V 13 - To Conquer the Throne

by Tim Sullivan (UC) (epub)

  But just how to strike at them, to hurt them badly . . . that was the question.

  A soldier came into the room.

  “Yes,” said Kelly.

  “Sir, Gabriella and Subhash are here.”

  “Here? The last I heard they were in Manchester.”

  “Nevertheless, they walked through the castle gate only a moment ago.”

  Kelly rushed out of the room to greet them. He saw them entering as he darted down the stairway to the main hall. They looked tired and much older than the last time he had seen them.

  He clasped their hands. “It’s good to see you,” he said. “You’ve heard about what happened in London?”

  Gabriella nodded.

  “We must act fast,” Subhash said.

  “Precisely what I’ve been thinking,” Kelly said.

  “But how can we?” Gabriella slumped into a chair, despair etched into her pretty face. “We can fight them on the ground, but guerrilla warfare is little more than an annoyance to them. Their center of power is in that damned Mother Ship. We have one skyfighter to attack it with.”

  Kelly looked at them both with something akin to amusement. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ve something to show the two of you.” Gabriella rose, and she and Subhash followed Kelly out into the courtyard. As they approached the canvas-covered objects against the ancient stone walls of Kramden Castle, Kelly brought them up to date.

  “Sir has not returned,” he said. “I fear the Visitors found him out.”

  Gabriella could not suppress a smile, even under the circumstances. Was it possible that even after Kelly had seen Lord Smythe-Walmsley on television he had failed to recognize him?

  “But didn’t you see him on the telly?” asked Subhash. “He is Lord Smythe-Walmsley.”

  “That wasn’t him,” Kelly said. “Sir may very well be Lord Smythe-Walmsley, but that was not Sir.”

  “Who, then?”

  “I don’t know . . . some alien trickery, brainwashing or black magic, I cannot tell you. I only know that there was something wrong with Sir.”

  “How do you mean?” Gabriella asked, glad that the burden of Sir’s secret was no longer upon her.

  “Sir would never turn about like that.”

  “He would not be the first to turn against his country,” Subhash reminded him.

  “No, no, didn’t you watch him? He was like a robot. That was not the Sir we know.”

  Gabriella had suspected the same thing. A race centuries ahead of the Earth technologically could certainly deal with an intractable old man if they wanted to. But what had they done to poor Lord Smythe-Walmsley?

  “Lads!” Kelly shouted. “Lend a hand with these ropes.”

  Men emerged from the castle’s many doorways and began to help Kelly untie the ropes that held fast the canvases.

  “What do you have?” Gabriella asked, hardly daring to hope that it was something they could use to effectively battle the Visitors. “What is it, Mr. Kelly?”

  “You’ll see in a moment.”

  The men peeled back the nearest canvas, revealing a gleaming white cone a few feet off the ground. As they continued to uncover it, Gabriella realized what it was with a thrill.

  “Skyfighters!” she cried. “They’re sky-fighters!”

  And indeed they were. She counted six in all, once the canvas wraps were removed. Now they really had something to fight the Visitors with —their own war machines!

  “Seven altogether, counting the one you brought down yourself. Now, what do you think of that, lass?”

  Gabriella embraced first Subhash and then Kelly. “We have a chance,” she cried. “We really have a chance.”

  They all laughed and talked at once about the coming battle. All agreed that Gabriella was right. They had a chance. A slim one, but it was indeed a chance.

  Chapter 34

  Beverly oversaw the placing of the last few hundred prisoners in stasis pods personally. Two of the prisoners were to be brought to Medea as soon as the job was done.

  Now Beverly walked through endless rows of veined transparent pods, pleased to see so many potential meals. They had acted very delicately with these English. It was about time some punitive action had been taken against them.

  So much for Medea’s theory about dealing with them psychologically. These creatures were incapable of simple logic. They would rather die than live in peace under Sirians.

  So be it.

