God Emperor of Didcot

by Toby Frost

  Carveth gave Smith a sour look.

  ‘Oh yes?’ said Smith.

  ‘Okay,’ Rhianna said. Her voice had a patient, slightly weary sound, like a primary teacher trying to halt a class-room riot. ‘Now, I understand earlier that there were some. . . negative feelings expressed. Some bad energy was created, and what does bad energy produce?’

  ‘Farts,’ Carveth said.

  ‘Disempowerment. So, both of you, I think we should renew our. . . our oneness as a group by expressing our real feelings, in a sort of—’

  ‘Don’t say it,’ Carveth muttered.

  ‘A workshop.’

  ‘Ugh.’

  ‘So come along: I’d like both of you to open up to one another, to try to move beyond the stigma you must feel. I know it’s difficult, being British, but try to – to put into words the emotions you truly feel. Let your positive feelings flow.’

  Carveth looked at Smith and scowled. Sorry, he mouthed.

  ‘You’re alright, Captain,’ Carveth said.

  There was a pause. ‘Anything more, maybe?’ Rhianna prompted.

  ‘You’re quite alright, Captain.’

  Smith nodded. ‘Likewise, Carveth. Carry on.’

  ‘Oh, come on, guys,’ Rhianna said. ‘Make up properly, and you can both forget that you ever argued.’

  ‘We had forgotten,’ Carveth said.

  Rhianna turned to Smith. ‘Now then. Isambard, you can lead. Big hug.’

  Smith got up. ‘Righto!’

  ‘Hug Polly, not me, Isambard.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ He approached Carveth warily, as if about to dance with a porcupine. She stuck her arms out like a tin robot. They hugged, disdainfully. ‘Aw,’ said Rhianna, and embraced them both.

  Carveth’s eyes suddenly widened and she pulled away quickly. Smith sat down. Rhianna said, ‘Now we’re all friends again!’ and she left the room.

  Carveth swallowed hard. ‘I feel violated,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Smith, choosing his words carefully. ‘Much as I like Rhianna, all this positive energy stuff leaves one feeling rather deflated.’

  ‘You sure as hell weren’t deflated when she put her arms round us. You could have someone’s eye out with that.’

  Smith spent the next couple of hours fighting with Suruk in the hold. It was not easy to move around their battered car, but that gave Smith an advantage, for Suruk had a longer reach than him.

  The M’Lak whipped the spear around his head; Smith sidestepped and came in with a sword-cut that Suruk knocked away with the flat of his hand. Suruk flicked the butt of the spear up at Smith’s head, and the captain ducked and rolled back and came up panting.

  Suruk grinned. ‘You use the Spherical Panther style,’ he observed. ‘You have got better with a blade.’

  Smith puffed. ‘It reminds me of when we first met.’

  ‘The Spherical Panther?’

  ‘You trying to stick a spear in me.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Happy days.’ The alien paused, weapon readied. ‘I am glad that you fight well, friend. And not just with guns, but properly.’

  ‘I need a sit-down,’ said Smith. ‘I wish I hadn’t had all that beer.’

  ‘I am serious, Mazuran. My homeworld is a place of honour, but honour must be won. You should watch your harem well on my clan’s world, in case someone decides to chop off their heads.’

  ‘They’re not my harem, Suruk. Rhianna doesn’t seem to regard me as a man at all, and as for Carveth – well, I may be a space captain, but there are some places even I wouldn’t boldly go.’

  ‘True. But the weak females may be better left locked on the ship. My people are fierce, and all are martial artists of great skill. My father, for instance, once spent eight moons in the wilderness, seeking the way of the Hidden Masters of Gorong. Wise and fast is my father, but he never found them. They are not called the Hidden Masters for nothing.’

  ‘Thanks for the advice.’ Smith slid his sword back into the scabbard on his hip. ‘It’s always best to tread carefully when dealing with other cultures,’ he agreed, reminding himself of the time when he had coughed up tea when some idiot foreigner had tried to make him drink it without milk. Bloody trade talks. Bloody Japanese ambassador. Bloody swordfight.

  Carveth appeared at the door with a tray. ‘Tea’s up,’ she said. ‘We’ve made good time. In a few hours we should be able to start landing. I’ve put that bottle of wine we got at the service spacestation in your bag. May as well bring them a gift.’

