Starship Home (30 page)

Meanwhile, some miles away, where the forest met the grassland, the four Sullivans were beginning to stir into consciousness. Slowly they staggered to their feet, and then one of them looked down. In the grass lay a strange metal rod with differently colored buttons on it. The Sullivan picked up the Slarnstaff which Zoe had left behind, and examined it. He frowned, wondering what it was for. His finger hovered over a button. And then he pushed the red button.

As he did so, fire belched out of the end of the Slarnstaff, struck a tree and caused it to burst into flames. The Sullivan tried it again, and another tree was blazing.

The Sullivan smiled the kind of smile which said
where has this been all my life?
The sort of smile that a Viking might smile were he introduced to a machine gun.

Zoe, Zachary, Meg, Maze and Father John were leading the salt horses along the ancient road, and Harold, still lying across the back of one of the hoses, was showing signs of returning consciousness. One eye opened, and then another, and then he closed them again, having decided that being draped across a horse’s back was preferable to walking. Unfortunately for him, Zoe had seen his eyes open and close. ‘Get off the horse, Harold!’

‘Mmnnh?’ Harold responded.

‘You’re awake. Get off the horse.’

‘It wasn’t me that put me to sleep,’ Harold answered, sliding down off the salt horse, ‘a certain person Slarnstaffed me unconscious.’

Meg and Zachary looked quickly at Zoe, who shrugged and said: ‘Heat of the moment kind of thing? A Sullivan was going to kill him so I just reacted?’

Before Meg and Zachary could answer, they all heard the sound of hoofbeats behind them and turned, expecting the worst. It was, after all, that kind of day. But it was not Sullivans riding up behind them, but the Don, leading the Troll party, all looking very pleased with themselves. Ulf and Rocky were now riding captured Sullivan steeds, and driving before them five more riderless horses. One way and another they seemed to have done very well for themselves. As the parties met they failed to see, on a distant ridgeline, silhouetted by the setting sun, the figure of a horseman.

It was Marlowe, watching the reunion, and then spurring down the further slope into the gathering gloom of night.

Back at the hatchway of the Starship, the Eldest Looter sat cross-legged by his small fire, engaging Guinevere in conversation. ‘You not remember now, Dark One?’

‘Let me sleep,’ she moaned.

‘Dark One never sleep,’ the Eldest explained with the ingrained certainty of the true believer, ‘I tell you your story again, so you remember.’

‘Not again. Prithee, not again.’

‘Once there was all dark, then dark moved all together so Dark One egg was made…’

‘If thou dost not cease thy heathen blathering I shall forget my vows as a nun and burn thee to crackling!’

Marlowe now entered the clearing and moved toward the Eldest, who turned to him sadly, and said: ‘Dark One lost memory. Gone mad. Told Dark One his story ten times, still not remember.’

‘Good warlock,’ said Guinevere, ‘take this village oaf away, I prithee.’

With a grim smile, Marlowe reached down and took the Eldest by one scrawny arm, and lifted him to his feet. Ignoring the stench emanating from the chief Looter, Marlowe bent close and murmured to him, ‘The strangers say iron castle must be fed. You must let strangers feed Dark One. Make him strong. But the strangers fear you. They’ll not feed Dark One while you’re here.’

To the Eldest, this made perfect sense. Did not all creatures fear the Human Race? ‘Understand. Strangers fear Human Race.’ And as Marlow released his grip, the Eldest ran among his sleeping followers, kicking them awake and screaming ‘Up! Up! Move! Move! We leaving!’

The Looters, accustomed to the Eldest’s sudden mood swings, woke, rolled onto their feet, snatched up their possessions and began blundering around, uncertain of where they should go, and afraid of taking the initiative in case they displeased the Eldest and ended up as foods.

‘Dark One must be fed by foreign foods! Foreign foods afraid of Human Race! Move out!’ the Eldest shrieked, and, choosing a direction at random, he raced out of the clearing, his followers running behind.

