Arabella of Mars (38 page)

“Lookee there, sir,” said one of the riflemen, pointing. Arabella followed his outstretched finger to the distant town below Fort Augusta, which had suddenly spouted a huge, fresh gout of flames. A column of black, greasy smoke rose from the spot, soon joined in the air by several more such columns. The town, already heavily damaged, now seemed doomed to complete destruction.

“What in God's name has set them off like this?” fumed another rifleman, this one a well-fed older gentleman named Morrison, sighting along his weapon. With a hard, sharp
crack
he loosed another shot, sending a Martian tumbling down the craggy hill below the house. But others rushed forward to fill the void, jamming themselves into the crowd rushing to raise ladders beneath the gaping hole which had formerly been the dining-room windows.

Arabella thought she knew, but she could not be certain—the tumult from the crowd below was so great that individual words could not be discerned, even if they were within her limited vocabulary. “I could attempt to ask them,” she said. “But you must lower your rifles.”

Mr. Morrison glared at her, but put down his weapon. “Be quick about it,” he muttered.

The captain dragged a cartridge box close to the parapet, and Arabella climbed up upon it—the slight additional elevation making her feel giddy and exposed—cupped her hands to her mouth, and called out “
Karaa, karaa!
” several times until she had the attention of a good number of the crowd. “Gentle neighbors!” she cried. “What is the cause of this new attack? We wish only peace!”

This brought forth an angry, muddled shout from many Martian throats which completely failed to clarify the situation. But after a moment the crowd quieted itself as a gargantuan armored form moved up through the pressed bodies to the clearing at the base of the tower. An
akhmok
.

And not just any
akhmok
. Even at this distance, Arabella recognized her beloved
itkhalya
. Somehow, despite Khema's transformation, she still moved in a familiar way. “Oh, dearest
tutukha
!” Khema called, her booming voice twisted with sadness. “I fear peace is no longer a possibility.”

“Negotiation is always an option,” Arabella called back, “as you yourself taught me, dear Khema.”

“Indeed,
tutukha
, but in this case the options are very limited. For the kidnapped egg was simply buried in cold sand like a cast-off shell, and by the time we found it … it had died.” A few Martians behind her wailed in grief and pounded their spear hafts upon the sand. “My people are beyond consolation, and I am afraid this regrettable violence must be allowed to burn itself out.”

In the silence that followed Khema's words, distant screams came to Arabella's ears from the town beyond. Human screams.

“Surely we can find some other solution,” Arabella cried—though, in truth, she could see no alternative.

“I am sorry,
tutukha
.”

“Get down!” shouted one of the men, and roughly hauled Arabella down from her perch. A moment later an enormous boulder flew past the parapet, so near that the roaring wind of its passage battered Arabella's face and hair. The rock's tremendous crash upon the crag behind the house was barely audible over her pounding heart.

“That was too close!” said Mr. Morrison. “For your own safety, Miss Ashby, I must insist that you return to the drawing-room.”

Though she protested this exile, even the captain was set against her, and against her will she soon found her feet set upon the descending steps.

“We are Englishmen,” the portly gentleman declared behind her. “We will defend this house unto our dying breaths.”

And then he closed the door, leaving Arabella in darkness.

*   *   *

The captain, Collins, and several of the gentlemen leaned over the plan of the house, pointing and muttering darkly, while Arabella sat dejected on a settee nearby and stared mutely at the flagstones of the hearth. The thunderous crash of another catapult-stone shook the house, sending bits of plaster pattering down, but by now this event was far from extraordinary.

Was this the end? Would all of Fort Augusta—all of English Mars—fall victim to madness and violence?

A shadow fell across the stones, and she looked up. It was the captain.

“We must retreat to the kitchen soon,” he said. “Once the east wing collapses it will be our last redoubt. With luck, the insurrection will be quelled before our defenses there are overwhelmed.”

She nodded miserably, knowing as well as the captain did that there was no one to quell the insurrection. “I suppose we should move Michael there as soon as we can,” she said. “Assuming he can be moved.”

“I will ask Dr. Fellowes.” But he did not turn away; instead, he stood and regarded Arabella for a moment. “You must not blame yourself,” he said. “You made your best attempt at negotiations.”

“That was hardly a negotiation,” she sighed, and though she acknowledged the captain's sentiments she still felt horribly responsible for their predicament. “It was barely even a plea.”

“It was the best that could be done under the circumstances.”

But still the responsibility nagged at her. It had been her astronomical explanation that had set Simon upon the path to Mars, her failure to arrive in time that had allowed him to create this horrific situation, her lack of understanding that had left her helpless in the face of unbending hostility. “My father would be horribly disappointed in me, if he yet lived,” she said.

“If he were disappointed in you, Miss Ashby, he would be a fool. And, from my experience of you, I cannot believe that you are descended from fools.”

She felt a tiny smile creep onto her face at that. “I suppose I cannot help feeling as I do. I was taught from a very young age to own up to my failings and seek to make amends.”

“Your father taught you well.” He sighed, fractionally; had she not known him so well she might not even have noticed it. “Yet now, it seems, it is too late for any amends to be made, and it is left to us to defend ourselves as best we can. I will speak with Dr. Fellowes about your brother.”

But even as he bowed and turned to leave, something in his words nagged at her.

Was it, truly, too late for amends to be made?

Who, indeed, was it who had taught her to own up to her failings?

“Khema,” she whispered.

The captain paused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Khema,” she repeated. “It was my
itkhalya
, not my father, who taught me the value of personal responsibility, which Martians value so highly.” She looked up at the captain. “There is, perhaps, one way this violence can be brought to a close. But it would come at a terrible price.”

