Part 1 (2/2)

'Thank you.' Dolne was genuinely pleased. 'Yes, she seems to have bounced back after her operation. That Femdroid medic did a great job. I'm glad you've noticed.'

The newsreader went on, 'The Premier gave this reaction to news of the summit's break-up.' Dolne groaned as Harmock's piggy form appeared. He was sitting at his desk in his study, any shelves of books behind him. 'The situation remains the same,' he said in his infuriatingly pompous way, 'and s.p.a.ce Admiral Dolne has my full confidence and my full support.'

'Silly a.r.s.e,' muttered Dolne.

'If the Chelonian hierarchy think they can shake our resolve with their quibbles, they are mistaken.' Harmlock raised a hand. 'I say to them -' he made a cutting gesture '- oh no. We are prepared to enter into full negotiations on Barclow, without preconditions. As soon as they accept our terms.' His jowls shook as he spoke. 'It is their stalling over minor technicalities that is preventing us all from taking further steps ahead on the road to peace.'

They heard the newsreader's voice off-screen. 'Premier, there have been suggestions that by imposing the terms you've just described you're robbing the Chelonians of any bargaining power and making it impossible for them to negotiate.'

Harmock gave the camera a pitying look. 'We hear a lot of that kind of rot nowadays, don't we? Well, I I'll tell you you something, shall I? Barclow is ours by right, our colony, and our protectorate. And until that is acknowledged by both sides there is no point in going any further.' something, shall I? Barclow is ours by right, our colony, and our protectorate. And until that is acknowledged by both sides there is no point in going any further.'

'Nevertheless, Premier, after a hundred and twenty five years, some are saying the Barclow war is a waste of everybody's time, and is being prolonged purely for party political reasons. It's claimed that neither you nor the Opposition can afford to stop the war officially as it would be an unpopular move with the public.'

Harmock reared up, as much as it was possible for him to rear. His chins wobbled. 'The situation on Barclow has absolutely no connection with party politics. To anybody who says so, let me say this. If we allow an alien power simply to walk in and take away what is rightfully ours, what kind of signal are we sending out? For all we know there could be hundreds of hostiles up in s.p.a.ce with an eye on us, and if we falter on Barclow it would be like giving a green light to any pa.s.sing invader.'

Dolne was embarra.s.sed. 'That terrible patronizing tone he takes...'

'Humans like being patronized,' said Jafrid. He giggled. 'Pardon me. It's the thought of all those hostile powers with designs on Metralubit.'

Dolne sat back in his seat. 'Feel free. I'll be glad to be rid of Harmock. And with any luck it'll be soon. He can't delay the election much longer.' He clapped his hands together and made a mock prayer. 'Nothing can go wrong this time, surely. He's got to lose - he's made such a mess of things.

He's just got got to.' to.'

'And will the other fellow do any better, I wonder?' mused Jafrid.

'What, Rabley?' Dolne considered. 'He can't make things wor - ah, talk of the devil.' He pointed to the screen, on which the face of the Opposition leader was, almost literally, glowing. He was every inch the opposite of Harmock: lean, with a wide (some said too wide) grin, and a dapper pale-green suit that fitted him perfectly, over which was a protective padded jacket. It did not appear incongruous, as he was surrounded not by the panelled dens of the Parliament Dome but by an ashen landscape both viewers knew only too well.

'As you can see,' he was saying, one arm thrown theatrically wide, 'the situation on Barclow is intolerable. Of course, there is no question, nor can there be, of us altering our position on its colony status, but there is another side to the matter.' He spoke quickly and freely with a casual emphasis and his smile never faltered. 'The war swallows an average of a billion credits per annum, and that's public money. What we in the Opposition are saying is that this is unacceptable and that our presence on Barclow should be downsized accordingly.'

'Your critics, Mr Rabley,' said the newsreader from the studio, 'would reply that by doing so you'd leave the door wide open to the enemy.'

He shook his head politely. 'No, no, no. What they're missing is that-'

Jafrid interrupted. 'I forgot he was staying with your lot.'

'Yes. Tour of inspection.' Dolne raised an eyebrow. 'Photo-opportunity, more like. They've all done it. Getting into a flak jacket goes down well with the voters.' He grinned, staring into the past. 'Even Harmock did it, once.

We had to hunt high and low for one to go around him.'

The broadcast was cut off and a crackle came from the internal speaker mounted above the big screen. 'Evening, gents,' said the pilot cheerily.

'Evening,' said his pa.s.sengers.

'Just thought I'd let you know, we'll be dropping out of Fasts.p.a.ce in thirty seconds,' he said. 'That's out of neutral territory and into Barclow's disputed zone,' he added, following procedure. 'Take it carefully, eh? Your pods are primed and ready to drop.'

