Revolt of the Galaxy

by E.E. ''Doc'' Smith, E.E. 'Doc' Smith, Stephen Goldin

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

GALACTIC THREAT

The awesome forces of the Empire of Earth have destroyed most of the evil conspiracy''s fleet, including the ship bearing the ice-blooded Lady A, when the Family d''Alembert uncover a plot on the planet Newforest, proving that the conspiracy commanded by the mysterious C is even more widespread than they have dreamed.

For Yvette suddenly realises who - or what - C actually is, and she knows the terrifying true meaning of Lady A''s boast that the conspiracy is the Empire!

Revolt of the Galaxy is the tenth and final exciting novel in the enthralling space adventure series whose heroes and heroines are the intrepid Family dAlembert.

Release date: November 30, 2012

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 186

Sample

The heavy-gravity world of DesPlaines ranked reasonably high in galactic commerce. Sometimes called the “slagheap of the Universe,” the planet was rich in heavy metals and precious stones, and did a creditable export business in those resources. The Circus of the Galaxy, owned and operated by the noble d’Alembert family, toured throughout the Empire and brought a sizeable amount of income into DesPlaines’ coffers. Even the citizens themselves were a valuable commodity. With their lightning reflexes and above-normal strength, DesPlainians were always in demand as Marines, bodyguards, or criminals. By taking advantage of its geological and human resources, DesPlaines had turned a hellish environment into a prosperous and comfortable place for its natives to live.

One industry that was not big on DesPlaines, however, was tourism. People from worlds with more standard gravities—which included all but a tiny percentage of the settled galaxy—dared not visit DesPlaines without being surrounded by specialized equipment. The constant three-gee pull could easily provoke heart attacks and breathing difficulties even in people in superb physical condition. If that weren’t bad enough, a simple fall—at three times the speed it would happen elsewhere—could prove fatal.

People from offworld usually dealt with DesPlainians via subetheric communications. If more personal contact was required, the DesPlainian often would visit the offworlder; sometimes a compromise would be reached and the offworlder would rendezvous with his DesPlainian contact on one of DesPlaines’s three moons, where gravity was only one-fifth gee and everyone could relax. Only the most desperate circumstances could compel someone from a normal-grav world to visit the surface of DesPlaines itself.

There were other high-grav worlds, of course, the most well-known being Purity and Newforest, but their citizens seldom traveled. The Puritans shunned the spiritual contamination they felt would be inevitable if they had much intercourse with people less wholesome than themselves. The Newforesters were a clannish group who preferred their own sometimes backward ways, and who had until recently kept apart from the mainstream of galactic society.

Thus the major spaceports on DesPlaines were designed primarily with cargo in mind. There were some passengers, of course; with DesPlainians in such demand throughout the Empire there were always some departing for or returning from other worlds. But DesPlainian spaceports tended to be large, open, barnlike buildings with plain walls and few of the amenities to be found in more well-traveled ports. The walls were not hung with colorful displays of DesPlainian night spots or scenic wonders; the few chairs scattered about the floor were institutional and uncomfortable. The faded tile on the floors was clean but badly scuffed; there was little point in improving it when so few people ever saw it in the first place. The harsh lighting cast sharp shadows on the walls and floors, and the air perpetually smelled of perfumed disinfectants.

Today, though, the freighter Anatolia brought with it a paying passenger whose destination was indeed DesPlaines. She was a young woman, perhaps twenty years old, with long black hair and a deep olive complexion. She had enormous brown eyes and thick, sensuous lips that highlighted her attractive face, and she wore a bright-colored blouse and a skirt with a wild, multicolored pattern.

Even under normal circumstances she’d have attracted every masculine eye in the spaceport, but her bearing showed nervousness and not a little apprehension. Something was not quite right with her, and that made her stand out even more.

Her nervousness brought her to the attention of the SOTE clerk checking identification. One of the many duties of the Service of the Empire was to keep records of the comings and goings of the Empire’s citizens, and to serve as customs agents to prevent the transport of contraband materials. Spaceport clerks were trained to spot suspicious behavior—and this traveler was definitely exhibiting some.

Courtesy was ever the watchword of the Service of the Empire—when more drastic measures were not called for. “Good afternoon, gospozha,” the clerk said politely. “May I see your ID card, please?”

The woman fumbled awkwardly in the compartmented leather belt she wore and eventually produced the card. The officer took it and inserted it in the scanner, which immediately read the encoded information and informed him that the card was issued to “Beti Bavol,” that she held the title “lady,” and that her physical description matched that of the woman standing before him. She was from the planet Newforest and consequently could be expected to have the typical high-grav physique: short, well-balanced body with thick bones and toughened muscles. That much, at least, checked out.

“May I ask Your Ladyship to look in the retinascope for a positive ID scan?” the clerk continued. The fact that Gospozha Bavol was of the nobility meant that even more courtesy was called for, but he was still suspicious.

