Space Captain Smith (16 page)

‘Easily.’

‘Good. Now, looking at the map, we can expect Corveau to take up a position near the farmhouse, which is this tiny square next to the two miniscule ones. I’ll be going in to the farmhouse, where I expect Corveau will try to signal his men to get the jump on me. But he’s not going to be able to, because Suruk will have dealt with them by then.

‘I will get hold of either the controlling device or Corveau himself and shut down the grid. Carveth, you will be in the ship for all of this with the engine running. As soon as I give the signal, you fly to Gadster’s Farm and pick us up. Now, does everyone understand what they’ve got to do?’

There was a murmur of agreement. Suruk croaked and flexed his fingers.

Rhianna put her hand up. ‘Erm, what do I do?’

‘You’re probably best off in the ship,’ said Smith.

‘I think I ought to go with you,’ Rhianna said.

‘Why?’

‘I might be able to talk some sense into him. I can’t help feel I’d be better at persuading people than you.’

Smith frowned. ‘I don’t know. You are a woman after all.’

‘With magic powers,’ Carveth whispered into his ear.

‘I don’t know. It’s hardly safe.’

‘She might be able to – you know –
help
.’

‘Very well,’ said Smith. ‘Rhianna, you can come with me if you want. Carveth, I’ll need you to scan this map into the main computer. Then all we’ve got to do is arm ourselves.’

Andy said, ‘Question: say you guys get captured, or killed. How then do we get paid?’

‘Yeah, paid,’ Francois said.

‘Well,’ said Smith, ‘that’s a good question. A very good question. You see, you don’t like the Governor, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Now, if this goes well, not only will we be able to leave the atmosphere but you will be able to choose a new Governor and join the Free States. Either one of you could stand for the job.’

‘I see,’ Andy said. ‘So you weren’t meaning to pay us at all.’

‘Not in money, no. But in services, yes! Andy, this is about more than money now. This is about liberty, about freedom, about overthrowing a corrupt and tyrannical elite. We must join forces to defeat the Governor, and then you can hold your own elections, make your own decisions without fear of retribution – and even apply to the United Free States to become one of their members. And in the generations to come, your children will thank you for making Paradis paradise once again.’

‘So no money.’

‘Yes.’

‘Francois, get the rifle.’

‘We could always have a whip-round,’ Carveth said.

‘Now, there’s no need to be uncivilised about this –’

Smith began as Francois left the room. They heard his boots clatter on the steps, going down, and then rising again. Suruk’s tusks moved into their fighting-position.

‘This here’s a 308 Morgan Plainsman,’ Francois declared as he stepped into the room. A long, woodenstocked hunting rifle was in his hands. ‘They call it the Frontier Special, out on the frontier. Everywhere else, they call it the Special. Ammo’s stored in the stock, here, or loaded individually in the breech. It takes up to eighteen supercharged .45 rifle shells, chambered by cockin’ the hand-guard Winchester-style, like this.’ He flicked his hand forward, then back, the metal finger-guard sliding back into the gun with a loud and satisfying
clack
. ‘One shot from this’ll go straight though a safe door, and you can get ten off in so many seconds. It’s quite a gun. So take good care of it.’

He held out the rifle. Smith took it. Carveth breathed again. Smith cradled the weapon in his hands, lifted it and looked down the scope at the far end of the room.

‘Best bit’s the scope,’ Andy said, grinning. ‘Made that m’self. You’ve got a night-sight and composite thermal imager there, with a motion detector. Hell of a piece.’

‘Does it have a name?’ Smith said.

‘Heck no. Do I look like a redneck gun nut to you?’

‘Well, your neck’s not actually red, in a literal sense . . .’

‘It’s very kind of you,’ Rhianna put in. ‘Sharing spreads harmony and peace.’

‘Very true. I could blow a man to bits with this,’ Smith said. ‘Excellent. Andy, Francois, thank you. I appreciate this.’

They got ready. Smith found two suits of light body armour on the ship, thin enough to wear under a coat. He fetched one for himself and one for Rhianna, and checked his weapons as Carveth scanned the map.

‘Captain,’ she said quietly as he was strapping the sword to his side.

‘Yes, Carveth?’

‘I saw something funny last night. It was when I went in that room with that bloke I met.’

‘Last chipolata in the value pack, was it?’

‘No, no, not that. We went into a billiard room, you see. It was dark, and I didn’t notice to begin with, what with being preoccupied, but there were nameplates on the walls, the names of ships.’

‘Ships?’

