Independence Day

by P. Darvill-Evans

  As he was led beside the vast metal hull of one of the ships, Bep-Wor realised that large numbers of soldiers and vehicles were on the move - and that they didn’t want to be noticed.

  In the centre of the circle, like an island in the sea of swarming troops and manoeuvring vehicles, stood a craft that was small, at least in comparison to the other transports. Bep-Wor supposed that it must be a flying machine, such as those used by the invaders of his world, although it had only stubby wings and no circular fan at its nose. The two soldiers brought Bep-Wor and the Doctor to the side of this craft, where they were met by two more soldiers in more ornate uniforms.

  ‘Sir,’ one of their escorts said, ‘we picked up these two at the perimeter. This one says he wants to speak to the Duke.’

  The officers exchanged a look. ‘We’ve no time for that,’ one of them said. ‘The transports have to lift off again in a few minutes.’

  A door slid open in the side of the craft, and a slim figure stood silhouetted against the yellow light inside. ‘It’s all right, Lafed,’ he said. ‘There is always time for visitors. Come in, please. I’m afraid the accommodation is rather cramped.’

  The soldiers shrugged, and then made way for the Doctor and Bep-Wor to climb the few steps to the doorway.

  Bep-Wor stood blinking in the light. He had thought that he was becoming accustomed to seeing mechanical marvels, but he could only stand and stare at the array of winking lights and glowing screens. He knew, instinctively, that like the transport ships this craft was as far above the invaders’

  vehicles and flying machines as those machines were above the fishing boats he used to crew. It had been made by the ancient ones: the people who had brought his ancestors from the stars.

  And it was, indeed, very cramped. The tall, slim man folded himself into the single seat at the front of the cabin, and swivelled it to face the Doctor and Bep-Wor, who squeezed into the two seats at the back.

  The man perused his two visitors for a long moment. ‘Well,’

  he said at last, ‘I’m Kedin Ashar, Duke of Jerrissar, Lord of the Skies, and so forth. And you,’ he said, looking at Bep-Wor’s uniform, ‘appear to be a corporal in one of the King’s regiments.’

  ‘And you thought you were a general,’ the Doctor murmured.

  ‘I am Bep-Wor,’ Bep-Wor said, stifling the urge to address the man as sir .’I am from the world you call Mendeb Two.’

  Kedin Ashar sat back in his seat. ‘Great heavens,’ he said,

  ‘I believe you are. So he belongs to you,’ he went on, turning to the Doctor.

  ‘Of course not,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘He’s a free man. And there are a couple of hundred more like him camped two hills away.’

  Kedin nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘The consignment of Twos that proved to be sub-standard. Obviously you’ve managed to escape. Do you mind me asking how you avoided falling under the influence of that dreadful potion?’

  ‘That’s easy,’ the Doctor said. ‘They didn’t take it. I stopped them. Bep-Wor helped me.’

  ‘And you, I take it,’ Kedin said, leaning forwards to peer at the Doctor, ‘are not from Mendeb Two?’

  The Doctor lifted his hat. ‘I’m the Doctor,’ he said. ‘I expect you’ve heard of me.’

  Kedin frowned. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I believe you’re right. Now where could I have heard of you? Ah!’ he said, as though he had suddenly remembered. A look of anguish contorted his aquiline features for a moment. ‘I should have guessed, I suppose.’

  It was the Doctor’s turn to lean forwards. ‘And where is Ace?’ he said.

  Kedin looked up at the cabin’s ceiling. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. He stared at the Doctor, his eyes seeming to plead for understanding. ‘I have been remiss. I should have taken better care of her.’ He curled his lip and tossed his head, disgusted with the inadequacy of his excuse. ‘I’ve been very busy lately.’

  ‘Where is she?’ the Doctor said. Bep-Wor saw icy fires burning in the Doctor’s eyes.

  ‘She’s on this planet, Doctor,’ Kedin said, spreading his arms. ‘That’s all I know. My aide, Madok, may have more information by now, but he isn’t here. He’s engaged on another mission.’

  Kedin raised a finger to forestall the Doctor’s next question.

  The Doctor scowled.