Beti Bavol peered into the scope, and a quick comparison with the patterns on her ID card confirmed that she was indeed who she claimed to be. At the same time, the clerk surreptitiously had the desk’s built-in scanner go over her luggage and clothing to see whether she was carrying anything illegal. The scanner showed she had a small knife tucked under her clothing next to her hip, but nothing more serious than that. There was nothing illegal about carrying a hidden knife—many women did it for protection—but it was one more factor to be considered.

“Thank you,” the officer said as Beti Bavol pulled her eyes away from the scope. “Are you visiting DesPlaines for business or pleasure?”

“I … I’m not sure. That is, I’m looking for someone, my brother. I think he may be here. I guess you’d call that pleasure.”

The clerk did not respond; he was busy trying to make a decision. He had the full authority to arrest this newcomer just on the basis of his feeling that something was wrong, but authority that powerful could not be wielded casually—especially not against a member of the nobility—and he had no hard evidence to back up his suspicions. At the same time, he didn’t feel completely right about letting her go off unsupervised.

In the end, he made a compromise decision. He entered her card number into his computer with the order to keep a check on her activities and look for anything further out of order. Whenever her ladyship took a hotel room, rented transportation, ordered a meal, or made any major purchase, the fact would be reported to SOTE. The Service could then decide on the basis of more information what action should be taken.

Ejecting the ID card from the machine, the officer handed it back to the young woman from Newforest. “Thank you for your cooperation, Your Ladyship,” he said politely. “Enjoy your stay on DesPlaines. Good luck in finding your brother.”

Because there were so few tourists, there were no hotels near the spaceport; Beti Bavol had to take a cab into the center of Nouveau Calais to find one. The price was reasonable, and she quickly settled into her comfortable but compact room. She unpacked her one small suitcase and then faced the challenge of what to do next.

It was imperative that she find her brother Pias as quickly as possible—but where could she begin? She didn’t have enough money with her to hire a detective, and she’d never done any tracing on her own, so she hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about it. She had very few facts to go on. Her brother had been exiled from Newforest four years ago in disgrace and she wasn’t even sure he’d come to DesPlaines. All she knew was that he’d become engaged to a DesPlainian woman named Yvette Dupres. They could just as easily have married and settled on some other planet—or perhaps they’d broken their engagement and each gone their separate ways. It was a very slender thread that brought Beti Bavol to DesPlaines—and if it broke, she wasn’t sure where she’d go from here.

She tried calling the police first, but they were less than helpful. Unless her brother was officially listed as a missing person or was wanted in connection with some crime, they couldn’t spare the manpower to help her. Since Pias’s case didn’t fall within the “missing persons” category, the police refused even to listen to her.

She next tried calling the SOTE office, figuring that they would have records of everyone who came to DesPlaines. The clerk she spoke to told her that they might indeed have such records, but they were all confidential; regulations regarding personal privacy forbade SOTE to release such information to the public without a court order. Beti Bavol had hit another stone wall.

She checked the public vidicom directory; if Pias had a vidicom set, he’d more than likely be listed. But there was no listing for anyone with the name Bavol. There were plenty of Dupres’, including seven Yvettes; in desperation Beti called them all. Three of them weren’t in; the rest were obviously not the woman she’d met as Pias’s fiancée.

Wracking her brain, Beti tried asking information from the Bureau of Public Records. If Pias and his Yvette had gotten married, there should be a certificate on file somewhere. A very kindly lady checked the entire file for her, but could find no marriage certificate issued to Pias Bavol. If Beti’s brother had gotten married, the ceremony had taken place somewhere other than DesPlaines.

By the time she’d received this negative information it was suppertime and most government offices had closed for the day; there would be nothing Beti could do until they opened again tomorrow. Feeling miserable and depressed, she went to dinner at the small restaurant adjacent to the hotel. There, as she picked apathetically at her food, she tried to think of some other strategy for finding Pias.

Perhaps she could check with the transportation department and find out whether Pias had ever applied for a license to drive or fly a vehicle on DesPlaines. Perhaps she could check to see whether any business licenses had been granted in his name. And—though the thought horrified her—she supposed she should check the newsroll obituaries over the last few years to see whether he might have died here.

She considered taking out a personal ad in the local newsrolls, but discarded that thought as impractical. She couldn’t even be certain he was on this planet—and even if he was, the odds were greatly against his seeing the ad. Her funds were running very low after paying for passage on the Anatolia; she dared not waste her money on anything that offered such small chance of success.

She returned to her room and tried to get involved with the programs on the trivision and sensable, but she simply couldn’t concentrate. She’d pinned so many of her hopes on locating Pias quickly, and now she was feeling lost and helpless on a strange world, without friends or family to give her the support and encouragement she needed to carry on. She stared listlessly at the images in the trivision cabinet, then switched it off in frustration. Donning the nightgown she’d brought with her, she went to bed and, after tossing and turning for over an hour, finally fell asleep.

