Robyn Tallis - Planet Builders 2 - Night of Ghosts and Lightning

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contents

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

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panet builders 2- night of ghost and lightning-robyn tallis

NIGHT OF GHOSTS AND LIGHTNING

Robyn Tallis

IVY ROOKS • NPW VOPW

To:

{Catherine Juliana Doyle Macdonald for computer assistance

With thanks to Bruce Coville, Debra Doyle

Jim Macdonald, and Sherwood Smith—

who built the planet.

Ivy Books

Published by Ballantine Books

Produced by Butterfield Press, Inc.

133 Fifth Avenue

New York, New York 10003

division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 88-91124

ISBN: 8041-0202-3

Manufactured in the United States

First Edition: January 1989

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CHAPTER ONE

Dating Games

"Early date tonight," said Sean Matthews, sliding his tray onto the table and sitting down opposite

Zachary Yamoto.

So far, he and Zach were the only students in this part of the Bradbury School's cafeteria. Like most

buildings on the newly colonized planet of Gauguin, the school had been designed to serve a much

larger community. Right now, with scarcely three thousand residents, the colony's main settlement of

Ambora looked more like a small town than a thriving spaceport, but the Planetary League had great

hopes.

Zach's deeply tanned, pleasantly irregular face lit up with cheerful curiosity at his friend's

announcement. "Clea again?"

Sean shook his head. "Not tonight. She's got late shift over at the Transport Section." Gauguin days and

nights lasted several hours longer than

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Old Earth's twenty-four; but a system of community service—known to the colony's young people

without affection as "drudge"—filled up most of the extra time.

"So who's the lucky girl?" asked Zach.

Sean concentrated on breaking the seal on his vegetable juice without tearing the carton. "Philippa

Bidding."

Zach raised an eyebrow. "The original Ice Maiden? I thought you had something special going with

Clea."

"Nothing that special," said Sean.

He knew he sounded defensive—be honest, Matthews, he told himself. You sound guilty. Because you

feel guilty. But his parents were administrators, transferred from colony to colony at regular intervals by

the Planetary League, and Gauguin marked his fourth world since leaving Earth. He knew that getting

too close to anybody—especially somebody as nice as Clea Tourni—could be painful. Besides, there

was still something about Philippa that attracted him— probably the fact that she was incredibly

beautiful.

"Better hope the lady agrees with you," observed Zach. "Because here she comes right now."

"Clea doesn't know about tonight, you toroid," muttered Sean. He pulled his portable terminal out from

beneath his chair and punched up his class notes. By the time Clea took the seat next to

him, he presented—he hoped—the appearance of somebody engrossed in study.

"Hello, Sean," said Clea. "Ignoring me for ancient history again?"

Her voice was gentle and musical, and Sean looked up in spite of himself. A humorous glint in her topaz-

colored eyes let him know she'd meant the remark to tease him. The last time he'd been Clea's study

partner, he'd tried to split his attention equally between her and Old Earth's Napoleonic Wars. General

Bonaparte had come out the loser.

Sean reddened. "I didn't finish the reading."

"Just the same," said another familiar voice, "I don't recommend you catch up now." Philippa Bidding,

slim and poised, sat down on Sean's other side, and added, "Dr. Ives just walked in."

Caught between the two girls, Sean tried to hold his uneasiness in check. Clea Tourni had come to

Gauguin from the planet Galahad, where second- and third-generation settlers had developed an

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empathic talent for sensing the emotions of those around them. If she notices something's wrong . . . or if

Philippa mentions having a date for tonight. . .

Zach Yamoto, looking amused, took up the conversation before either girl could notice Sean's

uncomfortable silence. "Old Laser Eyes doesn't believe in studying between classes. He thinks it's a sign

of not enough after school."

Sean shoved his terminal back out of sight. All four students fell silent as the tall, balding

Director of the Bradbury School—followed by his always-frowning assistant, Ivan Santori— completed

his tour of the cafeteria.

Talk resumed in the lunchroom as the two men left. More students came in, among them the remaining

members of Sean's own group, Arkady Davidov and Will Mornette. The two newcomers presented an

interesting contrast: Arkady, stocky and muscular, a native of the heavy-gravity planet Theta, and Will,

almost two meters tall and still growing, but with none of Arkady's strength, Acedium, Will's home

planet, had a gravity less than one-third Earth normal, and just walking around on Gauguin exhausted

him.

In spite of the differences, and occasional tensions, among the six students, they still made up the most

close-knit group at Bradbury. Not all the closeness was voluntary; the six had barely known each other

before they had been lost together in the Catalan Mountains. There they had found, or perhaps had been

guided to find, a ruined city on a high plateau—evidence of the first nonhuman civilization the Planetary

League had yet encountered.

A strange device in the ruins had shown the lost students visions of the city's downfall, and of the final

days of its orange-eyed, reptilian people. Not long afterward, the six had barely escaped from an

earthquake that wiped out the ruins as if they had never been. Returning to Ambora, they found their

experiences dismissed as hallucina-

tions brought on by the stress of being lost in an unfamiliar environment.

