Intrepid Page 8

  Kris and her staff fell in between first and second platoon. Prometheus ambled along, never quite falling in step, on Kris’s left. Lucifer was sent off to return the car, clearly borrowed just for guests. Kris took a first try at getting Prometheus talking. “Those spires look huge. Are they one huge rock each?”

  “One piece, cut from the living rock and pulled here by raw human power,” he said proudly. “The Guides thought such a project would bind us together against anything, and it surely did. Not a single person who Bore the Stones has ever left. Lucifer keeps telling me that his generation should be given the chance to Bear the Stones. A different set, maybe for the rear entry. What do you think?”

  “Anything that builds community spirit is always good,” Kris said. No need to raise the subject of Pandemonium. Then again, the claim that no one who had Borne the Stones had ever left hinted that some who hadn’t had indeed walked away.

  Just how much trouble was this colony in?

  “Would it be too much to ask how you found us?” Prometheus said carefully. “There’s nothing at the jump point. When we arrived, we installed a fiber-optic hub. Nothing is sent over the airwaves.”

  “I came looking for you after we talked to a trader who had been here.” Or so the pirate claimed.

  “Oh,” the local said.

  “Once we were in orbit we saw your heat signature and your mounds.” Kris hoped she was not condemning the local peasants to heatless winters. Still, she wanted to keep them talking.

  “Hmm,” Prometheus said. “The last ship here showed us how our power lines were visible to the jump point, so we bought everything he had to make superconducting wire and restrung our power grid . . . underground. I guess we’ll have to add an extra meter of earth to our homes and civic buildings to make sure they stay closer to the ambient temperature.”

  “You really believe some alien horde is coming?” Kris asked.

  Prometheus opened his mouth to reply but then closed it and nodded to something ahead of Kris.

  The company approached a large crossroad, grassy like the one they walked, unmarked in stone or otherwise. However, there was a large bluish stone, a meter on a side. Standing atop it, a man in only a breechcloth was in full harangue. His back was to the Marine company, so he didn’t see why some of his two or three dozen listeners suddenly grew distracted and looked past him.

  It didn’t matter, he was either in love with his voice or his message . . . or both.

  “The unbelievers will be damned, and boiled in their own blood. The Choosers will take them, by the dozens, by the hundreds and serve them up broiled and fried. Poached and minced. Woe to those who ignored the shouts of we who have heard the Angels of Light and did not turn to follow us.

  “But joy shall come to those the Choosers pass over. Those who have given themselves over to the Angels of Light will rise up to the ninth heaven, there to be ministered to by the most high angels. Great is the reward of those who have done everything that was asked of them.”

  The preacher turned then, following the gaze of his listeners to Kris and her Marines. But it was not them he next addressed.

  “Woe to you, Prometheus? It is not the warmth of fire or the guidance of light that you bring. Always it is outsiders. The damned, fit only for the demons to eat. Why do you waste your time and our goods on the likes of these with hardened hearts and deaf ears? Smite them down. Give up your life of comfort and plenty and join your brothers who tell only the truth about what is to come.”

  “Brother Jonah, I do what the Angels of Light tell me, as I know you do what they tell you. Please continue on with your daily lesson. I assure you, I will do all that the Angels put within my reach to open the ears of those I now take to listen to the wisdom of the Great Guides.”

  That made quite a hit with the crowd. Kris caught the murmured words “the Great Guides” several times.

  “May they bless your efforts more than they ever blessed them before,” Jonah said, not willing to let Prometheus have the last word.

  The Marines marched on. Maybe Jonah did his shouting a bit more softly. His noise fell behind.

  “I didn’t think your associates believed in God,” Kris said when she could whisper it.

  “We don’t, but thirty years ago, the Great Guides announced that the Aliens of the Light privately called themselves angels and their home solar system Heaven. Some of the more simple-minded like Jonah are easily confused by that and miss the fine points of distinction that the Great Guides highlighted.”