*   *   *

They found Simon in Michael's chamber, kneeling at the bedside as though saying his prayers before sleep. “He seems to be resting more comfortably now,” Dr. Fellowes said as they entered. “The fever has abated, and I believe he may regain consciousness soon.” But despite his optimistic words, Michael's unmoving face looked waxy and gray.

With grim resolution, Arabella turned from her brother to Simon. “Cousin,” she began, then hesitated. “May we have a private word with you?”

Simon stood, a questioning look in his eye, but retired with Arabella and the captain to a quiet corner of the bedchamber.

“You have said,” she murmured privately, “that you would do any thing to atone for your errors.”

“Any thing within my power…,” he replied, though his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She swallowed, then looked away. What she had in mind to ask of him was too terrible to contemplate. During this crisis she had come to see him as perhaps more foolish than evil, but even if she still hated him as thoroughly as she had on
Diana
it would be too much for any civilized person to ask. Yet she could imagine no better solution.

She returned her gaze to Simon's. “You know that the Martians place great stock in owning up to one's mistakes.”

“Yes…” His face showed great concern.

“You are the one who took the egg, and you have already admitted this to them. There is a chance—a
chance
—that if you … if you
voluntarily
turn yourself over to them, they will consider justice to be done, and bring this insurrection to a close.”

“I … I see.” His brow furrowed as his attention turned inward. “And what will they do to
me?
”

“I cannot deny that Martian justice can be severe.” At that statement his already-troubled face paled. “But this is a chance to redeem yourself, in the eyes of the world and of your Creator, and perhaps even yourself.”

The captain cleared his throat. “If you do not do this thing,” he said, gravely but not without sympathy, “the violence will continue until every Englishman in Fort Augusta is dead.”

Simon trembled miserably on the cold flagstones, eyes darting every which way. Then he closed his eyes hard and seemed to gather himself up, bowing his head and bending over his clenched fists. For a long time he remained thus and Arabella watched him, holding her breath as he held his, knowing how difficult the decision must be.

Then he let out his breath with a loud “Pah!” and collapsed onto the bed, head held in his hands. “I cannot!” he said. “I have not the courage.” For once, Arabella thought, he was entirely sincere.

Arabella and the captain exchanged a long, considering look. His eyes were very hard, and he glanced to the prostrate Simon and back to her, tilting his head with a raised, questioning eyebrow.

His meaning was clear, and it appalled her. She replied to his glance with a sharp shake of her head and a stern frown. “We will leave you to consider, Cousin,” she told Simon, and angrily swept out of the room. The captain followed.

As soon as the door had closed behind the captain, leaving the two of them alone in the hall, Arabella rounded on him. “My cousin
must
be allowed to make his own decision,” she hissed in a barely contained whisper. “To force such a sacrifice on any one, even such a villain as he, would be inhuman.”

The captain's expression was as grave as ever she had seen it. “If I am any judge of character,” he replied in a low intense murmur, “if we wait for him to do the honorable thing, we will all die in the waiting.”

“That may very well be.” She took a breath, let it out. “But in this matter, I cannot countenance coercion. To throw him to the Martians against his will would be a violation of both
okhaya
and common human decency.”

His gaze bore down on her. She returned it, refusing to back down. At last the captain blinked, and inclined his head to her. “Very well. I shall gather every one to the kitchen for our final defense.” He bowed. “We may die, but at least we will die with honor.”

She recognized that he, too, had been asked to sacrifice himself for the sake of others, and unlike Simon he had done the honorable thing. Even if the decision cost her her life, her esteem of him was inestimably raised because of it.

“I thank you very much for your understanding in this difficult matter,” she said, and gave him a deep, respectful curtsey.

*   *   *

Arabella watched the captain's upright, buff-coated back as he departed, his boot heels clopping on the ancient flagstones, until he rounded the corner and vanished from sight. Then she sighed, gathered herself, and returned to the bedchamber.

Simon lay as she had left him, on his knees with his upper body splayed out atop Michael's bed-clothes. Michael, for his part, still lay wan and unmoving, though he yet breathed.

“Dear cousin,” she said, and he gasped and jerked upright, relaxing when he saw that she was alone. “Dear cousin,” she began again, “I do understand how impossible this request must seem. But I must beg you to reconsider. Not only all of our lives here, but the lives of every Englishman in Fort Augusta territory, could be spared by your action. Perhaps even more—who knows how far this insurrection might spread if not checked?”

“I am a weak man, Cousin,” he replied. “It was my weakness that led to my poverty, and brought me to Mars, and prompted me to steal the egg.” He gave a rueful grin. “It would be inconsistent for me to display any strength of character now.”

“People can change.” She settled herself on the bedside chair. “Just months ago I was a naive girl. I, too, took myself to Mars on a sudden whim, not considering the costs or consequences, and suffered greatly for my imprudence. Yet I have also learned from the experience.” She leaned in close. “There are some tasks only one person can perform.” She thought of the explosive shell, its smooth warm exterior hiding such great destructive power, and how it had been placed in her hands with a confidence she still felt she had not earned. “If such a task should happen to fall to you, you may rail against it, you may deny it, you may try to push it away … but in the end, you may also find that you can rise to the occasion.”

“Even such a man as I?”

“Even such a man as you.” She held out her hand. “Come with me, Cousin.”

Mutely he took it and rose. Then, still holding her hand, he stood and contemplated her face for a time, considering. “I … I will make the attempt,” he said at last. “I will endeavor to do honor to the family name.”

Arabella's suspicion of Simon warred with her desire to assume the best of any man, but in the end her natural inclination to charity won out. “That is all I, or any one, could ask.”

“I only request that I be given a moment alone in my bedchamber, so as to prepare myself for … for the end.”

“Of course.”

At the door he paused and looked back at Michael, still unconscious, his breathing shallow but regular. “I am sorry, Cousin,” he said, then set his shoulders and stepped into the hall.