'Fine, thank you,' called Dolne. Jafrid nodded his a.s.sent. Both reached for their safety straps and clipped the buckles about their middles. Hastily Dolne finished his tea and set down his cup. He licked his lips in preparation for the return.

Again, the dreadful violence, as if a hole was being punched through reality. Again, an attempt by his last meal to escape into day. And again, through the porthole, the shattering shock of seeing a planet popping into existence where before there had been only blackness. Dolne felt very differently about Barclow, though. Whereas Metralubit was pretty but too large and overpopulated, Barclow was ugly, small and almost uninhabited.

It had been generous of the astronomer who had discovered it to deem it a planetoid, as it was only 400 miles at its circ.u.mference, and even more generous for him to deem it habitable, as the equatorial strip with its life-supporting atmosphere covered only just over a tenth of that area. But for Dolne it felt like home, and the sight of its rainy skies and muddy grey mountains gave him a moment's jouissance jouissance that almost made up for the discomfort of the reverse transition. that almost made up for the discomfort of the reverse transition.

The s.h.i.+p steadied itself and then swooped down through Barclow's cloud cover. Droplets of moisture spattered across the porthole, and Dolne inhaled gratefully. It was as if he could already smell the patchy, iron-particle-thick air.

'There we are, chaps,' the pilot's voice crackled from the c.o.c.kpit. 'Now, I don't need to remind you, but I will anyway, we're in the SDZ. And I've received clearance from your command posts: you're clear to drop. So, good luck to you both and happy landings.'

'Thank you,' Dolne called as he unstrapped himself.

'Thank you,' said Jafrid, doing the same.

Dolne hated this bit. Keeping his gaze away from Jafrid he stood, brushed down his outfit (uniform, uniform! uniform! ), picked up his briefcase and his box of presents (he had something for every member of the Strat Team, picked up from the duty-free shop at the Parliament Dome's travel terminal) from beneath his seat and turned to face the door that led to his waiting pod. ), picked up his briefcase and his box of presents (he had something for every member of the Strat Team, picked up from the duty-free shop at the Parliament Dome's travel terminal) from beneath his seat and turned to face the door that led to his waiting pod.

Across the aisle, his manner also abruptly formal, Jafrid did much the same, although his doc.u.ment holder took the form of a slim silver disc containing sheafs of jagged edged paper.

They stood next to each other in silence, waiting for the lights above the pod bay doors to turn from red to green. Dolne tightened his grip on the briefcase and risked a second's glance over at Jafrid. His eyes met Jafrid's coming the other way. Swiftly they averted their gazes.

Oh well, thought Dolne, as the lights changed and the bay doors chunked open with a low hum. Better get it over with.

With affected casualness he put one of his hands in his right pocket, the side next to Jafrid. His figures curled around the oblong plastic phial. He readied himself. As always he felt extremely foolish. He lifted a foot to cross the threshold - - and converted the movement into a sudden, ungainly crouch, bringing out the phial and bowling it underarm in Jafrid's general direction. He saw it flash through the air, watched as it arced towards Jafrid's upper sh.e.l.l, the substance inside glistening greenly in the lounge's muted orange lighting.

He watched admiringly as one of Jafrid's front limbs came up to knock it aside. At the same time the Chelonian's enormous bulk hauled itself off the carpet on one side with a grinding of hidden hydraulics. The diverted phial spun off across the lounge and struck the big screen. It split with a crack and the acid bubbled out. Dolne felt ashamed as he watched the screen eaten away by the fizzing substance.

His attention was pulled back by Jafrid's response. His old Chelonian friend tipped his sh.e.l.l forward, and a long dagger slipped out into the same front limb that had knocked away the phial. Dolne's eyebrows shot up with delight. The dagger was beautiful, its hilt decorated with fiery alien stones, the blade not only barbed but also twisted along its length into a variety of different shapes. One section ended in a spiked ball, another a corkscrew with a glinting point.

Dolne was instantly curious, his acquisitive instincts aroused. He and his wife were great antiques collectors, and he was considering what sort of offer to make Jafrid when he remembered that the weapon was on its way to the general area of his heart and he had better do something about it.

He whipped up his briefcase in a reflex movement. Its strong metallic side absorbed the impact of the dagger, although Dolne nearly toppled over under the weight of Jafrid's a.s.sault.

He took a moment to steady himself and then pulled the case away. He and Jafrid, who pulled back the dagger with a grunt, shared a conspiratorial smile. (At least, Dolne had always a.s.sumed that Jafrid was smiling at this juncture.)

'Acid?' snorted Jafrid. 'Unsubtle.' He nodded towards the screen, which was now nothing but a charred and smoking wreck of sparking circuitry.

Dolne just knew he was going to make a dismissive remark. 'Wouldn't have done more than scar my sh.e.l.l.'

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