Governor Atman shifted uncomfortably in his front row seat. Up until now he had been enjoying the morning dress rehearsal but Newbrum Academy’s performance left most people wondering if they had been subjected to a rather cruel practical joke.
“That was err… interesting,” he said weakly. “Quite a spirited performance.”
Miss Clymene was glad Atman was the only official watching the rehearsal, for she had a feeling others would not have been so charitable. Nevertheless, the conference hall auditorium was not quite empty for many of the musicians who had been on stage earlier, including several members of the Bradbury Heights orchestra, had stayed behind to watch their rivals. The Newbrum band had been the last to rehearse; unbeknown to Atman, Miss Clymene had been frantically delaying their performance as long as she could, hoping for Ravana and Zotz to miraculously reappear and reinvigorate their crushed morale. Against an imposing backdrop of the sovereign state flags from across the five systems, the tiny band looked more than a little lost on the huge stage and she did not blame Endymion, Bellona and Philyra for being glum. All three wore the smart jade-coloured commemorative tunics given to them by the peace conference organisers. She thought it was quite touching the way they had all gone overboard on make-up and hair lacquer for the occasion.
“We are a couple of members down,” Miss Clymene explained. “You should have heard us yesterday! We were like another band.”
“You have quite a small ensemble there,” Atman observed. The tutor wondered if he was thinking another band would be very welcome right now. “I thought Newbrum was one of the larger outposts.”
Miss Clymene saw Endymion open his mouth, no doubt to quip that size was not everything, though their performance had blatantly proved otherwise. She remained defensive.
“Newbrum Academy is very select,” she admitted. “But it is the only official state-funded school in the city. Before the corporation colleges were set up we had the biggest campus in the Barnard’s Star system.”
“And now the whole school sits in the same room,” sighed Philyra. “All twelve of us.”
Bellona’s wristpad bleeped to signal an incoming message. Maia had recorded their rehearsal and posted the holovid along with a bunch of sarcastic comments on the net. What made it worse was that an earlier performance by the Bradbury Heights orchestra had gone down very well and they were now favourites to walk away with the prize. Miss Clymene caught her own band’s downcast expressions and attempted to rally her troops.
“Well done, you three!” she told them. “You should all be proud that you’ve made it this far. Whatever the outcome of the competition tomorrow, you’ll be able to look back and say you were here, making history at the Pampa Palace, sixteen light years from home!”
“I wish we were back home,” mumbled Endymion.
Miss Clymene pretended not to hear. “Class dismissed!” she announced. “The rest of the day is yours to enjoy. We have quite an occasion ahead of us tomorrow!”
Atman beckoned for her to join him for the routine briefing he had given the other band leaders. As Endymion, Bellona and Philyra shuffled despondently off stage, Miss Clymene could not help thinking that any sane person would have asked her instead to take her band away and not come back. She quickly collected the fallen sheets of manuscript left behind by her class and hesitantly made her way to where Atman was seated. The governor’s keen enthusiasm in the competition baffled her more than ever.
“Rosanna Clymene, is it?” asked Atman, consulting the slate upon his lap. “Bad luck the rest of your students being called away like that. I saw the young Indian girl at the spaceport yesterday. The one with the scar on her face?” he remarked, but Miss Clymene’s mind was elsewhere. “She looked terribly upset about something.”
“Ravana had a bad experience with a VR machine,” Miss Clymene told him. She had received no word from Quirinus nor Fenris since yesterday and the garbled communication Ostara sent her this morning, saying that herself, Ravana and Zotz were attending to urgent business, had not clarified things one iota. The news that Ravana had been seen at the spaceport did nothing to allay her fears and she made a mental note to check if the Platypus was still in Hemakuta. “We are confident that she and Zotz will rejoin us shortly.”
“I do hope so,” he said. “These are interesting times! The preliminary peace talks have gone well, though the rumours regarding the Maharaja’s son are causing concern. The debate closing the conference tomorrow will be the first time Governor Jaggarneth has shared a stage with the rebel leader Kartikeya since hostilities began.”
“We are honoured to be part of it,” said Miss Clymene. “I must however confess that my understanding of the conflict on Yuanshi is limited. Are things as bad as they say?”
“Too many good people have died,” Atman said solemnly. “All because each side claims Yuanshi as their own. Kartikeya and the supporters of the exiled royal family believe that as descendents of the original colonists they have a right to decide their own affairs. Yet the Que Qiao Corporation wants to protect its investment after spending countless billions on the terraforming project. Is this so unreasonable? The people of Yuanshi would still be living in domes under a medieval monarchy if it were not for Que Qiao.”
“People are strange,” agreed Miss Clymene.
“Indeed. I personally blame the curious cult of alien worship they have on Yuanshi,” he said. “Or rather, one particular preacher: a most forceful personality who has won many converts amongst the royalist rebels. I’m not saying that religion causes wars, but it can be a very powerful motivator. This priest Taranis is a dangerous man.”
“The Dhusarian Church,” mused Miss Clymene, thinking of Fenris. “Religion does tend to bring out both the best and the worst in people.”
Bellona shut her clarinet case and sighed. Endymion, Philyra and herself were alone backstage but the gap in the backdrop curtain revealed Maia, Xuthus and their friends from Bradbury Heights sitting not far away on the front row of the auditorium. Bellona just knew they were waiting to throw insults at them as they left.
“That was a bad rehearsal,” Philyra said gloomily.
“Truly terrible,” Endymion agreed. “The only way it could have been worse was if we’d had monkeys on bongos flinging turds at the audience.”
“Or dropped our trousers and waved our bottoms in the air,” suggested Philyra.
“Or taken a hammer to a cage full of budgies,” added Endymion, smiling wickedly at Philyra’s horrified expression. “Though your flute solo sounded much the same.”
“You’re sick,” Bellona told him, but he had made her smile.
Endymion lowered his trombone case into the cradle of the waiting autoporter trolley, then came to join his sister as she peered through the curtain.
“Xuthus and his cronies are still out there,” he murmured. “Having a laugh at our expense, no doubt. I vote we sneak out the back way.”
“Is there a back way?” asked Philyra, looking around the backstage area.
Endymion grinned. “Seek and you shall find.”
Bellona deposited her and Philyra’s instrument case next to Endymion’s trombone and sent the autoporter back to their room. The small hatch through which the robot departed was protected against human entry by a safety screen. A quick search of the backstage area revealed two alternative exits: the first being a door to a sparse dressing room, the second a concealed stairwell descending into a cavernous storage space beneath the stage itself. They tried the dressing room first, only to discover that the far-side exit was locked, so Endymion suggested they explore the room below the stage instead to see if it led anywhere useful.