The Szuiltan Alliance (The Szuiltan Trilogy)

by Neil Davies

  He finished the glass in front of him, tapped it on the bar for a refill and drank half of that in one gulp.

  Fuck them.

  He knew it was the drink talking, but it satisfied a basic need in him and he smiled.

  "Mr Drake?"

  Steve turned to face the man who had arrived almost silently at his shoulder. He wore an immaculately clean trackover, at odds with the majority in the room around them. He took hold of Steve's arm with a gentle but firm grip.

  Steve pulled his arm away.

  "What do you want?" He struggled to speak clearly through the alcohol that was slurring his thoughts as much as his words.

  The man took hold of Steve's arm again and helped him to his feet. The grip was stronger this time.

  "The Trading Inner Council wish to see you right now."

  Chapter 38

  A siren wailed somewhere off in the distance. Police? Fire? Paramedics? It was impossible to tell.

  A squadron of air cars sped by overhead, roof-lights strobing the night, scanners like spotlights racing along the ground, up the sides of buildings and off over the rooftops. They were travelling too fast to detect anything useful, but the show was impressive.

  A loud creaking down the street, the deep rumble of masonry falling, timbers cracking. The fire had died some time ago but the destruction continued.

  The outer suburbs were at war.

  This was no longer vandalism, no longer isolated terrorist actions. This was war.

  A rebellion.

  Ursa Mirram sighed at the thought. She had never expected the openness of the fight that raged around her every day. She suspected that few, if any, had. The trigger had been the arrival of the Bosens, of course, and the brutal tactics they employed.

  "We were slaves under Earth, we will not be slaves again."

  She remembered the words now, words spoken by one of the rebel leaders, a man called Simon Walker. Until the Bosens he had been an unemployed vagrant, squatting in empty buildings, leading his band of fellow vagrants on nighttime excursions into the more affluent suburbs to commit robbery and vandalism. When she had lived in one of those suburbs she had heard the rumours about such bands, and she had heard the horror stories of people waking to find their house violated, horror stories of violence, rape and murder. She had attended one of his illegal gatherings and had little doubt that the stories were true. His words, however, made sense.

  Can't the government see that they're just exchanging rule by one distant planet to rule by another? An alien planet at that? Can't they see they're just stepping back in time, insulting all those who died to make Aks free?

  She had always known of Mayor Lane's hatred for Earth, but she would never have imagined it went so deep as to obscure the obvious. And now he was Leader?

  Larn help us.

  "Admiring the view?"

  Ursa turned from the crumbling hole in the wall, her jacket catching slightly on a rusty hinge, the only evidence that this had once been a door.

  "Not much to admire at the moment," she said, smiling at the man who walked from the dark of another room.

  Man? Only a boy really. Sixteen at the most.

  John Keyes fought to hide his embarrassment, subdue the blush he felt rising in his cheeks. He had lost his parents in one of the first actions by the Bosens, stood and watched them ripped apart by those alien abominations. The woman who stood before him now, this Ursa Mirram, had pulled him to the safety of an old building, literally dragged him as he stood traumatised by the death of his mother and father. He still had nightmares. He was afraid to fall asleep some nights. Occasionally the nightmares would strike while he was awake, terrifying visions that would paralyse him, leave him shaking and sweating in a dark corner. Ursa would come to him, speak softly, hold him. She would ease the fear away, mask the past in the pleasure of the present.

  The older men would laugh at him, say that he had found a new mother in Ursa. At first he would have agreed, she was like a mother to him. Now, he was unsure, suspicious of the feelings her nearness stirred in him, embarrassed by the other dreams, the ones that had started to replace his nightmares during sleep.

  He had been a shy boy, rarely straying from his parents' side, educated, as so many were in the outer suburbs, at home by family and friends. As he grew he developed a passing interest in girls, but his shyness and his dependence on his parents had restrained him from experiencing anything other than the rare fantasy. Instead, he submerged himself in books. He learned of puberty and the ever so slightly frightening mysteries of sex through reading rather than through experience, and he was happy that way. Life was something that touched other people, not him, not his books.

  But Ursa... she stirred something in him, something he had only read about. He recognised the signs, so many works of fiction were filled with them. He had loved her as a boy loves his mother since she first took him into her protection. Now, he realised, he needed to love her as a man loves a woman. The thought both terrified and embarrassed him.

  He cleared his throat of the tightness that had developed before he spoke, pushing thin fingers through his tangled blonde hair, suddenly aware of how much he needed to bathe, to wash his hair, to be clean again.

  "Did I hear police overhead?" His voice irritated him. It sounded so small, so childish.

  Ursa walked away from the old doorway, limping heavily, her artificial right foot clumping awkwardly on the wooden floorboards of the room. It had been the best the rebel group who found her could do, using doctors who had been struck off because of their anti-government sympathies, whose access to medical supplies was severely limited. The bio-mechanics in the foot were old and temperamental but it served its purpose. It allowed her to walk.

  "You should be asleep." Her voice was soft, concerned. This boy had been through so much and she recognised the dependency that had grown between them. He needed a mother. She needed...

