Part 13 (1/2)

'I am the President,' he cut in. 'For me, there is no such thing as unauthorised!'

Zendaak continued unabated. 'And who is this mysterious ”Doctor” who accompanied you?'

President Vargeld met his scarlet stare unflinchingly. 'What's happened to the s.h.i.+ps, Zendaak? The battles.h.i.+ps you've sent down to Yquatine? How many was it six? That's a lot of Anthaurk lives.'

Zendaak's face fell, and he turned his head down to look at his claws clasped in his lap. His voice was sepulchral. 'We lost contact with them two hours ago. None have returned.'

That meant nothing. They could be down there, establis.h.i.+ng a base, preparing defences, anything. 'That's what you say, Zendaak. To be honest, I don't know if I believe you.'

Senator Krukon's voice rumbled out over the a.s.sembled Senators. 'I say this is an Anthaurk ploy!' The Ogri beside him glowed belligerently.

'As do I!' yelled Fandel. 'Those s.h.i.+ps are still down there.'

Senator Tibis roared.

They all started shouting again.

President Vargeld rubbed his itchy, tired eyes. 'And on it goes,' he mumbled to himself.

He only hoped the Doctor would come out of his coma soon. Maybe he had all the answers.

Chapter Twelve.

'We have reached a turning point in our great history'

A month before the fall of Yquatine, the Grand Gynarch was looking out over her still relatively new world. New Anthaur was a planet of hot sand and stone cities. A world of ochre and yellow and orange, of dust storms, of an intricate and efficient irrigation system, of towering gnarled totems to the six hundred Anthaurk deities. Home to two million Anthaurk, the descendants of the survivors of the Dalek attack on the Anthaur homeworld over a century ago, testament to a rigorous and intensive breeding programme.

The Grand Gynarch often feared the return of those screeching metal carapaces. Their harsh yells still haunted her dreams. She had been very young during the Dalek war, and though she hadn't seen any of the creatures at first hand she'd heard their voices, screaming in insane rage and frustration as her mother's craft made good its escape. It was the first thing in her life she could remember. Later, when she was older, she'd studied the images taken by a.s.sault craft, and found that the Daleks looked comical, hardly able to pose such a potent threat. She had been almost disappointed. But then she'd spoken to the survivors of the Dalek attack on Anthaur, heard their whispering voices, fragile with fear. That fear had found its way into her heart, too, and its voice was that of a screeching machine.

The Grand Gynarch shook her head, trying to rid herself of such thoughts. She stood, clutching her blackwood staff, on the tallest tower of the Imperial Citadel. The single sun she could never get used to that was low in the sky. It was soon time for the Inner Circle. It was important, this one. She was going to make a p.r.o.nouncement that would change history.

She gazed over at the pyramidal cities on the horizon. They matched almost perfectly the holograms she'd seen of Old Anthaur. Her people had striven for a century to make this world like their old one.

The Grand Gynarch, oldest of the Anthaurk and bearer of some three thousand children, had been a mere hatchling when she first came to this world. She had no memories of the brief but b.l.o.o.d.y war with the humans, of the signing of the Treaty of Yquatine. She knew only of the century of planning and construction. She had personally overseen the construction of the Imperial Citadel, laid the first and last stones herself. You would have thought such a leader would have abandoned thoughts of war, become reconciled to living in peace with the other species in the Minerva System.

But the Grand Gynarch possessed something other than memory. Something stronger, more permanent. She possessed the bloodline of the Gynarchs, which stretched back for millennia, back into the murky history of the Anthaurk homeworld. She possessed the beliefs and the att.i.tudes of thousands of Grand Gynarchs before her. Anthaurk supremacy, over all. Nontolerance of other races. Even the Daleks, the living embodiment of such a creed, hadn't weakened this resolve. On the contrary, the Anthaurk defeat had strengthened their determination to conquer all. For the Grand Gynarch, when she was young and learning about her race's history, had found out that the Daleks weren't mechanical creatures as she had first thought. There had been something organic inside those screeching carapaces. They had once been humans. Just like the settlers of Yquatine.

To her mind, that meant that the n.o.ble Anthaurk race had been beaten twice by different evolutionary stages of the same species.

