and not hearing the other men call you by name.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Well, what is your name, then?”

  “Ian,” the blond man said, smiling again.

  Chapter 24

  “Our people in London, tell us that word is out you’re still alive,” Kelly said, overseeing the work being done on the skyfighter.

  “But how could that be?” Gabriella was astonished.

  “Let me show you.” He stepped up onto the ramp and gestured for her to follow Mm. A moment later they were inside the skyfighter.

  “Do you see that console?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “There was a visual communication device sending a signal back to the Mother SMp.”

  “Then they saw what happened.”

  , “Yes, but the pilot didn’t try to turn the outside camera on, for fear that we would notice it, doubtless trying to save Ms own scaly neck. That means the Visitors know we’re in Ireland, but they would know that anyway. The one bad

  thing about it is that they know you were the one who captured the skyfighter.”

  “And so they also know I’m with the IRA now. Well, I’m glad they know,” said Gabriella. “Let them. I never did intend to hide from them any longer than I had to. Let them know I’m their enemy.”

  “Well spoken, lass. But in our line of work, it’s useful to be secretive most of the time. Though I’ve been in the IRA since I was a boy, no one knows it except for a few hand-picked men and women.”

  “If they’ve seen me, then it’s no secret I’m here. There’s nothing that can be done about that now.”

  “I suppose not,” Kelly said. “But perhaps there’s a way we can turn it to our advantage.” “How?”

  “Suppose that you appear next in Scotland, or in Wales, or in Liverpool or Newcastle. Then they’d be so busy keeping up with you that we need not fear them finding Castle Kramden.” Gabriella laughed. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mr. Kelly, a wonderful idea.”

  Kelly sat at the skyfighter’s control console. “Perhaps you could take Subhash and a couple of the lads along with you. That way, if there was any real trouble, you’d have enough firepower to get you out of it.”

  “I admit that I’ve been growing impatient,” Gabriella said. “This is probably the best thing I can do until we’re ready to put your plan into action.”

  “Well, you know, that isn’t my plan,” Kelly said, his brow furrowed. “It’s Sir thought of it. Now, what do you suppose is keeping him?”

  Gabriella said nothing. If she remained silent, she would not be lying. And yet, the IRA had to know the truth sometime. Otherwise, their plans would remain up in the air, and the opportunity to strike back at the Visitors would be lost. She was in a quandary, but she would nevertheless keep her promise to Sir, at least until the situation grew truly grave. Besides, Sir might only be in captivity in an English jail, for all she knew.

  “No!” Lord Smythe-Walmsley screamed.

  Blinding blue light whirled around him. He could see nothing else, and he felt nothing but pain lancing through his body. Knowing nothing but the agony, he only hoped that it would stop before he died.

  It did. Smythe-Walmsley collapsed, but he was still alive.

  Two Visitors entered the conversion chamber and carried him out. Since he was unconscious, Medea and Beverly felt free to talk in front of him.

  “Put him in that chair,” Medea commanded the two soldiers in their native Sirian tongue.

  They did as they were told and stood back, awaiting further orders as their two superiors talked.

  “Threatening his son didn’t work,” Beverly said, “and neither did threatening his
life. Even conversion failed.”

  “Conversion often fails with strong-willed individuals,” Medea told her. “But I have something else in store for him.”

  “Oh?” Beverly was annoyed that Medea hadn’t run out of ideas. If Medea made a hash out of the British invasion, then she would be succeeded by her second-in-command, as was the custom. Unfortunately, things were going rather well for Medea, all things considered.

  “Go after the other,” Medea instructed the two soldiers. “Bring him here.”

  They saluted and marched off to do her bidding, as Medea called for a physician.

  “Revive him,” she commanded.

  The physician—a specialist in exobiology —examined Lord Smythe-Walmsley for a moment and then opened a small case containing smelling salts. He held a tiny vial underneath the old man’s nose and Smythe-Walmsley’s eyes popped open. He groaned once and then sat up straight in his chair.