In the sudden silence, broken only by the crackling of the Looters’ fires, Guinevere sighed with relief. ‘I thank thee, good warlock,’ she said, and then added, in tones of concern, ‘what news hast thou of my people and the Don?’

‘They’re on their way with salt for you,’ Marlowe replied, ‘and should be here by dawn.’ And his one good eye swept across the clearing, taking in the Looters’ fires, and the piles of skulls, and the designs crudely painted on Guinevere’s hull.

Some hours later, when first light filtered through the treetops into the clearing, Marlowe was long gone, and the jingle of harness and the tramp of horses’ hooves announced the arrival of the Trolls, who rode into the clearing, swords out and ready. The Don surveyed the scene, the ashes of dead fires, the piles of skulls, the daubings on Guinevere’s hull, and ‘Gone,’ he said, ‘a pity,’ and he turned in the saddle as Zoe, Harold, Meg, Zachary and Maze, now riding the five captured Sullivan mounts, rode into the clearing leading the salt-laden horses. Gratefully, they dismounted and looked around in amazement at the scene.

‘Someone been having a party?’ said Zachary.

‘Disgusting,’ said Meg.

‘Interesting,’ said Harold.

‘Guinevere! Are you all right!’ said Zoe.

‘Aye,’ replied Guinevere. ‘Indians came. And the warlock Marlowe. He said thou had’st salt.’

Harold patted the sacks on one of the salt horses. ‘Two hundred pound.”

‘I thank ye all. For me this could mean life.’

Maze was looking at the Don, eyes twinkling, ready to bargain. ‘You and me split rest.’

‘Oh do we?’ said the Don, a small grim smile tightening his lips.

‘We split even,’ replied the fierce little Forester girl, eyes narrowing.

Now a broad smile spread on the Don’s face, and it was Ulf who spoke. ‘We did the fighting.’

‘Ah,’ said the Don, ‘but the fighting was for the honor of the Lady Henderson. The salt we split even.’

‘Was ever there such a perfect gentle knight,’ gushed Guinevere, ‘and thou, cruel Meg, wouldst say him nay?’

Meg, who had just been thinking what a nice thing the Don had said, and had begun to warm toward him as a result, now reacted like a furious spitting cat. ‘He fights because he loves fighting!’

The Don was not sure what point she was making. ‘Am I not a man?’ he said, bewildered, ‘and should a man not love to fight?’

‘Don’t make me your excuses!’ Meg responded, and then to change the subject said, ‘now can we get on with this salt business? Please?’

In the feeding chamber of the starship, the floor panel slid back, and vapor rose from the interior of Guinevere’s feeding pit. The Wyzen, always interested in everything going on about her, watched closely as Zoe, Harold, Meg and Zachary dragged two bags of salt to the edge of the dark gap in the floor, and then Zachary slit the first of the bags and started pouring the salt into the starship’s alimentary system. Strange bubbling sounds and even stranger chemical smells arose from the pit in the floor, and the humans stepped back, gagging, but as they did, the Wyzen reached out, scooped a pawful of salt from the half-empty sack, and gobbled it down.

‘Wyzen!’ exclaimed Zoe, ‘that’s not good for you!’ But the Wyzen merely grabbed another pawful of salt and ate it, evidently finding it delicious.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ said Zachary, swallowing hard, emptied the first bag and then rapidly slit the second and poured the rest of the salt in, but the Wyzen was too quick for him, and leaned in to claim just one more pawful of the precious substance. As the last of the salt disappeared into Guinevere’s insides, the panel slid shut, but the Wyzen was still searching for more.

Disappointed in her search, she then tottered on unsteady legs to Zoe, reared up, and licked her face. ‘Wyzen?’ she said in pleading tones.

‘Guinevere?’ said Meg disapprovingly, ‘your animal just got drunk on three handfuls of salt.’