  What do I need? A son? I never wanted children. A lover? He's only a boy.

  "I don't like to sleep. It makes me remember."

  How his blue eyes sparkle in the dim light from outside. How soft and caressing his voice with its child-like qualities. Oh Larn! Am I that degenerate?

  She turned to look back towards the night outside, fearful that her eyes might give her away. She had spent too much time holding him, stroking his head to banish the bad memories that lurked within both of them. It confused her and frightened her.

  This is not the place. Now is not the time. He is too young to be the one.

  "Are we safe here? Are the police scanning this area now?"

  He had moved closer to her. She could feel his presence behind her.

  "They scanned as they flew past, but too quick to pick us up I think."

  "But are we safe?" His voice trembled slightly. He was unsure whether it was fear at the possibility of discovery or fear of his feelings for Ursa. He was just inches from her now. He could reach out, touch her, not her arm or her back, but those places he had always considered forbidden. It would take such little effort of the body, but so great an effort of will.

  He was relieved when she stepped further away.

  "For the moment, perhaps. But I think we need to move before tomorrow night. We've been here for how many days now?"

  He thought, the effort of memory a welcome distraction.

  "Four, maybe five. I'm not sure."

  "Four or five, it makes no difference," she said, looking once more out into the night. "Too long whichever way. Are the others awake yet?"

  The others?

  For a moment he wondered what she meant, and then he remembered.

  The others. I had almost forgotten about the others.

  "No. They were still asleep in the other room when I came through here."

  For a moment he was jealous. There were seven of them in total, including Ursa and himself. The other five were men not boys like him.

  What chance have I got with Ursa when there are men of her own age or ol
der? For all I know she's already sleeping with them when I'm not awake.

  He knew the thought was ridiculous, wasn't it? He seldom slept for long, and he was always watching her. She had never shown interest in the men and they had never shown any in her, at least not of a sexual nature. Jealousy was so dangerous.

  I must control it.

  "Should I wake them?" he said, forcing his voice to be level and calm.

  Ursa looked to the sky. Dawn was a suggestion behind the billowing smoke of fires.

  "Soon. We..."

  There was a scrambling from outside, a foot slipping on the rubble that cluttered the street.

  She waved John back as she drew her pistol from the holster clipped at her side.

  John fell back into the shadows, fear causing him to tremble, but it was a fear he was used to and one he could control. He knew he should be ready to help, but the other guns were in the back room with the sleeping men.

  Foolish. I should have brought one with me.

  Ursa slipped to one side of the doorway, her weapon held in steady hands. Had they been discovered? Had she been wrong about the speed of the scan? There was nothing to be gained from such questions. If this was an attack then perhaps she could hold them off long enough for John to wake the others. The doorway was narrow, all the windows were boarded up. They would struggle to get inside.

  Unless they use explosives.

  The possibility made her move further away from the wall. She offered more of herself as a target this way, but close in gave her no chance if they blew their way in.

  Some choice.

  She was aware of John moving towards the door leading to the back room.

  Stay still, she wanted to cry out. Wait until I open fire. Wait until they're concentrating on me. You're in the open.

  The thought of John being hit and killed filled her with a sudden emptiness, a deep sickness in her stomach, but she thrust such thoughts aside.

  Another scrambling, nearer this time, just outside the door. If it was police or soldiers they were surprisingly clumsy.

  A dishevelled figure fell in through the door.

  Ursa's finger tightened on the trigger, only to relax as she recognised one of the men from their group.

  So close. I almost pulled the trigger.

  "What the fuck are you doing sneaking around?" she snapped. "I almost killed you."

  "I wanted to look outside, see what was happening. I couldn't sleep."

  He was gasping for breath, his eyes pale in a grubby face, his black hair tousled, his square jaw itchy with stubble. His name was Roy and that was all she really knew about him. It disturbed her that first names were all she knew about most of the people she had spent the last few months with. Only John was different. John she knew better.

  Perhaps I’ll know him better still before long.

  Angrily she pushed the thought away. She could only truly trust herself, and for that she needed to be in full control of her actions and reactions. She could not allow dangerous desires and emotions to cloud her judgement, the habits and patterns buried deep inside her by her training.

  "We thought everyone else was asleep," she said, re-holstering her pistol.

  "I've been awake for ages. I didn't see you leave." John came out of the shadows. He didn't like Roy. Roy made fun of him, treated him like a child.

  "So, I left a long time ago. Hours ago. What of it boy?" He spat the word out, using it as an insult, one he knew would hit its target.

  "What have you been doing all this time?" John's voice rose in anger.

  I may be young, but I do what the others do. I don't act like a child. I don't expect to be treated like one.

  "Easy John, he's only teasing you," said Ursa, her voice relaxed, light. But her eyes studied the man lying, out of breath, on the floor, the way he grinned at John's anger, the way his glance flicked back to the doorway again and again.

  What is he looking for? Why is he deliberately goading John? Is it a distraction?

