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Leaves of Thunder
(c) Alistair Potter
Chapter [1]
“All were
tossed as leaves upon a storm.”
A
Common History of Se’tlan.
Olf Stend.
Dawn mist hung over the city of Setlan,
streaking and darkening its crowded stone houses with damp, and laying a
shimmering coat over its flagged and cobbled streets. A low rumble broke the
calm, growing until loose and aged windows trembled in their frames. High
above, amongst the thin, sheeted cloud, a light appeared - a new wonder in a
new day.
Acrid grey smoke filled the command
deck of the Topaz, a small interstellar trading vessel. Three of the crew
sat in padded acceleration couches, each concentrating on their segment of a
curving panel of instruments. Karla, the ship's pilot, sat in the centre; on
her right was the navigator, Rafe, and on her left the captain, Gill Evans.
In the lower decks the ships engineer, Teri, and her apprentice Coll fought
to contain a crippling fire. A man stood behind Karla, his
presence making the skin on her neck and scalp tingle as he used his psychic
abilities to replace the ship's damaged sensors. He was her only link with
the world outside their failing vessel and the planet below.
"OK, Dav," she said, "How high are we?"
"About 4 kilometres. There's land below - flat - no
mountains - no water."
She spoke calmly, her voice relayed to the other crew
by a tiny sub-dermal microphone embedded in her jaw. "Any idea where we are,
Rafe?"
"None. I've no planetary beacons. In fact there's no
comms of any sort."
"Shit," said Gill, "if it's that backward were in real
trouble."
Karla felt a smile form on her lips. His optimism never
failed to surprise her. With their chances of landing intact so slim, the
last thing on her mind was a breach of Imperium First Contact Rules.
Dav let out a groan of dismay.
Karla twisted in her seat. His thin, almost boyish
features were so distorted he looked to be in pain. His deep brown eyes held
an apology.
"I'm sorry," he sighed, "there's a city below."
"Engineering," said Karla, "I need a manoeuvring burn."
A woman answered through a crackle of static,
"Engineering, Teri here. No chance, we've got one retro-burn if we're lucky.
We're going nowhere but down."
Karla turned to face Gill. "What do we do, sir?"
His words were flat and unemotional. "Section four,
part seven of the merchant rules. A vessel shall not land in an area where
there is risk to human life."
Karla could have quoted the same text. It was a simple
rule with no sub-clauses, no exceptions, no loopholes, and no ambiguities.
It was more than a rule - it was a sacred trust, a burden of responsibility
that all pilots carried. Her training took over. Still, it was as if someone
else slid aside the hood covering the self-destruct mechanism, someone else
that keyed in the arming code, and someone else whose finger finally pressed
the activator.
In the market square traders were
busy making final adjustments to stalls piled high with fresh fruit,
cheeses, leather goods, pots and pans, clothes, shoes, vegetables, fish, and
butchered meats. They called and waved to the few early customers walking
among the stalls. Inviting them to inspect their produce and urging them to
buy. It was a peaceful scene, a scene that had repeated itself for many
years in the city's long history.
Suddenly a strange hush fell over the market and one by
one the people looked up, their features dancing in a strange flickering
light.
Karla's finger stabbed at the
panel. "Shit! It won't go!"
Dav leant over and prised her hand away. "Then you'll
have to land us! I'll find somewhere."
Karla swallowed hard, fighting panic with deep, painful
breaths.
"2000 metres," shouted Dav. "Open it up!"
"OK, initiating retro-sequence." She felt her weight
climb in heart stopping surges as the overstretched reaction drive fought to
slow their descent.
Thrust at 40 degrees off spinal," said Dav. "I've got a
clearing!"
She responded instantly, nudging the craft sideways
with delicate bursts of the stabilisers.
"Hold there, we're over it."
Her hands fluttered over the controls and the craft
steadied.
"Estimate 1500 metres - let her go."
To Karla's amazement, a viewer flickered to life and a
small rectangular target appeared among the criss-cross lines of the city
streets. She sat in stunned silence watching tiny figures scatter to safety.