But Guinevere had seen it all before. ‘Poor Wyzen,’ she murmured, full of sympathy, ‘rare alchemical mixtures ofttimes do this unto her. Care for her. Please.’

‘Actually,’ Harold said, ‘salt is not a rare substance.’

‘On the Wyzen’s world it is,’ Guinevere replied in a voice which brooked no argument, ‘so I say again, care for her.’

As the door into the Bridge slid open, from without came the sounds of melodious howlings, and then Meg and Zachary entered, followed by Harold and Zoe carrying the Wyzen, much affected by salt. They put her down on an acceleration couch to sleep it off, and then Harold moved to the clock which monitored progress of the self destruct mechanism designed by the Slarn to prevent their technology falling into primitive hands, a device which would vaporize Guinevere and everything in a 60 mile zone around her if she stayed earthbound. Harold read the clock. ‘Twenty five days and counting.’

‘How are you feeling Guinevere?’ Zoe asked, at the same time looking puzzled and sniffing the air.

‘In growing health. I feel my strength returning,’ the Starship replied.

Harold was pulling out the list of elements Guinevere needed for her repair. ‘Okay, copper, tin, salt, what do you need next?’

Zoe sniffed again. ‘Yuk! The place stinks. Harold, did you put out the garbage before we left?’

‘Zoe? I’m working here. Guinevere? What next?’

Zoe went to the bench, looked under it, and dragged out a forest-made basket full of mouldering food scraps. ‘Pity you didn’t work before we left,’ she said in disgusted tones.

‘Zyglan,’ said Guinevere.

‘Harold? Put it out! Now!’

‘Zoe, I’m trying to get information from Guinevere about an element I’ve never heard of and I can’t think about garbage as well! You’re Action Woman, you put it out.’

‘I know my place, master, I hear and obey,’ Zoe said, and hefted the basket and emptied the stinking contents over Harold’s head. Harold sat in silence for a moment, garbage cascading all over him, and then got on with what was doing before he was interrupted.

‘Thank you for your contribution, Zoe. Now Guinevere, what is Zyglan?’

‘It doth not occur upon this earth,’ Guinevere replied.

Harold took a deep breath and in tones of utmost patience said, ‘Well if it doth not occur upon this earth how are we going to get you three pounds of it?’

‘Why,’ said Guinevere, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, ‘by journeying to Slarn Base 35.’

Silence. Harold was picking garbage off himself. Zoe was guiltily helping. There did not seem to be a great deal to say. Finally, Zachary broke the silence. ‘Okay, I’ll be the idiot, Guinevere, could you just run that past us one more time?’

A map suddenly appeared on the main screen. A little starship icon appeared on it. ‘We are here,’ Guinevere said, and then a village icon and a castle icon appeared, and the background suddenly became forest. A whole map of the surrounding district was being painted before their eyes. ‘Village, Don’s castle … and here …’ and another icon appeared, an icon in the form of a Slarn warrior, ‘be Slarn Base 35.’

‘Define Slarn Base?’

Guinevere realized Harold was talking to her as if she was a computer, but with saintly forbearance decided to ignore the insult, realizing as she did that in Harold’s mind it was probably a compliment. ‘The Slarn make bases on all their worlds. This was dug three thousand years ago, and joined to others by lines of force within the Earth. In Slarnbase 35, two leagues from here, ye’ll find the Zyglan which my body needs. Take ye this map.’ And a map extruded from a slot in the main console. Meg reached over and took it before Harold could, and looked at it, Harold peering around her shoulder.

Meg was exercising her own brand of saintly patience. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking why you didn’t tell us about these places before?’

‘Thou …’ Guinevere began, and then everyone else chimed in, ‘… did’st not ask!’

‘Hic!’ said the Wyzen.