  John's question was a good one. What had he been doing all this time? And why hadn't he come out past her, let her know where he was going? Why sneak out the back?

  "You look nervous Roy," she said, stepping closer to him, reaching out with her hand to help him to his feet.

  "Nervous? Not me," he said, taking her hand and pulling himself up.

  He's frightened. I can see it in his face. But of what? Of me? Yes! He thinks I know something I shouldn't. Perhaps I do.

  "There's a lot of police activity out there tonight. How did you manage to get around without being spotted by the scanners?"

  She saw his eyes widen at her question, flick again towards the doorway, and she knew.

  Bastard!

  She pushed with her artificial foot, ignoring the pain that shot through her leg as she jarred the inexpertly fashioned connections between bio-mechanics and her body's own nerves. His shout of alarm was stifled by her arm slamming around his throat as she pulled him down to the ground once more.

  She was aware of John moving towards her, his face pulled and drawn by surprise. She had no time to explain.

  Digging her knee into Roy's back, she pulled hard on his neck, feeling, rather than hearing, his backbone snap. She grabbed his head, one hand on his chin, the other tangled in his hair, and twisted. His neck broke with the strangely muted sound of a twig snapping underfoot.

  She stood, clumps of hair still clasped in her clenched fist, and snapped at the stunned John.

  "Wake the others. Now!"

  He hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth between Ursa and the dead man on the floor, and then hurried into the back room.

  Ursa limped to the outer doorway, her foot dragging more than usual. She had hurt it, perhaps even damaged it, in the attack. She could only hope it's self-repair mechanism was in better shape than the rest of it.

  Cautiously she peered around the edge of the wall into the darkness. Had they been betrayed as she suspected? Was there movement out there? If not, she had murdered an innocent man.

  She could hear the others stirring now, staggering tiredly out of the back room. She could almost feel their surprise, their shock at Roy's body lying broken in the dust. She needed proof.

  Yes. There. Shadows moving at the end of the street. Police, maybe soldiers. What does it matter?

  "They're coming for us."

  Her voice snapped the attention of the others away from the dead body and onto her.

  "Who?"

  It was a man named Alan who spoke. She was not surprised. He had been leader of this small band of rebels when she and John had first joined with them. She suspected he still resented the way most of them had fallen easily into following her rather than him.

  "The police. Roy led them here. He sold out." John spoke up, a strength and maturity in his voice that surprised Ursa and most of the men around him.

  He's growing up fast, she thought. Fear and violence can do that, or destroy you.

  "I'm not sure how long they'll wait before they decide their friend here isn't going to give whatever sign they'd arranged, but I doubt it'll be long," said Ursa, her mind racing.

  Got to keep them moving. Mustn't give them time to think about their situation too much. If panic or despair sets in we might not make it.

  "I haven't looked out the back yet, but I would expect them to be there as well."

  "We have to presume Roy told them the whole layout here," said Alan, taking control of himself with admirable speed.

  Ursa smiled.

  He's accepted the situation, realised the need for strong leadership. Good.

  If he had doubted her word they would have been lost.

  "I'll get the weapons and take a quick look out the back," said John, hurrying away.

  More of a man than many, thought Ursa, a feeling of pride welling up inside her.

  She jumped as the sound of gunfire rattled from the rear.

  "JOHN," she shouted. Had he been hit?

  Jo
hn threw himself back into the room, stumbling, the weapons in his arms clattering on the floor as he dropped them.

  "I'm Ok," his voice was shrill, excited, pumped full of adrenaline.

  Ursa pulled her pistol from its holster, trying not to think of the terrible feeling of fear and loss she had experienced when she thought John might have been shot. Weapons were being grabbed up from the floor and the armed men were moving into the shadows. She could smell the fear in the room, but no one was panicking. These were not trained soldiers, but they had learned much from the street fighting of the past months.

  She looked quickly around the room, catching John watching her. He looked away, busied himself loading the pistol in his hands. She glanced towards Alan, his face grim. She nodded to him, received a brief nod in return. The words did not have to be spoken. Everyone in the room knew the situation.

  Whoever was out there was not going to wait any longer.

  Chapter 39

  Tina Harrison straightened the floor-length gown at the shoulders, watching her reflection in the mirrored wall of the hallway as the almost transparent material undulated with a pleasing liquidity, highlights shifting in the light of the ancient chandeliers above her, running along near invisible seams, catching the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts.

  As was currently fashionable among the wealthy socialites of the galaxy, she was naked beneath her gown and she had stared long and hard at its fabric before finally selecting it. Too opaque and it was wasted. Too transparent and it would be considered tasteless and mark her as little more than a whore. It was a delicate balance but one worth attaining for, although she was no longer young, her body was firm, her muscles toned, and all without the aid of the doctors so eager to flatter the vanity of those less fortunate.

  Friends had advised her that she should wear something more business-like, more sober, less fashionable, but the invitation had been informal in its tone and, besides, she had heard the rumours like everyone else. The Director was fond of female companionship, and what she lacked in youth she more than compensated for in experience. She felt sure she had made the right choice.