by Neil Davies
Devices. I can't put my trust solely in devices. That is what Reagold specialise in. Devices.
There were factions among his people who distrusted devices even more than he did. Most vocal among those, until recently, had been the Larnian Church, which made their current courting of Reagold even more unusual.
What are they up to?
He glanced towards Loadra, standing to one side. The High Priest stood impassively, eyes fixed somewhere in the middle distance, lost in his own thoughts. Other aids shuffled and whispered around him, waiting the arrival of this newest ambassador on Earth, but Loadra stood silent and alone.
What are you thinking?
The Controller turned his eyes towards the far door, closed at present, ornate designs visible even at this distance.
This reception hall had not been used for some time. It was being used now at the express request of the Church. "To honour our guest as she deserves".
There was almost a hint of desperation in the Church's behaviour. Obviously Reagold had become vital to the Church's plans.
But what are those plans? Why am I not informed?
Reports from his spies had been sparse and uninformative. The High Council knew he had spies in their Church, just as he knew they had spies in his government, Loadra most obviously, but they had always allowed their operation with little hindrance. Now, the lack of information hinted at something important, something critical, perhaps even something at odds with his government.
Am I under threat?
One side of the great doors opened enough to allow a soldier to enter. The Controller watched him as he marched up the great hall, admiring the control that kept his steps steady.
I always want to hurry, to get from one end to the other as fast as possible.
The soldier stopped a respectful six feet away from the converted throne and saluted.
"The Reagold Representative has arrived sir and is being escorted here."
The Controller nodded, searching for a name in his memory. He knew the soldier's face, but the name continued to elude him. He noted the insignia on the uniform.
"Thank you Lieutenant. You may return to your post."
The Lieutenant saluted again and stepped to one side, turned to face the door and stood rigidly at attention.
Now I remember, thought the Controller, Lieutenant Dawson. Temporary assignment to my personal guard, filling in for Lieutenant Lichfield while he's on leave.
He found it strange to think of the circumstances that had brought Lichfield into his service, and of how he now felt a slight discomfort without him nearby. Lichfield had saved his life once, on 'Armistice', and had proved a figure of calm and reassurance since. That Lichfield's presence still caused Loadra annoyance and embarrassment was simply a welcome bonus.
He straightened himself in his chair as both great doors swung open smoothly and silently. An Earth guard of 'honour'...
No harm in being cautious, he thought.
...headed the small procession into the hall, closely followed by the Reagold Representative, flanked by her own entourage of aids, advisors and, no doubt, bodyguards.
The Controller's first impression was of a striking and confident woman, near-white hair framing an attractive if stern face. The lights in the hall glinted off the chain at her ear, giving the entrancing impression of a glittering waterfall from ear to neck. Such fashions had yet to reach Earth but, despite its unusualness, the Controller found it both fascinating and aesthetically pleasing.
Tina quelled the quivering of her stomach. She had too much experience to let her nervousness be victorious here.
As the doors swung open and she entered the reception hall, it's sheer size almost made her stumble. At the far end of what seemed like an oppressive funnel sat the Earth Controller, small, overweight, yet still an imposing figure.
Such a long way to walk. Such a dreadful long way to pull legs that were weighed down with hours of space travel and a deeply concealed nervousness that seemed to have sunk into her feet.
It's designed for this precise effect, she consoled herself. It's designed well.
Chapter 44
Sharon Lichfield woke to the crashing of thunder, an explosion that rattled the bedroom window and rolled away across the nearby hills. She peered through tired eyes towards the open curtains as lightning gave the sky and treetops a momentary daylight. She waited, one second ... two seconds ... three... The thunder was even louder this time. She could feel it through the bedroom floor, through the bed itself.
As the echoes died in the night she turned and reached a hand across to the far side of the bed. It was empty.
"Martin?"
Where is he?
Suddenly she was afraid. He had been so quiet lately, so sullen and withdrawn. His leave had barely been a day old before they had rowed about his attitude, his change in personality. He had been a talker, a conversationalist, a teller of anecdotes at dinner parties, always ready to discuss matters academic or otherwise. Now he seldom spoke, and when he did it was another person speaking, a person who spent his days among orders and killing, a person lost without the regimented stricture of his daily routine.
What if he's finally been driven over the edge? What if he's hurt himself?
She swung herself out of bed, pausing only to grab a long blouse thrown over the bedside cabinet the night before. She pulled it on as she hurried towards the door, her eyes glancing momentarily at the bedside clock: 4am.
Martin stood naked at the open back door, looking out across their backyard, through the slatted fence to the fields and hills beyond. He heard her bare feet slapping across the kitchen floor, felt her arms slip around his middle, her breasts pressing against his back. It frightened him to realise that it all meant so little to him.
"I was worried," she said, her voice soft, sleepy.
"I'm sorry. I couldn't sleep."
More lightning strobed the rolling hills in the middle distance, silhouetted the peaks of distant mountains. They both waited, silently, until the thunder rumbled low and heavy overhead.