Dawn found Zoe, Harold, Meg, Zachary and a Wyzen who was feeling rather sorry for herself all gathered on the Starship’s Bridge. The map of the district was on the main screen, and a large crystal, dull and lifeless, stood on the bench. Guinevere was giving them their final briefing before they set out on their quest for Zyglan. ‘The entrance may be hid,’ she was saying, ‘I know not how, but the finding crystal will come to life when you are close to.’ The map was suddenly replaced by an image of a Slarnstaff, and as it revolved, revealing its various controls, Guinevere gave them further instructions on their use. Some controls would displace earth, some emit tractor beams which could lift rock away, one produced a dazzling beam of light like a powerful torch. ‘All bases have supplies of Zyglan,’ she said, and then the display changed again to show what she explained was a basic Zyglan pack, a metal-caged white crystal shot with pulsing scarlet veins.

‘Three thousand years is a long time, Guinevere,’ Zachary said, ‘what if someone’s found it and looted it? Or built a supermarket on top of it or something?’

‘The structure is impenetrable,’ she answered, ‘and can be opened only by use of a word of power, which I shall now impart. The word is
Ha-bra-ka-dah
. Ye must all now say it,” and she made them repeat it again and again until they had it by heart. To Zachary’s ear it sounded very like
abracadabra
but he was trying not to think that in case he got confused.

Fifteen minutes later, the main hatch of the Starship opened, and Zachary and Meg, followed by Zoe and Harold, moved out, crossed the clearing, and entered the forest, heading for the spot on the map where Slarnbase 35 ought to be. They all carried Slarnstaffs including Harold, who, not wanting to be criticised for mislaying his own during the melee with the Sullivans, had sneaked a new one from the rack. Through the forest they moved, slow and sure, making as little noise as possible, checking all directions as they went.

Zachary was at point, map in one hand, finding crystal in the other, and his Slarnstaff slung, when suddenly the crystal began to pulse with a faint light. ‘We got something,’ he murmured to the others and then, as he moved on, the pulsing within the crystal became stronger or fainter as he got nearer or further away from his target, but finally they were all standing on a rock ledge and the crystal was ablaze with light. Slowly Zachary lowered the crystal to the rock ledge itself and the pulsing became even stronger! ‘We’ve got to be right on top of it,’ he said.

‘Even in three thousand years there’s no way this stone grew on top of it,’ Zoe said.

‘Stone doesn’t grow,’ Harold said, and before an argument could break out, Meg intervened by suggesting they split up, search the surrounding bush to see if there was a way in under the rock ledge, and then meet back on top in ten minutes.

Harold slid down the smooth rock, landing feet-first in leaf litter, and began his search, creeping along with the rock face at his left hand. At first, there was nothing to be seen, and then he turned a corner and found himself looking into a gap, six feet wide. It was the mouth of a cave leading under the rock ledge! Harold hesitated. Every story he had ever heard of venomous snakes living in caves came back to him, and he nearly called out to alert the others to his find. But then he thought
what if this is it? And what if I’m the one to find it?
That’ll show Zoe and Rocky I’m no nerdywimpyboy,
and he moved into the gap, activating the torch function on his Slarnstaff.

But he had penetrated only ten yards inside, when he came face to face with disappointment in the form of a blank rock wall. He shone his torchbeam around, but there was no other exit. This was all there was. He slumped. He was not about to prove anything here. ‘So much for
Ha-bra-ka-dah,’
he said
out loud.

And the wall before him silently opened to reveal a chamber beyond!

As Harold moved forward, the Slarnstaff’s torchbeam illuminated more and more of the chamber and the first thing that he saw was a suit of Slarn armor! He froze, and felt his insides turning to water, until he realized that the armor was simply hanging from a hook driven into the stone of the wall. He moved toward it, touching its cold surface, and then saw, beyond it, more hooks, and more articles of clothing, some of which he had seen before. A cold shudder ran through him as he realized that what he was looking at was Marlowe’s array of costumes. Every instinct in him was screaming
get out of here! Get out of here now!
He turned to go, but found his way blocked by Marlowe himself who had come silently into the chamber behind him. He was wearing a loose jacket and trousers, and his long hair was clean and pulled back from his face, and because he was not wearing his dark glasses, the metal eye gleamed red in its socket. Fear drove Harold’s feet and he feinted left and then ran right, trying to get past Marlowe and through the doorway, but as he did so, the door slid shut.

