Part 11 (1/2)

He nodded. Hogarth operated a sequence of controls on the panel in front of her, and a crackling holovid began to form on the table in front of them.

Within about five seconds, they were looking into the glittering web of the Phracton communications network.

Cheynor stared into the heart of the web.

'This is Captain Darius Cheynor of the s.p.a.cefleet vessel Phoenix Phoenix. I request an audience with the Phracton Commandant.' The network of glittering blue whirled and crackled. Fractal images formed into a giant, pulsing eye which could have been that of a Phracton itself, or simply the computer's representation of an interface portal.

'What message do you wish to convey?'

Cheynor took a deep breath. Leibniz raised his eyebrows.

'I wish,' Cheynor said slowly, 'to meet your representatives in one hour at a venue to be arranged. I wish to make arrangements, as the advocate of Earth Council and the Colonial Office, for the surrender of the Earth forces on Gadrell Major, as represented by the Phoenix Phoenix. With the Commandant's consent, I wish to accede to the Phracton claim to Gadrell Major, and to arrange for the dominion to be handed over to Phracton control as soon as possible.'

There was a brief silence. Understandable, Cheynor thought, in the circ.u.mstances. Blue light played over his darkly handsome face, as if searching it for any betrayal of irony, mockery.

Then came the reply. 'The Commandant sends thanks for your decision. You and your senior officers will a.s.semble, unarmed, in Londinium Plaza in one hour. Your s.h.i.+p's weaponry and communications systems are to be deactivated during the meeting. You will not bring extraneous personnel. You will listen to our arrangements, after which you and all remaining human civilians will leave Gadrell Major immediately.'

'Agreed,' said Cheynor.

The link snapped off.

'Smart,' said Ca.s.sie Hogarth from the shadows, her arms folded. 'Remind me never to play you at poker, sir.'

90.'Poker?' said Cheynor, straightening up. He wore a hint of an exhausted smile. 'I'm playing snap, Ca.s.sie.' He looked at her calm, stern face, then over at the more edgy Leibniz, who had been about to say something. 'I'm perfectly serious. I meant what I said. In one hour, I intend to hand Gadrell Major over to the Phractons.'

For the first time since being appointed Cheynor's advisors, Horst Leibniz and Ca.s.sie Hogarth were united in stunned, silent disbelief.

Trinket lifted the hatchway very slightly and peered up through the crack.

There was only the desolate, empty street to be seen in either direction. He braced himself, pushed the cover off and climbed up, then reached down and helped Benny up.

She slotted the cover back into place and s.h.i.+vered slightly in the early morning wind. 'Where now?'

'My folks had a house off Londinium Plaza. We've got a sort of base there.

It's like a bunker. If Livewire got away, she'd make for there.'

'You think Livewire did get away?' Bernice did not want to hurt the boy, but she wondered at his optimism, after what he'd told her.

'I have to keep thinking that, don't I?' he answered, and his voice was dull and blank, like unpolished metal.

'With your new resident in town, I'd keep an open mind.' Benny knew that didn't sound rea.s.suring. 'Come on, then.'

They scurried along, keeping close in to the shattered shop-fronts. Bernice saw Trinket scoop up two cans and stuff them into a pocket without even breaking his stride. She wondered how long it would take her to relearn the art of scavenging.

They stopped at a corner. Broken gla.s.s crunched under Bernice's feet. She could see that, beyond the stumpy remains of what had probably been com-memorative trees, the street gave out into a broad square with chequered paving. Four statues with broad, conical pedestals stood at the corners por-traying famous governors, she guessed from looking at the braided uniform of the one nearest to them. The statues looked rather like larger-than-life chess pieces awaiting their move. At the centre of the square, Benny could just make out the inert, curved nozzles of a fountain display, pointing in silent dryness towards a central metal pillar in the shape of a hand. The fountain-sculpture had probably been quite beautiful when it was in action, but now it just looked sad and abandoned.

