Hupcka shouted again, clearly issuing orders.
“We’re getting close, Josh. I’ve told Miriam to move in and attack the militia.”
Bennett turned in his seat, raised the binoculars and found the rebels’ crawler far below. As he watched, it closed in on the militia crawler and opened fire with a hail of laser charges. Explosions bloomed in the plain around the first vehicle as it took evasive action and swerved from left to right. One green-uniformed militia-man tumbled, loose-limbed, over the side. They returned fire, and the lasers illuminated the dawn with quick flares of electric blue.
“Hold on, Josh! I’m going for it.”
Hupcka turned the wheel of the vehicle and they veered off down the incline, Bennett swaying in his seat. At this distance, without the benefit of binoculars, the militia crawler and the rebel vehicle were reduced to the size of scurrying insects.
Bennett held on as the vehicle bounced and juddered over the uneven terrain. Five minutes later they hit the plain and accelerated. Bennett turned and adjusted the binoculars. The crawlers were far behind, their progress lit by the bright flares of explosing laser charges.
“The ship!” Hupcka called, staring ahead. “Two minutes, Josh! Get ready to board.”
Perhaps half a kilometre away, squatting on the plain where they had left it, was the slick tear-drop shape of the Cobra resplendent in the morning light of Tenebrae. Bennett turned and looked for the enemy crawler. He judged that the two vehicles were a couple of kilometres away, and closing.
They slewed to a halt in the shadow of the Cobra and Bennett jumped out. He took Hupcka’s hand in a fierce grip, words of either encouragement or farewell beyond him.
“I’ll see you in eight months, Josh. Good luck!”
Bennett ran towards the Cobra, slapped the sensor panel on the hatch and dived inside. Seconds later he was on the flight-deck, throwing himself into the command couch and touching the surrounding console to life. He typed in the command for immediate lift-off—he’d worry about the phase commands when he was in orbit. The main consideration was to get into the air and out of the range of the militia lasers.
The Cobra’s take-off system cycled into life, seeming to take an age to process Bennett’s commands. Through the viewscreen he made out two tiny vehicles on the plain, approaching at speed. As he watched, a third vehicle emerged from beneath the ship’s nose: Hupcka. The rebel halted his crawler and stood, lifting a laser rifle to his shoulder and taking careful aim.
The militia crawler accelerated, heading straight for the Cobra. Seconds later the first explosion rocked the ship. A spray of soil erupted from pits gouged in the ground just metres away. He abbreviated the take-off program, dispensing with half a dozen checks. He would be airborne in a matter of minutes, with luck.
Below, Hupcka was firing at the militia. Their crawler swerved on a slalom run across the plain, miraculously avoiding Hupcka’s laser charges. Only two militia-men remained alive and fighting. One of them stood and levelled a laser-cannon at the ship. Seconds before the Cobra lifted, the bolt exploded beneath the nose of the ship, swatting it with mighty force. Bennett yelled and closed his eyes.
The ship lurched, falling, and he could see how it would end in failure, the ship damaged beyond hope of repair. Then the boosters kicked in and fired, catapulting the Cobra forward, and it was all he could do to wrest the controls from the pre-programmed routine and direct the ship across the plain at a grass-cutting height. He swerved to avoid the militia’s vehicle, and the crawler veered and rolled over as the Cobra swept into the sky.
He tried to regain his composure. He slowed his breathing and steadied the ship in a stable hovering attitude. Far below, Miriam James and the other rebels were running towards the last two militia-men. He made out Hupcka, raising a fist in a victory salute, and then he lifted the Cobra away from the plain. He let the program take over, relinquishing control with relief, and set the system for phase-out.
Five minutes later the roar of the engines ceased suddenly, and the milky light of the upper atmosphere was replaced with the grey marble effect of the void. Bennett sat and stared at the streaming stars, amazed at the fact of his escape in the quiet aftermath of the attack. He set the computer to revive him from suspension in a little under two months, so that he could make the necessary systems checks. Approximately two months after that, he would be on Earth.
He sat for a long time in the command couch, letting the shakes leave his body, his thoughts quieten. He had never really gained from looking ahead before now; the future had always promised nothing more than the same old events, reordered. But now he had a goal, and people were relying on him to succeed, and he looked ahead to the search for the softscreen in Calcutta with confidence and hope.
18
Rana Rao stood for a long time beneath the cedar tree across the road from the luminously white, scaled- down copy of Sydney Opera House. It rose between a grand representation of the White House and a half-sized imitation of the Feynman dome on Mars. The street was lined with similar kitsch examples of architectural folly, a parade of tasteless ostentation Rana found sickening.
She moved from the shadow of the tree and into the glow of the street lighting. She found it hard to believe that she was, perhaps, just metres away from the man responsible for the crucifix killings. Soon he would become a real person, with a real identity: name, profession, perhaps even a family who loved him.
She stepped from the pavement and crossed the road, her hand straying involuntarily to the polished butt of the pistol beneath her jacket. The opera house was set in a couple of acres of landscaped lawn. As soon as she stepped on to the wide gravel path, spotlights activated to light her way.
She paused before the door and took a breath, then reached out and touched the door-chime. The soft notes of Beethoven’s Fifth sounded from inside—appropriate, given the design of the house. She waited, conscious of the staring eye of a security camera positioned above the door.
A voice issued from a grille, rich and urbane. “Good evening? May I help you?”
“Lieutenant Rao. I’m from the Calcutta police force.”
“One moment, please.”
Seconds later the door swung open automatically and standing perhaps two metres away, arms folded across an ample chest, stood a man who bore not the slightest resemblance, apart from being male and Caucasian, to Ahmed’s description of the killer. He was not thin-faced and silver-haired, but had a well-fed face and a dark head of curls.
He gestured for her to enter and walked ahead of her. Rana followed, swallowing a sense of despair, and wondered how she should proceed.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, surprising her. He was crossing a large, circular lounge fitted with sunken sofas, throw cushions and discreet lighting. A soprano’s voice quavered on a high C.
Rana blinked. “You have?”
He reached out to the wall and the aria modulated. “Please, take a seat.” He indicated one of the below-floor sofas.
Rana descended three steps and seated herself, feeling at a distinct disadvantage.
The man loomed over her, holding a com-board. “I have the file here,” he said, “but I’ll fix you a drink first. Coffee, or something stronger?”
“Ah…” She was about to say that she thought there had been some mistake, but the man misinterpreted her hesitation.
“Of course. I’m sorry, I should have realised. You’re on duty. Coffee it is, then.” He murmured into a wall- speaker. “Two coffees, Raisa.”
Within seconds a maid entered the room bearing a silver tray and two small bone china coffee cups, a jug of milk and a bowl of sugar. She stepped into the sunken bunker and placed the tray on a small table in the centre.
“Thank you, Raisa.” The man joined Rana in the bunker, sitting across from her and pouring the coffees. “White, sugar?”
“White, no sugar.” She could only watch the man in silence, wondering how to proceed.
“I was rather hoping that Commissioner Singh might have called for the report personally,” he was saying.