  “So everyone doesn’t see matters the same way?”

  “Jonah’s son walked away, and he has never forgiven me. My son, Lucifer, preaches among the young the need for another Bearing of the Stones. His son boarded a starship that I had done business with and now is lost to us forever.

  “It is a heavy burden for Jonah to bear.”

  Kris let the rest of the walk pass in silence.

  9

  Kris had been in huge buildings, both human built and alien. The Assembly of the Great Guides set new standards. From the outside, it looked like a massive grassy knoll . . . maybe hillock would be a better word. Inside was an enormous amphitheater. The ceiling hung low, almost claustrophobic in its oppressive-ness. The conflict between the two feelings left Kris confused.

  No doubt the effect was intended.

  With a will, Kris shook the feelings. I’m a Longknife. A naval officer. A princess. You may have the ceiling, but I have the Marines. The thought brought a grim smile to her lips.

  But that didn’t let her escape one final thought. There was a whole lot of dirt up there. Hopefully, the Great Guides had better engineers than theologians. It would be a very bad day if the roof picked just now to surrender to gravity.

  No Marines were out in front of Kris. Either to avoid getting intimidatingly close or to spread out his troops, Jack had Gunny forming the Marines in a line behind the top row of seats. It was just Kris and Jack, Abby and Penny making the long walk toward the central sanctuary, a huge place in its own right.

  Chief Beni hung back with the Marines. Kris could already hear his excuse that he could measure anything from back there.

  Kris slowed as she reached the bottom of the amphitheater. What appeared to be the sanctuary stood atop a six-foot wall above the floor. There was no visible entrance.

  Then suddenly there was. A wide stairwell opened before her. “We are very honored. The Great Guides have deigned that you should approach them,” Prometheus said.

  Kris felt delighted with that honor . . . and knew she was being manipulated. Just at the edge of her hearing there was music. NELLY, ASK THE CHIEF IF WE’RE GETTING “HAPPINESS” OR “I BELIEVE ANYTHING” GAS.

  CHIEF BENI SAYS THERE ARE MINOR TRACES OF BOTH GASES AS WELL AS LOW HARMONICS REINFORCING THEM.

  Kris tapped two skin patches on the inside of her wrist. The antidotes to both gases shot into her bloodstream. To her right, her team did the same. To her left, Prometheus climbed the stairs, a near beatific joy on his face.

  A few feet past the stairs, a rail rose from the floor, marking the limit, apparently, of their honor . . . and advance. Kris reached it, stopped, looked around, and saw only a vast expanse of white marble. So she turned to look the place over until whoever was choreographing this show caught up with her.

  Thick carpet covered the riser seats, the better for soft bottoms to endure long sermons or harangues. The Marines covered the entire top row, one every five yards. Every fifth Marine faced backward, keeping an eye on what might come up behind them. Gunny and sergeants roamed along their rank, making sure troopers stayed attentive even though nothing seemed to be happening.

  “Beni, any little word of advice would come in handy just now.”

  “I’m not finding any electronic action in this whole anthill. You know there are such things as hydraulics and mechanical motors, Your Highness. I got a feeling these folks have swallowed a really big old-timer’s pill.”

  Which might be true, b
ut was no help to Kris.

  A hissing brought Kris back to face front. There was steam in the air above them; the music was louder and more pounding. Kris had been to a few rock concerts in college that were this lame.

  Then again, she’d done them drug free, and most of her friends who hadn’t had seemed to enjoy them a whole lot more.

  Oh well.

  A block of ebony marble began to descend from the ceiling. Twelve white thrones followed. Lights flashed through the steam, making the black stone and gleaming thrones sparkle and roil. Kris counted ten people seated on the thrones, two empty. So much for flexibility.

  Kris eyed the descending guides. NELLY, PLEASE MATCH THESE GREAT GUIDES AGAINST THE ONES RUNNING THIS SHOW BEFORE THEY LIT OUT FROM HUMAN SPACE.

