“Haven’t there been uprisings?”
Max shrugged. “Sure. They even killed all the guards twice. But all Aton does is send in more troops, keeps the prisoners on half rations for a while, and soon things get back to normal, as best I can understand. Apparently they have an endless supply of screw-ups in their military. But that isn’t what I’m talking about. I’m talking about leaving, under our own power.”
Lucas looked a little skeptically amused. “You can flap your wings and fly?”
Max looked annoyed. “Look, Luke, I know I don’t look like much – but I know how to fix damned near any machine ever made, and I maybe got a way to get off Planet X . . . but only if I can get some help. Sword World help. And up to now, that’s been thin on the ground on Planet X.
“But now the Atonians went and screwed up and sent me a Sword Worlder,” he said, chuckling to himself. “That’s just rich. Or the Fates being kind. Tell me, Luke, you a real Space Viking?”
“That’s why I’m here,” he nodded. “Me and my men. A little over seventy of us, what’s left of my crew. Why?”
“Seventy?” Max asked, surprised. “And they know how to fly a spaceship? Then I’m your new best friend, Luke. Look, meet me here tonight, after dark. We need to go out in the marshes and see some friends of mine.”
“His Highness shall not be accompanying anyone anywhere without a proper escort,” assured Lt. Barnes.” He said it in a friendly enough tone, but with just enough hardness to it to make Max prick up his ears. He glanced down to his formerly irate client, now unconscious in front of his booth.
“Easy, fellas!” Max protested. “Don’t worry, I can take two more. In fact, be good to have someone with technical knowledge—”
“Shall I draw you a diagram of a Dillingham hyperdrive engine?” Barnes asked.
“I said, easy! Sure, sure, bring who ever you want, but no more than three. I can have you back before morning.”
“Too dangerous to travel with more than that after dark?” Lucas asked.
Max looked annoyed again. “Nah. The jeep only holds four.”
“Jeep? You have an air jeep?” Barnes asked, surprised.
“Kinda,” admitted Max. “I mean, I couldn’t very well walk everywhere, could I? My time is valuable, and so is shoe leather. So I cobbled together a couple of robots and a frame, and made an air jeep.” He shrugged like it wasn’t particularly impressive. “It’s rickety and it might fall out of the sky one day, but it gets me around. So just after dusk. Tonight.”
* * *
Lucas chose Lt. Delio and Galen Sebastian, the engineer’s assistant who had come with them on the pinnace and had kept it limping along once Lafe had left with the rest of the crew back at Shamash. Delio had managed to arm himself with a serviceable dagger cunningly made from scrap, and had acquired one of the homemade crossbows he’d mentioned. Max was a little jumpy when the three men arrived at his stall.
“Yeah, might be a good time to be elsewhere, soon. Mr. Flack is not happy with my level of customer service and has complained to the local Enterprise Council, or whatever they’re calling his thug-squad these days.” Max threw back a heavily-patched tarpaulin to reveal a bare steel frame bedecked with various elements of a contragravity vehicle – only the very essential elements. There wasn’t much in the way of safety gear.
“My own design,” Max said, proudly as the Tanith men looked on skeptically. “And parts of it even started off from real aircars, believe it or not. All right, Luke behind me, you two hanging onto the sides for dear life,” he said, as he settled into the pilot’s chair. Lucas slid in behind him, while his men clung on to the tail section of the unlikely vehicle.
“And away we go,” chuckled Max as the car floated into the air and began moving just slightly faster than a man could walk. “I didn’t say it would win any speed contests. But I can get it up to thirty miles an hour, with a tailwind. It beats slogging through the mud below, believe me.”
“So what brought such an enterprising fellow like you to this scenic wonderland?” Lucas asked, curious about his new ally.
“Wrong place at the wrong time, really,” Max admitted as he skimmed over the first large lagoon past the highlands of the camp. “I was an engineer of sorts on a tramp freighter – just a little five-hundred footer, nothing serious. I’ve been in ships as long as I remember – born on one, I think. Anyway, I was with the ship when we were making a, ahem, slightly irregular delivery, outside of regular channels.”
“Those Atonians,” Lucas chuckled, “always stiplers for paperwork.”
“Exactly. Well, we were dropping off a shipment of guns to an insurgency group on Sif, when we were surprised. Someone sold us out, and the Atonians caught the lot of us. The Captain managed to cut himself a deal, I guess, but me and the other crew didn’t rate that kind of treatment. So we went with the insurgents, and they went here, swept under the big ugly rug known as Planet X.”
“Any idea what the actual name of the world might be?”
“No idea,” Max admitted, as he gained a little altitude, enough to go over the squat-looking trees growing out of the water. “Nasty bit, down there, by the way. Unless you know which way to go, it gets uncomfortable. My biggest reason for building the jeep. The only thing I know about this place is that it was apparently originally settled by Baldur – at least, the settlement on the other side of the continent was Balduran, originally.”
“Interesting,” Lucas said. “That should help narrow it down. Any idea how many colonies Baldur produced?”
