Sword Destiny (7 page)

The river journey had frayed their nerves. Twice they had bumped scaled monsters that had snapped and thrashed as they passed and now they felt vulnerable holding motionless against the river's flow. It was deep enough here to hide creatures that might be as big as the skimmer itself. The dangers below occupied their minds almost as much as the dangers above. They knew that in a high state of war readiness, the Gheddans would almost certainly increase their guard patrols. Also, with no evidence of bodies in their crashed rotor-flyer, it would not take too much logical reasoning to work out that if they had survived the desert then the river might offer them their best means of escape. The Gheddans were not stupid and the risks were still high.

“Perhaps you should call again,” Kananda said at last. “Your friends have not heard us.”

“They know which frequency we are on. If they are close enough, they will have heard us. If not, we must give them more time before we try again.”

Kananda was doubtful. Sometimes she used words he still couldn't understand. There was nothing on his world or in his language to which they could be related. He wanted to ask what the word “frequency” meant, but then Jayna squeezed his hand.

“This spy business involves a lot of waiting. Be patient, Kananda.”

Kananda tried to be patient but it was not something he was good at. The long hours of being cramped in the tiny cockpit had been irksome. He wanted to move and stretch his muscles. Jayna sensed the tension inside him and again squeezed his hand. He felt irritated by the small intimacy and then uncomfortable when Zela looked back at him and smiled.

Time dragged as they searched the heavens. There was nothing but the stars and constellations. Kananda thought that he could again pick out Earth but he was not sure. A bank of thin clouds had slowly moved into that quarter of the sky. He began to wonder what would happen next if no rescue came. He knew that the skimmer drank fuel like a thirsty camel and that there was not enough of it left to take them back up-river. They were stranded here at the mouth of this evil swamp, trapped between the desert and the sea. Then, just as his black thoughts reached their lowest ebb, the communicator speaker crackled and a disembodied voice came through.

“Z-K-One, we have you on-screen now. Time to go, Commander. Take off now.”

Zela, who had every move mapped out in her mind, automatically spun her control wheel to face the skimmer downstream. The current caught it and flung them forward, and she slammed the power up to maximum. Within seconds they were hurtling toward the white wall of breakers where the river met the sea.

Kananda jumped and again searched the sky. Jayna, who knew where to look, half-turned in her seat to point back and upward. Kananda turned his head and saw that one of the stars in the vast canopy was moving, a quick-silver gleam coming up fast behind them like a falling meteor. The pilot of the Super-Fighter/Strato-bomber was using the river as his guide and as the rescue craft lost height, the skimmer craft was rising up to meet it. The river and the sea dropped away below them, and like a giant silver bird, the larger aircraft loomed above them.

Zela's gaze was fixed on the control screen in front of her, which now showed the underside of the huge bomber in close detail. She matched the pre-agreed speed and height and waited, trusting the pilot above to make the final adjustments. The gap between them narrowed and slowly the bomb bay doors slid open and the magnetic clamps emerged and extended downward.

Kananda was suddenly aware of how a fish must feel when it realized that it was about to be snatched in the talons of an eagle. He watched, mesmerized, through the canopy as the clamps came closer, and then there was a sudden jolt and a bang as they locked on to the skimmer. A red light flashed on Zela's control panel and an audible signal sounded in shrill warning.

“We have you, Commander,” said the voice from the speaker.

Zela cut her engines dead and the skimmer hung fast in the clamps. “All power disengaged,” she reported calmly.

The clamp arms pulled them up into the belly of the Strato-bomber and the steel doors slid smoothly shut below them. As soon as the doors were closed, the parent craft was aiming her nose back at the stars, accelerating and climbing as fast as she was able.

As they unbuckled their harness straps, Zela slid back the canopy hood above their heads. All three of them climbed out thankfully and Kananda stood for a moment to savour air that was marginally more fresh and tasted only slightly of oil and grease, which was an improvement on swamp stink. Then Zela quickly led the way forward.

