Animals of the Riverbank

‘Gather round!’ Wainscott said. He had pinned a map against a tree with a couple of knives. Evidently, given the doily-like perforations around the edge of the map, he had done so many times before. ‘I have good news and bad news. Today we are going to hit a major enemy base. On the other hand… we’re going home.’

They stood round the tree in a rough semi-circle: humans, Sey, M’Lak, even the beetle people who carried the extra gear. Rhianna stood beside Smith. Suruk loitered at the back of the group. Carveth held Dreckitt’s hand. He looked as if he had spent the night strapped to a chair in a wind tunnel.

Wainscott tapped the map. ‘This is the local area.’

Smith peered at the swirl of contours, which made it look like raspberry ripple ice cream. ‘What are these?’ he asked, pointing to a number of pencil crosses.

‘Hot contacts,’ Susan replied.

‘Places where we blew stuff up,’ Wainscott said. ‘To begin with, that was reason in itself to be here. But afterwards, I began to suspect that there was more to it than that.

‘The Yull have a reputation for being buggers on the attack, but they’re sods in defence as well. Your lemming man, being a rodent, has a natural aptitude for burrowing. Any heavy lemming fortification will be honeycombed with storerooms, guardposts, concealed gun emplacements and so on. It’s a pity they don’t seem to have any toilets. The Yull have been choosing specific places to burrow: not obvious fortifications, or places where they could expect enough of us to be passing through to make it worthwhile digging in. In other words, they’ve been digging bases for no clear purpose.’

Smith said, ‘Well, they are mad.’

‘They’re looking for something. Gold, minerals, an unusually large cache of sunflower seeds – I don’t know, but there’s something on this world that they want even more than to run at us shouting Yullai.’

‘Maybe they’re going to hibernate,’ Carveth said.

The major nodded. ‘Good point, Polly Pilot. The Yull don’t have much in the way of landmines, but they do leave behind suicide troops. The buggers shut themselves down, then wake up behind our lines when summer comes. But this is larger-scale. I’m talking about excavations.’ Wainscott tapped the map. ‘This is it. The chaps have been scouting out: the Yull have sunk boreholes, dug tunnels, the whole lot. I want to hit it.’

Susan coughed.

‘Oh, yes. And in return for you helping me,’ Wainscott added, ‘I suppose I’ll go back to base camp with you. How about that?’

Smith frowned. ‘Very well. But you’ve got to stick to your word.’

‘Of course I will. It’s my word, isn’t it? Now, I don’t want anyone with children on this mission.’

‘Dangerous, is it?’

‘Oh no. I just can’t stand them going on about their kids. What do I care if little Jimmy’s got his swimming badge? I’m a bloody commando, for Heaven’s sake.’

* * *

They almost set out at 10.00 precisely but ended up departing four minutes behind schedule because Carveth needed a wee. The going was tough. There was no path except for the plants beaten down by earlier boots and Smith was reluctant to hack at the fronds with his sword.

‘Good for you, Isambard,’ Rhianna said beside him. ‘It’s a very delicate ecosystem.’

‘Frankly, I worried that if I start hitting the plants, they’ll hit me back,’ he replied, holding a branch back so she could slip by.

Dreckitt had no such qualms. He chopped his way forwards, followed by Carveth, who seemed to find him very entertaining to watch. At one point, Dreckitt overtook Smith and Rhianna and Carveth looked back to whisper, ‘Very manly!’ at them, before pinching Dreckitt’s backside.

They stopped for a little while, while scouts brought back information on the way ahead. Rhianna moved up the column to talk to Arik the Huntress. Smith checked his weapons and mopped sweat from his neck. He wondered how long you’d have to be out here before your guns began to rust.

Suruk stopped beside him. ‘Are you well, Mazuran?’

A large branch dropped from one of the damp trees to the right. Smith glanced around: he watched for several seconds, making sure that it wasn’t a lemming in disguise.

‘It is nothing,’ Suruk said. ‘Come on.’ Smith continued beside him. ‘On walks like this,’ Suruk observed, ‘one must keep the mind alert. I have been composing a saga; an epic song to tell of my deeds.’

‘Really?’

‘Indeed. It goes as follows:

My name is Suruk, I live in the room next door

I have a mighty spear, I like skulls and war.

If you hear something, late at night,

You think it’s trouble, perhaps a fight,

Then you’re very probably right.’

He stopped and waited for applause.

Smith said, ‘Is that it?’

‘I am still working on the second verse. We have only been walking for four hours, after all.’ Suruk frowned. ‘It is important that a record of my deeds remains.’

‘Hey, Suruk,’ Carveth said from behind. ‘All these great deeds of yours: have you ever considered that sometimes you might be, I don’t know, a bit vain?’

The alien glared at her. ‘The Slayer? Vain? Vanity is not a vice I possess.’

‘Rubbish. You’re so vain –’

‘Shush!’ Suruk raised a hand, and for a moment they were silent. He shrugged. ‘I thought I heard the Yull. I bet they were talking about me.’

Further up, Wainscott was talking to Susan. She had tucked her plaits into the strap of the beam gun, out of the way. Together, they looked like a pair of Ancient Britons planning to do something nasty to Julius Caesar.

‘Sometimes,’ Suruk said, ‘I think you should marry Susan. She is good with weapons.’

‘She’s not my sort,’ Smith replied. ‘Besides, I’m not entirely sure which team she plays for, if you see what I mean.’

‘Ah, indeed.’ Suruk tapped the place where the side of his nose would have been, had he possessed one. ‘You think she is Homo Sapiens?’

‘I think you might be a bit confused there. We’re all Homo Sapiens.’

‘Really? All of you? How does that work?’ Suruk shook his head. ‘Humans.’

The ground sloped upward, and the air became hot and damp. Smith wondered whether the stuff on his face was sweat or condensation. He looked right, into the trees, and saw half a dozen creatures like spindly-legged, six-eyed wolves watching them. No doubt they were looking for stragglers, and he instinctively checked on Carveth.

She was fine, surprisingly perky now that she was reunited with Dreckitt. She said something and he burst out laughing and put his Panama hat on her head.