  “What do you want of me now?” he said. “No matter what you do, I won’t cooperate with you.” “That does indeed seem to be the case,” Medea said. “I’m afraid you are simply too stubborn to part with any of your government’s

  secrets. However, you might yet be persuaded to side with Lord Fotheringay on the subject of Kaspar’s burial in Westminster Abbey.”

  “Might I, indeed?” Lord Smythe-Walmsley set his jaw, determined not to agree to anything of the kind.

  “Well... I can see that your mind’s made up,” Medea said, “but perhaps his mind is still open.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Beverly asked.

  “Not my son,” said Lord Smythe-Walmsley. “I’m certain that he would never do such a thing.”

  “You are quite right,” Medea agreed. “But there is another.”

  Medea looked past Lord Smythe-Walmsley as a man was led into the room by the two soldiers. Beverly’s hinged jaw gaped in astonishment.

  Slowly, Lord Smythe-Walmsley turned to see what they were staring at. He looked straight into the eyes of a man who looked exactly like him.

  He had been cloned.

  Chapter 25

  Robert had never seen such a band of ruffians. He didn’t feel much better off with these declasse resistance fighters than he had on his own. But he hadn’t been hunted down by Gabriella Nicks yet, of course.

  “Pass the salt,” a pimply-faced youth with a multi-hued Mohawk said.

  Robert did as he was asked, reflecting that Ian must be feeding half the punk population of London now that British Resistance HQ had been wiped out. Well, Ian had to have a force of “men” for the sake of appearances. Otherwise, he would be useless to Medea.

  “Good God,” Robert grimaced as he tasted the stew. It tasted like something that would lubricate an automobile.

  “Don’t taste so bad, mate,” the punk opined.

  “Me mum can’t cook no better.”

  Robert shuddered, and tried to consume another spoonful of the beastly stuff.

  “Of course, me mum never could cook,” said the punk, gazing wistfully at his spoon. “Enjoying your dinner?”

  It was Ian, standing behind them as they sat on the ground eating their stew.

  “A genuine gourmet treat,” Robert said dryly. “Well, you could have stayed in the city, lad,” Ian pointed out to him. “If you’ve finished your meal, come along with me, please. There’s a matter that we need to discuss.”

  Robert set down his tin plate and cup, rose, and attempted to straighten out his aching back. Mumbling to himself, he followed Ian until they were off a safe distance from the men.

  “We have news of Gabriella,” Ian said, wasting no time.

  Robert was silent, waiting for the worst.

  “She struck in Glasgow day before yesterday,” said Ian. “A squadron of Visitors were attacked by her and an Indian man.”

  “Subhash,” Robert said.

  “One would assume so.”

  “Did she escape?” Robert asked.

  “Yes. It seems that the local people rose up and protected her from the Visitors. She’s become a symbol of the resistance, you know. Sort of an American Jeanne d’Arc.”

  “That silly creature? Extraordinary!”

  “Stranger things have happened, I assure you.”

  “As you might imagine, I can hardly wait to hear about them.”

  “Yesterday she was in Liverpool, up to more deviltry.”

  “Moving south?” Robert said, an edge in his voice.

  “Possibly ... at any rate, we shall see soon enough what she’s up to. I think it best to wait and see.”

  “Wait and see?” Robert’s voice rose in alarm. “Shall we wait and see if she and that blasted Hindu come here and kill me?”

  “Try to control yourself, old thing,” said Ian. “We’ve enough men to protect you from her, if she should have the gall to show herself.”

  “No doubt that is what the lizards in Liverpool and Glasgow were saying a day or two ago.” “Come now, Robert. Losing what little nerve you have? You don’t even know the girl is after you.”

  “She’s back in England, isn’t she?” Robert whined. “What further evidence do you need?” “She’s picked a roundabout way to find you, working her way through Scotland and down to Liverpool.”

  “She’s coming closer every day, isn’t she?” “Well, yes, but that proves nothing.”

  “It bloody well proves she’s on my trail!” Robert shouted.

  “Keep your voice down, Robert. The lads will hear you.”

