Empire of Two Worlds

“Mind telling me how?”

Bec’s goggles scanned the street. “Leave it for a while. They’ll start thinking things out themselves pretty soon.”

This time he was right. There was another movement at the far end of the street. A tall, broad Meramite was waving a banner.

We held our fire as he strode nearer with an odd, jerky gait. He held the banner aloft on a tall pole. It depicted a man hanging upside down, suspended by his feet.

“It is a flag of truce,” one of the Heshans told us. “They want to talk.”

“Good,” said Bec. He climbed down from his Jain and relieved the Heshan of his repeater. “Get out there and tell him a representative of the Great Powers of Klittmann will speak to one of equal rank, if such an officer will present himself.”

“Hey, Bec,” I said, speaking Klittmann. “You know what they did to the last Heshans we sent out.”

“Sure, but it’s different now. Out you go, man.”

He gave the Heshan a hefty shove to help him on his way. The poor guy was so scared he was shaking, but he climbed out and bravely walked towards the Meramite with the banner.

The two of them looked strange together. Rheattites tended to be slightly taller than we are, but the invaders from the Moon were taller still. They averaged seven to eight foot. But they looked kind of lank and weak, thyroidal. They made me wonder how they managed to stand up. Later I found it wasn’t so easy for them.

Their skins were slate-grey and so were their uniforms. Their broad chests were crisscrossed with black straps that made them look sinister and powerful. The truce-maker didn’t kill our Heshan, as I had half-expected, but listened while the green-skinned man, staring up at him like a child, delivered our message. Nodding curtly, he turned and walked away.

Minutes later the banner-bearer returned with a companion who strode haughtily before him, walking unconcernedly over the bodies of his dead soldiers. Unlike the banner-bearer, he wore a helmet with designs on it. I couldn’t make out from this distance. Stopping some yards in front of our foremost Jain, he stood with legs astride, thumbs hooked in a waist-belt.

Meanwhile the Heshan had thankfully returned to the bunker. “Your turn now, Harmen,” Bec said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Get out there and make yourself look like somebody big. Tell him we represent the powers of Klittmann, another world. Say we have no quarrel with the men of Merame and for that reason have not opposed their conquest of Rheatt. Say we expect the same respect from them. Then tell him that if he is merely a subordinate officer he must stay outside and talk to you, but if he is of exalted rank and a leader of his people he may come inside the bunker and speak to me. Make it clear that I won’t make agreements with an underling.”

The alchemist looked at him for long, brooding moments, his long hair hanging lankly down his shoulders. If nothing else, I thought, he would make a strong impression on the Meramites by his appearance alone.

But he had been brought a long way against his will. He had been involved in a lot of things he didn’t want to be involved in, and now Bec was making him carry out negotiations for him. He didn’t like it much.

“Am I your messenger boy?” he said. “Your mummer?”

“You’re not in a position to make choices,” Bec stated. “Get up there and do what I say.” He paused. “Maybe you are in a position to make choices, at that. See if you can make your own private deal with the Meramites. Maybe they’ll give you a big laboratory. But remember, Harmen: I’ve promised you a big laboratory, too. A real big one. You know what the game is, so serve my purpose.”

Bec said all this in a flat, disinterested tone. He was obviously referring to private conversations the two had held. Reluctantly the alk heaved himself up out of the bunker.

I watched him talking to the Meramite. The other was clearly taken aback by his appearance. The eye-shades probably convinced him that we were, indeed, something new and alien. Eventually Harmen pointed back to the bunker, addressing a question in a loud, gruff voice. The Meramite raised his voice, also, and a disdainful smile passed fleetingly across his lips. After a short altercation he followed Harmen towards the bunker.

Bec signalled me to stay up with the nearside Jain, which put me sitting up over his head from where he sat in a padded chair in the recesses of the bunker. The Meramite bent his head and almost doubled up to enter. I heard funny little chinking sounds as he came on by me, then I couldn’t see him any more. I continued to keep a look-out, listening to the conversation going on behind me.

The Meramite spoke Rheattic, but in a clipped, supercilious accent and in a voice that was incongruously high-pitched for someone of his size. All the Meramites, I found later, had that high-pitched, child’s voice.

“I am Commander of the Rheattic Border Expeditionary Force,” he said. “I am here to speak with your leader.”