  ‘I am engaged in an act of treason,’ Kedin said. ‘Reluctant as I am to stoop to melodrama, it is no exaggeration to say that the fate of this planet, as well as that of Mendeb Two, depends on the actions we take within the next few hours.’

  The Doctor appeared sceptical. ‘You would claim to be fighting for freedom and justice, I imagine,’ he said. ‘But for all I know you’re simply mounting a coup d’état. One military leader replacing another.’

  Kedin smiled wryly. ‘You have every reason to doubt my motives, Doctor,’ he said. ‘And I can’t claim that I have a grand new vision for my planet, nor that I’m acting from long-held principles. I’m a soldier and a scientist, not a politician.

  In the days when I helped Vethran to power I was complacent; as soon as I realised the extent of my errors I found myself coerced. I have some idea of the concern you feel for your companion, Doctor. I, too, care for someone: someone whom Vethran has kept within reach of his power, in order to ensure my compliance.’

  ‘I understand,’ Bep-Wor exclaimed. Kedin’s words had conjured the image of Kia-Ga into his mind. He saw that Kedin would destroy the world to save the one he loved. And to Bep-Wor that seemed entirely reasonable.

  There was a knocking on the outside of the craft. A soldier put his head through the doorway. ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir.

  The road is secured, both directions, and we’ve started to move the vehicles out. Lift-off in five minutes, if you’re ready.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kedin said. ‘I’ll be with you shortly.’ The soldier withdrew. ‘My apologies, Doctor, Bep-Wor. This is a time for deeds, not words. Oh yes! I remember: I was trying to dissuade you from the notion that I’m no better than the King I intend to dethrone. What can I say that will convince you? Vethran is mad for power; he has a lust for conquest so insatiable that an entire planet has not satisfied him, and he has forced me to assist him in invading Bep-Wor’s home world; he rules a society in which the wealthy own slaves; the formula which destroys the will of his captives and makes them slaves was created under his personal direction. No matter what shortcomings I may have, Doctor, don’t you think I have every justification for removing him from his throne?’

  ‘That all sounds very plausible,’ the Doctor replied. ‘And do you hope to fight your way across the King’s capital city with the troops and vehicles you’ve assembled here?’

  Kedin’s eyes shone with excitement. ‘By no means, Doctor.

  I have as many men again already in the city. They have been gathering for days, disguised as farmers, merchants, travelling showmen. The King has summoned the court to the Citadel, so the city is thronging with visitors. And then I have a third force, which I will lead myself, in an aerial attack.’

  ‘And now that we know your plans,’ the Doctor said, ‘I suppose you’ll have to kill us.’

  Kedin threw back his head and laughed. ‘Great heavens, no, Doctor,’ he said. ‘On the contrary. I want you to join me.

  Lead your army of free slaves into the city.’

  He turned towards Bep-Wor. ‘If Vethran remains in power, your people have no hope of freedom. This is your chance to make a difference.’

  He turned back to the Doctor. ‘And you, Doctor, are too wise to shirk your duty. You know I have right on my side. I would value your advice.’

  Once again there was a knocking on the side of the craft.

  ‘Ready for lift-off, sir,’ a voice called.

  Kedin shrugged. ‘We have run out of time for talking,’ he said. ‘It will be bullets and sword-strokes from now on.’ He stood up. ‘I must ask you to leave now. Please consider my words. If you wish to join us, bring your people here. I’ll t
ell Lafed to expect you.’

  Deep in thought, the Doctor and Bep-Wor stepped down from the craft. Beyond the black shapes of the transport ships soldiers waved their arms, beckoning to them. ‘Clear the area,’ voices shouted. ‘Hurry up! Get clear!’

  Bep-Wor took the Doctor’s arm and pulled him onwards.

  They ran between two of the vast vessels, and continued to run up the slope and into the forest as the roar of the engines of the transport ships became an unbearable scream.

  ‘This will do,’ the Doctor panted, and he stopped on a hillock. Bep-Wor stood beside him as they watched the six huge shapes begin to rise, imperceptibly at first and then with shocking speed, into the night sky. Kedin’s much smaller craft spiralled upwards after them.

  The valley was silent. The soldiers and vehicles had withdrawn.