Knowing this, she would never have signed any treaty with the humans. But she had been so young. Her mother, the previous Grand Gynarch, had signed the cursed Treaty of Yquatine, knowing full well that it was an act of betrayal, but having no choice in defeat. After the signing, her mother had ritually sacrificed herself to Hiss'aa, G.o.ddess of War and Venom. And thus the current Grand Gynarch, red eyes blinking, young scales s.h.i.+ning in the hot sun, had been thrust into the limelight.

And then had begun the Century of Waiting.

Now it was almost at an end.

The sun sent a shaft of light through the jewel embedded in the end of her blackwood staff. The light diffused, spreading out around the Grand Gynarch like a robe of beaten gold.

It was time for the Inner Circle to convene.

The Inner Chamber was a crude bowl cut into the side of a mountain, open to the sky, rough seats carved into the crumbling sides. It was meant to represent the volcano from which the first of the Gynarchs had crawled, spitting and hissing, only to be half blinded by the twin suns of Old Anthaur. The recreation wasn't perfect: New Anthaur had only one sun, but there was little that could be done about that.

The Grand Gynarch stood, as custom dictated, right at the bottom of the bowl. This may seem demeaning, but the Inner Chamber was constructed to funnel sound down towards the bottom, so the Grand Gynarch could hear and see all.

She thumped her staff on the stone plinth on which she stood, and spoke, head raised, gazing at the three hundred members of the Inner Circle. 'We have reached a turning point in our great history,' she said. 'Certain events are coming to pa.s.s which will force us to act force us to imprint our will upon this System!'

Cries and hisses of a.s.sent.

She gestured to her right, where Zendaak sat. Young Zendaak, member of the Minerva Senate, her eyes and ears. He possessed almost as much zeal as she. 'Zendaak brings news of the latest heresy the Senate wish to force upon us.'

Zendaak stood up, his arms akimbo, his chest puffed out. 'People of New Anthaur! I have recently attended a Senate meeting during which the matter of overcrowding was discussed. Apparently, this System is such an attractive, desirable place that hundreds of beings of all species are descending upon it. During the last hundred years, we have seen the arrival of the Adamanteans, the Ixtricite and, most of all, more and more humans.'

Three hundred Anthaurk hissed in sibilant hatred. The Grand Gynarch bared her teeth. She'd taught them well.

Zendaak continued. 'The other races have bred and spread throughout the System, so that now there is little room for any more.'

'Tell them what the Senate propose, Zendaak!' cried the Grand Gynarch.

A silence descended on the Inner Chamber. Zendaak's voice was a tight, concentrated hiss of hatred. 'They propose that we give up our sacred lands for colonisation.' Silence. 'They say that we have s.p.a.ce enough for millions of others. This is directly against the treaty we signed a hundred years ago!'

The Grand Gynarch was pleased. Although hated, the Treaty of Yquatine had at last tripped up the humans. One of its clauses guaranteed autonomy for each planet in the System, and non-interference by the Senate. Except in an emergency. Well, to the Grand Gynarch, there were other ways of dealing with overpopulation. Ma.s.s exterminations, sterilisation, exile. Zendaak had proposed all these, but the faint-hearted Senate had voted unanimously against him.

The Inner Chamber erupted in calls for action. The Grand Gynarch let them have their shout. Then she thumped her staff three times, and silence descended. 'At last. we have a reason to commence hostilities.'

Zendaak raised his fists in the air. 'War!' he cried. The Inner Circle took up his cry.

The Grand Gynarch thumped her staff again. 'People! We must be cunning. We must be seen to be the injured party in this. We must use the treaty as a weapon against the Senate. We will start by attacking the trade routes, goading the Senate into action against us. And, when they do, we can attack in full. After decades of preparation, our battle fleet is ready.'

Three hundred pairs of red eyes stared down at her.

'We attack on Treaty Day.'

Thunderous applause.

As it tailed away, a lone voice spoke out. 'I do not think we should. We should try to live in peace.

The Grand Gynarch swung round, locating the speaker.

A female Anthaurk three rows back had stood.

'Who speaks?'

'My name is M'Pash, Grand Gynarch.'