‘Yes. Spaceships. Trophies of the ships he’s destroyed. This really is a wrecker’s planet. He must have put them up there, like the stuffed animal heads you have at home.’

‘You’ve never seen my home.’

‘I just know.’

‘Gosh, that’s eerie.’

‘I bet there’s some tweed there too. Anyhow, the point is: I’ve not seen anyone round here who looks like they’re not local, if you see what I mean.’

‘You mean he killed the crews.’

She shrugged.

‘My God. He lured ships down here and murdered their crews to strip them for scrap. This fellow doesn’t know what he’s got coming, Carveth.’

She paused, arms folded. Her small face frowned. ‘You be careful, Boss. Make sure you and Rhianna get back all right.’

‘I will.’

In the midday sun, Gadster’s Farm was as white as bone. Towers jutted from the uneven ground, a propeller turning in the wind on one of them with a noise like a rusted hinge. The barns were holed and empty and echoed with the sound of crows. The windows of the farmhouse looked like eyeholes in a skull.

Smith passed Rhianna the binoculars.

Around the edge of the farm, like crashed airships or the skeletons of dinosaurs, the spacecraft lay. They were huge, stripped down to the ribbing, robbed of glass, heat shielding, motors and steel plate, monuments to the folly of those who had presumed to land on Corveau’s world. Half a dozen shuttles lay on their bellies and sides, ruins now. Smith saw a Spanish flag on the front of one, a Japanese Chrysanthemum on another, the emblem of Indastan on a third.

‘One of them’s British,’ he whispered. ‘The dirty swine.’

Rhianna lowered the binoculars. ‘This place is huge. It’s like a little town. They could have men anywhere.’

‘Suruk’ll find them. How long’s he had?’

‘About half an hour.’ She dusted herself down. In flares, sandals and a long white shirt with flowers on the sleeves, Rhianna was not dressed for combat. They stood in the shadow of an outcrop of rock, fifty metres from the edge of the lake where Andy had dropped them off. ‘You and he are really close, aren’t you?’

Smith nodded. ‘We’ve known one another for a while, if that’s what you mean. He’s a decent sort.’

‘You seem like good friends. Although it’s quite hard to tell.’

‘I suppose.’ Smith looked round at her, rather irritated to have to bother with all this. ‘He’d better come back alive.’

‘I know. He means a lot to you.’

‘He’s got my bloody penknife. You’d think someone like that would bring enough knives, wouldn’t you?

Typical alien. You can see why we have to run space for them.’ He dropped the binoculars into his coat pocket.

‘Right. We’re all set. Still sure you want to be in on this?’

‘Yes. I think I can help.’

‘Maybe seeing a woman will soften them up, weaken them a bit. Let’s go.’

They walked out into the farm.

On one of the towers a man with a rifle watched them approach. He wore sunglasses and below them his face was set and hard.

The road to the farmhouse was flanked by barns. Smith’s eyes flicked between each barn and its neighbour, where the long high walls made alleyways. Behind the barns, a buggy crept along, keeping pace with them. There were three men in it. It looked light and fast. Smith held the rifle in both hands. His coat swished out behind him.

‘I don’t like this,’ Rhianna said. ‘They’ve got people everywhere.’

‘They know we’re not idiots,’ Smith replied. A man stepped out of the dark mouth of the house and yelled, ‘Hey, idiots!’ He cupped his hands to his mouth, his grey coat flapping around his boot-tops in the breeze.

‘In here!’

‘I’m scared, Isambard.’

‘Don’t be. You’ve got
me
here. It’ll be fine.’

A crow screeched and then everything was silent. The stillness of the world seemed to swallow them as they approached, as if one loud sound might shatter it. The man in the grey coat stepped inside the house. Smith said, ‘I shouldn’t have brought you out here. This isn’t a place for you.’

‘For a woman?’

‘For you. Listen, if it gets nasty, I want you to run, alright? I’ll make damned sure I settle his goose, but I don’t want you getting hurt. Run and call for Suruk.’

‘Captain Smith?’

‘Yes.’

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for giving me a lift.’

‘Let’s settle some hash,’ he said, and he pulled back his coat and strode inside.

Corveau sat at the back of a long whitewashed room, empty apart from a table and a chair. He wore the same white suit: it looked as if he’d slept in it. There was a very thin cigarette in his hand, and no can of beer in front of him.

Two men stood behind him. They held their shotguns loosely, ready to raise and use. Behind Corveau’s chair there was a door.

‘Mr Smith.’

‘That’s Captain.’