They seemed to move so slowly, she wanted to shout at them, urge them to run
faster, run for their lives.
Hot air surged through the market
square, warming the backs of the last few unfortunates still making their
escape. Their frantic efforts overtaken by a wall of pressure that sent them
tumbling head over heels into the adjoining streets. Thick fumes from
charred meats and fruits choked their throats. The flutter and crack of
cloth awnings crowded their ears.
From the safety of houses at the edge of the market,
bolder faces peered through narrow cracks in doors and shutters. All but
obscured by the maelstrom surrounding it, they watched a dark mass settle in
the centre of the square.
Those in the side streets pressed themselves into
doorways or lay flat to avoid fragments of stalls and clouds of dust and
smoke that tumbled past them, their screams of terror drowned by a thunder
that seemed to have no end.
Then it stopped, and for a time the rain of debris and
the confused moans of the survivors were the only sounds to be heard.
A loud hiss cut the air and plumes of steam spread
across the market, rising in billowing waves over the rooftops. This quickly
faded and condensed to a warm, sooty drizzle and when the mist cleared a
tall cone-shaped structure was revealed, crouching on four spider-like legs,
its blunt apex fully 20 metres above the ground. Nothing remained of the
stalls so carefully prepared for that day's trading.
"How's that fire?" called Gill.
"We're losing it," said Teri. "Only thing we can do now
is abandon and go for a purge."
"OK, you and Coll crack a cargo hatch and get out that
way, we'll use the emergency chute."
"No way. Open a hatch down here and you've got a
furnace, we're coming to you."
"Then grab weapons on the way up. If I were out there
I'd be pretty pissed." He turned to Karla, "How're we doing?"
"Drive secure - all stations powered down."
"Good work." He quickly unclipped the couch's
restraints. "Dav, you're last man out. Suit up and bring down the survival
pack. Karla, help him with the suit and get that chute deployed. Rafe, make
sure Teri and Coll are OK, and get the weapons distributed. Make sure
they're set for stun. I want that perimeter secured first thing -
semicircular spread from the base of the chute, use the ship as part of the
defensive wall."
"Aye, sir."
"And nobody fires unless it's life and death. We know
it's only a stun but they don't."
Karla released her own restraints, sprang to her feet,
and used the central ladder to drop a level from the command deck to the
crew deck. Dav was right behind her. When they arrived at the main hatch Dav
ducked into the suit locker while she opened both inner and outer airlock
doors.
Somehow she expected a rush of fresh air as the outer
door folded back, but the air outside was almost as foul as that inside. A
turn of a handle and a hard tug released the escape chute. It rolled away
from the hatch then inflated settling at an angle to the ground. No sooner
had she finished this than Rafe was at her shoulder.
"Wish me luck," he said.
"Will a boot in the backside do?"
He didn't answer. He was already half way down the
chute. Coll and Teri stood ready to go next. Both the youngster and the
older woman's face were smeared with soot and their loose fitting grey
overalls were smoke blackened and charred in places. Karla could only nod as
they pressed by her. Gill waited ready to take his turn. She squeezed by him
and joined Dav in the suit locker.
He was almost dressed, needing only his helmet. She
grabbed it from its hook and kissed him quickly on the lips before jamming
it down and locking it in place.
"You OK," she asked.
"Fine, green on all lights."
"Take care."
He answered by pushing her out of the room.
Dense smoke had filled the corridor and Karla made
straight for the pale circle of light that was the airlock. Tears streaming
from her eyes, she stepped uncertainly onto the yielding surface of the
chute. In an instant she was on the ground.
Gill pulled her to her feet.
"Watch out for Dav," he said, and then was gone.
Dav's suited figure appeared in the hatchway, black
fumes boiling around him as he prepared to lower the survival pack. After
releasing the escape chute and letting it fall away, he swung a metal arm
from a recess above the hatch and drew a thin cable from it back into the
ship. The line went taut and a large, heavy box swung free. He stepped onto
the box, clinging to the cable as it dropped slowly towards the ground.