  THEY DO NOT MATCH. NONE OF THESE TEN WERE AMONG THOSE TWELVE.

  Which leaves two that could match, but Kris wouldn’t take a bet on them. And which set of Guides had decided the good aliens were angels. How bloody had been the change in revelation.

  Kris knew politics could become a blood sport. Her father had kept it otherwise . . . most of the time. Apparently, when angels talked directly to you, things could go real bad.

  The slab of marble, or at least what looked like one, settled twenty meters from Kris. The twelve thrones were just about ready to touch down. The steam dissipated, letting Kris spot the supporting cables on the slab and chairs. Nelly estimated they could support no more than 125 kilos except for the overweight man who sat in the middle. He had double cabling.

  They were not quite down when Kris took the lead. “Hi, folks. I’m glad you could find time in your busy day to meet with me. I represent King Raymond I, monarch of one hundred and twelve planets, and I’m here to open relationships with Xanadu.” Kris blessed them with her best princess smile.

  Nothing happened while the thrones settled into place behind the fake marble. Nothing happened while the fat man in the middle studied Kris for a long moment through small beady eyes.

  “You do not speak to us,” he growled. “We speak to you, and you answer only when it is our wish for you.”

  “You did notice the Marines lining your sacred precinct, didn’t you?” Kris said.

  “I could tell them to leave, and they would obey me.”

  “You might want to double-check that, fellow. Your ‘I believe anything’ juice is pretty out-of-date.”

  “You there,” he said, waving at Jack. “Leave us.”

  Jack’s right hand went to rest on his holster. He shook his head. “Sorry, Charley, it ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Let me tell you what is going to happen,” Kris said, casually settling to a half-sitting position on their rail. “Humanity is set to do another spread out. You’re only two jumps from Cuzco, so it’s not going to be very long before there’s a lot of traffic through your system. You are soon going to go public in a big way.”

  “I told them we should have moved farther out,” a woman said, three down from the big guy in the middle.

  “Cuzco was growing like a weed even before we moved here,” said a man on the opposite side.

  “They began the migration eighty years ago. It was too late to change,” put in another beside him.

  “Silence!” said beady eyes.

  Kris spoke into the sudden quiet. “You have only two choices. You can profit from the traffic through your jump points in the usual ways, providing reaction mass, food, and cross shipments from a space station you really need to build.”

  “Or?” he asked.

  “Or someone else will build a space station above you and see that trade is properly supported.”

  “And if we do not want to trade with the rest of you?”

  “That really isn’t an option,” Kris said flatly.

  “You demand that we join in your king’s hundred-and-twelve-planet association,” the woman guide said.

  “Oh no, you totally misunderstand me on that,” Kris moved quickly to correct. “No planet may join United Sentients that is not acceptable to all the other members. And no planet without a democratic government has been invited in. There’s no question about your joining King Raymond’s United Sentients. What we cannot allow you to become is either a rogue state or a resource for fitting out piracy to prey on the rest of humanity.”

  “And if we choose to have nothing to do with your humanity?”

  “I really don’t see how that can happen.”

  “I think maybe we should think on this,” said the guy who had complained about the eighty-year effort to build Xanadu.

  “I’d be glad to leave you for a month,” Kris said.

  “Then we will have a message for you in a month,” the speaker said.

  Kris stood, gave him a regal nod, then led her team out. The Marines performed a smooth retrograde, and in only a few minutes Kris was walking down the street she’d just walked up. Somehow, Prometheus detached himself, leaving Kris with more questions than why everyone was running around in bed-sheets.

  The pirateship Compton Maru claimed it had just called on Xanadu. Had it? Was that the level of outside contact the Guides were maintaining? This visit had answered none of those, and Kris wasn’t interested in hanging around.

  Hercules shushed the other guides as their thrones disappeared below the sacred precincts. They had learned the hard way about the tiny listening devices that were so popular in human space. If they hadn’t gotten a spacer drunk, they would have been taken even more advantage of by the last few star-ships through. Now, he and the other guides stripped, turned their robes over to security, and washed themselves thoroughly before submitting themselves for scanning by their own electronics experts.

