Stardogs (15 page)

Liton lay on his hard pallet, staring at the ceiling. There was not much else to stare at in his tiny cell. Two more short jumps, and then the big one across the sectors to New Sahara. Shahjah was holding up well, so far. She said the old ones’ barge was easier to manage than the human-built ones. But he would not have been a good rider if he hadn’t worried.

The metal walls of the cell ran up to fit flush against the old hull, where they had been roughly welded on. The original hull-metal was swirled with oil-on-water patterns, which gave his imagination plenty of scope. Shahjah’s memories of the old ones’ barge had been from the outside. He wished she could tell him how the inside had looked. If the finish on the hull-metal was anything to judge by it had probably been far more beautiful than the empire’s rehash had been. There was a click from the locked door-latch. He started. The Wienan couldn’t think Shahjah was ready to fly yet?

Another click. And then a series of three more. The door opened. The dumpy figure of Lady Tanzo stood there, silhouetted by the passage light. She stepped in and swung the heavy door closed behind her. “Hello, rider. They wouldn’t let me talk to you, outside, so I’ve come here.” She moved her mouth slowly and deliberately.

“Go away. They’ll hurt Shahjah!” he said fearfully.

She sat down on his bed. “Your Leaguesman is busy with his servant. The other Leaguesman is with Countess Leyven. They won’t know I’ve been here. Answer my questions then I’ll go away. Her hands wove clumsily in sign language.

His eyes nearly popped out. “You are a League spy!”

She snorted. “Don’t be silly. Spies are young and pretty. Your sign language is a League secret now, all right, but it was public knowledge back in the twentieth century. I just looked it up. I’ve had eleven days to learn and practice. All I want is to know about the Denaari. Then I’ll go away and leave you in peace.”

He pointed at the door. “The Wienans’ say their locks cannot be picked. They tell us this often. Go away.”

A small smile came to her pinched mouth. “So you believe them, because they have told you often enough.” She held up a piece of wire. “I can show you how to do it with this.”

“You are a spy! No one else would know how to do that kind of thing!”

She shook her head. “I’m a historian who has had to support her research with theft.” She stood up again, and walked over to the door and re-locked it with the piece of wire. “It’s easy, see.”

He was unable to resist. “Show me, then I will try and tell you what Shahjah remembers.”

Her eyes narrowed and her head came forward in her characteristic bob, as she focused on his face. “There is no point in your escaping now. You’d just give both of us away.”

He shook his head. “No. I cannot leave Shahjah anyway. But when I get back to the compound I will show the other riders. They have been left to die when the Leaguesmen have abandoned ship before.”

She grimaced. Nodded. “Understandable that you should want to learn. All right. Take the pick. I’ll try to guide your hand. There are just two levers. It is a very simple lock, really.”

Tanzo was an amazingly good and patient teacher. After an hour he could, given ten minutes, do what she could achieve in ten seconds. Finally, they sat down on his bed again. “Now. I checked the orbit-periods. Nekrat 375. 24 days. Phillipia orbit takes 375.19 days. Of the remaining four hundred and thirty there are none between them.

Liton shook his head. “The motherworld is forbidden to the Stardogs.”

She bit her lip. Peered at him. “Why?”

He was silent for a while. Then he spoke slowly. “The old ones forbade it. The sickness…. was carried by the Stardogs.”

“Quarantine! Of course! Probably too late. It always is,” she said, shaking her head. “But that was over three thousand years ago. Why haven’t they gone back?”

He shrugged. “The old ones said not to. They do not disobey”

“That’s a long time to stay loyal. But surely the Denaari plague is over now? Surely they must go back to their old masters?” she wheedled.

He shook his head. “They want to. But they cannot disobey. I don’t understand, but Shahjah can’t choose to disobey.”

She pursed her lips. “Imprinting from when they were made.”

Once more he shook his head. “No! They were not made. But they cannot have pups unless they go back. The Stardogs are all old. They will all start to die soon. My Shahjah is one of the oldest. But they cannot live much longer than four thousand years anyway. They usually only lived about two hundred years. The same as their rider-friends.