Smith glared at them. ‘Shush!’ he hissed. ‘Remember, the Yull could be anywhere. They’re vicious lunatics. They don’t think like normal people, like...’ he looked at Wainscott further up the trail, then back over his shoulder, ‘... like everyone back home.’

Up ahead, Nelson, the unit’s tech, looked back and made a quick, chopping gesture. Smith froze. Nelson walked back, slipping neatly though the trees. ‘We’ve reached the place,’ he said. The boss wants you to have a look.’

Smith led his men up the line. Wainscott’s troops really were a hard crew, he thought, as he passed men and aliens, all heavily armed. The humans and M’Lak tended to carry Ensign laser rifles, single-pulse guns ideal for burning a hole through charging Yull, while the Sey, whose necks were too long to allow them to aim down rifle-sights, favoured automatic weapons and beam guns.

Seventy-five yards up, Nelson said, ‘Quiet now.’

They crept forward. Wainscott beckoned. Smith scurried up to meet the major.

Wainscott grinned: his teeth were about the only bit of him not striped in dirt. He reached out into the bushes, and pulled back a sheet of leaves.

They were at the edge of a river, looking across the flat expanse of the valley. The river had dried up and only a thin stream ran down the centre of the wide bed. The bank was steep, but negotiable: a man could scramble down it.

Smith took out his binoculars.

Figures moved on the waterside, and there was no mistaking them. The bulky bodies and stubby legs, the long snouts and waxed, drooping whiskers. The Yull looked like something that had once been cute, and then possessed by devils. Most carried guns: the standard-issue Mark Four Assault Weapon, which could be used as a bayonet, torture implement, can opener and, in truly desperate moments, a firearm. A fair proportion, perhaps a tenth, were armed with battleaxes and revolvers: officers. Of those, a few wore breastplates and full helmets with ornamental ears. They were knights, Smith realised: Yullian noblemen, the most high-ranking and brutal of the whole nasty bunch.

‘Lot of brass, don’t you think?’ Wainscott whispered. ‘Did I ever tell you about the time I took a spear in the Shangooli uplands?’

A rash of scaffolding covered the opposite bank. As Smith watched, a pole rose through the scaffolding, hauled by a team of Yullian serfs. They heaved it up, end first, and let it drop. The pole hit the ground like a battering ram, and twisted in the mud.

‘Looks like a drill,’ Wainscott said. ‘Let’s kill ’em.’

Suruk opened his mandibles. ‘I concur.’

Smith lowered the binoculars. ‘Well, it’s your show, Wainscott, but if they’ve got a drill, they must be planning some kind of evil.’

Wainscott drew back. Susan waited a little way back, map in hand, the beam gun slung across her front. They conferred.

‘What’s happening?’ Carveth whispered, gripping her shotgun tightly.

‘We are bringing battle to the scum of Yull,’ Suruk replied.

‘Oh God. Do we have to?’

‘Really, Piglet,’ the M’Lak replied. ‘Does it not fill you with joy, the thought of taking their empty heads? What could be better than to run among the Yull and cleave whisker from craven snout?’

She frowned. ‘Sitting in the bath and drinking cheap wine.’

‘You know,’ Rhianna said, ‘I’m sensing some hostility right now.’

‘Indeed?’ Suruk said. ‘Then you will really feel something in five minutes’ time.’

Rhianna sighed. ‘It’s such a shame we can’t all be friends. If only the Yull weren’t hell-bent on genocide, they might be nice people.’

Smith checked his rifle. ‘The bastards think their empire is better than ours,’ he said. ‘That’s reason enough.’

The foliage rustled behind them and Dreckitt emerged. ‘Alright, people,’ he began, and Carveth grabbed him and kissed him fiercely. ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘Easy, tiger lady. Susan reckons we’re hitting in two groups. When the flare goes up, we run in and hand out some chin music. Until then, stay hush-hush like a gunsel on the lam. When we get to pull our rods, you throw lead. Got me?’

‘As much as ever,’ Smith replied. He leaned against a tree that looked neither toxic nor carnivorous and used a branch to support his rifle. ‘Stick with me, chaps,’ he said. ‘We’ve fought these buggers before. Just stay calm and –’ A ball of fire shot out of the foliage. It smashed into the scaffolding and exploded. ‘Bloody hell!’ Smith shouted.

Part of the scaffolding collapsed. Lemming men dashed from between the poles like wasps from a kicked nest. The boom of the explosion was still fading from Smith’s ears, but he could already hear their squeaky warcries.

A lemming man ran out, his left arm on fire. He plunged it into the muck at the edge of the river. Not a sporting shot, Smith thought. He lined his sights up with a snarling brute who had just lumbered out of the mess-hall, hefting a rifle. The gun kicked against Smith’s shoulder and the lemming man fell back into the shadows.

Gunfire crackled from the trees to the left. A pack of lemmings rushed down to the riverside, furious but confused, their long bayonets glistening. They began to shout and point.

Susan swung the beam gun and the Yull fell apart. The laser sliced them neatly, and they tumbled into bits. This is dirty work, Smith thought, and then: And what would they be doing with those bayonets if they had the chance?

Lights burst from behind the scaffolding. Five flares rose up, arced overhead and descended with almost painful slowness.

The forest exploded. Leaves blew apart; chunks of bark whizzed like shrapnel. Smith flinched away. Someone screamed.

‘It’s a –’ Carveth shouted, getting up. ‘They’ve got one of those things!’

‘A mortar?’ Rhianna suggested. She didn’t seem to have ducked at all.

‘Yes! Get down!’

Smith turned back to the fight, and was astonished. The Yull, whole gangs of them, were charging forwards through the shallows. The water was too low to stop the aliens; the mud slowed them a little, but not enough. The mortars hissed like steam and another batch of lights sailed into the sky, cruelly slow.

‘Down!’ Suruk barked. The forest burst around them. A log flew towards them like a tossed caber, hit another branch and whirled off into the undergrowth, smashing through bushes. The M’Lak stood up, heaving Carveth upright by her collar.

‘We can’t stay here!’ she squealed.

‘True,’ Suruk snarled. ‘Not while there are lemming men to kill. Mazuran, Piglet, Rhianna, now battle is joined. Look!’