There was a muffled detonation followed by an obscene
rasp, and a spume of thick, white foam poured from the hatch, engulfing him.
Within seconds it began to harden.
Feverishly he tore lumps from the mass clinging to the
suit, but his actions became slower and slower until finally he froze,
encased in a pale cocoon.
He toppled gracefully from the box, falling the last
few metres to the ground where he bounced once before coming to rest.
Karla waited for the survival pack to settle then leapt
forward and thumped the release. The lid shuddered and swung open with a
reluctant wheeze. She tugged a large cylinder from the box and dragged it to
Dav's mummified figure. After uncoiling the nozzle she sprayed the stiff
fire-retardant foam. It dissolved quickly forming an evil smelling gas and
she stepped back to allow the air to clear before kneeling to brush a dusty
white residue from Dav's helmet. The powder clung to the smooth surface
defying her efforts but she eventually cleared a small window and peered in.
His eyes were closed.
"Dav, you OK?"
There was no response. She had a moment's panic, he
might have injured his neck and removing the helmet could do more harm than
good. But if he had stopped breathing he needed help straight away. She was
saved from making the decision when his eyes fluttered open.
"Hi, sweets," he said. "How about getting this helmet
off?"
"You are an asshole. Why didn't you wait to get clear
before detonating the purge?"
"Dunno, stupid I suppose?"
"Let's get this off," she said, unclipping the helmet.
As it came away Dav took a deep breath. "Real air,
smell it."
Gill shouted, "Perimeter, Karla!"
"Right, sir!"
Dav held her wrist. "They all made it," he said firmly.
"No one died here."
She accepted his gift. "Thanks."
Gill Evans barely had time to run
his fingers through the remains of his greying hair before a clamour of
angry shouts drew his attention to the perimeter. The city's natives were
emerging from side streets, doorways and cellar hatches. They looked set for
revenge.
He quickly scanned the crew, other than Dav who was
still winded, they were spread around the base of the ship, each about 5
metres apart and all armed with pulse guns.
"Hold position," he shouted. "Don't fire without my
order."
The mob hesitated, forming a distinct line with those
at the front shouting and gesturing aggressively.
Gill ducked as a stone flew past his head. "Keep your
wits about you," he bellowed. "No retaliation."
"Shouldn't we surrender?" Rafe called.
More stones were thrown and the crowd pressed forward,
their angry roar growing louder by the second.
"Well, captain?" shouted Rafe.
Before Gill could answer the loud report of a firearm
echoed around the square. Some of the crowd fell to the ground and some ran
back to the side streets.
Gill dropped instantly to a kneeling position, the butt
of his pulse gun tucked into his shoulder, its muzzle following his eyes as
he searched for the source of the gunshot. The muzzle came to rest on a
tall, powerfully built figure pushing through the mob with a musket cradled
in his arms.
Once clear of the crowd, the man stopped and shouted
something that seemed to calm them. He stared directly at Gill and slowly
lowered the butt of his musket to the ground, resting a gloved hand over the
barrel end, as if it were a walking cane. Gill responded, lowering his own
weapon and letting it hang from a short strap on his body harness.
The native slipped a pouch from his leather waistcoat
and lobbed it towards the perimeter.
"Will I get it?" said Rafe.
Gill raised a hand to stay Rafe and called over to Dav,
"Can you read anything?"
Dav concentrated. "He's strong - but there's no
threat."
"OK, get the pouch - and take care!"
Rafe sprang to his feet. "Sir!"
Gill kept his eyes fixed on the tall native, taking in
his deceptively casual stance. This was a man who commanded respect, and
well known locally by the way he took charge and settled the mob. Judging by
the quality of his clothing he was wealthy, and his choice of vibrant blue
cloak, ruffed cuffs and collar suggested flamboyance and individuality.
As Rafe approached, the crowd became a little unsettled
so the tall man held up a hand and calmed them with a few more words.
Rafe snatched up the pouch and trotted back to hand it
over.