  ‘Well, Bep-Wor,’ the Doctor said, ‘what do you think?’

  ‘I think we should return to the camp quickly, Doctor. We know there are soldiers from the city out in these hills.’

  ‘You’re right,’ the Doctor said. ‘Can you remember the way back?’

  Bep-Wor turned. He could see only the darkness of the sky and under it the deeper darkness of the mounded hills. The view in every direction was similar. ‘No, Doctor.’

  ‘In that case it’s a good job one of us has a sense of direction,’ the Doctor said. ‘Follow me. And tell me what you think we should do.’

  As they fought their way up and down the forested slopes, the Doctor and Bep-Wor discussed whether either or both of them should support Kedin’s attack on the city.

  Bep-Wor was certain of what he had to do. Kedin had been right: regardless of the vices or virtues of the protagonists in the struggle, and regardless of the legality of the actions of either side, and regardless of the chances of Kedin’s attack being successful, it remained true that unless the present King was overthrown Bep-Wor’s people would continue to be enslaved. Bep-Wor saw no choice: he would have to bring his small army to join Kedin’s forces.

  After some debate the Doctor accepted the inevitability of Bep-Wor’s decision. ‘You’ve right, Bep-Wor,’ he said, stopping for a moment to disengage his jacket from a thorn bush, so that Bep-Wor almost collided with him in the darkness. ‘And I’ll come with you.’

  Bep-Wor was relieved. He had not been sure that he would have been able to persuade his army to go anywhere without the Doctor.

  ‘As I said previously,’ the Doctor went on, ‘my main concern is to find the seat of power on this planet and to rectify the appalling mess that both worlds have got into. I can’t do that by turning my back on this imminent conflict. And, of course, I have plenty of experience of this sort of thing. I expect I’ll be able to sort things out.’

  ‘Hush!’ Bep-Wor said. He had heard a noise among the trees. ‘Are we near to the camp?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ the Doctor said. ‘It’s just -’

  He was suddenly silent. Bep-Wor turned to look at him. For a moment his mind refused to understand what his eyes were seeing. There was a man standing behind the Doctor. A man in uniform. A soldier, with his gun pointed at the Doctor’s body. Then something was thrust into his own ribs: something hard.

  The barrel of a gun.

  ‘Looks like we’ve found two more runaways,’ the soldier behind the Doctor said.

  ‘Drop your weapons,’ the other ordered. Don’t even think of making a run for it. We’ve a regiment on this hill, and all your sorry crew are already in chains. That’s it: the carbine and the sword, on the floor.’

  ‘We’ve got two more!’ the first soldier shouted into the darkness.

  ‘Bring them,’ another voice replied. ‘Let’s get the whole lot down to the city and into the dungeons.’

  Madok leant back in the Castlain’s chair and rested the heels of his boots on the Castlain’s desk. He gazed at the figurine that had pride of place on the polished surface, and then nudged it with his toe until it fell to the floor. The Castlain’s taste in ornaments left much to be desired and little to the imagination. He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned.

  ‘Four hours, lieutenant,’ he said.

  ‘Fast work, sir,’ said the commander of Group Two. He had his arm in a bloodstained sling and a smoking pipe clenched between his teeth.

  ‘It would have been faster if they hadn’t defended the kitchens,’ Madok complained. ‘Did they think we’d broken in to get our breakfast loaves?’

  The sound of marching feet echoed along the corridor outside the Castlain’s quarters.

  ‘That will be the Castlain,’ the lieutenant said, strolling towards the door.

  ‘Send him in immediately,’ Madok said. ‘We have unfinished business here.’

  Escorted by two of the lieutenant’s men, Castlain Pelod strode into the room and stopped abruptly when he saw the man sitting behind his desk. His grey-bearded jaw dropped open, and for a moment he was unable to speak.

  ‘Madok!’ he spluttered. ‘Madok, by all the heavens what are you doing here? Are you responsible for this bloody violence?

  You’ve taken leave of your senses, man. You’ll hang for this.’

  ‘Or worse, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Madok said. ‘Calm yourself, Pelod. Take a seat. It’s been a tiring night for all of us.’

  Pelod broke away from his guards and advanced towards Madok. ‘You killed six of my men,’ he said.

