Ride the Star Winds (51 page)

“And then we make for the Palace,” said Brasidus.

“Do we?” asked Grimes. “With all due respect to your lady wife, Brasidus, I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her. And she is not a small woman. The way I see it is this. We go underground for a while until we find out which way the wind is blowing.”

“But
you
said ‘go for broke,’ John. There has to be a confrontation between myself and Ellena. Oh, I should never have married her—I’ve known that for quite some time—and, however things turn out, I shall not stay married to her for much longer.” All the built-up bitterness was coming out in a rush. “There must be a confrontation. A
public
confrontation so that the people can make their own choice between us. At the coronation.”

“Mphm,” grunted Grimes.
Go for broke,
he thought.
Why not?
If things didn’t work out he could get a message out—somehow—to
Sister Sue
and she could come in and lift him and the others off New Sparta. If, that is, they would be, by that time, in any condition to be lifted off. But his luck had held so far. Why should it not hold for a little longer?

As inconspicuously as possible they drifted out of the lounge, first to the toilet facilities. In a cloakroom Shirl and Darleen found a pair of long cloaks that would conceal their not-quite-human bodies from curious eyes. Nobody stopped them when they found a door opening to the outside. The night, what was left of it, was almost windless. The clear sky was ablaze with stars.

Once they were clear of the airport Brasidus—after all, it was his city—led the way. The first part of their long walk was through orchards of some kind; the spicy scent of ripening fruit was heavy in the still air. Then they entered a built-up area. Shirl and Darleen, with their keen hearing, picked up the whine of an approaching hovercar before any of the others. They all found concealment in a side alley until the vehicle—a police patrol chariot?—was past. The next time they had to hide was from a detachment of soldiers on foot. Now and again they heard the rattle of automatic projectile weapons. Once they stumbled—literally—across a dead body, that of a policeman. His pistol holsters, Grimes discovered to his disappointment, were empty.

Then it was dawn and, only a little later, sunrise. People were emerging into the street, unshuttering shop windows. Presumably the coming of daylight signalled the lifting of the curfew.

Brasidus found an inn. Before leading the way into it he checked the remaining contents of the money pouch that Cadmus had given him, said there should be enough for breakfast for all of them. Grimes told him that he would have to do the ordering as he was the only one without a foreign accent. (But there were now so many Spartan citizens recently arrived from other planets that this did not much matter.)

They took seats at a table. They were the only customers. The sullen waitress made it obvious that she resented this disruption of her early morning peace and quiet. There were quite a few items on the blackboard menu that Grimes would have liked—even eggs and bacon!—but the girl told them that the cook was not yet on duty. She produced the inevitable muddy coffee—yesterday’s brew, warmed up—and stale rolls.

Other people drifted in.

These were regulars and received better treatment than the strangers had gotten. Their coffee smelled as though it had been freshly made and their rolls looked fresh. The waitress put on a pleasant face and joined in conversations.

“No, I shan’t be going to the coronation. Wouldn’t go even if I could get time off. That Ellena and her bunch of dykes! But I liked Brasidus. He was a
real
man . . . .”

“They say,” contributed a male customer, “that Ellena had him quietly murdered.”

“It’s time somebody murdered her,” muttered his friend.

“Careful,” whispered the third man. “You can never tell who’s listening these days . . .”

All three of them scowled suspiciously at Grimes and his party.

Brasidus called for the bill. He had enough money to cover it. He paid.

On the way out Grimes heard one of the men ask the girl, “And who were
they
?”

“Dunno. Never seen ’em before. Don’t care much if I ever see ’em again.”

“Shouldn’t mind seein’ more o’ those wenches,” said the first man.

“Probably Amazon Guard officers in civvies,” said the second.

“Shut up!” hissed the girl, noticing that Grimes was lingering in the doorway, listening. “Shut up, you fool!”

After their breakfast they had time to spare. They sauntered through the city, playing the part of country cousins enjoying a good gawk. They saw street corner meetings being broken up by police—and noticed that, uncharacteristically, the law officers were using force only when absolutely necessary and then with seeming reluctance. They heard orators, female as well as male, screaming their support for Brasidus and demanding that he return to bring things back under control.