  “Oh Great Guide for our Way, no hidden bugs speak to us.”

  “What about the Assembly hall?”

  “We found nothing there.”

  “I do not like this,” said Leonides. “They always use bugs. If we cannot find them, it only means they have again gained an advantage over us.”

  “But if this Kris did not bother to bug us, how can we persuade you that you are not bugged, foolish husband of mine?” Gorgo said, with a curt shake of her wet hair.

  “It does not matter,” Hercules said. “Bring me a new robe and bring me Lucifer.”

  Robed, the ten adjourned to a room where most decisions were made. Here, deep under the mound of the assembly, a warm spring flowed. From a vent in the earth rose the vapors of the future. But today Hercules did not go to smell the vapors or eat the sacred mushroom; instead, he sat on his throne, first among equals.

  Lucifer entered and immediately went to one knee before the Guides as they arranged themselves on their thrones. These did not fly through the air and were solid marble, with cushions to soften the seats of all authority over the present and future.

  “Young man,” Hercules said, “the twelve have a mission for you and your associates.”

  “We are ready and worthy of it,” the youth said.

  “It was foretold at your birth you would be the Bringer of Light. I call upon you to bring down the sky on the faithless.”

  “How will I do that, O Seer of the Future?”

  “In four days, once that interloper is out of our system, you and your companions will go far from Xanadu, but when the Angels of Light greet you, it will be as kings and queens.”

  The young man gulped, but stood. “I will gather my companions. None of those you called will fail you.”

  And Lucifer turned on his heels and went from them.

  10

  “Shall we leave a jump buoy?” Captain Drago asked, as they halted in front of the jump between Xanadu and Pandemonium.

  “We didn’t leave buoys at the jumps from Cuzco,” Kris said. She hadn’t wanted to make the Great Guides mad before she talked to them. Fat lot of good that had done. “We gave them a month. We can wait. Captain, take us through.”

  “Aye, aye, Your Highness. Sulwan, make it so.”

  With a quick shot of maneuvering jets, they
were in another system. Drago put on one gee and boosted sunward even before sensors reported back on what the locals had shortened to Panda.

  Passive sensors were the first to hint at trouble.

  “I’m not getting any chatter on the communication circuits,” Chief Beni reported with a frown. “And I’m getting neutrino emissions from what looks like two ships in orbit over Panda.”

  “We’ve never had more than one freighter show up a year,” Andy Fronour said from the jump seat he occupied on the bridge. “How could there be two now?”

  “We’ll have to wait until we establish communications,” Kris said. “At this distance, there’s an hour lag time between us saying anything and them answering back.”

  Thirty minutes later, the main screen on the bridge opened up with full visuals. Kris knew at first glance things were not good. Staring at her in the impeccable uniform of a merchant captain was Captain William Tacoma Thorpe, former commander of the Patrol Corvette Typhoon, and, given a choice between early retirement and a court-martial, formally of the Wardhaven Navy.

  “What is he doing here?” was Kris’s first question.

  Nothing good, had to be the first answer.

  “Unidentified freighter, there is no business here for you. Sheer off and do not approach Presley’s Pride.”

  Kris mashed the kill-screen button.

  “Presley’s Pride?” Fronour said, leaping from his jump seat. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet with that name.”

  “Apparently there is now,” Kris said, and filled them in on who was talking to them.

  Captain Drago didn’t seem surprised. He did want to make sure he got it right “He was your first skipper in the Navy.” Kris agreed that he was. “And he ended up retiring out of the Navy in lieu of a full court-martial.” Kris agreed he did.

  “Explains why I get such interesting looks at the bar when I admit skippering your ship,” Drago said, rubbing his chin.

  “Stay on my good side,” Kris suggested.

  “What happened?” Drago said, very serious now.