  ‘And your men killed three of mine,’ Madok said. ‘There will be time to mourn our losses later. The important matter now is this: do you surrender Grake Castle to me?’

  Pelod shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Madok said. He pulled his feet from the desk and turned to the lieutenant. ‘Announce the surrender.

  Disarm any of the garrison we haven’t yet captured. And then set up the radio and send the message that we’ve accomplished our mission.’

  Yes, sir,’ the lieutenant said, and marched from the room.

  ‘Now then, Pelod,’ Madok said. ‘Please be seated. We have searched the cells in the prison tower. I trust you’ll save us the chore of searching every cell in the main block and below ground. Just tell me where she is.’

  Pelod sat opposite Madok. He perched on the edge of the seat, leaning forward, his face still red with indignation.

  ‘Where who is, Madok?’

  Madok banged his fist on the desk. ‘Don’t play games, Pelod. You have only one significant prisoner here. I’m looking for Tevana Roslod.’

  Pelod leant back. A slight smile appeared on his lips. For the first time since he launched the attack on Grake, Madok felt a shiver of doubt.

  ‘So this is the work of Kedin Ashar,’ Pelod said. ‘I might have guessed. I always thought Kedin would prove unworthy of his Majesty’s trust, in the end. You’ve allowed yourself to be seduced into treason, Madok.’

  Where is Tevana Roslod?’ Madok persisted. ‘If she’s come to any harm you will pay for it.’

  Pelod folded his arms. ‘I am a loyal subject of King Vethran,’ he said. ‘I have defended his Majesty’s castle to the best of my ability, and I have surrendered it according to the requirements of military law. I am not required to answer your questions.’

  Madok stared at the Castlain. ‘Vethran’s reign is about to end,’ he said. ‘You will gain nothing by hindering me now.’

  Madok did his best to invest his words with conviction, but he knew that were he in Pelod’s position he too would refuse to cooperate with his captors.

  Pelod said nothing. He sat stolidly in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

  ‘Take him away,’ Madok told the soldiers. ‘Put him in a cell.

  We’ll have to search this castle from the cellars to the battlements.’

  Bep-Wor, with Kia-Ga at his side, had led his army in chanting ‘Doctor! Doctor!’ throughout the long march through the dark streets of the city. The blows and curses of the King’s soldiers had done nothing to dampen the spirits of the captives, and Bep
-Wor had felt a sense of victory as his people entered within the high walls of the palace.

  Now, however, he was finding it difficult to keep his spirits up. His army was silent; the only noises were the dripping of water from the damp walls of the dungeon, and the Doctor’s footsteps as he paced back and forth. There was no light: even in the middle of the long winters on his home world Bep-Wor had never known such impenetrable darkness. It lay like a black blanket, smothering thought and hope alike.

  He had no way of knowing how long he and his people had been kept underground. Was it still night above them, or had a new day dawned? Would he ever see another day? The pressure of Kia-Ga’s body against his provided no comfort: perhaps he would never see her face again.

  He lifted his head: he had heard the sound of marching feet. The sound became louder; nearer. A shaft of light fell across the huddled bodies: a door had opened, high up.

  There were torches, soldiers, shouts.

  Bep-Wor’s eyes adjusted to the illumination. A row of soldiers, with their guns aimed at the prisoners below, were standing on a stone gallery halfway up one of the ancient walls. Wide stone steps - the steps down which Bep-Wor had stumbled when he had been thrust into the darkness - led down from the gallery to the unwholesome floor of the dungeon.

  A voice rang out, and echoed from the vast vaults: ‘Make way for his Majesty the King!’

  The soldiers stood to attention. In the ensuing silence Bep-Wor heard the Doctor’s voice saying, ‘About time, too.’

  A tall figure appeared in the doorway. The medals on his chest, the buttons of his uniform, the jewels sewn into his robe, all glittered in the torchlight. The soldiers saluted. This was Vethran, the King of this world. Bep-Wor had expected -

  he didn’t know what he had expected. Someone more remarkable, perhaps: a man whose face betrayed an inner evil. Vethran was tall, imposing, with keen, intelligent eyes and a full beard. And that was all.