“Dozens, I’m afraid,” Max sighed. “Uh, oh, we’re getting close, but there’s a large, nocturnal aerial predator up ahead, two-o’clock, Luke. Mostly they’ll leave us alone, unless they decide we’re a threat or they’re just bored. They look like they have three heads, but only the one in the center is real. The other two are kind of complicated claws for pre-mastication, or something. Interesting design,” he commented.
“So . . . what do we do if these three-headed dragons take an interest?” Lucas asked.
“I’ll try to out-fly them,” Max said, unconvincingly. “Or you can grab that thing down there by my knee – yeah, that one – and charge it up.”
“What the Nifflheim is this?” Lucas asked, perplexed by the ungainly machine. It looked somewhat like a weapon, but it was no ordinary gun.
“Oh, that – well, the Atonians won’t give me the form that lets me order a real gun for some reason, so I made my own. But instead of wasting time with powder and barrels and all that, I used some of the spare parts I had lying around. Activate it with the yellow button, and when it turns green you can take a shot.”
“What the hell does it shoot?”
“It’s a gauss gun – it’s a giant solenoid, basically, that shoots washers,” the tinker explained. “It takes about fifteen seconds for the capacitors to re-charge, but it’s pretty effective for about fifty feet. It will shoot a washer over four hundred miles an hour. That can sting. Took me two power cells, some germanium wire, and about three hours to scare up a frame and electronics.”
“And it works as well as a gun?”
“Oh, the muzzle velocity is anemic, compared to a firearm,” Max assured him. “That being said, it’ll still kill an unarmored man. Has, actually,” he added, reflectively.
“Neat trick,” Lucas nodded, as he brought the weapon to his shoulder using the crude stock.
“Aw, that’s nothing,” Max dismissed. “In fact, we’re coming up to what I hope will be my masterpiece. If I can make this work, I’ll be a bona fide genius, I will.”
“Matter transporter?” Lucas asked, only half-joking.
“Nah, something a lot more fun,” Max insisted. “Wait . . . if that big black blob comes any closer than a hundred yards, go ahead and shoot at it, will ya Luke?”
“Sure,” Lucas agreed, sighting the strange weapon into the darkness. “So what’s your masterpiece?”
“That,” Max said, pointing out to the mudflats past th
e last line of trees they were crossing. In the distance, dull planetlight poorly filtered through the overcast making it almost glint, was a silvery sphere. “That’s a hundred-year-old Space Viking space ship – that’s an antique! And if you can help me get it open, Luke, and I can work my magic, then you, me, your guys, my guys, we can all float away from this paradise and find someplace dry.”
“Your guys?” Lucas asked as they picked up speed over the mudflats.
“Yeah. Those insurgents I told you about? They didn’t like camp life. So I convinced them to camp out here. They’re occupying the ship, now, what parts they can reach. And it’s almost dinner time, too. Hope you like mud grubs – that’s about all they eat, now.”
Chapter Seven:
The Battle Of Mertha
The next morning on Mertha dawned clear and cold, which wasn’t much of a surprise at this altitude, Karvall reasoned. He rose with the rest of the castle, and made certain that everything was in order. He ate a heartier-than-normal breakfast, charming the toothless old hag who served as cook out of an extra piece of sweet tuber, or whatever the thing was, and washed it down with the bitter beer-like beverage the locals drank. It was sour and thin, but at least the alcohol killed off any of the nasty germs he knew this planet was full of. He made one last sweep of the compound before he settled into his now-accustomed place on the roof of the structure. Waiting.
He had started to get only a little impatient when things started to happen.
It began with an explosion down at the far end of the valley, near the entrance he’d come through himself only a few hundred hours before. There were the expected screams and shouts and flurries of activity, he noted with satisfaction. It was followed by two more, in quick succession, and within seconds the entire valley was in an uproar. It was clear that the compound was under attack: small-arms fire filled the air, and shouts of dismay and anger started ringing out as more explosions – caused, Karvall knew, by a piece of advanced artillery – proved that someone was trying to damage the Merthans' pitiful fortress.
“What the hell is going on?” the warlord Barsaro asked, groggily, as he stumbled out of his chamber, wrapped in a pink satin bathrobe he’d apparently acquired from off-world.
“How should I know?” Karvall asked, shrilly. “It’s your castle!”
The man grunted at the inescapable logic of the remark, then pulled on his long leather coat over the robe and added a Space Viking combat helmet, the insignia of the original ship long worn away. “You stay here,” he ordered, gruffly. “Guard baby and she-devil. I go check it out – you said mercenaries wouldn’t be here yet!” the slovenly neobarb accused.
“Who said this was them?” Karvall countered. “Go order your men – I’ll see to Her Majesty and the hostage!”
“Good man,” Barsaro muttered as he tiredly lifted a combat rifle to his shoulder and stumbled outside.
“Better than any who follow you,” Karvall assured him under his breath. Then he turned and took to the stairs. He drew his pistol and did his best to be breathless by the time he burst into Evita’s room.
“Your Majesty!” he bellowed, waking the baby. “It’s time! There’s some sort of rebellion or something happening in the valley – there’s a mob headed here, I think, and they have heavy weapons, based on the sound of the reports. Are you packed?”
