Siini knew he was a dead man. No doubt orders went out for his death, too, obviously his surviving the attack meant he was in on it somehow. Unplugging all the phone lines, he coded the computers for the self destruct program, and carefully stepped over the bodies, turned out the lights, closed the door, which locked behind him, and quickly walked to the stairway, and started down. When he reached the first landing, he heard the heavy tramp of a squad running toward T’ming’s office. He trotted faster, heading toward a plane, wondering what the hell was happening outside.
Tiplix and his men made it almost all the way back to their copter. Almost. By radio, he’d sent his second machine in the air, “Code red.” It lifted, and almost immediately, spotted and fired upon another copter lifting from the Prince’s hanger, the missile going awry, and slamming into a second hanger, which blew up in a huge ball of fire and smoke. Immediately thereafter, everyone in the complex, shocked, mobilized as a loud speaker cried, “Traitors in the complex. Seize all visitors.”
At the last door, the security detail held up Tiplix and his men.
“I have to get out, to help secure the area,” he said. “My duty station is with my...”
“Sorry, sir, no one leaves,” and as the man started to pull a pistol from a holster under his arm, one of Tiplix’s men shot him in the face. A brief flurry of more shots, and the rest of the small security detail went down. But they couldn’t open the door.
Tiplix nodded toward the heavy metal door. “Blow it,” he said, and stepped back. One of his men pasted some putty-X on it, and in a second it flashed and banged, and the door blew loose. Tiplix sent his men through it, and fired at another group racing down the hallway toward them, then ran outside along the walls, and to his waiting copter. It lifted in a scattering of gunfire, raking the end of the building with the Gatling gun as it rose, and several missiles chased it as it started low across the countryside. But the defensive programs worked, and nothing found them. The second copter joined them, and the pilot asked, “Where to, General?”
“Castle Poinciana. Time to see what the old man wants to do.”
Part way there, a small twin engine plane caught and passed them, flying low like themselves, and raced away ahead. They let it go.
T’ming arrived at the mountain keep, not far, really, from the office. The copter settled on the lawn, the flowers, grass, and trees nearby wavering in the rotor blasts.
“Wait here,” he said, unsure of what his next move would be. First thing is to get his palace guard in place, then start the purge. “I’ll get them all, this time,” he said as he keyed the entry code into the security lock. Inside, he opened the small panel for the secondary code, then went to the nearby command room, pulled the radio cabinet open, and started to call his guards. No response, no indication the signal was going out. Next, he moved to the phones, they rang and rang when he tried them. His office beeped busy at him. Every number he tried resulted in no answer, or some flunky who said the OIC was unavailable, an emergency situation existed. The scanner on the radio beeped from time to time, often excited voices, talk of battles on going, or of units withdrawing to quarters, not willing to do battle.
Exasperated, T’ming pushed the small stud on his watch, activating the emergency beacon, which would summon his palace guard, a last resort, and one that mortified him to have to do. But at least they would come. Now all he had to do was wait, and he did that impatiently, pacing around the small command room in the secure keep, looking at the bank of TVs, and listening to the radios, waiting a call, anything, and occasionally trying the phones again. Not even his aide here to make some hot fermi. The damn TVs showed the usual, bland, daytime programs, nothing on the news at all. Well, his information department was still functioning.
After nearly a half hour, and no calls or any response to repeated pushing of the stud on his watch, nothing but silence in his keep, and no change in the status of the phones or radios, T’ming was startled to hear the copter starting up. He looked out the window, then ran outside as the machine rose, he screamed at it, “Wait, Wait!” but it climbed and turned and dipped away, over the low ridge to the south, and dropped from sight. The noise of its engines faded as T’ming stood there, and his bowels voided again. In real fear now, he rushed inside once more, annoyed at having to unlock the door again, and ran back to the command room. He heard the radio calling his sign, and hurried to respond. But as he picked up the microphone, the ten second warning warble started, and he hesitated. He’d forgotten to de-arm the secondary alarm again when the door closed! Dropping the radio, he raced back toward the entry room, saw the countdown on seven, impossible, he raced up to the control panel, and frantically entered the code. Wrong, it kept going down. He entered the number again, carefully, pushing the enter button as the digit flipped from one to zero.
