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out in concentric circles around it. But the main impression
was one of space, of room; the majority of the city was
devoted to parks and woodland. True, they weren’t made of
grass and trees but orange moss and purple bushes, but a park
was a park on any planet.
‘That is an areothermal geyser, I would wager,’ muttered
the Doctor, pointing at the pyramid with his umbrella. ‘The
reason that we managed to avoid hypothermia.’
‘It is deserted, isn’t it?’ asked Santacosta. ‘If there are
Greenies still around...’
‘Ikk-ett-Saleth is deserted, Ms Santacosta,’ said the Doctor.
‘I can assure you of that.’
Madrigal wasn’t convinced. Like the others, she had heard
the stories, the rumours. The briefly glimpsed figures
lumbering through ruined Martian cities; the travellers who
strayed from the recommended routes and never arrived at
their destination; the short snatches of radio signals, being
broadcast in a language that definitely was not one of Earth’s.
Madrigal wouldn’t have bet her wages on Mars being
deserted, that was for sure.
If they encountered Greenies in Ikk-ett-Saleth, they would
have to be dealt with. She automatically checked that her
plasma pistol was still holstered at her hip; although she didn’t
want to enter Ikk-ett-Saleth with all guns blazing, if there was
a possibility that the expedition was threatened, she was
prepared. The Mayor of Jacksonville had asked her to
accompany McGuire’s expedition to provide protection, and,
being a Marine, she knew the meaning of duty.
‘The main causeway to the city is just over there,’ said the
Doctor.
‘Can’t we just bed down here?’ asked Roz. ‘It’s warm,
protected ...’
‘Why do that, when there are beds and blankets down
there,’ said the Doctor. ‘Come along, Roz: not long now.’
As the extremely weary travellers began the last stage of
their journey, they were totally unaware of the four shadows
observing them from the far side of the city bowl.
‘They passed through the Ga’jur-ett-Lii’is!’ whispered Cleece.
‘How?’
Aklaar reached up and placed a clamp on Cleece’s
shoulder. ‘Since the Thousand Day War, some humans have
made a detailed study of our ways; of our culture and our
customs. The trap of the unfamiliar way was laid wide open
for us, since we are pilgrims, and privy to the secret signs. The
humans obviously have a man of learning in their party, and
he could prove more dangerous than an entire battalion of
warriors.’
Cleece shook his head. ‘The result of the lax security of a
civilian nest. If this had been Liis-arrat-Ixx, or another of the
military nests, the Xssixss would have been their downfall.’
Esstar sighed. Cleece’s obsession with military history was
wearing. An Xssixss – the path of easy virtue – was a false
entrance corridor into a Warriors’ nest, one which ensured that
any intruders were picked off well before reaching the
Queen’s chamber. In essence, it was exactly the same as a
Ga’jur-ett-Lii’is, the unfamiliar way. But to Cleece, a
Ga’jurett-Lii’is was naturally inferior to his Warrior traps.
Anything the Warriors did, anything the Warriors built, was
superior. The fact that the Warriors’ actions had cost them
their home planet did not seem to worry him.
‘This city is abandoned, Abbot,’ added Sstaal. ‘What harm
would there be in the humans enjoying its comforts, when
there are comforts to be spared?’ Esstar had to agree with him;
Oras had always welcomed all comers to his table, even his
treacherous brother Ssethiis and his sister-wife Netysss.
‘They are vermin!’ spat Cleece. ‘Vermin who dare to infest
Ikk-ett-Saleth! This city is disgraced, that is true; but they will
bring an even greater disgrace upon it by desecrating it with
their presence.’
As always, Sstaal tried to be conciliatory. ‘But Oras says -’
Cleece smashed his clamps together. ‘Oras be damned!’
The shocked silence was electric. Cleece’s outbursts were
habitual, but this time he had gone too far. Far too far. This
was blasphemy of the first order, and Esstar could not help but
feel the shame that her accursed mate brought upon her.
Cleece obviously realized the magnitude of his insult. Then
again, he would have been an even bigger fool to remain
silent. ‘Abbot, I beg forgiveness,’ he murmured, bowing his
head.
Sstaal stepped forward. ‘Oras says -’
‘Peace, Pilgrim Sstaal,’ hissed Aklaar, holding up a clamp.
‘Pilgrim Cleece speaks from concern for the memories that are
buried in Ikk-ett-Saleth. Such concern provokes deep passions,
and his outburst must be forgiven. I suggest that we spend
some time meditating over the Ninth Book of Oras: the
Rebirth of the Father.’ He reached into his thick hide belt and
retrieved a small book, bound in green leather. ‘Be seated,’ he
gestured, ‘and let us pray.’
Aklaar and his pilgrims sat down in a circle, cross-legged,
their copies of the Book of Oras in their clamps. ‘Let us
repledge our souls to Oras.’
Speaking as one, the Martians began. ‘Through your
teachings, sacred Oras, may we find the path to heaven.’
Meanwhile, on Charon, all hell was breaking loose.
‘Check the software!’ screamed Rachel over the even
louder screaming which bellowed from the stunnel mouth.
According to the master work-station, the Higgs’s generators
were doing their job; indeed, the swirling vortex in the stunnel
mouth was proof that the subspace meniscus had been
penetrated. But the stunnel itself simply refused to obey the
laws of physics and resolve at the other end.
Although none of their previous attempts had been any
more successful, this situation was different. They were taking
a radically different approach, and all the indications were that
they should have managed it this time; indeed, from the
readouts in front of Rachel, there should have been a stable
subspace tunnel between Charon and the Ultima relay, sixteen
million kilometres beyond Cassius and well outside the
blockade – their escape route. But there wasn’t. There wasn’t
anything apart from a bit of ineffectual subspace penetration.
Felice looked up from her own station. ‘I’ve checked the
Matterbase program; it’s running okay.’ She shook her head.
‘Damn it, Rachel, it should be working!’ She tapped on her
work-station keyboard and frowned. ‘The glitch must be
coming from somewhere, but where?’ She glanced over at the
telemetry relay from the telescope. Rachel followed her gaze
and froze.
The three saucers were assuming orbit around Charon,
ebony disks that bristled with gun-ports. Chris had been right
so far: the ships had set off from where he said, and had
arrived when he said. So his prophecy of ion cannons, photon
impellers and anti-matter drills bombing them into oblivion
was a very real threat. Rachel estimated that they had about
ten minutes before the surface of Charon began boiling into
space.
‘Got it!’ yelled Dortmun. ‘The quantum resonators need
recalibrating – they’re not working properly this deep into
subspace. It’ll take about five minutes.’ Rachel was relieved; [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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