On more than one wall there were slogans crudely daubed.

ELLENA GO HOME! was a common one.

Brasidus laughed bitterly. “That’s what I’ve been thinking for years but I’ve never said it out loud. Now I am saying it. I promise you—and promise myself—that once I’m back in control Ellena will be shipped back to Earth by the first available vessel. Does that ship of yours have any passenger accommodation, John?”

“No,” lied Grimes.

“It doesn’t matter. A spare storeroom would be good enough for
her
.”

Not aboard
my
ship,
thought Grimes.

They dropped into a tavern for wine, using the last of Cadmus’ money to pay for it. They mingled with the crowds—women, men, not too many children—who were converging upon the Acropolis. Shirl and Darleen took the lead; they had the ability to flow through and past obstructions like wild animals through dense undergrowth. Even so, it was not all that easy for Grimes and the others to keep up with them. Altercations broke out in their wake as toes were trodden and ribs painfully nudged.

But, eventually, they were standing in the front row, at the foot of the wide marble steps, facing a rank of black-uniformed police, all of whom had their stunguns drawn and ready. The dais at the head of the steps, with the white pillars of the Acropolis as its backdrop, was still empty. To either side of it were the news media cameras, at this moment slowly scanning the crowd.

Trumpets sounded and there was a rhythmic mutter of drums. The cameras turned to cover Ellena’s grand entry. She strode majestically to the dais, flanked by high-ranking military officers, both male and female, followed by white-robed Council members. Among these was a tall woman on whose right shoulder rode an owl. Grimes stared at this. It was a real bird. It blinked, shifted its feet, half-lifted its wings.

“The High Priestess of Athena,” whispered Brasidus.

The trumpets were silent but the drums maintained a soft throbbing. Ellena stood there, waiting for the applause that was supposed to greet her appearance. She was a majestic enough figure in Amazon Guard uniform, more highly polished bronze than leather. Her plumed helmet added to her already not inconsiderable height. She stood there, frowning.

At last, from somewhere in the crowd, there was an outbreak of cheering and cries of, “Ellena! Ellena!” But there was also some booing. And were the people, wondered Grimes, who were chanting, “Hip, Hip, Hippolyte!” applauding or exercising their derision?

Trumpets blared.

Ellena raised her arms, brought her hands to her shining helmet, lifted it from her head, handed it to an Amazon aide. A white-robed acolyte gave an elaborate crown of golden laurel leaves to the High Priestess, who advanced to stand beside Ellena. Beside her stood one of the councillors, an elderly man, stooped, feeble, with wrinkled face and sparse white hair.

He spoke into a microphone. Despite the amplification his voice was feeble.

“Citizens of Sparta . . . We are gathered together on this great and happy occasion to witness the coronation of our first Queen . . . In accordance with our Law the appointment of the ruler must be by public consent . . . Do any of you gathered here know of any reason why the Lady Ellena should not be crowned Queen of all Sparta?”

“She’s a woman, that’s why!” yelled somebody.

But Ellena was now seated on the thronelike chair that had been brought for her and the High Priestess, standing behind it, had the golden crown raised in her hands, ready to lower it on to Ellena’s head.

“For the second time,” quavered the elderly councillor, “do any of you gathered here know of any
valid
reason why the Lady Ellena should not be crowned Queen of all Sparta?”

“We want Brasidus! We want Brasidus!” quite a number of voices were chanting.

“For the third and the last time, do any of you gathered here . . .”

“We want Brasidus! We want Brasidus! We want the Archon! We want the Archon!”

Brasidus cried in a great voice, “I am Brasidus! I am the Archon!”

Freakishly the microphones caught his words, sent them roaring over the crowd. The news media cameras swiveled to cover him. The policemen at the foot of the vast staircase shifted away to the sides as he began his advance to confront his wife.

Ellena was back on her feet, furious, pointing an accusatory hand.

“Guards! Kill this impostor!”