The center blew up. A massive explosion channeled upward, a huge, orange-yellow ball of fire and heat obliterated the entire keep, and much of the landscape around it, leaving an oval, jagged crater, which slowly filled with the back fall of broken rock, concrete, and bits and pieces of wood and fiber and soil and furnishings. All that had been part of T’ming, and his invincible keep.
In orbit, drifting along, the illi-illi crew was summoned awake by a blaring klaxon. Fearing attack or damage to the ship or the nearby space station they were guarding, they did not notice for a moment the display on the surface screen. An orbiting spysat saw the bright explosion below, and alerted the computer, which called the crew. Finally, they checked it, ran the recording again and again, wondering at the force of such an event, so far removed from any other fighting, or population centers. What did it mean? They began to scan the TV and radio frequencies, and called the station, asking, looking for an explanation. One would appear not too long later.
The crew watched in growing excitement. Suddenly, all the TV stations switched to news of great events–fighting in the Prince’s Palace, his rapid departure, and then reported in awe and fear, the monstrous explosion that obliterated his hide-away. The translation programs could hardly keep up with the news, and the rumors. Immediately, the aliens were suspects, but that was soon discounted. Another interruption, and an old and bent over native appeared, his fur thin and light, his eyes droopy and moist, mouth with small, worn teeth, staring out at them all, silent. When it began to speak, in a slow, deep voice, with a cadence of power and meaning, the illi-illi sat still, watching him, awaiting the translation. The speaker introduced himself as V’ming, King, Ruler of the Inner and Middle Kingdoms, Uniter of the Provinces, Lord Admiral of the Eastern Sea, and Bringer of Peace and Serenity. All that, in days long past, gone all the many years of his son’s rule. But his son was no more, dead, killed at his own hand, or perhaps by his own paranoia, and fear of his fellow citizens. The king offered to change all that, bring back the time of before, restore the damage done, end the endless wars, the useless foreign adventures, and stop the internal and external hatred. “We were a great people once, respected the world over, not from fear of our arms, but by trust in our word, and steadfastness in our deeds. Those times could be ours again, if the people wish. And if the people wish, I will spend the rest of my days, limited in number for sure, in pursuit of such goals.”
Then he said something that sent the illi-illi into shaking, dancing bounds of surprise and joy. “Finally, if you will grant me the authority, I will immediately outfit an expedition in space, to follow and find the amazing alien visitors, not to battle them, as my foolish son tried, but to seek to meet them, to offer amends for the hostile and unworthy treatment they suffered at the hands of our authorities, and to invite them to return, to a glorious, friendly and peaceful welcome, and to establish trade, for their marvelous goods, and to seek their knowledge and understanding of all things physical and universal. With the help, guidance, and friendship of the aliens, the cluster, the great void, indeed, the entire universe is ours. We need only strive to be worthy. We will not be worthy if we keep killing ourselves, and our
visitors, and fighting over petty, unimportant things. Of that there is no doubt. Of the need for high honor in dealing with space travelers, we can be sure. And we can start by dealing with one another in the same manor.”
The king stood, raising a hand. The camera dollied back, to reveal a rich, maroon, velvety drapery behind him. “To this, I pledge my Life and Royal Word, now, tomorrow, forever, and all my worldly goods and chattel as collateral.”
He sat again. “You may decide, you the people, in your wisdom, and your faith. Shall I lead you for the short future, or shall you choose another? I await your decision, on the morrow.”
The scene faded, to riots in the street, or at least that’s what the illi-illi observers thought. But no. A celebration, the wild cheering went on, natives rushing out of buildings and all about, and a slow procession began marching toward the distant, country home in exile of the banished king. Music played, flags and banners waved, people chanted and sang, and kept moving along. Small roads led to larger ones, as the people headed toward the palace of their former king, small streams of people coalescing into large ones, which soon overflowed the roads, and spilled over into the fields and forests nearby, until a wave of natives poured toward the tower of the king like a tidal bore, sweeping through whatever lay in the way. Not a soldier, not a guard, could be seen anywhere along the route.