The Yull were almost across the river now. Laser fire had killed many and several of those running forward were missing a few bits, but they were almost on the opposite bank. An officer reached the shore, screaming with fury and waving an ornate battleaxe over his head.

My God, thought Smith, what a bunch of monsters. How could anyone –

And a skinny figure shot out of the undergrowth at the riverside, sprinted to the Yullian officer and buried a machete in its throat.

‘For the Empire!’ Wainscott bellowed.

‘Bloody right,’ Smith said. ‘With me, crew!’

He charged forward, felt the undergrowth slide past his coat, and something caught his boot. Smith stumbled, slipped, thumped onto his arse and slid. He shot ten feet down a chute of mud, picking up speed, and flew out of the forest. For a moment he was in the air, and then the mud dropped him neatly onto the shore.

He stood up, impressed by his ability to land on his feet. That wasn’t all bad. Then a voice squeaked ‘Now die!’ and a huge shape barrelled towards him, all fur and bayonet.

Smith drew his Civiliser, cocked the hammer, and Suruk slammed down from above into the lemming man. He jabbed with his spear and it did deadly work. ‘More,’ Suruk growled, pointing.

Wainscott’s men raced out of the forest as the mortars boomed again and the greenery burst open behind them. The Sey were built for running. Arik the Huntress bounded towards a lemming man – she looked as spindly as a heron compared to the brutish Yull. She’s dead, Smith thought. With those tiny little arms –

The lemming man raised its axe. The Sey bounced up and smashed both heels into the lemming’s snout. His helmet crumpled like a concertina. Ooh, Smith thought. So that was why they had such little arms.

Twenty yards away, a grenade blew up at the waterline, throwing spray and clods of mud into the air. A Yullian soldier stopped and raised his rifle. Smith aimed his Civiliser two-handed and shot the rodent once in the chest, staggering the beast. It lurched upright, and he gave it a second shell. That seemed to stop the bugger.

Suruk stood up from a big furry body. Carveth was panting, crouched low around her shotgun. Rhianna threw her hand up, and a mortar shell burst far above them, suddenly harmless as a firework.

Carveth was less terrified than usual, if only because she was annoyed that her whole left side was covered in mud. In attempting to follow Smith – he was in charge and had a big gun – she had fallen onto her bottom and slithered about twenty yards through what smelt like a fishing village at low tide. Now, watching the lemming men come charging across the river, the whole thing felt surreal as much as frightening.

But that didn’t stop her really wanting to be somewhere else.

‘Yullai!’ a soldier screamed, running at her like an idiot, and it was easy to pull the trigger and blast him onto his back, thrashing in the shallows. Dreckitt – thank God – appeared beside her, legs braced and hat pulled down as if about to clear out a crime den.

Fifty yards to the left, a Yullian officer collided with one of the Sey trackers. They stumbled around, and suddenly the Sey fell. The officer held up what looked like half a big snake, screeching to its war-god. Sickened, Carveth realised that it was the tracker’s head and neck. Craig from the Deepspace Operations Group ran in from the side and bashed his rifle over the lemming man’s head. They went down in a tangle of limbs.

A fresh whoosh from the scaffolding and more lights sailed into the sky. This time the angle was tighter, the peak of the arc more pointed. ‘They’re firing at us!’ Carveth yelled, pointing. ‘They’ll hit their own people!’

‘They would!’ Smith shouted and he ran forwards, so she did the same.

Suruk bounded through the low water, his spear swinging out like a pendulum, sending furry heads spinning into the air. Several lemming men were climbing up the scaffolding, and were now almost at the top. One tried to belly-flop onto Suruk, missed and crashed into the water, sending up a plume of spray. Suruk speared it like a fish.

He tugged the spear free and saw a Yullian officer thirty yards ahead of him, exactly at the same time that it saw him.

The officer slid the axe from its belt and held it over its head. ‘Filthy savage!’ it shouted. ‘Huphep yullai!’

For a creature with stumpy legs, it could move. The lemming man tore across the ground screeching, feet pounding the mud like pistons. Its voice rose into a warbling shriek of hatred. Lumps of froth sailed from its chops.

Twenty yards from Suruk, it accelerated into a frantic sprint. At ten yards, it swung the axe up two-handed and cut.

Suruk stepped six inches to his right and flicked out the spear. He felt something brush the blade and the Yullian officer shot past, took three more steps and stopped.

Suruk raised a hand to his mandibles and coughed politely. The lemming’s head fell off. Its body hit the ground.

‘Riff-raff,’ Suruk said.

Rhianna watched the mortar shells reach their zenith. She threw her hand up as if finishing one of her interpretative dances and the shells burst, fragments pattering harmlessly against the forest canopy.

Further downriver, Susan called, ‘Reloading!’ and Nelson covered her as she slapped a fresh battery into the top of the beam gun. She pulled the gun up, tapped the venting lever and advanced, firing from the hip. A pair of Yull hauled something onto the top of the scaffolding – a tripod-mounted death ray, from the look of it. Susan fired, swinging the beam to slice them both apart, and their gun fell into pieces. ‘Yeah, torture that,’ Susan said. She glanced right, and saw that Smith and little whatsit the pilot had reached the scaffolding.

Smith ducked under a pole and saw a lemming man working a large machine. Needles flickered in dials; the air hummed. Knowing the Yull, it was presumably some kind of pain amplifier. The rodent looked round, snarled, and Smith raised his pistol and civilised it in the head. Twice.

And suddenly, that was that. Smith stood over the corpse of the lemming man, the machinery still whirring and clicking. A propaganda poster hung from the scaffolding. It showed a grinning Yull resting an axe on its shoulder. Its other hand held up a globe of Earth onto which an unhappy face had been drawn.

‘Bastards,’ Smith said. He ripped the poster down and walked outside.

Dead lemmings lay everywhere. They clogged the shallows as if they had been pushed out of a passing plane. Suruk smiled as Smith approached. ‘A reasonable haul,’ he said.

A little way away, Carveth had collared Dreckitt and, whilst kissing him, was trying to pull his hip flask out. At least, Smith hoped that was his hip flask. Who knew what androids kept down there?