“What?” Evita, half-naked and covered with a rough-looking blanket, rolled herself out of bed. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, pulling the furs tightly around her.
“Your Majesty, I warned you this might come to pass!” he shouted anxiously. “As well in hand as His Excellency has these barbarians, they get . . . excitable. Someone spread an unfounded rumor about you being a witch, and . . . well, its best that we go. Quickly. Take only what you can carry, and nothing you can’t bear to part with, but I urge you to travel lightly!”
“All right! All right!” Evita said, wide-eyed, as she threw off her furs and began pulling on her clothes without regard to her regal modesty – something Karvall had yet to detect in the former monarch.
“We have maybe five minutes,” he said. “I’ll prepare the babe—”
“No! Leave the brat!” Evita commanded. “We’ll travel lighter without her, and she annoys me!”
“Majesty, the babe is essential to His Excellency’s plan, may I remind you.”
“Essential?” laughed the young noblewoman as she struggled with her shoes, “She’s just a reason to haul the fleet away from Tanith, you moron!” she dismissed as she threw a bag on the bed.
That was new information. Karvall did his best to process it, without appearing surprised. That might arouse suspicion at a critical time.
“Her Majesty is misinformed,” he said, haughtily. “That may be what His Excellency told you, but his orders to me were to bring the baby without fail . . . even if it meant leaving Your Majesty behind.”
“How dare he!” she glared, stopping her preparations. Karvall tensed. A royal hissy-fit right now might just get them all killed. Thankfully, someone answered his prayers and set off a large barrage of artillery aimed at the first castle of the valley, and the echoes of the blast shook the rickety pile of stone they were in sufficiently to inspire Evita to move more quickly. Karvall narrowed his eyes.
“Your Majesty, I suggest you don’t make it too convenient for me to follow His Excellency’s orders to the letter.”
“Oh, all right, bring the blasted brat!” she exploded, as she stuffed her jewelry and bauds into her bag. “I don’t care, just get me—“the air was rent with another explosion, this one closer. “Just get me the hell out of here!” she begged, tears in her eyes. She was drunk with exhaustion and frustration, far from home and at the mercy of forces she could not control. Karvall almost pitied her.
Almost.
Instead he handed her Princess Elaine and his pistol. “Guard her with your life,” he commanded. “And stay behind me until we get to the aircar.” He drew his captured carbine and levered a magazine into the chamber. “I’ll handle anything in front of us.” She nodded dumbly, holding the baby tightly to her as she began to realize how dire things appeared. Karvall took a last deep breath and then gave her a reassuring smile. “Not much longer, Majesty, and all of this will be but an unpleasant memory.”
He started down the stairs and pushed through a group of servants who were eager to see what the commotion was about. They didn’t even remark about the Sword Worlders leaving the upstairs chamber, babe in arms. Indeed, Karvall wasn’t noticed by anyone until they reached the aircar. Unfortunately, the only guard too lazy to go see what was going on was still lounging at his station at the door of the car.
“Open it up,” Karvall said in carefully-rehearsed local Merthan dialect.
“Say who?”
“Barsaro wants the babe moved to a safer place . . . and the woman,” he added, his eyes glancing meaningfully in Evita’s direction.
“I got safe place for woman!” the man leered, making an obscene gesture and uttering a barking laugh.
“And I don’t have time for playful banter,” Karvall decided, and shot the man in the knee. There was barely any notice in the courtyard of the compound: all attention was focused on the assault at the gate of the valley fortresses. Karvall pushed the screaming man out of the way with his foot and opened the door for Queen Evita, who looked very much like a terrified twenty-year-old, holding a baby and fleeing for her life, as opposed to a regal queen in exile strategically retreating.
“We’ll be out of here in seconds,” he promised, as he closed the rickety door to the machine and started the engines. In just over a minute the ascent light came on, and Karvall was able to nudge the ancient car skyward. No bullets flashed in his direction, though he did see a few arms frantically waving. He didn’t feel a real sense of relief until they were well over the tower and headed east over the hills. He could see the battle below, and made a point of circling around to witness the assault he had planned for the Tanith
forces.
He was gratified to see that three large combat robots, remotely-controlled, were tearing through the crude fortifications and dealing havoc with machine guns, missiles, grenades, and flame throwers, while a few hundred yards away a squad of Royal Army of Tanith commandos were taking potshots at the fortress with a 70mm field gun.
“Just like Kotoland,” he chuckled.
“Kotoland? Is that where we’re going?” the Queen asked, anxiously. Surprisingly, Princess Elaine seemed to be displaying no discomfort from the ride, and even offered a giggle during the rapid ascent. She didn’t even seem to mind the pressurizing cabin. “I remember hearing Garvan talking about that, where he was going to land. Are we going to join the troops there?” she asked, worriedly.
“Not just yet,” Karvall assured her. Meanwhile his brain was buzzing at the information Evita was letting drop so casually. So far he’d learned that Spasso had a fleet, that the abduction of the Princess had been a feint, and that there were troops to be expected at Katoland, on Tanith.
Princess Valerie's War Page 14