Since then they had kept together in self-defense. Nobody else had been there; nobody else understood—

although Sean, acutely aware of his current uneasy position between Clea and Philippa, couldn't help

wondering just how well that closeness might hold up under pressure.

He was still wondering later that afternoon when he met Philippa Bidding at the entrance to Ambora's

small holovid theater.

"Sorry it has to be the early show," he said. "But I have to be home tonight. My parents have a meeting."

"One of the perils of being the Governor's son," said Philippa—in sarcasm or sympathy, Sean couldn't

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tell which. Clea's dark, mobile features showed each changing mood, but Philippa always seemed to

wear an exquisite, unreadable mask.

I've known her since I came here, thought Sean, and I still don't know her at all. He suppressed the

uncomfortable reflection, and they went inside to take their seats.

The holovid theater was already full of people wearing the bulky helmets and gloves that provided the

show's illusions of sight, sound, and touch. Home-use holovid machines only showed small three-

dimensional images moving around inside a viewing tank, but theatrical versions could put the audience

right into the action. Viewers could even choose between watching in

solo, group, or date mode—the last designed to

let two people be aware of both each other and

the ongoing story. Sean and Philippa set the controls at their seats

for date mode and put on the gloves and helmets. Soft music and a random color display came on at

once, surrounding them both. Sean glanced over at Philippa, who smiled back as though she, too, were

looking forward to the rest of the evening. The music changed, and the shifting colors solidified into the

opening scene of the holovid—a musical comedy, but a good one. Almost against his will, Sean became

absorbed in the unlikely adventures of the cast, and even found himself ready to forgive their habit of

breaking into song at every opportunity. Soon, the improbable plot reached its halfway point— the

villainous land developers had just received permission to pollute the little seaside village with tourist

hotels and offshore oil wells—and the villagers trooped into the town square for another dance number.

The show's heroine opened her mouth and began to sing. As the music swelled a cold wind gusted

through the town. Dead leaves whirled up and scudded past the dancing villagers, but nobody seemed to

notice.

Sean looked over at Philippa again, but the blond girl had vanished. He frowned, wondering what was

wrong. He could imagine Philippa switching over into solo mode for some reason of her own, but not

without warning him first.

In the village, the wind was rising. Dust and trash blew down the narrow lanes. Suddenly, with a

grinding crash, an armored vehicle smashed through one of the quaint thatched cottages. Stonework

crumbled to powder under its treads.

Something's gone wrong, thought Sean. This can't be part of the story!

"Philippa!" he yelled over the music—the background orchestra was still playing full blast as the

armored vehicle advanced. The dancers broke and ran, scattering through the streets. "Philippa! Where

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are you?"

Nobody answered, and he still couldn't see her. The armored vehicle ground on forward, coming to a

halt in the cobblestoned square.

Only the holovid's heroine remained in place. Abruptly, the orchestra's happy music stopped in mid-

note, and the singer seemed to notice the huge armored vehicle for the first time. She stared, and as she

stared her features melted and changed, turning her honey-skinned, caramel-haired beauty into

something inhuman, with orange eyes and a flat, lipless mouth.

Like the people we saw in the ruined city, Sean realized. It's all starting again. ...

He broke away from the sight, and ran down a footpath between two cottages. The houses, too, were

changing as he passed—growing taller, dirtier, closer together. Maybe something's wrong with the

helmet, he thought, and it's making me see these things.

He ran between walls of rough, sooty brick

until he reached the end of the alley. There he

paused. He knew, in his mind, that all this was

only illusion; but his sense of danger felt real

enough to make him check around the corner

before going out into the street.

He pulled his head back fast. Another of the armored vehicles was coming his way. It had a turret on the

top, with a long, cannonlike tube jutting out from it. The end of the cannon was solid and polished-

looking. That's all wrong, thought Sean. The tube should have an opening somewhere. I've seen flatpix

from the wars on Old Earth.

The armored vehicle—tanks, that was what they called them—growled into a clumsy turn that smashed

the bottom story of a corner building. The structure collapsed in a shower of bricks and dust. Through

the rubble, Sean glimpsed the peaceful seaside village again, with dancers still twirling and swaying

around the singing heroine. The musical scene looked sharp and clear, but unreal, like something

observed through the wrong end of a telescope.

Out in the street, the tank swiveled its cannon to point directly at him. The polished end of the long tube

glowed briefly with a pure blue light. Sean felt an intense, almost paralyzing pain strike him behind his

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eyes. His legs buckled under him, and he fell to his knees on the pavement.

That does it, he thought, as the agony faded.

I'm going to punch out right now. Something's really gone wrong here—these things aren't supposed to

hurt.

He looked around for the shutoff switch. Among the students that Sean ran with, it was a matter of honor

never to use the Toroid Button, as they called it. But this was different... .So I'm atoroid. But this helmet

might be giving out electric shocks or something.