  ‘Great,’ said Smith, taking a mug. ‘Although I doubt they even know what wine is.’

  ‘We’re on autopilot, if you’re wondering,’ Carveth said.

  Although fine in the darkness of space, the autopilot had developed a tendency to initiate landing procedure when confronted by bright lights, which was useful near landing strips and less useful near the sun. ‘Did you take Rhianna some tea?’

  ‘I asked, but she didn’t want any.’

  Smith frowned. ‘She certainly is strange sometimes. I wish I knew what makes her tick.’

  ‘Freeing the Disabled Lesbian Whales,’ Carveth said.

  She sipped her tea and sat down on a packing crate. ‘You know what your problem is? You’re too nice. That’s why someone like Gilead would get women, if he had a body. He’s got a dark streak. Women find that exciting. You would just seem safe.’

  ‘Safe? I’ve killed over a dozen people, Carveth. God knows how many aliens. Several with my hands. One with my nose alone. Admittedly he had an unusually weak immune system and I sneezed on him, but you see the point.’

  ‘Yeah, but you still seem safe,’ Carveth said. ‘Women want a challenge, someone they can work on, change. To women, dangerous and bad are often sexy things.’

  Suruk said, ‘So bad deeds are good in the eyes of women?’

  ‘Well, it depends, but yeah, sometimes.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Suruk picked up the tea-tray and bopped Carveth on the head with it. She fell backward off the packing crate. ‘Was that good for you?’ he said. ‘Because I thought it felt splendid.’

  ‘You bastard!’ Carveth said, rubbing her head. ‘Ow!’

  ‘Suruk, stop that at once!’ Smith barked. ‘I’ll have no woman struck with a tea-tray on my ship. If you carry on like that, there’ll be no shore leave for you. And remember: no shore leave means no frenzied violence.’ He wagged his finger, unsure how he could enforce this rule.

  ‘Sod this, I’m off before you split my skull,’ Carveth said. ‘Better check our flight path. Don’t want to nudge a planet or anything.’

  Smith finished his tea. ‘I think that’s enough sword practice for today.’ He turned to Carveth. ‘I’ll head up to the cockpit in a moment.’ He gathered up the cups. ‘Coming, Suruk?’

  The M’Lak shook his head. ‘I shall be in my room. I wish to rest before we land.’

  Smith paused and said, ‘Alright, then. See you in a bit, old chap.’

  A small car rolled into the drive of the farm, towards the big barns and the plantation shop, past a sign that read Brian and Shula Welcome You. A woman hidden in the undergrowth followed it with her rifle.

  The car stopped, the door opened and W climbed out piece by piece, unfolding his long body like a concertina.

  He looked around slowly, as if surprised to find himself here, and coughed into his handkerchief. The woman in the hedge checked his profile against a database.

  The door to the farm shop opened and Major Wainscott ambled out, eating a piece of toast. His sleeves were rolled up and there was a Stanford machine-gun slung over his shoulder. ‘Hullo,’ he said, rubbing at his beard. ‘How’s tricks? They do good jam here.’

  They shook hands. ‘Not too bad,’ W said. ‘Well done on the raid.’

  Wainscott smiled. ‘Yes, we had some luck there. It’ll be a week before they get the missile grid working again. My techie knows her stuff. We lost one chap from the Citizen Guard and four injured for about forty cultists and a dozen Ghasts. Not too bad
. We were able to smash up a good deal of equipment before a load of praetorians showed up and we had to withdraw. We took what we could, dumped a fake codebook on the chap who bought it and headed for the hills. All in all, pretty good.’

  A lone bird chirped in one of the tea-fields. The crop was yellowing, turning sickly. ‘Bastard Gertie sprayed it,’ Wainscott explained. ‘They’re doing a sweep of the plantations, starting from the city. They did this farm two days ago. They used Black Smoke on the stuff they didn’t burn. We’ll be safe here for a while: they’ve no need to come back.’

  ‘That’s a low trick.’ W scowled.

  ‘There’s worse,’ Wainscott said. ‘Yesterday some of my people caught one of these cultists creeping through the tea with a radiation bomb strapped to his back. I’m pleased to say that they did the bugger before he could let it off. No doubt planning to poison the tea. They can’t use helicopters: the sun dragons’ll short out anything that flies, so they’re trying to sneak under the radar instead.’