All that dim, the people marched on, the TV coverage continuous, with occasional news of other events, all related. The few scientists in the nearby space station confirmed to the illi-illi what they saw–the prince was dead, gone, and the father, the former king, awaited the endorsement of his people before he took control of the province again.
They watched the screens as the sun rose below, and saw the uncounted multitude begin to chant outside the low walls of Castle Poinciana. Soon, a flurry on the highest point, a turreted tower, and banners dropped over the walls, to wave and flutter in the scant breeze. After another brief time, a small, dark figure appeared, as helicopters began to circle overhead.
The crowd roared, cheering as one voice saying, “Long Live King V’ming!” over and over, minute after minute. Eventually they stopped, and the king and the crowd began a dialogue, his voice amplified from several speakers, and various radios carried by the people. He greeted them, then asked what they would have him do.
“Rule!” they shouted, and “Return us to greatness!” He asked more questions, the crowd roaring approval and encouragement at each opportunity. Finally, he asked about the alien visitors. “Find them!” the chant went, and slowly morphed into, “Welcome the aliens!”
The illi-illi observers, watching from afar, grew even more excited, and asked among themselves what to do. They decided to call the station, and ask their advice. The scientist there said they might send a ship to greet the king, thinking it safe now to do so. To test the idea, the illi-illi sent a large cambot screaming at near-destruct speed to the surface. They saw–and heard the sonic boom–on TV as it arrived overhead, while the crowd still milled about in front of the castle, though the king was gone. When the device slowed, and appeared over the crowd, flying toward the center of the assembled mass, trailing a thin wisp of steam and smoke, the noise became a tidal wave of sound. The helicopters raced in, circling the now motionless device, almost too close to it and one another. The crowd screamed on and on, shouting and pointing, and soon the king returned.
The illi-illi moved the cambot forward, very slowly, as the king beckoned to it, until it hovered fifty meters in front of him.
He waited long, long minutes, for a measure of quiet to return, and as soon as he could, motioned it closer still, and sent greetings to the aliens through their marvelous device. He promised hospitality, safety, and cordial meetings, and requested their return. He offered amends, and pledged, again, his personal honor and fortune, and a lasting time of peace.
The illi-illi slowly moved the device closer still, and the crowd hushed, anxious to see what the king might do. He held his position, watching. The cambot grew closer, barely moving in a show of respect, the helicopters now held back and away. Even at only ten meters, then less, the king stood silently, waiting.
The cambot stopped not two meters away. The illi-illi spoke, their chitterings translated for all to hear.
“Greetings, Great King V’ming. Long may you rule with wisdom and honor over the good people of your kingdom. We, the explorers among the great clusters, and travelers from the depths of space far removed from this place, welcome your words. We will convey the message you give us to the Sky Lady, and the other great races who explore and trade among the stars. We will encourage their return. But be forewarned–further treachery will doom your fate to isolation and despair, to death and destruction. But honor will be met with honor, peace with peace, and trade and exchange with great improvements for your citizens, and all the people of your fair world. Your words will go forth. That is our pledge. And perhaps some will return, to greet you once again, in friendship, peace, and equality.”
After a brief pause, they added, “This we pledge on our honor, and the honor of our comrades.”
As the last of the words faded, the crowd went vocal again, screaming, “Yes, yes!” and “Hail to the great travelers from space!” The king could not speak again, nor be heard above the noise filling the air.
At this point, the illi-illi began hurried preparation to send a fast scout ship after the departing fleet, to carry the words of the king, as they pledged to do.
With no diminution in the noise level, the illi-illi slowly backed the cambot away, filming the crowd. Again, they tested the people, dropping closer, wondering if they would flee, or what. Instead, a stampede toward the cambot developed, people screaming at it, waving greetings of welcome and friendship. Many leaped up at the machine, trying to touch it, and the illi-illi lowered it so they could do so. Seeing people knocked down, even being trampled, they moved the cambot upward and along, skimming over the crowd, seeing the same reaction everywhere.