He couldn't find the switch anywhere in this scene. "Philippa!" he shouted, hoping that she could hear

him. "Something's wrong—hit the button and get us out!" Then he ran back down the alley, searching

for the patch of bright orange that marked the housing of a shutoff switch.

The Toroid Button has to be around here somewhere. Every scene in a holovid has to have one. It's the

law, I think. And there it was, set into the wall of a burned-out building across the village square. Sean

stayed put and checked up and down the street. Whatever the tank had done, he wasn't eager to

encounter that effect again.

A long way off, a squad of troopers in dull green uniforms headed his way. Their figures seemed

distorted, as if seen through running water, but he could tell that the proportions weren't human. In their

hands they held sticklike objects that had to be weapons.

The troopers started trotting toward him in a loose formation. I'd better hurry. They've spotted me.

Sean dashed across the street, throwing him-

self against the smokestained wall of the building. He made a grab for the switch, scraping his knuckles

on the orange housing before he found the catch. The housing swung open, and he positioned his finger

over the button inside.

He glanced back down the street at the advancing troopers. Too bad, guys, but I can't stay and play, he

thought. Then he pressed the button.

Nothing happened.

He pressed the Toroid Button again, still without result. By now, the leading troopers in the squad were

getting close. Two of them knelt in the street and lifted their weapons.

Sean remembered the blue glow of the cannon, and the blinding pain. I can't let them shoot me, he

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thought. Time to do something drastic.

He raised his hands, running them up the sides of his neck. He knew the holovid helmet was there—it

was what produced most of the illusions—but with simulation gloves on, he couldn't tell if he had

touched it or not. But if I grab where it should be, he told himself, and pull up ...

The helmet came off. The illusory town vanished, taking with it the alien troopers and their uncanny

weapons. He was back in the Ambora holovid theater, sitting beside Philippa in one of the big cushioned

chairs. He was so glad to see her that he threw his arms around her and hugged her.

Philippa shrugged out of his embrace and

reached for her own shutoff switch. Sean watched her open the housing and push the button, then lift the

holovid helmet to unleash her long, light hair. Helmet off, she gave him an irritated look. "What's the

idea of punching out from date mode?"

Sean glanced down at his own shutoff switch. Its orange cover was still closed. / never touched it, after

all. Baffled, he could only mutter, "My helmet was malfunctioning,"

"Well, it certainly ruined a perfectly good show," Philippa said. "We might as well go home."

CHAPTER TWO

The Data Net

Together, Sean and Philippa walked out into the plaza beside the holotheater. A hot, dry wind blew

down off the inland mountains, ruffling the hair on the back of Sean's head. The east wind had been

blowing without letup for a couple of days, parching the air and setting the colonists' nerves on edge.

The twin moons Justine and Juliette rode high in the evening sky, adding their mauve-tinged light to the

glowglobes ringing the Education and Research domes. In the half-light of Gauguin's long evening, the

whites of Philippa's eyes had already begun to give off an eerie pale green glow. The bioluminescence,

caused by an otherwise harmless parasite, marked her as a native of "Old Earth's firstborn daughter," the

planet Alphorion.

"Here," said Sean, hoping to break her silence. "I'll walk you home."

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"If you want to." She bent to scoop up a quufer that had been lying against the theater's outside wall. The

long-haired, almost spherical animal snuggled into her arms, blushing bright orange with pleasure and

making gentle quuu-ing noises. Sean watched, feeling snubbed.

A moment later, he heard Arkady Davidov's cheerful voice call out, "Sean, Philippa! Wait up!"

Sean looked around. On the far side of the plaza, Will and Arkady were crossing the bridge from the

Research Dome—probably coming out of late-shift drudge. Clea Tourni was with them. "Just what I

needed," Sean muttered.

Philippa gave him a sharp glance. "What's the matter? Ashamed to be seen with me?"

"No ... it's just... oh, forget it." He sighed. It's just that somehow I don't think Clea's going to understand

this at all.

He was right, which didn't make him feel any better. As soon as the other three came up, Clea gave

Philippa one quick look and then fixed Sean with an orange-hazel gaze as painful in its way as the blue

light from the holovid cannon.

"I see you decided to take in the early show," Clea said. "You told me you couldn't go out tonight."

This is getting more corrosive by the minute, thought Sean. Neither one of them's going to speak to me

for a week.

"I really couldn't—I mean can't," he said. "My

parents are going to some official bash, and they want me home before they leave. Studying."

Clea nodded. "I understand. Some things are more important than others. It's good to let people know

where your priorities are."

Make that two weeks, decided Sean.

Arkady Davidov watched with the others as Sean and Philippa crossed the arched bridge over the Tati

River, on their way to Ambora's residential section—side by side but not, he noted, hand in hand. He

was still reaching for something neutral to comment on when Will said, "Too bad they got transferred to

the early shift. Give me late shift any time."

"I'm with you on that," said Arkady. "Late shift gives you a chance to get the studying done before

drudge. And then"—he waved an arm in a gesture designed for Theta's heavier gravity, and ended up

being more flamboyant than he'd intended—"and then it's party time!"

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