"It seemed closer before," said Sharon, her voice tinged with disappointment.
"It’ll rain soon."
As if triggered by his voice, the first drops of rain began to spot the patio outside the doorway, followed swiftly by the onset of a downpour that darkened the paving in seconds and brought a hissing backdrop to the approaching dawn.
"Weather Control put on a good one tonight," said Sharon, stepping away from Martin and crossing to the dispenser on the far wall. "Tea?"
Martin did not take his eyes from the darkness outside.
"Yes, thanks." He seemed to think for a moment. "It's hard to imagine that there were natural places like this once."
"Natural storms too."
They had lived at the edge of Old Swiss Earth Park for almost seven years, but he still did not take its beauty for granted.
It's stunning, humbling even. It made him wonder just what they had done to this planet to be left only with artificial parks like this, however huge.
He turned to look at his wife, suddenly found himself evaluating their whole relationship. The suddenness hit him like a physical blow and he steadied himself with a hand on the doorframe.
I don't know if I still love her! She's beautiful, warm and loving. A great friend and lover, but I feel nothing.
He watched her take the drinks from the dispenser and cross towards him.
Perhaps I'm no longer capable of this. Is the military the only life I can handle now?
The thought terrified and depressed him. He tried to hide both feelings, although they twisted his insides.
"I was worried. The storm woke me up and you weren't there." Sharon spoke quietly, her words almost lost against the white noise of the rain outside.
Martin said nothing, but forced a smile as he took the drink from her hand. He took a sip. The tea tasted good.
"Did the storm wake you as well?" She stood alongside him, sipping he
r own drink.
"No."
I should talk to her, tell her how I feel, what I'm thinking, but I can't. She wouldn't understand. How could she?
There was a tense, awkward pause as they both stood in the darkened kitchen watching the rain pool in the crevices of the patio and drop a thick gauze across the view of the hills. A distant flash of lightning played its light against the underbelly of the thick clouds overhead and Martin imagined, for a moment, that he could see a reflection from the climate dome far above. He had witnessed real storms on distant planets with no weather control, downpours of rain that went on and on, no one knowing when they might stop. He had seen the unpredictability, the danger even, of such unbridled nature, lightning strikes on trees and buildings, floods, damage and destruction. He had stared at the outside of Earth's climate domes as he returned home and could never forget that all this was monitored. Someone, somewhere, knew exactly when the rain would stop and could manipulate the storm for maximum effect with no risk.
It's spectacular but empty. Dull. How can I return to this life as if nothing has happened, as if I've never been away?
"Is there still a future for us?"
She spoke the words so quietly that he almost didn’t hear them, but their unexpectedness and the deep concern evident in her voice hit hard through the brutal, unfeeling shell he had constructed to protect himself in military service.
He turned to look at her, saw the threat of tears in her eyes, felt his own burning in response.
"I don't know." He heard his voice almost cracking and willed more control. He had commanded troops on killing fields all over the galaxy, surely he could tell his wife the truth?
Sharon hesitated, finding that she had known what his answer would be but hoping he would lie.
"You were due to finish your military service soon. It was our chance to rebuild things."
He shrugged. "Circumstances changed. I'm committed to my new position, for a while at least."
"A while?" She could feel the anger rising in her. This was not the time nor the place she had expected to be having this conversation. She had wanted to stay calm. She had wanted more time to prepare. Her emotions took control.
"You can't live without the military any more Martin!" She was shouting now, all control lost. "You're married to that fucking army, not to me!"
Martin stared at her. In all their years of marriage he could not remember seeing her like this. He felt his own anger threaten to burst forth but he fought it down. It was not fair to expect her to be able to understand, and maybe she was right? He said nothing, but moved away to the dispenser to refill his drink. She followed him, her anger now in full sway, unfettered and out of control.
"I'm fed up with your miserable expression. You never look happy anymore. You're not happy with me, you're not happy being home, you're not happy when we're out together. All the things we used to enjoy, all the times we used to laugh, gone. I think the only time you're happy is when you're working."
It's true, he thought. There's nothing here for me anymore.
"I've been faithful to you, all the time you've been away, and believe me it hasn't been easy. There have been opportunities, plenty I've never told you about, but I always stayed faithful. What for? Why did I bother?"
"Do you want some kind of medal or something? What's your point?"
Stupid. He knew it as soon as he said it. He should have stayed quiet, but the words came out automatically. It can only make things worse.
For a moment she seemed stunned into silence, but then the anger deepened in her eyes. He tried to turn away but she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. For a brief moment his muscles twitched and he felt himself ready to strike out in defence. That frightened him more than her rage.
"The army's changed you Martin, changed you for the worse in every possible way. You're not the Martin I married. You're not the Martin I've waited for. I've suspected it for a while, each time you came home on leave, but now I know it's true."