  Medea had not completely failed her mission yet. That would take a little more work on her part. Beverly had to do nothing but wait for Medea to undo herself. And to think that Beverly

  had first believed that she must plot against her superior.

  Walking to the entrance of the gigantic stasis chamber, Beverly found a guard with two frightened male humans.

  “Are these the two you are looking for?” the guard asked.

  Beverly recognized one of them as Ian, the erstwhile leader of British Resistance. The other fit the description of the teacher who had been instrumental in the capture of Nigel Smythe-Walmsley.

  “You are Robert Walters?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said a confused Robert. “Yes, I am.”

  “And you are Ian.” She sized up the blond man.

  Both men shrank from her gaze. They saw a huge, bipedal reptile, tongue snaking out of a fanged maw. Beverly saw no reason to wear a dermoplast pseudoskin any longer.

  “You will both come with me,” she said. “The commander is waiting to see you.”

  Ian and Robert glanced at each other. The fear in their eyes faded, and a slow smile broke out on Ian’s face. Robert began to smile, too. Incredibly, things were actually working out the way they had been told. He was safe here, far away from Gabriella and anyone else who might harm him.

  The two men followed Beverly through lengthy corridors, seeing strange machinery and scarlet-uniformed, two-legged lizards everywhere. It was frightening, but exhilarating. They had come out of it unscathed, in spite of everything. And now they would reap the reward for their loyalty to the Visitors.

  At last they emerged in a passageway before the cylindrical heart of the immense Mother Ship. A door slid open, and they entered. A number of Visitors were engaged in the running of the ship, several of them milling about. At a raised console at the center of the vast chamber was a thin Visitor wearing a female human disguise.

  Beverly led them to her.

  Medea finished what she was doing at the console and turned to look down on the two humans.

  “Medea,” said Ian, “thank you.”

  “Silence!” Medea hissed.

  The two men cowered at her feet.

  “So,” Medea said, “you are Robert Walters.” Robert nodded, not daring to speak.

  “Is it true that you provided us with the information necessary to capture Nigel Smythe-Walmsley?”

  Robert beamed. “Yes, it is.”

  “For that we are grateful.”

  “Why, thank you.” Robert could see that he had made the right decision. These creatures were about to welcome him with open arms. Perhaps they would even make him an important figure in the colonial government, once the violence was over with.

  “Ian has kept us apprised of your activities,” said Medea,

  “I’ve done my best,” Robert said modestly.

  “So you have.” Medea leaned forward and glared at him. “But you also threatened to expose one of our agents, did you not?”

  Robert said nothing. He glanced at Ian, who grinned back at him.

  “I...” Robert found that he was tongue-tied. “Speak up,” Medea commanded, clearly relishing the game she was playing with Robert. “I couldn’t hear what you said.”

  “I . . . was only saying that so Ian would see to it that I was protected from that madwoman Gabriella.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Yes.” A note of desperation crept into Robert’s voice. “Of course, I never actually intended to do anything of the kind.”

  “I
t is all very well for you to say that, Mr. Walters, but how can we know that what you say is true?”

  “Well, I didn’t tell them about Ian, did I?” He was shouting now, deathly afraid of what they might do to him. “I came here of my own free will, didn’t I?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Yes, of course I was sucked up into that frightful green beam along with everybody else . , . but I was there, waiting for you to take me aboard the London Mother Ship, just as you instructed. Do you think I would dare to come here if I intended to betray you?”

  “Frankly, Mr. Walters, I don’t give a damn.” Robert, about to voice other arguments, realized that it was fruitless. This was not an English court of law. This creature would do with him whatever she wished.

  “Do you have anything more to say?” she asked.

  “No ... I ... I throw myself upon your mercy, Medea.”

  Medea cast a mocking eye over the quivering Robert. “I think that we’ll have you for dinner.” Robert wiped the sweat from his face. “Oh, why, that, uh, that is very kind of you, Medea.” “You will be stringy, but perhaps a good cook can do something with you.”