  W stared out across the fields of dying tea. ‘This isn’t just an attempt to stop the tea, it’s an attempt to wipe out Urn. There’ll be a famine if there’s no tea.’ He coughed and glanced around. ‘They’ll pay for this, Wainscott.’

  Wainscott said, ‘We took a captive.’

  ‘Really?’ They turned from the field and walked towards the barns. ‘I hope you’ve not duffed him up,’ W said. ‘We’re fighting this war like civilised people.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry. He spilled the beans easier than a can of beans with a big hole in it. We set up the recording equipment, and the fellow told us he’d got a better stereo in his tank. We asked him what else he’d got, and he told us. Natural braggart, your invader. Just through here.’

  Susan stood at the barn door. She saw them coming and hauled the door aside.

  There was a tank in the barn. It was a Republic of Eden machine and, even now, two men W didn’t recognise were washing the slogans off the side. Gun barrels and missile racks jutted from the shadows above their heads.

  ‘It’s quite a bit of kit,’ Wainscott said. Susan tugged the door closed and neon strip lights flickered into life. ‘We’ve got some chaps in the Guard who could work it, and they’re training up others. Already there’re factories on the far side of Urn trying to improve on the design. Now, listen to this.’ He crossed to a table, where a small stereo stood. ‘This is the man whose tank it was,’ he said and, after a moment’s fumbling, a voice came from the speakers.

  ‘. . . and we’ve got robot suits that fly, with armour all over them, and they have like ray guns, except they’re super ray guns that’ll fry anything, and there’s missiles on them too, and – and this one thing that you target some bug or greenskin and it’ll tell you his blood type and eye colour even before it goes straight through him, which is so cool ‘cos blood goes everywhere, and you people are so dead because we have the best weapons ever, ever.’

  Another voice said: ‘Keep your hands on the table, son.’

  ‘And God hates you.’

  Wainscott switched the machine off. ‘Wallies,’ he observed. ‘Bloody wallies, but they have technology up to their ears. If we mean to beat these cultists we need to fight them on equal terms. As it stands, we’ve got rifles against gun emplacements, jeeps against tanks.’

  W stared glumly at the tape recorder. ‘And even if we do, we’ve got the praetorian divisions to fight our way past. We’re seriously outgunned.’

  Wainscott peered at him. ‘I hope you’re not getting cold feet, old man. It wouldn’t be on if you decided we shouldn’t fight.’

  W shook his head. ‘Oh no, we’ll fight alright. It’s just whether we’ll all die in the process that’s the issue.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Wainscott brightened suddenly. ‘Well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?’

  The small side door burst open, and a woman in robes strode in. She was an eagle: tall and straight-backed with sharp eyes and a sharper nose. She threw her arms open and cried, ‘Beware, for a terrible doom is coming!’

  ‘What? Who’re you? How did you get in here?’ Wainscott said. His gun was in his hands.

  ‘I walked between the rows. The land hid me, for I have come to help you free it.’

  Wainscott did not lower the gun. ‘Born in a barn, were we?’

  ‘No, but this is a barn.’ She closed the door behind her. ‘Sorry. Now then – beware, for death comes to Urn!’

  W sighed. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I am the Tassomancer, the Sauceress, the seer of the Teasmen! I am the Prophetess O’Varr, and I saw some-thing nasty in the future!’

  The two men exchanged a look. ‘Bonkers,’ Wainscott said. ‘Definitely bonkers. And how did you see the future, Prophetess O’Varr?’

  ‘I read it in the tea-leaves. And it’s Samantha, please.’

  Wainscott put his finger in his ear and wiggled it. Susan quietly drew a knife. ‘Well, super,’ he said. ‘Now, I really have to get on—’

  ‘And I know what with, Wainscott! You seek the liberation of Urn. I come from the conclave of the Teasmen. Last night, the representatives of the great collective plantations met in secret. The Teasmen have voted, and they will support your cause. For there can be no justice while the crop dies and the Teasmen starve. In the name of He who Picks and Brews, let us join you!’

  W thought for a moment. ‘Well, the Empire’s never turned down help just because it’s being provided by a loony. I say yes. What about you, Wainscott?’