‘Sure.’ Corveau yawned. Behind him, one of the men spat onto the concrete floor. ‘Sleep well last night?’

‘Like a log.’

Corveau snorted. ‘You think like a log as well, walking in here. One man against three. Or maybe a little more than three.’

‘What do you want?’

‘It’s more what you need. Which, I believe, is this.’ His hand snaked down to his suit pocket. Smith’s fingers tensed, ready to grab the revolver at his side. ‘Here,’

Corveau said, and he placed a small black device on the tabletop, the size and shape of a television remote control.

‘What you’re looking for, I believe.’

‘Yes. How much do you want to get off-world?’

‘Nothing.’ Corveau shrugged. ‘Things change. That’s why I’ve got you here, in person.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘To inform you of a change of plan. I don’t want money any more. I want her. The girl goes with us.’

‘What?’

‘With us.’ It was a new voice, but familiar. Smith’s eyes flicked to the door. Smart in his blue-grey uniform, a sash around his waist, Captain Gilead stepped into the room and stood beside Corveau. ‘Change of plan, Captain Smith. It’s your lady friend we need.’ His thumbs were hitched over his belt.

‘What the devil do you want her for?’

Gilead smiled. On his tight-stretched face, the expression looked unnatural. ‘I have my reasons. In three days time, the Republic of Eden will sign a formal nonaggression pact with the Ghast Empire. Then, as a gesture of our goodwill, we will hand this woman over to them.’

He held out one hand. ‘Come with me, woman.’

‘My God,’ Smith exclaimed. ‘You’d willingly hand over a woman to depraved aliens? What kind of degenerate are you?’

‘The smart kind. Now, Captain Smith, give your hussy to me.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Smith. ‘Terribly sorry to phlegm in your teacup, but I can’t let you have the lady.’ Light slanted through the window, onto his face.

‘No?’ Gilead glanced down, and Corveau turned in his seat to look at him. ‘Yeah,’ Gilead said to Corveau. ‘Do it. This has gone on long enough.’

Corveau clicked his fingers, as if calling a waiter. They looked at one another. Seconds passed. Smith broke the silence. ‘Thought you’d try a dirty trick like that,’ he said, a smile forming at the side of his mouth.

‘I had my alien chap do a bit of scouting, you see. Your man with the rifle’s probably taken a Blighty one by now.’

‘Then I’ll just have to kill you myself,’ Corveau replied. Smith’s hand sprang to his side. Corveau lunged into his jacket and half-drew a huge revolver before Smith’s gun cracked out and threw him against the wall. Gilead leaped out of the door. The man in the long coat raised his shotgun and the heavy boom of his weapon rang through the room as Smith threw himself to the ground. Rhianna screamed and Smith shot the coated man from the floor, rolled around and fired twice into Corveau’s other guard. Outside, men’s voices yelled and motors tore into life. The room stank of cordite and smashed plaster. Smith stood up in the middle of it, rifle in one hand, revolver smoking in the other. ‘There!’ he snarled. ‘How d’you like that,
old bean
?’

Propped against the wall, Corveau said, ‘Not… very… much.’ He slid down the wall, fell onto one side, and died.

Smith grabbed the remote control, flicked it to ‘missile defence system - off’ and pulled out his radio. ‘Carveth!’ he yelled into the handset. ‘Immediate lift-off required!

Pick us up right away! Carveth? Dammit, she’s not responding! I knew she couldn’t be trusted!’

‘Other way up,’ Rhianna said.

He turned the handset upright. ‘Carveth, we need immediate evacuation. Do you hear me?’

‘I’m coming,’ she replied.

‘Then come fast. It’s about to get pretty spicy down here.’

‘Drop ’em!’ John Gilead stood in the doorway, a stubby machine pistol in his hands. ‘Drop ‘em and get face down, or I’ll send you both to Hell!’

‘It’s you who’s going to Hell,’ Smith said, but he froze, outgunned.

Gilead laughed. ‘Full marks for trying, Smith. You fight pretty good, for an ungodly sonofabitch.’ He raised the gun. ‘So long, sucker!’

Gilead pulled the trigger. Rhianna stepped in front of Smith.

‘
No!
’ he cried as a dozen bullets ripped through the air. Smoke and dust swirled through the room. Rhianna stood beside the desk, her hair brushed with plaster. Her eyes were closed.

Smith blinked. ‘Oh. You’re alive. Good-oh.’

‘Damn!’ Gilead dropped the gun and ran out of the room. ‘Backup, get me backup!’