The tears were pouring down her face, dripping off her chin. He wanted to reach out and wipe them dry. He wished suddenly that he could forget everything that had happened to him, everything that he had seen and done, but he knew it was impossible.
"I still love you." She fought to get her words out between the sobs. "Or I still love that part of you that's still the man I married, but it has to be over now. There's no future for us."
She turned and strode back towards the bedroom, wiping the tears from her eyes.
She's strong, he thought. She was always stronger than me. And she's right.
Chapter 45
The grey walls of the asylum loomed up before the group of visitors, imposing and even frightening in its severity and bleakness. There had been no attempt in design or construction to soften the impact of the sheer walls that bristled with security devices, nor the preceding courtyard and guard posts. This was a utilitarian building, a building designed for containing and restraining those within.
Leader Lane repressed a shudder as, flanked by his bodyguard and the ever-present two Bosens, he walked through the high gates and entered the inner courtyard. He saw the uncomfortable glances members of his bodyguard cast towards the Bosens but he ignored them. They felt uncomfortable with these alien creatures nearby. Lane could sympathise with that. So did he. But the Bosens would not leave him, they followed everywhere. For his protection, as Suzex had told him again and again.
"Welcome Leader."
Lane recognised the tall, thin man approaching them as Doctor Wilson, Warden and chief psychiatrist at the asylum. He forced a smile, despite the overwhelming gloom of the surroundings, and held out his hand.
"Doctor Wilson. Please excuse the rushed organisation of this visit. It was a spur of the moment thing," said Lane, taking hold of the doctor's outstretched hand and shaking it.
"No problem Leader. We're always happy to welcome visitors such as yourself."
Lane noted the doctor's nervous look towards the Bosens.
Give the man some credit. He only looked once and it's hardly thrown him at all.
"If you follow me, I'll take you to see our guest," said Doctor Wilson, turning and leading the party across the courtyard towards a barred door opposite, which swung open as they approached.
Guest. The word stuck in Leader Lane's mind like a chicken bone in the throat. This place makes no concessions to aesthetics except in its terminology.
It had been Suzex's idea to use this place, he remembered, avoiding all the institutions that pampered the relatives of those inside with decoration, ornament, gardens to stroll in. Suzex had argued for a place where no one would suspect a person of such high position to be placed. Somewhere that was more prison than hospital. He had agreed. He found it difficult not to when Suzex suggested something.
As he suggested this visit, he thought.
"You should take an official mistress Leader," Suzex had said just that morning. "People think it strange that you haven't already done so."
It was certainly true that every Leader in living memory on Aks had taken a mistress, even those already married. It was considered a demonstration of position, of affluence.
"I haven't time for such frivolities. Akasian is falling down around us. The rebels seem to grow stronger every day," Lane had argued, pacing his office.
"All the more reason to take a mistress at this time. Your supporters will see it as a sign of stability, of normality, of strength."
"I have no desire to search the finishing schools and hostels for a suitable candidate."
"There's no need." Suzex had smiled. "The perfect one is already waiting. The perfect mistress to show how your administration builds on the strengths of Carlton's, provides a link to the past as well as a way forward into the future. Carlton's mistress. Carina Burfield."
She sat huddled in the far corner of the cell, blonde hair tangled, eyes heavy with sleepless nights. The white smock she wore gave her a shapelessness in common with the other inma
tes, but not even that utilitarian garment could completely hide her figure, a figure that stirred memories and desires in Leader Lane as he stood at the viewing screen with Doctor Wilson.
"She seems..." Leader Lane sought for the right word.
"She's sedated," said the Doctor. "She can be troublesome. A complainer."
She was official mistress to the Leader of Aks, thought Lane. She mixed in the highest circles and, with Carlton being unmarried, was wife in everything but name. She watched Carlton die. No wonder she had a nervous breakdown.
"Perhaps she's better now? Has anyone actually bothered to investigate that possibility? Maybe she doesn't belong here anymore."
Doctor Wilson looked hurt.
"Our express orders, signed by yourself sir, were that she be detained indefinitely for her own good."
"Yes." Lane remembered signing the order under the watchful eye of Suzex. Larn forgive him, he had known it to be wrong at the time, that she needed hospital care and treatment, not this. But Suzex had been insistent.
"She will cause trouble, make wild accusations. People will not be able to accept your new administration while she remains to remind them of the old."
Now it was that same Suzex persuading him to release her, take her as his own official mistress. He could not deny that the physical desire was there, but the whole situation made him uncomfortable. Why the change of mind from Suzex? He knew Suzex's answer.
"Times have changed. The people need to be reminded of a more stable time, a time without the rebels. She is a symbol of those times, and you taking her as your own will strengthen your image with those who remember Carlton's time with nostalgic fondness."
He supposed there was some sense in it. But he could not completely quell the feeling that there was something more, some other reason. He suddenly became acutely aware of the two Bosens standing nearby, always evident by their stench. He could not rid himself of the uncomfortable feeling that they, too, were looking at Carina with more than casual interest.