The king stayed, watching, and when at last the cambot returned to his location, he held his arms wide, and the cambot dipped, then began to rise, and disappeared in a sonic boom, gone into the heavens.
Within hours, the illi-illi dispatched their scout ship, rocketing away from the planet at maximum gravities, following the exhaust trail of the fleet, trying to overtake it.
Chapter 22 - Turnaround
Eagle One noticed first. It paged her, and she answered, sitting in the lounge, with coffee and dessert, nursing baby Eric.
“Yes?” Lori said into the phone.
“A scout ship approaches,” Eagle One said.
“What?” Lori said, her forehead wrinkling in disbelief. “Where?”
“From astern. From the planet.”
Oh, shit, what now? “Show me, I’m at screen, em, what’s that number?” she asked, pointing to the wallscreen to her right.
“LD-111,” someone said. She repeated the number, and the screen clicked over to a jumble of lights and darkness, streaks of ruddy red, and one bright, glowing dot in the middle.
“Bet it’s the illi-illi,” a voice behind her said.
“You hope it’s the illi-illi,” a lady answered.
“It is,” Lori said. Who else could catch them around here? She relayed the message to the comcenter, suggesting they check the screens, and notify the captain.
He soon called. “Should we slow down, or anything?” he asked.
“No, I think it’s better to continue on, let them catch us,” she said shaking her head. “Assuming it’s the illi-illi.” And especially if it’s not.
“What happened? More trouble back there?”
Again, Lori shook her head. “Who knows? We’ll find out soon enough.”
“Well, I’m pleased we noticed it first this time, not your air car.”
Obviously, the crew had not told him. Neither would Lori. “Yes, they did well,” she said, smiling.
The scout ship caught them late the next day. The
y pulled alongside, and eased into a landing bay opened for them, watched by all as they entered. Once inside and an atmosphere restored, the door popped open, and two illi-illi rushed out, calling, “Great news for the Sky Lady. We must see her at once.”
Lori directed them to the main dining room, and waited, watching the illi-illi on the monitors as they raced to her. The news spread rapidly, the room soon filled to capacity, and in a moment, the illi-illi rushed in, carrying small disk holders, and bowing to her. The cross-chatter of their click-speak confused the translators, and nothing came out of the speakers. Lori held up her hands, asked if there was trouble on the planet, and signaled for one to talk, but they interrupted each other as soon as they began.
“Great trouble, they...”
“Uprising, the evil one is dead...”
“Killed by his own hand...”
“Though we were blamed at...”
“The king is returned, very old, sick...”
“Not well, but the people...”
“The people rally behind him.”
“He sues for peace.”
“He wants to meet us.”
“He asks for you...”
“Trade, he wants.”
“AG technology,”
“Everything else,”
“Great opportunity for all.”
“We can get rich.”
Lori held up both hands to get a moment of silence in the rapid fire dialogue, as a murmur grew in the room. “Do you have a report?” she asked, thinking there might be one in the disk carriers, and that might be somewhat more organized and clear.
The illi-illi held up a disk, and Lori pointed to the reader. Once inserted, a screen behind her clicked to life, and she and everyone else watched.
An illi-illi shivered with excitement on the ship left in orbit, screens behind it ablaze with news from the planet.
“Great Lady,” it began, a fine translation, “and all fellow adventurers to the Tucana 47. Momentous events are unfolding on the planet below. The despot, T’ming is dead, killed by his own device, an explosion at his keep in the mountains, where he retreated when his armed forces rose in rebellion to his many excesses. His war on his neighbors went badly, and the military refused to continue.” The speaker pointed to an image on a monitor screen, which illustrated the explosion. “Then his father, the deposed king, who none of us knew about, though the people below all did, appeared, and called his nation together. They agreed, welcoming him back to leadership. He has sued for peace, and offered to sign treaties with the other states. His navy and agents are called back, though we hear great is the vengeance of those afflicted in the past.”
T-47 Book II (Saxon Saga 6) Page 41
