Chronicles of Isambard Smith 05 - End of Empires by Toby Frost

Author:Toby Frost [Frost, Toby]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Myrmidon
Published: 2014-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

Ambassadors

The John Pym touched down at a landing pad just short of the home of the ruling family of the Equ’i. Smith, Rhianna and Carveth walked down the steps into the sunlight.

A man and woman waited at the bottom. They wore matching khaki, and had similar expressions of glum disapproval.

‘I’m Hargreaves,’ said the man as they approached. ‘The Empire sent us here to talk some sense into the locals.’ He scowled. ‘Maybe you’ll have more luck than we did. It’s the attitude that counts,’ he added. ‘When it comes to horses, you’ve got to take the right tack.’

‘That’s alright,’ Carveth said. ‘I like ponies.’

‘Of course,’ Hargreaves said, tucking his shirt into his shorts, ‘they’re bare-arsed savages. Pig-ignorant, too. Or should I say horse-ignorant!’ He laughed bitterly, and added, ‘They share all their resources for the common good, they’ve got absolutely no concept of aggressive warfare and when they’re not eating their wild oats they’re sowing them. Marjorie and I have had a hell of a job telling them what to do, haven’t we?’

‘Yes, dear,’ said Marjorie.

‘I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told them to put some clothes on, look serious and start behaving like God-fearing creatures. You’d think they didn’t want to. I also have it on good authority that they commit acts of beastliness. And I don’t need to tell you what that involves.’

‘Don’t, dear,’ Marjorie said. ‘You’ll only set your condition off.’

‘It’s a disgrace. And their so-called royal family are the worst of the lot. The king and queen are bad enough, but the daughter – the most precocious, obnoxious creature you can imagine. I made her read The Pilgrim’s Progress and you know what she did? She told me the plot was linear and she wanted something by Daphne du Maurier. I told her I didn’t own any French books. I mean to say, do I look like a pornographer to you?’

‘No, dear,’ said Marjorie. ‘You don’t.’

‘Is there anything I need to know?’ Carveth asked.

Hargreaves shook his head. ‘Not much. In order to win their confidence, we built an artificial body – a sort of disguise – to enable the Liaison Officer to look like one of them. You’re welcome to use it. Only thing is, you’ll need someone to go in the back half.’

‘It’s rather uncomfortable,’ Marjorie added.

‘I’ll be alright on my own,’ Carveth said.

‘Well then, good luck. Is this our ship?’ Hargreaves demanded. ‘Will we make it back alright in that?’

‘Only if you don’t fall out the airlock,’ Smith replied. He disliked Hargreaves’ manner, and the assumption that the John Pym was dangerous, while accurate, was irritating. ‘We’ll pick you up later,’ he told Carveth. ‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘I’ll have a nice time with the ponies – I mean, I’ll civilise these benighted savages.’

She hurried up the path, towards the home of the king of the Equ’i.

Radcliffe Hall stood in ten acres of terraformed grounds, flanked by outbuildings and gymkhana yards. It was broad and white, more a mansion than a castle.

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