The canvas fastened across the back of the cart rose like a sail in the wind, jolting the wagon forward against the wooden chock holding its wheel. As the canvas rose, she spied a coil of rope lying in the back, then screamed as a disturbed huntsman spider dropped from the canvas onto her arm, scuttled down her sleeve and ran for cover. Ravana cursed and made a grab for the rope before her plan had fully formed in her head.
Rope in hand, she quickly secured one end to a sturdy part of the cart, then scrambled across to loop the other around the neck of the nearest stone elephant, tying it tight. By now it was becoming difficult to stand upright in the blasting wind. Crawling back to the wagon, she kicked away the wheel chock, reached for the lever next to the driver’s seat and released the brake.
The cart leapt across the courtyard with its canvas flapping like a kite before a storm. The rope tightened and the wagon shuddered to a halt on the edge of the pit. Buffeted by the wind, Ravana tried to crawl to the edge of the courtyard and safety, but she could not get a grip upon the paving slabs and slowly but surely found herself being dragged across the ground towards the gaping hole behind her.
The rushing air was filled with grit that seared painfully against her skin. Ravana closed her eyes and waited for the final blast that would send her flying down the shaft to her doom. The wailing of the wind was deafening, yet through her mounting terror she still found time to curse her electric cat for landing her in this mess in the first place.
Just when she thought her plan had failed, she heard the sound of grating stone as the nearby elephant began to topple from its plinth. On the other end of the rope, the cart leapt forward once more and was instantly sucked into the pit, dragging the huge statue behind it. Ravana, her eyes tightly closed, sadly missed the awesome spectacle of several tonnes of stone elephant flying across the courtyard as if it weighed no more than a feather. The statue flew towards the pit and then, with an almighty crunch, jammed neatly into the hole.
Suddenly, the wind was no more, leaving nothing but the distant wail of a siren to break the silence. Ravana cautiously opened her eyes. Standing before where she lay was her cat, looking suspiciously clean and holding the remains of the sentry gull in its mouth.
“After today, you are definitely grounded,” she muttered. She sat up and started pulling leaves from her hair. “Your recharging privileges have been revoked.”
The cat looked at her oddly and shifted its electric gaze to the source of the shadow over her shoulder. Ravana wearily climbed to her feet and turned to see two Indian men standing at the edge of the courtyard, both dressed in the dark suits of the palace guard. One was looking despondently at the stone elephant, which now lay wedged in the hole in the middle of the ruined paving with its legs in the air. The other pointed a gun in her direction.
“I expected a better reception than this,” Ravana said wearily. “After all, it’s not every day someone gets to save the world with an elephant.”
The guards took Ravana through the palace grounds to the guard house, a squat and utilitarian building attached to the palace itself by a short open-sided veranda. There they led her into a small, sparsely-furnished room and stood silently over her for what seemed an age. When she tried to tell the guards what she had witnessed in the grounds she was steadfastly ignored, though was given a bowl of perfumed water and a soft towel to wash the mud from her hands and face.
The open door at the far end of the veranda offered a tantalising glimpse of the elaborate yet old-fashioned decor of the palace, which in Ravana’s eyes was well suited to a household under the rule of a woman who used the archaic Indian title of Maharani. No one knew much about the palace’s reclusive inhabitants. It was rumoured that the Maharani’s staff were forbidden to speak of the outside world or mix with the other residents of the Dandridge Cole. The only thing Ravana knew for certain was that the Maharani and the rest of the royal household were fellow exiles from the Epsilon Eridani system who had come to the hollow moon around the same time as Ravana and her father, back when Ravana herself had been just seven years old.
Finally, a third man entered. He was tall and pale-skinned, with dark hair and a neatly-trimmed goatee beard. He wore a smart uniform in green with gold piping and by the way the first two guards silently deferred to him Ravana guessed he was their superior. Initially ignoring her, the newcomer placed the small flat case and the antique paper-leafed book he carried upon a desk by the window and only then turned to greet Ravana.
“My name is Fenris,” he said, by way of an introduction. He spoke perfect English, with an accent suggesting he was of Terran Eastern European origin. His brusque manner was that of someone who was clearly not having a good day. “I am the Maharani’s chief of staff and head of security here at the palace.”
“My name is Ravana,” she said hesitantly. “Is this about…?”
“Ravana,” mused Fenris, interrupting. “An unusual name, I must say. The Maharani does not take kindly to trespassers,” he said sternly, side-stepping her unfinished question. “Yet we mean you no harm. I trust my men have not mistreated you.”
Ravana saw he was looking at the scar on her face and turned away, discomforted yet also puzzled by how calm he seemed considering what had just happened. Fenris saw her unease and beckoned to her to take a seat by the desk, then dismissed the guards.
He sat down in the chair opposite. She watched his hand momentarily go to the book, a grey leather-bound volume inscribed with the word Isa-Sastra, as if seeking reassurance. Reaching for his case, he opened the lid and turned it slightly to hide its contents from Ravana’s sight. Nevertheless, she caught a glimpse of what looked like a small holovid screen and at the top of the lid there was a small hole, now facing towards her, which she suspected was a camera lens.
“The guards are good men but not great at conversation,” he said. Ravana smiled nervously, then thought better of it when she saw that Fenris’ own expression remained entirely humourless. “Regrettably, they were a little slow to react to the rather unpleasant incident we had here today. Maybe you saw something of it yourself?”
Ravana nodded and was just about to launch into her story when Fenris put a finger to his lips, then cocked his head slightly as if listening to something. She noticed he wore a small earpiece, adding weight to her suspicions that he was recording their conversation. Suddenly rising from his seat, he walked to the door and beckoned to someone beyond.
The youth who stepped into the room moments later, dressed in a long green robe that reached to the floor, was instantly recognisable as the boy Ravana had seen being carried off by the two spacesuit-clad men.
“It can’t be!” she exclaimed. “You were taken away in the Astromole. I saw you!”
The boy bowed deeply. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.”
Ravana stared at him. The voice was perfectly modulated and strangely emotionless.
“Ravana, this is Raja Surya,” Fenris told her. “The Raja is the Maharani’s only child and the sole heir to the royal seat of Yuanshi.”
Ravana looked confused. “But…”
“Actually, I have misled you,” Fenris confided. “This is the Raja’s clone.”
“What?”
The boy bowed again. “I am Cyberclone Surya,” he said. “Here to serve in his place.”
“A cyberclone?” Ravana was dumbstruck. Momentarily forgetting what she had seen outside, she looked closer. The boy’s expression had an odd inscrutable smoothness that reminded her of the humanoid test pilot robots she had once seen at Lan-Tlanto spaceport. “I thought the Maharani had forbidden all advanced technology,” she said wonderingly. “You can’t get much more advanced than a cyberclone.”