'Just a minute.' Bernice put a hand on Trinket's shoulder to stop the boy from making a run. 'Let's do this sensibly.'

She took out her motion detector and scanned the readouts. After a moment, she whistled softly to herself. Over such a broad s.p.a.ce it was hard to 91 get an exact fix of direction, but still . . .

Oh, Doctor, Bernice thought. On a scale of great ideas, this ranks right up there with doing baked Alaska in a microwave.

'Right,' she said, 'we need better cover. What about over there?'

Shanstra, pausing in the desolate street, stepped on a fragment of something brittle. It broke like fine china beneath her booted foot. When she looked down, the Sensopath was mildly interested to see that she had crushed the remnants of a human skull.

A few metres to her right and in front, Livewire walked, slowly and carefully.

She was Shanstra's hunting dog. She moved like a warrior, her pale hair fluttering in the breeze, her crossbow in front of her like a part of her body.

To either side of them both, high, shattered buildings cast their shadow.

Shanstra could feel the minds growing stronger. The unified minds which threatened to crowd her own.

They strode on. Shanstra needed battle, and she needed to draw suste-nance.

Benny and Trinket had taken hasty cover in what used to be one of Banksburgh's best-known night bars, at the edge of Londinium Plaza. Fragments of bottles and the crusted stains of drinks still decorated the sc.r.a.ped, burnt chrome of the elegantly curving bar and its mushroom-like tables. To Bernice it looked like a graveyard of entertainment, somewhere that the ghosts of sodden old drunks came to haunt.

From the mostly intact window, they could see out into the plaza with its golden statues catching the light. And they could see the arrival of the skimmer whose approach Bernice had detected.

The skimmer came gently to rest in the centre of the plaza, the hum of its propulsion unit fading to silence. They saw three figures alight from the vehicle, and move to stand beside it. All three, Bernice could see, wore the simplest grey and brown s.p.a.cefleet uniforms, and one of them was a woman, but she could not make out any more details.

She could hear her own breath, and Trinket's.

And there was a familiar whining sound, getting closer.

'What a h.e.l.lish place this has become.'

Darius Cheynor, hands on hips, gazed across the deserted, rubbish-strewn Londinium Plaza, wondering what it had been like when it was alive, bustling with colonists on their many missions of the day.

92.Ca.s.sie Hogarth, arms folded, was leaning against the skimmer. 'I don't reckon it was ever much of a holiday camp. Do you?' She glowered at the captain with her one visible eye. Cheynor made a noncommittal sound.

Leibniz, his gla.s.ses filled with sunlight, did not join in the conversation. He was thinking about the fate of Gadrell Major, and was beginning to wonder if he had been more gullible than he ever imagined he could be.

Like bubbles carried on the wind, four Phracton airborne units floated in from the southern apex of the plaza.

Cheynor and Hogarth straightened up. Leibniz remained at a distance, his fingers pressed into his palms. He didn't like this, and he was not going to pretend that he did. It upset his innate sense of balance and precision.

Hogarth, meanwhile, was filled with a rush of emotion, much of it conflicting. Excitement, awe, fear, but also frustration. She had argued with Captain Cheynor for nearly half an hour, trying to get him to allow her to have a slimline fusion grenade concealed in the sole of her boot. He had refused point-blank. He said he had made a deal with the Phracton Commandant, and that he did not intend to break his word: it was to be the senior officers, alone, unarmed, on a mission of peace. He would not have her jeopardizing that. A mission of peace! She doubted it even now.

Ca.s.sie was beginning to wonder about her own audacity. Not only in questioning her captain outright, but in the way she was still burning with resentment now, still thinking he had been wrong.

Still thinking of the anger she would die feeling if those Phracs floated over and blasted them. Defenceless and clueless what a way to die. It made Ca.s.sie want to spit.

The Phractons advanced across Londinium Plaza.

93.