Rhianna was looking at the sky. ‘Are you okay, Isambard?’

He nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘That was... way harsh,’ she observed. ‘War is really bad. Hey, check out the clouds!’

Smith shivered. He felt feverish, suddenly, aching. Then the feeling was gone, and he realised that what he’d felt was anger and fear.

* * *

Wainscott was as good as his word – or at least, Susan was good at making him stick to it. They buried their dead in the undergrowth and the Sey matriarch spoke a quick word over them. Then they headed back. Wainscott had lost six people in the fight; the lemming men had lost fifty-one.

There was no time to make tea yet, Wainscott explained: as soon as they discovered the raid, the Yull would send reinforcements to exact a brutish revenge on anyone in the vicinity. Not taking tea was the hardest part of the battle, Smith thought: it was as natural to him to brew up after a victory as it was for Suruk to collect the severed heads.

On the path ahead, a M’Lak soldier said something to Nelson and one of the beetle people. Nelson gave a brief snort of laughter, then moved on. The beetle person clicked appreciatively.

‘I like to think,’ Rhianna said, ‘that one day, all the peoples of the galaxy will be able to work together the way as we’ve seen today.’

‘Yes,’ Smith said. ‘Imagine if everyone could lay down their differences and work as one to kill the bloody lemming men.’ He sighed. ‘What a world that would be.’

‘That’s not really what I meant,’ she said. ‘I meant that everyone should learn to be kind, and friendly, and live peacefully and be, you know...’

‘British?’

‘Voices down, chaps.’ Smith glanced around: it was Craig who had spoken. He was the unit’s infiltrator, a master of disguise, and he strode between the trees with a quick ease. None of Wainscott’s people were especially bulky. They all seemed to take after the major himself: fast and wiry. The Yull looked like ogres by comparison.

‘Sorry,’ Smith replied.

‘Oh, that’s no problem. It was a bit of a scrap, wasn’t it?’ Craig grinned. ‘Of course, nothing like the sort of fights I used to have down at Madam Fifi’s before the war. Sailors, gangsters, you name it. There wasn’t a night when I didn’t chuck someone through the window.’

‘You were a bouncer?’

‘I was Madam Fifi,’ Craig replied. He chuckled and walked on.

Funny business, war, Smith reflected.

They stopped for tiffin. ‘My legs are coming off,’ Carveth announced, prodding a log with her gun to make sure that it was not some sort of resting dinosaur. She flopped down and sighed. ‘God did not make me to take exercise standing up.’

Smith felt rather sorry for her. His own legs ached, and he felt filthy with sweat. Given the thick fur on the lemming men and the weakness of their bladders, it was surprising that the two armies were not tracking each other on smell alone.

‘It’s certainly a tough place, this. You know, I always expected to land on one of those planets where all the natives treat you as a deity, like you see in films. I’ve been to dozens of different planets and I’ve never met any natives who’d worship any of us. It’s pretty disappointing.’

Carveth shrugged. ‘Seriously, would you want to be on the same planet as people who worship Suruk?’

The M’Lak stood against a tree-trunk, in its shadow. ‘The Yull do not seem to be pursuing us,’ he said.

They brewed up quickly and drank. In the trees above, a death possum screeched out an advertisement to any females in the vicinity and was promptly grabbed and eaten by a hellcat. The hellcat crept down the tree-trunk, which suddenly revealed itself to be a greater bladed mantis. The mantis dragged the dead cat to the ground, wiped its pincers and was immediately jumped by a gang of slaughterbees and stripped to the bone.

‘Truly,’ Suruk said, ‘Nature is a beautiful thing.’

They walked again.

Smith’s feet were sore; the relentless greenery of the forest made his head swim, as if he had been staring at a neon strip-light. He needed a curry and a sleep.

Carveth looked awful. At one point, she tripped on a root and there was a sudden panic as she hit the ground. A dozen laser rifles covered the trees, looking for a sniper. Dreckitt grabbed her hand and told her to hold on, goddam it, while Nelson tried to stem the bleeding. It took her three minutes to get up – partly because she was enjoying the rest, partly because she was embarrassed to say that she hadn’t been hit, but mainly because three of Wainscott’s soldiers were sitting on her to protect her from another shot. Several people looked annoyed when she stood up, but none more so that Wainscott himself, who had clearly been hoping for one final scrap.

Food and water were unpleasantly warm, failing to refresh even when cut with lime cordial. Smith wondered how long his supply of moral fibre would last. Wainscott’s team must have had vast reserves of the stuff.

At last, the path became clearer and he recognised things he had passed on the way in. ‘Ship’s up ahead,’ he told Carveth.

‘Yay!’ she cried.

‘Easy, little lady,’ Dreckitt whispered. ‘If the furries want to throw us a Mickey Finn, now’s the time to do it. If I was boss lemming, I’d put a mob of hoods in a chopper squad and stash them down the path to blip us out.’

‘Really?’

‘That’s the straight dope,’ Dreckitt said, pulling his hat down low, and they advanced.

They moved slowly now, creeping forward on a wide front. Wainscott and Susan directed operations with clicks and hand gestures. Smith was left on the path, the easiest terrain but also the most open.

‘I can see the ship!’ Carveth shouted, and immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered, pointing.

The John Pym lay lower in the water than Smith had remembered, its hull half-obscured by branches and vines. The cover had got thicker since they had left it: Andor was already claiming the ship as its own.

Smith raised his rifle and looked down the scope. ‘It seems all right… the airlock’s still shut.’

‘Rusted shut or welded?’ Carveth asked.

‘Rust.’

‘Same as usual, then.’

Rhianna touched his arm, at once stopping his advance and reminding him that he really ought to get her to do the business outdoors again. He dismissed the thought: death waited everywhere here, and disrobing would be no way to approach it. The Venus flytraps here were more like man-traps, and the last things he needed trapped were his flies or his man.

‘I can sense something. Life,’ she whispered.

Carveth looked around at the thick jungle, and said, ‘Could you be more specific?’

‘Negative chakras,’ she replied.

‘Careful, chaps,’ Smith whispered. ‘If you see a chakra, blow its head off. I –’

Someone yelled.