Gill teased the draw cord open. "Let's see what we've
got here," he said, and shook the contents into his palm.
A small chain balance, various coin-shaped weights, a
pencil, and a notepad dropped out. Gill looked across the scorched ground to
where the tall man stood.
"What do you think he's trying to say?"
"Beats me," said Rafe. He took the notebook and began
leafing through the pages. "It's lists. Text and numerals, looks like a
decimal system."
Gill held the balance up and it fell into shape. Two
small balance pans each suspended from three fine silver chains. These
joined larger rings on either end of the balance arm.
"Handy little piece."
"If I'm not mistaken," said Rafe, "he's some sort of
merchant."
"Merchant?"
"Maybe he wants to deal with us?"
"Why would he bother? No, that's a stupid question. He
can see how different we are. If the mob comes in they could kill us,
destroy everything and spoil any chance he has of finding out about us."
Gill grinned wryly. "Of course it's all speculation until we start a
dialogue. But he's got my vote if he can keep that mob in check. Invite him
in."
Rafe set off towards the stranger and motioned him to
join them. The tall man shouted something to the crowd, which started a buzz
of chatter, then walked forward.
"Back to cover," Gill ordered.
Rafe saluted smartly and trotted away to his position.
Gill smiled at the native and led him over to the
survival pack. "Dav, pull out the translator."
Dav stretched into the box and handed over a small
case. Gill closed the lid of the survival pack, pressed a few buttons on the
device, and placed it on the lid between himself and the native. He then
held up the pouch and took out each item in turn, naming it. The man
responded giving it a name in his own language. Exhausting that source Gill
went on to point out items of clothing and other features around the square.
Suddenly the tiny computer warbled; it had recognised
the native language.
Gill pressed a button on the machine and spoke slowly.
"My name is Gilbert Evans. I am the captain of this ship."
When he finished, the translator spoke the words back
in the native's tongue.
The native's eyes widened momentarily. Despite his
surprise he understood what to do next. "My name is Jasper DeGriss," was the
translation.
Gill took a tiny transceiver from a compartment in the
translator and clipped it to Jasper's tunic. "That should do it," he said.
"A most impressive machine," said Jasper. He grinned
and pointed at the translator. "A device like this could make me a very rich
man."
"Ah, but you'd need to be a very rich man to afford
it."
"I understand." Jasper nodded towards the crowd. "I
fear there is a rather urgent matter needing to be resolved. Very soon a
small army will arrive from the Robian's garrison and..."
Gill interrupted. "Who is the Robian?"
"The local ruler. The officer in charge will confiscate
your possessions and imprison you."
"I can't let that happen."
"Of course not. You call yourself Captain. Could it be
that this is a trading vessel?"
"Yes."
"Then - to be blunt, you are at a disadvantage. I doubt
it was your intention to cause such mayhem but you have made few friends
here today."
"And..."
"I think I can offer a solution to this problem."
Gill narrowed his eyes. "Go on."
"I," said Jasper, making a grand sweeping gesture
towards the crowd, "will settle all damages - and I will also act as your
agent. As my business associate you will enjoy some useful privileges. In
particular," he said, raising an eyebrow, "you will have the approval of the
Robian. He has a certain fondness for my person."
"What will this cost us?"
"Nothing more than my legitimate expenses, and as your
agent I would hope to make some small financial gain from your trading
activities. A mere, say, ten percent."
"Five."
"Eight"
"Seven."
"Seven and a half it is then, Captain?"
Gill smiled and stretched out his hand. "It's a deal."
As predicted, an armed troop
arrived sporting muskets and long fearsome pikes. Jasper prevailed; and with
great enthusiasm and a liberal display of gold coin, he soon had the
situation under control.
The mood changed and the crowd began jostling each
other and struggling for a better view of the strangers.
Jasper, realising they would shortly be overwhelmed,
pulled off a masterstroke. He had the garrison troops declare the area
quarantined. They trotted out around the Topaz, and with their pikes held
horizontally, formed a barrier between the crowd and the ship.
***
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