If she hadn’t been so nervous, her story might have ended there. But, edgy as she was, she awoke in the middle of the night to the strong feeling of danger and the certain knowledge that something was horribly wrong. Her heart fluttered in an irregular rhythm as she tried to bring her mind fully awake so she could focus on the problem.

The room was almost pitch black; the heavy curtains cut out all but a fraction of the street lights outside the hotel. There was no smell of smoke, so it wasn’t the threat of a fire that had awakened her. She strained her eyes against the darkness and, at the same time, held her breath so she wouldn’t miss the slightest sound that might alert her to the trouble.

There it was, a faint scratching noise at the door. Someone was working quietly on the lock, trying to break into her room. With that realization came the certain knowledge that this was not some ordinary hotel sneak thief. This could only be someone hired by her brother Tas to bring her back to Newforest before she could talk to Pias—or to kill her.

Her first impulse was to grab the com unit beside the bed and call hotel security, but then she heard the faint click of the lock opening. She could be very, very dead before security managed to send someone up here.

She reached under her pillow and grabbed the hilt of her knife, kept there for just such emergencies. Then, pushing the bedcovers aside, she slid silently across the room to take up a position behind the opening door. The intruder was moving slowly and carefully, trying not to make any sound that would alarm his victim. This gave Beti time to brace herself for the action that was to come.

The few seconds that she stood there in the dark stretched out immeasurably, and her heart was pounding so violently in her chest she was sure it would alert the intruder to her presence. Her hand trembled slightly. She held the knife point upward as she’d been trained to do, and was grateful that it was considered necessary for everyone in the Gypsy culture of Newforest to learn how to fight with a knife, even female members of the nobility.

As the door opened slowly, a ribbon of light streamed in from the hall outside. At first Beti could see nothing from her position, but she heard the unmistakable hum of a stun-gun and supposed her would-be attacker had fired at the tangle of covers on the bed, thinking she was asleep there. Then, perhaps feeling a little more confident, the intruder opened the door wider and stepped inside the room.

Beti forced herself to wait until she had a clear view of him before she acted. Then, taking two quick steps forward, she brought her knife up hard under the man’s ribs. For all her practice at knife fighting, this was the first time she had actually stabbed anyone, and it was a jolt to feel the impact of her knife digging through living flesh. She had no time, though, to be shocked by what she’d done. Her only thought was to kill, or at least incapacitate, this man who’d meant to do her harm.

The man gave a gasp of surprise and pain as the blow hit, and turned awkwardly to look at his assailant. He tried to shift position and shoot her but the shock of the stab wound was too much. The gun dropped from his hand and he crumpled to the floor, nearly taking Beti’s knife with him. Only her nervously tight grip on the handle enabled her to pull the blade out as the man fell.

A hand grabbed her shoulder from behind, and Beti realized with horror that the intruder had not been alone. She whirled and slashed the man who’d grabbed her. A line of blood appeared across his forehead and he yelled with pain, letting go of her. But Beti could see the silhouette of a third man behind him, and her heart fell as she realized she would have a very difficult time escaping from this trap.

She pushed hard at her second attacker, knocking him against the doorframe. Sidestepping him and crossing the threshold, she approached the third man and swung her knife at him. The blade didn’t come near him, but he backed away, seeing what she’d done to his companions. His small retreat gave her enough of an opening to run past him and down the hallway. Beti raced down the carpeted corridor, yelling for help at the top of her lungs. She didn’t really expect anyone to open their doors, but maybe someone in one of the rooms would call security—if only to complain about the shrieking madwoman who was ruining their sleep.

The third man must have been the most heavily armed, because a blaster bolt sizzled the air and missed the fleeing woman by just a few centimeters. The second man hissed, “Not in here, you fool,” and the blasterfire stopped, but that one shot had lent great speed to Beti’s feet. As the two men started in pursuit, Beti turned a corner in the hallway and started looking for a way out.

At the end of this hallway was a door marked as a fire exit. On high-grav worlds like DesPlaines, buildings were seldom more than two stories tall and this hotel was no exception. Beti’s room was on the second floor, with a series of stairs serving as an emergency route to the ground. Beti practically flew through the door, but went down the stairs cautiously. Natives of a high-grav planet learned to deal carefully with any changes in elevation; even a short fall could mean broken bones at the least, possibly even death. Beti did not want to let her assailants accomplish their mission by default.

The would-be killers came through the second-floor door just as Beti reached ground level. The one with the blaster shot again. His beam burned into the exit door just as Beti was reaching for it. She barely hesitated. Yanking the door open, she raced outside into the cool night air.

Beti found herself in a darkened alley that ran alongside the hotel. The ground was cold and damp against her bare feet. She paused for an instant to get her bearings. The main street lay to her left, about thirty meters away. Taking a deep breath, she ran toward the street and bumped into a stack of boxes that was standing in the darkness at the side of the alle. . .