He whipped around, heard something thump into the leaves and a man shouted, ‘I’m hit! Got me in the leg!’

The jungle was alive. Fear and alertness rushed through Smith as if he had been injected with it. ‘Form a perimeter!’ Wainscott barked. ‘Expect rear attack. I want beam guns covering the path. Each man check the man beside him. Second group, swing out for a flank attack!’

And then everything was quiet again. The clatter of weapons being readied died off, and Smith could hear the forest again, and the M’Lak medic beside the wounded man, his voice strangely loud in the quiet: ‘I shall draw the venom on the wound, then bandage it. You may feel a sting, being but puny –’

The fallen man, just visible between the trees, let out a quick hiss of pain. Up above, a bird squarked.

Smith felt fear winding up inside his chest. His back itched. His face was filthy with sweat. Carveth looked frozen, her breathing shallow and quick. Rhianna had put her back against a tree, and seemed to be concentrating hard. Suruk had begun to grin.

A ripple of fire came from the east. For three seconds, gunfire cracked out – single shots, mainly – and then someone called, ‘Reloading’.

‘We’d be safer in the ship,’ Carveth whispered.

Smith shook his head. ‘Stay close.’

To the southwest, a voice shouted ‘Huphep!’ It sounded thin and crazy, the way the Ancient Mariner might.

Another sharp set of bangs. Smith saw bulky figures dart between the trees, swung his rifle up but couldn’t get a shot. One of the silhouettes was hit, stumbled, hit again and fell.

‘Crap, oh crap,’ Carveth said.

Suruk said, very calmly, ‘Conserve your ammunition. They will attack from behind.’

And before Smith could think that he was right, the Yull rushed out of cover behind them, howling and yelling as if the forest had spat them at the invaders. Smith saw bayonets, dark fur striped with green, and shot one of the lemmings in the chest. A M’Lak soldier rushed over and started firing his laser rifle between the tree trunks. One huge lemming broke from the undergrowth, screaming – he looks like a sodding great otter, Smith thought – and Suruk stepped from the side and speared it in the flank. Carveth’s shotgun banged out, a flat sound like a car door slamming. Something big fell into the undergrowth, set the leaves shaking.

Quiet again. Smith glanced to the right. Where was Wainscott? Was he cut off? How could you lose a crazy shouting nudist?

What if they were cut off? A big frond flopped back, and he saw Susan and was almost ashamed at how relieved he felt. Dreckitt was next to Carveth, telling her to stop firing.

One of the Sey pointed with its beak and barked something. A moment later it pulled its beam gun up and let rip. The laser cut a swathe through the undergrowth, slicing plants like a scythe. Bullets flew out of the forest. Lemming men fell among the greenery.

Suruk burst from behind a tree, holding a severed head. ‘I think there are many,’ he said. ‘We are surrounded.’

‘Great.’ A bullet whacked into a trunk eight feet away. They both ducked down, scanning the greenery to see where the shot had come from.

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ Carveth called. ‘Let’s go to the ship!’

‘If they are going to take you alive, slay yourself,’ Suruk said. He pulled a stiletto from his boot. ‘Die, filth of Yullia!’ He tossed the knife into a thick, broad-leafed shrub, and a lemming man shrieked and fell.

‘Screw this,’ Carveth announced. ‘I’m getting the ship!’

She ran. ‘Nix, kid!’ Dreckitt yelled, grabbing for her, but she was too quick and too scared. Carveth ran down the path, and a shadow dropped from above her.

Smith saw it plunging from the trees: a lemming man, its snout split in a hideous grin as it plummeted from the canopy, a stick of dynamite fizzing in either hand. He watched the Yullian fall towards Carveth with a sort of awful finality, and wondered why he was charging forward to rescue her.

Rhianna sprang onto the path. She hit Carveth with her shoulder, knocking her over. Smith cried out, still dashing forward to save them, somehow, and a moment after the two women hit the ground, the lemming man smashed into the earth six feet away.

He felt the explosion, the lumps of bark, soil and rodent flying past his face, but the blow didn’t come. Nothing threw him off his feet. He opened his eyes and stood up slowly, afraid of what he would see.

Rhianna crouched on the pathway, arms around Carveth. They were at the epicentre of the devastation, as if the explosion had billowed out of them. Carveth was shaking. Rhianna seemed deadly calm.

Susan’s voice, behind them: ‘Come on, let’s go! Smith, we need your chaps to get the ship going. Let’s move!’

Smith helped Rhianna get Carveth upright. ‘Right,’ said the android. ‘A lemming jumped on my head. Get the spaceship. Of course. Did you see that? Right on my head. Boom.’

As they reached the John Pym a flap opened in the opposite bank and a barrel was thrust out. A gun stuttered into life, cutting down two of Wainscott’s men in a second. Smith pulled his rifle up, but before he could fire, a burning bottle sailed end-over-end across the water and broke on the far bank.

Flame engulfed the gun position. Wainscott slapped Smith on the shoulder. ‘Filthy stuff, that dandelion wine,’ he said, and he strode toward the ship. ‘You can run a lawnmower off it.’

Suruk strode out of the trees, arms locked around a thrashing lemming. ‘Monkey-frog, you will die!’ it screeched. For a moment they struggled, rodent against amphibian on the riverbank like some hellish re-imagining of The Wind In The Willows, and then Suruk heaved it into the river. For a moment the Yull thrashed, and then something below the water yanked it out of sight.

Smith opened the airlock and ushered the bewildered Carveth towards the cockpit. ‘It fell right out of the trees, boss,’ she said, her hands shakily pushing the keys into the ignition. ‘Like a great big coconut.’

Sudden gunfire pinged against the hull. Smith hurried out of the cockpit.

Rhianna was pulling people on board. Already the corridor by the airlock was clogged with soldiers. The back door dropped open, splashing into the river, and Wainscott’s men sloshed their way into the hold. The major stood by the ramp, apparently oblivious to the enemy gunfire, helping them on board. In a few moments, humans, Sey, M’Lak and beetle people crowded the hold.

‘Everybody on?’ Smith demanded.

‘All aboard,’ Susan replied.

He hit the door panel. ‘Move it, Carveth!’ he called and, bullets still pattering against the hull, the John Pym tore into the sky.