  Robert tried to laugh, but there was something in her voice that let him know she wasn’t joking. Instead of laughter, blubbering erupted from his throat.

  “Take him away,” Medea said.

  Chapter 35

  The skyfighters were nearly ready. The men were loading antipersonnel weapons under the supervision of Alhazred. Everyone was anxious to get under way, after the long wait here at Kramden Castle. They might all die in the coming fight, but they would die willingly striking a blow for Earth.

  “Who can fly them?” Gabriella asked. “It just occurred to me that it might be rather difficult to fly an alien craft.”

  “Do you recall those Visitors whose lives you wanted me to spare?” Kelly said.

  “Of course.”

  “I learned the secret from them. Not much of a secret, really. Quite simple, actually.” Gabriella’s blood froze. Kelly’s implication was that he had never intended to let the prisoners live. He kept them around long enough to

  learn how to fly the skyfighter and then killed them in cold blood. The man was every bit as evil as the Visitors themselves. Perhaps that was the reason he was able to fight them so effectively.

  A few minutes later the skyfighters were ready. Everyone boarded in silence. Six men had secretly been taught how to fly the skyfighters. Kelly himself had given them lessons, and he now piloted the lead skyfighter.

  Gabriella held her breath as they lifted off the ground. The visual scan showed the courtyard in three dimensions, shrinking as the turrets of the castle reared up. Then they were over the Irish Sea.

  Kelly ran his hand over the console, and the skyfighter shot upward towards the sun.

  “Have you disposed of that clone yet?” Medea demanded.

  “Lord Smythe-Walmsley’s?” Beverly asked, chewing on a vole.

  “Yes. I’ve come up with a use for it that never occurred to me when we first created it.”

  “I’ll have it brought here at once.” Beverly spoke to a guard, who instantly hurried off to do Medea’s bidding.

  “I am going to have some fun with one of our prisoners,” Medea cackled.

  Beverly said nothing. She knew that Medea wasn’t herself since the Westminster Abbey incident. The commander seemed to make much more of her failure as a propagandist than was necessary; now the English knew where they stood with her. Nevertheless, Medea had been in a foul mood and had indulged in a bit of sadism from time to time. She had even decided to break her fast by eating Robert Walters. It was decidedly unpleasant to be around her these days.

  Well, perhaps Beverly would be invited to join in the feast. That would be some consolation.

  The clone was brought to them, the poor creature still babbling on about the greatness of Britain and how the English people must cooperate with the Visitors. Its poor brain had been programmed with little else. A guard pushed it along, the clone shambling through the command center like a zombie.

  Its shoulder was grasped to make it stop as it neared Medea’s elevated chair.

  “What shall we do with it?” Beverly asked.

  “Take it to Nigel Smythe-Walmsley’s cell. Torture it until you break Nigel’s spirit.”

  Beverly was enthusiastic in spite of herself. “Brilliant! He’ll believe it’s his own father, and we’ll still have the old boy if we have any further need of him.”

  “Precisely.” But Medea seemed to take little pleasure from her idea. She would have preferred to finesse the British with less sanguinary tactics.

  “The feast is nearly ready,” she said bitterly. “We shall enjoy our food while we watch Nigel squirm.”

  “Oh, how delightful!” Beverly squealed. “You really are a genius, Medea.”

  Medea glanced at her keenly. Was Beverly serious? Did she really not understand the depth of Medea’s failure? She had taken thousands of prisoners on the hoof, but she had failed to see that Kaspar was buried in Westminster Abbey. The British would never be subdued now. They would all have to be killed before they would capitulate. Beverly hadn’t the faintest idea of how the human mind worked, it seemed.

  Medea smiled wickedly, knowing that Beverly would fail even if she replaced her. It was not much of a consolation, but it was all she had today.

  “Make ready the feast,” Medea shouted. “We shall dine tonight on the flesh of a coward.”

  Everyone scurried to do her bidding.