  “Let them!”

  “I warn you, Robert,” said Ian. “I’ll have you restrained if you don’t stop this nonsense at

  once.”

  Robert turned his face away for a moment, and then he turned and faced Ian with hatred in his eyes.

  “I don’t think you’ll do anything of the kind,” he said. “Not unless you want these lads to know of your special relationship with Medea.”

  “Good God, you can’t be serious!”

  “I’m perfectly serious, Ian. I’ll tell them everything. They might not be much of a fighting force, but I doubt they’ll take kindly to your double-agent status.”

  “And what of your own?”

  “Do you really think they’ll believe a raw recruit like me could be in this thing with you and the Visitors?”

  Ian knew that Robert had him here. He had no desire to find out if the former tutor was right in his assumption. It was better to humour him now, and wait for the hysterical fellow to provide him with an opening. There was time.

  “Very well, Robert,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to put Medea onto this threat, and have Gabriella Nicks destroyed. It’s as simple as that.”

  “As simple as that, is it? And what do you suppose the Visitors are doing now? Do you imagine that they intend to let Gabriella run loose forever? Don’t you think they’re trying to catch her? They never know where she’ll be next, what with her connections to the IRA.”

  “I don’t give a damn what you say,” Robert shrieked. “If you don’t see to it that they get rid of her, I’ll tell what I know.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “You’ll do better than that, if you know what’s good for you.” And with that, Robert turned and stalked away, the dirt showing on the creased back of his jacket.

  Ian sighed, thankful that Robert’s panic had made Mm use such a threat. There was never any doubt that Robert would have to go, since he was the only one who knew about Ian and Medea—human or Visitor. Robert’s ultimatum would make it just that much easier to take care of him.

  Chapter 26

  No matter how much Beverly pried, Medea had the satisfaction of knowing things that her second-in-command was unaware of. For example, she had never told Beverly about her contact in the highest ranks of the British Resistance. Beverly had been curious as to how Medea was able to obtain the information leading to the capture of Nigel Smythe-Walmsley and the destruction of British Resistance Headquarters.


  Let her wonder, Medea gloated. Ian was her little secret. He communicated with her on a private channel, its signal unbreakable. So much for British Resistance. They had been a force to reckon with at one time, but now they were powerless.

  If only she could say the same for Gabriella Nicks and the IRA.

  She waited now for word from Ian in her

  private quarters aboard the Mother Ship.

  A hologram began to take shape, its contours fluctuating like the edge of running water. The image focused, and Ian’s smiling face appeared floating in the air in front of Medea.

  “You’ve done well, Ian,” she said, “and you’ll be rewarded for it.”

  “Thank you, but I’m afraid the arrest of Lord Smythe-Walmsley has worked against you.” “Don’t concern yourself with that.” Medea smiled wickedly. “He’ll be released tomorrow ... a new man.”

  “I see. Then Kaspar will be buried in Westminster Abbey?”

  “Did you ever doubt it?”

  Ian, traitor that he was, seemed to resent that comment. He knew the English people better than Medea did, of course. “There were one or two moments when I doubted you’d succeed,” he said. “And remember, you haven’t buried Kaspar there yet.”

  Medea hissed contemptuously. “You still don’t perceive the extent of our power.”

  “We’ll see,” Ian allowed. “The British people have a stronger will than you know, I’m afraid.” “Then perhaps you should not have turned your back on them,” Medea snarled.

  “Oh, I don’t believe they can hold out against von forever,” Ian said hastily. “But this isn’t what I wanted to speak to you about.”

  “What, then?”

  “It’s about one of my men, an informer. He’s afraid that Gabriella is coming after him personally in revenge. He betrayed her after Nigel died, you see.”

  “Ah, then this was the man who watched Nigel Smythe-Walmsley for us.”

  “Yes, his name is Robert Walters.”

  “Why does he fear Gabriella Nicks so, when she is nowhere near London?”

  “He’s had an attack of conscience, I think,” said Ian. “The next thing he’ll do is turn around and betray us.”