* * *

Someone had set up a portable television on a camp stool. Morgar leaned in and cranked the dial. The screen flickered, and a tall, curly-haired man appeared.

‘It’s that idiot off the television,’ Bargath said, barely looking up. ‘Lionel Markham. I can’t stand him.’

Morgar turned the horn round to face them and twisted the volume knob.

‘…to the video clip, which has already found its way around the allied planets. The message in it is seen as exemplifying the fighting spirit of the soldiers on the Yullian front, putting to rest ongoing rumours about their commitment to the fight against lemming tyranny.’

‘Humpf!’ Bargath said, scribbling out part of the crossword.

The picture changed: a small figure in shirtsleeves and a utility waistcoat appeared. ‘No more running!’ she announced.

Morgar took off his spectacles, checked the lenses and slipped them back on. ‘Good Lord,’ he said. ‘I know her.’

Bargath tugged a flask out his tunic. ‘Is there anyone on television you don’t know?’

‘No, seriously. I know her. Friend of a friend.’

‘I don’t care how many lemming men I have to fight!’ Carveth shrilled on the screen. ‘But no more running!’

Markham’s face reappeared. ‘That’s the message coming out of the 112nd army today. No more running. The name of the speaker, nicknamed Battle Girl, cannot be given for strategic reasons. We can only hope that the high command, both Imperial and Yullian, has taken that message on board.’ He nodded to the camera. ‘I’m Lionel Markham, and this is We Ask the Questions. Goodnight.’

They looked at the screen.

‘Well,’ Bargath said, ‘good on her. Get stuck in. That’s the spirit. Gin?’

‘Bit early for me.’

‘What?’

Morgar sighed. ‘Make mine a small one, then.’ He accepted the drink, which would have been small only to a buffalo, and sipped it warily. At least the tonic water was flat. Getting drunk in this heat would have been nauseating.

‘Saw you riding today,’ Bargath said. ‘I think you’re getting the hang of it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You can’t have a lancer who can’t ride out properly,’ Bargath said, taking a huge swig of gin. ‘Even if he is just the chap who designs the lavs. We have a reputation to live up to,’ he added. ‘There’s a reason mankind calls us the elite.’

‘Their elite,’ Morgar replied. ‘You know, our species is capable of things other than violence.’

‘Of course. We can do anything we put our minds to – provided we do it with swords!’ Bargath lowered his glass and squinted at Morgar. ‘I say – you’re not about to suggest that Ravnavar should leave the Empire, are you?’

‘Well, I –’

‘Because you know what would happen if we did? Something bad. I’m not quite sure what, but definitely bad. Can’t have that,’ he added, leaning back. ‘We’d probably run out of brandy or something.’

A lancer bounced past on his steed, turned neatly and pulled up in front of them. ‘Captain. I’ve been sent to tell you it’s time to break camp. We’re moving out.’

Bargath leaned forward. ‘Move out?’ He looked ill-prepared to move out of his chair, Morgar thought. But Bargath was struggling upright, Telegraph wedged under his arm like a baton.

‘I thought they’d put the order over the PA system,’ Morgar said.

‘’Course not,’ Bargath replied. ‘It might alert the enemy.’

‘I’d have thought that six hundred giant chameleons would do that anyhow.’

The captain scowled. His brass buttons and riding boots twinkled as he strode towards the officers’ quarters. ‘It’s probably so we get to ride out first, ahead of all the proles. The last thing we want is a bunch of M’Lak Riflemen lowering the tone.’

An aircraft flew overhead, a VTOL scout ship. ‘They’re fellow M’Lak,’ Morgar said. ‘Surely they’re our brothers in arms.’

Bargath stopped and looked round. He seemed weary more than annoyed. ‘Now, look,’ he said, pointing at Morgar’s face with his mandibles, ‘a Ravnavari Lancer can have only one brother in arms, and that’s another Ravnavari Lancer. And perhaps his noble steed, if it’s been cleaned recently. You may think we’re lackeys, but I happen to believe we’re what keeps our planet safe from rodent tyranny. Alright?’

Morgar nodded. Bargath was wrong, Morgar thought, but the level of eloquence in his wrongness was surprising. ‘Alright.’

‘Good man. Let’s get cracking, eh? I want to reach camp by dinner time.’

* * *

Smith headed back to check on the others. The injured had been stabilised as best as possible, and now the soldiers packed out the hold, sitting on the floor and the mezzanine. There was a little talking among the men, but the atmosphere was subdued.

He approached Wainscott and Susan. ‘Is everything alright?’

Susan lowered her battered paperback and peered at him over the top. ‘I dunno. We’ve got injured people and not enough teacups to go round.’

‘We can do it in shifts. I’ll stick the kettle on.’

Smith called Suruk out of his room. Suruk emerged, rubbing a blue paste over his forearms.

‘Are you alright, old chap?’ Smith asked. ‘You’re looking a bit – well, greener than usual.’

‘I caught the sun,’ Suruk replied. ‘Much longer out there and I would have started to photosynthesise.’

Smith put him on tea duty and headed to the cockpit. In the windscreen, the forest rolled past, the treetops pressed together as if they flew over an enormous piece of broccoli. Smith saw a thing like the letter T sticking out of one of the trees, and realised that it was the tail of a Yullian fighter plane, wedged into the foliage.

‘How’re the others?’ Carveth asked. ‘Is Rhianna trying to do some holistic bollocks to them?’

‘Actually, she’s psychically protecting the ship against ground fire,’ Smith replied. ‘Where’s our destination?’

Carveth pointed. ‘There.’

It looked like a burned patch, as if someone had sizzled away the forest. Smith leaned forward and the brown mass split into different buildings, a sort of plateau, and suddenly he realised what he was looking at.

Mothkarak, or at least the main mass of it, rose out of the forest like a single scrimshawed knuckle. Once it had been a great pale rock, almost mountain-sized, but construction drones had cut off the top and used the stone to raise a wall around the plateau sixty feet high. Within, a swarm of towers strained towards the sun like etiolated stems. Masses of domes, spires and minarets swelled from the rock. Rows of statues made vertebrae out of the rooftops. It was a fortress, but also a city, a bastion against the jungle.