  “But what of the other one?” Beverly asked.

  “Ian?” Medea hadn’t thought of him.

  “Yes, what of him?”

  “He’ll come to the feast, too, and watch us enjoy ourselves. How does that suit you, Beverly?”

  Beverly clapped her clawed hands together at the prospect. At last they were going to have a good time.

  “You will have them cook Robert in a sauce, won’t you?” she pleaded with Medea. “A nice white-wine sauce would be wonderful.”

  “Yes, yes,” Medea said impatiently. “Whatever you say, Beverly, just as long as he’s prepared soon. I’ve gone without eating for far too long.” Beverly smiled, thinking that she couldn’t agree more. Then she ran off to oversee the preparation of the feast.

  Chapter 36

  Nigel awoke from a misty dream in strange hues. A familiar voice called out to him. Could it be Father again? He had been coming to see Nigel for a while, but he hadn’t visited lately. Where could he have been? Nigel was beginning to feel as if Father didn’t love him after all. He was reminded of the time Father had missed his birthday party when he was seven.

  Nigel peered through the mist at a figure standing on the threshold. His eyes were watery, and yet he was quite certain he knew who it was. It actually appeared to be Father.

  “Father, how have you been?” he asked gently. “I’ve missed you very much.”

  Father said nothing. He seemed to be looking right through Nigel, as if he were blind.

  “Is there something wrong, Father?”

  The simulacrum of Lord Smythe-Walmsley

  slowly turned its head and listened. Nigel wondered what it was, and then he heard it, too. Footsteps—booted footsteps—coming down the corridor.

  Two lizardmen burst into the room. They wore red uniforms and jackboots, and they hurled Father against the wall as if he were a sack of flour. He groaned and sagged to the floor, still conscious.

  “What are you doing?” Nigel screamed.

  The lizardmen ignored him and picked Father up again. Where had he seen them before, these monsters? Were they real? Was any of this happening? He didn’t know. All he knew was that his father had come to him and these creatures were here trying to kill him.

  Nigel struggled to get off his bed. It took all his strength to raise himself up, and in the meantime the lizardmen were doing terrible things to Father. Where was his strength? Why did he find it so difficult to move?

  But at
last he managed to prop himself against the wall. The lizardmen were so preoccupied with brutalizing Father that they didn’t see him. He could see blood running down Father’s face. He had to hurry.

  Nigel stood on wobbling legs and propelled himself shakily through the coloured mist. He charged at the nearest Visitor. Visitor!

  He remembered what these creatures were as he crashed into one of them. His quixotic charge had little effect on the alien. It turned and backhanded him across the room. Nigel collapsed in a heap in the comer, light motes shimmering in his field of vision.

  When he could see again, he realized that they were still working on Father. One of them had swatted him as if he were a fly and they had returned to their beastly business.

  Father screamed like a wounded animal.

  Nigel looked around him for a weapon. There was nothing in the room that could do any damage to these creatures. Then he saw that the bed was fastened to the wall with struts.

  He pushed the bed against the wall and tried to force it into a position where the stmts would break. It was tremendously taxing, but he put every bit of strength into it. He had to, before they killed Father.

  There. Part of the bed fell to the floor with a thud. Nigel tore apart the broken bed until he came up with a section of the underpinning that he could swing.

  He lunged across the room and brought the bed strut down sharply on the crown of a Visitor’s skull.

  The other one was so preoccupied with torturing Father that it never saw its companion fall. Nor did it see Nigel remove the laser pistol from the holster.

  The second Visitor raised a bloody, dripping claw to strike another blow when a beam of blue death burned through its body. Its black reptilian eyes were startled as it stood, still poised to strike for a moment, and then slowly toppled to the floor.

  Father fell beside the dead Visitor, and Nigel rushed to his side.

  “Father,” he said, “are you all right?”

  The older man looked at him uncomprehend-ingly, as Nigel lifted his head and stroked it.