‘Ha-bra-ka …’ he began to yell, but Marlowe’s hand covered his face, preventing the last of the password issuing from his throat. And then, around them, the Slarnbase began to come to life. Screens lit up, armored Slarn faces appeared, speaking Slarn battle language. Marlowe was transfixed. ‘They’re back!’ he cried. ‘My people. My father’s people. Have returned!’

On the bridge of the starship, the screens were showing the same images and the speakers relayed the same Slarn battle language. The Wyzen leapt from her place on the console and activated a panel, which opened for her. She shot inside the space thus revealed, and then peered out again. Guinevere spoke. ‘Wyzen, they’re back. The Slarn are back. I’ll be gone for a moment, must warn the others.’ And then the lights on the bridge dimmed as Guinevere used all of her waning energy to transmit her image.

On the rendezvous point above Marlowe’s cave, Zoe, Zachary and Meg had become anxious about Harold’s whereabouts and were calling out for him. ‘He can’t have just disappeared in five minutes!’ said Zoe and then broke off as Guinevere’s image manifested before them. ‘Beware!’ she said, ‘the Slarn have returned. Beware …’ and then the image wavered and disappeared. ‘Great!’ said Zoe, ‘Slarn are back and Harold’s missing, probably collecting lion poo again. When we find him my revenge will be slow and merciless!’

At the moment she was saying this, Harold would have preferred her slow and merciless revenge to what was currently happening to him. His face held in Marlowe’s steel grip, he was staring at the screens which showed Slarn warriors at the controls of their starships, a sight which terrified Harold and filled Marlowe with a terrible joy. ‘My people,’ he kept saying, ‘my father’s people!’

Harold gestured at Marlowe, pointing to his own mouth, still covered by Marlowe’s hand. Marlowe took his hand away. ‘Be very careful what you say.’

‘With all due respect,’ Harold said, ‘the Slarn cannot, strictly speaking, be your father’s people.’

Marlowe took a deep breath, as if to quell the anger rising in him at this little twerp’s arrogance. ‘Go on,’ he said, and his tone was so silky and so infused with threat that anybody but Harold would have ceased talking immediately.

‘The Slarn,’ Harold went on, ‘are alien beings, and their body chemistry would make it impossible for one of them to be your father.’

Marlowe smiled, not a smile that any sane person would wish to have directed at them. ‘You have such wisdom, little one, that I have a question for you.’ He paused and Harold, pleased that after all this time there was someone who appreciated his wisdom, nodded and smiled. ‘Why,’ Marlowe continued, ‘should I not snap your neck like a dry stick?’

‘Because that would be wrong?’

‘Wrong?’

‘Against the law?’

‘Against whose laws?’ And then Marlowe’s attention was distracted by what was happening on the screens. One of them showed the Earth as seen from space, and then there was the blip of a Slarn starship coming in on an approach trajectory. It then disappeared over the horizon and another screen picked up the starship as it homed in on western Europe, and came to rest in that part of France called Brittany.

‘It’s landed in France,’ said Harold.

Marlowe nodded. ‘The Slarn have an underground base in Brittany.’ Then he looked at Harold. ‘You knew the password. How? And if you try to say it I really will break your neck.’

‘Guinevere told us. She needs Zyglan and this is the only place she knew where we could find it.’

‘Zyglan.’

‘She’s programmed to self-destruct after 40 days in planetary gravity. She’s sick, she can’t lift off, and there’s only 24 days left.’

Marlowe fell silent and his silence was more terrifying than his words. After a while, he looked at Harold. ‘Let’s deal.’