Barrington Bayley - The Grand Wheel

The bridge captain turned to him as his hol image appeared. ‘The sensors have picked up a device approaching us fast, sir. We think it’s a weapon.’

Dom stepped forward, then stopped at the markers on the floor that informed him of the boundaries of his yellow room. He stepped back, fumbling in the air until his hand closed on a control stick. His image glided forward, crossing the bridge and halting by the captain’s side, from where he could view the bank of displays by which the ship was guided.

The oncoming object was expanding on the forward telescopic screen. It was a long, thin pipe, hurtling through space like a spear.

‘That doesn’t look Legit,’ he remarked.

The captain attended to an information terminal that at that moment flickered into life. ‘It’s just been identified as Hadranic, sir,’ he said, straightening. ‘An unmanned self-programmed missile.’

‘This far back?’

‘No doubt the Hadranics have despatched them in droves, just for nuisance value.’

They watched as the Disk of Hyke carried out its own automatic defensive action. Its first volley of countering missiles were easily evaded by the Hadranic pipe, which then returned to the attack, its memory locked on to the Wheel ship. The Disk of Hyke was then forced to take evasive manoeuvres of its own, and finally destroyed the missile with a second volley.

Dom sighed when it was all over. For a brief time it had looked as if the outcome might be in doubt. It augured ill if their wait in the Cave was to be a long one.

‘We are much too exposed here,’ he said. ‘Hadranic missiles, Legitimacy battle fleets – and a major battle liable to begin any moment!’ He pursed his lips fretfully. ‘We might be well advised to get down on a planet somewhere, out of harm’s way.’

‘You are aware, sir, of the peculiarity attaching to stars in the Cave?’ the captain asked.

Dom nodded. ‘ Indeed, I cannot help thinking it is in some way connected with the choice of venue. But I would say that the risk of being caught in a nova is not too great, and certainly less than the dangers we face here in free space.’ He turned to the navigator. ‘How close are we to that archaeological team?’

‘Quite close, sir. They sent out another narrowbeam ten hours ago.’

Dom wanted, if possible, to get a look at the alien randomness machine the very first narrowbeam they had picked up had mentioned. He was interested in any new scientific treatment of randomness, especially if it came from a nonhuman source. But that first transmission had been an all-package beam, carrying a host of messages relayed by Cave HQ. Since then the Disk of Hyke had been intercepting local narrowbeam traffic and trying to locate the planet where the machine lay, but it had proved difficult.

‘An archaeological site probably doesn’t have very much by way of defensive armament,’ he decided. ‘Let’s go over there, Captain, and take a look. If we do it quietly maybe we can take over for a while.’

His parallaxed image flicked out as the captain acknowledged the order.

As the raiding party lunged over the arid, ravaged terraces, its half-tracks sent up a wake of dust. The Grand Wheel maintained no regular militia, but it understood the use of force perfectly. A space-tensor blanket had been thrown over the Legitimacy camp to forestall a narrowbeam SOS, and in effect the site was already in Wheel hands.

From where he sat in the leading half-track, Marguerite Dom could see people emerging from their tents and staring at the approaching raiders in puzzlement. They would not have guessed, yet, what was afoot. Nor was ignorance all on their side. Behind Dom the Disk of Hyke towered over the desert for twenty-three decks, looking more than anything like a scaled-up nineteenth-century riverboat. Most people aboard did not know yet that the ship had landed, and probably would not know when it took off again, so complete was the Wheel transport’s internal life.

In the event, the archaeological camp was practically unarmed. Even when the Wheel insignia was recognized, there was little shooting. Dom’s men strode from tent to tent, making a brief survey of each, herding the team members into sullen groups where they looked on, half-resentful, half-perplexed.

Half an hour later Dom stepped into the tent containing the alien machine. The first thing that caught his eye, however, was not the machine itself but a youth of about sixteen who lolled in an armchair, his face slack and exhausted.

He paused, looking the boy up and down. ‘Who is this?’

He was answered by Haskand, the Wheel scientist he had assigned to examine the machine. ‘His name is Shane, sir. He plays some part in the research project.’

‘So young? What’s his speciality?’

‘What does this boy do?’ Haskand asked a thin man in a white gown who stood nervously by. Wishom did not answer, but another man, with stern steady eyes and wearing the cloak of a Legitimacy official, glided up to stand behind Shane’s chair, placing a proprietary hand on his shoulder.

‘I am Shane’s guardian,’ Hakandra said. ‘No one answers for him but me.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

Hakandra hesitated. ‘He is not well.’

Dom’s eyes strayed to the object of his visit: the alien device. The tent was crammed with modems, transformers and similar equipment, all of it wired up to the glistening drum.

‘I demand to know what the Grand Wheel is doing in the Cave of Caspar,’ Hakandra snapped. Then his eyes widened in alarm. ‘Has there been a coup?’

‘Be assured no such thing has happened,’ Dom smiled. ‘I am here on private business.’ He pointed to the drum. ‘I want to know all about that.’

‘Then this is treason. Attacking a Legitimacy installation, sabotaging the war effort—’

‘Do you know who I am?’ Dom asked caressingly.

‘No.’

‘I am Marguerite Dom, Chairman of the Grand Wheel.’

The Legitimacy people stiffened. The charisma of his name affected even them.

Dom stepped closer to the alien drum, peering at its glittering opaque surface. ‘I know you have a randomness machine of some kind here. There is no need for you to be silly or churlish about it. I might even be able to aid your investigations – wouldn’t that be nice for you? And besides, you are isolated here, unable to get any messages out. If you are obstinate I shall simply use any of a dozen perfectly effective interrogation devices, and that would spoil any spirit of accord between us.’

‘There was a civilization on this planet once,’ Wishom said. ‘This is a fermat of theirs that was found.’

‘Only a fermat?’

Shane gave a slack-mouthed giggle. ‘Liars!’ he exclaimed in a loud, cracked voice.

‘Quiet, Shane,’ Hakandra muttered.

Dom looked up from the alien machine. He came close to Shane, placing a hand on his brow. ‘He’s feverish,’ he observed. ‘He should be in the hospital tent.’ He looked gravely at the youth, as though at something of great beauty. ‘He has an interesting face – a rare quality, really striking. What is it about you that’s unusual, young man?’

With a suddenly savage gesture Hakandra knocked away Dom’s arm. ‘Leave him alone!’ he snarled. He placed both his hands on Shane’s shoulders and squeezed them hard. For a moment the two men confronted each other over the sick youth, their eyes meeting.

Shane gazed up at Dom. He began to ramble. ‘What are you doing here? You shouldn’t have come here. Nobody should come to the Cave. Lady never comes here. You’ll lose – lose – lose—’

Dom turned away as someone else entered the tent. It was Cheyne Scarne. Dom raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I hitched a lift on one of the half-tracks,’ Scarne explained. ‘I wanted to see everything.’