‘Greetings!’ said the radio. ‘Fellow warriors, you are clear to land.’

A window opened in one of the tallest towers and a woman leaned out, waving a reflective baton in each hand. Carveth lowered the ship, and they sank between the spires, past stern-faced statues and gun emplacements.

Smith saw trucks like matchboxes in one of the courtyards. A missile turret swung to cover them, studded with lenses and glinting like an insect’s eye. The Pym landed between two immense buttresses, and as soon as the dust started to sink, medics and ground crew hurried towards them. Carveth flicked a switch, and the hold door flopped down like a drawbridge.

They gathered their gear and left by the side airlock. Wainscott’s team were being directed, and in a few cases carried, towards a cathedral-sized building for debriefing. Only now, Smith saw how dirty the major’s people were, and how battered and customised their gear was. He wondered how much longer they could have gone on, and how much longer Wainscott – or Susan – would have allowed.

‘Bloody hell,’ Carveth said, ‘I’m glad that’s over.’

Rhianna nodded. ‘Definitely! I really don’t like having to wear boots. And now everyone is together again. Isn’t that –’

One of the ground crew pointed at them. ‘Hey, look! Look who it is!’

Others heard, stopped and turned to see. Suddenly, there were faces staring at the four of them.

‘I thought this mission was supposed to be secret!’ Carveth hissed. ‘Boss, did you tell anyone?’

‘Me? Certainly not.’ Smith managed to smile at the people. He felt both awkward and rather proud. ‘Good day to you all!’ he called. ‘Carry on!’

‘It’s Battle Girl!’ one of the men cried. ‘From off the telly!’

Smith said, ‘What?’

Rhianna scratched her head. ‘Huh?’

‘Oh God,’ Carveth said, ‘they’re looking at me! What did I do? It wasn’t me!’ she called. ‘I only just got here!’

‘She must have just come back from a mission,’ a second man said. He had a long pink scar across his forehead. ‘No more running, eh? Sock it to ’em!’

‘I think we had best go inside,’ Smith replied.

Carveth looked at the people waving at her, swallowed hard and said, ‘Bloody right we should. Let’s hide in the cellar.’

The courtyard was big enough to accommodate a row of Hellfires and a full repair bay. On the far side of the yard, a firing range had been set up and, next to that, a M’Lak rifleman was instructing a dozen human soldiers in close combat. Cranes protruded from the windows above them, lifting equipment to storerooms in the city-fortress.

‘It’s not fair,’ Carveth muttered, accelerating towards the nearest set of doors. ‘People are staring at me, and I haven’t even got drunk yet.’

The entrance hall was dark, cool and the size of a spaceship hangar. Under a vaulted ceiling, dozens of logistics personnel consulted computers, plans and charts. Robots pushed markers across maps with precision tools specially converted from broomsticks. Printouts of Yullian officers glowered down from a board. Several had been marked with red crosses.

Behind the stained glass window, a Hellfire rose on its thrusters and turned south towards the forest.

A bald man stepped out of the shadows. He wore evening dress, and carried a tray of drinks. ‘Welcome, Captain Smith,’ he said, and gave them a small, thin smile. ‘Ladies. The management has been most keen to meet you all. Perhaps if you’d follow me...’ said the man, and he turned and walked away.

Smith frowned, and followed. ‘Do you work here?’ he asked.

The balding man looked at him. ‘Oh indeed, sir. I’m the butler.’

‘Butler?’

‘Of course, sir. A building such as this requires its own staff as a matter of course. This way.’

Rhianna touched Smith’s arm. ‘Is he an android?’

The butler led them into a second hall. Once, Smith saw, it had been a ballroom, with a bar at one end and a stage at the other. Light jazz still seeped from speakers high in the roof; the place had the acoustics of a swimming pool. Now camp beds ran down the length of the dancefloor, and someone had pinned a picture of a girl in a corset to the back of the stage.

‘We did have a housekeeper,’ the butler explained, ‘but she malfunctioned and tried to burn the building down. Regrettable.’ He frowned. ‘We appear to have mislaid the nanibot.’

‘Is that a very small robot?’ Smith asked.

There was a sudden soft thump behind them. Smith turned, and saw a woman of about thirty rising from a crouching position on the carpet. She brushed down her dark skirt, adjusted her umbrella and approached.

‘She looks after the children,’ the butler said.

‘And here I am,’ she announced, with a sort of cheery firmness.

‘How did you get here?’ Smith asked.

‘Trade secret.’ She smiled pleasantly. ‘Hello to you all. I do hope you have a lovely stay here.’

‘I think you’d best get along, sirs,’ the butler added. ‘The caretaker is awaiting you.’

Smith said, ‘Caretaker? I thought you said that you were all the staff.’

‘Oh, there’s always been a caretaker, sir,’ the butler replied, and he gestured along the hall.

W stood in a doorway, teacup in hand, almost smiling. ‘May I have a word?’

* * *

The press office was on the fifth floor of the castle, halfway up a tower the colour of brie. French windows opened onto a verandah the size of a squash court.

About a quarter of the verandah was taken up by a massive tea urn, a dented, grimy thing that reflected their faces like a funhouse mirror. Rhianna and Carveth took the only two chairs, Smith leaned against the wall, and Suruk lurked beside the door.

‘Well done in bringing Wainscott back,’ said W. ‘General Young will be debriefing him as we speak.’

‘Rather her than me.’

‘The official story is that Wainscott lost his mind and decided to throw a bit of a jolly in his underpants. That’s only partly true. Wainscott has been gathering information on Yullian excavation sites over a hundred-mile radius.’

Smith remembered the scaffolding and the drilling apparatus.

‘The Yull naturally build warrens, of course.’ W filled the cups. ‘But they’ve been using proper drilling gear. They’re looking for something buried underground.’

They paused to distribute the tea.

‘Back on Ravnavar, the Yull tried to set the various factions of the city against one another – robots, humans and M’Lak. They are trying to do the same thing here. As one unit, with General Young at the helm, we are formidable. But divided, we would simply fall apart.’

Suruk rubbed his mandibles together thoughtfully. ‘Proceed.’