  ‘I am not a loony!’ Wainscott retorted. ‘How dare you? The doctors said I. . . Oh, what about her? Oh, I see. Well, she’s got the chaps, so why not?’

  W smiled slightly. ‘Excellent. Welcome, Sam O’Varr.’

  *

  Back in the cockpit, Carveth watched Didcot 6 grow larger in the windscreen, spreading across the screen like mould. She prodded the sensor array, and a spool of paper clattered out of a slot on the dashboard. Carveth tore the paper off and read from it.

  ‘Earth gravity, 22 hour day cycle, silicated carbon base, fully breathable, no serious native diseases, radiation tolerable, expansive duty free. I can see why Suruk’s clan moved here.’

  ‘Yes.’ Smith stood behind her, watching the yellow-green ball spin before them. He was only half listening. ‘It’s been a long while since I saw his family,’ he said. ‘I first met them back on Avalon Prime on the other side of the Empire, while I was on holiday.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Nice bunch, are they?’

  Smith recalled his first glimpse of House Agshad, as they hurdled the parapet and charged bellowing into the fort. ‘Not exactly, no.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Carveth asked, and she immediately started rooting round under the main console. ‘Oh look, there’s some chocolate down here.’

  Smith had been travelling the Empire before training as a space captain. Part of the Grand Astrotour had involved a trip to Avalon Prime see how the colonials lived.

  Shortly after Smith arrived, everything went wrong. It had all started when a M’Lak called Ergar the Eviscerator took a stroll along the cliffs overlooking the Beach of Dalgath, a noted beauty spot. On the way, he met a family of British tourists, who asked him to show them the quickest way down to the beach. Being a logical and helpful sort, Ergar pushed them off the cliff.

  Three days later, a dreadnought shelled Avalon Prime from orbit, and the M’Lak declared open season on mankind. The British drew back to their regional garrisons and prepared to resist the alien horde, but they were badly outnumbered. The aliens were thrown back as they tried to storm the fort, but Imperial soldiers fell too.

  As losses rose, every able-bodied man was pressed into service.

  ‘And before I knew what was going on, I was in the armoured trousers of an Imperial marine,’ Smith explained.

  Carveth shrugged. ‘People need companionship at a time like that. Don’t blame yourself.’

  ‘No, the marine was out of the trousers when I put them on. He’d been killed earlier. Yo
u’re not listening, are you?’

  ‘Of course I am. Go on.’ She came up from behind the console with half a chocolate bar.

  ‘Well, the Morlocks were savage enemies: fierce and determined. Though they only carried spears and knives –they don’t much like fighting at range – they swarmed up the walls faster than we could manage. Eventually, we ran out of ammunition, and it was our swords against theirs. I must have bagged three or four of them like that, and then I came up against Suruk. He was a terrible foe to face.’

  ‘I thought he was supposed to be hard.’

  ‘Terrible from my point of view.’

  ‘Gotcha.’

  ‘Anyhow, I did what I could while the others primed the base reactor. We were overrun before we could blow ourselves up – which was for the best, I suppose. The Morlocks said they hadn’t had such fun for ages, and they let us go.’ Smith blinked, as if waking from a dream.

  ‘And you were best of friends ever since?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. We parted company as warriors of different tribes, enemies by circumstance, but comrades in battle. I became a space captain, and Suruk’s people moved here, to Didcot 6. It was three years before fate threw Suruk and I together again, in Debenhams. But that’s a different story.’ Smith moved away and shrugged. ‘Well, bring us in to land, Carveth.’

  ‘Right away,’ she said.

  *

  In his room, surrounded by trophies, Suruk crouched on his stool. He needed to save his strength for meeting his family.

  The skulls stared at him with sightless eyes. Ghasts, Humans, Yull, Croatoan, Procturan Ripperspawn – all worthy enemies. But Suruk had promised to return to his people at the head of a mighty army, and these humans did not count as such. Smith was a bold fighter, but Carveth was a coward, and the only time Suruk had seen Rhianna wield a pair of blades was when she had cut up tofu with scissors. They were not the warlords he had promised to bring back to his family.

  And besides, there were only three of them.

  And when his family knew that he had broken his word, and returned in failure, things were likely to get serious. There would be violence, which was fine, but also disgrace. For what good was a warrior who went back on his word?