They found Antar on the flight deck. The tall, gold-bearded Alphan stood behind the pilot and co-pilot, looking over their shoulders at their flight screens. He acknowledged the three new arrivals briefly and then indicated the screens as they all gathered round to watch. The centre of the two screens each showed an electronically generated green image of their own aircraft, while in the upper left hand corner of the screens two smaller red fighter images were descending fast to meet them.

“Gheddans,” Jayna said. Her voice held a note of alarm and Kananda tensed.

“A fighter patrol,” Zela agreed. “No more than we should expect.” She cast a questioning glance at Antar who seemed unconcerned. The flight crew were also complacent and seemed content to watch whatever might develop.

“All the communication traffic we have monitored shows that you three have stirred up a nest of stinging hornets,” Antar said. “So it was almost a certainty that they would pick us up the moment we broke radio silence and that there would be some attempt at intervention. It seemed prudent to come prepared.”

As they watched, two green fighter images dropped down from the top centre of the screens and executed sweeping scissor turns to pass swiftly between the two red fighters and their own green bomber. Suddenly the screens were filled with streaking lines of fire.

The two pilots seemed content to watch their screens, but Antar and the others had now turned their heads to look through the cockpit window, which gave a partial view of the star-bright blackness of the night sky. Kananda followed the line of their expectant gaze and saw a bright fireball of red and yellow flame that burst like the unfolding of some terrible galactic flower. The flash hurt his eyes and he flinched and turned away.

When he blinked and looked back at the screen, he saw that one of the Gheddan ships had vanished from a direct hit. The flickering red streaks that marked the missile launches continued to criss-cross the top corner of the screen and then one of the Alphan ships also disappeared. Another sunburst filled the heavens beyond their left wing. Finally there was a third flash and the second Gheddan ship vanished from the screens. It was over in a very few minutes, and the surviving Alphan fighter took up an escort position off their wing as they climbed high and headed for home.

“The first casualties of war,” Antar said bleakly.

There was a long silence as they continued to watch the screens, but no more images appeared. Kananda looked out through the cockpit window again but saw only a few molten fragments drifting on the edge of space. He realized that he had just watched men die. One Alphan and two Gheddan fighter crews had just perished in those lightning flashes and the awful swiftness and the sudden finality of it appalled him. When a man fought a man, there was always an option to give mercy and at the least an awareness of that moment of death when a man could call upon the gods to accept his soul. When the machines fought, there was nothing. They were merciless and without souls. Kananda had by now, with his sword, killed more than a score of men in the sweating heat of battle, but this new concept of cold-blooded, remote, push-button killing disturbed him.

Antar led the way off the cramped flight deck and back into the small passenger cabin where he and Zela and Jayna were taking their seats. Kananda stared silently through the window for a few moments and then turned to join them.

“You took a risk in coming out here to meet us,” Zela was saying.

Antar nodded. “We anticipate a Gheddan attack at any moment, so there is no time to waste. I know you have all had an exhausting journey and need rest, but this way I can listen to your reports and brief you on your next mission during the flight back to Alpha.”

“Our next mission?” Zela stared at him in protest.

“I am sorry.” Antar raised his hands helplessly and looked as though he meant it. “You know that Ghedda has launched a second mission to the third planet?”

“We know. The mission is led by Sword Lord Raven. He has six ships and orders to return to Earth and secure Karakhor for Ghedda.”

“Which we cannot allow him to do. Our escape ships must have a refuge. We cannot send our children helpless and almost undefended into a city that is already occupied by Ghedda. That is why your ship is waiting for you, fully fuelled and ready to take off with your crew on board. You too have five support ships, as much as we can spare to combat Raven's fleet. The Gheddans are seven days ahead of you, but our ships are faster. You should be able to close the gap just before they reach Earth.”

“It will be a long race, but at max speed we should be able to catch them up.” Zela smiled wearily. “At least I should be able to get some sleep while we overtake them.”

“Forgive me.” Antar made the conciliatory gesture with his hands again. “But you are the obvious choice. Prince Kananda will go with you, of course. We are still honour-bound to return him and we still need his help and the goodwill of his people.”

“What about me?” Jayna asked.