‘I think you know what I’m going to say,’ W said, looking at the alien.

Suruk nodded. ‘Andor is said to be the resting place of Grimdall the Rebel. Some believe that he fled here to escape the Space Empire and recuperate. The story goes that his relics and his weapons are still here. Clearly the Yull believe it.’

Carveth raised a hand. ‘Um, what are these relics? Are they like guns and stuff, or just a big heap of skulls like Suruk has in his room?’

Rhianna shook her head. ‘The relics of Grimdall are of vital importance to the M’Lak people, Polly. They’re irreplaceable cultural artefacts.’

‘Indeed,’ Suruk said. ‘A very big pile of skulls. And weapons.’

‘Something for all the family,’ Carveth replied, pulling a face. ‘Well, Suruk’s family.’

W took a tobacco tin out of his jacket pocket. ‘It’s a matter of politics,’ he said. ‘Now that the rest of Earth is in the war, it’s very important that everyone is seen to be pulling their weight.’

‘Absolutely,’ Smith replied. ‘Can’t have these foreign types slacking off, you know.’

‘Which is why they have been keeping a close eye on us.’

‘What?’ Smith cried. ‘How dare they? That’s outrageous!’

‘There are some who think that the lemming men have us on the back foot,’ the spy explained. ‘That since the Yull have caught us with our trousers down, our response has been half-arsed.’

‘Outrageous. An imbecile could tell you that it’s been fully arsed.’

‘We’re our own worst enemies,’ the spy said. ‘Our allies don’t think we’re doing enough, because we’re not making enough of a fuss. We have to make noise every so often to show them that we’re still here. And,’ he added, turning to look at Carveth, ‘your pilot here made some very encouraging noises indeed.’

He turned to a bank of monitors and twiddled the knobs. The screens burst into life, and Carveth’s face was on all of them. ‘I don’t care how many lemming men I have to fight,’ she shrilled at the camera. ‘I’ll fight every single one of them. But no running – no more running!’

‘Oh no,’ Carveth said.

The figure on the screen changed to a dark-haired man in civilian dress. ‘Top brass may not want to give anything away, but that’s the news from the troops on the ground – no more running. The Yull may be coming for the 112^th Army, but it’s fighting spirit like that they’ll have to face –’

The image froze. W said, ‘This went out on We Ask the Questions last Tuesday. I’m sure you recognise Lionel Markham.’ He looked at Carveth. ‘They call you Battle Girl,’ he added. ‘You’re quite a hit on the Ethernet.’

Suruk frowned. ‘Although this amuses me, I am concerned. Not only will this risk Piglet being mistaken for a mighty warrior, thus putting her at risk, but it will steal the glory of combat from, er, persons more deserving.’

Smith looked at the screen. Carveth’s face, frozen in a desperate grimace, shone down upon them like the Cheshire Cat.

‘Actually, quite the opposite is true,’ W said. He stood up, tugging his jacket into shape. ‘You see, we need someone to speak for this army – to be our voice on the Yullian Front, so to speak. And who better than Carveth?’

‘Me!’ Suruk growled. ‘What does this toffee-gobbling gremlin know of the arts of war? No offence intended, puny woman.’

Smith turned away from the screen. ‘Actually, sir, it’s a fair point. Suruk or I could take the helm. Carveth’s much better suited to a long-range cover-based support role.’

Suruk nodded. ‘She hides under things, a long way off.’

W shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. The job I’m thinking of won’t involve any fighting. It’s just a matter of looking the part. Going to gala luncheons, kissing babies, talking to reporters.’

‘Reporters often talk about me,’ Suruk said. ‘Would that suffice?’

‘People talk to reporters about you,’ Carveth put in. ‘And as for kissing babies... I’ll do it. Of course, I’d much rather be in the forest with a bunch of psychotic rodents, but if my country wants me to eat free food, then maybe I can make the sacrifice.’ She looked at Smith and Rhianna and, seeing their faces, added, ‘I could always bring you back some Twiglets. How about that?’

‘So what about these relics?’ Smith asked.

W sipped his tea. ‘Speed is of the essence. Wainscott’s data suggests three possible locations for the resting-place of Grimdall. First, the Yullian excavations about fifty miles southeast of here. They’re heavily defended. Brigadier Harthi, commander of the ravnaphant, Mildred, has offered to launch an assault on the Yullian defences. Smith, Rhianna, I’d like you to accompany him.’

‘Righto,’ Smith said.

W refilled their cups. On the far side of the courtyard, a Hellfire rose up on jets. The nanibot watched it from a balcony, parasol over her shoulder. Swing music filtered out of an open window.

‘The second possibility lies with the M’Lak – specifically, the hidden masters of the Temple of Goron. The masters are notoriously secretive. It would take an expert to even find the place, let alone impress the ancient warriors there with a display of combat prowess. So: hunting, martial arts, probably extreme violence – anyone know anybody suitable?’

‘I do,’ Carveth said, and she smiled and raised a hand.

Suruk glared at her. ‘Put your hand down, fool! I will take this mission!’

‘Good chap,’ said W. ‘Now, the third option. If anyone knows where the resting place of Grimdall might be, it’s the natives. The local tribe are a group of blue fellows called the Equ’i.’ He took a long drag on his cigarette. ‘I won’t lie to you. They’re primitive, and they’ve only recently been exposed to civilisation. We built them a castle about five years ago. Our previous administrator, a fellow called Hargreaves, is leaving soon, so it’s a good time to try a fresh approach. We can send you out to Radcliffe Hall tomorrow. Let’s see,’ he added, and he leaned round to the computer behind him. His bony fingers clattered on the keys, and he cranked the lever to set its processors going. ‘I should have a scanned image somewhere...’

A figure appeared on the screen, and slowly rotated. ‘As you can see,’ W said, ‘despite the blue colouring, they’re fundamentally a species of diminutive equines. We’d need someone to go in, spend some time with them, learn their ways, feed them some sugar lumps –’

Carveth fell off her seat.

‘Is she all right?’ the spy asked.

Suruk took the opportunity to revive Carveth with a cup of tea, by pouring it over her face.

‘Oh my God,’ she squeaked from the floor. ‘They’re ponies.’