She stood up. Sighed. “It’s like that bloody welded shut drive-chamber. Did you know this ship has engines? But they didn’t understand how they worked… so they welded the accesses shut. The League and the Empire don’t want to know. They’re still scared of the Denaari. And they don’t want to admit that they’re nothing more than a bunch of maggots feeding on the corpse of an alien Empire.” She struck her small fist into her palm in frustration. Then pushed her glasses back along her nose. “Well, thank you, rider. You’ve at least told me more than I knew before. I’ll stop by and bring you a spare pick, when I am sure it is safe.” She went out and locked the door quietly behind her.

There is a crucial timing in all things. Affecting the course of human affairs is very like blacksmithing. To weld iron it must be at the right temperature when it is drawn from the forge. Too hot and it will twist, or even melt. Yet, if you strike iron when it is too cold it will not weld, and can even shatter… The successful revolutionary must manipulate these times, striking when he is ready and forcing enemies to strike when they are not.

Nicola Para-Machiavelli: Obliterating a Prince.

Abelard. Bahrain II. Samburia. Amritsar… the royal journey continued. So did the Princess, conducting her last grand tour in the grand manner. She found herself unable to return to the distances in which she had formerly carefully isolated herself. She drank of life like a backsliding alcoholic at a free wine tasting. And she spoke to her audiences from the heart, with a fierce fire she’d never before allowed to burn in public. When she spoke to the Imperial Legion Meeting on Samburia about the need for real and adequate reward for disabled veterans she found tears streaming down her face. And afterwards the cheering mass of ex-soldiers had carried her on their shoulders to the waiting transport.

It was heady stuff. Heady and dangerous. It made one feel invulnerable. She wasn’t. At Amritsar Station signs of the mass hysteria she was generating were visible. For the first time ever the missile-guard legionnaires had to be deployed to keep back the cheering crowds. About the only stationer who didn’t disobey instructions to come and bid her farewell and watch her departure was Juan Biacasta. He was, none the less much closer to the Princess than most of the cheering stationers. He’d been there for hours, having got to his position ages before the crowds.

Sam Teovan was faced with a bloody choice. Go against his instincts and deal with whatever trap was waiting. Or fail to go through with it and be killed by his waiting associates. He chose the third option. It… felt better. Not good, but better.

He was a bar-steward. At least it was something he knew a little about. Unlike his two companions. Niccolo ‘Blower’ Yu was part of the kitchen staff. Blower could cook up explosives. Camo Osman was supposed to be in charge of the ship’s maintenance and plumbing. Well, he could field strip and re-engineer firearms. But anyone asking him to repair a toilet was pushing their luck. And they had the toff. Not that he’d be much good.

There was supposed to be a Syndicate operated minership on standby when they came into the New Sahara system. They were supposed to strike three minutes insystem. Well… it would do no harm to come out of surf in control of the ship. Then if there was something unwanted waiting… they could slip right back where those without Stardogs could not follow.

In a way it was a pity that the League was so impenetrable. If what Stardogs did in wormhole-surf had been public knowledge, Sam might have understood the folly of what they were going to attempt. The very idea had never occurred to either of the devious minds of Selim Puk or Jan-Pieter Wienan. It was totally insane.

The starswirl was at its height. It was something she never got tired of. But the poor rider was sweating. She wished she could at least say something, and tell him what she was doing. The star-barge would be coming to New Sahara and whatever was planned for her in a few hours. She would have liked, just once, to be open about the way she felt. But her secret agenda was too big for that. Hopefully it could still go on without her at its head. After all the ISPCA had worked toward liberating the Stardogs and the riders since the tearful Joan Cheng had approached the distant parent organisation, back before there was an Empire.

The Leaguesmen, the Imperial party, the rider, they were all there. Without a hint of warning the light social banter was ripped into silent shards. The Yakuza thugs suddenly pushed the bewildered-looking rider-newling, and Johannes’s terrified debt-servant into the cockpit. They brandished firearms that should never have been able to ooze past League customs.