Antar shrugged helplessly. “With the combat fleet, I can only sanction space for one essential passenger. But your daughter still has a place on the first escape ship, and I will make sure that you will be one of the few adults to fly with her. We hope to be able to launch those ships within a few weeks.”

“You still talk of weeks and the Gheddan assault is only a few days, perhaps a few hours away.” Jayna spoke with a new edge of bitterness. During their time on Ghedda, she had come alive, as though all the risks and dangers had been some kind of stimulating drug. Now she was drained and exhausted, facing the inevitable again and accepting that all their efforts had been no more than spitting in the wind.

There was an uncomfortable pause and then Zela asked, “When I catch up with the Gheddan fleet, what are my orders?”

“Destroy them,” Antar said simply. “By then we will almost certainly be at war. Our own planet may no longer exist. Earth will be the only inhabitable planet left in this solar system and we cannot allow it to be contaminated by the madness of the Gheddans. The Council is all agreed. You are not to permit one single Gheddan ship to set down on Earth.”

Kananda stared at him, remembering those bright fireballs of destruction he had witnessed only a few moments before. Now he did not know whether to continue to pray that Maryam might still be alive and with Raven. If she was dead or left alive on Ghedda, then he had lost her. Yet if she was still with Raven, then it seemed that she was now doomed to die in an unavoidable space battle between the two fleets. With either thought, his hopes sank and his heart quailed and shuddered within his breast.

Chapter Four

The black leopard banner of Sardar marked the large black and gold command tent in the centre of the Maghallan camp. It was surrounded by a tight circle of armed guards, each warrior hand-picked for his size and savagery and his dog-like devotion to his master. Beyond was the inner circle of the tents of his generals and chieftains, and his supporting kings, each one with its own grim-faced guardians. A large fire burned in front of each tent, throwing sparks and smoke to the star-encrusted vault of the heavens.

It was the fifth night of the great battle and most of the satellite tents were empty. Sardar had gathered all of his lieutenants into his own tent to discuss the tactics of the battle. The more important ones sat or lolled upon cushions, while the rest stood further back. Sardar sat at the head of the inner circle, his squat form like that of a great, satiated, hairy toad, wine spilling down the crease of the scar below his chin as he drank from an incongruously slender gold goblet. He had thrown aside his armour to relax, but the rest of his clothing still stank of the day's sweat.

His High Priest, the hawk-faced Nazik, sat as always on his right. Tuluq was on his left, the heir apparent, his oldest, most ferocious and most trusted son. Kamar, Bharat, Zarin and the representatives of Bahdra and the Monkey Clans completed the inner circle. The latter spoke little at these meetings, for planning and strategy was not what they had to offer. They simply led their followers in blind shrieking and killing, all for the promise of future rape and plunder.

There were two empty spaces, deliberate reminders that Durga and the young prince Udaya had fallen. Kamar glanced frequently at the cushions where his son had once reclined, each time pursing his thick lips in a scowl of raging anger. He had single-handedly slain more than a score of the enemy in his grief and fury, but had yet to reach either of the two Karakhoran princes he held responsible.

“They have three great champions whom we must kill if we are to win this war,” Nazik said grimly. He brandished his eagle-headed staff in the direction of the city as he named them. “Prince Sanjay, who rides the war elephant, is taking a terrible toll of our best warriors. His javelins never miss and none of us dares to go within the range of his throw. Prince Devan is proving himself a mighty swordsman and so far no man has been able to stand against him. But the key is Jahan. Their Warmaster holds the army of Karakhor together. Jahan is the brain, the military genius who unites them all. We must kill them all if we can—but we must kill Jahan.”

“I will kill Jahan.” Kamar and Tuluq growled the words together, and then exchanged angry glares.

Sardar chuckled and threw his empty glass over his shoulder. He tore a mouthful from the leg of roast pheasant he held in his other hand and spoke as he chewed. “I have watched this battle for five days now. I can see as clearly as Nazik what needs to be done, and I know how to do it. For a start, we will topple Prince Sanjay. He believes he is lord of the battlefield on top of his great elephant, but I have a way to bring him down.”