Her own Amazons might well have obeyed but the military personnel in her immediate vicinity were all men. Grimes recognized one of the officers although it was the first time that he had seen him in uniform. It was Paulus.

“Guards!” Ellena was screaming now. “Kill this impostor!”

“Brasidus!” the crowd was roaring. “Brasidus!”

On the platform Ellena was yelling at Paulus. “Shoot him, you useless bastard! Shoot him!”

“But he is the Archon.”

“He is an impostor!” She wrestled briefly with the man who had been Brasidus’ bodyguard, succeeded in pulling a heavy projectile pistol from the holster at his belt, smote him on the forehead with the barrel, knocking him to the ground. “All right!” she snarled. “If none of you will do the job,
I
will!”

She raised the weapon, holding it in both hands. It was obvious that she knew how to use it.

From the corner of his eye Grimes caught a blur of movement to his right, the glint of sunlight reflected from bright metal. Darleen had pulled one of the deadly sharpened discs from the pouch that she was still carrying. With a snap of her wrist she launched it. When it hit its target Ellena was about to squeeze off her first shot. The report of the pistol was shocking, deafening almost, but where the bullet went nobody ever knew.

Ellena screamed.

And then she was standing there, with blood spouting from her ruined right hand, still clinging to the pistol, still trying to bring it to bear, although it was obvious that those more than half-severed fingers would never be able to pull a trigger until extensive and lengthy repair work had been carried out.

People joined Brasidus in his march up the steps to the platform, some in civilian clothing, some in police and army uniforms. There was scuffling among the assembled dignitaries but no shots were fired. The Amazon Guard officers were doing their best to stand haughtily aloof, striking out, damagingly, only when jostled. Their loyalty, thought Grimes with some bewilderment, was to their Corps, not to Ellena. She must have done something to antagonize them.

(Later, very much later, he was to learn that Ellena intended to lay the blame for her husband’s murder on top-ranking Amazon officers, who were to be executed after a mere parody of a trial. Somehow they had discovered this and already had their own plans for Ellena’s elimination. But now she was saving them the trouble.)

Ellena had collapsed and was receiving medical attention.

Brasidus had gained access to a microphone. “Fellow citizens! People of Sparta, men and women both! I have returned. Later the full story of my abduction and my rescue by very good friends will be told to you . . . .”

Grimes didn’t catch the rest of it.

He had been accosted by a man whom at first he thought was a stranger, a slightly built fellow with a dark complexion, dressed in ill-fitting civilian clothes.

“You bastard! You bloody pirate!” this person sputtered. “What did you do with my ship?”

“It’s a long story,” said Grimes at last. “But I’ll see to it that you get her back, Lieutenant Gupta.”

Chapter 34

And Grimes
got his own ship back when, at last,
Sister Sue
dropped down to Port Sparta. He got his name back on to the Register as Master and Billy Williams, surprisingly cheerfully, reverted to his old rank as Chief Officer, saying, “Now you can have all the worries again, Skipper.”

And worries there were.

Discharge of cargo had just begun when a strongly worded request—it was more of an order, really—came from Admiral Damien by Carlotti deep space radio. This was that Grimes handle the salvage of
Krait
. He had done this sort of job before, back on Botany Bay, and the courier was a very small ship and
Sister Sue
had plenty of power and, even with most of her cargo still on board, could have lifted
Krait
bodily. As it was, throughout the operation the courier’s stern remained in contact with the ground. And then she had to be stayed off so that she was safely stable while Grimes’s engineers made repairs to her engines.

One consolation was that as Grimes, officially, was no longer connected with the Survey Service he would be able to put in a large bill for the services of himself and his ship.

And now his Earthbound cargo was almost loaded and, very soon,
Sister Sue
would be secured for space.

Maggie sat with Grimes in his day room.

“And so,” she said, “our ways part again.”

“It was good while it lasted,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You could resign your commission,” he told her, “and enter my employ.”

“You resigned yours, John, but they pressganged you back into servitude. And my orders are that I must remain on New Sparta until the situation has stabilized. And . . . . And you must have noticed how things are now between Brasidus and myself.”